Glimpse of Eternity [A Reincarnation Isekai Fantasy]

Fort Alexander.

One of three famous forts in Aizen, the fort was named after an apparently legendary conqueror that nobody but the First King of Aizen had ever heard about.

It had a bit of an outdated name, in most people’s opinion, given how it was still referred to as a “fort” despite being far too large to be considered as such. Yes, there was a very large building on Aizen’s side of the Wolf’s Jaw that could roughly be considered a fort. But Fort Alexander wasn’t just that building, it was also the hollowed-out space within a portion of the mountains that served as a base for the knights stationed in the fort as well as the mountains themselves, for they were imbued with multiple millennia’s worth of the kingdom’s defensive preparations. There was even an underground area too, where a strange culture was blooming among the knights who practically lived there.

So in a way, Fort Alexander was too vast to call a fort, but it was somewhat aptly named if you completely ignored everything that wasn’t a fort.

In any case, it was in this fortress that Aizen’s current king, Roland Aizenwald, waited with five hundred Ascendants who were ready for anything. Even the Sword Star himself had a portion of his focus diverted to the venue, though he remained at the capital for very obvious reasons—such as a portal to an apocalyptic world that could potentially lead to their eventual destruction.

While an important place in the defense of the kingdom’s border with Argonia, it was most definitely not a location that warranted the attention of so many Ascendants, one of six Transcendents in Sentorale, and the king of Aizen himself who likely had a gradually worsening pile of paperwork in his office. Given the current attention it was getting, anyone with enough intelligence to outmatch a chicken could tell that something big was about to happen.

And they would be right, because Argonia’s War God, its Founding Emperor and the Transcendent that ruled it from the shadows, was coming.

“What a waste.”

Roland Aizenwald’s sigh echoed softly through the chamber, the cool mountain air slipping through the window and brushing against his face. The view beyond the Wolf’s Jaw was bleak, the wasteland stretching endlessly, a harsh contrast to the meticulously crafted interior of the mountain he chose to loiter in.

The land, scorched and lifeless, seemed to swallow light itself, as if even the sun hesitated to shine too brightly over Argonia’s domain. One would think the destruction was a more recent renovation, but it had been centuries since the two side’s Ascendants clashed due to an unspoken agreement not to waste the lives of the truly powerful. Despite that, the Gray Wastes still had yet to recover and was still a land where nothing would grow.

But what truly sent a chill down Roland’s spine was the thought that if the knights of old faltered or failed even once, a city on their side of the mountains might not look very different. Luckily, they had won every battle that mattered so the fighting never reached anywhere actually populated.

‘Yes, but what if they hadn’t…?’

It was, perhaps, a useless line of thought. The cities were safe. His people lived in them still and his people would live in them tomorrow. As a king, however, Roland was inclined to think about these hypotheticals. Because it was his job to make sure they remained in the realm of possibilities, forever barred from reality.

“Sad, is it not, Your Majesty.”

Someone asked a question that wasn’t really a question from beside him, and Roland was forced to acknowledge that he wasn’t alone in the chamber. With him was the matriarch of House Mercer—who also happened to be his wife’s relative.

“Indeed it is, Lady Sarina.” Roland nodded with a smile, musing on how her presence here probably had a hand in influencing his father’s decision to stay in the palace. There was a strange tension between the two and Roland didn’t miss it. “Your house’s forces look upon it every day. It must get quite bland.”

“It is House Mercer’s privilege to act as the kingdom’s wall here,” she said with deliberate firmness, as if it was a matter of course. After letting a beat of silence punctuate her words, she cleared her throat and continued. “Though I will admit that the Gray Wastes aren’t pleasant to look at. Most dread their turn to take watch.”

“I can imagine.” He chuckled, turning away from the window with his hands clasped behind his back. “The crown appreciates House Mercer’s dedication.”

Sarina Mercer, known for her stern strictness in all manner of things, eased her expression and saluted. “House Mercer will faithfully carry out its ancient duty. Because we can. Because no one else will. Because We Must.”

“Mercer’s famous words…” Roland muttered, his throat tightening at the feeling flooding his veins upon hearing of the ancient promise between this woman’s ancestor and his. There was a power to it that he could hardly describe. It wasn’t mana, qi, or essence.

Strangely, it felt like a will. A will so strong it lived in House Mercer’s blood and was passed down to each and every single one of its descendants. Even three thousand years later.

Blood that ran in his wife’s veins too. So why was it that she treated him like a toy sometimes? Well, he had to admit that she only acted that way because she knew he liked her just the way she was, but still. It wouldn’t hurt to mellow down so he could be the one to take initiative sometimes. She was so aggressive he never got to make a move first—though she would probably disagree with such a notion.

In any case, now was not the time for him to think about how well his marriage was going in private. He simply couldn’t avoid thinking about it given how he’d received news that she had probably succeeded in her attempt to Ascend. Now, she was in the middle of the process that turned flesh and blood into whatever Ascendants were made of.

“I hope House Mercer’s forces are ready, should the need arise?”

Sarina Mercer, a woman as old as his father, nodded respectfully. “Always.”

“Good. Though, I do not believe there’s much to worry about. The War God will apparently send some sort of relay device he can use to communicate with us from his seat all the way on the other side of the continent. Sir Rolf merely insisted on this level of security because… uh…”

“The War God is what you get when you put a hundred angry badgers and a hundred venomous vipers into a bag, taking out the last remaining one,” she finished for him.

Roland raised his brows. “That was not the exact wording he used when he advised me, but it is close. He used cats instead of badgers.”

“Ah, yes. The Sword Star likes to change parts of the analogy from time to time. For unpredictability, so people don’t finish his sentences for him.”

The essence behind the words remained the same, however.

“I believe their envoys have arrived, Your Majesty,” Sarina suddenly said. “Two people. An Ascendant and a human, the latter seems to be unconscious.”

“Unconscious…?” Roland echoed with mild confusion but shrugged it off. “Are you sure they’re envoys? We’ve recently encountered an incident where an unaffiliated Ascendant tried to flout our border. Some say lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, but to me, that merely means it hasn’t yet. Do they have something on them that can prove their identity?”

“They’re waving a banner with the Argonian lion on it. With traces of a higher power woven into it.”

“I see. I suppose that’s somewhat indisputable evidence, then.”

‘Just two people though?’

One, if they didn’t count the unconscious person. In the first place, why was one of them unconscious anyway?

Feeling somewhat tired already, Roland walked away from the window and flicked his wrist indifferently as he sat on the seat prepared for him, his words aimed at someone who was likely a fair distance away from him. “Sir Gertrude, kindly escort them inside.”

A few moments later, three figures appeared where Roland had been, likely entering from the window.

The first was Sir Gertrude—that oh-so-familiar knight who had guarded Roland faithfully for most of his life and was unfortunately given a girl’s name by his parents—accompanied by another figure with a person slung over their back like a sandbag.

Lady Sarina chose to stand by the wall somewhere behind Roland, intent on joining the other five hundred knights who likely had their focus directed in the very room they were in. Sir Gertrude silently offered his liege a quick salute before joining House Mercer’s matriarch somewhere behind Roland.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, King of Very Far Away.” The Argonian Ascendant with olive-tinted skin smiled as he nodded, speaking in very fluent English. “This one here is the envoy of Sentorale’s one true ruler.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Roland answered evenly, letting the blatant attempt to rile him pass like a breeze. Not even deigning to get up from his seat, he bit back. “I hope the journey through your barren lands was not too boring. Oh, but I’m sure you ran into a few decrepit peasants along the way and made sport of their suffering.”

The envoy smirked but did not reply any further, setting down the man he’d been carrying and sweeping back his dark red hair. “My most sincere apologies, I must quickly prepare the means by which The Ruler of Everything Under The Heavens will bless your blighted ears with his words.”

“By all means.” Roland rolled his eyes and crossed his legs, taking a nearby carafe and pouring himself a drink. “So we may go home and be free of each other’s company sooner.”

“How wise of you.”

The envoy who hadn’t bothered to introduce himself properly took out a vial with a small mote of light flickering inside.

‘No. That’s…’

Looking closely, the light was actually a glowing splotch of ink in what appeared to be a vial of crystal-clear water. Thick and with countless vein-like appendages squirming outward, as if looking for something to latch onto.

It was, from the kingdom’s recent studies into the empire’s forces, what Argonia referred to as espers.

Or rather, this was probably what the spiritual entities looked like before they matured and took the form of whatever they parasitized.

“My apologies for the noise,” The envoy blandly said. “The subject has to be conscious during the merge.”

Without waiting for Roland’s response, the envoy gave the man he’d brought a kick to the stomach that may have looked like a mere nudge—from the way the previously unconscious man’s eyes flew open as the air in his lungs forcefully made an exit through his mouth—but it was anything but.

The man on the ground coughed violently, his eyes wildly scanning the surroundings before landing on the imperial envoy, speaking in the Argonian Common. “No… NO! I’m innocent!”

“While that may be true,” said the imperial envoy with undisguised indifference. “The fact of the matter is that you are now here and I find it too cumbersome to go back and find another suitable vessel.”

“You accursed…!” The man spat through gritted teeth before turning to Roland in panic. “Please! Help me!”

Roland looked indifferently at the foreigner asking him for help, before turning to the envoy. “I’m assuming you’re going to use that thing you’re holding on this man and he’ll lose his sense of self?”

“How astute of you. That is precisely what will happen,” the envoy replied.

“Is there a need to?”

“If you wish to halt negotiations with the One True Ruler, then yes. There is a need.”

“I see.” Roland sighed as he looked at the confused man on the floor, who hadn’t understood them speaking because Roland had switched back to English, pretending he didn’t understand the imperial tongue.

He closed his eyes for a moment, musing on how he could help the man. But he wouldn’t. Because if he started trying to save every single crying soul in the world, he would exhaust himself to the point he couldn’t protect his own people. The very belief that had ensured their nation’s power for eons was to select a limited portion of reality to protect and protect it with everything they had—to shepherd one’s flock and only that flock.

In the end, Roland was the king of Aizen. His duty was to its people. The moment he wore that crown, morals, and whatnot were thrown out the window. Because his job was to protect his own people and maintain the sovereignty of the royal family when there were no better alternatives.

Had it been a citizen of Aizen in distress, Roland would have blown the horn and heralded conflict to save them. But no obligations were owed to this man who he didn’t even know.

“Well?” Roland raised a brow at the envoy, acting as if the man on the floor didn’t exist. “I do not have all day.”

“Neither do we.” The envoy nodded, snapping his fingers to freeze the man who’d tried to crawl away. He then walked up and kicked the man again, forcing the poor fool's back to the ground.

“Help… I’m innocent…” the man pleaded.

The vial was uncorked and mercilessly tipped, the contents dropping onto the man’s chest. Absorbed, the water quickly turned into a wet splotch on the man’s garments. Unfortunately, the thing that had been inside remained, seemingly standing up and crawling toward the man’s face with countless tendrils.

Watching the thing get closer to his face, the man devolved into primal screaming that even Roland’s extensive linguistic education couldn’t help him decipher.

“I’m sorry, they always make noise like this.” the imperial envoy stonily gestured at the results of his actions with utter nonchalance. “His Majesty must not be used to such noises.”

“You’d be surprised.” Roland reclined and brought his glass up to his nose, appreciating the wine’s refined aroma as he watched. He wished his brother was here, since those eyes of his might glean a lot more information from the unfolding events than any of the people who were watching.

Soon, the thing made of flickering light managed to make it to the poor man’s forehead before digging into flesh and seemingly trying to rip open a hole to crawl through. Strangely, however, there was no sign of the flesh itself being touched. One thing was certain, the process was not particularly enjoyable for the human participant.

“Excuse me.” Lady Sarina stepped forward and waved her hand, surrounding the man with a nigh imperceptible bubble of wind that stopped the shrill screams from filling the room.

Roland turned to her and nodded. “Much appreciated.”

With that, she returned to her previous position but continued watching the man on the floor who wanted to writhe in pain but couldn’t. The disgust on her face was masked perfectly, though some of it still made it to her eyes.

“The kingdom’s famed elementalism…” The envoy muttered in wonder. “I saw something good today.”

“I wish we could say the same,” Roland snarked.

“The Ruler of All He Beholds instructed me to do this in front of our newest allies. As a token of proof, for the trust that will soon bloom within our great nation and your people.”

“I see. I lack the capability to come up with a way to show my gratitude.”

“No gratitude is asked. There was a practical aspect to this as well, you see.” The envoy flicked the empty vial in his hand. “This special... esper, I believe you call it in your language, can only live for an hour or two at most. Every second counts, so I was told to do it only when I was in the King of Very Far Away’s presence.”

“That is good. I’m afraid I’m all out of thanks to give. But perhaps working together might change that.”

“Perhaps.”

A moment of silence passed before they both noticed that the man on the floor had gone limp. The barrier of wind prevented them from hearing, but it seemed the man had also stopped screaming, judging from the relaxed nature of his throat.

“Well, then. I believe my job here is done.” The envoy turned around. “I ask for the Faraway King’s patience. It will take a minute or two for the esper to truly take root.”

In a fraction of a second, the envoy was gone from the room, a gust of wind blowing out the open window. Nobody stopped them, for the envoy was truly just a glorified messenger boy. And in a way, the message has been delivered.

Well, not quite. The delivery part was an ongoing process.

“Nasty little shits, the lot of them.” Sir Gertrude cursed under his breath and Roland immediately forgave him for the harsh language, largely because they shared the same sentiment. “Fleeing so fast, it’s almost like this thing’ll explode.”

“Will it?” Roland looked behind him, calmly raising a brow. “Explode, I mean.”

“There is a lack of energy for that.” Lady Sarina answered first. “Though if it's a Transcendent's working, none here will notice a thing. Sir Rolf will have to deal with it. He can also retrieve you far before an explosion reaches you, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, well, there’s still the knights.”

“The knights can handle themselves,” she replied without a moment’s passing. “House Mercer is always ready.”

Roland nodded sheepishly before letting his attention return to the figure on the floor, wondering what would happen next.

Nothing did, for a while. Until the man got up as if it was just another Tuesday.

And maybe that would seem to be the case if the man’s right eye didn’t look like some kind of eldritch growth. It was black and bulging, veins that resembled roots bursting out from what used to be the eyeball crawling across the skin of his face, pulsating rhythmically. Right in the middle of what resembled an eyeball was a red dot that glowed menacingly as it scanned the surroundings.

“Seems everything is in order,” the man said, mostly to himself, before taking a seat opposite Roland’s and pouring himself a cup of wine without asking. After taking a long pull, he looked to Roland and spoke in a very old version of Argonian Common. “I presume you are the kingdom’s current ruler?”

Roland placed his own glass down, feeling the urge to drink leave him as he answered in the same dialect. “You presume correctly.”

“Then I’m in the right place. Know that before you sits Leonel, Argonia’s Founding Emperor. Though, not in the flesh. Also, your accent is wonderful. You speak it better than some natives.”

“It’s an honor.”

“The honor is mine.” Leonel, in a body that didn’t belong to him, smiled as what became of his right eye squirmed. He gestured lazily at it. “Please ignore this. It won’t explode, I assure you.”

“Now we have reason to believe that it will.”

The War God laughed, slapping his knee. “Old Rolf has told you about me, then. He likes spreading bad rumors about me. It’s a bad habit that I had hoped a few centuries would fix, but it seems that wasn’t the case. A shame.”

Roland resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t need his brother’s gift to tell that he was being lied to in some way. Maybe the growth wouldn’t explode. But surely, something bad would come of it.

Despite that, Roland couldn’t very well stop negotiations.

“I was told your time in that body is limited.” he gestured toward Leonel.

The War God nodded. “That is the case, unfortunately. I’m sure my very rude envoy explained it well. Oh, and by the way, he wasn’t too much trouble, was he?”

Roland shook his head, sneering in his heart. “Perish the thought. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event that I will cherish, with the hope that it remains a unique memory.”

“That’s a relief. And it makes me very happy that you enjoyed his company. Next time, if there is a next time, I will surely send someone who can provide an even better experience.”

“I can hardly wait.”

Leonel’s smile grew as the red dot’s glow intensified, in contrast to the abyss that was his pulsating right eye. “I like you, King Roland of Aizen.”

“I’m not quite sure if that’s a good thing.” Roland poured himself another glass before taking a pull. “Now, I don’t believe our nations are friendly enough to play niceties for so long. Hence, down to business.”

“I’ll allow it.”

“How benevolent.” Roland, despite trying very hard not to, rolled his eyes. “I assume you haven’t forgotten the information we leaked to your spies?”

“Would I be here if I had?” Leonel chuckled. “Thank you for killing all but one of the spies, by the way. Decades of work in planting them, down the drain.”

“I’m told they resisted.”

“As they should.”

“Then that’s that.” Roland flicked his wrist indifferently. “Have you confirmed it on your end? Having fought with the republic more than us, you must have access to better records regarding their agents.”

Leonel grinned as he nodded. “Certain bright Ascendants have disappeared for seemingly no reason from time to time. I merely wrote it off as the Tower’s failed enterprises in dealing with Wysterian elves. But now I have a more plausible hypothesis. There are also certain incidents where the Tower went to great lengths to save certain, seemingly unimportant, people. On a few occasions, the Sage King even went personally—though that ended very badly for them anyway because of a certain knight.”

“You have members of the imperial family enrolled in the Tower as well, I remember.”

“They have told me of this Sanctuary where the Tower gets all their spirit beasts and those orbs. That is the only practical bit of information they have given me.”

“A piece of information that reinforces our findings.”

“Indeed it does.”

It was hard to believe the words of one’s enemies. Roland and his father had both agreed that simply telling the War God their findings and hoping the foreign emperor believed was an exercise in futility. As such, they merely encouraged the empire to perform their own investigation.

And in probable reluctance, the empire acquiesced.

Roland drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he maintained eye contact with one of the world’s most powerful people. “You should be thankful that we’ve told you of your demise before it happens.”

“I’ll be sure to bring a gift next time.” Leonel’s red eye pulsed with the black roots steadily occupying more of his face. “And so, you have told me this because you believe I will be inclined to participate in killing the Sage King, given our history.”

“And we are correct in thinking this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Then good luck in your endeavors.” Roland smiled in feigned friendliness. “I will pray for your success when I next offer a prayer to Sormon.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Neighbors should help each other, no?”

“Your envoy’s demeanor was worse, but you’re no paragon either. I’m afraid the way you act does not properly reflect the behavior of someone who is asking for aid.”

“And what would you suggest?”

Roland stretched his neck and massaged it. “Lately, I’ve grown stiff from all the paperwork I’m doing. Because of that, I have trouble looking up for too long. Perhaps if you lower yourself, just enough so I can prop my foot up on your back, then I will be more inclined to offer aid.”

Silence filled the air in the room as the gazes of two rulers clashed. And for a moment, the growing intensity of Leonel’s eye alarmed the two other Ascendants in the room. Leonel’s current body was that of a mortal, nothing compared to his real body. Roland should theoretically be capable of fighting against him.

But his intuition screamed at him, telling him that doing so alone was a very bad idea—not that he was alone. A king was never truly alone.

Moments passed and went as nobody said anything, Roland holding the emperor’s gaze without any intention of apologizing or taking back his words.

After what seemed like an eternity, the fierce crimson light died down and Leonal smiled widely. “I really like you, King Roland. You might be the most amusing Aizenian king I’ve met.”

“You haven’t met any other kings.”

“That’s true. Haha!”

Leonel slapped his knee before crossing his legs and leaning into the back of his seat. “I do not kneel, King Roland of Aizen. But let us talk about terms anyway.”

Roland shrugged. “I am listening.”

“You help me take down the Sage King and I won’t send word about your half-breed brother to the beasts in the east—whom I am sure will greatly appreciate the favor.”

Despite all the conditioning he’d undergone, Roland still found his face stiffening at the sudden strike.

‘He knows. He knows that the east will want Uncle, Mother, and Reivan’s heads. Damn it all to the hells…’

The fact that the War God hadn’t told the East yet meant that he was aiming to get some leverage on Aizen. They could have leaked it to the East earlier to maybe form an alliance and crush Aizen, but Leonel hadn’t done so. Which meant, strangely enough, that the War God wasn’t interested in making an attempt to destroy the kingdom.

‘Why, though?’

Roland would have liked to think the kingdom and the empire were eternal enemies. It was obvious what the former would do if it got its hands on a way to plausibly eradicate the latter with a good chance of success.

‘Sir Rolf said Leonel was extremely racist… Is it really that? Just that?’

It would add up, however. Argonia’s people were generally discriminating against other human ethnic minorities. So it went without saying they’d be a lot more racist toward other races. But even then, that didn’t seem entirely enough for Argonia to stay its hand in eliminating an enemy that spanned multiple millennia.

In any case, Roland's thoughts returned to the present. Aizen’s policy on other’s attempts at terrorism or threats was to shove a fist into their face. If Roland let himself get threatened into doing something, Leonel would come to know that he was a king who surrendered to threats.

And besides, it wasn’t like Leonel would magically forget everything about the East’s desire to eradicate Reivan’s bloodline. The emperor could still divulge the information to the east after the Sage King perished—and subsequently, he could reuse the threat of doing so to continuously extract concessions.

That could not be allowed.

“Perhaps I was a bit too hard on you, young one.” Leonel’s grin was absolutely feral as he chuckled. “Let us be more civil. Hm?”

“Aizen does not answer to threats.”

“Oh, I'm sure you don’t. You never have, and you likely never will. Never counted on it either. I bet you’d just give the East what they want if they asked for the mutts your father took in. The kittens too. Aizen cannot afford a war on too many fronts, after all. The East is lacking in enemies, it won’t hesitate in making war here.”

Roland stayed silent, letting the War God’s misconceptions be. The Kingdom would not leave its own out in the cold. What it chose to protect, it would do so. Even against the world.

“But even if the threat isn’t enough to move Aizen, it will hurt, won’t it, Your Majesty?” Leonel leaned forward, the red dot in his right eye gleaming fiercely. “It will hurt you. I can hurt you. In ways violence never can. Do remember that before disrespecting me again.”

Snorting, Roland crossed his own legs. “Negotiation, then.”

Leonel nodded once. “Negotiation.”

“You, who we both know will be the Tower’s most likely first target, will do it alone. And should you fail, we will pick up where you left off to finish the job with the promise that we won’t try to kill you if you come out of the battle injured.”

“This doesn’t sound like a very good proposition.”

“In exchange, a truce will be declared between the kingdom and the empire. Aizen will, barring extreme circumstances that risk the sovereignty of the kingdom, not take any actions to break this truce first. Also, Aizen will refrain from directly interrupting Argonia’s annexation of republican lands. For as long as the truce lasts.”

That got Leonel’s attention, the emperor taking a moment to think before speaking again. “There is a very obvious implication that you will interrupt indirectly.”

Roland raised a brow. “Would you have believed us if I said we wouldn’t interrupt at all?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“As you should. Let us move on, shall we?”

“Very well. Let us now define what constitutes direct intervention.”

“Knights.”

“Rephrase that to military forces, lest you rebrand a few of your knights into something else.”

Roland rolled his wrist. “Very well.”

“As for food and other services—”

“Those are not included. We’ll want to profit from the entire affair before you ruin the whole place.”

“Bastards.” Leonel spat, but nodded. “Fine, then. And how long will the truce last?”

“Fifty years.”

“That’s far too short. Three hundred.”

Roland frowned. “Why would you need three hundred years to annex a place without a Transcendent?”

Leonel shrugged, remaining silent.

“Hm…” After a bit of thought, Roland relented. “A hundred years.”

“That... will do.”

“I see. Then do we have terms?”

The War God hummed in thought for a few heartbeats before shaking his head. “I think not.”

Roland grimaced. “Are you purposely wasting my time?”

Leonel wagged a finger at him with a snicker. “I merely wanted to gain insight into what your best-case scenario was, King Roland of Aizen. Now, let us try to meet halfway.”

“What do you…”

“Your push for me to deal with Antonnel mostly on my own initiative is under the assumption that Antonnel will attack me first.”

“Which is very likely.”

“Yes, indeed it is. Our homes are quite close to each other, so we’ve clashed on numerous occasions. Different from old Rolf, who’s quite literally on the other side of the continent.”

“And your point?”

Leonel chuckled. “I was getting to that. Now, say that negotiations between us break down, turning into a game of who flinches first—I play coy a little too much while Aizen stays back planning to take advantage of the fated clash between me and the Tower’s Transcendents, of which, for the sake of our scenario, there are two. Listening so far?”

“Keep talking.”

“Now, let us say that I tragically perish without taking anyone with me. Would that not place Aizen in a very bad position?”

“It would,” Roland said. “Will you play hard to get to the extent you get killed for it?”

“It’s not playing if I know I’ll get what I want.” Leonel smiled widely. “When I am taken out of the picture without much trouble by the Tower’s Sage King and the hypothetical Transcendent, what will happen to Aizen then?”

“The Sword Star will triumph over the winner, who will be injured.”

“What if I don’t manage to injure the Tower’s duo at all?”

“The Great War God of Argonia.” Roland rolled his eyes mockingly. “Is that how you wish to go? Will you go quietly into the night? Not in a roar of bloody struggle but with a whimper?”

“Of course, I won’t. But let us say that despite my struggles, I do not manage to inflict a meaningful wound. What then?”

“There are too many hypotheticals here.”

“Humor me.”

Roland sniffed, taking a pull from his wine glass to give himself time to think. “If all of that happens, we will be in a slight bit of trouble.”

Leonel sneered. “You will depend on the Saintess and the Gladiator’s aid. Maybe the Pontifex too.”

“Something along those lines.”

“The pacifist, the slave of gold, and the fanatic? You’ll depend on them? None of the three have any stakes in this. Because though Arkhan won’t rule as well as you or I, it will rule. Not destroy.”

Roland felt that there was some truth to that, though whether Saintess Frey would help them defend Aizen since she thought highly of the royal family’s ruling prowess was up in the air. It was, in the end, still a gamble. The orcs too, were an undesirable ally to bring into Sentorale. Roland didn’t want to do it unless the kingdom was literally about to burn down.

“You are beginning to understand.” Leonel nodded in approval. “By not working together, you possibly subject yourselves to a much greater risk. On the other hand, if I and Rolf work together, taking Antonnel down will be a guarantee.”

“So you suggest taking equal risk so that we can both come out of it relatively unharmed.”

“That is the case. I’m sure I can convince that crazy bastard in the church to stop praying for a day to help out. That makes three Transcendents. Victory is all but assured. And even more so if we pool together our riches to hire the Gladiator Boy. That makes four Transcendents versus Antonnel. There has never been a guarantee of victory more assured than this one. The risk to us is practically negligible.”

Roland grunted. There was some sense in what the War God was saying. In fact, it was one of the plans he and his father conceived if the War God ever rejected the first one—which actually had a high chance of getting denied, because the War God wasn’t just the warmongering brute that his moniker made him out to be.

Schemes and Intrigue were also part of the ancient conqueror's arsenal. In fact, Leonel had apparently made use of those more than violence when the empire was starting out. That stopped when he obtained enough of a power base to just be a warmongering degenerate, however.

In any case, what Leonel suggested was acceptable. Sadly, it wasn’t without issues.

‘Since we’re all working together, no concessions to the other are necessary.’

The problem was what to do with the Arkhan that would soon lose its only Transcendent.

Argonia would want to annex the republic while Aizen, in contrast, didn’t. Which was why Roland wanted to extract a concession in exchange for “allowing” the annexation to go uncontested. It was basically getting something in exchange for nothing.

In the case where no concessions were given to anyone, however, the empire ironically won out. Because it would likely claim Arkhan without resistance from the kingdom’s side.

While Arkhan would be a source of revenue if they vassalized it completely or even just partially, it would take a great deal of resources and time to develop it to the level of mainland Aizen. And even without that, the crown didn’t really need money.

It was a good thing to have, but Aizen’s royal family had a lot of other sources of income.

Due to crushing and preventing capitalism from ever truly gaining a foothold, the royal family owned a lot of enterprises in the kingdom, such as artifact trade and monster meat—which made sense, because artificing knowledge was a state-managed art due to its dangers and monsters weren’t really beings that ordinary people should and could manage. The crown also owned quite literally every notable patch of farmland in the nation.

Every time someone in the kingdom ate, the crown got a cut. And that wasn’t even all, merely a scratch on the surface.

These enterprises were the reason why the royal family could afford to run the country with such low taxes. And on a darker note, it was a way for them to maintain power. Nobody would rebel if they’d go hungry for it, though they thankfully haven’t ever thought of doing so.

‘If we ever put a despot on the throne, everything would be ruined.’

Luckily, that hadn’t happened yet. And Roland would have to scrutinize his successor closely before even thinking of abdication. The system the kingdom was running with only worked because the royal family weren’t assholes, after all.

Back on topic, the royal family simply didn’t have a reason to take over Arkhan other than to prevent Argonia from taking it—which honestly wasn’t all that great of a reason given how many knights they’d bleed in the endeavor of keeping the land they took.

“You have a lot to think about, King Roland of Aizen.”

Leonel’s chuckle broke Roland out of his own thoughts, making him look up to see that practically all of the emperor’s face was covered by black veins.

“You look like a monster,” he said.

“That is what I had to be.” Leonel smiled. “The world didn’t leave me alone until I fought back, see.”

Roland stayed silent, not even bothering to ask for an elaboration. “The current terms aren’t enough.”

“I guessed so, judging from your face. I’m assuming you want concessions—that you won’t be getting, by the way, because I’m not an idiot—in exchange for allowing me to take Arkhan afterward.”

“...Either way, it is not enough with just this. The empire gains too much.”

“Then we are at an impasse.”

“Indeed.”

The two rulers remained silent for a few moments, though this time, they weren’t trying to intimidate the other. They both truly wanted the negotiations to pull through, but didn’t want to give too much to the other side in doing so.

Only when every inch of the emperor’s face was covered in the black veins did he speak again.

“These past few centuries, there has been an implicit understanding between our nations not to use Ascendants in skirmishes, yes? Of course, I am willing to ignore how the kingdom sent that insidious little brat to wreak havoc in the empire for a time. I still remember that wench and her eternally unripe face.”

Roland nodded, inwardly amused at just how much of a nuisance Dame Mordred was to the kingdom’s neighbors.

Leonel continued. “Why don’t we put that into writing? Into an actual treaty. It is an advantage to both of us. We humans must stick together, especially with all the vermin around us. Orcs to the south, elves to the east, those tiny little ice freaks in the north, and those beasts in the east. Humanity is surrounded. And when they come knocking, because they will, we can’t be too bloody, hm?”

“There…” Roland drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair in thought. “There is some sense in that. The terms?”

“In conflicts between humans, only mortals participate. Neat and simple. At some point, let’s have whatever government the remains of Arkhan erect sign it too. Ah, and let's not forget about Pentagoria’s principalities.”

“How generous. But ‘participate’ is a broad term.”

“It is supposed to be, for I mean it to encompass everything. Scouting, espionage, combat, rescuing particularly important mortals like royals and imperials… everything. Let the mortals fight for mortal riches. The immortals stay out of it and wait for the fight of all fights. The fights that actually matter.”

Roland sneered. “Until one of us can gain the upper hand in Transcendent numbers. Then the treaty goes into the pyre.”

“Exactly.” Leonel laughed loudly, even as his body visibly seemed to be deteriorating.

Giving it some thought, Roland felt inclined to agree. If only mortals would participate, occupying Arkhan might be plausible. Naturally, he wouldn't trust Leonel completely, so Ascendants would still be posted along the borders of Aizen.

But to be honest, mortal knights didn’t have much to do that Ascendant knights couldn’t accomplish with a flick of their wrist. A mortal knight’s ultimate goal was to become an Ascendant. Only then would they start truly becoming a national-level asset.

‘We can blood knights with low risk while profiting from the republic’s bounties.’

While money wasn’t an issue for the royal family, more riches was always a good thing. Besides, knights excelled in combat and a real conflict would probably push a bunch of them to Ascendance. With Ascendants taken out of the equation, few things could kill them as long as they were careful.

It would also prevent the empire from sharing a border with Aizen on both the north and the west—which was the main reason Roland was even considering the occupation of Arkhanian territories.

‘We don’t need all of it. Just the parts close to us, acting as a buffer zone so conflict never reaches the motherland.’

Very appealing. The War God’s offer of a treaty was very appealing indeed.

Which was why it made Roland so skeptical. “It’s surprising for you to suggest this, given how it’ll make occupation much harder for you.”

At that, Leonel laughed.

“You think I’m afraid of difficulty? I am Strife, King of Knights. I am its incarnation and its child. Let it drown Sentorale so the wheat may be separated from the chaff and humanity come out stronger for it. And besides…”

Leonel leaned forward as the red dot in what used to be his right eye glowed intensely once again, and looking at the War God’s face, Roland could no longer find an inch that wasn’t covered with the black veins.

“Watching mortals struggle is a lot more fun.”

“Fun…?”

“Indeed. Ascendants, normally, have already found themselves. They are developed, their wills tempered in flame. Because of that, there is no longer a need for flame. There is little growth to be had. Little to watch.”

Roland grimaced as his fingers clenched the arms of his seat. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.” Leonel smiled widely. “Everyone who reaches where I am isn’t quite right in the head, King Roland. Just look at the ones around you. A man who stands vigil over the legacy of his friend for eons, unmoving. A girl whose helplessness made her obsessed with an ideal. And the son of strife who wishes to fill the world with heroes. We’re all crazy. It is the trials we have been through that define us.”

After saying that, the War God stood up and spread his arms.

“Forged in Blood and Tears.”

The Imperial Credo.

Spoken by the very man who embodied it, Roland felt an indescribably force clamp onto his heart. In his eyes were visions of fire and steel and men who’d lived through it—men who’d become more because of it. And Sormon help him, Roland felt the pull hard. He felt the desire to see if he could be one of them.

Jingle!

A moment later, the visions vanished, and Roland looked to his shoulder to find an elderly hand resting gently on it.

“That’s enough, Leonel.” Rolf, the Sword Star, sighed.

Leonel laughed. “Merely passing torches down to the younger generation, Rolf.”

“What you do is more akin to setting fire to a house and telling them to see if they can stay inside until the embers die out.”

“Ah. Well. You know how it is. These young’uns are too lazy. They don’t know how hard it was before we came along and it makes them soft.”

“There are other ways to foster growth. Ways that don’t involve constantly pushing them into a gauntlet.”

Leonel scoffed. “Maybe. But such a thing… I cannot acknowledge it.”

Rolf snorted. “We do not need your acknowledgment. Keep your mistaken ways away from the kingdom's children.”

“Bah. You’ve grown soft, old man. You used to be more like me.”

“I have grown sharper.”

Leonel grunted in disinterest, turning to Roland instead. “King Roland of Aizen, first of his name. Do we have terms?”

Roland gulped, trying to calm himself—trying to see if he was still himself. He threw a questioning glance at the most reassuring presence in the room.

Rolf nodded. “There is merit in the treaty. Leonel will not break it first, at least. Not unless another Transcendent sprouts from his little garden of strife. Which I highly doubt.”

Leonel frowned as he grumbled. “Have a little faith, here.”

“I have no faith in your ways whatsoever, fool. I hope you never darken this nation’s soil again.”

Before the two ancient figures devolved into arguing, Roland cleared his throat and nodded. “We have terms.”

“Great! My people will contact you once I’m ready. Now, with that out of the way...!”

Leonel clapped with a smile as the red dot in his eye suddenly grew blindingly bright.

‘He’s going to…!’

Rolf flicked his wrist and the War God vanished. But a moment later, a cataclysmic explosion shook the air, and if the Sword Star himself wasn’t there to protect him, Roland would have been blown away or outright died from the shockwave.

The furniture was not so lucky, as anything made of glass or wood outright shattered.

‘That crazy bastard actually blew up!’

“Is… Is everyone okay?” Roland looked around to the others in the room other than Sir Rolf because he was far too wet behind the ears to worry about the Sword Star.

“I don’t feel very okay…” Sir Gertrude grumbled, footing unsteady.

And even Lady Sarina, ever the picture of composure, looked visibly shaken. “Th-the Fort’s enchantments…”

“Do not worry,” Sir Rolf said, smiling warmly like the kind old man he really was. “I transported his body far enough away that only the furniture was damaged. Everything else, including the knights, should be fine. I could not protect everything because Leonel made it so that the force of the explosion would be focused in the direction of the Fort, likely foretelling I would banish him away.”

“I see. That’s great.” Roland chuckled wearily, turning to the slightly relieved matriarch of House Mercer. “Lady Sarina, the crown will reimburse the cost of fixing everything up. That’s how it’s supposed to be, anyway.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she bowed, truly grateful.

‘Eh, are they having trouble with money…?’

In any case, Roland found himself surprisingly aghast at the War God’s lie. In hindsight, he hadn’t really trusted the bastard but he’d still ended up getting caught completely off guard. Luckily, the damage was contained to just the furniture, which could be replaced in a matter of days. The enchantments being crippled would have been a devastating loss that they had fortunately averted thanks to the Sword Star.

‘Damn him. Next time, I’ll talk through holostones instead.’

Coming face to face with Leonel, even a weak disposable corpse he controlled, was far too risky.