There are so many books coming out this month, I can't keep track of all the bonus information...

The fleet led by Marquis Jason Sera Hampson has successfully rendezvoused with the main force of the punitive expedition.

The location was a hastily constructed military base in space.

The donut-shaped base was a massive structure, tens of kilometers in diameter.

However, it was far too small to support a fleet of millions.

Even now, damaged ships were arriving one after another, seeking resupply and maintenance, but the situation remained one where they could not be adequately handled.

Hampson, who had boarded the base as the deputy commander, was walking with a wider stride than usual.

It was a sign of his impatience, but the primary reason was anger.

Upon arriving at the commander-in-chief's office on the base, he was stopped by the knights guarding the door.

"Marquis Hampson, His Highness the Crown Prince is exhausted."

Cleo, who had suffered a major defeat at the hands of Klaus, had escaped from his fortress-class flagship using a high-speed vessel and returned to the base.

Hampson could imagine that a retreat while under pursuit must have been mentally taxing for the inexperienced Cleo—but he couldn't hold back.

"Is there anyone who isn't exhausted in this situation?! Let me see His Highness the Crown Prince at once!"

Although he was the head of a marquisate, Hampson was also a noble entrusted with the border.

He possessed first-rate skills as a knight and shoved aside Cleo's guards.

The knights, sent flying by his rough push, hurriedly ganged up on Hampson, four of them trying to restrain him.

"Please calm down! His Highness the Crown Prince is resting!"

"In a situation where every minute and second counts, what kind of commander-in-chief is casually sleeping?! Wake him up this instant!"

Cleo, hearing Hampson and the others arguing, used the microphone on a monitor near the door to grant permission.

"'Let him through.'"

"Your Highness? —As you wish."

With Cleo's permission, the knights reluctantly released Hampson.

When the door opened, Hampson entered the room with an insolent attitude.

The reason for Hampson's attitude was Cleo's repeated selfish actions on the battlefield.

Hampson's brow twitched as he saw Cleo sitting on the bed in casual clothes.

"There are many things I'd like to say, but first, shall we celebrate our safe return?"

But Marquis Hampson let out a deep sigh and suppressed his anger.

Seeing this, Cleo was slightly surprised.

He must have expected to be showered with curses.

In truth, Hampson wanted to curse Cleo right then and there—but his opponent was the Crown Prince.

(Once we return to the capital planet, his right of succession will be lowered, or perhaps even revoked—or he'll be executed to take responsibility. But for now, he is still His Highness the Crown Prince.)

To the now-composed Hampson, Cleo offered words of reflection with a self-deprecating tone.

"I underestimated Klaus. I never thought he would be this strong."

Hampson was inwardly irritated by Cleo's words.

"It's true that he exceeded our expectations, but the real problem was accepting unnecessary reinforcements in the first place."

(What's the point of saying that now? If only you had acted according to our prior arrangements, the chances of our defeat would have been low.)

The cause of the punitive army's defeat was Cleo's acceptance of a volunteer army—a fleet unrelated to the expeditionary force.

The unscheduled reinforcements led to a shortage of supplies.

The punitive army was, in a sense, tormented by its own allies.

The supply shortage bred impatience, which was then exploited.

(I never imagined such a large fleet would gather out of hatred for the Banfield family. If it weren't for them, we wouldn't be in such a dire situation.)

If only we didn't have those extra reinforcements! That was Hampson's honest feeling.

However, there was no time to stand around reflecting on this and that.

Their allies were still in retreat, and their own dangerous situation hadn't changed.

"Your Highness, we need to make a decision. Do we scatter and flee to Imperial territory, or do we regroup and challenge them to a decisive battle?"

Hearing Hampson's proposal, Cleo was skeptical.

"I can understand fleeing, but do you intend to challenge the Banfields in this situation?"

Hampson felt the urge to sigh at Cleo, who hadn't even considered the option of fighting back.

"With all due respect, Your Highness, please consider our current position. If we, having suffered a major defeat to the Banfield family, return to the capital planet like this, there will be no place for us."

Not only Cleo, the one in charge, but also Hampson, the de facto commander-in-chief, would be held responsible.

As Cleo's face soured, Hampson guided him toward challenging them to a decisive battle.

Behind it was Hampson's pride, his refusal to let things end here.

"Your Highness! Just once is enough. If we can inflict a heavy blow on the Banfield family before we withdraw, we can still save face!"

Cleo, who had been struggling with the decision, gave in to Hampson's persuasion.

"—Fine."

◇

Like Marquis Hampson, another man had arrived at the base.

It was Dustin, the Sword Saint and master of the Roman Sword Style.

He was walking through the base with his disciples, and the soldiers were in quite a panic.

One of his disciples whispered in Dustin's ear.

"The entire army is on edge."

Dustin agreed, but he thought it was to be expected.

"They probably never imagined they would lose."

"What should we do now?"

Hearing his disciple's words, Dustin, who had known them for a long time, read between the lines.

Unlike usual, his disciples seemed tense.

They likely didn't want to remain on a battlefield where defeat seemed certain.

"You seem to want me to run. Have you lost your nerve?"

"N-No."

Although they denied it, his disciples were clearly frightened.

He sighed at the pathetic sight of his disciples, but Dustin, too, saw no merit in remaining on such a battlefield indefinitely.

However—if he were to flee now, Dustin would be finished as a swordsman.

If word got out that he had fled because the battle turned sour, the Imperial Army would not forgive him, even if he was a Sword Saint.

His skills as a Sword Saint would be called into question.

"—Judging by Marquis Hampson's demeanor, he won't just turn tail and run. If we flee now, there will be no future for the Roman Sword Style. You will all fight with every ounce of your strength."

At Dustin's words, his disciples nodded, breaking out in a cold sweat.

Seeing them, Dustin felt a sense of crisis.

(If we survive this battle, I'll have to re-educate my disciples. The negative effects of being too obsessed with winning are showing.)

Win, even if it's by cowardly means. Don't fight an opponent you can't beat—this thorough method of engagement, meant to spread the Roman Sword Style, had created disciples who cowered when faced with adversity.

Normally, it wasn't a problem, but in a situation like this, they became useless.

(Things never go as planned.)

◇

The fleet led by Viscount Tryde Sera Moss was scrambling to escape from the pursuing fleet led by Marie Sera Marian.

Viscount Tryde, commanding from the bridge, was terrified of Marie's relentless fleet.

"They're a persistent bunch, chasing us to the ends of the universe."

Viscount Tryde's adjutant was frightened by Marie, who was targeting them so tenaciously.

"My lord Viscount, all allied fleets that offered to surrender have been destroyed. Th-They intend to annihilate us."

"Yes, I imagine so."

The Banfield family, though now an enemy, was originally a ducal house of the Empire's nobility.

If they took nobles as prisoners, it would naturally create an opportunity to negotiate with the Empire.

If played right, the Banfield family could even end the war through negotiations.

But they had cast that aside and were coming to kill them.

The adjutant had a look of incomprehension.

"To kill even those who have surrendered... it's insane."

They were once comrades in the same Empire—but to be so thoroughly crushed just for being on opposite sides was not normal.

However, Viscount Tryde could understand how Marie and the others felt.

"It just means they see us as that much of a threat. The ones gathered here are some of the most powerful feudal lords in the Empire. They understand that if they don't crush us when they have the chance, we'll become an even bigger problem later."

"My lord Viscount?"

The adjutant was bewildered by his statement, which seemed to acknowledge the enemy's point.

Viscount Tryde wore a bitter expression.

(It's true. If I and the other heads of houses, along with our heirs, die here, succession disputes will break out in our territories. Relatives will start fighting amongst themselves for the title of Viscount.)

Many of the nobles who joined the punitive army seeking glory were the heads of their houses or their heirs.

Many of their relatives also participated to support them, but if they were all wiped out, the relatives who stayed behind would start fighting to become the next head of the house.

(Finally! I've finally rebuilt this much! If I die here, everything I've built up will be lost. I will absolutely prevent that from happening!)

However, fleeing the battlefield was a bad move.

If he fled all the way back to the Empire, it would be desertion in the face of the enemy.

Even if Cleo, the Crown Prince, declared a retreat, they would still be held responsible for the defeat.

If there was any hope, it was to gather the remaining fleet, strike a blow against the Banfield family, and then withdraw.

If they did that, it wouldn't be impossible to call it a draw.

They would still be held responsible, but they could avoid the worst-case scenario.

"I never thought we'd be cornered like this."

In response to the self-mocking Viscount Tryde, his adjutant muttered resentfully.

"If His Highness the Crown Prince hadn't done something so unnecessary, we wouldn't have lost."

It was what everyone was thinking, but Viscount Tryde admonished his adjutant.

"That's disrespectful. I understand how you feel, but you should choose your words and place more carefully."

He was implicitly saying, 'We all feel the same way, but if you're going to complain, think about where you are!'

The adjutant straightened his posture.

"My apologies."

"Be more careful in the future. Still, it's as if we've been possessed by a plague god."

Having been so utterly defeated in a battle they should have won, Viscount Tryde couldn't shake the feeling that some great, unseen force was at work.

Just then, Marie's face appeared on a monitor on Viscount Tryde's bridge.

Marie, looking quite excited, spread her arms wide, her eyes bloodshot.

"'Hey, hey, don't run away, Lord Viscount~. Come and play with us~.'"

The communication channel seemed to have been forcibly opened, and the operators were in a panic.

Viscount Tryde glared at Marie.

"You fiends who know no restraint."

"'We're all comrades, aren't we? Let's get along. Besides, do you really think you, who pillaged Lord Liam's territory and burned his planets, aren't the demons and devils here? —We will kill every last one of you.'"

As she uttered the word 'kill,' Marie's face became expressionless. When her image vanished from the monitor, the bridge crew shuddered in terror.

Viscount Tryde slammed his fist on the armrest.

"You monsters of the Banfield family!"