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The room is inorganic rather than grand, and the furnishings, which are probably all high-end, give the impression of just being placed there.
Itβs a room that feels devoid of human breath, and one could easily nod in agreement if told that no one lives there.
βIt seems a star has fallen.β
The old woman said, staring at the crystal ball.
In a hoarse voice that instills unease and discomfort in the listener.
βIs it a good omen?β
The questioning voice is young.
It belongs to a young man with a majestic physique and sharp eyes.
βFor humans, it would be a bad omen. It means the number of humans with the star of a hero is decreasing.β
βThen itβs a good omen for us.β
The young man laughs lightly.
βBy the way, old woman.β
βWhat is it, Demon King Ingral?β
βDo we have to do this performance every time we do a divination?β
He says with a look of great distaste, waving his right hand.
Servants appear from nowhere, removing the dark curtains, carrying out the incense burner that continues to emit strange smoke, and opening the windows for ventilation.
The office of Demon King Ingral, which has regained its brightness in an instant, has lost its explosive eeriness from just a moment ago and is now very naturally functional and chic.
βWhat are you saying, Your Majesty the Demon King! Do you even understand the weight of tradition!β
The old woman begins to get angry.
The Demon King makes a very, very weary face.
βBesides, thereβs no need to divine the movements of the human kingdom every single time.β
βYouβre being dismissive! The previous Demon King and the one before him were always sharpening their fangs to invade at any time.β
βYour blood pressure is going to rise again, old woman.β
βWhose fault is that! Whose!β
The old woman stomps her feet in frustration.
Ingral mutters to himself, probably.
Neither his father nor his grandfather probably intended to fight with the humans. They were just posing as if they were going to fight.
The great wish of the demon race is to reclaim the lands of their ancestors that were taken by the humans.
However, in reality, he thinks there are only a few who are dissatisfied with the current life in the Demon Kingβs country.
Compared to the land they lived in over five hundred years ago, the climate is warm and the crops grow well. There are hardly any who die of hunger or cold.
Whatβs the point of invading the cold and poor human kingdom, giving up such a life?
Thereβs almost nothing to gain.
Who would be stupid enough to move to such a land, except to bring humans as slaves?
βItβs meaningless.β
βSlaves need food and a place to sleep. Whatβs the point of increasing productivity by providing such things?
Even now, every year, we secretly export the surplus to the human kingdom.β
βDid you say something, Your Majesty?β
βNothing in particular. Arenβt you hearing things?β
He casually brushes it off.
Adding an unnecessary comment like, donβt push yourself too hard because youβre old.
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βIf you tease her too much, she might really die from high blood pressure.β
Watching the oldest elder leave in a huff, the secretary Milene shrugged her shoulders.
Her dark skin, silver hair, and the large, long ears on both sides of her face are racial characteristics of the dark elf tribe.
Of course, so is her radiant beauty.
βSheβs always so noisy, I canβt help but want to say a sarcastic comment or two. To the old people.β
Returning to his desk, Ingral gives a wry smile.
I wonder if scratching his head means heβs somewhat remorseful.
He, like everyone else, belongs to the third generation of those who were driven off their land by humans.
Honestly, I donβt really understand the resentment towards the human race.
But itβs different for the elderly.
They fled south, barely escaping with their lives, after losing all their land and culture in the great war five hundred years ago.
They have vivid memories of it.
The eldest elder is even from that generation.
Even for the demon race and dark elf race, who live for hundreds of years, five hundred years is not a short time.
Thereβs quite a temperature difference between Ingral, who belongs to a generation that doesnβt know war, and the elderly, who clearly harbor resentment towards humans.
βI understand itβs a difficult situation. But the war is over. Not everyone can nod in agreement when told, βLetβs get along from tomorrow on.'β
βIf they donβt nod, the war will never end.β
Even now, we are technically at war with the human kingdom⦠the Lintrite Kingdom.
Border disputes occur every few years.
However, Ingral has no intention of invading.
Of course, if weβre attacked, weβll fight back with all our might, but thereβs no reason for us to attack first.
Except for the grudges of the elderly.
In terms of productivity, our Masrur Kingdom is far superior. Both industrial and military power are higher. Even our land is much more fertile.
If we were to attack, we would probably win nine times out of ten.
But even if we win, the war doesnβt end there.
We have to rule. The humans.
βJust thinking about it is a pain.β
βIt starts with resentment, just like the elderly.β
The ruled resent the rulers. And they are poor.
Naturally, they would have to take food and supplies from Masrur.
To feed those who resent us.
If someone doesnβt find this ridiculous, that person is rather a great philanthropist.
βIβm not a philanthropist, Iβm stingy, so I donβt want to do anything that doesnβt make money, Milene.β
βYes, I know. Itβs much more profitable to smuggle surplus food and supplies from the country. It can also help the orphans over there.β
Milene chuckles.
The Demon King makes a subtle face at her knowing look.
Then, at that moment.
βItβs terrible! From the treasury!β
One of the attendants rushes in, his face pale.
Apparently, a magical tool has been stolen from the treasury of the Demon Kingβs castle.
The Dominance Jewel.
Itβs a dangerous item that allows you to control monsters at will.