Chapter 158

Chapter 158
## Chapter 158

The Aftermath of the Capital Invasion (2)

They relocated to a quiet, isolated garden to continue their conversation.

“The rumors have reached my ears. Your journey to Jeron resulted in a truly remarkable achievement.”

The speaker was a man in his late thirties, meticulously dressed in formal garments with his hair neatly slicked back with oil.

Introducing himself as Patrick, he bore a closer resemblance to a refined bureaucrat than a rough mercenary.

“As you are well aware, our organization is currently thrown into chaos following the demise of Kanbul, the Mercenary King.”

An outsider might dismiss him as a mere leader of hired blades, but across this continent, the title of Mercenary King carried immense weight.

In a land where vicious beasts and lawless bandits were part of daily life, taking up arms for coin was a widespread trade.

Inevitably, these fighters required a collective body to protect their livelihood, leading to the birth of countless minor guilds spanning various regions.

It was the original Mercenary King, three centuries ago, who finally unified those fractured factions into the massive network that stood today.

To those in the trade, he was a mythic figure, having secured the moniker of ‘King’ from neighboring powers through sheer, unmatched might and the vast continental sway he commanded via the guild.

‘Furthermore, he was a key figure in the alliance that vanquished the second Immortal King.’

Yet, as history recorded, the fate of that alliance was grim.

The Mercenary King managed to endure until the ultimate conflict, but his life finally ended at the very site where the Picaol Cathedral stands today, guarding the resting place of the sealed holy sword.

Following his passing, the Mercenary Guild adopted the tradition of passing down the title of ‘Mercenary King’ to preserve his memory, a practice the surrounding nations recognized and formalized over time.

‘Thus, the Mercenary King is an indispensable asset in the struggle against the Immortal King. Had Kanbul not met his end by Hans’s hand, he would have been forced to join the savior’s party by now. Either that, or he would have chosen total retirement.’

Regardless of whether Heinrich chose to welcome him.

“With the seat of the Mercenary King now empty, the internal politics have grown incredibly tangled. The dominant faction within the guild has effectively lost its grip on power due to the deaths of Kanbul and Payton. While rival factions have carved up their remaining assets and are eager to nominate the next Mercenary King… there is a catch…”

Patrick, maintaining his composed demeanor, offered a calculating smirk.

“Ascending as the Mercenary King means one is duty-bound to enlist in the upcoming crusade. Even if the Saint denies their entry, it would trigger endless debates regarding their competence, making everyone terrified to take the first step.”

To put it plainly, they were locked in a tense standoff, waiting for someone else to blink.

“Hmph! And what of it? Why exactly are you revealing this to me?”

Harley was well-acquainted with the man’s background.

As a member of the visiting delegation, Patrick had naturally been thoroughly vetted beforehand.

The position of secretary general within the Mercenary Guild was a direct appointment by the Mercenary King himself, and this man had only recently assumed the role following his predecessor’s retirement.

This meant he belonged squarely to the dominant faction—the one loyal to Kanbul.

The very faction that, by his own admission, had been stripped of its authority.

‘In truth, this fellow is walking a tightrope. Had he been outside the defensive barrier when Hans launched his assault on the cathedral, I would have wiped him out without a second thought.’

Intelligence reports indicated he functioned more as an administrative cleaner who executed directives from above rather than a mastermind of malice.

He was, for all intents and purposes, a model subordinate.

However, surviving in such a role required enough competence to earn the trust of a tyrant, meaning he was far from a completely blameless bystander.

“You chose to step forward and engage the Immortal King Hans during this crisis, Harley.”

“Bah, how could I remain idle after hearing claims that he eclipsed the Savior? Granted… his power was terrifyingly real. Still, I genuinely believed I could land at least a single solid blow!”

“Regardless of how the clash ended, you have unmistakably demonstrated your valor and martial prowess to the world. Even the Saint has given you acknowledgment.”

The secretary general’s calm gaze suddenly sharpened with intense focus.

“Harley, do you harbor any desire to claim the title of Mercenary King?”

“…Well now.”

Harley immediately grasped the underlying motive.

‘The man is looking for a new master.’

Patrick was clinging to his current office due to the ongoing chaos, but the moment a rival faction claimed the crown, he would be unceremoniously cast aside.

It was bound to be an infuriating prospect for someone who had climbed to the peak after years of grueling service.

As a result, he viewed Harley—a powerhouse detached from any internal cliques—as his perfect lifeline.

‘Reflecting on it, he threw his support behind Harley immediately after Kanbul’s passing. Given his rank as secretary general, his grasp on the various regional branches must be absolute… Is he attempting to retain his influence by playing the role of kingmaker?’

While martial dominance was the ultimate law within the Mercenary Guild, an institution spanning over three centuries could never truly escape political maneuvering.

If Patrick leveraged his remaining administrative leverage alongside Harley’s undeniable strength and lack of political baggage?

“Bahuahua! The Mercenary King? Now that is a tempting proposition! Why don’t we dive into the finer points of this arrangement?”

There was absolutely no reason to turn away a golden path handed directly to him.

—

‘Eternal Labyrinth’, a supreme spell accessible only to Archmages who had crossed into the realm of transcendence.

The space within functioned as an isolated, self-contained realm from which departure was impossible unless specific parameters were satisfied. Meanwhile, the exterior remained impervious to any assault that lacked the power to sever dimensions.

The architect of the spell held absolute sovereignty over everything within, a feature typically employed to systematically destroy trespassers, fitting its title as a deadly maze…

‘Truly magnificent.’

Hans repurposed this grand spell for residential comfort, using it to craft and embellish his personal citadel.

“Ah—!”

“……!”

Walls of obsidian brick that seemed to swallow the light, grim visages of fiends and skeletal remains carved into every surface, and towering, jagged spires rising like massive thorns.

Gloom-filled tempest clouds swirled perpetually above the fortress, while a dense, dark vapor blanketed the terrain, carrying an unnatural, biting gale.

[Eeeeeeeek—!]

Rattle, clatter!

Complemented by the anguished shrieks of phantoms and the rhythmic movement of a skeletal legion, a flawless fortress fit for a dark sovereign was realized.

[Heh-heh— It would be wise to abandon any notions of flight. Escaping this place is an impossibility.]

Delivering a quiet admonition to the two captured royals, Hans stepped inside, thoroughly pleased by the terror visible on their faces.

The interior mirrored the grim aesthetic of the outer walls, though he had carved out a distinct sector customized for the comfort of living beings.

“Ah, you have returned, Your Greatness!”

“Oh—! The ultimate arbiter of this corrupted reality!”

“Ngh… a harvest of gore and demise…”

They were the residents of this space.

A practitioner of vile sorcery who abducted innocents for human modification, a corrupted champion driven mad by an overabundance of malicious energy and consumed by slaughter, a devil worshiper who offered living tributes to manifest greater fiends, and a zealot who revered the resurrected Immortal King as a deity, eager to blanket the lands in ruin…

These were the societal plagues Hans had meticulously gathered from across the continent where they had been stirring unrest.

The pair of royal captives froze in utter horror at the sight of this unnatural gathering, a collection of degenerates unlike anything they had ever encountered.

‘Hrm, pairing the royals with this rabble isn’t ideal. Perhaps I ought to fashion an isolated sanctuary for them.’

This entire dimension bent completely to his thoughts.

The moment the concept formed in his mind, reality shifted.

They instantly materialized within a separate residential quarter, entirely isolated from the previous crowd.

As for the individual tasked with supervising their movements and managing their daily requirements…

“Ugh, to think my journey would lead me to such a grim wasteland…”

“…Pipe down, Andrew. I am the one holding back tears here.”

It was Andrew Weber, the transmigrated soul from Earth who found himself stranded in the dark fortress, alongside Siana, the succubus.

‘Siana possesses flawless transformation arts. There is no better candidate to look after Princess Riley.’

While he could afford to treat the Crown Prince roughly so long as the man remained breathing, he felt a twinge of reluctance doing the same to the princess, who had merely been swept up in the event by chance.

…He felt a passing wave of sympathy for Isea, who was currently letting out endless, troubled sighs at Heinrich’s side.

‘Hmm— Keeping the princess confined to this bleak environment indefinitely is poor form. I must devise an elegant rescue plot without delay.’

In truth, a strategy had already formed in his mind.

A brilliant maneuver that would allow him to secure the gratitude of both the princess and the Archmage while simultaneously advancing his own agenda.

—

‘What an absolute disaster.’

Heinrich, having departed the palace chambers after deliberating on defensive strategies and future maneuvers, could only shake his head in dismay as he traversed the corridors.

He had anticipated a grim scenario, but the collateral damage inflicted by Hans’s raid on the capital far exceeded his darkest calculations.

To begin with, countless noble houses residing within the city walls had sustained catastrophic losses, with several prominent figures losing their lives entirely.

To make matters worse, the two royal siblings who stood at the very forefront of the imperial succession had vanished without leaving a single clue behind.

Even the reigning Monarch, who had been evaluating his heirs to transition the crown, was left completely destabilized by the crisis…

It was only natural that the crew of a vessel stripped of its captains would begin maneuvering for their own survival.

The Crown Prince’s faction, which possessed the benefit of seniority and commanded the largest coalition centered around traditionalists.

The Fifth Princess’s faction, which had expanded exponentially due to her exceptional wit and political maneuvering, backed by the rising nobility.

Then there was the overlooked second prince, now sensing a golden opening, alongside the sixth prince, who had previously lacked the leverage to exert any real influence…

The political arena was bound to degenerate into deeper instability the longer this vacancy persisted.

Driven by an insatiable lust for authority, completely independent of the threat posed by the Immortal King.

“Huu… I crave your forgiveness, Saint. My arrival was delayed as I had to soothe the anxieties of our faction members.”

The individual working tirelessly to halt the dissolution of the Fifth Princess’s alliance was none other than Isea Pristine.

Despite her immense power, her formal rank remained modest due to a lack of recognized military achievements, yet her authority within the faction was absolute, given her status as the princess’s closest confidante and a master Archmage.

‘She is stabilizing the foundation for the princess’s eventual homecoming. It would be disastrous if her position evaporated by the time we secure her freedom.’

It was quite a sight to watch her methodically manage the crisis despite her inner turmoil, proving her mettle as a true Archmage.

“Therefore, Saint? What is the timeline for our strike against the Immortal King? Ah! Before that, we must assemble additional powerhouses to our cause. If you grant me authorization, I shall personally recruit… rather, escort the finest talents from neighboring realms…”

Her speech betrayed a distinct lack of tranquility, though it was a trivial concern.

“I have already selected a precise roster of individuals. Given that swift movement and seamless coordination are vital for this undertaking, I have no intention of taking on unproven volunteers. Ultimately, they must possess the capability to stand against the Immortal King.”

“…Is that the case? What a pity.”

Isea bit her lip, her face remaining entirely unreadable.

It appeared her eagerness had made her a bit too forward.

“Still, Saint? Do not mistake this for skepticism, but are you certain this course is wise? To launch an offensive without prior intelligence or staging. While it is true you provided advance warning of the capital raid, the outcome was disastrous precisely because our defensive preparations fell short…”

She released a heavy sigh of anxiety as she walked alongside Heinrich through the grand hall.

It was evident she deeply regretted her absence from the city on that fateful day.

“Be at ease.”

He responded with unwavering certainty, his tone projecting total confidence against her worries.

“The proposition I extended to him was not made lightly. Provided the Creator guides our path, our endeavors will bear fruit… I remain an imperfect vessel, so I cannot claim to counter every single unexpected variable with absolute perfection.”

Adopting the persona of a pious servant—or more accurately, a zealous loyalist—proved incredibly efficient for silencing difficult questions.

Few would dare openly challenge the divine will of the Creator or the word of His designated Saint.

Naturally, he made sure to secure a diplomatic fallback by appending a casual remark at the end.

“Ah! Furthermore, the princess will undoubtedly return unharmed in the near future. I can sense it. My spiritual intuition rarely errs, so you may rest easy.”

“…I pray your words hold true. I worry whether that girl can survive such a harsh environment. Her dietary preferences are remarkably particular… Ah! Forgive me. Kindly disregard that comment.”

She caught herself, briefly tapping her lips after uttering a remark that sounded far more maternal than sisterly.

There was a stark visual contradiction between Isea, who possessed the appearance of a young adolescent, and Princess Riley, who was a fully developed woman, yet…

‘In any case, the hour has come to eliminate those bothersome pests!’

Thus, the grand production moved effortlessly into its next phase, spearheaded by the hidden, calculating designs of the hero, following the integration of the princess and the Archmage into the unfolding narrative.