The Utility of a Discarded Woman

The Roadmia ledger was useful. Too useful. To the point where it became a problem. I flipped another page. Dates. Carriage numbers. Cargo items. Dispatch seals. Warehouse managers. Waypoints. I had thought war was nothing but blood and screams, but I was wrong.

War was more meticulous than I’d imagined. Even a single sack of horse feed moved with a tag attached, and every crate of dried meat left a trail of whose hands it had passed through. The nobles of the Demon Kingdom might treat human lives with indifference, but they stamped their supply dispatch seals with religious devotion. A truly beautiful civilization. Only, in all the wrong directions.

“Harben Bloodline’s explanation: deferred.” Hermun scribbled. Scratch.

“Merk Bloodline’s statement: re-verification required.” Scratch.

“Orza Bloodline’s rumor statement: insufficient evidence. However, preserve the statement record.” Scratch.

I listened to the sound as I looked down at the cover of the ledger. A black cover. A silver crest. Roadmia. It was the ledger Ivelin had sent. I had told her not to bring back memories, and instead, she had sent me a ledger. She certainly learned quickly. It was far too practical a gift for an ex-fiancée to send. It wasn’t flowers. Nor was it a letter. It was a supply ledger. If the genre of this world had been romance, this would have been the moment for a perfume-scented letter, but here I was, receiving horse feed dispatch seals. The damn genre had betrayed me again.

“Your Majesty.” Hermun spoke in a low voice. “Shall we accept the Roadmia Bloodline’s ledger as evidence?”

I looked at him. Hermun’s eyes were calm. But the question was not. Would I trust this ledger? Would I trust the Roadmia family? Would I trust Ivelin? Those were three entirely different questions.

“No,” I said.

Hermun’s pen stopped. “You will not accept it?”

“Is there a need to accept it yet?” I closed the ledger. Physical evidence and circumstantial evidence were things that could be borrowed from many places anyway.

“Before using it as evidence, we must cross-reference the original.”

“What items shall we cross-reference?”

“Everything.”

Hermun’s eyebrows twitched, just slightly. I folded my fingers one by one. “Dates. Seals. Carriage numbers. Warehouse managers. Waypoints. Cargo items. The discrepancy between dispatched and received quantities.” I paused for a moment, then added, “And exactly when the Roadmia family became aware of this.”

The room went silent. Yes. That was the problem. It was good that the ledger was accurate. At the same time, it was dangerous. The Roadmia family knew. Which bloodline’s carriage passed where. Who sent supplies to the outer supply depot. Who was near Belion’s military orders. Who was lying. They knew too much. And yet, they only presented it now. When they found themselves in need of survival.

“The Roadmia family is useful,” I said. “That is why they must not be trusted.”

Hermun bowed his head without a word. The envoys held their breath. I placed my hand on the ledger.

“Register the Roadmia Bloodline’s supply ledger as one of the pieces of evidence in the Black King Castle.”

Hermun recorded it. “However, do not exclude the Roadmia Bloodline from the list of those to be questioned until the cross-referencing of the original is complete.”

Scratch. Scratch.

“And temporarily seal a portion of the eastern outer supply route managed by the Roadmia Bloodline.”

This time, the air in the reception room visibly trembled. The Harben envoy. The Merk envoy. The Orza envoy. All of them.

“Did you understand?”

Everyone bowed their heads, staring at the Roadmia ledger. Seeing their expressions, I knew. They had just learned a lesson. That even if you present a useful ledger, that very ledger can drag you deeper into the abyss.

I forced down a look of disgust. I had accepted a ledger sent by my ex-fiancée. And with that ledger, I had grabbed her family by the throat. It was a rather excellent judgment for a King. That was why it felt so filthy.

“Summon the person responsible for compiling this ledger to the Black King Castle.”

Hermun turned to the final page. “I will verify the signature.”

A name written in black ink appeared. I had expected it. But seeing it in person still scraped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at my insides. Ivelin Roadmia. It was a beautiful, cold handwriting. I stared at that name for a long time. My ex-fiancée. The woman who had judged that I would not survive. The woman who had intended to come wearing black jewels. And now. The person responsible for compiling the supply ledger.

She’s certainly climbed the ladder. From the tragic heroine in a love story to a suspect and witness in an accounting audit. In this world that recycles human emotions so economically, I had long since detached my own heart.

“Bring Ivelin Roadmia to me.” My voice was low. “Not in the capacity of an ex-fiancée.”

Hermun’s pen waited. I said, “In the capacity of the person responsible for compiling the ledger.”

Scratch. The sound felt unusually long.

The conference room of the Roadmia mansion was silent, not even a breath to be heard. The reply from the Black King Castle was short. Ledger accepted. Roadmia Bloodline remains under investigation until original verification. Partial temporary seal on eastern outer supply routes. Summons for the ledger compilation manager to appear at the Black King Castle.

Ivelin read the sentences to the end. Twice. And on the third line, her hand stopped. Temporary seal. The words sounded light, but they were not. Sealing a supply route was like pressing a finger against a vein where blood flowed. For a moment, it goes numb. For a long time, it rots.

One of her uncles spoke first. “Your ledger has tightened the noose around our necks.”

The gazes in the conference room were fixed on Ivelin. A family is fast. Much faster at finding someone to take the blame than they are at loving.

Ivelin did not answer. The Duke of Roadmia was looking down at the reply from the head seat. His face was cold. It was not the face of a father, but the face of a Bloodline Head.

“So, the King did not trust the ledger,” he said.

Ivelin raised her head. “I expected that he would not.”

“And yet you sent it?”

“Because evidence that remains even when doubted is better than a plea for trust.”

Her uncle let out a hollow laugh. “And so the result is this? Our supply routes are tied up.”

Ivelin looked at him, hiding the turmoil within. “They are not tied up; they have not yet been severed.”

“What?”

“Harben lied, and Merk sold out other bloodlines. Orza stabbed Merk with unconfirmed rumors.” Ivelin looked down at the reply. “All of them have already made their own nooses with their own words.”

She said quietly, “If we had not presented the ledger, that noose would have simply been placed around our necks.”

Her voice no longer wavered. “At the very least, we presented the ledger.”

“Because of that ledger, we are now on the inspection table as well.”

“We were already on it long before that.”

At those words, the conference room fell silent. Ivelin folded the reply. “The King did not start doubting us just now. He never trusted us from the beginning.”

The black jewel necklace. The closed box. The refusal of entry to the palace. The words that he would not accept memories. Everything came back to her. Ivelin curled her fingertips slightly. Her nails pressed into her palms. It hurt. But that much was fine.

“The King did not call for me,” she said. “He called for the record containing the physical evidence I submitted. Therefore...”

The Duke of Roadmia ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looked at her. “Then go.”

It was a short sentence. It was not the words of a father sending off his daughter. It was an order to present a piece of evidence.

“Yes.” Ivelin bowed her head. The angle was precise. The etiquette was without a single flaw. However, the moment she stepped out of the conference room door, she paused for a moment. Her face was reflected in the window at the end of the hallway. The eldest daughter of Roadmia. The ex-fiancée of Lucion Vergrad. And now. The ledger compilation manager being summoned to the Black King Castle.

Already. In that short amount of time. So many names had been attached to her. But none of them were saving her. Not yet.

Her maid followed her cautiously. “My lady. Shall I prepare your palace entrance attire again?”

Ivelin was silent for a moment. Black attire. Black jewels. Memories. Everything was wrong.

“The attire is unnecessary,” she said. “Prepare a copy of the ledger.”

The maid looked up in surprise. “What about your ornaments?”

Ivelin looked at her own neck reflected in the window. It was empty. But that was better.

“They are not needed.” She began to walk. “Because today, I am not going there to be beautiful.”

Her footsteps echoed softly in the hallway. Ivelin recalled the last line of the reply again. *Summons for the ledger compilation manager.* For the first time, she admitted it. The ledger she had sent to prove her utility had dragged her down to a position of uselessness. But it was not over yet. If she collapsed before the ledger did, she would truly become a useless woman.

I closed the copy of the Roadmia reply. “When will she arrive?”

“Expected tomorrow morning,” Hermun replied.

“Is she coming alone?”

“Two guards from the Ducal house, one scribe. And she says she will accompany the copy of the ledger.”

“Good.” I nodded. Good. No. Is it good? A schedule had been set to meet my ex-fiancée again. And not for a pleasant reunion, but as a witness summons for a wartime supply audit. It was truly romantic. Headache-inducingly romantic.

“Your Majesty,” Hermun said. “Where shall you hold the reception?”

I thought for a moment. The Great Hall? Too grand. The office? Too intimate. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The audience chamber? Unnecessarily private. *Tsk.*

“The reception room.”

Hermun’s eyes moved just a little. I said, “The ledger compilation manager is seen in the reception room.”

Not as an ex-fiancée. As a subject for investigation. A space where I could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠imprint the fact that it was the ledger, not memories, that opened the door. I picked up my pen. My hand still did not tremble. Whether that was a good thing, I still didn’t know. But slowly, I needed to change too. If I acted as I did in the past, I would be discarded as I was in the past.

So. *Hmm.* I didn’t particularly like the fact that the Demon Kingdom’s way of rehabilitating a person was through an accounting audit, but it would have to do.