The war seen by a lord and the war seen by soldiers are not the same. This is not about principles such as purpose and righteousness, rewards and losses.

Simply put, war signifies results rather than process. Direct confrontation occurs only at the last moment of war.

Until then, the lord and military leadership must fiercely engage in ‘desk work’ such as supply, transportation, marching routes, response strategies, grand strategies, and army formations.

In contrast, once soldiers are conscripted, they are largely useless until the battle. They may be utilized for transporting supplies or guarding and patrolling, but that is not their main role. Each of those tasks incurs non-combat losses and costs.

Therefore, at this point, Ivan had nothing to do.

To be precise, he could offer tactical advice. Or perhaps he could use his experience to predict the enemy’s invasion route.

However, his role was limited to ‘guarding the saint’ and ‘guest chambers,’ and the king of Equitania was a sufficiently wise man, understanding that it was more beneficial for victory if a single commander established the strategy rather than crossing the line into excessive domestic interference.

Isn’t it a common saying on Earth? “An incompetent commander leading a legion is better than a legion led by competent commanders.” He didn’t want to create variables that could arise from potential conflicts over command.

After all, he wasn’t particularly talented or skilled in commanding large forces.

At this point, the saint was engrossed in strategic meetings with the king of Equitania and various nobles.

So Ivan decided to spend the remaining time on his hobby.

*

Contrary to the misunderstandings of many, Ivan was someone who understood the importance of hobbies and leisure better than anyone else.

This is a matter of common sense. People are not machines; to always show the same performance, the lubricant of leisure is necessary.

This also applied to himself. However, considering that trained agents should be able to feel the entirety of their actions to execute operations as ‘leisure.’

“Ugh…?”

Ignoring the trembling maid standing next to him, Ivan was carefully measuring the weight of flour with meticulous movements.

“What, what is this…?”

“Someone… summon someone, quickly!”

“Who?! Should I call the saint…?”

“She, she’s currently in audience! Anyone who came with this person…!!”

The maids scattered in a panic. Ivan clicked his tongue softly. Perhaps because it was the era of barbarism and darkness, basic health knowledge was lacking.

In the kitchen, especially when cooking, one must keep their mouth shut. Saliva tends to contaminate food, and in the case of long-term preservation, sterilization is essential.

Cleanly washed hands, a headscarf tightly tied to prevent even a single hair from falling out, a mask covering the mouth, securely rolled up sleeves, and an apron that had been boiled several times for sterilization could prove this.

Wearing a perfectly civilized modern cooking outfit, Ivan was seriously measuring flour and mixing it with lard.

“Accurate.”

They say baking is a battle with numbers. Precise measurements without error guarantee accurate results.

However, there were no electronic scales in this primitive world. In this fierce war, where one had to fight under the unit below the comma, one could not emerge victorious simply by using a graduated scale.

However, a superhuman, especially a well-trained one, can detect even the weight of a goose feather.

Ivan narrowed his eyes, carefully scooped out the flour without even exhaling, and began kneading it into the bowl containing lard.

“Excellent flavor and texture with the nuts. Perfect.”

Ivan is an understanding person. If he had to eat alone, the palatability of the food would not matter, but this food had to be eaten ‘together with his companions.’

Thus, for the sake of the other companions who could taste the food, Ivan chose ‘cooking’ rather than ‘production.’ Simply obtaining calories and nutrients doesn’t make it food.

Back on Earth, he was the type of person who would make a list of foods he wanted to eat. He was quite picky about food. Fundamentally, he could eat all kinds of food, but this means he can discern good from bad food.

Therefore, his creations matched the universal aesthetic standards properly…

“Uncle—!!!”

Isabelle was noisy again today. Ivan clicked his tongue, cleaned his hands, and took out another mask.

“What on earth is wrong, why do you look like that…?”

Looking at Ivan, Isabelle, with a horrified face, stammered.

“Are you going to raid somewhere? With that headscarf and mask, you look just like a bandit. Your eyes are the only thing showing, yet people are terrified because you’re staring like that!”

Ignoring Isabelle’s shouting, Ivan swiftly spread his hand and waved through the air. It was a strike almost too fast to see, making the startled Isabelle step back.

“What, what are you doing?”

“Removing saliva contamination.”

“…What!?”

Ivan wiped away the droplet of saliva on his hand and handed the mask to Isabelle, who flushed bright red.

“D-Did you just say I got spat on?!”

“That’s an overinterpretation.”

“Seriously… I… feel nauseous….”

Isabelle mumbled blankly as she hurriedly wrapped the mask Ivan handed her around her face. After having removed the contamination urgently, Ivan nodded in satisfaction and washed his hands again.

“So… what are you doing now?”

“Supplying essential resources.”

“Can you explain it in our language? If I hear it in the demon language, I won’t understand.”

“I was making combat rations.”

“Combat rations…?”

Isabelle looked at Ivan’s hand with trembling eyes. Seeing his hand submerged in the brown viscous liquid sloshing in the metal bowl, she slowly rubbed her eyes.

After taking a deep breath, she stepped forward to observe again. Soon, she burst into anger upon seeing the crushed nuts on the cutting board.

“Surely it doesn’t taste like sand for no reason!! Why did you put this in!!”

“…Texture….”

“What’s that about texture?! And what else did you put in? What is this, flour?”

Isabelle who dipped her pinky finger in the piled-up white powder frowned.

“What about the quality…? When was this processed? Why does it taste like this? How did such a thing enter the royal court?”

Considering the vast farming lands of Equitania, this was impossible. In response to Isabelle’s question, Ivan bravely puffed out his chest.

“We cannot indiscriminately dispense resources from allied nations. I brought it myself.”

“Why something like this…?”

“It was the cheapest.”

Typically, cheap flour is spoiled or mixed with sand or sawdust during the milling process. However, Ivan’s keen eyes could thoroughly distinguish such low-quality goods.

A trained superhuman could extract fine gold from the sand with their eyes. Using such techniques to select the highest quality flour at the lowest price can be considered proof of discernment.

“Throw it all away. It tastes bad!”

“Hmm.”

“What’s with the hmm!? Seriously!! Aaaah!! As a person from Tylesse, I can’t accept this. Why on earth did you mix flour? If you mixed it into the dough, you should have properly treated it. The flour is still chewy!”

“….”

The three essential factors of combat rations are ‘ease of production,’ ‘ease of consumption,’ and ‘ease of storage.’ This means it should be cheap, easy to make, able to be stored for a long time, and easy to eat.

However, if you mix in sugars like honey or sugar, the cost will shoot up. It becomes something that can’t be called ‘supplemental combat rations.’

However, Ivan, as someone who has completed higher education in a civilized society, knew that carbohydrates are polysaccharides and that being able to ingest sugars through mastication is a fact.

Thus, it means that people can sufficiently feel ‘sweetness’ from grains alone without needing to add honey or sugar.

After hearing this explanation, Isabelle looked down with a horrified expression and covered her face.

“Get out.”

“Hmm.”

“If you really don’t want to die, get out!! I! I’ll make it!!”

“If you want to learn, I can teach you the recipe….”

“There’s no way I’d ever learn cooking from you!! Get out!!”

Ivan had to leave the kitchen due to Isabelle’s illogical and primitive claims.

Now, what should he do with the remaining time?

Weapon maintenance was done, and he had packed enough equipment to not be insufficient even if deployed immediately, but he had originally intended to prepare a surplus of combat rations during the remaining time.

However, his recipe had been praised as ‘excellent’ by the great predecessor king, who was the only common-sense person in this world. The foresight of the predecessor king transcends eras and worlds, so to deny this would be ignorance.

The predecessor king itself represented Krasilov, so to be recognized by him can be considered receiving the KC (Krasilov Certification).

*

“Why are you sulking and complaining like that?”

“I have not.”

Ivan responded sharply, looking at another illogical medieval citizen. Ecdysis had walked over, stretching.

“Are you bored? The kids are practicing some things right now; can you take a look?”

“Practicing?”

“Shooting!”

Ecdysis raised her finger and made a ‘bang!’ sound while laughing cheerfully.

“You must learn anything you can use right away! Just like uncle!”

“That’s admirable.”

Ivan nodded, looking admiringly at this excellent junior with such a good-hearted spirit.

*

“An ambush? In the middle of Frechenkaya?”

Elizaveta looked at Eugene kneeling in front of her, then turned her gaze to Pavel. Pavel immediately bowed his head to the ground and shouted.

“It is not my fault!”

“That is certainly not something a loyal subject would say, so hold your tongue.”

“I am innocent!”

“Enough with the jokes. I am serious.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As if he had never bowed his head, Pavel raised it and stroked his chin as he spoke.

“It must be the priests. The only ones capable of infiltrating Frechenkaya with anyone are those people.”

“Indeed. They tried to assassinate this child, in the Council, and the Great Schism. Ha, the Pope has gone too far.”

Elizaveta tapped the table and fell into thought.

“Pavel.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Have we identified the identities of the assassins?”

“According to the interrogation of the survivors, they were from Lorensia.”

“…Did they confess that willingly?”

“They insisted until the end, but their dialect was distinctly from that region. There is no evidence beyond circumstantial.”

“Good.”

Elizaveta nodded and continued speaking.

“Then let’s assume those fellows attacked from Leonor. Exclude the story of the Papacy and send an official diplomatic letter of protest to King Leonor. I will draft it myself.”

Lorensia and Leonor have been long-time rivals. Both shared the same vested interests. They were the central hub for land logistics connecting the south to the north.

In fact, just before the Council, both nations had friction along the borders. That had paused with Ivan’s appearance, but it is true that there had been friction.

It is evident that these two nations, which would gain the most from the Great Schism, would certainly compete against each other. If the guilt of Lorensia could be pinned onto Leonor, there would definitely be a backlash.

“The Papacy will not remain idle.”

“Ah, the Papacy. Yes, that’s right.”

Now that a holy war was declared, if they attacked the countries participating in the holy war, the Pope would certainly respond officially, and if not careful, they could find themselves tangled in the Great Schism.

The repercussions of a schism do not just end with war. Unlike the small nations of the Southern Six Nations, with the weight of Krasilov, a royal schism could lead to all administrative and local nobles turning their backs.

No, they would turn their backs actively. The royal family currently had its power held by authority. They would aim for a true ‘constitutional monarchy’ rather than simply a nominal ‘constitutional monarchy.’ Nobles are not fools. They would keep their mouths shut, with swords at their throats.

However, they shouldn’t attempt a royal schism immediately.

If the Pope were of sound mind, he wouldn’t antagonize the powers of the north before completely conquering Equitania and executing the saint. Especially given that Krasilov amassed the most military strength among those powers.

The forces of the holy war cannot handle a two-front battle.

Thus, they couldn’t just hurl around schismatic decrees in anger; they would need to coax the nobles within Krasilov using threats and persuasion first…

Unfortunately, the distance and danger from the Papacy to Krasilov was immense.

As much that a state-operated train could be overturned by bandit attacks.

“The wrath of our Pope, ‘Your Holiness,’ is not something that can ignore if they do not heed that decree.”

Elizaveta smiled while looking at Pavel. Since the wills of the two war gods aligned, there was no need for further commentary. Pavel lowered his head, mirroring Elizaveta’s smile.

“It shall be carried out as Your Majesty wishes.”

Eugene, who had been observing this scene, felt fear towards the two militaristic, coercive national leaders with their vile smiles, and quietly made the sign of the cross.

*

Having left, Pavel began detaining all foreign priests entering into Krasilov.

“I am a priest of the Lord!! How dare you detain us without a warrant! This is heresy!”

“Ah, so they are priests?”

Pavel looked at a priest who was tied up in a freight compartment of the train, laughing derisively.

“Then please use a sacred spell, anything will do.”

“…What?”

“Healing, flash, judgment; I welcome any of them. Please, go ahead.”

“Do you understand the situation right now? The priests cannot….”

“Ah, then by what means do you expect to prove your identity?”

“I possess the certificate of appointment from His Holiness the Pope and the application for entry!! I was following proper protocols to enter!”

“You must stay until we ascertain whether there was any tampering with those documents. If you truly are a priest, the state will provide ample compensation.”

“…How long will that take? I am in a hurry as I was sent by His Holiness.”

“Oh, well.”

Pavel smiled at the bright red face of the priest.

“It will take at least three years.”

Krasilov’s administrative procedures are famously complex and meticulous.

*

King Leonor glared at the envoy in front of him, his face agitated, then crumpled the confidential letter the envoy handed him with a grimace.

“This is slander!!”

“I shall convey your nation’s opinion directly to your esteemed majesty.”

“How dare you conspire against me…! That girl, Elizé, is doing such things to the forces of the holy war, and you think you’ll remain unharmed?”

“I shall convey your nation’s opinion directly to your esteemed majesty.”

The envoy merely repeated those words quietly without changing their expression.

King Leonor grit his teeth, crumpling the letter again and once more unfolded it. Aside from the lengthy embellishments, its rough summary was as follows:

– King Leonor, Ramiro II of Lucabello of Belmonte, personally.

– The attempt on the assassination of your nationals four days ago was quite interesting.

– Through deep inquiry, I have come to know it was your doing.

– Prepare to die.

– Thank you very much.

– King of Krasilov, Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilov.

“Recently, there were instances of knights from Lorensia being dispatched to the borders under the pretext of training. It was their doing! Or perhaps it was your fabrication!!”

“I shall convey your nation’s opinion directly to your esteemed majesty.”

The envoy answered politely, bowing slightly.

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