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I was asked to attend the emergency war council. After all, I’m now part of the First Division.
Though in practice, I’m still working with the Third Division on the Southern Front…
But more importantly—why are we holding this meeting in the castle courtyard?

As I was pondering this, the sky above suddenly darkened.

“Oh-ho, looks like everyone’s gathered.”

A deep, leisurely voice called from above.
There’s only one explanation for this situation: The commander of the Second Division has returned from the front.
The Second Division’s commander is a giant.

His name is Tiberit the Roaring Mountain, Commander of the Second Division.
He’s the largest of the giantfolk—the mightiest warrior in the Demon Lord’s army. Bald head, white beard, and muscles so thick they look unreal.
While most giants are a few meters tall, Tiberit towers over them all at over ten meters. Even among giants, he’s a rare exception.

Like any solid 3D object, doubling the height increases the mass eightfold. Double the width and depth too, and… yeah, that’s a thousand times the mass of a human.
You don’t need to be on the receiving end to guess how heavy his blows must be.
With his face as high as a six-story building, he’s basically a walking fortress.

Despite that, he’s surprisingly gentle. Smiling warmly, he quietly sat down in a corner of the courtyard.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting. Those humans were being rather pesky.”

Looking closely, I noticed red stains all over his leather armor and club.
Turns out, he’s only gentle toward fellow demons.

Tiberit spotted me and leaned his massive face down toward mine.
Even knowing he’s an ally, it’s intimidating.

“You’re a werewolf, aren’t you? Why’re you with the Dragonkin Division?”

He was smiling, but the pressure was unreal. I straightened my back and replied:

“I was transferred from the Third Division.”
“Hoho, is that so, is that so.”

He nodded repeatedly, but I doubt he understood anything.
Tiberit’s second only to the Demon Lord in raw power, but his mind’s a bit foggy. He’s not one for complicated matters.

Soon after, the Demon Lord himself appeared, and the war council began.
Tiberit’s meandering and vague report dragged on for quite a while, and I’m sure the meticulous First Division officers were losing their minds.
Since I’m unrelated to the Northern Front, I could listen with relative ease.

To summarize: After retreating from Schwelm City, the Second Division regrouped near the last remaining city, Bachen, and clashed with the pursuing Miraldia Alliance forces.
The details were too confusing to follow, but the gist was clear:
Tiberit basically routed the enemy on his own.
Given his sheer size, only a massive siege weapon could even dent him.
But this old guy bats siege boulders back with his club and hurls them right into enemy lines.

“Well, that’s what you call the true strength of the Second Division. With enough guts, you can win.”

He ended with that line, while the First Division officers exchanged glances.
I know what you want to say—but don’t.

Then, the Demon Lord spoke up.

“Tiberit, what of your subordinate forces?”

The giant scratched his head.

“Well… they got all scattered in the fighting. My men are gathering their units now. I’ll have them report back later.”

Terrible report—but the Demon Lord seemed used to it and simply nodded.

“Very well. Rest within the castle for now.”
“No, I can’t do that. My lads are waiting for me.”

Tiberit carefully stood up, making sure not to step on anyone.

“I’ll head straight back to the battlefield. Never know when they’ll strike again. I only returned to grab rations for the boys.”

The Demon Lord looked up at him and raised a hand slightly, almost amused.

“Very well. Do not push yourself too hard. I wish you victory.”
“Thank you, my Lord.”

Still smiling, Tiberit slowly walked out through a special gate, carrying three carts of food in each hand.
He’s really not a bad guy, but, well…

Once he left, the First Division’s war council finally began in earnest.
The First Division Vice-Commanders are not only brave warriors, but also cool-headed strategists.
Heated debates broke out over the future of the Northern Front.
Since it didn’t concern me, I stayed quiet and kept my seat.

“Sir Veit.”

Huh? What now?

“As a seasoned general from the Southern Front, we would like to hear your opinion on the Northern campaign.”

The speaker was Vice Commander Schula, also known as the “Crimson Knight”, commander of the Crimson Scale Cavalry—a top-tier warrior and a woman, by the way.
Apparently a famous beauty among the Dragonkin.
Too bad that means nothing to me.

“The Northern Front… huh.”

I mean, even if you ask for my opinion… The Northern campaign is so different from my own methods, I don’t even know where to start.
But there’s one thing I can say for certain.

“At this point, strategies like those we used in the South will no longer work. Appeasing human factions and turning them into allies is no longer an option.”

Schula’s expression clearly darkened at that.
Whoa, did she actually have high hopes?

The Dragonkin are good at separating emotion from logic, but that makes them oblivious to others’ emotions.
They’re not cold-hearted—but they do get misunderstood as ruthless because of moments like this.

“I had hoped your diplomatic skill could spare us further losses…”
“After having their homes destroyed and their people slaughtered, humans won’t listen to reason.”
“I see…”

Even Baltze and the others looked gloomy.
I get it—but it’s just not possible.
I’d help if I could, but if I could fix a war this messy, I’d have been president in a past life.

“Then, a quick victory is our only hope. We must deploy more from the First Division. I’ll go myself.”

Schula declared firmly, but Baltze quickly tried to stop her.

“Y-you mustn’t, Lady Schula! If something were to happen to you…”

Hm? That’s not like Baltze to be flustered.
I don’t know much about Schula’s combat prowess, but if she commands one of the First’s elite forces, she must be a beast.
…Ah, I see.
They do feel love and fear of loss, just like anyone else.
Baltze always struck me as a rigid type, but even he’s not immune to emotion.

After that, many ideas were discussed—from withdrawing the Second Division to launching an all-out offensive with the First.
I just sat there smirking at Baltze. It’s not like I have any troops to spare for the Northern Front anyway.
In the end, they decided to fortify Bachen and leave the front line to the Second Division.

From the First Division, Schula was dispatched as reinforcements—500 Crimson Scale Cavalry and 3,000 Dragonkin infantry.

“Listen carefully, Lady Schula. You are to provide support during the Second Division’s withdrawal. Do not, under any circumstance, take the front line.”
“Understood, Sir Baltze. We mustn’t tarnish the Second Division’s honor.”
“No, that’s not what I meant…”

These two are fun to watch.
Good luck, Sir Baltze.