The people never stopped. Sometimes they shouted, sometimes they whispered.
The issue was simple: who would be offered up as a scapegoat?
The upper classes feared the lower classes would band together and pin the blame on them. The lower classes feared the upper classes would frame and persecute them. Every citizen realized this was an excruciatingly difficult problem.
'No matter who it is, I mustn't be the one to step forward.'
'This is the time to keep your head down no matter what!'
'If you stick your neck out, you might end up getting beaten to death for nothing.'
Suppose someone took the lead and singled out a person as the scapegoat. You might escape the immediate crisis. But when the war was over and daily life resumed, what would your fellow citizens think of you then?
A traitor who betrayed and slandered his fellow citizens. A murderer who killed others just to save his own skin… that label would follow him for the rest of his life. In the end, he wouldn't even be able to live in the city anymore.
'Anyone.'
'Anyone at all — just step forward already!'
This was the moment for a demagogue.
All they needed was a loudmouth to appear and shout. For instance… Fellow citizens! Who was the one who tormented us for the past year? Was it the slaves? The common citizens? Or was it the upper class who wanted to own and defend this city? The upper class must take responsibility!
Or… Fellow citizens! In this tragic situation, we have no choice but to pick the option that causes the least damage. Let's choose the kind of people whose disappearance from the city would cause almost no harm at all. Yes — I propose we select six beggars.
Either way was fine. As long as it wasn't him.
"……."
Just then, an old man rose to his feet.
He wore clothes of fine silk. Two servants flanked him as bodyguards, but the old man gestured them to stay, then walked forward alone. When he stepped onto the podium, the envoys hurriedly made room.
"……Fellow citizens."
Through an artifact, the old man's voice echoed softly across the square.
He was a count. When the revolution broke out, he had lost all the privileges of his rank. Unofficially people still addressed him as "Count," but he held no real power anymore — a relic who only showed his face at elderly social gatherings, simply waiting for the day he would die.
But a count was still a count.
With the mayor dead, the old man undeniably carried significant weight. He didn't have many days left to live anyway. He could well take all the blame upon himself and decide the scapegoats.
This was where it would begin. The moment the old man opened his mouth to state his opinion, the citizens would leap to their feet like a swarm of hornets and cry out the names of the scapegoats……
"I shall die first."
"You are asking us to select six people to bear responsibility?"
"That is correct."
He addressed the surrender envoys he had summoned once more.
"The crime of your resistance thus far. And on top of that, the crime of attempting an assassination. Surely you don't expect to receive forgiveness without bearing any responsibility. However, I believe the assassination was a crime committed solely by the mayor on her own."
"Th-then, what you mean is……?"
"I have no intention of killing all six of you."
I generously patted the envoy on the shoulder.
"But we have our own reputation to maintain. When a commotion of this magnitude occurs and no punishment follows, how am I supposed to maintain authority before my subordinates?"
Therefore, I said:
"Choose scapegoats, but limit it strictly to those who volunteer of their own free will. At the final moment of execution, we shall pardon the scapegoats. Think of it as a rigged game."
"We are deeply honored!"
The envoys, thinking themselves saved, prostrated themselves fully.
I looked down at them.
"Of course, there is one condition. The scapegoats must be aristocrats. If you send some random nobodies, our reputation will be ruined. Do you understand what I mean?"
"Y-yes! Naturally!"
The envoys swaggered back, boasting they would handle all the preparations themselves.
The crowd held its breath.
What had the old count just said?
The man with the most noble bloodline in all of Heidelberg — what words had he just spoken?
"Proud citizens of Heidelberg, for one year we have fought on in despair."
The old man's furrowed brows, weathered by the passage of time, were gentle.
"Facing terrifying blades, we stood united as one. Even in times when a single piece of bread was desperately needed, if our neighbor was hungrier than ourselves, we willingly gave up our share. Before death, all men are equal."
The old man recited the famous saying as he spoke.
"Now we see a path to survival. If we, who were so tightly united against death, now fall apart with life before our very eyes — there could be nothing more absurd. Citizens of Heidelberg! The enemy believes we are selfish people who care only about our own lives. But is that truly so?"
The old man surveyed the square, his gaze firm beneath the kind wrinkles of his face.
"Can we truly not — can we humans truly not sacrifice our lives for another?"
An inexplicable warmth began to bloom among the people.
The old man cried out:
"Justice is a flower that blooms with dignity! O righteous ones! Rise for Heidelberg!"
And then.
Almost simultaneously, two people stood up.
"We cannot fall for the schemes of those evil monsters. Let us show the pride of humankind."
"It's a splendid stage on which to conclude an unremarkable life."
A baron who had been one of the surrender envoys.
A viscount, the great merchant who dominated the city's commerce.
They climbed the podium and looked down at the square in silence. Before long, three more people rose. When the citizens recognized who they were, they could not help but be stunned. The madame who ruled Heidelberg's social scene, the chief judge of the city court, the head priest of the temple……
All six who had volunteered to die were high-ranking nobles.
The square buzzed with murmuring.
Why had the aristocrats volunteered to sacrifice themselves? Hadn't they been the most selfish of all?
Receiving looks of astonishment and confusion from every direction, the old count spoke as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"It is only fitting that the noble bear heavier burdens than others."
The ten thousand citizens marveled at the attitude the aristocrats had shown. Each of them prayed to the gods, wishing blessings upon the six righteous ones.
The following dawn, the six departed the city gate in their undergarments, like condemned prisoners. Though it was still early morning, the citizens lined the streets to see them off, endlessly chanting prayers along their path.
"The Habsburg Republic endures for two reasons."
I explained my strategy to Paimon.
"The first is, as we discussed earlier, hostility toward the Demon Lord's army. But even more important is the second reason: hostility toward the aristocracy."
"An enemy outside, and an enemy within."
I nodded.
Elisabeth was implementing a typical yet effective method of dictatorship. If you only set up an external enemy, the people unite too much. Who could guarantee that a people so united wouldn't grow more powerful than the dictator herself?
A truly competent dictator must always set up enemies on the inside as well.
A nation divided was easier for a dictator to govern than one with a unified national will. In this way, the state remained both adequately integrated and divided — the purpose of this political artifice was clear. It was not about unifying the nation, but solely about unifying the dictator's own power base.
In Elisabeth's case, she had turned the high-ranking nobles into publicly declared criminals.
"The Habsburg Consul attempted to strengthen the external enemy — the Demon Lord's army — by sacrificing the city itself."
I smiled.
"Now it's our turn to strike back. We reduce the scope of sacrifice not to the city itself, but only to the high-ranking nobles."
And what would happen then?
It wasn't the mayor who saved Heidelberg. It wasn't the military. It was the high-ranking nobles despised by the republican government — they saved the city by volunteering to die……
All the people would be moved by the noble sacrifice the aristocrats had shown. There was little that moved the human heart as powerfully as sacrifice. The image of the aristocracy within the republic would change entirely.
"The mayor handpicked by the government committed assassination and endangered the city. The army that the Habsburg Consul boasted of proved nothing but 'incompetent.' And in the face of all this, the aristocrats sacrificed themselves."
The officials and soldiers lost face, while the aristocrats gained influence. In other words, Elisabeth's pawns weakened, and her adversaries grew stronger.
"……The Consul can't do anything now, can she? Either way, the aristocrats are heroes who saved the city. She has no choice but to praise them."
Paimon muttered with a disgusted look on her face.
"When it comes to political scheming, he's positively demonic. Thank goodness Dantalion isn't my enemy……"
"Haha. I'll take that as a compliment."
"Are you planning to execute the six of them?"
I shook my head.
"That would only make us look bad. Of course we'll spare them. Righteous ones who voluntarily chose death — and even the Demon Lord is moved and forgives them… See? Isn't that a wonderful story?"
Righteous aristocrats and a merciful Demon Lord.
Well, a fine protagonist with a fine ending. Perfect material for tales. The bards would starve nowhere this year. No doubt quite a few of them would owe their livelihoods to me.
"Besides, a living hero is far more troublesome than a dead one. I'd like those six to keep on living and remain a thorn in the Habsburg Consul's side."
"A living hero is more troublesome than a dead one… That really does sound like something Dantalion would say."
Paimon giggled with amusement.
"Has the young lady perhaps mentioned it before? That Dantalion's personality is far too wicked?"
"Not that I recall. First time I've ever heard such a thing."
When I shrugged, Paimon burst out laughing. She folded her fan and laughed for quite some time.
The following morning, the execution proceeded according to the planned scenario.
Just before the six were to have the nooses placed around their necks, Paimon burst into tears and spoke:
"Ah — are these not the most righteous people in that city? If we were to kill them, even the last remnant of justice in this world would vanish. How could we possibly dare to carry out an execution?"
"But, Lady Paimon."
I pretended to be furious and shouted:
"Heidelberg has committed grave sins! Sin must be punished!"
"I ask whether killing righteous ones is truly a just act. Though we Demonkin and humans may be divided and at odds, when it comes to discussing justice — is the justice of Demonkin truly separate from the justice of humans?"
Paimon's face was wet with tears.
"I shall forgive these people. O righteous ones! You saved, on a small scale, a single city — and on a great scale, you proved to the world that justice yet lives. I, Paimon, extend my respect across the boundaries of race. You fulfilled the noble duty of noblesse oblige and shall be recorded in history for all time."
The six righteous ones were released.
They had known all along they would be spared. That was precisely why they had volunteered.
Both sides had played their parts to perfection, so there was a lengthy exchange of pleasantries — "We are deeply honored," "Lady Paimon, you are a truly enlightened ruler for the ages."
That day, the term noblesse oblige that Paimon had coined spread like wildfire, on the lips of every bard. History had a way of going like that.
Too bad for you, Elisabeth. If I hadn't been here, things might have gone the way you planned.
But how often in this world does anything go as planned? I'd appreciate it if you could humbly accept it as a valuable lesson.
A person simply must be humble, after all.