The Oath
The shock lasted only an instant. Even that, he never let so much as a trace of it reach his face.
He was a very seasoned sovereign, after all.
He turned Rian's words over at speed, searching for the intent inside them, and the answer was not long in coming.
His question is probably...
Why a man who was all but the Empire's mortal enemy would come before him in so low a posture. That had to be what he wanted to know.
The Emperor settled on that conclusion. All his life he had lived by the creed that the capable deserved treatment equal to their ability, and it never once crossed his mind that the Hero—having endured nothing but absurd neglect—might have been moved by a hot bath, a course meal, and fine bedding, the courtesies the imperial palace extended to every visiting guest as a matter of course.
"...There has been a misunderstanding. Even if we lost the war because you exist, I bear you no grudge. A man who draws the sword must be prepared to be cut by it, must he not?"
He did not look to others for the cause of his failures. Blaming someone else might ease the mood of a moment, but in the long run it was never a sound thing to do.
"I am merely according you the treatment your ability warrants."
He looked Rian straight in the eye.
"You don't seem fond of drawing things out, so I'll speak plainly. I know you do not look kindly on the Empire. I also know that I—who spent the first half of my life in one war after another and stained my hands with blood that will not wash clean—can never receive true loyalty."
The past could not be erased. He knew that better than anyone, having climbed to where he stood by walking over corpses. Whatever deeds he might show from this day forward, the blood he had trodden would remain as footprints that would not wash out, following him to the very end.
"And yet, even when one does not like the other, if their interests align, can they not set their scales against each other and cooperate? I can give you a great deal."
If he wanted money, gold enough to buy a nation outright. If he wanted power, a seat below one man and above all others. If he wanted his tarnished honor restored, the truth.
"And furthermore..."
The Emperor let the words hang, just slightly.
"If you wish to march north into the Demonic Realm, I can raise an expedition for you."
"......!"
Rian's eyes opened a little wider. The offer was extraordinary enough that it seemed to have startled him badly.
...A pity.
Regrettably, he would have to hang several conditions on the end of that last promise.
"However... I am sorry to say it, but I cannot raise a Demonic Realm expedition for you at once. I'll be frank. The Empire, as it stands, is on the verge of collapse."
Was it not said that crises arrive in a string, always at the moment least expected? The saying was true. The dangers strewn through the Empire were not merely an emptied treasury, a military at odds with itself, and the resurgence of a ruined nation. Had it been only those, it would still have been a crisis, but he might have plugged the gaps somehow with all that had been built up over the years.
But harsh fate, with a spiteful sense of timing, had driven in still more trials all at once.
A being beyond the reach of human strength is called a calamity. By nature such things were born once in several decades, if they were born at all. Yet in recent years—in a span far too short—more than five new calamities had stirred to life within the Empire alone. The damage they had done was so vast it was difficult even to reckon.
And worse.
The Empire had founded the continent's finest institution for cultivating talent and had steadily produced the geniuses meant to lead its golden age. At a certain point that stream had been cut off clean, and no more of them appeared.
For him, it was enough to drive a man mad. Had the ills accumulated sparsely over a long stretch, and been the sort one could see coming, he could have dealt with them well enough. The troubles that had burst forth on top of those, however, were closer to natural disasters—impossible to stop, impossible even to foresee.
"To pursue war even in chaos like this would be the act of a madman. I abandoned the dream of unifying the continent long ago. All I wish is that the Empire might weather the storm it now faces."
The Emperor looked at Rian—at the face of the savior who had, in an instant, made safe the eastern lands that had been packed with threats beyond counting.
"Just as you desire peace and the safety of people, I desire only the Empire's stability. Allow me to make a proposal."
Before he spoke further, he showed it in action. The knight, Reinhardt, cried out in horror.
"...Your Majesty!!"
The man who reigned over the Empire's sky had gone to his knees before the Hero.
Since he had ascended the throne, those knees had never once touched the floor. And yet—how could he...!
"Do not interfere!!"
The Emperor's voice rang out. Reinhardt, his face twisted with anguish, could only watch that back.
They say one lies upon thorns and tastes bitter gall.
The saying meant that to avenge a grudge, or to accomplish a great cause, one must endure every suffering and every humiliation. The Hero was not even an enemy, and kneeling brought no pain along with it.
If it is for the Empire, there is nothing I cannot do. What is a mere knee?
If only Rian would move for the Empire's sake, he would have carried it out with a willing smile—not only kneeling, but kissing the top of the man's foot if that was what was asked.
He looked up at Rian and spoke.
"Please... work for the Empire. I do not ask for your loyalty to me. But though I may be guilty, my subjects are not. They are people who have sacrificed their whole lives for the Empire. I cannot hand them ruin."
This was no plea that skipped even the basics and appealed blindly to feeling. He meant to give Rian the highest treatment in the Empire's history, without precedent. It was only that, as things stood, he could not raise the Demonic Realm expedition the man desired.
When he finished, he drew a heated breath. Worn and ground down though his body was, he was still too young to lie doing nothing, like an old man waiting only for the day he died. Eyes full of longing, he waited for Rian's answer.
Deeply unsettling.
That was the first thought to rise in Rian as he listened to the Emperor's impassioned speech. Part of it was simple bewilderment at how fast the conversation had raced ahead from a single question. Above all, he had never—not in the least—expected a man of the Emperor's stature to drop to the floor out of nowhere and plead so earnestly.
More than that, wasn't working for the Empire already settled from the start?
He had spent his whole life facing every kind of monster. When Khalifa offered to recruit him, he had naturally assumed the same sort of arrangement. If they had meant for him to do nothing at all and simply come over, they would never have gone so far as to break a treaty and cross a border to bring him in.
He had only been on his guard because hospitality this lavish was new to him, and because he could not yet read what lay in the Emperor's heart. From the moment he resolved to turn, he had already intended to work for the Empire.
And besides, even having heard the words, expecting them to raise a Demonic Realm expedition from the very beginning would have been shameless. Back in the kingdom, that promise had been the price of ten years of labor. He knew a proclamation of subjugation could not help but be followed by tremendous bloodletting.
By standing against their war he had, if anything, done the Empire harm, and brought it no benefit at all. How could he demand a march on the Demonic Realm out of nowhere?
He could not follow the thought any further. Even as he reeled, the Emperor was still on his knees, waiting for an answer.
He shoved every stray thought aside and fixed on the situation before him, beginning with why his heart was shaking so hard.
If I think about it, this isn't something that should unsettle me this much. Why am I still so thrown?
The reason the ripples inside him would not easily settle. Thinking calmly, the answer soon surfaced, and he could only smile bitterly to himself.
I... was far too contradictory.
He had resolved to go to the Empire, and yet somewhere in his unconscious he had been treating it as nothing more than an excuse to slip out of a bad situation. The proof was that one corner of his heart still disliked the shape of the Empire and kept its guard up. To meet, in that state, the sincerity of an emperor who cast aside his pride to plead—how could he not be shaken?
Now was the moment to settle his heart for certain.
Why did I come to the Empire?
To subjugate the Demonic Realm?
No. That was the goal, but it was a secondary matter. The first reason he had resolved to turn was the Alliance's shabby treatment. The kings had handled him like a hunting dog easy to command, and the people had been busy slandering him without ever truly looking. Disgusted, he had decided to leave the east entirely and shift his allegiance.
Has that improved in the Empire?
Of course it has.
The Emperor held power far higher than any of those kings, and still he treated Rian as an equal. And was the Empire not a nation founded on the supremacy of ability? There would be no knife in the back in place of a reward for devotion. He need not worry about being torn apart by the Empire's people.
...Is there any reason to refuse?
Driving back danger and saving people was work he had been doing all along. Until now there had been no pay at all, and now they were offering a reward enough to make his eyes go wide. On top of that, he had been promised that the moment the Empire's condition improved according to his results, the subjugation of the Demonic Realm would be proclaimed.
Of course, like Emil, it could be a lie meant only to draw me in... but it doesn't seem so.
The difference began with his bearing. Unlike the king, who had remained leaned back on his throne even in the moment he asked for devotion, the Emperor was showing his sincerity by going so far as to kneel in order to bring him in. If he had meant to deceive, he would not have laid bare every one of the Empire's weaknesses. And Rian had not crossed over from the start intending to idle and live at ease, had he?
The deliberation had been long, but taken all together—
"Emperor, if that is your will..."
He spoke as he carefully raised the man with both hands.
There was no reason to refuse.
Accepting the proposal was not the end. Much remained to discuss: exactly what the threats within the Empire were, and which of them had to be dealt with first.
There was too much to keep standing and talking. They left the throne hall and moved to the Emperor's office.
"...An honor to meet you. I am Diork, serving as chancellor."
Khalifa and the chancellor were waiting inside. The chancellor looked to be a man in his forties, and what struck Rian most was the contrast between the dark circles sunk beneath his eyes and his thick, abundant hair.
"...Good to meet you. I'm Rian."
Having been promised a seat below one man and above all others, Rian was expected to speak down to everyone but the Emperor. It felt awkward now, but he would grow used to it in time. After a brief exchange of greetings, he sat on the sofa.
"Khalifa."
At the Emperor's call, Khalifa handed over a single document.
A detailed account of the crises presently facing the Empire.
The moment he took it and opened it, his brow drew in of its own accord. The problems the Emperor had spoken of were set down there in far greater detail, and not one of them was ordinary.
While he had remained in the kingdom, he had been briefed a few times on the Empire's situation and its movements. He had found no particular signs of trouble then, and had assumed there was no great problem. He had guessed as much from what Khalifa and the Emperor had said, but the situation was graver than he had expected.
Every manner of danger had coiled itself through the Empire's vital regions and was paralyzing the nation. He found himself wondering how it had kept turning at all until now.
"...How has the Empire not collapsed? How has it held?"
"Let us leave it at this. There was... the bleeding effort of the people who do the work."
"Hm..."
Rian let out a low sound, and the chancellor asked carefully.
"As I thought... will it be difficult?"
"...Hm? Ah. No."
Rian wore a look of not understanding what was being asked, then seemed to catch on late and shook his head. Fair enough—they could take it that way. From their side, these were problems they had worried over for a long time and still failed to solve.
But.
"I was thinking."
Most of the enemies he had faced until now had been beings thought impossible to defeat. And yet, when the fighting ended, the one still standing was always himself.
"About which to solve first."
Eradicating dangerous targets was the field Rian trusted most.