Chapter 13: The Negotiator’s Gambit

Some matters, it’s true, are remarkably simple to resolve with a blade.

When facing the Demon King, for instance, the hero’s party needn’t ponder anything complex. There were no conflicts of interest, no opportunities to converse or negotiate with monsters. All Vilya had to do was brandish her sword, clear away every enemy in her path, and personally sever the Demon King’s head.

It was a straightforward task in a straightforward era. Vilya never had to consider anything beyond her immediate surroundings. Her world consisted solely of her teammates, and their adversary was merely a Demon King.

She had traversed many lands, journeying from one end of human territory to the other, witnessing the snows of the north and the flowers of the south. Yet, the joys and sorrows of those people remained external to her world.

The intricate power struggles within human royal courts held no relevance for her. Queen Sisi, along with the elves and goblins, might have vied for the glory of being the first to slay the Demon King, and for leadership of the alliance. These were concerns that heroes simply did not need to entertain.

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But now, the Demon King was dead. The world no longer had a place that required Vilya’s unique skills. Her martial prowess, honed for battle, was incapable of solving the current predicament.

She could, undoubtedly, slaughter every single person in this town. But what meaning would that hold?

She was no longer Vilya, the Hero. She faced not monsters, but living, breathing humans—her own people, whom she was now tasked to govern as their liege.

Any bloodshed now would only result in a lose-lose situation. They would not gain what they desired, nor would we. In this moment, Vilya’s methods were utterly useless.

This was precisely when I needed to revert to my old profession.

Under their guidance, I arrived at what appeared to be the tallest and most luxurious house in the town. It seemed these deserters were quite hopeful that I would negotiate with them rather than simply cut them down, for their attitude towards me remained respectful.

They hadn’t bound my hands, nor had they held a blade to my throat. These people were far friendlier to me than Vilya and her companions had been, which I found rather ironic.

‘This house must be where the lord would reside,’ I mused. The buildings here certainly had a distinctly northern feel: walls high and heavy, windows small, and all houses facing a single direction. The commoners’ homes were small, flat-roofed structures, almost charming in their simplicity.

I stepped into the imposing building, glancing at the deserters on either side. “This place, I presume, is where the lord lives,” I stated. “You’ve overstepped your bounds managing this town, yet it seems you haven’t accomplished much.”

“We just wanted a place to survive. We had no choice,” one of the deserters replied. “The people here despise monsters so much that they despise us for fleeing because of them.”

The deserter beside me looked very young, perhaps still a child. His body was excessively thin, unable to bear the weight of heavy armor and responsibility. Clad in mail, he swayed back and forth like a scarecrow in the wind, though he appeared incapable of repelling the monsters that sought to kill humans.

He nervously touched his nose, occasionally sniffing due to the cold, and whispered, “We didn’t want this to happen… We… we… we wanted to go home… But… but… we… we never wanted to fight… Now, we can’t go back. The people here even threatened to report us, so we locked them all up…”

Another soldier sharply nudged his waist, silencing him. I ascended the steps, gazing at the large door painted with red dye, and offered a small smile. “Now that the true lord has arrived, there’s no need for you to continue standing guard here. I understand your intentions. Let us now discuss how to properly handle this matter.”

Upon entering, I found myself in a vast hall, chillingly cold. It felt as though I’d stepped into a cold storage unit; despite being indoors, it was colder than outside. The hearth at the far end of the hall was empty, the blackened charcoal seemingly coated in a layer of frost.

Around the supporting beams of the house, people huddled, wrapped in simple clothes and what appeared to be coarse burlap. Men, women, and children of all ages were there—these were clearly the detained civilians.

Beside them, several soldiers, armed with crossbows and swords, rubbed their hands together against the cold. In the center of the hall, a long table was set, and a man, dressed in distinctly different attire and cloaked in a red cape, sat behind a chair, observing me intently.

‘He must be the commander of this group, the one I need to discuss matters with,’ I surmised.

In my world, there is no such thing as an ‘enemy.’ I am not Vilya, who requires a black-and-white distinction. Everyone could potentially be sitting opposite me now, and perhaps side-by-side later. It’s best not to view the other party as an enemy, leaving each side an escape route so that we might still converse in the future.

I settled into the chair opposite him, smiling at the man across from me. He appeared rugged and quite old, likely approaching the latter half of middle age. His face was covered in a bushy red beard that merged with his sideburns.

His fingers, I felt, were thicker than two of mine pressed together. His hand scraped across the wooden tabletop like a stone being dragged. His face was etched with the furrows of time and old scars, and his small black eyes held an unwavering steadiness.

A pointed metal helmet adorned his head, and he wore a grubby metal breastplate. His red cape wasn’t a heavy, cold-weather cloak, but rather seemed to be a mark of identification.

He watched me, then reached for a dirty jug nearby and poured me a drink. I had seen these standard, horseshoe-shaped army cups among Vilya’s soldiers. I took it, and a strong scent of alcohol wafted up.

‘This seems to be some kind of strong liquor…’

“My apologies, I can’t drink such strong liquor,” I said, waving a hand with a wry smile. “However, let’s discuss the matter at hand first. After all, the liege lord is currently waiting at the town’s entrance, and I’ve generally understood your situation.”

“Who are you to the liege lord?” he interrupted before I could finish. His deep, muffled voice resonated from across the table. He squinted at me, asking, “Are the words you speak your own intent, or the liege lord’s?”

“Hmm…”

‘In truth, I was merely a s*ave,’ I thought. ‘Even if Vilya implicitly allowed me to come, she hadn’t provided me with the necessary authority. In other words, the man’s concern was valid. I could indeed negotiate amicably and even sign agreements here, but that would be me agreeing to their terms on my own behalf. In reality, Vilya might not concur.’

‘Vilya and I hadn’t reached a consensus at the outset. She still viewed me as a s*ave, not as her deputy.’

‘Any conditions I proposed had to satisfy two criteria: first, the man before me could accept them, and second, Vilya could accept them.’

“Let’s put it this way,” I began, my voice even. “The liege lord initially intended to slaughter every single one of you. It was I who stopped her and came here to negotiate.”

One must not lie.

A crucial aspect of negotiation is to avoid falsehoods whenever possible. The person sitting across from you is not an ignorant child. Their intelligence network is likely far more formidable than your own, and any lies you utter will often become leverage against you.

However, not lying doesn’t mean one cannot conceal information.

What I had said was the truth.

And it served as an adequate answer to his prior question. ‘I stopped the liege lord’ implied my words carried weight with her, and ‘the liege lord originally intended to slaughter all of you’ conveyed that if they didn’t believe me, they would face death.

This was not a lie. Every word I spoke was factual. Yet, in their eyes, I was no longer a dispensable substitute.

Indeed, the man before me slowly nodded. Then, he looked at me, waved his hand, and said, “These are the townspeople of this place. We haven’t harmed them; we merely brought them all here. We had anticipated that someone might come to punish us, but for the hero who defeated the Demon King to come directly and kill us, wouldn’t that be a bit too much?”

“Lady Vilya has arrived as the liege lord. The ownership and governance of this land are now rightfully in her hands,” I calmly countered. “However, you are currently occupying Lady Vilya’s territory and oppressing the people under her jurisdiction. It wouldn’t be excessive for Lady Vilya to take action against you.”

Never give the other party an easy out. Do not extend sympathy, nor concern yourself with their feelings. Some matters allow no compromise. The ‘bottom line’ in a negotiation is paramount. There will always be ‘concessions,’ but in crucial areas, especially those involving your superior, you must never make ‘concessions’ on your own.

They might be pitiful, but their plight does not justify their occupation of Vilya’s territory.

I looked at the man. While I couldn’t concede, I also couldn’t allow the negotiation to stall completely. In such moments, a ‘solution’ is needed. But what could I possibly offer these people now?

“We want a proper reason to return home, and we want assurance that what we’ve done will not be mentioned. We want Lady Vilya to give us proof that we fought on the battlefield, and ideally, funds for our journey home,” the man stated, presenting his demands.

To be frank, this demand was outrageous.

Utterly outrageous.

You are a group of deserters who have usurped a position. You actually expect Vilya to pay you to leave? Vilya could simply cut you down; why would she give you money?

This was an ‘unreasonable demand.’

Any ‘unreasonable demand’ reduces the likelihood of a successful negotiation, and might even invite scorn. It certainly indicates a failure to understand who stands on the advantageous side of the negotiation. Only the ‘advantageous party’ has the right to make demands; the ‘disadvantaged party’ merely needs to reject any unreasonable requests and hold their ‘bottom line.’

However, it was clear that these ‘disadvantaged parties’ were unaware of their disadvantage. The ‘disadvantaged party’ is precisely the one who needs negotiation more, as their inferior position means they can only minimize losses through it. For this reason, the ‘disadvantaged party’ must be extremely cautious with their conditions, otherwise, the negotiation might not even occur.

“I understand you wish to return home, but you lack a legitimate reason to do so,” I said, looking at him seriously. “After all, the fate of captured deserters is not a pleasant one. Moreover, you are not merely deserters; you could even be considered rebels now. Sentencing you would be quite simple; all of you would be sent to the gallows.”

“It is impossible for Lady Vilya to provide you with proof. Your desertion betrayed Lady Vilya’s brave warriors who fought valiantly, and Her Majesty the Queen. As for travel expenses, they are absolutely out of the question. This territory belongs to Lady Vilya herself; only the Queen is owed money, not anyone else.”

“Then what are you even here to discuss with us?!” The man’s face reddened with fury. “Send us to the gallows now! We’re all going to die anyway, are you just here to mock us?!”

The man opposite me was clearly stung. He slammed his hand on the table and roared at me.

This was a mistake to absolutely avoid.

No matter what, one must remain calm. When emotions run high, intelligence declines. In such a situation, one becomes a lamb ready for slaughter.

Just like the man across from me now.

I looked at him, my voice calm. “What we are discussing now is how to ensure that you are neither killed by Lady Vilya nor sent to the gallows, allowing your people to return home safely, and also guaranteeing the safety of these townspeople. Let me put it this way: Lady Vilya was, in fact, very much inclined to kill all of you as a warning. If I hadn’t considered the circumstances—your forced involvement and the safety of the townspeople—you would already be dead. Now, do you still have any demands to make of us?”

The man’s hands remained pressed firmly on the table, his small eyes almost bulging. After a moment, however, he let out a heavy breath, sinking back into his chair. He glared at me, his face a mix of anger and resentment. “What method do you propose?”

“It’s not about what method I have, but about how much sincerity you possess. You should be grateful you haven’t harmed these civilians, which means you still have a chance to rectify your mistakes. Lady Vilya, how shall I put it, is a rather magnanimous person. If you proactively seek out Lady Vilya, she can arrange a proper settlement for you.”

“After all, what happens within Lady Vilya’s territory—as long as Lady Vilya doesn’t speak of it, you don’t speak of it, and I don’t speak of it—no one else will know. Leaving with Lady Vilya’s carriage would give you an excuse to depart, wouldn’t it?”

But this time, it was my turn to stand up.

For I had already won.

“You must all be from the same village, and you, I presume, are the one who led them out. Then, consider carefully for your young ones. I learned from that young man outside that they wish to live. The war is over. If your decision causes your village to lose a young man and gain another widow, can you truly live with your conscience?”

This was a ‘threat.’

One originating from within their own ranks.

Sometimes, an enemy’s words are the sharpest weapon, for internal contradictions within the enemy’s camp reveal their true ‘demands.’

That boy had merely complained casually.

But to me, it was the final step to breach their leader’s psychological defenses.

I knew their thoughts. I rejected their demands, but I left them with a condition that would satisfy their ‘bottom line.’

What these deserters wanted, at the very least, was to leave alive and avoid the gallows.

They had only one path left.

“So, I believe I’ve said all I need to say. Do I still need to remind you what to do next?”