Chapter 544: Passionate Speech
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 544: Passionate Speech
Crackle, crackle.
Beside a large bonfire stood two chairs, crafted with such precision they seemed to bear the touch of a master artisan.
In one of the chairs sat a middle-aged man. Behind him stood a young man in light leather armor, a middle-aged woman, a man who looked a few years younger than her, and Frok.
It was the very same Frok whom Encrid had spared and sent back.
When Encrid gave a subtle nod of recognition, Frok tipped his head in a silent response.
The light of the bonfire illuminated the middle-aged man sitting in the chair. He was the King of Azpen.
As Encrid approached, his eyes swept over the king. Though the man carried a bit of extra weight, his physique still showed the signs of rigorous training. The veins on the back of his hands bulged prominently, and his thin shirt revealed well-developed pectoral muscles.
His face didn't look particularly harsh, but his cheeks were slightly hollow, giving him a lean, weathered appearance. Looking at him, Encrid felt a sensation similar to when he had first met Count Molsen. It wasn't that the king shared the Count's madness, but rather that they both possessed the aura of men who had relentlessly tempered their bodies.
To put it simply, there was no sign of a warmonger about him. Perhaps he looked a bit prickly? Then again, warmongers didn't exactly have a uniform.
The king raised a leather wineskin. "I have wine. Would you care for a drink?"
His tone wasn't soft. It was like a hard stone, yet it carried no malice or hostility.
"I would love to."
Without hesitation, yet without any unseemly excitement, Krang walked forward with steady footsteps. He took his seat in the other chair as if it were the most natural thing in the world and accepted the drink. He showed proper etiquette, extending one hand while supporting his wrist with the other, his every movement radiating composure.
Then, he took a long gulp.
Watching this, Encrid wondered if it was truly safe to drink, but he was in no position to stop him. The scene naturally brought to mind the conversation they had shared in the carriage on the way here.
"Aren't you curious why I'm going this far?" Krang had asked on the road.
In response, Encrid had blinked slowly twice before replying, "If I threw myself into the path of an army to stop them, would you stop me?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you'd handle it on your own."
That was trust.
"It's the same for you, I suppose."
By replying that way, Encrid had expressed his faith in his king and friend, and that had been the end of it. Sachsen hadn't looked curious in the slightest, and Sinar had no interest.
If Andrew had been inside the carriage, he might have said, These people are all insane. But since he was likely enjoying the night view to the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the rolling of wheels, he wouldn't have heard them. Even if he had, would he have intervened? After asking how they had stopped the army, Krang had appeared. Upon seeing him, Andrew’s eyes had gone beyond shock and bewilderment, turning into something resembling a ghoul’s—eyes completely devoid of thought.
"I'm going to try and win over the King of Azpen," Krang had continued, but Encrid merely gave him a look that said, Do whatever you want, I trust you.
"Is it too much trouble?" Krang had asked. Indeed, he was the king of a nation; even his quick-wittedness carried a royal dignity.
"No," Encrid denied. It was a common tactic of evasion.
"Fine, let's drop it."
And so, they had just chatted about trivial things. Dunchabel's journey to the East, what happened on this battlefield, killing the enemy knight, changing the royal training ground, and so on.
When the topic of battle came up, Sachsen mentioned that he had killed those called the Moonlight Elves, but Sinar remained indifferent. If humans took sides, why wouldn't elves? They were no different. Besides, Sinar knew all too well that when it came to the cycle of killing on a battlefield, the side doing the killing wasn't necessarily the evil one.
"Since everyone lives by their own will, it might not be a bad thing if what awaits them at the end is rest."
Hearing this, Krang started to say something to Sinar but closed his mouth. Encrid sensed that Sinar knew what topic Krang was about to bring up, but he also felt she didn't want to discuss it, so he didn't press further.
"The southern empire made a fuss, and the Holy Order played their tricks, but in the end, they all seemed to side with Azpen. So I thought about it. What should I do here? Pick a fight and demand answers? That didn't seem right."
Amidst the trivial banter, Krang had organized his thoughts as he spoke. Encrid listened, offering occasional nods of agreement. He wasn't stupid, but politics was a completely different realm—one he had no intention of entering. It had been true before he became a knight, and even after, he was simply too busy moving forward.
The sword, knighthood, dreams—what should he strive toward, and for what purpose did he wield his blade? It was a path of constant contemplation and progress. There was no room for politics to squeeze into that journey.
At any rate, having arrived at their destination, the King of Azpen merely stared at Krang with an expression so cold it seemed not a single drop of blood would spill even if he were pricked. It was as if he were asking what the big deal was about boldly drinking a cup of wine.
Meanwhile, Encrid felt a sharp gaze on him. Looking ahead, he saw the young man staring intently at him. To say he was glaring would be inaccurate; his eyes were clear, and his gaze was straight.
Regardless of the nature of the gaze, Sachsen didn't seem to like it. He spoke up, his voice low and quiet.
"In our unit, there is a panther who plucks out the eyes of anyone who stares carelessly. And I happen to agree with and support that panther's actions."
Threatening to gouge out someone's eyes or pull out their intestines to strangle them was intimidating enough, but speaking so calmly, completely devoid of bloodlust, was far more effective. Especially in a secret meeting following an overwhelming victory.
"I mean no harm," the young man said before either king could speak. His voice remained clear and high-pitched despite Sachsen's threat. Was it the resolve to say what needed to be said even if he died here? Or was it just the reckless folly of youth?
Since they wouldn't bring a foolish, hot-headed swordsman to a place like this, Encrid figured it was likely the former.
The middle-aged woman frowned, clearly displeased by the young man stepping forward. Frok showed no emotion whatsoever, while the last remaining man, who possessed a neat appearance, smiled with his eyes.
"You should hold back," the man said.
"I only wish to speak with him." The young man’s gaze remained fixed on Encrid. "Are you the Knight of the Iron Wall?"
Encrid stared back at him. It was definitely not a face he recognized. Nor did the young man resemble anyone he knew. But he had called him "Knight of the Iron Wall" rather than "Sword of the Iron Wall." It seemed his name had spread through Azpen with that specific title.
"When I was young, the cousin who first taught me the sword was named Mitch Hurier."
It was a name vividly etched in Encrid's memory. Mitch Hurier—an opponent he had clashed with twice.
"Fortunately, I quickly surpassed my cousin's skill, and I was given a godfather."
"A godfather?"
"I am Ilrod Hurier, the godson of Barnas Hurier."
His godfather had died at Ragna's hands, and the cousin who first taught him the sword had died at Encrid's. To this young man, Ilrod, Encrid was essentially a mortal enemy. Yet, there was no trace of resentment or hatred in his eyes.
Even so, he bowed his head. "First, I offer my greetings. And my gratitude."
Setting aside his personal grudge, Ilrod prioritized the greater good. He knew that the man before him had prevented the meaningless slaughter of countless soldiers. He had heard of it from Abnayor, and he had investigated it himself. Encrid, who had stood in the way of an entire army, deserved respect—a respect entirely separate from any personal vendetta.
That was why he wanted to express his gratitude. Standing here by the king's grace meant his position would be difficult once they returned, but he had to say what was on his mind. The man before him had killed his cousin and godfather, but in exchange, he had saved thousands of lives.
Furthermore, although he was Barnas's godson, Barnas had over a hundred "sons," and Mitch Hurier had tormented him during their childhood. He couldn't harbor a deep emotional grudge even if he wanted to.
"Once my skills are sufficient in the future, I will come to challenge you to a duel."
Ilrod finished his piece. He was an incredibly stubborn, straight-laced person who could only find peace by living according to his own moral compass. Because of that, he was someone who would not easily fall into corruption or be swayed by others.
"As you wish," Encrid nodded. Though he couldn't fully read the other's mind, he knew that Ilrod hadn't spoken out of malice. Above all, his words were filled with sincerity.
To add to that, Encrid actually found him quite likable. Establishing a resolve and acting upon it—wasn't that exactly how Encrid lived? Though the young man was far less perceptive than Encrid.
"Are you insane?" Beside him, the middle-aged woman glared and scolded Ilrod, indicating this hadn't been planned. As she spoke, she stole a glance at Encrid. It made sense for her to be wary; if things went south and the other side started drawing swords, she wouldn't even be able to try and stop them.
Yet, Ilrod remained perfectly calm. This only seemed to displease the woman further, a deep furrow appearing between her brows.
At any rate, their conversation ended there. Ilrod looked straight ahead, and Sachsen took his hand off the dagger he had been secretly fingering.
Of the two kings, Krang had listened to their exchange with amusement, while the King of Azpen remained expressionless.
"An interesting fellow," Krang remarked.
"He is someone who doesn't know how to hide his thoughts," the King of Azpen replied.
The two kings exchanged these brief words and took another sip from the leather wineskin. As a venue for a meeting between monarchs, it was crude, lacking fine glassware or precious food. But it was madness for a king to have come all this way in the first place.
In this age, a meeting between two kings was a marvel. It was a world where, without cities and castle walls, one was exposed to the threats of demonic beasts and monsters. Massive forces had to be deployed just to protect farmland. In such a world, a king crossing borders to converse with another was a massive gamble.
Since the concept of a neutral zone did not exist, most proposed meetings fell through due to mutual suspicion. Even if they did meet, they had to bring legions of knights and make extensive preparations, meaning there was usually no reason to waste so much time and manpower.
Yet, Krang had gone out of his way to arrange this, employing all sorts of unnecessary measures.
Encrid stood idly by, acting as a guard. He sensed nothing from the surroundings—not even a hint of an ominous presence. Krais had argued that there was no need for the king to make a personal appearance, though he had also conceded that there wouldn't be any major threat.
Of course, demanding to know why he absolutely had to go was classic Krais. He was frustrated by the king needlessly inviting danger, but Krang had simply smiled gently and brushed it off with a single phrase: "Because it's fun."
To be honest, even if the King of Azpen tried to pull something, it wouldn't be a problem. That was exactly why Sachsen and Sinar had come along.
As Encrid watched, the conversation between the two kings truly began. And their dialogue took a form that completely defied everyone's expectations.
*
The King of Azpen waited for Krang to demand terms. Whether it was compensation for violating the non-aggression treaty, or unconditional surrender.
Or perhaps vassalage?
He was prepared to endure it all. To be honest, the very proposal to meet here was highly bizarre.
To kill me? Would they really orchestrate all this just to kill a single man? If so, wouldn't they have used a more sophisticated method? No, that couldn't be it. Therefore, what the opponent wanted was submission. They wanted to humiliate him.
“Hey, get out here.”
They wanted him to realize he was in a position where he had to comply when summoned. The King of Azpen could not bear to watch his soldiers and people die just to preserve his own pride. He was not brilliant, but he knew how to protect what needed protecting.
Of course, that didn't mean he would let himself be dragged along entirely by the King of Naurilia's whims. He spoke first.
"Did you arrange this meeting without fearing what might happen if I brought hidden forces to target you?"
It was a declaration of resolve—though forced to yield, he would not kneel easily.
Krang smiled brightly. "Do you have hidden forces?"
Was he mocking him? Asking what he could possibly do when he knew all of Azpen's knights were dead? The King of Naurilia has the tongue of a devil. In the eyes of the King of Azpen, the man's face seemed possessed by a demon.
How much had he ridiculed him behind his back before coming to this meeting? Was what hid behind that smiling face a sense of triumph?
Fine. Did he wish to be intoxicated by that base sense of victory? Then let him have it. He would gladly kneel and bow his head. But it would not last forever. Ten years, twenty years, thirty years—with time, Azpen would rise again.
After I die, my son, the knights led by my son, and those harboring a new resolve will rise once more.
The king wanted to glare at Krang with a heart spitting blood, but he held back. This was a time that demanded patience.
Though it seemed Azpen had picked the fight first, the conflict between the two nations was essentially a struggle over Greenpearl. Azpen dreamed of stockpiling food using Greenpearl as a foundation, while Naurilia was wary of its neighbor acquiring powerful military strength. After all, stockpiling food was synonymous with increasing military power. Beyond feeding the populace, selling surplus food translated directly into military funds.
Greenpearl was a land with that much potential. Now that they had to reduce themselves to a vassal state, their borders would be pushed back as well. Even though the King of Azpen had come prepared, he was determined not to give everything away easily.
And Krang...
"If that is my fate, then I must accept it," Krang said casually.
The King of Azpen pondered those words. It was an answer to his question about hidden forces—a response to his threat. As the king paused, caught off guard by the unexpected reply, Krang spoke again. His voice was clear and cheerful.
"I am struggling to survive in this matter of life and death, but simply living isn't quite enough to satisfy me. But what if the heavens, or God, decides they don't like me and says, 'Enough, you've become boring, so go ahead and die'? What can I do then? Powerless as I am, I would simply have to die."
As Krang spoke, he pointed to the sky with his right index finger. It created the illusion that the night sky, a black canvas embroidered with two moons and stars, was touching the tip of his finger.
The King of Azpen knew that Krang's words were highly calculated. He understood this all too well. He knew Krang had brought knights, and that Azpen lacked the power to stop those three. He also knew that any clumsy assassination attempt would only backfire. He knew that if his head couldn't comprehend the aftermath of such actions, he might as well sever it and kick it around like a toy.
Yet, it was hard to take his eyes off Krang.
"Are you mocking me?" the King of Azpen asked.
"If I wanted to mock you, I wouldn't have secretly come all this way while whining about being in pain. Do you have a dream? I have a small but substantial dream."
Krang stood up. Just as slowly and smoothly as when he had sat down. Of the four guarding the King of Azpen, three flinched—excluding Frok—but the Naurilian side remained unshaken. They merely followed Krang with their eyes.
Under the night sky, where there was no light source other than the moonlight and the bonfire, Krang shone alone.
"It is to erase the Demon Realm and the cultists from this world, send all those who commit absurd atrocities to the gallows, and tell everyone gathered together to stop fighting."
What utter nonsense. Monsters could be blocked, but the Demon Realm was an unstoppable force of nature. And what? Tell everyone to stop fighting? It was all ridiculous sophistry.
Yet, there was a strange magic in Krang's words and gestures. Spreading his hands, Krang spoke.
"We—every single race, including humans—have never once joined forces. Is that not true? And the same goes for Naurilia and Azpen."
Everyone's eyes locked onto his words. Against the backdrop of the night's silence, Krang delivered his passionate speech.
"That is absurd!" the King of Azpen shouted, his face flushed red.
Hearing those words, Encrid thought the other king was already halfway won over. After all, it was a reaction that could never have come from someone who wasn't listening in earnest.