Chapter 3: The Dragons’ Scheme
Ganis, the Governor-General of the Lowburn Garrison—headquarters of the Demon King’s Army’s continental invasion force—slightly twisted his scaly cheek and pressed his left hand against his abdomen during the meeting. His stomach ached.
Yet the black armor he wore prevented him from soothing the pain.
Five years had nearly passed since the Demon King Zelgius fell to the humans.
But in all that time, not a single message had arrived from their homeland, the Gordia Continent. No one had seen the magical guidance ships meant to maintain contact. The demonkin were stranded on the humans’ continent, unable to flee back home.
As the Governor-General of Lowburn Garrison, the Demon King’s Army’s greatest stronghold, Ganis held the highest authority. But that also meant all responsibility rested on his shoulders.
Bearing both the weight of command and his stomach pain, Ganis studied the map spread across the meeting table.
Centered on the Dinabia Peninsula, surrounded by sea on three sides, the map displayed detailed terrain.
At the peninsula’s western edge lay Lowburn, its streets so developed they could hardly be called anything less than a city. Traveling east from Lowburn, one would find Granas’ Great Wall, built by Ganis, stretching across the peninsula.
Beyond the wall, further east, stood the rugged Line Mountains, their peaks forming a jagged range. Past them sprawled a Wilderness, at the center of which lay a vast, perfectly circular depression. Legends spoke of a fallen star—this was the Diras Wilderness and the Circular Hills.
South of the hills flowed the Lane River, spanned by the Soot Bridge. And at the heart of the bowl-shaped terrain stood Gangaruga Fortress, seized from the humans by the Demon King’s Army. And this—this was the source of Ganis’ stomach pains.
Another pang shot through him, and Ganis let out a low groan.
“Oh my, whatever is the matter, Governor Ganis?”
One of the demon officers in attendance noticed his discomfort. It was Gerasha, the Finance Minister, clad in black robes.
“Nothing. Just lost in thought.”
He couldn’t admit it was his stomach, so Ganis deflected.
“And would those thoughts concern Gangaruga Fortress, perchance?”
Gerasha’s vertically slit pupils—a hallmark of their kind—widened as he read Ganis’ mind. Not that it took any special insight. Everyone knew.Ganis returned his gaze to the map, where white pieces surrounded Gangaruga Fortress in a siege formation.
The white pieces represented the human alliance’s forces.
At present, Gangaruga Fortress was under attack. They had held firm so far, but the humans had diverted the Lane River’s waters, flooding the fortress in a ruthless stratagem.
If this continued, the soldiers inside would perish—not in battle, but from starvation and disease. Reinforcements from Lowburn were needed immediately.
“Quite the predicament, indeed. What do you intend to do?”
“What do you mean? We should have sent reinforcements sooner. Then we wouldn’t be in this mess!”
Ganis’ retort was sharp.
When Gangaruga was besieged, military logic dictated sending aid. No matter how sturdy its walls, a fortress standing alone had no chance. A prolonged siege left no options.
Yet Lowburn had decided against reinforcements.
“You were the one who argued against it.”
Ganis’ brow scales furrowed as he glared at Gerasha.
It was Gerasha who had insisted reinforcements were unnecessary.
“True, in the last meeting, I said aid wasn’t yet required. But at that time, Gangaruga’s defenses were holding firm, repelling the humans. And flooding the fortress? No one could have predicted that. Misreading the enemy’s strategy falls on the shoulders of the General Staff, does it not?”
Gerasha’s tone made it clear he bore no blame.
Currently, Ganis also served as Chief of Staff, overseeing the efficient deployment of the Demon King’s remaining forces.
“I admit it—I didn’t foresee the humans resorting to such tactics.”
Ganis had no choice but to concede.
A water siege? He’d never even heard of such a strategy. Yet anticipating enemy moves and formulating countermeasures was the General Staff’s duty. “I didn’t know” wasn’t an excuse.
“Which is why I said it before—we should abandon Gangaruga and Juneva.”
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Gerasha pointed at the map, indicating Juneva north of Gangaruga.
North of the fortress lay the ruins of the Juneblue Kingdom, now renamed Juneva under the Demon King’s rule.
“Granas’ Great Wall is tall enough to keep the humans at bay. If we commit our full strength to defending Lowburn, the city will be secure. Why waste forces on Gangaruga or Juneva?”
Gerasha’s voice rang through the chamber.
“Let me reiterate: We should withdraw from Gangaruga and Juneva and focus entirely on Lowburn’s defense. That will ensure our safety for another hundred years.”
His words drew nods from the blue-robed Commissary Minister Dalba, the red-robed Security Minister Zustra, and the yellow-robed Justice Minister Giran—all high-ranking officials with significant influence.
Lowburn’s leadership had split into two factions: one centered on Ganis, the other on Gerasha.
“This meeting is about saving Gangaruga Fortress.”
“And had we withdrawn earlier, there’d be no need for this discussion, would there?”
Gerasha’s pale throat swelled with mocking laughter.
This bastard! Rage burned in Ganis’ chest.
Soldiers were dying at Gangaruga, yet Gerasha was exploiting the crisis for political gain.
“I’ve said it repeatedly—we cannot abandon Gangaruga or Juneva.”
Ganis suppressed his anger, knowing he shouldn’t lose his temper in the meeting,, Ganis spoke calmly.
Gangaruga was a vital outpost beyond Lowburn, and Juneva, though lightly defended, was a crucial territory. Surrendering them was unthinkable.
Gerasha wasn’t wrong—Granas’ Great Wall was towering, and Lowburn’s defenses were formidable. With their full strength concentrated here, they could hold out for a decade, if not a hundred years.
But to Ganis, that missed the point entirely.
“The Great Wall wasn’t built for hiding behind. It’s meant to enable our offensives.”
He explained the wall’s true purpose—one he had overseen himself.
Strengthening their stronghold’s defenses allowed them to hold the line with minimal forces, freeing the rest for attacks. Striking first forced the enemy to divert resources to defense, weakening their assaults. Defense for offense, offense for defense.
“A turtle’s shell only buys time. The moment you stick your neck out, it gets lopped off.”
Ganis bared his fangs.
Hunkering down might buy them ten years of safety. But once they retreated into their shells, the instant they emerged, their heads would roll.
“And ceding the initiative to the enemy is how Gangaruga ended up flooded!”
“Oh? But there’s no river near Granas’ Great Wall.”
“I know that!”
Gerasha’s smirk shattered Ganis’ composure. He slammed the table.
Handing the humans the initiative was inviting disaster—Gangaruga proved that. Why couldn’t they understand?
His gaze swept the room. Gerasha wore a half-smile, and several others seemed ready to join his mockery.
These fools are hopeless.
Gannis looked at the senior officers gathered in the conference room and decided they were completely unreliable.
This wasn’t a difference in strategy—it was a difference in resolve. Even their attire betrayed it.
For critical meetings, Demon King Army regulations required either full military dress or formal attire befitting one’s rank. Ganis wore his trusted black armor, prepared to lead troops if necessary. Though the front was distant, the enemy was advancing.
Of course, as Governor-General, leading soldiers in person was unheard of. Yet he was always ready. In spirit, he fought alongside those on the front lines.
But in this meeting, only a handful wore armor. Most attended in ceremonial robes.The disconnect was fatal. Too many here saw Gangaruga’s struggle as someone else’s problem.
I built the walls too high. Ganis realized his mistake.
For years, he had poured everything into fortifying Lowburn’s defenses. Granas’ Great Wall stood unmatched, an iron bulwark.
But an impregnable fortress changed those inside it. Safety bred complacency. The will to fight withered.
That the Demon King’s Army—hardened by countless battles—could grow so soft in enemy territory surprised even Ganis. Yet here they were, declawed in the comfort of their meeting room.
If only he were here…
Ganis’ thoughts turned to one particular demon as his eyes drifted to the far end of the chamber.
At the far end of the conference room, where a small chair once stood—though now removed—a demon had once sat.
That demon was, for the Demon King’s army, nothing short of a deadly poison.
Ganis himself despised that demon, and when he had banished them from this conference room, it had been a breath of fresh air.
But now, this sluggish, complacent conference room needed a potent stimulant.
We still need that one after all. With quiet resolve, Ganis made his decision.
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