Chapter 354: Kudianat Landius Nauril
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 354: Kudianat Landius Nauril
"Halt."
As they reached the city wall, a guard blocked their path, leveling his spear shaft across the way.
Encrid reflexively assessed the guards' positions, their stances, and the direction of their feet. Two blocked the path directly, with several others looming behind them.
The skills of the two in front were mediocre at best—barely worth a second thought.
They’re just recruits.
In the Mad Company, Encrid and his comrades used the term "recruits" for soldiers who had seen a battlefield but lacked any formal training. By the standards of the Border Guard standing army, these men were bottom-tier.
Encrid locked eyes with a soldier standing behind the first two, who appeared to be their senior. The man glared back, his expression demanding to know who Encrid thought he was to stare so boldly.
Clumsy.
If a fight broke out, the man wouldn't even be able to react before Encrid’s sword was at his throat.
There were over twenty guards protecting the city gate. Excluding those inspecting the carriages and carts to the side, four had approached their group: the two blocking the path, the senior soldier behind them, and finally, a middle-aged man at the very back wearing a feathered hat tilted at an angle instead of a helmet.
The man with the feathered hat wore a thin, long sword at his waist. He was the only one whose stance showed any real competence.
Can I take him?
Encrid was busy sizing up the man’s skill when a voice broke his concentration.
"You're staring too openly," Rem warned.
No sooner had he spoken than the man in the feathered hat opened his mouth.
"Well, look at this. You were sizing me up, weren't you?" He tilted his head to the side, his gaze narrowing.
The man was unusually sharp. His skills likely matched his keen perception. Without a second thought, Encrid gave a blunt nod.
"...You’re just going to admit it?" The man muttered, then raised his voice to address his subordinates. "How many of them are there in total?"
The lead soldier scanned the group. "Seven, and a beastman? What's with that horse—why are its eyes like that? And is that... a panther?"
The guard’s eyes darted from one member to the next. They were an absurd bunch. A panther, in particular, was a wild beast; if it went on a rampage, it would be a massive headache. The guard subtly lowered his spear tip, looking wary—or perhaps just terrified.
Encrid remained silent. Esther was indeed a panther, but back in the Border Guard, no one had bothered to point it out. Why? Because she was the mage by his side. Everyone knew that mages were mysterious, eccentric beings. Some simply thought Esther was a pet Encrid kept, and that was fine too. In the Border Guard, no one questioned Encrid’s business.
But this was the capital. Just getting inside was going to be an ordeal.
Should we turn back?
His mission was only to escort Krang to the capital. Gaining entry was a separate matter; it wasn't his responsibility to ensure they actually made it through the gates.
"It's fine."
While Encrid was weighing their options, Krang tapped him on the shoulder.
"If you worry too much about every little thing, nothing will ever get done. A wise man once told me that, though I seem to have forgotten it until now."
"Huh?"
Encrid looked at him, wondering why he was acting so casual at a time like this, only to see Krang's eyes sparkling with a strange intensity.
"You're going to become a knight, right?"
At his serious tone, Encrid nodded. "Of course."
"Then let me ask you one more time. Why are you standing by my side?" Krang whispered.
Meanwhile, the tone of the guards was growing increasingly hostile.
"We can't let a wild beast in without a leash. More importantly, do any of you even have entry passes?"
"It's rare to see a group whose entire presence screams 'trouble.' Are you mercenaries?" the man in the feathered hat chimed in.
Krang pressed his question, having found the loophole in Encrid's previous logic. Encrid’s claim that he was protecting Krang only because he "didn't know his value" was a facade. Now that his own mind had cleared, Krang could see through it. Encrid didn't move for such vague reasons. That excuse had been a calculated statement.
What lay behind that calculation? Krang was curious. To him, Encrid was a straightforward man who marched forward without straying. Such a man wouldn't weigh benefits and discuss "value" unless something was weighing on his mind.
"Why did you make such an excuse?"
Encrid was genuinely impressed. This guy's intuition is sharp enough to slap Krais—who only cares about krona—right across the face.
For Krang to call it an "excuse" made Encrid feel as if his mind had been read. He was a member of the Border Guard; he hadn't forgotten that. If he were an idiot who didn't weigh the consequences, he wouldn't have survived this long. He was aware of his position and the repercussions his actions could bring.
What if Count Molsen threw a massive fit over this?
“You're worried about that, aren't you?” That had been Big-Eyes’ response when Encrid consulted him. The bastard had a truly obnoxious way of speaking. “Make up excuses and pretexts. Insist on them until the very end.”
It was a sound strategy. And this was the pretext: Was Krang's value really that high? High enough for assassins to come as a package deal? I didn't know. Since I didn't know, I just kept him alive for now. I was just defending myself when they attacked. I have no idea what’s going on.
That was Encrid's official stance. Yet Krang had seen right through it.
Can you tell me the truth, without the excuses? That was the hidden intent behind the question.
"If it's you..." Encrid began, choosing his words carefully.
If a knight’s duty was to protect, a king’s was to rule. Encrid possessed no boiling loyalty toward Naurilia. He didn't feel like he "belonged" to the land; he was simply someone who had been born here. Yet that didn't mean he loved nothing about his country.
Encrid cherished the small city where he was born. He couldn't turn his back on the memory of those who had raised him when he was a parentless child destined to starve.
"It would be nice if wars just disappeared," a fruit vendor had once said, carving the rot out of an apple and splitting it to share with him.
"How nice would it be if everyone just lived while being a bit considerate of each other?" an old maidservant had mused while roasting potatoes for him over a hearth fire.
"That damn war. I suppose the young folks like it. Tsk." An old woman, who had once sold her body just to cling to life, had lamented. "If there hadn't been a war, I would have just quietly married, had children, and lived my life making stew."
The miscellaneous stew that old woman had boiled for him had warmed his stomach like nothing else.
"You're a genius." There was also the mercenary who had called the young orphan a genius and told him to survive. The one-legged man had a massive ego, but he loved children and knew how to look after a starving beggar rather than filling his own belly.
Encrid's childhood had been filled with hardship, but he didn't hate it. He truly didn't. Those people were the ones living within this country. He knew nothing of royalty, nobility, or the politics they played. However...
"Because I think you'll do a good job."
If a man like Krang became king, wouldn't something change? It was an intuition, a gamble. Since Encrid was no prophet, it was the best he could offer.
"Choose me, Encrid. Become a knight and stand by my side," Krang said.
His words carried a heavy sense of Will. His determination reached Encrid as an intangible pressure. Though the offer was meant for him alone, Encrid did not nod. Instead, Krang spoke first.
"I don't need an answer yet."
Krang raised his head. He had found a strange peace in the face of the assassins' threat, and a realization had followed.
If your sword is at your waist, my sword is in my mouth.
It was in his head, and it flowed in his blood. Now, it was time to wield that sword.
"Matthew."
Krang called his guard's name, and Matthew stepped forward, glaring at the soldiers.
"Who are you?" the senior soldier demanded.
Following Krang's silent instruction, Matthew raised his voice. "In the name of the sole, supreme, and wise Queen of this land, I declare that the only true heir of the royal family has arrived!"
The words were grand and formal. The guard blinked, stunned. The senior soldier, at least, had a brain that functioned.
"What did you just say?" he asked, grabbing the shoulder of his subordinate—who looked ready to draw his weapon—and pulling him back.
"Exactly what I said." Matthew’s voice was booming, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. The area in front of the city gate was noisy, but his declaration pierced through the din.
"What did that man just say?"
"The true heir of the royal family?"
"Is he some hidden child the Queen kept secret?"
Anyone with half a brain knew that Naurilia was currently going through a volatile internal period. The issue of succession was a powder keg. While the Queen was not old, she had no children. She had a husband, but those in the know were well aware that she was unable to conceive.
"Insolent!" Matthew barked at the senior soldier blocking their path. "My master is a descendant of the Naurilian royal family. His name is Kudianat Landius Nauril!"
Royal names were typically long, incorporating the names of ancestors. By that standard, Krang's name was short—the result of living in hiding as an illegitimate child. He had only learned his full name after he was grown.
"Just call me Krang," Krang added, using a ventriloquism technique he’d picked up during his travels. When Encrid glanced at him, Krang continued, "That was my real name to begin with."
He had been called that since childhood. It wasn't a lie.
I was wrong. Encrid had assumed it was an alias. Looking at it now, it seemed to be derived from the first letters of Kudianat Landius, but Krang had used the shortened version his entire life.
"You hold your heads high before royal blood!" Matthew shouted.
"...I have never heard of a prince, so shouldn't you prove it first?"
The man in the feathered hat—the South Gate Guard Captain—stepped forward from behind the senior soldier. Krang took a step toward him.
"What is required to prove myself?"
"Impersonating royalty is a capital offense."
"Then arrest me and take me away."
As Krang spoke, he pulled a pendant from beneath his shirt. It was only half of a whole, worn like a necklace. A clear royal crest was visible on the metal—a piece so intricate it was impossible to forge. Despite being only half, the engraving was unmistakable: three swords and a Sun Beast with a fiery mane. This half bore the head of the Sun Beast.
"I was told my sister has the other half."
With this, the only person who could truly verify Krang's identity was the Queen herself. The Guard Captain was in a bind. Should he let them in?
"I shall guarantee it."
The voice came from behind the Guard Captain.
"In the name of Marcus Vaisar, I guarantee it. This man is indeed the true heir of this kingdom and a descendant of the royal family."
The Guard Captain knew the matter was now out of his hands. "Bring them inside."
There was nothing else he could do. He couldn't overturn a guarantee made in the name of the Centerpole family. From this point on, it was the responsibility of the politicians in the palace. He was a man who handled iron, not silver tongues.
Yet, he couldn't just let the whole group pass unchecked. I’ll detain the rest of them.
Of course, Krang wouldn't allow that.
"They are all my people. Do you intend to detain them?" The blonde man who claimed to be royalty approached with a bright smile.
I'm completely screwed, the captain thought. If he let them go, the nobles would grill him later. If he was unlucky, his head might roll for letting in a band of potential traitors. But if he blocked them and the man really was royalty? His head would roll all the same. No one would be stupid enough to impersonate royalty right in front of the Guard Captain at the capital gates. The probability that this was the truth was dangerously high.
Krang continued to speak, his smile never wavering. Every word pierced the Guard Captain's chest. What noble, what leader, would ever say such things?
"Tell them I insisted. Tell them I forced my way in. Say it was all because of me."
Marcus Vaisar nodded in support.
A sharp pang struck the Guard Captain. He was forty years old, an age where his heart shouldn't have been so easily moved, yet his emotions threatened to surge. Just who is this man?
Before he could respond, Marcus Vaisar approached and quietly reassured him. "I will take measures to ensure no harm comes to you."
The Guard Captain nodded, his eyes never leaving Krang. He seemed like an incredibly unique human being.
Encrid and the others watched the exchange in silence.
"Wow, having royal backing is something else," Rem remarked, impressed.
Just as he said, no one stopped them. Even the wild horse with odd eyes and the panther walking proudly into the capital were ignored.
The group didn't even have time to sightsee. Following a message from the gates, an escort arrived from the royal palace: the Royal Guard. They were clad in full plate breastplates, armed with long spears, shortswords, and kite shields. Their helmets were painted in gold, with visors lowered to show only their eyes and mouths, exuding an intimidating aura of authority.
The Royal Guard surrounded the group.
"We will escort you to the royal palace," said the man in the lead, who wore a plain, dark gray helmet.
Just looking at them was enough to make an ordinary person lose heart, but no one in this group was ordinary.
"See them sweating? Sucks to work in this heat," was Rem's only assessment.
Sachsen remained silent as usual, but internally, he was pleased. He had been looking for an excuse to enter the palace anyway. Dunchabel rolled her eyes, whispering, "Are we really going to follow them?" She was wary, her beastman instincts sensing danger.
"Do you want to go back? Go ahead," Encrid said.
Dunchabel quickly shook her head. "If the captain stays, I stay."
"Suit yourself."
Inwardly, Encrid felt a surge of curiosity. He wanted to see what Krang was trying to achieve. This wasn't a battlefield where iron spoke louder than words, but looking at Krang's back as he stepped forward, he looked like a general prepared to face a thousand men alone.
Watching him, something stirred inside Encrid—a reflection of his own desires.
“Do you want to improve your skills?”
For some reason, Rem's old question came back to him. Encrid gazed at Krang’s back, feeling the weight of the path ahead.