World Era 1907

“The city’s ammunition and shells are rapidly depleting. Even the stockpiles loaded onto our ships have dropped to below half.”

Upon hearing this report from his aide, Admiral Nudelria could not help but fall into deep worry. They had been defending well. The coastal batteries were preventing the enemy fleet from approaching the city and nearby areas. Even the trench lines, built at Prince Ian’s suggestion, had held back massive Imperial forces.

‘To think we’d be stopped at supply…’

He had thought they had stockpiled a sufficient amount before the war began. In fact, the city had numerous facilities and resources for producing ammunition and shells. The war had begun with every possible preparation, but the consumption was far greater than expected.

‘And the amount we can pull from other colonies is limited…’

The issue was that too few facilities were capable of producing ammunition and shells. Beyru was the most developed among the colonies, and it was only thanks to this that their supplies hadn’t completely run dry. But with production lagging far behind consumption, gaps were starting to appear everywhere.

This wasn’t the homeland—it’s far more difficult here.

Had they been in the homeland, with its massive industrial facilities, all that would be needed was raw material to produce limitless supplies. Reports from the capital confirmed that things were going well. The coastal batteries stationed there, especially the coastal fortresses built on the islands near the capital’s waters, were reportedly performing superbly.

The Doicheun Imperial Army had tried to strike elsewhere since they couldn’t break through the capital’s defenses, but the Polia Kingdom had mobilized hundreds of thousands of troops along the coasts, preventing any proper landing.

Even where landings did occur, the territories were quickly reclaimed. That was the reality of trying to land on heavily fortified territory—it was hard, and even if you succeeded, holding it was even harder.

‘They’ve also started adopting trench warfare over there, haven’t they?’

The effectiveness of the trench lines used here had been relayed back to the homeland, causing quite a stir. Now, they were actively implementing trenches, digging in at key landing points and stationing troops. The Empire, in turn, could no longer land easily.

‘At this rate, we’ll be the only ones to lose…’

Despite their achievements and successful defense, the limitations of being a colony made him fear they were doomed to defeat. If so, he would end up with all the credit but still be branded as the general who lost. It made him wonder if he too would join the list of failed commanders.

Unless the family was cursed, why was victory always so elusive?

Honestly, he felt deeply wronged. They said great generals win under pressure, but that only happened in storybooks. Without a proper foundation, even the most brilliant commander would lose. That had been the case for his predecessor as well.

He was handed an impossible force and lost, only to be labeled a failure. He’d probably meet the same fate.

“Admiral?”

“Ah, my apologies.”

Snapping out of his thoughts at his aide’s voice, Count Nudelria quickly resolved to cast off this defeatist thinking and said,

“Send an urgent request to the homeland to deliver ammunition and supplies.”

“Understood.”

His aide didn’t look particularly hopeful. After all, the mainland was also engaged in a tough war surrounded by Imperial fleets. It was obvious that they wouldn’t be sending reinforcements anytime soon. Still, it wasn’t their concern. That was a problem for the smarter minds back in the capital.

‘As soldiers, our only task is to fight.’

“More importantly, I heard a battleship from the homeland was sunk.”

“Yes, that’s correct. It was a reckless operation. With that ship down, there are now only two battleships left in the homeland. Counting our one here, that’s just three total.”

“So out of nine battleships, six have been lost?”

The Polia Kingdom’s once-proud battleship force had been dramatically reduced. Once the war ended, the kingdom would have to secure massive funding to build new battleships. For the navy, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—it meant modern, high-tech battleships would be constructed.

‘The problem is, that only happens if we don’t lose this war.’

If they lost, they would lose everything. Even the remaining battleships would likely fall into Doicheun hands. And once that happened, the island nation of Polia would effectively be crippled—reduced to a defeated country, barely hanging on.

‘We must at least hold out until next year.’

The year was drawing to a close after all that had transpired. Next year would be critical. If they could endure until then, the Doicheun Empire would be forced to take major losses. They, too, couldn’t keep waging war forever.

The surrounding empires wouldn’t just sit back. Especially the Moria Empire and the Noma Empire—they’d likely take action.

As Admiral Nudelria pondered, he suddenly thought of Prince Ian. What amazed him the most was how exceptional Ian’s ideas were. It was already clear from the trench strategy, but now he had implemented something called barbed wire to reinforce the trenches.

At first, no one understood why they needed to spend resources to produce barbed wire. But since the trench tactic had already proven effective, no army officer dared object to Ian’s idea.

Once the barbed wire, covered in sharp spikes, was hastily manufactured and laid in front of the trenches, its effectiveness was instantly proven. The Doicheun forces, trying to push forward, were stopped even more effectively.

The barbed wire snagged their clothes and stopped them from charging properly. Even when they tried to destroy it with shells, they couldn’t clear it completely. Even in a mangled state, the tangled wire retained its stopping power.

Thinking about it, Admiral Nudelria couldn’t help but admire the ingenuity behind such a concept.

There was another thing that continued to astonish: Prince Ian’s cruiser still had never been hit. Reports even claimed that it was as if the shells avoided the ship, striking only nearby.

A miracle ship… that was probably the only way to explain it.

Even fighting along the coast, some damage was to be expected, but no shell had ever struck the cruiser. He wondered how long that streak of luck would last. He was starting to worry.

In the end, luck always ran out.

It was impossible to know when the ship might finally be hit and Prince Ian’s reputation would start to fall. It was hard to rise—but easy to fall. People would change their tune in an instant, claiming they “knew this would happen all along.”

“More importantly, how is the matter of sending back the prisoners progressing?”

“We’ve received a somewhat positive response.”

“Once the negotiations are finalized, send them off immediately.”

“…Understood.”

“Judging by your expression, you’re wondering why I’d send the prisoners back, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.”

“Come now, you’re worried we’ll be increasing the enemy’s strength again.”

“To be honest… yes, I am. Is there really a need to reinforce the enemy?”

“I understand. But we can’t keep them indefinitely, can we? We’re already short on supplies, and feeding and housing them is consuming a lot. Wouldn’t it be easier to send them back and just kill them when they return?”

After hearing Admiral Nudelria’s explanation, the aide finally nodded in agreement. Truly, bullets cost less than feeding prisoners. Thinking that made it feel disturbingly easy to kill people.

Since trench warfare was put to use, so many people had been dying.

Ian had disembarked from his ship and was now visiting a POW camp in a district of the city. Behind him stood his aide, Lieutenant Mardin Gaso, watching his commander’s back with a puzzled look. Why would His Highness visit a place like this? Eventually, he couldn’t hold back and asked.

“Captain, may I ask why you’ve come here?”

“You’re curious?”

“Yes. Frankly, this isn’t a place someone like you needs to visit.”

The facility wasn’t large, as it was located within the city. Dozens of wooden prison blocks were arranged in an open square, housing what looked like over 3,000 prisoners. The space was inevitably cramped.

“I wanted to see the reality of the prisoners with my own eyes.”

“Is that so?”

Lieutenant Mardin Gaso still couldn’t make sense of it. He identified them at the gate, got permission, and led Ian inside. Once through, they saw lines of prisoners sitting in wooden cells.

None of them looked well. Most seemed malnourished. With supply lines to the kingdom’s own army barely holding, there wasn’t much left to feed prisoners. That much was evident.

The smell was awful.

With no proper sanitation, a foul stench filled the air. As Mardin had said, there was no need for someone like Ian to be here. But Ian had a reason. He quietly studied the prisoners, many of whom stared back at him with defiant eyes.

Though their bodies were thin, their eyes still held fire. It was likely their Imperial pride. Ian couldn’t help but scoff—What pride can prisoners possibly have? That said, Imperial officers taken captive were living comfortably in something akin to a hotel, not here.

‘Let’s see… which of these are naval personnel?’

Scanning the group, he noticed quite a few with tanned skin—likely naval prisoners. The reason Ian was seeking them wasn’t complex. He was preparing a scheme.

‘If we don’t do something bold, defeat here is inevitable. This is the only option.’

He didn’t want to just survive and return to the palace. If he was known as someone present at a defeated battlefield, he’d be scorned. Even with his contributions—digging trenches, deploying barbed wire—he knew people wouldn’t see that. The stigma of defeat would be stronger.

‘Honestly, I don’t care how I’m treated—but my mother and sister… they’re a different story.’

It wasn’t just about being ignored. If he were labeled a failed commander, their reputations would suffer. His mother might be content just seeing him return alive—but he wouldn’t be. That’s why he had a plan. And its success hinged on his psychic power.

‘I’ll manipulate the minds of a few of the prisoners.’

He now had a newly awakened ability: mental manipulation. And it had evolved. A new effect had surfaced—Behavior Control. This allowed him to instill a command into someone, causing them to act it out for a short period.

If some of them ended up back aboard battleships, that would be ideal.

Ship crews were rotated frequently due to fatigue. If any of these manipulated prisoners were reassigned, they might influence operations. It didn’t have to be a battleship—even cruisers would do.

It was likely that some of them would be reassigned if repatriated. After all, naval operations required skilled personnel; they couldn’t just fill crews with random soldiers.

Ian stood before the suspected naval personnel and began his manipulation. His eyes sparkled as he activated his power. Some of the prisoners glared back at him—then their eyes momentarily softened—before returning to a sharp glare.

After targeting several individuals, Ian left. It wouldn’t work in one session. Just like with Count Dimentis, the commander of the Capital Defense Command, multiple visits were necessary to ensure proper imprinting. But unlike before, this time it wouldn’t take half a year.

This was a short-term command. There was no need to imprint it deeply.

For the next week, Ian returned daily to the POW camp. Everyone regarded this behavior with confusion, but eventually, he stopped going—because the manipulation was complete.

‘Let’s see how this plays out.’

Days passed, and soon the prisoners were repatriated. Their return coincided with the turn of the year.

World Era 1907 had arrived. Ian was now 17 years old.

Then, something unexpected happened. Supplies arrived—but not from the Polia Kingdom. They had come from the Moria Empire and the Noma Empire.

How? The supplies had been sent covertly through other colonial territories, smuggled into Polian territory. It seemed someone back in the homeland had pulled strings. As always, soldiers only had to fight—others were paid to do the thinking.