—“Those who follow after me will fail.”
Such was Gwaranie’s prediction. And sure enough, it proved true.
Shocked by the scale of Gwaranie’s military success, the other generals, eager to replicate his achievements, hastily assembled their own units and sent them into the towns of the former Demonkin Territories.
But their results were far from what they’d hoped for.
Yes—though Gwaranie’s strategy appeared simple on the surface, in truth it required meticulous planning and delicate execution.
It began with selecting the right target based on strategic value and the number of enemy troops stationed there. Then came the timing, and the planting of false evidence to incite distrust between allied factions.
But the most critical point: to withdraw from the occupied territory before reinforcements could arrive, thereby preventing their limited forces from being overwhelmed.
Gwaranie’s success came from executing every part of this plan perfectly. The others, having only imitated the outer shell of his strategy, could never hope to replicate his results. It was no surprise their campaigns ended in failure.
Failure upon failure. Heavy casualties for minimal gains.
Though it was inevitable, for the generals involved, the sting was no less severe.
Gwaranie, however, treated the daily reports of these setbacks as personal entertainment, sharing them with Baia, his close aide.
On that day, as well—
“Matou and Jajou failed as well.”
Gwaranie spoke gleefully, recounting the downfall of his fellow commanders. Baia inquired with interest.
“Well, the result was predictable, but what happened specifically?”
“Matou’s subordinates succeeded in their initial assault but were ambushed from behind by reinforcements while they were busy massacring civilians. Half his forces were wiped out. As for Jajou’s unit, they teleported directly in front of a large enemy garrison and were wiped out before they could do anything. All of the soldiers lost were direct retainers. I suppose we should offer our condolences to those generals who now have fewer men.”
“I see.”
Matching Gwaranie’s soulless expression of sympathy, Baia mirrored his master’s wicked smile and responded with sarcastic commentary aimed at the absent generals.
“In that case, perhaps you should’ve shared the core of your strategy with them? Then again, I doubt seasoned generals would be inclined to listen to amateurs like us, and even if they had, it’s unlikely they would’ve followed it to the letter.”
Gwaranie nodded deeply.
“Exactly. Still, whether they succeeded or failed, the fact that so many raids have occurred in the rear lines now forces the humans to adjust. They can no longer concentrate their forces solely at the front. With both the security of settlements and the protection of supply lines at stake, they’ve already begun pulling troops back from the front.”
“A weakened frontline means our forces—until now outnumbered—can finally breathe.”
“Indeed. So in that sense, even their failures have served the kingdom well. Everything is going according to plan thus far. But today… I’ve received an interesting report.”
Gwaranie’s expression darkened.
“It seems the forces sent by Butaré to attack the town of Mülonba were repelled—not by an army, but by a small group of adventurers.”
“Adventurers? The wandering kind not affiliated with any kingdom? And?”
“The report says there were only five of them. Yet they defeated fifty of our soldiers who tried to swarm them.”
“...Five humans took down fifty of our warriors?”
“That’s right.”
Baia almost blurted out, That has to be a mistake. After all, such feats were only heard in tavern tales, not battlefield reports. But then, he remembered—there was one group who could make the impossible happen.
“...Could it have been the Hero and his companions?”
Gwaranie nodded.
“If the report is true, they’re the only explanation.”
“But the Hero has never joined any nation’s army. He fights only to defeat the Demon King and refuses to be tied to the allied forces. He’s always been on the front lines. Defending an outpost settlement like this doesn’t match his pattern. Has he… perhaps changed his allegiance?”
“...Possibly.”
Baia gave a noncommittal reply. But then, his tone shifted.
“If that’s true, it may be the best news we’ve received. If the Hero has stepped away from the front lines, we can exploit that.”
“...Just as I thought.”
They would provoke chaos in random towns. If the Hero showed up to stop them, they would use teleportation to escape deep into their own territory. Then, they’d appear elsewhere and repeat the cycle—drawing the Hero far from the front and wearing him down in an endless game of chase.
Once the Hero gave up and returned to the front, they would start a smear campaign: “The Hero abandoned civilians just to chase glory. He never cared about the people. You were all fooled.” And after ensuring their message stuck, they’d commit atrocities in his absence.
That would provoke the Hero to pursue them once more—again and again. And the more he was occupied, the more the allied invasion would falter. In some cases, it might even be possible to launch a counteroffensive.
In short, they could neutralize the overwhelmingly powerful Hero without fighting him directly.
As Gwaranie mulled over this devilish plan—one he and Baia had no doubt already conceived—his face twisted with frustration.
“But if the Hero participates even once, every nation will start begging for his help. He’ll become bogged down in requests and drift even farther from his true goal—the Demon King’s capital. He must know that.”
“Most likely, he just happened to be in that town when Butaré’s troops attacked. Unfortunate… but plausible.”
Gwaranie exhaled, his expression that of a fisherman who let the big one get away.
“Still…”
“Still, wasn’t it always humans who used clever, underhanded tactics to exploit the weaknesses of stronger foes? When did we become the ones doing that?”
The bitterness in Gwaranie’s voice was evident.
Baia replied without missing a beat:
“Since the Hero appeared, I’d say. After all, he and his companions are far stronger than we are.”
Gwaranie didn’t need to be told that.
But having it spoken aloud made the sting sharper. His grumble grew more venomous.
“The Hero has it easy, doesn’t he? No royal duties. No pressure. He does what he wants, when he wants, and gets fame and fortune for it.”
It was half complaint, half envy—and contained a crucial misunderstanding.
Baia, who knew the full truth, responded:
“Well then, Lord Gwaranie… why not claim the title of ‘Hero’ for yourself someday?”
“...Hero? Me?”
Even Gwaranie was taken aback, unable to reply right away.
Baia continued:
“The Hero wasn’t born with that title either. There’s nothing wrong with you claiming it—someday.”
“In fact, according to our intelligence, the title of ‘Hero’ is bestowed upon those who defeat brutal enemies and bring peace to the people. It says nothing about race. If humans can have a Hero who defeats demonkin, why can’t we have our own ‘Hero’—one who defeats humans and protects our people from unjust death?”
Baia paused, a thin smile crossing his face.
“Of course, to be worthy of the title, one must first possess the strength and achievements to back it up. So for now, we’ll have to work toward that.”
“...You’re right. Whether or not it ever happens, setting that as a goal doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Then let’s work toward making it so.”
Gwaranie replied with a faint, wry smile. There was mockery in it—but also a hint of genuine ambition.
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