# Palais de Royal
The grand audience hall of Palais de Royal was engulfed in chaos. No, chaos would be too generous a term for this pathetic theater.
A handful of royalists and factions of various counts were running rampant, continuing their hollow performance.
"Your Majesty!! Urgent news—Count Grandmartel has crossed the border of Saint Matilenne!"
"We must open the gates! Count Grandmartel merely stands with righteous men who seek to protect the royal family. Opposing them would be foolish!"
"Silence! Look at what these so-called righteous men are doing! The harvest season's crops are all withering! Your Majesty, punish these traitors!!"
"The House of Vermontfort has begun mobilizing troops. Your Majesty, you must head to Ferbogne! Saint Matilenne cannot withstand the traitors' forces!"
The king gazed at his ministers with dry eyes. More than half of them sought to drag him from his throne.
This conspiracy had begun like clockwork the moment the Lord Protector left his post. Not a single person among the conspirators was on his side. Not even his worthless sons.
"Your Majesty, from what this humble son has observed, Count Grandmartel is a loyal subject for all ages. His troops are merely meant to endure the chaos of this nation..."
"What madness is this! Your Majesty! If you command it, I shall personally head to Ferbogne and defend Saint Matilenne alongside the Vermontfort Count's forces!"
Open the gates to welcome the traitors.
No, we should invite traitors from other regions.
No, we should wait for the Lord Protector.
Perhaps we should flee to a foreign country and return with foreign troops.
The throne room was filled with countless voices, all from those who wished to see this country die.
The king pressed his brow. Amidst the noisy court, he alone was quietly isolated.
The weight of the royal scepter felt so light now. It was royal authority built by killing the righteous, executing the loyal, and slaughtering faithful servants.
He had beheaded his brothers and betrayed his nephews. All to maintain the royal authority of this nation.
Without it, this country would be finished. A king's power may not symbolize the country itself, but among these snake-like nobles, if the royal authority were to fall, this nation could never continue as a unified state.
They had lost too much in the war against the demon race. From the moment national power hit rock bottom, every noble who had managed to preserve their strength could become a competitor to the king.
So, it was an inescapable trap.
The old king of Tilles, Obert III, raised his hand, wrinkled from years of hardship. At last, the ministers fell silent. This was perhaps the only authority he had left.
The eyes of his subjects were painful to behold. Not concern for the king's well-being, but naked greed for the message they would deliver to the next generation of power.
Not a handful of his loyal subjects remained in this place now.
And the old king—who had maintained his throne despite enduring long wars, once called the Lion King of Tilles—now had not a shred of will left to fight.
"If we stand against them, could we hold out?"
"Your Majesty!! Count Grandmontfort is not a traitor..."
"Enough. Tell me. If we request reinforcements, who would extend a hand? Krasilov has only recently emerged from internal strife, Kalion lies across distant seas, and Droan is even further away."
All the great powers of the Allied Kingdoms were in such states.
The Alliance cannot save Tilles right now. As for Tilles' own forces...
Half are in Count Grandmontfort's grasp, and the remainder are scattered across the land. Even if a mobilization order were issued, they couldn't reach the capital faster than the traitors.
So what should be done? What must be done to block the dagger rushing toward one's throat?
The old king lamented. Is this truly the end of this country?
Was this a nation destined to collapse the moment the Lord Protector was absent? Did none among his many subjects notice this beforehand? Or did they notice and take the side of the traitors?
What had he strived for his entire life? Was it all for this hollow royal authority?
"Your Majesty. Prince Etakrihi requests an audience."
"How dare he! What place does he think this is?!"
"Does that fellow think he's his own father?!"
These were excessively rude remarks to make in the royal court. Agitated nobles rose from their seats and began denouncing the Duke's absence.
Before the king's lament could continue any further, the thick doors of the throne room burst open with a loud bang.
"How dare you!!"
"Are you committing treason now? This is the royal court!"
"I am aware."
—Thud, thud.
Oskar walked across the long carpet of the throne room. The nobles shrank back as his aura slowly unfurled.
It was clearly the aura of one who had reached the Domain of the Transcendent. One that could strangle a person with killing intent alone.
It wasn't that there were no others in this place who had reached that level. But none dared to stand before Oskar. Having lost the initiative, the nobles hesitantly took their seats.
"Your Majesty, Oskar de Etakrihi, initiate knight of the Eastern Knight Order, stands before you."
—Shing.
A sword was slowly drawn. A sword that burned white under the magical lamps of the throne room. Everyone present knew what this sword was.
It was the sword of Grand Duke Etakrihi. The symbol of military authority and the sacred object of the Eastern Knight Order. And its presence here meant...
"The Lord Protector... has he fallen?"
With the king's groan, an uproar broke out among the nobles. Echoes of despair from the royalists and cries of joy from the noble council reverberated.
Amidst the commotion, Oskar quietly bowed his head.
"Command me. It is not Gil Ber's son who holds the sword here, but an Etakrihi."
"Can you handle this burden?"
"Even if it's a task no one can accomplish, if it's something someone must do..."
Oskar raised his head to look up at the old king. Amid the commotion, the two shared a quiet silence.
Oskar's lips opened heavily.
"An Etakrihi must always lead the way."
"I grant you permission. From this moment, fulfill your duty as Lord Protector."
"I accept your command."
Oskar rose from his place, sword in hand. His cold eyes swept over the nobles. He moved toward the noble who was shouting at the front with bulging veins.
"Do you dare think you're your father?!"
"No."
—Shing.
Raising his sword forward.
"There is only one Etakrihi standing here."
—Slash.
The noble's head flew helplessly through the air. The spinning head stained the throne room's carpet red. As the shocked nobles began to retreat, Oskar spoke while gripping his sword.
"The Capital Legion shall protect your sovereign from this moment."
"We accept the royal command!!"
Soldiers rushed through the open doors of the throne room. Half of the capital defense forces left by Gil Ber still remained in this city.
The throne room transformed into a slaughterhouse. All the nobles from three different count factions lived or died at Oskar's gesture.
In the throne room lined with blood and corpses, Oskar quietly knelt again and spoke.
"From this moment, I shall wholly protect Your Majesty's safety."
Such is the position of Lord Protector. A post where only death brings freedom from duty. And in this place, one Etakrihi still lives.
Before his death, Tilles will not fall.
The old king reached out and took a sword from a ceremonial guard. He staggered forward and stood before Oskar.
Shing, the cold metal touched his shoulder.
Without any words, the king tapped both of Oskar's shoulders and held the sword over his head. After a moment, the king staggered back to collapse into his throne.
"At least one loyal subject remains, so I can die as a king."
"Come on, everyone. It's not like we've been given our death dates. Lift your heads up."
At Yu-jin's words, the group raised their heads. Everyone wore faces strained with fatigue.
After riding for three straight days to return to the capital, they had immediately taken action at the royal court, seized military authority, and just finished confirming the troop composition.
The administrative vacuum was critical due to the execution of most high-ranking nobles who had managed military affairs. It was unavoidable that they would collapse after returning from confirming the troops with the remaining officer-level military officials.
But this was just the beginning. The enemy army would arrive within two days.
Saint Matilenne is the largest city in this country. Simply deploying troops along the walls would require more than four thousand men to manage.
"What can we do? It seems like we'd have to open the gates even if they just came and knocked."
"It might be better to just gather what we can from the royal palace and escape together."
"It's too early to give up. My brother is still alive."
"...What difference does it make if Uncle comes?"
"We haven't received any clear instructions from him yet."
Yu-jin spoke with confident eyes.
"If there was absolutely no way for us to handle this, he wouldn't have sent us alone or said nothing. As long as my brother is alive, we must assume there's a solution and that's why he hasn't responded."
"Unless he suddenly descends from the sky leading troops..."
"The Lord didn't mention much about my brother's plans."
Yu-jin's Status Window still confirmed that Ivan was alive. Therefore, it wasn't time to give up yet. If Ivan was alive, and if he hadn't told them to retreat or flee in this situation, it meant there was another way.
So they should focus on holding out until that method was confirmed. That was Yu-jin's opinion.
"But how? We can't hold out once the siege begins."
"Let's abandon the outer city."
Oskar, who had been quietly listening to Yu-jin's words, blurted out.
"Are you crazy? You want to fight in the streets?"
"We'll accommodate all citizens who haven't evacuated within the inner city and abandon the entire outer city and metropolitan area. If we deploy along the outer city walls, we can hold out for about a day."
If the wall perimeter is reduced, four thousand men might be able to manage the entire wall. However, with depleted supply capabilities, prolonged combat is impossible.
They couldn't feed and sustain countless citizens for days on end.
"Let's try Ivan's method."
"What?"
"Isn't that what we learned during the break? Infiltration, survival, and..."
Assassination.
At Oskar's words, Isabelle fell silent. In fact, thinking more coldly, the Hero Party wasn't an entity that commanded wars and brought victory.
Strictly speaking, it was closer to a decapitation operation—an infiltration unit that cut off the heads of the Demon King and the Seven Dragon Generals. They were assassins, in a sense.
So Oskar had no intention of wielding military authority to achieve victory. Setting aside whether anyone had such capability.
The troop disparity exceeded 8 times. The entire supply route was in enemy hands, and the situation wouldn't improve with time.
But if they could directly take Count Grandmartel's head, it would be hard to say there was no chance of victory. The enemy was like the demon forces of that time. The gathering of subordinate lords was held together solely by Grandmartel's authority.
"If we begin defending from the inner city, they will certainly try to dominate the entire Saint Matilenne region. Not destroy it."
Grandmartel doesn't seek to destroy this country like the demon forces. If what he desires is the throne, he would prefer an intact prize rather than a crown over ruins.
Therefore, they would fight in the streets.
"Will they just walk in? Won't they think it's a trap?"
"Would they think we have the capacity to set traps? They'll see it as a last desperate act. And..."
A gift had been sent. With the heads of the nobles from the Noble Council who had supported the grand counts, along with a letter bearing the seal of Grand Duke Etakrihi.
He couldn't give up the honor of personally defeating a member of the Hero Party and claiming the throne.
"Sigh... Alright. The time we can hold out with defense is at most a day. Somehow... somehow we'll manage within that time."
"If you don't wish to, you can wait here."
"After coming this far?"
"While it might matter to Isabelle, this isn't your homeland. There's no reason for the rest of you to risk your lives."
"I have a reason."
Asidis twirled her hair and smiled.
"We're all in the same party, aren't we?"
"Saint Matilenne..."
Etuang de Grandmartel sat on a white horse, looking down at the great city spread below the hill.
Despite the late night, streams of refugees escaping from the city were scattered across the plains beyond.
"Is this the will of the Tilles royal family?"
The chief attendant prostrated before Etuang, opened a large chest, and retreated with a bowed head.
Inside the chest were the severed heads of nobles. Each one was someone he knew. All the nobles he had planted in the Noble Council over the years had returned as corpses.
They were administrative nobles, each meant to become talents for the coming nation. Etuang felt a slight regret as he smiled wryly.
[Victory without surrender]
[Grand Duke Etakrihi]
The note attached to the chest was simple. A single sentence written in powerful handwriting, along with the seal of Grand Duke Etakrihi.
Gil Ber must have died in the Bernini Mountains, so this must be his son's doing. Quite audacious.
"Your Highness, please order the advance."
"No, that cannot be."
Etuang crumpled Oskar's note and raised his head. Before the metropolitan area of the city now spread before him, he smiled coldly.
"Can victory be stolen in the dead of night? Comfort the soldiers and feed them well. Not for battle, but for the triumphal entry. We shall advance when day breaks and receive the crown from the old king."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Etuang turned his gaze from the retreating attendant and climbed back up the hill.
Tilles was now in the palm of his hand.
At that moment.
"Where does your loyalty lie?"
Count Guillaume looked up with a terrified face at the ice-blue eyes gazing down at him.
Just as he opened his mouth to beg for mercy, a finger was placed on his lips.
"No, I won't listen. You have already proven enough through your actions."
"W-what do you mean..."
—Bang!
The sound of a casing rolling on the floor echoed with a ping.
Ivan holstered the smoking pistol at his waist and turned around. Amidst the noisy camp, he grabbed the dead Count Guillaume's head and walked.
"Won't you rest for a moment? How many days has it been now?"
Glancing at Baron Noir who approached quietly with his question, Ivan answered briefly.
"Eight days, 19 hours, 23 minutes."
A trained agent must always be able to gauge time accurately. At Ivan's answer, Noir mumbled once before turning his head.
"You may not know, but the condition of the soldiers is not good. The casualties were too severe."
"Gather those who can move and have them follow."
"We won't even gather 60 men. Even if we select only knights."
"Send home those among the remaining forces who cannot continue fighting."
Ivan secured Guillaume's head to the saddle and mounted his horse.
With a blank face, he looked at the sky and gauged the direction. He unfolded the map in his mind to check the geography.
It felt like a hot iron was searing a corner of his brain. But at the same time, pain welled up dully, constricting his breath. It had been eight days since he had fought continuously without sleeping for even an hour.
His fingertips trembled. Sniping would be difficult. Ivan nodded as he looked at his arm, where the aim line kept deviating.
"Let's go."
At Ivan's words, Noir grumbled once with deeply sunken eyes before jumping onto his horse.