"Royalty sucks!"
That was the first thing Lich heard as he entered the lab.
Inside, two girls faced each other. One was Crimson, the red-furred beastgirl. Not her real name, but since Lich couldn't remember proper nouns to save his life, the nickname stuck. The other was Lanza—the dethroned queen, golden-haired and blue-eyed, with a beauty that still looked strangely childlike.
The two were the same height, locked in a strange little duel: Crimson scowling, Lanza smiling.
"You nobles never think about us at all! My village—soldiers and generals just marched right through. And after that, the undead wiped us out! I was so scared—so scared! And it's all because the people in power never cared about us!"
"...How awful. I'm sorry."
"Y-yeah! Terrible! ...Wait, huh? Why are you apologizing?"
"The villages near the front suffered so much. And though I know it won't fix anything now... I'm sorry. If Humans had understood more, maybe we could've changed something."
"W-well, yeah..."
"Tell me more about you. If I understand you better, maybe we can be friends."
"U-uh... aaaaah! No, no, no! Why are you being nice!? Royals are supposed to be arrogant jerks! You're making it impossible to hate you!"
"It's fine if you hate me. I was queen. My people saw me as the government itself. I accept their anger."
"...Y-Your Majesty..."
"Please. Just 'Lanza.' Now—share your resentment. I'll listen."
"R-royalty is... royalty is... I... I hate..."
"...?"
"...I don't hate you."
"Thank you."
"...Th-thank you, Your Majesty..."
Crimson dropped to one knee before her.
Watching from the doorway, Lich sighed. Again, huh.
Ever since he brought Lanza to the Demonkin lands, this "confession and kneeling" scene had played out daily. He'd begun thinking of it as their weird greeting ritual.
"Done?" he asked.
"Professor!" Crimson yelped.
"Lich!" Lanza beamed.
Both turned toward him, Crimson's cheeks still flushed.
"D-did you see?" Crimson asked shyly.
"I've seen it plenty of times."
"...I try to hate her. I really do. I think royalty and nobles are the worst. I want to say so much to Lanza. But when we talk... it feels different."
"Seems that way."
"...But I still burn inside. I want to vent my anger on the kingdom's army—the ones who ruined my village. Every day I think I'll let it out at Lanza... but I can't. She's not bad."
"Maybe your memory's muddled. Wasn't it the undead that wrecked your village, not the army?"
"The army passed through first. Took our food 'for the front lines.' Then left us bare. So isn't that basically their fault?"
"Are you just looking for someone to blame?"
"...I thought I accepted it. But the more I think, the angrier I get! We didn't do anything wrong, but we lost everything. Why is it only us who suffer!?"
Lich had no answer. He'd been born cold, a complete human-less Lich since childhood. Aimless fury and unplaceable grief? Outside his field.
Then—jingle-jingle.
The clear jingle of bells. Everyone turned to the doorway.
"I heard everything," declared a confident voice. "Leave it to me, Giant Warlord Leila."
In strode the beastwoman warrior, golden fur glowing, tail-bell chiming. She marched straight to Crimson.
"Red-furred girl. I heard your story."
"L-Leila..."
"You're seething inside. I get it."
"You—you do!?"
"Yes. When I was young, my poor frontline village starved. Soldiers came often, 'requisitioning' food. I was always hungry, always angry. Why me? Why us? I hated it."
"Exactly! That's exactly it!"
"But one day, the haze cleared."
"...How?"
"I beat the soldiers to a pulp."
"...The... soldiers?"
"Yes. With my fists."
"...With... everyone's help?"
"No. Just me."
"...."
"The village head chewed me out something fierce."
Her golden eyes narrowed, staring somewhere far away. Everyone else went equally blank-faced.
"But red-furred girl... I don't regret it. Nor was it wrong."
"...It wasn't?"
"Everyone who told me it was wrong—I beat them up too."
"...."
"You see? Once someone's been beaten, they can't call you wrong anymore."
"...Is... that true?"
"Beat them until they can't talk. Simple."
"...."
"So. What were we talking about?"
"Uh... that I'm still seething."
"Right. And my haze disappeared the day I crushed its cause. Which means—violence will save you."
"...Will it?"
"Have you tried violence?"
"N-no. Just petty fights, not... 'violence' violence."
"Then try it. Cultivate violence."
"...Cultivate... violence?"
"Yes. Most problems vanish if you punch the cause hard enough."
"...But my anger... it's from society, history—stuff you can't hit..."
"Then punch history."
"...How?"
"Don't ask me complicated things. Ask me that again and I'll punch you."
Her calm tone made the threat terrifying. The whole room went silent.
"...Anyway, red-furred girl, if you ever want to hit someone, come find me."
"A-and then?"
"I'll teach you how. ...Later."
Leila turned, helped herself to a bag of snacks off Lich's desk, and strolled out.
A long silence lingered.
"...Damn," Lich finally muttered. "Too smooth. I couldn't even react."
Because yes—what she'd just done was straight-up theft.
And yet, somehow... it felt heroic.