Chapter 33: The Dragon Song Sung for You

Blegh—

Cinderella crouched in the corner outside the office door, dry heaving over and over.

To her, the war had already far exceeded the limits of what she could bear—let alone a war that had dragged on for thirty-four years, driving everyone to the brink of madness. Anywhere in the Immortal Fortress, one could see soldiers covered in wounds, lying on the ground groaning, the stench of blood and rot pricking at every nerve.

But the true horror of the battlefield wasn’t in those severed limbs and mangled bodies. Just like how people fear ghosts in dark and desolate places, even ghosts became gentle in the Immortal Fortress. Here, one could feel a kind of evil taking on a tangible shape, calmly merging with the land—becoming part of it.

The most terrifying part was this:

You had to remember their faces.

You had to remember their faces clearly.

Her slender fingers gently brushed over her chest, and only after a long while did Cinderella begin to calm down. This was something she had to endure. If even the Immortal Fortress had become like this, then her homeland must be in an even more wretched state.

Cinderella straightened herself up, took a meal tray from the side—not that it had milk or bread, just a cup of water and some potatoes.

This was the frontmost line of war. Supplies were so scarce they could barely get by. Even General Carlwitz was no exception.

She pushed open the door to the conference room.

Nominally, this was Cinderella's office. In truth, it was Ning Luo’s. Of course, it was also their shared room. When Cinderella opened the door, she could see Ning Luo still working.

From the moment she had first met Ning Luo until now—

Aside from the bare minimum of sleep, she had almost never seen him rest. It was as if he carried a burden as heavy as a mountain on his shoulders.

And that seemed to be true.

The fate of this land was going to be rewritten by Ning Luo’s hands.

Cinderella found it difficult to describe this feeling. She only knew Ning Luo looked so, so exhausted—as though the moment he let out a breath, he would collapse and never rise again.

She placed the food down on the table in front of him.

"Eat something first."

"Just leave it there."

"Alright…"

Cinderella gathered her long skirt and sat down beside him. She wore a plain black dress, like a modest nun. Even so, her beauty could not be hidden. And yet, Ning Luo never once turned to look at her.

This room was small.

So small that the only place to sit was the bed. So small that it was nearly impossible to walk around inside.

But Cinderella rather liked places like this. Bigger spaces only made her feel unsafe. Her nation was far too weak—just like she was. All she could do was barely survive under the protection of a great empire.

"Don’t worry. I said I’d protect you—so I absolutely will."

Ning Luo’s voice came from beside her.

He didn’t turn around, his hands still busy with work, but there wasn’t a trace of doubt in his words.

"Why?"

Cinderella asked in confusion.

"I brought you out. Taking you back is my responsibility."

——

Cinderella turned her head to look at the narrow window. There was nothing to see. Just like in Brittany, it always rained in the Holy Federation during this time of year.

And this rain—

Had been falling for thirty-four years.

"You don’t have to take me back. If this war ends, I’ll have to return to Dortmund."

In Cinderella’s memories, Dortmund was almost a blank space.

She didn’t even remember what her father looked like.

News from home contained nothing but war, and war, and more war. All sides furiously denounced Dortmund as a two-faced traitor. Rather than saying Cinderella was a daughter of Dortmund, it would be more accurate to say she was a daughter of Albion. She had grown up in Albion, and her fluency in the Albion tongue far surpassed her German.

And yet, even so, she still had to go back.

Ning Luo carried the burden of responsibility.

So did Cinderella.

Only—

His voice remained just as unyielding and beyond doubt.

"No. I told you—I will take you back."

……

...

The situation in the Holy Federation was even worse than Ning Luo had imagined.

The soldiers’ supplies were less than half of what Brittany had. Everything was barely being held together by sheer willpower. The Holy Federation's army had not yet collapsed—should Ning Luo call it firm conviction, or sheer madness?

In the Holy Federation, not to mention implementing a logistics reform or a rotation system—they lacked even the fundamental capacity to attempt such changes.

And besides—

This was already the thirty-fourth year of the war.

Truly, all plans had been exhausted.

Which meant Ning Luo had no options left on a strategic level. The only possibility was to achieve a breakthrough tactically—no, even tactical breakthroughs were now out of reach. Ning Luo was left with just one method:

Crush the enemy’s defenses psychologically.

But—

Before the enemy’s line could be broken, General Carlwitz’s own psychological defenses were already on the verge of collapse.

Because the plan Ning Luo had presented wasn’t a defensive strategy at all.

General Carlwitz roared at him:

"My soldiers—every single one of them—is a living, breathing human being! They are not emotionless tools! Is this what you lunatics did in Brittany? Now! You Albion bastard, take your Dortmund whore and get the hell out of here—both of you!"

Faced with General Carlwitz’s outburst, Ning Luo didn’t so much as flinch. He had seen this kind of thing too many times.

And yet—

They always ended up making the same choice in the end.

Or rather—

They had no choice at all.

"In Albion, at the very least, we all understand—if you want to oppose someone, you need a better plan. Not just opposition for its own sake."

"You expect me to approve a plan that sends my soldiers to die?!"

"From the very beginning of this war—haven’t you been sending them to die?"

General Carlwitz had no reply.

Because it was true.

This war, at its core, existed to send everyone to their deaths.

And the plan Ning Luo had presented to General Carlwitz was not complicated.

It called for withdrawing troops from Schwarzthal’s eastern front, merging them with soldiers from the Immortal Fortress to form three corps. The First Corps would launch an offensive on Lichburg, a stronghold of the Scandinavian Empire. The Second and Third Corps would attack Dornhain, also within Scandinavian territory.

Upon capturing Dornhain, the Second Corps would immediately redeploy to support the First Corps. Then, once Lichburg fell, the First Corps would promptly join forces with the Western Army Corps to launch an assault on Eisenwald—forcing the Grand Duke of Eisenwald to surrender.

It all sounded fine on paper.

But the first impression anyone would get was that Ning Luo had gone mad.

Had it been the first year of the war, the Holy Federation's forces might have been able to execute such an operation. Might have. But now—this was year thirty-four. Ning Luo's battle plan would directly lead to the total collapse of the Holy Federation's military.

Even if they somehow gritted their teeth and captured the two fortresses, the army—after executing such a high-intensity campaign—would be utterly drained of combat capability.

By the time the retreating Scandinavian Empire responded—

That would be a catastrophic disaster.

Of course—

If Ning Luo dared to propose such an operation plan, he naturally had his reasons.

It was an all-in gamble.

A gamble that the evacuated Eastern Front at Schwarzthal wouldn’t come under attack.

A gamble that the Holy Federation's soldiers could pull off such a campaign.

A gamble that the Scandinavian Empire wouldn’t dig in for a last stand and would instead choose to retreat.

A gamble that the Grand Duke of Eisenwald would not withstand the pressure and would surrender.

That was exactly why General Carlwitz believed Ning Luo to be a complete madman.

Ning Luo stepped in front of General Carlwitz, locking eyes with those reddened with rage.

"I don’t have time to argue. Either carry out my plan—or give me a better one.

Otherwise... then go die like a coward."

Ning Luo had no time to waste on squabbling with General Carlwitz.

Nor did he have time for careful negotiation.

He wasn’t just responsible for resolving the crisis in the Holy Federation—he also had Albion’s issues to worry about.

And General Carlwitz had no choice either.

He slumped into his chair in pain, his trembling right hand pressing against his forehead.

In this war, everyone had become a mad gambler.

They had placed everything—everything—on the table, wagering their ruined nations, their shattered families, and their own lives in a struggle that would not end until one side was destroyed.

"May our souls never find peace for all eternity."

……

...

Rain was falling on Hohenstein.

The drizzle pattered endlessly.

Rain was falling on Hohenstein.

Drop after drop after drop.

A black dragon circled overhead, letting out piercing shrieks across the sky.

When General Carlwitz, the Chief of Army Staff, issued the operation order, everyone thought he had lost his mind. It wasn’t even about whether the plan would work—even if it succeeded, it would still render the Holy Federation’s army completely incapable of further combat. It might very well collapse during execution.

This operation was too much of a gamble.

A gamble where thirty-four years of sacrifice and ruin would be decided in a single stroke.

A gamble in which a war that would decide the fate of all the empires on this land was built on a plan Ning Luo had hastily completed in just two days.

Yet as the Chief of Army Staff of the Holy Federation for eight years, no one dared to question General Carlwitz. Those within the Imperial Army High Command also understood—they had reached the end of all options. There were no solutions left.

Better to wage one final, mad war.

A war to end the thirty-four-year war.

June 1st, 1064.

The Holy Federation Imperial Army General Staff approved the Imperial Offensive Operation Plan.

June 20th, 1064.

Rain fell over the Holy Federation once more. This June was colder than any June that had come before.

In the command chamber, General Carlwitz, the Chief of Army Staff of the Holy Federation, stood alone. Ning Luo was an Albionian—the lives and deaths of the Holy Federation's people had nothing to do with him. But every life in the Holy Federation would have to be repaid by General Carlwitz himself.

His coarse fingers clutched a delicate pocket watch. Outside, 300,000 Imperial Army soldiers waited for him to give the final order—

The order that would send them to die.

The ticking of the second hand echoed quietly, as if to mark the burial of all sins and all past misdeeds of this land. When General Carlwitz snapped the pocket watch shut—

The torrent of history would drown them all.

"Commence the operation!"

……

...

Even as the rain washed over the earth, the stench of gunpowder and blood still lingered in the air, nauseating and thick.

At that moment—

Ning Luo and Cinderella were already on horseback, riding away.

Accompanying them was Colonel Prittwitz and his liaison team. Their mission was to move ahead and pressure the Grand Duke of Eisenwald to surrender once the First Corps launched their assault on Lichburg.

The prerequisite: that the First Corps succeeded.

If they failed—then in General Carlwitz’s own words:

Run.

Run as far as you can. As far from this land and everything upon it.

Cinderella turned back to look at the Immortal Fortress, blurred in the wind and rain.

It was so quiet.

So quiet—it felt as if it had already become part of the past.

"...Sing a song..."

Ning Luo’s voice was faint. Or maybe it was loud—but in the wind and rain, it sounded so small.

Cinderella slowly closed her eyes.

——

In the deep mountains, ancient dreams lie still,

Mist curls gently around your form,

Wings spread wide, the wind whispers low—

O dragon,

Take me into the sky.

The rivers sing of songs long forgotten,

No one remembers your name anymore.

Mountains and dust, the world decays—

O dragon,

Take me away—