Where Is the Lie?
"Where is the lie?"
The news of the war's end reached the royal palace of Elium immediately. It was the first signal of victory.
However, there was one problem: it was far too early.
The high command could not immediately grasp the meaning of the report. Only a few days had passed since the offensive began, and Elium was still in the middle of organizing its defensive lines. Yet, in such a situation, news arrived of the enemy's sudden withdrawal, along with a promise of reparations.
It was an incomprehensible turn of events. At first, no one believed it. The phrase "the war is over" sounded more like a miscommunication than reality. But the same report was delivered repeatedly, and at the bottom, the seal of the House of Crane was clearly stamped.
Only then did reality sink in.
Arsen Walter Crane.
Grand General of the Elium Kingdom's army. A legendary commander from the prestigious Crane family, and a man who never wrote a single word in vain. Everyone had no choice but to accept the word "end."
Total casualties: Zero.
Enemy forces: Withdrawn.
Treaty reparations: Secured.
The numbers written on the final line of the report painted a picture clearer than reality itself. It was an overwhelming result that made even the word "complete victory" feel inadequate.
"...That is all."
As the aide finished reading, the meeting room fell into a silence so profound it felt as if everyone had stopped breathing. No one dared to speak first. The generals and advisors avoided each other's eyes, maintaining a heavy silence. The sensation of this victory being real was foreign even to them.
A war that ended in a single night. Yet, it yielded the most perfect result.
Ten thousand dwarven weapons—all of them state-of-the-art armaments ready for immediate deployment. Ten thousand gold coins—a sum equivalent to half of the kingdom's annual budget. Elium had lost nothing, yet they had gained everything. And most incredibly—there had been no clash of arms whatsoever.
It was then that the Queen, who had been quietly keeping her eyes closed, slowly looked up.
Elium la Ericel Ereberk.
The Iron Queen.
True to her moniker, not a single trace of emotion could be read on her face. Her gaze was entirely composed, as if she were merely checking off the steps of a preordained sequence.
A man of obscure origin and ambiguous identity. The very fact that they had to accept such a person had been an insult to the nobility. Some had even openly questioned the Queen's political judgment. But now, the results before their eyes proved everything. It proved who had been ignorant, and who had truly recognized real value.
Of course, Arsen was a highly capable commander. But this was a result that surpassed even his capabilities. It meant someone had designed this entire board from behind the scenes. Ultimately, this victory would be attributed to the "someone" she had personally recruited.
The Queen wore a faint smile and spoke slowly.
"How... remarkable."
A brief remark. Yet, at those words, one of the generals took a sharp, quiet breath, and an advisor reflexively adjusted his posture. It might have sounded like simple admiration, but among those who had ever taken her words lightly, none had survived to tell the tale. One had to focus on every single word, every subtle shift in the Queen's expression. She was always testing them, and those who failed her tests would quietly vanish one day without a trace.
Despite the heavy gazes fixed on her, the Queen did not look away from the report. Instead, she slowly traced the edge of the paper with her fingertips and whispered in a voice laced with a subtle, complex emotion:
"Who is this man?"
Silence descended upon the meeting room once more. She already knew the answer, yet she asked. It was not a mere question; it was a form of pressure. Everyone knew that whoever gave the wrong answer would bear the consequences.
Finally, after a long silence, one noble bowed his head and spoke cautiously.
"He is a man named Kaimu Doyunes, Your Majesty."
At those words, the corners of the Queen's lips curled upward very slowly, yet unmistakably. It was as if she had received the answer to a question asked out of pure curiosity.
"Doyunes... Ah, the very man I personally bestowed a reward upon last time."
At her words, all the breathless gazes in the room converged on her. She certainly wasn't saying this just to state a fact. They immediately recognized it as a calculated political statement.
"...Once he returns to the royal palace, I must personally bestow another reward upon him."
The kingdom. A reward. Personally.
—She is summoning that Easterner back?
—If Her Majesty is showing such interest in him... is she bringing him into the core of power?
—Is she planning a new political landscape?
"It is late. You may all depart."
Every attendee in the meeting room bowed in unison. And they all realized one thing: a new center of power had emerged, and the Queen herself was standing firmly behind it. What if they failed to read this shift in the tide?
"I hear rumors that the streets have been quite dangerous lately. Do watch your step at night."
That was her warning. To be precise, it was a threat. The faces of several nobles who had previously raised their voices in opposition to her turned pale.
That night, after the meeting at the Elium palace concluded, the power players began to move swiftly. The very first place they contacted was the newspaper offices—the place where this news would travel fastest, second only to the high command.
"I assume you have already heard? ...You must publish this issue without a single mistake. Otherwise—both the printing press and the journalists will be held entirely responsible. Do I make myself clear?"
"Creating a reason to shut down a newspaper is not a difficult task for someone in my position."
"Handle it. Make sure it is... absolutely perfect."
The second floor of the Elium Central Newspaper.
Due to the news that had just arrived, an editorial meeting was called once again right before printing. The walls were plastered with printing proofs smelling of fresh ink, and thick stacks of documents were piled like mountains in the center of the meeting room. The scratching of pens on paper. The ticking of an imperial magitech device. A quiet fell over the office.
At that moment, a woman quietly stood up from her seat. A crisply ironed shirt. Neat hair. Her expressionless face carried the absolute certainty of someone who already knew the answer. Without a word, she tossed a manuscript onto the desk.
"Let's cut this. The part about Go."
Her name was Anna. The problematic genius of the newspaper, who always wrote articles that stirred up a storm and sparked the most intense debates. Her colleagues quietly held their breath.
"What? Didn't you hear what we just discussed?" the editor-in-chief asked, looking up.
"No, I'm not saying we should cut the Prophet. But the reason the Franz Kingdom withdrew... is because of a game of Go?"
Anna did not laugh. Instead, she picked up her pen and tapped the edge of the manuscript.
"Writing it like this isn't bad, but it lacks impact. Let's write it like this instead."
The atmosphere in the meeting room shifted. Seven journalists, one intern, and one editor-in-chief. All eyes were on her.
"The Franz Kingdom's army was utterly overwhelmed by the momentum of the Elium Kingdom's army led by the Prophet. After suffering consecutive defeats in his overwhelming battle of wits, they were ultimately forced to sign the armistice agreement."
A heavy silence fell. Her words essentially meant they were rewriting history. One journalist raised his hand.
"...Isn't... isn't that a lie? In reality, it was a game of Go, and the consecutive defeats were also in Go—"
Anna stared at him quietly.
"Pardon? A lie?"
Her tone was gentle, but her eyes were razor-sharp. As she took a step closer, the entire room held its breath.
"Where is the lie in what I just said?"
Everyone began to dissect her words in their minds.
Overwhelmed by the momentum—true, they were.
Consecutive defeats in a battle of wits—technically, that's what happened on the Go board.
Armistice agreement—that was also a fact.
"...B-but still, there is such a thing as journalistic integrity—"
It was then that Anna let her lips curl into a faint smile and lightly tapped the printing proof.
"Close your eyes and picture it. 'Elium wins war by playing Go.' Do you think that will sell well on the front page? Will the high command be satisfied with that?"
The meeting room fell silent, drawn in by her words.
"...Or," Anna continued, her voice soft and persuasive, as if coaxing a child. "The invincible army led by the Prophet routed the enemy with miraculous strategy—and ultimately brought about an armistice without shedding a single drop of blood."
Thud!
She slammed her hand on the desk.
"Imagine that splashed right across the front page!"
The air in the room began to waver. Hesitation. Conflict. And finally, acceptance.
"...Ahem."
The editor-in-chief, who was the quickest to calculate the benefits, cleared his throat. One by one, the other journalists began to nod.
"A journalist... must never tell lies, of course."
"Indeed. But this much is practically the truth."
"Writing what the people want to hear... is also a journalist's duty."
As those words left their lips, Anna smiled lightly and flipped to the last page.
"Excellent. Then it's time to move."
Just yesterday, she had been Anna, a newly ordained priestess. She was still hungry for achievements. Higher! I must go higher!
"Oh, and I've already decided on the headline."
"What is it?"
"Hehe. You'll see it in the morning. Now, gather all the paperboys! Tell them we're paying double!"
Morning dawned. The streets, usually quiet at this hour, presented a completely different scene today.
"Extra! Extra! Read all about it! You'll regret it if you miss it!!"
The shouts of a paperboy echoed through the alleyways. He was short, with cheeks flushed red from the cold, but his voice was piercingly loud.
"Extra! Extra! I won't say it twice! Buy it now or regret it forever!"
Hearing the shout, a middle-aged man stopped in his tracks. He wore a faded coat and an unshaven beard. Without a word, he pulled a coin from his pocket.
"Give me one."
The boy handed over the newspaper with practiced ease and immediately resumed his mechanical shouting.
"Extra! Extra! Buy it now or regret it forever!!"
The middle-aged man unfolded the paper. His wrinkled eyes scanned the single-line headline. After staring at it for a long time, the man slowly folded the newspaper. Only a single word escaped his lips.
"...Insane."
At his reaction, the gazes of those around him shifted toward him.
"What is it?"
"What does it say?"
The man did not answer. Instead, he carefully tucked the newspaper into his coat. Unable to suppress their curiosity, the crowd's self-control crumbled. They rushed to buy the papers and stared at the front page.
FROM A BARREN WASTELAND TO TODAY'S GLORIOUS VICTORY!
If this were the modern era, it was the kind of sensationalist, ultra-nationalistic headline that would make even the most shameless clickbait YouTubers cringe. But here and now, this was cutting-edge, state-of-the-art propaganda. Especially for the citizens of this country, who had never truly experienced national pride—for a people who had spent their entire lives being pushed around and trampled by foreign powers.
The effect was doubled. It struck them right in their hearts. Their chests swelled, their moods soared, their shoulders straightened, and a burning sensation welled up from deep within. The entire street began to grow quiet, yet undeniably hot. And soon, that emotion broke through, bursting forth like a volcanic eruption.
"Whoaaaaa!"
"Pour me another one!"
"Now this is a country! This is Elium!!"
The sentiment spread like wildfire across the entire kingdom.
"Did you hear? The Zenith Kingdom is trembling in fear!"
"No, no, the headline said the Zenith Kingdom is shocked and trembling in fear. Tsk, tsk. Get your facts straight."
"Do you know which country makes the Franz Kingdom shake in its boots? Elium! Do you know which country makes the Zenith Kingdom tremble? Elium!"
It was a drug called nationalistic pride. Once you took a hit, there was no turning back.
And at the absolute peak of this frenzy, I arrived in the capital of the kingdom. By then, in the minds of the public, I had become a man who possessed the martial might to single-handedly annihilate an entire nation's army, a man who toyed with the enemy using his divine intellect, and a man so awe-inspiring that the Franz Kingdom had practically wept as they begged to sign the armistice.
So, who exactly was this legendary figure? Well, for starters, I didn't even think he was a living organism.
"...Me?"
I found myself staring blankly at Jiri.