30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

In that time when the northern military dictatorship, in a state of perpetual martial law, fully armed at all times with its artillery power, was covertly shaking hands with the war-crazy tribes of the North.

Ivan finally arrived in the capital of Leonor, Ebron.

The royal palace loomed high in the center of the vast plain, surrounded by a deep moat. Villages stretched along the train tracks all the way to the horizon.

Unlike the big cities of Krasilov or Tylesse, the nations of the Southern Six Nations displayed a cityscape reminiscent of a feudal-era capital.

“This place feels much more primitive,” Ivan thought while managing his horse. The companions were half-slumped over on their mounts, dozing off.

“Something about the stares is a bit too blatant…”

Isabelle said, scanning the surroundings with a blank expression. Since their arrival in the Ebron region, soldiers clad in iron had been openly eyeing them.

However, at this point, none would dare attack a party that included a Saint in broad daylight. Ivan looked up at the sky.

“We have at least a day’s grace.”

“We’ll rest until sunset and leave in the evening.”

“Yayyy!”

The group erupted into cheers, the Saint joining in as well.

It had been nearly two days and a half day. The relentless march without rest or sleep for almost three days was enough to wear even a superhuman to a frazzle.

After exhausting their mana to the limit and collapsing from exhaustion, they’d recovered just enough to be pushed to the brink again, which had led to an unexpected surge in their maximum mana capacity.

However, that was hardly a significant gain compared to the hardships endured. They had withstood three days without eating (nutritional bars weren’t a meal; they were merely fuel) or bathing (forcing them to wash their feet was a form of mental torture).

With such hardships, even having their mana triple would still feel like a loss. Isabelle truly thought so as she managed her horse.

“Stop! What’s your business?”

As they waited in line at the castle gate, a stern-looking gatekeeper halted them just as they managed to enter the gates.

“Travel.”

“State your identity!”

“Patricia.”

“Yes, my sister. Just a moment.”

The Saint, who had been resting behind Ivan, leaned forward unsteadily. As was customary for Hero Parties, her face was well-known throughout the United Kingdom.

Especially in the allied nations of the Southern Six.

The guards, upon recognizing the Saint, snapped straight to attention in shock.

“Saint!!”

“We are on our way to the Papal Enclave. Is it alright for us to pass?”

“Yes, Saint. Welcome to our land! Please, come in!!”

The guards swiftly stepped aside, the massive gates swinging open. Merchants and travelers around them began to murmur as they looked on.

As Ivan guided his horse onto Outer Street, a group of cavalry approached from a distance.

“Saint!!”

The leading rider dismounted dramatically and knelt on one knee.

“The Great King has requested an audience. If you haven’t dined yet, may I invite you to a banquet?”

“Oh my, King Leonor wishes to see us?”

“Yes, he was deeply troubled to hear about the train derailment at the border. It’s a relief to see you all safe!”

The Saint smiled politely at the knight’s words and turned to Ivan with a bright face.

“What should we do? It’s probably a trap.”

Ivan read her intention from her gaze and nodded quietly.

“It’s either a trap or a negotiation. Neither is particularly different. A trap is always a dense concentration of the enemy’s intent and power, while a negotiation is worth hearing prior to a council.”

Ivan looked over his companions and spoke in a deliberately rough voice.

“You all should go rest at any inn. Wash up a bit.”

“What?!”

“Whose fault is this!!”

As his companions shouted, the knight spoke hastily.

“It is a command to treat all knights accompanying you with the utmost respect. Let’s go together. I’ll provide you with good food and lodging.”

“I’m ashamed to let my subordinates into the palace looking like this. It goes against my honor to allow such unruly folk to enter. They’re not worth it.”

“Perhaps…”

The knight anxiously glanced at the Saint, but she merely continued to smile and nod. Ivan took out some gold coins and tossed them to Isabelle.

“Eat well and rest until dinner. We’ll meet at the southern gate when dawn breaks.”

“But I want to attend the royal banquet—.”

“Shh, shh shh Ecdysis. Yes, Captain. ‘I will be at the southern gate at dawn tomorrow.'”

“Understood.”

Lucia gleamed with excitement as she dragged Ecdysis away. Ivan gestured briefly to the flustered knight.

“How long are we supposed to stand here?”

“…I shall escort you.”

The knight deeply bowed and turned towards the royal palace.

With proper and neat attire along with the most respectful treatment, the Saint walked in, feeling completely refreshed. Ivan had hastily prepared and was waiting in the hall of the royal court.

“I now understand what it feels like to have survived death. Was this how the Lord felt?”

“Now you’re committing sacrilege like it’s second nature.”

“Can divinity be insulted just because a human speaks against it?”

The Saint chuckled softly, naturally placing her hand on Ivan’s arm. As if escorting a noblewoman, Ivan nodded briefly and led the way.

Following the attendants’ guidance, they arrived at a grand banquet hall. At the end of a long table surrounded by a dozen or so nobles, a massive man in leopard and aged dragon-skin garb was seated.

The ruler of Leonor, ‘The Brave King’ Ramiro. Beneath his boar-like bulk and seemingly dull appearance were sharp eyes glistening brightly.

Ivan had encountered this person a few times as a guard during the reign of the Great King. Using his sturdy and dull appearance to make political maneuvers, a wolf disguised as a bear.

Whether his temperament had changed or not, the king was sizing up the Saint and Ivan with a sneer on his face.

“Saint Patricia! Thank you for coming to our country. Please, sit down. I heard the train derailed and that you must have had a tumultuous journey. I hope you can find comfort in our land, even for a moment.”

After exchanging pleasantries, they finally sat down. Ivan took a position beside the Saint and naturally picked up his utensils.

The king, laughably, was encouraging the nobles to eat the food brought by the attendants. On a positive note, it might seem to lack ostentatiousness, but merely coldly evaluated, it felt less like a royal court and more like a military camp.

This was likely a performance by the king to showcase his continued relevance. And the need for ostentation signifies an unstable reign.

During the meal, the king suddenly turned to Ivan and spoke.

“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere—are you from Krasilov?”

“I’m a mercenary, so if you saw me, it must have been on the battlefield.”

“The battlefield, you say? The Great War?”

“Given the current times, who holding a sword hasn’t passed through that era?”

The king laughed heartily and raised a goblet of wine that sloshed within.

“Ah, that era was truly the age of heroes. Especially for the men of Krasilov. It seems like only yesterday when the Great King Ivan commanded the battlefield.”

“Indeed.”

“Were you also on the same campaign as the Great King?”

“I’ve had the chance to be in the same theater on a couple of occasions, albeit as an underling.”

“Oh, heroes have come to our country today, it seems. A comrade to share stories from those times.”

Ivan merely nodded quietly as he raised his goblet. Of course, Ramiro had been seated on the throne during that time as well, but he had never been on the front lines himself.

As Ivan swirled the wine in his mouth and scanned the banquet, he felt no poison, having tasted a piece of every dish served. It indicated that they likely wouldn’t attempt assassination through mere poisoning.

This signified much. If the king’s authority was absolute and he completely controlled the court, then having entered the court would mean there would be no one to prevent even a direct assassination attempt on the Saint.

Yet, the fact that discussions were happening beneath the surface, without daring to launch a direct attack on the Saint, implied that there were powerful individuals among the nobility present who would not obey the king’s command.

“So, which front were you deployed on?”

“I primarily operated on the northern front.”

“Oh, the north. Count Almagro was dispatched to that front, right? Isn’t that so, Count?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

From the far end of the banquet hall, an elderly man wiping his mouth bowed his head quietly. The king laughed heartily while gazing at Ivan.

“Have you met him?”

“If it’s Count Philippe de la Almagro, then yes. He was quite well-known on the front lines.”

“Oh, Count! You have a comrade here. Now, greet each other!”

Ivan nodded quietly and turned his head toward the Count. In his memories, Philippe was a knight who had charged madly toward the center of the front lines. He recalled that bravery.

At the time, Ivan was but a mere cavalry of the royal guards. The Count would have no reason to remember him.

The Count stared intently at Ivan with cold eyes before he nodded slowly.

“Such a strong man, I would certainly know of you, but alas, my fading memory is not what it once was. What is your name?”

“Ivan Petrovich.”

“Revealing your real name, are we?” The Saint flinched in surprise and gently kicked Ivan’s thigh beneath the table.

However, the Count continued to gaze intently at him, his eyes narrowing.

“Not a noble?”

“No.”

“Remarkable. Indeed, the late king of Krasilov had a keen eye for talent. You were a part of the royal guard, right?”

“Yes.”

“You must be skilled in horsemanship.”

“I’m not lacking in that regard.”

“You certainly seem so.”

The Count nodded quietly and then bowed slightly to the king. Watching their conversation, the king laughed heartily and stated loudly.

“Goodness, though you aren’t from the Caballero (knight order), even in meeting a comrade, you’re so stiff! I apologize, Sir Petrovich. Come now, everyone, let’s eat! It will lose its taste if we let it cool.”

Underneath the king’s laughter, the meal continued. Ivan tasted each piece of food before handing it to the Saint and filled his own stomach with roasted nuts and dried fruits.