Chapter 390
Encrid smelled blood and a faint musty stench in the grand hall.
Beyond that, the traces of battle were obvious.
He could tell with a quick glance.
The Queen sat on her throne, lips pressed tightly together.
Ruagarne stood right beside her, her ankle severed. Even so, she kept her balance. Her breastplate was exposed, with scratch marks carved across it.
‘Signs of a fierce battle.’
A battle fierce enough to cost Ruagarne her ankle.
And yet, they had won.
The Marquis of Okto stood before the eight low steps leading up to the throne. His robe was splattered with blood in several places.
His complexion was darker than before. He didn’t seem interested in hiding how grim he felt.
And the rest?
The bodies had been removed, but bloodstains remained on the floor, and the walls were cracked and gouged.
Sword marks scored the white-painted pillars holding up the grand hall.
And that musty stench?
The smell of monsters.
Among the dead had been a few furry monsters—werewolves.
‘Baron Vantra wasn’t the only one.’
Even without naming who orchestrated it, the intent was clear.
It was a conclusion drawn from intuition, reason, and thought.
‘They tried to kill Krang, seize the capital, and even secure the Queen’s safety.’
Or perhaps they meant to kill the Queen as well. He couldn’t be sure. Either way, their plan had failed. Krang was alive. The Queen, at least on the surface, appeared unharmed.
Encrid’s gaze shifted behind the throne.
A man stood behind the Mage.
Square jaw. Graying sideburns. Brown hair neatly combed back.
With his mouth shut tight, he looked like the kind of man who wouldn’t speak even once a day.
A sword with a Sun Beast head-shaped pommel hung at his waist, and he stood directly behind the Queen.
The most suitable position to protect her—or to harm her.
“I didn’t know there really was a Guardian Knight.”
The speaker was the least suitable person to be here.
Count Molsen.
He swept his hair back once, let his eyes pass over Krang and Encrid’s group, then fixed his gaze on the Queen.
No—Encrid felt that gaze had only lingered on him for a heartbeat.
The way he spoke, it was as if he were addressing Encrid, not Krang.
He treated Krang as if he weren’t even there. He didn’t spare him a glance, going beyond mere disregard.
“That’s none of your concern, is it?”
The Queen’s old warmth was gone. Her low, subdued voice carried her mood plainly.
As the Mage beside her coughed, the Queen’s eyebrows lifted.
“Do you admit your intentions were impure?”
The Queen’s anger surfaced.
“I admit it.”
The Count answered. Short, clean—and smiling.
He was the same as ever. Confident. Solid. Like an unyielding rock.
The arrogance of someone who believed only in his own will and acted accordingly became a weapon. It felt as if Count Molsen’s perfume spread through the stench of blood and must.
The aura of a man who trusted only himself.
“I have a question.”
As if he didn’t need permission, the Count spread his hands and kept going. The Queen had no opening to respond.
“Is it really true things have come to this just because a few nobles rebelled? Look at the state of things. The royal guard is divided, and the Guardian Knight had to step in to protect the Queen. Don’t you know there’s even a saying that the Guardian Knight appears when a nation is about to fall? Is this the end? Look outside. If someone had set a fire, the Royal Palace might have burned down.”
It sounded like he was saying he could have done it—but didn’t.
In Encrid’s eyes, the Count seemed to grow larger and larger.
“That’s sophistry!”
A noble shouted. Encrid didn’t recognize him, but the fact that he stood here meant he held considerable status.
His voice was loud.
Yet beside the Count, he looked small.
It felt like perspective itself had warped.
“Don’t dismiss what’s happened in reality as sophistry.”
The Count’s voice was low, but it carried a force that crushed the room. The noble shut his mouth.
He knew he’d gain nothing by arguing further. The instinct of a noble who’d survived the political arena for years.
“Hmph.”
He snorted instead.
The Count knocked him down simply by ignoring him.
No sword. No fist. And yet it was a clean knockdown.
“What do you want to say?”
Another noble stepped forward.
An old man with a resemblance to Markus Vaisar.
Marquis Vaisar.
The master of the Five Thumb House.
His white hair was neatly slicked back with camellia oil, and not a single drop of blood stained his clothes.
It suggested his path, purpose, and reason for coming here differed from the rest.
“I want to ask why things have come to this.”
The Count replied.
“And the reason is?”
Marquis Vaisar pressed.
“What do you think would have happened if the King had power?”
The Count’s eyes curved gently. The corners of his mouth rose with them.
“You scoundrel! How dare you insult the royal family!”
The impatient noble couldn’t hold back and interrupted again. With short brown hair and sharp, upturned eyes, he looked like the type who ran hot.
“Stop interrupting. Or is that something your master ordered you to do?”
At those words, the noble’s hand trembled. A short sword hung at his waist, and he looked ready to draw at any moment.
The Count ignored him again.
Beside him, the Marquis of Okto gestured once.
The noble fell silent.
“What if I could bring Sir Cyprus here with a single word?”
The Count didn’t wipe away his smile.
“What do you think happens if you leave the south empty?”
When Marquis Vaisar shot back, Count Molsen answered as if he’d been waiting for it.
“Does that matter?”
“It’s the sword that protects the Royal Palace. If that doesn’t matter, what does?”
The Marquis of Okto cut in.
The Count replied calmly.
“The throne. The King. Power. Authority. And the rule that follows.”
His intent was plain. Establish the throne and seize power first—that was the priority.
What use was a throne if you lacked the power to do what you wanted?
“Who gives orders to the royal guard?”
The Count spoke as if delivering a speech, raising his clenched right fist.
“Is it the knight they praise as their sect leader? Or the King? Or the throne? Or is it!”
His voice flew like a dagger.
The Queen clenched her teeth. The tension in her jaw was visible.
“Is it the game of honor they love so much?”
What came first?
The throne. The King. Authority. Rule.
Gather power. Build strength. That was first.
“Hand over the throne, Queen. That’s how you save this country.”
Count Molsen crossed the line—leapt far beyond it.
And yet it didn’t feel awkward. His words had the power to make it sound right.
As if he were laying out the only correct path to save the nation, dressed in righteous logic.
Marquis Vaisar calmly placed an obstacle in front of those words.
“What changes if you become King?”
“It changes.”
“What changes?”
The Marquis of Okto, still grim, pressed.
“I’ll gather power and strengthen the throne. Those who sneak in during that time? The lost territory? In a few years, I’ll drive them all out. And it’s enough to simply reclaim the land, isn’t it?”
A will to walk a different road than the present.
Solidify the foundation first, then use built-up power to start again.
“With what?”
“I am a Mage. And my territory has power comparable to the royal guard.”
This time, it was an unmistakable threat.
Even Encrid, watching, felt it.
Do you have power? I do.
That was what he was saying.
The two marquises fell silent. The Queen was the same.
“Queen, how long do you think your Guardian Knight will protect you? That’s nonsense. If you’re confident, try it. I’ll show you the power of one born and raised in Molsen—the frontier you love to talk about.”
Arrogance was the only word for it now.
Even after this incident failed, the Count didn’t apologize or slink away to plot.
He stood tall and spoke directly.
A frontal breakthrough.
He was certain he could take it by force.
“Bring the knights. After I kneel them down and kill them all, I’ll personally declare this kingdom is mine.”
Kill all the royal guard?
Absurd.
And yet, it sounded possible.
His words had weight.
They pressed down on the room. Pulled people toward their knees.
Encrid wouldn’t kneel.
Neither would the Marquis of Okto or Marquis Vaisar.
But some of the nobles were visibly shaken.
The fight was over, and it felt like the Count’s victory was already closing in.
“It’s magic.”
A whisper came from beside Encrid.
Esther had arrived without him noticing and stood close.
“I wondered what kind of trick he was playing.”
Encrid didn’t answer. He only stared ahead.
Magic.
So the Count had used some kind of trick.
Should he cut him down?
He didn’t like that man to begin with.
As if reading his mind, Ragna asked from behind.
“Should we chop him?”
Should he?
As Encrid hesitated, Krang raised a hand.
A bright smile sat on his face.
Marquis Vaisar’s calmness was out of place, but this went beyond out of place. It looked insane.
And the title Krang spat out with his words—
“I have a question, Teacher.”
The cheerfulness in his voice was unmistakable. The title itself was mockery.
That mocking title made it impossible for the Count to ignore him.
The Count looked straight at the Queen and said,
“Are you relying on such an immature child? A child with no power and nothing?”
Krang wasn’t a child. He even had a respectable beard.
But when the Count said it, it sounded true.
Krang ignored the label.
He didn’t care.
He spoke with refreshing disregard.
“If you remove the royal guard and replace them with knights, you’ll expand your territory in the Kingdom of Liechtenstein to the south—and what about the Demon Realm there? Of course you won’t be able to stop it.”
Krang stepped onto the board the Count had laid out. He rode the atmosphere without resisting it. Still smiling. A faint smile.
“So?”
Only then did the Count truly face Krang.
“Then a lot of people die, and it won’t end with losing land. As you lose territory and get pushed back, countless people near the border die. Is that the end? If you lose people and land, merchants visit less. What happens when merchants visit less? Less gold circulates. Then the nation’s finances falter for a time. Ah—if you have abundant gold, I suppose you can solve all that with your private funds, Count. But even if your power is great, you can’t completely block the Kingdom of Liechtenstein to the south or the Demon Realm, can you?”
The Count looked at the puppy standing on his board with contempt, as if Krang were pathetic.
He met the spear Krang threw.
“Sacrifice is inevitable. I’ll do it if necessary.”
“Why is it necessary?”
“Then how do we move forward without sacrifice?”
Krang spread his hands.
“We can do both.”
“Both?”
“We sacrifice no one. And we still strengthen the royal family’s power and solidify the foundation.”
“That’s sophistry.”
“Don’t dismiss what will happen in the future as sophistry.”
“Pretending you can do what you can’t is your only weapon.”
“That’s not true. My weapon is over there.”
“Then show me.”
“I’m good at asking favors.”
“Favors?”
“For example, if I ask someone to cut off your head right now, there’s someone who’ll step up.”
“Try it.”
Krang smiled at the Count as if he were looking at a close friend.
“Do you want to die?”
“You can’t kill me.”
A definite statement.
Encrid had been listening, already prepared to step out at any moment.
Then Krang spoke.
“Can I ask you a favor, Enki?”
Encrid’s eyes turned to him—blue, full of mischief and passion.
It sounded sudden.
It also felt like Encrid shouldn’t step out.
Because the pressure the Count and Krang created was crushing the room.
Even Ragna couldn’t step forward as easily as before.
And yet Encrid took a step.
“Of course.”
He slipped naturally into the atmosphere and stood.
The air twisted strangely.
Encrid’s sword stepped onto the board Krang had created.
“As expected, he’s a friend I’m greedy for.”
Count Molsen said, watching Encrid step forward.
“He’s not the Count’s friend. He’s my friend. Right?”
Krang replied.
“Turn to my side even now. Just look at the situation. Even a seven-year-old knows you stand on the winning side.”
The Count didn’t back down as he spoke to Encrid.
It became a room where whoever pulled Encrid to their side would be the winner.
Encrid took a large step forward.
He stopped beside Krang, grabbed Krang’s wrist, and raised it high.
“Victory.”
A clear decision.
“As expected.”
Krang smiled and nodded.
Seeing that, the Count laughed heartily.
“Good, good! Very good. Queen, is that your choice?”
“There’s nothing to say to a traitor.”
Only then did the Queen answer.
The Count glared at Krang and said,
“You said you’d strengthen the foundation without calling the royal guard? Then block the arrow I shoot right now. Without that great royal guard.”
“Are you worried about me? Thank you. I’ll defeat your troops without the royal guard.”
Krang mocked him.
The Count didn’t take the bait.
Instead, white smoke began to leak from his entire body with a hissing sound.
“It wasn’t the main body from the beginning.”
Esther spoke to Encrid, but everyone heard it.
“Ah, I sent some of my troops to the Border Guards first. If a splendid fire rises in that city, you’ll change your mind.”
The Count’s body shrank as smoke poured out.
“See you again.”
With what might have been his last words, the body collapsed.
Encrid stared at the fallen man’s face.
It wasn’t one he recognized.
But Krang did.
“Baron Mernes.”
He had vanished without a trace, and now his life ended here as the Count’s messenger.
Krang sighed.
Then the two marquises looked at him.
No—they even looked at Encrid.
“Well, Your Majesty the Queen. I kept my promise.”
Krang spoke into the room.
His tone was the same as ever—cheerful.
“Now I’ve removed all the noble factions from this place and left only my people.”
He moved straight to the promise he’d made with the Queen.
There was no time to leisurely sort through and organize what had happened.