[July 7, Founding Day.
Three months ago, I still did not understand what Lord Versace meant by "a fight to the death."
But today, on Founding Day, as the border troops kept retreating from the front, allowing the Beastfolk's ramshackle cannon barrels to point straight at these seemingly impregnable walls-
I finally realized that this campaign could have only one outcome.
Defeat.
The empire's defeat. Perhaps today, after the border troops retreated behind the walls, we relied on our solid fortifications to repel a wave of Beastfolk attacks.
But that could not change our deteriorating position: after losing ground at the front, we could only hold the walls and defend to the death.
And when I looked at the wounded being carried off the walls for treatment, at their scarlet, festering wounds, their broken limbs with white bones exposed, their numb, vacant faces.
I simply could not write the words "an interim victory."
The Beastfolk possessed an exceptional ability to reproduce. Even someone like me, who knew nothing about war, could see, looking at their army spreading across the desert like a green ocean, that prolonged attrition would only bring the Tyron Empire to the brink of dan-
ger.
In my limited understanding, it would be more sensible to hold the walls while asking His Majesty to issue an emergency conscription decree.
But Lord Versace ordered me to write it this way: "Today, on Founding Day, His Majesty needs a victory."
Yes, even though we no longer had anything that could be called a "front."
Even though the prolonged war had left people suffering beyond words.
Even though one living person after another fell under Beastfolk cannon fire.
I still had to record today's victory and report to the distant Tyron Empire the tens of thousands of Beastfolk our army