The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

"He did not!"

"At the very least, I haven't seen a single word of apology—only a letter that enraged me!"

A stir began to ripple through the crowd.

This was exactly the question they feared most, the one they dared not even think about.

"And I can tell you plainly, he never will! He would sooner take the ransom money meant for you and use it to celebrate a fire he lit himself, then let the songs of that celebration adorn your funerals!"

Edward abruptly raised his voice, mercilessly tearing open the mental walls these prisoners had built for themselves, forging the cruelest truth into iron nails and hammering them hard into their hearts.

"That King never had the slightest intention of ransoming you. He won't pay a single penny, even though neither he nor I care about that paltry pile of Gold Coins! At this very moment, he's sitting in his warm Royal Palace, drinking red wine, eagerly waiting for the furious Duke Campbell to chop off your heads and toss them to his citizens!"

"Impossible!" A Knight reflexively refuted, yet his voice was utterly lacking in conviction, his shoulders trembling as he spoke, "Your Majesty would never abandon his Knights…"

"Wouldn't he?" Edward let out an undisguised sneer, his contemptuous gaze like one cast upon a stupid mule. "You understand far too little about your King, and you vastly overestimate your own worth. Your corpses are far more valuable than you alive!"

It is not only a Necromancer who can manipulate corpses.

Power can as well.

"He will carry your severed heads to your fathers, to your wives and children, wrap your corpses in his royal robes. He will weep bitterly as he denounces the cruelty of the Campbell people, claim that I broke the Nobles' 'mutual non-slaughter' tacit pact, accuse me of being a bloodthirsty tyrant—and never utter a single word about who sent you here in the first place!"

"And then?"

Edward swept his eyes around them. His gaze remained full of pity, yet his voice was like a Demon's whisper.

"Your children will hate me to the bone. They will offer their loyalty to your King, just as you once offered yours. And when the day comes that he needs them, just as that day he needed you to stand forth, your sons will die under my gun muzzles all over again, exactly as you did."

"When all the men of your families have died out, when there is no one left to inherit your estates, after he has sucked dry the toil of your generations and tossed the despised fish bones to the next 'brave soul' of his choosing… to accomplish all of this, he need only shed a few tears at your funeral. I must say, your loyalty is cheap beyond measure."

The logic had closed into a complete circle. A deathly silence fell over the great hall, born not of Magic, but of that icy thing called human nature.

The Knights' faces turned ashen. The fortress of their faith slowly crumbled beneath the pounding hammer blows.

They did not dare believe their Monarch could be so venomous, yet they could find no argument to refute it.

All they could do was silently chant in pain within their hearts, praying to Saint Sis, trying to seek an answer from that void—

Why must Your Majesty do this.

The officers of citizen birth, however, were far more clear-headed.

They knew Theoden all too well; that was indeed the sort of thing their King was capable of.

If you asked why?

Because that is exactly what something called "Your Majesty" is.

Morality and conviction can restrain concrete individuals, but they can never restrain abstract power. If Edward were the Your Majesty of the Ryan Kingdom, he would make the same choices.

Because he too is a clever man.

Once the cattle and sheep on the pasture enter a pattern of "mutual slaughter and mutual thriving," the question is no longer who kills whom, but who dares not kill.

Edward watched their eyes, watched their faith collapse, watched something new rise up from amid those ruins.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

This Wildfire blown into the Campbell Duchy by the winter wind had, in the end, been blown back by the warm winds of spring.

Listening to their ever-heavier breathing, he spoke in a voice laden with authority, casting forth the olive branch he had long prepared.

"…Killing you would be to fall right into Theoden's trap, and so I will not kill you, even though in my heart I have already chopped off your heads ten thousand times."

"However, although I pardon your crime, your disgrace can only be washed clean by your own hands. Not only for yourselves, but for your families, for the continuation of your bloodlines… and even more for all the Ryan people who Submit beneath that tyrant's feet—if that notion still means anything in your hearts."

The hall sank into a brief, deathly stillness.

At last, the Knight who had first spoken in protest lifted his head.

The weak hope and self-comforting compromise were gone from his eyes, replaced by two blazing flames of vengeance.

"Duke of Campbell…" the Knight's voice was hoarse. "Since you know everything, then please, simply tell us. What… should we do?"

He knew he could never go home again.

Even if Duke Edward let them go, the Your Majesty of the Ryan Kingdom had ten thousand ways to see them die on the road.

He had heard that under his command there was a band of assassins, dedicated to cleansing those he deemed 'unclean'.

That Dagger could, of course, also be used to cut away accidental 'survivors' like them.

Edward looked at this Knight who had cast away his illusions, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.

His voice, however, remained as cold as ever, like the winter wind that sweeps through the Winter Moon.

"It's very simple. Kill your way back."

"Take your swords, take our guns, and return the way you came."

"That is your Kingdom. You must be the ones to demand justice from the tyrant who betrayed you. The only ones who can do this are you yourselves."

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