The Princess Recalculates

The lights in the office of the Human Kingdom’s envoy did not go out until late into the night. On the map, three red markers were placed: the Eastern Military Camp, Noxvine, and the Black King Castle. And between them, a single black piece lay at an angle: Lucion Vergrad.

Elisia Arten stared at that piece for a long time. The reporting officer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠held his breath, keeping his presence as faint as possible. There were only two reasons for the Princess to fall into such silence. One: the board was so simple it wasn't worth discussing. Two: the board was so filthy she didn't know where to begin cleaning it. This time, it was the latter.

"Say it again," Elisia commanded.

The officer flipped through his documents. "His Majesty Lucion has stripped Belion Vergrad of his princely status."

His Majesty. The term now rolled naturally even within the reports. Elisia didn't move a single muscle in her brow. "And then?"

"He has promised amnesty to the soldiers of the Eastern Military Camp. He declared that if they lay down their weapons, they will not be held accountable for their crimes."

"And the command staff?"

"They have been designated as traitors. Any officer or noble who moved the army in Belion's name is subject to punishment."

Elisia pushed the black piece on the map with her fingertip. Lucion’s piece moved one space closer to the Eastern Military Camp. The army hadn't moved, yet the front lines were wavering. That was the problem.

"He didn't strike the army," she noted.

"Pardon?"

"He split the army."

The officer couldn't answer. Elisia spoke in a low voice. "He separated the soldiers from the officers, obedience from treason, and those who would live from those who would die." She pointed her finger at Noxvine. "And now, he has touched Noxvine."

The officer handed over the next document. "This is the second Royal Decree. It acknowledges the military achievements of the soldiers who participated in the defense of Noxvine. The Roadmia Dukedom has already sent a letter in immediate ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠response."

Roadmia. Ivelin Roadmia. Elisia knew the name well. Lucion’s former fiancée. The woman who had abandoned him because she judged he wouldn't survive. To be precise, she was the same kind of woman as Elisia. The only difference was the reason they used him. One was for national interest, the other for the family. Only the packaging was different; the contents were the same.

"Clever," Elisia said.

The officer asked cautiously, "The Roadmia Dukedom, you mean?"

"No," Elisia said, pressing down on the black piece with her fingertip. "His Majesty Lucion."

She called him His Majesty on purpose. The words felt like sand being chewed in her mouth.

The defense of Noxvine. In the records of the human world, it was written differently: The Failure of the Third Eastern Crusade. It was a campaign where the crusade army, blessed by the Seraphion Order, pushed all the way to the capital’s ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠defensive line, only to reach the culmination point of the offensive after a long war. That was how it was written in the military manuals. It was clean. So clean it was disgusting.

Manuals don't record the names of dead soldiers. They only record the causes of failure. Overextension of supply lines. Lack of cooperation from local nobles. The defensive tenacity of the demon army. The unexpected cohesion of the Eastern Military Camp. And the final line: Need to re-evaluate the command ability of Belion Vergrad.

Elisia remembered that sentence. At the time, the human world thought Vergrad would collapse. The Demon King had fallen, the royal palace was shaking, and the princes were seizing different factions. The ministers of Arten prepared for a celebratory toast. The Seraphion Order even drafted a victory prayer. But Noxvine did not fall. The name that kept Vergrad standing back then wasn't Lucion. It was Belion.

But now, Lucion was cutting that memory apart. The credit for the war to the soldiers. The sin of treason to Belion. It was cruelly precise. This wasn't a sword. It was a scalpel. A surgical knife for politics.

'You were someone who couldn't do things like this,' Elisia thought.

The Lucion she knew hated war stories. In the gray garden behind the envoy’s office, he would shut his mouth whenever the topic of Noxvine came up.

"Heroic tales are strange," he had once said.

"Why?" when Elisia asked, Lucion laughed for a moment. "Because only the stories of those who survived to return become heroic tales."

Back then, Elisia thought that remark was tender. Thinking about it now, it didn't look like tenderness; it looked like a sensitivity too weak to be a king. That was why she had pushed him below her calculation table. A good person. Someone who couldn't be a king. Someone not dangerous. And therefore, someone who could be discarded.

But now, the Lucion in the report was carving the blood of soldiers out of the hero’s name. They said a kind person couldn't be a king. So, it seemed he had learned how not to remain a kind person.

Elisia picked up her pen. "Rewrite the report to be sent to the Arten mainland."

The officer looked up. "Should I discard the existing report?"

"Yes."

"The existing conclusion was 'High possibility of prolonged civil war in Vergrad'."

"Revise that conclusion."

Elisia rearranged the pieces on the map. Belion’s red piece remained on the Eastern Military Camp. But a few small soldier markers next to it fell away. Only a little. But wars always collapse from a little bit. Even city gates first open by the width of a hair. If a blade enters that gap, it’s over.

"What is the new conclusion?" the officer asked.

Elisia said, "The Vergrad civil war may be prolonged, but if His Majesty Lucion leads the battle for legitimacy, there is a possibility of an early resolution."

The officer’s pen stopped. "Early resolution... you say?"

"Write it."

The officer moved his pen again. Elisia added, "And the human world must find that possibility unpleasant."

The officer was silent. That was too honest a statement to put in a diplomatic document. Elisia smiled coldly.

"Of course, don't write it exactly like that."

Politics was mostly like that. The art of hiding the truth in the most polite way possible.

"I will prepare an official letter," the officer said.

"To the mainland?"

"No." Elisia took out a new piece of parchment. "To the Black King Castle."

The officer’s face stiffened. "Will you send a letter to His Majesty Lucion again?"

Again. The word hurt. The first letter had been burned. It hadn't even been read. The envelope containing private codes had gone into the fire. He hadn't sent a reply. That silence was the answer.

This time, Elisia did not use a code. The envelope wasn't white, either. It was the blue parchment used for official diplomatic correspondence of the Kingdom of Arten. There was no room for private traces. She tried to write the first line. To Lucion. Her hand stopped. That was too late a form of address. To the new monarch of the Demon Realm. No. That was too cowardly. It was a sentence that avoided his name. To His Majesty Lucion. That wasn't it either. It was too close. That closeness was no longer permitted to her.

Elisia stared at the empty first line for a long time. The officer held his breath. Finally, she wrote:

Before the ink dried, Elisia realized what she had done. For the first time, she had written him as the Demon King. It didn't mean he was a monster. It didn't mean he was an enemy. It was an acknowledgment. An acknowledgment that Lucion was no longer the weak third prince in the corner of the palace. An acknowledgment that the man who said he couldn't be a king now stood at the center of a country.

The letter was not long. Arten hopes for the stability of Vergrad. The expansion of the civil war is a misfortune for both countries. The envoy office is prepared to serve as a channel for mediation if necessary. The sentences were soft. The lies were even softer. Arten did not hope for the stability of Vergrad. Neither did Elisia. For Vergrad to shake moderately, bleed moderately, and weaken moderately—that was the interest of the human world.

But now, the problem had changed. A country that was supposed to collapse might be bound together again under the words of one man. If that man... was the person she had discarded.

Elisia couldn't write the final sentence. A sentence that wasn't needed in an official letter kept coming to mind. You are a good person. But a good person cannot be a king. Those words returned and grabbed her wrist. Elisia gritted her teeth. And she wrote the final sentence:

Wise judgment. It was such a convenient phrase. It could mean "do not disobey." It could mean "do not collapse." It could mean "move according to our will." Elisia put down her pen.

"Send it."

The officer asked, "Are you... not including the separate mark like before?"

Elisia raised her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head very slowly. The officer realized he had crossed a line and bowed his head. "I apologize."

Elisia folded the envelope. This time, her hands did not tremble. "It is not necessary."

She melted the wax. The seal of the Arten royal family was stamped onto the envelope.

"Because he will no longer answer in that manner."

The seal cooled. Elisia stared at it. She had said a good person couldn't be a king. But instead of remaining a good person, Lucion had returned as a Demon King on Elisia’s calculation table. And the pieces on the calculation table could no longer be cleared away at will.