Returnees

Over the past month, Vivian had scarcely slept.

Handling these matters without respite.

Coordinating the limited grain and supplies from the Winter Territory.

Laboriously extending aid.

She was now the governor of Blackrock Town.

Needing to address taxation for all inland villages and settlements over the next half-year.

Wracking her brains to prevent the underclass—teetering on collapse—from utter ruin.

How to reopen those long-paralyzed commercial veins?

Exempting taxes was mere staunching of the bleed.

But how to generate fresh blood?

The crippled trade networks—severed routes, a currency system on the brink, vanished circulation channels—formed a colossal, knotted deadfall.

Twisting her thoughts into knots.

Denying her nights of rest.

How to reopen them?

Where to source startup capital?

How to set goods flowing again?

Instead of this clumsy “manual transfusion” by her, a Demon Lord?

These tasks, Vivian had pursued relentlessly over the past month.

Meanwhile, a contingent of Demon Clan soldiers—led by the obsidian giant troll, Stonehammer—boasted high resistance to dark forces.

They had temporarily detached from military ranks.

Reassigned to Blackrock Town for resuming crystal extraction.

And soon, the first batch of Evernight crystals would yield.

Offered to the Winter Territory at cost—as thanks and trade.

…Matters only multiplied.

Layer upon layer, like ceaseless tides surging in.

Nearly drowning her.

She finally understood why some monarchs died of exhaustion.

Governing a territory—even a nation—was truly grueling.

Destruction came easy.

Rebuilding order?

Excruciatingly hard.

Before Vivian lay the Evernight Territory.

A shambles in mere months.

Enough to give her splitting headaches.

At times, she even entertained absurd whims: if the Evernight Territory had been reduced to a total “wasteland of the fallen,”

She might rally a band of pioneers.

It could prove simpler than now.

At least no need to face this battered, hole-riddled mess.

No need to patch the vast chasms left by war and her own defeat.

After all, the Evernight Territory wasn’t some particularly rich or mighty Demon Lord domain.

Vivian herself, the Demon Lord of Evernight, was an exceedingly young one.

Among the myriad Demon Lord powers, hers ranked toward the weaker end overall.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been the first Demon Lord opened for player discussion in the game version.

Of course, there was also the developers’ wicked ploy: luring players to crusade with a beautiful maiden Demon Lord…

And during this span, Vivian had dispatched envoys as well.

Notifying neighboring Demon Lord territories.

Of her return—and the paramount issue: the first wave of [Returnees].

Yes, nearly two months since reclaiming her Demon Lord domain.

Neighboring Demon Lords had long received word of Vivian’s survival and return.

Thus, naturally, they would “deport” the refugees they had sheltered from the Evernight Territory.

Word had spread nigh two months prior.

Those harboring Evernight refugees could no longer contain themselves.

Even landlords had no surplus grain—

Refugees, to survive, needed only a mouthful of food.

No wages required.

To the underclass Demon Clansfolk in host lands, these were “invaders” seizing their already scarce jobs and living space.

The Demon Lords, out of clan kinship and for stability’s sake, had extended minimal relief.

But this was no sustainable path.

Nor without cost.

Take, for instance, the Decaying Demon Lord Ges: if one died in his service, their kin gained a plot of three mu.

Life traded for land.

Harsh, yet real.

But not all Evernight Demon Clansfolk adapted to life under other Demon Lords.

The Winter Territory, for one: freezing wastes.

Even with the Demon Clan’s superior constitutions on average, not just anyone could endure it.

And in recent days, the Evernight denizens who had fled to the Winter Territory for shelter…

Were about due for repatriation.

In the end, she made a difficult but necessary call—

These returning folk would be compulsorily integrated into Evernight City’s reconstruction framework.

Compelled to labor.

Rather than loosed to their old, long-abandoned, isolated, unprotected village sites.

The reason was simple: Evernight City desperately needed hands.

Tilling required manpower.

Building required manpower.

Maintaining order required manpower.

Transporting supplies required manpower…

Every corner cried for bodies.

Scattering them to ruined hamlets wouldn’t restore production effectively.

Worse: lacking safeguards, they might fall to wild beasts again—or starve from scarcity.

Squandering this hard-won labor in vain.

Concentrate strength.

Rebuild the core Evernight City first.

Erect a sturdy bastion to radiate outward.

That was the sole path to survival—

Even if the decision bred misunderstanding, even resentment.

She had to make it.

“Aria, what do you think of our progress so far?”

Vivian and Aria halted at the edge of a newly tilled field.

Gazing at the sprouts faintly aglow with mana under the night sky.

After a silence, Vivian turned to her head maid.

Asking.

“As for me, the progress feels quite swift and smooth.”

Aria flicked her ears.

“Demon Lord, do you… find it unsatisfactory?”

“…Not unsatisfactory, no.”

Vivian sighed.

“Just feels a bit slow—”

But… everyone’s already giving their all.

“Yes, I know.”

Vivian nodded.

Over this past month-plus, the common folk below hadn’t slacked.

Their fervor had rocketed work pace and efficiency skyward.

Her soldiers hadn’t idled either.

The wounded, once healed, plunged straight into the tasks she’d outlined.

Without pause.

Yet Vivian still found it slow.

Her reason told her: this cadre under her had poured out everything.

Objective reality dictated as much.

Reconstruction was a sprawling, protracted endeavor.

No rushing it—lest one stride too boldly and strain an egg.

But did the Evernight Territory truly have that luxury of time?

Did she, Vivian?

On this, she harbored real qualms.

But with things as they stood, no recourse remained.

Rebuilding demanded pragmatism.

One step at a time.

And just then, hurried yet hushed footfalls approached from behind.

Vivian turned.

Spotting the little succubus, Luna.

“What is it?”

“Demon Lord!

The Winter Territory’s escort for the first batch of returnees—their caravan—has reached ten li north!”

Luna blurted breathlessly.

“They’ll arrive before sunrise.”

“Understood.

Aria, Luna: alert everyone to prepare reception.

Then… we go welcome our returning kin.”

Vivian nodded.

Her voice steady and calm.