The Iron Queen's Secret
The Iron Queen, Eresel. The fog had not yet completely cleared. Galloping across the plains, a messenger from the Franz Kingdom approached on horseback. A few soldiers raised their spears in tension, but I quietly raised my hand to stop them. Arsen, standing beside me, read my expression and nodded quietly. "Tell him to lower his weapons and approach."
The Franz messenger slowly guided his horse toward the front of our formation. His eyes constantly scanned left and right. ...Is this really a peasant army? The formation was unwavering, and their uniforms were unified in similar colors. Their posture was disciplined, and the soldiers did not avoid the enemy's gaze. No, if anything, they were whispering to one another as they looked at him.
"Is that also originally..."
"They definitely sold the grain..."
Just as he strained his ears to hear more, he arrived at the barracks. "I have come on behalf of the Franz Kingdom. The Franz Kingdom formally requests a parley with the Elium Kingdom."
The sound of hooves once again echoed across the Krang Plains. Inside Sarne's tent, a messenger rushed in, panting heavily. "Reporting... The request for a parley has been accepted."
"I see," Sarne said, her hands never pausing as she polished her broadsword. "And?"
At her question, the soldier's eyes wavered slightly. There was one command she had given when sending the messenger: If the Elium army was nothing but a bluff, return immediately without hesitation. But if they were not—
"...I believe you must see it for yourself." The messenger poured out his words in a single breath, not even pausing to catch it. "It is... completely different from the reports."
"Be specific."
"Most of their uniforms were unified, and the soldiers' discipline and training seemed highly advanced. Above all... the look in their eyes..." He paused to find the right words, then slowly added, "...I saw no fear of war in them. It was a gaze filled with absolute confidence in their victory."
Sarne's hands froze. The messenger took a step closer and delivered his final observation. "And... among the weapons they held, I spotted equipment that appeared to be manufactured in the Franz Kingdom."
"...Weapons?"
"Yes. The material, the engravings, and even the iron finish were identical. I verified it with my own eyes. Some of the spearheads were definitely models issued from our own supply depots."
The temperature inside the tent plummeted. Sarne slowly set down the sword in her hand. Having finished his report, the messenger bowed his head in silence. It was then that another messenger burst into the tent. His face, covered in thick dust, was a mixture of exhaustion and sheer panic. "C-Commander Kroi! We've received word from the scouts sent to the revolutionary army's rendezvous point—" Panting heavily, his voice trailed off.
Sarne spoke coldly. "Speak."
The messenger swallowed hard. Then, in a low, cautious voice, he spoke. "...They have been wiped out."
Silence.
"...At the rendezvous point... not a single soul was left alive."
At that moment, time seemed to freeze inside the tent. Even the officers were left speechless. Someone took a sharp breath, and Sarne very slowly closed and opened her eyes. The plan had gone awry. No, from the very beginning... they had never possessed accurate intelligence. "...There is no need to see any more. Revise our intelligence."
The officers' gazes snapped to her in unison. Releasing her grip on the hilt of her sword, she spoke in a low, calm voice. "Elium was never weak. They were far more... prepared than we ever imagined."
Sarne cast her gaze into the distance for a moment before speaking. "They didn't change in a single month. For a very long time... they must have deliberately pretended to collapse, feigning weakness."
"An intelligence war?" someone asked cautiously.
Sarne nodded. "That is the only logical explanation. We weren't watching them collapse—we were being thoroughly, utterly deceived. They blinded us, made us feel secure... and when the time was right, they drew their blades and dug a trap."
Sarne's eyes narrowed. "And... there is only one person in the Elium Kingdom capable of wielding such power right now. The woman who hid behind an illusion, overthrew the throne, and seized the crown as Queen while completely disregarding legitimacy." Sarne paused and turned to her side. "What was her name again?"
Her aide flipped through a booklet and spoke cautiously. "Elium la Ericel Ereberk."
Sarne repeated the name, savoring it on her tongue. "...She is certainly a woman of terrifyingly deep calculation."
A quiet palace. Outside the window, the morning sunlight spilled softly, its gentle rays filtering in to illuminate the teacups on the table. "The aroma of this tea truly never changes," Princess Arianne, the fifth princess, said with a smile. A fragrance blending dried fruit peels and cloves drifted over the rich black tea.
Sitting across from her was the Queen, Elium la Ericel Ereberk. The new ruler of the Elium Kingdom. Having only just turned twenty-three, she was unbelievably young for someone carrying the weight of an entire nation.
Her face was always cold and expressionless. The corners of her mouth rarely curved upward, and her eyes never betrayed a single emotion. Foreign envoys spoke of her in unison: "The Queen of Elium seems to be made of iron." "She is like a doll that has lost all emotion."
But the reality was entirely different. Even now, Eresel was worrying. She wondered if the children sitting across from her felt uncomfortable in her presence. She tried her best to relax her brow and made an effort to maintain gentle eye contact. Her stiff expression was not born of anger. She simply did not know how to smile.
Eresel quietly gazed at her late sister's children, Princess Arianne and Prince Leonir, who were walking on eggshells around her. The children of the sister she had respected most. Though they were not bound by blood, they were closer to her heart than anyone else. Her only problem was that whenever she acted, she was always misunderstood. She had never intended to become Queen in the first place. She had merely been worried about the country—truly.
"Now that the King has passed and even the Queen has died of illness, can these young children truly manage the affairs of state?"
She had only said those words once... yet one day, she found herself sitting on the throne. And the people said: "The Iron Queen." "The Ruler of Ice."
Her hand froze as she lifted her teacup to soothe the bitterness of those memories. A tickling sensation brushed the tips of her ears. "Ah..."
At the faint sound that escaped her lips, both children reacted instantly. "Your Majesty?" Leonir leaned forward, startled. "Are you alright?" Arianne asked, setting her cup down.
Ereberk shook her head and forced a smile. It was a smile crafted solely to avoid frightening the children. "It is nothing. Just... my ears are tickling. It seems someone is talking about me."
It was a lighthearted remark, a mere joke on her part, but to the two receiving it, it was anything but. It seemed to carry some profound, hidden political meaning. The children's expressions gradually stiffened. It seemed they would need much more time to grow closer.
Heading toward the meeting location, I thought to myself: No matter how I look at it, an all-out war is out of the question. Their morale was high, certainly. The soldiers' eyes were sharp, and determination practically dripped from their lips. But that was merely an illusion born of high morale. It was not actual skill. Unlike the Franz Kingdom, the vast majority of the Elium Kingdom's forces gathered here were peasants. Some were holding weapons for the very first time in their lives. Most of their hands were far more accustomed to sickles than swords.
If it ultimately came down to war, I didn't think we would lose. However, the critical issue was the loss of manpower. If they died, the country would grind to a halt. If we lost, we would ruin ourselves. If we won, the peasants would die, the country would stop, and we would still ruin ourselves. Only the path to ruin differed; the end result was exactly the same. From the start, this war was never meant to be fought. There was only one true objective: a grand bluff. To puff up our chest as much as possible so the enemy wouldn't dare strike. Neither winning nor losing, but ending the conflict somewhere in between.
Yet, all those worries vanished the moment I stepped into the barracks and saw the woman who had emerged as the enemy commander. A smile naturally spread across my face. An Elder Dwarf. A race known for being serious, cold-headed, precise in their reasoning, and swift in their judgment. And at the same time, a race absolutely obsessed with betting.
On the surface, such a penchant for "betting" might seem like a fatal weakness, but the very fact that the Elder Dwarfs still maintained their kingdom and thrived was proof enough of their true nature. Elder Dwarfs were natural-born gamblers, possessing such extreme computational abilities that it was said they could slay a god in a game. In the game's lore, when it came to bets, no lie or trickery could last long before them. Thus, most players avoided facing them. If you made a wrong move, you would get dragged into their pace and ruined in an instant.
The inside of the barracks was dead silent. The air was so tense that even a single word felt heavy. Exactly three steps separated us across the table. That distance was not merely physical; it was a chasm of tension that held the fate of the entire battlefield. I spoke first. "You've brought quite a crowd with you."
Sarne raised her cup and took a leisurely sip of her tea. There was not a shred of hesitation in her fingertips. "It is war, after all."
After a brief pause, Sarne spoke. "I noticed some of your soldiers' equipment included weapons made in our Franz Kingdom."
"Yes, thanks to you."
The exchange on the surface was brief. Yet, what lay beneath those words was far from a simple joke or a polite greeting.