King Edmaris of the Farmus Kingdom received the report and grimaced.
Trade conditions surrounding the Farmus Kingdom had undergone a shift.
Normally, to properly gauge the gains and losses of trade, one would need to analyze over a span of at least a year or more. But this change had come too abruptly.
Geographically speaking, the Farmus Kingdom could be said to handle all trade with the Dwarven Kingdom single-handedly.
Their strength lay in the ability to conduct direct trade without traversing dangerous sea or land routes. By slapping heavy tariffs on imported goods and selling them domestically, they reaped enormous profits.
Yet they had not been satisfied with that alone. The catalyst had been the decision to impose export tariffs as well…
Acting on the advice of the Minister of Economics—that if all imports were kept within the country and sold domestically, profits would grow even further—the king had given his decree.
And indeed, at first, it worked. The influx of adventurers into the kingdom increased, and sales rose. But at a certain point, those sales plummeted.
Within less than a month, the decline had manifested in the numbers, so the king had frantically ordered an investigation into the cause.
The damage was not limited to the decline in imported goods. Merchants who had come to buy supplies and adventurers who had been staying in the kingdom all vanished without a trace.
Inns and shops that had profited from adventurers' lodgings now faced a situation they could not afford to ignore.
This was not a problem that could be观望.
The report that reached him was startling.
"Apparently, a new town has been established in the Great Forest of Jura. Furthermore, the town is inhabited by monsters."
It was unthinkable.
Veldora's disappearance had already raised concerns about an upsurge in monster activity. The Great Forest of Jura was home to countless monsters.
While many of them were relatively low in threat level, there were some that exceeded B-Rank.
To build a town in such a dangerous place—just think of the military force required. Even villages and towns on the outskirts, away from monster habitats, spent a considerable amount of taxes on defense.
Moreover, the notion that monsters inhabited a town was unheard of.
They were supposedly founded by monsters. It was beyond belief.
Yet the report stated that the town was populated by creatures that had evolved to closely resemble humans: the Hobgoblin Race, and members of the Orc Tribe.
According to the report, all of them had evolved into the Hobgoblin Race. These goblins, now nearly human in form, could speak the common tongue and even conducted business.
Furthermore, the Orc Tribe had evolved into the Ogrin Race, possessing both intelligence and technical skill, and had organized construction crews to maintain roads and the like.
It was inconceivable.
Naturally evolved individuals appeared at a rate of perhaps one in several years. They were invariably outstanding in ability and immediately marked for extermination.
The idea that evolved individuals were appearing in groups—something not heard of even when looking back several centuries—was simply staggering.
And yet, the report from the spies could not be dismissed as fabrication.
But that was not the real problem.
The critical issue was that a town had been built.
A land route connecting the Dwarven Kingdom and the small nation of Blumund would pass straight through the Great Forest of Jura.
What's more, it could become a trade route with guaranteed safety.
This could not be ignored. If allowed, the Farmus Kingdom's geographical advantage would be wiped out entirely.
For a kingdom where trade accounted for a massive share of revenue, this was a matter of life and death.
The kingdom's industrial level was low, owing to the fact that the industrially superior Dwarven Kingdom was its neighbor.
They had no notable specialty products and no extractable resources.
While harvests were sufficient to keep their own people from starving, tax revenue was nowhere near enough to fill the national treasury.
It was a nation that relied on tourism and trade—two pillars—to sustain its coffers.
Until now, thanks in part to the threat of Veldora, the route through the Farmus Kingdom had been the safest and most prosperous.
Veldora's disappearance was supposed to have been at least three hundred years away.
As a result, no viable national counterstrategy had yet been devised.
"Now then… what is to be done?" the king asked.
No one answered.
The room had been assembled for an emergency royal conference. Identical copies of the report had been distributed to every attendee.
Those gathered were senior nobles who managed the affairs of state—the very parasites feeding at the nation's wealth.
They understood better than anyone that if trade profits with the Dwarven Kingdom dried up, the nation's power would crumble.
Everyone's thoughts were the same, even without speaking. But to voice those thoughts aloud would mean shouldering every ounce of responsibility.
And so, weighed down by that calculation, no one uttered a word.
Not one person said: "Let us attack and destroy that town!"
Even if the Farmus Kingdom mustered its full strength, the maximum force it could mobilize was around one hundred thousand.
But the enemy consisted of evolved monsters. Ordinary soldiers would be useless.
They would need to deploy knights or mercenaries who had undergone combat training. Since this was not a war against humans but a campaign waged with the intent to kill, amateurs had no place.
They had to avoid increasing casualties for nothing.
As for how many among the one hundred thousand had even minimal battlefield experience—skirmishes at best—roughly twenty thousand, most of them mercenaries.
As for those in the kingdom's service who held official knight commissions, the total fell short of ten thousand.
That number included every regional knight on record. If it came to actually mobilizing them under the king's direct orders, five thousand was the upper limit.
The monster nation's numbers were said to be just under ten thousand, though some might be engaged in construction or otherwise absent.
Furthermore, in terms of individual combat strength, each of them would rival a fully equipped regular knight. And it should be assumed that the female members were no less capable of fighting.
This meant that a subjugation carried out using only the kingdom's knights would be difficult.
To guarantee victory, they needed to prepare at least ten thousand regular soldiers.
If one were to propose an offensive here, one might end up bearing full responsibility for procuring the missing forces and the war funds needed to do so.
They did not want to lose their privileges, nor did they wish to absorb any losses. On this point, all the nobles in the room were of one mind.
The king could read the senior nobles' thoughts like an open book.
The military force and war chest required to make victory certain.
Also impossible to ignore were the adventurers currently residing in the monster town. They would need to be courted to fight on the Farmus side.
No one would volunteer willingly—not if there was nothing to gain.
But what if there were profits to be had?
What if, after subjugating the monster town, they granted the right to govern it?
There was no ethical aversion to enslaving monsters. Monster slaves were hardly uncommon.
They would attack the troublesome town, exterminate it, and enslave the surviving monsters. Then they would simply absorb the territory into the kingdom.
By doing so, the Farmus Kingdom would gain new territory and perhaps access to the bounties of the Great Forest of Jura as well.
Defense could even be left to the monster slaves. The Council did not recognize human slavery, but with monsters, no objections would be raised.
Revenue from a new trade route could be expected. It was nothing but good.
And above all, one thing had captured the king's imagination.
The silk fabric. It had apparently been obtained from that town—the texture was incomparable to any cloth they had seen before.
It made magical fibers and linen look laughable by comparison. Analysis revealed that the cloth was woven from the cocoons of the Hell Moth.
The Hell Moth was a highly dangerous monster, and the idea of using its cocoon as a raw material would never have occurred to anyone. But with this magnificent fabric right in his hands, he could do nothing but believe.
He absolutely had to obtain this manufacturing technique. With it in hand, it could become the kingdom's signature product.
And all of it—the fabric, the technique, everything—could be theirs if they simply subdued that town.
The king struggled to keep his face from twisting with naked desire.
The question was: how to achieve the subjugation?
On this point, too, the king had a plan.
Some time ago, he had received contact from Cardinal Nicolaus Spertius of the Holy Church.
A secret letter had been delivered via inter-nation magical communication.
The contents concerned the monster nation in question. The letter politely inquired whether the kingdom was experiencing any difficulties and offered the Church's full support.
King Edmaris had met Cardinal Nicolaus before.
The man was shrewd in matters of profit and had no interest in anything that would disadvantage the Church. For such a man to reach out and initiate contact on his own—it was only natural to suspect ulterior motives.
The letter had further suggested that the cardinal would send an envoy for consultation—an expert on monsters, apparently.
This was surprising, to say the least.
In truth, the Holy Church rarely took action unprompted unless the threat was truly significant.
If so, it could only mean that either the monster town had been recognized as a threat, or…
And there, King Edmaris arrived at the answer.
If monsters and humans got along, the Holy Church's reason for existence would be undermined. That was the key.
With this understanding firmly in place, the king considered his next move.
The Holy Church needed justification to subjugate monsters that had not harmed any humans. But what if a nation came to them for help? Then the Church could deploy its subjugation forces openly and without reservation.
Indeed—Cardinal Nicolaus's aim was exactly this. The king was certain of it.
If that was the case, then having the Holy Church supplement the gaps in their own military would make the battle winnable.
What's more, with the Holy Church's blessing, it would be designated a Holy War!
The honor of commanding this campaign and leading a sacred war to victory—this, he absolutely had to claim for himself.
Doing so would solidify his own power base and crush the influence of the senior nobles.
To that end, he needed to create a situation where the nobles could not refuse to let him take personal command—where no excuse would be accepted.
Today's conference was precisely that piece of theater.
He surveyed the senior nobles. No one moved to speak.
Good. The atmosphere was set. Now they would see that he had no choice but to step forward himself.
The moment was ripe.
"I had hoped to rely on all of you, but perhaps the burden was too heavy…" the king began.
Before he could continue, two nobles cut in: "Your Majesty, if I may speak!
The monster town has apparently already begun trade with adventurers.
They say the Kingdom of Blumund stands behind them as a patron.
If that is the case, I wonder whether it is appropriate for us to intervene…"
"Indeed. Furthermore, they have obtained the cooperation of Dwarven blacksmiths and are refining their own independent technologies…
If we were to raise an army, the eyes of the surrounding nations would not look kindly upon us…"
Two nobles had voiced their opposition.
These were Duke Müller, who led the noble faction within the Farmus Kingdom, and Count Hermann, his follower.
The king bit back the urge to click his tongue.
"Oh? Then what do you suggest?" he asked the pair.
The eyes of neighboring nations were irrelevant once the Holy Church had declared its backing.
But if he revealed that now, these shrewd nobles would be the first to volunteer for the subjugation.
That town was to become the king's direct territory. He had no intention of sharing the wealth it would produce with the nobles.
The two questioned nobles exchanged glances.
"Why not send an envoy?
If we were to establish friendly relations with that town, the monster threat would vanish and there would be no need for drastic measures.
Short-term trade profits would certainly decline. But if we redirected the taxes spent on defense toward tourism resources, eventually people from other nations would come to visit.
Furthermore, by emphasizing our advantages in terms of safety, trade with the Dwarven Kingdom would become even more prosperous!"
Duke Müller delivered the response on behalf of both. Count Hermann nodded in agreement.
There was certainly a degree of logic to it. Thinking about it, it was almost like having someone else shoulder the burden of defense that the Farmus Kingdom would have had to bear after Veldora's disappearance.
Rather than destroying it, they should welcome the arrangement.
But if someone were to establish a new trade route and siphon off the Farmus Kingdom's profits, that was an entirely different matter.
Duke Müller and Count Hermann both held territories bordering the Great Forest of Jura and had been troubled by defense concerns. Duke Müller's domain in particular bordered the Kingdom of Blumund, and the two had maintained a cordial relationship.
Perhaps that explained their opposition to the monster subjugation.
Or perhaps they had received bribes from the Kingdom of Blumund. But regardless, the decision had already been made.
In the king's mind, his thoughts were already consumed by the wealth and glory that would soon be in his hands.
"I understand your opinions.
However, let me ask you this: can these monsters be trusted?
Who will guarantee that these monsters will not attack people in the future?
Are you prepared to take personal responsibility for that?
Will you swear to protect the lives and property of my beloved subjects?
The other party is monsters. No one knows what they are thinking! They are beings incompatible with humanity!
Is your reasoning not rather premature?"
He pressed the question with Intimidation laced into every word.
The two nobles went pale and could not respond.
Of course.
The other party was nonhuman. What grounds could one possibly use to establish trust?
Even if they signed a contract with a body double posing as the enemy's king, the Farmus side would have no way to verify it.
And if those monsters were trusted only to then betray them—the situation would be beyond remedy.
By making such unspoken anxieties clear and letting them draw their own conclusions, the matter would resolve itself.
In truth, the king had read the reports and knew the monster leader was something of a pushover. But that information was deliberately absent from the documents distributed to the nobles.
It was a small trick to prevent opposition. If anyone found out, he would simply deny knowledge.
Confirming that no further objections would come from the other senior nobles, the king announced that he would personally lead the army.
And so it was decided that the Farmus Kingdom would mobilize under the pretext of subjugating the monster town known as "Tempest."
After the senior nobles had withdrawn, a retainer returned accompanied by a single man.
The man's name was Reihem.
He was the envoy sent by Cardinal Nicolaus.
"Welcome, Mr. Envoy. We have just reached our decision to mobilize."
"Excellent news! The Cardinal will be most pleased."
"There were a few stubborn voices of opposition, but I persuaded them. They have all agreed."
"As expected of Your Majesty. Still—defending monsters? It seems these people lack proper faith. Shall we dispose of them?"
"N-No, there is no need for that. More importantly…"
After a round of pleasantries, the king turned to the main topic.
He had caught a glimpse of something in the envoy's unfathomably deep eyes—an insanity of faith beyond anything he could have imagined. To mask the chill that crept down his spine, he moved swiftly to business.
He would secure from the envoy a commitment: the Farmus Kingdom's military campaign, supplemented by the Holy Church's aid and reinforcements.
He exchanged promises with the envoy on these terms.
The envoy accepted the request as a formal commission and pledged the deployment of the Holy Church's dedicated anti-monster unit.
The force consisted of three thousand specialist anti-monster soldiers and one thousand knights from the Holy Church's official knight order—an extraordinary concession.
The Holy Church's official knight order, standard-equipped with anti-magic swords, were experts in combating monsters.
The anti-monster soldiers assisting them were also highly skilled.
Even if the evolved monsters had some fighting capability, they were no match for a trained, coordinated military force. Numerically they might appear evenly matched, but in terms of quality, the gap was between heaven and earth.
King Edmaris felt a wave of relief at the strength being offered.
Five thousand knights from his own kingdom. Four thousand from the Holy Church.
Mercenaries drawn by the king's personal involvement would surely number no fewer than three thousand.
All told, specialized combatants would exceed twelve thousand. There was no conceivable way they could lose to roughly ten thousand monsters—a motley group that even included women.
Once this Holy War of monster subjugation was concluded, he would be celebrated as a Hero King—his fame secured beyond any doubt.
He would need to make a generous donation to the Holy Church, but given the wealth he stood to gain, it was a pittance.
The king's secret meeting with the envoy dragged on for some time.
And so it was that, fueled by the unchecked flames of avarice and envy burning within a man who had lost all restraint over his own desires, calamity came to rain down upon Tempest.