"Did we go too far?"
The ferryman asked.
"It was fickle."
The ferryman answered.
"It was madness. What was so pretty about it? That it provided some amusement? It was just for a moment."
The ferryman spoke again.
"Wasn't that the 'thing' that was yet to come?"
Again, the ferryman asked.
"Humans are creatures of potential and possibility."
"And for that reason, they are arrogant."
"He will be the same, won't he?"
"Who knows? Just as it was amusing, the things to come could change as well."
"If he ends up trapped, then that's as far as it goes."
It was a solitary question-and-answer session, with no one there to listen.
* * *
Krang held the first strategic meeting at the Royal Palace's training ground. A small platform was set up, and the Royal Guard was stationed around it.
Among them, a group of nobles gathered first.
Whenever people gather, talk is bound to arise. One among them, who had overheard various rumors, started to speak.
"I heard fifty lycanthropes appeared before the Border Guard. Count Molsen is said to be a sorcerer. Who knows what more might come out of his territory?"
"Hah."
"It's dangerous. We barely stopped them, barely."
"They say not only the lycanthropes but also the creatures that once shook the Capital were his doing."
"Is that all? There's talk that the incident in the palace, with Viscount Mernes at its center, was also the Count's handiwork."
Krang didn't try to control the information. In fact, he spread it further. Everyone knew the full details of the incident.
"They're saying we have to fight without calling back a single Knight stationed outside."
"Does that even make sense? At least one Knight from the Red Cape Knights should come."
"… This isn't going to turn into a hopeless battle, is it?"
One of the younger nobles, who had inherited his title, crossed the line, blurting out the words unconsciously due to his anxiety.
Even though they stood with Krang, not all shared the same heart. When anxiety spreads, trust can waver.
That was the state of things now.
It was a group of landed nobles, junior nobles, heads of the trade guilds in the Capital, and guild masters.
"How dare you."
"Can you not even trust the Lord you've chosen to serve?"
Two nobles who had been watching sternly rebuked him, prompting the one who had first spoken to open his mouth again.
"Just scolding each other won't help. We need to assess the situation and judge accordingly. If all we do is blindly trust, we might as well go to the temple over there and just pray, don't you think?"
"Baron Zeppel, what exactly are you trying to say?"
At that, the man known as Baron Zeppel responded immediately.
"Let's face reality and do what needs to be done."
"Are you suggesting betrayal?"
The one who raised the question seemed ready to strike at any moment.
Since the training ground had been chosen as the meeting place, everyone was armed.
Several non-nobles frowned. Is this alright? Who knows how long this civil war will last—are we really on the right side with people like this?
"Are you looking for blood, Baron Rudin?"
The titles they used to address each other were cold. They weren't sworn enemies, but they had clashed before over a nearby mining vein, as their territories were adjacent.
There was no way they could get along.
Aside from their small quarrel, the anxiety among them grew.
The closer a noble was to Count Molsen's territory, the stronger this tendency was.
What if a colony of monsters suddenly attacked? What would happen to their land?
Even losing a single city would result in catastrophic losses.
Even if this was a civil war, should they risk everything they had?
And if they lost? Or even if they won, would there be anything left?
If a territorial war broke out afterward, whose side would the King take?
The side that fought better? Or the side that was more useful at the time?
This was a common concern, not only for the nobles but also for the guild masters and artisans.
Everyone here had a lot to consider politically. Yet they were people of courage and determination.
After all, hadn't they all turned their backs on Count Molsen?
Of course, some among them had no choice but to oppose the Count.
For example, there were those who had lost entire trading companies, passed down through generations, because the Count, in the name of business, had consumed the surrounding markets.
Others had lost half their territory because they had to pay an outrageous protection fee to fend off monster attacks orchestrated by the Count.
Such people would grit their teeth whenever Molsen's name was mentioned.
"Humans becoming monsters? No, more like they're harboring a pack of monsters from the start! How could we consider such a person to be human like us?"
One of them raised that point.
He was a master of one of the artisan guilds. They took pride in crafting weapons for humans, so such a statement made sense.
More than twenty people had gathered.
Notable high-ranking nobles like Marquis Visar or Marquis Octo had yet to arrive.
More precisely, both were at Krang's side.
They were in a small building at the back of the training ground, in a musty barracks that smelled of sweat.
"Not everyone will be of the same mind."
"But we can't consider them enemies either."
The two Marquises spoke in turn.
Those who had aligned themselves with the prevailing winds.
Those who stood with Krang but were not willing to risk everything.
And others who each carried their own bundle of thoughts.
Nevertheless, they were necessary.
At this moment, it was hard to even gauge the extent of the power Count Molsen was hiding.
So, if even ghouls stood on their side, they had no choice but to turn a blind eye and accept it for the time being.
In fact, that was exactly what the Count was doing.
"A sorcerer, they said."
Visar seemed to frown, as if lines were forming on his forehead.
Whatever Count Molsen had done, these beings—whether human or monster—were on his side.
How that was possible didn't matter right now, and perhaps it never would. What mattered now was fighting and winning.
"You need to look at the long term."
The Marquis of Octo added his words.
His power came from the land. If not for that, he wouldn't have earned the title 'Octo' as his moniker.
The longer the war dragged on, the one who would suffer the most was the Marquis of Octo.
If battles erupted everywhere, could farmland still be properly maintained?
And yet, he was saying the war shouldn't be short. In order to win, they had to sap Count Molsen's strength.
He was likely also calculating that if they dragged it out long enough, the Knight orders might intervene on their own.
"Did you say you declined the Knights' involvement? You shouldn't have done that."
He spoke with blunt honesty.
He believed that in order to win, one should not be picky about the methods or means used. And he wasn't wrong.
To all of this, Krang simply responded with a faint smile. The weather was pleasant, with warm sunshine. Summer would soon arrive.
Wasn't this the time when the sounds of insects grew noticeably louder?
"The weather is nice."
Krang said.
As Marcus arrived late, he noticed the tense expressions of the two Marquises and asked,
"Did you exchange some harsh words?"
Marcus could be considered a loyalist. If the two Marquises had joined based on conditions, or because they couldn't tolerate the opposition, Marcus had put everything on Krang as a person.
"Your manners are slipping, Marcus."
"Since when have you cared about my manners?"
Marcus replied to the Marquis' comment, standing by his Lord's side.
"You'll finish this in one go, won't you?"
He asked naturally.
"That's the plan. I don't have the guts to do it twice."
Krang answered.
"Oh, you don't have the guts, so you'll do it in one go? What a remark to toy with those who truly lack courage."
Marcus joked.
"What do you mean, finish this in one go?"
It was the Marquis of Visar who spoke, a seasoned politician who never showed surprise. But he couldn't just let this comment pass.
It implied that everything would be decided in a single battle.
"If we drag this civil war out, what will be left of this land?"
Krang asked, still smiling.
"If we don't win the civil war, we'll lose everything we hold in our hands."
It was a reasonable statement.
"Then we just have to win."
"Do you think it'll be easy to win with a rabble like that?"
"Are you underestimating the Count's power?"
"Neither. We'll do everything we can, and the rest is up to whether the Goddess of luck smiles upon us."
"We must make sure that doesn't happen."
"Victory, even if it sickens the country."
Krang inwardly shook his head.
That didn't mean he couldn't understand the two before him.
If you don't win, you lose. That's how they viewed the battle. But Krang saw further than that.
'Winning isn't the end.'
Count Molsen would also aim to finish the fight in a single battle.
This was entirely logical to the two Marquises.
If they desired the throne, and wanted it to still be called the King's seat afterward, this is what they had to do.
A beast couldn't afford to be devoured by jackals after the fight.
There were still many enemies: Rihinstetten in the south, Aspen in the east.
And the ongoing threat of the Demon Realm was ever-present.
Thus, with the strength they had now, they had to finish it in one go.
'Broader and bigger.'
"The threat of the Demon Realm grows each year, causing us to lose more territory. I don't intend to sit by and watch it happen."
Krang cut through the present and spoke of the future. The two Marquises weren't fools. They understood.
It was about after the civil war. Krang was already envisioning the future.
The two Marquises fell silent.
"My heart is too narrow to fully grasp your grand vision."
Then Marcus, standing behind Krang, threw out a comment that was almost a joke.
It was an old proverb.
It sounded half like mockery, but in truth, the message was that if understanding Krang's intentions was difficult, they might as well trust and follow him.
The two Marquises, of course, understood.
But that didn't mean they let it slide.
"That tongue of yours will get you into trouble one day."
"I've told him many times, but it seems impossible to fix."
The two Marquises criticized Marcus with refined language, and Marcus just smiled, following behind his Lord.
Krang stepped outside.
It was time to meet with the gathered nobles, guild masters, and merchants.
Their strength was necessary. Neither justification nor manpower was in abundant supply.
Above all, to fight properly, they needed unity.
It would be ideal if everyone shared the same intention, but if that was too difficult, they could be bound together by a common focal point.
And if that didn't work? They could offer conditions. It was a fresh thought.
'Is this an unfavorable fight?'
Krang quickly dismissed the self-deprecating question.
Since when had he ever fought an easy battle?
Just because it was unfavorable didn't mean it was a defeat.
There was a man beside him who had turned the impossible into reality.
Even if he could only achieve half of what Encrid had shown, that would be enough.
Even if he could only match half of the luck that Encrid always claimed he had, it would still be good.
This was the first step.
Standing on the platform, Krang looked over the crowd, basking in the warm sunlight.
The murmur of voices naturally quieted.
"Did you sleep well?"
That was his opening remark.
A few words were exchanged. Nobles expressed admiration, thoughts, and concerns.
Krang, having listened to it all, calmly raised his hand and lowered it. With that brief gesture, they fell silent.
"I believe we will win—don't you?"
Confidence in victory? From where?
"Baron Zeppel, your light infantry is said to be so swift that no one can catch them in the forest, is that true?"
Zeppel had a ranger unit, raised and trained in the woods.
He himself would get up in the middle of the night if there was a hunt to be had.
"…Yes."
"And Baron Rudin, I hear you are a master of spearmanship."
"My skills are lacking."
"I heard that at one point you dreamed of joining the Knights. Was I mistaken?"
"That was a childhood dream."
His skills were said to surpass those of a Squire. Krang smiled faintly.
"I think once will be enough. Just once."
His voice echoed across the wide training ground, then quickly dissipated.
However, Krang's words seemed to linger, as if they continued to float in the air. It was as though they were being etched into their minds.
He stood there with his arms at his sides, showing only a faint smile.
He didn't appear to be a King, nor did he seem like an exceptional strategist.
Yet, he was someone you felt you could trust. If he had been a conman, he would've been one of the greatest swindlers in history.
But he wasn't a conman. He was the next King and, at present, the leader of this group.
"How will you fight?"
"I said we would meet on the plains of Naurill, so that's what we'll do."
It was as casual as saying a friend was coming to visit from the outskirts of the city and he'd go out to greet them.
That calm, composed attitude only inspired more confidence.
A belief that victory was certain.
There were those who had trusted and followed Krang from the beginning.
"I have fifty well-trained spearmen under my command. It's a small number, but please make good use of them!"
One noble stepped forward.
"My skills may be lacking, but I will stand at the front."
"I've stocked some provisions—wheat and beans—I'll send them over."
Others began to chime in as well.
If you can't dispel anxiety, you can cover it with belief.
"Trust me. We will win."
That's what Krang did.
Without any grand speech, he had managed to unite those who remained under a single purpose.
One battle—that would be enough.
"What if Count Molsen has other plans?"
The Marquis of Octo muttered.
He was a genius when it came to internal affairs, but battle was a different matter. War wasn't his area of expertise.
Krang, stepping down from the platform, responded to the question.
"Count Molsen is an ambitious man, and he's too clever not to follow through."
* * *
A month passed quickly.
"Not a single Knight is coming?"
In response to his guard and adjutant's question, Count Molsen adjusted his armor and replied.
"You're disappointed, I see."
"Yes."
"So am I."
Their forces had been prepared with the assumption that the Knight orders would intervene.
And now, they had to fight without the Knights?
'Arrogance. That bastard.'
Clank.
Molsen, dressed in armor with plates fixed in place, held the magical sword that symbolized his title as Count. Fully armed, he made his declaration.
"I will end the Royal Family on the plains of Naurill."
Bwooooooo!
His forces, encamped on the plains, blew their horn.
A signal to come out and fight.