Secret Society Utopia (1)
Every group harbors the seeds of its own collapse from within. Considering that the fall of Hemonigent a thousand years ago had also been brought about by internal traitors, it was only natural that the most critical priority in rebuilding Hemonigent would be the strict management of internal affairs. Neromeltia had therefore made her way to Crawford’s office to handle the matter.
The old, dilapidated office was gone. In its place stood a proper brick structure—still temporary, yet solid enough to signal that Hemonigent’s reconstruction was finally progressing. A quiet sense of relief passed through Neromeltia at the sight.
“In accordance with Your Majesty’s orders, I have designated one member of the secret society and conducted a thorough investigation.”
The problem they now faced was how to deal with the secret society operating inside the rebuilding Hemonigent. Artis’s clandestine organization, Utopia, conducted its activities with such extreme secrecy that neither its purpose nor even its existence had ever been publicly confirmed. The fact that Crawford had obtained any information about it at all was nothing short of miraculous.
Of course, had Hemonigent been a fully established realm, such a loosely organized secret society would never have been able to form in the first place. But the current Hemonigent was still in its earliest stages, rising from literal ruins, and its many vulnerabilities made this possible. Those same vulnerabilities also meant that the greatest caution was required.
“Edmund Wilson. A thirty-four-year-old Demonian who used to farm cabbages in Under Barkus. In recognition of his experience, he was scheduled to be assigned to clearing new farmland and overseeing crop production outside the Demon Lord Castle as part of the reconstruction plan.”
“You’ve done well to investigate so thoroughly. Arrest him at once.”
Tension flickered in Crawford’s eyes as the full-scale investigation finally began. He was prepared to carry out his lord’s will with absolute thoroughness. Yet Neromeltia’s response was unexpectedly lukewarm.
“Once he is in custody, how would you like the interrogation to proceed?”
“Tell him he was arrested because of Utopia, then leave him alone for about three hours before releasing him.”
“…Your Majesty…?”
“When you let him out, follow him and shout loudly, ‘The suspicion regarding Utopia has not been cleared! We will release informants and keep him under constant surveillance, so be prepared!’ That will be enough.”
“That… that would be the same as publicly announcing that we have begun investigating Utopia…?”
Neromeltia appeared almost careless in how she intended to handle the investigation. If she was going to be this lax, Crawford thought, she might as well hand him full authority and wash her hands of the matter entirely. The order effectively nullified any real investigative plan. Crawford could find no clue as to what his lord was thinking and felt deeply unsettled.
“I have my reasons. Even under harsh interrogation and torture, they would never talk. Besides, I see no need to resort to such cruel methods.”
“…Is that so…?”
“I am not saying we will not arrest anyone. Once the man we captured realizes he is under suspicion and part of the investigation, his close associates will immediately move to warn the others. If we follow them, we can surround Utopia’s headquarters and meeting place and wipe them out in one stroke.”
“Your—Your Majesty…!!!”
“Select only the most trustworthy few and have them tail those who were close to the farmer. Most ordinary people tend to associate with those of the same stripe. It is highly likely that his close colleagues are also members of Utopia. When they leave to report this news to their gathering, we will be able to locate their base.”
Crawford finally understood the brilliance of his lord’s plan. It was a bold scheme: deliberately release the captive, then follow him to uncover the entire organization. The scale of the idea far exceeded anything he could have conceived, and it cleverly turned the enemy’s own secrecy against them. Overwhelmed by admiration for Neromeltia’s wisdom, he felt ashamed that he had failed to grasp her intent sooner. Without a single word, he gazed up at her with intense reverence.
Neromeltia was grateful for his loyalty and respect, yet she could not entirely shake off a sense of burden. She did not consider her plan particularly brilliant or ingenious. It was simply that Crawford’s honest and rigid nature made him unaccustomed to such schemes, so the idea had never occurred to him. Crawford embodied the ideal knight—faithful to chivalry and devoted to the greater good. For someone like him, anything other than a direct approach was a weakness. As his lord, Neromeltia could display what he lacked, and that, combined with his fierce loyalty, elevated his regard for her to something close to worship.
“Your Majesty’s lofty wisdom, which encompasses all things within your mind, is beyond the reach of any being! Please forgive this foolish retainer for failing to understand Your Majesty’s plan and follow it properly!”
“Ah, um… well… y-yes. You… you will be able to follow along just fine if you try! There is no need to worry so much!”
Neromeltia had been about to say that the plan was nothing remarkable, but instead decided to maintain her dignity and comfort Crawford. It seemed better to preserve the image of the great Demon Lord he believed in than to point out that he had simply failed to think of something so ordinary. People found it easier to accept that their shortcomings came from facing someone superior rather than from their own inadequacy. Of course, the somewhat awkward and flustered feeling was difficult to hide, and her performance was a little clumsy, but Crawford’s eyes, filled with reverence, noticed none of his lord’s awkwardness.
“First, we must secure enough personnel to surround Utopia’s base. However, limit the force to the Orcs who joined only recently. I am sorry to say this to those who have been with the Demon Lord Castle from the beginning, but even the Black Knights cannot be trusted. The Orcs excel at group combat and strategic operations, so they will carry out the encirclement without error. Instruct Baron Veryberry Beck Begrit to prepare the operation in secret.”
“Yes! I shall obey, Your Majesty!”
“Also, Artis’s schedule must be completely cleared. That way he will be able to plan a gathering for tonight. The longer this plan is delayed, the greater the chance that Utopia will notice something. It must be handled swiftly. Since you are too honest to lie convincingly to Artis, I will deliver this order to Beatrice myself.”
“Khh… This unworthy one…!!”
“No. There is work only you can do, so do not blame yourself. You must take over all of Artis’s duties and handle them yourself—quickly, as if it were nothing. If Artis sees that you, already burdened with heavy work, have suddenly offered to take on his tasks as well, he will not suspect anything. It must look like a simple act of goodwill toward a colleague.”
“I shall devote my life to carrying out Your Majesty’s orders!”
Crawford felt a surge of joy at finally being assigned a proper role. Neromeltia found his simple reaction oddly endearing. Though his appearance was that of a beautiful young man thanks to the vassal contract, he was actually two hundred years older than she was. Moreover, his administrative ability was so outstanding that it allowed her to focus on external affairs without worry. He was a capable and wise talent, a Sword Master known as Hemonigent’s own, righteous and kind-hearted, and possessed of striking looks—an almost perfect individual in every respect. Yet whenever he heard her plans, this remarkable man looked at her with the same eager gaze a child might direct at a hero. It was not strange that she found the contrast between his usual capable demeanor and this innocent side rather cute.
“Artis is a clever and wise man. Make sure you do not arouse his suspicion.”
“Everything shall be as Your Majesty wills!”
Having been entrusted with an important role, Crawford’s eyes shone with renewed confidence. Of course, Neromeltia had given him this task precisely to keep him away from the investigation into Utopia, but Crawford did not know that. If her prediction was correct, the moment he learned the truth about Utopia, he might very well try to kill Artis. That was why Neromeltia had no intention of revealing her true intentions to him.
With nothing left to do until nightfall, Neromeltia gave Crawford a farewell wave and left the office. Now she had only official duties to attend to. She turned her steps toward the dining hall, where Nella and Beatrice would be waiting.
As she passed, she glanced at the reconstruction site of the Demon Lord Castle. Everyone there was working diligently, sweat glistening on their brows. Even those who lacked the strength for construction work were surely busy with their own tasks out of sight. It was a heartwarming sight that hinted at a bright future. Yet the thought that some among them were secretly active members of Utopia left her feeling deeply unsettled.
“Ohohoho! I heard that Your Majesty had returned and came to greet you. It seems I have just barely arrived in time!”
At the cheerful voice behind her, Neromeltia turned. The Goblin King, Artis, approached with his usual exaggerated courtesy, his refined bearing unmistakable. Though he wore the appearance of a kindly old man, his gentle smile was enough to lift anyone’s spirits.
“I offer my respects to the Goddess of Luina.”
“Yes. Have you been well?”
“What could possibly go wrong at my age? Simply waking up in the morning counts as being well! Ohohoho!”
Artis’s clothing had changed considerably since she last saw him. He had always dressed in aristocratic attire, but before it had been little more than patched-together rags salvaged from the ruins. Later, when the Demonians of Under Barkus provided new garments, they had been simple and unremarkable. Now, however, his robes were unmistakably luxurious, made from fine fabric that would have been difficult to obtain even in Under Barkus. In the current state of Hemonigent, where all necessities were distributed through rationing, there should have been no opportunity for Artis to acquire such high-quality clothing.
“You look well, at least.”
“Ohohoho! It is all thanks to everyone’s care and affection! Rather than standing here, would you not care to visit my residence for a cup of tea? I have some rather fragrant leaves, modest though they may be.”
“No. I have a great deal of work to attend to. I will visit another time.”
Neromeltia ended the conversation lightly and turned toward the dining hall. Behind her, Artis bowed deeply in farewell, but she did not look back. With the investigation about to begin, lingering in conversation was unwise. Even if it appeared cold, she had chosen to leave. Thus, she did not see the look in Artis’s eyes as he slowly raised his head—the gaze of an old goblin gleaming with desire, fixed secretly upon the Demon Lord’s retreating figure.