From Gadra's account, one truth was undeniable: the Empire was already moving toward war.
They would never announce it openly. To the Empire, the emperor alone was absolute. Other nations were not equals—they were obstacles or future possessions. A formal declaration of war would imply recognition, and recognition was something the Empire refused to give.
That arrogance, however, was carefully wrapped in hypocrisy.
They maintained diplomatic relations with the Dwarven Kingdom. They did not interfere with Dwargon's internal rule. Which meant one thing—they could acknowledge other nations when it suited their interests.
When the Empire expanded, it did so methodically.
There was no declaration of war. Instead, they issued a single notice: a recommendation to surrender.
Only once.
If the target complied, the Empire absorbed them peacefully. If they refused, the invasion followed immediately—and without mercy.
A nation built on pride and domination. No alliances. No cooperation. No equals.
The Empire never joined international councils, never ratified the Western Nations' laws, and never bound itself to wartime conventions. Prisoner treatment, civilian protection, postwar negotiations—none of those applied to them.
That was why the Western Nations feared the Empire so deeply.
If the Empire won, there would be no reparations. No negotiations. No mercy. Everything—land, people, resources, even rights—would be seized. Total submission, or annihilation.
To negotiate with the Empire, defeat was not an option.
At minimum, the conflict had to end in a draw.
Which meant one thing.
We would not play defensively.
Once the Empire's intent was confirmed, Eterna entered war mode.
I ordered the immediate establishment of a Joint Operation Headquarters inside the Control Room.
It was not symbolic. It was necessary.
Benimaru and Souei would remain on permanent standby there.
Souei had already deployed his Clones across key regions, ensuring that we did not rely solely on my observation magic. Combined with Moss's intelligence network, the accuracy of our information was absolute.
At this point, the advantage was overwhelming.
In this world, warfare usually began only when armies collided. Reconnaissance was crude, delayed, and often inaccurate. True intelligence gathering was rare until the moment before battle.
That weakness did not apply to us.
According to Hinata and Gadra, no nation conducted surveillance warfare as thoroughly as we did. That was not arrogance—it was fact.
"This view… from the sky?" Gadra asked quietly, staring at the projection.
"Yes," I answered. "From beyond it."
Diablo let out a low laugh. "A system constructed through Atem-sama's magic. The cost is negligible. The reaction occurs beyond the atmosphere itself. Only beings with extreme danger perception—those possessing instincts bordering on precognition—could even sense it."
Gadra's eyes widened slightly.
"I have always trusted my ability to sense magic… yet this feels indistinguishable from nature itself."
"That is because it is perfected," Diablo said smoothly. "Even an archdemon with talent but lacking insight would fail to grasp its elegance."
"…Truly remarkable," Gadra said, unable to hide his awe.
Diablo smiled, clearly enjoying himself.
"Shion," I said.
"Understood," she replied instantly.
She escorted both of them out without protest.
Silence returned.
Good.
The surveillance was decisive.
Not long ago, uncertainty ruled. Where would the Empire strike? From which route? With how much force?
Now, none of that mattered.
We were not only monitoring invasion paths—we were watching the entire shared border. The instant the Empire mobilized, we would know.
It was like playing shogi against an opponent who could only see their own pieces.
No matter how skilled they were, the outcome was already decided.
There were no rules in this war.
Victory alone was justice.
Still, I set a single command:
Do not attack civilians.
That was non-negotiable.
We would not strike first. Once I declared the war over, all combat would cease. No exceptions.
I trusted those under my command to obey. If they did not—they would answer to me.
Every executive of Eterna gathered in the Control Room.
Benimaru stood as supreme general.
Hakurou served as strategic advisor.
Souei handled intelligence.
Rigurd attended with the chiefs who supported him—Rugurd, Regurd, and Rogurd.
Shuna and Lilina represented internal affairs.
Rigur, Kaijin, and Kurobee—the backbone of logistics and production—were present.
Vesta and Myourmiles served as consultants.
Gobta and Gabil stood as corps commanders.
Geld had abandoned his duties to attend.
The demonesses led by Testarossa took their places.
Diablo, having regained his composure, stood beside Shion.
Gadra and the trio contributed their knowledge of the Empire.
Masayuki arrived late—as usual.
"Hold on! Why am I being called the moral support of the people?!" he protested loudly.
I ignored him.
Veldora and Ramiris stood at the rear with Beretta, Treyni, and Charys.
Everyone was here.
I rested my hand briefly on Ranga's head and surveyed the room.
My presence alone silenced all conversation.
"It should be obvious why you have been summoned," I said, my voice calm, steady, absolute.
"The Empire has chosen its path. Now, we choose ours."
I looked directly at Benimaru.
"The framework of the strategy is prepared. But war is not won by one mind alone."
My gaze swept the room.
"Speak freely. Disagreement is permitted. Weak resolve is not."
The air tightened.
Every person in the room straightened.
"Yes, my king."
The war council began—not with fear, not with hesitation—
—but with certainty.
Because the board was set.
The screen told the story without mercy.
Endless lines of Imperial soldiers advanced in perfect formation, wave after wave stretching beyond the horizon. Beside them rolled massive blocks of steel—monsters of metal crawling forward on continuous tracks, belching smoke and magicules with every movement.
Tanks.
From the aerial projection alone, the count exceeded two thousand.
For a brief moment, the room fell silent.
"…So they chose steel," I said calmly, my eyes never leaving the screen.
Several officers swallowed hard. For many of them, this was their first time seeing such
weapons.
I turned to Shinji and the others at once. Their answer was immediate and grim: the Empire had fully embraced otherworlder knowledge. Science, engineering, and magical theory fused together without restraint.
These tanks were not powered by gasoline.
They ran on magicule-based internal combustion engines, constantly drawing in air from their surroundings. That airflow served two purposes—cooling the engine and harvesting ambient magicules. Elegant. Efficient. Deadly.
In terms of raw performance, these machines surpassed even the most advanced tanks from my previous world.
Gadra had already explained the foundation of it all.
The Empire had excavated an ancient magic-controlled reactor from ruins, analyzed it, refined it, and modernized it. Magic stones served as emergency fuel during combat, while normal operation relied on environmental absorption.
An all-terrain vehicle capable of traversing any landscape.
Maximum speed exceeding 100 kilometers per hour.
Limited levitation capability at extreme energy cost.
Impressive.
Annoyingly impressive.
I felt no panic—but I did feel irritation.
Not because they had tanks.
But because I hadn't built them first.
The idea of tanks simply had not crossed my mind in a world dominated by knights and magic. We had trains. We were that close. Yet I had deliberately avoided automobiles, knowing full well how resource scarcity would fracture society if personal vehicles became widespread.
Trains were efficient. Logical. Equal.
Cars were symbols of excess. Dangerous, too.
I had planned to introduce them after infrastructure matured—luxury vehicles for the elite, a reward to strive toward.
That future would have to wait.
Because the tanks were not the worst part.
"Your Majesty…" someone muttered.
The screen shifted.
Flying ships.
Not floating platforms. Not magical beasts.
Actual airborne vessels.
For the first time, I narrowed my eyes.
"So they solved that problem as well."
Flying logistics units alone could decide wars. Transport, supply, rapid deployment—used correctly, they erased distance entirely.
I acknowledged it without hesitation.
I had underestimated their pace.
Developing flying ships required endless trial and error. It was not something done overnight. The Empire's research division deserved recognition.
And later—
—I would take one apart.
Whole.
"This is the current situation," I said, my voice steady and absolute.
"Total invading force: approximately one million."
The room stiffened.
"Do not misunderstand," I continued. "Numbers do not decide wars. Information does."
Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom, had already
completed the calculations. A million soldiers—or ten million—did not change the outcome.
"We hold the advantage."
I shifted the display.
"The Empire operates three major corps. The one before you is the Armored Corps—officially designated the Magic Tank Division. This is their spearhead."
I explained everything Gadra had shared.
Their internal command structure. Their doctrine. Their confidence.
The Empire believed secrecy still worked.
It did not.
Their planning session had revealed everything that mattered. Even if minor adjustments had been made since then, the core strategy remained unchanged.
Calgurio—the commander of the Armored Corps—was arrogant. He believed overwhelming force would crush resistance before coordination became possible.
That belief dictated his movements.
You could read intent from deployment.
Gobta spoke up first.
"…Are we really expected to fight those tanks?"
A fair question. A necessary one.
Before I could respond, Benimaru turned sharply.
"That is exactly why the First Army exists," he said. "You will destroy the Armored Corps."
Gobta froze.
"…Oh."
I allowed myself a faint smile.
"No," I said, cutting in. "You will not defend the inn town to the death."
All eyes turned to me.
"Defense favors the attacker when machines are involved. Inexperienced troops become targets. That is unacceptable."
I let the words settle.
"The civilians have already begun evacuating to Eterna. Once complete, the town becomes expendable."
Benimaru continued seamlessly.
"If the Empire advances along the Canaat Mountains—as projected—they will enter Dwargon's sphere next. You will move there."
The map shifted.
Gobta stared.
"…A united front?"
"Correct," Benimaru said. "Eterna and Dwargon together."
Gazel had already been informed. He was tired of denying Imperial 'requests'. This confrontation was inevitable.
The Empire wanted us to see them. A tour de force. A declaration without words.
"Do not be deceived," Benimaru said. "This is a diversion."
The true main force was moving through the Great Jura Forest.
Dense terrain blocked aerial surveillance.
That was where Souei stood.
"Moss has deployed his clones," Souei said calmly. "We are tracking platoon-level movements. The enemy is divided. We will erase them piece by piece."
His smile was thin. Dangerous.
"If their true objective is the Dungeon," Benimaru concluded, "we lure them to its entrance. There, we end this."
Geld would crush what remained.
The plan was simple.
Brutal.
Effective.
Silence followed.
Then—
Confidence.
Not arrogance. Resolve.
No one feared defeat. They feared dishonor.
I stood.
"Testarossa. Ultima. Carrera."
The three demonesses rose instantly.
"You will accompany the corps commanders. Support them. Obey their battlefield authority."
"Yes, my king," Testarossa said smoothly.
"Finally," Ultima laughed, eyes gleaming.
"I shall enjoy this," Carrera purred.
The pairings were made.
Each commander would learn—soon enough—what true monsters looked like.
I gave my final words.
"The Empire believes this war is already decided."
My gaze hardened.
"They are wrong."
The board was set.
And the Pharaoh had already seen every move to the end.