Part 1

Half a year after the death of the Demon King—

In the immediate aftermath of the incident, the "Witchlands" was swift to conclude alliance treaties with the various races.

Though it mainly comprised ten to twenty minor races, it succeeded in building a framework of mutual cooperation and support.

Meanwhile, the reactions of the demons, cast into the midst of the chaos, split into several camps.

Some turned their spears toward the "Witchlands" under the banner of avenging the Demon King. Some sought independence, wanting no part of it. Some sided with the "Witchlands," scrambling to secure the safety of their own kind.

The majority belonged to the conservative faction bent on revenge, but as it turned out, no war ever broke out.

Power struggles within the faction intensified, developing into internal strife.

It is said there was instigation from within, but the truth has never come to light.

Sensing signs that the flames of war might spread to the surrounding regions, a certain third power intervened in the conflict.

The otherworldly monsters led by the witch Sherah—the legions of the Underworld Border—attacked the powerful races one after another.

As a result, the power struggle fizzled out, left half-unresolved. Now, in order to reconcile each party's interests, a Council of Lords is convened roughly four times a year.

The Council also holds a seat for the faction the "Witchlands" represents—that is, the reformist faction. The witch Sherah has been installed as its chief representative, keeping a stern eye trained on every race.

The political order has been transformed dramatically, but for the moment there are no visible sparks of conflict.

Most factions are worn down by the fallout of their internal strife, lacking the will to mount an offensive against the human side. In all likelihood, they will be forced to devote themselves to domestic affairs for several years at the very least.

"… It all worked out the way it was bound to, I suppose."

"Agreed."

—The reception room within the ruined castle.

Yoal and Almaeira sat side by side, and across from them sat a girl in livery.

What Aery had spread across the desk was a report on the state of affairs over the past half year. Detailed figures were arrayed alongside the summary, laying bare the circumstances in which each faction found itself.

Fortunately, there was no significant threat to the reformist faction the "Witchlands" represented.

As for where that information came from, it had been gathered by the intelligence unit under Aery's command.

A hound that loses its master will soon go looking for its next one. All the better if that master is one it can trust. It would never dream of avenging its dead master. There would be nothing to gain from it.

Understanding that nature all too well, Aery had been the first to go and recruit the intelligence unit that had lost the Demon King. It amounted to snatching them out from under the conservative faction, but her swift action paid off.

At present, Aery mostly stays within the country, overseeing the intelligence unit. That the "Witchlands" has yet to be dragged into the flames of war owes a great deal to her power.

"… Thank you, as always… Aery. I keep leaving everything like this to you…"

"The right person for the right role. Lady Alma is far better suited to appearing in public."

"Though I've simply grown used to all the sermonizing…"

Almaeira smiled wistfully—gazing off into the distance as if recalling the days she was once called "Saintess."

"… And also… you don't have to address me that way anymore, you know?"

"I've grown thoroughly used to it. —Or…"

And Aery abruptly cast a glance at Almaeira's lower belly.

The belly, draped beneath loose black vestments, was now rounded in a plump little swell.

"Should I address you as 'madam' instead?"

"… That might be nice, too…"

"… You're all right with that?"

"In that case, Yoal-sama would naturally become 'master.'"

"That one's more bearable, at least…"

"Then 'Yoal-sama' it is."

"I'll fuck you stupid, you."

"That would be nothing but a reward, though."

Overhearing the exchange of banter, Almaeira let out an amused little giggle.

She narrowed her blue eyes with delight, gazing intently at Aery.

"… Shall we… try it again?"

"—Eh?"

In that instant, Aery's shoulders jumped as if caught off guard.

A flush of red spread over her expressionless white cheeks. All at once she grew restless and fidgety, bashfully rubbing her inner thighs together.

"… No, that would be far too inconsiderate to Lady Alma."

"And my say in this…?"

"Because Yoal-sama belongs to Lady Alma."

"That's exactly right…"

There was no need to reflect on it even now. Yoal glanced at Almaeira as if to read her expression, but in truth she seemed far from displeased by the idea.

"… For this past half year, I've kept you all to myself… So maybe, ehehe, it's about time I shared a little of this happiness…"

"… No actual sex, though."

"… Yoal, you really are quite the straitlaced one, aren't you…?"

"If anything, you're the depraved one, Alma."

"… But the reason I'm so lewd is your fault, Yoal…"

Puffing out her cheeks in a pout, Almaeira grumbled her displeasure.

If anything, it was simply that the backlash had grown correspondingly extreme because the repression before had been too severe—though that was a rather hard point to argue against.

"Please don't get all lovey-dovey in front of others, you two."

"Sorry."

"… But you see, I am with child… so shouldn't I be more mindful of the baby, I wondered…"

"It's a bit late for that, and then some…"

The Lewd Crest carved into Almaeira was still there even now. Within it lay the power to protect the child in her womb, so no tragedy would come to pass.

Even so, Almaeira gently shook her head.

"… I'd been thinking it for a while. I'm always the one to collapse first, so I wanted Yoal to be properly satisfied too…"

"It's not as though I'm not satisfied, you know!?"

Being milked to the point of collapse day in and day out would kill him. Or rather, had he not been conditioning his body, he'd still be liable to collapse even now.

Aery slapped her reddened cheeks with a smack and, narrowing her sandy eyes, said:

"There's something I've been meaning to ask, Lady Alma."

"… What is it?"

"Roughly how many times a day are you keeping it to?"

"… Um, well… five times a day…"

"Five times."

"… is what I'm hoping to cut it down to."

"Are you an idiot?"

It was enough to make Aery curse at her with a perfectly straight face.

Even Almaeira flushed red as she argued back.

"… N-No, that's not it…! He always makes me feel exactly as good as I beg for… and I end up feeling even better than I expected, or rather… anyway, so, before I know it, I just…"

"That is astonishingly no different at all."

"… S-So, I thought it was unfair for it to always be only me…"

"I have no earthly idea what that 'so' is connecting to, but…"

Yoal said with a straight face, setting the report—which he had by now mostly committed to memory—down on the desk.

"More to the point, you said there was one more matter to pass along. Do that first."

"Which is more important, Yoal's cock or the matter to pass along!?"

"The matter to pass along."

"N-No, that's not—"

Aery planted her hands and shot to her feet.

Just as she was about to finish, she caught the two of them staring, and her face went red with a start. Hurriedly and awkwardly, she sat back down and drew a single letter from her bosom.

"… Ahem. Yes, there is a message to pass along from Nyrn and Charlotte. Please have a look. They called it joyous news, so there's no cause for worry."

The witch Nyrn.

The Queen's guard, Charlotte.

The two of them were currently running themselves ragged in their efforts to intervene in the "Witchlands'" neighboring country—the Leverant Kingdom.

Yes, it was not only the demons who had been shaken by the Demon King's death. That country, which had long been pressing ahead with its military buildup, had seized upon the opportunity to scheme for territorial expansion.

And yet the kingdom's own interior was by no means monolithic. Discontent among all but the wealthy had piled high, on the very verge of bursting.

"That's an important matter, isn't it… And so, Alma."

"… Yes. Then…"

She slid the letter across to sit before Almaeira.

Almaeira gave a small nod and gingerly opened it out on the desk.

The contents were—too concise to be worth describing. The instant the three of them saw it, they caught their breath.

There, in absurdly enormous characters, as though ink had simply been splattered across the page, was written:

"The revolution has succeeded."

So it read.

   

—The fortress city Venedium.

This city, which could well be called the linchpin of the Leverant Kingdom, was now on the verge of being swallowed by an upheaval unlike any in its history.

"We won't stand for it any longer!" "Drag the king out here!" "The gendarmes have sided with us! Justice is on our side!!"

Flames rose all across the city as rioters in their hundreds ran rampant through the main avenues. In one hand they wielded everyday tools as weapons, smashing apart every manner of state-owned building. Gendarmes who tried to stand in their way were mercilessly beaten down, surrounded and struck until they moved no more. By now there was nothing left to stop them; even the ranks of the gendarmes and the vigilante corps had joined the rioting.

The rioters were made up of people young and old, men and women alike. About the only thing they had in common was their shabby dress; beyond that, their occupations and races ran the whole gamut. Armed clergy were numerous among them, and it was plain to see that the church had joined the uprising.

Even so, they banded together as one and surged toward the central citadel of Venedium—all to bring down the corrupt monarchy.

"My, my, this has flared up far more spectacularly than I expected…"

"Well, about what you'd figure. It's a wonder it hadn't come to this sooner."

In the midst of this storm of a revolution, two women made their way across the building rooftops so as not to get swept up in the mob.

A voluptuous beauty clad in a black robe, her long black hair veiling her eyes—the witch Nyrn.

A tall, graceful woman in a man's shirt and trousers, a sniper rifle in hand—Charlotte Euclides.

Make no mistake, it was Nyrn herself who had goaded them into rising up. Charlotte served as her guard, prepared to lend support should the need arise.

The subversive work had begun a month prior. A simple job of merely setting a spark to the discontent swirling within the country. After all, there was tinder to spare, and the work proceeded almost too smoothly.

The unemployed left to die by the roadside, the sick and injured who could receive no aid, working conditions that grew worse by the day. Taxes climbed without limit, and the people's discontent had reached its zenith.

A handful of intellectuals and wealthy citizens had stepped forward with relief efforts, but the nation's response only spurred the people's fury on—fabricated crimes, forcible executions. Yes, it was a reenactment of the injustice that had once befallen Almaeira.

Nyrn set her sights on that, having her intelligence unit rake together evidence of the corruption and fabrications. She delivered guerrilla-style speeches—incitement by another name—all across the country, stoking the people's passions.

"This is nothing new! Twenty years ago! Yes, twenty years ago, from the very day the 'Saintess' Almaeira was executed—or even before that—this nation has gone on and on, right up to this very day, perpetuating fabrications exactly like these! People, open your eyes! To swallow the empty lies the state has fabricated and gleefully hurl stones at the holy—never! Never again, not for anything, must we let it repeat!!"

Nyrn's bewitching appearance, her voice, her manner of speech, her every gesture—all of it was more than enough to enchant the people.

The Leverant Kingdom's leadership came to place a colossal bounty on the witch Nyrn's head. Ironically, the people extolled her as "the Saintess reborn."

"In the end, they're really only being used by me. And yet… whether they'll just wind up used by someone else all over again… honestly, I can't stop worrying…"

"Isn't that fine? Incidental though it was, we did manage to reclaim Alma's honor along the way."

"Truly. That woman doesn't even spare a thought for how she was spoken of…"

Speaking with an air of nonchalance, Nyrn watched over the mob's progress. So far it was going smoothly, but the army had yet to make its appearance.

A certain degree of damage was acceptable, but it wouldn't do for the chaos to drag on too long.

There was, after all, a reason she had gone to the trouble of setting off a revolution.

Conquering the place from the outside would be simple enough, but the governance afterward was the problem. The residents were humans through and through, and there was no way demons ruling over them would ever go smoothly.

But she wanted the current regime, forging ahead with its military buildup, dead this instant. And for that, inciting the people to revolution was far and away the quickest route.

"I can see the castle!" "Tear it down!" "Push on, even if we have to scale the walls!!"

The two took up position on the rooftop of an apartment building in the city, surveying the grounds below the castle.

Watching the mob surge at last toward the heart of the city, Nyrn shot Charlotte a sidelong glance.

"Sharo."

"Yeah. Leave it to me."

Without a wasted motion, Charlotte took aim at the castle gate, wove her spell formula, and squeezed the trigger.

In that instant, a nuclear-thermal spell formula, projected within a strictly limited range, gouged into the castle wall. It swept the watchmen from the ramparts, clearing away every last obstacle in the mob's path.

"Wh-What was that!?" "What in the…" "Who cares! The way ahead's open!!" "W-Wait, up front, they're—!!"

But at that moment, a flood of castle soldiers came pouring out from within, like an avalanche breaking loose.

Nine times out of ten, it was to put down the rioters. They already had their weapons leveled, and there seemed no room left for negotiation.

"… Ugh, this is bad. At that range, they'll get caught in the blast…"

"No problem. I've made preparations for exactly this sort of moment."

So saying, Charlotte deployed a communication spell.

Her counterpart was a reserve force she had planted within the city ahead of time.

"Zvek. The army's come out. Can you manage it?"

"Nice, couldn't ask for better. I'm already on my way there."

"That's good to hear. I'm counting on you."

"Leave it to me."

Zvek, chieftain of the Lizardman clan.

The Lizardmen were one of the races that had forged an alliance with the "Witchlands." Perhaps because the Almaeira of old lingered in his memory, he had gladly consented to the alliance.

The army bore down from the castle. The mob pulled back like a receding wave, and it was only a matter of time before blood would be spilled.

—It was then that Lizardmen, gathered from all over the city, converged upon the ruins of the castle gate. Their number came to roughly one hundred. Concealing themselves beneath full-body robes and the like, they slipped through the waves of the mob and sprang out before the castle soldiers.

"We are the Sword-Dragon Warriors!! By righteousness, we lend our aid!!"

The faintly theatrical way of announcing themselves was peculiar to the Lizardman clans.

As one they drew their blades and cut down the castle soldiers one after another with their distinctive swordsmanship.

At that instant, anticipating that the mob would fall into further confusion, Nyrn showed herself before them.

"—These men are our allies!! Come now, while they're putting their bodies on the line to shield us, let us press on!!"

When she raised her voice with all her might, a roar and cheer dozens of times louder answered her back. They were in a kind of frenzied state, and harbored no real suspicion even toward the sudden intruders.

All the while, fountains of blood spouted up here and there. Castle soldiers were hewn down left and right, and the suffocating stench of blood spread out beyond the castle walls.

"Cease this futile resistance. Cast down your weapons. What is it you are meant to protect? The nation? Or these people? What is the nation? Is it not these very people?"

The Lizardmen's swordsmanship was one of a kind. Even the handling of their long tails was woven into it as technique, and human swords had no means of countering it.

Some recklessly charged in and were cut down, some meekly threw away their swords, and some stood frozen in place as if lost in brooding—and here and there, some even joined the mob instead.

Then an hour passed, and the castle fell in the blink of an eye.

Perhaps at the direction of some of the intellectuals, several men who appeared to be royalty were captured and hauled out.

Still ringed by the mob, they were dragged all the way to the plaza. There was no one left to save them. There was no longer any room to flee. Like pigs carted off to market, they could only wait for the moment of their slaughter.

"… I wonder if those are the ones who framed Lady Alma."

"Just the thought of it makes my blood boil—but there's every chance they died long ago."

"That's… true. In that case, well… perhaps I'll let them off with merely severing their bloodline."

"Yeah. We've got to wipe them out clean, so they never pull anything so foolish ever again."

The two masterminds laughed wickedly, watching over the march toward the king's death.

And so the revolution of Venedium came to a successful close, and the history of the Leverant Kingdom drew its curtain that very day.

In a later age, the Leverant Republic, founded upon representative democracy, would come into being—but that is a story for another time.