Chapter 544 - An Impassioned Speech

CRACKLE, CRACKLE.

Beside a large bonfire stood chairs so neatly made they looked like a craftsman's work. A middle-aged man occupied one of the two chairs. Behind him stood a young man in light leather armor, a middle-aged woman, a man who looked a few years younger than her, and a Frog.

It was the Frog Encrid had spared. When Encrid acknowledged him with a glance, the Frog dipped his head.

The firelight illuminated the middle-aged man in the chair. He was the king of Aspen.

As Encrid approached, he looked the king up and down. Though he carried some extra weight, his body bore the marks of training. Veins bulged on the backs of his hands, and his thin shirt revealed well-developed chest muscles.

His face did not look harsh or difficult to please, but his slightly hollow cheeks gave it a lean appearance. Looking at him, Encrid felt something similar to his first impression of Count Molsen. Not because the king looked liable to do the same insane things, of course, but because of his consistently trained physique.

In short, nothing about him suggested a warmonger. A little prickly, perhaps? Then again, warmongers did not have a particular look.

The king raised a leather wineskin.

"I have a drink here. Will you join me?"

His tone was hardly gentle. It was as hard as stone, but displayed neither malice nor hostility.

"Gladly."

Neither hesitating nor growing excited, Krang walked over with soft footfalls, settled naturally into the chair, and accepted the drink. He showed courtesy by extending his right hand with his left supporting its wrist. Every movement exuded ease. Then he swallowed a mouthful.

Watching, Encrid wondered whether he ought to drink that, but he could not stop him. The sight brought back their conversation in the carriage.

["Aren't you curious why I'm going this far?"]

Krang had asked on the way. Encrid had blinked slowly twice before answering.

["If I charged out to stop an army, would you stop me?"]

["No."]

["Why?"]

["Because you'd know what you were doing."]

That was trust.

["The same goes for you."]

With that answer, Encrid expressed his faith in his king and friend. That was all.

Jaxon showed no curiosity, and Sinar had no interest. Had Andrew been inside the carriage, he might have said, "I think they're all mad." But he would have been admiring the night scenery to the clop of hooves and rumble of wheels, making it difficult to hear the conversation inside.

Or perhaps he would not have intervened anyway? After he had asked how Encrid had stopped an army, Krang had appeared. At the sight, Andrew's eyes had gone beyond shock and bewilderment to resemble a Ghoul's. In other words, there was not a single thought behind them.

["I'm going to try to win the king of Aspen over."]

Krang had continued, but Encrid had merely given him a look that said he trusted him to handle it.

["Can't be bothered?"]

Krang had asked in return. Truly a king—even his perceptiveness had a royal quality.

["No."]

Encrid denied it. A commonly used technique for dodging the truth.

["Fine. Forget it."]

Then they had simply chatted about inconsequential things: Dunbachel's journey east, events on the battlefield, killing enemy knights, renovations to the palace training grounds, and so on.

When the conversation turned to combat, Jaxon mentioned killing those called Moonlight Fairies, but Sinar remained unperturbed. Humans divided themselves into factions; why wouldn't Fairies? They were no different. Besides, Sinar knew perfectly well that when people went to war to kill and be killed, the killers were not necessarily the wicked ones.

["Everyone lives by their own determination. If rest awaits at the end, that need not be a bad thing."]

At those words, Krang started to say something to Sinar, then closed his mouth. Encrid sensed that she knew what Krang had been about to bring up, and that she did not want to discuss it. He asked no further questions.

["The great nation to the south was making a commotion, and the Holy Nation was playing its games too. In the end, it seems they all sided with Aspen. So I thought about it. What should I do? Confront them for picking a fight? That didn't seem right."]

Between idle jokes, Krang had talked through his thoughts. Encrid listened, offering the occasional word of agreement. He was not unintelligent, but politics was another domain entirely. And he had no intention of meddling in it. He had been busy moving forward before becoming a knight, and that had not changed afterward.

The sword, knighthood, dreams. What should he strive toward, and what should he wield his sword for? He advanced along that path through thought and reflection. There was no room on it for politics or anything else.

And now that they had arrived, the king of Aspen merely watched Krang with a face so cold he looked as though he would not bleed if stabbed. His expression almost seemed to ask what was so impressive about boldly accepting a drink.

Meanwhile, Encrid felt a piercing gaze and looked ahead to find the young man staring at him. His eyes were too clear, his gaze too direct, to call it a glare.

Whatever the look in those eyes, Jaxon apparently did not like it. He spoke in a quiet, measured voice.

"We have a panther in our unit who plucks out people's eyes when they stare without permission. I approve of and agree with that panther's actions."

Threatening to gouge out someone's eyes for glaring at you, or to pull out their intestines and strangle them with them, was intimidating enough. But sometimes a calm remark, delivered dispassionately without a trace of killing intent, worked better than harsh words.

Say, at secret talks following an overwhelming victory in a war?

"I mean no offense."

Before the two kings could exchange any words, the young man spoke first.

His voice remained clear and loud despite Jaxon's threat. Was he determined to say his piece even if he died here? Or was it the rashness of youth, heedless of consequences? They would hardly have brought a rash young swordsman to a meeting like this, so Encrid supposed it was the former.

The middle-aged woman frowned, apparently unhappy that the young man had stepped forward. The Frog betrayed no emotion. The remaining man, neat in appearance, alone smiled with his eyes as he spoke.

"You should hold your tongue."

"I only wish to speak with him."

The young man's gaze remained fixed on Encrid.

"Are you the Iron Wall Knight?"

He asked before anyone could say anything else.

Encrid studied him. He certainly did not recognize the face, nor did the man resemble anyone he knew. But the Iron Wall Knight, not the Iron Wall Sword? Apparently that was the name spreading through Aspen.

"My cousin first taught me the sword when I was a child. His name was Mitch Hurrier."

That name remained vivid in Encrid's memory. Mitch Hurrier. An opponent he had faced twice.

"By good fortune, I soon surpassed my cousin's skill, and I gained a godfather."

"A godfather?"

"I am Illod Hurrier, godson of Varnas Hurrier."

His godfather had died at Ragna's hands; the cousin who first taught him the sword, at Encrid's. Encrid was as good as this young man Illod's sworn enemy. Yet there was no resentment or reproach in his eyes.

And still he bowed his head.

"First, allow me to offer my respects. And my thanks."

Illod considered the greater good separately from his grievance. He knew the man before him had prevented soldiers from dying in their thousands for nothing. Some of it Abnaire had told him; some he had investigated himself. Encrid deserved respect for stopping the army, regardless of any grievance.

That was why he wished to express his thanks. The king had graciously allowed him to attend. It would put him in a difficult position in various ways when he returned, but he had to say his piece. The man before him had killed his cousin and godfather, yet saved thousands of soldiers.

Then again, though he was Varnas's godson, Varnas had over a hundred such sons in name only. Mitch Hurrier had also bullied him as a child. Those might have been reasons he could not muster a personal hatred. Illod himself, however, had merely done what he felt he ought to.

"If my skill ever becomes sufficient, I will come to challenge you to a duel."

Illod finished saying what he had come to say.

He was an inflexible man who could not be content unless he lived by weighing right and wrong. Which also meant he would not easily be corrupted or swayed by others.

"As you like."

Encrid nodded. He could not know everything in the other's heart, but he knew at least that Illod had not spoken out of pure malice. Above all, his words were full of sincerity.

There was one more thing: Encrid liked him. Setting one's resolve and acting upon it—wasn't that much like the way Encrid lived? Though the man had even less tact than Encrid.

"Are you mad?"

The middle-aged woman beside Illod glared at him as she spoke. Apparently this had not been agreed upon beforehand. She also stole a glance at Encrid to gauge his reaction. Understandably so. If things went wrong and the other side started swinging swords, she could not hope to stop them.

Illod himself remained unruffled. That seemed to irritate her even further. Lines deepened between her brows.

In any case, that ended the exchange. Illod faced forward again, and Jaxon took his hand off the dagger he had been secretly fingering.

Of the two kings, Krang had listened with interest, while the king of Aspen remained expressionless.

"An interesting fellow," Krang said.

"One who doesn't know how to hide his thoughts."

After exchanging those remarks, the two shared another mouthful each from the wineskin.

It was a crude setting for a discussion between kings, with neither fine glassware nor delicacies. But a king coming all the way out here was madness to begin with. On the continent as it stood, the very idea of two kings meeting for talks was remarkable.

Without cities and walls, people were exposed to monsters and demonic beasts. Even protecting farmland required large deployments of troops. In such a world, a king crossing a border to speak with another nation's ruler was an adventure in itself. All the more so for talks between kings.

There was no concept of neutral ground. Even when a meeting was proposed, mutual suspicion usually brought it to nothing. If they finally did meet, they had to bring knights or make all manner of preparations for their protection. There was little reason to spend so much time and manpower on a meeting. Yet Krang had gone out of his way to arrange this one, undertaking all that unnecessary effort.

Encrid stood idly by, doubling as a guard. He sensed nothing in the surroundings—no ominous signs or presence whatsoever.

Krais had said the king need not come in person, but had also said there would be no great danger. Of course, he had still demanded to know why Krang absolutely had to go. That was just like Krais. Exasperated, he wanted to know why Krang was inviting danger. Krang had passed it off with a gentle smile and a simple, ["Because it's fun."]

Frankly, even if the king of Aspen tried something, it would pose no problem. That was why Jaxon and Sinar had come.

As Encrid watched idly, the two kings began their discussion. And it took a form far removed from anyone's expectations.

* * *

The king of Aspen waited for Krang to confront him. To demand compensation for violating the nonaggression treaty, or unconditional surrender.

'Or perhaps vassalage?'

He would have to endure it all.

Frankly, the request to meet here had been exceedingly strange from the start.

'To kill me?'

Would they really arrange all this just to kill him? Surely they would have chosen a more refined method.

That could not be it. What the other king wanted, then, was submission. He wanted to humiliate him. To make him understand that when someone said, Hey, come out here, he had no choice but to obey.

The king of Aspen could not cling to his pride and watch soldiers and subjects die for it. He was not clever, but he knew what he must protect. Of course, that did not mean he could let Naurilia's king lead him around as he pleased. So he spoke first.

"Why ask to meet me? What would you do if I brought a hidden force to attack you?"

It was a declaration of his determination: they might demand submission and servitude, but he would not kneel easily.

Krang smiled brightly and asked in return,

"Do you have a hidden force?"

Was he saying he knew all their knights were dead, so what could they do? This bastard who called himself the king of Naurilia had a demon's tongue. To Aspen's king, it looked as though a demon lurked in the man's face.

How much had he laughed at him behind his back before coming here? Was it triumph concealed beneath that smiling face? Very well. Did he want to revel in that base sense of victory? Then let him. He would kneel and bow his head readily enough.

But it could not last forever. Ten years, twenty, thirty—as time passed, Aspen would rise again. After his death, his son, the knight order his son led, and those who embraced a new purpose would rise once more.

His anguish so fierce he felt he might spit blood, the king wanted to glare at Krang. He restrained himself. This was a time for patience and composure.

Aspen might seem to have started the fight, but in truth the two nations were contesting Green Pearl. Aspen dreamed of using it to build food reserves; Naurilia was wary of its neighbor developing a powerful military.

Stockpiling food was as good as increasing military strength. Beyond feeding people well, selling the surplus would fund the military. Green Pearl possessed that much potential.

Now that they would be reduced to a vassal state, their border would surely be pushed back too. Though the king of Aspen had come prepared, he had no intention of giving everything up easily.

Then Krang casually remarked,

"If that is my fate, I must accept it."

The king of Aspen considered what he meant for a moment. It was an answer to his question about the hidden force—what Krang would do if threatened. As he pondered the unexpected answer, Krang spoke again in a clear, cheerful voice.

"In matters of life and death, I am struggling to stay alive. But there are things for which merely living is not enough to satisfy me. Now, if heaven, if the gods took a dislike to that and said, 'This won't do. You've grown dull. Time for you to die,' what could I do? Powerless as I am, I'd simply have to die."

As he spoke, Krang pointed his right index finger at the sky. For an instant, it seemed his fingertip touched the night sky, its two moons and stars embroidered on a black canvas.

The king of Aspen knew Krang's words were calculated. Intellectually, he understood that all too well. Krang had brought knights, and he knew Aspen lacked the strength to stop those three. He also knew that a clumsy assassination attempt or ambush would only make matters worse.

If a head could not comprehend the consequences of such an act, it would be better taken off and kicked around for amusement. He knew that too. Yet he could hardly tear his eyes away from Krang as the man spoke.

"Are you mocking me?" the king of Aspen asked.

"If I wished to mock you, I would hardly have feigned illness and sneaked all the way out here. Do you have a dream? I have one myself. Small, but worthwhile."

Krang rose as slowly and smoothly as he had sat down. Of the four guards behind Aspen's king, all but the Frog flinched. Naurilia's side remained unmoved. They merely followed Krang with their eyes.

Beneath a night lit only by the moons and the bonfire, Krang alone shone.

"To erase the Demonic Realms and the evil cults from this world, put everyone who commits outrageous acts on the gallows, and then gather everyone together and tell them to stop fighting."

What utter nonsense was this? Monsters could be held back, but Demonic Realms were beyond anyone's power to resist. And what? Tell everyone to stop fighting? It was all absurd sophistry.

Yet there was an enchantment in Krang's words and gestures. Spreading his hands, he spoke.

"We—all races, humans included—have never once joined forces. Have we? The same is true of Naurilia and Aspen."

His words and gestures held everyone's gaze. Against the stillness of the night, Krang spoke with passion.

"Utter nonsense!"

The king of Aspen shouted, his face flushed.

At those words, Encrid thought the other king was already halfway won over. He could not have reacted that way unless he had been listening seriously.