Padilla Returns to the Throne

After the purges executed countless local lords and nobles, there were plenty of vacant positions and titles left behind. I filled them with a mix of merit-based appointees, merchants, certified professionals, up-and-coming intellectuals, and even naturalist philosophers—drawing from all sorts of classes. But these people still lacked real power. They had the talent, sure, but they couldn't stand up to the entrenched powers and vested interests shackled by old habits.

Because they had no authority.

So I prioritized filling the high-level bureaucracy with obedient, capable people. Even those clinging to outdated customs—if they had the skills and resisted reform—would use their abilities to uproot the seeds of my merit-first ideology while preserving their own bad habits.

For now, iron-fisted rule was necessary to suppress the old guard. Disobey, and they'd be crushed; rebel, and heads would roll. Only then could a new force take root and open the door to a new world. That's one reason why founders of new nations carry out purges. You can't fill the new without discarding the old.

"Grand Prince. The concerns around us are mounting. Many local lords have come to me, subtly railing against your high-handedness."

I chuckled at Padilla's words as we strolled the garden path. High-handedness? Who started it? It was ridiculous to nitpick only mine. Looked like I hadn't culled enough yet.

"Ignore them."

"But you told me before to listen to a wide range of opinions, reflect diverse thoughts in society, and incorporate them into policy."

"Yeah. I did."

"Yet your actions now aren't doing that."

I stared at Padilla steadily.

"They are. From a long-term view, it fits. Diversity has limits, and there are exceptions."

"Exceptions?"

"You can't embrace every idea under diversity. It can never coexist with high-handedness that rejects diversity itself. Why? Blindly accepting that arrogance would destroy diversity. So to let diversity flourish, you must ruthlessly eliminate the high-handedness that denies it. That's why I'm purging. Without removing arrogance, diversity dies."

"Then?"

"Yeah. My high-handedness is the arrogance-killer. It's the one unique, essential arrogance diversity must have. I eliminate the kind that rejects diversity."

"Ah..."

Padilla nodded, grasping my point. It was simple logic.

The world has no perfection, so neither does perfect diversity. To solidify it further, you need the virtue of arrogant elimination against diversity's enemies: arrogance itself.

"Right. And once diversity takes deep root in society, arrogant opportunists will exploit it. The kind who spew hate and bigotry until it bites them back, then hide behind diversity. That's the type coming to you. Don't forgive them under the guise of diversity. Left alone, they'll grow like cancer and ruin it."

"But must blood be spilled? Can't we persuade them?"

"No. Vested interests profit from keeping the old structure. Their privileges are generational and rock-solid. Spare them, and one day they'll dismantle your reforms and revert to the past. If ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you want bloodless reform, dismantle the class system. Then even if you spare them, your changes won't crumble."

Padilla's eyes widened.

"Won't that spark more backlash?"

"Yeah. So you'd kill more at first. But after, no need. Without a class system, vested interests can't beat rationalists. Even without you stepping in, they'll weed themselves out."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Honestly, this was what I truly wanted. If not for the coming apocalypse, I'd have slaughtered everyone to shatter the class system and turn titles into mere accessories. Only then could old virtue rule collapse, letting rationalism and diversity bloom.

In the current state, Kara's diversity and rationalism would last only as long as I lived. After, the class system would rebuild virtue rule, toppling them.

Virtue rule's endgame is the class system; the class system's root is virtue rule.

"So once the class system falls, it never rises again?"

"No. Far from it."

"But you said vested interests can't win against rationalists?"

I shrugged.

"People prefer virtue rule, though. Honestly, who wants cutthroat daily competition when cozy stability is on offer?"

"True. Then why push rationalism, Grand Prince?"

"Because after virtue rule comes decline or ruin."

"Why?"

I smirked faintly.

"Back in the war with Robros Kingdom, did you think Kara and the Great Desert forces could beat them?"

"No. Robros is a superpower."

"And if we fought Bastain Kingdom now, who wins?"

Padilla pondered, then answered.

"We probably wouldn't lose."

"Why?"

"We have powerful weapons."

"Exactly. Rationalist systems drive unimaginable progress. Virtue-rule nations get devoured by rationalist ones. They're weak."

Padilla's eyes darted. She'd spotted the contradiction in my words.

"But you said rationalism crumbles to virtue rule?"

"Yeah. People love virtue rule. It's nice."

"Yet you just said virtue-rule nations fall to rationalist ones?"

"Yeah. They can't compete."

Padilla looked baffled.

"That doesn't make sense!"

"Logically, no. But in reality, yes."

"How?"

"Victorious rationalist nations seek stability through virtue rule once prosperous. Then that virtue-ridden state falls to emerging rationalist powers or factions. That's the cycle of rise and fall: rise by reason, ruin by virtue. That's why I crush virtue rule. If Kara inherits the old ways, Sharl dies—by rationalist rebels or Bastain Kingdom."

Padilla shuddered.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why did Kara become a kingdom? Rational thinking repelled Robros forces, forcing other lords' surrender."

"Right."

"Same here. Kara will fall to rationalist states or factions if it slips into old virtue rule. Their virtue rule—the kind protecting vested interests—is the worst. So choose: Spill virtue advocates' blood? Or Sharl's?"

"......"

Padilla said nothing, but her fierce, murderous glare revealed her thoughts.

"Anyway, I'll head to the information guild once you're healthy. You decide. It's your kingdom."

I left the rest to Padilla. This purge would hold until the apocalypse. They'd be too scared to resist for a while.

Whether to proceed further was her call. She's Kara's queen. I'd just pull strings from behind.

I spent the whole day swinging Yojyo in the outdoor training ground again. Muscles screamed like they were tearing apart, sweat poured, but I never stopped.

Training to forget time's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flow.

Frustrated, I slammed Yojyo into the dirt.

"Damn it. Why does this day keep coming?!"

Holy Prosia Week had arrived again. Others welcomed it as blessed; I hated it. Everything else was fine, but this made my mood sour.

It meant another year gone.

Today marked two years since my regression. Six ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠years until the apocalypse.

Armida sister, emerging onto the training ground, approached Shura nearby.

"Shura. What's eating little bro again?"

Shura ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whispered tiny.

"That day's coming soon."

"What day?"

"Holy Prosia Day."

Armida sister's face drained white; she clawed her hair.

"Argh! What do I do? Help!"

"Pardon?"

Armida sister charged me.

"Little bro! Save me."

I sheathed Yojyo and eyed her.

"What now?"

"Holy Prosia Day's soon?"

"Yeah. So?"

"We got nothing done."

I snorted.

"Nothing? Plenty. I handled tons for you last year."

"What'd you do?"

"Took out Uroboros, stirred Karl territory, kicked off stuff in Rendel lands, and just now, massive Kara purge grabbed all eyes. How much more?"

"That's your messes and guild work."

"No. It's ours too. Our mission's drawing attention."

Armida sister blinked rapidly.

"Meaning?"

"Just report it that way."

"Nemisona'll let me off?"

"You'll get chewed out."

"And you say that?"

"What choice? It's our job. If you hate it, say this."

"What?"

"'The missing elf archer and her head.' Nemisona can't argue then."

Chasing the real runaway—Arieta, Wind God's Nonuple Palace lord Aslan's owner, and her mystery Valkyrie superior—was the marriage scam crew that wedded me out of nowhere. So Armida sister and Katrinah were decoys for eyes.

Smart picks, whoever chose. Perfect bait Valkyries for trouble.

Armida sister rolled her eyes, baffled.

"Why?"

"We're bait; they're the real deal. Secret party's working underwater without you knowing. 'Secret,' but insiders know. Divinum Cathedral senses the vibe, not all details."

Armida sister's jaw dropped.

"No way. For real?"

"Yeah. They nabbed last year's missing Great Saintess. Chasing runaways with rookies? Child's play. Real team's them, not us."

"Impossible! We got duped by Nemisona?"

"Kinda. Strategic choice, though."

"Same thing! Got it anyway."

Armida sister huffed angrily toward the back door. Heading to sky city Chronos to grill them.

"Sis, don't blow it up."

"You'd stay quiet? She made a fool of me!"

"Eh, saves hassle. Let them handle it."

"Still wrong. Threw us as bait? What if Sabondia caught us clueless?"

"Wouldn't. I shielded everything."

"How?"

"Fine."

"Whatever. Nemisona's event pissed me off. I'll tell Prosia and chew her out."

She bolted out, door swinging open. Pretty steamed.

I shook my head.

'Sigh. Who fixes that fiery temper? Just play dumb and slack off. Tch.'

As I approached to close the office door she'd left open, familiar local lords barged in—dozens, faces stiff. They knelt instantly, begging.

"Wh-White Mask, sir. Spare us!"

Sudden pleas for life; I just blinked.

"Spare you? What's this dawn drumbeat?"

"Th-the Queen..."

"What about Padilla?"

"She's killing us all."

"Why?"

"Don't know. Rumors in the palace say she's dead set, even for the new prince."

While I tuned out politics, Padilla went big. Looked like purging old rot for Sharl.

Women seem soft; mothers are steel.

Tough break for them. They could defy me; not her. She's Great Saintess. If she wants them dead, no rebellion—just death.

"Really?"

"Yes."

I turned coldly.

"Not my business. You must've crossed Padilla."

"White Mask, sir. Haven't we obeyed you without complaint? Please save us. We'll never forget the grace."

I smacked my lips. True, they listened well.

"Not no way... But tricky. She's Sharl's mom; I'm dad. Can't oppose her."

"Wh-White Mask... Please..."

At their endless begging, I extended a hand slyly.

"But as guild master, I'm all about professional spirit."

"Pardon?"

They blinked cluelessly; I nodded sagely.

"Ah, that's why you die. No savvy, miss paths to live. Sigh, these poor souls..."

One sharp lord pulled a fat pouch.

"Commission fee."

I patted his shoulder warmly.

"Yeah. You'll outlive plague and paint walls."

"Thank you."

Others caught on, yanking pouches—bribes prepped thick. I pocketed them, dispensing survival wisdom.

"Why Padilla kills you? Simple: purge."

"Yes. We know."

"Why do rulers purge? You oppose their policy, or your existence does."

"Yes. Makes sense."

Smart lords; they got power quick.

"So become vital to her policy. Her supporters boost it. No need to kill; she'd promote you."

"Ah!"

"Rush the throne hall. Demand merit-only offices for anyone able. Push fair, open exams; strict merit evaluations."

They grimaced like chewing shit. That'd gut their privileges.

"But..."

"I know. Tough for you. Ponder and decide."

"Ah, yes. Understood."

At their dazed reply, I tossed a pebble in still water.

"First speakers live. Late ones lose steam. Impact needs first place. You know?"

"Ah..."

"Go deliberate. Meet again if chance. Some posthumously. Bye."

They eyed each other, then raced carriages to Kara palace. First speakers survive. No time to waste.