The night of Fernork was deep and silent. The topmost floor of the stone building called the Strategist's Tower——Kuro's office and residence, a five-story structure from whose windows the dark ridgeline of the Volgan Plateau stretched into view——was darker still, beyond the reach of the campfires' glow. A single candle sat on the table. That alone was the light source. Kuro faced his work notebook. On one side of the page, a circuit diagram for buff magic was drawn. A map-like figure showing the flow of magical power through lines. On the reverse, structural notes reminiscent of code he'd written for thousands of hours in his past life. Functions nested within functions——nested structures, conditional branches, kill switches. The concept itself had come to him five days ago at dawn in the wasteland. The problem was implementing it. Buff magic was nothing more than a spell to strengthen its target. A one-way flow, pushing external power inward. The idea of housing "a separate command" within it didn't exist in the continent's magical theory at all. No one had ever tried it. Which meant there was no precedent anywhere. Kuro picked up a stone fragment. A small, unremarkable pebble, slightly larger than his thumbnail. Stones he'd burned through over these five days were piled at the edge of his desk. This was the eleventh one tonight. His right hand's mark glowed. He poured in the buff——simultaneously attempting a minute "addition" at the end of the circuit. In terms of his past life, it was like running a separate thread after the main process. Branching the flow of magical power, sealing one branch to the original strengthening and the other as a "dormant trigger." Twelfth attempt. Backfire. The stone shattered and rolled off the desk. Kuro placed his hand to his forehead. He exhaled. (Don't rush. Rushing won't change the circuit.) Back to basics once more. At which point in the buff's flow could he embed the trigger to affect the whole? In programming terms, where to place the global variable. Conscious of the magical power's "read order," he rewrote in his notebook. Thirteenth attempt. "[serious]Release," He whispered it. The stone glowed white. The moment the light faded, the strengthened state returned to zero. Completely, cleanly, in an instant. Kuro clenched his fist. He made no sound. But his fingertips trembled. (It worked.) The next moment, his mind began calculating reality coldly. Applying this to a human body. Not one person, but a hundred. Not a hundred, but forty-eight thousand. And doing it naturally, woven into the daily buff reapplication work under Groflik's watch. His stomach ached slightly. Outside the window, Fernork's campfires stained the night sky red. Kuro stared at that light for a while, then continued writing the design on his notebook. There was no choice but to do it——a phrase he didn't write because he understood it without writing. --- The next day's noon was unusually clear. The Volgan Plateau's sky was often cloudy. But it had cleared to an unusual blue, and after finishing his daily buff reapplication work on the soldiers, Kuro sat at the edge of the food distribution line, gnawing on dried meat and black bread. The bread was hard. Baked three days ago. It took strength to bite through. Someone sat beside him. "[gentle]Your eyes have changed," It was Solange. Her lustrous golden hair was tied behind her shoulders, her expression slightly more composed than usual. She'd removed her combat armor. In her everyday clothes, she sat down heavily beside Kuro. Among the six princesses, she was the only one who spoke to Kuro normally. The other five either holed up in their quarters or threw their gaze like a sword the moment their eyes met his in the corridor. Solange was different. "[serious]……What are you talking about?" "[gentle]Your eyes are scarier than before. But so much better than they were," Kuro stopped gnawing his bread. "[gentle]Your old eyes were running from something. Your new eyes——are looking at something," It was an explanation she couldn't quite articulate herself. But it was oddly precise. Kuro silently looked around. Orc soldiers were eating at a distance. His adjutant Drag was nowhere to be seen. He lowered his voice. "[whispers]……Can I ask you one thing?" "Yeah," "[serious]Even if it means betraying Groflik——would you think of me as an enemy?" Solange looked at him. Her azure eyes were fixed directly on Kuro. Kuro continued. All of it, briefly, but just the skeleton. The plan to embed a release trigger in the buff circuit. A mechanism to erase the strengthening of all orc soldiers with a single word. The possibility of freeing all six. And that it was a tightrope that had to be accomplished without Groflik noticing. As Solange listened, her eyes grew brighter by degrees. "[excited]Then I'll help too! Can I rampage on the front lines?" "[serious]You're the least suited person for covert operations," "[surprised]Why?" "Don't ask with a straight face," Kuro placed his hand to his forehead. But——the corner of his mouth relaxed, just slightly. For the first time in these five days. --- The problems began the next day. Morning of day one. Solange walking down the corridor had something wrapped in burlap bundled under her arm. A meter and a half in length. Metal crossguards peeking from the cloth's edge. By any measure, it was a greatsword. "[gentle]I'm hiding it," She said it with a smile. An orc soldier they passed tilted his head. "Your Highness, what is that?" He asked straightforwardly. "[serious]It is Her Highness's personal item. Pardon us," Kuro immediately cut in and smoothed things over. The moment they turned the corner, he placed his hand against the wall. Cold sweat traced his neck. "[serious]……The shape doesn't change just because it's wrapped in cloth," "[surprised]Oh, that's right!" Why are you only realizing that now? Midday of day two. Solange passed in front of the orc soldiers' quarters and, on some impulse, struck up a conversation with the on-duty troops. "[gentle]It's nice weather today, isn't it?" The orc soldiers exchanged glances. "……It's clear," A mysterious everyday conversation had been established. Kuro stopped her later. "[serious]Don't do things that leave an impression. If you're remembered, it's over," "[gentle]I thought the opposite——that doing memorable things would lower their guard," "[surprised]……What kind of logic is that?" Solange nodded seriously. The fact that she meant it was even more frightening. Day three. As Kuro was reapplying buffs to a hundred soldiers, Solange began standing beside him to watch. The soldiers grew restless. A princess was here. Why was a princess here? Everyone was subtly distracted. "[serious]Why did you come?" "[gentle]I'm not in the way, am I?" She was in the way. Everyone was looking at the princess, so she was in the way. But chasing her away would draw even more attention. Kuro had no choice but to continue working. Solange stood nearby. About fifty centimeters away. When Kuro turned to the side while casting buffs, golden hair entered his field of vision. (Focus. Focus on the circuit.) Within the work, an odd rhythm was born between Kuro and Solange. Kuro warned, Solange didn't listen. Kuro gave up, Solange made her next move. In that repetition, Kuro realized something. He could argue with this person. In his past life, there had been no one he could do that with. He'd never been close enough to anyone to have a real argument. The fact that there was someone he could yell at——he'd never thought it would bring such strange peace of mind. --- That night, Kuro visited the remaining five princesses one by one with Solange. First was the swordswoman princess of Prevarn. Silver-haired, her eyes perpetually holding quiet anger. A woman bearing the pride of the continent's mightiest military nation listened to Kuro's entire explanation with her arms crossed. Silence. Long silence. "[cold]My desire to cut you down hasn't changed," The preamble was ominous. "[cold]But——I'll cut down Groflik first. Is that acceptable?" "[serious]……Thank you," "[cold]I have no reason to accept your gratitude," It came back immediately. Kuro kept his head bowed, internally confirming (is this a declaration of participation?). Probably, yes. Next was the fortune-teller princess of Meristia. Flax-colored soft hair, eyes that always seemed to gaze into the distance. She pulled out a crystal ball while listening and peered into it for a while. "[gentle]The success rate of the rebellion is——seven percent," She said it with a smile. "[serious]If there's a seven percent chance, then there's a possibility we can do it, right?" He replied positively. "[gentle]The remaining ninety-three percent means everyone dies," She added casually. (There's a way to phrase that better!!!) He kept only his face calm. His stomach tightened slightly. "[excited]Seven percent is actually pretty high, isn't it?" Solange said from beside him. The fortune-teller princess laughed softly. Kuro looked between the two of them and said nothing. Couldn't say anything. The blacksmith princess of Gardion agreed to participate "on the condition of material provision" while keeping her leather gloves on. The princess of the Commercial Federation demanded "a contract guaranteeing survival." When Kuro answered "I'll write it" immediately, she seemed somewhat surprised. Lumina simply said "If I can't escape anyway, I might as well help." Six princesses and Kuro——an impromptu rebel army was assembled. Seven percent, Kuro thought. His stomach ached. But——it wasn't zero. If it wasn't zero, they could do it. When reapplying buffs to each princess, Kuro embedded an additional trigger. Opposite to the release trigger, a mechanism that tripled the effect at a specific signal. One by one, invisible mechanisms were woven into the circuits. The strategist's true nature was in motion. But before any sense of accomplishment came the familiar words again. (Ninety-three percent means everyone dies.) --- It happened on the night when the curse-binding network installation exceeded ninety percent of all orc soldiers. A knock on the door. Groflik's adjutant——an orc soldier named Drag, with a vertical scar on his forehead——stood before the door. "The General summons you," That was all. Kuro closed his work notebook. He composed his expression. Calm. An empty face. His entire body went cold for a moment, but he didn't let it show. Groflik's tent, "The Iron Fang's Great Pavilion," was positioned at the center of Fernork. As Kuro crossed the night encampment, his mind arranged options. The possibility he'd been discovered. The possibility he hadn't. How to respond in either case. He pushed aside the tent's cloth and entered. Groflik was standing there. Arms crossed, at the tent's center. Two hundred forty centimeters tall. That overwhelming presence never became easier to bear. Candlelight illuminated his ash-green skin and his left broken tusk. Yellow eyes fixed on Kuro. "[cold]I hear you've been moving about at night lately," No preamble. "[cold]If you're scheming something, speak now. My mercy comes but once," A massive right hand slowly extended toward Kuro's throat. A single finger could strangle Kuro's neck. There was certainty in that hand. Kuro searched for words. Found none. The tent's entrance cloth burst open. "[excited]Oh, there you are, Kuro! I was looking for you!" Solange burst in. She saw Groflik, and there was a single second of pause. Just one. "[gentle]Kuro, you come to me every night. You were late, so I came to pick you up. Because——we're lovers," She smiled and said it plainly. Groflik's hand stopped. Three seconds of silence. "[cold]……The human male thinks of nothing but his desires," He muttered low and withdrew his hand. Released Kuro. Said only that, then