Crackling, crackling.
Next to the large bonfire stood two chairs, crafted with meticulous skill.
A middle-aged man sat in one of them, while behind him stood a young man in light leather armor, a middle-aged woman, another man who appeared slightly younger than her and a Frog—the very same Frog Enkrid had spared in the war.
When Enkrid casually acknowledged him with a glance, the Frog gave a slight nod.
The light of the fire illuminated the face of the man sitting in the chair—the King of Aspen.
As Enkrid approached, his eyes scanned the king from head to toe.
Despite some visible bulk, his physique showed clear signs of training.
Veins stood out prominently on the back of his hands, and through his thin shirt, the well-developed muscles of his chest were evident.
His face didn't carry the harshness or sharpness one might expect; instead it was lean, with slightly hollow cheeks.
To Enkrid, he seemed similar to how he had felt upon first meeting Count Molsan—though, unlike the count this man didn't seem prone to madness.
In summary, there wasn't a hint of him being a war-madman.
Perhaps he seemed slightly stern, but then again there was no set look for someone obsessed with war.
The king lifted a leather flask and spoke.
"Would you care for a drink?"
His tone wasn't gentle but neither did it harbor malice or hostility; it was more like the unyielding surface of a stone.
"Gladly." Krang replied without hesitation.
He neither rushed forward eagerly nor approached timidly, but walked naturally to the chair and accepted the drink.
Holding out one hand while supporting his wrist with the other, he performed the gesture with a sense of ease.
Then he took a sip.
Watching this, Enkrid wondered if it was safe to drink, but he couldn't intervene.
His thoughts wandered to the conversation they had shared during their journey here.
"Do you not wonder why I'm doing all this?" Krang had asked.
Enkrid had blinked slowly in response before answering, "Would you stop me if I tried to take on an army?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you'd figure it out yourself."
That was trust.
"You're the same, aren't you?" Enkrid replied, expressing his belief in the king and friend before him.
And that had been the end of it.
Jaxen didn't seem curious and Shinar didn't care.
If Andrew had been in the carriage, he might have muttered something like,
"Everyone here seems insane."
but he'd been too preoccupied gazing at the moonlit scenery and listening to the rhythmic clatter of hooves and wheels.
When Krang had appeared and stopped the army before, Andrew's face had gone from shock and disbelief to a near-vacant stare, like that of a ghoul.
"I plan to win over the King of Aspen." Krang had said, to which Enkrid had simply given a look that said, '
Do what you want.'
"Am I bothering you?" Krang had asked, sensing Enkrid's apathy.
"Not at all." Enkrid had replied, using a standard evasion tactic.
"Good, let's leave it at that."
From there, their conversation had shifted to mundane topics: Dunbakel's trip east, recent battlefield events, the knights they had fought and killed, and even stories about reshaping the royal training grounds.
Jaxen had mentioned killing some moonlit fairies during a battle, but Shinar had remained unfazed.
If humans drew lines and fought amongst themselves, why wouldn't fairies do the same? It was just the way of things.
"Everyone lives by their will. If rest is what awaits them at the end, it's not necessarily a bad thing." Shinar had remarked.
Krang had seemed ready to respond but thought better of it, falling silent.
Now, as the conversation turned to more serious matters Krang mused aloud, "The southern empire stirred up trouble, the Holy Kingdom made their moves and yet in the end everyone seems to be siding with Aspen. So, I thought what should I do? Argue about fairness? Doesn't seem to be worth it."
Enkrid had merely nodded along, knowing full well that politics was not his realm.
Even before he became a knight and especially after, his focus had always been singular—swordsmanship.
What to pursue, and for what purpose to wield his blade?
Politics, to him was an unwelcome distraction.
When they reached their destination, the King of Aspen looked at Krang with an unyielding expression, as if to say '
What's so bold about drinking a little?'
Amidst all this, Enkrid felt a sharp gaze on him.
A young man was staring at him intently, his eyes clear and direct. While it wasn't a glare with bad intentions, Jaxen seemed displeased regardless.
In a low, calm voice Jaxen said, "Our unit has a panther that plucks out the eyes of those who stare rudely. I wholeheartedly support and endorse its actions."
The quiet yet threatening words were far more effective than any blunt intimidation.
In situations like a secret meeting after a victorious battle, such restraint carried weight.
"I mean no offense." the young man replied, his voice clear and unwavering despite Jaxen's warning.
Was it sheer determination or youthful naivety?
Either way, he was undeterred.
The middle-aged woman frowned, disapproving of the young man's forwardness while the Frog remained emotionless.
The last man, with a suave demeanor offered only a slight smile and said, "Best not to provoke him."
"I only wish to speak." the young man continued, his gaze still fixed on Enkrid.
"Are you The Unyielding Knight?"
Before anyone could react, the young man had posed the question.
Enkrid studied him but didn't recognize the face.
Still, he seemed neither familiar nor entirely unfamiliar.
The young man continued, "My cousin was the first to teach me the sword. His name was Mitch Hurrier."
The name struck a chord in Enkrid's memory—Mitch Hurrier, the opponent he had clashed with twice.
"I quickly surpassed him, and soon I gained a godfather: Barnas Hurrier." the young man said. "I am Illode Hurrier, his godson."
Barnas had died at Ragna's hands, and Mitch by Enkrid's.
Illode stood before the man responsible for his cousin and godfather's deaths.
Yet, his gaze carried no hatred.
Bowing his head, Illode spoke.
"First, I wish to thank you."
Though he had reasons for vengeance, Illode also understood the greater good.
Enkrid's intervention had saved countless lives and Illode had come to know this through both Abnaier's words and his own investigations.
Enkrid, who had stopped an army was worthy of respect—even if Illode's gratitude would complicate matters upon his return.
Despite everything, Illode felt compelled to acknowledge the knight who had saved thousands of soldiers, even if that same man had slain his kin.
"One day, if I am strong enough, I will challenge you to a duel." Illode concluded.
He was a man driven by justice, uncompromising in his principles.
"Do as you wish." Enkrid replied.
Enkrid nodded. While he couldn't fully grasp the other party's intentions, he could tell that Illode's words weren't spoken out of malice.
More than anything, there was sincerity in what he said.
And perhaps even more importantly, Illode was a person he liked. To act according to one's convictions—wasn't that quite similar to the way Enkrid lived?
Although, admittedly Ilode wasn't as perceptive as he was.
"Are you insane?"
The middle-aged woman glared at Ilode and interjected, making it clear that his actions weren't prearranged.
As she spoke, she glanced at Enkrid as if wary of what might happen if things went south and swords started clashing.
Her caution was understandable; she had no confidence in stopping him if things escalated.
Illode, however, remained unfazed which seemed to irritate the woman even more.
The deepening wrinkles on her forehead were evidence of her rising frustration.
Regardless, the conversation ended there.
Illode straightened his gaze, while Jaxen subtly released his grip on the dagger he had been toying with.
Meanwhile, of the two kings present Krang listened to their exchange with curiosity, while the king of Aspen remained impassive.
"What an interesting fellow." remarked Krang.
"One who doesn't know how to hide his intentions." came the reply.
The two exchanged these brief comments, then took turns sipping from a leather flask.
For a meeting between kings, the setting was rather modest.
There were no fine crystal glasses or exquisite dishes—hardly the scene one would associate with royalty.
In fact, the very idea of a king traveling this far for such a meeting was sheer madness.
On this continent, the notion of kings from different nations meeting was nearly unheard of.
Without cities or fortifications, the dangers of magical beasts and monsters were ever-present and maintaining farmland often required substantial military support.
For a king to cross borders and meet with another sovereign was an unprecedented gamble. And yet, Krang had gone to extraordinary lengths to make this happen.
Enkrid stood by as a silent escort.
He sensed nothing unusual, no ominous aura or threatening presence in the vicinity.
While Krais had questioned the necessity of the king making this journey himself, he had also assured Enkrid that there was little to fear.
Of course, true to fault Krais had grumbled about the risk.
"Why take such unnecessary chances?" he had asked, exasperated.
But Krang had merely laughed softly and dismissed the concerns with a casual, "Because it's fun."
Even if the king of Aspen had attempted some sort of scheme, it wouldn't have been an issue.
That was why Jaxen and Shinar were present.
As Enkrid idly observed, the conversation between the two kings began.
And their exchange turned out to be far more unexpected than anyone could have anticipated.
The king of Aspen waited for Krang to speak first—perhaps to demand retribution for the breach of the non-aggression pact or maybe to insist on unconditional surrender.
'Or is he here to make us a vassal state?'
All such outcomes were things he had resigned himself to face. In truth, the very act of agreeing to this meeting was strange in itself.
'Is he planning to kill me?'
Could all of this have been a ploy just to take his life?
If so, surely a more sophisticated method would have been employed.
That didn't seem likely.
No, what Krang desired must be submission—humiliation.
He wanted to force Aspen to acknowledge its inferiority.
Stand before me.
That's what this was about: establishing dominance so that Aspen would recognize its place.
The king of Aspen was not so proud as to sacrifice his soldiers or his people out of stubbornness.
He understood what needed to be preserved.
But that didn't mean he would simply roll over.
So, he spoke first.
"What if I were to summon hidden forces and strike you down here? How could you be so confident as to meet me?"
It was a declaration of defiance, a statement that he would not bow easily even in the face of pressure. Krang, in turn, responded with a calm smile.
"Do you have such hidden forces?"
Was he mocking the king, knowing full well that Aspen's knights had been decimated?
The king of Aspen looked at Krang, seeing in his face the devil himself.
How much had this man laughed at him before arranging this meeting?
Beneath that smiling mask, was there a sense of triumph?
'Fine.'
If he wished to bask in his shallow victory, so be it.
He might even kneel and lower his head.
But it wouldn't last forever.
Ten, twenty, thirty years from now, Aspen would rise again.
If he couldn't, then his son would.
His son, leading a revived order of knights would ensure Aspen stood once more.
The king clenched his fists, suppressing his rage.
Now was a time for patience and composure.
While it appeared that Aspen had initiated this conflict, the real cause was their competition over Green Pearl.
Aspen sought to stockpile food there, while Naurillia feared the military buildup that would follow.
Aspen's ambitions of surplus food—whether to feed its people or sell for military funds, clashed with Naurillia's need to maintain the balance of power.
Green Pearl was land of immense potential and Aspen's dreams of utilizing it were now at risk of being reduced to vassalhood.
Despite his resolve, the king couldn't fully prepare himself for Krang's unexpected words.
"If that is my fate, then I must accept it."
The response caught the king off guard.
It was an answer to the hypothetical threat of hidden forces—a willingness to accept death if that was destiny.
As the king pondered its meaning, Krang continued his voice clear and cheerful.
"Clinging to life in the face of death is only natural. But simply surviving isn't always enough. If the heavens—or the gods decided that I, as I am now, am no longer interesting and thus must die, then so be it. Without power, I would have no choice but to accept my end."
With that, Krang raised a single finger toward the sky.
Under the dark expanse of the heavens, dotted with stars and two moons his gesture seemed to touch the celestial canvas above.
The king of Aspen recognized that Krang's words were calculated, but still he found himself captivated.
"Are you mocking me?" he asked.
"If I were, I wouldn't have snuck all the way here groaning from exhaustion. Do you have a dream? I have one—a small but fulfilling one."
Krang stood, his movements as slow and deliberate as when he had sat down.
Of the four guards stationed behind the Aspen king, three flinched while those on Naurillia's side remained steady their eyes fixed on Krang.
In the faint glow of moonlight and the campfire, Krang seemed to radiate a light of his own.
"My dream." he said, "is to rid the world of demonic realms and cultists, hang those who commit outrageous acts on gallows, and then in a gathering of all people, declare an end to all fighting."
What nonsense.
Demonic realms couldn't be eradicated.
And an end to conflict?
Utterly absurd.
Yet, Krang's words and gestures carried a strange, magnetic power.
"All races, humans included, have never truly united have we? Isn't that the case? The same goes for Naurillia and Aspen."
In the stillness of the night, Krang's impassioned speech drew every gaze.
"Utter nonsense!"
The king of Aspen shouted, his face flushed.
Yet Enkrid observed his reaction and thought:
He's halfway convinced.
After all, such a response wouldn't come from someone who wasn't listening seriously.
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