Chapter 123
Echelon nodded.
“I agree.”
Officially, Belzerion had sworn loyalty to Schwarz. Unless he committed a serious crime, Schwarz couldn’t just cast him out.
And beneath that surface oath lay a tangled web of politics.
“That treaty 300 years ago was a mistake,” Schwarz said. “We should’ve seized the vineyard and driven Belzerion out.”
“But no one knew the wine trade would grow so big,” Echelon replied.
“No one,” Schwarz admitted.
He was talking about the land division pact made with Demon King Ziragel three centuries ago.
In the demon realm, borders were drawn by the reach of each Demon King’s “sunlight”—the light of their power.
In the South, wide belts of shadow usually separated these domains—lands where no sunlight shone, serving as neutral borders.
But in Schwarz’s case, things turned out differently.
“Ziragel’s lands and mine expanded too far,” Schwarz recalled.
Both realms had been booming, populations growing, pushing into each other. Eventually, the shadow belt disappeared, and both their suns overlapped.
It was rare in the South, but not unheard of in the North.
“…And of all places, that overlap had to be Belzerion’s vineyards,” Schwarz muttered.
Echelon shrugged. “What could you do? You can’t control where the sun shines.”
Back then, Belzerion was loyal to Ziragel, and his vineyards belonged to Ziragel’s realm. But after long talks, that entire stretch of fertile vineyards was ceded to Schwarz.
The problem? Belzerion was Ziragel’s blood relative. If Schwarz stripped him of his vineyards too, he’d owe Ziragel major concessions.
So the compromise was struck: the land belonged to Schwarz, but Belzerion would keep managing it—as Schwarz’s vassal.
That’s how Belzerion, born Ziragel’s kin, became Schwarz’s subject.
Echelon sighed. “Still, you’re right. He needs to be cut down.”
“Exactly. He swore loyalty in words only. His heart was never in it,” Schwarz said.
Maybe it was arrogance born of bloodline. Even as Schwarz’s vassal, Belzerion kept his pride, his nose in the air. His booming wine empire only made it worse.
“And now he’s spreading rumors,” Echelon said. “About you and his daughter.”
Schwarz’s eyes cooled. “Yes. I heard them too.”
Echelon snorted. “Unbelievable…”
Belzerion had grown greedy enough to scheme marriage between his daughter and Schwarz. The Demon King’s throne wasn’t inherited, but being tied by blood to the reigning lord came with power.
Schwarz, of course, had no interest.
But Belzerion had gone further—spreading lies that the Demon King and his daughter were growing close.
Echelon thought this was likely the final straw.
“…But can Ludwig really win?” Echelon asked, doubtful.
“After all, he’s just the ruler of some tiny southern backwater. His people barely number anything. And besides…”
He pictured Ludwig’s face from the banquet.
“…He’s too young! Not even fifty, I’d say.”
To humans, demons all looked ageless. But Schwarz and Echelon could read the signs. And everyone knew—the older the demon, the stronger.
Schwarz chuckled. “Echelon, you haven’t read the report on Ludwig’s realm yet, have you?”
“No. I rushed straight here to give you word.”
“Then you think as most do—that Belzerion’s victory is guaranteed.”
Schwarz’s gaze sharpened.
“Belzerion thinks so too. To him, this is just some brash youth picking a fight. That’s exactly why I must let it happen.”
His voice was certain.
“Belzerion will be struck down hard.”
Because Schwarz knew what Belzerion didn’t.
Ludwig’s realm had been poor for years, yet his own power was strangely strong. And lately, his population was growing.
Even more—Ludwig had already slain a monster of Demon King rank. Almost no one knew that but Schwarz and his closest circle.
The odds were in Ludwig’s favor.
“And Belzerion won’t dare kill him, even by accident,” Schwarz added. “If he did, he’d inherit a backwater realm in the South. No thanks.”
“I wouldn’t want that either,” Echelon laughed.
“Exactly. He’ll hold back without realizing it. Everything about this fight favors Ludwig.”
At last, Echelon saw it clearly. He smirked.
“Belzerion really blundered this time. Should’ve kept his mouth shut instead of spreading rumors.”
“That wasn’t the deciding reason.”
“…Then what?”
“It struck me yesterday.”
“Struck you?”
Schwarz remembered Belzerion’s sneer at the banquet, the way he mocked Ariella. That face overlapped with another memory, long ago.
“…Belzerion was insolent before. Toward her.”
“Her? You mean… you don’t mean you—”
“No.” Schwarz’s voice was low, firm.
“Toward Marianne.”
“Master.”
Belzerion’s servant bowed.
“A decree from the Demon King.”
“From Schwarz?” Belzerion replied, without honorific. In private, he always spoke that way.
Without even glancing at the paper, he smirked. “This must be about the duel.”
“Yes, sire.”
“That little brat from the South must’ve made his demand too. What pathetic thing does he want from me?”
As Schwarz predicted, Belzerion had never considered losing.
“Well, even a fool can dream,” he sneered.
The servant’s voice trembled. “Gold coins, sire.”
Belzerion blinked. “…What did you say?”
“Forgive me. The Demon King of the South, Ludwig, declared that if he wins, he wants gold as his prize.”
“For honor… he demands money?”
Belzerion burst into laughter. “Ha! As if they’re not peasants enough already.”
Tradition forbade claiming a life as payment, but there were no rules beyond that. Still, never once had a demon demanded simple coin.
Most claimed treasures with history, relics that spread their influence. Belzerion’s demand for Ariella’s sea chart fit that mold.
“And this brat just wants money? No pretense, no grand reason?” Belzerion scoffed.
At least he had framed his own demand with noble-sounding words—preventing southern monopoly of trade, balancing the economy, benefiting all demons. All lies, of course. He’d never share the map.
“Money…” He clicked his tongue. “How much?”
The servant swallowed. “Thirty million cels, sire.”
“Thirty million cels?!”
Echelon’s eyes bulged.
Then he laughed. Loud, booming. “Hahaha! That’s an entire month’s budget for our Demon King’s realm!”
Schwarz smiled faintly. “For a small domain like Ludwig’s, it’s enough to last years.”
“And Belzerion can barely cover it—if he sells a few major assets,” Schwarz added.
“True. He’s made obscene profits from wine.”
Echelon chuckled, then smirked knowingly. “This was Ariella’s idea, wasn’t it?”
“Most likely,” Schwarz said. “They’ll use Belzerion’s gold to pay for the black-iron trade. Clean and simple.”
“Of course. Clever girl,” Echelon grinned.
They could’ve demanded the iron itself, but then Belzerion could claim he couldn’t supply it. By asking for money instead, Ludwig left no room for excuses.
