Chapter 546: It'll Be Fun
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 546: It'll Be Fun
The King of Azpen’s words were a clear acceptance of Krang’s proposal.
While the finer details were left to the bureaucrats and their future relationship remained unpredictable, it was a promising start. It was exactly the outcome Krang had been aiming for from the very beginning, though no one else had seen it coming.
If the Empire, the South, and the Holy City-State all wanted to pull Azpen to their side...
‘Then why not just make Azpen my ally first?’
It was a far more efficient method than trying to dismantle those three factions one by one. Of course, there was always the risk of failure. Had the King of Azpen been the world’s greatest fool, the plan would have been dead on arrival.
‘But there’s no way.’
One only had to look at the stance Azpen had maintained until now. Krang had seen their struggle to assert their own will despite immense external pressure. Furthermore, the King’s current demeanor revealed his true character.
As the King of Azpen expressed his gratitude, Encrid gave a slight nod before speaking.
"Doesn't he sound like a silver-tongued swindler?"
He gestured toward Krang as he spoke. It was a joke. Everyone present, especially those from Naurilia—even Andrew—knew that Encrid enjoyed his dry humor. Though, admittedly, they hadn't expected him to crack a joke in a situation of this magnitude.
"Didn't you say he was the king of a nation and your friend?" the King of Azpen asked, momentarily taken aback but quickly regaining his calm.
"I think I was tricked, too," Encrid replied.
"Why do you say that?"
"He says he’s going to do all these grand things, but he has no real plan, does he? He’s just blindly charging ahead. How irresponsible."
At Encrid’s words, Krang, Sachsen, Sinar, and Andrew all stared at him with blank expressions.
"Are those really words coming out of your mouth?" Krang couldn't help but interject.
And for good reason. Here was a man who had declared he would become a knight despite being born with miserable talent. He never asked how he would achieve it; he simply showed his path through sheer action. As if twenty-four hours a day weren't enough, he swung his sword without letting go for even a single moment. Except for the time spent eating and sleeping, he lived like a madman.
And he was talking about the importance of having a plan?
"Still, it'll be fun," Encrid said, ignoring Krang and looking directly at the King of Azpen.
Fun.
To Argius, the King of Azpen, that was a foreign concept. Yet, hearing those words now made his heart pound.
He said it would be fun.
And yes, it would be. He had been born of royal blood and hailed as the Chosen One, but had he ever truly acted like someone chosen? He had dreams, but pursuing them had always felt like a heavy duty. He found no joy in it; it was merely what he had to do.
But the ambition the King of Naurilia spoke of now resonated deep in his chest, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. It felt like the rush of a first love, a feverish excitement he hadn't felt in years. Talking with this man, Encrid, had that effect on him. It stirred a wild, unprecedented motivation within his soul.
"When I return, I must reject the proposal of becoming a vassal state and proudly declare that we have secured a portion of Greenpearl. This won't damage your prestige, will it?" Argius asked, looking at Krang.
Krang stared at Encrid in disbelief for a moment before regaining his composure and smiling. "Do I look that easy to you? It won't."
Without a word of prompting, the two kings reached out and shook hands.
"If I should die, all of this will be meaningless," the King of Azpen remarked.
"Then don't die. Eat well and live a long life. And if it looks like you're about to get stabbed, try crying out for help," Krang shot back.
While the two kings exchanged what could be interpreted as either blessings or curses, Encrid called out to Frok, who was standing by with a dazed expression.
The middle-aged officials from Azpen were busy whispering to one another. They had been swept up in the atmosphere and overwhelmed by Krang’s charisma, left flustered because they hadn't been able to voice a single one of their intended points.
"Did you say his name was Abnayor?" Encrid asked.
"Why do you ask of him?"
"Will he be executed to take responsibility for losing the war?"
Krais had mentioned this possibility before they arrived.
"That is none of your concern," Frok replied politely. The man before him was someone worthy of respect. To be honest, no one in Azpen with a functioning brain would speak carelessly to the knight who had single-handedly blocked an entire army.
Frok, in particular, remembered Encrid sparing him and had personally spoken of the knight to the King multiple times. In fact, some of the legends of Naurilia’s hero circulating in Azpen had been spread by Frok himself. It was ironic: while some Naurilian nobles who only heard rumors from afar believed the feat was exaggerated, Encrid’s prestige was actually higher in Azpen than in his own country.
As the saying goes, enemies who face each other directly often understand each other's worth best. That logic applied to the man named Abnayor in Encrid’s eyes as well.
"Can I make a demand as the victor?" Encrid asked, looking at Krang.
Krang nodded, granting him the King's permission to speak. Every gaze in the room shifted back to Encrid. Some wondered what kind of nonsense he was about to spout this time.
"Speak," the King of Azpen said.
"I understand that this man, Abnayor, is the primary culprit behind this war. At a moment when our two nations are reaching a mutual agreement, we cannot let such an insolent man be. Escort him to the Border Guard immediately. I must hold him accountable for his crimes personally."
Listening to him, Krang thought Encrid’s tone sounded stiff and unnatural. He realized Encrid had likely memorized those lines.
The officials behind Argius frowned. Abnayor had been imprisoned to take the fall for the defeat and was unlikely to escape death. He was also someone they wanted gone; he was a clever fellow who always sided with the King. They hadn't been able to eliminate him before because of Barnas, so they were determined to cut him loose now. After all, wasn't he the one always preaching about the kingdom standing on its own?
Despite Encrid’s stiff delivery, his true intention was glaringly obvious to everyone in the room.
You want to keep him alive, right? Send him to us, and we’ll keep him safe.
"What on earth—!" the priest tried to interject, but Argius raised a hand to stop him.
"Very well. That man was a fierce warmonger who forced this war upon us."
He wasn't. Abnayor was a moderate, not a warmonger. But that didn't matter now. This was the magic Krais had worked.
“Just in case Azpen behaves politely, you should read the room and demand custody of their strategist. Why? You know why. If we leave him there, he’s a dead man. If His Majesty intends to cast aside the Empire and the others to embrace Azpen, it’s best to bring that man over. If chaos breaks out in Azpen over the blame, he’ll be killed. If the King tries to protect him, it puts his own throne at risk. It’s better if we take the burden.”
A wise man recognizes another. Krais wasn't exactly a sage, but he knew the enemy commander was no ordinary person. He had predicted the man's plight and calculated that if he was wrong, the King of Azpen would simply refuse.
Furthermore, bringing Abnayor over offered two distinct advantages that even Encrid could see. First, by removing him, Azpen would lose its most brilliant commander, serving as a safeguard against future aggression. Second, if he lived comfortably at the Border Guard, it would help dilute the long-standing animosity between the two kingdoms.
They just had to feed him, give him a place to sleep, and keep him alive.
‘What a fascinating fellow.’
Encrid couldn't help but admire Krais for seeing so many moves ahead. Though, in truth, Krais had been the one left gaping when he saw Encrid block the army, wondering if a knight could truly be such a monster. To Krais, Encrid was by far the more fascinating of the two.
"Well then."
With that, the meeting concluded. The two parties departed. The moonlight still bathed the earth, and the stars shone with brilliant clarity, as if dancing in a celestial ballroom. As Encrid glanced out the carriage window, he saw a shooting star streak across the sky.
"Sinar Kirhais, is your duty still the same?"
Inside the returning carriage, Krang brought up a topic Sinar clearly preferred to avoid. Encrid watched them curiously. Sinar replied with her usual stoic expression.
"I have never forgotten what I must do."
Though Encrid didn't know the details, Sinar had been a pillar of strength for Krang even before his ascension, bound by a covenant. Krang hadn't asked to rescind his words, but seeing Sinar live her life, he wondered if she truly had to carry such a burden.
"I see."
"Yes, that is correct."
Encrid spoke up. "What is it? This thing you have to do."
"It is not something my fiancé needs to know," Sinar replied. "A woman is only mysterious when she keeps at least one secret."
If it came to being mysterious, she was second only to Esther in the Border Guard. With her ethereal elven beauty and constant poker face, her reputation as a mystery had already spread throughout the city.
"It's an elven duty of sorts," Krang answered for her. It wasn't much of an explanation, but if she didn't want to talk, Encrid didn't pry. He let it slide with his usual indifference.
The black carriage rolled back toward the Border Guard. Only then did Andrew finally relax.
"Whew, I survived."
Though Andrew was the head of the Gardner family and a rising power among the Royalists, status meant nothing when serving a madman. And in this carriage, there was more than one.
"You look a bit stiff. How about a spar?" Encrid suggested.
It was the crack of dawn. Most people would be rushing to bed, yet he was asking for a fight.
"Are you sane?" Andrew asked.
Encrid answered in a serious tone. "If I sleep and rest when everyone else does, when am I supposed to swing my sword?"
"You swing it after you wake up!"
Andrew was a training fanatic himself, but this was absurd. Encrid didn't push it; he had only suggested it to help Andrew loosen up.
Early the next morning, Krang summoned the troops of Zaltenbuck—a city under the Duke of Okto—and began his return to the capital. The Border Guard escorted them until they met the Zaltenbuck contingent, finally relieving Andrew of his stress.
"I'll see you at the royal palace, then," Krang said in farewell.
Encrid nodded. In about a month, once the Border Guard’s reorganization was complete, he would head to the capital to be officially honored for his achievements on the battlefield.
After Krang left, the heavy lifting fell to Krais.
"We can't have people killing each other over border disputes, so we should at least build something that looks like a wall," Krais said, immediately beginning construction.
Soon, a wall rose between the Border Guard and Azpen. However, it barely reached an adult man’s waist.
"Is this supposed to be a wall?" an Azpen commander muttered, staring at it.
Standing just a long stride away was a Naurilian commander. He shrugged. "That's what they're calling it."
It was a blatant pretense, but it served its purpose. If other nations complained, they would claim they had established a border and agreed to coexist. But everyone knew what would happen once the farmland was irrigated and pioneer villages were built side-by-side. Young men and women would fall in love despite their families' protests, and neighbors would help each other through hard times.
It would take time, but this meeting had bought them that time. Instead of the continent being consumed by war, Azpen—which was meant to be a puppet for the Empire and the Holy State—had suddenly joined hands with Naurilia. There were those who hated the new status quo, but for now, no one could openly object.
A few days later, a carriage carrying Abnayor crossed the border. Though it was a prisoner transport, he found himself surrounded by soft blankets and good food. He hadn't been mistreated.
Even after arriving at the Border Guard, his situation remained comfortable. He had traded a filthy, stench-ridden dungeon for a decent room.
‘Who is behind this?’
Rather than relief, Abnayor felt a deep admiration for the King of Naurilia’s moves. He was dying to see the face of the person who had orchestrated his rescue. Based on how things had unfolded, the strategist must be a genius.
Two days after his arrival, he heard two gruff soldiers greeting someone outside his door.
"You've arrived, sir?"
"He's inside."
The latch clicked open.
"Why did you lock this?" the visitor asked.
"Isn't he an enemy general? We were told to keep him secured."
"Leave it. If he’s the type who could escape from here on his own, a single latch wouldn't stop him anyway."
It was a youthful voice. The door creaked open on poorly oiled hinges. Abnayor, sitting on a sofa so soft he never wanted to leave it, raised his head.
His eyes met the owner of the voice. A man with large eyes, looking young enough to be a younger brother, entered the room.
"Have you been well?"
This was his first meeting with the man who had repeatedly handed him bitter defeat. The youth wasn't alone; a striking, dark-skinned woman stood behind him.
"She's my guard. I was a bit worried you might take me hostage if you're a better fighter than me, so..."
The youth babbled on, and at first, Abnayor didn't realize he was looking at the strategist of the Border Guard. When the truth finally dawned on him, his pupils trembled in shock.
"You... you were that strategist?"
"Ah, it's nothing grand. I just got anxious and did a few things, and it ended up like this."
The conversation was brief, but Krais’s tone was consistently friendly. The strategist said he had just come to see his face. Before leaving, he paused at the door and turned back.
"Are you planning to run away, by any chance?"
"...I have nowhere to go."
Abnayor knew the question was a test of his state of mind. This youth truly was a formidable opponent. The two looked at each other and shared a small, foolish laugh. Abnayor felt a flicker of trust beginning to form. He really did have nowhere else to go; returning home meant execution.
And yet, as soon as Krais stepped outside, he doubled the security.
"He said he wouldn't run, didn't he?" Nurat asked.
"Yeah, he did. But you never know."
Driven by his innate anxiety, Krais saw no reason to take chances when he had spare troops.
Abnayor’s mind grew complicated the next day when he saw the increased guard presence. It felt as if, after yesterday’s friendly chat, they were explicitly telling him, 'We don't trust you.'
But there was nothing to be done. Krais was simply that kind of person. He couldn't blindly trust an enemy leader. He was anxious, and monitoring Abnayor was the only way he could sleep at night. He could have put the man in shackles to truly ease his mind, but he refrained.
After all, he had to save face for the King. He couldn't treat a high-ranking guest like a common criminal. Though Abnayor was there to bridge the gap between nations, Krais watched him like a hawk, and Abnayor simply had to endure it. There was nothing else he could do.