"Ow…my...," Weiss pushes himself from the makeshift bed.
Once he regained sight, he realized he was inside a tent. There is a lightened bonfire outside his tent. He looks to the side and sees his clothes folded next to him, stacked on his leather boots. He decided not to wear them and steps outside his tent, barefooted. Immediately, when he steps outside…
"…PANG!"
"Erk…!"
A flat, metal object hits his head, rattling loudly.
"What the hell were you two thinking?!" he heard someone scolding before receiving another hit on the face.
"…Ouch…"
The half-naked Weiss squats, rubbing his head to ease the pain.
"You should be asleep, considering your injury!" Boyd scolds him again.
"…I-I need to finish and challenge him…"
"Hell, if I care about your revenge, you moron!" Boyd yells, loud enough for Weiss to turn silent but low enough to prevent anyone else from hearing.
"Geez!"
"Patients are patients, no matter what their motive is!"
Weiss glares at him but quickly looks down when Boyd glances at him.
"You're planning on messing up your body even more?"
"N…."
"Surely, you've heard about unknown pathogens that mysteriously appear in a doctor's hands and kill everyone, right?" Boyd threatens Weiss to sit quietly.
"By the way, you have a visitor," Boyd changes his tone to his mumbling self.
"…Who is…?"
Sitting in front of the bonfire, wearing a leather coat, is a man with three scars along his right eye, casually eating a curry broth that Boyd had cooked. In an instant, Weiss is fueled with anger and rage, but he slowly manages to quell his anger. Boyd instructs him to sit opposite the man in front of the bonfire, knowing how Weiss feels about him entirely. At first, Weiss seemed reluctant, but he sat before him anyway after Boyd persuaded him to do so. Once he does, Boyd hands him a bowl of curry for him to eat.
"Eat, you've been out for a day," Boyd suggests.
"Mr. Boyd, this is one of the best curries I've ever eaten. It makes me remember when I had one in my younger days," Owen, the Underworld King, praises his cooking.
"You flatter me. I'm glad you enjoyed it," Boyd thanked him.
"Anyway, I'd propose we cut to the chase, for both of your sakes…"
"Yes, I suppose we should," Owen acknowledges Boyd's suggestion.
"Let us get down to it," Weiss tenses up, prepared for a fight.
"Hmph…always the bold one. Not now, nephew," Owen clarifies the misunderstanding.
Weiss grips his spoon, still trying to quell his anger.
"I can see your progress from your last fight," Owen states.
He slurps all the curry in one gulp before putting the bowl on the ground.
"Have you chosen a place and time?"
"…Tomorrow afternoon. West side of the island," Weiss answers.
"Oh, the rocky area. All right, I'll see you then," Owen nods.
He stands up and passes his bowl to Boyd.
"Thank you for the food," he excuses himself before disappearing entirely from sight.
There is a brief silence between Boyd and Weiss after Owen leaves them.
"How's uh…how's Flare?" Weiss breaks the silence.
"…Her right forearm is shattered. Three ribs cracked, three broken, and a hemorrhaged diaphragm," Boyd lists all of her aftermath injuries.
"She's going to be fine," he adds, drinking ale.
Weiss nods, slightly worried.
"…"
"You made your one effort to lead a normal, selfish decision, and your mind immediately smacks you down," Boyd blurts.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb. I see that doubt in your eyes when you fought her."
Weiss turned silent.
"You don't think that's a little facile?" Weiss voiced.
"I don't. I think you did it consciously, and you know it."
"…"
"Listen, I don't care whether or not you want revenge on your family member, but if you have doubts about doing it…" Boyd deduces.
"I don't…doubt myself. I know what I want, and I will fight him. " Weiss responds angrily, " the date's tomorrow, debunking Boyd's deduction.
"I trained with you for all those years just for this! Who was the one who trained me until my bones cracked? Who was the one who trained me into exhaustion?"
"It was you, Uncle Boyd!"
"…And since the beginning, you know what I want to do, but you took me in any way."
"I am thankful for all the knowledge and lessons you taught me…"
"…But we both know that this is what I need!" Weiss declares his conviction.
They talked before finally realizing that Weiss had already finished his curry.
"There's a possibility that I might not make it tomorrow…"
"You can leave the island without me…"
"Hmm…Mmm…"
Suddenly, Boyd tosses a bag of supplies to Weiss. The boy catches it unpreparedly, dropping the bowl onto the ground.
"Supplies for your journey to the west. You will not survive a walk there with an empty stomach," Boyd states the contents of the supplies.
"You know I can just call an animal and-…"
"No! The last time you did that, you completely burned the meat, or you will eat the meat raw. I, for one, know that I do not want to eat your cooking," Boyd reminds Weiss about his failed attempts at cooking.
However, Weiss just sat there, silently and motionless.
"…Y-You're not going to stop me?" Weiss asked.
"Well, you have no doubts about this world you want to explore. You just told me that," Boyd answers.
"I think Flare, you and me can see that now, so go, there's no one stopping you."
"Go on and settle things with him. I didn't teach you to be defeated, don't I?" Boyd looks at Weiss.
"…"
"You're not being dragged into anything. You're acting on your own will, are you?"
"…"
"You told me that if you don't get this, you will suffer, didn't you?"
"…"
"You told me that if you don't get this, you won't move on, didn't you?"
"…"
"You told me you cannot stop thinking about it, right? You won't stop until you get there, right?"
Boyd grabs Weiss by the collar with both his hands.
"Then, finish what you started. You got into this swell yourself. I have helped you, but ultimately, it is your decision. However, if you keep wallowing here and stop moving, you'll end up inside a bigger mess!"
"SO, WHAT DO YOU DO?!" Boyd yells at him.
Suddenly, Weiss pushes Boyd away with his two arms.
"Get off me!"
"Fine! I'll do it! I can't turn around anyway!" Weiss responds.
"No matter what hell awaits me, I'll choose how to deal with it my way!"
His face is determined to seek vengeance but mixed with anger and sorrow.
"That's right. Could you do me a favor, Weiss? Don't be a wallowing asshole!"
"Before I have to open my gauntlet and beat you to death with it," Boyd joked.
The two of them laughed.
"Just imagine your tombstone. Leonard Weiss lost an ass-kicking contest to an old elderly," he joked again.
Boyd extends his hand to Weiss. Weiss then opens his own and shakes his hand.
"If you die here, I'll kill you. Remember that!" Boyd reminds Weiss.
Despite it being a joke, he says it with a severe face. At least, that is what Weiss chooses to think since Boyd's helmet prevented him from seeing it.
"Live, even if you have to crawl or die trying."
"Don't die. Just live."
"When that is done, I'll be the one to carry you!"
Weiss looks at him and gives a decisive nod.
"…But before that, there's something I want you to do on your way there," Boyd suddenly ruins his inspirational speech.
Before whispering something to Weiss, he darted left and right, checking if people were watching.
"…"
"…?"
"…!"
After a while, with a reddened face, Weiss said,
"A-A-Alright then!"
After that, he used his magic to call an animal from the forest. A successfully subdued tiger came to him in just a matter of seconds. The two of them shook hands again and went their separate ways. Boyd stays behind to treat Flare's injuries. Weiss, riding a tiger to the west of the island. He is galloping into battle without the slightest hesitation in his eyes despite showing a troubled expression.
* * * * *
"…"
The sky is filled with blended tones of rosy pinks and sandy yellows. It's a subtle way of welcoming people to a new day and a new beginning. Flare slowly pushes herself up, and the first thing she notices is that her arm is already bandaged, and it smells funny. She turned her head to the left and saw Boyd casually drinking tea in hand, or so she thought. The color of the water is slightly darker than regular tea, but she decides to shove that since it is probably nothing. She could smell something, no doubt that it was Boyd's cooking. She turned to the other side and saw little Marcia sleeping next to her with a fur blanket covering her entire body. Slowly, the mighty sun breaches the horizon, and the sky explodes beautifully. At that moment, the atmosphere is more vibrant than any color. Sunlight fills the air, and the morning breeze gently kisses the faces of everything on the island. However, for Flare, for some reason, it felt monotonous.
Instead of looking at the sky and seeing hope, she is reminded of how she lost everything she stood for.
"…"
Boyd quickly finishes his 'tea' and approaches Flare as if he already knows Flare is awake.
"…"
However, Flare could not say anything. No words could come out of her mouth, not even a little. She quickly covers her eyes with her left forearm, resting her right arm on the ground.
"There's nothing to be sad about," Boyd reassures Flare, handing over a cup of tea.
"I boiled one of the finest tea leaves I could buy in the market. Of course, no one came here and followed me…" he attempts to lighten the mood.
"…"
"…You put up quite a show, Your Highness. Now, the whole island filled with contenders, thugs, slavers, thieves, and pirates are looking for you."
"…"
"Heh…" Boyd sighs and sits before her two rested legs.
"…"
"…"
He sits there, waiting for something.
"…I'm not going anywhere until you say something, Your Highness," Boyd states and continues sitting there despite only being greeted by her silence.
"…"
"…I…lost, Uncle Boyd," she suddenly speaks ambivalently.
"…"
"…I lost to my instincts, to myself…"
"…"
"I…I tried to kill him."
"After all the preaching I did…in the end, I wasn't any different," Flare states, shaking.
"…From them, from him…"
"You know that's not true, Your Highness," Boyd responds gently.
"Missus Flare, weren't you fighting to make him realize his mistakes? To protect him from himself?"
"…"
"…But…if-if I was a little stronger…" Flare bumbles, still shaking.
Her eyes turned watery.
"In that fight…"
She clenches her trembling hands into a fist.
"I…I couldn't see anything…"
"I couldn't hear anything…"
"Inside that total darkness, I felt like I was going to lose myself…"
"…I…I was grateful to lose that fight."
"I-I was grateful that he knocked me out…"
"…"
Her whole body quivers before tears come down on both of her cheeks.
"I feel so frustrated. I want to become stronger…," she whimpers, trying to suppress her tears.
"Strong enough to protect everyone…"
"Strong enough to so that I won't lose to anyone, not even myself," she adds, still whimpering.
"…"
Boyd nods, carefully listening to her crying plea.
"…"
Suddenly, he extends his hand to Flare, who is still crying. She sees his hand and quickly wipes away her tears before grabbing it. The older man gently pulled Flare upwards until she could stand on her two feet. He invites her to sit on a log before the bonfire while preparing breakfast. Flare sits there silently.
"There's a small pond there. Why don't you wash yourself?" Boyd suggests.
"…"
Flare nods quietly and slouches towards the pond above.
"Now…"
Boyd twists his body and faces Marcia, who has been pretending to fall asleep ever since he and Flare talked. He is looking at her, and despite the apathetic look on his helmet, for some reason, Marcia can tell that Boyd is looking at her with a stern expression. Her spine shivers in fright. She quickly turns away and pretends she did not notice him with a defiant look.
"I believe you have something to say to me since your failed attempt at murder," Boyd goads.
* * * * *
"The Culloin Empire introduced the concept of terrace farming in the 12th century, before its history and method collapsed and perished during one of the many great conquests of the Whitefall Empire," King Ragnar recalls during his meeting with one of his ministers.
Instead of sitting on the stone throne and letting the minister read his report underneath it, King Ragnar sits among his ministers on his chair. His chair is slightly larger and resembles a portable, comfy throne, exhibiting his higher authority. Despite that, none of the ministers dared to say anything about it. The meeting remained silent, with only him and the ministers he summoned speaking. The Archbishop is the one sitting nearest to him at the long, rectangular stone table. He is talking to Whitefall's Minister of Agriculture and the other aristocrats influenced by the empire's agricultural sector. According to the frightened minister's report, the country's provisions are in dire straits due to deserters, bandits, and necromancers pillaging farmlands.
"Fortunately, our historians managed to analyze this method to cultivate more food in the hill areas in our country. These terrace steps will prevent any avalanches that would destroy the hillside crops. Increase the production of crops by using the aqueduct concepts made by the Sunians."
"May I ask, how is the crop rotation-based farming method going?" he asks the minister.
"Astounding, Your Majesty. The three-field system you introduced is going well against the four seasons. Our farmers have planted oats, barleys, and sugarcanes this spring. As you ordered, we left the third field to fallow for use in the next season," he answers.
"…Good. I will introduce a new farming system during summer. I will hand the details to you later. Thank you for the report."
The minister sits on his chair, but no one is leaving. The king has yet to dismiss them all.
"Now, back to the matter at hand," Ragnar announces while reclining on his throne.
He casually puts his right arm on the throne's armrest before continuing.
"I've been told there is still civil unrest among the farmlands under your control."
He is looking at all the attending, including Lincoln. The only difference is that Lincoln's face is held high while the others, including the minister, look at the floor. Lincoln passes a piece of paper to Ragnar after being handed to everyone attending the meeting.
"Why didn't you fix this before now?" he questions all of them.
"…"
None of them are answering.
"You all ran around like cockroaches when I said I called you to this meeting," he adds, jabbing his right index finger multiple times onto the stone table.
He takes the piece of paper Lincoln handed him and quickly analyses it before putting it back on the table.
"You have taken these people hostage."
The king takes a deep breath to quell his anger.
"With your ambition, incompetence --- and pure avarice," he lectures the nobles.
"These are thousands of lives."
"It is completely unacceptable," he declares while looking at every one of them.
Still, none dared to answer or even look at him in the eye.
"If you wankers cannot agree, then…you will all step down and be replaced with fresher, brighter minds with the aptitude for this sector," King Ragnar 'reminds' all of them.
"One way or another, you will fight by my side or get crushed under my heel! But you will not stand in my way," he threatened them.
"…"
"Now, did everybody sign this agreement?" he questions them.
"-Yes," they answered in perfect synchronization.
However, the king is not pleased.
"Pritchard, did you sign this agreement?" he questions one of the nobles.
"I've signed," the noble answers while nodding simultaneously.
"Hmm?"
"…"
"I cannot see your signature in here."
The man then casually slides the agreement paper next to him and calls the noble to sign the agreement before his eyes. The noble pushes his chair backward and walks towards the king.
"Sign it. Here's the agreement," he throws a nib pen to the piece of paper and points at it with his index finger, passively forcing the noble to sign it.
He puts his left hand on his hip while observing the frightened noble signing the agreement. Once the noble signed it, the dignified slid the agreement back towards the king before slowly shuffling away.
"Give me back my pen, Pritchard," Ragnar berates the noble.
Pritchard nervously hands the pen back to him before returning to his seat. Who won't? The man demanded all the nobles, including his minister, to sign an undertaking to restart the process. The noble sat back in his seat and, for some reason, was very angry by the agreement.
"You are sending soldiers to our farms, threaten our families. Who are you to…" Pritchard rages but is quickly interrupted.
"They did not engage in military combat with your farmers and families. There is no invasion, no murders, only self-defense against the hoodlums that do intend on murdering your farmers and families, maybe even worse," Ragnar debunks.
"-Not one of your farmers died in the crossfire."
"Any armed forces presence was to safeguard your farms from those vandals. Those farmers are the ones that came and voiced their opinions and asked for our protection," he adds.
"-They came, and they asked. This de facto 'referendum' showed that the farmers of Whitefall would like to be safeguarded by our security."
"You asked me – Who am I? Friend or a foe?" he questions Pritchard.
"Relations between monarchs and nobles are not quite the same manner as they are between people…"
"-I'm not your friend. I'm not your bride or your groom…"
"I am the King of the Whitefall Empire," King Ragnar states his authority to Pritchard.
"There are 50 million people with certain interests in this empire, and it is MY job to protect them."
"I will do so in a non-confrontational manner, based on mutual respect and the understanding of the empiric law," King Ragnar clarifies his standing before finally dismissing the meeting.
…..
"Ah, at last!"
"Noblemen from the Great House of the Stark. You are right on time."
"Ah, come in. Come in, Pritchard," King Ragnar invites him to the kitchen.
Pritchard approaches the room, puzzled to see him baking cupcakes.
"So, the rumors are true? You like baking cupcakes," he mumbles.
The king smirks while preparing the dessert.
"I hope you like Taiyaki. It's a fancy name for red bean cakes back in my land," Ragnar jests.
"It sounds like a cliché, but I made it just like my mother used to."
The king approaches the counter.
"Come on. You can help me prepare it," he invites Pritchard to join, despite the man standing perfectly and awkwardly, still as a statue.
As the man awkwardly stalked towards the king, Ragnar continued making small talk.
"This is an Eastern dish. I love it but never had time to make it."
"Nobles won't eat it, well…you know how that is, right?" he snickers.
"S-Sure," Pritchard answers.
The king pulls a knife from the kitchen set and politely hands it to Pritchard. The knife wooden handle knife has a serrated edge on its blade, which specializes in penetrating the outer crust or skin of bread without damaging the softer inner part from the tearing. It is a knife specifically for bakery uses.
"Do you mind?" Ragnar asks while handing over the knife to Pritchard.
"Would you help me slice the paste into small cubes?"
He deliberately holds the tip of the blade and points it to his own body, leaving Pritchard to grab the hilt. However, Pritchard hesitantly takes the knife without doing much of anything other than cutting the frozen red bean paste into small cubes.
"…Why did you invite me here?" Pritchard asks, confused.
Ragnar turned out after mixing the batter until it turned smooth and contained no lumps. He pulls a Taiyaki pan from the counter and puts it on the stove.
"We'll be working together. Why not bake bread together?" Ragnar answers, putting the bowl of batter next to the stove.
He lightly heats both sides of the pan on the stove, coats the insides with vegetable oil, and pours the batter into the pan.
"Now, the paste," Ragnar reminds Pritchard.
The noble slices the melting paste into small parts and puts it inside the bowl. Ragnar quickly took a spoon and put the paste into the cooking batter before shutting the Taiyaki pan. They waited a few minutes before the Taiyaki was fully cooked. Once it does, Ragnar offers one of them to Pritchard before they take a stroll to the dungeons below.
"…How is your father, Pritchard? I heard he is unwell," Ragnar makes small talk as the two descend lower to the dungeons.
"…-T-the healers are stumped, but I am sure he will pull through," Pritchard awkwardly answers.
"Your father, he goes to the pig farm a lot?" the king asked.
Pritchard is a bit surprised by the question.
"How'd you know…"
"I am the King of the Whitefall Empire. It is my job to know."
"…Y-Yes, he does go there a lot."
The two reached the dungeon, where four men guarded the locked prisoners. Their footsteps echoed through the entire underground room. The prisoners locked underground seemed silent, or…there were none. As the two of them walked deeper, Pritchard noticed the absence of prisoners locked inside the dungeons. He also noticed that most empty dungeons are squeaky clean, with no trace of blood, excrement, or mold anywhere. They descend deeper into the dungeon's second floor underground.
"…Hrk!!"
The second underground floor is entirely different from the one above. While the first-floor underground is squeaky clean, the second underground floor below is the exact opposite. Blood is everywhere, traces of excrement in the cells, and even tattered clothes are still inside, despite also having few prisoners. The horrible stench could make anyone vomit, but King Ragnar casually walks inside without covering his nose while Pritchard is trying hard to cover his nose with his sleeve.
"I guess this floor is for the commons and the slaves," Pritchard murmurs.
"Hoh, what makes you say that?" Ragnar asks.
"The hygiene."
"…"
"No, it is exactly the opposite," the king responds.
"…Huh?"
"This floor is specifically designed for the upper-class prisoners. Consuls, aristocrats, oligarchs, nobles, and barons."
Sensing danger, Pritchard begins to slow his walking pace. However, the king noticed this and slowed his pace, subtly pressuring the oligarch that he had no way to escape other than to kill him and his guards.
"W-Why is that?" Pritchard stammers, regaining his pace.
"…"
"We all breathe the same air, don't we?" Ragnar asks.
"What makes you think nobles should be treated differently in prison?" the king smiles.
"…"
The two of them continued to walk until they stopped in front of a large cell. The cell is relatively more significant than the others but still lacks hygiene. Inside, there is a man tied up. Ragnar orders a guard to open the compartment for him and Pritchard to enter. Inside the cell lies a weakened, middle-aged, long, brown-haired man, kneeling at the center with both his arms tied to a chain, hanging his two arms wide open at both sides. There's blood on his body, and there are fecal traces in the room. Even the nauseating stench will draw most people away.
"Please, would you stand there, Pritchard?" King Ragnar suggests, pointing at the wall diagonal to his left.
Shaking, the noble wobbles towards the wall, silently watching the ordeal.
"…"
The king casually grabs a wooden chair outside the hall and pulls it inside. He puts the chair in front of the prisoner and sits there, looking at him with a smug expression.
"…"
"Hello, Talbot," Ragnar speaks with a light tone.
"…"
"It seems your beloved princess has given me her ultimatum, which I already decided."
"Mmm...Au…" Talbot tried to speak, but only mumbles came out.
"Au…au…auauau…" the man mumbles.
"Princess Flare Edwen…she's a concern, just like her father," he adds.
"…"
Talbot takes angry, short breaths, unable to speak at all. Pritchard is confused by this until he realizes that Talbot's throat has been crushed. He is mute because his throat is crushed. His skinny figure is probably caused by malnutrition. There are traces of a large cut on both his Achilles tendons. He is kneeling because he is unable to walk. The man is not treated like a human being, just like a husk. The noble began to shake in terror, but he could not muster enough strength to run away or speak.
"Look at me, Talbot," Ragnar tells the judicator, but the man remains defiant despite not having the strength to lift his legs.
Due to Talbot's defiant nature, Ragnar leans closer to his face.
"LOOK. AT. ME." Ragnar groans, intimidating the muted retainer.
However, Talbot remained defiant. He is enraged but can't do anything due to his weakened physicality. Ragnar smirks before leaning backward.
"I've received a tip that she is currently contending in the Knights' Mausoleum."
He chuckles once he says this.
"It's kind of poetic, isn't it?"
"For her to die there, where her father betrayed the only man who taught him how to become a true king. I gather you still remember that elf, do you?" Ragnar taunts Talbot, who is drooling in anger.
The man stands up and looks at the terrified Pritchard.
"When I was young, I worked at a farm with my family. We bred pigs, cows, horses, even grow wheat in this land," Ragnar reveals a bit of his past.
"…I'd like to recall some advice passed to me by my father."
He instructed the guard to do something. When the guard leaves to do his bidding, he returns to Pritchard.
"First, why did you decide to come here despite every instinct telling you not to, Pritchard?" he sincerely asked the noble.
"…For the good of my family," Pritchard answers truthfully.
"I see, your father and your children, right?"
Pritchard nods.
"Do you think that your decision is wise?"
"What decisions?"
"This. Coming here for protection," Ragnar responds.
"Huh. I've made bad decisions and cannot make another one," he answers.
"Then, coming here is not a bad decision, Pritchard."
This surprised Pritchard, inspiring him to listen to Ragnar despite the two of them being inside a dungeon in front of a tortured man.
"What does a man do, Pritchard?" Ragnar questions him.
"…"
"A man provides for his family," he adds.
"My bad decisions cost me my family," Pritchard responds.
Ragnar smiles.
"When you have children, you always have family. They will always be your priority, your responsibility," he debunks Pritchard's statement.
"And a man…"
Slowly, his inspiring smile disappears, revealing Ragnar's more severe nature.
"A man provides."
Pritchard remains silent once he hears this. He tries rationalizing Ragnar's statement but decides to shove it away.
"…And he does it, even when he is not appreciated."
"…Or respected."
"…Or even loved."
His voice's seriousness and inspiring tone send chills down the noble's spine.
"He simply BEARS. IT. ALL. UP."
"Because he is a man," Ragnar lectures Pritchard.
When the guard returned, he handed over a mace to Ragnar, which puzzled Pritchard. His feet are firmly planted into the floor, but the mace is not for him. Instead, Ragnar approaches Talbot with the mace in hand.
"I don't know about the two of you, but I am a man of my word," Ragnar points at Pritchard and then at Talbot.
"I told you what would happen if you deserted, Talbot."
"No exceptions, not even you."
Ragnar jolts his head to the left, signaling Pritchard to leave, escorted by a guard. At that moment, despite feeling very heavy, Pritchard is slightly relieved that he got dismissed. As he walks out, the guard salutes him before escorting him throughout the hall.
However, right after that, two hard strikes can be heard from the cell Ragnar is in. The sound of mace bludgeoning into a man's skull horrified Pritchard as he slowly walked away to the stairs. He could hear Talbot mumbling something and the sound of something liquid dripping onto the floor before it got overshadowed by the sounds of continued bludgeoning and the sound of meat smashed into pieces.