Jace Brackenbury, Protector of the Garlist Kingdom, puffs out a small cloud of white smoke in his office.

　With a cigarette in his mouth, his wise eyes are focused on the map in front of him. His breathing becomes shallow, and without moving a single fingertip, his gaze crawls busily over the map.

　This is his habit when he is thinking. He hates to be distracted by other trivial things when he is thinking about something. It is the same with sounds from the outside and the sounds he makes.

　Brackenbury prefers to let things wriggle around in his brain while surrounded by tranquility. Knowing this, his men seldom enter his office. No one knocks on the door except for essential reports.

　Brackenbury squinted, holding his breath for a few moments. All he could think about was the hexenbiest pack to the northwest.

　No, the term "hexenbiest" is no longer appropriate. It's just one name that distorts the thoughts of those who hear it.

　It's a disaster unto itself. It deserves to be called a hexenbiest disaster.

　Brackenbury stroked the map loosely and ran his fingers over it.

　Seven days have already passed since Suzif, the northernmost fortress of the Garlist Kingdom and the shield that protected the nation from hexenbiests, fell before the hexenbiest disaster.

　Even so, the Garlist Kingdom has yet to take any effective measures against the disaster. In the meantime, the disaster is gaining more and more momentum.

　It's as if it's expanding its power by moving and swallowing people. The damage was so great that it was ridiculous to count it.

　Of course, this would not be the case if it were a normal demon or a monster. It's all because of that unimaginable monster.

　--The Fortress Beast Zebraelis. A living disaster named by the cathedral.

　A living disaster named by the cathedral. A heaven-piercing behemoth that swallows its surroundings with mere steps.

　It eats, it wastes, and it eats again. It's the only disaster it knows. Its only saving grace is that it is not very fast, perhaps because of its huge size.

　But even that only prolonged its life a little. Even now, there are still countless exiles fleeing to the capital, displaced and deprived of food. Just dealing with them is enough to slow down political affairs.

　This is my fault, Brackenbury thought to himself, biting his chest hard.

　I recognized the danger of the hexenbiest disaster in no small measure and insisted that we should challenge it with all our forces.

　But if that was not possible, then I should have taken the next step. We should not have thought that we could tackle the situation with less than half of our men.

　I underestimated them. I thought I could handle it as I had in the past, when I had survived hardships in the South and the East.

　How arrogant. How irreverent. An incompetence that makes me want to spit in my own eye.

　Because of that incompetence, he killed a lot of soldiers and left his best men for dead. In his mind's eye, Brackenbury saw the face of the man who had defended Suzif until his last breath.

　He was a man of rare gentleness in the national army. He was a man who did not show himself to the point of being obsequious. Because of his reticence, I have never seen him even arguing with others.

　He was a quiet man by nature, and it was probably not surprising that he had such a temperament, given that he had originally wanted to be a civil servant.

　Brackenbury had a certain appreciation for him. He was a man who could make accurate judgments without being carried away by the heat of the moment.

　A man who could do what needed to be done without being consumed by the ambition that crawled in his chest, without being blown away by cowardice. Someone who can do what needs to be done. He was not aggressive, but he had the qualities to be a good general.

　That's why they sent him to Tinykh. That's why he's dead. He ignored the order to evacuate, and as if it was necessary, he died with the fort as his tombstone. The people around him paid for his death with their lives.

　Brackenbury held a piece of parchment in his hand. His second-in-command had given it to him as the last thing the man had written down.

　--It describes the scale and characteristics of the catastrophe, and urges Brackenbury to join forces with other nations to deal with it as best he can. Although it was his last letter, it did not have the pathos of a suicide note, nor did it contain a trace of emotion.

　He fulfilled his duty as a soldier to the end.

　He did not die in vain. No one can say that he died in vain. Jace Brackenbury's thoughts were calm, but there was a fever in his chest.

　Brackenbury was convinced. The Fortress Beast Zebraeliris was not a being that even the Garleist Kingdom could face with all its might.

　If they continued to be vain and greedy, Garleist would eventually collapse from the edges. And the country will fall.

　Then we have no time to choose our means.

　--Kong, Kong.

　Perhaps it's because I know my superiors' habits. There was a knock on the door, a very subdued, almost deafening knock.

　Brackenbury extinguished his cigarette and motioned for entry. A slight smell of leaves poked at his nostrils. One of the clerks showed his face in a reserved manner.

"Protector Brackenbury. A messenger from the cathedral is here to see you.

　Without looking up from the map, Brackenbury spoke back.

"Tell him I'm ill. I don't have a grain of sand to deal with a priest right now. Besides, I know what you want.



　It must be about your messenger to the old religion - no, the heraldry. They hate the heraldry like scorpions. It's kind of crazy.

　But that's none of Brackenbury's business. And what can they be blamed for?

　It is true that the Garlist Kingdom and the heraldry are in fact enemies. They're not exactly on friendly terms. But that's a matter of substance, not of form.

　Formally, it is the Great Patriarchate that is spearheading the Monstrance. Only formally, the Garlist Kingdom has nothing to do with their conflict. Even the soldiers who engaged fangs with the heraldry in the Sarnio Plains are formally the soldiers of the Greater Holy Church.

　Of course, Brackenbury understands that this is just a silly sophistry. But still, it is not wrong. I have no reason to be attacked by anyone.

　Then there's nothing wrong with sending a messenger or two. Besides... It's not like we're sending a friendly messenger.

　I was just protesting the attack on Jail Bella and ordering my men to have a little chat about Hexenbiests. That's a natural thing to do as the head of a national army.

　He has done similar things to the southern nation of Illyssarde and to the Borvat dynasty in the east.

　I don't know how much sense they make. But we can't do nothing. We must do what we can and use everything we can.

What about the cathedral? Are they still reluctant?

　The clerk's lips tightened for a moment, then he raised his voice a notch and said there was no movement. At best, he said, they are sending priests to various places as emissaries.

　The first corner of the eye is blurred.

　This is the first time I've ever seen this in my life. This is the first time I've ever seen this happen.

　Pagans and disasters are supposed to be an abomination to them. In fact, when the heraldic cult felled the walled city of Garou Amalia, they were the ones who moved faster than any other nation or local city.

　Perhaps they are still reeling from the fact that the saint was attacked by the heraldry. Once caught in a trap, a cowardly beast would hesitate to even take the usual bait.

　Brackenbury raised his eyes from the map and his lips rippled.

"Let me know as soon as you have a response from each nation and each power. I will make an accurate report of the situation to you.

　As he tells the clerk, Brackenbury puts on his formal attire. And that's when he began to formulate the words he would say to the king.

　--Kong, Kong.

　The second visitor of the day knocks at the door.

　She said her name was.

　--Olivia Belch.