In the town of Roshe—an outpost settlement of the Kingdom of Flambagne, currently part of the Allied Forces invading the former Demonkin Territories—a strange event began to unfold.
It started quietly, like any other morning. But suddenly, over two hundred fully armed demonkin soldiers appeared out of nowhere.
The town’s garrison, positioned far from the front lines, was made up of fewer than thirty soldiers—barely enough to fend off bandits. In this world, it takes at least three human soldiers to defeat a single demonkin warrior. With humans numbering less than a fifth of the enemy, the battle was hopeless from the start.
To make matters worse, there weren’t even any skilled mages present to close the gap in power.
As expected, the defenders were wiped out in no time.
All that remained were 2,000 unarmed settlers.
Normally, this would be the start of the brutal ritual carried out by victors in this world—an unspoken rule of war. When demonkin are captured by humans, they’re slaughtered indiscriminately, women and children included, under the pretense that they are "cursed beings who must not exist."
Naturally, humans captured by demonkin—deemed "vile creatures"—faced a similar fate, unless deemed suitable for slavery.
But this day was different.
“All civilians have been gathered in the square. What shall we do now, Lord Gwaranie?”
From the office once used by the town’s overseer—sent by the royal capital—Gwaranie gazed down upon the crowd. His aide, Baia, asked the question.
Without changing his expression, Gwaranie responded:
“Proceed as planned.”
“Understood. Bring Ubiratan and Barotina here.”
Once his demonkin subordinates—whose appearance alone marked them clearly as nonhuman—were summoned and briefed, Gwaranie turned to Baia and spoke again.
“We’ve finally made it this far, haven’t we, Baia?”
“Yes, Lord Gwaranie. Or should I ask—which ‘finally’ are you referring to?”
Baia smiled thinly as he posed the question, already understanding the deeper implication.
“You mean the fact that those two, despite being of a superior species, now obey my commands so willingly?”
Baia nodded at Gwaranie’s pointed remark.
“Your plan was flawless, Lord Gwaranie. But even a perfect strategy amounts to a 'castle built on sand' if not executed faithfully. Whether they would follow orders—that was the true test.”
“Indeed.”
Gwaranie nodded gravely.
“Especially for those whose families or friends were massacred by humans—it takes great discipline to suppress the urge for immediate revenge. So, did anything happen?”
“A few incidents, yes. But Commander Coritiba, who was in charge of security, dealt with the perpetrators on the spot—in front of the victims.”
“Well done. Still, every loss hurts when our numbers are so limited. Make sure discipline is enforced again. Once Ubiratan and the others finish their task, we move out. Are preparations complete?”
“Of course. We have two more towns to seize before the day’s end. Roshe is a minor settlement—nothing more than a stepping stone.”
“Good... And to think deceiving people and committing such wicked acts could be this enjoyable.”
Gwaranie laughed.
Baia followed suit.
Soon after, just as promised, the demonkin forces vanished—abandoning the very town they had seized.
On the highest tower in Roshe, they left behind a foreign flag, one not belonging to them.
A short while earlier—
“We are demonkin who have surrendered to the Kingdom of Aritana. By order of our new master, King Aritana, we have occupied this town. Normally, we would slaughter all humans, but since we now serve the humans, we’ll show mercy—for now. Leave this place before we change our minds. We’ll even let you take food and basic weapons for protection.”
Those words were spoken by Ubiratan and Barotina, commanders of the elite unit that easily wiped out the garrison. In fluent Aritanan and broken Flambagnian, they referred to themselves as “demonkin”—a word they normally abhorred.
The settlers were split into two groups. One was sent toward a Flambagnian stronghold, the other toward a closer Aritanan fort.
Both group leaders were given letters.
No one dared defy the demonkin’s instructions. The settlers evacuated obediently, pushed along by threats: any attempt to flee would result in everyone being executed. The next day, those headed for the Aritanan fort arrived safely. The group bound for the Flambagnian fort arrived the day after—without incident.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
No.
That was when the real plan began.
For when the commanders of the two forts read the letters given to the group leaders, they immediately mobilized their forces—and for three days, fierce battles raged over the land of Roshe.
“The Kingdom of Aritana hereby claims Roshe. If you disagree, our regular army—not lowly demonkin conscripts—will be happy to engage you. Raise the Flambagnian flag and march your troops here within two days if you wish to oppose us. If there is no response, we will take your silence as recognition of our occupation. We’ve already sent you half of the settlers as proof. The rest have been taken to Aritana proper for use as slaves.”
“We act under a secret royal decree. Flambagne is attempting to unlawfully occupy part of our territory. We’ve seized Roshe as a forward base, but expect retaliation—send reinforcements immediately. Officially, we are not acknowledged as subjects of the King. We’ll disappear soon, but have raised the Aritanan flag atop the tower as proof of occupation. P.S. We’ve killed half the settlers. The rest have been sent to you as prisoners—use them as you wish. One final note: Our allegiance to the king is a classified matter. Until an official declaration is made, any leaks will result in severe punishment. Do not forget this.”
Ten days later.
“To think such a crude trick could spark infighting—what a pitiful excuse for an alliance.”
“Truly. Unlike our unified kingdom, they’re just a coalition of convenience. I expected our letter to sow some mistrust, but not to this extent. Still, I’m grateful. Their squabbling has slowed the invasion considerably.”
Having returned to a manor outside the royal capital, Gwaranie—tired but unscathed—and the man who co-authored those infamous letters smiled in satisfaction. They had just finished watching allied nations erupt in small-scale skirmishes.
Holding back laughter, the man added:
“By the way, Ubiratan and Barotina are already asking when they’ll be sent out again. How should I respond?”
The man snorted in disbelief and chuckled.
“…They’ve been working nonstop for four days and they still want more? Truly diligent.”
“Well, after our string of losses since the Hero appeared, this was a refreshing triumph. Morale is sky-high. As commanders, it’s only natural they want to ride that momentum…”
His voice trailed off.
And what went unspoken… was what he truly believed.
It was also what his superior believed.
“Tell them we’re taking a break to rest and prepare for the next mission.”
“That’s best. No point telling them that soon, others will try to copy what we did.”
“Exactly. Ubiratan and the others are diligent, but if only we keep succeeding, the generals will start to resent us. Sometimes, it’s better to share the glory. Besides…”
“This scheme was just a form of fraud. Once the trick is known, it’s easy to counter. Which means in future, such dramatic victories are unlikely. For a unit like ours—with few troops—it’s not worth the risk.”
“As pioneers and perfect victors, our names are already etched in history. If the generals fail in battles we don’t take part in, our value will only increase. Plus… we get to rest. It’s a win all around.”
Gwaranie grinned.
The other man returned the same kind of smile.
Comments
Post a Comment