To Rule a Nation

  How many duties are condensed into those simple words?

  Though poputions may vary, governing a multitude of willful citizens, maintaining order, and ensuring a decent standard of living—these are the tasks of rulership.

  Imperfect as it may be, to rule a nation is to sustain the endeavors of its people.

  It is precisely because of the burdens—responsibilities, duties, and obligations—that come with being at the pinnacle of a nation that a king is a king.

  Even if—

  "What did you just say?"

  "Y-Yes! A report just came in from the Adventurers' Guild—a Stampede has occurred near the royal capital! Currently, a horde of over ten thousand monsters is advancing toward the capital!!"

  —Even when faced with a nightmare too terrible to accept, a king must confront it and act.

  That is what it means to be a king.

  "Terrible timing."

  The king’s grimace was unavoidable, and the prime minister, who understood the reason for his expression, furrowed his brow as well.

  The soldier who delivered the report stood at attention in the audience chamber, awaiting orders from his superiors.

  "The First Knight Order is deployed to suppress insurgents in the east. Even if we send a messenger now, it will take at least a week for them to return—possibly longer, depending on the situation. The Third Knight Order is also away, rotating with the Second Knight Order at the northern fortress. Recalling them would take two weeks."

  "What forces remain in the capital?"

  "Only the Fourth and Fifth Knight Orders, the Royal Guard, and the City Defense Force. The Fourth and Fifth each have two thousand, the Royal Guard five hundred, and the Defense Force three thousand—totaling seventy-five hundred troops. If we mobilize adventurers as well, we might match their numbers."

  "Numbers alone won’t be enough. A Stampede doesn’t just end with the initial wave—more will follow. And you’re telling me the enemy is an army of undead goblin zombies? Holding out until reinforcements arrive is our only option, but this is troubling."

  Given the urgency, blunt reports were permitted. The king felt his stomach churn, and the prime minister fought the urge to clutch his head—but there were too many eyes watching.

  The nobles in the castle had never imagined the supposedly safe capital would be assaulted by a monster horde. Most failed to conceal their unease.

  "The absence of the First Knight Order is a severe blow. They are our strongest force, both in numbers and quality. Without them, any offensive would be too risky. We ck the hands to both defend and attack—unless, of course, we had a single warrior capable of sying armies alone."

  "...A hero, then."

  "Yes, but wishing for what we don’t have is pointless. For now, we must deploy troops to reassure the people."

  "Agreed. Send the Fourth Knight Order to the western gate, the Fifth to the remaining gates. Assign five hundred Defense Force soldiers to patrol the city, a thousand to the western gate, and five hundred to each of the others."

  "What of the Royal Guard?"

  "Four hundred as a mobile reserve, one hundred stationed in the castle as messengers. How does that sound?"

  "It should suffice."

  Though some nobles were reliable, the king inwardly sighed at their ck of initiative.

  "Your Majesty, may I speak?"

  "Duke Edelgard? Very well. Speak."

  Whether he sensed the king’s thoughts or not, one noble raised his hand.

  "I request permission to deploy the Griffin Squadron. Identifying the dungeon’s location will be crucial for future operations."

  "Granted. You may fly over the capital. Can I entrust command to you, Duke Edelgard?"

  "Leave it to me."

  "Viscount Gasseau, Baron Lorton—assist the Duke."

  "As you command!"

  The golden-haired duke nodded. The king assigned additional nobles to support him before sending them off.

  "Next—"

  Issuing orders to subordinates was also the duty of a king.

  Panicking now would only undermine his authority.

  "This should suffice for now."

  "Yes. The knight orders have been mobilized. All that remains is to endure."

  "Truly, hardships never come singly. This is terrible for my heart."

  Soon, the audience chamber was empty save for the king and prime minister.

  "Prime Minister, any idea what caused this?"

  "Our spies report sightings of what appear to be cultists of the evil god within the capital."

  "Their doing, then."

  "Highly likely, but we can’t be certain."

  A Stampede assaulting the royal capital—the heart of the nation.

  The king’s measured response was sound, and under normal circumstances, the situation would not worsen.

  "Your reasoning?"

  "If it were them, they would typically incite chaos within the walls as well. Yet there’s no sign of that. The ck of disturbance is... unsettling."

  "Perhaps they’re waiting for the right moment?"

  Governments inevitably attract resentment.

  Even policies meant to benefit the people create losers—and thus, grudges.

  Sometimes, the hatred was outright irrational.

  "Hence why I can’t rule it out. We’ve set up surveilnce in the city. Any uprising should be contained, but..."

  There were no ongoing wars between continents, nor any overt noble conflicts.

  The king was adept at maintaining stability—a ruler who built quietly rather than stirred storms.

  For such a king, the worst enemies were the cults of the evil god, active across all continents as rebellious factions against established orders.

  A group that rejected reason, driven by fanatical belief that the world itself was wrong.

  A persistent thorn in the side of any ruler.

  "Alternatively, the incident involving the First Knight Order could be a diversion."

  "...And the Third’s deployment was no secret. Nor was the Second’s presence at the northern fortress. They may have exploited the rotation. The evidence fits too well."

  "Still, there are nobles with dubious rumors as well."

  "...Sigh. I merely wish to rule in peace."

  Given the cult’s nature, both king and prime minister were ninety-five percent certain they were behind this.

  But the remaining five percent left room for doubt.

  "Prime Minister, investigate the nobles. Eliminate any lingering concerns. Rule out the worst-case scenario."

  "Understood."

  If this was the cult’s doing, the king could accept it.

  But noble treachery? That required preemptive action.

  The difference y in which aftermath would be easier to manage.

  The worst scenario was a noble power py for the throne.

  Public smiles, private daggers—such was courtly life.

  But internal strife weighed far heavier on the king’s mind than external threats.

  And so, despite the manpower shortage, the prime minister dispatched covert operatives.

  Then—footsteps echoed toward the audience chamber.

  "Report!"

  "Speak."

  "The Stampede’s numbers have increased—to thirty thousand!! The vanguard will soon enter attack range! Combat is imminent!"

  "Thirty thousand?!"

  The king shot to his feet.

  "How? A Stampede of that scale requires years to form!"

  Low-rank dungeon keys could trigger Stampedes quickly, but the resulting hordes numbered in the dozens at most.

  For a dungeon to spawn thirty thousand monsters, it would need prolonged neglect—time to deepen and expand.

  Yet such a dungeon would have been detected long before reaching this scale.

  "What in the world is happening?"

  From ten thousand to thirty—the king had been confident in holding out, but now the odds were dire.

  "Your Majesty, for now—"

  "Ah, yes. Dismissed. Further orders will follow."

  "Yes, sir!"

  The king nearly buckled under the crushing reality but steadied himself at the prime minister’s words.

  Once the soldier left, he exhaled sharply.

  "So the ck of internal unrest wasn’t because they weren’t pnning it—but because they didn’t need to."

  "A joke in the poorest taste."

  Elbows on the throne’s armrests, the king buried his face in his hands, desperately strategizing.

  "Even if the First and Second Knight Orders return, they’ll be a drop in the bucket now."

  "Prime Minister, how long can we hold under siege?"

  "Food stores can st six months. Weapons and medical supplies as well, if we open the reserves. But the soldiers..."

  "I’d rather not owe the nobles, but we’re past that. Send envoys for aid. Worst case, we conscript militia."

  "Your Majesty, surely not—"

  "Annihiting thirty thousand goblin zombies with our current forces is impossible. The nobles won’t act swiftly. Our st resort is using the castle as bait while the knights assault the dungeon. To do that, we must endure."

  The prime minister’s eyes widened.

  "If the castle falls, my wife and son will escape. Understood?"

  "Then let my granddaughter accompany them. Our bloodlines will survive to rebuild."

  Even this worry-prone king was still the ruler of the southern continent.

  The prime minister nodded, satisfied to see traces of the hero he once was.

  "Well, I’ve no intention of dying yet."

  "Nor I, Your Majesty. I refuse to rest until I see my great-grandchildren."

  "Even as undead, you’d still make me work, wouldn’t you?"

  "Naturally. No need for sleep means higher efficiency."

  Exchanging wry smiles, the two each pulled a vial from their robes.

  Not poison—though overuse could be toxic.

  They downed the potions in unison, the king for his stomach, the prime minister for his headache.

  "Jests aside, it seems sleepless nights await."

  "Indeed, Your Majesty. Please moderate your potion intake."

  "You as well."

  Both were mildly addicted, but their resigned ughter held no sorrow.

  Soon after, a messenger arrived—and then, an explosion roared from the west.

  "It’s begun."

  "Yes."

  The castle overlooked the city, with vantage points to monitor the walls.

  Beneath the observation deck y the defense command center.

  "Then I leave it to you."

  "Yes, sir!"

  Present were the captains of the Royal Guard, Fourth, and Fifth Knight Orders, each with their aides.

  "I, Ossel Duke, shall assume command."

  "Very well. Do your best."

  Ossel Duke, Captain of the Royal Guard—a named character from the FBO era.

  The mightiest knight of the southern continent.

  A burly, fifty-year-old man with a buzz cut.

  A warrior trusted by the king, capable of sughtering monsters en masse on the battlefield.

  His unwavering resolve and booming voice eased the king’s and prime minister’s nerves.

  For now, at least, their stomachs settled.