Chapter 809

Chapter 809

“Keuk.”
The killer, who had been lurking within the shadows of a market alleyway, sprang into the air to escape the toxic haze. He caught the lip of a stone partition with his fingers and hauled himself onto the rooftop of a nearby brick residence—and in that moment, a freezing draft brushed against the back of his neck.
A flicker of confusion crossed the assassin’s mind. A gust of wind? And so cold?
‘In the middle of summer?’
Even without glancing up, he was aware of the vast blue sky overhead, devoid of any clouds. The sun was beating down, intense and sweltering.
A thin scarlet line sliced across the man’s throat as he lurched backward and slumped over. Gore from the wound pooled across the thatched and stony roof.
“What—what is happening?”
“Kyahhh!”
“You bastard!”
Only after the fall did the air fill with the sound of screams and angry shouts.
Fweeeet!
A local guardsman on security detail blew a sharp whistle. Responding to the signal, four soldiers on patrol sprinted toward the commotion.
Simultaneously, on the roof of a different structure, Jaxon buried a blade into the ribs of a prone assassin, finding the heart. Elsewhere, an infiltrator who had barely peeked through a window caught a Silence Dagger right between the eyes.
Despite having lost three of their number, the remaining killers were unable to pinpoint Jaxon’s location.
“Save one of them.”
Crang gave the urgent whisper. Enkrid stepped forward, shielding Crang from the hidden threats as he relayed the order.
“Jaxon, leave one alive.”
Though Crang spoke in a low tone and Enkrid’s volume was controlled, the message hit its mark.
Because of the earlier volley of arrows, the plaza was a scene of total disorder—panicked bellows and cries rang out—but Jaxon’s heightened senses surely picked up the command.
Events proceeded exactly as Crang had envisioned.
The hit squad consisted of five men. The one most expertly hidden suddenly launched himself off a wall, soaring upward and finding a split second to shout.
“For the legitimate royal line!”
He roared as his wrist flicked, sending a bolt flying from a concealed sleeve mechanism.
Enkrid made no move to intercept it. Crang had previously instructed him to stay his hand, grabbing Enkrid’s collar and insisting he would deal with this personally.
Enkrid wasn’t entirely sure what his companion was planning, but he recognized the signs: Crang was executing a specific vision.
‘If it fails, I’ll simply draw my blade.’
He had enough confidence to wait until the very last millisecond before intervening.
Thus, through Enkrid’s focused perception, he saw it—Crang’s entire form began to radiate a vivid crimson light.
That red energy surged with the speed of the incoming projectile, coalescing into a swirling shape around Crang’s frame.
‘Is it magic?’
It felt similar, yet distinct. There was no lingering scent of wizardry. Instead, it carried an aroma reminiscent of fresh laundry drying under a scorching, clear sun.
The crimson aura emanating from Crang intercepted the bolt mid-flight.
The light manifested into the likeness of a predator’s heavy paw.
Naturally, this occurred in a heartbeat. Only Enkrid, with his elite concentration, could see the details—to any bystander, the event would be a blur.
The spectral paw gripped the small arrow. In an instant, the bolt—which had been enchanted with a poison cloud spell—was drained of its power and snapped in two.
The assassin had committed his entire momentum to the strike. If the arrow failed, did he really think a follow-up would work?
Expecting resistance, he unsheathed a short knife and dove in—only for the ethereal beast’s limb extending from Crang to collide heavily with his skull.
Crunch.
The man’s neck gave way, and his body was tossed aside like a rag doll. With a shattered spine, he hit the ground a corpse. The last of the assassins was finished.
At that, Crang threw back his hood and discarded the heavy robe to reveal the fine cloak beneath.
The crimson luminescence clinging to him began to trace a more defined image at his back.
Four powerful legs and a mane of flickering fire that wrapped around its neck. The silhouette stood behind Crang, hazy yet undeniable.
It was a silent proclamation: You require my consent if you intend to harm this man.
This time, it wasn’t a sight reserved for Enkrid alone. Now, everyone saw it. That was the point—he had unveiled it for the masses. The message was unmistakable.
The wind picked up, causing Crang’s red cloak to snap in the breeze.
“Does anyone else wish to challenge my sovereignty?”
His aura commanded the attention of every soul present. Initially, only a few stared in paralyzed disbelief. But like a drop of ink in a basin of water, the realization rippled through the crowd.
“Listen to me, all of you.”
Then Crang utilized his greatest talent. With every eye fixed upon him, he projected his voice across the market square, standing firmly on the dirt without the need for a stage or a throne.
“All of this stems from my own failings. I acknowledge that.”
The specific phrasing of his brief, resolute address wasn’t the core focus. Crang didn’t use hyperbole; he remained perfectly composed.
From the moment he commanded the stage, his presence was unshakable. Poised. Grave.
“I will not permit beasts and brigands to terrorize this land.”
Enkrid couldn’t map out every one of Crang’s long-term goals, but one motive was transparent.
‘He wants to show them.’
Crang’s intent was to put the glowing beast on display.
No—not just a beast. A Divine Beast.
Even in that brief display, the agility and power it exhibited matched that of a high-ranking knight.
‘If that was just a casual move to stop an arrow…’
Enkrid felt a surge of desire to test his own mettle against it. It was his nature. Whenever he met a formidable force—human, giant, Frokk, or spirit—he felt the urge to duel.
Crang finished his address with a sharp finality. He turned, and seeing Enkrid, spoke before a word was uttered.
“No. I can tell what you’re thinking just by looking at you. It only manifests when my life is genuinely at risk.”
Crang gave a small, laughing shake of his head.
By then, news of the attempt on the king’s life had traveled, and security details began forming a wall around him. From the inner citadel, the Royal Guard arrived to provide a secondary layer of protection.
Crang had shut down Enkrid’s growing curiosity with a single comment. When it came to reading people, Crang had no equal.
“Ah.”
At Enkrid’s sigh of letdown, Crang chuckled. His friend was predictable. Then again—it took someone with that single-mindedness to chase impossible goals.
The same could be said for himself.
“The Sun Beast?” Enkrid queried.
“Yes.”
They didn’t lower their voices. Every member of the Royal Guard and every scout nearby could hear them clearly.
Besides, hadn’t he just made a public spectacle of it?
Whispers began to drift through the gathering: Sun Beast, Guardian Beast, the sovereign protected by the ancient deity of the line.
It was likely Crang had even positioned agents in the crowd to feed those specific phrases to the public.
“I thought that was just a myth?”
The story of the three founding knights and the Sun Beast was generally considered folklore. Crang disagreed.
“It is not.”
Enkrid blinked. Crang moved to erase any lingering skepticism from his comrade’s mind.
“Only one of the royal bloodline possesses the potential. If, with that lineage, he accepts the power of the beast and survives the ordeal, he receives its ward.”
The marking on his skin was the proof that the Sun Beast lived within him.
“And it could have killed you?”
This wasn’t some simple charm that granted power for free. There were artifacts that offered strength in exchange for one’s soul or health—dark things made by twisted mages.
Was the Sun Beast’s mark truly without a cost? Unlikely.
“They say those with weak spirits, or those who seek it for greed, perish. But truthfully? In my experience, it was mostly about surviving three days of terrors.”
Men are known to exaggerate even as they face the end. It likely required more than just “endurance.” But Enkrid didn’t feel the need to pry. If it were a state secret, Crang would probably tell him if he pushed—but Enkrid wasn’t that curious.
“I have only just begun. This is merely the opening move.”
Revealing the protection of the Sun Beast was the start. Enkrid dropped the subject.
He trusted that Crang would share what was necessary when the time was right. Regardless of the details, his eyes were still full of fire.
Though their paths had been different, Crang had endured trials just as grueling as Enkrid’s. And having come through them, his spirit hadn’t faded.
That was enough to answer Enkrid’s concerns.
Except for one.
“You really won’t let me fight it?”
“I said no, for heaven’s sake.”
A duel against the Sun Beast would have been legendary—but it wasn’t happening today.

—

“A tactic of estrangement.”
It was Kraiss who spoke, reappearing after a long absence. Marcus gave a nod of agreement.
“Exactly.”
Division—the strategy of driving a wedge between allies. Even though Crang, now known to some as the Sun King due to the beast’s protection, had solidified his image, the reality of the assassination attempt remained.
“Is there another coup coming?”
“I heard the queen has come back.”
“No, they say the queen’s heir is being raised in secret, and some border lords are backing him.”
A whirlpool of rumors was spinning out of control.
Even Enkrid, who spent his days on the training grounds, caught wind of them. Several officers who practiced with him heard them too, but their loyalty was unshaken.
“His Majesty will deal with it. If he needs our blades, he knows where to find us.”
Confidence and devotion—the foundations Crang had built with them over time.
While some aristocrats might be wavering, the soldiers in the training yard were like iron.
Enkrid took a sip of Marcus’s expensive tea. Apparently, the leaves were harvested from a specific region and aged for years to achieve a unique scent. He had just been told this, but since it had gone in one ear and out the other, the details were fuzzy.
It tasted bitter at first, followed by a hidden sweetness and a rich depth. The fragrance was clean, like blossoms in mountain water.
It was actually quite pleasant.
As he drank, Kraiss went on in a measured voice.
“The nobility doesn’t have the stomach for this right now. And even if they did, why target the throne? The queen? An heir? They don’t exist. They are nothing but fairy tales. Even if they were real, for the nobles to move now would be idiocy—all risk, no reward. And the lords I know don’t breathe without a profit motive.”
Those responsible for the survival of their houses had to provide for their people. Andrew had mentioned something similar once. Responsibility had a way of growing on its own.
“And a revolt? Against the current administration? For what reason?”
Thump.
Kraiss struck the table with his hand. It was a soft enough blow that the china didn’t rattle, but Marcus still winced.
“Easy there.”
He couldn’t stand the thought of such rare tea and vessels being ruined. It was like a collector watching a vintage wine being poured into the dirt.
Kraiss offered a brief look of regret before continuing.
“Trade is flourishing, and life is better than it’s ever been. Has that made the nobles’ portions smaller? Not at all.”
Enkrid glanced around Marcus’s workspace. It was better furnished than before. More ornaments, too.
Specifically, there were now shelves and displays for tea leaves and fine cups. They were luxuries, though still modest compared to a true noble’s estate.
For the moment, Naurillia was more prosperous than ever.
“Furthermore, establishing peace in the capital, making the highways safe, and wiping out bandits and monsters—none of the previous kings ever managed that.”
Half of that success belonged to Enkrid. Marcus looked over at him. The man with the dark eyes and blue hair just nodded absentmindedly.
He wasn’t interested in the credit.
Marcus saw that immediately.
He was right. Enkrid was only partially paying attention, thinking back to Crang’s comments. Hadn’t Crang once remarked that half of his successes were born in the mind of this big-eyed man?
‘And surely some of it came from Abnaier’s concepts.’
If anyone in the Border Guard was having the time of his life lately, it was Abnaier.
In the Guard, he finally had the resources to build the machines and designs he could never finish in Azpen. They said even Azpen was beginning to modernize under his guidance. That thought brought him satisfaction.
Despite Enkrid’s lack of input, Kraiss continued firmly.
“If it were up to me, I never would have allowed this situation to develop.”
Marcus asked,
“And how would you have stopped it?”
“By keeping the nobles in a constant state of internal conflict—distrustful of each other, trapped in their own petty wars.”
The suggestion was made casually, but the implications were as sharp as a sword’s edge.
If the lords were busy killing one another, they wouldn’t have the bandwidth to talk about limiting the king’s power.
Rumors only spread because people were too comfortable—so the way to stop them was to ensure such thoughts never had room to grow.
How? By pitting factions against one another. Small skirmishes to avoid a total war.
Of course, that wasn’t the way Crang chose to lead. Kraiss knew this, which was why his tone was so blunt.
If a few hovels belonging to the poor were leveled to make room for a merchant road, who would complain?
The destitute have no influence, no voice.
And the nobles who made money from the trade would simply keep their mouths shut.
Under normal circumstances, such an act wouldn’t cause a second thought. But Crang refused to rule that way.
The path he took was difficult and exhausting. That was what made it the path of a true king. That was the journey Crang wanted.
‘Dreams. Hopes.’
In an era that claimed such things were useless, those who chased them were viewed as fools. Which meant Crang was a fool.
‘And so am I.’
Enkrid was aware that his own goals might be empty. Yet, he moved forward. And bit by bit, the landscape changed.
The version of Kraiss standing before him was proof of that change.
In the past, he would have found reasons to complain, but now he followed Crang’s—and Enkrid’s—lead without hesitation.
“So what brings you here?”
Enkrid finally asked. He hadn’t sent for Kraiss. The man had just appeared.
“I am here to deal with those who thought they could use the Salon for their games.”
Kraiss’s eyes flashed. They burned with a deep resentment—for those who had exploited his vision.
The origin of the lies targeting the throne was the Salon. It was from there that southern operatives had moved out.
“Spies from the South.”
Before they had gone their separate ways, Crang had told him: this was the work of Rihinstetten in the south. Their agents had treated the Salon as their personal theater, until the entire social scene of the capital was tainted by their interference.
That was the source of Kraiss’s rage.
“I will destroy them with my hatred.”
The words of a Salon extremist, fueled by righteous anger, spilled out into the room.