Location: Larrak ValleyTwo days after the extermination of the ten thousand
A cold wind swept over the blackened valley, biting at exposed skin and rustling the charred remnants of what had once been a demi-human war camp. Smoke still lingered in the distance, curling above cratered earth like a ghost refusing to leave.
Elisabeth Ritter stood on a frost-dusted hilltop, her brown braid tugged by the breeze, the sharp chill painting a faint blush across her cheeks. Her gloved hands rested on her belt, and her eyes—focused, unwavering—gazed over the aftermath below. Her greatcoat billowed gently behind her.
Beside her, General Wilhelm Drossen remained still as stone. His breath misted in the air, his worn officer's cap shadowing his eyes, which were narrowed and watchful. A scar along his jaw twitched slightly each time the wind cut deeper.
"So," Elisabeth said, breaking the silence with a voice both calm and curious. "What do you think of the battle, Wilhelm? Think we did good?"
Wilhelm didn't answer immediately. His gaze swept across the valley—over the torn earth, the broken siege wagons, the blood-soaked snow near the trench lines. At last, he exhaled, slow and heavy.
"I believe we did the impossible," he said, his tone low but resolute. "No army without magic, without runes or gods to shield them… has ever shattered a force of seven thousand with just five hundred. And demi-humans, no less." He turned to face her fully, his eyes cold but filled with something like pride. "We didn't just win. We rewrote the rules of this world."
Elisabeth's lips curled slightly, pleased.
"I thought you'd say something like that."
She turned back to the valley and let the silence hang for a moment, watching distant smoke trail off like ink in water.
"The weapons gave us an edge no one could've anticipated," she continued. "Rifles that tear through armor, mortars that level entire command tents. This isn't war as they know it. It's slaughter." Her tone was composed, clinical. "And best of all—we made sure not a single scout survived. No witnesses. No messengers. The demi-humans are still in the dark."
She let out a soft, breathy laugh.
"And their so-called 'famous commander'? Found in chunks. Mortar fire. Couldn't even identify the bastard's face. How tragic."
Wilhelm didn't smile. He simply grunted.
"Hm."
Elisabeth gave him a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. "What? That's not impressive to you?"
"It is," he replied, folding his arms across his chest. "I just…" His voice trailed off as he looked toward the eastern trail, the road that connected Larrak Valley to the rest of the growing Reich.
"What is it?" Elisabeth asked, studying his expression.
"I'm wondering when the Führer's letter will arrive," Wilhelm said finally. "He's never slow to respond. News from this scale should've reached him by now."
"Maybe he's busy," Elisabeth suggested with a shrug. "Or waiting to speak in person."
Wilhelm didn't look convinced. "He knew we'd succeed. But I think he's planning something larger—something we're not seeing yet."
"Isn't he always?" Elisabeth smirked.
For a while, they both stood in silence again. The valley below was eerily still—no movement, no resistance, only wind sweeping across burnt wagons and broken spears.
"I'll say this," Wilhelm murmured, almost to himself, "the real war starts now."
Elisabeth's smile faded slightly, replaced with a calm, measured expression.
"Yes," she agreed. "Now they'll come in force. We've poked the hornet's nest."
"And burned it," Wilhelm added.
Elisabeth gave a soft hum of agreement, eyes narrowing slightly as if peering into the days ahead.
"Let them come," she said. "We'll be ready."
Wilhelm turned without another word, his coat flaring slightly with the wind as he began making his way down the slope.
"I'll take my leave—return to our command tent," he called over his shoulder. "If the Führer arrives, I'll meet him first."
Elisabeth narrowed her eyes, a playful edge in her voice."Don't take all the glory, Wilhelm!"
He didn't turn back. He simply raised a gloved hand and waved once, a wordless gesture of confidence—or indifference—as his figure faded into the misty gray of the valley below.
Elisabeth watched him go, lips quirking slightly.
"Stubborn old bastard," she muttered with a smirk, before returning her gaze to the scorched horizon.
Location: En route to Larrak Valley Command Post — 10 minutes from Generals Wilhelm and Elisabeth
The black-painted carriage rumbled steadily across the frozen path, its wheels crunching over dirt and ice. Pulled by four thick-coated horses, it cut a sharp figure in the misty morning air. Behind it, a procession of creaking wagons followed—nearly a dozen in total. Each was heavy with crates of iron rations, crates marked with chalk-stamped insignias, and canvas-covered barrels of black powder. Some wagons carried stacks of freshly forged rifles. Others bore pickaxes, shovels, timber, and rolls of canvas—raw materials for the supply depot.
Between the wagons marched workers, bundled in wool and leather. Their breath steamed in the cold as they marched with heads low, fatigue clinging to their boots like mud. Most were former farmers or prisoners now repurposed for war labor. None spoke.
Inside the lead carriage, the air was warm, if slightly stuffy, from the small iron heater burning beneath the passenger bench. Velvet-lined seats creaked slightly as Adolf Hitler leaned forward, gazing through the fogged glass window. His breath left a faint cloud on the pane before vanishing into the silence.
"Do we have all the workers needed to be transported to their posts?" Hitler asked, his tone brisk, eyes still fixed on the frost-covered hills rolling past.
Seated opposite, Seris flipped through a leather-bound clipboard, her gloved fingers turning each page with precise efficiency.
"Yes, Mein Führer," she said. "Three hundred laborers, split into three crews. We'll have a temporary supply depot standing by dusk. It won't be fortified, but it will suffice to support seventeen thousand troops for a fast campaign."
"Good." Hitler's voice carried a cold finality. "I will lead this battle as Field Marshal. I can't afford mistakes—not here. Not now."
He sat back against the seat, glancing toward her with the sharpness of a hawk.
"Make sure Virella is on standby. If anything falters, she must be ready to cast a spell powerful enough to level an entire hillside. I want every contingency accounted for. No half-measures."
Seris bowed her head slightly. "She is already prepared. She's waiting at the valley's western ridge with a small escort. Her mana has been fully replenished, and she has been briefed on your expectations."
Hitler's gaze returned to the window. Outside, the final bend toward Larrak Valley was approaching. From the hill's edge, a faint pillar of smoke curled from a cookfire in the distance—signs of life at the command post.
Beyond that, the silent graveyard of the enemy's ten thousand still lingered on the fields.
The Führer's reflection shimmered faintly in the carriage window, overlaid on the bleak, pale landscape.
His thoughts tightened.
"I won't let others make me fail again. Not a second time."
His hands curled into fists in his lap.
"They thought they could silence me. They dragged my name through ash and history. But here… here I am not chained by the past. Here, I write the future with fire and blood."
Behind them, the sound of a wagon axle creaked. Workers barked orders to one another in low tones. A man fell and was dragged up again by another. Nothing stopped. The column moved like a river—slow, cold, and inevitable.
Time moved quickly.
Before long, the carriage rolled to a smooth halt, its wheels crunching against the frost-laced soil.
The door creaked open, and Hitler stepped down onto the cold earth. His long black coat swayed gently in the wind, boots pressing into the hardened dirt beneath him. A pale mist curled from his breath as he took a moment to scan the horizon.
Endless fields stretched before him — wind-bitten hills, scattered trees stripped bare by autumn's end, and the distant remains of battle. The scent of smoke still lingered in the valley air.
Seris followed close behind, descending with measured steps, her clipboard tucked against her chest. The air was colder here — harsher.
As Hitler moved forward, two guards in dark coats and steel helmets quickly fell into step behind him, rifles at the ready, eyes scanning the area with quiet vigilance.
Without a word, Hitler made his way toward the command tent pitched at the center of the hill.
The flap of the tent opened with a gust of cold wind as Adolf Hitler stepped inside, the air carrying the scent of frost and distant smoke from burned-out wagons. He removed his gloves with mechanical precision, tucking them into his coat as two rifle-wielding guards took their positions at the entrance.
General Wilhelm Drossen stood at attention near the central table, which was covered in hand-drawn maps, inked reports, and scattered bullets used as paperweights. The lamp hanging overhead cast a soft amber glow across his weathered face.
Hitler gave a nod.
"How have you been, General? Where is Elisabeth?"
Wilhelm straightened, placing a gloved fist across his chest.
"I have been well, Mein Führer. The operation went precisely as planned. General Elisabeth should arrive any moment—she's conducting a final inspection of the southern trenches."
"Good," Hitler said curtly, stepping toward the table. He glanced at the marked red circles around neighboring settlements, his brow tightening.
"We move tomorrow. No delays. I want the surrounding territories occupied within the week. We have momentum—and we must not waste it."
Wilhelm exhaled through his nose, nodding.
"Of course, Mein Führer. Though I must speak plainly: Elisabeth and I are our only senior field commanders. Our junior officers have proven themselves loyal, but they lack the experience to lead separate fronts effectively."
Hitler's pale blue eyes flicked up from the map, his voice steely.
"That is precisely why I have declared myself Field Marshal. This campaign is too critical to entrust to uncertainty. I will lead the next phase personally."
Wilhelm blinked, briefly taken aback. Then a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"That is excellent news, Mein Führer. I have no complaints. Your presence will unify the ranks and strike fear into our enemies. The troops speak of you already as something... more than mortal."
Hitler's gaze sharpened.
"I am not here to be worshiped. I am here to conquer."
Wilhelm lowered his head respectfully.
"Understood."
Hitler stepped closer to the map table, placing a hand near the red-inked circle around the northern road leading to the fortified town of Dörnheim.
"This settlement here. What resistance can we expect?"
"According to intercepted reports," Wilhelm said, stepping beside him, "they hold around one thousand troops. Mostly demi-human militia and city guards. No cavalry. No magic. Just pikes, bows, and iron."
Hitler hummed thoughtfully.
He then turned, taking a slow breath as the flap of the tent rustled again with the wind. In the far distance, he could hear faint voices from soldiers still working along the ridgeline—rebuilding defenses, repairing supply wagons. The air outside was growing colder by the hour, a reminder that winter was approaching fast.
He folded his hands behind his back.
"Tomorrow marks the next stage. The Reich's offensive must not stall. We'll take every road, every village, every scrap of soil until the kingdom collapses under its own rotten weight."
Wilhelm, eyes still on the map, gave a firm nod.
"Then we shall make them choke on their own arrogance."
There was a moment of silence.
Then Hitler spoke again, softer this time—his voice like steel pressed flat.
"No mercy for those who resisted us. No hesitation. The age of demi-human rule is over."
The tent flaps burst open.
Elisabeth Ritter stepped inside with a flush of joy in her cheeks, a bottle of wine in hand and her coat draped over her shoulder. Behind her came Commander Bruno Hartmann and a few junior officers, laughing, arms full of cups and flasks—faces red from cold and victory alike.
"Let's celebrate, Wilhelm!" Elisabeth called out, not yet noticing who stood at the war table. "We made a victory out of nothing! We should award ourselves while we still can!"
She laughed as she lifted the bottle, striding in with pride. Bruno followed with a chuckle, nodding toward the others to set down their food and drink.
Then, she saw him.
The laughter died on her lips. Her eyes froze.
Adolf Hitler stood at the center of the room.
The bottle slipped from her hand.
Thunk.The wine hit the ground hard but didn't break—only rolled slowly to a stop against a boot.
"I… I'm sorry, Mein Führer…" Elisabeth said, straightening, her back rigid.
The air turned still.
Hitler's gaze met hers—sharp, cold, unreadable.
Then he spoke, voice low but even:
"Do not become intoxicated, General. I need my commanders sharp. Celebrate later—when the war is over."
She nodded quickly. "Yes, Mein Führer. Forgive me."
Hitler turned to the group, expression calm but stern.
"You've earned your pride, but the war is not yet won. Come closer. We begin the next phase tonight."
The officers stepped forward, forming a half-circle around the table. Wilhelm gave Elisabeth a brief glance—she avoided his eyes, standing stiff at attention beside Bruno.
Hitler gestured to the map spread across the war table, his gloved hand trailing across its lines.
"Elisabeth—your forces will take the east. Farmlands, supply routes, outposts. Move fast, hit hard. Cut them off and take villages along the way."
She nodded, the color returning to her face. "Understood."
"Wilhelm, you'll secure the western flank. Several villages, two forts. Take them intact if possible, but show no mercy if they resist."
Wilhelm placed a hand behind his back and bowed his head. "Consider it done."
"As for me," Hitler continued, his voice tightening, "I will march north—directly toward their capital road. If they want to test our strength, let them try it against me."
He looked to each of them now, eyes cold steel.
"You will all be provided the resources accordingly. Weapons. Ammunition. Troops. The workers are building makeshift supply depots even now."
He stepped around the table, letting the silence linger.
"From night to morning we prepare. At evening—" he paused, "—we move."
Then his tone hardened.
"If any one of you fails your task… you will be publicly named. Your rank will be stripped before the people."
The room tensed.
"And if any of you betray this cause—if any of you commit treason—" his gaze settled briefly on each officer in turn, "—you will be executed. And your families will be humiliated alongside your name for generations."
The only sound was the low crackle of the stove in the corner.
Then Hitler stepped back to the head of the table.
"That will be all. Prepare your men."
No one spoke.
Wilhelm bowed. Elisabeth stood still. Bruno swallowed hard.
Outside, the cold wind howled.