——Dona’s former residence.
While the scars of battle left throughout Holylight were still raw, the nation’s leadership congregated at what had once been Dona’s estate. This location was chosen because Dona’s stronghold was still piled high with corpses, which did not seem like an appropriate setting for this summit. With the lavish meeting room as the backdrop, Holylight’s future depended on how this postwar deliberation went.
The meeting was to be attended by Tahara, Yu, White, Queen, Harts, and Sambo. The Demon Lord would join them shortly, more as posturing than anything else. Luna had no interest in such tedium and had chosen to ride with Eagle back to the village. After some consideration, the Madam turned down her invitation as well. Given that the majority of the attendees had fought on the front lines, perhaps she felt like she hadn’t earned her spot as the others had. Considering her thoughtfulness, however, her absence appeared as a sign of respect for Harts. Azur weaved through the attendees, placing cups of coffee and tea on the table with the smooth elegance of a top-notch butler.
The meeting commenced with White officially announcing the return of the Fallen Angel, which immediately brought the room down with tension. It was the kind of news that would send not only Holylight, but also the whole continent into a tizzy. According to Holylight’s historical records, the Wise Angel had vanished two millennia ago. Although there was much conjecture about the fate of the angels, historians agreed that no one had seen a true angel since.
Two thousand years later, the Fallen Angel had appeared out of nowhere, bringing with him such a wind of change that it rattled Holylight like a leaf in a storm. Before anyone had realized, the militant nobles and high society had joined forces, and even come to agreeable terms with the artists. Then, practically overnight, the central nobles were wiped off the map. None of them seemed like a feat a mere human could accomplish.
Tahara smiled nonchalantly, secretly relishing the strange tension in the room. The more extraordinary the Demon Lord became, the more reverence and power he would gain. Once people chose to kneel to the Demon Lord of their own volition, Tahara’s job would become much easier.
Keep it up, White! That’s exactly what the doctor ordered! he thought. Tahara hadn’t fed White any lines either. After witnessing so many of the Demon Lord’s miraculous powers, she had no intention of hiding what she believed to be the truth. In fact, she seemed eager to discuss it and spread word of the Fallen Angel.
That’s when the Demon Lord showed up. Everyone but Queen stood and acknowledged him as he took his seat at the head of the table. “Sorry I’m late. Take your seats, everyone,” he said, all the while cursing himself. This is going to be the longest however-long-this-is-going-to-take of my life. Meeting with his advisors was always an emotionally grueling task, but facing them now? When he hadn’t recovered from the emotional damage he’d suffered from helplessly watching Zero?
Meanwhile, Harts and Sambo—who’d never seen the Demon Lord in his Fallen Angel form—were frozen in shock. They had known what White had meant and believed her, but seeing the being in person was too jarring. How the Demon Lord looked now was so different from how they’d remembered him. He looked no older than twenty, a pair of angel wings oozing with abyss-black energy on his back. So much more had changed about him than just his physical age.
Willing his terror-stricken heart to beat steadily, Harts managed to say, “If I may, I have an urgent topic to bring to your attention.”
The Demon Lord nodded, unfazed, and closed his eyes. Secretly, he was praying to whatever might listen that at least the first problem on the agenda would be an easy one to solve.
“Several Central commanders attempting to flee the country, along with a group of who we assume to be Tzardom soldiers, have been detained at Gatekeeper. What shall we do with them?” Harts continued.
The Demon Lord thought about it for a moment and determined that he wasn’t the slightest bit interested. Who cares where the losers end up? His priorities were steadfastly in order—he needed to wrap up this meeting and get out of here. “We don’t have time for the likes of them. Let them go wherever they want to go.”
Harts stammered, taken aback, “W-Would that not be an issue for—?”
“Let me translate so we can get to the topic we came here for,” Tahara offered, itching to push the meeting forward. “We’d have a grand excuse to invade any country that gives those rats refuge. If what sounds like a compassionate idea comes from the Secretary, there’s always a hidden agenda at work. Keep that in mind.”
Shut up, Tahara! the Demon Lord protested in his heart. Will you ever paint me in the right light?!
Alas, for the Demon Lord, people at this table saw him as the Fallen Angel Lucifer, the greatest evil the world had ever seen.
Harts, for one, seemed to buy it. “How embarrassing... That was shortsighted of me. I will notify my men of your instruction.” Harts was an exceptional general who’d lived, breathed, and excelled at warfare. He seemed not only accepting of Tahara’s interpretation, but thrilled by it.
The Demon Lord hung his head low, feeling like he’d already taken a beating. He’s okay with that?! Let me guess, I’m going to get all the credit for that borderline war crime idea. Fearing that Tahara would interpret anything he said in the worst way possible, the Demon Lord took a vow of silence for the duration of the meeting.
Taking the silence as his cue to facilitate the meeting, Tahara passed a set of files around the table. He and Yu had prearranged their roles for this, and Yu would be making note of every attendee’s words and behavior. Each of them began by flipping through their file and evidently found its contents astonishing.
Upon reading the passage where the northern tundra was mentioned, Harts glowered at the Demon Lord. “Lord Lucifer. You intend to confiscate our territory in its entirety?”
Wait a minute! Tahara wrote that! Take it up with him! With easy grace that masked his fluster, the Demon Lord shifted his gaze to Tahara. Naturally, Harts followed it.
The passage Harts noted was a proposal to shift the current fealty system of the country’s military to a salary-based employment system. What had become the ubiquitous system of the workforce on modern-day Earth seemed like a radical idea in this world. In Harts’s eyes, this change would reduce the national army to a band of mercenaries.
Lighting his cigarette, Tahara didn’t hesitate to drop another bomb. “Don’t jump to conclusions, gramps. We’re going to pay you a share of our loot from the western front as salary. In exchange, you’re going to quintuple the scale of the national army.”
According to Tahara’s rough calculations, the Water Spell Stones mined from the former Central territory generated the astronomical revenue of ten thousand gold medallions a year. While that number had been achieved by Central hiking up the prices of the Spell Stones, the fact that they were able to hike them that high was a testament to how much demand there was for them. Mines in the western territories also produced iron, lead, copper, and even small amounts of silver and gold. Its economical potential far outclassed that of any other territory in Holylight.
“Quintuple? Salary?” Harts repeated, eyeing Tahara suspiciously.
A verbal joust commenced between them—an opportunity for them to hash out any differences between their mindsets and worldviews.
“Well, flip to the next page for me,” Tahara said. “Moving forward, we’ll be exporting Water Spell Stones at eighty percent of their current price.”
“I don’t understand. What sense is there in lowering the profit derived from the mines we’ve taken over? And how will you distribute the Spell Stones within Holylight?”
White might have interjected, had it not been for her blind faith in Her Lord Lucifer. Of course, the Demon Lord himself was half asleep without a thought in his head. Across the table, Queen was grinning like a child on her birthday, clearly reminiscing about what she considered a romantic reunion with Zero. Somehow, the meeting carried on.
“Judging from what I’ve seen and heard, people on this continent can get by with a single gold coin a month. More like seven silver coins in Militant territory,” Tahara said.
“What of it?” Harts asked, bristled by the question that seemed to jab at the poverty of Northern Holylight.
Tahara’s estimate was quite accurate. The average person could live off of the equivalent of a thousand US dollars a month. Seven hundred dollars, if they lived frugally. There were plenty of people who survived on less.
Twenty thousand Militants called Northern Holylight their home, putting their total living expenses at the equivalent of 168 million dollars a year. The central nobles had made ten times that from the revenue of their Spell Stone sales alone. Combined with profits from agriculture, art, textiles, wine, and the like, the class divide between the factions had been insurmountable for two millennia while Central hoarded its wealth.
Mixed emotions showed on Harts’s face as he thought of his impoverished comrades.
“Off the bat, the militant nobles will be granted a payroll of fifty thousand gold medallions a year,” Tahara said, as if to wipe the worry from Harts.
“What...?!”
“Drop the farmwork and side hustles. Military training will be the one and only job of your men.”
Fifty thousand gold medallions—the equivalent of one billion dollars—was more than quintuple what the north was generating. Without the need to till fields to stay alive, the northern soldiers would soon turn into a dedicated, powerful army.
As much as his brain understood the concept, doubt still hung heavy in Harts’s heart. “The frankly ridiculous amount of our salary aside, it still seems you intend to make us wandering mercenaries without a home.”