Leaving the excited Evelyn to herself, I looked back and forth between the map and the wired telegraphy device.
"Is something the matter?"
Noticing my distraction, Evelyn asked.
"Hmm? It is about wired telegraphy; I have been pondering something quite a bit recently."
"What might that be?"
"Right now, we use it to send text."
"Yes."
"However, with a bit of ingenuity, it is theoretically possible to send pictures as well."
"No way?!"
Evelyn was astonished.
And naturally so.
Just being able to transmit written words across distant lands at such overwhelming speed was already an incredible technology—one that gave the Empire an absolute advantage over all rivals.
To hear that it could send not just text but also pictures, delivered with such calm certainty, was understandably startling.
"It is merely a theoretical possibility. For now, there is no real implementation—or rather, no practical use."
"What do you mean by that?"
I walked back toward the work desk, and Evelyn followed.
Taking a pen and paper, I began sketching a grid across the page with alternating vertical and horizontal strokes.
"Done. Let us—tentatively call this 'graph paper.'"
"Graph paper..."
"It roughly has ten squares vertically and ten horizontally, making one hundred squares in total."
"Yes."
"Applying this like pointillism..."
As I spoke, I began filling in squares on the makeshift graph paper.
"Is this... a flower?"
"Correct, a flower. A flower drawn in the style of pointillism across one hundred squares. Now, regarding this—"
I turned my gaze toward the wired telegraphy device resting in the corner of the tent.
"Wired telegraphy uses Humbaba's threads to send ciphers through combinations of black and white. Naturally, you can send the black and white of these grid squares as they are. If you standardize the grid beforehand and transmit the black and white squares in order from top-left to bottom-right—"
"You can transmit a pointillist picture through telegraphy!"
"Precisely."
As Evelyn caught on, I gave a nod.
Realizing that images could actually be transmitted, Evelyn's eyes lit up.
"That is incredible, Your Majesty! If pictures can also be sent, the possibilities will expand even further."
"However, it is not practical."
"Eh? W-Why is that?"
"Right now, it is ten squares vertically and ten horizontally, totaling one hundred squares."
"Yes."
"This is pointillism. I have tested it, but for it to have any practical utility as a 'picture,' it would require three hundred squares in both directions. That amounts to ninety thousand—transmitting nearly one hundred thousand signals."
"O-One hundred thousand..."
"You understand now? Theoretically possible, but utterly impractical."
"I see..."
"Yet it feels too wasteful to discard completely—which is why, whenever telegraph transmissions and a drawing enter my sight at the same time, I find myself dwelling on it."
Even so, I knew the prospects were bleak.
Even if we overcame the sheer data volume, a new problem would arise: we would still only be capable of sending black-and-white images.
Overcoming hurdles to that degree would prove exceedingly difficult.
Rather than chasing that, finding ways to transmit faster or expanding the reach of the telegraph network were far more realistic and worthwhile goals.
*To make it faster—*just as I shifted my line of thought:
"Angus Bull. I have returned, Your Majesty."
"Enter."
At my summons, a young general appeared from outside the tent.
The moment he entered, Evelyn, who had been conversing with me casually, cleared the path and stepped aside against the tent wall.
Angus Bull.
He was the husband of my elder sister, the Fourteenth Princess Arlene, and one of the Empire's generals.
Angus walked into the command tent with steady, confident strides.
Though he seemed to have washed up lightly, the faint scent of blood still lingered about him.
Yet having the composure to rinse off such a thick stench of blood in the first place meant—.
"Did you achieve victory?"
"Yes! The enemy forces broke into a complete rout. Because their rearguard commander put up a frantic, desperate resistance, we withdrew rather than overextending our pursuit."
"A sound decision. There is no need to waste effort against soldiers resolved to die."
"Understood—even so, you were truly magnificent, Your Majesty."
"Hmm? In what way?"
"It is not merely that morale soared thanks to Your Majesty; even after charging the vanguard, an absolute sense of security washed over the men knowing Your Majesty stood behind them. The troops universally believe that so long as Your Majesty is present, our Imperial Army is utterly invincible."
"I see," I replied with a nod.
――――――――――――
Name: Noah Ararat
Emperor of the Empire
Gender: Male
Level: 32 / ∞
HP: SSS | Fire: SSS MP: SSS | Water: SSS Strength: SSS | Wind: SSS Endurance: SSS | Earth: SSS Intelligence: SSS | Light: SSS Spirit: SSS | Darkness: SSS Speed: SSS Dexterity: SSS Luck: SSS
―――――――――――
I cast a brief glance toward the status window hovering in the corner of my vision.
An all-SSS status that became entirely mine once Father passed away.
Ever since achieving these parameters, I had begun taking to the front lines far more frequently.
Lately, I participated in nearly every engagement, consistently unleashing the opening blow with either Leviathan or Bahamut.
"The intended effect seems to be spreading nicely throughout the Imperial Army. Now, if only the same perception takes root among all our adversaries."
"Among the enemy...?"
Angus looked perplexed, his expression openly wondering what effect I intended to cultivate among our foes.
"I am currently in my prime; there is nothing unusual about an emperor standing on the front lines, so I did. I am demonstrating that I am capable of doing so at any time."
"Indeed, as expected of Your Majesty."
"While it bolsters our own army just as you described, Angus, a battle always involves two sides. What kind of effect do you suppose that creates for the enemy ranks?"
"That would be... dread, perhaps?"
"Umu."
I nodded.
Summed up in a single word, it would certainly manifest as dread.
"An emperor in the prime of his life constantly appears on the battlefield, unfailingly dealing a catastrophic blow to the front rank. Stated differently, what does that mean? It means the vanguard will inevitably be slaughtered."
"...Ah."
Realization struck Angus.
"While it is relatively easy to find commanders willing to die, constantly fielding rank-and-file soldiers eager to throw their lives away is another matter entirely. While their officers might manage to force them forward under the whip, the effect is—heh, akin to having a fish bone permanently lodged in their throats."
"Even so, the difference between having that threat and not having it is massive. It will perpetually disrupt the enemy's vanguard formations. Brilliant, Your Majesty!"
Angus's eyes sparkled with excitement—though his fervor cooled a moment later as a thought crossed his mind.
"The only slight shortcoming is that there is only one of Your Majesty. If multiple fronts open simultaneously—"
"That is precisely why I only deliver the opening strike."
"Eh?"
"If it is restricted to the opening blow, I can immediately depart for another theater the moment it is unleashed. So long as it is strictly the initial strike, attempts to pin me down are meaningless."
"Ah..."
"So long as Emperor Noah in his prime reigns, the enemy vanguard is guaranteed to be crushed at least once—that is the reality they must face."
"Magnificent, truly magnificent, Your Majesty!"
Angus's excitement surged back even stronger than before, beaming with the greatest enthusiasm he had shown all day.
"With that settled, I shall depart first thing tomorrow morning. I leave the mop-up to you."
"Understood! Please leave it in my hands. The cleanup will be absolute, leaving not a single trace behind."
"Umu."
Angus's reply was reliably firm.
I shifted my focus away from the battlefield and turned my thoughts back toward the administrative duties waiting for me in the imperial capital.