Mercy Kills

A white cloth hung in Ragmunt Square. It was the banner of the Northern Border Army. It was as white as snow, which only made it more of an eyesore.

Beneath ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the white cloth, the demon residents were gathered. Old men. Children. A man who had been pulling a cart. A woman clutching a sack of flour. And Milena, the apothecary.

She was clutching a small medicine jar with both hands.

The Northern Border Army officer did not look at her for long. There is a difference between the way one looks at a person and the way one looks at an object. The officer's gaze was the latter.

"Concealing medical resources within the protection zone," he said. His voice was calm, like a man reading the weather forecast. "Excluded from protection."

Milena shook her head. "This isn't military supply."

"All medical resources within the protection zone are subject to reclassification under the supervision of the Northern Border Army."

"It's medicine for my daughter."

At those words, the officer's eyes shifted for the first time. It wasn't out of sympathy, but sheer annoyance.

"Which makes it a medical resource of the protection zone."

Milena pulled the medicine jar tight against her chest. In that instant, a spear tip lunged forward.

On one side of the square, a child cried out. Milena looked over. It was her daughter, her face flushed red with fever. The child couldn't even call out to her mother, whether because her throat was hoarse or because she was too terrified.

The Northern Border Army officer held up a sheet of paper.

"In accordance with the Saintess's Principle of Mercy, the remaining family members will be relocated within the protection zone."

His words spoke of mercy, but his hand gripped a spear.

At the back of the square, next to a warehouse, a boy watching the scene grit his teeth.

Kir, a messenger from Ragmunt. He was sixteen at most.

He memorized the notice posted on the wall with his eyes. He couldn't afford to miss a single character.

Protection zone. Medical resources. Excluded from protection. Saintess's Principle of Mercy. And Milena's name.

Kir hid beneath a pile of straw behind the warehouse. A Northern soldier glanced in his direction. Kir held his breath. His heart pounded so violently that the foolish thought crossed his mind that they might discover him by the sound of his heartbeat alone.

But he wasn't caught. The moment the soldier looked away, Kir rolled out of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the straw. Mud caked his clothes, and his elbows were scraped raw. He was alive. For now.

He slipped out of Ragmunt, leaving behind the white banner bearing the Saintess's name. He turned his back on the village where the word "mercy" was used to shackle its people.

The army moving south was far from quiet. Wagons creaked, and horses snorted.

Until yesterday, I had been their enemy. Yet now they were marching south under my command. The irony must have been suffocating for them.

If human hearts could be organized as neatly as a single line of a military decree, there would be no rebellions, no regrets, and my own life wouldn't be such a complete shitshow.

Unfortunately, the heart is not an official document. Stamping it doesn't make it take effect immediately.

Turning the spearheads. Securing the wagons. Assessing the horses. Deciding whether to leave the wounded behind or bring them along. Only after repeating these tasks several times did the soldiers belatedly realize that they were already operating under an entirely different chain of command.

The Eastern Military Camp did not trust me yet. Nor did I trust them. I didn't expect reconciliation or forgiveness right away. Just walking in the same direction—for now, that was enough.

I tried my best not to touch the back of my neck while on horseback. The wound left by the tip of Belion's sword stung with every sway of the horse.

Beside me, Belion rode with a weary expression. He was a former rebel and a newly subjugated prince, but right now, he was my most reliable commander. As long as he didn't stab me in the back, that is.

"Ragmunt isn't a large village," Belion said, checking our surroundings to ensure we had enough distance from the others. Only when we were alone did Belion speak informally. I merely turned my head toward him.

"Then why did they occupy it?"

Belion scanned the area. The officers were keeping their distance, and the rhythmic clatter of hooves masked our conversation perfectly. Only then did he slacken his reins and pull his horse close to mine.

"Because it isn't a large village." His tone dropped. It wasn't a voice meant for the soldiers to hear. The man who had addressed me as 'Your Majesty' in public had returned to being Belion Vergrad. He had surrendered, but he certainly hadn't been tamed.

"If you occupy a large town, you have to defend it. If there are walls, you have to station troops there. If there are many residents, you have to feed them. But Ragmunt is different."

"Because it's small enough to abandon easily?"

"Because it's small enough to hold down easily, brat."

Belion traced a path in the air with his finger. "The wagon trail leading from the southern border to Black King Castle isn't wide. When it rains, the side roads turn to mud, and horses have to drag the carriages up the steep passes. Ragmunt is the last flat, manageable point before that stretch. It has wells, storehouses, and plenty of old blacksmith shops."

"A supply base, then."

"Exactly," he replied curtly. "But it's not just a supply base."

"Then what is it?"

"It's a drawn bow."

Those words struck deep over the sound of the hooves. Suddenly, the small village of Ragmunt felt like the trigger of a massive ballista.

"The residents are both hostages and labor. They'll use them for forced labor if needed, and kill them if they become an inconvenience. They can manufacture any excuse they want. Colluding with the Demon King's army. Disrupting the order of the protection zone. Execution of military law."

"And if we stop?"

"Then it goes back to being a standard supply base."

"If we negotiate?"

"Brankenheim will play the mediator. He'll probably try to sell us buckets of water while standing in our burning house."

"And if we bypass it?"

Belion let out a low chuckle. "It leaves a hook in our back."

A hook. The more I chewed on the word, the more painfully accurate it felt. Damn it all.

The Northern Archduke hadn't just seized a village. He had driven a meat hook deep into the flesh of the Demon Realm.

Move, and it tears. Stay still, and it rots. Try to pull it out, and you bleed. Apply medicine, and it will only fester from within.

"Is there no way to extract the hostages?"

"The Northern Archduke doesn't use the word 'hostages.'"

"Then what does he call them?"

"Order."

I didn't answer. I didn't even swear. Sigh. Swearing felt like a waste of breath on a man like Leonhart Brankenheim.

Just then, a commotion broke out at the front of the column. An officer galloped toward us.

"Your Majesty! Someone has escaped from Ragmunt!"

Belion's gaze shifted instantly. "Status?"

"His injuries are minor, but he is severely exhausted."

"Bring him here."

Soon, two soldiers brought the boy forward.

"It seems the situation on the ground is dire."

With others present, Belion's tone immediately shifted back to formal register.

Kir was covered in mud. He couldn't even catch his breath properly. His eyes were wide with terror, yet they held the desperate intensity of someone who absolutely had to deliver a message.

I didn't dismount. Instead, I leaned down slightly. "Your name."

"K-Kir... I am a messenger from Ragmunt."

"Speak."

Kir swallowed hard. "The Northern army has blocked the entrance to the village. They gathered the elderly and children in the square, and lined up the able-bodied workers by the warehouses. They took all the carts and livestock, and stationed guards at the wells."

The words tumbled out of him rapidly, as if he were still being pursued.

"They posted a document on the wall. They called it the mercy of Serapion. The Saintess's name was on it too."

At those words, my fingers froze on the reins. "Go on."

"Milena, the apothecary, was dragged away."

"On what grounds?"

"For hiding her daughter's medicine..." Kir's voice trembled. "They claimed she concealed military medical supplies. They said she was excluded from protection."

Belion's face hardened into a cold mask. "It seems..." His expression was not devoid of anger. "The Northern Archduke intends to stay here for a long time."

But now was not the time to vent anger. Belion knew that all too well.

"Her sentence?" I asked.

Kir shook his head. "Not yet. They said she would be re-interrogated before the sun sets twice. It seems they plan to confiscate all the hidden goods first, and then execute her. After that, they said they would proceed according to military law..."

Re-interrogation. Military law. Excluded from protection. They were taking a very long, bureaucratic detour to say they were going to murder her.

Fucking hell. Truly remarkable. That piece of absolute filth.

To construct such a rational-sounding justification just to plunder property and maliciously slaughter demons... Honestly, the man deserved a literary award.

Though instead of a cash prize, I wanted to bury an axe in his skull.

I looked down at Kir. "Did you memorize the document?"

"Not all of it."

"It's fine. Tell me what you saw."

"It said that in accordance with the Saintess's Principle of Mercy... they would protect non-combatants. And that anyone who failed to comply with the protection order would be excluded from protection."

"Who announced that?"

"A Northern officer."

"To the residents?"

"Yes."

I nodded.

"No," Belion said quietly. I looked at him. "It wasn't announced to the residents."

He didn't look at Kir. He looked at me. "The people of Ragmunt are already trapped. There is no need to explain justifications to prisoners."

Ah. I took a slow, deep breath. He was right. That document hadn't been posted to convince the villagers.

"It was sent to us," I said.

Belion nodded. "And to the human world."

"The Holy Order. The royal court. The sponsoring nobles."

"Yes."

Kir looked utterly bewildered. It was only natural. This was the villagers' reality, yet it was also a game played far above their heads.

The Northern Archduke had occupied Ragmunt. But what he had truly seized was not just a village. It was our options.

"If the Demon King's army attacks the protection zone..." I mused slowly. "And if they 'dispose' of those excluded from protection in the chaos... while still claiming they 'protected' the rest under the Saintess's Principle of Mercy..."

Belion's lips thinned. The perfect alibi for a massacre.

"Brilliantly crafted."

The Northern Archduke was deliberately staging a scene he knew I couldn't ignore. An apothecary. A daughter's fever. A hidden jar of medicine. Excluded from protection.

An angry king acts quickly. A fast king is easily read. And a king whose moves are read is destined to lose.

I gripped the reins tightly, then let go. If I rushed in now, that bastard would laugh. If I drew my sword now, Milena would be the first to die.

And her death would be reported directly to the capital of the human kingdom: The collapse of the protective order due to the Demon King's attack. The Northern Border Army's unavoidable execution of military law.

Fucking bastard.

"Hermoon."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Hermoon rode closer. He was already holding his pen. The old man was incredibly fast—less of a human and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more of a mobile recording device.

"We aren't sending this only to the Saintess," I said. "The Saintess. The Holy Order's Council of Elders. The Doctrinal Orthodox Faction. The kingdom's diplomatic channels. Send it to all of them."

Hermoon asked, "Are you familiar with the internal affairs of the Holy Order?"

"I haven't a clue," I replied honestly. "But put three people in a room, and you get factions. Do you really think a bunch of priests will suddenly act as one cohesive body?"

Barkan looked at me. Belion did too. What? It wasn't like I was wrong.

"If the Holy Order remains silent, it means they condone it," I continued. "If the kingdom remains silent, it means they approve of it. If that is the case, we will simply prepare for total war."

If the kingdom had no intention of doing anything but fighting, our only option was to prepare for a grand war. In times like these, swift recognition and resolve would decide the outcome of the conflict.

Hermoon slowly bowed his head. Only then did he realize that the letter I intended to send was no ordinary missive. I was setting the board.

If I only questioned the Saintess, the Holy Order would bury it. If I only questioned the Holy Order, the kingdom would feign ignorance. If I only questioned the kingdom, the Holy Order could hide behind their sacred silence.

So, I would throw it to everyone. Simultaneously. I would force them to watch each other's silence, making it utterly unbearable.

Of course, there was no guarantee the Holy Order would move. No guarantee the Saintess would reply. And certainly no guarantee the kingdom was an institution capable of feeling shame. But I could at least ensure that silence would not be the easy choice.

What I could achieve right now was not a perfect victory. It was merely tilting the flat ground the enemy stood so comfortably upon. That was the beginning.

"The deadline for their response?" Hermoon asked.

I looked at Kir. "When did you say the re-interrogation was?"

"Before the sun sets twice."

"The deadline for the response is the same," Hermoon noted down.

"And add one more line."

I looked at Kir's trembling hands. Those hands had likely witnessed the medicine jar Milena had clutched. A person still alive. A person classified as scheduled to die.

"I ask Saintess Ariane Seraphel." The pen moved.

"I do not ask for the honor of those who have already died in your name." Scratch.

"Do you intend to save those who are scheduled to die in your name?"

Hermoon's pen stopped.

I closed my eyes for a brief moment. Ariane Seraphel. The Pure Saintess. I still occasionally recalled her words.

Please, do nothing. If you move, I will fall. If you reach out, I will cease to be a Saintess. So, I had done nothing. Just as she wished.

I opened my eyes. "Put what I just said in a sealed postscript. And..."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Ariane Seraphel," Hermoon wrote. "Once, you told me to do nothing." Scratch. "Will you choose silence this time as well?" Scratch. "Even as people are scheduled to die in your name?"

The sentence had to end there. If it dragged on, it would lose its edge. Even a sword will bend if it is made too long.

"Your Majesty," Belion said in a low voice. "Do you believe the Saintess will move?"

"I don't know," I replied. "But if she doesn't, we have entered a phase where even her silence can be documented."

Belion stared at me for a long time. Then, he spoke quietly. "Brankenheim won't know how to fight against a method like this."

"Why?"

"Because he is a calculating man. He only uses justice and justification as tools."

This time, I let out a dry chuckle. "You're being naive, brother. Do you really think I'm any different?"

Belion's gaze drifted toward the southern road. "The Northern Archduke... a beast like him would never be able to calculate the Saintess's emotions."

The Saintess's emotions. Those words lingered strangely in my mind.

Belion changed the subject. "If an opening presents itself, I will move."

"Where?"

He looked down the path leading south. "The narrow path below Ragmunt."

"An escape route?"

"A path that looks like an escape route."

"Is there a difference?"

"A path changes depending on who is looking at it," Belion said coldly. "A closed path stops the enemy. An open path draws them out."

I smiled slowly. It was the kind of insight only a man who truly understood war could offer.

"You're going to leave it open?"

"Yes."

"To make them believe they can escape?"

"Precisely."

"You'll need to prepare thoroughly. Even a rabbit preparing for a harsh winter digs three burrows in advance."

Belion didn't answer. His silence was response enough. Fair enough. He didn't need to explain every single ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠detail to me. Although the supreme command had shifted to me, the practical management of the troops was still his burden to bear.

"Fine," I said. "Then I will handle the kingdom and the Holy Order." I looked down the southern road. "You inspect the path."

"I will ensure the open path becomes a trap," Belion replied.

Excellent. He was a truly magnificent, insufferable commander.

I looked at Kir one last time. "Kir." The boy's shoulders trembled. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty."

"Is Milena still alive?"

"Yes."

"Good." It wasn't too late yet.

"Hermoon."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"The inquiry goes out today."

"I shall execute your command."

"And transcribe the names of the people and the horses that came from Ragmunt," I said. "Do not miss a single character."

Hermoon bowed his head.

I looked toward the south. Ragmunt. The place where my people, whose faces I did not yet know, were waiting.

"Before they die," I said quietly, "we must reclaim their names first."