The High Pontiff's dream was big. He wanted to put the entire continent under his feet and rule it.
"I'm a man who was born to rule this land."
Do you need a god's permission to dream?
No, you don't. He didn't need anyone's permission. The High Pontiff was an explorer and an ambitious man who carved out his life with his own hands.
He poured everything he had into it—his inborn talent and status included. He even did things a human shouldn't do, easily. They say a ruler needs a strong stomach, don't they?
In that sense, there was nobody more suited to a throne than the High Pontiff. He had a strong stomach. If he had to, he was the sort of man who could chew and swallow even the flesh of his dead child.
"One continent."
People moved by the High Pontiff's long-cherished wish gathered, and people driven by coercion and oppression banded together.
Because of that, Rihinstetten prospered over the last hundred years like never before. The High Pontiff accepted the southern "barbarian" tribes and absorbed the giant warrior clans as well. He even put beneath his feet a fairy village with black skin, called the Black Forest tribe.
If Balrog hadn't existed, and if those Demon-lands lords hadn't interfered, the High Pontiff would have swallowed the continent long ago.
Even with all those obstacles, instead of giving up, he gathered war supplies, increased the number of his knight orders, and after fighting and persuading the Demon-lands lords, he even reached a contract with them.
On the other hand, the more he built up arms and went to war, the harsher the people's lives became. It was the same as squeezing the entire country dry for the sake of war.
For him, prosperity was something for later.
"You handle it and soothe their hearts. There won't be any rebellion anyway, but make them trust you and follow you. Learn to rule."
The High Pontiff didn't have many heirs. He kept alcohol and women at a distance. He lived like an ascetic.
And yet, he had one child, and that son filled his father's empty space.
At first it was a chain of things that were hard to understand, but the son carried out his role faithfully.
That was how the High Pontiff's son became someone everyone in Rihinstetten loved.
And the son didn't like his father. It's hard to feel love from someone who never once held you after you were born, and never spoke warm words to you.
"Don't forget your role."
The High Pontiff said it again and again, and the son understood his intent.
The one who inherits the long-cherished wish is the successor, and the son was not his father's successor.
He was his father's will, and his only legacy.
***
The one who rode up on horseback was the High Pontiff's son.
Crang met the High Pontiff's son, and the two traded words of one kind or another. When the rain began to fall, a small tent was put up beside the place they had fought.
With the knight order wiped out, gloom filled the entire southern army.
On the other hand, the Naurillia army shouted in triumph.
The atmosphere split sharply. The tent pitched between the two forces looked like a border and a wall cutting the two nations apart, and the two groups faced each other in lines with the tent between them. Win or lose, everyone here had the same thought.
'Enough war.'
All they wanted now was to end this sickening fight and have no more killing and being killed.
"I acknowledge defeat. I'll accept whatever you do. But I ask for one mercy. If you're going to kill someone, end it with me and the army."
Crang's spirits had surged as he watched the knights' fight, but he didn't hand himself over to emotion.
With the single step he took forward, the lives of everyone standing behind him were on the line.
With a single word he spoke, a son might die before he could return to his mother, and he might make a child who'd lost their parents.
To Crang, he could see that same side in the man facing him.
"So all those soldiers can die?"
Crang asked.
The son knew his father's will.
"My dream that I couldn't achieve will be achieved by the one who beat me."
It wasn't something the High Pontiff had said directly, but when you looked at his arrangements, it felt like you could hear his voice.
What a fucking madman.
'Father, High Pontiff— you're a fucking madman.'
The son truly thought so. The High Pontiff had prepared to hand over everything he'd gathered in the south after he died.
'The long-cherished wish continues.'
It's just that I'm not the one who achieves it.
The son was only a political tool for it. He was a timid, weak ruler who couldn't replace his father, and he had a weak stomach. He was also the father of four children, and a man with a woman he loved.
'If I dodge responsibility, everyone dies.'
Putting his own life on the line and protecting the family he had left was the best he could do.
Tap, tap.
The rain hammered the oiled tent cloth. There was no table—only two chairs, facing each other.
Crang, sitting with his back straight, opened his mouth.
"We—"
He cut himself off and registered the presence of the two knight commanders standing behind him. Here, who was strong and who was weak was obvious.
No—over the next several decades, Rihinstetten would have a hard time exerting strength. The High Pontiff had poured every bit of power he had into this war and failed. The absence of the knight orders would become the cause of Rihinstetten's weakened national strength in the future.
Even if Naurillia made them a vassal state and tore off Krona however it wanted, they wouldn't be able to resist.
'And the people will go hungry in the middle of it.'
Half the nobles would ask to defect.
It was a future you could see without even turning your head.
If there were people with any brains, they would leave the country and scatter elsewhere. On top of that, Rihinstetten had a wide stretch of land bordering the Demon-lands. Without that army right now, the nation would collapse. Everything was only a matter of time.
But the one who held the advantage was Crang.
If the purpose had been to win the war, and the goal had been to crush the enemy nation—
'There were plenty of ways.'
That was how Crang saw it.
If he'd thrown the entire army forward and fought, the chance of winning would have been higher. No— that was the way to fight longer and kill and be killed more.
He'd been waiting for reinforcements, so there was clearly an advantageous side too.
But Crang sat down at a gambling table and bet everything he owned. He even bet his life on the knights' duel. Why did he go that far?
"Let's sign a non-aggression treaty."
Crang said.
Enkrid left the tent after seeing only that far. There was a captain of the guard there, and the head of the enemy nation had come with only two attendants. There was no threat.
"Give me a hand."
Beside him, Cypress held out his hand. Enkrid put Cypress's arm over his shoulder and went out.
Even as the two left, Crang didn't look back, and the High Pontiff's son only stared into Crang's eyes. What did he just say? A treaty? It was the moment his head got complicated.
Emotion was plainly written across his face. As Enkrid glanced at him and walked out, Cypress asked.
"There's no need to watch more, right?"
"What's there to say?"
Maybe because they'd fought together, shedding blood and sweat, Cypress didn't feel that far away to Enkrid.
When he'd been chasing a dream, he'd always been someone far ahead, but they'd fought shoulder to shoulder, so maybe it was only natural.
"He's an impressive king."
Cypress said in admiration. Crang chose a treaty instead of exploitation. He hoped that instead of coercion and oppression, they would, with time, come to understand each other and stand shoulder to shoulder.
You could say admiration came out on its own.
His vessel is different. It was a size that was hard to measure.
"If it were me, I'd have made them all kneel and stick their heads out."
Cypress muttered. Enkrid snorted. It was funny, the way this knight commander was saying things he didn't mean.
Well, it was a moment where it was easy to play along with the joke. Letting his body take the drizzling raindrops, Enkrid opened his mouth.
"So after you cut down over two thousand heads by yourself, were you going to get a reputation as a knight who cut down two thousand alone instead of 'worth a thousand'?"
"If I'd had the strength to swing my sword, I would've."
They both burst into laughter at the same time. A knight isn't a slaughtering weapon. He's someone who speaks of honor and keeps oaths through resolve and vows.
Cypress was a textbook that showed what a knight was.
"In the end, you shouldn't have stepped in."
If the Dragonkin hadn't stepped in, Cypress would have burned his life away. Like a candle that burns only once in its whole life, he would have burned everything.
It wasn't a fight for Enkrid, but he'd been full of the desire for Enkrid to retreat.
If you have to fight for someone else's tomorrow, isn't it natural to want to save someone you like, someone with a bright future?
"Fighting together…"
Enkrid paused to pick his words. A knight who had once died in front of him came to mind. He'd never forget that scene—when she killed Balrog's fragment.
What should he call her? It was hard to find a word that fit.
"I lost a comrade once, and it left a bad taste in my mouth."
"You bet your life over a mere bad taste?"
Cypress asked back, without wiping the laughter from his face.
"Yes. That's how it usually is."
They called it the Mad Order of Knights, and sure enough, it fit.
Even the way of thinking itself was exceptional. He'd expressed it as a "bad taste," but the real reason would be different.
"Damn it, this one was a bit hard. You worked hard too. Sir Cypress."
Enkrid stopped, too shocked to take another step. A barbarian with gray hair soaked by the rain walked up in front of them and said it. Enkrid knew it hadn't been an easy fight for him either. The wounds left all over his body proved that.
But Enkrid was shocked for another reason. Rem had said "Sir Cypress." He'd even kept a tone that sounded like he respected him.
"Who are you?"
Enkrid suspected a Doppelganger.
"…You crazy commander bastard."
Rem glared, having realized the intent behind Enkrid's words.
"If there's a demon perched in his head, how about we cut it off?"
Ragna said from three steps away from Rem, having stabbed his sword into the ground and leaning on it like a cane.
"Is it today? The day of revenge?"
Dunbakel, collapsed on the ground, picked up on his words. One leg was broken. Her fight had been truly rough, too.
"Master, these bastards are all too weird. I think every single one of them is a crazy bastard."
Lien said beside her, his arm wrapped tight in a bandage.
Cypress looked at them, laughed heartily, and passed out.
"Grandfather!"
Aurelia, who had come up, supported him, and in that gap, Shinar hooked her arm over Enkrid's shoulder.
"I won't ask you to carry me. You look tired too. But you need support."
The fairy didn't "support" him—she walked while half leaning into him.
The fight was over. The rain continued for three days, and Crang accepted Rihinstetten's defeat.
The non-aggression treaty wasn't one-sidedly favorable to either side. Crang decided to learn the secrets and know-how Rihinstetten had for dealing with the Demon-lands, and Rihinstetten didn't lose a single city. Still, some of the supplies they had stockpiled and things like royal secrets were transferred in secret.
"In the first place, the south is pretty barren. But there are a lot of good minerals. I judged that trade had more profit than taking it. And besides, maintaining and repairing the wall that was built to block the Demon-lands—there's nobody who can do it if it isn't them right now."
Crang said after returning from the talks that lasted two days.
"So. You're satisfied because you didn't kill even the people of the south?"
Enkrid spoke, pinpointing the core.
"Yeah. Very."
Crang answered with a smile.
Each nation agreed to build two cities in the region. Not military cities, but cities meant for trade. They decided to build a stone bridge on the cliff and make that the symbol of the treaty.
There were too many exhausted and wounded people. Especially two who were even more exhausted. When Audin and Teresa saw a few holy priests coming from the holy city Legion, they passed out on the spot.
"What on earth did those two do?"
The priesthood was extremely shocked. They were shocked at what had been accomplished by pouring sanctity into two holy relics.
Then the nobles' army joined up.
"There's no time for me to shine."
Andrew Gardner came along leading a unit, and after he heard everything that had happened here, his hands trembled.
"Mad Order of Knights!"
They said he suddenly bellowed inside his personal tent.
Some of the nobles even protested to the king.
"It was a war we won. If necessary, I believe it was a chance for the entire south to become Yours, Your Highness."
Crang smoothly struck back at part of the nobles' opinion.
"Then we'd have to turn it into a colony and set up a governor-general's office too, wouldn't we? Some of them would keep fighting to the end, and an organization like a resistance would come out too. Are you confident you can sit in that governor-general seat? 'Southern Governor-General's Office'—the ring isn't bad, but I am curious how many people who sit there will survive. Will you volunteer first?"
You could call it a cutting tone rather than a smooth one, but even so, it was softened.
"It would've been right, wouldn't it? While we're at it, you weren't planning to occupy a few cities and take a few mines? Send a few soldiers off to die at the governor-general's office?"
Well—he'd held back what he actually wanted to say.
It took over three days just to clean up the battlefield and sort out the situation. And then, on one of those days, Cypress called for Enkrid.
In this battle, one of his legs was ruined. Several priests poured sanctity into him, and even Audin checked once, but it was too much.
A portion of the leg bone had been shaved away and was simply gone—what could you do?
The only reason he could even walk was thanks to muscles that had been tempered.
It was early morning. Dawn had broken, but it was still a cold day like that.
"I think I should tell you one secret."
"A secret?"
"I can't fight anymore."
Knight Cypress said.