Chapter 84
Chapter 84
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 84
Chapter Title: White Gate Recaptured
-----------------------------------------------------------------
There is no eternal glory, nor eternal decline.
The rise and fall, prosperity and decay of kingdoms were as natural as the flow of water.
But one thing we can know for certain is that every turning point in a kingdom's changes involves at least one decisive event.
The fall of the fallen kingdom was marked by the death of the orc emperor that plunged the empire into civil war, and so too with the eastern kingdoms left after the Steel Alliance vanished.
Then what of the opposite—the rise of a kingdom?
There must have been countless reasons, but undoubtedly, the beginning of the Northern Kingdom's most radiant era, the Golden Age, was its advance to the center.
The 'White Gate.'
An impregnable single path that could block all invasions from the north, and a vital stronghold connecting to the Steel Alliance in the east.
If launching an offensive, it allowed deployment at any time; if on the defensive, it could absolutely hold the line. The White Gate was the pivotal place that decided the Northern Kingdom's fate.
'Recaptured.'
And after years since the Knight King's death, the White Gate had finally returned to their hands.
The small border kingdom of the north was finally stretching its limbs vigorously.
That day, the orcs and elves remembered.
The era when humans, inferior to mere monkeys, broke free from the oppression of their birth and massacred armies, burning cities.
The orc empire, deep in civil war, unusually condemned the invasion, and the silent elven kingdom branded the new Knight King as the axis of evil disrupting order.
But what did it matter?
Exchanging statements between kingdoms implied a level of courtesy that the north and they did not share.
Knight King Snow-Covered personally beheaded Golden Dawn, packaged the head neatly, and delivered it to the Second Prince—who had never anticipated defeat.
Boom!
'Your Majesty!'
The torn orc empire flag and the hideous, dead face of Golden Dawn's head.
Even the usually cool and dignified Second Prince could not maintain his composure that day.
Suddenly, the gateway guarding the rear was lost, extending the front lines, and the trade routes plundering the eastern kingdom were now threatened.
The one to bear responsibility was dead, and the one to negotiate with was an irreconcilable enemy.
Due to one mistake crumbling his grand enterprise, the Second Prince's forces inevitably shrank.
'This is ominous.'
Of course, such changes reached not only the orc empire but even the distant west.
The elven queen, who had secluded herself in leisure until now, appeared publicly for the first time.
'It's not just a matter of pretext.'
The new Northern Kingdom, dismissed as a mere minor state, had defeated a first-rate imperial army.
And that, despite the disadvantage of sieging the White Gate.
'They possess real strength.'
How far had this small nation, founded just a few years ago, grown?
The reconstruction of the Northern Kingdom, once taken lightly as mere amusement, had now risen to a level that must be confronted seriously.
Peace and luxury had lasted too long.
Weapons rusted, warriors grew slothful.
Feeling a sense of crisis for the first time, the elven queen gathered the kingdom's priests and declared.
'Persuade the nobles.'
'We must increase the fleets.'
The elven kingdom, a nobility-centered society from the start, had seen this worsen after the Immortal King's death.
To gain their cooperation, the priests would need to move diligently from now on.
Thus, the sweltering summer reached its end, and the continent's gaze turned north.
A new era, its end impossible to gauge, was slowly approaching.
"What should we do?"
The eastern kingdom minister, brimming with confidence just yesterday, asked in bewilderment.
But none gathered here had a ready answer—all the sycophants were the same.
The orc army guarding the gate had been defeated.
Suddenly, the trade route to the orc empire was cut off, and the ministers aligned with the Second Prince lost their sturdy backing.
They needed countermeasures quickly.
These ministers, armed only with flattery that shook the heavens and rotting wealth, gathered their heads in earnest discussion for the first time in ages.
Cough, cough!
But at that moment, Eastern King Wilhelm II, dying of illness, coughed harshly.
And quietly asked the ministers, who seemed uninterested in the council.
"Have you found the missing prince?"
Unlike his usual frail, dazed appearance, the king's face was filled with worry.
As everyone knew, quite some time had passed since Prince Richard vanished.
Where was he, what was he doing? Why had he left the safe palace?
Wilhelm II, who cherished his children above all, could not hide his concern.
Ahem.
Who knew how many times he had asked already.
The ministers, whispering among themselves, cleared their throats and pushed forward their most skilled liar as representative.
"We are doing our utmost, but the continent's turmoil makes it difficult. Still, he is the prince, is he not? He will return soon—do not worry."
"......I'll trust in you all."
As if they were trying their utmost.
Unlike the puppet king, Prince Richard and Knight Ronald were ambitious and threatening—why should they seek them?
In truth, they wished he had died somewhere and never returned.
But unaware of their true intent, Wilhelm II merely nodded and stroked his bony wrist.
What a pitiful state.
A king stripped of real power, unable to rule, was worth less than a faded crown.
With even his last shred of will gone, Wilhelm II closed his trembling eyes, trying to ignore reality once more that day.
Thud, thud, thud!
Rattle!
But then, as the council was in full swing, the door to the grand chamber burst open. The pale-faced captain of the guard rushed in, seeking the king urgently.
"Y-Your Majesty!"
Unlike his rumored arrogance, his face was filled with inexplicable terror.
One minister, sensing something amiss, pointed out the rudeness on behalf of the king and asked the reason.
"What is it, Captain? Even for you, during the council......!"
"Sodom has been occupied!"
There was a reason for his haste.
The ministers, refusing to accept reality, exchanged stunned glances, speechless.
Sodom fallen? Why?
Swallowing dryly, the ministers asked incredulously.
"Is that true? No, what reason would the Northern Kingdom have to attack the east!"
"It's not the Northern Kingdom."
"......Not?"
"A rebellion inside Sodom! The traitors have seized the city!"
The chaos engulfing the continent was a golden opportunity for those who had been lying low.
Though negotiations with the Sword Saint had failed, leader Helena did not give up and incited an uprising in Sodom, now severed from the orc tether.
The utterly incompetent royals and filthy ministers sucking the people's blood dry.
Just opposing them was enough for the crows to gain fervent citizen support.
Murmur, murmur.
The ministers panicked.
With the northern issue unresolved, now a revolt in a key city.
But they cared not for the eastern kingdom's future—only their amassed wealth, houses, and personal safety.
Thus, the unresolved council ended, and the revolution starting from Sodom began dyeing the east in chaos.
"Master?!"
Hearing his master had awakened from slumber, Snow-Covered, who had been handling duties in her office, hurriedly prepared and headed home.
But after three days with eyes closed, Broken Sword's first destination was neither the victory celebration hall nor the audience chamber—it was the palace training ground.
"------."
In the midst of the desolate training ground, the Sword Saint knelt silently.
Finally understanding the puzzling behavior, the prime minister restrained Snow-Covered, who paced behind the door.
"Shh, Your Majesty. Let him be alone."
"B-But."
"He needs time to gather his thoughts."
She wanted to rush to her master, ask if anywhere hurt, if his body was alright.
Yet as the prime minister said, Broken Sword seemed to need time to sort his mind.
"......Yes, I understand."
Snow-Covered eventually bowed her head obediently.
And left the doorway where she had lingered, walking the dark corridor with the remembering bird.
Step, step, step.
Now, no one was around.
As heavy silence descended on the training ground, Broken Sword finally ended his long meditation.
His lips, crusted with dried blood, twitched.
From his parched throat leaked the names of those he would never meet again.
"Brothers."
Perhaps he had known.
From the moment they left the capital, this might be the last campaign.
Yet the knights fulfilled their chivalry without hesitation, charging into the enemy with the sole resolve to open the gate.
And so we won.
The brothers who returned seeking another season died willingly for the next generation to bloom.
His hair turned snow-white, face scarred.
With youth gone, only deep regret and this name destined to fade remained.
But one thing was certain: even if the hero of the north vanished and history forgot, this would never disappear.
Step.
I rose from my place.
And following the beautiful light entering through the window, I approached the training ground wall.
Sunlight and aurora projecting onto the white wall, like the radiant north we dreamed of.
There, densely inscribed, were the names of those born human, died as knights.
Yes, they had always held their posts.
They watched over the dawn of the Knight Order and now would share its twilight.
Swipe.
With a faint smile, I reached out and traced those still vivid names one by one.
And finally stopped before a recently engraved one, slowly lowering my hand.
Not the same blood flowing,
but the same blood spilled.
Though days of death differed,
the place of return would be the same.
Only then did I set down my sorrow.
And with a final farewell, I turned my back to the training ground wall as the sunlight waned.
"Let us meet again beneath the pure white wheat."
No reply came.
Nor would there be in the future.
Crossing the training ground without lingering, I quietly closed the door where the next generation would arrive.
Creak.
"Captain."
There, familiar faces waited outside the training ground.
Knight Ronald and Eastern Prince Richard had come to see off the departing brothers.
I laughed heartily and said,
"The three of us look a mess."
"Captain, I......"
Richard's face was swollen from tears shed all night.
As if guilt for surviving alone kept him from entering.
"Go on—they're all waiting."
I opened the training ground door and shoved the hesitating Richard's back firmly.
Surely the knights gathered inside awaited their cute youngest.
"C-Captain!"
But Richard, with words left unsaid, quickly grabbed the threshold and rushed out.
And squeezing his voice toward my retreating back, he asked,
"Is the Knight Order finished?"
All but us three had perished.
To others' eyes, disbanding the Northern Knight Order was natural.
"No."
I answered firmly.
What broke was but a moment—the honor the brothers guarded had not vanished.
A broken sword can be reforged.
We have an unbroken tradition.