Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 28 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Sleeping Princess Awakens

Thick gray clouds covered the sky, making words like cloudy and overcast perfectly describe the weather. Although, this was more than just an overcast sky. In the distance, flashes of lightning streaked through the clouds, and thunder echoed across the heavens. Raindrops began to pelt the window glass. Soon, a storm would arrive. It wasn’t just any storm but a fierce tempest akin to a god of destruction, sweeping away everything in its path.

Could it be said that this weather was a foreboding omen, hinting at the fate of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria and the other two eastern nations? Such thoughts were nothing more than delusions or fleeting whims of the mind. No correlation or causation existed between the weather and the destiny of nations. Yet, human hearts did not always move according to reason. Indeed, human behavior rarely exhibited consistency and rationality. However, this unpredictability and instability driven by emotion were precisely humans’ natural reactions.

Even the young conqueror, who had risen to the highest rank of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria’s nobility as archduke, was no exception. A thunderclap interrupted his thoughts. Just then, the sound of a quill scratching across paper that had been echoing in the room ceased. Ryoma Mikoshiba, seated in the office chair once used by Furio Gelhart—who had formerly led the nobles’ faction of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria—paused his battle with the stack of documents before him. He placed the quill he held back into the inkpot on the desk. A sharp click of his tongue escaped Ryoma’s lips. Such a display of irritation was unusual for someone often described as overly composed. He set the documents on the desk and glared at the sky beyond the window.

As if dealing with an endless stream of issues wasn’t enough, shortages of people, time, and resources plague me daily and leave me with a constant headache. Now, this dreary weather piles on top of it all. I was finally starting to focus, and then this damn thunder decided to interrupt me.

The look in his eyes betrayed his frustration at having his work disrupted. Still, it was hardly surprising because there was nothing more precious than time to Ryoma. If time could be bought with money, he would have spared no expense, piling up mountains of gold coins to acquire it. The workload demanded of Ryoma Mikoshiba was truly staggering.

Moreover, his work wasn’t simply a matter of skimming the contents and stamping approval without thought. Reorganizing the military was a particularly labor-intensive task. While Ryoma did not intend to launch another expedition to the Kingdom of Myest at the moment—at least not in the immediate future—that didn’t mean he could neglect the reorganization or the replenishment of supplies.

Just as preparation is crucial for earthquakes or typhoons, military readiness also hinged on proactive measures.

This is particularly true when I can’t fully predict how Alexis Duran and his collaborators will act. In such uncertain circumstances, thorough preparation is essential. Besides, executing that particular strategy will require significant groundwork. Money, weapons, provisions... I’ve managed to involve the surrounding nobles, so it should work out somehow, but even coordinating them takes effort.

The document he was working on was an order to transport weapons from the capital to Heraklion. Fortunately, Queen Radine deeply trusted Ryoma and had granted him extensive authority. Ironically, this very freedom served to further strain Ryoma’s time. He had to make every decision personally, and the result was plain to see—he was, quite literally, overwhelmed to the point that he’d take any help he could get.

Well, that’s only natural. This situation is like a newly established startup, with me running it as a one-man operation.

Many talented individuals surrounded Ryoma. Even for an archduke, it was rare to boast such an impressive assembly of talent, not just in the Kingdom of Rhoadseria but across the entire western continent. By looking around the continent, the pool of talented warriors could be narrowed considerably.

This group consisted of the best of the best. However, their talents leaned more heavily toward military affairs.

More specifically, most of them are the kind who shine on the front lines of the battlefield rather than commanding from the rear.

There wasn’t a single incompetent subordinate serving the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy. One could describe each one as an exceptional talent without exaggeration. Additionally, they were all versatile individuals, possessing a certain level of competence in both military and administrative matters. While individual preferences and strengths might vary, they could all handle paperwork to at least a satisfactory degree. These individuals were undeniably the pillars and treasures supporting House Mikoshiba.

Even so, no matter how capable my subordinates are, it’s difficult for a single noble household to carry the fate of an entire nation.

When it came to influencing the destiny of neighboring countries, it was inevitable that their manpower would fall short. Their extraordinary competence—that could be described as almost terrifying—was evident in their ability to handle things so well. The result was the mountain of documents stacked on Ryoma’s desk. To make matters worse, the young conqueror at the head of the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy was renowned for his military prowess and knowledge, earning him the title of War God, but he lacked the practical administrative work skills. Though he had gained considerable experience, there were natural limits to how fast he could process tasks.

Seriously, even working nonstop since morning isn’t enough. No matter how much time I have, it’s never enough...

Ryoma’s gaze shifted to the towering mountain of documents before him. After rushing through breakfast this morning, he had spent more than three hours seated at his desk, wrestling with the unending pile of paperwork. Yet, he had barely made it to the foothills of this metaphorical mountain, let alone its summit. Precisely because of this, he wanted to push forward, even a little. Despite knowing that, Ryoma didn’t reach for the quill resting in the inkpot before him. Instead of trying to regain his lost focus, he briefly paused. Or rather, it might be more accurate to say that the disruption of his concentration had diminished his motivation to continue.

Pushing myself too hard probably won’t yield good results...

Admittedly, even Ryoma felt this was a bit of an excuse. The fact he entertained such thoughts revealed his current state of mind. As if sensing her lord’s mood, Sara, who had been assisting him with the paperwork at his side, silently rose and began preparing tea. It was a perfect demonstration of unspoken understanding. One could even call it a harmonious rhythm between them, especially since Ryoma did not attempt to stop Sara’s actions. Leaning back in his chair, he directed his gaze toward her retreating figure. It was, perhaps, a rare moment of respite for the conqueror. Yet, even in this brief pause, Ryoma seemed far from being able to enjoy the luxury of relaxation.

A flood of grievances swirled within his chest against the god of light, who was said to have made this world of Earth.

Meneos could show a little more consideration, couldn’t he? Here I am, working desperately every day on tedious paperwork I don’t like, all to prevent the O’ltormea Empire from overrunning Xarooda. The least he could do is cut me some slack. But this is typical of the bastard who created this hellish world in the first place.

Ryoma lightly rubbed his temples and let out a deep sigh. Of course, he knew all too well that this was nothing more than misdirected frustration. But dissatisfaction was an inescapable part of human life. People constantly struggled between discontent and compromise from the moment they woke up until they slept. It was human nature to feel dissatisfaction—even with things beyond their control, like the weather. Ryoma was no exception. For this reason, gods often became convenient outlets for frustration and anger. No matter if his complaints were unreasonable, Meneos wouldn’t call it harassment or demand an apology.

Well, it’s not like I can vent my frustrations on my subordinates.

This was something Ryoma prioritized as part of managing the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy. People on Earth, a world with rigid hierarchies, exhibited exceptional patience. Even if their lord subjected them to unjust criticism or behavior, they were inclined to endure it silently without protest. This tendency was often glorified with ideals such as loyalty and chivalry, suppressing those who bore the brunt of such injustices.

There are even stories of knights who continued to devote themselves to absolute loyalty despite having their wives taken by their lords.

Such was the reality of Earth.

The truth of such tales was uncertain as they remained firmly in the realm of rumor and hearsay. These incidents rarely saw the light of day, let alone made it to court. This was hardly surprising, given that the perpetrators were often the lords or their close kin—the very ones who would serve as judges. Moreover, the methods of communication in this world were severely limited. Unless someone deliberately spread rumors, the reach of any piece of information remained highly localized.

I’d like to believe these are just absurd rumors, but...

Even if such stories were true, Ryoma wouldn’t be shocked. If anything, he’d find himself reluctantly nodding in grim acknowledgment. Ryoma Mikoshiba had already spent several years on Earth since being summoned here. In that time, he’d been forced to understand that the brutal logic of survival of the fittest governed this world. The rigid caste system here drew a clear line between the strong and the weak. That same system often disregarded reason and justice, serving instead to enforce those divisions.

In some ways, the hierarchical structure of this world might reflect the philosophy of Confucius when he said, “Though the sovereign fails to act as such, the subject must remain loyal.” Or perhaps it aligns more with the sentiment of Wang Zuo, who proclaimed, “A loyal subject cannot serve two masters,” before taking his own life. Either way, it’s a mindset I can neither comprehend nor accept.

If the subject of loyalty were a competent king, Ryoma wouldn’t refute the words of Confucius or Wang Zuo.

Alternatively, even if the ruler’s abilities left something to be desired but they were a person overflowing with virtue and committed to justice, Ryoma might understand their stance. A king didn’t necessarily need to be an unparalleled hero or a sage capable of unfathomable stratagems.

A monarch who reigns not by their own abilities but by the support of their vassals... Someone like Liu Bei, who rose to become the Emperor of Shu Han, might be the perfect example.

The Liu Bei depicted in Romance of the Three Kingdoms was a hero brimming with benevolence and righteousness. But he wasn’t portrayed as an exceptional warrior or a genius strategist. Of course, he wasn’t without talent. After all, he rose from being a humble mat weaver to becoming the Emperor of Shu Han. In a Japanese context, one might compare him to Toyotomi Hideyoshi, a peasant who became a taikou—a regent.

But from what Ryoma had heard, Liu Bei hadn’t been the type of ruler who led through his own exceptional abilities. His sworn brothers, Guan Yu and Zhang Fei, likely surpassed him in terms of martial prowess. Regarding political maneuvering and strategy, Zhuge Liang left an undeniably greater legacy.

Yet, it’s rare to find anyone who would argue that Liu Bei was unfit to be emperor.

Liu Bei’s talents were less important than the loyalty and sense of justice people believed he embodied. That sense of justice and loyalty to his country drew so many people to Liu Bei and inspired them to follow him. As such, the primary antagonist of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Cao Cao—a skilled warrior and a strategist capable of annotating Sun Tzu’s The Art of War—was a stark contrast to Liu Bei.

Considering that Records of the Three Kingdoms is a historical text and was written during the Ming dynasty, their fictional portrayals differ significantly to their historical counterparts. The truth remains obscured in the shadows of history.

As a novel, Romance of the Three Kingdoms was fictional at its core. It drew heavily from historical facts, but it was difficult to take every account as a historical truth.

There’s even research suggesting it’s seventy percent historical and thirty percent fictional, thought Ryoma. The real issue lay in which parts made up that thirty percent of fiction. For all we know, Liu Bei could have been a warrior who surpassed Lü Bu, considered the strongest in Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and a tactician more brilliant than Zhuge Liang.

Such a possibility seemed unlikely, but it couldn’t be entirely ruled out. Still, even if Liu Bei had truly been the kind of ruler depicted in Romance of the Three Kingdoms—a monarch who relied on the support of his vassals—it wouldn’t have been a problem at all.

What truly matters is that Liu Bei’s vassals found him worthy of their loyalty and saw value in dedicating their lives to him.

At the very least, Liu Bei did not neglect state affairs, indulge in corruption, or fail to fulfill his duties and obligations as a ruler. He must have heeded the advice of his vassals and dedicated himself wholeheartedly to his nation and its people. That alone demonstrated a sufficient quality of leadership and fulfillment of duty for someone in a position of power.

However, Confucius preached that even if a ruler fails to demonstrate virtue or fulfill his responsibilities, vassals must still carry out their own duties. Similarly, Wang Zhu, who served the King of Qi, advised his lord in vain and ultimately saw Qi fall to the neighboring state of Yan due to his ruler’s folly. One has to question how far loyalty to such an inept leader truly holds value.

If there was any value in such loyalty, it likely lay in self-indulgence, as people became intoxicated by the concept of loyalty. But few people could find meaning in that and devote their lives or sacrifice everything for it.

If it’s solely about risking one’s life or future, perhaps there’s no problem. But absolute loyalty should never be upheld as a model for behavior. It’s akin to continuing to work for a boss who refuses to pay your wages despite running a profitable business.

The sense of nobility attached to the word “loyalty” could certainly make it a deceptive and misleading ideal. Shifting one’s perspective made it easy to see how the words of so-called saints and loyal subjects could be utterly foolish and disconnected from reality. Such unrealistic ideals were bound to collapse in some way at some point. At the very least, blindly adhering to loyalty without question was undoubtedly wrong.

In fact, I’ve seen an example firsthand: Meltina Lecter.

Meltina Lecter was, without a doubt, a knight of unwavering loyalty. Ryoma wouldn’t deny that statement. However, it was hard to say it led her to make the best choices for the Kingdom of Rhoadseria and its people.

In the end, it’s all about what to sacrifice and what to protect. Finding the right balance is probably the most difficult part. It’s literally like using the right dosage: “Use as directed, for proper effect.”

Loyalty wasn’t meaningless, but there was a limit to it. The issue was that there was no clear line marking that limit. What existed was only the result.

Ryoma Mikoshiba ascended to his current position by removing the foolish Queen Lupis Rhoadserians from the throne, a move those from this world would view as treason. However, some benefited from that “treason.” In the end, those who benefited from the decision praised Ryoma, while those who suffered from it harbored hatred.

To assert justice and reason, sacrifices are required.

If the opposing party held a higher position, the sacrifices required were even greater. But turning away from justice and reason just to avoid making sacrifices wouldn’t make the need for those sacrifices disappear. In the end, someone would have to bear the consequences. Thus, one had to think carefully about who would make those sacrifices and adjust accordingly.

I find it foolish to continue pledging loyalty to a clearly foolish ruler, thought Ryoma. However, there was an unavoidable aspect to following such a person. Confucius lived during the chaotic final years of the Zhou dynasty, which marked the beginning of the Warring States period in China. Given the state of the world at the time, it might have been inevitable. The country would have fallen apart if people were to have overthrown every foolish ruler who ascended to the throne.

If forceful overthrows reduced the country’s power every time a foolish king sat on the throne, the nation’s strength would inevitably decline.

This would have been particularly disastrous in an era of warfare.

To avoid this chaos, vassals choosing to endure might not have been wrong. The same could be said for this world as well. In a land plagued by constant war and the threat of monsters, people wouldn’t survive if they showed anger at every minor issue. The practical reality was that one couldn’t always act on their emotions when part of a group.

This is why law and order sometimes ruthlessly cut through people’s emotions. Even if they’re called “heartless,” so be it...

When forming a group, law and order were necessary. But above all, the most important element was the ruthlessness required to enforce it. You couldn’t maintain the group if you constantly considered individual emotions and situations. This management was one of the most critical factors in a rule-of-law society. An example might be the prohibition on personal retribution by crime victims against the perpetrators.

In cases of drunk driving where someone is killed, the perpetrator is rarely tried for murder. That’s the law in modern society, but I doubt many people are truly satisfied with that outcome.

If one could prove that the person intended to kill, it was a different case. But in most situations, the most severe charge the prosecution pursued was vehicular manslaughter, not murder. This charge was often a more favorable outcome than what could happen. The legal requirements for proving vehicular manslaughter were strict and challenging to meet, so prosecutors often sought a lesser charge, such as negligent driving causing death or injury.

For the family members of the victim, however, it may feel no different from murder. Deep down, they may feel the perpetrator should pay with their life.

It didn’t matter whether the death was accidental or intentional. What mattered was the outcome, which was why the family felt anger toward the perpetrator and hoped for the harshest possible punishment from the prosecutor. When the family learned the sentence was unexpectedly light, they might feel betrayed by the judicial system and express their outrage. No matter how disillusioned the family was with the judicial system, taking matters into their own hands and seeking revenge was a crime. No matter how unreasonable the court’s judgment might seem to an individual, it would lead to chaos if they took revenge based on their emotions. As such, the law was sometimes applied with a coldness that felt unbearably harsh, which was also true in this world.

The laws were likely colder and more severe in this world with its rigid class system and no concept of human rights. In modern society, if a person was dissatisfied with the result of a trial, they could appeal or even pursue a civil lawsuit in addition to a criminal one. However, such options were not conceivable in this world. Someone dissatisfied with a lord’s ruling could theoretically appeal to a higher court in the royal capital, but such cases were virtually nonexistent.

Simply showing the intent to appeal could lead to being killed by the lord, mused Ryoma. The people of this world understood this consequence deep in their bones, showing they were willing to swallow minor injustices. But even so, they are merely enduring it. They don’t lack dissatisfaction or anger, which holds true even for a knight whose lord has taken his wife.

Devoted though a loyal subject might be, they were not emotionless stones. They just had a higher threshold for tolerating dissatisfaction and anger.

It’s like pouring water into a cup without a plan; eventually, it will overflow.

The people’s anger would eventually surpass its limit if continuously oppressed. The real problem was that many people failed to understand this simple truth. Or perhaps, even if they did, they would still oppress others—wearing the mantle of class.

In Japan, there was a lot of noise about things like power harassment and moral harassment.

Anger and frustration were natural human emotions, so trying to eliminate them would be no different than denying the very existence of humans as a species. However, using these emotions as a shield and lashing out at others based on one’s feelings was immoral and unacceptable to society.

Therefore, the important thing is how to deal with anger and frustration.

It was crucial to be careful about where one vented their dissatisfaction. For someone like Ryoma Mikoshiba, who inspired the loyalty of others by demonstrating an attitude and behavior that set him apart from many in the aristocracy, his caution in this area was warranted.

The Mikoshiba Grand Duchy in Rhoadserian nobility lacked the spiritual foundation of tradition and history. Unlike other noble houses, there was no room for development by doing the same things as the others.

Hence, the key is differentiation. It’s just like the saying “Look at others’ behavior and correct your own.”

Simply acting differently from the arrogant, inconsiderate attitude of the foolish Rhoadserian aristocrats would undoubtedly raise Ryoma’s reputation. This could be called the “teachable moment” approach.

In that sense, the idea of gods is quite convenient. If your unreasonable anger is targeted at a god, it won’t harm anyone. On the other hand, I might receive divine punishment someday, Ryoma considered, seeing he didn’t follow any specific god but had never denied their existence. I may have to pay the price for all I’ve done one day, especially in a world where gods can exist.

After all, there were supernatural powers like thaumaturgy. If Ryoma were to fear divine punishment, he wouldn’t survive in this world. Committing one or two acts of disrespect toward the gods hardly counted as a major sin.

My hands are already stained red with blood.

But even so, there was no option to simply give up and throw everything away now. Ryoma Mikoshiba’s life no longer belonged to him alone. Just then, he heard water being poured into a teapot. A distinctive, refreshing mint fragrance filled the room, drawing Ryoma’s attention.

“Mint tea today? That’s unusual,” Ryoma said.

“Yes, I thought it might help refresh you more than the usual black tea, Your Grace. For snacks, I’ve prepared cookies from a recipe I learned from Ms. Kikuna.” Sara then placed a teacup in front of Ryoma and poured the light greenish-yellow tea into it. Upon hearing her words, Ryoma couldn’t help but grin.

Indeed, this feels more suitable for my mood now than the usual black tea, but being so easily understood is a bit unsettling. Or is it just that I’m an easy person to read?

Ryoma reached for his teacup, feeling pleased and slightly embarrassed that someone understood him so well. The rising steam tickled his nostrils as he carefully brought the rim of the cup to his lips. The liquid, kept at just the right temperature, filled his mouth. He felt the pleasant sweetness and refreshing mint flavor gently soothe his agitated heart.

This sweetness is different from sugar. It has a hint of floral scent, so this must be honey. Next, Ryoma picked up a cookie that Sara had placed next to the cup and popped it into his mouth. Delicious... They say eating sweets calms the mind, and it’s true. Well done.

The cookie was just a simple baked good. However, its perfection made it the finest dessert. The flavor was something you would rarely encounter in this world.

As expected of a recipe Ms. Kikuna taught her. Ryoma visualized the face of the woman responsible for the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy’s kitchen.

Kikuna Samejima, a professional chef who had trained in French cuisine before being summoned to this world, had exceptional culinary skills. She was also a dedicated scholar, expanding her knowledge of French cuisine as well as Japanese and Chinese cooking, aiming to broaden her range of flavors. Her skill in desserts, the final course of a meal, was on par with those of the finest chefs anywhere. If Kikuna had taught her, there was no way the cookies Sara made would have been anything less than delicious. Sara’s cookies had other qualities that added to their excellence.

With a satisfying crunch, the cookie broke apart in Ryoma’s mouth. Once all the cookie crumbs disappeared down his throat, he brought the cup to his lips again.

I see... By using honey, she’s balanced the sweetness from the sugar in the cookie. It pairs well with the refreshing taste of mint. Not bad at all, thought Ryoma. When pairing beverages with sweet treats, avoiding adding sugar or other sweeteners was preferable. Adding sugar to the tea would overlap with the sugar in the dessert, making the aftertaste feel heavier. Contrasting flavors like bitterness or acidity would be best to avoid that. If one wishes to enjoy the natural taste of an ingredient or dish, the combinations should be considered.

Combinations essentially meant being mindful of the harmony with the natural flavors of the ingredients, although this wasn’t an absolute rule for dining. Ryoma’s grandfather, Koichiro, had raised him with this perspective, firmly instilling his philosophy. That said, preferences varied widely from person to person. There was no definitive right or wrong, and these preferences could also change significantly depending on age and circumstances.

Some people add brandy to their tea, while others put sugar in barley tea.

There was nothing inherently wrong with eating cake while drinking coffee loaded with sugar. Even so, such combinations didn’t align with Ryoma’s tastes. If he were to eat sweet desserts, he would honestly prefer unsweetened coffee or tea.

And Sara knows my preferences well, yet she deliberately served honeyed mint tea, didn’t she?

It was likely a thoughtful gesture to calm the frustration and restlessness that had been stirring within Ryoma. At this moment, that consideration was the most valuable thing for him. If that assumption were true, it demonstrated an insightfulness that could rival his cousin and childhood friend, Asuka Kiryu.

Not only does Sara understand my preferences, but she’s also accounted for the balance of flavors, he thought. In a way, that was only natural. We’ve known each other for years, after all.

Officially, their relationship was that of lord and vassal.

The Malfist sisters undoubtedly stood by Ryoma Mikoshiba, assisting him with official duties. Yet describing their relationship as merely that of master and servants would feel incomplete. They were more than just friends but not quite family. If one were to force a description of the relationship between Ryoma Mikoshiba and the Malfist sisters into words, it would likely fall somewhere in that ambiguous middle ground.

Despite being “not quite family,” they were also “not quite lovers.” As Ryoma smirked, he reached for the teacup again. Whether Sara was aware of his thoughts, she poured herself a cup of tea, pulled over a chair from the corner of the room, and sat down.

“What were you thinking about?” Sara casually asked.

Ryoma turned his gaze toward the window and responded, “Nothing important. It’s just that the weather’s a mess on top of this already depressing situation. I was just thinking that Meneos really isn’t very considerate.”

Even though words slipped casually from Ryoma’s lips, they had absolutely nothing to do with the thoughts that had been occupying his mind moments earlier. He most likely found it too embarrassing to express his true feelings.

“Oh, Master...” Whether she understood his feelings, Sara placed a hand to her mouth and laughed cheerfully. She glanced at the tumultuous weather outside, furrowing her brows. “It really is quite a storm out there. I can understand why you’d feel like complaining, Master.”

Sara’s eyes seemed to reflect her anger toward the Meneos, the god of light, for hindering her beloved lord’s work. If anyone dared to obstruct the man who had freed her and her sister from the bonds of slavery, even if that someone was a god, she would likely draw her twin blades without hesitation.

After staring at the sky for a while, Sara tilted her head and asked Ryoma, “But, Master... Is the weather really within Meneos’s domain of authority? I mean, it wouldn’t be strange if lightning or the movement of the sun fell under the god of light’s purview, but does Meneos also govern clouds and rain?”

Once Ryoma heard this question, he tilted his head, lost in thought. The question was simple, yet it struck at the heart of the matter.

“I see... So, it’s possible that the formation of clouds falls outside the domain of Meneos’s divine authority. It all depends on how we interpret the weather, right?” replied Ryoma.

According to the teachings of the Church of Meneos, the most widely followed faith on the western continent, the god of light created this earthly world. The belief that light and darkness were separated from the primordial chaos and that light gave birth to the world was a fairly common religious narrative. When people thought about the brightest and most radiant phenomena, they likely pictured the sun shining in the sky and lightning cleaving through stormy clouds. Consequently, people had regarded the sun and lightning as manifestations of Meneos’s authority and symbols of his power.

During bad weather, it was common for the followers of the Church of Meneos to say, “Meneos must be in a bad mood today.” Such beliefs formed the foundation of common sense on the western continent, unquestioned by anyone. At least until now. But that long-standing belief had begun to waver, all because of the question Sara had just posed. Meneos certainly governed the sun, but it became doubtful if the thick clouds that blanketed the sky were his doing.

“I’ve never given it much thought before, but it’s a valid question. If Meneos doesn’t have authority over the weather, then my complaints about him are misplaced. Should I direct my grievances toward the god of clouds in that case? If such a deity exists, that is...” Ryoma said, faintly smiling.

The real question lay in whether phenomena like sunny or cloudy weather should be collectively categorized as “weather.” Even if Meneos was considered the king of gods and the ruler of light and law, it was hard to imagine that his powers extended to controlling the formation of clouds.

Still, Ryoma did not know if a deity responsible for clouds existed within the teachings of the Church of Meneos. The vast number of scriptures considered sacred texts in the organization was staggering. Even for someone like Ryoma, who enjoyed reading, the sheer volume made it impossible to study them all thoroughly.

On top of that, there are additional texts known as apocrypha or sealed scriptures that go beyond the publicly available ones, Ryoma mused. While the existence of such texts was acknowledged, very few people had the chance to actually see their contents. For that reason, it’s impossible to categorically deny the existence of a god who governs weather.

The immense number of scriptures the Church of Meneos considered canonical was simply due to the way the organization had expanded by absorbing other religions over time. This growth also explained why the Church of Meneos did not deny the existence of other gods despite venerating Meneos as the creator and supreme deity.

As far as I know, the religions of this world—commonly referred to as the “earthly world”—either follow a polytheistic framework where many gods exist or base monotheistic doctrines on the foundation of their institutions.

Indeed, it wasn’t as though people only worshipped Meneos on the western continent.

Claiming to be the king of gods without subordinates wouldn’t make sense. It’s only natural, in a way.

Moreover, outright denying the existence of other gods simply because they did not align with one’s doctrine was dangerous. Followers would not remain silent if others denied their god, which was true on both Rearth and this world. In fact, the significance of gods was likely far weightier in this world than on Rearth.

If it stopped at just arguments, that would be ideal. But most likely, it would escalate into bloodshed and armed conflict, thought Ryoma. The founders of the Church of Meneos had probably understood this danger. That’s why they settled on a compromise, framing it as a relationship between a chief deity and subordinate gods. Wasn’t this called monolatry or something similar?

This doctrine involved worshipping one primary god without denying the existence of others. Though it introduced a hierarchy, it was a practical compromise.

“But even if there is a god who governs clouds or weather, wouldn’t the creator god bear some responsibility as the ruler of this earthly world? If that’s the case, blaming Meneos might not be entirely off base, don’t you think?” asked Ryoma.

Despite Meneos lacking domain over the weather, he was still the king of gods. From that perspective, one could argue that all outcomes ultimately fell under Meneos’s responsibility.

After all, isn’t it said that a subordinate’s failure is the superior’s responsibility? This relation was an idealistic view, but few leaders truly bore such responsibility. Still, at least in theory, it was a valid perspective.

“That’s true... Logically speaking, at least. But if any followers of the Church of Meneos heard that, they’d probably fly into a rage,” Sara remarked with a cheerful smile before bursting into laughter.

For the Malfist sisters, who hailed from the central continent, the teachings of the Church of Meneos were merely stories of another faith. While they might respect it, they certainly didn’t adhere to its beliefs.

Ryoma shrugged lightly at Sara’s comment. Well, all of this is based on the premise that gods actually exist.

Whether one accepted the existence of transcendent beings known as gods or approached the subject with scientific reasoning would likely lead to entirely different conclusions.

“Scientifically speaking, there’s no causal relationship between the sun’s movement and cloud formation. At least, that conclusion would hold truth if my astronomical knowledge applies to this world,” he said.

“Astronomy...?” Sara tilted her head slightly, clearly puzzled by the unfamiliar term.

Seeing her confusion, Ryoma simply smiled and silently shook his head.

If Ryoma explained it, Sara would likely understand. Laura and Sara, hailing from the knightly class, were among the most skilled in the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy and possessed keen intellect and insight sharp enough to assist Ryoma in his administrative duties. Their ability to instantly grasp the essence of things made terms like “prodigy” or “genius” seem perfectly fitting. However, even geniuses had their limits.

Well, it’s not exactly fair to expect Sara to grasp the concept of astronomy right away, especially with no prior knowledge. After all, impractical studies tend to be looked down upon in this world.

Astronomical knowledge was essential for sailors determining their position during long-distance voyages. People had accumulated that knowledge on Rearth long before the Age of Discovery. The same was true in this world. For trade between continents, such knowledge was indispensable. However, for everyone else, the stars in the night sky often held no more significance than mere lights in the dark. Sara had received one of the finest educations available in this world, but her expertise lay primarily in the military domain.

Whether anyone in this world studied astronomy as an academic discipline was doubtful. This lack of knowledge was hardly surprising in a society where just being literate was enough to be considered part of the intellectual elite. It was certainly not a world where just anyone could attend a school and have access to learning. At that moment, vivid memories flooded Ryoma’s mind of trudging through a desert battered by sandstorms, desperately searching for an oasis while trying to uncover a way to return to Rearth.

Just as Annamaria secluded herself in Mireish to immerse herself in her research, there might be someone in this world studying astronomy like Galileo or Copernicus.

Even if such an individual existed in this world, it would likely take decades for their research to gain widespread recognition. Facts only gained significance when society acknowledged them. But changing long-held beliefs and perceptions required considerable time and effort.

History has proven that time and again.

While this rejection might not be as extreme as the witch hunts of the Dark Ages, Galileo and Copernicus—who lived during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries when Christianity wielded immense authority—were seen as challenging the divine order. Their groundbreaking contributions took a long time to receive widespread appreciation.

People in modern society even harbored a strong aversion to genetic engineering in humans, perceiving it as an encroachment on the divine.

And then there’s the question of whether the heliocentric model can even be applied directly to this world...

Gravity existed, and living beings maintained their vital functions by breathing in oxygen from the air. As far as Ryoma could tell, the fundamental principles governing this world were the same as those of Rearth. Of course, Ryoma wasn’t an expert in meteorology or astronomy, so he couldn’t be entirely sure. The natural laws of this world superficially appeared to align with those of his world. From that perspective, it seemed reasonable to assume that Earth revolved around a star.

But that assumption was only a strong possibility, not a certainty.

If the heliocentric model holds true in this world, the sun must typically be beyond those thick clouds.

The presence or absence of clouds would not have impacted the sun’s movement if the heliocentric model, where the planets revolved around the sun, applied to this world. Plus, the stars should shine in the sky like jewels, proving that the light from distant stars took thousands, if not millions, of years to reach the atmosphere. At the same time, it was possible to consider each of these stars as gods.

Many religions, including Taoism and Shinto, view gods and stars as the same. In ancient China, I believe they referred to them as star catalogs or something like that.

For example, Taoism deified the North Star as the “Emperor of the Purple Cold North,” while Shinto associated the god Amaterasu with Venus. Ancient China referred to Mars as the “star of disaster,” whereas ancient Rome viewed Mars as the god of war. Across both the East and the West, such examples are numerous.

Of course, historically, many cultures have equated stars with gods.

Ryoma did not perceive this as a reality but as knowledge he had acquired within the realms of cultural and personal interests. For modern people, the North Star and Venus were simply celestial bodies, and it would have been unthinkable to equate them with gods. However, it could not be completely ruled out either.

After all, this isn’t my Earth. In the end, the accumulation of evidence through science is what’s important, thought Ryoma. Proving the facts was crucial, and a steady accumulation of evidence was necessary to do so. Considering that this world may not even have the concept of “science” as we know it, it’s hard to say if it will take a hundred years or a thousand...

Perhaps it was a realm beyond human proof. Until the issue was resolved, the existence of gods could not be confirmed or denied. Ryoma had recently witnessed what could be considered a divine miracle, but just because it was a miracle didn’t mean it was a blessing for everyone.

“But if gods exist, they must really enjoy toying with people...”

When Sara heard Ryoma mutter, she nodded slightly and must have sensed the implication in her master’s words. A look of concern appeared on her beautiful face.

“To be honest, I didn’t think there was any hope of recovery...” she said.

“Exactly... It truly is a miracle, or perhaps it’s the work of a demon? Either way, I never expected her to regain consciousness from that state.”

The mint tea Sara had prepared helped calm Ryoma’s nerves, but his blood pressure spiked again as soon as he recalled the worrying situation. It might have been more accurate to say that once his mind had calmed, he had the mental space to focus on the concerns he had been trying not to think about.

“Well, Harisha waking up was a miracle. There’s no denying that. But it’s hard to welcome this with open arms. The need to rewrite the script at this point was an unexpected miscalculation. Based on Harisha’s behavior, the time spent convincing Rahizya could literally become a waste.”

“Yes, depending on the outcome of tomorrow’s negotiations, we might need to reassess your strategy from the ground up,” Sara replied.

“Since we also need to proceed with negotiations with the Organization, I don’t want to be bogged down by them too much... That’s probably going to be difficult,” said Ryoma, grabbing another cookie from the plate and tossing it into his mouth.

Ryoma’s frustration was understandable, as it all stemmed from the sudden miracle that happened three days ago. Or perhaps calling it a nightmare might be more fitting. Harisha, who had been in a coma for more than two weeks, suddenly woke up. That in itself wasn’t a bad thing; it could even be called fortunate. However, with any kind of fortune, timing was crucial. Ryoma hadn’t necessarily wanted Harisha to wake up. Yet he couldn’t answer, if asked whether he would have preferred her to remain in a coma.

From that perspective, the timing of Harisha waking up wasn’t ideal.

Given that Rahizya was well suited as a negotiator, it would have been better for Harisha to have died while unconscious, allowing things to proceed without any lingering issues. However, it was too late to turn back time before Harisha’s awakening.

If we had to stick with Rahizya as the negotiator, we would have had no choice but to let Harisha die, but that would be a bad move at this stage, Ryoma mused. Wanting someone to die and wanting to kill them were two completely different things. This point was where things got really tricky. So, I guess there’s no choice but to start over.

Now that Harisha had awakened, all the secret negotiations with Rahizya had become null and void. With her regaining consciousness, Ryoma had no choice but to change his negotiation partner from Rahizya to Harisha.

Rahizya is a competent man. I’ve learned that well through my negotiations with him. He’s certainly coldhearted and a realist. Moreover, he’s someone who is not afraid to do whatever it takes to achieve his goals. He’s a type that’s troublesome to have as an enemy. But at the same time, he genuinely cares about the future of his tribe.

That loyalty was visible in the attitude of the soldiers who followed him as his guards. He would be the perfect match as a negotiator for Ryoma.

Considering Rahizya’s shortcomings, having Harisha take on the role of negotiator might not be so bad after all.

The problem lay with Rahizya’s position. No matter how capable Rahizya was, he was just the deputy commander of the unit, merely an assistant to Harisha. If she had remained unconscious, a substitute could have stepped in as an emergency measure. With Harisha now awake, no one could continue in that role.

Well, it’s more accurate to say it’s not so much that everything was undone but rather that it became meaningless.

Nevertheless, the conclusion remained unchanged. A deep sigh escaped Ryoma’s lips.

In response, Sara quietly told him, “It would be ideal if Rahizya could continue as the negotiator.”

Maintaining this status would indeed be the best outcome. However, at Sara’s words, Ryoma smirked and shook his head.

“It’s probably not going to work. From what I’ve heard, Harisha is quite stubborn and clings to her own opinions. If we try to move forward with negotiations without her, it’s clear that she’ll become obstinate. It’ll only create more trouble.”

The situation was already complicated enough, and there was little time left for the Kingdom of Xarooda to face the threat of the O’ltormea Empire. Because of that, Ryoma wanted to avoid making the negotiations even more difficult than they already were.

“Still, they really do say that warriors are resilient. It’s remarkable to think that within three days of regaining consciousness, she has no health issues and can eat normally... She’s certainly inhuman.”

“Yes, I’ve learned that we must feed hungry soldiers carefully after siege battles to avoid it becoming a matter of life and death. I’m honestly surprised. Of course, this situation may be a bit different.”

The implication behind Sara’s words was unmistakable. At her words, Ryoma nodded deeply in agreement.

“Well, that’s why she’s called a demon.”

Harisha had been in a coma for over two weeks. Normal thinking would suggest that her memory or mental state might have been affected in some way. Furthermore, Harisha’s body would have severely deteriorated due to dehydration and malnutrition. At the very least, if she were human, she would not have so quickly returned to her normal daily life just because she regained consciousness. She would need to remain bedridden for a week or more to recover, and there was a good chance she would have to use a wheelchair until her atrophied muscles regained strength. No matter what the patient claimed, doctors and family wouldn’t accept such a thing.

If an unconscious patient woke up, they would be told, “Let’s observe them for a while.” No one would ever criticize this as a misdiagnosis.

Ryoma didn’t have formal medical knowledge, but this information was common sense. For Harisha, a demonlike creature called a yaksha, such modern common sense appeared irrelevant. On the day she woke up, she only had a clear broth without any solid ingredients. But by the next day, she was already complaining about hunger, asking her maid to bring her meat and bread.

The fact that she has an appetite and can eat normally is something to be happy about. Or it should be, anyway.

Eating was undeniably essential for humans to get the nutrients they needed. In modern society, there are ways to provide nutrition without eating, thanks to advances in medical technology. Artificial heart-lung machines and intravenous feeding could keep patients alive for years, even when they were unconscious. Even direct feeding through a stomach tube was possible. But just because these methods were technically possible, no doctor would claim that food was unnecessary.

Nutritional intake through means other than food, such as IV drips or stomach tubes, was only a substitute when forced by emergencies or illness. Moreover, eating was not just about nutritional intake.

Eating is literally the source of vitality for tomorrow.

As people said, eating brought happiness. Humans derived joy from eating, which was why people who could not do so could mentally break down. Eating was that important to humans.

However, in certain circumstances, that crucial act of eating can literally become deadly. Wasn’t it called refeeding syndrome?

Ironically, something so essential for life could become a cause of death.

During the Sengoku period, when Toyotomi Hideyoshi was still using the Hashiba name, records showed that soldiers who had endured a four-month siege of Inaba Tottori’s Castle died after eating rice given to them upon surrendering.

Still, it was unconfirmed that Harisha had developed refeeding syndrome. Ryoma, an amateur, couldn’t predict what level of starvation would lead to refeeding syndrome. But even though he recognized the danger, he couldn’t ignore the importance of the negotiations.

If she woke up from a coma just to die quickly, then I couldn’t make use of her, and if strange rumors spread, it would affect things later. So...

Ryoma had a very pragmatic line of thought, but it was his honest opinion. Otherwise, why would he waste precious medicine and use a doctor to treat an enemy?

After all, this world doesn’t have Geneva Conventions or any such regulations about the humane treatment of prisoners.

Thus, there were no internationally agreed-upon standards for handling prisoners of war, and the fate of prisoners was usually predetermined. Most of them were executed or sold into slavery. Chaining them up and keeping them hostage for ransom was the other option, and was common in this world.

Ryoma allowed Harisha’s treatment, even ignoring such cultural norms, but not because he had become a humanitarian. His true nature was far from a distorted personality that enjoyed torturing or executing enemies, but he wasn’t naive enough to suddenly embrace brotherhood and universal love for humanity. He simply allowed Harisha’s treatment simply because it was the most convenient option for the next step in his plan.

When Ryoma received the report from Laura that Harisha had regained consciousness, he ordered that she be given only a light broth to avoid putting strain on her stomach. Even such consideration meant nothing in the face of Harisha’s strong desires, especially since she and Ryoma had only recently become enemies. On top of that, it was a crucial time to resume negotiations for the future.

Naturally, he didn’t want to do anything that would cause Harisha to become displeased before those important talks.

“Everything hinges on the meeting with Harisha. Depending on the outcome, I may have to speak with Rahizya again.” Ryoma let out a sigh that seemed a mix of resignation and disbelief. It was the sort of feeling a high school student might have on the eve of their entrance exams. Either way, it was still a matter for tomorrow.

Today, Ryoma had a mountain of work to do.

“Well, whatever... I’ll think about tomorrow tomorrow. For now, let me have another cup of hot tea. This time, with a bit more honey than before.”

“Yes, right away.”

“Please.”

Ryoma nodded slightly to Sara, who began boiling the water again. He popped another cookie into his mouth and swallowed it with some mint tea after it cooled down a bit. Then, he glared at the cloudy sky outside the window.

Isn’t it about time I got some divine favor, huh, Meneos? Well, I’m not expecting much...

He likely directed the anger in his eyes at the gods who had never smiled upon him. But the next day, Ryoma’s expectations would face an unexpected conclusion. No one could foresee what would happen at that point; not even the three goddesses who were said to control human fate.