To the Rebel, I Go

The reports didn't end with just one. Bad ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠news is notoriously impolite. It never travels alone; it always brings an even more fucked-up companion.

"Your Majesty." Hermoon entered, carrying a second report. He was as calm as ever. And by now, I knew: the calmer Hermoon was, the less calm the situation usually was.

"An urgent dispatch from the southern border."

The southern border. South by the Demon Realm's standards. The boundary touching the northern region of the human kingdom. So, the North to the humans, the South to the demons. Even the geography was twisted like this. It felt like the world was handing me a navigation test. In the middle of a war, no less.

"Is it the Northern Grand Duke?"

Hermoon bowed his head. "Yes."

The moment that name was uttered, something welled up from the depths of my throat. It felt like nausea, or perhaps rage. It was as if memories that weren't mine were slowly awakening inside my body.

I paused for a moment. It was strange. It wasn't like me. I had never personally met the Northern Grand Duke. I hadn't lost my family to that human, nor had I lost a village, nor had I ever been stabbed by his blade. Yet my body knew instinctively. I hate that name. That name is repulsive. The moment that name steps onto the soil of the Demon Realm, the scent of ancient blood rises again.

"The Northern Grand Duke's forces from the human realm have crossed the southern border of the Demon Realm. They are marching north."

Silence fell over the room. Barkan's face hardened. I didn't answer. Before I could speak, memories surged first.

Reports heard in the castle corridors. The day the names of southern border villages were erased from the map. Prisoners who never returned. Charred wooden barricades. Demon civilians collapsed in rows upon the snowfields. A woman frozen solid while ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clutching her child. A road where so much blood had spilled that the snow froze red.

And the phrases the human realm attached to all of it: Restoration of Order. Border Stabilization. Purification of Savagery. Fuck that. Purification, my ass. It was just a perfume-sprayed word for massacre.

The Northern Grand Duke. Hearing the name, you'd think he was some romantic figure petting a white wolf in a snowy castle, but the reality was far from it. He was the human Belion had spent years grinding his teeth against.

An old fox who spoke of honor while burning prisoners, spoke of order while erasing villages, and ground down his own soldiers for the sake of victory. A human blender of the borderlands. The bastard was vicious—so much so that rumors claimed he was more of a demon than actual demons.

It was laughable. If you're a demon, at least you know you're a demon. The Northern Grand Duke called himself "order." That made it all the more disgusting.

I took a very slow breath. "Their justification?"

Hermoon fell silent for a brief moment. That silence was already an answer.

"Supporting the legitimacy of Belion Vergrad's claim to the throne."

"Wow." A hollow laugh escaped my lips. "What an absolute son of a bitch."

The air in the room froze solid. Hermoon pretended not to hear. Barkan did the same. They were good subordinates. When the Demon King throws his dignity as head of state into the trash, a good subject quietly closes the lid.

I looked down at the report. Supporting the legitimacy of Belion's claim. It sounded nice. They had wrapped up a forced, fabricated excuse so beautifully. Looking at the wrapping paper alone, it seemed like a luxury gift box—the kind that contained rotten meat once you opened it.

"Did Prince Belion summon them?" Barkan asked.

I shook my head. "No."

"How can you be so certain, Your Majesty?"

"Belion is a rebel," I said. "But he isn't an idiot."

He might tear the throne apart. He might attack the castle. He might even come to kill me, the Demon King. But he is not the kind of man who would invite a human army to serve the Demon Realm on a silver platter. Belion was not that kind of person. Damn it all.

I knew Belion too well. My brother hated me. To be precise, he must have loathed the fact that I was sitting on the throne. A third prince who had never even held a sword properly, who didn't have a single callus on his hands, and who had proven nothing in terms of politics or military might.

For such a guy to become the Demon King... from his perspective, it was completely infuriating. I would have felt the same way. Even I found it a bit absurd. Still, Belion was not the type of man to turn the Demon Realm into a playground for foreigners.

"The Northern Grand Duke didn't come to put Belion on the throne," I said.

"Then what is his goal?" Hermoon asked.

"It's simple." I unfurled the map. The Eastern Military Camp. Black King Castle. The southern border. Three points caught my eye.

"If Belion wins, the Northern Grand Duke won't like it." My finger tapped Black King Castle. "If I win, he won't like it either." My finger traced the space between them. "So, he wants to ensure neither of us wins."

Hermoon's eyes narrowed. "A prolonged civil war."

"Exactly." I chuckled. A foreigner barges into someone else's family feud, playing referee while claiming, 'I shall fairly take a side.' And he fully intends to pocket a hefty referee fee for his troubles.

It was mind-boggling. Truly mind-boggling. A family squabble was miserable enough, but now a foreigner had walked right into our living room without even taking off his shoes. And he didn't come empty-handed; he brought an entire army.

At this point, it wasn't family counseling. They had thrown a succession dispute, a civil war, foreign intervention, and a border conflict all into one pot, boiled it, and served it on my desk. Fuck. This wasn't counseling; it was a garbage stew. The problem was that I had to eat it. And the even bigger problem was that if I didn't, the country would blow up.

"The Northern Grand Duke." I rolled the name around in my mouth. A disgusting bastard who committed betrayal and war crimes as easily as breathing. My throat felt dry and scratchy.

"Your Majesty," Hermoon said. "You must make a choice."

"I know." Options. The reason war is the absolute worst is that all your options are garbage. First: Block Belion. If I do, the southern border gets torn apart by the Northern Grand Duke, who has the full backing of the human kingdom.

Second: Block the Northern Grand Duke. If I do, Belion will choke the life out of Black King Castle. Third: Block both. That's not a tactic; it's a wish. It might ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be possible if the Demon Realm's forces suddenly doubled, supplies fell from the heavens, and I grew about three heads. Actually, no. I'd hate having three heads. One is already giving me enough of a headache.

"We must stop Belion," I said.

Barkan replied immediately. "I shall prepare the Black Armor Guards."

"No." He paused. "We are not sending an army."

"Your Majesty?"

"This is not a problem that can be solved by dragging an army along." Fuck. To think the day would come when I'd dig my own grave again. The sensations from my first day ascending the throne as the Demon King surged within me once more. I looked down at the map.

"If we send an envoy, it will turn into a negotiation table. That is exactly what the Northern Grand Duke is waiting for. A picture of two princes negotiating over the throne of the Demon Realm. The moment that happens, that old fox will play the mediator." A laugh bubbled up.

It was like a guy who barged into someone's living room wearing combat boots suddenly pinning on a family counselor's badge. I pointed my finger at the Eastern Military Camp. "Therefore, I must go myself."

"You are going in person, Your Majesty?"

"It is neither a military clash nor a negotiation," I said. "It is the Demon King going to persuade his former brother who became a rebel."

Former brother, my ass. If I had it my way, I'd decapitate both the Northern Grand Duke and the second prince, but what could I do? This was the reality before me, and this was politics.

The room fell silent. Barkan spoke with a stiff expression. "Your Majesty. Belion Vergrad is capable of killing you."

"That is precisely why I am going."

"Your Majesty!"

"Even if that rebel kills me, the succession is an internal matter that must be resolved within the Demon Realm. It is certainly not something for that disgusting old man to meddle in."

The memories remaining in this body threw my mind into disarray. Thousands, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no, nearly tens of thousands of demon citizens had lost their lives to that bastard's indiscriminate massacres. The lands the Northern Grand Duke's army swept through became desolate wastes where not even crows dared to linger.

I stared at Barkan—or rather, past him, at this world. The Demon Realm's civil war. The succession dispute. The human realm's "restoration of order" in the north. Nausea welled up inside me once more. How dare they speak of order?

"Hermoon."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

In reality, he's just an arsonist bringing a jerrycan of gasoline to a house fire.

"Write this down. By royal decree." I spoke as I stepped out into the corridor.

Hermoon picked up his pen. Belion won't kill me. At least, not unless it's a fair duel.

Scribble. The pen scratched against the paper. Because he is still a hero. Even his reason for rebelling is because he is a hero. I smiled.

Hermoon paused for a fraction of a second. But in the end, he wrote it down. He was a good subject, knowing how to turn even the king's mad ramblings into proper prose.

Barkan's eyes wavered. Hermoon said nothing. Belion hates me. Everyone knows this. But surely, he loves the Demon Realm more than he hates me. What would even be left of the Demon Realm for him to rule if the Northern Grand Duke sweeps through it? That is my gamble. And if my judgment is wrong? I die. It's simple. Not simple at all, really, but simple to say.

I picked up my black cloak.

"What of your escort?" Barkan asked, gritting his teeth.

"They will halt at the first hill outside the castle."

"Your Majesty."

"From that point on, I go alone."

"That is no different from going completely unattended."

"It must be no different." I draped the cloak over my shoulders. "What I need to show Belion is not military force."

A beat. I gritted my teeth. "Whether I have truly taken my place on the Demon Throne. That must be the only thing that matters."

The corridors of Black King Castle remained quiet. But I knew. This was not peace. It wasn't even the calm before the storm. I was already inside the tempest. I just hadn't gotten wet yet.

I walked forward. Toward the Eastern Military Camp. Toward the rebel. Toward Belion.

And I said to myself: If you're going to kill me, do it. If you can't... then you'll have to kneel, brother.