Saint Peron V’s decision did not come from mercy.

It was simply that in wartime, replacing a general in the field was a grave mistake. And besides, the western wing army truly was a complicated web of forces. Too many of them belonged to one noble house or another. Given Grand Duke Borgia’s rank, touching him now could create enormous chaos.

At this moment Saint Peron V was very clear-headed. He knew what ought to be done and what ought not to be done, rather than behaving like those foolish tyrants in history who always chose the crucial moment to indulge in some smug little bit of "fine control."

As a great ruler, Saint Peron V understood perfectly well that if one watched certain things too closely, the correction itself could become an overcorrection. Governing a nation was like refining a potion. Every tiny adjustment had to be weighed again and again. Otherwise the chain reaction it set off could very well lose everything.

"They really are a pack of useless fools dragging at my feet..."

Saint Peron V could not help sighing. He was still somewhat envious of the Empire’s political environment. If only he, like that young Empress, could carry out a great purge at home without restraint, then he would surely be able to move much more freely in every respect, instead of having his hands bound at every turn by vermin like these.

But on second thought, was it not precisely proof of his own greatness and wisdom that, even under such unfavorable circumstances, he could still lead such vermin all the way to the position of continental hegemon?

"Forget it. So long as it does not affect the battle at the front."

Saint Peron V pushed those vexing matters out of his mind.

"The next one."

"Yes."

Jared opened the third letter, and this time his expression became even stranger.

"The third letter is also from Grand Duke Borgia. He says he has already sent fifty thousand elite troops to guard the crucial checkpoints along the grain route, ensuring that the most important logistics remain secure. At the same time, he accuses Marquis Tividis of incompetent command, saying that because of it, an important figure from the Empire broke through and escaped Notasia..."

"Hm?"

Saint Peron V turned his head slightly, puzzled. Even his mild expression carried unquestionable authority.

"I understand sending troops to guard the grain route. But Borgia commands the western wing army. Why is he accusing Tividis, who is second-in-command of the central army?"

"That... I do not know, Your Majesty."

Jared lowered his head at once.

"The next one."

"Yes."

Jared hurriedly opened the fourth letter, hoping it would finally contain the kind of good news that would let him breathe again...

"This one is from Prince Aurier. He accuses Talroya, one of the military mages in Duke Borgia’s army, saying that Talroya failed to control his subordinates, causing unrest in the army, and then misled his superior, resulting in... in the delaying of military affairs."

"..."

Clearly, this too was bad news.

"Heh. So that’s what this is. Those two are passing blame back and forth."

Saint Peron V sneered. Once again, he immediately saw through the little game the two were playing.

Grand Duke Borgia was not truly accusing Tividis, the second-in-command. He was accusing Aurier, the first.

And Aurier, in turn, was not truly accusing Talroya, one of Borgia’s confidants. He was accusing Borgia himself.

Each was blaming the other, trying to push responsibility away, yet neither dared speak too plainly, leaving a sliver of room so they would not fully tear the relationship apart.

The classic style of princes and nobles.

"And yet I find myself puzzled..."

Saint Peron V narrowed his eyes.

"One commands the western wing army, the other the central army. Their current directions of attack and even their objectives are completely different. Why would they be blaming each other?"

"That..."

Jared forced out a smile.

"Could it be because of the important Imperial figure mentioned earlier? The one who escaped?"

"Important figure? Heh. Most likely the Empire’s little girl Emperor herself."

Saint Peron V sneered again, already guessing the truth in the blink of an eye.

He knew his son harbored certain improper ambitions. Faced with the Imperial Empress being besieged, Aurier would naturally have indulged in some strange fantasies. But was the Empress of the Empire so easy to trap?

As the ruler of a nation, empowered by Imperial authority, with considerable strength of her own, at a critical moment she could escape even alone if she had to. She was never going to stay and become a prisoner.

Aurier’s fantasy could only ever remain a laughable fantasy.

"Still, I cannot understand this. The Imperial Empress leaving early was always part of the expected course of events. So why has it become entangled with Borgia, who should have nothing to do with the central army?"

Saint Peron V’s eyes fell on Jared.

"I... I imagine it will be mentioned in the later letters."

Jared prayed silently to the goddess as he tore open the fifth dispatch...

"..."

And then he froze completely.

Wasn’t this supposed to be good news? Aside from that first letter, which barely counted as good news at all, everything after it had been exactly the sort of infuriating mess one hated to read.

No, this was beyond some ordinary mess. This was practically—

"Give it to me."

Seeing that Jared’s expression was wrong, Saint Peron V had clearly lost patience. He simply raised a hand and took the letter from him.

Jared did not dare resist. He could only bow his head deeply.

"..."

A silence like death descended.

Beautiful music still floated from the banquet hall not far away, yet within this narrow space of only a few paces, the atmosphere was so oppressive it felt like the lightless deep sea.

Jared’s heart pounded wildly. He knew perfectly well how infuriating the contents of that letter would be to a king. He had already held his breath, ready to receive thunderous wrath...

But after waiting for a long while, no thunder came.

He was certain the letter contained enough to stir a ruler’s fury. Yet thirty seconds passed. A minute passed. Two minutes passed...

And at present, it seemed no one needed to be held responsible.

Jared was bewildered. Very cautiously, he stole a glance upward and found that Saint Peron V was still staring at the letter, his face perfectly calm, without the slightest hint of anger.

"Y-Your Majesty?"

"What is it?"

"You... you are not angry?"

"Angry?"

Saint Peron V gave a short, cold laugh.

"What precisely should I be angry over? That the Kingdom’s formation of two hundred thousand men was punched through head-on by thirty thousand Imperial cavalry? That Grand Duke Borgia, in order to preserve his private troops, refused to send elite cavalry in pursuit? That the letters accusing one another arrived before the truly important military intelligence? Or that the Empress of the Empire is now personally leading twenty thousand cavalry straight toward the royal capital?"

"..."

A trace of mocking amusement lay in Saint Peron V’s pale brows and eyes. He seemed to possess no wrathful majesty at all. Especially when he spoke of that last matter, he sounded as if he were merely discussing some after-dinner anecdote, his tone impossibly light.

But Jared was already shaking with fear, sprawled prostrate on the ground.

"Your Majesty, calm your anger, calm your—"

"I said I am not angry."

Saint Peron V folded the letter back up, slid it once more into its envelope, and carefully closed the flap, returning it to its place as if nothing at all had happened.

"Why should I be angry? Over something this trivial? Jared, you think too little of me."

To fly into a ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) rage because twenty thousand Imperial cavalry had invaded?

Ridiculous.

As a great ruler, how could he possibly lose control of his emotions over something so minor?

Back in the day, when he had fought with his many brothers for this throne, he had been betrayed at the most critical moment. His elder brother’s knights had been on the verge of fully surrounding his residence, of charging in and mincing him into meat.

That had been a moment of true peril.

And yet even then, his face had not changed. His heart had been still as flat water. He had calmly issued orders, turned the situation around, and become the final victor.

Compared to the storm of that time, the present situation was no more than a light breeze blowing in from the riverbank. It could not even make him feel a touch of cold.

"How many guards remain stationed in the royal capital at present?" Saint Peron V asked calmly.

"Your Majesty, some were drawn away to support the offensive at the front. But there are still fifty thousand Palace Guards," Jared answered quickly.

"Heh. Fifty thousand of the finest Royal Guards, together with the royal capital’s high walls and strong fortifications, and the vast barrier formation beneath our feet—what do you think twenty thousand cavalry can accomplish against that?"

"Th-this... Your Majesty is right. They can accomplish nothing."

Jared thought it over and realized that he truly had panicked too easily.

For twenty thousand cavalry to break the royal capital of a nation—something that absurd would not occur even to a three-year-old child.

"Your Majesty, then the banquet to follow..."

"Of course it will proceed as planned. More grandly than before, in fact!"

Saint Peron V swept his robe wide so that it billowed in the air.

"Otherwise, if people learned that we were so frightened by a mere twenty thousand cavalry that we even canceled the banquet, wouldn’t we become a laughingstock? Let alone twenty thousand. Even if two hundred thousand troops were at the gates, the banquet would still go on!"

"Yes!"

Jared bowed deeply. It was as if he too had been stirred by the emotion of the great king before him, and a blazing fire gradually rose in his eyes.

"I’ll make the arrangements at once!"

...

Graceful music flowed like a stream, trickling through the soul of every refined person present.

Standing outside the banquet hall, Saint Peron V could already tell that the music performed by the royal orchestra had changed again.

The opening The Glory of Saint Perod, then The Palace by Lake Sina, and later The Third Hymn of the Kingdom had already ended.

What was now being played was In Praise of Our King, a piece far more wonderful than any of the previous three.

"It should be about time for me to make my entrance."

Saint Peron V murmured to himself. He had his attendants loosen the outer robe, revealing the formal dress beneath, hung with brilliant insignia. Then he took up the jewel-studded scepter and, amid the swelling grandeur of the music as it climbed toward its climax, entered the hall with head high and chest out. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"Your Majesty."

"Your Majesty."

"Ah, Your Majesty, you’ve arrived."

Neither the soaring music nor the lively atmosphere of the banquet could steal even a fraction of the brilliance of the Kingdom’s king. The instant he entered the hall, every gaze gathered on him at once like a tide.

And then, in the blink of an eye, that tide sank. Everyone present, including the musicians of the orchestra, bowed respectfully before him.

"Good evening, Your Majesty."

"Good evening, all of you."

Saint Peron V waved a hand casually, signaling them to rise.

"Tonight is a victory banquet, held to celebrate the great triumphs won by the Kingdom’s armies at the front. Therefore, there is no need for anyone to stand on ceremony. We should all share in this moment of victory together!"

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

The tide surged again. The elegant music flowed into its next movement, and within the melody itself there was yet another hymn of praise for the great king.

Saint Peron V moved forward through the crowd as it parted around him, making his way to the seat that belonged to him alone. Along the way, great nobles of high rank approached him again and again to offer respectful greetings.

"Marquis Nick, how goes the movement of supplies?"

"Your Majesty, everything is operating normally. Great quantities of provisions are being transported to the front along the grain route. I can assure you here and now that not a single soldier at the front will go hungry."

"Hm. Very good."

Saint Peron V then looked to the next man.

"Count Haller, how is order in the city?"

"Your Majesty, while a few unruly commoners were stirred up into disturbances by Imperial spies, all of it has already been suppressed. At present, everything is calm."

"Good. You as well. Count Carter, and what of military equipment..."

"Your Majesty, I have not failed your expectations..."

Saint Peron V was not merely walking toward his throne. One by one, he was questioning the men who held high position throughout the Kingdom.

And every answer he received was one that satisfied him.

Of course, he knew what kind of people they truly were. He knew that some portion of what they said must be false.

For example, Marquis Nick was extraordinarily greedy. A fair amount of the logistical goods passed right into his own pockets.

And Count Haller was savage and cold-blooded. Under his suppression, who knew how many innocent people in the royal capital would die?

But none of that was important.

As a great ruler, Saint Peron V understood deeply that the art of politics was the art of balance, and the art of kingship was the art of knowing how to use people well.

Marquis Nick was greedy, yes, but he was extremely skilled at the movement of funds and resources. The Kingdom’s long grain route had been built by his own hand, and to this day nothing had gone wrong with it.

Count Haller was indeed too cruel, but it was precisely because of that iron repression that order and stability in the royal capital had been maintained at such a critical time.

And as for Count Carter...

He had no particular excellence of his own, but he did have an outstanding son.

A greedy swine, an executioner, a worthless incompetent...

Elsewhere, such men would be useless garbage. In the Empire, they would have been hanged who knew how many times already in the earlier purges.

And yet only under him—under Saint Peron V—could such people shine and serve, propping up the machinery of the whole vast Kingdom.

The Kingdom’s war chariot was rolling forward under his control, crushing everything in its path. And by contrast, what of the Empire?

Its Emperor had actually gone and personally led twenty thousand cavalry deep into enemy territory.

"Childish."

Saint Peron V could not help laughing.

Was that what war was now? A thing to be decided by such reckless acts?

That young ruler of the Empire may have shown some ability when first ascending to power, but at a crucial moment like this, the youth and ignorance beneath it all had finally been exposed.

"Your Majesty."

Just as Saint Peron V reached the throne, Jared, having finished making arrangements, was already there waiting for him.

"Two more war reports have arrived. Just now."

"Oh? So there is finally good news after all. Read."

"Yes."

Jared opened the first envelope, and at once his face lit up.

"Your Majesty’s guess was exactly right. It truly is good news. Word has come from our outer sentry posts that the Emperor of the Empire has led those twenty thousand troops westward. It appears there is no intention of attacking the royal capital."

"West?"

Saint Peron V raised a brow and thought on it.

The Kingdom and the Empire were similar in one respect. Their western lands were both relatively barren. Even for pillage, there was hardly anything worth taking there.

Could it be...

"Heh. So she’s finally realized the stupidity of what she did and intends to return to the Empire through the wastelands in the west? To go in a giant circle like that—how laughable."

"Your Majesty is absolutely right. The Empress of the Empire is no great thing after all. In the end, she still lacks some measure of the seasoned cunning of that old man of hers who’s already dead. How could she possibly be Your Majesty’s equal?"

Jared hastened to flatter him. Seeing the lingering anger in Saint Peron V’s eyes gradually fade, he knew that this disagreeable matter had now passed.

The Empress of the Empire had personally led cavalry deep into enemy lands. Such a bold act—and yet in the end it had not stirred up even the slightest real wave.

"And the second letter?"

"The second..."

Jared opened the second letter and scanned it quickly. Just as he was about to report more good news, a trace of confusion appeared on his brow.

"Your Majesty, forgive my dullness, but I confess I cannot quite make sense of this intelligence."

"What do you mean, you cannot make sense of it?"

"It says that our western border has suddenly come under attack by an Imperial army, that Papen Fortress has already fallen, and that Kandel City after it is calling for aid... But doesn’t our western border face the Abyss? How could an Imperial army possibly be attacking us from there?"

Jared sounded baffled.

"Could this be some bastard forging military intelligence to stir panic? Your Majesty, I think this must be thoroughly investigated. It may well be another Imperial spy... Your Majesty?"

"..."

Seated upon the throne, Saint Peron V seemed as though he had suddenly been struck by lightning. He did not move at all.

Only after Jared called to him several times did he seem to drag himself back from some horrifying nightmare. Little by little, he turned his head. Every joint in his body creaked.

"What did you just say?"

"I said the western border has come under attack by an Imperial army. It could be that spies have infiltrated our own side..."

Jared jumped at the suddenly twisted savagery of Saint Peron V’s expression and stammered,

"Y-Your Majesty, is there some problem?"

"I meant the line before that."

Saint Peron V clenched his teeth. The words came out squeezed between them like the voice of an evil spirit.

"The line before that."

"I said..."

Jared thought frantically.

"That word has come from our outer sentry posts that the Emperor of the Empire led those twenty thousand troops westward, and that it appears there is no intention of attacking the royal capital."

"West... west..."

Saint Peron V glanced wildly around, clearly searching for a map. But in this enormous banquet hall there was nothing except music and food, nothing except elegant ladies and handsome, well-bred noble gentlemen.

Where was there supposed to be a map?

So he could only turn directly to Jared and ask,

"That pass to the west. That most important pass, Odense City, gateway to the capital—how many men are stationed there right now?"

"Odense?"

Jared froze. The name was oddly unfamiliar to him, and for a moment he could not even recall where it was.

"Your Majesty, don’t be alarmed. I-I’ll ask at once."

Jared hurried off to inquire. He asked several people in succession before he finally managed to confirm the information precisely.

"Your Majesty, two thousand. Because some of the forces there were drawn away to the front, Odense City is currently defended by two thousand men."

"T-two thousand?"

Saint Peron V nearly failed to draw his next breath.

"A place that important, and only two thousand?"

"I-important?"

Jared still did not understand.

"But Your Majesty, although Odense is called the western gate of the royal capital, there are no truly dangerous enemies to our west. And even if there were, since it lies deep within the Kingdom, reinforcements could arrive in time. So even under normal circumstances, its garrison is only around four thousand men. Now that the Kingdom is attacking the Empire with its full strength, leaving two thousand there already counts as taking it quite seriously.

"Many internal passes are currently being held by only a few hundred men."

"No, it’s too late. Too late..."

Saint Peron V muttered.

"They won’t be able to hold it. The interior of the Kingdom is empty. Other places won’t be able to hold either. No one ever imagined an attack could come from the west... the west!

"And most importantly, if Odense falls, then we... we..."

"Your Majesty, what exactly are you saying?"

Jared’s heart trembled at Saint Peron V’s sudden madness. He could not understand how the king who, just moments ago, had been full of vigor and perfectly composed—even treating the Empress of the Empire riding deep into the heartland with twenty thousand cavalry as no more than a passing breeze—now looked as if that breeze had blown him into convulsions.

But before he could understand the reason, Saint Peron V was already pointing a finger at his nose, then at the noses of the many nobles who had clearly been startled by the disturbance and drawn near to see what was happening...

"Fools! Fools! You are all fools!"

Saint Peron V was beyond enraged, his whole body shaking with fury.

Aurier letting a full twenty thousand cavalry escape while holding every advantage—that one could be overlooked. He had only ever possessed that much ability.

Grand Duke Borgia thinking only of his own little patch of ground and refusing to act decisively at such a moment—that too could be overlooked. That was simply the limit of his vision.

But...

So many people. The entire Kingdom. So many self-styled geniuses, self-important nobles, and all the self-important advisers those nobles kept around them.

And yet with so many people, not one of them had thought of something so important?

Could none of them imagine... that the Empire might borrow the Abyss route and launch an attack from the Kingdom’s west?

The west. The west. The west.

Something so simple. Why had not a single person thought of it in advance? Was this entire vast Kingdom truly nothing but a nest of idiots?

"Your Majesty?"

"I—"

Saint Peron V wanted nothing more than to follow the example of that young Emperor of the Empire and hang every useless noble in the hall.

But in the final moment, when his rage was on the verge of shattering its limit, as he looked at the bewildered fools before him—still not even understanding what had happened—he suddenly thought of something.

It was him.

He was the one who had sealed away what had happened in the Abyss, who had concealed the news that the demonfolk had already disappeared from this world.

So these idiots naturally could never have imagined that the Empire might march through the Abyss.

"...Fine. Yes. I made one wrong move, but I did it for the sake of the Kingdom’s morale!"

Saint Peron V fell silent for a moment, then suddenly clenched his fist and muttered viciously,

"And even if I was the reason your intelligence was distorted, with so many pig brains among you, could your thinking not have branched out even a little farther? Idiots!"

Still idiots.

All idiots.

A whole pack of idiots.

How was he supposed to govern the entire Kingdom properly while surrounded by a pack like this?

"Your Majesty? What is wrong with you?"

Seeing that Saint Peron V’s complexion was worsening by the moment, Jared grew more and more alarmed. He even forgot the proper distance between ruler and subject and grabbed Saint Peron V’s arm.

Trembling all over was one thing, but now His Majesty had begun muttering strange things to himself. Had he suddenly been struck with some sort of fit?

"Physician! Hurry, summon the royal physicians!"

Deeply alarmed, Jared immediately ordered his subordinates to fetch them, while he himself began pouring out his own magic to steady Saint Peron V’s breathing.

"I’m fine. I’m fine..."

Saint Peron V waved a hand and drew a deep breath.

"I will not fall so easily."

As a great ruler, of course he could not possibly collapse because of a setback like this. The Empire’s army had not yet truly reached the walls of the royal capital. Everything was still uncertain. He had not lost yet.

He had to steady himself. Only he could save the Kingdom now. Only he...

Yes. He had to rearrange things. Rethink everything. Make all preparations before the Empire’s army arrived.

And he would begin right now by putting to death the vermin who dragged at his feet.

"Guards!"

Saint Peron V snapped his eyes open in fury and roared,

"Drag Jared outside and behead him! To dare withhold war reports on his own authority and delay military affairs—this is a grave crime!"