Chapter 345
“What should a king be like?”
Markus suddenly asked.
Encrid didn’t think deeply.
He simply said what he always lived by—taking what he wanted through his own will.
“Whoever wants to be king becomes king.”
Markus didn’t agree or disagree. Instead, he spoke again.
“Until a few months ago, I thought so too.”
“And now?”
If not the one who wants it, then who?
“May I answer that?”
The voice came from outside the dining hall.
Markus hadn’t come alone. Encrid turned toward the entrance.
“My apologies for drawing attention, Markus Vaisar.”
A man outside spoke loudly.
“It was my intention as well. I enjoy attention, so put your worries away.”
Markus replied, turning his body slightly.
Everyone saw the man standing outside.
The lord didn’t recognize him; Krys felt he had seen him somewhere; Encrid knew him.
A blond man.
As he paced, the soldiers guarding the entrance looked at Markus and Encrid, asking with their eyes whether they should let him in.
There were no spectators around.
It wasn’t a duel—just tea in a dining hall. Nothing to watch.
Krys had already ordered unnecessary people cleared away.
With no idea what would be discussed, the fewer ears, the better.
Two trustworthy soldiers stood guard for that reason.
The blond man smiled at the guards.
A smile that asked to be let in.
His clothes weren’t noble-like—just a simple brown shirt and loose trousers.
The soldiers hesitated.
Should they drive him away?
“Let him in.”
The answer came from Encrid. The lord had no objections either. Clearly the man knew Markus.
Boots tapped across the stone floor as the blond man stepped in.
He stopped before Encrid.
Moderate height, warm expression, and striking blue eyes.
He spoke.
“It’s been a while.”
“You’ve come as a noble?”
Encrid stood and raised his tone.
Last time they met in the infirmary tent, the man had been a soldier. Now?
Encrid’s question implied exactly that.
“No need for formality. I’m just a wanderer now.”
“Your name also remains the same?”
“Krang.”
The man brushed back his blond hair and formally offered a handshake.
A gesture proving one held no weapon.
Encrid grasped his hand briefly and let go.
Krys finally remembered him.
Even with his strong memory, it had been a long time—he had only glimpsed the man back then.
Only Krys would remember such a fleeting encounter.
“The one from the infirmary tent?”
Krys asked reflexively.
“That’s right. You have an excellent memory, soldier.”
Krang replied, then nodded politely toward the lord.
“Who are you?”
Graham half-rose from his seat to ask. Markus answered on Krang’s behalf.
“A wanderer, a drifter… and if I add one more, hm.”
Markus lifted the tea cup, remembered it tasted terrible, cleared his throat, then said:
“A bastard.”
Markus himself didn’t even stand. Seeing that, the lord also sat back down.
Encrid and Krys sat as well. Krang took a seat naturally.
The lord didn’t catch the implication immediately, but Krys’ expression shifted subtly at the word “bastard.”
Krang swept his gaze across them and smiled. The same easy smile as before.
A bit sly, but approachable—a friendly smile.
Encrid noticed a faint scar on his cheek, though his expression hadn’t changed.
“This winter was unusually cold. Have you been well?”
Krang asked.
A sudden question—Encrid answered.
“When you’re always fighting and marching, you forget about the cold.”
“I heard you spent it burning hot.”
“And it seems you spent it warm enough yourself.”
“I dreamt of spending winters lying around wrapped in heated furs, and springs strolling through flowers.”
Krang said with that easy smile. Encrid found him fascinating.
A bastard—whose bastard?
Someone useful enough for the Vaisar family to use as a distraction.
A noble family—and one of the five “Thumb Houses” upholding the central pillar of Naurilia.
A bloodline that could produce someone for political maneuvering.
“A royal, then.”
Krys answered.
Krang did not deny it.
The clues were obvious in their conversation.
The cold winter Encrid had endured referred to the battlefield—meanwhile Krang’s own words hinted at fighting from behind the scenes.
Krang only smiled at Krys’ conclusion.
Graham wondered if he should even be present for this conversation.
“Graham, do you keep good tea in your office? Let’s go drink something proper.”
Markus rescued him.
“Yes, I have some. It will suit your taste.”
He’d bought expensive leaves hoping to someday serve Markus.
Markus rose, and only the escort with the whip stayed behind.
“What is this about, Lord Markus?”
Graham whispered as they left.
“What does it look like?”
“Like I should pretend not to know anything.”
“Good. Do that.”
Graham knew his place well. Markus valued that.
Even if Encrid served under him, Graham’s resolve would not sway or break.
“Bring us tea.”
“Yes. This way.”
Graham walked without another word.
After Markus, Graham, and the escort left, Krys still didn’t move.
Even if he left, Encrid wouldn’t say anything foolish.
Well—he might say strange things or act strangely, but he wouldn’t suddenly choose sides.
But there were always possibilities.
Always risks.
The moment he realized this man was a royal bastard, Krys considered dozens of possibilities at once.
And several countermeasures along with them.
For example: what if this man tried to recruit them? What if he offered entry to the knight order? Swore them to royal loyalty? Offered piles of Krong?
‘No—that last one is actually tempting.’
If the amount was enough, temporary loyalty wouldn’t be so bad.
What if he offered enough to open five luxury salons in the capital?
‘No, no.’
Krys’ brain was as fast as Encrid’s sword and as multitasking as Rem’s dual weapons.
Meaning: the moment a thought appeared, the conclusion formed immediately.
‘Never trust politicians.’
The man sat here under Markus’ protection.
A bastard born of one of the Five Thumb Houses—a bloodline tied to the central pillar of the capital.
Even the way he disguised himself said one thing:
‘He’s hiding his identity.’
Why?
‘He’s being hunted.’
If he feared for his life, he would naturally covet Encrid’s sword, Encrid’s strength, Encrid’s achievements.
If so—what was this man really?
If civil war was coming, then was this bastard another claimant to the throne?
The border king versus the royal bastard.
Which side to choose?
What brought more benefit?
For now, he would hold off. Even if the bastard offered mountains of gold, they should refuse with tears in their eyes.
‘Unless we take the deposit first and then pretend—’
Krys abandoned that thought immediately.
The Captain would never allow that.
His expression showed nothing as he finished sorting through his mind.
Then he was ready to respond to anything.
At that moment—
“Do you know that our kingdom has lost its ‘language’?”
What an abrupt statement.
Hard to discern the intent.
Not a question—but not quite a riddle either.
Krang continued talking smoothly. Krys found the man’s voice strangely pleasant.
A voice that sank easily into the ear.
The pitch, the articulation.
It carried a natural charisma.
Krys had seen such people before.
‘Born talent.’
Those who could pull attention with a word or gesture.
Krang lightly tapped the table as he spoke again.
“Why do all kingdoms on the continent speak the same language?”
Krys had used his brain since childhood.
To survive, for food, for Krong.
But he had never thought about this question. He heard it for the first time.
If he had thought about it even once, he might’ve guessed—but no one cared about such things.
He only knew what others knew.
“The same language?”
Encrid murmured to himself.
“Yes, the same. It’s suffocating. Let’s walk. The sky is clear today. Being chased by assassins makes days like this wasted if I stay indoors.”
Encrid stood silently.
Assassins—he was used to that word now. He’d encountered many who carried such intent.
And the first assassin he ever met was because of this man.
If he was still being targeted now, someone wanted this royal bastard dead.
But the current monarch was a queen. Who had given birth to him? A trivial question. He set it aside.
There were more important matters.
“Have you ever wondered why the entire continent uses nearly the same language?”
“No.”
“Of course. No one thinks about it. But have you heard of the royal language recovery order?”
“Only in passing.”
He remembered seeing people selling dictionary-like scrolls in marketplaces.
Krys had seen them too.
Gilpin once described them as “annoyingly harmless” people who mostly kept to themselves.
Krang stood and walked outside.
Just as he said—the weather was bright.
“It may be dangerous outside.”
The escort warned.
“But it’s suffocating.”
Krang took a flask from his belt and drank.
That alone revealed something.
He couldn’t comfortably eat or drink anything unless he prepared it himself.
Encrid walked beside him.
“Don’t get too close.”
The escort warned.
“Silence.”
Krang silenced him instead.
“Coming along?”
He asked Krys. Krys glanced at his Captain.
“Follow.”
“Yes.”
Krys showed clearly whose orders he obeyed.
Only after Encrid approved did he join them.
“No need to worry, soldier. I didn’t come to force anything.”
Krang smiled faintly. A charming smile that suited him.
If he wasn’t here to recruit them, then why was he here?
“I came to visit.”
Krang said with the same smile.
Encrid said nothing. Krys nodded outwardly but grew even more suspicious inside.
A royal bastard, a possible figure in a civil war.
He didn’t come here to “visit.”
But Krang acted consistently with his words.
He only walked around the training field, chatting idly.
He didn’t once ask them to take sides.
“The Empire is why. The Empire erased the royal languages.”
“They unified language. History records it as a great achievement.”
Krys interjected naturally. Empire-wide language unification was praised as greatness.
Yes—that was true.
But to achieve that, the Empire had to erase the original languages of each royal family.
“What is language, soldier?”
“Language is… um.”
Krys paused, thinking deeply—his specialty. His thinking process differed from others, like a sage contemplating.
“Culture. Part of culture was lost.”
“Correct, soldier.”
Krang smiled. Krys thought if Krang weren’t royal, he could’ve made fortune in a salon.
Royal languages had been erased by the Empire.
Why? To strengthen control.
Why would the Empire do that?
To unify the continent?
No—to ensure kingdoms fought among themselves, letting the Empire profit.
Conquering the continent wasn’t the Empire’s goal—they sought a different benefit.
What benefit? Unknown. But the structure was clear.
Erasing languages meant controlling kingdoms politically.
Strategically brilliant.
“A bothersome matter.”
Krang said. And Krys felt a strange tension.
Which meant—
‘He already sees himself as king.’
He was picturing the future where he sat on the throne.
He had already marked the Empire as an enemy.
He fully expected to win. To inherit the throne.
If he died? What did he care about some future royal family?
“Count Molsenn is fairly fierce.”
Encrid hit the heart of the matter. Was he not worried?
“Well, it’ll work out somehow.”
No plan?
Krang wondered what they meant.
“Somehow?”
Krys asked, bewildered.
Krang stopped walking.
He held his palm out behind him.
Encrid, the escort, and Krys all stopped.
Then he took two steps forward, putting distance between them.
“The kingdom fights itself. Those seeking the throne rise. The continent overflows with monsters. Within the royal family, nobles’ voices overshadow the queen’s authority, and none can punish them. Knights struggle just to hold back the Danger Zones. Many cast aside loyalty for personal gain.”
His voice carried across the yard.
It drew all attention toward him as if a spotlight shone on his figure alone.
Just a few steps, a few gestures, a few words—and he had drawn the world to him.
Then he spoke again.
“My task is to ensure such a kingdom does not continue.”