Chapter 413

Perhaps because of the last wraith the Count had summoned, Encrid could still smell something musty clinging to his body.

“Hot water and a bath, please. No attendants needed.”

As soon as Encrid returned to the royal palace, he washed, ate, and slept.

It was no different for Rem, Ragna, Audin, or Jaxson.

It was after he had slept deeply and woken up.

A healer had approached in the middle, wanting to treat everyone’s injuries, but they all refused.

“I know my own body best.”

Rem said that and waved him off.

“It is the punishment given to me.”

Audin was no different.

Ragna gestured that he was fine, and Jaxson acted like he wasn’t injured at all.

The healer muttered that he had never seen such disobedient patients before and tried to leave.

As he turned to go, the healer bowed his head to Encrid.

“Thank you.”

It was unexpected. The healer’s attitude was utterly solemn.

Encrid still wasn’t fully aware of what he had done.

The schedule had been too exhausting for that.

Just because the battle was over didn’t mean there was nothing to do. Preparation was often harder than war, and harder still was what came after.

A general who fights well can win a battle. A general who prepares well can win a war.

And there’s a saying that a general who handles the aftermath properly wins the war.

It meant that setting things right after a battle was that important.

It was the same now.

They had to deal with what remained of the Count’s forces, collect fallen equipment, and withdraw the encampment.

After that, a march awaited.

They had to return to the royal palace.

Even with the joy of victory, it was remarkable to finish all that in three days.

No—while his command on the battlefield was unknown, Markus’s performance shone particularly in those areas.

Because he handled all of it splendidly.

It was also possible because Krang didn’t waste time on pointless victory speeches.

“I think everyone should rest. Is it important to listen to a speech from someone who was just watching from behind? Wouldn’t it be better to wrap another bandage around an injured soldier’s arm in the time it takes to say such things?”

In fact, Krang tended to the wounded without hiding his face at all.

He moved about so openly that few recognized him as the prince and future king.

In truth, not many soldiers knew Krang’s face.

Even though he could have raised morale and stirred fervor with speeches if needed, his stance was that it didn’t matter right now.

Krang was a man who proved his words with actions.

Only after the battlefield was organized did Encrid and the others return.

Receiving the healer’s thanks, Encrid asked amidst the thoughts swirling in his head.

“Do you know me?”

“My son went to the battlefield.”

The healer said, limping.

“If it weren’t for my leg, I would have gone too.”

With that, the healer turned away. It wasn’t thanks for saving his son.

Because his son had died.

No matter what anyone said, the dead wouldn’t return, and the healer’s heart felt as if it were being torn apart.

Still, was there something to be thankful for?

If this battle had ended in defeat, his son’s death would have been meaningless. That alone offered a small comfort.

Everyone was drunk on victory and joy. The victory in the civil war, survival from an impossible battle, the joy of those who lived.

Such things filled the royal palace and the capital.

Word also spread that there would be a coronation. Craftsmen were gathered, saying they would erect a structure celebrating the coronation in the center of the capital. A festival would soon be held, and once the situation was fully settled, there would be banquets for days on end, including the distribution of rewards.

Yet there were those who had lost family and lovers.

‘May you rest in peace.’

The healer left, speaking to his son in his heart, and Encrid watched his retreating back before heading to bed.

The whisper that the son who went to the battlefield had died lingered in his ears.

Esther was also unusually tired, not leaving his embrace, transformed into a panther.

Encrid slept well, woke up, and loosened his body with the Isolation Technique as usual.

To distribute rewards, the situation around them had to be roughly settled first.

That would take at least ten days.

Encrid continued his life as usual.

He went to find One-Eye, bringing feed mixed with meat and vegetables instead of fodder, and also met with Andrew and the trainees.

The trainees had gone from five to four.

“Where’s the other one?”

“His leg was severed. Even with Divinity, a lost leg doesn’t grow back.”

One trainee had lost his leg. That was how fierce the battle had been. While Encrid was cutting through waves of wraith soldiers, the soldiers hadn’t been idle either.

Encrid nodded.

They were people who stepped forward of their own will. It was right to respect that choice.

“He said he wished he were Frok.”

Andrew added flatly.

Both Encrid and Andrew had lived lives too harsh to be shaken by something like this.

“Never again.”

Andrew said, staring blankly into the air. After that single word and a brief pause, he continued as if swearing to himself.

It wasn’t directed at Encrid, but a vow.

“I won’t stand by and watch my people get hurt.”

Encrid nodded.

He also heard the trainee who lost his leg had become a candidate for butler.

He didn’t look particularly depressed.

“I think once I get used to it, a prosthetic leg might be okay. I think this is better than dying.”

He was tough-minded.

Encrid patted his shoulder once and turned away.

“Thanks to you, thanks to you, I survived.”

“You survived because you fought well.”

Encrid answered flatly. He meant it. He saw him as someone who had saved his own life with his own hands. He also heard the trainee had a fiancée.

Encrid glimpsed her briefly. She was spirited.

“So what if he’s missing a leg? I’ll feed and support him!”

She was a formidable woman.

Krang was so busy you couldn’t even see his face. Markus was also nowhere to be seen.

A few days later, Aisia came by, but Encrid wasn’t in a condition to spar seriously.

When he cautiously expressed that.

“…Do you have nothing to do if it’s not fighting?”

Aisia sounded genuinely taken aback.

Encrid changed the subject.

“Is there no other trouble in the royal palace?”

“What trouble could there be? I’ve filled it with my people, so there’s no one to complain. There seem to be a few stupid nobles, but they’ll handle it themselves. More than that, they’re saying we have to prepare for the enthronement ceremony, that it must be the grandest, all that bullshit.”

The Krang Encrid knew was broad-minded.

But people were bound to change. Had Encrid never seen a person change before?

He had seen a mercenary who would risk his life for a friend stab a comrade in the back for a single gold coin.

He had seen a father throw his adopted son to fiends just to survive.

That man had been a good person at first, too. He only changed when circumstances pressed him.

When surrounded by fiends, if you held out for about twenty days, maybe that could happen.

Encrid had challenged that bastard to a duel.

He lost, but killed him.

So Krang could change, too.

A grand coronation.

It was about time. He had won and sent news of victory. With the civil war won, he had become the legitimate heir to the throne.

Encrid felt like he wanted to return to the Border Guards.

The sky was gloomy. It looked like rain might come again.

“How’s your body?”

Aisia asked.

“Reasonably okay. I can’t risk half my life, but light sparring seems possible.”

Proper sparring was difficult, but light practice should be fine. Resting was the right choice, but he felt like moving his body more now.

Aisia nodded and drew a wooden sword.

“You said light sparring?”

When Encrid saw it and spoke, Aisia tilted her head.

Light sparring.

Encrid drew the longsword he’d roughly picked up to replace his broken Silver. It was a sword he’d spent two days sharpening.

“What part of this is light.”

Aisia said, pointing her sword, and it was watched by Rem, Ragna, Audin, Jaxson, and Pell.

Pell had introduced himself right after the battle ended and inserted himself among the group.

“Pell, the shepherd of the Wastelands.”

Bright brown hair, a stature slightly taller than Krys, and a well-trained body and posture.

“I saw your exploits on the battlefield well.”

Everyone looked at him as if to say, So? but Pell had thick skin.

Shepherds were generally brazen, but among the Shepherds of the Wastelands, Pell was the one who stubbornly insisted on the sword.

“Let me observe.”

He said boldly. Encrid recognized him and was slightly surprised, but he nodded as if it were nothing.

Frankly, Encrid was also somewhat interested.

‘That shepherd from back then.’

His posture was different from before. The aura he gave off had changed, too.

It was proof his skill had changed.

And so, with Pell also watching, the light sparring ended.

He had already seen it on the battlefield.

‘Amazing.’

Pell honestly wondered if there could be anyone with more talent than himself.

Back then, that night, he had gone to spar and was ultimately pushed back, but he thought he had caught up by now.

But the opponent’s sword had become harder and sharper than back then.

To a degree incomparable to that time.

He had grown much more since their last meeting.

Above all, seeing that man’s sword made his blood boil on its own. Pell had always been combative, but this was different.

He wanted to clash right away so badly that his hand hovered near his sword.

“…When will your body be fully healed?”

Pell asked.

“You’re last, kid.”

“Haha, brother. You must observe order. There is no order when meeting the Lord, but here there is order.”

“Go drink more sheep’s milk.”

“……”

“Shouldn’t you get past me first?”

It was in the order of Rem, Audin, Ragna, Jaxson, Dunbakel. Teresa was busy, silently taking in all of Encrid’s movements.

Jaxson glared at him once in the middle, keeping his mouth shut.

“…Yes, let’s do that.”

Pell could no longer insist. Each one who spoke a word was no pushover.

Starting with the beastkin Dunbakel, it was hard to gauge their strength.

So, would he lose?

The thought didn’t cross his mind at all.

Originally, delicious food is eaten last. It wouldn’t be bad to take them all down and then face Encrid.

Pell believed in his own talent.

He also thought that within half a year at most, he would catch up to all of them.

Anyone can be mistaken.

After sparring with Aisia, Encrid still felt his body creak here and there.

Even though he had recovered in a short time, he wasn’t in perfect condition.

Five days later, on a day when his condition had considerably returned, a summons came from the royal palace.

“You must attend.”

The Marquis of Okto himself had come.

“Aren’t you busy? Coming all the way here just to call me?”

The Marquis of Okto was amazed that the man before him didn’t recognize his own position.

“Be aware of your own position.”

Encrid had become someone even the Marquis couldn’t speak to carelessly.

If you had to name one hero who led the civil war to victory, who would you mention?

Anyone would say Encrid.

A hero who saved the nation and bore the title of Demon Slayer.

One whom the King himself called a friend, and who displayed skill surpassing anyone in the royal guard.

And what about his subordinates?

‘Each one has remarkable skill.’

Originally, shouldn’t those with such skill belong to the royal guard?

But they were all bound to one man named Encrid.

The politically astute Marquis of Okto understood at once.

Lose Encrid, and you lose all of them.

He also knew several nobles had approached them under the table.

Naturally, they all failed.

“You want me to take the gold lump you gave and swing an axe now? Don’t you know my nickname yet? Go look it up and come back.”

Rem, the Noble Slayer.

He had declared himself a man who could behead nobles, sending chills down their spines.

He was a crazy bastard.

Jaxson couldn’t even be met.

Audin brushed it off with a smile, saying he only followed God’s teachings.

Ragna ignored all summons without a word.

Only Rem and Audin had even agreed to meet.

“But why is no one calling me?”

Dunbakel voiced a small doubt, but no one answered.

The Marquis of Okto wasn’t without desire, either.

‘No need to touch them and plant a bad impression for no reason.’

The Marquis was wise.

Encrid didn’t really care.

“The coronation will be held.”

At the Marquis’s words, Encrid nodded.

Had his friend really changed?

Had the friend who harbored greater ambitions and looked farther than the throne become intoxicated with crown and seat?

The healer who had lost his son came to mind for no reason.

Five days later, Encrid stood not in the royal palace banquet hall, but on a platform built in the center of the capital. A small tower had been raised on the platform.

Krang stood atop it with a smile.

He must have had much to do.

The coronation, the distribution of rewards, what came next, the things the Count had set in motion, the Chimera, the disturbances in the Demon Realm.

None of it could be ignored, but the first thing Krang chose was this.

He built a tower and engraved the names of the dead soldiers.

Even finding each name must have been a task.

There would be those displeased with the event itself.

Still, he did it.

“Will you speak before me?”

Before the memorial stone, a spell object with a voice amplification spell stood in view.

Krang called Encrid.

Encrid stepped onto the platform.

Standing before the amplification object, he tried to choose his words, then gave up.

The healer who lost his son.

Was what that son did meaningless?

Encrid didn’t know. No one knows the future.

But he hoped it had been meaningful to the person himself.

“For the people.”

Encrid spat out a single phrase, caught his breath, and continued.

“In memory of those who died to protect friendship, family, lovers, and those behind them.”

Among those in the capital, some shed tears, and some smiled.

Krang stepped forward after him.

“I honor those who died in my place.”

He began reciting the names carved into the memorial stone.

“Bin, Roktin, Raksan……”

The list was long.

At the end of it, Krang proclaimed, plainly, that he had become the new king.

“In accordance with the rightful will and intent, I proclaim that I have become the new King of Naurilia. I am Crianath Randeus Nauril.”

The Queen watched without a word, then placed the crown on him.

Applause rang out. There were no cheers.

What should it be called?

A memorial coronation.

Krang honored the dead and received the crown like that.

From the beginning of the event, rain fell, pattering down.

Krang was soaked by it. Even on the battlefield, it had often rained.

Shhhhh.

The pouring rain wrapped the shoulders of those who had lost family, lovers, and friends.