Chapter 805: The Scales Are Always Fair
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 805: The Scales Are Always Fair
“Oh.”
Marquis Vaisar reached out a trembling hand. He was in such a state that even sitting up on his own was a grueling struggle.
The butler standing beside Kin stepped forward, took the Marquis’s hand, and helped him up. The simple act of sitting upright made the old man’s breathing grow ragged and thin.
“Cough!”
As the Marquis buckled under a coughing fit, the butler held a wide metal bowl to his lips. The Marquis spat out phlegm with a breathless wheeze—the discharge was a sickly black and yellow, tinged with the crimson of blood. Once the fit subsided, Kin stepped in to wipe his mouth.
“Phew.”
Finally catching his breath, the Marquis let out a long, weary sigh. Though Encrid wasn’t standing directly over him, he could smell the unmistakable scent of death clinging to the Marquis’s breath.
It was a musty, dry, and heavy odor.
“I have been waiting for you.”
“Why me?”
Encrid did not drag things out. Wasting time on trivialities would be a sign of disrespect to a man in the Marquis’s position.
“You must know my business.”
For a dying man, the Marquis’s eyes were startlingly sharp and focused. They were entirely different from the eyes of the senile old man Encrid had seen before—the one who couldn’t even recognize his own wife.
This was the giant of a noble house who had dominated an era. This was Marquis Vaisar.
He was a man who had sometimes assisted the King and sometimes stood in defiance of the royal family, yet he had protected his house to the very end.
Carrying the full weight of that storied life, the Marquis opened his mouth. The sheer power in his voice seemed to push back the Grim Reaper lurking in the shadows of the room.
“Marry Kin. It is my last wish before I die. It would be even better if you gave me a lovely grandchild to hold before I go.”
Encrid was nearly caught off guard for a second. He briefly wondered if the old man had finally lost his mind, but the look in the Marquis's eyes said otherwise.
Having coughed as if his lungs were collapsing only moments ago, the corners of the old man's mouth were now curling into a faint, mischievous smirk.
“It was a joke.”
Seeing Encrid flustered by the unexpected strike, the Marquis chuckled heartily. Hearing that laughter, one would find it hard to believe this was a man on his deathbed.
If the Marquis’s trick were compared to swordsmanship, it would be the pinnacle of a deceptive blade.
Did the Valen-style Mercenary Sword not say as much? That the momentum of deceiving someone while risking one’s own life is the ultimate form of deception.
He had pushed forward with enough momentum to make a lie feel like the absolute truth.
It was an unexpected blow. It felt even more potent because Encrid thought he was thoroughly used to this kind of banter. Though it lasted only a moment, Encrid discovered a flaw in himself.
If Sachsen had seen this, he would have given me an earful.
Is it not said that those who pride themselves on never letting their guard down are the easiest to kill?
Had he become overconfident due to recent events? While it wasn't a sense of omnipotence, he had grown perhaps too certain that he wouldn't be easily shaken anymore.
Yet, one cannot predict everything. That held true in battle as it did in everyday life. A thorn that slips through the gaps of one's insight can pierce the heart at any time.
If I am fooled, then so be it.
One must accept the possibility of being deceived. One must recognize that an unexpected blow can always land. Even in those moments, the only thing that matters is the response. Even if flustered, one must react.
What is needed is training.
Knights are beings referred to as disasters. Through this kind of mental tempering, they gradually move from the ordinary to the extraordinary. That truth remained constant even after earning one's spurs.
To avoid becoming half-baked, I cannot simply be good at swinging a sword.
It was a small, light joke, but it brought a sudden realization to Encrid. It was likely due to the experience he had accumulated up to the battle of Thorn Castle, including his encounter with the Balrog. His conversation with Luagarne had surely played a part as well.
The concept of combat arts surfaced in Encrid’s mind—an extension of his previous enlightenment. Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu—after all, it was a human who wielded it.
“You are quick to regain your composure,” the Marquis noted.
Encrid’s mind worked differently from ordinary people. The seemingly long train of thought had concluded in the blink of an eye.
“I was indeed surprised.”
At Encrid’s reply, the Marquis nodded slowly.
It wasn’t a joke thrown out merely to soften the atmosphere. The Marquis wanted to see the change in the man named Encrid. He wanted to see if Encrid was still walking his own path, ignoring power and status as before, or if he had changed.
He had tested him by shaking his emotions. Encrid was inwardly impressed.
Is it not said that even if a sword is old, its blade remains sharp?
The Marquis was not a knight; if they fought, Encrid could kill him with a single finger. Yet, the sheer capability of a man who had spent his life holding the reins of power was not to be underestimated. He had caught the moment Encrid faltered and immediately noticed him regaining his footing.
Then, the Marquis spoke again, his tone turning grave.
“Do not forget that the unsettling movements currently occurring in the capital are the work of the South. They are preparing for war at any moment. I have told His Highness as well, but I felt that you, Sir, would be even less likely to forget my words.”
It was as if he had anticipated Encrid asking why he was being told about war preparations. Was it foresight born from the intersection of insight and intelligence, or intuition built on decades of experience? The Marquis led the conversation with answers that bypassed the need for questions.
The undercurrent of unrest was the work of the South, and in the South lay the great nation of Richenstetten.
Bordering the Demon Realm, Richenstetten was a country that had fought countless monsters and demonic beasts on a scale incomparable to the central continent.
Encrid realized he could no longer smell the odor of decay he had detected earlier. The thick, musty scent of death was gone, replaced by eyes that burned with the fire of the Marquis's robust youth.
“Don’t get beaten by those damn bastards of the South. It would hurt my pride.”
It was the declaration of a man who had once made a name for himself as a pillar of the kingdom. Though it seemed he had a much longer story to tell, the Marquis stopped there.
“Watch me from the grave, then.”
It was a counterattack to the joke from earlier. At those words, Kin looked at Encrid in shock.
Was such a joke appropriate for a dying man? Was this man even human? Her gaze seemed to ask if Rem had come wearing Encrid’s mask.
On the contrary, the Marquis chuckled heartily once more.
“My eye for people is indeed accurate.”
With that, he waved his hand to dismiss them.
“You may leave.”
Encrid had come because the Marquis wished to see him one last time. There should have been nothing more to say. Yet, before turning to go, Encrid asked one last thing.
“Is it resentment? Or protection?”
Was a knight’s intuition just that sharp, or was Encrid’s personal instinct extraordinary? The Marquis thought he hadn’t revealed his true feelings, but Encrid had read something between the lines.
The Marquis chose his words carefully.
“Let’s say it’s both. I am a greedy man. I should also add that I have several other lovely daughters besides Kin.”
Had Marquis Vaisar always been such an eloquent speaker? Come to think of it, Marcus was no slouch when it came to words either. As the saying goes, a tiger does not breed dogs; this was the Marquis’s true self. Or perhaps it was the self from his passionate youth.
Droplets of time pierce rocks and change people. As the years passed, with more to protect and less freedom to speak carelessly, the Marquis must have grown deeply cautious. Yet, at crucial moments, he would have made the bold choices required to reach his station.
What was the Marquis like, stripped of his noble pretenses? It was hard to define. Encrid left the room, feeling a strange, unidentifiable emotion.
The Marquis stared out the window with an indifferent face.
It was literal greed, but looking at Encrid reminded him of someone who had died a very long time ago.
“I will protect you.”
That had been the dead man’s habit of speech. He was the sword that protected the House of Vaisar, and a friend with whom the Marquis had spent his childhood. He had been born with a natural, terrifying talent for the blade.
Their personalities were different, and their appearances were different, but why did that friend come to mind now?
He never gave up.
His friend had been the same. Had the House of Vaisar never faced a storm until now? There had been many. Far too many. A single harsh wind would shake the family’s businesses, and a violent wave would swallow their people. In the midst of those storms, his friend had stepped into the fray with nothing but a single sword.
It had happened over fifty years ago. The southern front had been pushed back, and the royal family mobilized even the private soldiers of the nobility to fight. In that battle, his friend had died.
If it had been a fair and honorable battle, he wouldn't have felt so bitter.
“This was a duel,” the sword of Vaisar had said.
“No, this is war,” the opponent had replied.
It couldn’t even be called cowardly. In truth, the defeat was due to a lack of skill, a lack of national power, and a lack of talent. It was an era when everything was lacking.
If not for the once-in-a-generation genius named Cypress, Naurilia would have collapsed back then. The damage sustained caused the Kingdom of Naurilia to slowly wither, and as time passed, Azpen began to cast greedy eyes upon it.
Time is heartless, but...
The scales are always fair.
At the end of those heartless years, the Goddess of Fortune had finally placed a heavy weight on one side of the scales. Facing that weight now, the Marquis lay back with a satisfied expression. He would be able to sleep soundly tonight.
He had revealed a part of his inner thoughts that he had never spoken to anyone. The Marquis lay in peace, letting go of his lifelong tension.
“Father,” Kin called to him softly.
“Go to the Border Guard. And do not return.”
They say if you bite all ten fingers, there isn’t one that doesn’t hurt, but there was always one that hurt more. He had taken in the child left behind by his close friend’s wife and brought her into the embrace of Vaisar. Though he claimed to have treated her the same as his other children, that might have actually been a wound to her. How could the Marquis not know that?
He was a man who had grown old wisely. He knew it all, but he also knew that this was all he could do for her.
“Go, Kin. My daughter.”
Kin burst into tears. She could see her father’s breath growing shallower. In place of the robustness that had briefly chased away the Reaper, only an old man who had accepted his end remained.
“Yes, Father.”
The Marquis closed his eyes. He would have a very pleasant dream tonight.
As he drifted away, a pitch-black darkness rushed in, but it was soon replaced by bright sunlight, a lush meadow, white clouds, and a single thatched cottage in the distance. At the edge of the meadow, just as he had hoped, his old friend came out to greet him.
“Have you been well?”
“Can’t you treat me like you did when we were young?”
“Shall I?”
Beside him, the Marquis met everyone he had lost. His wife, who had died of illness long ago, stepped forward with a smile. Her expression seemed ready to gently accept any complaint he might have. It was a benevolent smile. She, who had listened to his stories anytime and anywhere, was right there waiting for him.
The Marquis walked forward, flanked by his friend and his wife.
* * *
Encrid turned around, reflecting on Marquis Vaisar and the legacy of his house.
To establish oneself as a noble, military force is essential.
There was also a story Marcus had once let slip.
“Even now, the private soldiers of the Marquis’s house possess outstanding skills, but this isn’t their prime. Rather, it’s a period of decline. Their true prime was when my father was young.”
It wasn’t difficult to deduce the meaning behind those words.
They once had a force of knights.
It wouldn't have been a common thing. But because they possessed such a force, the Vaisar family had risen to become a marquisate. Perhaps the reason for the regret the Marquis showed now was the loss of that knight force?
It was purely a hunch, but Encrid had hit the nail on the head. Of course, Encrid didn’t dwell too deeply on the deduction.
There was no one other than Krais who could peer into Encrid’s inner thoughts like this. If Krais had been here, he would have been incredibly frustrated.
“Why do you stop halfway when you have such a good brain? Huh? You should use it to the end to take what you can and prepare for what you need!”
Of course, if Krais said that, Encrid would simply retort:
“That’s your job.”
Since it wasn't wrong, Krais would have been left speechless.
Pitter-patter.
Encrid walked through the falling raindrops after leaving the mansion.
“Please take a carriage, Sir,” an attendant approached and offered.
“It’s fine.”
Encrid declined and continued his walk, lost in thought. The Marquis’s house had its pain. In truth, who didn’t? Those living on the continent always lived with war, monsters, and demonic beasts at their doorstep.
The end and the end of war.
It was a song a resident of the Demon Realm had sung once. Encrid hummed the tune as he walked back to the training ground. Even though noon had passed, the sky remained dark and gloomy.
“So busy, so busy. You didn’t go to meet a woman, did you?”
As he entered the training ground, Aisia welcomed him.
“Please grant me a lesson, Commander Encrid,” she said playfully.
Encrid nodded. His arm was mostly healed now. Since it wasn’t a life-or-death struggle, a light spar wouldn’t be too much of a strain.
“A woman? Hmm, is that the scent of an old man and a woman I smell?”
Sinar, who had recovered slightly and was sitting on a chair nearby, teased while mimicking a sniffing motion.
“Yes, I know you went to the Marquis’s house,” Ropode added from across the yard.
Hearing that, the sharp-eared elf stared at him with indifferent eyes. That was her version of a glare.
“What a useless weed.”
It was a blunt insult. Ropode brushed it off, but Pel, hearing this, threw down a challenge.
“Hey, weed, bring it on.”
“Who are you calling a weed?”
“A useless plant is a weed. What else would it be, lawn grass?”
The rain continued to fall, pitter-patter. It was a thin drizzle, but it looked like it would last. It was a humid day, the kind where sweat would trickle down even if one stood perfectly still.
Even on a day like this, whether they were the order knights or the Royal Guard, everyone was absorbed in their training. Where Encrid once swung his sword in solitude, now everyone was together.
“You shouldn’t overdo it yet,” Audin warned, standing beside Sinar.
Encrid replied nonchalantly.
“Aisia is an Associate Knight. There’s no way I’ll have to overdo it.”
He meant a light spar would be more than enough to handle her. Sometimes, a plain fact could be the sharpest form of violence.
Grit.
Aisia clenched her teeth. The determination written on her face, her jaw muscles tensing, looked incredibly fierce.