Goblin's Economics (1)
Artis, who had believed begging for forgiveness was his only remaining option, suddenly said something no one could have anticipated. The very notion of justifying his lewd drawings of real women by appealing to some greater cause was so absurd that Neromeltia felt no anger—only stunned disbelief.
“…Say that again.”
“There were tangible results, Your Majesty! Every action I took was for the advancement of Hemonigent!”
“What…? What did you just say?”
“The advancement of Hemonigent!!”
Neromeltia was equally dumbfounded. She asked again, wondering if she had misheard or if Artis had simply misspoke, but the goblin’s expression remained unwavering, filled with absolute conviction. Pressing her fingers to her throbbing temple, Neromeltia closed her eyes. The situation felt like a runaway horse with no reins—impossible to know where to even begin untangling it.
“His Majesty has graciously allowed you to speak, Artis! What is this disgraceful display?! You should be prostrating yourself and offering your very life to the Demon Lord!”
“My friend Beriberi! Our time together may have been short, but have you already forgotten the bond we once shared? Just trust me a little longer!”
Before the two friends, divided by their clashing values, could launch into a heartfelt argument, Neromeltia raised her hand and silenced them. She approached Artis, who had once more lowered his head in a deep bow.
“Stop beating around the bush and explain yourself clearly. How exactly do your paintings contribute to the development of Hemonigent?”
At the Demon Lord’s question, a flicker of color returned to Artis’s face. He saw the first glimmer of hope—that his words might actually be heard. He knew that if he could explain properly, he could make them understand. Yet he also knew how difficult that would be, so he quickly suppressed his excitement and adopted a solemn tone.
“It is with utmost reverence that I—”
“Drop the archaic formal speech. If your actions have any real justification, I’m willing to consider forgiveness. Speak normally. That stiff language doesn’t suit you and it grates on my ears.”
In truth, Neromeltia had been furious enough to want to blast Artis’s head clean off. But the affection that had grown between them over time, the knowledge that he was not a truly evil person, and the considerable merits of the work he had completed in the past all stayed her hand. That was why she had chased him through the secret passage the night he fled—to give him one last chance to explain. Then Beatrice had caught him, and he had returned looking half-dead. From that moment, Neromeltia’s heart had been uneasy. His injuries had been so severe that it was a miracle he was still breathing, and the sight had extinguished much of her desire to punish him.
Her anger had stemmed not from the fact that her own lewd image had circulated, but from the realization that the private, intimate images of the women she cherished had been spread without their consent. Even so, when she imagined the beating and torture he had endured at Beatrice’s hands, she felt he had already paid a sufficient price. Therefore, if Artis could present a logical argument, she was prepared to forgive him. If it was nothing but a pathetic excuse, however, she would treat it as an additional crime and punish him accordingly. Everything now rested on the goblin’s silver tongue.
“Ahem. Your Majesty, what do you believe are the essential elements for the advancement of civilization? Abundant resources, the cultivation of talent in necessary fields, military strength that rivals other powers, profound scholarship, and advanced technology—many values exist. Yet in the end, civilization is built by intelligent beings gathering together, and the most important driving force is the people who form the nation.”
So far, everything Artis said was reasonable, and Neromeltia nodded. Several people in the crowd also nodded in agreement, clearly following his reasoning.
“Currently, Hemonigent is developing steadily thanks to the food supplied from Under Barkus and the resources gathered from Caboni Forest. However, the most crucial element is missing—desire! The citizens of Hemonigent have none.”
“Desire…?”
“Precisely! Many devote themselves to a noble cause—the future of everyone and a safe home for their descendants—yet the fundamental nature of their personal desires remains unfulfilled!”
Lusteria, listening to Artis’s passionate speech, understood the words but could not grasp their intent. She glanced at Beatrice with a puzzled look, but Beatrice merely shook her head, equally unable to follow the goblin’s logic.
“Allow me to get to the point. Once a nation is rebuilt and a proper social structure is established, an economy naturally forms. Currency appears to facilitate that economy. Citizens work for a single copper coin and risk their lives for a single gold coin.”
“……”
“That is passion! They pour everything they have into those small, round pieces of metal because they believe it will satisfy their values, enrich their lives, and secure a happy future for the families they love!”
This was a point Neromeltia had never considered. She had focused on ensuring the people of Hemonigent could live safely and comfortably, but she had given no thought to their consciousness or the economic structures that shaped their daily lives.
“Massive groundwork is already underway around the Demon Lord Castle, and resources are being stockpiled to build the outer walls. To develop the economy alongside this physical progress, we must begin laying its foundations now.”
Artis, who had been confidently presenting his argument, suddenly expressed deep sorrow, as though recalling a painful memory. Tilting his head back and pressing a hand to his forehead with a heavy sigh, he looked genuinely anguished—though Neromeltia suspected it was a calculated performance meant to strengthen his case. Even so, the display was so skillful that it almost felt sincere.
“It is lamentable! Hemonigent still operates on a rationing system for all food and supplies. Of course, such a system is necessary when resources are limited, and it reflects Your Majesty’s benevolent care. But if everyone receives the same amount whether they work hard or slack off, how can passion ignite? How can voluntary progress occur? That is why currency matters, and why economic development is essential! A society that only does what it is told cannot pursue ideals!!!”
Nella was watching Artis with pure admiration. Their first meeting had been brief—a passing encounter when the gate between Caboni Forest and the Demon Lord Castle opened. At the subsequent banquet she had seen him bond with her brother Beriberi and thought only that he was “a goblin who speaks well.” The moment she had formed a real opinion of him was the night before, when she saw him proudly displaying tarot cards bearing her nude image to the members of Utopia. From that point on, Nella had regarded Artis as a lecherous, shameless old pervert. Yet listening to him now, her view was shifting. Regardless of his past actions, the knowledge he possessed was genuine, and the logic he presented was something only someone who truly cared about Hemonigent’s future would conceive.
“Unfortunately, as I said, Hemonigent still uses rationing. Even if we suddenly minted currency tomorrow, it would never function properly. It would merely become pretty, shiny metal, and the people would continue living off their allotted supplies. Without the ability to invest their dreams and ambitions in currency, their passion will never ignite!”
Artis clenched his fists, his body trembling as his voice rose. His speech was finally approaching its core, and the closer he drew to the heart of his argument, the more impassioned he became.
“That is why I drew those pictures! Among humanity’s most fundamental desires—hunger, thirst, sleep, comfort—the most powerful is lust! Alluring figures that stimulate desire! Burning libido! Irresistible passion! My paintings have brought powerful motivation to the people!”
“Objection!!!”
Beriberi’s booming voice cut through Artis’s passionate speech. Pointing a finger at the goblin, he stepped forward. Neromeltia had intended to silence him again so Artis could finish, but Beriberi’s expression was surprisingly rational despite the anger in his tone. She decided to let him speak. Every argument must withstand counterarguments to be accepted as valid.
“I agree that desire for currency can inspire voluntary development among citizens. But stimulating desire does not automatically lead to improvement! Just as satisfying the desire for sleep every night does not necessarily spark passion!”
It was a fundamental point: without a direct link between the stimulated desire and genuine motivation, the desired outcome would not occur. Beriberi’s sharp observation proved he possessed considerable learning of his own, and it was the most accurate critique Artis’s argument had received so far. Yet Artis merely smiled.
“As expected, Lord Beriberi’s knowledge and insight run deep. This humble old goblin is truly impressed. Ohohohoho. However, even the point you raised already has supporting evidence!”
The Artis who had earlier bowed his head and spoken in overly formal language had vanished. In his place stood a goblin brimming with confidence. Neromeltia found this version of him far more agreeable than the one who had groveled before her.
“My paintings became the catalyst that gave purpose to those who had been living day to day on rations. As a result, the organization called Utopia was formed, and many joined me! Allow me to demonstrate what happened afterward. Armo! What did you offer in exchange for the painting you wanted?”
“I grew carrots on my own and offered two bundles!”
“Kennis! What did you offer in exchange for the painting you wanted?”
“I went into the sewers every night to catch rats, made a shawl from their hides, and offered it!”
“Arnadi! What did you offer in exchange for the painting you wanted?”
“I carved decorative ornaments from stone to trade with others so I could meet my cabbage quota!”
The moment had come when all of Artis’s seemingly disparate arguments connected. Sociology, economics, humanities, philosophy—every field he had invoked was now backed by the testimonies of the organization members. What had sounded like separate stories merged into an undeniable foundation.
“To obtain the paintings they desired, these people went beyond their allotted rations and voluntarily created new value. Some gathered new resources, others crafted their own goods. Some established basic barter systems, others conceived of saving. They even pooled resources together to purchase a single painting and share it—an early form of collective investment!”
Whether Artis’s claims and the members’ testimonies were true or false was no longer the central issue. The logic itself was compelling, and even if the method was morally questionable, the reasoning held merit. Even Beriberi, who had been unable to conceal his anger at Artis’s crimes, found himself unable to raise further objections and quietly composed himself.
Artis’s quiet words echoed across the plaza.
“Human progress has always arisen from desire.”