Chapter 545: Not All Kings Are Created Equal
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 545: Not All Kings Are Created Equal
Azpen had long lived under the heavy shadow of religion.
As a result, they maintained close ties with the Holy City-State—an entity recognized as both a holy site and a sovereign nation—and frequently relied on their aid. Conversely, this meant they were constantly treading on eggshells around the priesthood, making it nearly impossible for the monarchy to act on its own initiative.
But was the Holy City-State the only problem? Far from it.
If it had been just the Holy City-State, the King of Azpen might have managed them with enough political tact to carry out his will. The issue was that religion was merely one layer of the cage.
Tracing back its history, the Principality of Azpen had begun as a mere duchy. It was a nation established only through the grace and permission of the Empire.
Looking closer, its founding was less an act of benevolence and more a calculated imperial scheme to anchor a once-in-a-generation hero to a specific patch of earth. Of course, that was an assessment made in hindsight. To those who lived through that era, Prince Azpen must have been a true hero among heroes. After all, a man who founds a nation is rarely ordinary.
Given these origins, the Principality did not share a particularly deep bond with the modern Empire. It was, quite literally, a case of the Empire placating a powerful figure by offering land in exchange for peace. Therefore, while Azpen was a principality in name, it functioned as a practically independent kingdom.
However, asserting that independence was difficult under current circumstances.
“Do you not wish to continue receiving the Empire's favors?”
The imperial envoys, who visited annually, provided vital grain to Azpen, a land where arable soil was scarce due to its rugged, mountainous terrain. They weren't exactly bleeding the country dry; they treated the principality reasonably enough, charging a fair market price.
Of course, paying that price left Azpen in a position where it was impossible to stockpile any real wealth.
And just as a masterpiece requires one final stroke to truly come alive, there was one more nation that exerted a suffocating influence over Azpen: Richenstetten, the great power of the south.
They were the inverse of the Empire. While the Empire sold to Azpen, Richenstetten was the primary buyer of Azpen’s exports, specifically its metals.
Caught between a seller to the north and a buyer to the south, Azpen found it difficult to even open trade routes with the merchant cities in the southeastern part of the continent.
‘What a goddamn mess.’
Argius Bona Azpen, the master of the throne who bore the moniker "The Man Chosen by God," was deeply embittered by the situation.
‘Must we ultimately remain a nation that only survives by begging others?’
And not just from one neighbor, but from three different sides.
The Priests of Abundance resided within Azpen's royal castle, having even built their temple inside the palace walls. They claimed the teachings of their god were essential for the stability of the people. It was a cruel irony—those who lacked food always dreamed of abundance. Naturally, the majority of Azpen's populace were devout followers of the faith.
Yet, while some priests truly prayed for the people, others were so corrupt they practically reeked of decadence.
But could he simply cast them out? Not a chance.
If he executed even a single priest, divine protests and civil unrest would erupt from every corner of the country. Such was the plight of a king who could not even punish a low-ranking priest at his own whim. This was the primary reason Argius yearned for the separation of church and state.
Why did the people of Azpen cling so desperately to the God of Abundance? Because their lives were destitute.
‘Is it right to use faith as an escape?’
The king knew that fleeing from reality only brought temporary relief, but he could not expect his starving subjects to share his stoicism. He wanted to break through this deadlock. And now, the opportunity was right before his eyes.
‘Greenpearl.’
A territory highly likely to become the continent's next great breadbasket—rumored to be the most fertile land in existence—lay right across their border. All they had to do was push slightly southeast and expand the frontier. Securing that land would provide the answer to every one of his problems.
Of course, nothing in the world ever went perfectly to plan, but it was a goal worth dying for.
‘We wouldn't need to rely on the Empire, nor would we have to sell our iron to the south for scraps. Once their bellies are full, those with impoverished hearts will stop seeking their god so desperately.’
Then, and only then, would purging the corrupt clergy finally be within his power. If the people knew their king had provided the bread on their tables, their reliance on religion would wither.
Argius had a dream. It was a dream he had harbored for over a decade. He dreamed of his country becoming a true kingdom, not a mere principality. It was the dream of a cripple finally standing and walking on his own without a crutch.
Some who heard his dream called him a delusional dreamer; others joined him and followed that vision.
And they had failed.
Yet now, right before his eyes, a young king more than ten years his junior was spouting nonsense that made his own dreams look modest. The boy was being utterly unreasonable.
“Why doesn't it make sense?”
“Erasing the Demon Realm is nonsense to begin with! And the 'End of War'? A land without conflict? Gathering different races to fight as one? Do you truly believe a single word of that is possible?!”
Argius felt the veins on his forehead bulge. His words surged with raw, frustrated emotion. He wanted to scream, to ask if the youth even realized the weight of his words.
“Why can't it be done?”
“Isn't asking 'why' the wrong question entirely?”
“Have you tried?”
“...What?”
“I asked if you have ever actually tried.”
If a path has never been trodden, does that mean it is a path that cannot be walked?
The king had once thought so. For that was the very dream he had pursued—a dream of breaking free from foreign influence and standing tall. Everyone had told him it was impossible, a path that did not exist. But Argius hadn't seen it that way. He had merely viewed it as an untrodden road.
“If it is a land where no human has ever stepped, does that make it uninhabitable?”
The young king spoke, giving voice to Argius's own buried convictions. Yet, the caliber of their vessels was fundamentally different.
Just as not all knights were created equal, not all kings were the same.
“Are you going to give up without even trying? Is that the extent of the dream you harbor? Then with what expectations did you cross Naurilia's border? Enki, take the King of Azpen's head. Assemble the troops immediately and slaughter everyone living in the land of Azpen.”
Krang's voice wasn't loud; it was calm, almost quiet. Only his tone had shifted, turning cold as ice.
Hearing Krang's command, Sachsen stole a glance at Encrid. Are we actually taking his head?
Encrid, knowing Krang was making a point rather than a literal order, simply remained still, watching.
Andrew felt like his mind was fraying just listening to the conversation. The young man who had introduced himself as Ilrod instinctively placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. The other two from Azpen took a step back in alarm, while Frok silently held his ground.
Because of the sheer, terrifying weight behind the command, everyone in the room had taken the words as a death sentence.
“Is that truly what you want?” Krang asked.
Argius looked at the young king. Behind Krang was the vast night sky, and behind him stood the knight who had single-handedly halted an entire army. Argius knew he could die at a single gesture from this youth, but in this moment, all he could see were Krang's eyes.
They shone brighter than the moon, brilliant enough to eclipse the starlight. Nothing in the world could ever shine brighter than the eyes of a man who truly believed in his dream.
“What was the secret behind your success in integrating different races? Was it not because you treated them as equals? Please, share your wisdom with me,” Krang continued.
He sounded entirely genuine, without a shred of mockery or ulterior motive.
Argius felt as though he might collapse from the sheer mental exhaustion of the exchange. That was how much energy Krang’s presence drained from him.
Why had he been so angry? Why were the veins bulging on his forehead? Argius looked inward.
‘The difference in our caliber.’
Though he loathed to admit it, the man before him possessed a spirit larger and broader than his own.
“Why did you come all this way?” Argius asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Previously, he had asked out of suspicion, wondering about hidden agendas. This time, he was asking purely about Krang’s heart.
“Does that matter?” Krang smiled.
Argius let out a hollow, self-deprecating laugh.
Not all kings are created equal.
The realization pierced him to the bone. The man before him was of a completely different breed. He spoke of erasing the Demon Realm and ending all wars on the continent as if they were simple tasks.
“How do you plan to do it?” Argius asked again.
How would he bring about the End of War? How would he deal with the Demon Realm? How could he possibly root out the cults?
None of it made sense. To speak of even one of those goals would normally be dismissed as the rambling of a lunatic. Argius should have been mindful of the priest in his retinue; he should have remembered the noblewoman from House Ekins who represented the interests of the south. But he forgot them all.
In this moment, only the words of the man before him existed.
Krang smiled again. If someone had told Argius there was magic in that smile, he would have readily believed it.
The charismatic king spoke against the backdrop of the infinite night.
“Let us figure it out together.”
“...Ha, hahaha!”
Starting with a dry chuckle, Argius threw his head back and laughed heartily. He laughed until a tear squeezed out of the corner of his eye.
Did this bastard just declare he would change the world without even having a plan? Is this grand ambition, or is he just an ignorant child who knows nothing of the world?
Normally, he would have dismissed him as a child, but this was the King of Naurilia—the man who had ended a bloody civil war and seized the throne. One could not dismiss such a man.
‘It hits me now.’
Argius recalled the vassals who had opposed him when he declared Azpen should stand on its own.
‘A dreamer, they called me.’
Compared to himself, the man in front of him was a lunatic dreaming with his eyes wide open.
But.
‘I've lost.’
None of the expected political haggling had occurred. The King of Naurilia hadn't tried to squeeze him for concessions. He had simply demonstrated the overwhelming difference in their stature.
“You need a breadbasket. You want to escape the clutches of the Empire and the south, and you have religious corruption to excise.”
‘And on top of everything else, he is terrifyingly clever.’
Argius listened in silence.
“I cannot give you the entire territory. Instead, let us merge our interests like this. That will secure your arable land,” Krang said, pressing his palms together.
‘This, too, sounds like a delusion,’ Argius thought.
Krang was proposing to join their borders. Whether as allies or something more, he was suggesting they cease all conflict and simply share the agricultural bounty of Greenpearl. Since both nations bordered the region, it was easy to say—but only in words.
What of the history of their bloody skirmishes? What of the generations of ill will? Fine, perhaps they could overlook that, as there had been no total war to wipe out their cities.
‘But would the Empire and the southern powers just stand by and watch?’
As if reading his mind, Krang spoke.
“If anyone else complains, well... use this friend of mine as an excuse. Tell them there is a knight capable of slicing through an entire city of Azpen, and that you couldn't possibly fight back when threatened with his blade.”
Krang gestured with his thumb behind him. He was pointing at Encrid.
Encrid, unbothered by being used as a bogeyman, gave a casual nod.
“Is he your vassal?”
“He is my friend.”
Even as he watched a king refer to a warrior as a friend in front of another monarch, Encrid's expression remained placid. Watching them, Argius found himself deeply curious about their bond.
Of course, that wasn't what mattered right now.
“Is that truly acceptable? You are at war with the south; they will not sit idly by.”
“I am not the one fighting, but yes. Those who protect my country, those who share my dream, will defend it together.”
“Is that so.”
The tension drained from Argius's voice. Yet, conversely, his eyes began to shine with a new light. They were no longer the defensive, guarded eyes of a cornered animal, nor the eyes of a man in despair.
Krang's next words were the final blow.
“You could not fight due to the threat, yet you received the agricultural land out of our 'benevolence.' Can you not simply tell your people that the God of Abundance would never allow fertile land to lie fallow, so you had no choice but to accept?”
An ignorant child? What absolute bullshit.
A rabbit living in a cave cannot understand its companion living outside. Why live in the dangerous outside? You can survive just by eating the moss that grows inside the cave.
Argius realized he had simply failed to see beyond his own cave. The man before him wasn't just asking for an alliance or a shared dream. He was a master strategist. He understood Argius's political situation perfectly and had laid it bare. Furthermore, with his captivating eloquence, he had silenced even those standing behind Argius who would have normally spoken up for their own selfish interests.
To everyone, a moment that changes their life eventually arrives.
For Encrid, it had been a single remark from a third-rate mercenary: “You are a genius.” It had been a line of a song sung by a bard: “The Knight of the End of War.”
Now, the King of Azpen was experiencing his own moment of awakening.
Krang smiled. “What is it you fear? Death? Failure? If not those, then why not dream together?”
A concrete method? There was none. An immediate alternative? There was none.
But there was a dream. Krang was a dreamer, and for the first time in years, Argius wanted to reach out and touch that dream.
To do so, what must he do first?
Though he was intoxicated by the young king's words, he had to look first at the person who had enabled this king to speak them—the one who stood calmly while everyone else was either flustered or spellbound.
His name was Encrid, the Knight of the Iron Wall. He was the one who had made this meeting possible.
When Ilrod Hurier had first expressed his gratitude to the knight, it was actually something Argius, as the king, should have done first. Ilrod had merely stepped in to preserve the crown's pride. It was not without reason that they had requested Encrid's presence at these talks.
Therefore, now that his eyes were truly open, it was only right to thank the man who had spared his people and prevented his kingdom's blood from being spilled.
Awakened from his stagnation, the king laughed heartily and rose from his seat.
“What should I call you?”
“Krang.”
“I am Argius. Before it is too late, I would like to do what I want to do first. Would that be alright?”
Not what he had to do, but what he wanted to do. As a king who understood how a single word could alter the fate of a nation, he chose his phrasing precisely.
“Do as you wish,” Krang replied.
The King of Azpen turned to Encrid.
“My greetings are late. Sir Encrid, Knight of the Iron Wall... thanks to your actions, wives who would have spent their nights weeping will shed no tears. Children who might have lost their parents can still smile. You have allowed elderly parents who sent their sons to war to breathe a sigh of relief. For that, I offer you my deepest gratitude.”
The king bowed his head.
It was a gesture of profound respect, acknowledging that this meeting—and the hope it brought—existed only because of the peerless hero who had stood alone against an entire army.