Chapter 345 - What Kind of Person Should Be King?

"What kind of person should be king?" Marcus suddenly asked.

Encrid did not think deeply about it. He simply voiced his usual belief, the sort of answer one might expect from a man who had lived fighting for what he wanted.

"Whoever wants to be."

Rather than judge that answer one way or another, Marcus said something else.

"Until a few months ago, I thought so too."

"Then who?"

If not someone who wanted it, who should do it?

"May I answer that?"

The voice came from outside the dining hall. Marcus had not come alone. Encrid looked toward the entrance.

"I've unintentionally made you draw everyone's attention, Marcus Vaisar," the man outside called.

"It was my intention as well. I rather enjoy the attention, so put your concerns aside."

Marcus turned sideways as he answered, bringing the man outside into everyone's view. The lord did not recognize him. Krais thought he had seen him somewhere before. Encrid knew his face.

He was blond. As he lingered outside, the soldier guarding the dining hall asked with his eyes whether he should let him in.

There were no onlookers nearby. This was no sparring match, just people drinking tea in the dining hall. What was there to watch? Krais had also asked for people to be cleared away. There was no telling what might be said, so fewer listeners were better. That was also why he had stationed two trustworthy soldiers at the entrance.

The man outside smiled amiably at the two soldiers, as if asking them to let him through. He was hardly dressed like a noble, wearing a plain brown shirt and loose trousers. The soldier was unsure. Should he send him away?

"Let him in."

Encrid supplied the answer. The lord made no objection. The man clearly seemed to know Marcus, after all.

The man's boots tapped across the dining hall's stone floor. The blond man approached and stopped in front of Encrid. He was of middling height, with friendly eyes whose blue stood out.

He spoke. "It's been a while."

"Have you come as a nobleman?"

Encrid rose, adopting a respectful tone. When they had briefly shared a barracks before, the man had been a soldier. What about now? That was what Encrid's question meant.

"Speak freely. For now, I'm merely a drifter and a wanderer."

"Same name too?"

"Krang."

Brushing back his blond hair, the man offered a formal greeting and extended his hand for a handshake. The greeting had originated as a way to prove that neither person's hand held a weapon. Encrid took it, shook it lightly, and let go.

Only then did Krais remember him. Krais rarely forgot a face, but he had seen this man a very long time ago, and only in passing. Anyone other than Krais would scarcely have remembered.

"From the Medical Barracks back then?" Krais asked reflexively.

"That's right. A soldier with an exceptionally good memory."

Krang answered, then greeted the lord with a brief glance as well.

"Who are you?"

Graham awkwardly heaved his large frame up as he asked. Marcus borrowed Krang's own words to answer.

"A drifter, a wanderer, and to add one more thing... Ahem."

Marcus broke off and made to sip his tea, then remembered how awful it tasted. He cleared his throat instead and spoke.

"A bastard son."

Marcus himself showed no intention of standing. Seeing that, the lord abandoned his awkward attempt to rise and planted his rear back in his chair. Encrid and Krais sat too. Krang naturally took a seat of his own.

The lord missed it, but Krais's expression briefly changed at the words "bastard son," as though he had realized something.

Krang looked at each of them and smiled, the same smile as before. It was somewhat roguish, but its warmth made him seem easy to befriend. Encrid noticed a new, faint scar on his cheek, though his expression had not changed.

"This winter was especially cold. Are you all right?" Krang asked.

Encrid answered the unexpected question. "When you're tussling and rolling about, you forget the cold."

"I heard you had a very heated winter."

"Sounds like yours was no less warm."

"All I wanted was to spend my winters curled up with a warming hide and my springs enjoying the flowers for the rest of my life."

Krang spoke with the same smile. Encrid could only marvel at him. A bastard son—but whose? As he had said, a bastard son who could use a member of House Vaisar to draw attention. Someone of a bloodline that could employ a member of that noble house, the Thumb House.

"You're royalty," Krais supplied.

The man had never seemed intent on hiding it. Their conversation had provided ample grounds for inference. The cold winter referred to the battlefields Encrid had fought his way through. In turn, this man called Krang had said that, though he had not taken the field, he had fought battles just as fierce behind the scenes.

Krang merely smiled at Krais's answer. Graham was beginning to wonder whether he should even be there.

"Graham, do you have some good tea in your office? Let's go have a proper cup."

Marcus came to Graham's rescue.

"Yes, I do. It should suit your tastes perfectly."

He had procured expensive tea leaves in the hope of someday serving them to Marcus, the man who had handed him the lordship. At Marcus's lead, their party rose, leaving only the whip-bearing guard behind.

"What is all this, Lord Marcus?" Graham whispered as they left.

"What does it look like?"

"Something I'd be better off pretending not to know, even if I did."

"Then do that."

Graham knew his own place. Marcus particularly valued that quality. He was a man whose resolve would neither bend nor break, even with someone like Encrid serving under him.

"Just get me some tea."

"Yes. This way."

Graham walked on without another word.

Even after Marcus, the guard who had taken the blow, and Graham left, Krais stayed put. His captain would not say anything strange just because he stepped away. No, he might say or do something strange, but he would not suddenly pledge himself to one side.

Still, there was always the chance. Always a possibility. Uneasy imaginings crowded his mind, so he intended at least to watch.

The instant he realized the man was an illegitimate royal son, Krais considered dozens of possibilities at once. Naturally, he also thought of ways to counter them.

For instance, the man might demand they enter his service immediately. Or offer an implausible place in a knight order. Or insist on their loyalty to the royal family. Or shower them with Krona.

'Wait, would that be a good thing?'

For enough Krona, surely he could sell his loyalty for a little while. What if it were enough to open five salons in the capital?

'No.'

Krais thought as quickly as Encrid wielded a sword, and pursued as many thoughts at once as Rem wielded weapons. In other words, no sooner did a concern arise than he reached a conclusion.

'Never trust a politician's words.'

The man sat here with Marcus backing him. He had brought a member of the famous Centerpole, the Thumb House—one of the five houses said to uphold Naurilia—to draw attention away from himself.

Krais could also understand the way this royal had entered. His clothing and behavior said one thing.

'He's traveling with his identity concealed.'

Why hide it?

'He's being hunted.'

If his life was threatened, he would covet Encrid's sword, his hands, everything he had achieved. Then how should Krais regard this man? If they were speaking of civil war, was the bastard before him another pretender to kingship? Were the King of the Frontier and a bastard-born king both after the throne?

'Whose side should we take?'

Which offered more benefit? For now, they should hold off. That was right. Whatever the king's bastard offered, even a mountain of gold, they should refuse, however bitterly it pained him.

'Or could we take an advance payment and then pretend nothing happened?'

Krais abandoned the lingering temptation the moment it arose. His captain would never do such a thing.

Without a flicker of expression, he put his thoughts in order. He was now ready to counter anything the man might say.

"Do you know that our kingdom has lost its 'tongue'?"

What was this, out of nowhere? It was a question whose intent was hard to read. No, it was not even a question. Krang was not posing a riddle. He simply continued smoothly.

Krais found the man's voice pleasant to listen to. There was something about it that made every word sink in: his projection, his enunciation. It seemed imbued with a magic that made people listen. Krais had seen people like this a few times.

'Natural talent.'

They knew how to command attention with their voices, with a single gesture. Krang lightly tapped the table and continued.

"Why does everyone across the continent speak the same tongue?"

Krais had lived by his wits since childhood. He had done so to survive, using his head for survival and Krona. That was why he had never considered anything like this. He had never even heard the subject raised. A little thought might have given him a rough answer, but he had never paid it any attention. He knew only as much as everyone else.

"The same tongue?" Encrid murmured, almost to himself.

"Yes, the same. It's a little stifling here. Shall we walk? The sky is clear today. Being plagued by assassination attempts makes it a shame to stay shut inside on a day like this."

Encrid rose without a word. Assassins? The word was familiar now. Had he not faced such malice time and again? His first encounter with an assassin had been because of Krang, too.

In any case, if he was still being hunted, someone wanted the king's bastard dead. But wasn't the current monarch a queen? Who had given birth to him? A minor question. He left it for later. That was not what mattered.

"Have you never wondered how nearly the whole continent came to speak much the same language?"

"No."

"No, most people haven't. Then have you heard of the band sworn to recover the royal tongue?"

"In passing."

He had indeed seen a few people somewhere in the market carrying something like dictionaries, collections of words rather than scriptures. Krais had seen them too. According to Gilfin, they did not cause trouble. He had also heard that they simply kept to themselves.

Krang rose and went outside. The weather was as fine as he had said.

"It may be more dangerous outside," the guard said.

"But it's stifling in there."

Krang took a canteen from his belt and drank. That action revealed something too: he could not even eat or drink freely. He must have been consuming only what he procured himself, rather than food and water prepared for him.

Encrid walked beside him, matching his pace.

"Don't get too close," the guard warned.

"Stay out of it."

Krang silenced him instead.

"Will you be joining us?"

Krang asked Krais, who glanced at his captain.

"Come along."

"Yes."

Krais made it clear whose orders he obeyed. Only after Encrid gave permission did he fall in behind them.

"Don't worry so much, soldier. I haven't come to force anything on you."

Krang's eyes curved slightly as he spoke. The gentle smile suited him remarkably well.

If he had not come for Krais's captain, why was he here?

"I've come for a visit," Krang said, still smiling.

Encrid said nothing. Krais nodded as if he understood, while inwardly growing more suspicious. A royal bastard, a central figure in a civil war. As if someone like that had come for a casual visit.

Yet, perhaps to remain true to his words, Krang behaved exactly that way. He merely talked as they circled through the barracks compound with the training grounds on their right. Nor did he say a single word about taking his side.

"It was because of the Empire. The Empire buried the royal tongue. Erased it."

"Unifying the language is remembered as a great achievement."

Krais raised a natural objection during the conversation. The Empire's linguistic unification was lauded as a great achievement. Yes, that was true. But to do so, it should also have respected the royal tongue.

"What is language, soldier?"

"Language is language. Language is... Hmm."

Thinking deeply in a short span was Krais's specialty. His mind worked differently from other people's, just as the thoughts of those called sages differed from the norm.

"Culture. Part of the culture disappeared."

"Precisely, soldier."

Krang smiled. Looking at that smile, Krais thought that if only the man were not royalty, he would make a fine salon host.

The royal tongue had been buried by the Empire's tyranny. Why? To strengthen its control. Then why would the Empire do that? To unify the continent? No. To profit while the kingdoms fought among themselves. For some benefit other than uniting the continent.

What benefit? He did not know. But he could see the rough outline. Erasing the language gave the Empire control to bend the kingdoms to its will. Politically speaking, it was an excellent move.

"It's a headache."

Hearing Krang's words, Krais felt something was off. This meant...

'He's already planning the future as though his becoming king were a settled fact.'

The man had already designated the Empire an enemy. That assessment was correct. Krang was certain of victory. He took his succession to the throne for granted.

And if he failed? What did he care about the royal family after he was dead?

"Count Molsen is quite formidable, isn't he?"

Encrid, too, put his finger on the heart of it. Wasn't he worried?

"Well, it'll work out somehow."

Did he have no plan at all? Krang wondered what this was supposed to mean.

"Somehow?"

Just as Krais asked in disbelief, Krang stopped walking. Standing there, he showed his palm behind him. Encrid, the guard, and Krais stopped at the gesture. Krang took a step forward, putting two paces between himself and his companions.

"Kingdoms fight one another. Men aspire to become kings. The continent teems with monsters and demonic beasts. At court, the nobles' voices rise above the Queen's head, and there are too few hands to punish them. Those called knights can barely manage to seal the rifts of the Demonic Realm. Everywhere, people abandon their loyalty for their own greed."

His voice, raised no louder than necessary, spread through the brush beside the barracks. It struck the ears of the three who had stopped. It was as though light had gathered on a dark stage to illuminate him alone. He drew every gaze toward himself. Krang had accomplished it with just a few steps, a few gestures, a few words.

Having drawn the attention of those around him, Krang spoke again.

"My task is to ensure that does not happen."