Chapter 169 - Fill the Goblets with Blood (1)

Due to the gravity of the matter, no one opened their mouth first.

Rather than being crushed by the pressure, their faces showed that what was meant to come had finally come.

Vincent broke the long silence.

"Take the Black Lancers with you as well."

He offered to detach not only the lancers but also the Rangers and half of Winter Castle's forces.

I refused, saying that would leave too great a void in Winter Castle's combat power.

But Vincent did not yield.

"Having checked the movements of the monsters within the mountain range, the prevailing opinion is that there will be no large-scale monster invasions this winter."

"According to the Rangers, most of the monsters that survived the last battle headed toward the Frost Mountains beyond the Blade Mountains."

The commanders who had kept their mouths shut until now voiced their support for their lord's opinion.

They all spoke in unison.

That Winter Castle would remain unyielding.

Vincent spoke with a resolute face.

"Winter is over."

His words probably just meant that this winter, the most grueling period, had come to an end.

But it didn't sound that way to me.

CRACK.

A noise like something shattering pierced my ears, almost like a hallucination.

It was the sound of the thick ice that had covered the castle walls all winter splitting apart,

and it was also the sound of the solid chain connecting my past life to my current life breaking.

My heart pounded. My temples throbbed like crazy.

Heat shimmered like haze before my eyes.

The conference room, which had only been filled with a chill, heated up.

"Your Highness?"

Vincent called out to me with worry.

His face, as he fussed over whether I had perhaps injured my body in the last battle, was the same as usual.

Without even knowing what had just happened.

Outside the conference room window, the sound of the Dwarves hammering echoed.

The lively curses and shouts of the Rangers could be heard.

「The birds that left against the path of the biting wind return.」

「The cold snow-clothes melt away, and the fortress, revealed in pale blue, finally wakes from its slumber and stretches.」

In my head, the [War Poem - Poem of Spring] could be heard.

How could it fit so perfectly together?

Whether or not to accept the old Orc's ugly proposal was never important from the start.

When the war was won, when countless monsters fled in terror, winter was already over then.

Even though the biting winds and blizzards lingering in the mountain range and the chill surrounding the fortress remained the same.

Spring had stealthily crept right up to our noses like a thief in the night.

I only just realized that fact.

Such a grand peace never existed from the beginning.

All that was needed was the time for the frozen snow to melt and the new sprouts to bloom.

This belated realization was so pleasing that I ended up laughing out loud without realizing it.

"Your Highness. Did you perhaps injure your head in the last battle?"

The upright man who had chosen restraint and struggle over freedom and peace in the moment of choice still did not know that spring was imminent, spouting nonsense.

But they, too, would soon know.

When the snow piled on the castle walls melted,

and their damp furs and armor dried completely,

that winter was completely over.

That spring had finally arrived.

They would finally realize it.

* * *

The meeting ended and night fell.

I was strolling along the castle walls when I saw a familiar face in the distance.

It was Vincent, holding a liquor bottle.

"Vincent."

"I couldn't sleep."

Spotting me, Vincent held up the liquor bottle.

I didn't decline; I took the bottle and poured it straight down my throat.

"Just a little, drink just a little. It's a hassle to go down and get more."

His attitude of being stingy with cheap hard liquor, despite being the lord of the castle, was ridiculous. So I gulped it down and completely emptied the bottle.

My insides heated up.

When I belched for all to see and handed him the empty bottle, Vincent frowned.

Tossing the empty bottle aside carelessly, he reached into his coat.

SWISH.

When his hand reemerged, it was grasping a new bottle of liquor.

I scowled fiercely.

'To think he had another one when he pretended there was only one.'

I felt somewhat cheated, so my mood was not good at all.

However, since I was the one who had acted spiteful, I had no excuse to scold him and merely smacked my lips.

As if to show off, Vincent popped the cork of the bottle and brought it to his mouth.

GLUG.

His face, as he gulped down the liquor, was flushed bright red. It seemed he had already drank quite a bit before I arrived.

I held out my hand. Vincent hid the bottle behind his back.

"This is really the last one."

"Being so petty despite being a lord of the castle."

"If you really want to drink that badly, go get it yourself."

"It's a hassle."

"It's a hassle for me too."

At our ridiculous squabble, the Rangers glaring over the castle walls shook their heads in disbelief.

I ignored them and plopped down next to Vincent.

Then I looked at the mountain range rising beyond the snowfield in the distance.

From beside me, the sound of Vincent pouring liquor down his throat could be heard.

A long time passed just silently listening to the sound of him swallowing liquor.

POP.

The sound of a bottle cork popping was heard.

Turning my head, I saw Vincent with a new bottle in his mouth.

"I thought you said that was the last one."

"Ah. This really is the last one."

Contrary to his words, a clinking sound came from Vincent's coat.

It seemed he had brought up every single bottle of liquor from the castle's kitchen.

I turned my head without a word.

Vincent's heavily flushed face was filled with agony.

Whether it was due to regret over his past choice, or worry about the future, I couldn't know.

Vincent also did not open his mouth to confess his inner thoughts.

I, too, had no intention whatsoever of opening my mouth to offer clumsy comfort or encouragement.

I just sat beside him.

For a very long time, until Vincent completely emptied the final bottle.

LURCH.

He staggered as he rose from his seat.

"I'll be heading down first."

"Yeah. I'll stay a bit longer before heading down."

Bowing his head, Vincent turned his body.

STAGGER.

His back, as he walked precariously along the wall, gradually became straighter.

And when he reached a distance away, he was walking without a single sway.

Not a hint of intoxication could be seen anywhere in his figure.

Agony could not be felt, either.

Only the back of a man as solid as a rock remained.

"Ugh. So cold."

When he finally disappeared from sight, Ranger Yorden stealthily approached and handed me a bottle.

"It's a secret from the lord of Winter Castle."

"Yeah. Thanks."

I drank the strong liquor Yorden offered, passing it back and forth with the Ranger Company Commanders.

The last remaining glass, I poured out over the snowfield beyond the walls.

Thinking of the men who had fallen in the last battle.

I descended the castle walls.

"Your Highness."

The one-eyed cavalry captain acknowledged me upon seeing me, then frowned.

It seemed he had smelled the stench of alcohol wafting from my body.

"The wind is cold, so please go inside swiftly and warm your body..."

The cavalry captain cleared his throat and climbed the stairs heading to the wall.

"Ah. Yorden."

Walking past him absentmindedly, I belatedly recalled the presence of the drunks remaining on the wall.

I offered a small condolence for their future, destined to cross paths with the rigid cavalry captain.

* * *

Waking up late the next day, I immediately assembled the knights.

I inspected their achievements one by one.

What they had gained from the last battle, and what kind of influence the War Poem had exerted.

For Arwen, there wasn't a massive change.

Her already solid sword and spirit had merely become a level more mature.

I quietly gauged Arwen's momentum.

The strongest among the Masters of the ring I knew was my maternal uncle in his lifetime. The Silver Lion and the Commander of the Royal Knights I met in the Central region fell short in many ways compared to my uncle.

And Arwen, I dared to guess, was not lacking compared to my uncle in his lifetime.

Her steadfast disposition, the stability of her ring, and the myriad of real combat experiences had made her a firmer knight than anyone else.

I ended up extremely satisfied by the steadfastness hidden beneath her delicate appearance.

"It's a spirit befitting the nickname of steel."

"I merely put in the effort."

With a face flushed red, Arwen stole a glance at the knights beside her.

Following her gaze, I looked at Adelia and that Eli bastard.

Their changes, unlike Arwen's, were highly dramatic and visually striking.

The biggest change was their status.

After fighting a battle against the Overlord of the dark green clan, they had finally transcended the extraordinary and reached the Heroic Grade.

Although that Overlord bastard's spirit had been dreadfully damaged, meaning the grade they obtained was also not whole, it was an undeniable fact that they had grasped that grade, albeit in a limited manner.

Thus, that Eli bastard was able to create one more verse for his Poem of Martial Deeds, and Adelia became able to use one more verse from the [Poem of Creation].

It was a tremendous leap forward.

As a test, I proposed a spar between the Masters.

The first to step forward was that Eli bastard.

The guy who normally didn't even dare to step on Arwen's shadow had caught some wind in his sails, singling her out as his sparring partner.

Full of interest, I watched the two of them spar.

The spar between Arwen and the Eli bastard was a clash between a Master of the ring and a Master of the heart.

Every time their swords clashed, the Eli bastard's Aura Blade was chipped away in chunks. Judging by his pale, faded complexion, it was obvious he was forcefully holding back the urge to vomit blood.

Agony surfaced on the bastard's face.

He seemed to be contemplating whether to use the [Poem of the Full Moon] or not.

But in the end, it was a useless contemplation.

Before the bastard could arrive at an answer, Arwen's sword touched his Adam's apple.

"That's enough."

Arwen withdrew her sword, breathing softly.

That Eli bastard deeply bowed his head.

He had a lot to say, but he seemed to be holding it all back because he hated making an ugly scene in front of the woman he liked.

Then again, if it were him on a normal day, it wouldn't have been strange for him to stubbornly insist the result was invalid since he hadn't used his Poem of Martial Deeds yet.

"Would the result have changed even if you used your Poem of Martial Deeds? The level of experience and profound principle embedded in your swords is this vastly different."

At my words, the Eli bastard bit his lip, kicked off the clearing, and vanished somewhere.

Next was Adelia's turn.

Because her sword was still heavily laced with killing intent and lacked restraint, I was about to step in. But Arwen requested to spar with her first.

It was a gaze that somehow radiated a competitive spirit.

"Alright. But if I think it's dangerous, I'll step in at any time."

I said so while placing my hand on my sword hilt, then called the start of the match.

She was normally a bit slow, but when it came to swordsmanship, Adelia was a rare genius. And she definitely hadn't watched the spar between the Eli bastard and Arwen carelessly.

I couldn't be certain, but she must have already figured out why the Eli bastard lost.

My guess was correct.

Through the Eli bastard's defeat, she had come up with her own way to deal with Arwen.

The problem was that her method was several times more extreme than I thought.

"Striking out with one blade."

Adelia, who recited the [Poem of Creation] the moment the spar began, had her sword glow yellow.

"Are you crazy!"

Spitting out a curse, I immediately blocked Arwen's front.

I angled my sword and channeled a golden aura.

SCREEEEECH!

With an unpleasant noise, Adelia's sword slid down the dusk.

CRASH!

The misdirected power of creation crashed down onto the clearing.

Despite deflecting the power of the poem at an angle, I had to step back several paces. As I blankly stared at the footprints carved in front of me, Adelia threw her sword aside and ran over to me.

"Your Highness!"

Her face was full of worry and guilt, wondering if I had suffered even a hair's breadth of an injury.

Looking at that good-natured face, I then looked at the ground.

The deeply gouged pit was perfect for burying a person.

I shook my head in exasperation.

Loosening my tingling wrist, I mentally sorted out the hierarchy among the Masters.

Adelia was first, Arwen was second. That Eli bastard was last.

And none of the three were weak compared to the kingdom's other Silver Lions.

Laughter naturally spilled out from my satisfaction.

The inspection continued.

While I was at it, I assembled all the other knights.

The five hundred or so knights called out to the clearing stared intently at me.

Either sharply on edge with long-held grudges,

or gleaming with anticipation.

Looking at the kingdom's broken treasured swords and the Silver Foxes, I stretched out my finger.

"Antoine. Step forward."

The middle-aged mercenary, who was once the Commander of the Silver Fox Mercenaries but was now just one of the numerous knights of Winter Castle, stood before me.

I ordered the overconfident Antoine.

To show me what he had gained from the last war.

Hoping that this time it wouldn't be some absurd song like "the blade that cuts swords."

Chapter 171. < 53. Fill the Goblets with Blood (2) >

Antoine took his stance with a swagger.

His face overflowed with confidence the entire time.

The more arrogant Antoine acted, the larger my anxiety grew.

The image of the mercenary Commander boasting about a single fragment of a verse—which was hard to even call a Poem of Martial Deeds—as if it were a timeless treasure kept flickering before my eyes.

"Then I will begin."

Antoine, having swaggered enough to satisfy himself, drew his sword.

"Haaah!"

Sword Resonance burst forth along with a loud shout.

A sword light at the level of an advanced Sword Expert; this much could be called a tremendous leap forward compared to when we first met.

But what I wanted to see wasn't some commonplace sword light.

It was Antoine's one-of-a-kind Poem of Martial Deeds.

While waiting a moment, his momentum, which had been wildly flaring in all directions, rose up as sharply as a blade.

And when that sharpness reached its peak, the mercenary Commander's lips parted.

"I am the redder blade that cleaves the red sword!"

FLARE!

Antoine's sword turned red.

My face instantly heated up.

I reckoned my face had turned just as red as his reddened sword.

It felt as though even the last bit of expectation I hadn't let go of until the end had completely crumbled.

However, Antoine paid no mind to my inner thoughts.

"Hah! Hah!"

Before my eyes, red trajectories repeatedly appeared and vanished.

Rubbing my flushed face, I watched the noisy demonstration.

Dreadful lyrics aside, the power of the Poem of Martial Deeds itself was quite decent.

If he gathered his strength properly and thrust, it possessed enough sharpness and ferocity to cleave even the Fighting Spirit of an Orc Warrior.

Neither more nor less, it was exactly the power of an Extraordinary Grade poem.

If properly honed and polished, it would display quite useful power even when fighting Knights of the Ring.

The problem was the fact that his poem only sang of a single, fleeting moment.

He must have gone through at least dozens of battles and fought and defeated at least dozens of Orcs.

He even survived the battle against the legion led by the King of Orcs.

Yet his poem only contained the brief instant of striking down the enemy in front of him.

It was a pity.

But I forced down those feelings.

Everyone has a different vessel.

While someone might be looking at the end of the war, someone else might only be looking at the tip of their sword.

Antoine was simply the latter.

For me to judge his Poem of Martial Deeds as insignificant would be committing the folly of arrogance once again.

I kept my eyes peeled and looked for an advantage.

There was one. A utility gained from those crude lyrics.

Because the lyrics of the poem were simple and it only sang of a brief instant, Antoine seemed to have no burden whatsoever in using the poem.

That meant he could use the poem's power for that much longer.

Just like the [Poem of Gold] of the man called the Mercenary King.

That was likely because Antoine's origins were no different from the Mercenary King's.

"Ah."

Suddenly, a good idea came to mind.

If things went well, it seemed I could pass down a new poem to this man and his comrades, who could only come up with crude lyrics with their own heads.

However, confirming their achievements first was the top priority.

I asked Antoine, who had finished his demonstration, about his achievement with the [Poem of Requiem], which I had passed down to him as the price for our 20-year contract.

Antoine's confident face turned sour.

"Well, with the mountains and ponds of dark green corpses, I couldn't get the hang of it at all."

I had thought that at Winter Castle, where battles with Orcs were frequent, they would be able to digest the power of the [Poem of Requiem] as their own to some extent. But the results were lackluster.

Stepping up for another demonstration with a sour face, the flames of requiem Antoine sparked were nothing more than faint embers that couldn't even burn the hem of a cloak.

It was the same for the other mercenaries.

Their poems, like Antoine's, only sang of fleeting moments, and only a very small minority could properly draw out the power of the Poem of Martial Deeds I had passed down.

Even then, their energy would be depleted after sparking the flames just once, making it impossible for them to use the [Poem of Requiem] in actual combat.

I was not disappointed.

Though simple and crude, they had crafted their own Poems of Martial Deeds in their own way. It was not lacking to fulfill one person's share.

And if it was lacking, I just had to fill it for them.

"For now, you all stand by."

I had Antoine and the knights of mercenary origin stand on one side of the clearing, and told another group of men to step forward.

The kingdom's broken treasured swords, who were once Knights of the Ring but were now knights of the Mana Heart.

Their gazes were full of hostility.

Unlike Antoine or the other mercenaries, they had absolutely no desire to be acknowledged by me.

Rather, perhaps feeling a strong repulsion toward my orders, not a single one stepped forward before me even after repeated commands.

"Hmm."

At that moment, Gawain stepped forward.

He hadn't shown his face at all since returning to the kingdom, so it seemed he had been with his comrades.

"Do not misunderstand. I only stepped forward out of a desire to return quickly and rest."

Spouting unasked words, he drew his sword.

VWOOONG.

From between his teeth, the [Poem of Shadows], woven in the sea of trees in Dotrin, flowed out.

His sword was dyed pitch black. It was an even deeper darkness than before.

The spite and status embedded within it were incomparably heavier than before.

Surviving the battle against the Overlord had surely been of help.

SHINK.

Having finished his demonstration, Gawain sheathed his sword and immediately stepped back among his comrades. As if waiting, his comrade stepped forward.

He too was someone who had gone to Dotrin with Gawain.

That was the start.

After Gawain's trio finished their demonstrations in succession, the others also started demonstrating, pretending they couldn't refuse.

"I wrapped the biting wind around the tip of my broken sword. The sound of the wind is the sound of my sword crying."

A biting wind blew.

"The wavering sword has now stood straight. What is there that this sword cannot cleave?"

Sword light shot out.

"Even if it is a broken piece of iron, its sharpness is not lacking to wound my enemy."

Dozens of shard-like clusters of light flashed.

I captured the power of the swords they demonstrated in my eyes, one by one.

If the Silver Foxes' poems were simple and hearty, the knights' Poems of Martial Deeds were uniformly abstract and gloomy.

Their power as well—while the Silver Foxes' added sharpness and lasted for a long time—the knights' poems were hard to maintain for long, but each individual strike was powerful instead.

It was a result stemming from the difference between those who prioritized survival and those who found it natural to sacrifice their own lives for victory.

After checking every single one of their poems, I had them stand opposite the Silver Foxes.

And then I looked at the remaining ones.

They were the natives of the North whom I had accepted as knights after confirming their talents.

The lyrics they recited were surprisingly similar to Winter Castle's military songs, and some even used verses from the War Poem as their own songs.

And their karma and spite were no different from the [Poem of Requiem].

The only difference was whether the color of the flames they sparked was yellow, red, or blue.

All of them were Extraordinary Grade Poems of Martial Deeds.

Like that, I checked the Poems of Martial Deeds of nearly five hundred knights.

And on the spot, I grouped them by hundreds and formed them into individual knight orders.

Gathering those who had taken their places alongside the Death Knights, including Gawain, I named them the [Knights of the Dawn],

and divided the remaining royal knights into two, naming them the [Knights of Daybreak] and the [Knights of Dusk].

The knights of Senior Mercenary origin were named the [Silver Fox Knights], allowing them to inherit their old name as is,

and the knights composed of Northern natives were named the [Knights of the Biting Wind].

Then, I entrusted the Knights of Dusk, Daybreak, and Dawn to that Eli bastard, and the Silver Fox Knights and Knights of the Biting Wind to Arwen.

Though the joy and sorrow of the two sides were mixed regarding the two individuals taking the Commander positions, there was no major noise.

After forming the five knight orders like that, I separately gathered the Silver Fox Knights.

"Since the price paid earlier had no utility for you, I will pay a new price for our contract."

In exchange for the promised 20 years of service, I handed over a new poem as the price.

The [Poem of Gold], achieved over a lifetime by the Mercenary King, a man crazy for money, was that very price.

It was a decision made thinking that since their origins were the same as the Mercenary King's, it would be easy for them to understand the [Poem of Gold].

Of course, I wasn't unaware of the fact that making another's Poem of Martial Deeds one's own was nearly impossible.

It didn't matter if they couldn't master it completely. All I hoped for was that the [Poem of Gold] would serve as nourishment for them.

It was a decision I wouldn't normally have made. If it had been any other Poem of Martial Deeds, I wouldn't have passed it down to this many knights at once even if I died and came back to life.

Because the indiscriminate passing down of a poem was bound to inevitably damage the poem's status.

But I did not hesitate.

If it was the poem of that damn money ghost, I could pass it down to not just one hundred, but one thousand knights.

It was my own form of revenge, if it could be called that.

Venting my resentment against the man who dared to sell me off for mere coin.

I still remembered it vividly.

The sight of that bastard turning around after selling me off without any hesitation for a pouch of gold coins.

I knew he was crazy for money, but since I didn't know it was to that extent, the shock and anger I felt remained intact even now, hundreds of years later.

"Damn bastard."

As anger flared up anew and I spat out a curse, the Silver Fox Knights, who had been rejoicing and saying they quite liked the new poem, looked back at me in surprise.

"I'm not talking about you guys, so just keep doing what you were doing."

The knights, who had been studying my mood, hesitantly scattered.

Anyway, since he sold me off for money, I was merely selling off his karma and spite to the mercenaries as the price of a contract.

I didn't feel it was a waste, nor did I feel regretful or sad.

If anything, it felt refreshing.

Having finished dealing with the Silver Foxes, I looked at the Knights of the Dawn, Dusk, and Daybreak.

I intended to pass down one poem to them as well.

A Poem of Martial Deeds that would become a pair with the heart of the Blood Lion they had created.

A song perfectly suited for those scar-riddled knights.

But it wasn't the right time yet.

When the resentment and sorrow they harbored in their chests newly found a direction to advance in.

That meant...

It would be after arriving at The Capital that they would acquire the new poem.

* * *

Having finished the organization of the knight orders, I hurried to prepare to leave Winter Castle.

Even while I was preparing, the situation in the empire was changing by the minute.

The Wyvern Riders led by the King of Dotrin had turned the empire's eastern region into a wasteland, and an incident occurred where the army of a certain duchy that had fearlessly declared the subjugation of the Fire Dragon was annihilated.

And the fact that a few more perfectly fine domains were blown away by the enraged Fire Dragon was quite welcome news to me.

["The Imperial House has issued a stern warning to the nobles. That if there is any family that arbitrarily provokes the Fire Dragon again, three generations of their family will be exterminated."]

The Montpellier bastard's voice coming from beyond the crystal ball was full of heartbreak, as if the world had collapsed.

In reality, his current situation wasn't much different from the world collapsing.

Among the domains where the Fire Dragon took out its anger, his domain was also included. His household members were also said to have been massacred along with his burning castle.

The Montpellier bastard's remaining foundation within the empire was now just the merchant group operated by his family and a few businesses.

It was completely understandable for the arrogant bastard to be heartbroken.

Of course, the bastard wasn't just sitting there lethargically, drowning in heartbreak.

As the situation worsened, he cooperated with me proactively.

Mobilizing all the personnel of his merchant group, he reported everything happening within the empire to me.

Meticulously, without leaving a single thing out.

It was only natural, if one thought about it.

Now that he had lost almost all of his foundation, there were only two futures left for the Montpellier bastard.

Either remain in the kingdom and maintain his measly title as ambassador.

Or return to the empire and get struck by the blades of his political enemies.

And the future the bastard chose was the former.

["I will do my utmost to be loyal. Please believe me this time."]

The bastard's voice coming from beyond the crystal ball was desperate.

["That son of a bitch Emperor. Damn that Emperor."]

It was so desperate that the bastard, who used to spout 'Your Majesty, Your Majesty' even in front of me, went as far as hurling all sorts of curses at the Emperor.

After I slapped a collar on him and rolled him around like a dog, he really had turned into a dog.

"We'll talk once I get back."

I didn't make any promises about the bastard's future. The harm he had caused the kingdom so far and the number of people who wept tears of blood because of it were far too many.

If he was still alive after paying the price, I intended to take him in then.

["I will only trust Your Highness. Long live His Highness Prince Adrian Leonberk! The rising star of the kingdom..."]

Letting his scream-like voice go in one ear and out the other, I took my hand off the crystal ball.

And the next day arrived.

Excluding the one hundred knights who died in the last war, six hundred knights and one hundred Royal Knights were lined up in front of Winter Castle's South Gate. Fully armed Rangers and Heavy Armored Musketeers were also with them.

"Preparations are complete."

The old knight and the Masters surrounded me.

"Please have a safe trip."

Vincent, who had followed me for quite a while even past the South Gate, offered a plain farewell.

"I'll see you when I return."

I, too, greeted him as if I would see him again tomorrow.

"May His Highness the Prince be blessed with fortune in war!"

Receiving the Rangers' farewells from behind, I departed from Winter Castle like that.

The bitter cold vanished, and before I knew it, we had entered the Central region.

The closer we got to The Capital, the rougher my heart began to beat.

Right after witnessing the kingdom's reality for the first time, the conversation I had with my maternal uncle flashed through my mind.

["Uncle. I've changed my mind. I'll give it a try."]

Looking at my uncle, whose eyes had widened at my out-of-the-blue words, I had spoken like this.

["I mean I'm going to give being the king a try."]

That I would show him by restoring the ruined kingdom once more.