The court of the Kazdel monarchy was crowded, though perhaps not to the same decadent extent as those of other nations. Still, it bustled with a singular, heavy purpose.
Upon that throne sat the one whom the mainstream Victorian press decried as the harbinger of ruin, a demon, the Great Whore of Babylon. Her name was Theresia, the Lord of Fiends of Kazdel and the Sarkaz.
Before her Arts—powerful enough to appear only once in several centuries—the elite forces of the world had been decimated. The Steam Knights of Victoria, the Gesächtsschwerter of Leithanien, and the Emperor's Blades of Ursus; the finest warriors the Great Powers could muster had been ground into a bloody slurry, as if cast into a rusted industrial mixer. Dozens, hundreds of generals and military aristocrats had been reduced to mangled corpses in the wake of her ascension.
Following the death of the previous Lord of Fiends during the last invasion of Kazdel, the Will of the Crown had designated both Theresia and her brother as joint heirs to the mantle. Yet, her brother Theresis had refused the crown, leaving her to reign alone as the sovereign of the Sarkaz.
In the long history of Kazdel—a cycle of invasion, massacre, betrayal, and oppression spanning millennia—the emergence of such a formidable Lord of Fiends provided a terrifying deterrent to the hegemony of neighboring nations. Reeling from catastrophic losses and the memory of agonizing defeat, the Great Powers were forced to shelf their plans for re-invasion, if only for a fleeting moment of cold peace.
However, the true nature of her heart stood in stark contrast to the exaggerated vitriol spewed by the foreign tabloids.
With her cascading hair of pale pink and a white, ethereal silhouette reminiscent of an ancient Minoan statue, her gentle and merciful temperament had won the absolute loyalty and devotion of the Sarkaz people.
Her horns, standing straight as if reaching for the heavens, seemed to symbolize the iron will of this youthful sovereign—crowned a mere century and twenty years ago. While there was no tangible proof that the shape of one's horns dictated their character, her goals and resolve mirrored their upright posture.
And what was this sovereign doing atop the throne of Kazdel? Was she grappling with the heavy burdens of statecraft, debating draconian policy, or agonizing over the treacherous future of her people?
"Kal'tsit, I'm sleepy. I'm exhausted. This is all so tedious. Could you please, just for today, handle the paperwork in my stead?"
She had already abandoned the throne, clinging to Kal'tsit's arm like a weary child and offering a pathetic lament.
"Theresia... the documents are piled as high as a mountain. Are you truly suggesting I process all of this alone?"
Kal'tsit replied, fixed her with a gaze of utter disbelief.
Theresia crossed her arms with a look of mock-defiance.
"Yes!"
Kal'tsit stared at her for a long, silent moment.
Then, she delivered a sharp flick to Theresia's forehead.
"Ouch! That actually hurt!"
"It did not. I know exactly how resilient your physical frame is."
Theresia stood up, looking slightly embarrassed.
"Che, you could have humored me once. Can the Lord of Fiends not indulge in a little levity?"
"You attempted this exact 'joke' yesterday. On Theresis."
At those words, Theresia burst into a pure, crystalline laugh.
"Pfft! Well, Brother always humors me. He may be cold-blooded and calculating, but he's not entirely devoid of affection, is he?"
She then turned her gaze toward the window.
Outside lay a blighted Kazdel: underdeveloped, desolate, and bone-chillingly poor. Through the frosted glass, the reality of the nation bled through.
Starving children and hollow-eyed adults could be seen desperately eking out an existence, their diets limited to the meager nutrition of frostbitten rutabagas.
After staring at the bleak landscape for a moment, Theresia's expression hardened. She pressed her lips into a thin line and spoke to Kal'tsit.
"Let us get to work then."
*******************************************
That day was meant to be another exceedingly mundane one for Theresia.
It was to be filled with the usual bureaucratic drudgery, the usual monotonous councils, and the usual hollow dialogues.
There was nothing to suggest anything revolutionary was on the horizon.
But it was then that a report arrived—one that would fundamentally shift the course of her life.
"We intercepted a suspicious Victorian on the outskirts. We couldn't detain the man—he fled—but we drove him off. What should we do with the goods he abandoned in his carriage?"
Theresia replied with her usual administrative apathy.
"Store them in the royal treasury. I will inspect them personally."
Because Theresia's administration operated under a brutal policy of fiscal austerity—funneling every available cent into reconstruction and defense—she decided to examine the cargo herself to see if anything could be salvaged for the state.
Of course, acknowledging her own lack of mechanical aptitude, she brought Kal'tsit along. After the day's duties were finalized, they descended into the depths of the treasury.
"Kal'tsit, what do you think that Victorian was trying to smuggle? He fled the moment he saw our patrols."
"Most likely fraudulent medicine. There are many Oripathy patients among the Sarkaz, and few possess enough education to see through a charlatan's cure."
Discussing the rampant exploitation of the Infected, they stepped into the back of the silent carriage.
The first object that caught their eye was a large machine.
"Oh... is this a printing press? It's a new model from Iberia. Perhaps we can use this to produce newspapers and expand our educational initiatives?"
"Theresia, there is some text here. Wait a moment... It's in Iberian... 'League Support Supplies'?"
Kal'tsit peered at the back of the machine, reading the script etched onto a label.
Theresia blinked in confusion.
"League? What League?"
Kal'tsit tilted her head, signaling her own ignorance with a faint gesture.
Accepting the mystery for now, Theresia became preoccupied with running her fingers along the various gears and levers of the press.
"Ah, Theresia! Stop! If you touch that, you'll break it..."
"Ehehe, s-sorry..."
Despite Theresia nearly damaging the delicate equipment, Kal'tsit's timely intervention saved the machine from the Maou's inadvertent sabotage.
Having inspected the press, they turned their attention to another crate.
"Kal'tsit, what about this one?"
"...I am uncertain. Most likely... books or something similar."
Theresia pried open the crate.
Inside, hundreds of volumes were stacked neatly.
Theresia's face lit up as she peered inside.
"Look, Kal'tsit! It's books!"
Her cheerful exclamation seemed to momentarily illuminate the dim interior of the carriage.
Kal'tsit leaned in closer to inspect the contents. The books were written in various tongues—Victorian, Iberian, Leithanian—and were in pristine condition, possessing the high-quality binding of new releases.
Kal'tsit pulled one out and read the title.
"'On Social Equality'... It's in Victorian. The author is... Vladimir Park?"
Theresia tilted her head.
"Park... Park? I've never heard of a surname like that. Does such a family name even exist? And his given name is in the Ursus style, yet the book was published in Victoria."
Kal'tsit flipped through the pages casually.
"Revolution, equality, labor... these contents are incredibly radical. To think there is someone writing such things in the heart of Victoria... a man named Park, no less."
Then, Kal'tsit muttered in a voice so low even Theresia couldn't hear it.
"...It's not as if it's him* either..."
Theresia nodded with interest, scanning the pages before pulling out another volume.
"'People's Education Series'... this one is Iberian. Kal'tsit, you're fluent in Iberian, right?"
Kal'tsit gave a faint smile and looked over the table of contents.
"Basic literacy training, curriculum design... this is essentially a manual for night schools. It's designed to teach the illiterate how to read and write with ease."
Theresia's eyes sparkled with newfound fervor.
"This is excellent! I like this very much."
However, as Kal'tsit continued to flip through the pages, her brow furrowed slightly.
"It is useful, certainly... but Theresia, these were clearly meant to be smuggled into Kazdel for a reason. Dismantling feudalism, overthrowing the bourgeoisie, the abolition of the landlord system... such incendiary language is littered throughout every volume."
Theresia quietly stroked the spine of a book.
The image of the desolate Kazdel streets, the begging children, and the elderly huddled over dying embers flashed before her eyes.
"...I can't say those are bad things."
Kal'tsit turned to look at her.
Theresia whispered softly.
"And besides, the books aren't filled only with 'radical' notions, are they? Look—'The Abolition of Sarkaz Discrimination.' 'End of Oripathy Discrimination.' 'Breaking Down Tribalism and Racism.' If we use this wisely... perhaps a future where the Sarkaz and non-Sarkaz live in peace isn't just a fantasy?"
Kal'tsit sighed.
"That may be true. But this could very well lead to a rebellion against your own monarchy. It could be the spark that sets the Sarkaz against one another in internal strife. Do you still deem it necessary?"
Theresia clutched the book tightly.
Her hands trembled slightly.
She took a deep breath, as if to steady herself against the weight of the potential consequences.
She then looked at Kal'tsit.
"...I want to read all of them."
Kal'tsit's green eyes widened in surprise.
"...All of them?"
"Yes. Every single one."
Kal'tsit let out a short, incredulous chuckle.
"Fine. You were always like this. I should have realized you were an eccentric the moment you spared my life after I led the invasion of Kazdel."
Theresia began pulling the books out of the crate one by one, stacking them in neat piles.
"Kal'tsit. Please. Stay with me here tonight. We need to organize these, pick which ones to read first... Oh, and you have to translate the languages I don't know!"
Kal'tsit watched Theresia for a moment before finally nodding.
"Very well. I will stay. But on one condition."
Theresia's eyes lit up.
"What is it?"
Kal'tsit smiled faintly.
"If you succumb to exhaustion and fall asleep, you will handle all of my administrative duties tomorrow in addition to your own."
Theresia burst into laughter at the rare joke.
"Pfft! Hahaha! Kal'tsit, you actually have a sense of humor? Deal. I simply won't sleep, then!"
And so, in the center of the cold royal treasury, the two of them spread out the mountain of radical literature.
Kal'tsit translated the archaic Leithanian, the complex Victorian idioms, and the colloquial Iberian proverbs and black humor that only a local would understand. Theresia scribbled notes with her fountain pen, absorbing every word.
The lamp in the treasury did not go out for a long, long time.
And beneath that flickering light, Theresia's pink eyes shone with a singular, brilliant intensity.
Like a beacon. Like hope.