My jaw dropped.
"So magnificent…."
Before me lay mountains—literal mountains—of gold coins and gemstones.
The accumulated wealth of six Demon Lords and eleven Demon Realm Grand Dukes, hoarded over centuries, had been gathered in one place. The assets seized from the traitors filled seven imperial treasury vaults and then some.
"Bwahahaha, Dantalion! Look at this! Gold is like garbage!"
Barbatos was having the time of his life, burrowing into a pile of gold coins and giggling like a maniac.
The moment he laid eyes on the mountain of gold, he'd lost his mind, stripped off his clothes, and dove straight in. When I tried to stop him in horror, he refused to budge, insisting he'd always wanted to do something like this at least once. I mean, I get the sentiment, but… Your Highness the Regent. Have a shred of dignity. Then again, asking Barbatos for dignity is a fool's errand. You'd have better luck asking a dog to read Plato.
Beside me, Ivar read through the documents with clinical comeness.
"The hard currency and gemstones available for immediate use alone approach ninety million gold."
"N-ninety million gold…."
My head spun.
My own fortune, converted roughly into Libra gold coins, came to about three million gold. For reference, the wealthiest tycoon in the Demon Realm—and for some reason, the man currently wearing a monocle and reading documents—was Ivar Lodbrok, and his entire net worth, liquid assets included, was fifty million gold.
"Most of it belongs to the Grand Dukes. The unaffiliated Demon Lords were surprisingly poor."
"Excuse me. Poor as in… how poor, exactly?"
My voice trembled as I asked. For some reason, honorifics slipped out on their own. Probably a remnant of that servile mentality burned into my soul from my days as a human.
Ivar adjusted his single-lens monocle with a soft click.
"All six of them combined barely totaled ten million gold. Hmm, perhaps they lived frugal lives? Individual character and ability are separate things, and this case certainly proves it."
"F-frugal… ten million gold is frugal…."
This was the monetary sensibility of those who sat at the very apex of the bourgeoisie among the bourgeoisie.
Could it be that in Ivar's eyes, someone of my wealth was just some country bumpkin living as a frugal scholar? Ivar Lodbrok — what a terrifying young woman she was…
As a born proletarian, I was trembling at her side, and Ivar gave me a cold, contemptuous look.
"Interestingly, the Grand Dukes accumulated far more wealth than the Demon Lord. In the end, even if the Demon Lord had never existed, the vast majority of demons would still have been exploited by their rulers. Whether one is the Demon Lord or not makes no real difference. Nothing would have actually changed."
She had a point.
But when the person saying those words was Ivar, how could I even begin to respond?
The eleven Grand Dukes of the Demon Realm had been squeezed dry, and the total of ninety million gold was admittedly staggering — but when I thought about it differently, that was less than twice Ivar's entire fortune. The equation of six Demon Lords plus eleven Demon Grand Dukes equals two Ivars held up disturbingly well.
In short, a chaebol was laughing at the nouveau riche. I was freshly struck by just how terrifying Ivar truly was. Thank God she was my woman.
I bent down and fingered the gold coins.
"Out of this, five million gold will be distributed to the Grand Dukes as gifts. Separate that amount."
"To the Grand Dukes… Understood. You intend it as consolation money, correct?"
"They must have had their hearts skip a beat at suspicion of treason, wouldn't you say?"
I chuckled softly.
The Grand Dukes of the Demon Realm must have been on edge during this purge. Once they returned to the Demon Realm, they would surely gather in secret to convene a council and plan their next move. I needed to grease the wheels a little to make sure they didn't do anything foolish at that meeting.
"After all, I'm a benevolent Demon Lord. I need to show some consideration — remind them to take care of their health."
"Understood."
"Also, set aside thirty million gold where it can be accessed at any time."
Ivar tilted her head.
"May I ask what you plan to use that considerable sum for?"
"How many times in one's life would you ever spend thirty million gold coins?"
I straightened up.
A handful of gold coins slipped through my fingers. They rolled with a dull clink of metal against metal.
"This is war funds, Ivar. I intend to wage war for the woman I love."
I dispatched a diplomatic mission under the name of the Habsburg Empire.
The destination was the Kingdom of Sardinia — a nation that still defied the prevailing tide by providing substantial support to the Habsburg Republic. If I were to deny Elizabeth even the slightest chance of raising an army, I had to cut off Sardinia's support.
The problem was justification. On what grounds would I threaten the Kingdom of Sardinia?
Here I played a card that was all too human.
When the envoy delivered my letter, chaos erupted on their end. A diplomat — one painstakingly chosen by the Sardinian royal court — teleported straight to the Habsburg Imperial Palace. The man protested furiously.
"Court Count. This is absurd. This is blatant interference in our domestic affairs."
"I don't see what you mean. My nation is merely making a legitimate demand of yours. This is nothing more than a universal legitimacy that ought to transcend borders."
"To restore a family that was branded traitors and annihilated generations ago…!"
The diplomat's immaculately groomed mustache trembled with rage.
I sipped my tea at a leisurely pace and set the cup down on the table.
"The House of Farnese was never a nest of traitors. Farnese must reclaim the honor it once lost. That is the consensus of our Empire, Marquis."
That's right.
Laura's family, the Farnese, had fallen due to the civil war known as the Chrysanthemum War. This war was less a kingdom split in half beating at each other, and more the nobility divided into two camps, fighting to protect their own power.
To complicate matters, the underlying dispute concerned whether to place a direct-line royal heir on the throne or a collateral-line heir. But there was no need to dwell on the drawn-out succession struggle within noble society.
What mattered was that the House of Farnese had championed the direct bloodline, and that was what led to their ruin.
The Farnese ducal house denounced the opposing faction as traitors and fought at the very front lines. Naturally, from the other side's perspective, the Farnese were the traitorous bunch.
The fact that they were not content with completely annihilating the House of Farnese but went so far as to enslave Laura — the second in the line of succession — showed just how deep the hatred ran in this civil war. For a noble to be reduced to the status of a slave was exceedingly rare.
"Court Count. Let us speak frankly."
The envoy Marquis of Rodi lowered his voice.
A marquis in the Empire corresponded to a margrave, so he outranked me in title, but in the Kingdom of Sardinia, any baron worth his salt styled himself marquis. With half the nobility cut down in the Chrysanthemum War, that tendency had only grown stronger. We were naturally shedding most of the formality.
"My ears are always open to the wise, Marquis."
"The House of Farnese denied that His Majesty the King of our realm holds a legitimate claim to succession. Restoring the Farnese could, in the worst case, threaten His Majesty's legitimacy. No — it would be a *clear* threat!"
I let my gaze turn cold.
"I understand your kingdom's position, but we have nowhere to retreat either, Marquis. Laura de Farnese is the supreme commander appointed by His Imperial Majesty. Command of the entire Habsburg Imperial Army rests in her hands."
"……."
"Are you suggesting your kingdom dares brand our grand general the descendant of traitors?"
The marquis dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief. His hair was half receded and, at a glance, he ran visibly hot.
"Of course not! Court Count, I understand His Imperial Majesty's honor is at stake here, but I must ask you to recognize that His Majesty the King's honor — and indeed the safety of the entire royal house — hangs in the balance on our side as well."
"Marquis."
I leaned forward toward the marquis. Our faces were now mere inches apart.
"This is a very simple and straightforward matter. Our kingdom's honor, or yours. If neither side is willing to yield, then we have no choice but to *extract* a concession. …Isn't that so?"
"……."
The marquis's face contorted. He shut his eyes tight.
A moment of silence passed. When the marquis raised his eyelids again, they held a gaze that was dim yet piercing — the look of a man who had already steeled himself for a last stand.
"I am a fool, ill-equipped to weave the honeyed words of an alchemist that might captivate the ear. So tell me, Court Count — what degree of consideration would we need to avoid your 'final recommendation'?"
"A *moderate* degree of consideration would suffice."
I smiled.
"Marquis, if an official compromise is impossible, then an unofficial compromise is the only path. I would appreciate it if you could bear that in mind."
"The conversation we are having now is one that not even the goddesses could eavesdrop on. I swear it upon my family's name."
I nodded. A man who was quick on the uptake was always welcome.
"Cut off all aid to the Habsburg Republic."
"......"
"The Republic does not recognize the legitimate succession rights of His Imperial Majesty in our country. They claim the Empire is illegitimate, and that only the newly established Republic truly carries on the name of Habsburg... The Empire and the Republic were never capable of acknowledging each other from the very start."
The Marquis's gaze, hardened by resolve, did not waver. But he must have been calculating in his head just how difficult this unofficial proposal would be to accomplish. His complexion darkened by the moment.
"If the legitimacy of the Sardinian royal family is at issue, then so is the legitimacy of our own imperial house. I trust the Marquis understands sufficiently why this matters."
The Marquis had no means whatsoever to rebut.
His entire argument against recognizing the restoration of the Farnese family was that it was necessary to protect the royal family's legitimacy. But if he answered that he could not cut off aid to the Republic, he would essentially be saying that their own legitimacy was precious while the legitimacy of the other imperial house was none of his concern.
Either restore the Farnese ducal house, or cut off the aid.
The Marquis must have realized this was an extreme, either-or negotiation. His voice went hoarse.
"...The reason we aid the Republic is not because we harbor any hostile intent toward your nation."
"I am aware. Setting aside matters of national defense, you have your own internal problems to contend with."
I let the corner of my mouth rise ever so slightly.
"The Chrysanthemum War wiped out more than half of the noble houses, so to fill the administrative vacuum, you must have recruited a great number of wealthy commoners into the bureaucracy. They would naturally be more sympathetic to the ideals of republicanism. Of course, your nation was already friendly with republicanism to begin with."
"......"
"The new bureaucratic faction must be strongly in favor of continuing aid to the Republic. What the Marquis is worried about now is not convincing the royal family, but convincing the bureaucrats."
The Marquis sighed.
"No one sees through our nation's affairs better than you. You are right. Aid to the Republic is far more than a mere diplomatic issue. Among our young people, there have been many who have long admired Consul Elisabeth."
"I understand. The Consul has written quite a number of books, after all."
"I thank you for your broad understanding."
The Kingdom of Sardinia found itself in quite the difficult position.
If they cut off the aid as requested, the bureaucratic faction of bourgeois origin would revolt. These men were the real power behind the government, indispensable to the kingdom's administration. Yet if they refused the request, all channels of compromise—both official and unofficial—would be severed for good.
In other words.
"But mutual understanding does not always lead to considerate action. At times, understanding is wholly impotent, bringing only the bitter disappointment that it would have been better not to understand at all."
"……Truly wise words, Court Count."
No more compromise.
It was war.
"Marquis. Has the time come for me to be disappointed in our way of life once more?"
"……."
Beads of sweat formed on the Marquis's forehead.