Chapter 70: King, General, Minister

The situation in Morning Light City was critical, but not as bad as we had imagined. After capturing Silver Shield Castle, which guarded the southern passage to the Royal Capital, nearly twenty thousand troops of the great Crete army merely camped inside the city and did not immediately launch an attack on our Royal Capital.

Before we arrived, three reinforcement forces had already reached Morning Light City: three thousand private soldiers from the domain of His Excellency Marquis Meneval, the Minister of Military Affairs; five thousand troops under His Excellency Duke Gallett, His Majesty the King’s nephew and the lord of the Eastern Hitevnia Highlands; and eight hundred reinforcements from Fent City in the northwest, led by the young Baron Miraze. Compared with the forces of the two great nobles, Baron Miraze’s troops were not only insignificant in number, but their armor and equipment were also outdated. Yet I felt that the young baron’s soldiers behaved more like real soldiers— they were alert and dependable, and did not let down their guard even while resting.

Morning Light City in crisis was like a small boat swaying in the wind and rain, yet beneath the invisible surface of the water, several powerful undercurrents were stirring…

“Welcome, our invincible warrior, young Marquis.” In front of the royal palace, Marquis Meneval warmly embraced Fred. After we had won a victory over the great army of the Winston Empire with a ragtag force that resembled a militia, he unashamedly claimed to be Fred’s discoverer, often acting like a mentor to curry favor with Fred, afraid that others might not know that it was he who had recommended Fred for an independent command. As for what kind of army he had originally given us, no one ever mentioned it again.

“Ah, Lord Meneval, it has been many days since we last met, and you look even better than before. However, I must point out your slip of the tongue—my title is merely that of a second-class Count.” At some point, Fred had learned to deal with these slippery bureaucrats with diplomatic pretense. While displaying proper etiquette, he also knew when to show insincere friendliness to the other party, although at such times he could never hide his furrowed brows.

“I said nothing wrong, sir…” The Minister of Military Affairs lowered his voice even more. “Your victory on the battlefield won you this title. You know, my princess had to exert great effort to persuade His Majesty, who was rather obstinate. But that is all in the past—this is an honor you truly deserve…”

By now, we were no longer novices completely ignorant of inner court affairs. At least I had enough status and position to stand in the most central hall of this country, so I knew that the princess he spoke of was Princess Camory—the only daughter of His Majesty and the only child he publicly acknowledged. And her husband was none other than Viscount Kritz, the second son of Mr. Meneval.

“Your appointment certificate will arrive soon, and I, young sir, wanted you to know this in advance. I shouldn’t have told you, but I simply couldn’t help myself. I am so happy—after all, you are the finest talent I ever recommended, and this proves that old Meneval’s eyes are still sharp, hahaha…”

“You truly overwhelm me with your kindness, sir.” Fred replied with neither humility nor arrogance, but I could see that his mood had grown even worse.

“However, before the official appointment is issued, I dare not overstep my position. I shall take my leave, sir…” My friend led us in a respectful bow to Mr. Meneval, displaying courtesy so excessive that even a subordinate official would not have shown such to a superior. This was a sign of Fred’s extreme disgust. He would rather use exceptionally formal courtesy to keep people he disliked at a distance. Perhaps he felt that even his honest disgust was not worth showing to such people.

Unfortunately, Mr. Meneval seemed to take this as a positive gesture. He accepted our courtesy with a clear conscience and smiled as he watched us leave.

“Hey, who is that? Though I have never met you, I recognized you at first sight. You are the Sword of Delanmaya, the hero of the kingdom, Count Ka Guderian, aren’t you? I am so delighted to meet you.” Before we had taken more than a few steps, we were forced to stop by a voice calling out to us. The one who had called out was a nobleman around thirty-five years old, with brown hair. If one overlooked the puffiness common among nobles, his figure was quite well-proportioned, and he could almost be called a handsome man. His expression was very amiable, as if he could throw an arm around anyone’s shoulder and become friends at any moment, but his two blue eyes were like two flames of deep blue, burning with the desire in his heart.

“Duke Gallett.” Fred recognized the other’s identity from his noble crest. He had no choice but to pawn the freedom he had just gained from one scheming flatterer onto another, picking up the conversation with respect but without sincerity.

“Don’t stand on ceremony, young Count. Oh, perhaps I should call you Marquis. Do you know about this?” He slapped his forehead, as if suddenly realizing something. “Of course you know. What Mr. Meneval just told you must have been about this. In fact, there was no need for him to rush to tell you—it simply robbed you of the joy of an unexpected surprise.”

“Gaining a higher position means taking on more responsibility, sir. I don’t see it as any kind of surprise.” I truly sympathized with my friend. He tried hard to squeeze out a polite smile, but he looked awful at the moment.

“Don’t call me ‘sir.’ I like making friends with young soldiers.” The Duke waved his hand casually. “Don’t take me for one of those old-fashioned nobles. I have served in the army and fought in wars. If you are willing to call me by my name, or greet me as a friend or brother like an old soldier would, I would be very happy to accept it. In fact, many generals in the military are my good friends, and I hope you can become one of them…” As he spoke those last words, he gave Fred a meaningful look, with clear intent to win him over.

“I’m afraid I don’t have that honor…” Fred’s facial muscles seemed to be twitching, and I did not know how much longer he could hold that rather poor smile. Just as I was trying to find some way to relieve his suffering, the voice of the court master of ceremonies saved him:

“The King has arrived…”

The clamor of the court ceased, and the officials each greeted the king’s arrival with appropriate ceremony. When he sat down on his seat and said “Rise” in a somewhat hoarse voice, I once again saw the monarch of this country.

In less than a year’s time, he had aged a great deal: his hair, once jet black with a few silver strands, had now become a patch of grayish white. His eye sockets and nose were gradually sinking, and his hands were like dehydrated plants, withered beyond recognition. His breathing was heavy and his gaze was unfocused. If not for the traces of solemn kingly bearing that remained in his features, I might have thought I had mistaken him for someone else. For this frail old man, bearing the weight of a country on his shoulders did indeed seem too heavy, especially when he had to face the bullying and warfare of two great powers. His body showed no major problems, but his mental state was very poor. Although I did not have Millia’s superb medical skills, at least I knew that mental stress could also kill a person, and such problems were very difficult to solve.

Looking at his frail appearance, then at the Minister of Military Affairs, whose daughter-in-law had the right of succession to the throne, and then at the Duke, who also enjoyed the right of succession, I seemed to understand something, but could not quite grasp it fully.

“My general, you have returned. Very good.” His Majesty looked at Fred and us, his expression still as kind as ever. He was simply a kind old man. This quality was a rare virtue for an ordinary person, but for a monarch, it was not necessarily a blessing.

“I have received your battle reports. You did very well, displaying the might of our Delanmaya and saving this country. It is a pity to recall you at this time, but I believe the Winston invading army will not be able to accomplish anything major for now. To show my recognition, I hereby grant you the title of Third-Class Marquis, and your men will also receive rewards befitting their loyalty.”

He made a gesture, and an attendant brought up the appointment certificate and ceremonial insignia that had been prepared in advance. We all knelt on the ground, expressed our gratitude to His Majesty the King, and then withdrew to one side. Among the crowd, I noticed a pair of young, bright eyes fixed on Fred, sparkling with excited light. That look was strange—it was neither simple jealousy nor envy, but seemed to contain an abnormal fervor. Even calling it worship would not have been an exaggeration. I deliberately studied the owner of that gaze. He was a young lower-ranking noble, tall, slim, straight and handsome. His ceremonial robe was not as bright as those of the people around him, but it was neat and proper. He stood there motionless, as quiet as a stone, yet I felt as if this person were a ball of flame burning. He did not notice the existence of anyone else, not even His Majesty the King, but focused all his attention on Fred.

An interesting young man, I thought, and then I could not help but let out a self-deprecating laugh. Young man? Was I no longer a young man myself? I was only twenty-two years old. What had made me feel so quickly that I had grown old?

When I gathered my scattered attention, His Majesty’s long speech had come down to its final paragraph: “…Delanmaya is in imminent danger. I do not know how much longer this great name left by our heroic ancestors can be preserved, but I believe it will never disappear in my hands. Now, beneath the walls of the capital, there are excellent warriors aplenty. I only need one person to step forward to command them, to lead them, to face the strong enemy with them, and to achieve victory! Everyone standing here is the most outstanding of Delanmaya. I hope that among you there is the one I seek, who will become the commander of this defense of the capital.”

A long silence followed. No one answered.

To single-handedly withstand the invasion of two great powers with the strength of a not-so-powerful country—the slightest mistake would bring ruin and disgrace. Even a gentle monarch would find someone to vent his anger upon in times of despair. At such a time, the best outcome for a defeated commander would be to lose his head, and the worst… no one could imagine. This was not the time to play the hero.

“What, no one? Not even one? Look at all of you—there are generals, marshals, prime ministers, ministers, and royal relatives. You draw generous salaries, yet at this moment there is not a single one who can help me?” His Majesty looked at the noblest people of the kingdom standing closest to him. His words carried anger, but even more so helplessness and weariness, and even a hint of despair.

“Your Majesty!” At this moment, Duke Gallett gritted his teeth and stepped forward. He tried hard to put on a brave and carefree appearance, but his right hand was trembling slightly, like a gambler holding two dice.

“…Your subject is willing to repay the country with this fervent blood, to ease some of your worries.”

“Oh, my nephew.” The eyes of Miguela I suddenly lit up. He sat up straight, looking at his subject as if at a priceless treasure.

“So, it is only my kin who are willing to share my burdens?”

“Your Majesty!” At this moment, Marquis Meneval suddenly also stepped forward. His face was somewhat pale, and his tone was hesitant.

“Your subject is willing to relieve Your Majesty’s worries.”

“Your Excellency the Minister of State, your spirit of defying the strong enemy and devoting yourself to the country is admirable. You should be a model for the nation and an example to the people. However, I believe that as a pillar of the state, Your Excellency would be better advised to take good care of your health in this time of crisis, and should not risk yourself at such an advanced age.” The Duke wore an expression of deep respect, but his eyes were not lacking in mockery, and his lips were slightly upturned.

“Thank you for Your Grace’s concern. I am deeply grateful. However, although I harbor the desire to slay the enemy, I am old and weak, and truly beyond my strength. I merely wish to recommend my second son, Kritz, for the position of commander, to lead the royal army in sweeping the borders and repelling the strong enemy beyond the gates, so as to share Your Majesty’s worries.”

“Marquis, although Count Kritz is exceptionally brave and a rare good general in the army, he is still young and lacks experience in commanding troops. Forgive my frankness, but it would be better for him to train in the army for a few more years. Otherwise, defeat in battle would be a small matter; endangering the country would be a great one. And if he were to die bravely on the battlefield, I fear Your Excellency would find it hard to bear the loss of your beloved son.”

“Your Grace, although Kritz is young, he has already commanded countless large-scale operations of the regular army and is rich in experience. As for Your Grace, it seems you have only suppressed a few bands of weak bandits in the Eastern Highlands, which hardly qualifies you to command a battle like this.”

“The bandit problem in the east had persisted for a long time, yet I swept it clean in my hands. Though the achievement was small, it was a victory. Baron, though you have participated in many battles, you seem to have been repeatedly defeated…”

Gradually, the tone in the court grew thick with the smell of gunpowder. Around the two influential figures, two groups of officials gradually gathered, each supporting one side, putting forward all sorts of bizarre reasons to oppose the other side’s views: one person subtly remarked that the Duke’s “fair lady friend” whom he “frequently encountered by chance” outside had unfortunately died in a traffic accident, and that he should accept his loss and not trouble himself with state affairs; another cleverly hinted that as long as the Minister of Military Affairs did not “adjust” the army’s grain and pay supplies downward “again,” the Duke would surely win a hundred battles. One person, with great elegance, expressed concern that the Duke’s long “absence on military campaigns” had left the Duchess “alone in her chamber,” yet recently she had been “blessed with a son,” and that he should be at home “celebrating properly”; another immediately expressed concerned sympathy for Lord Kritz, asking how his injuries were after a group of “unprovoked troublemaking citizens” had beaten him in a “vulgar place of entertainment,” breaking his nose, whether his “lost” sword had been found, and how he planned to restore his “scorned military dignity.” One person casually inquired whether the Duke’s “claustrophobia”—a fear of darkness developed during his bandit-suppression campaigns—had improved, and kindly recommended a famous psychiatrist; another casually mentioned the handkerchief embroidered with the initials of his daughter-in-law, Princess Camory, which the Minister of Military Affairs had pulled out during the last summer hunt…

This was a true feast of language among noble gentlemen, elegant in tone and noble in reason, wrapped in gorgeous and flowery rhetoric. It opened my eyes wide. I had once thought that as a bartender, I had mastered enough skills for dealing with people. But only now did I realize that when you could use a hundred sentences to lead a person’s thoughts elsewhere, then suddenly reveal your true meaning with a few words, only then would you grasp the true essence of language and become a noble person admired by others.

“Your Majesty, your humble servant wishes to recommend someone!” Suddenly, a young voice cut loudly through the clamor of those finely robed lords, reaching everyone’s ears clearly and startling them all.

The speaker was exactly the young noble who had been staring at Fred earlier.

“You? You are…” Duke Gallett looked with confusion at the young man who stood at the very tail of the court’s order, almost out the door.

“I am Stevenson de Miraze, First-Class Baron of the kingdom. I have come with reinforcements to relieve the siege of the capital, and arrived only yesterday.”

Him? I was somewhat surprised. He was the young baron who had led the insignificant eight hundred soldiers to reinforce Morning Light City? We had seen his soldiers, and as I said, those were real soldiers. I truly could not believe they had been trained by this young man before me, who carried a somewhat bookish and frail air.

“Young man, speak.” His Majesty the King seemed utterly weary of the endless argument just now. When someone offered a new opinion, he seemed very glad to be released from a long and meaningless discussion.

His Majesty’s support silenced many voices that had originally wanted to loudly rebuke this low-ranking young man. The Baron bowed elegantly to His Majesty and stepped forward. He walked very slowly, and the red carpet, which would ordinarily have taken only a dozen or so steps to cross, seemed to slide beneath his feet for a long time. Within those few steps, he had unknowingly drawn everyone’s gaze, as if he had become the center of the hall. Now, his gaze no longer saw anyone else. It was a lake of confidence, so calm that it reflected no shadow.

“Your Majesty…” He stopped at the right position: between the Duke and the Minister of Military Affairs, slightly ahead of them. I did not feel that his position was at all awkward. It was as if he had been born to stand in that very spot—that small piece of ground seemed almost laid out for him.

“I take the liberty of recommending a more suitable candidate, and that is…” He turned his head, looked in our direction, and once again fixed his calm gaze upon my friend.

“Lieutenant General of the kingdom, the Sword of the Nation, your most loyal and most courageous arm, the soldier of soldiers, the finest warrior, the great hero who defeated the soul of the Winston Army—His Excellency Marquis Frederick Ka Guderian.”