Chapter 83
Chapter 83
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 83
>Chapter Title: The King's Silence (1)
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*
As they crossed the Krasilov-Droan border, one of the Huscarls who had been silent approached Einar’s side and asked.
“Brother, are you all right?”
“Do you think I’d be this tired, no matter how lazy I’ve been lately?”
“That’s not what I meant…”
The Huscarl glanced sideways at Einar’s arm.
Red lines were streaked across his forearm, where the blood had just begun to dry.
“What’s the point of asking now when you saw it all from start to finish? Fine, you’re right. I was outmatched.”
Einar chuckled and shook his head.
He had been outmatched in technique. It was a battle he had won through sheer power alone.
It was too embarrassing to even call it a spar.
This was the boy he had to teach everything from how to hold an axe to how to cut a man down, yet somewhere along the way, he had grown so tremendously that he was now beginning to challenge his master’s skill.
“In the exchange of techniques, I’m now about half a move behind. If that boy had but twice the mana he has now, I would have been the one lying on the ground.”
His eyes are sharp. I’d felt it for a long time, but they seemed to have been honed to an even finer edge than before.
The experience of felling one of the Seven Dragon Generals must have forged him. A remarkable feat.
“No, Brother. No matter how swift Petrovich was, he could not withstand your secret art.”
“You fool. That’s what I mean by my defeat.”
Einar clicked his tongue and looked back at his dense subordinate.
“Do you truly believe he didn’t have a hidden card of his own? He simply chose not to use it. To have to use my full power to snatch victory in a spar—what is that if not my defeat? And, my brother, did I not tell you? That boy has sharp eyes.”
Even as the final blow landed, Ivan’s eyes never left the axe blade descending upon him.
Therefore, there would be no next time. The boy wouldn’t fall for the same move twice.
If they were to spar again, it would not unfold as it did today.
“My blood boils.”
In close-quarters combat against a large army, Einar had prided himself on being superior to Maximilian.
But was that still true? Could he truly claim to be the strongest man in all of humanity?
Einar let out a short laugh. *I must be getting old,* he thought.
Satisfyingly so.
For as long as a man has a worthy rival, his skills will never rust with age.
“That is why I gave Esidis my blessing.”
“Petrovich didn’t seem interested in Esidis, though…”
“I know. The boy’s feelings aren’t what’s important. It’s the King of Droan’s approval that matters. Now that I’ve already laid my claim, who would dare try to snatch him away?”
According to her letters, Esidis clearly had feelings for Ivan. Quite strong ones, at that.
And Ivan was the man who had defeated one of the Seven Dragon Generals. Besides the Hero, no other human had accomplished such a feat.
That meant he was more than qualified as a son-in-law for the future throne of Droan.
Droan revered strength. Einar knew it instinctively. He knew that after his death, his homeland would surely be divided.
It was a kingdom built not on the intricacies of a social system, but on the charisma of a single man. Without the powerful gravitational pull of Einar, there was no way to keep the jarls of Droan in check.
Therefore, his successor had to be the strongest man in Droan. The most exceptional of his children was Esidis, and if the man she chose happened to be so formidable…
It was only right to secure him beforehand. This was a conclusion he had reached as a father, a king, and a warrior of Droan.
Thus, Ivan’s feelings were of no consequence.
“Is it a little over two years until Esidis graduates? Good. That’s a fine time to retire. I should get to watch my grandkids dote on me and drink to my heart’s content.”
Einar grinned and quickened his pace.
There was much to prepare for that to happen.
***
The phrase “diligent civil servant” is used in the same way as “dragon” or “unicorn.” It means they are rarely seen. (To reiterate, they do exist.)
Therefore, Pavel, being a rational Krasilov civil servant (and a member of the rebel army until a fortnight ago), was holed up in a hospital room again today, munching on snacks.
He wasn't injured. If he had been wounded in the line of duty, he wouldn't be in a hospital room; he'd be lying in Elizaveta's office, screaming for hazard pay.
His superior was currently admitted to this room. Thus, Pavel was not abandoning his post or neglecting his duties, but rather, diligently performing his role as an aide to his superior.
“So what did I say then? ‘Come, Einar. Today my spear shall drink the blood of a hero.’ Hah… You should have seen the look of terror on Einar’s face.”
“Hm.”
“Want more apple?”
“Stop eating that! I didn’t peel those for you, you know!”
“Then you should write your name on them next time. In this country, it’s legal for any property without specified ownership to be confiscated by the state treasury.”
As a public servant with the authority to actively confiscate for the state treasury, Pavel crunched on the apple slices Isabelle had diligently peeled.
“And what’s this nonsense about the blood of a hero! I was there too, you know!”
“Me too! If my dad had fought then, you would’ve become a patriotic martyr on the spot!”
“Don’t use such difficult words. It makes you sound dumb. Not a patriotic martyr, just a death in the line of duty.”
“It’s the same thing!”
Pavel looked at Esidis with pity before speaking.
“By the way, aren’t you two going to school today? Do you not have classes?”
“You never went to university, did you, mister?”
“Uh…?”
*A debate about my academic background, all of a sudden?*
*In my day, there wasn't even such an institution as a university…* (There was.)
Smirking at Pavel's aggrieved expression, Esidis puffed out her chest and declared proudly.
“First-years are allowed to skip class whenever they want!”
“Do you know how expensive your tuition is?”
“My people pay for it. You should try being royalty, mister.”
“Wow… Seriously, I’m holding my tongue because I was part of the Krasilov rebellion. If I’d been from the Droan rebellion, today would have been the first day of the revolution.”
“Droan doesn’t have things like rebellions, you know? Challenging the throne is legal in the first place!”
Hearing this, Ivan tilted his head. *There was one not too long ago,* he thought.
Of course, in Droan's culture, challenging a jarl was indeed legal. It was just a dead law since no one dared to try it while Einar was king.
Challenging Einar for the throne was probably the surest method of suicide a Droan warrior could choose.
One might at least have a chance of surviving the Blood Eagle. Beneath Einar’s axe, no such possibility existed.
“Hmph.”
The thought of that axe blade made his chest ache again. An inch deeper, and the blow would have shattered his ribs and burst his heart.
As expected of the warrior from the Hero's Party.
Ivan had to admit his own arrogance. He had thought he could replicate it just by watching, like Einar’s other techniques.
That was not the case. A skill pushed to its absolute limit was no different from magic. It was something that, by its very structure, was impossible for others to copy, impossible to pass down.
It was the embodiment of a life, forged solely from one’s own mental image.
The strike that could cleave mountain ranges and crack an army of ten thousand—that was not something one could imitate simply by understanding the posture, the flow of mana, and the distribution of power.
That’s why he felt a sense of regret. It was like realizing anew why he had only ever been a reserve.
The beings the Hero's Party had to face were powerful enough to be gods. Only those who could forge a strike effective even against such beings earned the right to stand in the same rank as the Hero.
Ivan himself had barely reached that level, but perhaps an imitation could never surpass the original. Ivan gave a bitter smile and opened his mouth.
“Timing!”
“Mmph.”
At that moment, a slice of apple was placed in his mouth.
He looked up to see Isabelle, smiling brightly.
“Fast, right? Amazing, right?”
“Indeed. When did you learn this?”
“I kept practicing! And I’ll keep at it! How’s your disciple’s growth? You’re proud, aren’t you?”
“Disciple.”
“If you taught me, you’re my master! No take-backs now!”
Had she reached the realm of superhumans? The speed she had just displayed was a feat impossible without nerve acceleration.
Ivan finished chewing the apple and let out a small smile.
“You’ve worked hard.”
“Yes!”
Isabelle exclaimed cheerfully, her hands clasped behind her back.
Her hidden fingers fidgeted uncontrollably. She couldn't hide her joy. She had been saving this technique, waiting to show it to him first as soon as she mastered it.
And one more thing.
*‘He said his soul was tainted.’*
He also said he had lost all desire.
No. That was wrong. Einar might not have been lying, but there was at least one thing he didn't know.
*‘Mister, back then, you definitely… cried.’*
He remembered him shedding tears while eating that monstrously bad food.
There were times he would look at her and smile faintly.
There were times he would sink into reminiscence of the old days, and times he would even show a flicker of anger.
He had emotions. That man wasn't fading away. Even if his colors had weathered to a pale gray, fragments of emotion still remained in him.
That was enough.
*‘Never.’*
She would never let him meet the same end as her father.
She had made a vow. It was with that resolve that she had mastered this technique over the past few days. Even while visiting him at the hospital every day, she attended her classes during the day and, immediately after, trained until dawn.
She was determined to stoke the faint desires he held, to throw even a piece of straw onto the dying embers and rekindle the flame.
“That’s why my dad gave his permission, you know?”
“You’re such a cheeky girl. I don’t know what a grown young lady like you is thinking.”
“Ugh, you sound like such an old geezer.”
“Getting hit by an old geezer still hurts, you know.”
She swore she would never lose him to that stupid Droan girl, who was spouting some bizarre logic about meeting the parents and getting their blessing for marriage being the same as a formal family meeting.
Isabelle clenched her hands tightly behind her back.
There was still one more thing.
“Mister.”
“Hm.”
“When you’re all better. When you’re discharged. Do you want to come to my house and have some ‘Kimchi’?”
“…!?”
Forged from a steadfast will. The embodiment of a life, forged solely from one’s own mental image.
Hero-Style Secret Art: Learning Traditional Cuisine.
When it came to learning something, there was no one in the world better than the Hero.
Since the last festival, Isabelle had finished preparing the ‘special move’ she had created with Yuri.
“I made a stew with it, too. I bet it’s tastier than the one you had last time.”
Ignoring Esidis, who was gagging, Isabelle beamed.
Ivan’s expression hardened as he slowly nodded.
“My judgment will be strict.”
“Be my guest.”
He had another reason to get discharged.
Perhaps there were still good things left in this world.
Ivan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
*Maximilian, you achieved many things…*
*But the greatest thing you left behind might just be your daughter.*
*You raised her well,* he thought.
Ivan was left with this brief reflection.
It was late summer.
*