Everything suddenly made perfect sense.
Her new policies had dealt a devastating blow to the Fangs of Terror’s entire creed.
More than a year without war was pure torture for a butcher like Gorka, who lived only for slaughter.
At that moment Dekrian asked the most crucial question of all:
“Your Highness… who stands with you?”
Seraphina’s hand froze over the scroll. The simple question pointed her like an arrow.
“Lina! Paper and pen, now!”
Even though they were within arm’s reach, her mind could no longer spare attention for anything else.
“My allies…”
She began writing every clan that had sent documents supporting the new policies in recent months:
Giantwing Demons, Bloodborn, Whiplash Demons, Crystal-folk, Dreamweavers…
Some were wholehearted; others only half-committed.
“Your Highness, this… is still not enough.”
Ten clans on paper, nearly half the Demon Realm, yet both Dekrian and Seraphina knew the truth: to win decisively with minimal destruction, she needed more than two-thirds.
“Who else? I mean… who else?!”
“The Shadow Demons!”
Though Dekrian was not fully aware of the border incidents, he had seen how much Seraphina cared about that region.
“Bask is a Shadow Demon,” Seraphina murmured.
“Then… it seems we must bring the Shadow Demons fully into the fold.”
For the rest of the night, Seraphina and Dekrian pored over every scroll detailing troop dispositions across the Demon Realm.
Only when night grew thick and exhaustion finally won did they stop.
That evening, unusually, Movira did not tease her. She simply waited until Seraphina fell asleep, then brushed the customary good-night kiss across her forehead.
“You don’t have to work yourself this hard…”
…
The bell for full court assembly tolled for the first time in over a year. Its deep, solemn dong… dong… rolled through the vast halls of the Demon King’s Castle.
Seraphina had summoned every single clan representative. No exceptions.
Her holiday was officially over.
Today’s atmosphere was utterly different from every previous gathering. Beneath the soaring vaulted ceiling, the representatives did not stand in their usual loose clusters; they arrayed themselves in two silent, orderly rows.
Before a single word was spoken, the air already reeked of gunpowder.
Seraphina sat upon the throne in a ceremonial robe of dark gold thread, no longer casual attire.
Never before had such solemn majesty been displayed in her presence.
She could feel every gaze fixed upon her: scrutiny, curiosity, doubt… and from the shadowed corners, naked hostility.
Movira herself was absent, yet Seraphina sensed clearly that an invisible net of power had already enveloped the entire hall.
Had Movira not deliberately let her feel it, she would never have noticed.
It was both wordless pressure and wordless endorsement.
At the very front stood Duke Dekrian and a humanoid demon who looked almost human: the leader of the Shadow Demons, the only other duke in the Demon Realm.
Behind them, mostly marquises.
At last Seraphina’s cool, clear voice shattered the silence, reaching every ear in the hall.
“I have summoned you all today for a matter that arose a dozen days ago.”
She wasted no time on pleasantries.
“Although the new policies have already shown initial success, Blackstone Outpost’s black soil is proof, the undertaking is vast and tangled. It is beyond the ability of one person to manage alone.”
“Therefore, to implement the new policies more efficiently and more justly, I propose—”
Her violet gaze swept the hall, capturing every flicker of reaction.
“—the creation of a single new institution dedicated exclusively to all matters concerning the new policies.”
The words fell like a rune branded into the air, instantly sucking the remaining oxygen from the hall. Whispers erupted below, equal parts alarm and greed.
Seraphina gave them no time to recover. Her icy voice continued issuing decrees.
“The provisional name of this institution shall be the Ashen Corridor. The Corridor will be led directly by Her Majesty the Demon King, with myself as deputy.”
Deputy in name, yet every demon below understood what “deputy” truly meant in this context.
A low buzz of shock swept the ranks.
Creating a new institution would shatter the millennium-old power structure, carving precious authority away from countless ancient offices.
The eyes of several great nobles instantly turned sharp and complicated; glances were exchanged like blades.
“Of course, four Governors-General will be appointed within the Corridor, requiring the full cooperation of all clans in selecting worthy candidates.”
Though Seraphina placed no explicit restriction on which clans could participate, every demon knew: clans that opposed the new policies would be frozen out entirely.
“Your Highness!”
Predictably, the moment she finished, a Flame Demon marquis wreathed in sulfurous smoke stepped forward.
“This is far too hasty! Each clan has its own laws and customs; there is no need to create redundant bureaucracy!”
“Own laws?” Seraphina’s gaze turned frigid. “Then let me ask you, marquis, what law is this!?”
She raised one hand lightly. A maid immediately stepped forward and placed the entire stack of recent attack reports on the Giantwing trade route into the marquis’s stunned hands, along with the final, damning emblem.
“The more chaos spreads, the more we need harsh officials and severe laws! If your existing ‘laws’ could prevent incidents like these, why would I bother with this extra step?!”
Her tone abruptly sharpened. She leaned slightly forward, staring into the marquis’s hollow, burning eyes.
“Or does His Lordship believe… that challenging the throne, challenging Her Majesty… should be tolerated?”
As she spoke, she took a rectangular block of dense hardwood from the maid.
The marquis opened his mouth, but no words came; he had never meant that. The hat she had just placed on his head was far too heavy!
“I… would not dare.”
BANG!
A thunderclap-like crack exploded through the hall, reverberating off the high beams.
The hardwood block had slammed against the arm of the throne.
Every demon below flinched.
Seraphina looked with satisfaction at the special “gavel” she had commissioned, thinking to herself:
I wanted something like a judge’s gavel… who knew this world actually had the perfect wood for it.
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