"Digging canals, building reservoirs, irrigating thousands of fertile miles—you're really putting your energy into this now," remarked Fernand, glancing up from his paperwork to look at Muria.
"Is there something wrong with that?" Muria asked as he turned to face Fernand, who was busy handling state affairs.
"Not really wrong, just... it doesn't seem like your usual style," Fernand replied while flipping through another document.
"I have no choice. Soldiers need to eat. If I want to rely on them to conquer other nations and maintain control, I need to fill their stomachs first. Otherwise, all talk of war is pointless."
"So everything you're doing is just preparation for war?" Fernand held up a document requesting the excavation of a new canal, shaking it at Muria.
"Exactly."
"In that case, you'd better make it clear to the soldiers. The war may be over for now, but the army is restless—they're hungry for more battles."
"I won't be launching another war anytime soon, and no nation dares to invade Gai Kingdom anymore."
"You'd better be prepared to appease them. You've turned this entire country into a greedy beast, but after letting it taste its first bite of meat, you've locked it up again and denied it more. That's going to provoke resentment and dissatisfaction across the kingdom."
"I haven't locked the beast up. I'm just preparing it for its second feast," Muria said, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked to the palace doors. He gazed down at the bustling capital city below.
After Muria single-handedly crushed the invading armies of three nations—along with their high-ranking officers and powerful champions—Gai Kingdom had firmly established itself as a regional power.
The kingdom had become an entity that none of its neighbors dared provoke. Furthermore, thanks to the reparations and resources gained during the war, Gai Kingdom had rapidly transformed into one of the wealthiest nations in the region.
With no immediate plans for external warfare, Muria turned his focus to commerce. He began importing raw materials from neighboring countries and exporting finished goods, leveraging trade surpluses to exploit those same nations economically.
Some rulers in these nations were wise enough to see Muria's economic maneuvers for what they were—a form of war, a new type of plunder. But what could they do? Faced with Muria's overwhelming power, they had no choice but to endure as he drained their resources.
This exploitation was the foundation of the prosperity Muria now saw in his capital. The bustling trade and growth of the city came at the expense of other nations.
"What are you looking at? Get back here and deal with these state affairs!" Fernand's irritated voice snapped Muria out of his reverie.
"You handle the paperwork. That's what you're here for," Muria replied, unmoving as he continued to enjoy the view of the vibrant city below.
"Don't make excuses. Handling state affairs is a king's duty. As your father, I can help you or even handle things for you, but you must still learn how to manage these matters yourself."
Fernand's exasperated voice carried behind Muria. Watching his son blatantly shirk his responsibilities infuriated him.
"It's unnecessary. With you and the ministers, everything is under control. I just need to set the overarching direction; you can handle the details," Muria said dismissively, still not turning around.
The grand hall behind him was shrouded in a faint aura of death. Apart from Fernand, whose complexion was unnaturally pale, dozens of undead ghouls sat at desks, holding pens and reviewing documents.
These ghouls were none other than the nobles and officials who had opposed Muria's reforms. After being defeated, they were forcibly transformed into undead creatures by Muria.
Though they had been his opponents, their capabilities were undeniable. These were individuals who had once wielded significant power and influence, making them perfect candidates for handling state affairs.
Now that there was no war to fight, Muria made sure they weren't idle. He put them to work, utilizing their skills to keep the kingdom running smoothly.
"What kind of attitude is this? Get over here!" Fernand yelled, slamming his pen down on the desk in frustration.
"What's the matter now?" Muria finally turned around, looking somewhat resigned.
"Dealing with state affairs is essential for any king. By managing these affairs, a ruler gains insight into the entire kingdom and can implement better policies. You can't just leave everything to me and these... creatures. That's not how a king should act."
"But isn't this working out well? Father, I don't need to handle state affairs personally to understand the kingdom. I can know everything happening in real-time without lifting a finger."
"I've had enough! I'm not doing this anymore!" Fernand snapped, rising to his feet in a fit of rage.
"Fine, take a break then. Let them handle it," Muria said, gesturing to the ghouls in the hall. "Honestly, with or without you, the speed at which things get done won't change much."
"You—!" Fernand's whole body shook with anger. But his undead form prevented his complexion from changing, even as he seethed. "None of you are allowed to continue working!" he shouted at the ghouls, his former subordinates in life.
Unfortunately for him, the ghouls ignored his command entirely, continuing to process the documents Muria had assigned to them.
Seeing this, Fernand grew even angrier. With a huff, he swept his robe dramatically and disappeared from the hall.
"You all keep up the good work," Muria said to the ghouls. "If you complete the tasks I've given you, I can promise that your families will be allowed to survive. Some might even restore the honor of their noble bloodlines."
At his words, the ghouls' pens moved faster. Clearly, they were spurred on by Muria's promises.
Muria had preserved the memories of these former nobles and officials when he turned them into undead, allowing them to retain all their expertise and knowledge. Of course, this also meant they remembered everything they had lost.
Muria had wiped out their families, seized their estates, and reduced them to this cursed existence. Yet he had left them a glimmer of hope. When purging their families, Muria had deliberately spared some children, leaving them as leverage over the undead nobles.
For the sake of their descendants, many of whom were now living as beggars on the streets, these ghouls reluctantly endured their current servitude. They clung to the hope that their families might one day regain their honor.
...
"Uncle, what are you looking at?"
Beside a freshly sown rice paddy, a young boy looked up at his burly uncle, whose scarred face was fixed on the field.
"I'm looking at the rice fields," the man replied with a grin, ruffling the boy's hair.
"But we see these fields every day. What's so interesting about them?" the boy asked, confused.
"Kid, your uncle isn't looking at the fields. He's waiting for the rice to ripen so he can go to war," said a passing young man, a hoe slung over his shoulder.
"What does ripe rice have to do with war?" The boy's confusion only deepened.
"It has everything to do with it," the young man said with a laugh. "Wars need people to fight, but soldiers need full bellies to fight. Only when the rice is harvested and there's enough food can a war be waged."
"Oh!" The boy's face lit up in understanding.
"Why are you telling him this?" The scarred man frowned at the young man, clearly displeased.
"What's wrong with explaining it? Look at your nephew—he's already so tall for his age. Feed him well, train him up, and give him a good horse. When he's older, he'll join the army as a knight. Military merit will be his for the taking!"
"Get out of here. Military merit isn't that easy to earn," the scarred man said with a laugh, rubbing the deep scar on his face.
"But it's worth it! Kill enough enemies, and even we commoners can taste what it's like to be nobility," the young man said, his eyes gleaming with ambition.
"Nobility..." At the word, the scarred man's gaze grew distant, filled with longing. But that longing quickly turned into a fierce, bloodthirsty glint. Black-gray hairs began to sprout from his body.
"Hey, calm down! You're scaring the kid!" the young man warned, seeing the transformation.
"Sorry, sorry." The scarred man quickly reined in his power, turning to reassure his nephew, who looked on the verge of tears.
"You're losing your mind, aren't you? From the way you're acting, it seems like you're ready to grab your sword and start killing right now."
"You're one to talk," the scarred man retorted, glancing at the young man. He could see the same burning desire in his eyes.
"The king said we'd wait until the harvest to start the next war, but it's been five years with no movement."
"It's close. With all the canals being built and the fields yielding more grain every year, the time is coming. The next war is just around the corner."
"Do you think this year's harvest will mark the beginning of it?"
"Probably."
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