Chapter 171

Translator: Willia

It was a grotesque sight. Ten thousand people were packed into the gorge, starving and unable to get proper sleep. The roads at both ends of the gorge were completely blocked by troops from the Order of the Steel Knights.

With so many people gathered together, one might have expected a deafening clamor, yet everyone merely stared up at the steep cliffs with frightened expressions.

The banners of the Order of the Steel Knights whipped in the winter wind, along with the flag bearing the crowned golden eagle that symbolized Adeloron. At that moment, the snapping of the banners was the loudest sound in the gorge.

Unlike mercenaries, the knights of the Order of the Steel Knights wore uniform equipment. They stood scattered along the cliff tops, gazing down below.

And there was one more man. The winter wind, like the gaunt grasp of death itself, swept up the slope until it reached his feet.

His red cloak fluttered in the wind. With a sword at his waist, he stood slightly askew, holding the Iron Crown in one hand as though it were some worthless object.

Ricardt's blond hair stirred in the cold wind as well. Seen only from behind, there was no telling what he was thinking as he stood there with his head bowed.

Beside Ricardt, a row of people knelt with their arms and legs bound.

Whether they feared the execution awaiting them or the price they would pay for their sins after death, their trembling showed no sign of stopping.

“The time has come. Will you make your confession?”

The man swallowed several times despite his dry mouth, then nodded. A moment later, he looked down into the gorge and raised his voice.

“I, I grew up in a brothel. My mother was one of the countless prostitutes there. I don't even know exactly which one. My father was probably one of the brothel's customers. Life was fucking miserable, so I blindly followed a mercenary company, and that's how I first got into this line of work. At first, I was nothing more than the one hauling firewood......”

He went on, recounting the course of his life. Just as there was no one in the world without a story of their own, neither was he an exception.

“H-half my life, half my life was spent murdering and raping. I've burned temples more times than I've made confession. I've even dug up the graves of nuns. I've committed sins that can never be washed away. But if, if you give me just one chance, j-just one! W-wait! God!”

Before he could even finish, Ricardt walked over and simply shoved him with his foot. With all four limbs bound, the man could offer no resistance as he tumbled over the cliff.

Everyone looking up from below sucked in a breath at once. With so many people gathered together, the collective gasp echoed through the gorge.

The prisoner crashed again and again against the steep slope as he fell. Before long, his entire body had been broken and mangled beyond recognition.

Yet that very indifference made the priest's heart lurch. He hurried over to the next prisoner and spoke.

“W-will you make your confession?”

The prisoner had seen everything that happened to the man before him, and he glared at the priest before shouting.

“Forget it! Just give me absolution already!”

He seemed to have given up on surviving and merely hoped to fall into a less horrific hell after death. But before the priest could grant absolution, Ricardt kicked him over the edge as well.

At that, the prisoners awaiting their turns erupted into chaos. They writhed with their limbs bound and screamed at the top of their lungs. Their voices reverberated throughout the gorge. All ten thousand people below could hear them.

“Fuck! What the hell do you want us to do?!”

“Who asked you to spare us?! At least let us make confession!”

“You fucking devil!”

No matter what they shouted, Ricardt moved neither quickly nor slowly, pushing them over the cliff one at a time.

Those facing death were swept through every imaginable emotion in the span of a few brief moments. Some cursed Ricardt furiously, then began begging. Others gave up entirely, raised their faces toward the sky, and prayed.

Either way, every one of them died. Before long, silence returned to the gorge. There was only the hollow winter wind and the snapping of the banners.

The people trapped in the gorge stared upward with despair on their faces. Watching the commanders of mercenary bands and companies beg and plead as they died was somehow even more horrifying and hopeless than simply dying.

There was not a shred of forgiveness, mercy, or salvation for them.

Ricardt looked down into the gorge once more. The winter wind briefly subsided, and his billowing cloak settled with it.

Then Ricardt slowly raised the Adeloron Iron Crown in his hand and placed it upon his own head. Its heavy weight pressed down on him.

His first command as king was short and simple.

“Carry it out.”

The moment the order was given, one of the nearby knights raised a horn and blew a long blast.

Bwooooooooooooooooo!

The deep, heavy sound rolled through the gorge. To the ten thousand mercenaries who had served Grantz, it sounded like the trumpet blast that would ring out at the end of the world.

“Infantry of the Order! Advaaaaaaance!”

Someone shouted thunderously from far down one side of the gorge. At once, the soldiers of the Order of the Steel Knights, who had been holding their spears upright, lowered them and began advancing in step.

Thud, thud, thud. As the sound of marching feet approached, the mercenaries trapped inside the gorge descended into pandemonium. Cries of outrage, pleading, and fury blended together into a sound almost impossible to imagine.

It truly sounded like something that could only be heard in hell.

With ten thousand men, it might have been possible to break through somehow if they had all pushed in a single direction.

But that would only have been possible if they had acted with one mind and one purpose. Grantz was dead. Their commanders were dead. Worse still, after days without proper food or sleep, whatever will to fight they had possessed was already broken.

And so fewer than a few hundred even attempted to charge the soldiers of the Order of the Steel Knights, and those who did came at them in scattered disarray.

Most chose to flee toward places where there was no hope of escape, while those trapped in the middle were crushed or trampled to death.

Bodies fell, and then more bodies fell atop them. Men climbed over corpses only to die themselves. In that way, they killed one another. In what seemed like an instant, before much time had passed at all, mountains of corpses began to rise. Surprisingly few were actually killed by the spears of the Order of the Steel Knights.

Screams fierce enough to make the eardrums ache echoed throughout the gorge. It felt as though they would never end. Yet, almost unbelievably, not a single voice among them cried out in repentance.

Ricardt watched every last part of that hellish sight, every step of the process, with an indifferent gaze.

Surprisingly, it did not take long for the screams that seemed to come from hell itself to subside. An hour? Two? At first, they were difficult to listen to, but by the time the sound began to grow familiar, the screams were already fading.

When nearly everyone was dead except for a few figures twitching beneath the heaps of corpses, someone shouted.

“Long live His Majesty the King!”

“Long live His Majesty!”

Only then did Ricardt tear his gaze away from the mountains of corpses and lower his head. The crown upon it still weighed heavily against him, while the cries wishing the king long life and good health settled across his shoulders like epaulettes.

Ricardt did not feel happy in the slightest. Nor did he feel burdened. Strangely enough, it felt much like his days as a shepherd, when he had known neither joy nor sorrow, happiness nor misery. He did not feel empty, either. He simply felt nothing in particular.

A truly good king needed to possess both ruthlessness and mercy.

Ricardt had possessed ruthlessness by nature, while mercy had naturally taken root in him as he grew within the embrace of his family.

Had all of it been for this moment? Whatever the case, ten thousand living sacrifices had been offered at the coronation of Adeloron's new king.

It marked the ending of one thing and the beginning of another.

A king's authority was granted by God, and at its root, that authority passed through blood.

To establish a dynasty was to establish a new root. To avoid becoming entangled in complicated genealogies, a new house therefore had to be created.

By royal authority, Ricardt founded a new house named after himself: House Ricarn.

If Ilya was the founding ancestor of the Adeloron Royal Family, then Caldebert had begun a new dynastic line by establishing the Caldebern Family, and now Ricardt would do the same with House Ricarn.

Ricardt von Ricarn. King of Adeloron, Duke of Adelun, and Duke of Moravitz.

He also held the rights to twelve countships. The titles outside his possession belonged either to lords whose existing titles Ricardt had chosen to recognize, such as Count Cheska, or to warlords who had yet to make a move.

Count Cheska and the minor lords within his sphere of influence said they would come to swear fealty to Ricardt. The warlords tried to do the same, but Ricardt refused them.

The message the new king sent to the warlords who had seized territory amid the kingdom's chaos was simple.

Lay down your titles and get out, or die.

He was rebuilding the foundations of the nation. There was no reason to recognize the titles of some mongrel mercenary scum who had crawled in from who knew where.

Of the twelve countships, eight were granted as fiefs to eight commander-ranked knights of the Order of the Steel Knights. The remaining knights and soldiers were to follow them and, in turn, receive lesser titles beneath them.

As a result, only around two hundred knights remained directly under Ricardt as the Royal Guard, while Raimund became the royal standard-bearer, Military Officer, and Count Palatine.

All powers, including legislative, judicial, administrative, and taxation authority, belonged to those who held titles, namely kings and lords. To exercise those powers efficiently, however, they had to be delegated to others.

A king's direct retainers generally included positions such as Chancellor, Treasurer, Military Officer, Spymaster, and Court Priest. As members of the Advisory Council, they possessed the authority to form and operate organizations of their own.

There were also those who assisted with the king's personal affairs, from the Capital Guard Captain to the Court Physician, Master of Horse, Almoner, attendants, Chief Steward, royal architect, executioner, and more.

Paolo became Treasurer. Harbert, who had once commanded Adeloron's Border Guard, became Capital Guard Captain. Roy became an attendant, Lester became the royal forester as well as captain of the rangers and archers, and Bremen, formerly a guide, became Chief Steward.

Bori became the Royal Librarian. It was a position given to him so that he could collect and manage books while otherwise doing whatever he pleased.

At any rate, from appointments to administration, things could no longer be handled haphazardly. Every matter now demanded careful attention, and Marie handled most of it.

She was the Queen, the king's personal secretary, and his closest advisor.

To put it plainly, Ricardt had come from the countryside and had never been particularly diligent in his studies.

He fought battles and made decisions through natural talent, insight, animal instinct, and the experience of his previous life. But when it came to complicated administrative work or matters requiring extensive knowledge, the truth was that he knew very little.

Still, as the saying went, everything depended on putting the right people in the right places. If he could do that well, he had practically done everything required of him as king.

Ricardt's purpose as king was to hold the center, keep everyone working together, and make sound judgments as circumstances arose.

The authority granted by God was meant to be used to protect the kingdom. Perhaps that was the one thing he needed to remember.

With so much work to be done, Adelun remained so busy that even in the middle of winter, there was hardly time to notice the cold.

Knights of the Order of the Steel Knights married one after another with each passing day, modest celebrations were held, and there were countless people Ricardt needed to meet as king. His days were grueling in their own way.

Nor could he neglect what was expected of them as husband and wife. Then, on one of the coldest days of the winter, the Court Physician brought news that Marie was pregnant.

And thus, at last, every foundation of the kingdom was in place. After all, a house needed an heir if it was to stand secure.

Yet although Ricardt showed none of it outwardly, his feelings were deeply complicated.

He had been the one telling the knights to build families and raise their children with love, yet now that he himself was about to become a father, he felt himself drawing inward.

Why? Wearing the heavy Iron Crown upon his head, Ricardt sat alone upon the throne and thought for a long time, but no answer came to him.

Ricardt and Marie were eighteen years old.

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