The northern militaristic dictatorship with its perpetual martial law, security-focused politics, artillery-obsessed war-mongering nation was secretly joining hands with the northern militaristic dictatorship's war-mongering people during that period.
Ivan finally arrived at Ebron, the capital of Leonor.
A palace towering in the middle of vast plains with deep moats. Houses lined along the railway tracks stretched all the way to the horizon.
Unlike the major cities of Krasilov or Tilles, the nations of the Southern Six Countries had city landscapes closer to feudal-era capitals.
This place is more pre-modern. Ivan thought while guiding his horse at a trot. The rest of the party was half-sprawled on their horses, dozing off.
"The stares feel quite blatant..."
Isabelle de Etoile scanned their surroundings with a dazed expression. Since arriving in Ebron territory, soldiers clad in iron had been openly scrutinizing them.
However, at this point, no one would dare attack a party that included the Saintess in broad daylight. Ivan looked up at the sky.
"We have about a day to spare."
"What?"
"Let's rest until the sun is up, then depart in the evening."
"Yesssss!!"
Everyone in the party burst into cheers without exception. (The Saintess joined in too.)
It had been two and a half days. Nearly three days of "no rest, no sleep, just galloping" was enough to reduce even superhumans to caterpillars.
They had pushed their magical power to the limit until collapsing from exhaustion, and once slightly recovered, they were pushed to the limit again. This supposedly created a virtuous cycle where their maximum magical power unexpectedly increased.
But honestly, that benefit was negligible compared to the hardship. They had endured three days without proper eating (nutrition bars aren't meals, they're fuel replenishment) or washing (being forced to wash your feet is mental torture).
Isabelle truly believed that even if her magical power tripled, it wouldn't be worth this level of suffering. She guided her horse with this sincere thought.
"Halt! State your business?"
When they finally reached the city gate after waiting in the long line of people entering under the city wall, a gatekeeper with a stern expression stopped them.
"Travel."
"Identify yourselves!"
"Patricia."
"Yes, Sister. One moment please."
The Saintess who had been resting behind Ivan leaned forward unsteadily. As was typical for the Hero Party, her face was known throughout the United Kingdoms.
Especially in member states of the Southern Six Countries where the church held strong influence.
The guards were startled upon recognizing the Saintess and stood at attention.
"Saintess!!"
"I'm on my way to the Papal Office. May we pass through?"
"Yes, Saintess! Welcome! Please enter!!"
The guards all moved aside. The massive gate opened wide. The surrounding merchants and travelers all turned to look at them and began whispering.
When Ivan guided his horse onto the main boulevard, a group of riders approached from the distance.
"Saintess!!"
The leader of the mounted group dismounted as if about to tumble off and exaggeratedly knelt on one knee.
"His Majesty requests an audience. If you haven't dined yet, a feast has been prepared. Would you care to join?"
"My goodness, the King of Leonor?"
"Yes, upon hearing news of the train derailment at the border, His Majesty was terribly concerned. How fortunate that you are unharmed!"
The Saintess, who had been politely smiling at the knight's words, turned to Ivan with a smile.
What should we do? It's probably a trap.
Ivan read the meaning in her gaze and quietly nodded.
It's either a trap or a negotiation. And there isn't much difference between the two. A trap is always where the enemy's intentions and power are concentrated, and if it's a negotiation, it's worth hearing before the council.
Ivan looked over his companions and spoke in a deliberately rough voice.
"The rest of you go find an inn and rest. Get cleaned up."
"What?!"
"Whose fault is this anyway?!"
When the party protested, the knight hastily spoke up.
"His Majesty's orders are to treat all accompanying knights with the utmost hospitality. Please come together. We will provide excellent meals and accommodations."
"My subordinates look too shameful to enter the palace. Bringing these riffraff in would be against my honor. They're not worth it."
"B-but..."
The knight anxiously looked at the Saintess, but she just continued smiling with her eyes and nodding. Ivan took out a gold coin from his pocket, tossed it to Isabelle, and said:
"Eat and rest until evening. We'll meet at the south gate at dawn."
"But I want the royal feast—"
"Shh, shh, Essie. Yes, Captain. We'll be at the 'south gate' 'tomorrow morning at dawn.'"
"Hmm."
Lucia dragged Asidis away with gleaming eyes. Ivan gave a short nod to the confused knight.
"How long do I have to stand here?"
"...I'll escort you."
The knight bowed deeply and turned toward the royal palace.
The Saintess, now completely refreshed after proper attire and excellent treatment according to protocol, walked in with a good mood. Ivan, who had prepared as quickly as possible, was waiting in the palace hall.
"Now I understand what it feels like to come back from the dead. I wonder if the Lord felt the same way."
"You commit blasphemy as casually as eating."
"Can divine sanctity really be insulted by human blasphemy?"
The Saintess chuckled and naturally placed her hand on Ivan's arm. Like a knight escorting a noblewoman, Ivan nodded briefly and walked ahead.
Guided by servants, they arrived at a massive banquet hall. At the end of a long table surrounded by about a dozen nobles sat a giant man dressed in tiger fur and worn dragon hide.
The monarch of Leonor, "The Brave King" Ramiro. He was a middle-aged man with a boar-like build and seemingly dull appearance, but with small, sharp eyes that gleamed beneath.
Ivan had met him a couple of times as a royal guard when Ivan the Great was still alive. A wolf in bear's clothing who used his straightforward and dull appearance to engage in mind games.
Whether his character remained unchanged, the king was scrutinizing the Saintess and Ivan with a sinister gaze beneath his broadly smiling face.
The Saintess naturally placed her hand on her chest and greeted him.
"Lion of Leonor, despite the passing years, Your Majesty's dignity has not diminished, truly blessed by the Lord."
"Saintess Patricia. Thank you for visiting our country. Please be seated. You must have been distressed by the train derailment; I hope you can rest comfortably in our country, even if briefly."
The two exchanged pleasantries before sitting down. Ivan took his place beside the Saintess and naturally picked up his cutlery.
The king was laughing heartily while offering food brought by servants to the nobles. Charitably speaking, it showed a lack of formality; more coldly assessed, the atmosphere was more like a military camp than a court.
This was all a kind of performance by the king to demonstrate his vigor. And the need for such display meant his reign wasn't stable.
During the meal, the king suddenly addressed Ivan.
"I feel like I've seen you somewhere before. Are you from Krasilov?"
"I work as a mercenary, so if you've seen me, it was likely on the battlefield."
"The battlefield. From the Great War?"
"What armed man of this age hasn't been through those times?"
The king laughed heartily and raised his silver cup brimming with wine.
"Ah, those were truly the days of heroes. Especially for the men of Krasilov. It seems like yesterday when the Great Ivan commanded the battlefield."
"Indeed it is."
"Did you also serve in the military by the Emperor's side?"
"Though inadequate, I was in the same campaign a couple of times."
"Oh! Heroes have visited our country today. A comrade with whom to share stories of those days."
Ivan silently nodded and raised his silver cup. Of course, Ramiro had already been on the throne during that time, but he was a man who had never been on the front lines.
Ivan swirled the wine in his mouth while surveying the banquet. Despite taking a piece of every dish, he detected no poison. This meant they weren't attempting assassination by poison.
This suggested many things. If the king's authority were absolute and he completely controlled the court, there would be no one to stop him from directly assassinating the Saintess once she entered the palace.
The fact that he was merely making small talk meant he couldn't directly attack the Saintess under the gaze of others.
This implied that among the nobles present, there must be someone powerful enough to disobey the king's orders.
"So, which front were you on?"
"I was mainly active on the northern front."
"Ah, the north. Count Almagro was dispatched to that front. Isn't that right, Count?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
An elderly man wiping his mouth at the far end of the banquet hall quietly bowed his head. The king laughed loudly and looked at Ivan.
"Have you seen him before?"
"If it's Count Felipe de la Almagro, yes. He was famous on the front."
"Oh, Count. He's your comrade. Come, exchange greetings!"
Ivan quietly nodded and turned toward the count. In his memory, Felipe was a knight who charged like a madman toward the center of the front line. He remembered his bravery.
At that time, Ivan was merely a cavalryman in the royal guard. The count would have no reason to remember him.
The count stared at Ivan with cold eyes for a moment, then quietly nodded.
"If one so strong were present, I should have known him, but age has weakened my memory, which is regrettable. Your name?"
"Ivan Petrovich."
Your real name? The Saintess flinched in surprise and tapped Ivan's thigh under the table.
But the count continued to stare at him with narrowed eyes.
"Not a nobleman?"
"I wasn't."
"Excellent. Indeed, Krasilov's former king had an exceptional eye for talent. Were you in the royal guard?"
"Yes."
"You must be skilled in horsemanship."
"Not inadequate."
"So it seems."
The count quietly nodded and bowed to the king. The king, who had been watching their conversation, laughed loudly and said:
"Well now, true to his non-Caballero origins, he remains so stiff even when reuniting with a comrade. I apologize, Sir Petrovich. Come now, everyone, eat up. Food loses its taste when cold."
The meal continued under the king's laughter. Ivan tasted a piece of each food the Saintess was about to eat, deboned the meat and handed it to her, while filling his own stomach with roasted nuts and dried fruits.