Calgurio was waiting.
No—he was rotting in impatience.
It had been two full days since he had sent a hundred of his finest soldiers into the labyrinth, and not a single report had returned. At first, he had convinced himself it was merely a delay.
Now, anxiety gnawed at his chest.
It wasn't just the silence.
It was the fear.
Blinded by greed—by the promise of money and high-grade magic crystals—he had authorized the assault on the labyrinth. Strategically, it had made sense. Leaving the rear unsecured, so close to the territory of a demon lord, was unacceptable.
At least, that was the justification he clung to.
The treasures recovered early on had exceeded expectations. That much was true. And yet, the deeper the operation went, the more Calgurio felt something slipping beyond his control.
A realization crept in—slow, suffocating.
If this continued, Demon Lord Atem of Eterna would crush him completely.
"Damn it!" Calgurio slammed his fist against the desk. "Is there still no report?!"
The command tent fell silent.
Then—murmurs outside.
"What is it?" Calgurio barked. "What's happening?"
A low-ranking soldier burst into the tent, breathless.
"Sir! A survivor from the Magic Tank Division has returned!"
Calgurio froze.
That made no sense.
Magic tanks were loud. Tiger airships even more so. There was no way such a unit could approach without being detected.
And yet—
"I'm back."
The voice was calm. Almost gentle.
A woman stepped inside.
She was beautiful—far too refined for a battlefield. Her uniform was stained with dirt and soot, but her expression remained composed, her eyes sharp.
It was Misha.
One of the senior staff officers of the Imperial Armored Corps.
"Misha!" Calgurio exhaled sharply. "You're alive."
"Yes, Calgurio-sama."
She smiled faintly—bewitching, unsettling.
Calgurio felt relief wash over him, but it vanished just as quickly.
"The others?" he demanded. "Where is the division? When can they rejoin us?"
Misha tilted her head slightly.
"Please calm yourself. There is nothing that can be done in haste."
"What does that mean?" Calgurio snapped.
"We were annihilated."
The word struck like a hammer.
"…What?"
"The Magic Tank Division," Misha continued evenly, "the pride of the Empire—along with one hundred tiger airships—has been reduced to ash."
Calgurio laughed.
A hollow, disbelieving sound.
"You… you're joking."
Misha did not respond.
The silence confirmed everything.
"…All of them?" Calgurio whispered.
"Yes."
"And the only remaining Armored Corps… are the troops here?"
"That is correct."
The tent went deathly pale.
This wasn't just a failure—it was a catastrophe.
Even if the labyrinth were conquered now, there would be no escaping responsibility. Emperor Rudra would never forgive this level of loss.
"What… should we do…?" Calgurio muttered.
No one answered.
Then Misha spoke.
"We should withdraw."
The word detonated the room.
"What?" Calgurio snapped.
"The labyrinth cannot be taken by force. It is meant to be challenged, not invaded by an army."
Calgurio's eyes burned.
"Nonsense! We sent our best!"
And he was right.
They had sent everything—the Augmented Legion, Imperial Guardians, elite commanders. More than five hundred thousand of the Empire's finest.
There was nothing stronger left to send.
If they weren't enough, then—
Calgurio swallowed.
The alternative was unthinkable.
But Misha pressed on, her voice mercilessly calm.
"The labyrinth still stands, despite swallowing our best. Perhaps battles continue within—but we cannot observe, cannot reinforce, and cannot retreat safely if we hesitate."
"Enough," Calgurio growled.
"All we can do is wait," she continued, undeterred. "Wait for survivors to emerge."
"I said shut up!" Calgurio snapped. "We issued Resurrection Bracelets to our top ranks. If they die, they revive outside. The fact that none have returned proves the operation is still ongoing!"
He knew it was wishful thinking.
But as supreme commander, he had to say it.
Misha's eyes narrowed.
"The revival effect of the replicas was never confirmed. If the bracelet is embodied as a Skill, it cannot be duplicated."
Silence.
She was right.
Calgurio had never tested it.
The originals were rare. Precious. Untested.
His silence was an answer in itself.
And then—
A new voice cut through the tent.
"No. You must retreat. Now."
A man stepped inside without permission.
Blood stained his uniform.
The guards hadn't stopped him.
"Who are you?!" a staff officer shouted.
The man straightened.
"My name is Krishna. I am ranked seventeenth among the Imperial Guardians. I entered the labyrinth two days ago."
The room exploded.
"Imperial Guardian?!"
"You survived?!"
Calgurio forced calm into his voice.
"Explain. Quickly."
Krishna did not hesitate.
"I will be direct. The labyrinth is death itself. Bazin and Reicha are dead. Major General Minits fell before my eyes. Colonel Kansas is most likely dead. There are no survivors inside."
The words crushed the room.
Calgurio wanted to scream denial—but Krishna's eyes held no falsehood.
He remembered him.
And the bracelet.
Which meant—
Over five hundred thousand soldiers were truly gone.
Krishna continued.
"And the one who killed us was not Demon Lord Atem. Nor one of his generals. It was a majin—a guardian of the labyrinth. He called himself Zegion."
A chill swept the tent.
"An Elite Ten," Krishna said hoarsely. "But far beyond that. I could not even imagine victory."
He bowed his head.
"Retreat. This is not shame. This is survival."
Calgurio staggered back.
"…You're telling me… that Demon Lord Atem commands monsters of this level…?"
His voice broke.
The staff erupted.
"We must withdraw!"
"This isn't just our fault—the intelligence division failed!"
"If we delay, Atem will strike!"
Then Misha spoke again.
"One more thing," she said softly. "It was not the Storm Dragon who devastated us. It was nuclear-scale magic—used twice. Power beyond legion magic. The caster alone is a threat."
No one needed clarification.
The Storm Dragon was still here.
And Atem of Eterna was watching.
Calgurio's resolve shattered.
"Gather the troops!" he roared. "We withdraw—immediately!"
He told himself it was a tactical march.
Everyone knew it was a retreat.
But it no longer mattered.
Because even as the order was given—
The current had already begun to move.
A tide beyond control.
A king's will, unseen yet absolute, closing in.
The fate of the Imperial Army—
Had already been sealed.
Calgurio's command to withdraw was cut short.
A calm, unwavering voice echoed through the command tent.
"That will not be permitted. By decree of my lord, retreat is forbidden."
The air itself seemed to tighten.
A man stood at the tent entrance as if he had always been there. He wore foreign armor, elegant yet functional, with a sword resting at his waist. His white hair—touched faintly with gold—was tied neatly behind his head. A long beard framed a weathered face, but his posture was straight, disciplined, and unyielding.
His presence alone silenced the room.
"Who are you?" Krishna demanded, stepping forward instinctively.
The man inclined his head slightly.
"My name is Agera. I am an emissary of Carrera-sama, acting under the direct will of His Majesty Atem, King of Eterna."
The name struck the tent like a hammer.
This was not a negotiation envoy.
This was judgment.
One of the senior staff officers scoffed, trying to regain control.
"A messenger? You mean for Demon Lord—"
He never finished.
A sharp, clean sound rang out.
The officer's head separated from his body and hit the ground with a dull thud.
No one saw the blade move.
No one sensed hostility beforehand.
Even Krishna—ranked among the Empire's elite—had failed to react.
Agera calmly returned his sword to its sheath.
"How careless," he said quietly. "To speak my lord's name without reverence. Reflect on that mistake in the afterlife."
No one dared speak.
Agera continued, his voice cold and precise.
"Disarm yourselves and surrender immediately. Your lives will be spared—but you will serve Eterna as slaves. Resist, and you will be annihilated. You have one hour."
He turned to leave.
Calgurio felt desperation claw at his chest.
"Wait!" he shouted. "Please—wait!"
Agera paused and glanced back.
"Yes?"
Calgurio stepped forward, swallowing his fear.
"My name is Calgurio. I command this legion. I accept responsibility for this invasion."
"Speak," Agera replied, unimpressed.
"Slavery is unacceptable," Calgurio said firmly. "Instead, we offer compensation. We swear never to invade Eterna again. I will personally return to the Empire and propose an alliance to His Imperial Majesty. Together, the Empire and Eterna could rule the world. Surely such a future would interest King Atem."
He bowed deeply.
"This war can end here."
Agera stared at him in silence.
Then—
"Do you truly believe you are still in a position to bargain?"
The words crushed all hope.
"Your fate was sealed the moment you invaded Eterna and rejected mercy. Obey or resist—choose how you wish to die."
With that, Agera turned away.
His final words lingered like a death sentence.
"Do not even consider escape."
The tent fell into silence.
Misha exhaled slowly.
"…What now?" she asked.
Calgurio closed his eyes.
Then he spoke—quietly, but with iron resolve.
"We fight."
Gasps rippled through the room.
"Our lives belong to the Emperor. Slavery is
survival without honor. I will not disgrace His Imperial Majesty by accepting it."
"But without magic tanks or cancelers—"
"Our objective has changed," Calgurio interrupted. "Survival no longer matters. Information does."
He turned to Misha.
"You will escape."
"…What?"
"You alone. You must live and warn the Empire."
"And you?"
Calgurio smiled grimly.
"I will face King Atem's judgment as an Imperial soldier."
Something shifted.
Fear hardened into resolve.
"No one here will abandon you."
"This is better than dying like cattle."
"The Armored Corps will not fall quietly!"
Morale surged—desperate, defiant, burning.
Misha sighed.
"…Then I'll leave. I have no wish to die gloriously."
Calgurio nodded.
"Tell His Imperial Majesty everything."
"I will."
She turned and departed.
No one stopped her.
There were no last-minute reinforcements.
No miracle survivors.
Jiwu and Bernie were already gone—erased by Atem's hand, their souls crushed beyond recovery.
Those who remained knew the truth.
This was the end.
Calgurio straightened his posture and raised his voice one final time.
"All forces—prepare for immediate engagement! We strike before the enemy is ready!"
Orders surged through the camp.
The Imperial Army marched—not toward victory—
But toward a king who had already claimed their fate.