The Human Era (4): The Knight King and the Sage of the Deep Forest
Of course, it was I who bestowed the title and name of Knight King upon the boy king Lucius.
In a world without the very concept of knights, no one else could have granted such a title. Through the Knight King, the idea of knighthood began to spread. Little by little—ever so slightly—the notion of honor started to take root.
By spreading the concept of knights through the most promising young king, and using those who admired him to propagate it far and wide. That was the purpose behind granting him the title of Knight King.
Humans naturally want to emulate those they admire. It was propagation of an idea, leveraging that very instinct.
The strategy proved more effective than I'd imagined. The concept of knights, which hadn't existed before, quickly reached those in power.
Knights loyal to their lord, protectors of the weak. Knights who valued honor and respected others. Beings distinct from mere soldiers, warriors, or hunters.
Knights, bearing noble missions, always strove to do what was right. Their example delivered a fresh shock to many, making it inevitable that admirers would multiply.
Of course, some derided these knights as pointless fools, but such critics—ignorant of honor—were scorned as vulgar rabble. Before long, they had no choice but to hide their disdain.
And so, the concept of knights spread, bit by bit. Just as I'd planned.
Hoo. Humans truly are creatures who turn savage without guidelines in place.
A plot of land. A band of subjects. A handful of food. For such trifles, they'd wound one another—impossible to control.
Especially those preening kings. Possessing much yet craving more, sparking wars. They knew no satisfaction, only endless chaos.
Honestly, with this level of progress, I thought rudimentary civilization might emerge by now. But the barbarism ingrained in humans refuses to fade.
Even with the Life Church's teachings and Shamash's strict laws clearly dividing right from wrong... this is the result.
Hm. If Shamash and I hadn't imposed the bare minimum of reins... would it have devolved into utter ruin?
Massacres in war? Cannibalizing kin for sustenance? Thank goodness it didn't come to that.
Tsk.
In any case, the knighthood introduced through the Knight King taught many the demeanor of those who bear responsibility.
Beings who enjoy much but shoulder even more. Those backed by their people, who care for and protect them, accepting taxes in return.
Those who embrace duty and obligation.
Previously, they were mere thugs who wielded strength to oppress the weak and seize gains. But knighthood taught them honor and nobility, transforming them into true nobles.
Well, the word "noble" had existed before—it just meant the rich and powerful. But now, things would change.
Through knighthood, they would grasp true nobility.
Of course, I didn't expect everyone to embrace it. Naturally not.
This world teems with countless people and thoughts. Some would reject the idea outright; others would mimic it for profit.
Still, compared to an era where the concept didn't exist at all, it's worlds apart. Zero and one are entirely different.
Hm. My thoughts wandered a bit. Ahem.
In any event, the Knight King performed splendidly, just as I'd envisioned.
Wielding an invincible army and noble honor as his weapons, he subjugated other nations, expanding his realm.
He had twelve exceptionally capable vassals, transcending racial boundaries... but no need to dwell on that.
Oh, and there was no Round Table. None at all. Ahem.
After conquering territory twice the size of Arcadia, the Knight King halted his advance and focused on domestic affairs.
Though wars had broadened his lands, repeated conquests without proper consolidation left them ravaged—barely better than wastelands.
He spent far more time on governance than on conquest.
Of course, with his limited knowledge, ruling it all alone was impossible... so he gathered wisdom through his vassals.
From kings who'd ruled before, temple priests, Procyon's mages, even elves, dwarves, and beastkin.
To master governance, the Knight King and his vassals roamed far and wide, seeking knowledge.
What reached the king's ears was a rumor of a certain sage.
The Deep Forest Sage, said to have lent wisdom even to hero Lyclean. Tales that this sage, who should have died ages ago if human, still lived.
Rumors even claimed the sage wasn't human, but a long-lived race like elves.
Hearing this, the Knight King searched tirelessly and ventured into the Deep Forest.
Believing the sage who aided Lyclean's underworld journey would impart fitting knowledge to him as well.
And so, the Knight King sought out the sage.
“Why do you, my king, insist on handling everything alone?”
The Knight King was struck speechless by the sage's first words.
“Alone...?”
“You are not an omnipotent being. You merely stand above many, bearing responsibility for them.”
The king listened silently to the sage's words.
“You are no almighty god. What you command are your numerous vassals and subjects. Should you not rule this land through them?”
“Rule through vassals and subjects...?”
“One city might be manageable alone. Even ten could be wrestled into shape. But twenty, thirty cities—and countless villages? How could one man govern them all?”
The sage's words rang true.
Mountains of documents from myriad cities and villages. No single king could read and approve them all.
“Do not try to do everything yourself. Use your vassals. Share burdens too heavy for one.”
“But sharing... This land is mine.”
“All sovereignty remains yours; you merely delegate its administration to vassals.”
“Delegate...?”
The sage spoke calmly.
“Grant vassals the right to manage lands and villages. In return, they offer you a portion of the yields and wealth produced. That is appointing them as proxies.”
“Proxies...”
“Of course, you grant only administrative rights, not ownership outright. The land remains yours. Vassals govern it, tribute a share to you, and keep the rest.”
The king nodded faintly. It sounded reasonable at first glance.
Yet as a novel concept, unease lingered.
“But ruling indirectly feels...”
“Uneasy...? Do you distrust your vassals, my king?”
“No, it's not that. I trust my vassals. But my children? My descendants? Can every heir to this crown win all vassals' hearts? What if a vassal's heir outshines and eyes the throne?”
The king foresaw the future.
No issue in his lifetime, perhaps—but for heirs, all bets were off. Hence the anxiety.
“Then why not this?”
The sage spoke as if to dispel that fear.
“Erect walls among vassals to keep them in check.”
“Walls?”
“Not literal walls—a metaphor. Not all vassals are equal, are they?”
The king nodded. Loyalty varied, as did ability.
Some earned great merit, others minor; some survived failures by a thread.
Vassals were not equal.
“Divide them with hierarchical walls, like steps. Grant one city to one who can rule one; three to one who can rule three. Based on merit and ability.”
“By merit... divide...”
“If merits are unequal, equal rewards breed trouble. Great merit demands great reward; small, small reward. Thus, walls between them.”
“Walls between...”
The king pondered. To him, vassals were comrades marching toward one goal—no favoritism.
Yet the sage had a point. Equal rewards for unequal feats would breed resentment.
It made sense.
Seeing the king's contemplation, the sage smiled.
