The wind before dawn licked Fernork quietly. Mornings came early to the Volgan Plateau. Before the sun rose, campfires blazed across the nomadic city, the clang of armor and tribal voices filling the air. Today was different. Not the usual sounds of training. These were the footsteps of ceremony preparations. Kuro gazed down at the sprawling landscape from the fifth floor of the strategist's tower. It was overwhelming. All twelve tribes of the Goldra Allied Forces—forty-eight thousand strong—were beginning to line up across Fernork's central plaza and the surrounding flatlands. Torchlight spread like waves, as if countless stars had fallen and accumulated on the ground. Individual faces were invisible from this height, but as a mass, they were no longer an army. They were a living creature. (It ends here.) Kuro's gaze fell to the crest on his right hand. The mark of buff magic. He'd lost count of how many buffs he'd cast and how many curse networks he'd woven in these past months. Everyone had their share. He'd done the final confirmation three times last night. No mistakes. A knock at the door. "[cold]It's time, Strategist. Take the platform." That low voice came from beyond the door. Without turning, Kuro answered. "[serious]Understood." --- The victory ceremony was, naturally, on a scale beyond measure—because Groflik was orchestrating it. A wooden platform three meters high stood at the center of the plaza. The twelve tribal chiefs lined both sides, with each tribe's elite standing behind them. Spread before them was a sea of forty-eight thousand soldiers in perfect formation. The moment Groflik stepped onto the platform, everything changed. Two meters forty centimeters tall, weighing easily three times an adult male. His ash-green skin bore countless scars from battle. His left tusk broken at the root, his face grew more menacing in the morning light. Yellow eyes swept across the forty-eight thousand—and with just that, he radiated a presence more overwhelming than ten thousand cheers. "[cold]It ends today." His voice wasn't loud. Yet it reached even the front ranks of soldiers. That was the monster called Groflik. "[cold]The age of humans ends. Today, the people of the Volgan Plateau become masters of the continent. Kuro—cast the final buff on all forces. Burn this moment into their bodies at peak condition." Kuro stepped forward. He stood at the edge of the platform. Forty-eight thousand below him. The ridgeline of the Volgan Plateau in the distance. Deep in his ears, King Philibert's smile surfaced. He heard Solange's "I believed in you." The cold earth beneath him on that night of lamentation returned. (This is the last job.) The crest on his right hand began to glow. Kuro activated the spell formula. Buff magic spread in all directions—a wave of white light enveloped the soldiers' bodies. Strength amplification. Reflex acceleration. Magical capacity expansion. All enhancements activated simultaneously. The forty-eight thousand lined soldiers' bodies glimmered faintly in the white light. Kuro felt Groflik nod in satisfaction at his back. But this light was not reinforcement. It was the curse network—the light signaling the final trigger's installation was complete. Kuro's hand trembled ever so slightly. --- The ceremony continued. The tribal chiefs took turns swearing oaths on the platform, Groflik responded, and each tribe's banner was raised high. And finally, Groflik turned to Kuro. "[cold]Let the Strategist speak. We've come this far because of your schemes." Kuro stood at the center of the platform. Forty-eight thousand eyes turned toward him. The morning light grew stronger. A bird called in the distance. (Just one breath.) He pictured Solange's face in his mind. The person who'd been closest to him these past months. The person who'd decided not to cry, yet shed a single tear. The person who'd said, "Don't run away this time." Kuro drew all the air from the depths of his lungs. With no microphone, no amplification magic, in the open air, he poured thirty-five years of regret and a vow to one person into his voice. "[serious]Release——!!" One moment. Complete silence. Then—the white light vanished all at once. There was no boom. No explosion. The glow simply peeled away from the forty-eight thousand bodies, quietly and completely. Strength amplification returned to zero. Reflex acceleration returned to zero. Magical capacity expansion returned to zero. Everything Kuro had built up over months of enhancement disappeared in an instant. A soldier holding a heavy weapon couldn't bear its weight and dropped to one knee. The neat formations began to crumble. Confusion spread tribe by tribe, cascading through the great army until it devolved into a disorganized mob. "[angry]You bastard——!!" A roar like the earth itself shaking echoed across the plaza. Immediately after—the enhancement trigger embedded in the six princesses who'd attended the ceremony activated. An application of buff magic. The inverse of deactivation—releasing pre-loaded enhancements all at once at a specific moment. The six princesses' physical abilities tripled in an instant. "[excited]I've been waiting for this moment!" Silver hair fluttered. A greatsword flew from its sheath. The princess of Prevarn—a swordswoman trained in Cresta's rings, capable of drawing with five active knights—charged toward the platform with triple enhancement. The blacksmith princess of Galdion drew short blades and spare edges from beneath her ceremonial dress, deftly tossing them one by one to the other four princesses. "Use these," she called. The merchant federation princess responded matter-of-factly, "Received," as she caught the blades. And then. Golden wavy hair bounced. "[excited]Let's go!!" Solange, carrying a greatsword in both hands, had worn armor today—of all days. Properly fitted armor, metal and leather, genuine armor. Last night, Kuro had half-begged her, "Please, just today, wear the armor. I'm asking as a favor." Miraculously, she'd agreed. Beside her, the fortune-teller princess of Melistia peered into a small crystal. "[gentle]Current success probability: seven percent." (Don't say such inauspicious things!!) Kuro's mind screamed internally, but there was no time to voice it. --- The six princesses rushed Groflik. Even without buffs, they had triple human enhancement. The Prevarn swordswoman led the charge, swinging her greatsword down—Groflik caught it with one arm. The deafening crash of metal. The swordswoman's feet scraped the ground. Still, she couldn't push through. His other arm moved. The Galdion blacksmith princess flew backward. She tumbled to the platform's edge and crashed into the wall. The next instant, Lumina of Tolmia leaped from the side—and was similarly batted away. It was overwhelming. Even with the enhancement trigger, the orc general was beyond human scale. His skeleton was different. His muscle mass was different. The raw power of a monster who'd survived forty years on the Volgan Plateau couldn't be bridged by the princesses' enhancement. "[angry]Is that all——" Yellow eyes slowly surveyed the six princesses. Not mockery, but pure assessment. Kuro gritted his teeth. (I knew this. It was expected. That's why there's a next move.) He poured power into the crest on his right hand. Something a buff mage normally never did—including the caster as a target. A forbidden technique he'd tested alone the night before the decisive battle, using the logic of a programmer from his past life. He activated the self-enhancement spell formula. His entire body grew hot. His vision sharpened for a moment. Yet it was still far from Groflik's combat power. Kuro wasn't a warrior. He was a buff mage. Different build, different combat training. But what he needed to do now wasn't to win. "[serious]Groflik!!" He charged forward, shouting. He knew it was meaningless. He ran anyway. The cowardly version of himself from his past life retreated for this moment alone. Groflik's yellow eyes turned toward Kuro. In that instant. Kuro moved only his lips. Words without sound. "Release—second time." Light poured from Groflik's body. Poured out, and vanished. For these past months, while Kuro had stood beside Groflik during daily strategy meetings, he'd been slowly, steadily infusing minute amounts of buff magic into the gaps in his armor, the armrests of his chair, the hilts of his weapons. Groflik, who'd boasted that buffs were unnecessary, hadn't noticed. The accumulated magic, released all at once, was torn away in an instant. Sudden weakness. The two-meter-forty giant's massive frame stumbled—just for a moment. That was enough. "[excited]This ends it!!" Golden hair cut through the air. Both arms, still tripled in strength, swung the greatsword with all their might—the full-force blow crashed into Groflik's jaw where his left tusk had been broken. Boom. The ground shook. The two-meter-forty giant collapsed to the earth. No one moved. The forty-eight thousand soldiers, the twelve tribal chiefs—they could only watch the scene before them. Groflik lay on the ground, yellow eyes looking up at Kuro alone. "[cold]You……from the beginning……" "[serious]Not from the beginning." Kuro said. His breath was ragged. The cost of self-enhancement was eating through his entire body. Yet his voice came out clear. "[serious]I woke up halfway through. Too late, though." Groflik said nothing. He simply closed his eyes. Deprived of their commander, the twelve tribes began to crumble immediately. Their conflicting interests clashed, and they scattered northward toward the high plateau, shouting retreat. The Goldra Allied Forces that had swept the continent in eight months collapsed in a single day. --- The fighting subsided when the sun passed its zenith. Silence returned to Fernork's plaza. Most of the orc soldiers had already withdrawn. What remained were the wounded, abandoned weapons, and six princesses. The Prevarn swordswoman princess stood before Kuro, arms crossed. Silver hair like polished steel. Gray eyes. The most stubborn, most quick-tempered, most straightforward gaze among the princesses looked directly at Kuro. After a long silence. "[cold]Next time we meet, I'll cut you down." A beat passed. "[cold]But today……thank you." She turned on her heel and left. "[serious]Thank you as well." Kuro bowed, and the swordswoman replied without breaking stride. "[cold]I have no obligation to accept thanks. I simply forgot to say it." She denied it curtly and departed. Kuro smiled wryly. That's just how she was. The fortune-teller princess of Melistia approached, peering into her crystal. Flax-colored soft hair, eyes with a vague focus. "[gentle]I saw your future just now." "[serious]……How was it?" "[gentle]Difficult, but not bad." Kuro chewed on those words before asking hesitantly. "[serious]We won with seven percent odds, so should I keep trusting fortune-telling going forward?" "[gentle]Probabilities reset each time, you know." It came back smoothly. Kuro's shoulders dropped completely. He thought, "You're really going to say that?" but well, that's just how she was too. The blacksmith princess of Galdion approached in her leather gloves and spoke curtly. "[serious]Next time, I'll give you a proper blade. Stay alive until we meet again." The merchant federation princess smiled brightly and gave a bow. "[sarcastic]I'll send you an invoice for the damages you've caused me at a later date." She left gracefully before Kuro could even think, "Seriously?" The Lumina princess bowed deeply to Kuro in silence, then turned toward the southern sea and walked away. Five had departed. Only Kuro and Solange remained in the plaza. --- A few days later. The gates of Blanche had been repaired faster than expected. Part of the collapsed city wall still lay in rubble, but the white stone gates themselves were takin