When Roman heard someone was coming from the royal palace, he looked down at his fist. His hand was large, hard, and covered in scars.

'I shouldn't hit someone sent by the royal house, should I?'

Of course not. Yet he still had to think about it.

Were you loyal to Naurilia? Would you fight for the royal house if danger came?

If someone asked him those questions, Roman would nod without hesitation. And if they added, "Would you beat a noble you disliked to death?" he could nod twice as fast.

He swore loyalty because he meant it, but...

'I'd rather they gave me the right to execute nobles on the spot.'

Those were the sorts of thoughts he'd had while staying at the palace as a member of the knight order. Wasn't the palace full of bastards who spouted clueless nonsense whenever they opened their mouths?

Oara was dead. His master had left this world. Even in the damp weather, her body was slow to decay.

Grief, mourning—those things would matter only to the people of this city. What about the person the royal house had sent?

The palace had dispatched someone the moment it heard. A remarkably swift response.

Was that only natural? Of course it was. A knight of the order had died. One of the nation's pillars had fallen.

They couldn't know everything that had happened here. From the immediate need for a deterrent against the Demonic Realm to their political standing, they would have plenty to give them headaches.

'A mountain of worries, isn't it?'

That was why the royal envoy had arrived before the juniper coffin.

The man would demand answers. Why had a knight died here?

He would find fault. Had there been any reason to fight such a battle here?

Loathsome noble bastards.

Roman's fist tightened. Veins bulged across the back of his hand.

He would put up with it, within reason.

Within reason.

And if he couldn't? Wasn't that fellow under Encrid called the Noble Hunter? Rumor had it he'd killed a noble who'd been behaving like a complete bastard.

Roman thought he might end up stealing that nickname.

Today was the funeral of Knight Oara, his master.

"Whew."

Roman let out a sigh and stepped outside.

FWOOSH.

Though it was daytime, torches burned on stands throughout the city. Fog had settled in.

Ordinarily, monsters ran wilder on days like this. Sometimes these conditions recurred on the day after the Twin Red Moons rose, and monsters crazed with the urge to slaughter would rampage.

But not this time.

"No signs of activity."

The scouts had been making their rounds since dawn and had confirmed that the Demonic Realm was quiet. Just as his master had said.

The Demonic Realm was silent. The monster serving as its core was dead, and it had poured out all the strength it possessed. Now it was merely a collection of colonies.

The Gray Forest Demonic Realm. Oara had wanted to put an end to it.

Knights were calamities. They were called that because they possessed such overwhelming might. Yet even might worthy of the name calamity could hardly close a Demonic Realm.

Oara had done it in the end.

'Do you even know? What Master did for this city? How much this city loves her?'

If the man from the royal house belittled her achievements, Roman would cease to be a proto knight of the Scarlet Cloak Knight Order. He would become a thug.

'Respect her. Please.'

His turbulent emotions made his fist tighten of its own accord. Better to leave his weapon behind.

So he had. He'd come without it.

To some, she might have been a knight they called a calamity. To Roman, she had been a stroke of good fortune. Traces of her remained throughout the city.

["Hey, you're a big, healthy fellow. Is this how you want to live? Squeezing a few coins out of people who sell their bodies?"]

["What the hell are you talking about? Want to die?"]

He had only just arrived in Thousand Brick as a soldier. Judging her by her appearance, he'd attacked—and been beaten until he saw stars in broad daylight.

["You need an education. Come with me!"]

At some point, Oara had won him over. It wasn't romantic. It was respect.

Without her, he might have ended his days as a back-alley lowlife, or the master of some criminal guild. That was the man he'd been.

The entire city had gathered, though no one was officiating the funeral.

There were hardly any children, women, or elderly people here. The city was like one enormous barracks.

Oara had loved it, and that had pained her all the more.

["Without that Demonic Realm, wouldn't people laugh and talk more freely? I want to hear children laughing in this city."]

That had been Oara's dream.

She would achieve it. She had refused to give up even in death, and had finally laid its foundation. He would clear away what remained of the Demonic Realm.

Then children would laugh in this city, too.

Roman had told his friend Encrid all of this in detail. The man knew how to listen quietly and nod.

No, simply having him listen was a comfort. What a remarkable fellow. Before Roman knew it, he'd become part of the city and shared in his master's final moments.

The platform in the center of the city came into view. Someone stepped onto it.

That would be the man from the palace. His face was unfamiliar. Not someone Roman knew.

'Of course not. Since when do I know any nobles?'

He stood on the platform without so much as a cloak. No armor, either. His clothes had the fine quality expected of a noble's, but dust coated his hair, and white salt stains marked the fabric where sweat had soaked it and dried.

The man stood on the platform and looked at everyone. Roman watched his every movement.

As the man surveyed them, he drew every gaze to himself. He hadn't tried any grand trick or even spoken. Merely looking at them had been enough.

The mood, their eyes, even the flow of the air seemed to have been drawn toward the platform.

"I ask your forgiveness."

The man spoke. Before introducing himself, he asked for forgiveness.

"I am grateful for Dame Oara's service, but I cannot claim to bear no responsibility for her death."

He wasn't crying, yet he looked as though he were.

What did he regret? The loss of a knight?

No. It wasn't that. He seemed genuinely grief-stricken. That was what Roman thought.

The man's expression did not change. Standing there quietly, he spoke through his eyes and his breath.

He was sorry.

He felt terribly guilty that he had done nothing for the person who had defended this land.

Who was he to take such an arrogant attitude?

Anger suddenly flared in Roman. His emotions were not easy to control.

Just as he was about to shout something, the man on the platform spoke again.

"My name is Kdianat Langdeers Nauril. That is the name of the man you should resent and curse."

What?

Roman's eyes widened as he glared up at the platform. What had that bastard just said?

"Dame Oara dreamed of protecting this city. So I, too, shall swear an oath. Until the nation of Naurilia falls—even should it fall—I will protect this land and this city."

The royal house sent someone.

That man swore to defend the city. He mourned Dame Oara’s death.

He didn’t speak only of the master. He knew each fallen soldier and recited their names.

Roman had heard that the newly crowned king had done something like that after the civil war. Now he was doing it again.

The king had ridden day and night from the moment he heard the news. Now he stood on the platform, looking ready to collapse, speaking of grief and making his vow.

"You may throw stones at me."

There had been a knight who loved this city. To the very end, she had protected it.

And the king who should have protected that knight was telling them to direct their resentment at him.

Even if this was all a lie...

Roman thought through his tears.

Protecting this city ultimately meant protecting the kingdom. By defending the city, Oara had remained true to her loyalty to the royal house.

He would do the same.

For a king like this.

A king who would protect the city in Oara's stead.

Roman raised his head.

The fog was lifting. The Twin Red Moons, the Red Moon, Darpia had set, and the rising sunlight shattered everything.

The gray fog that had rolled in from the Gray Forest Demonic Realm dissolved, and sunlight surged in like a wave.

That wave of sunlight stayed, illuminating the world. It shone on the king and the people, and enfolded the dead Oara.

Amid the sunlight, the blond king looked at them all.

"In honor of Knight Oara."

The king gave a military salute.

* * *

After stepping down from the platform, Krang spoke. Behind him, at a corner of the platform, Encrid quietly listened.

"Did I arrive just in time? Or am I late? Or should I blame my past ignorance, when I could do nothing for the knight defending this land?"

Political position, standing, the power of the royal house—he hadn't come after weighing such things. He had come to comfort those grieving a death.

Krang could have offered cynical advice if that was what was needed. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd stood on the platform and delivered something that was not quite a speech, with all his heart.

Didn't they say grief grew lighter when shared? Krang had divided the sorrow, sharing it with the entire city.

Oara was dead. But no one would forget her name.

"From this day forth, this city shall be called Oara."

With those words, the king had stepped down from the platform.

"I'm exhausted."

Only then did Krang allow himself a plaintive tone, looking directly at Encrid. Having watched him, Encrid scolded the king.

"You should at least have brought a juniper coffin."

"I should have."

Then again, if he'd stopped to think, he wouldn't have come like this. His guards didn't look particularly well, either.

"Ha. Fucking monsters. Fucking Demonic Realms."

Krang looked up at the sky as he spoke. He closed his eyes without so much as a frown against the sunlight, and continued with them shut.

"I'll wipe out the Demonic Realms. Even if it takes my entire life. This land is my responsibility. My country. And a knight died on my land. So I'll wipe them all out."

Encrid could feel Will. Will dwelling in resolve and conviction. Krang's words held determination.

It was just like their first meeting in the Medical Barracks.

The way he spoke, his eyes, his gestures—everything flowed as though ordained. Like the sun rising and setting, and the moon rising after it.

That was how Krang spoke. With all his heart.

Encrid heard him clearly. Understood him. Read the determination in his words.

It was still only a statement spoken neither quickly nor slowly, but he would do it.

He would erase the Demonic Realms. This king would burn the flame within him to that end.

Once again, Encrid saw a vision.

Knights, proto knights, squires, soldiers—all taking up their swords for one king.

They would swing their swords and thrust their spears. At monsters. At the king's enemies.

The king took responsibility and chose the direction. The knights cleared the obstacles from that path.

That was the work each had to do in their own place.

"My sword will be there with you," Encrid replied.

"Glad to hear it. Let's walk."

Krang was soon his usual self again: as lighthearted as he had been when they first met in the Medical Barracks.

"You look like you'll collapse if you walk."

"Then catch me if I do."

"Why me, when you've got guards?"

"Fair point."

He smiled faintly at their silly banter. Encrid smiled too and began walking.

A today that had passed would not return. Neither would the dead.

It amounted to the same thing.

Was this the best he could do? Had there been a better way?

Such thoughts might have occurred to him, but Encrid brushed them aside.

Nothing was more foolish than regretting a past today, imagining that the road not taken might have been better, and convincing himself that a better choice existed.

Such doubts and regrets were more dangerous than a curse. Had he lived with that burden in his heart, he would never have made it this far.

So he shook it off and walked on, honoring the todays gone by and those who had died.

Moving on did not mean forgetting. He would probably remember until he died. Forever.

Then was Oara truly dead?

Her body was dead, but the city of Oara would carry on her spirit.

And at its head...

Encrid didn't know why the fellow was crying again, but that bandit-looking friend of his, Roman, would stand there.

It wasn't quite a prophecy. He simply felt that it would be so.

Roman wasn't the only one crying. The grief Krang had shared had brought the city to tears. Those who had been too grief-stricken even to weep were crying now.

If their tears would carry on Oara's spirit...

'Then I'll carry on some of your techniques, Dame Oara.'

Her spirit, her techniques, her purpose—those things would remain and be passed on. Dead, yet not dead, she would protect this land.

In that, Knight Oara could be said to have remained true to her determination and convictions.

With those thoughts, Encrid walked on, his footsteps tapping against the ground. Krang kept pace beside him, his guards following.

Luagarne joined them again on the opposite side from Krang, leaving Encrid in the middle.

"I asked you to help me if your contract with the former queen was over. So this is where you've been, Luagarne?"

Krang leaned forward to speak.

Luagarne laughed, her cheeks swelling with a croak, and replied.

"My interest lies with this one, not you."

She stuck out her tongue to point at Encrid as she spoke. Even with her tongue out in the middle of a sentence, her pronunciation was perfect. Quite a talent.

"I thought you were interested in my face?"

"I can't help appreciating good looks. It's a Frog trait. That never meant I would make a contract with you."

"I know. I'm just disappointed."

CROAK, CROAK.

Luagarne merely laughed. Krang seemed to suit her tastes as well; just looking at his face appeared to make her happy.

Encrid and Krang walked through the broken shafts of sunlight. They spoke of nothing in particular.

The future, politics, the problems caused by the absence of a knight—neither gave any of it a thought.

"So you killed a Ghoul that fought like a knight? You've gotten even better."

"Just kept at it."

"Is that really something you can explain with 'just kept at it'?"

"Of course it isn't. His ability to learn defies understanding."

Luagarne chimed in from beside them. To her, his reproducing a knight's strike in one go had been nothing short of a mystery.

How was such a thing possible?

She had asked, but Encrid had no answer to give.

Their conversation drifted from topic to topic. Encrid listened to Krang's stories and shared his own.

Most of it was idle chatter. Much of the actual content was important or secret, but to the two of them, it was merely casual conversation.

For example:

"Oh, I got married."

Producing heirs was part of a king's work, too. Krang spoke of his own affairs with that same matter-of-fact tone.

Encrid congratulated him.

"Is that really something to congratulate me for?"

Krang made a joke, and they both laughed.

The city of Oara had no shortage of problems. But other people could solve those.

Leaving the problems to others, the two simply talked.

"What kind of person was Oara?"

Krang asked about the hero who had protected this city, the woman he had never met.

"Someone who shone."

She had been like sunlight.

Encrid reached into his memories as he answered.