“Keuk.”

The assassin, who had been hiding in a back-alley market street, leapt upward to avoid the poison cloud. He hooked his fingers over the edge of a wall and pulled himself onto the roof of a brick house—when suddenly a chill wind grazed his neck.

A question surfaced in the assassin’s mind. A sudden gust of wind? And cold, at that?

'In midsummer?'

Without even lifting his head, he could see the clear blue sky above, not a cloud in sight. Sunlight blazed down, hot and full.

A crimson line split across the assassin’s neck as he tilted back and collapsed. Blood from his throat spread red across the straw-and-stone roof.

“What, what the hell.”

“Kyahhh!”

“Son of a bitch.”

Only then did screams and harsh voices erupt from every direction.

Fweeeet!

A soldier standing guard for security blew his whistle. At the sound, four patrolling soldiers rushed to gather.

Meanwhile, from the roof of another building, Jaxon drove a dagger into the side of an assassin lying flat, piercing his heart. Another assassin who had poked only his eyes out through a window took a Silence Dagger straight to the forehead.

Even with three men already dead, the rest of the assassins could not locate Jaxon’s position.

“Leave one alive.”

Crang whispered urgently. Enkrid placed himself between Crang and the assassins as he spoke.

“Jaxon, leave one.”

Crang’s words were whispered, and Enkrid’s voice wasn’t loud either, but that was fine.

Thanks to the arrows bursting earlier, chaos filled the square—screams and panicked cries echoed everywhere—but Jaxon, with his focus, surely heard them already.

And indeed, things unfolded as Crang intended.

There were five assassins in total. The one most carefully concealed suddenly kicked off a wall and vaulted upward, managing to snatch a moment to open his mouth.

“For the true royal family!”

He shouted as his hand flicked forward, and a short arrow shot out from his sleeve.

Enkrid did not block it. After Crang had told him not to, he had tugged at Enkrid’s collar, insisting to leave it, that he would handle it himself.

Enkrid didn’t know exactly what Crang was aiming for, but he understood one thing: Crang had drawn a picture in his mind.

'If it goes wrong, I’ll just draw my sword.'

After all, he had the leeway to wait until the very last moment before drawing his blade.

And so, in Enkrid’s sharpened focus, he saw it—Crang’s entire body glowed with a red light.

That red radiance surged as fast as the flying arrow, forming into shape and spiraling around Crang’s body.

'A spell?'

Similar, but not the same. It carried no scent of sorcery. Instead, it smelled more like fresh cloth sun-dried on a cloudless, blazing day.

The red glow pouring from Crang’s body snatched the arrow from the air.

The light shaped itself into what looked like a beast’s forepaw.

Of course, all this happened in an instant. Only Enkrid, concentrating as he was, could perceive it clearly—ordinary people would not even register what had happened.

The beast’s paw clutched the short arrow. That was all it took. The arrow, imbued with poison cloud magic, was stripped of its spell and snapped clean in half.

The assassin hurled his whole body forward with the shot. If an arrow had been blocked once, what made him think this one would land?

Anticipating even that, he pulled out a short dagger about a handspan long and lunged in—only for the beastly paw extending from Crang’s body to slam into his skull.

Crunch.

His neck snapped, his body flung sideways and rolled. With his spine broken, he was nothing but a corpse. The final assassin was dead.

Seeing this, Crang tore off his hood and pulled out the cloak he had hidden under his oversized robe.

The red light covering his body traced a form behind him.

Four legs, and a mane of flame-like blaze curling once around the neck. The shape stood behind Crang, indistinct but undeniable.

As though declaring: You must have my permission if you wish to kill this man.

This time it wasn’t something only Enkrid could see. Now, everyone could. That was the intent—he revealed it for all to witness. The meaning was clear.

Wind blew, and Crang’s crimson cloak billowed.

“Are there still any who object to my rule?”

His presence sucked in every gaze around him. At first, only a few stared wide-eyed in shock. But like black ink spreading in clear water, their reactions rippled outward.

“Hear me, all of you.”

Then Crang played his specialty. Drawing all startled eyes to himself, he delivered his words straight into their ears from the bare market ground, without any podium or dais.

“All of this comes from my own shortcomings. I admit it.”

The content of the short, firm speech wasn’t all that important. Crang didn’t pour his passion into it; he was composed.

From the moment he drew eyes, his demeanor was steady. Calm. Solemn.

“I will not allow monsters and bandits to run rampant.”

Enkrid couldn’t guess all of Crang’s aims, but one thing was obvious.

'He wants to show them.'

Crang’s purpose was to display the beast shining behind his back.

No—not a beast. A divine beast.

Even in that fleeting instant, the speed and force of its movement rivaled a knight’s.

'If that was merely a casual gesture to block an arrow...'

Enkrid found himself thinking he wanted to test it, to face it head-on. It was only natural. Whenever he encountered a strong opponent—be it human, giant, Frokk, or divine beast—he always wanted to fight.

Crang ended his speech short and sharp. Then he turned. Spotting Enkrid, he spoke immediately.

“No. Now I know just by the look in your eyes. It only responds when my life is truly in danger.”

Crang shook his head with a laugh.

Meanwhile, word of the assassination attempt had spread, and the security forces closed ranks around their king. From within the citadel, the Royal Guard emerged and layered an additional line of defense inside the formation.

Crang cut down Enkrid’s budding interest with a single stroke. In terms of quick perception, Crang was second to none.

“Ah.”

At Enkrid’s disappointed sigh, Crang laughed. This friend of his never changed. And indeed—only someone like this could dream impossible dreams.

Well, the same was true for himself.

“Sun Beast?” Enkrid asked.

“Yeah.”

Their voices weren’t low. Every Royal Guard around them, every sharp-eared watchman, could hear.

Besides, hadn’t he just revealed it openly?

From the murmurs of the gathered crowd came words: Sun Beast, Guardian Beast, a king protected by the god of the royal line.

Perhaps °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° Crang had even planted whisperers among them to spread those words.

“Wasn’t that just a legend?”

The founding tale of three knights and the Sun Beast was nothing more than a story. Crang shook his head.

“No.”

Enkrid blinked once. Crang sought to clear all doubts from his friend’s mind.

“Only one of royal blood has the qualification. If, under that qualification, he receives the beast’s power and survives it, then he gains its protection.”

The tattoo was proof the Sun Beast resided within him.

“And you could have died in the process?”

This was no mere relic that simply lent power at one’s whim. Some artifacts did grant strength in exchange for life force—grim magical objects made by eccentric sorcerers.

So would the Sun Beast’s protective tattoo have no price? Hardly.

“They say weak-willed men, or those who desire the power for selfish gain, simply die. But honestly? From what I’ve seen, it’s just about enduring three days of nightmares.”

Men, after all, were said to boast even on their deathbeds. Surely it had been more than just endurance. But Enkrid felt no need to probe further. Even if it was a royal secret, Crang would tell him if asked—but Enkrid wasn’t curious.

“I’ve only fastened the first button. This isn’t the end.”

Revealing the Sun Beast’s protection—that was only the beginning. Enkrid pressed no further.

He trusted Crang would reveal what mattered in due time. Whatever it was, his eyes still burned with light.

Though their ordeals had been different, Crang had faced trials no less harsh than Enkrid’s. And even now, after surpassing them, his gaze had not dimmed.

That alone resolved all of Enkrid’s questions.

Save one.

“Really won’t let me?”

“I said no, damn it.”

A spar against the Sun Beast would have been something—but alas, not today.

***

“A scheme of division.”

It was Kraiss, appearing after a long absence, who spoke. Marcus nodded.

“That’s right.”

Division—the act of driving a wedge between people. Though Crang, shielded by the Sun Beast, had even earned the nickname Sun King, the fact remained that the attempt on his life by assassins was real.

“Another rebellion?”

“They say the queen has returned?”

“No, it’s that the queen’s child is being raised somewhere, and certain provincial lords are pushing him forward.”

All kinds of rumors swirled together.

Even Enkrid, who spent all day in the training yard, heard them. A few commanders who trained with him also heard, but their reactions were solid.

“His Majesty will handle it. If he needs us, he’ll call.”

Trust and faith—the things Crang had built up with them over time.

Perhaps some nobles wavered, but the royal shields within the training yard did not budge an inch.

Enkrid sipped from Marcus’s prized tea. Supposedly the leaves, picked only from a certain province and aged long, gained a distinctive fragrance. He had just heard that explained earlier, but having let it in one ear and out the other, he didn’t remember clearly.

The taste was tannic, yet carried a subtle sweetness and savory depth. The aroma was clear, like flower petals floating in pure water.

Not bad at all.

While he drank, Kraiss continued in a calm tone.

“The nobility has no such capacity right now. And even if they did, why would they aim for the throne? The queen? The queen’s child? They don’t exist. At most they’re baseless rumors. Even if such things were real, for nobles to act now would be sheer folly—nothing but massive loss. No gain. And the nobles I know don’t move without profit.”

Those who bore responsibility for leading families had a duty to feed their households. Andrew had once said something similar. Responsibility grew of its own accord.

“And rebellion? Against the current crown? Why?”

Thump.

Kraiss tapped the table with his fist. The touch was light enough that the teacups didn’t even tremble, yet Marcus’s brow furrowed.

“Careful.”

He couldn’t stand to see such rare teacups and tea spilled. It was the same as a connoisseur watching fifty-year-old liquor dumped on the floor.

Kraiss gave a glance of apology, then continued.

“Trade routes have opened, and it’s easier to live now than ever. Has that shrunk the nobles’ share of bread? Not at all.”

Enkrid looked around Marcus’s office. There were more furnishings than before. More decorations too.

Specifically, racks and cases for storing tealeaves and teacups. Luxuries, but still modest by noble standards.

For now, Naurillia was wealthier than ever.

“On top of that, securing the capital’s order, creating safe roads, suppressing bandits, monsters, and beasts—those things were never achieved by any past crown.”

Half of that achievement was thanks to Enkrid. Marcus’s gaze slid over him. The black-eyed, blue-haired man only nodded without much thought.

Not interested.

Marcus read it at once.

He was right. Enkrid was only half-listening, recalling Crang’s words. Hadn’t Crang once said that half the things he accomplished came from that big-eyed man’s head right here?

'And some of it again from Abnaier’s ideas, no doubt.'

If anyone in the Border Guard was enjoying himself lately, it was Abnaier.

In the Guard, he was finally free to pursue the projects and designs he could never realize in Azpen. They said Azpen itself was now changing under his influence. And that pleased him greatly.

No matter Enkrid’s lack of reaction, Kraiss pressed on firmly.

“If it were me, I’d never have let this problem arise in the first place.”

Marcus asked,

“How?”

“By keeping the nobles endlessly in check—suspicious of one another, locked in constant struggle.”

The words were delivered casually, but their content was sharp and brutal as crossing blades.

If the nobles slaughtered each other, there would be no time for talk of restraining the king.

Rumors spread only because life was too peaceful—so the way to prevent them was to keep such thoughts from ever taking root.

How? By setting noble factions against one another. Small fights to prevent large wars.

Of course, that wasn’t the path Crang wanted. Kraiss knew it, which was why he spoke so bluntly.

If a few shanties housing beggars were burned down to open a road for carriages, who would object?

The poor had no power, no voice.

And the nobles profiting from carriage trade would only press their tongues to the roofs of their mouths and stay silent.

Normally, such huts burning shouldn’t cause a single blink. But Crang did not do that.

The path he walked was harsh and grueling. That was what made it kingly. That was the road Crang wished for.

'Dreams. Hopes.'

In an age that declared such things worthless, those who pursued them could only be fools. Which meant Crang was a fool.

'And so am I.'

Enkrid also knew that what he sought was hollow. But still, he advanced. And little by little, the world changed.

The Kraiss before him was proof of that.

Once, he would have nitpicked this and that, but now he followed Crang’s will—and Enkrid’s—without hesitation.

“So why are you here?”

Enkrid asked. He hadn’t called Kraiss. The man had simply shown up.

“To punish those who dared mock the Salon.”

Kraiss’s eyes gleamed. They gleamed with hatred—for those who had used his dream.

The source of the rumors threatening the royal family was the Salon. From there, southern spies had spread.

“Spies from the South.”

Before they parted, Crang had told him: this was all the doing of Rihinstetten in the south. Those agents had used the Salon as their stage, until the capital’s very salons were seized by their meddling.

That was what enraged Kraiss.

“I’ll kill them with hatred.”

The words of a Salon zealot, burning with fury, slipped out.