Chapter 545: Not All Kings Are the Same

Azpen had long been under the heavy influence of religion.

Because of that, relations with the Holy City-State—recognized as both a city and a religious nation—had always been favorable, and Azpen often received their aid. But in exchange, it also meant constantly watching the Temple's mood, which made it nearly impossible to act independently.

And it wasn’t just the Holy Nation that posed a problem.

If it were only the Holy Nation, the King of Azpen might’ve found a way to manage—appease them just enough to exert his will elsewhere.

In truth, religion was just one piece of the problem.

Tracing back through history, the Principality of Azpen was born from a ducal title. The empire had granted permission to found the nation.

Digging deeper, it could be seen as the empire’s scheme to bind an unparalleled hero /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ to one place—and it had worked. That was hindsight, of course. To those who lived in that era, Duke Azpen would have been nothing short of a living legend.

And rightly so. Founding a nation was not something an average hero could achieve.

Given its origins, Azpen had never really been tied closely to the empire. It was more like, “Here’s your land, now don’t start a war.”

So although Azpen was called a principality, in practice it functioned as an independent kingdom.

But that wasn’t something they could openly claim today.

“Is it that you don’t want to rely on the empire’s convenience?”

Every year, envoys from the empire brought food aid to Azpen, whose mountainous terrain left little arable land.

It wasn’t exploitation—the empire charged fair prices and treated Azpen reasonably.

Still, Azpen’s situation made it nearly impossible to stockpile enough to pay those costs sustainably.

It was said that a beauty’s portrait isn’t complete until you draw the eyes. For Azpen, the final, decisive influence came from one more nation.

Rihinstetten—the powerful southern kingdom.

They were the opposite of the empire.

They bought goods from Azpen, especially metals and other materials.

One side was the buyer, the other the seller.

And caught between the two, Azpen found it difficult to trade with the merchant cities of the southeastern continent.

A damn cursed position.

Argius Bona of Azpen, known as the "Man Chosen by the Gods," loathed the current situation.

Is this what it comes to? A country that can only survive by extending its hand to others?

And not just to one—but to three?

The Priest of Prosperity had even taken up residence in the royal castle, and the temple had been built inside the royal grounds.

They claimed the teachings of the gods were necessary to bring peace to the people.

Those who had little to eat always dreamed of abundance. Unsurprisingly, the majority of Azpen’s citizens were devout believers in Prosperity.

Some priests genuinely prayed for the people with devout faith.

But others had rotted so badly, the stench of their corruption was unavoidable.

Yet they couldn’t all just be driven out.

Not a chance.

Kill a single priest, and divine voices would come wailing from every direction.

That was the reality: a king couldn’t even kill a low-ranking priest on his own authority.

It was one of the reasons Argius had always longed for separation of church and crown.

So why did Azpen’s people believe in the god of Prosperity?

Because they lived in poverty.

Is faith nothing more than an escape?

Argius knew that escapism might offer temporary relief, but not everyone could afford to think as he did.

He wanted to escape the current trap. And now, the opportunity lay right in front of him.

Greenperl.

The land said to be the most fertile on the continent—prime farmland—lay just across the border.

Just a little further southeast, just a small push across the line.

If he could secure Greenperl, the answer to every problem would be within reach.

Of course, nothing in this world went exactly as planned, but there was no doubt that this would be significant.

No more need to rely on the empire. No more desperate metal sales to the south. If bellies are full, those hungering for faith might ease off a little.

Then it might even be possible to expel the most corrupt priests.

And if all of this were accomplished under the king’s hand, the people would have less reason to cling to religion.

Argius had a dream.

A dream he’d been carrying for more than a decade.

To turn his principality into a true kingdom.

To stand and walk on his own, without help from anyone.

Many had called him a dreamer. Some had followed him in that dream.

They had all failed.

And now, standing before him, a young king at least ten years his junior was no longer dreaming, but spewing what sounded like mad delusions. Pushing absurdities.

“Why is it nonsense?”

“Isn’t erasing the Demon Realm nonsense? A ceasefire? A world without war? Uniting all the races? You think any of that makes sense?!”

Argius felt the veins bulge on his forehead. His words came out laced with raw emotion.

He wanted to scream—Do you even hear yourself? Why say such madness?

“Why can’t it happen?”

“Even asking that is the problem, don’t you see?!”

“Have you tried?”

“...What?”

“I asked—have you tried?”

If a road has never been walked, does that make it impassable?

Once, Argius had thought that way.

His dream was that very road.

To walk free from influence, on his own.

Everyone told him it was impossible. A path no one could take.

But Argius never believed that.

He simply saw it as a path yet untrodden.

“If no one has stepped on the soil—does that mean it’s uninhabitable?”

The young king had voiced what Argius once believed in his heart.

But their vessels were different.

Just as not all knights are the same, not all kings are made equal.

“Will you give up without even trying? Is that the dream you chase? Then what did you cross Naurillia’s border for? Enki, cut off the King of Azpen’s head. Gather the troops. Wipe every last person from the land of Azpen.”

Crang’s voice was not loud. Calm, deliberate—his tone had barely changed.

Jaxon glanced nervously at Enkrid.

Is he actually going to cut off his head?

But Enkrid knew Crang wasn’t speaking in earnest. So he merely watched.

Andrew, meanwhile, was on the verge of a full mental breakdown from the conversation.

Ilrod, the young man who had named himself earlier, laid his hand on his sword’s hilt.

Of the other two from Azpen, both instinctively stepped back.

Frokk alone remained still.

The command to “cut off his head” carried such weight that everyone took it seriously.

“Is that really what you want?”

Crang asked.

Argius stared at the young king. Behind him stretched the night sky, and behind that king stood the knight who had held back an entire army. A mere gesture could spell Argius’s death.

And yet, all he could see were the young man’s eyes.

They shone brighter than the moons—blinding enough to outshine the stars.

Nothing sparkles brighter than the eyes of one who dreams.

“What made the racial unification policy succeed? Wasn’t it because you treated them as equals? Tell me your secret.”

Crang continued.

And it sounded entirely sincere.

Argius found himself short of breath from just a few sentences.

His mental exhaustion was enormous.

Why was he this angry? Why had his veins throbbed?

Argius reflected on himself.

Why the fury?

The difference in vessel.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the man before him was bigger. Deeper.

“Why did you come all this way?”

Instead of shouting, Argius asked a question similar to one he’d posed earlier.

Before, he’d asked what Crang would do if he brought hidden forces.

Now, he was asking purely for intent.

“Does it matter?”

Crang smiled. Argius let out a breathless chuckle.

Not all kings are the same.

The phrase struck him to his very bones.

The man before him was built differently.

He talked of erasing the Demon Realm. Of ending war across the continent.

“How do you intend to do that?”

Argius asked again.

The subject was missing, but the meaning was clear.

How will you end the war across the continent?

How will you confront the Demon Realm?

How will you uproot the cults?

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

None of the three made any sense. Even saying just one of them would be enough to call it madness.

Argius should’ve kept an eye on the priest he’d brought along and the woman from the Ekkins family sent by the southern power—but he’d forgotten. Right now, all he could hear was the voice of the man before him.

Crang smiled again. If one said that smile carried magical power, Argius would’ve nodded without hesitation.

The king, brimming with something like magic, spoke beneath the night sky.

“Let’s think it over together.”

“...Ha. Hahaha.”

It began as a hollow chuckle, but soon Argius tilted his head back and laughed out loud. He laughed so hard tears welled up.

This bastard was just saying all that without a plan? Was this ambition? Or just childish ignorance of the world?

Normally, he would’ve written it off as childish.

But this was the King of Naurillia—he’d inherited the throne after ending a civil war.

You couldn’t just dismiss someone like that as naïve.

Now that I think about it...

Argius recalled the retainers who had opposed him when he first declared he’d stand alone.

A dreamer, they said.

Compared to himself, the man before him was dreaming with his eyes wide open—a madman.

But still...

I’ve lost.

None of what he expected was said. The King of Naurillia hadn’t brought up a single one of the concerns Argius had feared. He simply showed the difference in their scale.

“You’ll need fertile land. You probably want to free yourself from the Empire and the southern power. And there's the religious issue, too.”

He’s got a good head on his shoulders, too...

Argius said nothing and just listened to Crang speak.

“I can’t give you all the land. But if we stick the borders together like this”—Crang pressed his palms side by side—“then you’ll have enough farmland.”

A fantasy, Argius thought.

Crang had just proposed redrawing the border.

No more fighting. Just split the farmland evenly as allies or whatever.

Both nations had claimed Greenperl as part of their border. That made it sound easy—but only in words.

What about the many past battles? The bloodshed? The grudges?

Sure, neither side had ever completely destroyed a city, so maybe that could be set aside, but—

Will the Empire and the southern power really sit still and watch?

As if waiting for that question, Crang said:

“If someone else complains... well, just blame this guy. Say there’s a knight order capable of wiping out a whole Azpen city, and you were threatened into it.”

As he spoke, Crang pointed his thumb behind him—of course, at Enkrid.

Enkrid simply gave a nod. He didn’t care.

“A retainer?”

“A friend.”

Even when the king before him called him a friend, Enkrid’s face remained calm.

Seeing that, Argius grew curious about their relationship.

But that wasn’t the issue right now.

“Is that really okay? You’re at war with the south—they won’t just sit back, will they?”

“I’m not the one fighting, but yes. Those who defend my nation, those who share my dream, will protect it together.”

“...I see.”

Argius’s voice lost its strength.

But his eyes... they began to shine.

Not with the defensive, cautious light they had before. Not with despair or resignation either.

Crang’s next words struck directly at his mind.

“If you’re pressured and can’t fight back, just say you received farmland out of mercy. Say the god of Prosperity couldn’t bear to see fertile land go unused.”

Naïve?

What a pathetic word.

A rabbit that lives in a cave will never understand one that lives outside.

Why live in such danger? You could just eat the plants growing inside the cave...

He’d just never seen outside the cave.

The man before him wasn’t just asking for friendship or help with a dream.

He was smart. He saw Argius’s situation clearly and called it out.

He silenced everyone with words, radiating such charisma that none dared speak their own thoughts.

There comes a moment in everyone’s life when everything changes.

For Enkrid, it had been the words of a third-rate mercenary.

You’re a genius.

And a line from a bard’s song:

The knight of ceasefire, the one who ends wars.

Argius was experiencing that moment now.

Crang smiled again and spoke.

“What is it you fear? Death? Failure? If not, then why not dream with me?”

There was no method.

No solution.

But there was a dream.

Crang was a dreamer—but Argius found himself wanting to take his hand.

So then, what must come first?

Though swept up by the young king’s words, Argius realized he had to first acknowledge the man who’d made all of this possible.

The one who had stood calm and silent while others panicked and got swept away.

His name—Enkrid, the Iron Wall Knight.

It was thanks to him this meeting had even been possible.

When Ilrod Huire had offered thanks to Enkrid earlier, it had been a duty Argius himself should’ve fulfilled.

Ilrod had simply spoken in the king’s place—preserving pride, preserving the kingdom’s dignity.

And it wasn’t without reason that Argius had requested Enkrid’s presence at this meeting.

So now, with eyes fully open, it was time to express his gratitude.

To the one who had spared his people, spared his kingdom’s blood.

The king laughed heartily once more, then stood from his seat.

“What should I call you?”

“Crang.”

“I am Argius. Before it’s too late, I’d like to do something—not something I must do, but something I want to do. Is that alright?”

He chose his words carefully. Not must, but want—a distinction only someone thoughtful could make.

“Do as you please.”

Crang’s reply was simple.

The King of Azpen then turned to Enkrid.

“My apologies for the delayed greeting, Sir Enkrid, Knight of the Iron Wall. Because of what you did, my wife will not cry through the night, children who almost lost their parents now smile, and the aged parents who sent off their sons breathe sighs of relief. For this, I offer my deepest thanks.”

The king bowed his head.

It was a show of respect, a reminder that none of this would’ve been possible without the peerless hero who’d stood and held back an army.