Demon King Army Subjugation (1)
“It's Duke Faust, the Northern Commander-in-Chief.”
“Sisilia of the Windsor Knights.”
Upon arriving at the northern fortress of Winterhold, Sisilia met the local lord and supreme commander, Duke Faust.
After a formal salute, Faust flashed a broad grin and seized Sisilia's hand, shaking it vigorously.
“I've heard the rumors, but you're even more beautiful in person! Our soldiers' morale is going to skyrocket! Haha!”
He seemed like a jovial sort. Sisilia, unable to match his energy, just let herself be jostled with a blank stare.
“Oh, and reinforcements behind you? To think I'd see so many Windsor Knights in one go! What luck, pure luck!”
Including Sisilia, a total of twenty-five. Each knight was a high-value asset capable of tipping the scales of war. And here came twenty-five from the undisputed strongest order, the Windsor Knights? From a commander's perspective, it was a dream force.
Faust looked ready to charge straight into the Demon King Castle.
“Alright, everyone, don't just stand there—go get some proper rest. I'll issue the muster order when the time comes. Just swing your swords hard then. No need to worry about anything else. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Sisilia's eyes narrowed.
Fox.
That summed up Duke Faust's words in one.
Tired of tactics and strategy? Just follow my orders and take it easy.
Pretending to look out for them while slyly trying to wrest operational command from the Windsor Knights.
It might work on other knights. Jerryway, especially, would be thrilled and head straight for the booze.
But not on Sisilia. Not a chance.
“The Windsor Knights follow only Windsor rules. We'll judge the timing of battle ourselves.”
“……Ho. So the noble Sword Princess isn't just nobility after all?”
“I'll take anything beyond that as an insult.”
Quite aggressive. Direct. But that might make her easier to handle.
Faust flashed a smile one moment, then schooled his face into seriousness the next. But as if that had never happened, he filled his features with amiability once more and spoke with vigor.
“Haha, no need to get flustered. No one can argue you're an outstanding knight. I've seen your record. Impressive stuff—no end to your merits, page after page.”
Duke Faust circled Sisilia. Like a hyena eyeing prey. All the while subtly amplifying his presence.
“But think about it. I'm 122 this year. Nearly a century on the battlefield. Doesn't experience trump youth?”
“No.”
“Basis?”
Duke Faust halted. A masterful dilemma.
Might as proof? Impossible. As northern commander, he bore the title of Sword Sovereign. His tactical and strategic acumen, backed by a century of experience, was beyond dismissal.
Weak reasoning, though, opened the door to a grave question: In a war against demons, is discipline what matters?
In other words: become a traitor, or hand over command meekly.
Faust ran through Sisilia's possible responses, countermeasures at the ready. A genius knight of the century, sure—but only sixteen. No match for seasoned cunning.
A brutal war of wits, every word laced with political maneuvering. Tension gripped the air—
Sisilia spoke with an impassive face.
“Because I'm cuter.”
“……”
Faust froze like stone at the utterly unforeseen reply.
How's Sisilia taste? The knights behind smirked, lips curling up.
Even stuffy capital nobles fled at the sight of her, or so the legend went. Because conversation was impossible!
Sisilia had safely neutralized the northern commander with cuteness, pitching camp without interference. Right near the Demon King Castle, tents up, command center established.
“Whew, that was something earlier.”
“Did you see the duke's dumbfounded face?”
“Kuhaha! Looked like his wife ran off.”
“A truly monumental debate. To end it so cleanly with an utterly contextless line, leaving no room for justification…… Terrifying.”
The Windsor Knights lounged by the campfire, chattering about the exchange.
Was it really that big a deal?
Beatrice eyed it dubiously. Sisilia, munching baguette with a vacant expression, seemed utterly thoughtless.
Just her usual self-praise about being cute and pretty……
Sisilia met Beatrice's gaze, cheeks puffed with bread, head tilted.
……She is cute.
“Troll!”
“Ice troll!”
Then uninvited guests crashed their freshly set camp.
Ice troll? Haven't seen one here yet.
Monster enthusiast Sisilia started to rise. But a passing knight grabbed her shoulder and pressed her down.
Sisilia plopped back onto her log.
“Hey, finish that baguette. You've barely made a dent after an hour.”
The knight hefted an axe the size of four Sisilias combined.
“Clear out! The Storm Herald of the Battlefield takes this one!”
Whoosh—!
Boom!!
The ice troll was obliterated in three seconds flat.
Winterhold soldiers wandering nearby dropped to the ground, trembling.
“Puhahaha! Storm Herald, my ass.”
“Like Her Majesty would give you such a childish title!”
“N-not bad? How about Red Axe then?”
“Look at Sisilia's face. Bread tastes sour now.”
Wrong. It wasn't the bread.
My troll……
Mix its blood with juice for a smoothie? Trolls were tough—perfect for Beatrice's One Flash practice.
Sisilia had been lost in such delightful thoughts. But this rotten bastard ruined it!
Rotten thing! Not even cute! No hair!
Herald had a fine beard instead. Sisilia inwardly apologized for the bald insult and stood.
“Lady Sisilia's skirt……”
Beatrice gasped, smoothing Sisilia's wrinkled skirt.
Herald, who'd glimpsed it from behind, went silent.
The knights' expressions chilled.
“I'll ponder tactics for a bit. Rest up. No booze.”
Sisilia vanished, face blank.
And—
“You saw?”
“S-saw bloomers, but couldn't make it out.”
“So you saw?”
“Yeah.”
“Gotta wipe that memory with magic.”
Herald sighed skyward as over a dozen knights lunged.
Mom, comin' soon.
While Herald became a sandwich, Sisilia entered the command tent, climbed a high chair by the map, and swung her legs.
“My role…… Kill the Demon King, negotiate a truce.”
By Sisilia's math, this was the last mission before open prep.
Settle this, and demons would need time to regroup—truce inevitable for a while.
Problem: As expedition leader, killing the Demon King means the credit goes to me.
Secret kill and play dumb?
Demon King suddenly dead! No idea why!
……Couldn't remain an incompetent Sword Princess.
Then no proper open prep post-mission. Needed authority for that.
Hmm. Feigning ignorance is too risky.
How?
Sisilia pondered. Preserve Sword Princess title, kill Demon King, secure year-long truce from demons.
“Ah.”
Sisilia smiled faintly. Got it.
A brilliant idea.
“Betty.”
“Y-yes!”
She'd secretly called Beatrice from the knights roasting wild boar, dragging her into the tent. Under the flickering lantern, she whispered conspiratorially.
“Gonna step out for a bit.”
“Step out?”
“Top secret. And ease up on the BBQ. Over 50kg and you're disqualified as knight.”
“……Th-that's too harsh. I'm 170cm.”
Post-mission, make her run 50 laps around the capital.
Sisilia cared for her subordinate's weight management.
No. Not the point.
Anyway, Sisilia pulled out a Halloween costume set.
“……Where'd that huge box come from?”
“Doraemon's pocket.”
“……”
Beatrice knew asking what's that? here was foolish.
“Can you impersonate me?”
“Pardon?!”
“Shh.”
Sisilia glanced at the tent flap, clamped Beatrice's mouth, and pressed close.
“Old guys wake once and won't sleep again. Quiet.”
“Yes……”
They're all awake……
Anyway, Beatrice whisper-screamed.
“Me, impersonate you…… How?”
“No talking needed. Nod and hum—won't get caught. I don't talk much anyway.”
“Even so……”
“Only northerners can't know. No point hiding from Windsor Knights, and impossible anyway.”
They'd know by footsteps alone.
For sniffing out demons, the order knew each other intimately.
Hiding from them was futile. But announcing it was risky.
Harsh, but…… knights' mouths cost one shilling.
“Tell your同期 first for backup, keep from the rest. They'll play along thinking it's my prank.”
“……”
Unbelievable, but true. They kept secrets for her pranks, but don't tell! and the world knew.
“Hmm…… This should work.”
Beatrice donned wig and makeup.
“Not quite me, but Betty's cute too.”
From pretty European model to idol center-tier. At a glance, Sisilia-like (great figure), thanks to Sisilia's masterful disguise.
Pretty girls look similar enough.
Beatrice's beauty made it possible.
“Hide build with light refraction, sit if close.”
And most crucially. Sisilia cringed with wounded pride, but held bandages.
“Chest…… Downsize.”
Immensely, mortifyingly pride-wounded Sisilia.
The man on the throne gleamed red eyes.
In the vast hall, he took in the silver-haired girl standing tall.
Blood-red gaze flashed; a heavy, profound voice shook the space.
“Last time we met.”
Voice alone reverberated the air. Oppressive force from mere words.
“Didn't you say if we met again, you'd kill me?”
Languidly propping his chin on the throne, he lifted crimson eyes.
“What brings you here?”
Less hostility, more curiosity.
“Sisilia Windsor.”
Cain Baltarion. Demon World Duke rank one, moniker First Devil.
And Sisilia's pick for next Demon King.
“Care to talk?”
Sisilia spoke in a drowsy tone, like reuniting with an old acquaintance.
“Not a bad talk, I promise.”