Chapter 12: OPERATION: ROMANTIC PICNIC

The System decided Vael needed a picnic.

Vael disagreed.

Morrigan misunderstood.

That combination produced three thousand armed demons on a hill outside Elmsford.

The disaster began at breakfast.

[DATE QUEST: Have a peaceful picnic with Lyria.]

[Special Condition: No combat, no politics, no military planning.]

[Reward: Biological Age -3 Years]

Vael muttered, "Fine."

Morrigan, seated across the room, heard only the word "planning."

"Planning what, My King?"

"A picnic."

She went pale.

Then serious.

"I understand."

Vael should have recognized that tone.

He did not.

At noon, Vael and Lyria walked toward a grassy hill carrying bread, cheese, apples, and a blanket.

Lyria looked pleasantly surprised.

"You planned something without a tactical timetable."

"I am adapting."

"I’m proud of you."

[Affection +4]

Vael ignored the number.

They reached the crest.

Three thousand demons rose from the opposite slope.

Banners unfurled.

Armor gleamed.

A war horn sounded.

Lyria dropped the basket.

Vael closed his eyes.

Morrigan emerged in full battle armor.

"My King! The Fifth, Seventh, and Ninth Retired Legions await your command!"

Vael opened one eye.

"Retired Legions?"

Several demons in the front rank were visibly elderly.

One leaned on a spear like a cane.

Another had brought a folding chair.

A third was arguing with a quartermaster about whether campaign duty affected his pension.

Morrigan saluted.

"Your coded instruction was perfectly clear."

"What coded instruction?"

"Picnic."

Vael stared.

Morrigan lowered her voice.

"P.I.C.N.I.C. Preliminary Invasion Coordination Near Imperial Capital."

Lyria slowly turned toward Vael.

"You have an acronym?"

"I do not have an acronym."

Morrigan continued, "We have surrounded all strategic approaches. Scouts report no Hero units within ten kilometers. The sandwiches are also secured."

Vael looked at the System.

"This is your fault."

[How?]

"You exist."

The System displayed the special condition again.

[No military planning.]

Vael inhaled.

"Morrigan."

"Yes, My King?"

"Send them home."

Three thousand demons gasped.

One elderly ogre dropped his thermos.

Morrigan looked devastated.

"But—"

"I am eating lunch."

"With... the Valcrest descendant?"

"Yes."

Morrigan’s eyes widened.

Understanding dawned.

Terrible, incorrect understanding.

"Ah."

"No."

"A seduction operation."

"No."

"An infiltration through bloodline integration."

"No."

"A dynastic—"

"GO HOME."

The hill shook.

Birds fled.

The retired legions saluted and began packing.

One demon called, "Congratulations, Your Majesty!"

Another shouted, "DOES THIS COUNT AS ACTIVE SERVICE?"

A third asked, "WHO SIGNS THE TRAVEL REIMBURSEMENT?"

Morrigan yelled, "FORM A QUEUE!"

Vael stared at the dispersing army.

Lyria stared at him.

Then at Morrigan.

Then at the army again.

"Vale."

"Yes?"

"Your cousin has an army."

"Large family."

Lyria’s mouth twitched.

She tried to hold it back.

She failed.

She laughed so suddenly that apple juice came out her nose.

Vael looked away to preserve what remained of her dignity.

The picnic, against all probability, became peaceful.

They talked about places they wanted to visit.

Lyria wanted to see the northern aurora.

Vael admitted he had seen it once during a siege and had been too busy calculating artillery range to enjoy it.

"You really had a strange job," she said.

"Yes."

"What about somewhere you want to visit?"

Vael opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

He had conquered cities. Marched across deserts. Crossed seas under black sails.

He had never traveled because he wanted to see something.

"I don’t know," he admitted.

Lyria looked surprised by the honesty.

"Then we’ll find one."

The word we’ll landed strangely.

Vael looked away.

Near sunset, the System chimed.

[QUEST COMPLETE.]

[Reward: Biological Age -3 Years]

Warmth flowed through him.

His biological age settled around forty-two.

Lyria watched the change.

This time she did not ask.

Instead she handed him another piece of bread.

Below the hill, one forgotten demon scout wrote urgently in a notebook:

OPERATION PICNIC SUCCESSFUL.

HUMAN TARGET FED BY KING.

KING DISPLAYED UNUSUAL FACIAL RELAXATION.

PURPOSE UNKNOWN.

EXTREMELY OMINOUS.

The report reached the capital two days later.

Director Halric read it twice.

"Facial relaxation?"

His analyst nodded gravely.

"A smile, sir."

Halric went pale.

"A Demon King smiling is never good."

The analyst hesitated.

"Sir, the witness says he was eating cheese."

Halric stared at him.

"That makes it worse. We don’t know why."