lost yet again. He shook his head in resignation. Elisabeth remained silent. It was only natural for an incompetent king to be scorned. The powerful had the ability to tyrannize others, but so, too, could they be mocked and, if they were unfortunate, even executed by those they ruled. With how far Maclaeus's position had sunk, the wise choice for him would probably have been either to shut himself away or to abandon his shame and take the offensive. But he wasn't finished talking yet. "Two imperial princesses lost their lives to this disaster, and I suspect I may be in danger as well. In fact, I'm sure of it...but...I-I've spent my whole life running away. This time..." Maclaeus's voice trembled with fear. He seemed almost to be talking to himself. He tightly squeezed his eyes shut. But then as though he'd shaken something off, he opened them back up. "This time, I'm going to stay in the Capital and handle the disaster from here. As the Craven King, the only reason I avoided impeachment was because the three races were all too busy with the restoration efforts to waste time on me. But if I screw up this time, they'll oust me from the throne for sure." "So the useless incompetent is obsessed with his own status? How utterly pathetic." "You think I give a damn about my status?! If I could get away with it, I'd love nothing more than to abdicate the throne and retire in peace..." This time, Maclaeus reacted to Elisabeth's ridicule with a shout. The moment the words left his mouth, though, his face went stiff. His expression frozen, he turned to Izabella. However, she merely shook her head, pretending she'd heard nothing. Elisabeth shot him a glance. Why fight so hard to keep it, then? Maclaeus gave his answer. "After the Church lost its authority, my advisers began leaving in droves without even giving notice. At this point, the Church's support means nothing. But without a strong organization backing someone, the issue of who'll take the throne next will cause no end of conflict. There are several people I can imagine ignoring my designated successor and trying to name themselves king instead, and it's a delightful bunch of racial purists, closet reconstruction-sect supporters, and warmongers who think we should prioritize strengthening our army over rebuilding our nation. And even if they weren't like this, mankind doesn't have the strength to survive a succession dispute anyway." Maclaeus clamped his hand down on his chest. It seemed the pressure of it all filled him with nausea. After steadying his breathing, he went on. "However, there are some roles only a buffoon can play. I may be little more than a crowned jester sitting on the throne, but for now, that's enough. My job is to serve as a 'heavy butt.' And I am prepared to fight to fulfill that role." â€”As Sir Kaito Sena did to fulfill his. Death is oblivion. But it isn't the end. Suddenly, Elisabeth was reminded of something. Even if someone died, as long as the world was still there, a part of them lived on. People's lives were short, but their accomplishments outlived them. Now, Kaito Sena wasn't technically dead. Given his current state, however, it was hard to say he was alive, either. So even though his life hadn't ended, he was, in a sense, "dead." Yet still, traces of his life remained etched into the world. And it would seem the painful way he'd lived his life had influenced a most unexpected individual. Maclaeus's reverence toward Kaito was the real deal. A painful tinge of nostalgia struck Elisabeth as she ruminated on something he'd once said. "For your sake, I could do or become anything." His confession had been incorrigible, foolish, one-sided, and horribly arrogantâ€”but it had been beautiful, too. There came times when people admired beings who defied morals and revered individuals who weren't heroes. It was baffling. But those childish emotions had the power to bring about change. For example, they could even save the world. What now, Kaito? 'Twould seem you count a king among your admirers. Elisabeth, still silent, posed a question to the "dead." If Kaito were present, he'd probably have given her a bewildered look and replied, ...But why? She grinned faintly upon imagining his reaction but quickly wiped the expression off her face. Then Elisabeth Le Fanu calmly opened her mouth. "Your resolve means little to me. All I care for are results. But know thisâ€”" The king's determination might well lead to deeds that could mend his tarnished reputation. However, there was also the danger that it would destroy him from within. The Torture Princess had no intention of weighing in on that matter, but when she went on, her voice was tinged with annoyance. "â€”Kaito Sena was my dim-witted servant. He was a servantâ€”not a king. If you wish to admire that self-proclaimed Mad King of a dunce, then such is your prerogative. But you would do well to quit puzzling over what he'd think or how he'd act. You are the king. If you're finally aware of that fact, then act the part and make decisions for yourself. If you've cast off your right to flee and decided to take up the crown, then live as the arrogant, honest slave you are and rule. For that is what it means to be king." After delivering her statement out in a single breath, Elisabeth closed her eyes and thought of Vyade. Vyade had acted as an imperial princess to the bitter end, stifling her fear of death so as to maintain her pride. It was unclear if that decision had truly been a blessing for her. From the perspective of an observer, the act of killing off part of one's heart seemed both foolish and tragic. But so, too, did it reveal a tenacity worthy of praise. Folly seen through becomes conviction. 'Tis impossible to fault her decision. Once you made that choice, you had to rise up. Otherwise, you would merely crumble. But to be anything other than regal would be unforgivable. Elisabeth lowered her voice. "Make no mistake; you are the king. Not a jester. And nothing anyone says can change that fact." *** "But never rely on admiration for another. The masses will string people up, and even God can kill. Let pride be your sole nourishment. I have the power to carry out my will. Grind that thought into your brain. And no matter what the world throws at you, never lose sight of that which is inside youâ€”elsewise, you shall remain the half-wit swine you are for the rest of your days." Silence descended on them. Elisabeth clicked her tongue, half-annoyed at herself for going into such detail. Izabella gesticulated frantically at the string of abusive remarks. Maclaeus, on the other hand, merely blinked as he curled the corners of his mouth upward. "Thank you for being so frankâ€”it would seem I still have a lot to reflect on." "Ha. The fact that you failed to immediately cast me in a dungeon for my remarks is proof enough of that, fool." "That's true. When it comes to lÃ¨se-majestÃ©, you certainly don't hold back." Maclaeus nodded in agreement, causing Izabella's gesticulations to increase in intensity. In contrast to his words, though, he continued smiling. Elisabeth scratched her cheek as a mixed expression crossed her face. With a shake of her head, she snapped her fingers, causing a pair of a cabriole-legged chairs to manifest out of darkness and flower petals. She picked one and plopped herself down in it. Then she crossed her shapely legs up high. "Never mind that, though! I've news, so listen well." Maclaeus nodded and sat down in the other chair. Jeanne summoned a pair of simple chairs of her own, and she and Izabella took a seat as well. They sat at quiet attention. Elisabeth nodded. "There's several key facts, most of which shall no doubt sound like crude jokes." Then she began telling them. About Alice Carroll, the Fremd Torturchen, and about the man in the crow mask. "â€”Then I received word via the communication device and came to the human lands." Elisabeth finished recounting her short, dramatic tale. It really had been a peculiar turn of events. Taken in aggregate, there could be no doubt it was a tragedy, but the individual aspects each seemed more like a comedy. And furthermore, they all felt surreal. It had been miserably vivid, yet at the same time, ludicrously ambiguous. When he heard the specifics of the imperial princesses' deaths, Maclaeus bit his lip. A sorrowful look appeared on Izabella's face. Jeanne crossed her legs, exposing an alarming amount of her crotch. Her honey-blond hair rustled as she shrugged. "The importance of those who've reincarnated and demon meat, revolutionizing the world, demon crossbreeding, the Fremd Torturchen... I see. It would seem there was some carelessness regarding information leaks during the end of days. But hey, why's that jackass gotta zero in on all the nasty bits?!" "Indeed, and all bits no normal man would even notice, to boot." "I know he's our enemy, but I can't help but be a little impressed. No one knows jewel prices like a burglar, huh?" Jeanne's doll-like expression didn't change in the slightest as she spoke. Elisabeth nodded. The gears in Izabella's cheek spun quickly, and she spoke in a tense voice. "Revolutionizing the world? I don't fancy the sound of that one bit. Do those people really intend to continue causing these tragedies? We need to figure out their plan so we can adjust the Capital's defense to match it." "I haven't the faintest. Given that we don't know the aim behind this revolution of theirs, any conjecture we come up with will be half-baked at best. We dealt with the attackers this time, but I've little hope they'll stop there. However, the abruptness of their appearance makes investigating them difficult. The Capital's attacker was eaten, and Vyade's audience chamber is sealed off." "What about the demi-humans? Now that I think about it, how're them shady-ass lizard bastards holdin' up?" "No need to worry. We just received word that they're fine. It would seem they managed to avoid being attacked. However, I'm told they deployed a cannoneer squad to be on the safe side, and La Christoph went to provide them with reinforcements," said Izabella. Elisabeth gave Izabella's answer a nod. Ever since the end of days, the restrictions on saint dispatches had been dramatically relaxed. Given that La Christoph, the one saint who excelled in both leadership and combat, had gone to help, the demi-humans should be fine. With that matter settled, Elisabeth got back to thinking. She propped her chin up with an elbow that rested her chin atop her crossed legs; then she closed her eyes. There was a fire burning up from the bottom of the world. Someone was crying out. A calamity on par with the end of days was coming, and everyone would be powerless to resist their impending demise. That grim premonition of hers hadn't changed. Yet she still had no idea how exactly things were going to play out. I overlooked the gravity of the information on demon crossbreeding. Some Torture Princess I am... Still, though, the fault doesn't lie solely with meâ€”that man's way of thinking is simply perverse. One might even say he reared hell within his mind. That was simply how striking the difference between the man in black's thought processes and inventive prowess were from a normal person's. He was similar to a demon in that respectâ€”they, too, exceeded mankind's imagination with ease. And Elisabeth could think of another person who met that description as well. ...I'd hoped to be able to consign my memories of that man to oblivion, but alas. She scrunched up her face. However, now was no time to get hung up on personal feelings, and she didn't