I'm Already Doing It
Not long after the Black Kingdom Enrichment Decree was handed down, I realized one simple truth.
On paper, the Demon Realm looked surprisingly intact.
The ledgers weren't lying.
Annoyingly enough, they were actually quite honest.
Grain was piled high in the granaries.
So where on earth did all that grain go?
I had a few places in mind.
"I'm going out," I said.
Herman looked up at my words.
"To what destination do you refer, Your Majesty?"
"Where else?"
"An on-site inspection?"
"Yes."
I picked up my coat.
The first place we visited was an outlying storehouse belonging to the Grayhorn bloodline.
The door was massive.
Thick, black, and needlessly grand.
It looked less like a storehouse door and more like a small castle gate.
Inside, sacks of grain were piled high.
Dried meat and fodder.
There were even dried medicinal herbs in wooden crates.
So they do have them.
I tapped one of the grain sacks with my finger.
"Can we send this to the eastern military camp?"
The storehouse keeper bowed, his face stiffening.
"Your Majesty. Those supplies are the wartime reserves of the Mordheim bloodline."
"Not the Demon Realm's wartime reserves?"
He couldn't answer.
Evelyn Roadmia quietly turned the pages of her ledger.
She had accompanied me on this inspection.
I needed someone who knew how to read the books.
"The ledger submitted to the Black King Castle lists three thousand sacks of grain in stock," Evelyn said.
"However, according to the bloodline's internal ledgers, that is divided into private soldier wages, bad harvest reserves, ceremonial stockpiles, and pending transfers."
"So, how much can we actually take right now?"
"It appears to be less than six hundred sacks."
I laughed.
"A magic trick that turns three thousand into six hundred."
The keeper's shoulders flinched.
"Your Majesty, this is in accordance with the bloodline's long-standing distribution system—"
"Shut up."
I looked at the sacks.
The numbers existed.
But every number had an owner attached to it.
The grain was in the Demon Realm.
But it did not belong to the Demon Realm.
It was bound inside the bloodlines' storehouses, under the bloodlines' names, secured by the bloodlines' keys.
"Next."
At the second storehouse, I saw something even more absurd.
The sizes of the sacks were completely different.
Both were supposedly "one sack" of grain, but one was large enough to break a man's back if he slung it over his shoulder, while the other could be lifted with one hand by a sturdy servant.
I looked back and forth between the two sacks.
"Are both of these considered one sack?"
The bloodline keeper answered confidently.
"Each bloodline has slightly different historical measurement standards."
"Slightly?"
I stared at the small sack and the large sack again.
"This isn't 'slightly.' This is somewhere halfway between fraud and folklore."
The corner of Evelyn's mouth twitched ever so slightly.
She wasn't laughing.
The Lady of Roadmia didn't show her emotions so easily. Probably.
"Your Majesty," Evelyn spoke up, as if seizing the opportunity to make a suggestion.
"Unless we establish a Standard Measurement, the production contribution tables of each bloodline are meaningless. We can count soldiers by their heads, but when the units of supplies fluctuate, loyalty fluctuates with them."
"Loyalty changes based on the size of a sack?"
"Yes," Evelyn replied calmly.
"Under the current structure, it is entirely possible."
I rubbed my forehead.
Is this even a country?
Seriously.
One side was pledging loyalty with large sacks, while the other pledged it with small ones.
Even loyalty was subject to quantity fraud.
"We will establish a Standard Measurement for the Black King Castle first."
"I shall note it down," Evelyn replied, writing it down.
I looked at the sacks again.
Market integration.
The phrase popped into my head.
Binding supplies under a single ledger and a single set of rules.
Correcting whose name those supplies were registered under in the first place.
I didn't say it out loud.
If I mentioned "market integration" here, Barkan would probably mistake it for a military operation to integrate enemy forces.
The third stop was the supply route.
The ledger listed it as the main supply route to the eastern military camp.
In reality, it was a main mud pit.
A wagon was stuck by the side of the road.
Its wheel was broken, the horse was exhausted, and two supply soldiers stood in the mud, looking as if they were swallowing a mouthful of curses.
Barkan spoke in a low voice.
"We use a detour during combat."
"Do merchants use that detour too?"
Barkan fell silent for a moment.
The camp's supply officer answered instead.
"It is too dangerous for commercial transport."
I nodded.
"So this isn't a supply route; it's just a military emergency exit."
No one could deny it.
The road existed, but it wasn't a road meant for transporting goods.
Just because a line is drawn on a map doesn't mean a wagon will roll along it on its own.
Bridges, wheels, intermediate storehouses.
Escorts, monster subjugation.
Stones and timber to fill the mud.
Without those, a road is not a road.
It's just scenery.
I nudged the broken wheel with the toe of my boot.
"Increase the production of wagon wheels as well."
The supply officer panicked.
"Your Majesty. Right now, we must prepare for the Holy Sword—"
"I am doing it."
I looked at him.
"Whether the Hero comes on foot or on horseback, our medicine moves on wagons. If the wagon wheels break, the soldiers break too."
He shut his mouth.
Market accessibility.
Another phrase came to mind.
Binding things to a single ledger is one thing; making sure they actually arrive is another.
One is a battle of power; the other is a battle of logistics.
The Demon Realm was failing at both.
Quite equally, in fact.
The fourth stop was the Black Iron Workshop.
This place looked magnificent.
Hot furnaces.
Molten black iron.
Swords, spears, and armor hanging on the walls.
The forearms of the demon smiths were as thick as human thighs, and the sound of hammering was like the beating of war drums.
The workshop master greeted me with pride etched deep into his bones.
"Your Majesty. Our workshop has forged the combat gear of the bloodlines for generations."
"So it seems."
I looked at the sword hanging on the wall.
It was a good sword.
It looked excellent for killing people.
However, I wondered if they would use that sword as a substitute for farming tools during the autumn harvest.
Did demons assume a combat stance even when harvesting rice?
Truly, grain slayers.
"We are repurposing a portion of this workshop."
The workshop master's face stiffened.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Wagon parts. Nails. Hinges. Pots. Heaters. Farming tools."
The workshop fell quieter than the council chamber.
The workshop master slowly opened his mouth.
"The steel of the demon race is forged to cleave the bones of our enemies."
Did he rehearse that line?
"It does not exist to make pots for boiling potatoes."
I looked at him.
"If we can't boil those potatoes, there won't be any soldiers left to hold the swords you make."
The master's eyebrows twitched.
Even the sound of hammering stopped.
The master asked in a low voice.
"Do you call a pot a piece of war gear?"
"Yes," I answered immediately.
"If you can't cook food for the soldiers, a sword is nothing but an ornament."
I pointed at the sword on the wall.
"Wagon wheels are war gear. Shoes are war gear, and medicine boxes are war gear."
Then I smiled.
"Who decided that war gear must only be things that kill people?"
The workshop master could not answer.
I could almost hear the sound of his pride crumbling.
Or rather, the sound of his pride burning to the bottom of a pot.
Good.
The first scream of the Demon Realm's economic reform came from the Black Iron Workshop.
It was historic, in its own way.
In its own way, indeed.
The fifth stop was the residential district of the lower bloodlines.
Tattered cloth, dried-up herbs.
Meat turning black as it dried due to a lack of salt.
Shoes that looked like they had been resoled at least three times.
A child was fiddling with a small horn with chapped hands.
Seradin spoke.
"The structure prioritizes military rations first, with only the leftovers trickling down."
"A low priority, then."
I looked at the old distribution table.
"Low priority"—that is how administration politely says "you are allowed to die."
Evelyn also cross-referenced the ledger.
"If this residential district collapses, the labor force of the three nearby workshops will be the first to decline."
Barkan added.
"If the repair speed of the workshops slows down, the equipment rotation of the eastern military camp will also slow."
I looked deeper into the residential district as I listened to them.
The heads of the bloodlines did not view the lower bloodlines as citizens.
They probably saw them as spare parts.
Even though the machine would stop if those parts failed.
Why did no one recognize their value?
"Establish a minimum ration line."
Seradin looked at me.
"For the lower bloodlines?"
"Yes," I said. "We will also reform the structure where the military takes everything first and sends down the scraps."
Seradin's eyes darkened slightly.
"Both the bloodlines and the military will resist."
"I know."
I looked at the child wearing the worn-out shoes.
"That is why we must do it."
It wasn't just out of mercy.
I had never sworn to be a good king.
However, if this was to be a proper nation, the foundation could not be allowed to crumble completely.
Until now, the Demon Realm was a country sustained only by the strong.
I had to build a nation where the weak points did not collapse.
Because that is what would endure longer.
Finally, we looked at the border market.
Surprisingly, a market did exist in the Demon Realm.
Stalls selling food.
Merchants measuring monster hides.
Fabrics brought over from the human realm.
Salt, medicinal herbs.
Mana stone dust, scraps of black iron.
Tax collectors.
Bloodline soldiers checking transit passes.
Merchant guilds trying to win military supply contracts.
And smugglers whispering prices in secret.
The market was there.
But it wasn't a unified market.
It was just a collection of bazaars, supply rights, military supply routes, and bloodline territories.
A merchant spoke to me.
"The roads exist, Your Majesty."
"And?"
"But to pass through Mordheim territory, we must pay once. To pass through Roadmia jurisdiction, we must pay again. And to pass through the military checkpoint, we need a separate transit permit."
He licked his dry lips.
"In the time it takes to do all that, the price of salt changes three times."
I looked down at a sack of salt.
The white powder had hardened, damp inside the black sack.
To the inhabitants of the Demon Realm, the market was a place of privileges and permits.
Who could sell where.
Whose seal was required to pass through.
Which bloodline's supply rights they held.
That was the kind of market it was.
But the market I envisioned was different.
Blood vessels through which life flowed.
A system where salt arrived where salt was needed, medicine arrived where medicine was needed, and grain reached the bowls that needed food.
A body rots where the circulation is blocked.
The Demon Realm was currently a body with its blood vessels tied off in various places.
And the bloodlines called those knots "tradition."
What a bloody love for tradition.
Everyone had turned a blind eye to it until now, even though they knew full well it was just a petty trick to protect their own interests.
Simply because they didn't know any other way.
A week later, I returned to the Black King Castle.
My feet ached, and my head ached even more.
I had done all sorts of things since becoming the Demon King, but dealing with storehouses, mud pits, pots, and the price of salt was a first.
Four ex-girlfriends, and one suspect of royal blood.
The controversy over the Saintess's dispatch, plus the Hero Selection.
And now, pots.
The genre of my life was becoming harder to classify by the day.
In the temporary office, Herman, Evelyn, Barkan, and Seradin gathered.
I unfolded the supply chart.
"The conclusion," I began.
Everyone looked at me.
"First. The supplies exist. However, the right of disposal is tied up by the bloodlines."
Herman's pen moved.
"Second. The ledgers and measurements are not standardized. Therefore, any comparison between production and storage fluctuates."
Evelyn nodded.
"Third. The roads exist. However, there are not enough paths for supplies to actually travel."
Barkan spoke in a low voice.
"The natures of the supply routes and the commercial routes are completely separated."
"Exactly."
I tapped the chart with my finger.
"Fourth. Weapon workshops are excessive, while daily necessities, transport materials, and construction materials are lacking."
The sour face of the workshop master came to mind.
It was a look that foresaw the victory of the pot.
"Fifth. The lower bloodlines are the foundation of the state before they are objects of protection. If they collapse, the workshops, the military camps, and the bloodlines will stop in that order."
Seradin quietly bowed her head.
I paused for a moment.
Two concepts split in my mind once again.
Binding supplies under a single ledger.
And making sure those supplies actually arrive.
"We will bind the bloodline storehouses under a single ledger," I said. "And we will pave the roads so the supplies in that ledger can actually move."
Herman looked up.
I added.
"One is a battle of power, and the other is a battle of logistics. Do you understand?"
Evelyn spoke in a very quiet voice.
"Do you mean you will separate the unification of supply flow from the maintenance of distribution routes?"
I looked at her.
"You're a quick study."
Evelyn lowered her gaze.
"I have simply grown accustomed to it by looking at fluctuating ledgers every day. So this is your plan to overcome it."
She was correct.
Making the ledger one doesn't make the supplies move.
Paving the roads doesn't make the bloodlines open their storehouse doors.
We had to do both.
And both, inevitably, would threaten someone's livelihood.
"Your Majesty," Herman said. "Shall we prioritize forced inspections?"
Barkan added with a solemn face.
"Protecting the inspection team is possible, but..."
Seradin spoke immediately.
"But we cannot station the Black Armor Guard at every storehouse, Your Majesty."
Evelyn quietly turned the pages of the ledger.
"The bloodlines will comply on the surface. However, they will likely change how they hide things in the next ledger."
I leaned back in my chair.
That was also true. They weren't wrong.
I could force the doors open with a royal decree.
Once.
Maybe twice.
But to keep them open, force alone was not enough.
Supplies flow along roads, and people move according to their self-interests.
To move the bloodlines, we couldn't just throw losses at them.
We had to bind their interests.
We had to give them face.
And we had to entangle them with one another.
And above all, the bloodlines of the Demon Realm had long relied on blood rather than ledgers.
In other words, they remembered marriages far longer than contracts.
I slowly brought my fingers together.
"To persuade the bloodlines, we must not only touch their livelihoods."
Herman stroked his beard and looked at my face.
"Then what shall be our approach?"
I fell silent for a moment.
Evelyn looked up.
Her face showed she had a premonition of what was to come.
"Family," I said. "If the bloodlines trust blood longer than ledgers..."
I folded the supply chart.
"Fine."
Then I smiled.
"Then I shall bind them with blood."
Barkan's eyebrows twitched ever so slightly, while Seradin expressionlessly checked the presence near the door.
Evelyn Roadmia's expression also blanked out for a brief moment.
But I ignored that as well.
I spoke.
"We will consider marriage alliances."
The Black Kingdom Enrichment Decree was an economic policy.
At least, it had been until a week ago.
Now, however, it was passing through the bloodlines' storehouses and making its way into their bedrooms.