Meetings dance, and fortunately, they inch forward at a snail's pace.
The governance of the state under the Elful sisters' leadership was, with instructions from King Takuto Ira behind the scenes, trying to get back on track.
However, as is the way of the world, things never go exactly according to the blueprint.
Countless small problems surfaced at the practical implementation stage, forcing responses to them—another constant in organizational management.
"We will make it known, both domestically and abroad, that His Majesty the King is alive and well."
"Hmm? What's the intention behind that? Those who know about the attack on the King are quite limited. And those who do know he is safe. Those who don't know would be... I suppose only the attacking Holy Women themselves."
"Those Holy Women are exactly our target."
"To confuse the enemy, you mean."
"I see. From what I hear, the Holy Renea's Divine Nation is still like a newborn babe. They forcibly declared independence from Quolia, so by deliberately hinting at the King's existence within their ears, we aim to sow confusion."
"Yes. The other side believes they defeated His Majesty. If they learn he is alive, they will surely become wary to some degree."
"Whether it's true or false is hard to tell, huh?"
As far as domestic control was concerned, the realm was rock-solid, governed so tightly there was no room for exploitation.
In other words, this operation was external. They would launch an information offensive against the Holy Women's camp.
"There is no need to inflict direct damage on the enemy. We only need to provoke caution and confusion. If all goes well, His Majesty will exploit that opening."
None of those present knew what kind of operation the King was running.
But since the Elful sisters had been granted significant authority, they must have already factored in that such a move would be taken.
Whether rattling the Holy Women would truly support the King's efforts, only he knew. But at the very least, it wouldn't be a hindrance.
"Hmm. Even if we fail to provoke the enemy's confusion, there's no loss. ...Hmm? Wait a moment."
Just as Gear was about to nod in agreement to an operation with no particular drawbacks, he suddenly noticed something.
There was one problem that still had to be solved.
"For example, regarding the earlier incident—by proclaiming the fabricated report of the attack in the King’s name, we can naturally inform both internal and external parties of his continued well-being. However, as long as the King himself does not appear, suspicions will remain. What measures do you intend to take regarding that matter?"
This was a sound argument. No matter how many declarations were issued in the King’s name, if the man himself did not show his face, his existence would inevitably be questioned. Of course, for domestic audiences, this might suffice. Takuto Ira rarely appeared in public anyway, so the populace likely wouldn’t think much of it. The Holy Powers, however, were different. They would undoubtedly conduct investigations, and without an appearance, his absence would quickly be exposed. Countermeasures were necessary, but there was no problem here either. The twin girl had already prepared a solution for this matter as well.
"Sister Emuru."
"Ah, yes? What is it?"
Emuru, who hadn’t been able to participate much in the conversation, raised her face with a start. She had been listening on the sidelines, feeling she had no place to interject, when she was suddenly put on the spot. Looking at Emuru panicking in such a comically flustered manner, Cariel simply made the announcement with a nonchalant expression, showing no particular reaction.
"Starting tomorrow, you will be the King."
"E-ehhh?!"
A shriek of disbelief erupted, and the council descended into even greater confusion.
………
………
Perhaps a few hours had passed? The council room was still full of attendees, but unlike before, an unfamiliar figure now stood among them. No… a familiar figure, dressed in familiar attire, had resulted in an unfamiliar appearance.
"Ugh, ugh… For me to take the King’s place—this is far too great an honor!"
Crying out in the most pathetic voice he could muster, Emuru was disguised as the king.
Clad in the same cloak the king wore, Emuru let out a half-tearful voice as he grumbled his complaints.
He had gone so far as to have the outfit custom-tailored, and at the very least he wore a specially made mask that concealed his eyes—something even he had to admit could not be faked.
His build was similar enough to the king's that if someone told others he was the king in new clothes, they would find it difficult to deny outright. As for the mask, it was well established that the mentally weak were practically forbidden from making eye contact with the king, so attributing it to the benevolent king's consideration would provide more than enough cover.
All in all, his appearance far exceeded what anyone had imagined as a stand-in for the king. All that remained was to show himself at an appropriate time without drawing too much attention.
"Your height is a perfect match. I'm sorry, but there's no helping it. In that outfit, you can handle important documents without looking out of place—it kills two birds with one stone."
"Ugh, even if you say that..."
Emuru drooped, his spirits visibly deflated.
Seeing him so dejected, Caria thought he looked remarkably like Isla scolding Takuto the other day, and wondered with quiet satisfaction—might this actually exceed expectations? There was even a small twinge of delight mixed in.
"Hey! Straighten up! Do you really think you can serve as the king's substitute with that kind of attitude!?"
But Caria's inner thoughts were cut short by the troublesome old man, who promptly began issuing troublesome demands.
Both Caria and Emuru grimaced in displeasure.
On top of that, Emuru was silently cursing, "If you think it's so easy, then you put on the disguise and experience this discomfort yourself."
Borrowing the image of the great king—their livesaver, the one who had given their future hope, the figure toward whom they felt both reverence and dread—was an immense burden, no matter how you looked at it.
That said, voicing such complaints would change nothing, and besides, she was not exactly the confrontational type, so all she could do was show her dissatisfaction through her attitude.
Perhaps that attitude really was insufficient.
Troublesome Man Number Two—that is to say, War Chief Gear—entered the fray.
"As I suspected, the biggest problem is the lack of presence. Our king is a different being from the inside, no matter what he looks like on the outside. The king I know was far greater—someone whose very soul could make you tremble. Naturally, Emuru cannot even replicate a hundredth of that."
Arms crossed, the War Chief critiqued like a harsh reviewer.
His attitude was as though he alone understood what made a king, and it was precisely that attitude that made him oblivious to the landmine he was carelessly about to step on.
"But having a flat chest helped! If they were unnaturally large, it would immediately give away that you're a woman! Ha ha ha!"
"Huh—?"
Even Emuru, normally reserved and not one for senseless conflict, boiled over in an instant at this.
The impossibly rude man before them had uttered words never to be spoken to a dark elf woman.
The guttural growl and piercing glare directed at Gia radiated an aura several times more intense, as if she might lunge at any moment and drive her fist into his face.
"That spirit. What, so you can mimic the king's awe after all, just a little?"
"Can I execute this man? Shadows aside, I'm still the king right now, aren't I? Then I can, right? Execution?"
"Then please sign the execution order."
"Approved—!"
Dark elf women generally have modest busts.
This is a racial trait, and one beyond their personal efforts to change.
Therefore, when the subject is broached, they combust instantaneously like a rapid-boil kettle.
It's a powder keg any wise man would never touch.
"Now, now, wait, Emuru. This one is still useful, so put off the execution a bit longer. Once the king returns, you can string him up right away, no problem."
"You lack tact."
"Cut off his head and hang it from a pole!"
To add further context, Atou the Mire, the hero Myonghra boasts of, is also quite modest in the chest department, sympathizing with the feelings of dark elf women.
King Takuto Ira maintains a strict no-comment policy in such situations, and he properly recognizes that specifically commenting on a woman's chest is an act lacking in delicacy.
Naturally, Elder Mortar has absolutely no intention of throwing a lifeline in this matter.
Besieged on all sides—this was precisely the meaning of that idiom.
"O-oh... ha ha ha. Come on, it's a j-joke, right? I think my disguise as Emuru was perfect, yeah!"
"Will you be quiet? I'll discuss this matter directly with the king when he returns."
Emuru shut down the shamelessly evasive attempt with the sharpness of his words alone, then quickly shifted his mindset to properly carry out his duties as the king's stand-in.
Now that it had come to this, there was no use complaining. All he could do was fulfill his role to the end.
"Anyway, to get back on topic, what do we do if someone talks to you? Our voices are completely different, so I think it would be obvious the moment you spoke..."
"That point is perfectly fine."
"Huh? Why?"
He couldn't help but tilt his head at the carrier's natural-sounding response to his own question.
He resented the looks but had to admit it. With a mask, the face wasn't an issue.
But the voice should have been a major problem.
Surely even she couldn't imitate the king's voice, and their vocal qualities were different anyway.
Or so he thought...
"Because the king doesn't speak to strangers."
"Communi-cation!"
"...Y-yes."
The solution to the problem had been accomplished in the most unexpected place.
An indescribable atmosphere permeated the area. The meeting thus concluded on a rather anticlimactic note.
Any further words would only dig their own grave.
Even among the still-chaotic Dark Elves, they had enough composure to notice that level of subtlety.