Inside the castle, we were received in full formality.
King Youm and Queen Myuran stood at the front, with their ministers lined behind them like a wall of anxious loyalty. They weren't just welcoming me—they were bracing for what I might say.
Edmalis, the former King of Farmus, was present as well.
He'd lost weight. He'd shaved the beard. And the dull, defeated look I remembered was gone—his eyes were clear now, painfully awake.
It would've been awkward for both of us to speak.
So I gave him what kings give the defeated when the world has moved on:
I let him pass.
This visit wasn't official, but I made my purpose plain the moment the doors closed behind me.
"The coming disaster," I said. "We prepare now—or we mourn later."
It would be ideal to avoid war.
But everyone in that room understood the truth: hoping for peace didn't stop the sword from falling.
Farmenas was a newborn nation. It had no spare wealth. It relied on loans from Eterna—the same reality I'd already laid down with contracts and iron clauses.
Worse, their military still hadn't recovered.
You can't forge knights overnight. You can't buy mercenaries without coin. And I wasn't going to accept blame for every weakness in a world where survival demanded ruthless choices.
If you try to carry everything, justice collapses under the weight.
I don't claim every decision I make is "right."
But publicly, I will speak as the shield.
Because if I don't—then the victims are left with nothing but bitterness.
So even if I feel liability, I don't confess it.
I act.
As an ally, I would support Farmenas as much as possible. Sending Gadra was part of that. Youm and his court understood exactly what it meant:
They couldn't afford to quarrel with me.
Not now.
Not ever.
"Boss," Youm asked, speaking for the whole room, "has the situation improved?"
I answered without softening it.
"The demon lords and I have made arrangements. But I won't lie to you—this is still a gamble. That's why I've been traveling. I'm closing gaps before they become graves."
They'd already been briefed by Gadra, so there was no panic. No confusion.
And without me even asking, Youm indicated the location for the magic transfer circle like a man who'd already accepted the shape of the future.
"You can ask Gadra about fine-tuning and operation," I said.
"Leave it to me," Gadra replied, calm as ever.
Youm stared at the marked point on the floor.
"So this is the escape plan."
"It's transport," I corrected. "Sometimes escape. Sometimes reinforcements. Sometimes a desperate move to keep the war from swallowing your people."
Youm shrugged, almost casual.
"If the boss' country falls, it doesn't matter where we run. I'll just accept it was fate."
His ministers nodded with disturbing sincerity.
I narrowed my eyes.
They feared me more than I expected. And worse—some strange belief had taken root here:
If Atem cannot win, nothing matters.
"Don't be careless," I said, voice dropping colder. "Struggle until the end. Even if the world breaks. Especially then."
"Of course!" Youm said quickly. "My daughter was just born—so I'm not dying! But why hasn't she called me 'papa' yet?!"
The room's tension cracked.
Youm leaned toward Meme, the baby in Myuran's arms, poking gently and whining like a fool.
Myuran's eyes sharpened.
"No," she warned, disgusted, "too much attention will wake her."
That was the real terror in the room.
Youm flinched like he'd been struck.
"Please tell him more," Myuran muttered. "He loses all judgment when it comes to this child."
"I'm careful because there's a shitty wolf saying my daughter is his daughter!" Youm snapped.
I blinked once.
"What?"
A voice barked from the side—too loud, too confident, too stupid.
"What nonsense! I'm the man who'll replace you and marry Myuran one day. Then Myuran's daughter will be my daughter too!"
"…Grucius," Youm growled, veins rising in his neck, "how many times do I have to tell you you're insane?!"
So it wasn't just Youm.
The "shitty wolf" was Grucius.
Both of them were out of their minds in different ways.
I understood why Myuran looked exhausted even when she wasn't fighting.
Still… Meme was adorable. That much was undeniable. And in a world that might end tomorrow, even foolish comfort had value.
But there was a limit.
"Stop saying stupid things," I said, tone like a blade being drawn, "or you'll raise death flags so big the universe itself will notice."
Then, without changing expression, I handed them a written list.
A list of "death flags."
Youm stared.
Myuran stared.
Grucius stared.
The ministers stared.
And the room—somehow—got quieter.
Good.
We held the strategy meeting in Farmus' old capital building—now serving as the center of Farmenas' authority.
Because Gadra had already organized the flow, everything moved smoothly.
I made the expectations clear:
"You are not fighting. Your role is evacuation control."
The magic transfer circle couldn't move masses—only about fifty at a time.
So we had to decide in advance who would use it.
I ordered them to coordinate the list properly and prevent conflict. Panic kills faster than swords.
But the circle's purpose wasn't only evacuation.
In truth, it was more important for troop dispatch.
If Farmenas became a battlefield, their newly established Knights would respond—but they weren't enough. Grucius had been training recruits, including remnants of old Farmus knights, but it still wouldn't be enough.
So we planned reinforcements from other nations.
It would've been simpler to station forces here permanently—yet we didn't know where the enemy would strike.
Mobility mattered more than presence.
After weighing priorities, we made the hard choice:
Farmenas would be postponed.
Not abandoned—postponed.
If the kingdom fell, it could be rebuilt.
If human casualties were minimized, there was no need to force a war here at the cost of everything else.
Telling them this felt like swallowing iron.
But leadership is choosing the least terrible option.
I promised them this:
"If the worst happens, Eterna will support reconstruction. I give you my word."
Youm didn't flinch.
"I know. It's not like you abandoned us."
One of the ministers spoke under his breath
about the circle's capacity.
"That said… fifty people at a time isn't reassuring."
Youm turned toward him like a hammer.
"Normally, we protect our country ourselves. He's already done more than anyone. I don't want more demands."
His words weren't for me.
They were for his ministers.
I could read their unspoken resentment—help us more, don't sacrifice us, send more troops—but we didn't have infinite strength either.
In the end, they swallowed it.
Because they understood.
And because they had no better choice.
Thus, the business concluded—successfully.
After the meeting, Youm guided me around the city.
We toured the construction sites—important facilities being built for survival, not beauty.
Farmenas had once been Farmus' royal capital. Inside the city walls was noble territory. Near the edges, poverty thickened. Free people were pushed out.
Now, land readjustment was reshaping everything.
Streets through the city center had been dug open.
Underground passages were being built.
The plan was a subway running from the station outside the capital.
"That's bold," I said.
"Myuran is the genius," Youm replied. "She used magic to check ground strength and made the plan."
Magic really was a cheat.
Geological surveys—water veins, cavities, brittleness, soil quality—what would take machines and months in my old world could be done by a skilled mage in a day.
And a skilled earth mage could even change the ground.
Soil magic could alter soil, sand, soft rock, hard rock.
Long live magic.
No wonder technology didn't dominate.
It wasn't needed.
The empires obsessed with technology and the vampires treated like freaks were the odd ones.
Yet those "odd ones" produced useful discoveries.
A world that laughs at innovation dies when magic fails.
"I never thought of that," I admitted. "I used to think shield engineering was useless here. But magic makes it possible."
Youm frowned.
"I don't know what shield engineering is, but you're not losing, are you?"
"It's reinforcing excavation so the surface doesn't collapse," I explained. "In my old world it needs heavy machinery. Here, a good mage can do it—or do better."
I remembered mentioning once that underground trains would be nice.
Myuran remembered.
And she made it real.
Razen had also contributed, so together they'd created a construction method unique to this world.
Cost-wise?
It was overwhelmingly advantageous.
Not "better."
Not "worse."
Just… smarter.
Then Youm's voice hardened.
"We're trying to suspend construction and use the underpass as a shelter. We reinforced the ceiling with magic. It can withstand a large magical explosion in the city."
"It depends on the scale," I replied, "but that's a strong bomb shelter. Stock water and food, and you can survive a long time."
"Water is handled by magic," Youm said. "So only food is stored. We carved side chambers for sleeping. And we dug a large pit beneath that room with the door."
The room was…
A toilet.
Dozens of private stalls. About a hundred people could use it at once. Western-style. Drop-down.
"But underground…" I asked, "won't the smell become a problem?"
Youm shrugged.
"Underneath are wood chips and materials that eliminate odor."
A bio-toilet.
I recognized the idea.
Then Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom, answered inside my mind—calm, absolute.
«That is correct. The mechanism functions properly. There will be no significant odor.»
Good.
Five toilets total.
Enough even for a prolonged siege.
And with a shelter like this, we could station barrier specialists here to sustain defenses in a drawn-out conflict.
They'd even built an underground route connecting this shelter to the royal castle basement.
Prepared.
Thorough.
I felt genuine relief.
And something else too—
A spark of excitement.
This world could create miracles, if guided correctly.
"We have city defense barriers," Youm said. "Evacuation drills too. If an enemy appears, we run immediately."
"That's why the ministers didn't make unreasonable demands," I said.
"Yeah," Youm grinned. "And I won't tolerate idiots. If they want to whine, they can resign and leave the castle."
Complaining is cheap.
Solutions are rare.
That's why Youm had grown.
After returning to the surface, we headed to the training grounds.
I was shown the strength of the new Farmenas Knights, trained by Grucius.
500 knights at B-rank and above
3,000 knights at C-rank and below
If they mobilized the entire kingdom, they could gather over 40,000.
But there was no point in pulling everyone in now. Security had priority.
"If angels come in massive numbers," Youm admitted, "we can't stop them on the ground."
"I heard there's anti-air magic," I said, "but not enough mages."
"Rommel decided city defense with legion magic matters more," Youm answered.
"Razen agreed," Grucius added. "So our mission is simple: protect the people from anything that lands."
I nodded.
Good.
They weren't eager to die for pride.
"I was worried you might try something reckless," I said.
Grucius laughed.
"I'm more timid than Phobio-sama. I know my limits. I won't be reckless. But I'm stronger than before—Razen trained me. And recently… my power suddenly increased. I'll become a shield worthy of leading."
He wasn't a coward.
He was a commander.
Calm judgment was the difference between leadership and mass graves.
And yes—his magicules had increased. He was nearing Special A-rank, comparable to the old Beastketeers. Skill on top of that made him valuable.
I already knew why.
"That's Karion," I said. "He awakened. His evolution strengthened those bound to him."
Grucius froze.
"Karion-sama did?!"
"Yes. Don't waste the power it gave you."
Grucius straightened like a man accepting a sacred duty.
"Of course. I understand!"
Then he added quickly, respectful:
"And… I'm grateful. Karion-sama approves of you, so I trust your words."
Good.
He didn't see it as meddling.
"So Grucius is being trained by Razen?" I asked.
I remembered Razen as the one who made ramen.
Yet now I was hearing he trained warriors.
How?
"How can Razen match Grucius?" I asked bluntly.
Grucius explained.
Razen was a jack-of-all-trades. His magic knowledge rivaled Myuran's.
Youm snapped instantly.
"Don't address my wife that way!"
Grucius fired back without shame.
"Shut up, she's eventually gonna be my—"
Youm exploded.
"Don't fuck with me, you bastard!"
I cut through it like a judge.
"Enough. Move on."
Grucius continued, rubbing his neck.
When Razen took Shogo's body, he inherited power along with it. Not Shogo's skill mastery—but the raw potential.
And Razen himself had trained enough to become a first-rate fencer and a wizard.
He taught Grucius striking and kicking—not relying only on natural strength.
"I didn't understand at first," Grucius admitted, "when he told me not to fight only with physical power."
Youm nodded.
"Sare has more strength than Razen, but loses in arm wrestling. In a real fight, Sare can't touch him. I've respected Razen since he made a name as the majin in the Western Nations."
Then Grucius stopped mid-sentence and looked at me.
He shook his head slightly.
Youm patted his shoulder.
"I understand," Youm said quietly.
Only then did I realize what they meant.
"There's always someone better, boss," Youm said.
Grucius nodded hard.
"That Razen… got treated like a child in front of Gadra-dono. I was stunned."
So that was it.
Razen—feared by nations—was outclassed by Gadra.
And Gadra, in the hierarchy of Eterna's monsters and demons…
Wasn't even among the highest.
It wasn't insulting.
It was reality.
I wondered, briefly, what Gadra was doing right now.
"So I don't see Razen or Gadra," I said. "Where are they?"
Youm answered with a wry smile.
"Training."
"…Training?"
"They joined the meeting to pick you up and discuss policy," Youm said. "But besides that—they've been fighting nonstop."
"Seriously?"
"For real," Grucius confirmed.
So Gadra wasn't only a scholar.
He was a man sharpening himself on steel and pain.
I felt a flicker of concern.
Was Diablo's influence warping him?
Then I dismissed it.
Gadra chose his own path.
And if that path made him stronger, then Farmenas benefited.
"If you want," Youm said, "I'll take you to them."
I nodded once.
"Do it."
And so, with Youm guiding the way, I moved to visit Gadra and Razen—ready to see what kind of "training" could turn a nation's fear into a footnote.