"Do you believe the path I have walked has always been the right one?"
The king's voice spread wide. Deep and firm, it carried the kind of strength only one who truly believed in himself could show.
It was not that a magician had meddled, nor that he used a spell-object or relic. Yet there was something in the king's voice that felt like magic.
He lifted his left hand, opening his palm and extending it as though pointing to them all.
"If anyone here believes so, then I must ask what use they have for their head."
Half jest, yet the meaning within was as sharp as a blade.
What was he saying? Did it not sound as though he urged them not to trust him?
The king who carried the Sunwater on his back.
The king who swept aside thieves and monsters.
The king supported by the unprecedented power of the Mad Order of Knights.
The king who, at the same time, gained the backing of the Red Cloak Order.
The king who wielded royal authority in a way never seen before.
Looking at what Crang had done so far, the conclusion was plain.
Naurillia had reached the height of royal power. And the king was wise and sagacious, enjoying the support of all. They were basking in a glory unlike any before.
To speak honestly, a portion of the nobles' complaints could be crushed with force. And that was fine.
This golden age had not been achieved by the efforts of the blue-blooded nobles.
That was why Crang drew his sword.
'It began with shaking the salons.'
Enkrid understood. He didn't need to pry into why Crang had asked him for this task—Kraiss had already explained it to him while making a scene in women's garb.
"If we show the nobles our strength, what happens? Most complaints will be silenced. Look further, and those opposed to the crown will cease to exist altogether. With the present king, it's possible."
The core of it was still power. And what was the weapon that most starkly revealed Crang's power?
"The Mad Order of Knights. Its commander."
That was what Kraiss had said as he wiped the red paint from his lips with linseed oil.
"So it wasn't only about the salons."
Enkrid's insight was as sharp as ever. Kraiss was no simple man. He had come not merely to see the salons but to confirm the place of the Border Guard, of his own safety, and of the Mad Order of Knights.
With the royal family's prestige soaring, he needed to know where that momentum was headed.
That was why he risked danger. Normally, Kraiss would never cross-dress and throw himself into such a task.
"Ah, but going against the salons—that part was from the heart."
…Well, even with sharp instincts, not every guess would always be correct.
Either way, Kraiss had predicted Crang's course.
"If there's to be a pact with Legion, if the kingdom is to unite with many cities, then the kingdom itself must become one. His Majesty will crush every noble who opposes him."
If siblings are not to fight, they need a strict parent. Whether the role is father or mother.
A stern hand with the rod ensures the children coexist without fratricide. It also ensures they obey.
Then the whole becomes a living organism moved by the leader's will.
If the South showed unrest and sought war, preparations must be made.
Crang had to raise that stern rod using the might of the royal house.
That was Kraiss's prediction—and most of the so-called clever ones expected the same.
Only Enkrid saw otherwise. Would it truly be so?
At Enkrid's side, the Duke of Octo spoke.
"His Majesty has but one request of you, sir."
"Speak it."
The Duke of Octo was unlike the late Marquis Baisar. The dead marquis would have taken this chance to jest about offering his daughter in marriage, but unlike the laughing man who died, the duke spoke only what he must.
"His Majesty said he trusted you to fill the tenth seat."
So why had Crang said he was not always right? What was the reason? To make them doubt royal power? To tell them to unite for self-interest? Impossible.
"I, Cradianat Randios Nauril, speak with the rights and authority granted to me."
Then the king declared. Crang lifted the scepter, symbol of the Sunwater, and struck the floor.
The sound thoom resounded, vibrating in their chests.
"From this day forth, I will form the Council of Ten."
None grasped the meaning at once. As they blinked, Marcus—already understanding—knelt on one knee and spoke.
"I shall uphold Your Majesty's will."
Watching, Kraiss muttered.
"Not crushing noble power, but nurturing it?"
For all that he was called clever, Kraiss was truly a genius at such thinking. With those three words—Council of Ten—he immediately discerned their meaning, read the shifting air in the hall, and understood Crang's aim.
"The first shall be you, Marcus Baisar."
The king spoke.
"I accept Your Majesty's command."
Marcus accepted on one knee, and the Duke of Octo stepped forward.
"The second seat, I trust you will take it."
"I accept."
The Duke of Octo was next.
Others who represented noble interests took their places as well.
And then the tenth.
"My friend, you will accept also, will you not?"
In truth, the Council of Ten symbolized noble authority. The tenth seat was ever the sword at the king's side.
Crang's calculation went that far—though it also included his respect for his friend, the hero who had saved the realm.
Enkrid only smiled and replied.
"Of course, my king."
Kraiss had predicted the obvious view. Yet there were those even his sharp mind could not foresee.
Those who held ideals and causes, dreams and hopes, who walked paths untrodden and chose choices others would not.
Like a naked fool with clumsy talent who became a knight and vowed to erase the Demon Realm just to protect everything behind his back.
And here, a king who, though strong, declared he would not crush all but would listen, and guide all toward the better.
By the measure of madness, the two were not so different.
"Never saw this coming," Kraiss said with a shake of his tongue.
Later, it was said the Council of Ten each gathered ten of their own trusted men beneath them.
Thus those ten became voices to debate with the councilors, and the Council of Ten in turn faced the king directly to speak frankly.
'A chance given not only to houses that had once supported the crown.'
Instead of crushing with power, he widened his embrace. It was a thing only a man with such breadth could do.
"The blade of the Mad Order of Knights may strike at any time. But though it may be turned on threats, it shall never be turned on you. That's what he said. He used us splendidly."
Kraiss had seen through Crang's intent. With that, the matter in the capital was settled.
Enkrid, after his farewells, boarded the carriage marked with the royal crest and returned to the Border Guard.
On the way back, he saw Crang briefly, but there was no time for a long talk.
The safe road, cleanly paved for carriage travel, with soldiers at each post—there were no monsters, beasts, or bandits.
It was truly a peaceful road.
"Welcome back, sir!"
The soldiers recognized the carriage and saluted as it passed into the Border Guard's domain.
"I truly need some rest now," Shinar said upon arrival, and then she returned to the Fairy City. A journey both short and long was over.
"The great southern nation will not attack immediately, unless they are fools. They too will need time to catch their breath. But war cannot be avoided."
That was what Crang had said before parting. He had embraced the nobles not from fear, but because such was the breadth of his character.
And what if the enemy only desired war?
Crang had no thought of avoiding it.
"Word has come from Sir Cypress. The South stirs with ominous movement."
Thus, even knowing a foreseen war drew near, he simply did what must be done.
"Call on me when the time comes."
Enkrid replied, and went his way. Afterwards, more tidings arrived.
"Naurillia and Legion have established diplomatic ties. And monsters have begun to swarm more often from the South."
Kraiss relayed the order, diverting Rem's assault unit south. Since this kind of thing happened often, the assault soldiers began looking at Kraiss with affectionate eyes.
"Captain, no jobs today?"
Even their speech had started to mimic Rem's. The unlucky lot ended up making Kraiss the de facto captain of the assault unit.
Neither Rem nor Kraiss had wanted it, but the soldiers respected the one man who gave them the only reprieve from training under their commander—the very incarnation of a demon.
Enkrid kept to his own work in the meantime: training, tempering, swordsmanship, thinking, brooding. A continuation of what he always did. In between, he also took charge of training soldiers.
That too was part of establishing a new concept. Yet for the moment, things were not quite falling into place.
Luagarne had been helping him, but she too left, saying she needed to revisit and reinforce the lessons she had learned in the last battle. She headed off to some swamp.
"If I want to satisfy my desires, I'll need to be more than I am now."
Luagarne had once said: to advance, a man driven by desire and craving must learn to control them. Luagarne had done so.
Less than a month after returning to the Border Guard—
Step, step.
Someone entered the training ground with the sun at their back. Hair gleamed silver in the halo of light, a faint tang of iron drifted with them, and their steps fell heavy on purpose.
It was not hard to guess their identity by sound alone. Enkrid's gaze turned toward them.
"Did you forget me?"
The beastwoman asked with a smile.
Her face was cleaner than before, but it was the same familiar warrior who had returned. White leather armor, golden eyes, dented gauntlets and greaves.
"Drag that bastard Rem out here."
No sooner had she arrived than she called for Rem. Several of the assault soldiers who were outside for training watched with lively eyes.
Enkrid recalled the letter from Anu, King of the East, bluntly stating he would be keeping her.
So her return was swift. She must have run back without rest.
Rem himself entered the training ground just then. He had spent the day drilling his assault troops over and over, yet something gnawed at him, leaving him restless.
"Oh. You?"
Rem recognized Dunbakel at once. Her golden beast-eyes curved into a smile.
"Hey, Western delinquent. Been well?"
Most, Enkrid included, had spent the entire day in the training ground as usual. So it was as good a place as any for a spar.
The two soldiers who had followed, supposed to be on watch, quietly backed away.
The beastwoman had abruptly declared herself part of this unit, and before anyone could stop her, she had marched right in—so the sentries followed. Now they too became spectators. And soon, the eyes of passersby around the training ground gathered.
Rem adjusted his grip on his axe. Enkrid naturally stepped back. Dunbakel put a hand to her waist.
A curved scimitar was her weapon. It was no ordinary blade. Clearly she had not been idling in the East. The scent of relics clung to it. From the grip up the bare steel of the blade, letters unrecognizable shone with light.
"I went through hell in the East."
And became a champion.
Men called them knights, but among beastmen, warriors of a certain level were called champions.
It was a title for those who knew fear and overcame it.
In other words, it was the stage of one who could wield Will. But since she was beastfolk, Dunbakel called it Life Force.
The life of beastfolk was more tenacious than any other race. Stimulate that foundation, spread it through the body, wield it even unconsciously—and the overflowing life force carried one into the rank of champion.
Dunbakel drew her scimitar and swung. Not to kill. Just to teach a sharp lesson.
Life force was vigor, vitality, strength.
Her strength had increased to incredible levels. She split the moment, air pressed heavy on her shoulders as her scimitar moved, light spilling from its edge.
Her left foot lunged forward, tracing a crescent toward the sky and falling.
'Starlight.'
With her cut, she also triggered the relic's power. A relic said to bear the light of the stars—it repelled upon contact.
Rem's axe rose to meet it, not too late.
The weapons collided.
'Ting, clang!'
The axe blade stopped the scimitar midway. A crack split down Starlight's center.
Gripping his axe short, Rem smiled over the weapon's edge, lips curled to reveal his fangs. Dunbakel felt the threat.
Crash!
A thunderous noise, and her blade snapped in two, one half flung aside.
Jaxon, who had arrived to watch, caught the broken fragment in his bare hand and examined it.
"Low-grade."
So much for the relic's value.
Then—
"What did you think you were calling me out with?"
Rem grinned at her. Dunbakel was not quick of wit. She had grown stronger, but she had not imagined her opponent had as well.
"Ah."
She breathed in surprise. Rem lowered his axe, and instead drew the club he used in drilling discipline into his troops. On the outside it looked like a black cudgel, but it was forged of ebony mixed with True Iron. The weapon spun once in his grip.
"Let's see how much you've improved, pup."
"I'm no dog—I'm a lion."
Her golden eyes knew no surrender. She had survived fighting dozens of monsters in the East, including several uniques.
Of course, if Rem had been a monster, he would have been of the demonic rank.
Enkrid observed her movements calmly and reached a conclusion.
'The entry stage of knighthood.'
Her beastfolk physical prowess stood out, but her ability to handle Will was lacking.
Naturally, he knew what she needed to be taught.
'First, break her sense of omnipotence.'
Dunbakel was intoxicated with her own strength. Breaking that was step one. Which meant, in simple terms, she needed to take a beating from Rem.
Thwack!
While trading blows, she left her thigh open and took a strike from the club, tumbling to the ground.
"Damn it—"
Those were her last words. Well, not her last—she wasn't dead, only half-dead.
"Feels good to thrash you!"
Rem barreled in, raining down blows with the club. It didn't last long.
In any case—
"Welcome back, Dunbakel."
Enkrid greeted her warmly as she bled from the nose.
"…Feels like I shouldn't have come back," she muttered, as though regretting it.