Armored Corps Commander Calgurio's most trusted confidant, Lieutenant General Gaster, was a man in his mid-thirties with a body built like a battering ram. Thick muscles, broad shoulders, and the confidence of someone who had never truly been cornered.
For this expedition, he had been entrusted with direct command of the Magic Tank Division—the pride of the Empire.
Lying comfortably atop a state-of-the-art command vehicle positioned safely in the rear, Gaster breathed in the battlefield air as if it were a luxury. The great forest before him remained unchanged. Silent. Vast. Open.
A familiar sight.
And one he fully intended to shatter.
I will be the man who topples the thousand-year undefeated Dwarven Kingdom, he thought, a grin spreading across his face. The Armed Nation of Dwargon. Champion King Gazel.
The image played vividly in his mind—thunderous applause, his name etched into history, sung by future generations.
The man who defeated Champion King Gazel.
That title would be his.
It wasn't arrogance, he told himself. It was inevitability.
After all, he commanded two thousand magic tanks.
The formation was immaculate: a perfect 100-by-20 array, stretching across the grassy plains at the mountain's base. Each tank was a massive construct—ten meters long, thirty-five meters wide—floating slightly above the ground through advanced magic propulsion.
Deploying such a force required enormous space, and Gaster had chosen this position carefully based on prior reconnaissance.
What he didn't know—
—was that Eterna had predicted this exact placement down to the meter.
Still, Gaster was no fool. He was an elite soldier in his own right, confident he could stand toe-to-toe with an Imperial Knight.
The only reason I'm not one already, he thought bitterly, is because I never get Rank Battles. As long as I command this division, I'm locked in endless campaigns.
Lieutenant General was already a lofty rank, equivalent to high nobility. Only a handful in the Empire stood above him.
But it wasn't enough.
Gaster didn't crave wealth.
He craved prestige.
That was why he had volunteered for this decisive engagement instead of being assigned to the labyrinth assault. Crushing Dwargon head-on would cement his legend.
And he had the means to do it.
Gaster possessed a Unique Skill — Musician.
Through sound alone, he could analyze the battlefield: vibrations, movement, tension. He could issue commands through specialized sound waves, coordinating troops even amid chaos.
And that wasn't all.
Hidden within Musician was a lethal weapon—sonic annihilation. Sound waves capable of destroying cells directly, turning living bodies into ruptured husks.
He was, without question, one of the Empire's strongest assets.
Hmph. The Imperial Guards are only strong because His Majesty gifts them legendary gear, he scoffed inwardly. Give me the same, and I'd be a Single Digit already.
Even as he indulged in ambition, Gaster remained alert.
Then—
Something changed.
The forest went silent.
No birds. No insects. No wind.
Gaster's expression hardened.
"…So it begins."
He rose and barked an order through sound itself.
"Halt encampment preparations! All units to combat readiness!"
His attention snapped to the forest on the left.
The ambient noise had vanished completely.
Then—
Footsteps.
Light. Numerous. Fast.
Roughly a hundred, he calculated instantly.
A surprise attack?
He nearly laughed.
Of all things, they picked the worst possible opponent.
Based on intelligence, the demon lord's forces were concentrated at the inn town. This confirmed Calgurio's strategy was working—the enemy had failed to detect the Empire's main force.
How will they react, Gaster mused, when seven hundred thousand soldiers bare their fangs at Eterna's throat?
The sound crossed ten kilometers.
Within range.
The magic guns had a maximum reach of thirty kilometers, but effective accuracy was around three. That hardly mattered.
Special shells will do nicely.
Only two prototype shells existed—experimental, unstable, devastating. Their blast radius spanned dozens of meters, their heat capable of warping terrain into molten glass.
Gaster smiled.
"Left wing battalion. Counterclockwise rotation. Prepare interception."
Five hundred tanks responded instantly, floating and turning as one.
Perfect discipline.
Then—
From the forest emerged a single figure.
A massive wolf-like monster, five meters long, with two horns rising from its forehead.
A living juggernaut.
"…Ranga," Gaster muttered. "The Demon Lord's beast."
An A-plus-rank threat.
Powerful.
But—
"Just one?" Gaster scoffed. "So that's it."
Negotiation.
Intimidation.
A bluff.
"They've abandoned surprise just to protect their dignity," Gaster laughed loudly. "How noble. How stupid."
The officers laughed with him. The tension eased.
Ranga approached calmly and stopped ten meters away.
Then—
A woman stepped down from his back.
Graceful. Silent. Perfect.
The moment Gaster saw her, ice ran down his spine.
What… is this sound?
Her heart beat—but wrong. Too fast. Too precise. Her blood flowed faster than any human body could endure.
This wasn't human.
This wasn't even normal.
Long, pure white hair flowed behind her. Her beauty was unreal—yet she wore a sharp, imposing military uniform.
Danger incarnate.
She wasn't in the reports.
She's more dangerous than Ranga.
Gaster forced composure.
"Are you the messenger of Demon Lord Atem?" he asked coldly. "You're quick. Speak."
The woman smiled.
"My name is Testarossa," she said smoothly. "I am retainer to the great Atem-sama, King of Games and ruler of Eterna."
Her smile deepened.
"My lord's message is simple."
Her crimson eyes burned.
"Leave now, and you will live.
Step further, and you will die."
Gaster swallowed.
Before he could respond, she casually waved her hand.
A wall of flame erupted one meter before the first row of tanks.
It vanished instantly.
The ground was left glassed, a perfect scorched line carved into the earth.
"This is the boundary," Testarossa said softly.
"Cross it, and you forfeit your lives. Good day."
She turned away.
Negotiations were over.
Humiliation drowned fear.
How dare you.
Gaster snapped.
Courtesy meant nothing to the Empire.
"If they won't submit—then they'll be crushed."
Through Musician, his order spread silently.
Shoot the woman. Begin firing.
A sniper acted instantly.
The spell gun fired.
A bullet carrying Fireball, moving at triple the speed of sound.
A guaranteed kill.
The bullet crossed the scorched line—
—and stopped.
Between two fingers.
Testarossa turned, smiling beautifully.
She flicked the bullet away.
"…I see," she said pleasantly.
"That is your answer."
She stepped back onto Ranga.
"Very well. Let us fight."
She left.
Gaster's pride screamed louder than his fear.
"COMMENCE FIRING!"
The left wing advanced.
The tanks crossed the line.
And in that instant—
The Empire sealed its fate.
Far away, unseen, Atem watched through Anubis, Watcher of Fate, his gaze cold and absolute.
The first move had been made.
And the game had begun.
It was almost disappointing how easily it started.
The Imperial Army crossed the warning line Testarossa had drawn without the slightest hesitation. That single step marked the moment Eterna and the Eastern Empire entered open war.
"So," I said calmly, "it has begun."
"Yeah. Everything's moving now," Veldora replied.
Ramiris and Veldora lounged in slightly elevated chairs, speaking with careless confidence. Their relaxed posture irritated me. This was not a match played for amusement. This was a war where lives would be erased with every wrong move.
"That's enough," I said, my voice firm. "Evacuate the city immediately."
Ramiris snapped to attention, grinning.
"Roger! Leave it to Ramiris-san!"
Without sound, without light, the capital of Eterna vanished—shifted cleanly into the depths of the labyrinth. We had delayed the isolation until the final second, pretending ignorance before the enemy. That pretense was now over. The instant the Empire ignored our warning, restraint ceased to exist.
As soon as the transfer finished, Ramiris tilted her head as if remembering something trivial.
"Oh, right. Treyni-chan left a message."
"…What message?"
"She said she felt a suspicious presence and went to meet them herself."
"…Meet who?"
"Dunno!"
I exhaled slowly. Of course. Ramiris was the worst possible person to ask for details. She wasn't even my subordinate, and I had no right to complain—but Treyni had a habit of acting on instinct.
"Souei," I said, turning slightly. "What about the intruders?"
"No issue," he replied at once. "As agreed, our focus remains on the large gate aboveground."
Still, I didn't like uncertainty.
Without a word, I activated Eternal Dominion, an authority nested within my Absolute Ultimate Skill—Osirion.
The effect was silent. Invisible. Absolute.
The entire labyrinth fell under my awareness.
Every movement. Every breath. Every shift of intent—nothing, no matter how small, could escape my perception now.
Good.
A sense of certainty settled in my chest. Any infiltrators would be dealt with. Souei and the Dark Shadow were already in motion.
Now—review the battlefield.
Floors 91 through 95 had been exchanged with 96 through 100. The surface city now rested on a temporary 101st floor. To reach it, an invader would have to defeat Veldora.
And if that happened, the world would assume our defeat was inevitable.
They still believed Veldora was our greatest power.
I allowed that misconception to remain.
In war, surprise is a weapon more lethal than any blade.
The final defensive line was Floor 95. Floors 91 to 94 were dragon domains. At the end of that path waited Veldora—patient, destructive, absolute. Behind him stood the Control Room, where we now watched the war unfold.
If Veldora were to fall, the plan was to stall for time, return the city to the surface, and evacuate civilians under Geld's protection.
A reckless plan.
One I never intended to let become reality.
I let them believe it was necessary.
Because with me here, this war was already decided.
The labyrinth was sealed. Resurrection Bracelets—halted. Inns, restrooms, water supplies—closed. Every fifth floor was dry. Any invading army would be forced to sustain itself.
Even augmented soldiers could not ignore logistics forever.
I had run countless simulations. Western Nation knights had zero chance. Even the Empire would bleed trying to force the labyrinth.
Still, caution was law.
Everything was ready.
Neighboring nations had already been informed of the Empire's movement. They were likely praying for our victory. The Western Reserve Force stood by for worst-case scenarios.
I returned my focus to the battlefield.
Testarossa regrouped with Gobta and withdrew atop Ranga. The Imperial tanks repositioned, barrels shifting, pursuit clear.
"Is this really going to be alright?" I asked quietly.
"It'll be dangerous if they land a direct hit," Benimaru replied, unshaken. "But there's no need to worry."
Using Generalissimo, Benimaru issued orders. Eterna moved as one.
The Green Numbers slipped into the forest, advancing with precision, using terrain and shadow. They would strike only if victory was certain.
Above them, Gabil led one hundred Hiryuu and three hundred Wyvern Riders into the sky, preparing an aerial assault against the slow tanks.
And closest to the enemy—
Gobta's Goblin Riders.
Unknown range. Unknown firepower. One mistake meant annihilation.
Then—
«Report,» Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom, spoke.
«Based on barrel orientation and firing angles, enemy targeting is precise. They have identified the exact position of the Goblin Riders.»
"…What?"
That was unacceptable.
"Benimaru," I said sharply, "they're tracking
Gobta's unit!"
"I anticipated that," Benimaru replied calmly. "That's why they're the vanguard."
I clenched my jaw and forced myself to trust him.
Five hundred tanks rotated. Twenty in the front aligned their main guns.
Their barrels were short—shorter than tanks from my previous world.
Dense terrain. Faster maneuvering. Tighter formations.
Then they fired.
Twenty-one shells screamed through the air.
One of them felt wrong.
‹Gobta. Shadow Hide.›
"Everyone—Shadow Hide!"
The order was instant.
The Goblin Riders vanished into shadow.
Then—
The world exploded.
Twenty impacts tore the earth apart, reshaping the terrain. The final shell detonated differently—fire, wind, and pressure ripping through the forest.
«Analysis complete,» Solarys reported.
«120mm caliber. Shell mass approximately 21 kilograms. Velocity under six times the speed of sound. Magical amplification present.»
Summarize, I ordered internally.
«A direct hit would destroy Dwargon's main gate. An A-rank dragon cannot endure it. Anyone within five meters would suffer critical damage. C-rank and below would not survive.»
My grip tightened.
That weapon crossed a dangerous line.
But—
‹Status report.›
‹We're alive!› Gobta answered far too cheerfully.
‹The shockwave even hit inside shadow space! That hurt!›
‹Any injuries?›
‹None! Thanks to Benimaru-san!›
I exhaled once.
Alive.
That was enough.
The Empire had played its opening move.
I straightened, eyes cold, presence heavy with authority.
"…Alright," I said quietly.
"Now we show them what it means to challenge the King of Games."
The next card would not be theirs to draw.