DAY 5.
I had spent the last six hours in my hotel room.
Not meditating.
Not receiving divine revelations.
Not peering into alternate futures.
Not that I can do that
I was having a panic attack.
A very productive panic attack.
Maps littered the desk.
Notes covered the floor.
Several sheets contained increasingly unhinged diagrams of the Flugel Tree.
One page simply read:
FOG BAD.
Another read:
WHICH FOG???
A third had been entirely dedicated to stick figures being erased from existence.
Come on. Think.
White fog causes hallucinations.
And White fog erases people.
Pretty sure that's right.
I buried my face in my hands.
This was the downside of relying on anime memories.
Nobody ever remembered the exact mechanics until they became immediately relevant.
Unfortunately, they were now immediately relevant.
Thousands of lives depended on me remembering the boss fight correctly.
No pressure.
None whatsoever.
God, I miss wikis.
After another hour of frantic review, I finally stood.
My notes were complete.
My strategy was complete.
My sanity was significantly less complete.
Perfect.
Time to become a prophet.
[ ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ]
The war room fell silent as I entered.
Good.
The appearance was working.
I genuinely looked terrible.
Pale.
Sweaty.
Exhausted.
Like a man who had stared into countless futures.
Which was considerably more impressive than the reality.
The assembled commanders watched me carefully.
Crusch.
Wilhelm.
Felix.
Julius.
Anastasia.
Ricardo.
Rem.
An entire coalition.
Waiting.
I took my seat.
Placed several maps onto the table.
And spoke.
"We will not improvise."
The room became still.
"Every major decision must be made now."
I looked around the table.
"The White Whale is not an opponent that rewards creativity."
Several commanders exchanged glances.
"It rewards preparation."
That got their attention.
Good.
Because what followed was about to become the strangest military briefing in Lugunican history.
[ ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ]
"The Whale possesses two distinct mist attacks."
Immediately, quills began moving.
"The first is the Mist of Contamination."
I pointed toward a section of the map.
"It contains heavily concentrated mana."
"What does it do?" Crusch asked.
"It attacks the mind."
The room quieted.
"It induces hallucinations, confusion, panic, and disorientation."
Felix frowned.
"A mental attack?"
"Yes."
I nodded.
"Prepare mental wards where possible. More importantly, maintain discipline. Fear is part of the weapon."
The commanders noted it down.
Then I continued.
"The second threat is considerably worse."
That earned everyone's full attention.
"The Mist of Elimination."
Silence.
"It does not kill."
I paused.
"It removes."
Nobody spoke.
"If a soldier is struck by this mist, their existence is erased."
The silence somehow became deeper.
"Their history disappears."
"Their name disappears."
"Our memories disappear."
Anastasia's smile vanished.
Ricardo stopped moving entirely.
Even Wilhelm's expression hardened.
I continued.
"The world repairs itself afterward."
Nobody interrupted.
"If an erased soldier had a friend, the world invents an explanation."
"If they had family, the world creates a replacement memory."
"If they occupied a role, reality patches the gap."
Julius spoke first.
"...How does one counter such an ability?"
A fair question.
An impossible question.
Fortunately, I was from modern Earth.
We had developed a solution to nearly every problem.
Accounting.
I pointed toward the troop rosters.
"Fixed squad sizes."
Crusch blinked.
"What?"
"Twenty soldiers per squad."
The commanders exchanged confused looks.
"Exactly twenty."
I tapped the paper.
"No deviations."
Still confusion.
I sighed.
"Your memory is unreliable."
Then I tapped the numbers.
"The numbers are not."
Understanding dawned.
Slowly.
Then all at once.
Crusch's eyes widened.
Wilhelm immediately understood.
Julius sat upright.
"If a squad returns with fewer members..."
"You will not remember who is missing."
I nodded.
"But you will know someone is missing."
The room fell silent again.
This time with respect.
Not fear.
Respect.
A cold solution to an impossible problem.
Crusch looked genuinely impressed.
"You intend to track casualties through numerical discrepancies."
"Correct."
Human memory could be manipulated.
Mathematics could not.
[ ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ]
I moved to the next map.
"The Whale possesses a second phase."
Ricardo immediately grinned.
Of course he did.
"The beast multiplies."
The grin somehow got bigger.
"The what?"
"It creates two weaker copies."
Ricardo laughed.
"Oh, that's fantastic."
Only Ricardo would hear that sentence and become excited.
I continued.
"The real body remains above the battlefield."
I pointed directly at Julius.
"The Spirit Knight's quasi-spirits will be essential."
Julius straightened.
"Explain."
"When the clones appear, the original will attempt to remain hidden among the clouds."
I pointed upward.
"Your spirits must locate and mark the true target."
Understanding crossed his face.
"The artillery follows the spirits."
"Correct."
"The clones are distractions."
The knight nodded slowly.
A specific role.
A specific responsibility.
Exactly what the operation needed.
Finally, I folded my hands.
"One final note."
Everyone looked toward me.
"I will not be participating in direct combat."
Ricardo looked disappointed.
Felix looked relieved.
"My Gate remains unstable."
That immediately ended any argument.
"I will remain with rear command and manage logistics."
Because if I got anywhere near the White Whale, my contribution to the battle would become "additional casualty."
And I preferred alternative outcomes.
[ ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ]
"Following the Whale's defeat, the force will divide."
Another map unfolded.
Crusch leaned forward.
"Team A."
I pointed.
"Lady Crusch. Felix. Wilhelm. Rem."
The oni maid blinked.
"The Whale's head will be harvested immediately."
I traced the road toward the Capital.
"You will return at once."
Crusch frowned.
"You expect complications?"
Several.
"I have seen concerning possibilities."
That was technically true.
Anime counted as possibilities.
I pointed toward another route.
"Team B."
My finger moved.
"Myself. Julius. The Iron Fang."
Julius nodded.
"We will advance toward the Mathers Domain."
"The cultists?"
"The cultists."
I deliberately avoided specific names.
The fewer questions asked, the better.
Then came the difficult part.
The Regulus briefing.
God help me.
"If your convoy is intercepted..."
The room focused immediately.
"...by a bratty white-haired teenager who whines about rights..."
Several commanders exchanged looks.
"...or a man who refers to himself as 'we'..."
More confusion.
"Do not engage in melee combat."
Wilhelm frowned.
"Explain."
I inhaled.
Carefully.
"The white-haired individual possesses something I have designated as Lion Heart."
The name sounded impressive.
Mysterious.
Ancient.
Threatening.
Most importantly, it avoided explaining wives.
"What is Lion Heart?" Julius asked.
Excellent question.
His heart wives.
"I do not know."
The room blinked.
"I only know the results."
That was much safer.
I continued.
"In every vision I witnessed, blades stopped before reaching him."
The atmosphere darkened.
"I have never seen him wounded."
Nobody interrupted.
"Retreat."
I pointed toward Crusch's group.
"If encountered, prioritize escape."
"Use ranged attacks only."
"Do not attempt heroics."
Even Wilhelm remained silent.
Which was a deeply concerning sign.
Because Wilhelm usually solved problems by becoming Wilhelm.
If even he wasn't arguing, the warning had landed.
Good.
That significantly improved everyone's odds of remaining attached to their internal organs.
[ ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ]
The meeting eventually ended.
The commanders departed.
One by one.
Orders would spread.
Preparations would continue.
The coalition would move.
Soon.
Very soon.