[First Day of Destruction, 06:20AM]
[Forward Command Post, Northern Elven Kingdom Border]
The deep recesses of the forest remained swallowed by the gloom of midnight, yet the clearings carved out by the Theocracy's expeditionary force were already being caressed by the pale, cold fingers of the morning sun.
The air buzzed with the low hum of thousands of men waking, equipping armor, and moving supplies. Yet, amidst this cacophony of human activity, not a single bird dared to sing.
"Ugh! Sleep deprivation is the natural enemy of a maiden's skin!"
Iris Rae Valen stumbled out of the tactical command tent, her voice a theatrical whine.
Despite her complaints, the dark circles under her eyes did nothing to diminish her allure. If anything, her slightly disheveled uniform and the weary slump of her shoulders added a layer of defenseless charm to her stunning figure.
The young guard stationed near the entrance stiffened, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson under his helmet.
Iris caught his reaction and offered a tired, wavering smile. "Haha... It must be tough standing guard all night. My legs are killing me."
"N-No, ma'am! We have shifts, so we are rested! It is Commander Valeria, the staff officers, and aides like yourself who are truly bearing the burden!"
The Theocracy's offensive against the Elven Kingdom was a massive undertaking. Under Commander Valeria were six combat staff officers, and each of those officers commanded a retinue of assistants. Iris was one such assistant.
However, that was merely the skin she wore. Beneath it lay her true identity—a high-ranking intelligence agent infiltrated by the Argland Council State.
"Haha, you really have a way with words, don't you?"
Iris playfully tapped the guard's pauldron. Then, clutching her stomach with a grimace, she muttered, "Toilet... toilet..." and shuffled away, leaving the young man staring after her, his face burning hotter than a fireball spell.
As soon as she turned the corner, out of the guard's line of sight, the playful exhaustion vanished from her eyes.
Her gaze sharpened into points of cold steel. Her posture straightened. Her mind, previously feigning the dullness of fatigue, began to race with icy precision.
(This isn't just 'bad'. This is a catastrophe of unprecedented proportions.)
The official briefing given to the officers was vague: "An individual of strategic importance went missing during yesterday's operations."
However, Iris had pieced together the fragmented reports. Combining the frantic movements of the Black Scripture with the intelligence bestowed upon her by the Platinum Dragon Lord, the identity of the missing person was all too obvious.
It was the Extra Seat. The God-kin. "Zesshi Zetsumei."
The command center had been a hive of silent panic throughout the night.
First, the documentation. Countless tactical maps and troop rosters were incinerated, replaced by forged documents containing misleading troop deployments and supply routes.
(This behavior... it's the protocol for 'Total Annihilation'. Do they genuinely believe the front line is on the verge of collapse? Give me a break... I still need to exfiltrate back to the Council State. If I die here, the Councillors will be annoyed. Tsk.)
Then came the reorganization. The strongest veterans from every unit were stripped from their squads and reassembled into small, elite reconnaissance teams. Their orders were ostensibly to scout for "monstrous threats" in the periphery.
It was unnaturally desperate.
(They are secretly searching for the Extra Seat. But sending soldiers into these woods is like throwing pebbles into the ocean. Unless... are they bait? Knowing Commander Valeria's personality, perhaps he intends to use this very command post as the bait, hoping the distraction will allow the higher-ups to escape?)
Iris reached the designated latrines—a row of thatched structures reserved for officers. She slipped into one and locked the flimsy wooden door.
In the solitude, her face was devoid of emotion. She reached into a hidden pocket of her uniform and retrieved a small, unassuming vial.
To an untrained eye, it resembled a minor stamina recovery potion. In reality, it was a tool of espionage worth more than its weight in gold.
"False Charm."
It was a quintessential tool for the Council State's elite spies. Upon consumption, it provided a dual-layered defense. First, it granted resistance against mind-affecting magic such as Charm Person
. Second, and more insidiously, it fed false feedback to the caster, deluding them into believing their spell had taken hold.
It allowed a spy to lie to an interrogator while the interrogator believed they were hearing the absolute truth.
Gulp.
Iris downed the liquid in one motion. It tasted like bitter herbs mixed with ash.
(The duration is roughly one week. The agents infiltrating Sorcerer Kingdom are equipped with this as well. I wonder if they are faring better than I am?)
The potion was potent. It could resist even the 4th-tier confusion magic used by the Scriptures.
This was not a product of the Theocracy, nor was it something the Holy Kingdom knew existed. It was a "Secret Elixir" developed by the magic research institute under the direct supervision of the Blue Sky Dragon Lord. The lead researcher was a being known only as the "Heavenly Demon."
Iris only knew rumors about the "Grand Thaumaturge"—that he was not human, and that his magical prowess rivaled, or perhaps exceeded, that of the Empire's Tri-Arts Magic Caster, Fluda Paradyne.
Because the manufacturing cost was astronomical, resupply was impossible in the field. Timing was everything.
(With 'Certain Death' missing, the Theocracy is terrified. They will inevitably deploy the Windflower Scripture and the Clearwater Scripture to purge the ranks. They'll be hunting for spies to blame for this failure.)
The Clearwater Scripture specialized in information gathering and divination. The Windflower Scripture handled assassination, espionage, and internal cleanup.
Crucially, both units employed casters skilled in Charm and Dominate magic. In emergencies, they would line up officers, force them to swear oaths to the Gods, and cast mind-control spells to ensure loyalty.
The loss of the God-kin was an emergency within an emergency.
(How could someone like her simply vanish? Is the Elf King truly that powerful? Or has the Sorcerer Kingdom finally made its move...? Regardless, I need to report this to the Platinum Dragon Lord.)
Her hand drifted to the pendant resting between her breasts, hidden beneath her tunic.
It masqueraded as a keepsake from her mother, a simple silver trinket. In truth, it was a connection to the ancient, wild powers of the world. It was a gift from the Platinum Dragon Lord himself.
It defied [Detect Magic] and [Appraise Item]
. It was undetectable by YGGDRASIL standards because it operated outside the tier system. However, its function was limited: it was a communication device that could only be activated once every ten hours.
That cooldown was the problem.
In this volatile situation, information changed by the second. If she reported now, she might miss a crucial development an hour later. If she waited, she might be dead before she could make the call.
(Decisions, decisions...)
Just as Iris sighed, preparing to finish her business in the latrine, a wave of noise washed over the camp.
It wasn't the rhythmic shouting of drills. It was the chaotic, ragged noise of confusion.
(Are the Elves counter-attacking? No, they don't have the numbers for a frontal assault on the main camp. Suicide bombers?)
Iris frowned. In her eyes, this war between the Theocracy and the Elves was a farce. Two inferior races squabbling over dirt. Humans were weak, foolish creatures. They only achieved greatness when led by an absolute being, like the Platinum Dragon Lord.
While humans were a minority in the Argland Council State, Iris believed her countrymen were infinitely superior to the fanatical sheep of the Theocracy.
She strained her ears, filtering the chaos outside for information.
"... Undead...!"
"... Where did they come from...?"
"... Grand Marshal... wait, look at that...!"
"... That flag...!"
Iris froze.
Undead?
Undead were common enough. Necromancers created them; they spawned naturally in places of great death. But for a professional army to be thrown into such disarray by mere undead was absurd. Specialized cleric squads should have already turned them.
Unless it wasn't a normal Undead.
Her instincts, honed by years of living in the shadow of death as a spy, began to scream. Her heart hammered against her ribs, not in the fluttery way of a maiden in love, but with the violent thud of a trapped animal.
A staff officer's voice, shrill with terror, cut through the morning air just outside the latrine.
"Commander! That flag... could that be the Sorcerer King—?!"
"—Huh?"
The facade of the airhead assistant shattered completely.
Iris didn't bother adjusting her uniform. She kicked the door open and sprinted out of the latrine, her eyes wide, searching the horizon for the nightmare that had come to reality.