The Traitor is No Prince
The eastern military camp was noisy even at night. Unlike the black spires of the Black King's Castle, here the smell of iron and sweat came first. The sound of swords being sharpened. The sound of warhorses pawing the ground. The sound of armored soldiers swallowing low curses. Demon armies were generally like that. Pretending to be orderly, but inside, they were always closer to a cage of boiling beasts.
In the middle of that beast cage, Belion Vergrad sat on a chair.
"Lucion?" he asked.
The reporting officer bowed his head. "Yes, Your Highness."
"He became the Demon King?"
"The ministers of the palace have approved the coronation."
Silence flowed for a moment. Then Belion laughed. A short, low laugh mixed with mockery.
"That coward?"
The officers couldn't answer.
Belion tapped the armrest. "Lucion is the kind who reaches for letters before swords. The kind whose face turns white at the mere scent of blood. That kind is the Demon King?"
He shook his head. "The palace folks must have been desperate."
The words were light. But his eyes weren't smiling.
The officer cautiously continued. "And... Archduke Kalen Drak has been executed."
Belion's fingers stopped. "On whose order."
"On the order of His Majesty Lucion."
At that moment, the air in the tent cooled.
Belion's gaze pierced the officer. "What did you call him?"
The officer realized his mistake. "My apologies. Lucion..."
"No." Belion slowly leaned forward. "Did the palace order you to call him that?"
The officer's silence was the answer. Words from the palace were already tainting the camp's mouth.
Belion's lips twisted. "So. My little brother has already learned the game of titles."
He laughed. This time it was different. Irritation mixed in. More than the fact that Lucion had killed someone, the fact that Lucion had started using the king's words bothered him more.
Titles are no toy. There's a hair's breadth between prince and traitor, but that hair's breadth divides life and death. Belion knew that. Yet Lucion had figured it out too.
"Continue."
"The palace has been sealed. A proclamation is to be issued that those who join His Highness Belion will be treated as traitors."
"I'm not 'Your Highness' anymore?"
Belion spoke lowly. The officer's neck stiffened.
Belion rose from his seat. As he stood, the officers in the tent straightened their backs simultaneously. That was Belion's power. The one Lucion lacked. The authority that the army remembered with its body.
"Fine." Belion said. "Then I'll let you know too."
His hand touched the sword hilt. "The throne does not belong to the one who survives."
The scabbard rang. "It belongs to the one who seizes it."
At those words, the officers' eyes changed. They didn't see the crown. They saw the sword. What they served was closer to the winning side than legitimacy. Belion knew that fact all too well. That's why he hated Lucion. A coward who could do nothing had worn the crown just because he luckily survived. He himself had become a traitor for trying to seize it. Lucion had become His Majesty because he hid and survived. That unfairness scratched at Belion's insides.
"Send messengers." Belion said. "To the eastern nobles. Tell them to gather at the camp."
The officer raised his head. "What about the justification?"
Belion laughed. "Justification?" He looked outside the tent, at the black night sky. "If Lucion is the Demon King, then I am the prince going to save the demon kingdom."
Belion's voice lowered. "That we cannot entrust the country to a coward. What better justification is there than that."
***
"How many troops on the eastern camp side?" I asked.
Hermun answered immediately. "About three thousand regular troops. However, if they join with the surrounding noble private soldiers, it could increase further."
Three thousand. Numbers are usually better when many. If they're in your bank account. The problem is when that number is the count of soldiers coming to kill you.
I looked down at the map on the desk. Eastern military camp. It was quite far from the palace. Distance was fortunate. At the same time, it was a pain in the ass. If far, you can't strike immediately. But in exchange for not being able to strike immediately, the other side gains time to gather forces.
What is this. It's like in a strategy game, the tutorial has a time limit on the enemy main base.
"Your Majesty." Hermun said. "You must issue a royal command."
Royal command. That word felt strangely heavy. Until yesterday, it was just words. Today, it had become words that moved people's lives when written on paper.
I picked up the pen. My fingertips were heavy.
"What if I designate all soldiers attached to Belion as traitors?"
Hermun answered right away. "They will remain by Belion's side."
Yeah. I knew that much. If I make all the soldiers coming to kill me into enemies, they really become enemies. Then there's no choice left. If a person has no hole to escape through, they bite. Demons would be even more so.
"Then what if I forgive them all instead?"
"Belion's justification will grow. They will think Your Majesty fears rebellion."
Die either way, die the other way. Becoming king, every moment was like minesweeper. Except stepping on a mine doesn't end the game, it actually removes your leg.
I let out a long breath. "Forgive the soldiers."
Hermun's eyes moved.
I continued. "The soldiers dragged to Belion. The lower officers who couldn't refuse orders. If they lay down their weapons even now, I won't question their crimes."
"Then what about the command?"
"Those who moved the army in Belion's name are traitors."
I moved the pen. "Especially noble officers and camp commanders. Record all their names."
Letters were stamped on the paper. Not my handwriting. It was Lucion's handwriting. Strangely, it was beautiful and cold.
"Separate the army from Belion." I said. "No need to cut off all fingers holding swords."
Hermun looked at me. "Then what do you intend to cut?"
I pressed my finger on the eastern military camp on the map. "The wrist."
The room fell silent. Only after saying it did I realize what I had said. Uh. Did I sound like a Demon King just now?
My heart was in chaos inside, but outwardly I didn't change my expression. A Demon King shouldn't be surprised by his own words. That reeks too much of a newbie Demon King.
"I will draft the royal decree." Hermun said lowly.
He transcribed exactly what I said.
Belion Vergrad shall no longer be granted the courtesy due a prince.
Soldiers belonging to the traitor Belion Vergrad shall not be questioned for crimes if they lay down their arms.
However, officers and nobles who moved the army in Belion's name shall be treated as traitors who tore apart the royal family.
Their houses shall explain themselves.
Their soldiers shall choose.
I wrote the final sentence myself.
The army of the demon kingdom does not serve a prince.
It serves the Demon King.
The moment I put the period, something rang lightly. Not a sound. A sensation of the air settling once. The demons in the room swallowed their breath simultaneously. Hermun too. The royal knights too. Even the scribe. All bowed their heads very briefly.
I looked at them. What the hell. I thought inside. Did I press something wrong?
The word "royal decree" flashed through my mind. Inside this body, something very deep seemed to open its eyes then close them again. Not yet. But it was clearly there. Something even I didn't know.
Hermun was staring at the paper. His gaze was one I was seeing for the first time. Wariness. And a very slight awe.
"Your Majesty." he said. "The seal."
I picked up the black seal placed beside the crown. My hand was heavy. As if stamping not just a seal, but a leash.
I pressed the seal. The crest of the Vergrad royal family was imprinted on the black wax.
At that moment, the demons in the room bowed their heads once more. This time, I knew too. It wasn't something I ordered. Their bodies reacted first.
Fuck. What is this. Where's the manual.
***
That night. The proclamation arrived at the square of the eastern military camp. The soldiers were gathered under the lights. An officer read the proclamation through gritted teeth.
"Soldiers belonging to the traitor Belion Vergrad shall not be questioned for crimes if they lay down their arms."
Murmurs spread. The soldiers looked at each other. Some gritted their teeth, some averted their eyes. Traitor. That word was a sword driven into the officers, but for the soldiers, it was an open door.
We can live. That thought spread very faintly within the camp.
"However, officers and nobles who moved the army in Belion's name shall be treated as traitors who tore apart the royal family."
The officer reading the proclamation's voice grew rough. He knew too. This royal decree was not aimed at the soldiers. It was aimed at them.
One soldier raised his head. He muttered without realizing it. "His Majesty..."
The soldier next to him looked at him. He shut his mouth belatedly. But it was already too late. That word was small. Very small. Yet the night in the camp was strangely quiet. Quiet enough for that one word to spread.
"His Majesty has commanded."
Inside Belion's camp. Before Belion's name, the king's words rang first.