'…Now I finally understand why gathering intelligence on you back then went so smoothly, so smoothly it felt unreal.'
'My old friend, knowing both yourself and your enemy is the key to victory every time.'
'And now you speak your true thoughts to me, reveal your real form, even casually disclose the ancient and terrifying secrets about yourself. It seems the legends of Gaul were not mere rumors after all.'
'Mm-hmm. After all, I very much want you to know me, to understand me, and ultimately… to become me.'
'…'
'You know, I once explored ways to extend the fragile lifespans of your kind. After all, you little creatures can be quite endearing at times.'
'…'
'I seized research from Sami's immortal army, ventured into the deep sea in search of the limits of life, and even visited those in Yan who call themselves "immortals," hoping to invite them to explore the path to longevity together.'
'…'
'Do you know, little one, if all you seek is to prolong your life, there are countless secrets in this world waiting to be uncovered.'
'…'
'I truly cannot understand why you still refuse me. The country you love has not given your family, heroes who resisted Ursus and drove out Leithania, the recognition it deserves. Your beloved granddaughter, even if she defeats me, defeats Arthur Pendragon, and wins the knight tournament, will still be forced out of Kazimierz under the guise of being an Infected simply because she refused to obey the Chamber of Commerce. And you should already foresee what your second son will sacrifice for the sake of the family after your death… Kirill Nearl, tell me, can you truly bear to watch all this happen?'
'Black Snake, you don't need to try to sway me…'
'I'm not swaying you. You and I both know I'm simply stating facts.'
…
Outside the crumbling Nearl estate,
the old men lay scattered on the ground. Some clutched their backs, groaning in pain. Some cursed Młynar for his coldness and ruthlessness. But more of them simply remained silent, watching with sorrowful eyes the once spirited youth, once one of the prides of the Nearl family—Młynar Nearl.
Now, he stood on the side of the Nearl family's theoretical enemy, even preparing to lead that terrifying being to his own kin.
"…My lord, forgive their transgression."
Młynar stood silently before Arthur.
His expression was heavy with sorrow, his tone humble.
Yet his hand never left the hilt of his sheathed sword.
Something within him still held firm.
If Arthur went too far, he would draw his blade in an instant and sever that ever-smiling head.
Even if it meant igniting the Eleventh Ursus–Kazimierz War.
If retreat did not earn mercy, if it could not protect what he wished to protect…
then what meaning did retreat have?
…
"It's fine. I forgive them."
Arthur did not move.
He knew that even the slightest action could provoke Młynar's fragile restraint.
Those fallen old men could only see Młynar's decisiveness in action. But aside from the Black Snake, who truly understood terran nature, who could see the barely restrained fury beneath that cold, harsh exterior?
Knowing when to stop was enough.
Arthur's smile looked warm and bright, yet to those on the ground, it felt like mockery.
The shadows on the ground slowly receded, returning to stillness beneath him.
For him, this was already sufficient.
'After all, too much is as bad as too little.'
Taming required patience.
Even the Chamber of Commerce had failed to tame Młynar after so many years. The Black Snake had no illusions about subduing him easily.
Arthur looked toward the Nearl estate, now just a short distance away.
'Let me see… the knightly spirit Kirill would rather die than abandon—what exactly is it, I wonder?'
___
"Heh… even in a prosperous city like the Kawalerielki, there are still corners like this."
The sound of leather shoes echoed softly as a red-haired Sarkaz in a top hat walked through a narrow, dilapidated alley.
Satan had come here to add a layer of insurance for Arthur Pendragon—and, incidentally, to keep an eye on the self-willed Church of Satan, lest those people cause trouble in his name.
Arthur Pendragon was no weakling, but Młynar, the man who had sheathed what was perhaps Kazimierz's strongest sword, was undoubtedly stronger. Perhaps by far.
After all, Arthur's current body had been created simply to experience Kazimierz's knightly culture. Winning the championship would be more than enough.
No one could say whether that seemingly obedient, long-suffering man might suddenly snap and cut Arthur's head off in a single stroke.
That would be… inconvenient.
And the Black Snake had no intention of letting the Church of Satan's recklessness spark an Eleventh Ursus–Kazimierz War.
After all, who didn't know by now that Satan was, in truth, Duke Kashchey?
Well… aside from the fanatics of the Church of Satan.
They firmly believed that Duke Kashchey was Satan.
Rumors like "Kashchey made a deal with Satan," "Kashchey is just Satan's disguise," or even "so Kashchey is actually a Sarkaz" circulated in all sorts of absurd variations.
The Black Snake turned a blind eye to it all.
Most people only believe what they want to believe.
But the humiliation it endured to gain recognition from the Sarkaz consciousness did not mean it would allow the Church to act without restraint.
Ursus needed time to recover.
Kazimierz, too, had no desire to be dragged into the mire of war—especially not with Ursus.
Even though, after Kashchey's withdrawal, Kirill Nearl had rallied the Silverlance Pegasi and torn through Ursus lines, driving the invaders from Kazimierz soil, the gap in military strength remained undeniable.
The two sides maintained a fragile balance, and the fulcrum of that balance was Arthur.
If Arthur successfully participated in the knight tournament, even without placing, it would mark a turning point in the diplomatic relationship between Ursus and Kazimierz.
The Chamber of Commerce needed a stable external environment to grow.
So did the current Emperor of Ursus.
Of course, their mutual hatred would not simply disappear overnight. That was unrealistic.
But just as nothing in this world is eternal, hatred without fuel would, under the passage of time, eventually fade.
If a day was not enough, if a year was not enough—then ten years, a hundred years, even a thousand?
The Black Snake could wait.
Wait for the day when hatred waned, when Ursus and Kazimierz might finally embrace one another.