Chapter 804: Waypoint
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 804: Waypoint
Swish.
A soldier who recognized Krang snapped into a military salute. Lowering the sword he had been practicing with, he pressed his left hand against the hilt and bowed his head deeply.
"Your Highness."
A few other soldiers followed suit, bowing to pay their respects to the master of the palace. Only a handful simply stared, stunned into silence.
"Carry on," Krang said, his tone casual and entirely devoid of royal stiffness.
For a long time, certain nobles had nagged him to mend his speech and behavior. However, Krang had reportedly brushed them off, claiming he would use sincerity as his weapon to draw closer to the army and the people instead of hollow etiquette.
Even so, Krang knew exactly how to exude dignity and speak with the authority of the royal family when the moment demanded it.
And I’ve seen him radiate an aura far greater than that.
Encrid had witnessed it firsthand.
It had been there when they first met, when the civil war ended, when their paths crossed in the City of Oara, and even after Encrid had finally become a knight.
If necessary, Krang could command the absolute attention of everyone around him in an instant. What else could one call such an ability? It was nothing short of innate.
Normally, sitting on a throne meant one had to measure every word and move with calculated elegance, but such petty rules did not apply to a man like Krang. Common sense dictated by ordinary people never applied to those who played outside the boundaries of the world.
He was a man who proved his right to rule through sheer charm, dignity, and presence.
This very moment offered a glimpse of that power.
"This is the Royal Training Ground, a place for those who strive to protect the royal family. Therefore, continuing your training is the best way to prove your loyalty. Am I right?"
He offered a bright smile as he finished.
The soldiers bowed their heads, their eyes sparkling. It was the unmistakable look of men who had been completely won over. These soldiers were filled with a fervent devotion; if commanded, they would gladly throw their lives away for their King.
Matthew and a female warrior wielding a trident nodded from behind the King. They were familiar faces. During the civil war, they had all been trapped in a single room together, straining every nerve to keep Krang alive.
Though the endless cycle of regressions made it difficult for Encrid to remember every face, forgetting people like them was out of the question.
Though he wasn't present at the moment, Encrid hadn't forgotten Lieban, whom he had briefly glimpsed earlier that evening. Lieban was a national hero of the civil war, the very man who had looked at Encrid and repeatedly called him his "shining hero." He had since become a highly skilled member of the Royal Guard. When they had passed each other earlier, Encrid had promised to test his skills later.
"You relentless bastards."
Marcus stood behind the King as well. Aisia usually accompanied them as a guard for either the King or Marcus, but she seemed to have stepped away for a moment.
But that was fine. This wasn't a place that required a heavy security detail.
This was the Royal Training Ground. The people gathered here might have looked like ordinary soldiers to Encrid’s group, but in reality, they were the elite. They were the core forces of the security units stationed in the outer castle or the royal palace garrison—most held the rank of at least the Royal Guard. To put it simply, they were all at least platoon leaders or higher.
Marcus swept his gaze across the grounds.
From noon until night.
There were rumors that these men were obsessed with training, but they could hardly compare to the real madmen standing before them.
Encrid’s group hadn't rested, yet they weren't forcing themselves to endure the fatigue. Anyone could see they were training voluntarily, driven by sheer, manic excitement. The palace soldiers had been swept up in that infectious atmosphere. As word spread, every soldier with access to the Royal Training Ground had flocked here.
"I lost."
One such fellow sat on the ground. He was slightly smaller in build than Audin, and though he looked a few years older than Encrid, he was actually under thirty. He was one of the private soldiers under the Marquis of Okto and had been quite confident in his martial prowess. To be precise, he was a talented warrior sponsored by the Marquis.
He had come to test his mettle, only to be struck on the chin by Pel’s palm. He had lost consciousness and only just woken up.
Encrid had just finished pointing out his flaws.
"Get more real combat experience. Meet a variety of opponents and try everything from down-and-dirty brawls to duels of honor."
The man’s talent was outstanding, but he had only talent. He needed time to be broken, to realize his weaknesses, to roll in the dirt, to ponder, and to agonize. If he couldn't endure that process, he would have already reached his limit. That was the boundary for those who possessed nothing but raw talent.
"Shall we go inside and talk? But we can't drink while you're drenched in sweat. Go wash up, Enki," Krang said, heading toward a small reception room set up beside the training ground.
At his words, several soldiers blinked in surprise. They knew the relationship between the two was extraordinary, but seeing the King visit just for a drink—and then wait for the other to wash up—was still unexpected.
"I’ll do that."
Encrid calmly accepted the suggestion and moved. The training, which had stretched deep into the night illuminated by two moons, finally came to an end.
*
Krang truly did wait for the group to clean themselves up.
"Sorry, there isn't much."
The Founding Liquor he brought was only enough for five cups. No matter how much of a king Krang was, he couldn't just walk around with a sealed bottle of the legendary Founding Liquor, so he had brought what remained of a bottle he had previously opened.
Encrid took a sip of the alcohol the King had personally poured for him. The amber liquid, reflecting the moonlight, filled his mouth.
When it first touched his tongue, it tasted of fire-roasted wood. Although the smoky aroma lingered strongly, it wasn't unpleasant. It was rich yet subtle. Subtle yet rich. It was a drink of contradictions. As he swallowed, a sharp heat accompanied a sensation like a gentle flame soothing his esophagus.
It was hot, but it didn't burn. After swallowing, a completely different aroma bloomed in his mouth. It felt as though fresh, whole fruits had been crushed, leaving him with a mouthful of concentrated nectar. Even then, the fragrance was not overwhelming. It was decadent yet smooth.
"This is no ordinary taste," Encrid marveled.
"It is the Founding Liquor, after all." Krang offered a gentle, satisfied smile.
"Well, that's a damn shame."
Rem smacked his lips at the mention of the small quantity. Having managed to secure a cup for himself, his eyes gleamed with intensity. To an outsider, he might have looked like he was itching to kill someone, but anyone who knew him recognized that look as pure infatuation with the alcohol.
"Ropode, it seems you're doing well. Your face has brightened."
When Krang casually greeted him, Ropode bowed his head. While it was surprising that the King knew his name, considering his current affiliation, it wasn't entirely unexpected. Still, it was fascinating how Krang used his name so freely and showed such genuine friendliness. Even though Ropode had never had a private audience with the King, Krang’s demeanor was completely natural.
"I heard your wife and child in the West are doing well, Rem."
"Well, your ears seem sharper than mine." Rem nodded, still savoring the aftertaste.
"I hear Legion has been asking if you have any intention of returning. They say they lack a paladin of your caliber."
"I told them that where my heart lies, there is my Lord, and where my will is directed, there is my holy war."
Krang spoke to Audin as well. He then laughed and let it pass when he saw Ragna, who was muttering to himself while clutching his sword even at the drinking table. He acknowledged Sachsen with a simple glance. He asked Pel how his life as a shepherd was, to which Pel replied that he was no longer a shepherd but a member of a knightly order.
Although Rem chimed in to ask exactly when that had happened, everyone acknowledged the change.
"And where is Lady Sinar Kirhais?"
Sinar had been asleep for the past two days, needing deep rest due to issues with her vital energy and physical exhaustion. She was supposed to enter the Spring of Life in the Elven City, but when they had urged her to go, she had refused.
"She's resting."
"A pity. Just looking at her face is a pleasure."
He spoke the words easily, though he wasn't actually infatuated with her. It was a classic Krang-style joke.
"If my wife heard that, she'd bring a dagger to bed," Encrid shot back with a joke of his own.
Half of their conversation was trivial banter. They hadn't mentioned a single word about the ominous atmosphere lingering in the capital, but Marcus eventually chimed in.
"He said he wanted to hear it directly from you, so I kept my mouth shut."
When Encrid asked with his eyes what he meant, Marcus emphasized once more.
"That thing."
Only after Marcus nudged him again did Encrid realize and speak up.
"Ah, we saved the villagers."
"Not that."
Only after Marcus interrupted him yet again did Encrid begin the stories of their journey. It started with the destruction of Thorn Castle.
"That was indeed disgusting to behold," Krang said.
"You've seen it before?"
"I've only heard of it, but it wasn't hard to guess what they were up to."
When Encrid went on to mention the Balrog's Labyrinth, a strange heat flared in Marcus's eyes.
Now, how surprised will he be?
"...Sir, you killed what?" Matthew asked first, his eyes widening so much they looked ready to pop out. The guard holding the trident slapped her own cheek.
Slap.
"Want me to do it for you?" Rem offered, the sound of the slap having been remarkably crisp.
Marcus's anticipation turned toward Krang. His King sat with his head bowed, staring down at the table.
What, is he so shocked he's speechless?
But when Krang raised his head, his eyes were sparkling like never before. They shone so brightly they completely overshadowed his dry skin and the dark circles under his eyes, worn out from days of sleeplessness. His expression was one of pure excitement rather than shock.
"Fucking brilliant."
The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. Krang, too, had once spent his days wandering the back alleys, and his old habits slipped out.
"Ah, right?" Encrid agreed.
Earlier, it wasn't that he hadn't known what Marcus was trying to get him to say. He had simply teased Marcus because he had accurately predicted Krang's reaction. Krang wouldn't be shocked by something of this level. His caliber was different, his boldness was different, and his view of the world was different.
"You're not going to stop at the Balrog, are you?" Krang asked.
It was a night illuminated by two moons. Because there wasn't a single cloud, the sky was not merely black; it was filled with stars that scattered their light as if competing with the moon.
Under the watchful gaze of those stars, Encrid replied, "Because there won't be just one demon."
It was a declaration of his resolve to kill every single one he encountered.
"Indeed." Krang nodded, his smile widening.
To become a knight. To erase the Demon Realm. To protect those standing behind him. It was a path walked to achieve a dream that sounded absurd to others. The Balrog was merely a waypoint along that journey.
Krang understood that perfectly.
"Why aren't you surprised?" Marcus asked, his expectations shattered.
"I was surprised, though."
Krang poured the remaining alcohol into two cups. Encrid downed his in a single gulp.
"Just one sip for me too..." Rem hastily tried to reach out, but it was impossible with his injured body.
Sachsen shook his head and clicked his tongue. Rem flared up at the sound, the two began to bicker, Audin tried to mediate, and Krang laughed, saying they hadn't changed a bit.
As Krang burst into hearty laughter, Encrid looked at him and calmly remarked that these people weren't the type to change easily.
Meanwhile, Encrid noticed a pattern on Krang's arm that he hadn't seen before. It was a tattoo. Its shape and script made it difficult to decipher.
"What's that?"
"Recognition."
A brief answer came back. An ordinary person, no matter how sensitive, probably wouldn't have noticed it. But Encrid, whose senses were sharp enough to cut through spells, could perceive it.
Something...
He could see an illusion swirling around his friend. It was a continuous sensation of heat, so intense that just looking at it made his eyes feel like they were burning.
"It's a good thing. Don't worry about it." Krang patted his forearm, and Encrid nodded.
The two didn't discuss the political undercurrents or other heavy matters. Only when it was time to leave did Krang speak up.
"Do me a favor later."
"Anytime."
"Right. See you again soon."
There was no hidden agenda. Today was simply a gathering to share a drink and celebrate what his friend had accomplished. Why else would he have brought the Founding Liquor?
Krang hadn't changed at all. He was a man of unpredictable attitude, skill, and caliber. In terms of pure physical might, he might not even be able to block a single arrow, but his true abilities would shine elsewhere.
"If you give me a bottle of that alcohol, I'll do ten of those favors for you," Rem chimed in.
Krang chuckled.
"I prefer rare teas," Marcus added.
They had been about to leave, but trivial jokes continued to fly back and forth for a while longer. Just talking and laughing like this was a pleasant time.
*
The next day, Encrid received a summons from Marquis Vaisar. He had just finished training and eaten lunch. It was an afternoon with a light drizzle falling, pitter-patter.
On the training ground, some could still be seen rolling around, dedicated to their drills despite the rain. Encrid stepped outside the inner castle and headed toward the Marquis's estate.
"You've arrived."
The one who greeted him was Kin Vaisar. Her complexion was unusually dull, and she did not look well. Back in the Border Guard, she had been a woman who never lost her smile, deeply absorbed in her work.
"Where is the Marquis?"
"He is waiting for you."
Behind Kin, a white-haired old butler bowed and spoke.
Encrid headed inside. There, he encountered a door carved with antique patterns and a dying old man on a bed. Marquis Vaisar's eyes were clouded with a gray film, leaving his vision impaired, and he had only a few teeth left. Because of that, his pronunciation was slurred, but it was still not difficult to understand him.
"Is that Sir Encrid?" the old man asked.
Encrid approached the bedside. "Yes, it is."