Chapter 174

Translator: Willia

The red horse galloped on. It raced along the city streets, crossed the great stone bridge spanning the river, reached the outskirts, and finally thundered across the open fields.

Wildflowers bloomed across the green fields beneath a blue sky, white clouds, and sunlight, and through them all the red horse streaked like a stroke of paint.

People going about their work paused for a moment to watch the red horse. It truly was as red as fresh blood. The clop-clop of its hooves carried to their ears.

It was more than a living creature. It had become something of a symbol. Some of Adelun's smaller merchant companies even used the red horse as their crest.

There was no one who did not know who rode that red horse. He was the Promised Red Prince, a master of the sword and savior of the nation, master of Thunderflash and Red Comet, and their king.

Yet once all that grand symbolism was stripped away, there was Ricardt the man. Ricardt had never been shy about showing himself as he was, and the people loved him for it.

“Enrollment season is almost here. Shouldn't you be setting out soon?”

Ricardt brought his horse to a stop and looked down at the boy weeding a field. Weeding meant pulling up the useless plants that grew among the crops so they could not steal the nutrients meant for them.

“Well, as you can see, I've still got some work left to do.”

The boy tossed the fistful of weeds in his hand onto the ground as he answered.

“As I understand it, if you miss the enrollment period, you won't be able to get in.”

“Then I guess it can't be helped. I'll just have to farm.”

“Where did all that spirit you had before go? You said you'd go to the Academy, learn swordsmanship, and become like me.”

Ricardt asked with a gentle smile. He found it endearing to see the boy already acting as though he had lost all the bold ambition of youth.

“When I thought about it, Your Majesty already did everything I wanted to do, so it seemed like there wasn't much left for me.”

Ricardt threw back his head and laughed. Bori and the knights beside him also smiled at the audacious boy's reply.

Only Roy seemed displeased, fixing the boy with a cold stare. Who did this brat think he was, speaking so impertinently to the king?

“There is plenty to do, Billiam. At first, you have to find the work yourself. Later, there will be more of it than you know what to do with.”

“Like farmwork?”

“More than farmwork.”

“But Your Majesty isn't a farmer.”

“True enough. Still, it's a shame to hear you're giving up on your dream. I only wanted to cheer you on.”

“If Your Majesty built an academy in Adelun, I might go since it'd be close by. Beringen is awfully far away, isn't it?”

Building an academy was easier said than done. Between the money it would cost, putting up the buildings, finding the right people, and then maintaining and managing the place, it would be one headache after another.

It was exactly the kind of situation Ricardt himself had just described. At first, one went looking for work. Before long, there was more of it than anyone could possibly handle.

But what was the point in explaining such practical concerns to a young boy who knew nothing about them? Ricardt merely smiled and said,

“I shall consider it.”

“Really?”

“I cannot promise anything.”

“Aww.”

“Sorry for keeping you from your work. I should be on my way.”

“You can keep me from it a little longer. My father isn't that much of a stickler.”

The boy named Billiam glanced off to one side. Far in the distance, his parents stood staring blankly in their direction. They were not alone. Other villagers were watching as well.

Even if the king treated commoners without reserve, it was difficult for commoners to treat the king with the same ease.

Soldiers could often speak comfortably with him because they had risked their lives and endured hardship together, but ordinary people were different.

That was what made Billiam unusual. The audacious boy truly did treat the king without reserve. Of course, his father, mother, and the village elders watching from afar were all on edge.

“If you ask this fellow, he might teach you a few basic techniques.”

Ricardt said this while pointing at Bori. Bori looked dumbfounded at suddenly being singled out, but then gave a quiet snort of amusement.

“We're off. I'll see you again.”

After saying farewell, Ricardt turned his horse toward the forest and rode away. The others followed behind him.

The forest was mixed woodland, with broadleaf trees and conifers growing together. It was difficult to let a horse run freely there, but at a slow pace it was manageable enough.

As Ricardt entered the forest, where shafts of sunlight slipped between the trees, an appetizing aroma brushed past his nose. Then a Ranger appeared and guided them onward. Ricardt and his companions followed him.

The Ranger led them to a clearing where an enormous deer was being roasted whole. It might have looked as though they were preparing a barbecue for the king, but that was not the case. Ricardt was the guest.

The Rangers received wages from Ricardt and lived in the forest, but they maintained a certain degree of independence.

Put simply, Ricardt had heard, We hunted a deer. Want to come eat with us? So he had come.

Rather than a conventional relationship between king and subjects, it was closer to a gathering of people with all manner of useful talents centered around their king.

To them, treating him as king was enough. There was no reason to fuss over outward formalities.

Most of the people around Ricardt had never lived at court, so they knew little about protocol or etiquette. Ricardt had no particular interest in insisting on such things either.

Whether this was the proper way to manage his people, he could not say, but at least it was a way that suited Ricardt. If ceremony, formality, and procedure became too suffocating, Ricardt himself would be the first one unable to stand it.

Perhaps it was a privilege only the first king of a dynasty could enjoy.

The deer had been skinned and gutted before being roasted whole, and throughout the long cooking process the Rangers had continuously brushed it with their distinctive sauce, leaving not even a hint of gamey odor.

Still, when Lester tore off a hind leg and handed it to him, the flavor was rather strong when Ricardt took a bite. He could hardly tell whether he was eating meat or chewing through a heap of coriander.

Yet the more he chewed, the more he found a certain richness to it, and it was quite good in its own way. Perhaps because it had been cooked slowly over a low flame, the meat was delicate and tender, without the slightest toughness.

Once Ricardt tore into the meat first, around fifteen men descended on the roasted deer and rapidly began pulling it apart.

Food prepared with painstaking care by a skilled cook was certainly delicious, but eating like this every now and then had a flavor all its own.

Lester filled a bowl with some boiled liquid that Ricardt could not tell was venison stock or rendered fat and handed it to him. It looked revolting, but fortunately it had a rich, savory taste and was surprisingly good.

By the time Ricardt had emptied a bowl of whatever it was, soup or broth, someone caught his eye. Paolo. He did not mingle well with the others, and even when someone brought him venison, he barely touched it.

Just as some people naturally got along and others did not, Paolo wore the expression of a man wondering why he had to be there at all.

“Hey, Ricky. I've been thinking.”

Bori, who had been cleansing his palate with wild raspberries beside him, spoke up. Ricardt took a sip of wine as though rinsing his mouth and waited for him to continue.

“You know what Hellauman was doing? Maybe the idea itself wasn't necessarily wrong.”

“What part?”

“Having a lot of military power at low cost. Once we really looked at Sword Masters, they turned out to be pretty hollow, and there were all sorts of problems with them. But we've experienced those problems firsthand, so I was thinking maybe we could get rid of the drawbacks and make the idea work properly.”

Armies cost a great deal of money. For any ruler, that was an unavoidable premise, a simple truth, and a problem.

Hellauman's answer had been to cultivate Sword Masters and let the imperial family monopolize them.

If there had been a side effect, it was that they had neglected actual combat ability and obsessed over the Sword of Light itself, churning out mad killers and organizations like the Order of Judgment.

“Do you have something in mind?”

“No. It just vaguely occurred to me. It's not like we'd grab Ice or Volka and the others and force experiments on them. The Viola Clan, the Miquella Sword Monastery, Beringen Academy, and the Adeloron Kingdom could all join together and create a single organization. We can call it whatever sounds right. The Imperial Peace Mediation Committee, or something. They're all scattered around right now, so they spend their time worrying about what the lords around them think. But if you lead them, Ricky, they might be able to become a major force.”

Ricardt's interest was piqued. Until now, he had simply been relieved that his friends were all doing well enough on their own, but listening to Bori, he felt as though a picture was beginning to take shape.

“Think about it. If it weren't for the Order of Judgment incident, don't you think things were better back when there was an Adventurers' Guild? Even with an emperor like that, public order was pretty good.”

He had a point. Adventurers had fought wars among themselves and possessed no shortage of ugly traits, but ordinary people had rarely suffered serious harm because of them.

Of course, that achievement had been bought by sacrificing countless young lives, but that would not be the case now, would it?

Volka, Ice, and Karllich were all running their organizations successfully in their own ways. They differed in size and in what each one sought to accomplish, but they also shared a common problem.

None of them could truly escape the influence of powerful rulers.

“What do you think, Paolo?”

Ricardt considered it for a moment, then turned to Paolo. Paolo had been drinking the mysterious broth with his face twisted into a grimace, but his expression immediately relaxed when Ricardt addressed him.

“I think it is a sound idea. It appears to have considerable strategic value. If handled properly, Your Majesty could exercise influence throughout the Empire without spending money or deploying an army.”

“But what should it actually do? Maintain public order? Mediate disputes? That sounds too grand, and not especially realistic.”

“How about operating it through membership? Member states would receive armed support. The organization would not be strong enough to wage a full-scale war, but it could defend cities or castles, or maintain public order immediately after a war. Sword Masters may not accomplish much in open-field battles, but in situations such as defending a stronghold, where only a small number of people are required, they could be extremely effective. And it could provide Your Majesty with a useful pretext as well.”

Paolo might not be entirely trustworthy, but he always brought a new perspective. Running a country was not something Ricardt could do by relying on friendship and loyalty alone, and Paolo's cold, professional viewpoint had helped him a great deal.

“What sort of pretext?”

“Grounds for intervention. In regard to the work I am currently handling, Stormhertz has been weighing on Your Majesty's mind, has it not? Put this Peace Mediation Committee or whatever it will be called into motion first. Then, if Stormhertz is attacked, its status as a member state will give you grounds to enter the war.”

The work Paolo was handling was his attempt to sow discord between Duke Frederia and Duke Brummbar. The plan was to drive a wedge between them, provoke them into fighting, and seize the gold mine amid the chaos.

The problem was that the Caldebern Family served under Duke Brummbar. But if they formed something like an international organization and deployed it first, the Adeloron Kingdom would naturally gain grounds to intervene as well.

The longer they discussed it, the more enticing the idea became. Ricardt had been troubled by the conflict between the kingdom's interests and his personal attachment to his blood relatives, but this seemed like a way to resolve that unease cleanly.

“But wouldn't we be taking advantage of the others too much?”

Ricardt turned back to Bori as he asked.

“No. They'd be gaining power of their own too. The Fifth Prince recognized Volka's autonomy, remember? But do you think the Second Prince or the lords who follow him are going to recognize it? They'd see him as an enemy instead. He's always had to watch himself around the lords. Ice practically lives as though he's dead just to avoid attracting attention. But if we create something like this, if you lead it, Ricky, they won't have to worry about any of that anymore.”

It was too good an idea. Far too good. So good that he could hardly find a single drawback. Ricardt almost reproached himself for never having thought of it before. But was it really that simple?

If they created such an organization, who would pay for it? What if his friends refused? Even if they did create it, how would they operate it? Would they need a headquarters?

Once he tried to commit himself to the idea, all manner of concerns began catching at him.

Bori quietly studied Ricardt's expression beside him, then spoke as though he had read his thoughts.

“Is this the anguish of a king, or have you just turned into an old fogey? The Ricky I knew used to jump in first and worry later. Have you become a coward?”

Even for a friend of the king, even if he was allowed to treat the king casually, that seemed a little excessive.

Deer bones lay scattered around them, and the men who had been drinking heavily glanced toward Ricardt, wondering whether Bori had gone too far.

Fortunately, Ricardt's face wore an amused smile.

“It is the hardest thing I've ever done.”

Perhaps having a friend like Bori, someone willing to speak to him that way, was what allowed Ricardt to keep his bearings.

Being king meant having all manner of information he had never wanted to know poured into his ears. There were things he could do because he was king, and many other things he could not do for that very same reason.

Questions with no right answer clung to Ricardt in layer after layer.

Like the tale of the umbrella seller and the salt merchant, every policy a king enacted inevitably benefited someone while harming someone else. There was no such thing as a perfect policy in this world.

After being worn down by such matters again and again, even the formidable Ricardt had grown somewhat hesitant.

“We can only hope the things we do become a good legacy for our sons and daughters. If something turns out to be wrong, they'll fix it or throw it away. They'll decide for themselves.”

“Now that's more like you, Ricky.”

“Leaving that aside, what should we call it? Something like the Peace Mediation Committee sounds too grand.”

“Why not just keep it simple and call it the Adventurers' Guild? The Empire is simply the Empire, after all. There used to be one in every region, but if we make a new one now, ours would be the only one.”

“That might actually be better. Still, let's ask the others before deciding. They're all different sorts of people.”

“If you say you want to do it, Ricky, they'll all just say sure.”

“You think so? I'm not convinced.”

Ricardt rose from his seat. He did not leave immediately, instead looking around the Rangers' hideout and wandering through the forest for a while.

When he turned his head, he could see Adelun beyond the trees. The vast farmland that had lain abandoned for so long was once again being worked by human hands, with crops growing across it.

People dotted the fields, and Ricardt thought he could make out Billiam among them.

Beyond the farmland stood the royal castle of Adeloron atop its hill. Was all of that really his? Ricardt felt a strange sense of detachment. Or perhaps it was more a sense of unreality.

Once, he had wandered in search of a reason for war. Now he was walking toward what lay beyond it.

Martellus II. Hellauman. They had possessed their own forms of justice. As was so often the case with villains, from their own perspective, they had been the righteous ones.

Perhaps the point was not to reject their justice outright, but to accept what could be salvaged, correct what was wrong with it, and write it anew.

If that could lead, even little by little, toward a better form of justice, then perhaps the bloody history behind them might come to possess some measure of meaning.

Yes. He would leave a legacy. Whether a long age passed or a short one, even if it eventually grew old and sullied and his descendants rejected it, he would do his utmost to leave something behind. That was what Ricardt decided.

Thinking of it that way, the weight of the crown finally seemed a little lighter. It was as though an ill-fitting garment had finally begun to sit right.

Chapter 36 – The King's Anguish. End.

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