A Bad Idea

The next morning.

When I arrived at the administration office of the Black King Castle, a pile of names of women I did not know was waiting for me.

And written upon them were incredibly polite sentences.

I read the first page, then the second. By the third page, I closed my eyes.

The rumors had spread well. A little too well.

Yet, the fact that every single one of them who heard the rumors immediately sent people meant one thing.

"They are reacting quickly," Herman said.

The old man wore a strangely satisfied expression.

"Quick, indeed," I replied, sliding one of the portraits aside. "But why are they only sending such useless things?"

Surely they didn't misunderstand my intentions.

Across from me, Evelyn Roadmia was sorting through the documents.

Three distinct piles had already formed in front of her.

Lists of relatives. Gifts and pledges of loyalty. Conditions regarding the wealth and strength decrees.

The last pile was almost empty, save for a few lines of vague sentences resting quietly upon the parchment.

I pinched the bridge of my nose as I stared at those phrases. Troublesome, aristocratic adverbs.

"Any cooperation on the warehouse audits?"

"No bloodline has explicitly stated so," Evelyn ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠replied.

"What about adopting the Standard Measurement?"

"Some have written that it is 'open to review.'"

"Which means they have no intention of doing it."

"Generally, yes."

"Opening the supply routes?"

"They attached clauses requesting respect for their family's traditional jurisdiction."

"Converting the workshops?"

"They say amicable consultations can begin after the marriage."

I laughed. It wasn't because I found it funny.

When a person is pushed past the point of absurdity, the brain spits out laughter as a defense mechanism.

"The Demon Realm is full of bastards who value their own storehouses more than their daughters."

Evelyn's pen did not stop moving.

"It is a difference in speed befitting nobles."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It is a classification."

Fair enough. A woman who spoke like that was indeed a Roadmia.

Barkan furrowed his brow as he looked at the pile of portraits.

"As the number of candidates increases, the scope of security also expands."

"I haven't summoned anyone yet."

"Because they have not been summoned, they must be treated as potential threats."

Seradin was examining the seals on the documents and their delivery routes.

"Many of these documents passed through servants, scribes, and carriage drivers rather than official envoys. They threw their proposals in first without waiting for an official decree."

"Pretending to be cautious while being the first to reach into the jar."

"Yes," Seradin replied with a brief bow. "They reached in, but they did not expose their wrists."

She was exactly right. The noble families had offered their daughters, but they hid their privileges.

The wedding gifts were lavish, but the terms were so lacking it felt like they were crossing a line.

I picked up the document from the Mordheim family—the Greyhorn bloodline.

The ones who had been the first to bring up the word "hostage" in the council chamber.

The same ones who had performed the miracle of turning three thousand sacks of grain into six hundred during the warehouse audit.

They were fast this time as well. The document bore the name of a daughter from a collateral branch.

Mana purity: Good. Education in political science and social etiquette: Completed. Proficient in multiple languages, including Elven and the Southern tongue. Wedding gifts: Black iron jewelry, twenty warhorses, ornamental weapons, and three rolls of black silk. And that was it. Except for a line in very small print.

I read that sentence twice.

"How many escape hatches are built into this single sentence?"

Evelyn lowered her gaze.

"At least four."

"Explain."

"'If concluded.' 'Understands the purpose.' 'Within the scope of not harming traditions.' 'May review.'"

"Perfect."

I tossed the document back onto the desk.

Herman spoke in a low voice.

"This is the common trend among the high noble families."

"They want to get close to the throne," I said, flipping to the next document. "But they want to keep their hands on the doorknob."

"Yes," Herman bowed.

The mid-tier noble families were slightly different. They didn't hide their privileges entirely. Instead, they held them hostage like collateral.

I clicked my tongue at the document.

"This isn't a marriage proposal. It's an insurance policy."

Seradin spoke up.

"They wish to purchase the Demon King's authority as a shield."

"At least they attached a price tag."

"Yes. They believe they are the ones being sold to Your Majesty."

Arrogant bastards.

Even if the world ended, they would still interpret the direction of the transaction in their own favor.

The documents from the weaker noble families were even more pitiful. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The paper was thin, the seals small, and the wedding gifts meager.

Their mana purity was nothing special, and the names of the candidates carried no political weight.

Yet, one such document caught Evelyn's attention.

"Your Majesty," she said, sliding the document toward me.

I read it.

I slowly set the document down. It wasn't entirely favorable. This wasn't a tribute.

It was a transaction made out of desperation—a small family inflating the price of their own survival.

"Finally," I said, despite everything. "Something more valuable than a bride's price has arrived."

Barkan rolled out a map.

"This mountain pass would allow us to bypass the Mordheim supply route. It is narrow, but if we clear it, small carts will be able to pass."

Seradin added,

"The high noble families will react immediately."

"They should," I said, tapping the document. "Because now we can see who hurts the most when we touch it."

Herman asked cautiously,

"Will you prioritize reviewing this family's proposal?"

"No," I shook my head. "We don't necessarily have to frame it as a marriage proposal this time."

I pressed my finger against the mountain pass marked on the document. "Go inspect the road."

Barkan's brow twitched slightly. "Do you mean to send the Black Plate Knights?"

"A single squad will suffice."

I instructed, "Don't send flowers to the bride candidate. Stamp the Black King Castle's military boots onto the mountain pass that family offered first."

Herman's pen froze. Seradin also stared at me in silence. Everyone understood.

The first response to the marriage proposal would not go to the bride. Nor would it go to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gifts. It was a gesture showing that we were moving directly for the rights and compensation.

I pushed the document aside. "Check the width of that pass, the depth of the mud, whether carts can actually traverse it, and the transit taxes demanded by the surrounding noble families."

"Your Majesty," Herman said softly, "that could be read as a signal that you are virtually accepting that family's proposal first."

"That is exactly why I am sending them," I replied, my expression flat.

If I took the daughter of an nameless noble family as my wife, would they see it as buying low?

"Tell them that if they want to propose a marriage, they shouldn't start by decorating the wedding hall."

If the noble families sent brides, I only needed to look at the roads.

I tapped the mountain pass marking once more. "The wedding hall should be set up right next to the warehouse."

That was the part that displeased me. The names of strangers were being shifted around on ledgers.

And it wasn't just women; there were even men included.

Some women were pushed forward like low-risk pawns simply because they were from collateral branches, while some men were put up like collateral because they were direct descendants.

This was a world where the Demon King's marriage did not simply end with a single bride.

Guardianship, guarantees, future betrothals, the residency of noble children—there were countless ways to bind people, so long as you changed the name of the agreement.

But the phrase "that's just how things are" was usually nothing more than an excuse for having done dirty work for a long time.

Still, it could not be avoided. To minimize the bloodshed in this filthy game, I had to look at the rights first.

Look at the warehouses first. Look at the roads first. Look at the measurements first. Only then could I see who was bound to what.

"What about the Roadmias?" I asked this time.

Evelyn's eyes stilled.

It was only for a fraction of a second, but I caught it.

"No documents have arrived," she said.

Amidst the clamor of all these documents, the loudest sound was the silence of the Roadmia family.

Evelyn did not let her expression slip.

Instead, she aligned the edges of the ledgers. They were perfectly straight. Unnervingly so.

"Your Majesty," Herman spoke again after finishing his sorting. "The measures you have taken now may not be enough."

He meant that if we proceeded like this, the noble families would continue to send marriage candidates while keeping their actual rights vague.

If they were the type to take a hint, they would have fallen into line from the very beginning.

"I know."

"If we issue an official decree, the battle over the wording will drag on."

"I know."

"Rumors alone will not be enough to draw them out."

"I know that, too."

The more I knew, the more my head ached.

Instead of being stabbed to death, the Demon King might end up crushed under three thousand marriage proposals.

Family tradition, good-faith cooperation, mutual respect, sincere review... Damn it. Did nobles these days hire scribes as assassins to commit murder by paperwork?

I stared at the documents with weary eyes. Everyone was trying to sell me something.

Yet, no one was selling what I actually wanted to buy.

Or perhaps they weren't refusing to sell it. They might just be feigning ignorance of the price.

I crossed my arms and rested my chin on my hand. Then, a thought suddenly occurred to me.

It was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

But it seemed like it would be effective.

"There is one way..." I murmured to myself.

The old chancellor's eyes flickered for a brief moment. Seeing his reaction, I knew. The method I had just thought of was indeed a very bad one.

Evelyn Roadmia returned to her family's estate late that evening.

The hallways were quiet. Unusually so.

Normally, at this hour, at least one scribe would be standing by with a late report.

There were no maids either. Only the candles burned at regular intervals.

Evelyn gripped the doorknob without taking off her gloves.

The moment she opened the door, the first thing she saw was a light.

Deep inside the drawing room, a teacup clinked against its saucer.

Evelyn closed the door behind her.

The head of the Roadmia family sat before her.

As if he had been waiting, he asked coldly,

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"I noticed the Roadmia name was missing."

Evelyn did not answer.

"Evelyn," her father asked again.

"Are you helping His Majesty with his marriage?"

The steam rising from the teacup slowly dissipated.

"Or..."

The eyes of the Roadmia patriarch, Adrion Roadmia, narrowed.

"...are you waiting for your own name to be called?"