The Two Daughters of the Brankenheim Family

The Bloodline Council.

A gathering where the heads of the ancient bloodlines debated the future of the Demon Realm.

Where military representatives adjusted troop numbers and supplies.

And where, beneath the Demon King's throne, everyone reaffirmed their loyalty and responsibilities.

To summarize it in a single sentence: it was the Senate of the Demon Realm's nobility.

To be a bit more honest, well...

It was a gathering of the biggest, baddest bastards around.

And to be completely honest: it was a place where, because an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠open clash would trigger a civil war, they sat everyone down in chairs to stab each other with words instead.

At least, that was the impression I got.

Initially, that was all I had planned for it to be.

But the moment I saw the attendee list submitted by Herman, my mind changed.

"...Is this really the attendee list for the Bloodline Council?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Herman replied as if it were nothing.

That old chancellor was the type of man who would prioritize writing the meeting minutes even if the world were ending.

If the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse arrived at the gates of the Black King Castle, he would probably ask them to fill out their names, affiliations, and purpose of visit.

The true disaster of the Demon Realm wasn't sealed in the Abandoned Tower to the north; it was standing right next to me, holding a pen.

I looked down at the list again.

I fell into a long silence.

"Herman."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You said this was a Bloodline Council."

"Indeed."

"Then why has it turned into the Demon Realm's equivalent of a UN General Assembly?"

Herman didn't even blink.

"Because you are the one who expanded the board, Your Majesty."

"Me?"

"Yes."

Come to think of it, he wasn't wrong.

In politics, the thing that pisses you off the most isn't a false accusation.

It's the truth.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. What I had originally intended to do was simple.

Clean up the remaining embers of the War of the Princes.

Belion's rebellion, Arkel's death, and Eren's true identity.

The Ragmund incident, the misuse of Serapion's name, and the possibility of another invasion by the Northern Archduke.

Along with the reorganization of the Eastern Military Camp and the ledgers of the Roadmia family.

These were all matters that needed to be settled before they turned into wild rumors.

So, my plan was simply to bring them to the council chamber before they could drift out of the Black King Castle like stray clouds.

But looking at it now, this wasn't a council chamber; it was a powder keg.

And to make matters worse, everyone had been handed a candle because no one knew who would light the fuse.

Is this really okay?

"Who did the Church send?"

"Elder Orbanen Kalt."

"Not Raoden? I thought he was scheduled to oversee the heresy trial."

I wondered if things had wrapped up on the Church's side by now. The Saintess's sudden shift in stance.

And the Hero.

"It seems Archbishop Raoden Berks remained behind to oversee the suspension hearing of Saintess Ariane Serafel and to review the Hero Selection process."

The Hero. I stared at the word on the report for a long time.

Damn it.

I barely just took the throne as the Demon King, and they're already posting a job opening for my executioner?

"Can the Hero Selection be finalized solely by a resolution of the Elders?"

"No, Your Majesty," Herman replied.

"The Elders can only resolve to resume the process. The actual candidates will only be revealed once the Saintess requests the Holy Sword's oracle at the Goddess's altar."

"The Holy Sword's oracle?"

"The Goddess's response. It is rare for a specific name to be handed down. It is said to usually manifest in the form of a sign, a direction, a location, or a map of stigmata."

I closed my eyes for a moment.

What a beautiful picture.

The Saintess's crest was bound in sealing cords, and her letters were dismissed from the Church's official stance. Yet, to select a Hero, that very Saintess had to stand before the altar.

Wow.

Their management was truly insane.

They snatch away her microphone and gag her, only to tell her to sing again when the next act starts.

Is this a religious institution or a holy karaoke bar?

What I had sent was a request for an observer.

I wanted to put it on the official record how Serapion's name had been used in Ragmund, and to what extent the Church would take responsibility for the word 'mercy.'

Instead of a reply, they brought a review of the Hero Selection.

It felt like I had sent an invitation, only for them to fire back with a countersummons.

They really were a religious institution.

They shook down a person's words as if they were emptying a donation box.

I could guess what Ariane had said.

She wouldn't have defended the Demon King. She would have tried to reclaim the word 'mercy.'

And the Church would have forced the word 'Hero' out of her mouth.

The funniest part was that to draw that sword, they needed her mouth once again.

"What if the Saintess refuses?" I asked.

Herman pondered for a moment.

"The process would be delayed. However, the Church will demand obedience from her."

"If she refuses, she's a heretic. If she complies, she's the blesser of war."

I closed the report.

"Her life doesn't seem very smooth either."

Ariane Serafel. She probably just wanted to reclaim her own name.

Yet the Church handed her a Hero instead of mercy.

And now, to find that Hero, they had to stand her before the altar again, seeking the Goddess's response through an oracle to search for candidates.

Fine.

It wasn't fine at all, but fine.

The world was inherently shit, and a king's job was simply to levy taxes on that shit.

"Change the agenda."

Herman's pen moved instantly.

"I am recording it," Herman said.

"Outsiders have no voting rights. Separate the observer seats, the respondent seats, and the guarantor seats."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"The Church will act as observers and respondents. The Human Kingdom will be the official diplomatic channel. The Northern Archduke's house will be the guarantors."

I paused for a moment.

"And do not use the word 'hostage.'"

Herman looked up at me.

"Are you designating it as a forbidden word?"

"If you ban it completely, some bastards will want to use it even more."

I curled my lips into a smirk.

"Just watch for who uses it first. Once we crush that guy, everyone else will shut their mouths out of self-preservation."

Herman's pen stopped.

"Will that be sufficient?"

"Yes."

I pondered as I scanned the bottom of the list.

Delicately separating and weeding out the spies required precision.

"Because whoever says it first will likely be the one reading the Northern Archduke's propaganda."

Evelyn Roadmia entered the room, quietly casting her eyes downward.

She was holding a ledger today as well.

There was no trace left of that night.

Her fingertips were clean, her attire immaculate, and her voice calmer than usual.

It made me worry, in fact.

People are often at their worst when they appear perfectly fine.

But since I wasn't in a position to worry about others, I tried my best not to look at her.

I failed.

My gaze drifted toward her once before snapping back to the ledger.

Damn it.

A king shouldn't bring private matters into public affairs.

But if a public affair caused a private matter, which department was supposed to handle that?

It was a blind spot in administrative law. What was the Ministry of Welfare in this fantasy world even doing?

"Lady Roadmia."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Redraw the financial burden allocation for each bloodline."

"Based on the custody expenses for Eren?"

"Not just that."

I closed the report.

"Include the budget for countering the Hero."

Evelyn hesitated for a fraction of a second. It was so brief that anyone else would have missed it.

"Countering the Hero... you say?"

"If the Church is going to select a Hero, the Demon Realm needs to prepare so we don't get slaughtered by them."

I leaned back into my chair.

"Supplies. Reorganization of the military camps. Border defense. Mobilization capacity of each bloodline. Wartime medicine. Evacuation routes. Capacity to accommodate additional survivors from Ragmund. Put it all in."

"Shall we maintain the expenses related to the royal bloodline suspicion as a separate item?"

"Keep it."

"Understood."

"And..."

I paused to choose my words carefully.

"Write the items related to Eren only as 'Royal Bloodline Suspicion.' Do not casually write terms like 'Arkel's blood,' 'legitimate descendant,' or 'the posthumous child of the First Prince' in the main text of the minutes."

Evelyn looked up.

"What if someone else uses those terms?"

"Format it as a direct quote."

"Along with the speaker's name?"

"Exactly."

I smiled. She was learning fast.

"If they love that title so much, they should have their own name attached to it."

So they could be bound to it for the rest of their lives.

Evelyn replied in a hushed tone.

"I shall obey your command."

Just then, the door opened, and Barkan entered, clad in his black plate armor.

When Barkan exuded such an ominous aura, it usually meant one of two things: either something terrible had happened, or he had already quietly buried someone.

"Your Majesty."

"Speak."

"I have separated the travel routes for all external observers. The Church's delegation will be guided to the eastern corridor, the Kingdom's delegation to the southern guest house, and the guarantors from the Northern Archduke's house to the western annex."

"So they won't cross paths?"

"I have made every effort to ensure that."

"And if they do?"

"Seradin will handle it."

At those words, Seradin silently bowed from behind him.

Today, she wore dark formal attire instead of her armor.

Her sword was nowhere to be seen.

"Seradin."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Keep an eye on the twins."

"I obey your command."

"They are hostages sent by the Northern Archduke. Don't underestimate them just because they're young. They are more dangerous precisely because they are children."

"I am aware."

"And make sure no one approaches them carelessly. Not from our side, not from the North, and not from the Church."

Seradin's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Is it protection, or surveillance?"

"Both."

I looked down at the list.

"The Northern Archduke kept his word. But he also managed to screw us over at the same time."

Herman spoke without stopping his pen.

"The Archduke did not send a male heir."

"Because they are military assets."

"Instead, he sent his two daughters."

"Because they make for great propaganda. 'The Demon King has stolen the two daughters of the Northern Archduke.'"

And just like that, another fairy-tale tragedy was born—one that would sell incredibly well.

It was perfect for vilifying the Demon King, and equally perfect for painting the Northern Archduke as a tragic, solemn father who sacrificed even his own daughters.

My stomach churned.

Leonhardt Brankenheim.

That old bastard didn't necessarily lack love for his daughters.

He probably did love them. The problem was that he was the kind of man who would use even love as political capital.

In this world, parents didn't just abandon their children because they didn't love them.

Some parents placed their children on the sacrificial altar while whispering how much they loved them.

"They have arrived," Barkan said.

"The carriage of the Northern Archduke's house has passed through the outer gate of the Black King Castle."

I stood up from my seat.

"Let's go out."

Herman asked, "Will you greet them personally?"

"Yes."

"That will elevate their status."

"If I don't go, the rumors will elevate instead."

I picked up my cloak.

"'The Demon King ignored the daughters of the Northern Archduke.' 'The Demon King threw the terrified children into the annex.' 'The Demon King hid the hostages in the dark.'"

Just saying it made my blood pressure rise.

Damn it, I'm the Demon King, not a moderator for some toxic online forum.

I walked out the door.

It wasn't raining outside the gates of the Black King Castle.

Yet the air felt damp.

The sky of the Demon Realm always hung low, as if soaked in moisture.

Beneath the black stone walls, the carriage of the Northern Archduke's house stood still.

Engraved on the carriage was the crest of Brankenheim.

A snow-covered tower.

Beneath it were two crossed swords, with a silver ribbon tied between them.

A ribbon.

Putting a ribbon crest on a carriage carrying his daughters.

He really knew how to milk the sentimentality.

The door opened. The first thing to emerge was a hand.

A small hand clad in a white glove.

Following it, a girl stepped down.

No, she was far too composed to be called a mere girl.

Pale features beneath silver-gray hair.

Eyes like shards of ice.

A northern-style coat that reached down to her waist.

The moment her feet touched the ground, she bowed her head.

The angle, the speed, the silence—everything about it was identical to the Northern Archduke's own mannerisms.

"I am Lena of the House of Archduke Brankenheim."

Next, an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠identical hand emerged from the carriage.

The same white glove, the same silver-gray hair, the same pale face.

The same icy eyes.

The second girl bowed at almost the exact same angle as the first.

Only, she was half a beat slower.

"I am Lene."

Even their voices were similar.

It didn't feel like the Northern Archduke had sent two daughters. It felt like he had printed two copies of the same tragedy.

I looked at the two of them.

Lena and Lene.

They stood with identical faces.

The same etiquette, the same silence.

Faces hiding the same fear in the exact same way.

Yet they were not entirely identical.

Lena looked at me first.

Lene looked at Lena first.

The difference was minuscule.

But to survive in a royal palace, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one had to notice the smallest differences.

After all, blades were usually just that thin.

Lena spoke.

"Our father has kept his promise."

Her voice was perfectly formal.

Cold as northern snow, straight as northern walls.

"We heard you demanded a blood relative of the North."

Lene picked up the thread.

"We have come."

It seemed they had even split up the sentences to memorize them.

Your father certainly trained you with great care.

I spoke slowly.

"Lena Brankenheim."

Lena's eyes did not waver.

"Lene Brankenheim."

Lene's fingertips twitched, clutching the hem of her coat slightly before letting go.

"Welcome to the Black King Castle."

Both bowed their heads simultaneously.

It was flawless.

Without looking back, I spoke.

"Herman."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Record it."

The scratching of a pen echoed.

Lena's eyes flickered ever so slightly.

Lene seemed to take a moment longer to process the word.

Guarantors.

I had used that word intentionally.

They were not hostages.

The moment they were called hostages, Leonhardt's fairy tale would begin.

The Demon King has stolen the daughters of the North.

The poor young ladies.

The darkness of the Black King Castle.

The black-hearted Demon King.

It was a story that would sell like hotcakes.

So, I refused to give that story a title.

"The two of you will reside in the western annex," I declared.

"The Black Plate Guards and Seradin will guarantee your safety."

Lena asked, "Is it surveillance?"

Her voice was exceedingly polite.

I chuckled.

"Is that what you wish to call it?"

Lena did not answer.

"Let's call it a guarantee of safety."

After scanning them slowly, I closed my eyes to organize my thoughts.

"However..."

I looked around at my surroundings.

The Black Plate Guards, the servants, the bloodline representatives, and the scribe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠holding the documents.

They were all listening.

Good. I needed to speak while those who needed to hear were listening.

"Do not forget your place."

After all, you are nothing more than the spoils of war my army seized from the North.

I maintained the silence for a moment.

Lena slowly opened her mouth.

"We have come to protect the honor of the North."

Lene spoke half a beat later.

"The... honor of the North."

There lay the difference. I nodded.

"Very well."

I turned around.

"Let the honor of the North rest in the western annex."

Seradin walked over to the twins.

I looked toward the interior of the Black King Castle.

The Emergency Bloodline Council hadn't even begun yet.

But already, the Church had brought up the Hero, and the Human Kingdom had thrown Elysia forward as their official channel.

The Northern Archduke had folded his daughters into propaganda flyers and sent them over.

Meanwhile, the internal bloodlines were probably sharpening their teeth to tear Eren apart.

I laughed.

Because if I didn't laugh, I felt like I would start swearing.

Actually, even as I laughed, the curses slipped out anyway.

"What a fucking mess. Those bastards."

They called this cleaning up after the War of the Princes.

Why the hell were there already three DLCs installed before the meeting even started?

The doors to the council chamber of the Demon Realm were opening.

The chamber was still empty.

But I already knew.

The royal bloodline wasn't the only thing we would be dealing with in this meeting.

Come on in.

Standing before the doors, I made a silent declaration toward the dark council chamber.

I wouldn't run.

The ones running would be them.