Encrid noticed a dank smell lingering on his body, perhaps from the last wraiths the count had summoned.

“Hot water and a bath, please. I won't need anyone to attend me.”

As soon as he returned to the palace, Encrid washed, ate, and slept. Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxon were no different. It was after they had all enjoyed a good, long sleep.

At one point, a healer did come to treat them, but every one of them refused.

“I know my own body best.”

Rem sent the healer away with that.

“This is the punishment I have been given.”

Audin was no different.

Ragna waved the healer off, saying he was fine, while Jaxon simply pretended he wasn't hurt at all.

Muttering that he had never met such uncooperative patients, the healer made to leave. As he turned, however, he bowed his head to Encrid.

“Thank you.”

The words came out of nowhere, but the healer was utterly earnest. Encrid had yet to fully grasp what he had done. The past few days had been too exhausting for that.

The fighting being over did not mean there was nothing left to do. Preparing for war was a greater undertaking than fighting it, and dealing with its aftermath was greater still.

There was a saying: a general who fought well could win a fight, a general who prepared well could win a battle, and a general who properly handled the aftermath could win a war. That was how important it was to put things in order after a battle.

This time was no different. There were the count's remaining soldiers to deal with, abandoned equipment to collect, and camps to dismantle. After all that came the march. They had to return to the palace, after all.

Even with the joy of victory to sustain them, finishing everything in three days was impressive. Whatever could be said of his battlefield command, Marcus had certainly distinguished himself in this. He had handled it all superbly.

It had also helped that Krang hadn't bothered with pointless victory speeches.

“I think everyone needs rest. Is listening to a man who did nothing but watch from the rear really important right now? I'd rather spend the time it takes to give that sort of speech putting another bandage on a wounded soldier's arm.”

True to his word, Krang tended the wounded without even concealing his face. He went about it so openly that few recognized him as the prince who would become their next king. In truth, not many soldiers knew his face anyway.

He had the gift of raising soldiers' morale and firing their enthusiasm with a speech when necessary, but his attitude made it clear that wasn't what mattered now. Krang was a man who proved his words through his actions.

Only after they had finished putting the battlefield in order had Encrid and the others returned. With these thoughts running through his head, he responded to the healer's thanks with a question.

“Do you know me?”

“My son fought in the battle,” the healer said, limping. “If not for my leg, I would have gone too.”

With that, he turned away. He wasn't thanking Encrid for saving his son. His son was dead.

No words could bring back the dead, and the healer's heart felt as though it were being torn apart. Still, perhaps there was something to be grateful for. Had the battle ended in defeat, his son's death would have meant nothing. That alone offered him a little solace.

Everyone was drunk on victory and joy. Victory in the civil war, a return from an impossible battle, the joy of those who had survived. It filled the palace and the capital.

Word was spreading of a coronation. Craftsmen had gathered in the center of the capital to erect a structure commemorating it. A festival would soon begin, and once everything was settled, Honors and Rewards would be followed by banquets day after day.

Even so, there were those who had lost family and lovers.

'May you rest in peace.'

The healer addressed his son silently as he left. Encrid watched his retreating back, then headed for bed. A whisper that the son who had gone to war was dead still lingered in his ears.

Esther, too, must have been utterly exhausted. She stayed in panther form and would not leave his arms.

After a good night's sleep, Encrid rose and warmed up with the Isolation Technique as usual. Even Honors and Rewards had to wait until things were more or less in order. That would take at least ten days.

He continued his usual routine. He visited Odd-Eyes, bringing a mixture of meat and vegetables instead of fodder, and met with Andrew and the trainees. Five trainees had become four.

“Where's the other one?”

“He lost a leg. Not even divine power can grow back a missing limb.”

One of the trainees had lost a leg. That was how fierce the fighting had been. While Encrid was forcing his way through waves of Wraith soldiers, the other soldiers hadn't been idle either.

Encrid nodded. They had gone of their own free will. It was only right to respect their choice.

“He said he wished he were a Frog.”

Andrew's voice was calm as well. Neither he nor Encrid had led a life easy enough to be shaken by this alone.

“Never again.”

Andrew gazed into empty space as he spoke, his tone level. After those words, he paused, then continued as though making a vow. It was a promise to himself, not a statement to Encrid.

“I won't stand by and watch my people get hurt.”

Encrid nodded.

The trainee who had lost his leg was apparently now a candidate for the position of butler. He didn't look particularly downcast.

“I think I might do all right with a prosthetic leg once I get used to it. It's better than dying.”

He was a resilient young man. Encrid patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave.

“Thanks to you... thanks to you, I'm alive.”

“You're alive because you fought well.”

Encrid answered the trainee matter-of-factly. He meant it. He believed the young man had saved his own life with his own hands. The trainee also said he had a fiancée. Encrid caught a glimpse of her, too, and she was spirited.

“So you're missing a leg. I'll support us!”

She was a formidable woman.

Krang was too busy for Encrid to so much as see his face. Marcus was nowhere to be seen either. Aesia did visit a few days later, but Encrid wasn't in any condition for a serious spar. When he cautiously explained as much, her response was one of disbelief.

“... Do you have nothing to do besides fight?”

If anything, Aesia was the one taken aback. Encrid changed the subject.

“Any more trouble in the palace?”

“What trouble could there be? He's filled it with his own people, so there's no one left to complain. There seem to be a few idiot nobles, but he'll deal with them. Mostly, it's all that shit about preparing the coronation, making it the grandest one ever, and so on.”

The Krang Encrid knew was a generous man with a broad outlook. But people changed. Had he never seen that happen before?

He had seen a mercenary who once risked his life for a friend stab a comrade in the back for a single gold coin. He had seen a father throw his adopted son to monsters to save himself.

That man had been a good person at first, too. He had only changed when circumstances drove him into a corner. What was it he had said? That anyone could end up that way after spending twenty days surrounded by monsters?

Encrid had challenged him to a duel. He had lost, but killed him. That, too, had happened.

So Krang could change as well.

A grand coronation. It was time for one. He had won and sent word of his victory. With his triumph in the civil war, he had become the rightful heir to the throne.

Encrid found himself wanting to return to Border Guard. The sky was darkening. It looked as though it would rain again.

“How are you feeling?” Aesia asked.

“Well enough. I can't go risking half my life, but I think a light spar might be fine.”

A proper spar was out of the question, but a light game of moves and countermoves should be all right. He ought to rest, but right now he wanted to move.

Aesia nodded and took out a wooden sword.

“I said a light spar.”

At Encrid's words, Aesia tilted her head. Wasn't that why she had chosen a wooden sword?

“A light spar.”

Encrid drew the longsword he had picked up to replace the broken Silver. He had spent two full days sharpening it.

“What's light about that?”

Aesia leveled her sword as she spoke. Rem, Ragna, Audin, Jaxon, and Pell watched.

The fellow named Pell had abruptly introduced himself and inserted himself into their company the moment the battle ended.

“I'm Pell of the Shepherds of the Wastes.”

He had light brown hair, stood a little taller than Krais, and had a thoroughly trained body and stance.

“I saw what you did on the battlefield.”

Everyone gave him a look that said, So? But Pell had a thick skin. Shepherds tended to be shameless to begin with, and Pell was the one who stubbornly insisted on using a sword even among the Shepherds of the Wastes.

“Let me observe for a while.”

He said it boldly. Encrid was a little surprised to recognize him, but nodded without making much of it. Truthfully, he was intrigued.

'It's that Shepherd from before.'

His stance was different now. The air about him had changed as well. It was evidence that his skill had changed.

With Pell watching alongside the others, the light spar came to an end. He had already seen Encrid on the battlefield, but still...

'Remarkable.'

Pell honestly doubted whether anyone possessed greater talent than he did. He had sought Encrid out that night and ultimately been pushed back in their spar, but he had thought he would have caught up by now.

Yet Encrid's sword had become firmer and sharper than before. There was no comparing it to what it had been then. He had grown far beyond the level he had shown when they fought.

Above all, watching the man's sword made Pell's blood boil. He was naturally combative, but this was something else entirely. He wanted to fight him right this instant, so badly that his hand kept straying toward his sword.

“... When will you be fully healed?” Pell asked.

“You're last, kid.”

“Ho ho, brother. You must wait your turn. There is no order to when we meet the Lord, but there is an order here.”

“Go drink some more sheep's milk first.”

“...”

“How about getting past me first?”

That was Rem, Audin, Ragna, Jaxon, and Dunbachel, in that order. Teresa was busy silently committing Encrid's every movement to memory. Jaxon's contribution had been to keep his mouth shut and make a point of glaring at Pell.

“... Yes, let's do that.”

Pell couldn't insist any further. None of those putting in a word would be easy to deal with. Even the Beastman named Dunbachel was difficult to gauge.

Did that mean he would lose? The thought never crossed his mind. You saved the best food for last. Knocking them all down before facing Encrid wouldn't be bad either.

Pell believed in his talent. He thought he would catch up with all of them in half a year at most.

Anyone could be mistaken.

After sparring with Aesia, Encrid felt his body protesting in various places. He had recovered quickly, but he was not yet in perfect condition.

Five days later, when he had recovered considerably, a summons came from the palace.

“You must attend.”

The Marquis of Fertile Lands had come in person.

“Aren't you busy? You came all the way here just to fetch me?”

The marquis was astonished that the man before him did not understand his own standing.

“You ought to recognize your own position.”

Encrid had become someone even the marquis could no longer address lightly. If asked to name a single hero who had brought victory in the civil war, whom would anyone choose? Every one of them would say Encrid.

He was more than the hero who had saved the kingdom; he bore the title Demon Slayer. The king himself called him a friend, and he had demonstrated skill surpassing anyone in the knight order. And what of the soldiers under his command?

'Every one of them is extraordinary.'

Shouldn't warriors of that caliber belong to a knight order? Yet their only bond was to this one man, Encrid.

With his keen political instincts, the Marquis of Fertile Lands understood at once. Lose Encrid, and they would lose every one of them.

He also knew that several nobles had already approached them in secret. Naturally, they had all come away empty-handed.

“You're telling me to take your lump of gold and swing an axe for you? Still don't know my nickname? Go find out and come back.”

Rem the Noble Killer. By openly declaring himself a man willing to behead nobles, he had sent a chill down all their spines. The bastard was mad.

Jaxon couldn't even be found for a meeting. Audin smiled and brushed them off by saying he merely followed his god's teachings. Ragna blithely ignored every summons. At least Rem and Audin had agreed to meet them.

“Why doesn't anyone invite me, though?”

Dunbachel voiced her mild puzzlement, but no one answered.

The Marquis of Fertile Lands wasn't without ambitions of his own, but...

'There's no need to meddle and leave a bad impression.'

The marquis was wise. Though Encrid didn't actually care.

“The coronation will be held soon.”

Encrid nodded at the marquis's words. Had his friend truly changed? The friend who had looked beyond kingship toward a greater purpose and a more distant horizon—was he now drunk on the throne and crown?

For some reason, he thought of the healer who had lost his son.

Five days later, Encrid stood by a platform built in the center of the capital rather than in the palace banquet hall. A small tower had been erected atop it. Krang stood on the platform with a smile.

There must have been much to do. The coronation, Honors and Rewards, what lay ahead, the troubles the count had unleashed, the chimeras, the disturbances in the Demonic Realm. None of it could be ignored, yet this was what Krang had chosen to do first.

He had raised a tower and inscribed the names of the people, the soldiers, who had died. Even finding every name must have been a task. There would be those who disapproved of the ceremony itself. He had done it anyway.

“Would you speak before me?”

A spell object enchanted to amplify voices stood before the memorial. Krang called Encrid forward, and he climbed onto the platform.

Standing before the amplifying object, Encrid tried to choose his words, then gave up.

The healer had lost his son. Had everything that son had done been meaningless? There was no way to know yet. No one knew the future. But Encrid hoped it had meant something to the young man himself.

“People.”

Encrid spoke that one word, gathered his breath, and continued.

“Friendship, family, lovers, those at their backs. We honor those who died to protect them.”

Among the people of the capital, some wept and some smiled. Krang stepped forward next.

“I honor those who died in my stead.”

He began reciting the names inscribed on the memorial.

“Vin, Roctine, Raksan...”

The remembrance was long. When he had finished speaking, Krang calmly declared himself the new king.

“Upholding their righteous determination and purpose, I proclaim that I am now the new king of Naurilia. I am Kdianat Langdeers Nauril.”

The Queen watched without a word, then placed the crown on his head. Applause rang out. There were no cheers.

What should one call this? A coronation of remembrance. And so Krang inherited the crown while honoring the dead.

Rain had been falling steadily since the ceremony began. Krang let it soak him through. It had rained on the battlefield too. There had been so much rain.

SHHHHH.

The pouring rain embraced the shoulders of those who had lost family, lovers, and friends.