Chapter 153

Translator: Willia

The shocking news of King Leonard's death spread across the world faster than the wind.

Steel swords of vengeance, tempered in flame, are pointed at kings. That was how the bards sang it.

They also sang of the fearless Ricardt striking down the villains of the world, though no one quite knew why. Perhaps because he'd been kind to people?

Everyone expected that after King Leonard, it would be King Louis of the Cape Kingdom's turn. And indeed, the Order of the Steel Knights was marching north.

An army that made even kings tremble with fear. It was closer to a force of nature. Something like inescapable death.

People believed that the arrogance of kings, the foolishness of chasing only the profit before their eyes, had brought this calamity upon them.

But the human heart is a wretched thing, and secretly, everyone rather hoped the king would die. Not for any grand reason; they simply wanted to watch someone perched high above come crashing down, to witness the spectacle of ruin.

A beloved king. The phrase itself was a contradiction. Ruling as a king meant inevitably earning the resentment of the people; that was simply fate.

Moreover, this was a society built around houses rather than the nation itself, so there were many families that harbored grudges or bore old hatred toward the royal house. To such people, the Order of the Steel Knights was both an opportunity and an event.

Yet no one knew what Ricardt, what the Order of the Steel Knights, truly wanted.

The Order did not seek vengeance. They were heading toward salvation, toward Adeloron, freed from oaths and duties and the compulsions that bound them.

What Ricardt had promised the Order was nothing more than a simple, ordinary life. To build a home, raise children, work honestly, grow old, and die. That was all.

The knights and soldiers did not know if it was true. They simply believed. That salvation lay there.

The Order's banner was religious and yet somehow grotesque. A skull on a black cross. Wait, did it actually suit them?

The young nobleman tilting his head with a slight grimace as he looked up at the fluttering banner of the Order of the Steel Knights thought so. He was a man with black curly hair and a large nose.

Another banner nearby bore the image of a burning sword. Each unit seemed to have a different banner. Beneath a blue sky drifting with white clouds, several flags fluttered in the breeze.

While he was taking in the banners, someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind. He had been half-lost in a daze and snapped back to attention.

Turning around, he found a soldier staring blankly at him. How dare you lay a hand on a nobleman, he wanted to say, but couldn't bring himself to.

Because putting on airs was something one had to do with a sense of time and place. Without that kind of judgment, one's life could occasionally be in danger.

The young nobleman was not that stupid. These were people who killed kings. Wouldn't they kill the fourth son of a baron's house without batting an eye?

"Ahaha, what is it?"

But the awkward smile on his face looked rather foolish.

"It's your turn. Please go ahead."

"Ah, thank you."

The soldier jerked his chin toward somewhere as he spoke, and the young nobleman set off.

He had, in fact, been waiting his turn. Wherever the Order of the Steel Knights paused during their march, all manner of people came flocking.

There were so very many in the world who coveted powerful force. People offering money, honor, land, beautiful women, anything desired, if only their request would be heard.

Most of those requests were to kill someone. Particularly a neighboring lord, a family with a generations-old blood feud, and so on.

Among them were even those who offered to actively assist in killing King Louis of the Cape Kingdom.

It looked as though the country was a complete shitshow, but in a way, it was only natural. Things that had been lurking beneath the surface had simply risen to the top. Because of the variable called the Order of the Steel Knights.

When the young nobleman reached a spot where knights were standing guard in every direction, he saw Ricardt sitting on a boulder in casual clothes, a sword at his hip.

A handsome young man with golden hair. Younger than expected, and surprisingly, he did not look savage. His calm hazel eyes seemed to hold deep thought, giving him an air of intelligence.

One of the knights gave the young nobleman a quick once-over, then jerked his chin as if to say go ahead. Only then could he approach Ricardt.

Ricardt merely gazed at the next person in silence. The young nobleman swallowed hard once, then spoke.

"Ahem, hrm. Good day, Knight Commander. It is an honor to meet you. Your illustrious name reaches across the entire empire, and your fearless exploits are nothing short of inspiring. I am Simon of the Fontenu Family, Taster to His Majesty King Louis the Devout of the glorious Cape Kingdom. Our king was deeply impressed by the righteous execution of that wicked King of Basque, and has sent me to deliver an urgent message to you, Commander."

The Cape Kingdom and the Basque Kingdom had been bitter rivals for ages. Perhaps that was why the king was positively delighted, even though a fellow monarch had been murdered.

Still, wasn't that a bit much? There was a saying that kings do not kill kings.

Then again, if one considered it a death in battle, it was not such a shocking affair. They had been at war, after all.

In any case, as was typical of envoys sent by nobles, Simon's preamble was needlessly long.

The title of "Taster" referred to someone who tasted the king's food before meals to check for poison, and because it signified the king's special trust, it was considered an honorable position.

"A pleasure. I'm Ricardt. So, what message does the king wish to convey?"

"Ahaha, it is nothing grave. Our king merely sent me to clear up any misunderstandings that might exist between himself and the Commander. I know it as well. In fact, doesn't the whole world? That the Order of the Flame Knights, no, the Order of the Steel Knights, is innocent. Frankly, it defies all reason. An order of such honor, suddenly worshipping demons? It is undoubtedly a shameless slander. However, our king, whose faith runs so deep, had no choice but to follow the judgment of the Holy See. Had he known that the Fifth Prince was behind it all, he would have done the very opposite and actively protected the Order. A truly regrettable affair."

In other words, Simon was claiming that King Louis of the Cape Kingdom's killing of the Order's branch members and confiscation of their property had all stemmed from a misunderstanding.

A passing dog wouldn't have believed it. But as with all diplomacy, it was merely rhetorical flourish.

Ricardt knew. He saw right through the king's calculations. The intent was to buy time by any means necessary.

If the talks went well and the "misunderstanding" was resolved, all the better. If not, the king would stall while gathering his forces.

Given the nature of feudalism, the king might be able to muster the troops of his royal demesne reasonably quickly, but to face six thousand men, and the most professionalized army in the world at that, he would need at least double that number.

But like the Basque Kingdom before them, they were all barking up the wrong tree. Because they did not know what Ricardt and the Order actually wanted.

"Words are empty. To clear up a misunderstanding, shouldn't there be something tangible?"

Ricardt spoke as if he were taking the bait. It was a question: so, what are you offering?

Simon of the Fontenu Family broke into a broad grin at once.

"How perceptive of you. How could mere words resolve every misunderstanding? Give and take is how wounded feelings are mended. Our king is not so petty. I daresay you will be astonished by what I have to say."

Is this bastard toying with me? As Simon kept beating around the bush, Ricardt stared at the king's envoy as though he were about to hit him.

The quick-witted envoy read the meaning in that expression at once and got straight to the point. After the briefest pause, he composed himself and spoke with a grave expression.

"A dukedom. The Duchy of Renuang. What say you?"

"Where is that? I've never heard of it."

"Excluding Blud, our king's royal demesne, it is the choicest territory in the entire kingdom. The wheat yield alone is ten thousand bushels a year, and its vineyards and hunting grounds are the finest in the empire. The deer are enormous, yielding a great deal of meat that is exquisite in flavor besides. And that is not all. It is particularly famous for its truffles, a seasoning worth more than its weight in gold. The population is large, and the people are spirited yet obedient by nature, making it ideal land for raising soldiers. If you were to become duke, Commander, our king would be free from the worry of foreign invasion and able to focus solely on governance. It is, in truth, his most fervent wish."

It was an enormous offer, to be sure, but this too was nothing but words. With one excuse or another, it could easily be delayed indefinitely, pushed back day after day.

He might actually grant the title, but Ricardt had no interest to begin with.

Ricardt turned his head as though deep in thought and gazed at the farmland stretching out nearby. Peasants were threshing freshly harvested wheat.

Watching this, Simon was certain Ricardt would be tempted whether he believed it or not. It was a dukedom, no less. For anyone outside a family connected to the royal house, becoming a duke was virtually impossible.

He did not need an outright yes. Even the faintest waver of the heart would be a success. If he handled this well, he could leap past his own family, a mere baron's house, and make something of himself.

He could put that insufferably smug eldest brother of his to shame, and take down a peg the father who had always looked down on him.

But Ricardt's answer was neither yes nor no. It was something entirely unexpected.

After gazing at the fields where the harvest had just begun, Ricardt turned his eyes back to Simon and spoke.

"Why not Blud?"

"Pardon?"

"You said it yourself. That excluding Blud, it's the finest land. Then Blud must be the best, no? Why can't I have that?"

"Blud is, as I mentioned, the king's royal demesne......"

"Is that so? Hmm...... Then can't you give me a title higher than duke?"

What is this man talking about? The sheer absurdity left Simon shaken.

"There is no title higher than duke. The empire does have margraves, but strictly speaking, it is a rank below duke. So, surely you don't mean... you want to be a grand duke?"

"No, no...... Someone else offered to make me king."

"Pardon?"

Ricardt turned to Raimund and said,

"Who was that person from earlier? The one with the belly and the armor."

"I don't remember the name either, but I know who you mean. I'll have him brought over."

"Good, good. Wait here a moment."

Simon blinked in sheer disbelief.

Before long, just as Ricardt had described, the man with the belly and the armor was summoned. The moment Simon saw him, his expression froze.

Ricardt looked at the pot-bellied man and spoke.

"You said your lord is the Duke of Estier, didn't you? And his message to me was that we should join forces and kill the king? And that afterward, Blud would be mine. Along with the throne."

"......"

One might call it a secret pact, yet Ricardt laid it all bare right in front of the king's envoy. The situation was, to put it mildly, peculiar.

After a brief, deeply awkward and bizarre silence, Simon glared sidelong at the pot-bellied man and spoke.

"......I knew it. You traitor."

The pot-bellied man named Évreux had a naturally impassive face, and his expression did not change.

"We're not the traitors. Your lot are the tyrants."

"Tyrants? What has the king ever done?"

"Didn't he arbitrarily break off the betrothal with our house? That's an insult that not even some petty baron would stoop to."

"What? Petty what? Never mind that, it was the king before last who did that."

"So that makes it go away? Did the royal house ever formally apologize? Not that I recall. And every chance he got, he'd summon our lord to royal banquets just to make a laughingstock of him. So what did you expect? That we'd just keep being your joke forever?"

"Now see here, Sir Évreux. Why all the excuses? This is treason!"

"Fine, sure, treason it is. But do you really think we're the only ones? If more than half the great nobles have already made up their minds, then the problem isn't us. It's you."

The envoy sent by the king and the envoy sent by the Duke of Estier, apparently forgetting they stood before Ricardt, went at each other. And the quarrel grew only more heated, more vulgar.

"Hey, fucker. Listen up. You're not even a knight, are you? Watch your back on the way home."

"Try it! Go on, try it! If you've got the guts, try it! Why not do it right here and now!?"

"Oh, you think I won't!?"

The pot-bellied man called Évreux reached for the sword at his hip. At a glance from Ricardt, the knights nearby swiftly stepped in, pushing the half-drawn blade back into its scabbard. Then they seized the two men and pulled them apart.

"Typical brute! Hey! Can you even read!?"

"I can! You fucker!"

"I will not forget today's insult! This is an insult to our king and to my house!"

"That's my line! You dried-up, shriveled piece of shit!"

The farther apart the two were dragged, the louder they screamed, the filthier their language became. They looked exactly like a pair of brawling drunks.

Ricardt would have liked nothing more than to let them go at it and see what happened, but it seemed likely to end one-sidedly, which wouldn't be much fun.

What mattered was not the fight itself, but the internal discord. And this was not something Ricardt had engineered; he had merely drawn out what was already in their hearts.

Ricardt waited until the two men's shouts could no longer be heard, then rose from his seat.

"Let's get moving."

Raimund nodded. After driving out all the remaining visitors, he purchased the wheat that had just been harvested, paying in coin.

He bought it at the local wholesale price, so it was quite cheap. Still, to lighten the load during the march, he paid generously. There was no plundering.

And so Ricardt passed through the fertile southeast of the Cape Kingdom. Having stocked up amply on grain, he took the paved roads built during the ancient empire and advanced northeast.

The northern region was largely flat, which meant that if a battle broke out, the knight forces could be utilized to their fullest, and it made marching easier besides.

Thus Ricardt left the western reaches of the empire. Leaving a storm in his wake. What is known as the aftermath.

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