Chapter 810
If one were to pick the area Naurillia focused on most while dealing with the surrounding bandits and monsters and opening its trade routes, it was public security.
It was to ensure that the city inside was guaranteed as much safety as the monsters and bandits outside had been eliminated.
There was also the calculation that more people would come and go as a result.
To resolve that security issue, they had striven to improve the areas where the poor gathered.
"That's what's called the King's Bread."
According to Marcus, that was the case.
If extravagance is reduced at the royal table, one hundred of the poor can be saved.
But those who realize it are truly rare.
With the budget for his own dining table, he had given bread to the poor.
At first, he had handed out bread for free once a day.
He had boiled stew and fed them.
He had gathered cheap cloth and had clothes made for them.
After tending to the entire slum district in such a way, Krang had given them work.
Krais spoke as if he also knew of this.
"It wasn't just a handout. There was a lot of work in the city, you know."
Starting with the repair of the city walls, new buildings were being erected, and several outposts had to be built on the city's outskirts.
It meant that many hands were needed.
He had used the poor as laborers for that.
He had given them the opportunity to work.
For those incapable of physical labor, he had them hold at least a cooking ladle, and the young children were taught and protected by creating an educational institution attached to the kingdom.
In paying for the work and in receiving and sorting the children at the institution, they had naturally paid close attention to record-keeping.
In other words, all of this work, whether intended or not, had gone beyond reducing the number of poor and had become a pretext for controlling them.
It was something that would change the atmosphere of the slum district even at a glance.
Krang had boldly emptied the royal family's hoarded wealth, and this was to the benefit of the city's citizens, the visiting merchants, and the poor alike.
Because of this, the majority of the groups that had been scheming through the slum district had to tuck their tails and run.
It meant that the weeds—the spies and the feelers of information guilds planted by the northern Empire, the southern great nation, and here and there—had all died off on their own.
"The guys among the poor who are good with their fists usually end up as pickpockets or robbers, but what happens if the poor population itself decreases? Yes, by managing them, the very creation of bandits or robbers is reduced."
Enkrid uttered the conclusion of the words that Krais and Marcus had chattered on about.
"So after bringing the thieves' guilds and the slums under control, the spies, looking for a place to operate, flooded in through the Salons. And they've already established themselves in an organized form, so if you try to rip them out with force, you can't tell where the problem begins and ends, is that it?"
"...As expected, the Captain's head works fast."
"I think this is something anyone could figure out. You already explained it all."
Enkrid replied as if it were nothing.
Krais shook his head once and drank his tea, and Marcus brought out the real topic.
He showed a moment of choosing his words.
He also looked troubled, scratching his cheek.
"We need to infiltrate a Salon."
Why are you telling me that?
Enkrid said with his eyes.
"Rain divine punishment upon those who have insulted the Salon."
Krais muttered from the side.
Those who had infiltrated the Salon had used their heads well.
'They moved in a cell-based structure and grabbed the weaknesses of the officials caught in between, making them distrust each other.'
It was the same method Krais had spoken of, of making the nobles fight each other so they wouldn't even look at the royal family.
'Thanks to that, it's difficult to infiltrate a Salon disguised as a noble.'
It was something Marcus had already attempted dozens of times.
He had heard that even Andrew had tried, but it had ended with catching only a few feelers.
And those who were sent in with a fake identity were caught every time.
'Sending a few soldiers from the Royal Guard won't fool them either.'
Enkrid was even worse in this respect.
His face was difficult to hide with a disguise, and the members from the Order of the Madmen Knights were all overflowing with individuality.
In terms of swordsmanship, their opponent was clad head-to-toe in a shield and armor.
One might think they could just cut through the shield and all, but.
'You have to cut only what's inside, not the shield.'
That was why it was such a headache, they had said.
Fake identities were caught every time, and there were very few nobles who were suited for this kind of work.
Marcus had found a gap.
No matter how well-made the armor, it has seams.
With a single sharp blade, it would be possible to pierce the gap between them.
Enkrid held the amber liquid in his mouth in one of the largest Salons in Naurillia.
Compared to the Founding Liquor, it was at a level where only a sharp, bitter taste spread.
It probably felt that way more because he had ordered something that wasn't a high-end product.
It was a moment where the common expression 'ruined one's palate' was fitting.
Enkrid's appearance stood out anywhere.
If the objective was infiltration, he was not a good choice.
"Tsk, it tastes good, but it's a shame."
Rem was also with him.
The gray-haired barbarian from the west stood out even just walking on the main street of the capital.
And what if an elf, the owner of golden hair, was with them?
"When we go to the city of elves, shall we drink Leaf Liquor, my fiancé?"
She spoke as she always did.
Flaunting her otherworldly beauty, she shone like the light sources scattered throughout the Salon's interior.
There were many high-class hostesses, but none were as beautiful as her.
Many gazes of admiration, regardless of gender, were upon her.
The damage to her spirit energy from the previous battle had made her face even paler, and she showed a strangely weak appearance, showing off a frail beauty.
If they knew that this elf had shattered one of Beelrog's crystals with a single kick, their gazes might have been a little different, but to those who didn't know, it was a peerless beauty showing a frail side.
"I'd like to treat you to a traditional frog liquor, too."
With a frog joining the elf, they became a party that perfectly captured everyone's attention.
It was only natural that everyone paid attention the moment they entered the Salon.
Still, they calmly took a seat, ordered drinks, and began their meal.
"It's not a liquor made from bugs, is it?"
"You know it well. It is a very special liquor."
"I am curious about the damn taste."
Rem was more of a gourmet and a drinker than one might think.
Enkrid, without much thought, swept his gaze around and met the eyes of a man who was half-bald and had a portly belly.
The man whose eyes had met his let out a dry cough and looked away.
The man headed straight for the bar and struck up a conversation with a woman sitting alone.
As he watched that scene, the woman covered her mouth with a fan and laughed, and the man laughed too.
The atmosphere seemed good.
The woman had a slightly large build, but an air of nobility emanated from her appearance.
Thanks to drawing everyone's attention, Enkrid felt stinging glares.
The emotions contained in the gazes were varied and complex: wariness, curiosity, fear, jealousy, anxiety, admiration.
An ordinary person's skin might have tingled, but Enkrid didn't mind.
He had calmly ignored even the looks of disdain he had received whenever he had discussed dreams like:
"A knight is your dream?"
"You'll get rid of the Demon Realm?"
At least among the gazes on him now, there was no disdain, was there?
If one were to pick the greatest emotion among them, it would be fear.
Of course, Enkrid didn't think that deeply.
Even inside the Salon, he was the same as when he was in the training grounds.
That is to say, he was lost in thought about swordsmanship.
'Can I cut only what's inside, passing through the shield and armor?'
His thoughts, which had been on various stories, had ended up on the topic of his own swordsmanship.
Of course, it was impossible.
'Among the techniques Audin uses, there is something called Holy Infiltration.'
To be more precise, one of the techniques that the martial arts monks called Monks learn when they reach a certain level was 'Holy Infiltration,' which ignores the opponent's ironclad armor and strikes the inside.
Enkrid had the experience of blocking the Holy Infiltration of the Grand Master of the Order of Cultists Annihilation before.
'If I were to imitate that infiltration?'
Suddenly, one of the techniques of the Valen-style mercenary swordplay came to mind.
'Striking as if slashing.'
A technique where you pretend to slash with the blade but then twist your wrist and strike with the flat of the sword.
It was also a technique that would ruin your wrist tendons if you tried it without training your forearms and wrists.
It was something he had thought from the first time he learned it, but the Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship was a sword style that was incredibly faithful to the basics.
That basic principle was that if it was difficult to deal with an opponent by slashing or piercing, then you should hit them.
Because a strike delivers an impact internally.
His thoughts continued one after another.
'Even when cutting down the giant in my dream.'
On the surface, it looked as if he was cutting with strength and skill.
The blond man who had been a part of the Ferryman had utilizedIndulesevery time he swung his weapon.
However, it wasn't a simple thing.
"You're quick-witted."
It was as if he had heard the Ferryman's phantom voice.
'One can stack will ontoIndules.'
It was an epiphany that had come to him in an unexpected place at an unexpected time.
Beelrog's labyrinth, the knight Oara who was trapped by him, and Beelrog.
Beelrog's blows had been heavier than his.
Faster, fiercer, and tougher.
Of course, there were complex reasons mixed in, but it must have also been influenced by the way he used his Will.
He had learned after fighting Beelrog.
To kill demons and erase the Demonic Realm, he had to go further.
The knight who discusses the end of war and the end of the era.
Enkrid's dream was still the same.
It hadn't ended just because he became a knight.
Hearing the sound of ice meeting a glass, he lifted his head and saw a man wearing a purple velvet coat, a thick-collared pure white shirt, and tight-fitting trousers, holding a cane.
Everyone, including Rem, knew that a long, thin piece of metal was hidden inside that cane.
A self-defense weapon called a sword-stick.
Since one couldn't openly carry a longsword inside a Salon, several such hidden blades could be seen.
Though the Salon guards search you when you enter, those who intend to hide one and enter will do so.
Still, there were no idiots here who would cause an incident that would easily draw blood.
Because to enter a Salon, you had to prove your own reputation to some extent.
Enkrid and the band of mad knights were an exception, though.
The guards had no power to stop them.
No, there was no lunatic anywhere in the city who would block the path of a knight.
In any case, it meant that self-defense weapons like a sword-stick were not this man's exclusive property.
And the weapon wasn't the problem; Enkrid and Rem were individuals with the martial prowess to beat everyone present in this place to death with their bare hands.
That was probably why.
Some nobles were intimidated just by looking at Rem.
Rem, as if enjoying it, showed a side of himself he usually didn't, tearing into a steamed duck leg with his bare hands.
Rem, who could show dining etiquette on par with a noble if necessary, was acting like that.
It was certainly a bad hobby.
The majority of the fear was likely thanks to this gray-haired western barbarian.
From an outsider's perspective, Enkrid was a person with a similar level of boldness as Rem.
The Monster Slaughterer.
Wasn't he the man who had come after lightly trampling on the charging monsters, beasts, and colonies?
Even among the mercenaries who had followed as escorts, none had dared to challenge him.
For that, Enkrid's fame was too great.
The gazes of admiration were mostly from swordsmen.
Among them, those who were obsessed with swordsmanship also had the desire to strike up a conversation and learn something.
Of course, because of the existence of Rem, no one had dared to try.
Rem offered a friendly greeting to the man who had approached.
Since he hadn't immediately thrown a punch, it was plenty friendly, but the one on the receiving end swallowed hard.
"We came to offer a bottle of liquor as a gift of gratitude for your precious visit, O Friend of the King."
The man chose from Enkrid's nicknames.
From Ender of the Civil War, Demon Slayer, Monster Slaughterer, Demonic Knight, and Heartbreaker, he had taken out the most innocuous title.
The man was the owner of the Salon.
With his words, he gestured, and a servant from behind brought a bottle of liquor and placed it down.
The inside of the Salon was generally dark, but magic lamps made to imitate spell objects illuminated various places.
Seeing as there was almost no scent of a real spell, it was probably an item touched by a clumsy spellcaster.
Well, even that would have a hefty price tag, but there were over sixteen of those magic lamps.
That alone proved that a considerable amount of Krona had gone into this place.
The plastered walls visible here and there were to make the atmosphere look like ancient ruins.
The sofas were comfortable, and the mood was dreamlike.
Men and women could be seen puffing white smoke here and there.
The young ones were servants, handmaidens, or hostesses, and it was a place where people of a generally older age group gathered.
There were a total of three famous Salons in the capital, and this place, one of them, was named the Calderan Ruins, after the ruins where an ancient war had broken out.
Rem received the bottle, opened it, put his nose to it, and savored the aroma.
Though not as good as a beastman's, his nose was sensitive.
Enkrid suddenly became curious about news of Dunbakel.
Since there was no news of her death, she was probably doing well.
It seemed the aroma was not bad.
He poured a glass and tossed it back.
He then asked, glancing at Enkrid.
Seeing as he asked before even judging the taste, it seemed to be a considerable high-end product.
Enkrid had little interest in liquor, so he shook his head.
Shinar did not drink because she was unwell, and Luagarne also looked away.
Then he poured and drank glass after glass.
The owner of the purple velvet coat, seeing that, let out a sigh of relief.
As did the tense escorts and servants behind him.
Enkrid knew exactly why he was here.
He was faithful to that role.
"I heard there are spies from the south here. Is that you?"
So he asked.

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