"It's not difficult to grasp, Tyler Wynlers." The knight's familiarity with his name caught Tyler off guard. "For commanders, the unknowns are always their primary concern on any battlefield. We are precisely such an 'unknown.'"

  "You're suggesting we cannot guarantee taking Cynthia?"

  "What else?" The white-haired knight seemed oblivious to the stares. "Dwarves are famed for their clever engines, aye, but who can promise they'll hit true, let alone bring down that much stone? And smash a breach wide enough for thousands to pass? Less likely still. Besides," he went on, "the whole plan teeters on too many 'ifs' -- the dwarves, the weather, the men's spirits... one gust of wind could blow it all away."

  Tyler had no opportunity to probe further—a swell of commotion rose nearby. Devalosfang Dear had yet to arrive; this acclaim was directed at another mixed company's commander. A young man approached the wooden platform, immaculately attired as though bound for the theater rather than battle, hands clasped confidently behind his back, every step exuding authority.

  "Monsters," someone murmured nearby. "The monster family," Carl corrected under his breath. "Not a human being among them."

  The Sixth Composite Company consisted predominantly of House Friez retainers. Appropriately, its captain was Duke Friez's fourth son, Riveper Friez. Unlike his bearded, hulking, blood-drenched brothers, he was considered the most tempered and rational of the four heirs, perpetually composed regardless of circumstances. Thus, he had consistently served as commander, leading what was, since humanity's earliest records, the most enigmatic—and most reviled—family in the realm.

  "Gentlemen, I pose a question to you all." He raised his hand and formed a fist, symbolically capturing the scattered heckling from below. "Why have we assembled here today?"

  "Showman," Tyler scoffed.

  "To kill," a man wearing the Friez hound emblem answered without hesitation. "To slaughter Cynthians, every last one. Men, women, children, even infants—none spared."

  Two distinct responses rippled through the ranks: enthusiastic approval from House Friez men, horrified disbelief from all others.

  "Excellent, excellent." The elegant commander applauded lightly. "I won't attempt to deny it—anyone who has browsed House Friez's chronicles in the Imperial Library understands we are aberrations—myself included. Your answer aligns perfectly with our family's creed of 'merciless slaughter.' However, I must emphasize one crucial point: today, we stand here not to satisfy House Friez's twisted appetites, but to fight for our Empire, for Godma itself. This is not House Friez's private bloodletting, but a war waged for every imperial citizen—your war."

  Several heads nodded hesitantly in the crowd.

  "If this is indeed your war, then understanding its purpose becomes paramount." He strolled to the platform's edge and seated himself casually. "The 'killing' our Friez compatriot mentioned is merely a means, and all means serve some greater end. I believe only our family kills without purpose—beyond us, none do so. Surely, you wouldn't slaughter the innocent without cause, would you?"

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  Scattered affirmative nods answered him.

  "Regarding why we must kill, let us be precise. Eliminating Cynthia's soldiers is a necessity—they represent the military force defending their realm and pose a direct threat to us. However, I maintain we must also eliminate Cynthia's civilian population: as our forthright Friez stated, men, women, children, and yes, even infants."

  "But during our campaign against Crividsylvan, we didn't indiscriminately butcher women and children, did we?" someone objected.

  "Oh, a man of principle! Admirable." Riveper clapped, the gesture mocking. "But just because you held back doesn't mean everyone did. You likely marched into Crivi with the third wave, saw only swept streets. Gods know what scrubbing and burning the first wave did to make it so clean." He gave a slight grimace, as if tasting something foul. "Those men had principles too, yet they chose butchery. Not because the fighting changed them, no. They knew from the start: even the smallfolk are the enemy."

  "But they're defenseless..."

  "They can snatch up a pitchfork and spill your entrails in a heartbeat, fool." A Friez soldier silenced the protest.

  "That's secondary to my central argument," Riveper continued. "Yes, during wartime, peasants, women, and children occasionally mount desperate resistance, but such threats remain negligible. The fundamental issue is this: they will consume and compete for our provisions."

  A murmur of dawning comprehension spread through the assembly.

  "Precisely—this necessity drives our actions." Riveper Friez rose to his feet, his expression hardening. "'The Triad of Destiny's radiance falls upon every Godman citizen.' This has always been our Empire's guiding principle. We never sacrifice our own people. During the Crividsylvan campaign, approximately one hundred thousand Crivi civilians perished—predominantly males, with women and children constituting a smaller proportion. House Friez executed most of these measures, while the remainder fell to honorable Godmans like yourselves. Those hundred thousand sacrifices preserved a hundred thousand of our own citizens, allowing us to continue our campaign to this day."

  Many soldiers nodded in agreement; some even cheered.

  "However, today's circumstances differ dramatically." Riveper's tone grew somber. "Cynthia represents a significant kingdom—housing over seven hundred thousand souls, with more than six hundred thousand civilians. As winter approaches, our supply lines will become increasingly tenuous, and Cynthia's outlying farmlands lie in ruins. If we hope to sustain ourselves after capturing Cynthia, subsisting on their granaries without facing starvation, we must..."

  "Eliminate half the Cynthian population," the earlier objector whispered, voice trembling.

  "No, no, perhaps not quite half," Riveper gasped, hand flying to his chest in feigned shock. "Though not far short of it!" The Friez men roared with laughter. "This... cull... is too great a task for House Friez alone. For all our... talents... our numbers are few. It goes without saying: we need you. Every honorable son of Godma. We need you to make the hard choice, to swing the blade when your heart falters. Man, woman, child, babe -- they are all our foes. Not because they have wronged us, no. But simply because they are. Their existence itself is the threat. Show them pity, show them mercy, and the next man to fall might be the one fighting beside you. Remember this! You strike for your brothers! You strike for the Empire! And every soul you send on its way, you do so with the Triad's blessing! Their forgiveness is assured!"

  Both Friez and non-Friez soldiers raised their fists in unified approval.

  "As for the specific methods by which you terminate their lives, I leave that to individual discretion. However, I would hope," he paused thoughtfully, "that it be conducted with a measure of dignity, showing respect for the fallen. Regarding Cynthian women—endeavor to avoid the traditional approach of violation before death; dispatch them cleanly. If your urges prove uncontrollable, at minimum conduct such activities in secluded locations. We are not barbarians but disciplined imperial soldiers," his lips curved into a smile, "so refrain from riddling women's bodies like wasp nests."