Morning came to the Black Wing Chamber. Not that the sun rose. The *meito*—the luminescent phenomenon of miasma—mimicked dawn by intensifying its purple glow. That light was absorbed by the dark crystal walls, illuminating the forty-seat oval table. No one sat at any of them. Radius placed the final sheet on the final chair. A frame 195 centimeters tall. A jet-black robe with dark crystal ornaments that reflected silver light. Silver hair bound at the back swayed with each movement, causing the blue magical seal on his forehead to flicker faintly. Across his back, beneath the robe, the faint outline of black wings—or rather, the trace of where wings once were—hovered like a phantom. Deep violet irises slowly swept across the stack of documents he'd just arranged, from one end to the other. Forty sheets. All printed by him. All folded by him. All distributed by him. Radius pulled out the head chair and sat. He placed both hands on the desk. He looked at the door. The scheduled start time. The *meito* flickered once. The door didn't open. Another *meito* flickered. Still nothing. By the time the third *meito* flickered, Radius's right hand smoothly slid open the desk drawer. Without hesitation. Like a habit worn into his very bones. What he withdrew was a small glass bottle—antacid. He pinched a single tablet between his fingers and placed it in his mouth. The motion was so natural, so completely ingrained in his body. *(First tablet.)* Radius opened "World Conquest Plan (Revised Edition ver. 47)." Every time he saw the number printed in the upper right of the cover—47—a strange feeling welled up. He'd made ver. 1 first, and from then until today: twelve years. With each page turned, the revision history grew, accumulating forty-six instances of "this didn't work either." He opened the previous meeting notes. "Agenda ① Next Phase of Human World Conquest → Discussion devolved into debate over cake varieties; main topic never addressed; meeting adjourned." Radius set the notes aside gently. He closed his eyes. He counted ten seconds. Slowly. …………Cake. At a conquest briefing. Cake. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, but whether it was laughter or exasperation, even he couldn't tell anymore. 　　　　★ From the throne room window, the entire Black Fang Castle came into view. 1,800 meters above sea level on the eastern slope. A fortress carved into the rock face of the Black Fang Mountains—twelve stories above ground, five below. The city of Obsidian, the largest in the demon realm, sprawled below the castle—a directly controlled city of 35,000 people—and the street lamps of Miasma Lamp Avenue still flickered faintly. The sky was covered in purple-gray miasma clouds, and the light of the *meito* diffused thinly across them. Radius gazed at that landscape and thought of twelve years ago. Things were different then. The Twelve Warlord War—eight hundred years of the demon realm divided and ruled by twelve factions, a long warring period—had been ended by Radius alone. In just three years of rising to power. He'd achieved the "impossible" unification at a speed that made everyone cry out in disbelief. Especially the Frost Fang Duke who ruled the frozen miasma plains to the north. Master of the permafrost. A warlord who'd monopolized the title of strongest in the demon realm, fighting on ice plains where miasma crystallized. His army was thick. A direct confrontation would cost lives. So Radius didn't confront him directly. He severed the supply lines in three days, cut off the flow of food for the castle's miasma beasts, and forced a choice: "Surrender, or be locked in with starving beasts." He surrendered in three days. The entire demon realm was shocked by that speed. ——And now. Radius looked at his own face reflected in the window. Having lived over three hundred years, the most troubled expression he'd ever worn was now. Not during the unification war. Not when surrounded by one of the Twelve Warlords. Now, in this moment, sitting alone in the Black Wing Chamber, waiting for a meeting no one would attend—this moment showed the most troubled face. Radius placed World Conquest Postponement Decree No. 12 on the desk. He stared at its thickness for a while. The space for postponement reasons is expanded with each issue. Yet it's never enough. As a result of Radius attaching supplementary papers, No. 12 had become three times the thickness of the main text. For No. 13, a separate volume was already certain. He'd already ordered the format from the administrative staff—assuming they actually did their jobs. *(History's only unified Demon Realm King.)* *(A man who's been fighting a 0% subordinate attendance rate problem for twelve years.)* These two things now coexisted in a single being. He took another antacid tablet. Second tablet. 　　　　★ The door opened three hours later. With force. *Bang.* "Pardon the intrusion!" A young demon rushed in. Short black hair, black-framed glasses, a bundle of keys hanging from her chest—access to the *miashin-fu* transmission tubes, the mail pipe network running through the castle. Her uniform's right sleeve was slightly disheveled. Evidence of running. For Radius, the only being in this castle who "showed up to work normally." Tel, the messenger. Her appearance was plain. Her presence was thin. But in this castle, "plain and ordinary" had become not just rare, but an endangered species level of value. Internally, Radius trusted this small messenger more than all 28,000 soldiers in his army combined. "I'm here to report on today's executive meeting attendance status." "Don't bother." Radius answered quietly. "……You don't want to know?" "I waited three hours. That's enough." Tel's face stiffened slightly. Her mouth looked like it wanted to say something, but the next moment, different words came out instead. "……Actually, there's another matter." She caught her breath and pulled a thin sheet of paper from her pocket. A *miashin-fu*—communication paper with sealed miasma, sent from the transmission station in the city below. Characters traveled along the flow of miasma; it was the demon realm's equivalent of a telegram. "A self-proclaimed hero from the human world is heading toward the demon king's castle, according to reports." Radius's movements stopped. His hand, reaching for the thin paper, froze for just a moment. *(……A hero.)* Twelve years of postponement. Forty-seven revisions of the conquest plan. Twelve postponement decrees issued. Meetings where they talked about cake. Yet the goal of human world conquest never changed. If they came from the other side, things were different. It didn't have to be a frontal assault. If there was just a thread of contact—— Radius stood up. He opened World Conquest Plan ver. 47 with force. His hand turning the pages moved differently than usual. His hand didn't reach for the antacid. "There's more information." "Read it." "The hero in question is currently in Obsidian city below, having lost his way and circled the same location three times." Radius slowly closed the conquest plan. Slowly sat back down in his chair. Slowly reached for the antacid bottle. Third tablet. "……Three times." "Three times." "Around the city." "The same location." Silence. A *meito* flickered. "Continue." Tel unfolded the next *miashin-fu*. "Equipment includes a sword, shield, and map, according to reports." Radius's eyebrow rose slightly. Sword and shield. That's not terrible. He felt a moment of recovery. "The map is hand-drawn by the hero himself, with severely inaccurate scale, according to reports." Radius sank. "According to city residents, the hero asked for directions three times, walked in the same direction all three times, and returned to the same alley all three times." Radius tilted the antacid bottle. Checking the remaining amount. "He's still moving through the city, but……his direction is away from the castle." Radius opened the drawer. He set World Conquest Postponement Decree No. 12 aside. He pulled out the format for No. 13. "……Demon King, he hasn't even arrived yet." "Preparation." One word. Tel opened her mouth slightly, then closed it. She'd swallowed back her objection. After twelve years in this castle, she knew all too well how accurate the Demon King's "intuition" was. "……Understood." "His current location." "He just turned the corner at Miasma Lamp Avenue and Blacksmith Workshop Street." "That's the entrance to the third loop." "……He may have entered the fourth loop." Radius looked up at the ceiling. The dark crystal ceiling plate quietly absorbed the purple light of the *meito*. This stone hardened by absorbing miasma—a mineral unique to the demon realm that rendered most physical attacks nearly useless. Building material from eight hundred years ago still stood here. This castle wouldn't break. But his subordinates would become useless before breaking. "Is the hero walking in the direction of 'this is the right way, sir,' or——" "According to eyewitness reports, after being given directions, the hero said, 'Oh? That's the corner from before, isn't it?'" Radius reached for a fourth antacid tablet. "……How many tablets were in the bottle originally." "Twenty before the last refill." "Now." Tel checked the bottle quietly. "……Sixteen." "Just today." "Just today." Silence hung for a while. The street lamps on Miasma Lamp Avenue in the city below were faintly visible from this distance. About 1.2 kilometers of street, where the self-proclaimed hero was probably entering his fourth loop by now. Sword and shield in hand. Hand-drawn map in his grip. Having asked for directions three times, returning to the same alley three times. Radius set the antacid bottle on the desk. He exhaled a long breath. *(I thought if he came from the other side……)* "Tel." "Yes." "Don't collect the documents." Tel tilted her head slightly. "……You're leaving them as they are? All forty seats' worth?" "Leave them." Radius stood and left the Black Wing Chamber. Looking back from outside the door, he could see the forty seats of documents illuminated by purple *meito*. Untouched papers, arranged in perfect order. The seats of those who talked about cake. The seat of the missing commander-in-chief. The seat of the staff officer who kept getting arithmetic wrong. All of them. Radius looked at it for one second and closed the door. 　　　　★ When he returned to the throne room, the city below was visible from the window. A small figure on Miasma Lamp Avenue. From the alley of Obsidian city—sprawling at the foot of Black Fang Castle, the largest city in the demon realm—the same figure emerged from the same corner again. Sword on his back, shield in hand, gripping something. A map. Hand-drawn, with distorted scale. He turned the corner. Thirty seconds later, he emerged from the same corner again. Fifth loop. Radius pulled out the format for No. 13 from the drawer. He looked at the postponement reason section. A separate volume might be necessary this time. No—it definitely would be. At the very top of the reason column, something was already written in pencil: "Hero lost in city below." The man who'd ended eight hundred years of warfare now needed most desperately: subordinates who would actually show up, and a hero who wouldn't get lost. Tel spoke softly. "……Demon King. Should we consider today's executive meeting adjourned?" "I waited three hours." Radius didn't take his eyes from the window. "That's enough." Tel bowed quietly. She paused slightly as she left, then continued walking. Radius remained alone in the throne room. Outside the window, the figure disappeared into the alley again. *(Where are you going, you fool.)* The castle was right there. From the edge of the city below, if you looked up, you could see Black Fang Castle perched on the mountainside. Why were you in the alley. Why was the six