Reunion (2)
Time flew by in an instant. Whenever I thought of Adelaide, it passed naturally like that. I couldn't even properly remember how those three months had gone. Sitting on the throne, listening to Sahadin's reports, occasionally muttering approvals, walking the ramparts before climbing the western tower to gaze at the border. Day in, day out, repeating. In the gaps, Adelaide filled my mind. Before sleep, right after waking, even midway through reports. Meals brought Carmen's flavors to mind, and strolling the corridors, I'd habitually turn at the absent footsteps that should have echoed beside me.
Every morning, Sahadin delivered his report. No changes. That meant the subjugation army hadn't arrived yet—that I had to wait longer still. Such days dragged on for three months.
“Your Majesty. Urgent dispatch from the outermost scouting outpost. The human subjugation army has reached the border.”
“...They've come?”
“Yes. A massive march. Presumed to be allied forces from the nations, with troop numbers impossible to estimate. They've likely crossed the border by now; contact with the defensive line expected within four days.”
“...The vanguard.”
“Yes.”
“Who's commanding the vanguard?”
“According to the spy's report—”
Sahadin paused for a beat.
“It's the Hero.”
My back straightened from the throne without thinking. I knew. I'd known from the start. Just looked away.
“Can they make it here in four days?”
“Depends on the vanguard's pace, but assuming they breach the defensive line, four to six days.”
“They'll breach it.”
“...”
“Because it's Adel.”
“...Yes. If it's the Hero, it's possible.”
“So they'll arrive here within six days.”
“Correct.”
My fingers drummed the throne's armrest. The shadow at my feet flowed westward.
“Sahadin.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Defensive line status?”
“Repairs complete. Delay units positioned in the canyons, and the fortress approach paths fully maintained.”
“Troop lineup before the gates?”
“...Holding position.”
“Good.”
I rose and peered out the window. Stars speckled the black sky, endless pitch-black land beyond the walls. I'd grown used to this vista. It had felt suffocating when I first arrived.
Six days. When Adelaide stormed this fortress sword in hand, strode these corridors, threw open this door—what face would I wear then?
“Gartia?”
“Hasn't been seen since this morning.”
“Not seen?”
“Located in the northern sector of the fortress with several lower officers. Further details elusive. Suspicious, but no solid proof yet.”
“Put surveillance on him.”
“Already in place.”
“Competent.”
“You honor me.”
“Not honor. Fact.”
“...Thank you.”
“Convene the defense council. Finalize our response to the subjugation army's approach.”
“I'll prepare at once.”
Sahadin withdrew, the door clicking shut. Alone in the throne room once more. For three months, I'd opened and closed my eyes countless times in the bedroom next door. And yet, in six days, I'd see Adelaide somewhere in this fortress. As the enemy. Sword drawn. Here to kill me.
...Fine by me.
Come quick.
I muttered it low enough that no one could hear. A habit by now.
Descending the throne, I walked the corridor. Plenty of time left. Up to the western tower. My feet knew the stairs I'd climbed daily for three months. At the top, the border beyond the Land of Darkness filled my view. Past that line where the sky's hue shifted, the subjugation army waited—and at its vanguard, Adelaide.
The wind whipped fierce. My silver hair streamed eastward. Winds here always blew from the west. From her direction.
...Even reading meaning into that felt recent. Ever since I'd admitted my feelings to myself.
I stood there a long while before descending. In the meeting room, Sahadin waited, parchment unfurled. Three or four lower officers stood rigid beside him. No Gartia.
“Gartia.”
“Sent a messenger, but no reply.”
“...No reply?”
“He responded that he'd deliver his message personally later.”
“Arrogant as ever.”
“Your orders?”
“Leave it. Proceed with the meeting.”
Drumming the armrest, I scanned the parchment. Sahadin traced the subjugation army's projected routes, reporting forces at each defense point. The lower officers queried details; he answered while I mostly listened, interjecting approvals now and then. Honestly, it wasn't sinking in. Defensive lines, whatever—my mind looped only on Adelaide arriving here. Bursting through walls wreathed in light? Or smashing straight through the gates? Either way, pure Adelaide.
The meeting ended; the lower officers withdrew. Sahadin lingered.
“Your Majesty. One more matter—regarding Gartia.”
“What now.”
“Surveillance report. He's made covert contact with eight lower officers.”
“Eight? You said twelve before.”
“Eight of those twelve. The rest appear to have refused.”
“...Eight's no small number.”
“Indeed. Combined, their led troops total around eight hundred.”
“Eight hundred?”
“Nearing a quarter of the fortress's full strength. The issue is the number of mid-rank officers.”
“He really means to rebel.”
“No confirmation... but we can't dismiss the possibility.”
“Timing's impeccable. Subjugation army inbound and all.”
“Precisely why it's alarming. If the interior crumbles alongside the external threat—”
“I know.”
I gritted my teeth. Subordinates playing power games at a time like this.
Sahadin's expression was steely. True to a centuries-old NPC, he didn't waver in crisis.
“Your orders?”
“Should I summon Gartia myself?”
“...It could provoke him.”
“And if it does? He rebels against me?”
“Not to Your Majesty's face. But it might accelerate moves behind the scenes.”
“Then what?”
“Isolate Gartia without striking first. Persuade any wavering among the eight—”
“Enough.”
“Your Majesty.”
“Enough, I said. I told you I hate politicking.”
“However...”
“Gartia can't beat me. I'm the Demon King.”
“...True, but any fighting would rack up allied casualties—”
“I'll handle it.”
Sahadin fell silent. He never crossed the line. Never had.
Watching his retreating back, I thought: Gartia... annoying, sure. But honestly, I got it. The Demon King does nothing. No interest in ruling, demon glory, or anything—just spends days atop the western tower, staring at human lands. The Demon King who spared the Hero. Who killed her own subordinates. Who now awaits the Hero.
...From Gartia's view, barely worthy of the title Your Majesty.
Now sitting here understanding an NPC's feelings.
I sneered at myself. Completely given up these three months.
Gartia made his move that very night. The fortress's violet flames snuffed out in unison. My Demon King eyes pierced the dark anyway, but the abnormality was clear. As I rose to open the door, a scream erupted from outside.
“—Your Majesty! Re, rebe—!”
The soldier at the door's shout cut off in a gurgle. Beyond him stood two demon officers, swords drawn.
“You're really doing it.”
I extended my shadows. Darkness surged from their feet, coiling around limbs.
...It should have. The instant shadow touched flesh, space warped. They slipped free despite my grip. Like sand spilling from a clenched fist.
“What the—.”
Harder this time. Shadows raced across the floor, but space around the officers twisted, deflecting them into the wall.
“...Annoying.”
I threw open the door and charged. If shadows failed, brute force would do.
Condensing shadow into a blade, I slashed one's throat quick; the other raised his sword. I sidestepped the arc, driving my handblade through his chest.
Screams and clashing steel exploded from the corridor ahead. The fortress interior was already a battlefield. Rebel forces—Gartia's lower officers and their troops—clashed everywhere. Any crossing my path got shadow-executed.
The problem? Shadows weren't firing true. Normally I'd blanket the whole corridor, sweep them clean. Precision control was shot.
...Gartia's handiwork. Hadn't known he had this trick.
Grinding my teeth, I bolted toward the fortress center when Sahadin's voice rang out ahead.
“Your Majesty—!”
“Sahadin! Status?”
“Gartia's seized the entire northern sector! Six of the eight lower officers joined him; the other two hold with us!”
“Troops?!”
“Rebels around seven hundred! Ours exceed two thousand, but dispersed throughout—can't assemble instantly!”
“Rally at the central hall.”
“Your Majesty, you mustn't engage directly. Gartia's authority—”
“Shadows not working right—that his authority? Already ran into it.”
“...My apologies for failing to anticipate.”
“Later. Your direct forces?”
“Secured three hundred. En route to central hall.”
“Good. Where's Gartia?”
“He's set up base in the north, mustering troops.”
“What for?”
“Building his own command structure. Effectively defecting.”
Splitting off on his own? An NPC?
“Sahadin, focus on securing forces. Gartia is mine.”
“Your Majesty! The throne's mana is unstable—”
“I won't die.”
“Your Majesty!”
“That's an order, Sahadin.”
“...Understood.”
Sahadin wheeled and dashed the opposite way. A handful of rebel soldiers blocked the path, but I smashed through. Wielding shadows as daggers was still feasible.