"...Hey, if the injury is that bad, how long do you think it will take to recover?"
"I think it will take a little longer since he cut the arrow shaft close."
"So how much?"
"It looks like it's stuck quite deeply, so it will take at least a month to heal. If you think about the aftereffects…"
"That's right..."
The general rubbed his rough chin.
Only two years had passed since the eight-year war ended.
Even from the Empire's perspective, war would be burdensome.
Additionally, Deon Hardt was injured. During the war, he was sent here and there and utilized the most, so it would be unlikely that a war would go on without him.
So wouldn't it be possible to take advantage of this?
"No matter how you look at it, doesn't it look like a show of force?"
"Yes?"
"Doesn't this seem like a show of force against our kingdom?"
"No matter how you look at it, it looks like a one-sided attack rather than a demonstration of force... Ugh!"
Fortunately, there was one quick-witted guy.
The guy who quickly stepped on his colleague's foot to cover his mouth briskly affirmed.
"Yes! It looks like a show of force!"
"Yes? Contact the palace. No, I will contact them directly."
He needed to explain the whole story and tell them. If he did well, he thought they could get a lot of compensation from the Empire.
It looks like they came to spy on them in the name of subjugating monsters, so it was fair to get paid this much.
A sinister smile appeared on the commander's lips.
***
Deon Hardt's words pierced the truth that they had been trying hard to ignore.
He didn't seem to particularly want an answer, and the members were in no mood to answer either, so a cold silence settled over the small battlefield. It wasn't scary. No, it was scary, but there was a bigger reason than that.
'Has he always been that good at speaking?'
'Did he learn from the deacon?'
'Deacon, why did you teach him that?'
The members shook off their bitter feelings.
Even though it's not even a swear word, it hurt.
While the members were mesmerized by the attack that struck the sore spot, a silence of a different meaning lingered among the enemies.
'The one who moves first dies.'
Now was an opportunity when the opponent in the heat of battle had frozen, but the instincts trained through receiving numerous requests were warning of death.
And that turned into confidence when he made eye contact with Deon Hardt.
Red eyes the same color as blood, eyes that were slightly curved, and even the corners of the mouth that were slightly raised as if waiting for someone to make a move.
'Fuck.'
They picked the wrong opponent.
In fact, the warning cry of instinct began when he first received the request. However, they gave him too much money, so he just accepted it.
He didn't necessarily have to kill them, but he can just injure them, so who would refuse that?
In fact, even if he had not refused the request, this situation would not have happened if he had at least retreated without overdoing it when the arrow was first hit.
'Damn, I'm being greedy for no reason.'
In addition to being greedy for money, when he checked the extent of his injuries, he decided it was worth a try, so he attacked him.
Looking at his attitude and behavior, it seemed like the rumors were exaggerated.
But he never thought he would suddenly change like this.
There was only one way to overturn this situation without sacrificing anyone.
Everyone knew that fact without having to say it out loud.
The problem was trust.
'If you do three, you attack at the same time.'
'One, two, three!'
'...'
'...'
'Dirty bastards.'
'Someone else is talking.'
This was already the third time they'd done this.
Amazingly, no one moved. No one even flinched.
As they were paying attention to each other, a voice was heard that changed the silent atmosphere.
"I've already caught one guy who will give me information, so don't be shy and kill them."
"...!"
"What do people who can't even ride a horse do that doesn't suit them?"
The members' eyes changed.
A little while ago, they were simply 'crazy guys' who enjoyed blood, but now they don't even look at their enemies as people.
They grinned in their direction.
The sight was so unusual that as soon as the horse could turn back, the guys threw down their saddles and rushed forward without hesitation.
It was a bold action, as if the danger of falling from a horse was not even thought about.
"Crazy!"
The astonishment sublimated into swear words and came out.
Crash! Thud!
Dull sounds and soft moans echoed here and there. A proper muddy fight began in a space overflowing with madness and bloodshed that was incomparable to before.
It was a mess.
The man who was the first to attack without fear and was pinned to the ground forgot the pain and looked at the situation in front of him dumbly.
There was a lot of swearing and screaming and all kinds of dirty tricks.
Plus, it was more cruel than anything else.
He understood throwing dirt in your eyes. Biting was also understandable.
But was it really necessary to tear apart someone who is clearly already dead? He just couldn't understand this.
His body suddenly trembled.
'Murderers.'
Even though they have a different official name, the knights in front of him still carried the title 'Murderers.'
He was wondering why someone would mention a name that was not good when it came to the name given by the Emperor, but now he thought he know why.
The sight of them laughing and tearing their enemies to pieces with their eyes seemed to anyone to be a ghost crazy about murder.
They said that guys like that were at the forefront of the Eight Year War. It was natural to win. How could you be sane while facing those guys right in front of you? No matter who the opponent was, they must have been terrified.
Even the words they were muttering added weight to the fear.
'Everything is for survival.'
These were completely unsuitable words for those who were chopping up their enemies with a big smile.
It was a rationalization so brilliant that it was truly shocking.
Those guys would feel less guilty with that. There would be less hesitation in your actions.
'Devil bastards.'
He looked at the situation with tired eyes and looked away.
If your subordinates are like that, what would a superior who has subordinates like that do?
'It's obvious.'
He was even crazier.
Deon Hardt. Comically, he holds the title 'Third Hero of the Empire'.
'Hero'. It's so absurd that it made no sense. What on earth was the Emperor thinking when he designated such a person as a 'hero'?
He was walking around freely in a space that was breathtaking just to look at, and was smiling brightly as if he was going crazy with genuine joy. Regardless of the laughter, the person he touched was inevitably covered in blood.
The corpses that followed his steps were all so tattered that it was hard to tell who was who.
Once he joined in, the situation was quickly resolved.
"..."
"..."
In the silence that came back in an instant, heavy breathing could be heard here and there in the unrealistic space, unable to calm down the excitement.
The man could not bear to look into the eyes of the knights, whose eyes were red and bloodshot as if they were still under the influence of medicine, so he fixed his gaze on Deon Hardt.
He was breathing slowly.
"It seems like the situation has been roughly resolved."
As if sensing attention, red eyes turned in his direction.
As soon as their eyes met, he grinned, walked over with a stride, and stepped on the dagger stuck in his shoulder.
The dagger was pushed deeper and a low groan was released reflexively at the sudden pain inflicted.
"Are you blinded by money or just stupid? Or is it both..."
"..."
"No matter how many people you bring, how absurd is it to attack head-on when I'm with the knights?"
The foot on the dagger shook slowly. At the same time, the dagger was swinging up and down, increasing the wound.
"Does it hurt?"
"..."
"I don't like torture very much either. So, if possible, I would like you to obediently speak up."
This will be difficult.
"Sir Lien, go and collect the members."
The devil, whose entire body was stained red, indirectly expressed his wish to remain alone.
***
"A protest has come in from the Kingdom of Ireon."
The Emperor, who had been reading the document with languid eyes, looked up.
Golden eyes, like those of a wild beast, were questioning what he had just heard.
What a protest. Who would dare protest against the 'Empire'?
"It appears that Honorary Count Deon Hardt has subdued a monster nearby. Then they were attacked and had no choice but to fight the inevitable battle..."
"Did you say they were attacked for a moment?"
"Yes that's right."
"Is Count Hardt safe?"
"They say he will not be able to use his arm properly for a month after being hit by an arrow in his left shoulder."
"One month..."
He put down the documents he was holding on the desk, rested his elbows as if resting his chin, and touched the corners of his mouth.
Wrinkles appeared between the smooth eyebrows.
"Please continue."
"Yes, the Kingdom of Ireon is protesting, claiming that the battle was a demonstration of force. It seems like they want compensation."
"War is not something that can be waged lightly, and Count Hardt was injured, so they must have decided to avoid war. That kind of longevity is rare."
It's really shallow.
If you don't have the strength, you have to at least be aware of it. It seems that the Kingdom of Ireon has no instinct to survive, let alone notice.
Did you think 'Empire' was an empire for no reason?
The Emperor took the title of 'Empire' by force. It was an empire because it had such force.
The absence of an irreplaceable vanguard? Of course it's disappointing. But that didn't mean they would lose the war. Deon Hardt was just one of many cards that increased the odds of winning, but his absence did not mean that the power dropped.
"I heard that their leadership is a mess, so that's understandable. From this side's perspective, they could blame the attack on Honorary Count Deon Hardt on that side and push back."
The truth didn't matter. What was important was a plausible cause and national power.
The Empire was still in its prime and the Kingdom of Ireon was on the brink. It was obvious without even looking at which side the other kingdoms would support.
"Then let's respond according to the plan your Majesty mentioned..."
"No."
The corners of the lips that were hidden under the hand curled up.
Emperor Eduardo spoke, smiling fiercely as if showing his teeth.
"It looks like we have been very quiet so far."
"..."
"Nemeseus."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Prepare for war."
"Your Majesty!"
The answer came not from Nemeseus, but from the vizier.
The prime minister, who had called the Emperor as if screaming, hurriedly tried to dissuade him with a pale face.
"It's only been two years since the war ended."
"I took a lot of time off in two years."
"War costs a lot of money."
"Do I need to worry about money when I have these?"
The Emperor's hand touched the map.
Yes, money and materials were obtained through conquest.
They did it during the Eight Year War, so there was no reason why they couldn't do it this time as well.
The prime minister could not bear to say anything and looked at the Emperor in bewilderment.
A normal kingdom would have negotiated, or, if it didn't work out, would have punished the person who caused the trouble and provided financial compensation to the other kingdom, even just for show. In any case, war was a means of inflicting great damage on both sides.
Moreover, the current Empire had sufficient countermeasures even without the use of force.
The Emperor wasn't even thinking about that.
"Is there no reprimand... for Count Hart, who caused this situation?"
Did this rekindle the Emperor's war instinct that he had barely extinguished?
"What did he do wrong? I have no intention of reprimanding him, formally or informally. He just took good care of his territory. From what I heard, he went on a subjugation expedition with only one knight corps, but wasn't this to avoid provoking the opposing kingdom? He
has done enough."
"He..."
"Prime Minister."
The Emperor laughed.
"I am a tyrant."
"..."
"Even if that wasn't the case, I was planning to continue conquering the continent, but it actually worked out well."
Conquering the continent was a goal set from the moment he ascended to the throne.
Anyway, he killed his brothers and sisters and ascended to the throne. Whatever the reason or the truth, he had no intention of acting irresponsibly.
That's the goal he came up with.
The Prime Minister, who was about to say something more, closed his mouth and lowered his head, laughing so sharply that it seemed as if he could cut himself. The Emperor was too obsessed with responsibility that responsibility had become a shackle, and the shackle was
threatening to spell disaster.
'If you call yourself a tyrant, you should throw away any responsibility, Your Majesty.'
A sense of responsibility was not bad. But shouldn't it be done in moderation?
The priorities were wrong in the first place. He was prioritizing his responsibility to his dead brothers and sisters more than his responsibility to the people of the Empire.
He knew very well that guilt was the cause. Because of this, he called himself a tyrant. But he can't help but dislike it.
'If a disaster occurs, I hope it does not affect the empire.'
Prime Minister Ardal slowly opened his mouth, hoping that even if he went crazy, it would only affect the Emperor personally.
"...I will prepare a budget plan secretly."