Chapter Seventeen: The Military Power of the Human Empire

Within the human realms of the Europa Continent, there exists a prevailing perception of each of the great powers’ armies. The Morrice Empire, which rose from the ashes of war beneath the iron hoofs of the Elven Empire, is undoubtedly recognized as the world’s foremost land force. Of course, this “foremost” title disregards the five monstrous Paladin-Commanders of the Holy Order. The reputation of the Morrice Imperial Army was forged through numerous battles in which they triumphed against overwhelming odds—victories achieved without the intervention of those game-breaking Grand Knights.

In truth, the leaders of every nation understand well that the true might of the Morrice Imperial Army stems from the genius of one extraordinary military commander: Emperor Morrice himself. The army’s loyalty lies less with the Empire itself, and more with the Emperor personally; fifty thousand seasoned regulars worship this sovereign, a ruler whose victories far outnumber his defeats. For them, to follow his command blade is to be invincible. This unwavering conviction has been built up, campaign by campaign, over countless battles.

Even the Holy Kingdom of Light, which harbors little fondness for Emperor Morrice, cannot deny his military genius. The dominance of the “Morrice Phalanx,” now the standard across all mainstream formations on the continent, stands as testament to his achievements. Were it not for the deterrent of the five extraordinary Paladin-Commanders of the Holy Order, this emperor—no admirer of the Light God—would long since have marched forth in conquest. Even if the armies of the Holy Kingdom outnumbered his ten to one, he would still have confidence in victory; after all, against the Elven Empire, he prevailed time and again while outnumbered.

Among the five great human powers that survived years of strife, each possesses its own unique advantage. The Morrice Empire, through the personal command of its emperor, maintains a firm grip over the vast Istanbul region. The Holy Kingdom of Light relies on the Holy Order and waves of zealous martyrs to dominate the central plains of Europa. Madrid, meanwhile, survives only by clinging to its legacy and currying favor with greater powers; should another world war erupt, it would likely be the first to fall. Franconia stands as a militaristic empire forged by a coalition of martial nobles, where the status of the common soldier is unusually high. Through excellent education, it produces outstanding officers at every level—a fact of some note. Yet Franconia’s true strength lies in its cuirassiers, universally acknowledged as the most formidable combat force on the continent. If the Holy Order’s Paladin-Commanders do not take the field, and equal numbers clash, even the religious fanatics of the Order would face a crushing defeat. Most of Franconia’s cuirassiers are noble sons, driven by honor and a will to fight to the death, all honed by the best training system. In both discipline and combat ability, they stand at the forefront of their era.

The final power, the Empire of Anglia, is notable for its overall balance. Its infantry, though well-trained and decently compensated, cannot match the fighting power of Morrice’s troops, for Anglia lacks a military genius of Emperor Morrice’s caliber, and its soldiers are not animated by any particular faith. Its cavalry, mere sabre-riders, are ordinary at best—when matched against cuirassiers, a five-to-one casualty ratio would not surprise anyone. Yet Anglia’s greatest advantage, unmatched among human nations, lies in its degree of industrialization. Apart from the Dwarven Empire, Anglia is the most technologically advanced society in the world: it boasts the greatest number of factories, the highest production capacity, and the most developed commerce, and, inevitably, it is fabulously wealthy. Crucially, power in Anglia does not rest with the royal house alone; it is the only nation not ruled by an absolute monarch. Franconia, though nominally a constitutional monarchy, is in practice a regime of imperial supremacy—the emperor wields nearly all power, and parliament exists merely to placate the nobility.

In Anglia, the situation is the reverse. The emperor holds only a larger share of parliamentary voice, and, upon ascending the throne, naturally finds himself at odds with the other nobles in parliament. This assembly, comprised of merchants and great nobles, imposes stringent limits on imperial authority—after all, the emperor inherits his position, not earns it by election.

This phenomenon in Anglia is rooted in history. The island never had a unified government; instead, it was divided among numerous petty nobles. Only under pressure from Madrid did these nobles unite, forming a federated state and selecting the most powerful family as their leader, thus crowning an emperor. Through years of joint resistance and intermarriage, the nobility of Anglia gradually fused into one class. With the advent of the Industrial Revolution—and the curtailment of royal power—newly risen factory owners, brandishing vast sums, steadily bought off the lesser nobles. In a nation without a strong-handed monarch, the power of gold proved irresistible. Over time, Anglia became ever more tightly knit, yet the emperor’s authority only waned. With the emergence of parliament and a constitution, the emperor became little more than a figurehead. Beyond his family’s own lands and an annual grant from the state treasury, even a declaration of war now required parliamentary approval.

Once Anglia fully embraced capitalism, with feudal obstacles largely swept away, its development accelerated rapidly. Its meteoric rise, in tandem with militaristic Franconia, led to the partition of Madrid. The endless stream of arms that Anglia’s industry provided gave it a decisive edge in war; Madrid, mired in backward production, was simply worn down by superior output.

Today, the largest army in the world likely belongs to the Holy Kingdom of Light, thanks to its endless supply of fanatical volunteers eager to die for holy war. But no nation fields more firearm-equipped troops than Anglia. Its vast industrial base and efficient mobilization system can arm hundreds of thousands with guns for campaigns in any direction—though the quality of these troops is another matter altogether.

It is little wonder, then, that Anglia looks down upon the Song State, the rising power of the Orc Continent. With an army of only twenty thousand—smaller even than Morrice’s—could the Song Emperor possibly surpass Emperor Morrice in military genius? No one on the Europa Continent would believe such a claim. This is the cornerstone of the old world’s disdain for the New Continent: an enemy one can easily crush is no true enemy, only a nuisance. To Anglia, Song is just that—a nuisance. Even the emergence of a Grand Knight in Song simply raises the level of nuisance. Yet, should that Grand Knight be swayed to their side, such a monster would greatly improve their odds against the Holy Kingdom of Light!