Loss: In Politics, There Is No Right or Wrong
In politics, there is no right or wrong. There are only the suffering masses beneath the judges who divide sides and insist their words are just.
Those already seated at the table opened their mouths not for the people's thoughts, but for their own gain. The meeting began among the six nobles gathered at the table—from counts to viscounts and barons—as they sought to align their opinions.
"The hero has set out, I hear."
The first to speak was Count Ludent Kayad, also the head of the Kayad family. He began the meeting with a dignified voice. Their common interest was the hero's movements. It was only natural that their attention focused on him, given that they had assembled out of dissatisfaction with a lowly commoner climbing to the hero's side through unprecedented outrage. Especially if he intended to pair with the young lady of a viscount family aligned with the opposition.
As Count Ludent cautiously broached the topic, Viscount Ballan Jake, a noble of the same rank as the Lamiris family, continued calmly.
"Yes, that's right. If things proceed like this, the hero will slay the Demon King, return, and marry the Lamiris family's young lady."
The implications were clear. The faction opposing them would gain the hero's influence and expand their power. And as that opposing side grew, their own voice and influence would shrink accordingly. This meeting had been called to devise countermeasures against that very scenario.
They had realized that, unless the hero failed, he would intervene in politics through the Lamiris family and extend his reach. Like embers falling on their feet, they racked their brains swiftly. Soon, Baron Milen Dilma raised a hand cautiously to speak.
"Yes, Baron. Do you have a good compromise?"
Count Ludent, who had been agonizing over the issue, turned his attention to Baron Milen, who had raised her hand. Of course, he knew it was no easy feat for a viscount to become a count. Most viscounts were born and died as such, so it was usually nothing to worry about. But a viscount family backed by the hero posed a problem—they might one day be elevated to count for their merits. These nobles, eager to avoid the people's suspicions simply for harboring the hero in the opposition, pinned their hopes on Baron Milen's words.
"Thank you for allowing me to speak. What I propose is to eliminate the root problem."
"The root problem?"
Viscount Narba Selen, who had been listening quietly, gave Baron Milen a subtle glance with a peculiar expression. Baron Milen swallowed nervously, gauged the room, and continued.
"Yes, that's correct. Elevating the hero to nobility might be fitting, but it should rightly begin with an honorable barony."
As Baron Milen watched reactions carefully, Count Ludent nodded for her to continue.
"However, if he marries the Lamiris young lady and enters as a son-in-law, it would become a dagger threatening even you, Count Kayad. That must be prevented. And that can be achieved by..."
Her words neatly outlined the reason for the meeting, the headache it caused, and how to resolve it, drawing every eye in the room—from the count two ranks above her to fellow barons. Taking a deep breath, Baron Milen pressed on.
"...the death of the Lamiris young lady."
The principle was simple. If the hero was to be used to elevate the Lamiris family through marriage to viscountcy, then nullifying the marriage from the start was the right move. If it was a political union born of ambition, offering the hero better rewards would end it. But since they truly loved each other, no amount of money or honor would sway them—leading to this extreme measure.
The count fell silent upon hearing Baron Milen's plan, stroking his goatee. It wasn't a great idea, and if word leaked to other nobles, they might invoke the law and punish her for such recklessness. But among those present, no one would say as much.
Silence, then anguish. At its end, Count Ludent groaned, nodded, and instructed Baron Milen.
"Prepare for a magic beast attack."
The abrupt words carried clear meaning. Baron Milen widened her eyes and bowed deeply.
"I shall obey!"
A week later.
Traveling by carriage and sleeping in inns twice had left my butt aching terribly. With no soft leather in the carriage—just hard wooden benches jolting endlessly—it was far too harsh for my small body.
I couldn't bring myself to cling to Kudbeka's chest and wait on his lap for arrival; my rationality rejected it outright. So here I was, suffering through it.
"Ugh."
Damn, I wanted to curse aloud, but for some reason, it felt utterly wrong for Lobelia Yuris to do so. I swallowed the words.
As I rubbed my sore butt and fought tears, Kudbeka scanned the surroundings from behind, letting out a groan.
"Yuris."
When people were around, he called me by name. His slightly tense voice made me tilt my head and look up at him.
"Kudbeka?"
"...We can't travel farther today."
It was still daytime, and we'd planned to switch carriages here for another village, but he'd changed his mind. His decisions rarely flipped unless I insisted—what was going on? I followed his gaze.
At the end stood what looked like a checkpoint, soldiers noisily inspecting others. We'd come this far to reach another border, only for security to tighten suddenly. What could it mean?
A border zone might warrant such checks, but according to Kudbeka, we were still inside the Lugbelk Kingdom. This was just an internal inspection.
Had the hero already returned from the Demon King's Castle? The thought sent chills down my spine.
But soon, Kudbeka placed a hand on my shoulder, leading me to another inn. Being midday, the room was spacious with two beds. I flopped onto one and voiced my doubts about the guards.
"Kudbeka, any guess why security's suddenly so tight? And this isn't even near the border..."
Anxiety washed over me. At first, it felt like a leisurely trip—eat, sleep, move, repeat. But now that sense of crisis crept back.
I'd grown numb from a week's peace. I'd forgotten I was a fugitive.
As I whimpered, Kudbeka spoke softly.
"My lady, even if the hero reported our absence, soldiers wouldn't spread this fast."
His reasoning differed from my fears. I lifted my head and met his eyes. Inhaling to speak, I paused and thought.
Right—this world lacked widespread teleportation magic. These soldiers must have come by carriage like us, likely responding to events days ago.
If not the Demon King's absence, then what? Unable to pinpoint it, I clutched my head in frustration.
As I groaned, Kudbeka smiled reassuringly and gazed out the window.
"Shall we stay in this village for a while, then?"
His gentle tone eased my mind. If they weren't hunting the absent Demon King, they wouldn't move desperately. It should be fine.
What was in this village? Curiosity stirred.
I had no memory of the Demon Realm beyond black soil—I'd never seen it properly, shut in the castle all day.
And even in human lands, as a fugitive, I'd focused on moving, skipping sightseeing beyond eating and sleeping.
Since we'd stay, why not explore? The urge welled up.
"Sounds good. Let's see what's famous here."
Accepting his suggestion, Kudbeka nodded and began planning our stay—observing locals' lifestyles, surroundings, customs. We set plans for tomorrow.
Bloodied from battle, Verilrude Anemos came up empty. Scouring the Demon Realm and slaying demons yielded no trace of the Demon King.
Never had he heard of one abandoning their castle and fleeing. Did this even make sense? A runaway Demon King—it was unheard of.
Though he acknowledged it might be his own bias, he couldn't hide his fury at her vanishing act.
When he returned empty-handed to his homeland, the Lugbelk Kingdom, to find her, she was already gone. Wails echoed from the Lamiris estate upon his arrival.
"What... what happened?"
Amid the mourning estate, he dazedly grabbed a servant.
The servant burst into tears, sobbing.
"Th-the young lady... she was attacked by magic beasts and... passed away... Oh, it's so tragic..."
"W-wait, magic beasts attacked the estate?"
"No... She went for a walk to catch her breath, and she and the attendants with her... all..."
The servant choked up, clamping their mouth shut in tears.
Thinking it impossible, Verilrude stumbled quickly inside. Opening the door, he faced the reality head-on.
"Ah...?"
Verilrude Anemos came face-to-face with it.
Cecilia Lamiris lay in the casket, clutching pure white flowers, as if merely asleep. She looked like she could wake if shaken—like a dead mouse, peacefully slumbering.
The surreal sensation made him stagger forward with a groan.
"Ah, aaah..."
He hadn't protected her. The agony of that truth, the self-loathing for doing nothing—it made him want to slit his wrists right then.
He stared blankly at her in the central casket for what felt like ages.
Eventually, a middle-aged man approached cautiously. The hero knew him well: Saint Lamiris, Cecilia's father and head of the Lamiris family.
"Verilrude Anemos. Did you capture the Demon King?"
His voice brimmed with grief. Holding back the urge to berate him for failing his daughter, Viscount Saint asked as calmly as possible.
If only he could say, Yes, I captured the Demon King. Would that have eased his shame? Feeling utterly unworthy, Verilrude bit his lip until it bled.
"The Demon King fled, so I couldn't capture her. I have no face to show you. It's my fault."
Confessing truthfully, Viscount Saint ground his teeth, suppressing rage. Head bowed, Verilrude braced for a slap or death—resigned, eyes squeezed shut.
But Viscount Saint sighed and placed a hand on his head.
"Verilrude Anemos. My expectations for you were merely whether you could be worthy of my daughter. Because you loved her and she loved you, even as a commoner, I was willing to overlook it based on your efforts."
So he said, then gripped Verilrude's hair tightly with trembling hands. Despite the pain, the hero clenched his teeth and endured.
"But now that my daughter is dead, what should I call you? What should I call a worthless hero who couldn't protect the woman he claimed to love or even catch the Demon King?!"
Unable to contain his rising fury, Viscount Saint yanked him by the hair and flung him to the floor. Even a strong hero couldn't recover from such imbalance; he rolled, then crawled back, prostrating shamefacedly.
"I'm sorry! It's all my negligence! Kill me...!"
Verilrude cried out, swallowing sobs rising in his throat. Pitiful, begging not for forgiveness but death.
Viscount Saint gnashed his teeth, glaring fiercely.
"Kill you? Fine, well said. Heldef!"
Calling his butler, the man fetched a sword and stood by. Viscount Saint glanced, seized the hilt, and drew it with a shing.
Having lost his only daughter, Viscount Saint ground his teeth, aiming the blade at the prone Verilrude.
"What have you even done? You promised to slay the Demon King and make my Cecilia happy— is this your idea of happiness? Eh?! Speak!!!"
Venting his rage, Viscount Saint eyed the silent, prostrate Verilrude, then hurled the sword to the floor.
"Get out. What business does a worthless wretch with no ties to my daughter have in my home? You're repulsive, filthy, irreverent."
"But I deserve death...!"
"I won't say it twice."
Verilrude tried to atone with his life, but Viscount Saint refused. Unable to kill the man his living daughter had last loved, the viscount snarled one final time and drove him out.