Admiration is the furthest emotion from understanding.
This saying is widely known among the officers of the former Northern Army—now the Revolutionary Army and Central Army.
Typically, it’s used to describe none other than their leader, Carolus, the Vice-Chairman of the Supreme Council for National Reconstruction.
Why did a line from a certain edgy grim reaper manga become so prevalent?
The answer was simple.
The presence and stature of Carolus von Royten, a young man in his late twenties, were utterly irreplaceable among them.
“Colonel Carolus? He’s been here since I was a rookie. Thanks to him, our unit has the highest survival rate.”
“Once, I got trapped in a crevasse during a reconnaissance mission, and Lieutenant Royten saved me. There are hardly any officers as caring and protective of their subordinates as he is.”
“He’s the cornerstone of the Northern Army. If you even think about badmouthing him, the entire division would lynch you on the spot—no, scratch that, the entire corps would come for you.”
From fresh-faced second lieutenants to seasoned major generals, everyone knew of Carolus.
Since the first day of the war, he had tirelessly defended the North.
Even as his comrades fell one after another, even as his body was scarred and severely wounded, he never left the frontlines.
No matter how dire the situation, he never abandoned his mission. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his comrades, defying the Imperial forces.
Through countless bloody battles, he safeguarded the kingdom’s lands at the cost of mountains of corpses and rivers of blood.
Though he hadn’t yet achieved a grand, decisive victory in a massive battle,
the career he had built over time was unparalleled.
The fact that he reached the rank of major general—something that usually required 15 years of elite connections—in less than a decade said it all.
“Honestly, if I hadn’t been under General Carolus… I might’ve taken my own life before even becoming an NCO. He’s saved more people than I can count.”
“If he hadn’t improved the culture of our unit, we’d probably still be shoving rookies into latrines as a rite of passage.”
It wasn’t just his achievements.
Carolus was also highly regarded for his character.
This was a medieval fantasy world, after all—a time when superiors routinely beat their subordinates and officers treated soldiers like slaves.
But Carolus was different.
At worst, he assigned chores to orderlies.
He treated his soldiers not as expendable tools but as individuals worthy of respect.
Even when reprimanding someone, he avoided violence.
A mild curse, a reasonable critique, and a verbal warning were usually the extent of it.
Back when he was a captain in the Korean army, no one would have called him kind.
But here, in the Royal Army, this level of decency made him practically angelic.
And so, the Revolutionary Army admired Carolus.
They revered their brilliant and legendary yet kind leader.
So much so that, when they staged their coup, they rallied around him as their figurehead.
Though mutual trust and belief were strong among them, they felt that only Carolus could truly be their leader.
Everyone believed that wholeheartedly.
…Until today.
Today, that trust wavered ever so slightly.
All because of the absurd strategy Carolus proposed.
“You want to… set it on fire?”
“Wait, the enemy’s camp? Right in the middle of it?”
“Yes. Burn everything—the ground, the fort, the whole lot. And then we’ll pick off the ones who come running out.”
Admiration… should they really feel it?
‘Hmmm.’
This was during the war council we held immediately after the Central Army arrived at the Western Front.
I had summoned every officer ranked battalion commander or higher and presented my plan.
The looks they gave me were… unsettling.
It felt like they were staring at an escaped lunatic from a mental asylum.
I understand that the sudden proposal is a bit disconcerting, but isn’t this reaction a bit too harsh? Come on, we’ve fought together for years, and now you treat me like this?
“Calm down, everyone, and listen to me first. Do you know what month it is right now?”
“…September, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. Early September. The end of summer, right when autumn begins.”
It’s not like I’m just spouting random ideas here.
This plan came from carefully observing the enemy’s movements and the environmental conditions on-site.
Still, seeing such a dismal reaction from them is a bit disheartening.
“Based on what I observed on the way here, this western region has a temperate climate. Summers are dry, and winters are wet. Am I correct?”
“Yes, that’s why we always pay special attention to stocking drinking water in the summer. But what does that have to do with anything?”
The western regions of the kingdom have a Mediterranean climate by Earth standards.
Unlike Korea, where summers are wet and winters are dry, it’s the opposite here—dry summers and wet winters.
While it’s a blessing not to deal with sweltering humidity during the heat, that’s not the point.
“Now think about it from another perspective. If it’s so dry that even water supplies are disrupted, what do you think the state of the vegetation and forests is like?”
“…Ah!”
Finally catching on, one of the officers lets out a gasp.
That’s right—it’s all dried up and withered, you slowpokes.
I remember watching the news once about Greece issuing wildfire warnings every summer.
It’s a natural tinderbox, so prone to fires that they can ignite on their own.
If we deliberately set them, the flames will spread like wildfire—quite literally.
“And the Empire’s forces? Before we arrived, they heavily fortified their defensive lines, right? They built layers of wooden palisades, reinforced artillery positions, and even temporary forts—all hastily thrown together.”
Out of fear of us, they abandoned their offensive and bunkered down, like a turtle retreating into its shell.
Honestly, it’s not a bad strategy.
If you’re unsure of victory, stalling for time is a classic tactic.
But the problem lies in the resources they used to fortify themselves.
“Do you think they used proper materials for walls and barriers they threw up in a matter of days? There wasn’t nearly enough time to quarry and process stone, was there?”
Bricks that need to be fired in a kiln, stones that need to be selected and cut, or concrete that takes days to cure—all of these are widely used, but none are suited for rushed construction.
Besides, it’s not like they had stockpiles of those materials readily available.
Pressed for time, the only material the Imperial Army could realistically use was wood.
Freshly cut, untreated wood at that.
Sure, wood can be a useful material when handled properly… but our reconnaissance showed they didn’t even bother with that.
They just hacked the logs into rough shapes and stuck them together.
Forget about paint or waterproofing—none of that.
In other words, their defenses, dried out under the summer heat, are now perfectly primed to be kindling.
They’ve practically gift-wrapped their entire defensive line for us. We won’t even need to target a specific weak point.
“Now, I hope you understand. The Empire’s fortifications might look sturdy on the outside, but they’re fragile to the core. Just a bit of effort on our part, and the whole thing will collapse.”
“But… but can a fire attack really go as planned? What if we light it up, and the wind blows the flames back toward us—”
“That won’t be a problem. Leave it to the mage corps.”
After all, this is a fantasy world. Manipulating the wind with magic is a given.
We’re not talking about conjuring hurricanes or typhoons, but generating a steady breeze? That’s well within their capabilities.
If the mages combine their efforts, they can easily direct the wind toward the enemy camp.
With thousands of them working together, maintaining the effect for a prolonged period—say, two or three hours—shouldn’t be an issue.
More than enough time to burn everything to ashes.
The entrenched “turtles” won’t stand a chance against the suffocating heat and will be forced to come out of their shells.
“Got it now?”
I swept my gaze over the officers, then gave the command.
“Gather all the oil and sugar in the camp. We’re about to teach those damned Imperial bastards a fiery lesson they won’t forget.”
Now.
“Sir, everything is ready.”
“Then let’s get started.”
The honor of carrying out this glorious mission fell to the light cavalry.
Armed with jars of oil, they charged toward the enemy camp.
As they closed the distance, each rider lit a prepared flint on their saddle and set their jars ablaze.
Swinging the jars on ropes, they built momentum before hurling them with all their might.
BOOM!
“FIRE!!”
“WAAAAAH!!! WHY IS THERE FIRE?!”
“Don’t just scream—get water, you idiots! Are you seriously just going to stand there while the camp burns?!”
The jars were filled with a mixture of oil, sugar, and sawdust, creating makeshift incendiary bombs.
It was a little trick I adapted from something I’d read back when I was still in Korea.
Naturally, dousing it with water wouldn’t extinguish the flames.
You’d need to bury it under mountains of sand to even begin smothering the fire—or just wait until it completely burned out.
Lacking such knowledge, the Imperial soldiers panicked, wasting their critical window to respond effectively.
Before long, most of their defenses were consumed by the inferno.
“A-Argh, this is hopeless! Everyone, retreat! Get out of here before we’re all roasted alive!”
“Grab whatever you can and run! Survival comes first—forget the equipment!”
As the fleeing soldiers scrambled out of their burning fortifications, they were greeted by the sight of the kingdom’s army waiting in perfect formation.
At the forefront stood me, calmly observing the spectacular fire show.
The bewildered Imperial soldiers stared at us in disbelief.
Looking down at them, I murmured under my breath:
“Welcome to my Fire Society.”
It just felt like the right thing to say.