Chapter 812

Chapter 812

“Is it your conviction that the path I have tread has always been the correct one?”
The monarch’s query resonated across the space. It was a profound, steady tone, possessing the kind of certainty only achievable by a man who holds absolute faith in his own heart.
There was no interference from a sorcerer, nor was he utilizing an enchanted artifact or ancient relic. Despite that, a quality in the king’s speech felt remarkably like an incantation.
He raised his left arm, unfurling his palm and gesturing toward the gathered assembly as if to include them all in his point.
“If there is anyone among you who truly believes that, then I must question what purpose your mind serves.”
Though phrased as a light jab, the underlying intent was as sharp as a whetted edge.
What was the meaning behind this? Was he genuinely suggesting they should harbor doubts about him?
This was the sovereign who carried the legacy of the Sunwater upon his shoulders.
The ruler who had purged the realm of marauders and foul creatures.
The king bolstered by the unprecedented might of the Mad Order of Knights.
The same leader who had simultaneously secured the unwavering loyalty of the Red Cloak Order.
He exercised a level of royal command that the kingdom had never witnessed before.
Analyzing the deeds of Crang up to this moment, the verdict was obvious.
Naurillia had ascended to the pinnacle of its sovereign strength. The king was regarded as both brilliant and perceptive, maintaining the favor of every faction. They were living in an era of prosperity that eclipsed all previous generations.
To be blunt, many of the aristocrats’ grievances could simply be suppressed through raw intimidation. And that would be acceptable.
This era of gold had not been built by the hands of the high-born nobility.
It was for this very reason that Crang unsheathed his steel.
‘It all started by disrupting the social circles.’
Enkrid grasped the strategy. He didn’t need to wonder why Crang had assigned him this specific duty—Kraiss had already laid it out while causing a stir dressed in feminine attire.
“If we demonstrate our martial superiority to the high-born, what is the result? Most dissent will be hushed. Look further ahead, and those who would defy the throne will vanish entirely. Under the current monarch, such a feat is within reach.”
At the center of everything remained power. And what instrument most vividly displayed the extent of Crang’s dominance?
“The Mad Order of Knights. Specifically, its leader.”
That was what Kraiss had remarked while cleaning the crimson pigment from his mouth using linseed oil.
“So your target wasn’t just the social salons.”
Enkrid’s perception remained as keen as ever. Kraiss was no simpleton. He hadn’t traveled just to observe the high society gatherings; he came to verify the standing of the Border Guard, the status of his own protection, and the current state of the Mad Order of Knights.
With the crown’s reputation reaching new heights, he had to understand where that force was being channeled.
That was why he embraced the risk. Under normal circumstances, Kraiss would never resort to such a disguise to complete a mission.
“Ah, but my disdain for the salons—that part was entirely genuine.”
…Even with a sharp mind, one’s deductions aren’t always perfect.
Regardless, Kraiss had accurately anticipated Crang’s trajectory.
“If a treaty with Legion is to be formed, and if the realm is to merge with various city-states, then the kingdom must first become a singular unit. His Majesty intends to break every nobleman who stands in his way.”
To prevent siblings from quarreling, they require a demanding guardian. Whether it be a patriarch or a matriarch.
A firm hand with the switch ensures that the children live in harmony without turning on one another. It also guarantees their subservience.
In that state, the entire nation becomes a unified body directed by the leader’s intent.
If the southern territories showed signs of volatility and a thirst for conflict, defensive measures had to be established.
Crang was required to wield that firm switch using the full weight of the throne.
That was the future Kraiss foresaw—and most of those considered intelligent held the same expectation.
Only Enkrid suspected a different outcome. Would things truly go that way?
Standing at Enkrid’s side, the Duke of Octo leaned in.
“The King has only a single petition for you, sir.”
“Tell me.”
The Duke of Octo was a far cry from the former Marquis Baisar. The late marquis would have exploited this moment to joke about a marriage alliance with his daughter, but unlike the boisterous man who had passed, the duke spoke only with necessity.
“His Majesty expressed his confidence that you would occupy the tenth position.”
So why had Crang claimed he wasn’t always in the right? What was his motive? To cast shadows on the throne’s influence? To tell them to band together for their own gain? That seemed impossible.
“I, Cradianat Randios Nauril, proclaim this by the titles and powers invested in me.”
Then the monarch made his decree. Crang hoisted the scepter, the emblem of the Sunwater, and drove it into the stone floor.
The heavy thud echoed, a vibration that felt like a pulse in their chests.
“From this hour, I shall establish the Council of Ten.”
The meaning didn’t click for anyone immediately. While they stood in confusion, Marcus—who had already processed the change—dropped to one knee and spoke.
“I shall honor Your Majesty’s decree.”
Observing this, Kraiss whispered under his breath.
“He’s not dismantling the nobles’ power, he’s cultivating it?”
Despite his reputation for cleverness, Kraiss was a true prodigy in this arena of thought. With those few words—Council of Ten—he instantly decoded the objective, sensed the change in the room, and understood Crang’s long-term goal.
“The first seat shall belong to you, Marcus Baisar.”
The king made his appointment.
“I humbly take up Your Majesty’s charge.”
Marcus accepted while kneeling, and the Duke of Octo took his turn to step forward.
“The second position, I trust you will occupy it.”
“I accept.”
The Duke of Octo followed suit.
Other figures who spoke for the interests of the nobility took their places in order.
And finally, the tenth.
“My companion, you will join them, will you not?”
In reality, the Council of Ten represented the collective voice of the nobility. Yet the tenth seat was perpetually reserved for the blade at the king’s side.
Crang’s strategy reached that far—though it also contained his genuine admiration for his comrade, the savior who had preserved the kingdom.
Enkrid merely offered a grin and gave his answer.
“Naturally, my king.”
Kraiss had anticipated the logical conclusion. Yet there were individuals whose paths even his brilliant mind could not map.
Those who lived for principles and grand causes, for visions and aspirations, who traveled roads others feared and made choices others wouldn’t dare.
Like a destitute fool with unpolished skill who became a warrior and pledged to wipe out the Demon Realm simply to safeguard everyone he left behind.
And here sat a king who, despite his immense power, announced he would not rule by force alone but would listen, leading everyone toward a better future.
In terms of their unique brand of madness, the two men were remarkably alike.
“I certainly didn’t see that coming,” Kraiss remarked, clicking his tongue.
Later, the story went that each member of the Council of Ten appointed ten of their own most reliable subordinates.
Consequently, those ten became the voices that debated with the council members, and the Council of Ten in turn stood before the king to speak with transparency.
‘A window of opportunity granted not just to the houses that had historically backed the throne.’
Rather than using strength to crush, he expanded his reach to include others. It was an act possible only for a man with such a vast perspective.
“The edge of the Mad Order of Knights might draw blood at any moment. But while it may be pointed at our enemies, it will never be leveled at you. That was his message. He utilized us brilliantly.”
Kraiss had decoded Crang’s true aim. With that, the business in the capital reached its conclusion.
Enkrid, after making his goodbyes, stepped into a carriage bearing the royal insignia and traveled back to the Border Guard.
He saw Crang briefly during the departure, but there was no window for a lengthy conversation.
The secure path, perfectly maintained for travel with sentries at every station—there were no signs of beasts, monsters, or outlaws.
It was a truly serene journey.
“Welcome home, sir!”
The infantry recognized the carriage and snapped to attention as it crossed into the Border Guard’s territory.
“I desperately need some sleep now,” Shinar remarked once they arrived, before departing for the City of Fairies. A trek that felt both fleeting and eternal had reached its end.
“The massive kingdom to the south won’t strike immediately, unless they are total fools. They also need time to recover their strength. But conflict is inevitable.”
That was what Crang had mentioned before they parted. He had brought the nobles into his fold not out of anxiety, but because his character was broad enough to hold them.
And what if the opposition only sought bloodshed?
Crang had no intention of running from it.
“Messages have arrived from Sir Cypress. There are troubling signs from the South.”
Thus, even with the knowledge of a predicted war looming, he simply proceeded with his duties.
“Send for me when it’s time.”
Enkrid gave his answer and went about his business. Following that, more news began to filter in.
“Naurillia and Legion have finalized their diplomatic bonds. And creatures have started emerging from the South with greater frequency.”
Kraiss passed on the directive, shifting Rem’s specialized strike team to the southern border. Since these occurrences were becoming routine, the strike soldiers began to view Kraiss with a sort of begrudging respect.
“Hey Captain, no errands for us today?”
Even their way of speaking had begun to mirror Rem’s rough style. The poor souls ended up treating Kraiss as the unofficial leader of the strike team.
Neither Rem nor Kraiss had sought this arrangement, but the troops admired the one man who provided them their only relief from the grueling drills under their commander—who was essentially a demon in human form.
Meanwhile, Enkrid stayed focused on his personal regimen: practicing, hardening his body, honing his blade, and deep contemplation. It was a continuation of his lifelong habits. Between his sessions, he also oversaw the instruction of the recruits.
That too played a part in defining a new military doctrine. However, for the moment, the pieces weren’t quite clicking together.
Lua Gharne had been assisting him, but she also departed, stating she needed to review and solidify the insights she had gained in the previous conflict. She set off toward a distant marshland.
“If I intend to satisfy my internal drive, I must become something greater than I am today.”
Frokk had once noted: to progress, a person fueled by intense ambition must learn to direct it. Lua Gharne had embraced that truth.
Less than a month after the return to the Border Guard—
Step, step.
A figure walked onto the training grounds with the sun at their back. Silver tresses shimmered in the ring of light, a faint metallic scent lingered in their wake, and their footfalls were heavy by design.
It wasn’t difficult to identify them by the rhythm of their walk alone. Enkrid turned his eyes toward the newcomer.
“Did you think I’d vanished?”
The beastwoman questioned him with a smirk.
Her appearance was more refined than before, but she was the same recognizable combatant who had returned. She wore pale leather protection, her eyes were like gold, and her gauntlets and greaves bore the marks of battle.
“Get that idiot Rem out here.”
Immediately upon her arrival, she demanded a meeting with Rem. Several strike soldiers who were nearby for their exercises watched with keen interest.
Enkrid thought back to the message from Anu, the King of the East, which had bluntly claimed he would be keeping her there.
Clearly, her return had been rapid. She must have pushed herself to the limit to get back.
Rem himself walked onto the grounds at that exact moment. He had spent his day drilling his strike team relentlessly, yet something was still eating at him, making him on edge.
“Oh. It’s you?”
Rem knew Dunbakel instantly. Her golden, feline eyes narrowed into a grin.
“Hey there, Western delinquent. Still kicking?”
Most people, Enkrid included, spent the bulk of their time at the training grounds as a rule. So it served as the perfect arena for a duel.
The two guards who had trailed her, supposed to be keeping watch, stepped back to give them space.
The beastwoman had simply announced her membership in the unit and walked right past everyone, so the sentries had followed her in. Now they, too, were part of the audience. Soon, more spectators began to gather around the perimeter.
Rem shifted his hold on his massive axe. Enkrid instinctively gave them room. Dunbakel reached for her side.
A curved scimitar was her choice of steel. This was no common weapon. It was obvious she hadn’t been wasting time in the East. The aura of a magical artifact radiated from it. From the hilt to the exposed metal of the blade, strange symbols glowed with an inner light.
“I went through some serious trials in the East.”
And emerged as a champion.
Men gave them the title of knights, but among the beastfolk, fighters of a high caliber were known as champions.
It was a designation for those who recognized terror and pushed through it.
In other words, she had reached the level where one could manipulate Will. But given her heritage, Dunbakel referred to it as Life Force.
The vitality of the beastfolk was more resilient than any other species. By tapping into that essence and letting it flow through the physique—often without even thinking—that surging life force propelled a warrior into the status of a champion.
Dunbakel unsheathed her blade and made a pass. It wasn’t a lethal strike, just a way to deliver a sharp reminder.
Life force meant energy, power, and physical dominance.
Her raw strength had surged to an impressive degree. She accelerated through the air, the pressure mounting on her frame as the scimitar descended, light cascading from the edge.
She lunged with her left foot, drawing a bright arc toward the sky before bringing it down.
‘Starlight.’
With the strike, she also engaged the artifact’s ability. An item said to hold the radiance of the stars—it created a powerful repulsive force on impact.
Rem’s axe swung up to meet the blow, perfectly timed.
The two weapons smashed together.
‘Ting, clang!’
The axe head caught the scimitar mid-air. A visible fracture ran down the center of Starlight.
Holding his axe by the neck, Rem smirked over the steel, his lips pulling back to show his teeth. Dunbakel suddenly felt a chill of danger.
Crash!
With a deafening crack, her scimitar snapped in half, and the broken piece flew away.
Jaxon, who had come to observe, plucked the flying shard out of the air with his bare hand and squinted at it.
“Low-tier.”
So much for the artifact’s reputation.
Then—
“What did you think you were going to do to me with that?”
Rem laughed at her. Dunbakel wasn’t particularly quick-witted. She had certainly grown more powerful, but she hadn’t considered that her rival had been improving just as fast.
“Ah.”
She let out a gasp of shock. Rem lowered his heavy axe and instead pulled out the heavy stick he used for disciplining his men. It looked like a simple black rod, but it was crafted from ebony reinforced with True Iron. He gave the weapon a quick spin.
“Let’s see how much better you’ve gotten, little pup.”
“I’m not a dog—I’m a lioness.”
Her golden eyes refused to back down. She had made it through encounters with dozens of beasts in the East, including several rare variants.
Of course, if Rem were categorized as a monster, he would be classified as a demon-rank threat.
Enkrid watched her technique with a neutral expression and came to a realization.
‘She’s at the threshold of knighthood.’
Her natural beastfolk physical gifts were outstanding, but her control over Will was still rudimentary.
Naturally, he understood exactly what lesson she needed.
‘First, she has to lose that feeling of being untouchable.’
Dunbakel was drunk on her new power. Shattering that illusion was the priority. Which, in practical terms, meant she was about to take a serious thrashing from Rem.
Thwack!
During the exchange, she left her leg unprotected and took a direct hit from the rod, sent sprawling into the dirt.
“Dammit—”
Those were the last words she managed. Not literally—she wasn’t dead, just thoroughly beaten.
“It feels great to knock some sense into you!”
Rem charged in, delivering a flurry of strikes with the rod. The beating didn’t last very long.
Regardless—
“Good to have you back, Dunbakel.”
Enkrid greeted her with a kind smile while she sat there with a bloody nose.
“…Starting to think I should have stayed away,” she grumbled, sounding like she already regretted her return.