# When Crossing the Krasilov-Droan Border
As they crossed the Krasilov-Droan border, one of the silent Huskarls approached Einarr and asked:
"Brother, are you alright?"
"You think I'd be tired from this little journey, no matter how lazy I've been lately?"
"That's not what I meant..."
The Huskarl shifted his gaze slightly to look at Einarr's arm.
His forearm, where the blood had just dried, was marked with several thin red lines.
"You saw everything from beginning to end, so why ask now? Yes, fine, I lost."
Einarr shook his head with a slight smile.
He had been outmatched technically. It was a battle won purely through overwhelming strength.
It was hardly even worthy of being called a duel.
The man he once had to teach everything—from how to hold an axe to how to cut down an enemy—had now grown so much that he was challenging Einarr's own skills.
"In terms of technique, I'm now about half a step behind him. If his magical power had been twice what it is now, I would have been the one lying there."
His eyes are good. Einarr had always felt this, but they seemed even more sharply honed than before.
Perhaps the experience of slaying the Seven Dragon Generals had tempered him. Quite an achievement.
"No, brother. No matter how quick Petrovich might be, he couldn't handle your secret technique."
"Don't be stupid. That's precisely why I lost."
Einarr clicked his tongue and turned to look at his slow-witted brother.
"You think he didn't have a hidden move of his own? He simply chose not to use it. I stole victory in a duel by going all out—if that's not my defeat, then what is? Besides, brother, didn't I tell you? That man has good eyes."
Even until the final strike, Ivan's eyes never left the axe blade coming down on him.
So there would be no next time. He wouldn't fall for the same move twice.
If they were to duel again, it wouldn't go like today.
"My blood is boiling."
In close combat against armies, Einarr had prided himself on being superior to Maximillian.
But would that still be true now? Could he truly claim to be the strongest human alive?
Einarr smiled slightly. I must be getting old, he thought.
With satisfaction.
After all, a man's skills don't rust with age as long as he has worthy opponents.
"That's why I gave my blessing to Essie."
"Petrovich didn't seem interested in Essie..."
"I know. What matters isn't his feelings. It's the recognition of the Droan king. If I've already staked my claim, who would dare snatch it away?"
According to her letter, Asidis clearly had feelings for Ivan. Quite enthusiastic feelings at that.
And Ivan was the man who had defeated the Seven Dragon Generals. Apart from the Hero, no other human had achieved such a feat.
That meant he was more than qualified to be a son-in-law for the future throne of Droan.
Droan reveres strength. Einarr had an intuition. After his death, his country would surely fracture.
It was a kingdom built not on the sophistication of social systems, but solely on the charisma of one man. Without the powerful force that was Einarr, there would be no way to restrain Droan's yarls.
Therefore, his successor must be the strongest man in Droan. The most outstanding among his children was Asidis, and if the man she chose happened to be so powerful...
It was appropriate to stake his claim early. That was the conclusion he had reached as a father, as a king, and as a warrior of Droan.
Therefore, Ivan's feelings were irrelevant.
"Essie has a little over two years until graduation? Good. Perfect timing for retirement. It's about time I enjoy watching my grandchildren's antics while drinking to my heart's content."
Einarr quickened his pace with a grin.
There was much to prepare.
# Ep14. The King's Silence
The term "diligent civil servant" is used in the same sense as "dragon" or "unicorn." Meaning they're nearly impossible to find. (Again, they did exist.)
Therefore, Pavel, a reasonable Krasilov civil servant (who until two weeks ago belonged to the rebel forces), was once again munching on snacks while holed up in the hospital room.
He wasn't injured. If he had been hurt during duty, he would have been lying in Elizabeta's office demanding additional compensation rather than in a hospital room.
His superior was currently hospitalized in this room. Therefore, Pavel wasn't abandoning his post or neglecting his duties—he was diligently performing his role as an assistant to his superior.
"So do you know what I said then? 'Come, Einarr. Today my spear shall drink the blood of a hero.' Ha! You should have seen the terrified look on Einarr's face."
"Hmm."
"Would you like more apple?"
"Stop eating that! I didn't cut those for you!"
"Then next time, write your name on the apples. In this country, all unmarked property is legally confiscated by the treasury."
As a civil servant with active treasury confiscation authority, Pavel munched on the apples that Isabelle had carefully sliced.
"And what's all this about drinking a hero's blood! I was there too, you know?!"
"Me too!! If my father had fought then, you would have become a fallen patriot right then and there!"
"Don't use such difficult words. It makes you look stupid. Not a fallen patriot, just a casualty."
"That's the same thing!"
Pavel looked at Asidis with disdain before saying:
"Aren't you two going to school today? No classes?"
"You didn't go to university, did you?"
"Huh...?"
A sudden academic debate?
There weren't even universities in our time... (There were.)
While Pavel wore an aggrieved expression, Asidis puffed out her chest proudly and declared:
"First-years are allowed to skip classes whenever they want!"
"Isn't your tuition expensive?"
"Our people pay for that. You should become royalty too."
"Wow... I'm holding back only because I'm from the Krasilov rebels. If I were from the Droan rebels, today would be the first day of revolution."
"Droan doesn't have rebels! Challenging the throne is legal in the first place!"
Ivan tilted his head slightly upon hearing those words. There was one not too long ago, he thought.
Of course, in Droan culture, challenging a yarl is legal. It's just that with Einarr as the current king, nobody attempts it, making it effectively a dead law.
Requesting to challenge Einarr's kingship would be the most certain method of suicide available to Droan warriors.
The Blood Eagle might offer some chance of survival. Under Einarr's axe blade, there would be no such possibility.
"Hmm."
Thinking of the axe blade made his chest feel tight again. If it had gone just an inch deeper, it would have pierced his ribs and burst his heart.
Truly worthy of being called a warrior from the Hero Party.
Ivan had to admit his own arrogance. He had thought he could replicate what he saw with his eyes. Like Einarr's other techniques.
That wasn't the case. Techniques pushed to the extreme are no different from magic. Structurally, they are impossible for others to replicate or pass down—they exist in a realm beyond transmission.
They are the embodiment of one's life, forged purely from one's own mental imagery.
A single strike that could split mountains and create fissures in armies of ten thousand. It wasn't something that could be imitated merely by understanding the posture, the flow of magical power, and the distribution of strength.
That's why he felt regret. He was newly realizing why he had only been a reserve member.
The opponents the Hero Party had to face were beings no different from gods. Only those who could forge strikes effective against such beings earned the right to stand in the same rank as the Hero.
Ivan had barely reached that level, but perhaps imitation can never surpass the original. Ivan smiled bitterly as he opened his mouth.
"Timing!"
"Mmph."
At that moment, a piece of apple was placed in his mouth.
Looking up, he saw Isabelle smiling brightly.
"Fast, right? Amazing, right?"
"Indeed. When did you learn that?"
"I've been working hard! And I'll keep doing so! How does it feel to see your disciple grow? Proud?"
"Disciple, huh."
"If you taught me, you're my master! No taking it back now!"
Had she reached the realm of the transcendent? That speed would have been impossible without neural acceleration.
Ivan finished chewing and swallowing the apple, then smiled slightly.
"You've worked hard."
"Yes!"
Isabelle exclaimed energetically with her hands behind her back.
Her hidden fingers were fidgeting with excitement. She couldn't hide her joy, having kept this skill secret until she could show it to him first.
And one more thing.
'He said your soul was tainted.'
He also said you had lost all desire.
No. That's wrong. Einarr wasn't lying, but there was something he didn't know.
'Uncle definitely... cried back then.'
She remembered him shedding tears while eating that grotesque dish.
Occasionally, he would look at her and smile faintly.
Even when he was lost in memories of the old days, or when he showed faint signs of anger.
He has emotions. This man isn't fading away. Even if those colors have worn to a pale gray, uncle still has fragments of emotion left.
That's enough.
'Absolutely.'
She would never let him meet the same end as her father.
That was her pledge. With that determination, she had mastered this technique over the past few days. Even while visiting uncle at the hospital every day, attending classes during the day, and training intensively from after school until dawn.
With the mindset of throwing even a straw onto the faint embers of desire he still held, to rekindle the dying flame.
"I'm telling you, my father already gave his permission!"
"How precocious. I don't know what a grown young lady is trying to do."
"Ugh, you're such a boomer."
"Getting hit by a boomer still hurts the same."
While swearing she would never lose to that foolish Droan girl who was spouting the bizarre logic that meeting parents and getting marriage approval constituted a formal introduction.
Isabelle clenched her hands behind her back.
She had one more thing left.
"Uncle."
"Hmm."
"When you're all better. After you're discharged. Would you like to come to our house and try some 'kimchi'?"
"...!?"
With focused intent. The embodiment of one's life, forged purely from one's own mental imagery.
Hero-class secret technique. Traditional cooking mastery.
When it comes to learning something, no one in the world surpasses the Hero.
Isabelle had prepared her "ultimate move" that she had created with Yuri since the last festival.
"I made stew with it too. It should be tastier than what you had before."
Ignoring Asidis's retching, Isabelle smiled brightly.
Ivan nodded slowly with a stern face.
"My evaluation will be strict."
"As much as you want."
Another reason to be discharged.
Perhaps there are still good things left in this world.
Ivan closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.
Maximillian, you achieved many things...
But perhaps the most excellent thing you left behind might be your daughter.
You raised her well, he thought.
Ivan left this brief reflection.
It was late summer.