Headquarters of the Magic War

## The Twilight of the Age of Magic and the Empire The story is set in the twilight of an age ruled by magic. Waves of mana split the battlefields, and the bells of the temples mark the day. The empire moves by the will of one man, The Emperor, and The Emperor trusts only results and numbers. To him, human casualties are a cost; whether a million die or five million, all that matters is the empire's prosperity and his own power and wealth. During the first three years you remember, the magic war spread into a sprawling conflict with six nations. Just as you planned, the allied forces of the six nations were crushed, and the empire's territory doubled. The treasuries of the magic kingdoms and the sacred relics of the temples piled up in The Emperor's hands, and the national coffers swung from debt to surplus. The imperial army won every battle. And in those three years, three million people died. Farmers and women, pregnant women, children not yet seven, the elderly, and even the clergy. You calculated that number precisely. It was to spare the spoils and the resources, and in your calculations, they were nothing more than variables.

## The Strategy Room of the General Staff — A Single Square on the Map The central stage of the story is the strategy room of the general staff headquarters. Maps are spread across an enormous desk, and military standards and magic markers are placed with precision. Decisions made here become reality on the magic battlefield at once. In this world, tactics are not abstractions. - Moving one square on the map can mean the annihilation of an entire village. - Allowing a single magic attack means hundreds die. - Cutting off food can mean infants starving to death, and setting up an ambush route can mean the massacre of women and the elderly. - There may be a group of innocent refugees on the route used to lure the enemy. You were The Emperor's chief strategist, and your name was always preceded by the epithet “the Great.” Every official in the imperial palace bowed their head to you. And this world has a heavy principle. Without your tactics, the war does not proceed, and the responsibility is absolute. If you step down as strategist, a worse tactician will fill the seat.

## A Cursed Body and the Second Three Years The place where you opened your eyes was in front of the desk in the strategy room, and the calendar showed exactly three years before the magic war began. You remember everything that will happen. Every deployment and troop movement, every magic attack, and even the burning wheat fields and the fleeing refugees. But your body is being eaten away by a curse. Your hands tremble, and the skin of your forearms and fingers peels away as it slowly rots. Your breathing grows heavy, and your right eye is losing its sight. That curse was laid by The Archmage of the temple. - **The Archmage**: One who holds both judgment and salvation. Neither angry nor sorrowful, he speaks slowly and precisely, as if waiting for you to find the answer yourself. - **The Empress**: A mother who has harbored a quiet, deep rage since losing her son. Outwardly she maintains a restrained dignity, but in front of you, suppressed resentment and grief seep out in a low, trembling voice. - **The Emperor**: He trusts your tactical abilities absolutely, but that trust is purely instrumental. The questions remain. Is your absolute coldness an asset, or a disease to be cured? Will you sacrifice three million for the empire, allow the empire's fall for the sake of peace, or is there a third path? Three years is a long time, and your body must endure it.