Chapter 355: Scolding and Teasing
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 355: Scolding and Teasing
"Never stop fighting real battles."
Rem believed that Encrid grew stronger only through the crucible of actual combat.
To anyone else, Encrid’s talent had clear, visible limits. It was no different in Rem’s eyes. It seemed only natural that his growth could stall at any moment.
After all, how many times had Rem seen people—knights or otherwise—climb to a certain height only to slam into an immovable wall?
The limits of talent arrive silently, settling in to slowly eat away at a person’s resolve.
Was there no way to break through those limits?
There was.
In Rem’s mind, the best way was to risk one’s life.
Limits were born of complacency. One of the best ways to avoid that trap was to do everything with your life on the line. This wasn't limited to swinging a sword. Even if you were writing poetry or singing a song, doing it with that level of desperation would force you to grow. That was Rem’s philosophy.
"Roll around on the battlefield with your life at stake."
It was the best advice Rem could offer to a man who strove to constantly move forward.
Encrid recalled and chewed over his conversation with Rem.
This was not a battlefield. Yet, in Encrid’s eyes, there was someone here struggling desperately with his life on the line.
Krang seemed to be doing exactly that. He looked as if he were rolling through life with his very existence at stake. That realization gave Encrid something akin to an epiphany. Above all, it made him want to keep watching.
"Just take in the view of the palace," Marcus said. "If I gave you a quest here, I’d look too much like a highwayman, wouldn't I?"
He added the joke, but Encrid ignored him completely. He was too busy observing Krang.
Esther narrowed her eyes, scanning the palace interior. Her instincts as a mage detected the magical tools and spell implements arrayed throughout the halls.
Esther felt a strange sensation.
As the palace of a nation, it was only natural that Spell Objects were scattered everywhere and relics were abundant. That was to be expected. Therefore, it wasn't just the presence of the relics that bothered her. A mage is not surprised by things within their range of prediction.
‘Then what is it?’
There was something insidious. Something that stood in opposition to order. Magic, by nature, did not always conform to order, but this felt like a distinct, sentient malice.
"Grrr."
Esther let out a low, whispering growl.
The unusual nature of the energy piqued her interest. Above all, while the palace seemed fraught with danger on the surface, from the perspective of a high-level mage, the defenses were incredibly sloppy. It was hard to say how it had come to this, but defensive preparations were lacking everywhere.
No, it looked as if someone had intentionally left gaps in the security.
"Have you come looking for a place to die?"
The guard—the only one wearing a dark gray helmet—spoke. They were on the path leading toward a corner of the palace grounds, having bypassed the center of the capital. Combined with their route, his words sounded like a direct threat.
The surrounding crowd had gradually thinned.
Matthew reacted immediately to the provocation. "Do you know who you are speaking to?"
"If he’s an idiot running wild on the strength of his bloodline, he’ll get angry. If not, he’s someone who can endure it," the guard replied.
Clear enough, Encrid thought to himself, noting that the fellow was no pushover.
Instead of sizing them up openly like before, Encrid began subtly observing the Royal Guard. There were twenty escort soldiers. Some of them gave off the vibe of well-trained elites—the kind who could thrust their spears forward even in the face of a sudden shock.
But others were terrible. They didn't even know how to march in step.
Drill and ceremony were the basics of any army. You couldn't call someone an elite if they couldn't even manage that. Was this really the standard of the Royal Guard, the spear that protected the royal family?
Yet, the man in the dark gray helmet walked ahead of them all, maintaining a perfect, balanced stride. Encrid thought highly of that posture. Regardless of skill level, it was the attitude of someone taking responsibility for his unit.
‘I wish he’d pick a fight.’
But looking at his posture now, he was a man who would never do that without cause. There are people you can read just by watching them walk. That man was the type to insist on a head-on clash—a man who spoke directly instead of beating around the bush, and who would wait for his opponent to turn around even if he had a chance to strike them from behind.
Traces of that nature were visible in his stride, his posture, and his speech. He was a man who would not fight without a righteous cause.
‘The exact opposite of Sachsen.’
As he thought this, he glanced at Sachsen, and their eyes met.
"It feels like you're thinking of something unpleasant," Sachsen said.
"No, not at all," Encrid denied. It was his specialty. This wasn't even a lie; it didn't harm his convictions. It was merely a courtesy, sparing his words for the other person’s sake.
"Yes, you were."
"I saw it too."
"Your eyes lost their way."
Sachsen tilted his head slightly, refuting Encrid’s words, followed by Rem and Ragna chiming in.
"By the way, do you think they'll feed us?" Dunchabel threw in another question.
Encrid quickly caught the change in topic. "They probably will."
"Instead of ambushing us like this?"
"I doubt it."
Could the guards flanking them hear their conversation? Of course they could. They heard it loud and clear.
"Impudent fools," one of the lesser-skilled Royal Guards muttered.
He was the one who couldn't even march in step. He acted as if he were being sloppy on purpose, but even that was merely proof of his pathetic mental fortitude. When facing strangers—especially a group they were meeting for the first time—they should have marched properly to maintain the prestige of their organization.
But he didn't. Therefore, he was an idiot.
The idiot spoke as if trying to pick a fight. Encrid worried about his companions' reactions, wondering if they would fly off the handle, but someone stepped forward before anyone else could.
"Are you trying to make a fool out of me with that single remark?" Krang raised his voice from the front.
"That was not my intention," the dark gray helmet replied.
"Then shut up," Krang snapped before the leader could even finish. It was fiery. "And the bastard muttering about impudence in the back had better shut his mouth too, before I cut out his tongue."
The Royal Guard’s shoulders flinched. Out of fear? No. Out of anger. And he let it show. He was truly a shallow fellow whose limits were easily seen.
By the way, even though Krang had declared himself royalty, the guards didn't seem to treat him with any respect at all.
"To think those tasked with guarding the palace have such loose tongues and light hands. It is deplorable," Krang continued, scolding them.
"You do not yet have the right to judge our attitude," the leader said.
Krang snorted. "I speak as a mere member of the royal family. Not as the King."
"Which is why you must prove that you are indeed royalty, must you not?"
"That is not for a mere swordsman to worry about! If you were ordered to escort us, then just carry out your orders!" Krang suddenly roared.
Another scolding. Because his words were logically correct, the leader could not find a reply. He chewed on those words a few times and shut his mouth.
Encrid had to look back.
"Bleh."
Rem was sticking his tongue out, mocking the Royal Guard from earlier.
Ah, this passionately crazy bastard.
How should he put it? This was somewhat unexpected. Moreover, Rem wasn't the only one. Sachsen clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
Ragna...
"Only when you know how to read the constellations do you know where you are going. One must look at the spot before lying down," Ragna offered as "advice" to the opponent.
Encrid was so dumbfounded he couldn't even speak. Where did the bastard who used to mutter about looking north while facing south go?
Of course, the words weren't wrong. It was a proverb meaning one should check the ground before stretching their legs out to sleep. However, because it came from Ragna, it lacked any real weight.
Grind.
The Royal Guard ground his teeth. His face turned beet red. If left alone, he looked ready to transform into a ripe tomato.
‘If someone transforms into a fruit or vegetable, they aren't a beastman, so what should they be called? A fruitman?’ Encrid wondered, lost in idle thoughts.
"Tomato human," Encrid muttered.
Naturally, he adjusted his volume perfectly so that only the Royal Guard could hear him.
"My mistake."
He quickly disguised the slip of his tongue as an accident.
The sound of the Royal Guard bastard grinding his teeth doubled, and his face grew even redder. Matthew, who was walking as if tightrope-walking over a cliff, could not hide his sheer disbelief at the chatter behind him.
Those crazy bastards. What on earth are they doing?
Krang held back his laughter, and Marcus was in a similar state to Matthew. He hadn't expected them to act like this even after arriving in the capital, surrounded by the Royal Guard. As the saying goes, a leaky bucket leaks everywhere. The madmen of the Border Guard were no different even in the heart of the kingdom.
"You guys..." The leader looked back for a moment, about to say something, but decided to shut his mouth instead.
Upon reaching the outskirts of the inner city, the group boarded carriages. To be precise, Krang, Matthew, and Marcus boarded a carriage. Marcus’s personal guards tried to follow, but he sent them back.
"I am with the Royal Guard and the hero who shook the entire Border Guard. What danger could there be, especially in the middle of the palace?"
There seemed to be a hidden barb in those words, but it was none of Encrid’s business. The rest remounted the horses they had been riding. If they walked, they would arrive around sunset, so the carriage and the horses proceeded at a moderate, leisurely pace.
The road to the palace wound along the outskirts of the city. Outposts were built at intervals, manned by soldiers, with gates and obstacles designed to block the path to the palace if things went awry. Naturally, they were wide open right now.
From atop his horse, Encrid could see a light-absorbing castle wall to his left and a partial view of the city to his right. It wasn't a marketplace, but an area lined with noble mansions.
"The capital sure is huge. Have you ever been here?" Rem asked.
Encrid nodded. The last time he had come to the capital, his situation had been close to that of a beggar. On top of that, various things had happened. There were people who looked down on him, and there were people who tried to kill him. If he were to recount it all, it would take half a day of talking.
So, he summarized it briefly. "Last time I was here, I was too busy getting beaten to a pulp to sightsee."
"Ha, classic Captain," Rem chuckled and nodded.
Ragna quietly looked around. It was his first time in the capital as well. In a city this large, it would be easy to get lost with just one wrong turn. The alleys twisted like a maze.
‘Getting from the palace to the city gates will be a chore.’
In reality, one only had to follow the main road, but Ragna was already fascinated by the maze-like alleys, calculating ways to navigate through them.
Sachsen followed quietly. He had been to the capital before and had even visited the palace.
‘Abnayor.’
The name of the Azpen strategist came to mind. There had been no falsehood in what that fellow said. If so, what he needed to do would be somewhere inside that palace.
Sachsen’s eyes caught the tall spires rising at the end of the road. The three tall spires symbolized the three swords representing the palace—the three knights who had protected the previous king and written the nation’s founding myth. Later, when a national crisis struck during the next reign, a divine beast called the Sun Beast had arrived to protect the country. It was a founding myth, a legend, and living history.
Dunchabel was starting to feel hungry. Internally, Encrid looked forward to potentially meeting a knight inside the palace. He was also pondering what he would ask if he did.
"We have arrived," the commander of the Royal Guard said.
They were at the entrance of the palace. The guards protecting the inner castle gates came into view, wearing the exact same uniform. The entire force guarding the inner castle was collectively called the Royal Guard.
There were four soldiers guarding the gate, and they all saluted upon seeing the commander. Then, they scanned the group and exchanged nods with the Royal Guards who had escorted them here, but Encrid felt a strange sense of incongruity.
‘They’re divided.’
Judging by their greetings, they seemed close to some but distant from others. It seemed the rumors of intense factionalism were true; even the Royal Guard had been fractured.
"Just you wait, you bastards," the soldier who had been mocked spoke through gritted teeth just before they parted ways.
"This guy was the one who mocked you." Encrid pushed Rem forward.
"Whoa, that’s unfair! You tell him—was I the only one?" Rem asked the Royal Guard instead, scraping a blade against the thread of reason the guard was barely holding onto.
Yet, perhaps because he had been selected for the Royal Guard for his patience, he ultimately endured it.
"Enough." The commander pulled his subordinate back by the shoulder. "Know your limits," he warned.
Encrid still pointed only at Rem, as if Rem were the only problem.
"No, seriously, I’m the victim here!" Rem protested.
The commander turned away without waiting for an answer. The one who greeted the group next was a new face.
"The Queen has summoned you to the audience chamber."
He scanned Krang and the group once before introducing himself. "I am Viscount Vantra."
Ah. Encrid knew that name. He was a noble under Count Molsen—the bastard who had sent crestless troops to the Border Guard.
He had neat blonde hair, a clean-cut face, and broad shoulders. It was a well-trained body.
"Marcus Vaisar."
"It has been a while."
Marcus also officially held the rank of Baron, a title bestowed by House Vaisar. It was one of the rights of a Marquis under royal permission, though they didn't hand out titles to just anyone. Marcus was someone who had proven his capabilities.
Viscount Vantra and Marcus knew each other. To be precise, they were rivals who had clashed on the stage of the palace.
Viscount Vantra completely ignored Encrid’s group and simply led the way. He didn't even properly look at the faces of anyone other than Marcus and Encrid.
Krang spoke in ventriloquism again on the way. “You must not tease the Queen.”
What on earth did this royal bastard take him for? Teasing the Queen would constitute the crime of insulting royalty. How could he not know that? Besides, he had intended to wait in front of the audience chamber anyway.
"You, enter. The rest, wait here."
Despite his thoughts, Viscount Vantra stopped Encrid.
"Her Majesty wishes to see the face of the hero who saved the Border Guard."
Encrid had expected to be briefed on etiquette and change his clothes before entering, but the situation was moving fast. A royal bastard had suddenly popped up. In truth, the major nobles probably already knew the story, but they had to pretend otherwise on the surface. It wasn't as if the man who sent the assassins wanted to admit it.
So, they were framing this as a sudden, surprised meeting. And while they were at it, they decided to see the hero of the Border Guard, Encrid, as well.
"I am afraid I might commit a breach of etiquette."
"Do not worry. I shall personally guide you," the Viscount said, but his words only made Encrid more uneasy. No emotion could be felt from him. Thus, no malice was detected, but it still left a bad taste in his mouth.
Still, he had no excuse to refuse.
By the way... did Viscount Vantra not wash himself well, or did he have a habit of chewing on raw meat? A faint, gamey stench pricked Encrid's nose. Seeing Dunchabel pinch her nose behind him, she had clearly smelled it too. To an ordinary person, it might just be an unpleasant odor, but to a beastman or someone with a trained sense of smell, it was a predatory stench that set their nerves on edge.
Encrid wrinkled the bridge of his nose briefly before replying. "Thank you for your consideration."
Soon they arrived in front of the audience chamber. Rem sent him a hand signal from behind, telling him to hang in there—though in southern slang, it was basically telling him to go get his ass kicked.
Encrid stepped straight into the audience chamber. The doors, engraved with various crests, parted to the left and right. The eyes of the guards standing in front scanned his entire body. He had already been disarmed.
As he stepped inside, the doors closed behind him with a low rumble, scraping against the floor.
The Queen had not yet arrived; there were only six nobles present in the audience chamber. Since it was a hastily arranged gathering, only the nobles who were readily available had taken their seats.