Chapter 87
Chapter 87
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 87
Chapter Title: Despair and Resolve
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"...Lady Helena?"
"She's still inside."
Helena had managed to escape the port city unharmed, thanks to the elite crows' assistance.
But even after two full days had passed, she hadn't emerged from the bed inside the shabby tent.
Dried blood from the common folk streaked her face.
Her hands and arms bore black scorch marks and horrific burns that told the tale of the chaos she'd endured.
Helena was dead.
With dead eyes, she was a dead woman; lost in dead thoughts, she was truly gone.
In the pitch-black tent without a single ray of light, Helena confronted yet another vivid nightmare.
Ironically, the first memory that surfaced was of a campsite battered by dark winds.
'She's completely lost her mind.'
A Northerner she'd met there had hurled insults at her, calling her mad—her, who was forged from pure stubborn resolve.
He had denied everything she'd held dear: her beliefs, her values, her very direction.
She thought his prestige as the Human Sword Saint was all for nothing, since he offered no help for doing what was right—only mockery.
But after countless lives were lost and even the agony of those burns faded into numbness, Helena had no choice but to admit it to herself.
She had been mistaken.
She'd called hatred and rage justice, selfish greed the greater good for all.
'For the common folk?'
What had that foolish price been?
Rash rebellion and complacency had led to the massacre of thousands of innocents, and even now, the damage was spreading at a terrifying pace.
'Kyaaah!'
'A-Amy! Amy, no!'
Ugh.
Helena clamped her hands over her ears.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she thrashed against the hallucinations that wouldn't stop.
Guilt, despair, sorrow, gloom.
The flood of negative emotions was enough to break even the strongest soul.
Creeeak.
But after sobbing like that for a long while, Helena staggered up from the bed.
In the moment when everything had crumbled, what moved her was one final sense of duty.
Step, step.
There was still work to be done.
As she pushed open the tent flap and stepped out, her anxiously pacing squad members rushed to her side.
"Lady Helena!"
She had to pretend to be calm.
Helena draped a robe over her burns and asked her squad,
"...Is everyone gathered at the camp?"
"All main force personnel are assembled."
"Most of the branches scattered across the regions have retreated to the rear as well."
The flames of change that had blazed so fiercely had extinguished just as quickly.
But to take responsibility for this massive blunder, she couldn't give up—not until the end.
After sinking into thought for a while, Helena bit her cracked, scabbed lips.
Then, with bold resolve, she issued her command.
"Relay to all branches: Gather at the rear with as many refugees as possible."
"Where do you plan to go?"
"...We're heading to the Wailing Gorge."
The orc mercenary band hired by the corrupt officials was slaughtering anyone involved in the uprising—men, women, children, young and old alike—in every city, village, and town.
With the mercenaries' reins fully off, fleeing west was the only way to survive.
And at the end of that path lay the Wailing Gorge, in Northern Cavalry territory.
It was the sole lifeline connecting to the kingdom where they might find a way to live.
Ha, she'd regret it? Now she was tasting her own words.
Unable to bear the shame, Helena bowed her head beneath the scolding sky.
The knight recruitment drive, started with an eye toward future preparations, dragged on for an entire season before finally wrapping up.
With our manpower limited to just three people, processing sword tests, trials, and approvals took quite a bit of time.
But the results were immensely satisfying.
I'd selected around 200—veterans from other units as probationary knights, plus young knight aspirants.
Of course, most would drop out during formal knighthood training, but it was still a highly encouraging outcome.
They might not be combat-ready yet, but these passionate souls would one day become the sturdy pillars of the Northern Kingdom.
The training grounds, once filled only with loneliness, now rang with shouts, sweat, and the fervor of those aspiring to knighthood.
But the golden era of blossoming the Northern Kingdom didn't last long.
Just as peace follows war, war always looms to threaten the peace.
I was deep in training when word from the east reached me, around early winter when the barley withered and northern chills began to blow.
The reports from White Gate scouts and eastern spies monitoring the situation were packed with shocking revelations that made me doubt my eyes.
'Riot suppression incident.'
'Casualties severe.'
The corrupt ministers gnawing at the eastern royal family had finally crossed the unforgivable line.
They'd brought in an outside force—not the kingdom's army—to slaughter their own rebelling citizens.
Thousands at the least, tens of thousands at the worst!
Even on this continent ruled by barbarism and violence, there'd never been a case of massacring non-resisting citizens like this.
No wonder the spy who'd sent the report had the gall to attach a personal opinion: the orcs were unforgivable—addressed straight to the Knight King.
The emergency council meeting overflowed with grief and rage too raw to hide.
Yet no one dared express those emotions rashly here.
A heavy silence crushed the air.
Snow-Covered let out a soft sigh from the throne and quietly called to the bowed Richard.
"Sir Richard."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I'm calmer now. I apologize for worrying you..."
Richard had been the first to learn emotional control from me during our sword sessions.
For a knight, emotions were a double-edged sword—capable of slaying foes or oneself.
But this incident was so horrific that even Richard, growing into a true knight, struggled to suppress his fury and hatred.
If Ronald hadn't stepped in, he probably would've bolted from the gate straight to the ravaged eastern kingdom.
I offered a light word of comfort to Richard, who couldn't lift his head, then surveyed the Knight King and comrades gathered for countermeasures.
Everyone wore expressions of deep worry.
In the silence, after much deliberation, Snow-Covered turned to Prime Minister Memory Bird.
"Is there room for intervention?"
"...We can't mobilize the army. It wouldn't end as mere backlash."
The Northern Kingdom, having seized White Gate, had grown into a continental power.
That meant the orcs and elves now saw us as a full-fledged enemy nation.
The vigilance was on a whole different level from our small-nation days.
If the North mobilized to aid a throne usurpation, the orcs—already in civil war—would quickly prioritize us.
As for the elves eyeing our northern coast, talking about them was pointless.
Snow-Covered leaned back on the throne with a complicated frown and sighed softly.
"Hoo..."
Helena had been too hasty.
Not that her situation was incomprehensible, but anyone responsible for so many lives shouldn't have acted this way.
Should we have moved earlier to break the Dreamer's stubbornness?
I recalled that gaze from the dark campsite and rubbed my furrowed brow.
No good ideas came.
Glancing sideways, as expected, Richard was lost in grim contemplation, his face ashen.
If we couldn't offer direct aid, he'd go alone.
For him, the suffering eastern folk mattered more than personal safety.
I asked him plainly.
"What do you want to do?"
What stayed Richard's hand was the bonds we'd built and the Northern Kingdom's pursuit of alliance restoration.
All the aid received, the northern brothers who'd died protecting him.
Beliefs, grand designs, human ties, and fate wove endless torment.
Grip.
To my frank question, Richard clenched his fists and held a heavy silence for a long moment.
Then, resolve firm, he bowed deeply to me and Snow-Covered.
"...I'm sorry."
He had to go east.
That apology carried guilt for derailing our plans, mingled with unyielding commitment to his convictions.
"You've become a man."
But no one here was disappointed in his choice.
On the contrary, Gray Wolf smiled approvingly at the strengthened Richard.
How could a future king ignore his people's deaths?
Recklessness and impossibility were for forging destiny—not excuses to yield.
We'd already prepared alternatives.
Standing, I announced the new journey to Snow-Covered.
"Your Majesty, I intend to head east."
"C-Captain?"
"Order the dispatch of an advisory group."
The Northern Army couldn't intervene directly.
But a military advisory group? That was feasible.
The North lacked surplus strength for more, but we had the justification the orcs and ministers lacked.
Step, step.
To my prearranged request, Snow-Covered smiled brightly and rose from the throne.
The chilly atmosphere warmed, replaced by solemn reverence as all ministers bowed.
All training ended today.
The eastern prince who'd arrived alone in the North had passed his final trial.
Dazzling light streamed through the windows,
and the even brighter Knight King spoke.
"Once, North and East forged one alliance under the human race. We were friends, brothers, pure steel."
"The North will uphold our great forebear's legacy. The kingdom dares to reforge the broken alliance under Mother North."
"Command us, Your Majesty!"
"Prince of the East, reclaim your legitimacy. The North and I take up arms solely under Richard's name and recognize only King Richard of the East as our ally."
Return east and seize your lost legitimacy.
In other words, the Northern King's declaration recognizing only Richard as king.
Snow-Covered stepped forward.
She handed me the emblems and banner symbolizing North and King, saying,
"All eastern matters are delegated to the Knight Commander. Your orders are my orders; your actions, mine."
Snow-Covered stepped forward again.
This time, she raised the kneeling Richard and stood shoulder to shoulder.
This gaze, this breath.
King facing king.
"I've heard eastern iron is resilient. Because it endures the fierce heat and ceaseless hammer blows."
Newly born iron is soft and weak.
But if it weathers the ruling fire, impurities purged through trials and pain, it becomes steel stronger than any.
"Isn't the East the same?"
So we must believe.
This chaos is the East's crucible for rebirth as steel.
The Northern King and Eastern King clasped hands.