King...

The girl still knelt on one knee before Dorado, a reed by a river, yet this time her cheeks bloomed with a dawn-pink blush.

I know what you want to say. I already knew before I came back.

His tone was plain, like a calm pond, yet in her ears it turned to cold rain, a rebuke that stung like sleet.

I’m incompetent. I didn’t—

Niyaqi!

His shout cracked like thunder rolling off stone, a spark of inexplicable anger flickering like a gust in dry grass.

I—

Dorado stepped forward and cupped Niyaqi’s cheeks, gentle pressure like warm hands around a teacup, guiding her gaze into his eyes.

Niyaqi, you know I like you very much. I don’t want the moon I favor to cloud with sadness on its face. Understand?

She gave no answer; her heart swelled first like a tide, then memory slipped in like a silk thread—before the Three Kings Council, he’d called her to his room to play aeroplane chess.

In that game, he’d watched her the same way, lantern-light steady and close.

Back then she’d wanted to say it: his eyes were—

So beautiful...

Oh? Are they? You like my eyes too? Many say they’re pretty; pity I can’t gift them to you, like pearls in a box.

No… no need, my king. I don’t deserve to keep the king’s light all to myself, like a single moth hoarding a lamp.

Tired of words, Dorado stepped back and sat on the throne, a cliff of cold stone under a sun that refused to set.

Then let’s sort the intel. Those Daemons’ distribution is clear now, right?

Yes, my king. I sent people to scout it, and we also checked the Moser Empire and the Ulu Empire, like mapping stars across three skies.

Her report surprised Dorado; he’d thought her just a blade in the dark, yet she moved like a weaver at a loom—kind of my type—slurp.

Let’s hear it.

By our findings, the Ulu Empire holds the most Daemons, the Moser Empire sits second, and our Ailusen Empire has the least, like rain thinning across fields.

Dorado’s face darkened, clouded like a stormbank rolling in from the mountains.

What do they mean? Looking down on us?

I don’t think so. The Daemons’ spread follows a pattern, like seeds scattered by one wind—big empires, small empires, even tiny villages all host a dozen or so.

Dorado studied her with interest, peeling layers like bamboo sheaths; shy before, wild over the board, now sharp as a blade under moonlight.

Then, dear, what’s the rule?

She blushed, happiness like a peach glow under frost, and spoke with care, words stepping like cranes along a shore.

My king, I think their overlord judges who’s most threatening and sends more Daemons there, like wolves testing the strongest fence.

You’re saying our empire is the weakest?

Her body stilled, a deer under arrow-shadow, and cold sweat slid like meltwater down her back.

No, no, no, no… not that—

Don’t tense, dear. I know you didn’t mean it, but the facts are different, like a compass pointing elsewhere. So your deduction doesn’t hold, and I won’t blame you.

…My king.

You’re young; you’ve seen little, your analysis is raw, and your intel is thin—like sketching a dragon without eyes. Start with the three states.

Use hypothesis. Lay out every possible cause like stones on a path, run them in your mind like a river, then cut them down one by one.

In the end you’ll see the Daemons’ distribution shifts for one thing—the Beastfolk slaves.

Dorado’s reasoning only fogged her more, mist thickening across a lake; she couldn’t see why Daemons tied to Beastfolk slaves.

Even if it offends the empire, she felt her threat-based pattern more solid, like a spear that fit the hand.

Don’t overthink it. Your theory’s wrong, and this isn’t personal. Fact: our Ailusen Empire is stronger than the Moser Empire, like oak to rotting willow.

So why fewer Daemons here? Hypothesize, simulate, eliminate, conclude—trim the garden till only the true branch remains.

She fell silent; Moser’s rot was deep, a wormwood barrel. Her theory collapsed like a sand tower under a rising tide.

Well, even if we deduce it, it’s not much use now; key pieces are missing, like stars veiled by cloud. Relax.

Those Daemons show no intent to attack; the wind is mild, the drums are quiet. No need to be tense.

By the way, free tonight, dear? I want to play aeroplane chess with you, and I’ve invited a few more friends, like birds gathering at dusk.

Niyaqi barely reacted to his teasing; her thoughts drifted like smoke from incense.

She held to his words—“not much use,” yet from this small thing he’d netted answers like fish from a pond.

She exhaled, a reed in low wind, and knew she still needed to grow.