v1.1.3

Konard Steinmetz set down his quill and let out a sigh.  

Barely half an hour had passed since the day’s work began, but he was already utterly exhausted. Starting the day with yesterday’s fatigue still clinging to him made it inevitable.  

He turned his gaze to the full-length mirror positioned near the office entrance, beside the hat rack. Reflected in its surface was an elderly man, visibly worn, his resentful eyes staring back. Lately, even the sparse hair above his ears seemed to be thinning. It wouldn’t be long before he was completely bald.  

“…By the way.”  From beyond the towering stack of documents on his desk, his aide, Karen Bombardier, called out. Apparently, she’d taken his setting down the quill as a sign he’d decided to take a break. Fiddling with the glasses that cut across the center of her nervous-looking face, she continued, her expression blank. “That matter.”  

“Which matter?”  

Konrad, at fifty-eight years old, prided himself on his still-sharp memory, but even he couldn’t keep track of every one of the dozens of cases added daily.  

The Post-War Reconstruction Agency <Kliman>, where he and Karen worked, was swamped. Cases far exceeding their processing capacity flooded in relentlessly.  

For better or worse, the end of the warring era had brought change to the Felbist Continent.  

The values of a time when war was commonplace inevitably differed from those of a time without it.  

In politics. In economics. In everything else.  

Above all, the rulers - primarily the nobles, could no longer hide behind the grand pretext of war. They were forced to seriously reconsider their methods of governance.  

“We’re in a war. Don’t complain about luxuries.”  

“Lose the war, and everything will be taken. Is that what you want to say?”  

Such words, once used to redirect public discontent toward enemy nations, no longer held sway.  

Problems piled up in every country.  

Everyone had believed that the end of the warring era which is the arrival of “peace” would resolve all anxieties and misfortunes. That belief had sustained them through the grueling years of conflict. But when the centuries-long war finally ended, no one knew what “peace” was supposed to look like.  

The nobles were forced to rethink their approach. Some, of course, adapted successfully to the new era. But many clung to the same heavy-handed methods of the warring era, only to face harsh backlash. The populace, their expectations of “peace” inflated without a clear picture, grew frustrated when their lives remained far from comfortable, as a result… riots and unrest flared across the Felbist Continent daily.  

The swords of knights, once wielded to defend their nations, were now turned against their own people. Of course, the nobles didn’t believe this state of affairs was sustainable.  

Not every nation or city was struggling. Some, whether by chance or the skill of their rulers, enjoyed peace in its truest form, free of major issues. Some nations and cities even thrived, their economies revitalized.  

The nobles began exchanging information, seeking to emulate these rare successes. With the war’s end, they rehired mages previously dismissed en masse, using communication magic to hold repeated conferences.  

It was as if, after centuries of neglecting political and economic study, they’d begun cramming in a frantic rush.  

Naturally, the information grew tangled, leading to confusion.  

To minimize this chaos—to organize and facilitate proper information exchange, the nations jointly established a supranational organization.  

That was the Post-War Reconstruction Agency <Kliman>. Its primary mission was to research ideal methods of national governance and provide them to each country.  In a sense, it was an organization bearing the future of the Felbist Continent but the cases it handled were mountainous, while its staff was pitifully few.  

“The issue of the <Demon King>’s legacy.”  

“…Ah... that.”  

Konrad grimaced.  

Among the heaps of problems, that one was particularly troublesome.  

“The Gillette Corps is scheduled to arrive in Del Solant tomorrow. We received word last night.”  

“Del Solant…”  

Konrad pulled a noble registry from the bookshelf beside him and flipped through it.  

The ruler of Del Solant was—  

“…I see. One of the ‘heroes’ of the <Demon King>’s defeat.”  

“Not necessarily in his possession,” Karen said.  “We’ve sent a written request for cooperation in advance, but there’s been no reply.”  

“Well, that’s to be expected.” Konrad sighed. “Everyone’s busy. Busy and exhausted. Too weary even to bother replying, ‘I don’t have time for nonsense.’”  

“What should we do?”  

“Let the field team handle it.”  Konrad spoke decisively.  “We don’t have time to linger on cases that ‘might’ pose a threat. Riots. Plagues. Currency crises. Ethnic conflicts. We’re already buried under real threats.”  

He gestured to the mountain of documents.  

“Understood. I’ll arrange it.”  

Karen, perhaps as weary of the towering stacks of paper as he was, nodded and didn’t pursue the topic further.  

But—  

(The <Demon King>, indeed.)  

Konrad muttered to himself inwardly.  

(Even in death, his shadow yet keeps us trembling.) 

 

Arthur Gaz—Emperor of the Gaz Empire.  

The <Demon King>, the <Taboo Emperor>, the <Great Sage>, the <Mad War King>, the <Wise Emperor>… With his death, the long warring era that had plagued the Felbist Continent came to an end, as if the emperor himself had been its very embodiment.  

But…  

(Let’s hope it’s all just needless worry.)  

Picking up his quill and returning to the paperwork, Konrad mulled over such thoughts.