I couldn’t fuck this up.

There was probably another User—Tenma—who possessed a vast amount more power than I did. If I didn’t accrue more myself, in economic, military, and cultural strength, I was terrified we’d be devoured.

Duchess Vissel’s intense gaze burned a hole in my forehead, and she placed her hands on her hips.

“Are you quite all right?” she asked, sounding like it was more an annoyance than a tragedy if I wasn’t.

Realising I’d ignored her question, I smiled shakily, trying not to wilt under the weight of her stare.

“Fine,” I said, studying her.

She was a severe woman of average height, with a sharp jaw, teal hair in an elaborate bun, and a pale-blue dress ending at her ankles. Scowling, she regarded Shia with the kind of contempt one usually reserves for a particularly slimy slug.

“I’m glad you’ve made yourself comfortable,” she said, in a tone that said distinctly the opposite, “but would you allow us the room? The Duke and I have much to discuss, and I would rather do it alone.”

I bristled. She’d called me ‘Duke’, not ‘King’—she recognised my authority on some level, but otherwise, I’d have to work for it.

Hana and Shia looked at me expectantly, and I nodded. “It’s fine.” If anything went wrong, I could just call them back with [Command Centre] anyway.

Pouting, Shia dragged herself out of the chair, joining Hana and Jevren in vacating. This left me alone with Duchess Vissel, still completely ignorant of what I should say.

“The Duke of Larm,” she said. “Our meeting is long overdue, I should think. I am Emilia Vissel, Duchess of Vissel.”

“Yeah,” I said, my tone dry, “had a few problems with a neighbour. All sorted now, though. And while I am the Duke of Larm, I’m also the King of Larheim. Oliver Marsden.”

She scoffed. “I think not. Larheim is an amalgamation of the five duchies—until you’ve united them all, can you really be considered a King?”

I swallowed my retort; she had a point. More than that, why were we still standing up? Wasn’t she supposed to offer me a seat, or something?

“I have heard many things,” she continued, scrutinising me, “the rumours are thick with praise. A man who puts the needs of his citizens first, fights battles with empathy for the opposing soldiers, and makes grand promises before backing them with action.

“Of course, rumours are just that: rumours. I should think to see for myself what kind of man you are.”

“Is that so?” I said. “Then please, perceive away.”

“Such a dry wit,” she said, chuckling wryly. “But I wonder, is your strategic mind as sharp? An impressive victory over Duke Ribera, to be sure; what did you plan on doing with him next?”

“A trial. I want everyone who can to see the bastard for who he is.”

“Exposing his true face to the public.” She smirked. “How cunning. Then, even if he were to escape, nobody would remain loyal enough for him to build an army. What of his family?”

The words died in my mouth. I’d been ready to splurge—in these situations, I felt honesty was best, since a woman like her would see through a lie—but something my gut told me not to. A twisting twinge that made me want to double over.

[Persuasive], probably.

As she stared into me, I realised that this wasn’t just a conversation, or even a negotiation—it was a battle. I couldn’t make any careless moves, or she’d eat me alive.

“Well?” she asked, her voice short.

“His sons are returning to Ribera from… wherever the fuck they were hiding. Supervised, of course.” I quickly added the last part to make sure I didn’t give a negative impression, but judging from her downturned lips, it didn’t work.

“And Scarlet?” she said, a note of dread to her tone.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Well…” I said, “she was actually quite helpful taking Aleister down, so…” My tongue wouldn’t wrap itself around the letters. There was no way, literally none, for me to word this that would land right.

“Please don’t tell me you put her in charge.”

“Well…”

“Oh, by the Pillars.” Rubbing her forehead, she staggered backward, sinking into one of the chairs facing me. “Were you born in a cave, boy? Aleister himself is one thing, but a family, who could turn around at any moment to take revenge?

“You should wipe them out down to the fifth generation.”

I paused, gaping. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” — a harsh flashback of the first time I’d spoken to Aleister ran across my mind, and a lump formed in my throat — “that wouldn’t make me any better than him.”

“That’s sweet,” she said, chuckling derisively, “but far too naive. In this world, strength is everything, especially when it comes to aristocracy—you either devour your enemies, or they devour you.”

I blinked. How many enemies had she devoured? Regardless, I knew the danger; it hadn’t been long since it stared me in the face.

Even so, that was no way to build a country.

“You’re wrong,” I said, thrusting my arm to the side, “that’s nature. What we’re building, what we’re aiming for, that’s a civilisation, isn’t it? The thing that shows our desire to resist the natural order, to overcome it. If we can do that with the outside, why can’t we do it with our inner natures, too?

“All we need is a society that rewards kindness.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“If there’s a reward, who wouldn’t do it? And if we, their rulers, show them the same, won’t that just encourage them more to pay it back, or forward?”

“Your ideals are admirable.” Shaking her head, she stood. “But a country is not built purely on ideals.”

“I know,” I said, my tone solemn. “It’s the people who make the nation. They can survive without it, farm and live and govern themselves, but without them, the kingdom falls.”

“Exactly.” She strode over to the window, beckoning me to join her. I did so, and she nodded outside. “Have you seen a beach like this before?”

I nodded. “I used to live near one, but…” The sand was almost pure white, the sea’s surface glittering the most brilliant of blues, like someone had taken the most achingly beautiful diamonds and laid them across a rippling, ethereal canvas. A few tourists milled around, the locals manning refreshment stalls, among other things.

It was, however, emptier than it should have been. It seemed that way, anyway.

“Nothing like this,” I finished.

“That’s right,” she said, staring at the ocean. “For you, who came from another world, every sight is a new one, isn’t it? You have no experience of this place.”

I flinched; it hurt, but she was right. I’d spent most of my time either in a palace, certain areas of Larm, or marching across grassland with a gigantic army around me.

There’d never been time to see the sights.

“It’s dying,” she said, glancing downward. “This beach, this city, all of it. Do you know what Vissel’s primary industry is?”

“Textiles, right?”

“Correct.” She turned to me, her forehead creased. “However, with Duke Ribera hoarding the country’s crops, nobody can afford the things they used to. Suddenly, our cotton industry has lost its footing. Do you know what happens next?”

“One of two things,” I said, even though I knew which one it was. “In a market like clothing, which is always demand-heavy, the merchants would have to lower their prices so people can afford it.

“Realistically, though, no one thinks like that. They panic, and with their own costs going up, realise that they need more. They jack the prices up high, and hope for a few buyers at expensive prices, rather than a lot cheaper.”

“Correct,” she said, looking solemn. “As well as food, the price of another basic amenity rises. Even the fresh fish famed as a unique attraction—now that the fishermen must pay more to live, their labour becomes inevitably more expensive, and thus their products.

“What was once a thriving tourist city is now a shadow of its former self. My duty is to these people. I have done what I can, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.”

I furrowed my brow. “You weren’t trading with Aleister?”

She snorted. “The tariffs he demanded were a joke.”

“I see,” I said. “In that case, why don’t you leave it to me? If we work together, we can—”

“I have yet to decide.” She strode curtly over to the sword case on the wall, carefully removing the glass and fingering the golden pommel. “Being from another world, you wouldn’t be familiar with our history, would you?”

Wincing, I bit my lip. Did she have to keep rubbing it in? I was doing the best I could, damn it!

“No.”

“This sword,” she said, “is named Heviria. It was wielded by the first King of Larheim, Salazar, during his campaign to unite the five separate kingdoms of Central Sarabethia into one. We call it ‘The Millenium Conquest’, since it is doubtful we will see its like within the next thousand years.

“Salazar was the man to establish the office of the Arbiter. He led his troops on the frontline, a warrior, yet also consistently made the best decisions behind them.” She hefted the sword up, testing its weight with a couple of practice lunges.

My throat flexed, and I fought not to squeak. She was good; not as good as Hana, but still skilled.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

Before I could blink, the point of Heviria pricked my throat, the stony expression of Duchess Vissel behind it.

“I need to know,” she said. “For all your ideals, you have no stake in this kingdom. No connection to it. But as a King, you must be willing to do one thing.

“Would you die for this country?”