"Well… so they have chosen a decisive battle."
Geld watched the Imperial Army stir into frantic motion. Troops rushed to formation, officers shouted orders, and banners were raised with forced confidence. It was the look of an army that had realized—too late—that retreat was no longer an option.
Geld inclined his head slightly, offering a silent warrior's respect to the enemy.
Their defeat was not yet guaranteed.
In fact, the numbers alone made the situation dangerous. The Imperial Army still vastly outnumbered them. A wounded beast was the most dangerous of all, and complacency would invite disaster. Even now, a single mistake could cost lives.
There would be no such mistake.
"The Second Corps will hold," Geld said calmly.
His role was clear.
The Second Corps, under Geld's command, formed the immovable shield of Eterna's army. They would anchor the battlefield, hold the front line at all costs, and protect the firepower units positioned behind them. As long as that formation remained intact, victory was inevitable.
This was a tactic perfected by dwarves—unyielding defense paired with overwhelming ranged destruction. A fortress that advanced step by step, grinding the enemy down.
It suited Geld perfectly.
Behind him stood 17,000 elites—the combined strength of the Yellow Numbers and Orange Numbers. Each warrior was wrapped in layered armor forged by Kurobee and Garm, equipment strong enough to endure artillery fire head-on.
And more importantly—
They were protected by Geld himself.
His Unique Skill: Protector extended across the corps, forming a living bulwark. Blades dulled. Explosions weakened. Impacts dispersed. Against this wall, ordinary soldiers would break.
Support units stood ready behind the line, healing magic prepared at all times. Minor wounds would vanish in moments. Even critical injuries could be reversed instantly.
And if all else failed—
Geld's other power awaited.
His Stomach, empowered by the evolved form of Gourmet, was stocked with vast reserves of recovery medicine. Not just ordinary potions—but restoratives personally produced under the authority of King Atem himself.
They did not spoil.
They did not weaken.
They could be used without restraint.
A unit that could heal, resupply, and endure without retreat was not merely an army—
It was a moving fortress.
"There is no scenario where we lose," Geld thought.
But even that was not the full picture.
Geld lifted his gaze to the sky.
There, standing calmly above the battlefield, was Carrera—the embodiment of annihilation. Her presence alone distorted the air, as if reality itself was bracing for what was to come.
She had been assigned directly to support Geld's formation.
His Majesty Atem expects much from her, Geld reflected. And so do I.
When Carrera moved, the battle would end.
To the rear, the Fourth Corps prepared their positions under the command of Momiji of the Tengu Clan.
"Victory for my husband!" she declared with a radiant smile, her voice carrying effortlessly across the formation.
Her strategy was sharp and ruthless—encirclement through constant pressure. Without realizing it, the enemy would find their escape routes sealed, their flanks eroded, their footing gone.
Geld acknowledged her skill with a small nod.
Truth be told, Momiji's strategic instincts rivaled—perhaps even surpassed—those of Benimaru himself. If Benimaru had truly objected, this situation would never have arisen. The fact that he allowed it spoke volumes.
Of course, that brought complications.
There were many who admired Benimaru.
The most famous was Alvis.
Her rivalry with Momiji was well known among the executives, and this battlefield only sharpened that tension. Alvis had arrived with reinforcements and now held the left flank, her ferocity unmistakable.
Shion dominated the right flank, her presence alone enough to terrify any who dared approach.
Geld decided not to involve himself.
Someone will be hurt no matter what, he concluded. Best not to choose sides.
Instead, he focused on what mattered.
Formation—perfect.
Coordination—flawless.
Morale—unshakable.
And above it all stood Benimaru, overseeing the flow of battle, connected through command and instinct alike.
As long as each commander fulfilled their role—
Eterna would not fall.
Geld tightened his grip on his weapon, his expression calm, resolute, unyielding.
This was no mere battle.
This was the moment when the enemy would finally understand—
That they were not facing a fledgling nation.
They were standing before the iron will of Eterna,
and beyond that—
The absolute judgment of King Atem.
The battlefield trembled.
The decisive moment was near.
From Geld's line of sight, Carrera stood motionless in the sky, suspended high above the battlefield. Her presence alone warped the air, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
She had originally been assigned to the Second Corps together with two of her companions, but now they were separated by design.
King Atem had granted her the honor of the first strike.
Geld, a soldier through and through, had accepted this without complaint and simply told her to act as she saw fit. Carrera appreciated that. He was an agreeable man—one who understood power and did not try to restrain it out of fear.
Unspoken, but known to her, were Atem's private orders.
Protect Geld.
The same command had likely been given to Testarossa and Ultima as well. If an enemy appeared that exceeded what the commanders could handle, the role of the Primordials was to intercept, delay, and erase.
But that precaution was no longer necessary.
With Geld and the Second Corps forming an absolute wall, there was no opening for the enemy to exploit. Which meant—
Carrera and the others had no reason to hold back.
The only question left was how thoroughly the enemy would be destroyed.
Naturally, Carrera reached a simple conclusion.
I'll erase them from the sky.
She began gathering power, intent on releasing nuclear magic from above.
"Please wait! Carrera-sama—what exactly are you planning to do?!"
The voice came urgently from behind.
Agera, having just returned from his role as emissary, rushed toward her. The calm composure he had shown in the enemy camp was gone. In front of Carrera, he was nothing more than a man desperately trying to prevent catastrophe.
He had returned with a bad premonition—and it seemed his instincts had been right.
"Oh? Agera, you're back already?" Carrera said cheerfully. "I was just thinking I should do some practice. You know—so I don't mess up when it really matters."
"P-Practice…?"
"Yes! Just a nuclear blast in the sky. Like a firework. The residual heat might roast the ground a little, but that's fine, right? Sounds fun, doesn't it?"
"That's perfect! Absolutely perfect, Carrera-sama!"
The one praising her enthusiastically was Esprit, Agera's partner and equal. She wore a smug smile, delighted by the idea.
She looked innocent enough—but her personality was disastrous.
Esprit never once tried to restrain Carrera. She encouraged her at every turn, pushed her toward excess, and left Agera to deal with the consequences. Where Agera worked tirelessly to maintain balance, Esprit delighted in chaos.
Agera snapped.
"Shut up, Esprit!"
Then, forcing himself to calm down, he turned back to Carrera and spoke carefully, as if explaining something to a child.
"Carrera-sama, I just went to the enemy camp as a messenger, yes?"
"Yes."
"And because of that, it is a basic rule of war that neither side interferes until the time specified."
"This is just practice."
"Even practice breaks the rule if it's done now!"
Carrera tilted her head, clearly unimpressed.
From Agera's point of view, Carrera was a runaway carriage with no brakes—overwhelming power guided by instinct alone. In the past, there had been no one capable of correcting her. Speaking against her whims had meant risking erasure.
But things had changed.
Carrera was now a subordinate of King Atem.
And that meant something unprecedented.
For the first time, there existed a will above hers.
Atem-sama expects discipline, Agera reminded himself. If she wishes to serve him properly, she must learn restraint.
That belief was what gave Agera the courage to continue.
He explained the customs of war clearly and concisely, forcing himself to be patient despite Carrera's obvious boredom.
Then—
The Imperial Army moved.
"Hey," Carrera said, her voice suddenly cold. "There's still time left, isn't there?"
"Yes… there is."
"Then are you telling me that while I was listening to your boring lecture, the Empire decided to break the rules?"
Agera stiffened.
Not only because of Carrera's anger—but because his own was rising.
He had spoken in good faith. And the Empire had spat on that courtesy.
Before Agera could respond, Esprit spoke first, pointing gleefully at the advancing army.
"Well? They're asking for it. You should educate them, Carrera-sama."
Geld's forces locked into formation below.
Nearly 200,000 Imperial soldiers advanced in an orderly mass. From the sky, they looked like prey—marching willingly into execution.
Carrera smiled.
"So? You won't stop me this time, will you, Agera?"
Her tone was sharp—dangerously sharp.
This time, Agera did not hesitate.
"…I told them to wait an hour. I never promised they would be safe if they attacked early."
He straightened.
"It is a warrior's duty to answer those who seek death. Do as you please."
Carrera's eyes widened.
Then she laughed—genuinely delighted.
"That's why I like you, Agera."
For the first time, he was no longer restraining her.
"Well then," she said, turning toward the battlefield, "let's begin. I'll show them what happens when they mistake mercy for weakness."
"Yes."
"Understood."
The Empire did not realize it yet—but their decision to advance had authorized their own annihilation.
"Well then…" Carrera said lightly, raising her hand. "Shall we make it rain nuclear magic?"
"Explosions blooming across the land," Esprit giggled. "How beautiful."
Agera opened his mouth to speak—then stopped.
"No," he said slowly. "That's not enough."
Carrera paused.
"Didn't our King say it himself?" Agera continued. "Use your flashy magic to knock the enemy's lights out."
"If we are to obey his will, then holding back would be disrespectful."
Carrera stared at him.
Then her smile widened.
"You're right."
For the first time, her power surged without restraint.
"I'll use a spell I've never succeeded with before."
Oh no.
Only then did Agera realize his mistake—but it was far too late.
Carrera had already begun.
The sky darkened.
What followed was not merely nuclear magic—it was forbidden annihilation.
Gravity Collapse
Mana twisted violently as Carrera formed an artificial singularity—a super-compressed core of gravity. Space bent inward. Light warped. The ground screamed.
All defensive measures failed.
Legion-grade barriers.
Anti-magic fields.
Sacred blessings.
High-resistance armor.
None of it mattered.
Gravity itself betrayed the Imperial Army.
Bodies were crushed under their own weight. Bones shattered. Soldiers collapsed, unable to even scream. More than 80% of the remaining Imperial forces were caught instantly.
Then the compression reversed.
A black pillar erupted from the earth, connecting sky and ground as a localized supernova detonated. Dust and debris were hurled into the stratosphere. The land itself was rewritten.
Had the area not been precisely designated, the entire region would have burned.
When it ended—
The Imperial Army was gone.
Reduced to ash.
Carrera exhaled, satisfied.
Agera, on the other hand, stood frozen.
He had encouraged her.
And now, he understood the true scale of her power.
…My suffering has only just begun, he thought.
Yes.
The hardships of the hardworking Agera were far from over.