"Oh, and another thing." Gozi seemed to be struck by a thought. "What is the Empire's policy regarding the humanoid races?"

  "Emperor William's decree is this: for humanoid races, those who resist are to be killed. Those who submit are to be granted Cynthian citizenship."

  "Cynthian citizenship?" The marquess sneered. "Who knows when the Emperor might lose his wits and grant them Imperial citizenship next. Pah, those deformities." He scratched his forehead. "That means we can kill off those dwarves, goblins, and other wretches, right? They'll only consume our grain reserves anyway."

  "In principle, yes, Marquess. Citizenship does entail certain... vulnerabilities."

  "Excellent." His eyes crinkled into slits within his fleshy face. "Leave the elves for me; kill the rest."

  "Elves?" Sir Lunedale explained patiently. "Most of Cynthia's elves fled across the border to Illuviλofer before the war began. The few who remain are mostly physicians protected by both Imperial law and the laws of Illuviλofer, my lord(). We cannot touch the elves."

  "By the Triad!" The marquess's curse lacked even the energy of anger(). "You can't even find me a few female elves?"

  "Impossible." He shook his head. "The Empire has a non-aggression pact with the Elven Kingdom."

  "Fine, I compromise." He raised his hands in surrender. "What about half-elves? Those wanton creatures aren't covered by the pact, are they?"

  "As it stands, the agreement does not explicitly restrict actions regarding half-elves ()." Gil Assimo spoke with rigid formality. "But I believe the best course would be to avoid—"

  "I want half-elves." His expression turned sullen. "Brennoria has few elves or half-elves(). I wish to broaden my horizons, Gil. Do you understand?"

  "Of course, my lord."

  "That's another problem solved." Gozi's mood seemed to brighten instantly. "Do you have a plan in mind now?" The two moved slowly through the Priest Gate toward Cynthia Palace. "A plan for population cleansing."

  "Not... yet, my lord."

  "I, however, have an excellent idea." A sinister smile spread across the Marquess of Brennoria's face. "Ptolemaick V once..."

  "That is merely a legend."

  "Why do you interrupt me!?"

  "Lord Marquess, I was only..."

  "There will be no next time. Do you understand?"

  "Understood."

  "Hmph." The Marquess of Brennoria recovered his train of thought(). "Ptolemaick V once corralled his political enemies together, stripped them naked, and provided only water—no food(). In the end, they resorted to cannibalism... Hmph(). I'll wager the scene was quite bloody."

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  "I agree, my lord." The knight was careful not to provoke him further. "The legends describe the details quite vividly."

  "Legend or not, I admire the concept." The marquess seemed impatient(). "Since you know the history, it makes things easier. You understand my meaning, yes?"

  "I... understand."

  "Then..."

  "But," Gil seemed to have forgotten the consequences of interruption, "this could lead to dire consequences."

  His bravado halted the marquess. "...What consequences?"

  "Ghouls may emerge," he decided to follow the lie through.

  "We have walls. That is not a concern."

  "There have already been several Ghoul sightings within Kadenford. Walls are no obstacle to them."

  "That's likely because Kadenford has a gaping hole in it. Yes, that must be the reason."

  "Soldiers were bitten to death while patrolling atop the walls, my lord."

  The cruel fat man did not seem ready to give up. "As long as we increase the guard, one or two Ghouls pose no threat."

  "Do you know why Ghouls exist?"

  "Because there are corpses."

  "I mean, why does the creature known as a Ghoul come into being?"

  "Oh, Gil. I am no zoologist, so no, I don't know."

  Neither do I, the knight thought(). "Legend says they mutate from cannibalism."

  The sound of the marquess swallowing could have drowned out noise for miles. "It..." His tongue tied in knots. "They come from people eating people...?"

  "Yes, my lord. Exactly so."

  "But I never heard that Ptolemaick's court was overrun by Ghouls."

  "The legends omit that part because it is too unspeakable ()." Sir Lunedale kept his face earnest. "It is rumored that Ptolemaick V's manhood nearly became dessert for a Ghoul(). His enemies sought revenge in that form—depraved, perhaps, but quite effective."

  "Forget it, forget it. I don't want to hear it ()." Gozi's face turned ash-gray, as if he had lost several pounds of flesh. "Find a way to solve it, as long as it reduces the population. just don't bring me any Ghouls, understand?"

  "Of course, my lord."

  The slaves had only reached the stairs before the palace, yet they were already gasping for breath, trembling like timber chewed through by termites. "Stop here." The marquess ordered them to set him down. "Pack of useless trash."

  Several members of the Friez family tossed a noblewoman's corpse down the stairs; her tattered state made it all too clear what had transpired(). "Hey there, knights." As the noblewoman tumbled faster down the steps, Gozi asked, "Where is the queen?"

  "Still sitting there." Riveper Friez emerged from the palace entrance, waving away his two knights. "Did the speech go smoothly, Marquess?"

  "It was adequate." The Marquess of Brennoria smiled falsely. "Though the people were somewhat dull. And there were too many of them." ()

  "You think there are too many?" Riveper's eyes flashed for an instant(). "We Friez can help. You know, in this regard, we are always the experts."

  "No need to trouble yourself, Sir." Gil Assimo interjected hastily. "I will handle it."

  "It matters not, Sir." Riveper spread his hands, looking down at him from above. "I merely offer a suggestion."

  "You Friez are always so generous." The marquess's words seemed to carry hidden meaning(). "Will the queen not come down from her throne?"

  "No one dares remove her from it."

  "I cannot believe your efficiency is so low, Sir." Gozi looked at him with contempt(). "What is so difficult about removing a corpse that impaled itself onto the throne with a sword?"

  "That is precisely the point. No one dares disturb a queen who sits upon the throne, having pierced her own heart along with the chair's back(). They all fear vengeful spirits."

  "So you're afraid of vengeful spirits too, then?" The marquess's mouth stretched into an exaggerated grin.

  "Compared to vengeful spirits, I find people—living people—far more terrifying."

  "I share that sentiment." The marquess's smile was instantly wiped away(). "I want to sit in that seat, Sir. I am now the Regent of Cynthia, yet I am forced to sit on the floor outside the palace."