Sashimimasu was a fortress city in every sense of the word. Towering stone walls, ten meters high and a meter thick, encircled its perimeter like the ribs of some slumbering giant. Strategically positioned between the western port of Shintai and the inland trade hub of Gīsa, the city thrived as a critical link in the region’s mercantile lifeline. It was, by all accounts, a bustling relay town born from necessity.
And yet, its geography bordered on suicidal.
To the front lay the Maze Woods, a twisted expanse where direction and sanity were easily lost. At its back stretched the Marsh of the Man-Eaters, an unholy mire riddled with monsters no sane soul dared approach. It was a city built not just beside danger, but within it.
But that was precisely what made Sashimimasu what it was.
The residents knew the risks. They had accepted them long ago. For where danger festered, demand followed. And where demand bloomed, profit was never far behind. Profit that demanded a steep price and earned a matching resolve. That was the genesis of this fortress city.
At this moment, in the heart of the lord’s estate, a war council was underway.
A grand chamber, roughly thirty tatami mats in size, held a long table that stretched like a battlefield in miniature. At its head sat the lord of Sashimimasu, robed in solemn silence. Lining the sides were those who wielded the city’s authority like steel. On the left sat the knight commander, face half-buried behind a bristling jawline of iron-grey beard. Opposite him, the chief instructor observed in silence.
Next to the knight commander stood Cordelia Allston, the Hero herself. Then came their seconds: the vice knight commander, the deputy instructor, followed by officers and instructors of various ranks. Near the lower end of the table sat Lilith, a special-class student, granted presence here only due to her extraordinary performance in the recent battle. A rare exception, but a deserved one.
Tension coiled in the air like a storm waiting to snap.
The knight commander finally broke the silence, voice coarse as worn leather.
“Vice Commander. You were in charge of the eastern fortress. Give us your report.”
The man straightened, his tone low and grim. “Based on the accounts of a few surviving soldiers, the fortress fell almost instantly. It was swallowed whole by the ogre horde.”
A wave of silence rippled through the room. Expressions hardened. The knight commander exhaled through his beard, rubbing his jaw as he prepared to speak again.
“Vice Commander of the southern fortress,” the knight commander barked, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “Your report.”
The man stepped forward, his shoulders tense. “The southern fortress received almost no support from the main knight forces. Most of the defense was left to mercenaries or inexperienced adventurers—”
“I don’t require excuses,” the knight commander interrupted, his voice cold and unyielding. “I asked for a report, just the facts.”
The vice commander swallowed hard and straightened. “Understood. The mercenary group stationed there fled the moment they spotted the Ogre Kings. They bolted like frightened rabbits.”
A humorless chuckle rumbled from the knight commander’s throat. “So you ran as well, without even engaging? The report states there were zero casualties at the southern fortress. I take it that includes you?”
The vice commander hesitated, his mouth opening, then closing without words.
“I thought as much,” the knight commander said, waving it off. “And the northern fortress? There were no survivors. No messengers. We don’t even know what happened.”
At that moment, a new voice joined the conversation. Calm yet undeniably commanding, it belonged to the lord of Sashimimasu. He leaned forward, his long white hair slicked back and his eyes like steel.
“The only position that held was the western fortress, where the Hero, Cordelia Allston, and the instructors from the magic academy were stationed. They alone managed to repel the ogres.”
Cordelia’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me too much credit. It wasn’t just me. And it sure as hell wasn’t the instructors who turned the tide.”
Her gaze drifted to the end of the table where Lilith sat quietly, her short, icy-blue hair framing a face unreadable beneath its calm.
Following her line of sight, the chief instructor gave a satisfied nod. “Lilith, from the special elite class. Though she entered through the general exam route, her aptitude was remarkable. She was awarded special status, and now, with this latest battle, she’s proven herself a prodigy.”
The knight commander’s eyes twinkled with interest as he turned to Lilith, stroking his beard. “Her adventurer rank is said to be around C+, but given Cordelia’s report, she might well be operating at a low B-rank level, wouldn’t you say?”
Lilith’s eyes remained flat, but a flicker of irritation passed between her and Cordelia. Neither woman spoke aloud, but their lips moved in silent, razor-edged dialogue.
“Hey, Cordelia Allston?” Lilith mouthed without sound.
“What is it?” Cordelia responded just as quietly, not turning her head.
“Being underestimated like this is honestly offensive.”
Cordelia’s lip twitched in what might have been sympathy or perhaps amusement. “You’re not wrong. But you’ll have to put up with it. For now.”
Their silent exchange, conveyed through subtle lip movements, went unnoticed by the others. Without sound to betray them, the discussion at the war table pressed on.
“In any case,” the lord of Sashimimasu began, his tone grave, “we now face an unprecedented crisis.”
The knight commander gave a solemn nod. “Even standard ogres and their generals are considered dangerous enough, but multiple confirmed sightings of Ogre Kings mean that this is no mere incursion.”
The chief instructor leaned forward, his voice tight with tension. “The situation could be classified not just as a disaster, but as a calamity-level threat. The proportion of upper-class variants among the same species is far beyond normal. Frankly, we may be on the cusp of a great catastrophe.”
Ogres, Ogre Generals, and now Ogre Kings. The implication was unmistakable: the balance of power had shifted. What once would have demanded a kingdom’s army now marched at their gates in overwhelming numbers.
A heavy silence settled across the room, draining the blood from even the most weathered faces. Grim realization weighed the air like lead.
Cordelia’s voice cut through the silence, sounding almost incredulous.
“Seriously, everyone? Is there any point in preparing for things we can’t deal with? Shouldn’t we focus on the things we can handle instead?”
Brows furrowed across the table. The white-haired lord responded, his tone laced with skepticism. “And if the impossible does happen? What then?”
Cordelia didn’t flinch. “Then we’re all dead. Simple as that. If something truly can’t be stopped, then it’s a waste of breath to even worry about it.”
Her bluntness earned her a few drawn-in breaths and visible winces. Clearly, Cordelia had walked closer to death than most in that room.
Then the chief instructor’s gaze slid across the table toward Lilith. “You’ve been rather quiet, Lilith. Do you have an opinion?”
Her answer came with her usual detached, languid rhythm, as if pulled from a distant daydream. “Not particularly.”
A palpable shift passed through the room, one of fragile relief, like tension being carefully exhaled.
Most of those present, it seemed, had chosen to interpret Lilith’s reply through a rather generous filter: “Ah, how modest of her, knowing her place as a mere student in such a lofty setting.” A soft, patronizing warmth filled the air as several nobles cast what they likely believed were indulgent smiles in her direction.
Lilith, of course, wasn’t the type to concern herself with such things. Her words hadn’t been humble nor strategic; they’d simply been honest. She hadn’t had anything to say. That was all.
It was then that the knight commander, stroking his jutting chin beard, turned his attention squarely toward me.
“By the way,” he said, frowning, “what is a mere Villager doing in a meeting like this?”
Yeah. Good question.
Truth be told, I wasn’t entirely sure myself. I’d just been told to show up without context or explanation. So I came.
“You there, peasant,” the knight commander pressed, his voice edged with disdain. “Do you even understand the gravity of where you are?”
He looked to be in his mid-forties. A single deep scar ran across his cheek, a badge of countless battles. His presence was sharp, commanding, exactly the kind of man who’d spent decades on warfields.
“What exactly am I supposed to understand?” I asked coolly.
“This is a strategic war council for defending an entire city,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Even seated at the far end, someone like you has no place here.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask to be here,” I shrugged. “You told me to come, so I came.”
The old lord at the head of the table, the one with the silver hair swept back like some ancient relic, glared down at me from his throne-like chair.
“To be perfectly blunt,” he said icily, “I find your presence here not just improper, but downright disrespectful. You’re a first-year student at the magic academy, aren’t you? And from what I hear, not even a proper one. A dropout class, wasn’t it?”
That jab drew a few quiet chuckles from around the table, smug and muted laughter slipping from noble lips. The ridicule and mockery rippled through the room, landing squarely on my shoulders.
It didn’t exactly brighten my mood.
The knight commander, clearly enjoying the moment, stroked his beard once more and doubled down.
“You see, Villagers exist for one thing: to till the land, work themselves to the bone like draft horses, and pay their taxes to their betters. Nothing more, nothing less.”