Standing at the harbor, the salty sea breeze tinged with the stench of fish made Jaemar wrinkle his nose slightly.
He'd never been fond of this smell—it gave him a vague sense of discomfort.
Even though a considerable portion of the Mardain Principality's territory sat along the coast, Jaemar had never been interested in seafood since childhood. So every time he came to the port and caught a whiff of the ocean air, discomfort was inevitable.
Still, he kept his expression neutral. After all, as a crown prince, maintaining his image was important. Displaying disgust toward his own territory would be demoralizing to those around him.
A military officer, around thirty years old, stood beside him and gave a report:
"We've captured a total of 76,445 enemy soldiers. All of them have been transported to the port. Only 23 of them are uninjured, while 35,525 are lightly wounded and 40,897 are severely injured. Among the severely injured, 3,221 are in critical condition and may not survive the journey to Mobis Island. As for transportation, we've requisitioned every available ship in the area. We should be able to complete the transfer within eight days."
Jaemar nodded in satisfaction at the numbers.
"That's fine. Save whoever you can. If they can't be saved, so be it. As long as over seventy thousand make it to Mobis Island alive, the rest is no longer your concern."
Seeing that Prince had no objections, the officer let out a breath of relief.
But after a moment of hesitation, he still voiced his concern:
"Your Highness, I really don't think it's necessary to go through all this trouble to deal with these prisoners. There are simpler ways. Shipping them off to some deserted island feels like a waste of resources."
He wasn't the only one who felt this way. Many of his colleagues had expressed confusion and disbelief upon hearing that Jaemar intended to transport tens of thousands of prisoners to a remote, uninhabited island and have them play out a scenario akin to "survival in the wild."
Even just keeping them imprisoned and waiting for the Principality of Yharnis to pay ransom would make more sense!
Jaemar, however, only shook his head calmly, saying nothing.
He'd heard these same objections too many times already and was frankly tired of them.
If he had another choice, he wouldn't be doing this. But the truth was, he didn't.
And the reason why couldn't be shared with anyone. That left him with no choice but resignation.
Seeing that Jaemar wasn't willing to talk, the officer sighed and left quietly.
The view before him lay unchanged.
Unlike the officers who couldn't understand Jaemar's reasoning, Duren knew the truth.
Those people being sent to Mobis Island weren't going there for survival games or long-term exile.
They were going to become sacrifices.
There was almost no chance any of them would come back alive.
So after a moment of thought, Duren made a quiet suggestion:
"Your Highness, when the Principality of Yharnis sent envoys to sign the compensation agreement recently, they raised a request to ransom their soldiers. I think we could allow them to buy back a few of their high-ranking nobles. That way, we avoid completely alienating Yharnis's aristocracy."
Jem waved the idea away.
"No need. It doesn't matter if they're offended or not. Once we went to war, we became enemies. Even though they've signed a compensation treaty now, our fundamental positions haven't changed."
"Those captured nobles may not be vital to Yharnis's survival, but if they die, the noble class in the Principality of Yharnis will be set back at least ten years. Sure, they'll hate us more—but it will also cause internal strife between them and the Yharnis royal family who led them into this war. That's extremely advantageous to us."
In Jaemar's view, this battle had effectively neutralized Yharnis as a threat for the next two or three decades. While other ambitious principalities were still eyeing them warily, completely destroying Yharnis wasn't realistic.
But letting a wounded tiger return to the wild? That was out of the question.
In an era where mutual understanding had developed among the principalities over a long period, weakening a rival was tolerated—but attempting outright destruction would be met with resistance.
So crippling them was the limit.
And those high-ranking nobles were precisely the tools he would use to cripple Yharnis.
As for how to go about it—well, that still needed some thought.
At the very least, he couldn't be seen as making demonic sacrifices. He needed a good excuse for their deaths…
As he pondered the matter, he suddenly heard a familiar voice.
Looking up, he saw Harrey, the commander of Yharnis's army, shouting his name.
Harrey, now covered in blood and chained at the wrists and ankles, sat in a special prison cart.
At least he had the dignity of a private cell—befitting his rank as commander.
Though in reality, it was little better than a public humiliation parade. People pointed and whispered as he passed, and rage burned in his chest.
Noticing Jaemar looking at him, Harrey clenched his jaw, suppressing the urge to strangle the onlookers, and shouted:
"Jaemar! Mark my words! One day I'll return the shame you've given me!"
Clearly, he was still bitter about losing what should have been a guaranteed victory.
> "…"
After a brief pause, Jaemar decided not to mock him. A rare pang of conscience surfaced.
Instead, he gave Harrey a long, meaningful look.
As the former commander was shoved onto a ship, still ranting, Jaemar gave him a silent moment of mourning in respect for his noble status.
Then he turned to Duren and said:
"You'll stay behind to handle the rest. And let the others know: that guy who was shouting? Make sure he's on the first ship to Mobis Island."
'Someone like me—generous and magnanimous—normally wouldn't stoop to petty revenge. But since he's a noble and a military leader, I think it's only right he leads the way!'
With that thought, Jaemar felt much better.
After all, a crown prince shouldn't be petty, right?
He mounted his horse and set off for the capital to attend the victory celebration.
As heir to the throne, his presence was needed at such events.
---
The Next Day, Noon
Jaemar groaned and held his head as he climbed out of bed.
At the celebration last night, he had been besieged by toasts from over a hundred people. Even with his strength as a captain knight, he had nearly passed out on the spot from drinking.
Eventually, he had no choice but to escape the party using the classic "I need to pee" excuse.
Now awake, his mouth was bitter with the aftertaste of medicinal herbs.
He knew the maids must have forced down a hangover cure while he was unconscious—otherwise he'd still be out cold until the afternoon.
Honestly, his head still ached, but he was in a good mood.
Defeating the Principality of Yharnis had eliminated a major threat and stabilized Mardain's position. That alone was worth the overindulgence, even for someone who rarely drank.
After getting dressed, he instinctively drew his knight's sword and swung it a few times around the room.
The sluggishness in his movements told him that the alcohol was still lingering in his system.
Just as he was preparing to do some light training to shake off the effects, hurried footsteps approached his room.
Jaemar frowned.
He had specifically told everyone yesterday not to disturb him today—he wanted one day of peace.
Someone showing up now could only mean trouble.
Still, he knew the difference between annoyance and urgency.
Before the person could knock, he called out:
"What is it?"
There was a pause outside the door—clearly, the person hadn't expected him to be awake so soon.
Given how much he drank last night, it wasn't a surprise. Most people would've collapsed from half that amount. He had drunk an entire barrel that reached an adult's knees.
If not for his exceptional physique, he would've needed emergency care.
From outside, a woman's voice answered:
"Your Highness, a bishop from the Church has arrived. He says it's urgent and has brought a sealed emergency dispatch from the Church."
"The Church? An emergency dispatch?"
Jaemar frowned, confused.
What could a bishop possibly want from him?
Were they trying again to build that massive cathedral in the capital?
A few years ago, a Church bishop had approached his father with that exact proposal—construct a grand cathedral in the capital center.
In theory, it wasn't a problem. The royal family didn't particularly like the Church, but they usually turned a blind eye to such matters.
The real issue? The bishop had wanted the royal family to pay for it.
His father had immediately shot him down, saying:
"If this were a few centuries ago when the Church was at its peak, maybe I'd consider it. But now? Do you even own a mirror? You think we're sheep for slaughter?"
That meeting had ended in bad blood.
Recalling this, Jaemar felt a twinge of irritation.
'If it's about that cathedral again, I'll just send them packing...'
Ever since the Church's powers had dramatically weakened a few centuries ago, and with the implementation of the Royal Authority Act, tension had grown between royalty and clergy.
The Church wanted to restore its former glory, making divine authority superior to royal authority—ruling over all.
But those who had seized power weren't about to give it back.
It was an irreconcilable conflict.
Only mutual caution—and the lingering threat of other resurgent races—kept them from open war.
Even the wars between principalities, like the recent conflict between Mardain and Yharnis, were kept within certain boundaries: injure, but don't destroy.
This balance had become an unspoken agreement over the years.
If anyone went too far, outside forces would intervene.
It was both to prevent self-destruction and to avoid any one faction becoming too dominant.
"But… if they brought an emergency dispatch, it can't just be about construction."
"Could it be…"
Jaemar's expression changed.
_____
T/N:
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