Chapter 7:
A Demon King in White
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IN THE BARRACKS of the margravate’s capital, the chief accountant tossed the notice on the desk with a sigh. It was an elaborately decorated document signed by the supreme commander of the margrave’s army.
The chair creaked as he threw himself into it. His glasses slipped down his face as he sagged into a slump, and one of his subordinates—a diligent orc who often found himself scolding his slovenly superior—berated him for his bad posture. In response, the chief nudged his head toward the papers. After glancing over the document, his subordinate looked at him with sympathy in his eyes.
Oh, looks like he actually can shut up. Nice to see the supreme commander is useful for something.
Chuckling to himself, the chief accountant gazed out the window. In the yard outside, refugees had gathered in hopes of emergency provisions. The military police struggled to organize the starving masses, who would have killed for food. The margravate was along the northernmost border, and there were refugees every year. The city would always prepare a surplus of food for them, but that didn’t seem like it was going to be enough this year. The humans and dragons were running rampant in the north. At the ports, there were more and more refugees knocking on their door.
Just the other day, the mayor had finally come to the margrave in tears. The margrave had immediately ordered for the military’s reserves to be offered to the people, thus bringing about this emergency distribution. To the man who ran the army’s supply chain, it was a severe headache. The mobilization of the entire army had already been a great burden. If they were to sacrifice their reserves on top of that, it would be difficult to maintain their deployment. This went beyond what was feasible.
On the other hand, they could not simply refuse to provide food. It wasn’t only the refugees who were starving. The price of ingredients was rising by the day, and now even the city’s original inhabitants were struggling to eat. The starving would do anything for food. That was a threat to public order. At this point, they were on the cusp of rioting.
Additionally, all the soldiers capable of suppressing such a riot had gone out to vanquish the humans. The few remaining military police couldn’t possibly handle the situation. The chief accountant knew he would be the first one torn apart, as he had the keys to the army’s food storage.
He sighed. He didn’t want to be involved in battles—that was the whole reason he’d gone to accounting school. Why was he being exposed to such danger?
So he begrudgingly agreed to offer food, but he also advised the margrave to withdraw his army. Although the margrave hesitated, the accountant managed to convince him with his bank book. The margrave had always been rather sickly and had only grown weaker once he was crushed by his expedition’s failings.
Thus, a messenger with a retreat order had been sent off to the expedition force. But his relief was brief. The commander’s response read, “Once my army arrives at the capital, a celebration shall be held for their triumphant return. I leave all of the preparations to you.”
The accountant could not believe his eyes. A celebration. A celebration, he said! Admittedly, the army had achieved a great victory. They had slain mountains of those vile humans, and their accomplishments were unprecedented. The city had once been ablaze with the news.
But that was before the dragon attacks began.
They were now plagued by hordes of refugees, dwindling food, and the hushed, fearful rumors of dragons. The joy of victory was a thing of the past. Now the majority of the populace was suspicious and resentful of the army because of the lack of aid. So now they were supposed to hold a celebration? How would the people forced to flee their burning homes feel about an army marching around, announcing some great victory?
Or maybe that’s the idea.
Take that mercenary captain, for instance—the one-eyed hero who rode the black aquilup. A natural-born fighter from a barbarian tribe, he was the guardian of settlers and the true star of their prior victory. Leading the aquilup riders, the noble orc had raced over the open plains, saving any settlement that was in danger. Among the common people—and the soldiers—he was incredibly popular.
With that mercenary at the front of the parade, perhaps the people would be able to remember the feeling of victory, if only for a moment. He wasn’t sure if that was what the supreme commander actually intended, but it would be a good way for the people to let off steam.
Am I allowed to decide the order they march in? Of course he was. The document had specified “all of the preparations,” after all.
The chief accountant straightened himself and lifted his glasses. He dipped the tip of his pen into his inkwell and began drafting up the orders for the celebration. As he did so, he noticed a small memo in a corner of the envelope the commander’s message had come in. A small, unassuming scrap of paper giving off a sinister air. Suddenly nervous, he reached out and unfolded it.
“The barbarian must not participate in the festivities. Keep this a secret from the margrave.”
The accountant smacked his pen down on the table. He slouched back down, even deeper than before. Calling his subordinate over, he showed him this new piece of information.
Seeing the bewildered look on the man’s face, the chief accountant gave him an order.
“I’ve got a job for you. Think up an excuse for this.”
“Why not convey it as is?” his subordinate replied with an earnest look. “Yes, we could simply relay that the so-called barbarian is not to be allowed within the city walls. It’s a win for all of us, you see. Once the margrave catches wind of the supreme commander’s request, he’ll give him a good whipping.”
The chief accountant burst out laughing. Never knew he could make a joke. I’m beginning to think better of him.
Once he had finally contained himself, he got to work implementing that idea. Then, without lowering his pen, he began drafting his resignation. Naturally, he knew that it would not be accepted. He wasn’t a fool. Even so, the way he saw it, he should at least be free to dream about a peaceful retirement.