Better Than Its Reputation (2)
Sara's eyes widened as if they might tear at the seams. It was because the royal palace, looming above her after she stepped down from the carriage, was that magnificent.
"Whoa, it's huuuge…!"
Just craning her neck to look up made the back of her head ache. There were so many spires—easily more than ten buildings visible beyond this one wall alone—and all of it belonged to the king. It was impossible not to be amazed.
Quite some time had passed since she'd come to this city, but up close like this, unlike viewing it from afar, the feeling was utterly different. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed.
"Sir! The palace is totally huge! The king must be an amazing guy!"
Her excited fussing, with that sheer brightness, softened the expressions of the surrounding guards for a moment. A sense of warmth and pride welled up naturally. It was the kind of radiance that made those around her feel joy.
Of course, for every person who could be brightened, there was bound to be someone left in the cold.
"One of the easiest ways to display majesty is through scale. It's a means to make visitors feel that the master of this palace sits at the head of the nation."
"Aha?"
She didn't quite get it, but it basically meant the palace was this big to blatantly say, I'm awesome. As Sara nodded along in vague understanding, the guards' expressions turned a bit awkward.
Then, a figure approached from within, striding straight toward them. He was an elderly man with a stern face, dressed in fine clothes. His straight-backed posture unfit for his age, sharply trimmed mustache, and imposing build exuded authority. The guards saluted him.
Sara's insides tensed at the sight of this high-ranking newcomer. But then he bowed politely.
"I am Wayne Histerno of the Histerno Count family, in charge of security. I have come to greet our guests."
"I am Lenoir, holy knight of the Goddess Church. This lady is my master, Lady Sara Lorojin."
"S-Sara Lorojin…!"
"We are grateful you accepted the palace's invitation. I feel profound relief sensing you are people we can reason with."
Sara blinked. What Wayne Histerno meant was, I don't know who you are, but you seem extraordinary. You don't look like the type to just smash everything, so please, let's talk this out rationally.
But Sara lacked the political insight to grasp that. Her head just tilted.
Fortunately, Lenoir had prepared her for such situations: Stay quiet. Silence makes strangers view you as mysterious or something like that… He'd told her to leave it to him and just stay still.
Sara had never regretted following Lenoir's advice, so she stayed silent.
With Sara standing there quietly, the conversation began without her.
"I have no reason to quarrel with you here, so I prioritize dialogue."
"We thank you for your wise handling. As you say, avoiding unnecessary conflict is best."
"The response will depend on how your leaders treat their master."
"We shall keep that in mind."
The old man's gaze lingered briefly on Sara. She kept repeating to herself internally to maintain proper posture as she stared into the distance. Only then did his eyes move away, ending the tense moment.
…Or so she thought.
"I shall guide you. This way."
"To whom are we going?"
The old man answered Lenoir's question.
"To meet His Highness."
Sara froze stiff. Betrayal surged as she glared at Lenoir. Her eyes said, You said we wouldn't meet the king! Lenoir's gaze replied, I said it was possible, but I didn't promise.
* * *
Lenoir followed the count, scanning the palace interior this way and that. A thought surfaced each time.
Assuredly, in the distant past, this place was merely a hamlet with a few huts barely standing.
Time was truly fleeting, and the human race changed so rapidly—it struck him anew.
They entered the grandest palace. Along the walls hung portraits of successive kings in chronological order. The current one was the 22nd. He knew this king had already named a crown prince and was nearing retirement.
But the face was unfamiliar to Lenoir. The closer to the past, the more distinctive the features became in his memory. He recognized a king exactly four generations back.
Lenoir's steps halted.
"What is it?"
The count asked, but Lenoir held his answer, gazing at the portrait for a moment. Dark green hair, a gentle impression. Yet there was a soft charisma that went beyond mere looks.
Sara peeked up and asked.
"Do you know him?"
"To some extent."
That drew the count's interest. He spoke with immense pride.
"The Great King established the foundations of the kingdom. Even one such as you knows his resounding fame. With all the achievements he etched into history, how could it be otherwise?"
Lenoir knew him well. This king reigned at the tail end of the era when Lenoir had intervened in governance.
"He had resolve. No hesitation in purges. He always proclaimed the need to clearly distinguish good from evil, and thus, the executions in his reign numbered twice those of the previous three kings combined."
"Eek!"
"Some called him a tyrant. But it was unavoidable."
That was the truth.
"It was an era rife with sin. In the newly built enclosure, wolves lurked among the sheep in such numbers."
Lenoir's eyes darkened. The fourth king, Aigir el Debura. Lenoir remembered the king who had turned rivers red with the blood of the guilty, reminding all how solemn and fearsome the law was. He remembered the boy ultimately crushed by the sin of killing and taking his own life.
The sentiment lasted only a moment. He hadn't come to reminisce over a portrait.
He passed it and committed to memory the faces of the first three kings, whom he knew fully. Only then did they reach their destination.
The throne room. The places for ministers stood empty, leaving only the middle-aged man on the jade throne and a young boy attendant beside him. The space felt desolate.
The middle-aged man, crowned on the throne, looked down at Lenoir and Sara. The count had already knelt, head bowed.
"Welcome. Guests of the kingdom."
His voice was weary, stained with exhaustion. Lenoir did not bow. He merely met the man's eyes steadily, and Sara, fumbling to prostrate herself, saw Lenoir and straightened her back instead.
The middle-aged man's brow furrowed. The count's face mixed equal parts distress and anger. He whispered.
"Hurry and pay respects to His Highness."
But Lenoir could not bow. And not solely because he bowed to only one.
"Is the etiquette of this kingdom to bow to a puppet?"
The atmosphere froze in an instant.
Lenoir continued undeterred.
"Must I deal with that withered husk sitting there? Or the coward standing tall beside it, conveying the puppet's will?"
The count's breath caught. The middle-aged man's eyes, until moments ago feigning dignity, trembled pathetically. And a spark lit in the boy attendant's eyes, who had been staring at the floor. Only Sara looked baffled.
Lenoir spoke plainly, addressing the boy attendant.
"You who delight in intrigue. Do you know the habits of wolf packs?"
"See here, what in the world…"
"When they traverse the earth, the eldest and frailest lead. To sacrifice themselves, spent from threats, and to teach the young the ways of finding paths with their experience."
Lenoir's voice carried a hint of displeasure.
"Behind them come the young warriors, learning from the old. Then the females and pups—the safest position. The leader's place is at the rear. Watching over all, guarding against enemies from the unprotected backs—a seat of sacrifice."
Why the rising displeasure? Because the counsel Lenoir had given when humans built their societies was no longer heeded.
"Even the king of mere beasts knows this. Knows to throw himself into the vulnerable front to protect the pack. Yet you—you who place yourself in the highest seat."
Lenoir's brow furrowed.
"You claim to be human, superior to beasts, yet you hide behind the weak."
The tension was so sharp it made breathing feel burdensome.
But it did not last.
The boy attendant… no, the king… parted his lips. With a faint smile.
"You know the ancient royal adage."
"I am the one who taught you that adage."
"You must know the oath of the ruler flowing in my blood."
"I am the one who made you its bearer. In your blood, I see fragments of that ancient promise."
The boy king stepped down from the lofty throne beside the jade seat and approached Lenoir. He knelt and bowed deeply.
The magic cloaking him unraveled. His face still youthful, but his dark hair turned green, his swarthy skin became porcelain white.
Though the count reeled in shock, the king spoke with utmost sincerity.
"Forgive this foolish descendant, O nameless sage."
Lenoir looked down upon his crown, displeasure still harbored within.
Sara poked Lenoir's waist repeatedly. At her glance demanding answers, Lenoir replied.
"Did I not say? That I once built an enclosure for humans on this land."
The human kingdom of Kremvelheim. This vast nation had been founded in the distant past when Lenoir taught a woodcutter boy in a mountain valley.
Sara's mouth gaped open in stunned realization.