Capítulo 197: Chapter 344 - Dividing Sides
Chapter 344 - Dividing Sides
"Do people actually drink this?"
Marcus muttered, holding up the teacup in front of him. The taste was awful. It was a stretch to say it even had a hint of herbal aroma.
"If that's how you feel, you could have come to my office," said Lord Graham, responding to Marcus's complaint.
"This place was closer on the way here, and I heard the sound of fighting, so I stopped by. Did that upset you?"
"Not at all," Graham replied flatly.
The fact that Marcus had gone to see Enkrid first? So what? Graham remained unbothered. Recently, he'd been engrossed in the simple joy of wielding a sword.
Did being the lord mean he should naturally demand respect for himself first? He wasn't a noble, nor did he care for such formalities.
In fact, if he had the time, he'd rather cross swords with Enkrid himself.
Could he suggest sparring, even though Enkrid seemed to have just finished a bout? Likely not today, not with Marcus sitting there as well.
The dining room was occupied only by Lord Graham, Marcus, Enkrid, and Krais.
The other unit members had no intention of intruding on what was obviously a tedious discussion.
"Looks like you're here to kill time. Entertain yourself and head back," was all Rem said before turning and leaving.
While Marcus expressed his distaste for the tea, Enkrid remained alert to the two guards standing behind Marcus.
One, in particular, caught his attention—the taller man on the left with long arms and a whip coiled at his waist.
The whip had a sharp, spiked tip that promised damage far beyond mere pain.
How would he respond if someone closed the distance?
Curiosity stirred in Enkrid. A whip was a weapon suited for maintaining distance. The farther the opponent, the greater the advantage.
It was a weapon designed to strike without being struck in return, and in skilled hands, it could be deadly.
He wanted to face him. An opponent with such a unique weapon piqued his interest.
"You didn't even glance at Kin, did you?" Marcus suddenly said to Enkrid.
The statement puzzled Enkrid.
Kin? He had no idea who that was.
"The beauty from my household who visited before. Don't you remember?"
"Oh," Enkrid muttered. How could he have forgotten? It hadn't been that long. He just hadn't thought much of it.
"She was furious, claiming you didn't even ask her name."
Marcus took another sip of his tea, grimaced, and pushed the cup aside as though he had no intention of drinking any more.
Enkrid acknowledged the remark with a small nod.
Marcus was right—he hadn't asked her name. She'd waited for two days, but he had sent her away as soon as she arrived.
"Did she?"
"You're not even interested, are you?"
"Should I be?"
"You don't have to be," Marcus said, chuckling lightly.
Had he come here simply to idle away his time? Probably not.
Sitting nearby, Krais subtly observed Marcus, trying to discern his intentions.
His sharp mind churned, alternating between questions and answers as he pondered.
Why had Marcus come here now of all times? To tell them to stop expanding the city?
Unlikely.
No, that would just be an excuse to step away.
As the former lord, Marcus could easily claim he was here to negotiate and reason with them. It would be a valid reason and serve as a pretext for leaving the capital.
After all, why had the capital summoned Marcus back from Border Guard previously?
They'd accused him of building an army large enough to suggest rebellion and ordered him to return.
Yet, even in Marcus's absence, the city had grown larger. Its military strength had increased. It was becoming a behemoth.
One could call it the formation of a threatening independent power.
"See? It's not my fault! That's why I'm here to give them a stern warning!"
He might have presented it elegantly, but the essence of his argument likely hadn't changed.
If he really came to issue a warning, though, it didn't seem that way to Krais.
So why had he left the capital and come here now?
What did he want? What was he hoping to achieve?
What was so significant about Border Guard?
Krais's gaze naturally shifted to the side.
He saw Enkrid's profile—the black-haired, blue-eyed, dangerously unpredictable commander of the Madmen Unit.
From the palace's perspective, he was an unforeseen blade emerging from nowhere.
Like a red-hot meteor crashing down, his mere presence drew attention, whether favorable or hostile.
Marcus, for his part, was more on the favorable side. But trusting someone entrenched in politics was the height of foolishness.
Krais had learned this from books he'd read as a child, from experience, and from instinct.
Likewise, Marcus probably wouldn't place his full trust in Enkrid, either.
"So, confirmation."
What did that mean?
While Enkrid, Marcus, and the lord exchanged trivial remarks, Krais delved deep into thought.
It was a process of formulating hypotheses and matching them against current events—a constant loop of reassessment.
Some things were already known or confirmed through logical inference.
Others, newly revealed in light of the present circumstances, were becoming clear.
Then there were the unknowns—matters left shrouded in uncertainty for now.
Krais methodically organized these elements in his mind, stacking them layer by layer until a conclusion began to take shape.
Only after consolidating what he knew did Krais finally speak.
This was something even the commander needed to be aware of to respond appropriately.
Leaving it alone would result in being drawn into someone else's plan. Granted, the commander wasn't the type to let himself be pulled along.
Still, letting visible risks fester was unacceptable.
Why did he suddenly recall the sight of the commander's back blocking his path? The reason was unclear.
Regardless, certain things needed to be addressed. Failing to challenge issues at the right moment would result in disadvantage later.
Krais knew this, and so he spoke. He moved his tongue with deliberate intent.
"Did you come to confirm something?"
At this abrupt question, Graham's gaze turned toward him.
The lord had been well-rested and free from burdens, having delegated most of his responsibilities to his adjutant—and, by extension, to Krais, who handled much of the work.
With Graham's tacit approval, Krais had even recruited a few people for administrative tasks, aided significantly by the Rockfreed merchant company.
At least when it came to numbers, no one could outmatch them.
Well-rested as he was, Graham's eyes were clear as they fixed on Krais.
"What are you trying to say?"
Graham's tone was sharp, though he understood when to interject himself appropriately—one of the reasons Marcus had placed him as lord.
Marcus, meanwhile, remained silent, simply observing.
"Why does the central authority tolerate someone falsely claiming kingship? Why are border defenses left so exposed?"
Krais raised his voice slightly, drawing a frown from Graham. Those words were crossing a line.
In some interpretations, they could be seen as hinting at rebellion.
This was problematic, especially given the growing pressure from the capital over their expanding military. So far, they'd weathered it largely thanks to Marcus's efforts in mitigating suspicions at court.
But now, this?
Placing his hands on the table and leaning forward slightly, Krais continued.
"If an army were raised here, the capital wouldn't send its forces to intervene. No, they couldn't."
Before Graham could respond, Marcus spoke first.
"And why do you think that?"
"Didn't I just say?"
"You're referring to leaving someone who claims kingship unchecked and neglecting border defenses?"
Despite rampant monsters and marauding beasts—even the threat of a low-tier demonic realm—the capital had done nothing.
Surely, if a reckless commander and a half-crazed unit could deal with such threats, a proper knightly order could do so as well.
After all, hadn't Krais previously seen Squire Asia and the Frog Lagarne dispatched?
If they were deployed, even low-tier demonic realms could be addressed. Yet, they hadn't acted.
No—they couldn't act.
Sending one squire was possible, but committing a section of the knightly order wasn't. And the reason?
"They lack the resources."
That was Krais's conclusion.
"There's something going on at the center—something more dangerous and threatening than dealing with border kings or subduing monsters."
Marcus's gaze swept over Krais, reevaluating him.
Was this guy always like this?
To be fair, Marcus was impressed.
Since arriving at Border Guard, he'd noticed the city had transformed.
The most striking change was the outposts stationed with units spread across the surrounding area.
Was this merely a measure against monsters and beasts?
No, there were additional, more subtle effects.
First, it earned the trust of merchants. Stabilizing the outposts could eventually allow even minor traders to pass safely.
Expanding these outposts would only amplify this effect.
And Marcus himself had seen it—how the flow of people toward the city created bottlenecks in nearby areas.
Merchant confidence would revitalize the city's economy, circulating wealth in the form of gold coins.
As the flow of wealth increased, so would the city's growth and prosperity.
Thus, it wasn't surprising.
No wonder nearby lords are up in arms.
The population was the lifeblood of any domain.
And now, laborers meant to work the fields were abandoning their lands, flocking to the Border Guard.
The city had more than enough capacity to accept them, thanks to Greenperl.
The shortages of manpower, food, shelter, and space for cultivation were merely obstacles waiting to be resolved with coin.
"Trade brings gold."
Rumors draw people.
It was an exceptional strategy.
And the outposts served another purpose.
"An excuse."
The capital would inevitably scrutinize the growing military presence.
When that happened, they'd need a plausible explanation.
The beasts and monsters justified the numbers. And besides, the outposts created safe trade routes, didn't they?
They weren't amassing forces to wage war.
Instead, the outposts dispersed them, providing evidence to refute suspicions.
Would the mastermind behind all this stop here?
No—Krais wouldn't.
He'd expand the trade routes further, connecting the outposts to neighboring domains.
"You can't connect them all. It's impossible."
"Instead, creating a few more frontier cities should do the trick."
A vision unfolded of trade lands spreading outward like a spider's web, centered on the Border Guard. Behind it lay the vast farmland of Greenpearl, an expansive and fertile region unmatched by the holdings of Count Molsan, the so-called king of the borderlands. With ample manpower to defend it, this land possessed both strength and potential.
Had someone already envisioned this far-reaching plan?
"Of course."
If not, why else would they have set such a scheme in motion?
And the mastermind behind it? Judging by the conversation, it seemed to be this wide-eyed man sitting right in front of him.
Marcus, observing the results, couldn't help but acknowledge the brilliance. Not that he would have conceived it himself.
He rested his elbows on the table, laced his fingers, and propped his chin on them.
"You mentioned something happening at the center. What do you think it is?"
"I wouldn't know," Krais shrugged as he leaned back, feigning nonchalance.
Feigning ignorance despite having a guess?
This guy's really something, Marcus thought with a wry smile.
"Watch your tone when addressing your lord," barked one of Marcus's bodyguards, stepping in as Krais smirked and shrugged again, not even sparing the guard a glance.
Instead, Krais said with a hint of irony, "Seems like the roles are reversed here."
Enkrid, standing nearby, thought it over. Normally, it would be a subordinate stepping in to defend their superior, not the other way around. But this was hardly his concern.
Enkrid's next words were sharp and direct. "Stand down, or you'll lose your head."
The bodyguard's veins bulged as he gripped the hilt of his sword, brimming with intent to strike. He wasn't just any soldier—he carried the demeanor of someone who had fought in dangerous situations before.
Enkrid knew the type well: men who underestimated him despite rumors of his abilities. He'd encountered countless such skeptics, even from skilled knights and mercenaries.
"If you draw that sword, you'll regret it. Even running your mouth will earn you a blow," Enkrid warned again.
Marcus, intrigued, did nothing to stop the bodyguard, who decided to act.
Releasing the clasp on his scabbard, the guard aimed to strike—not with the blade's edge, but with its flat, intending to humiliate rather than kill.
"Let it go," Graham muttered anxiously, though his voice went unheard.
The guard began to draw his sword, intending to slap Krais across the face.
But in that instant, Enkrid moved.
The chair screeched as it was pushed back before flipping over. By the time it fell, Enkrid had vanished from the guard's sight.
Momentary Will.
In a blink, Enkrid was right in front of him.
"What—!" the guard gasped, startled.
Enkrid pressed down lightly on the guard's weapon hand, diverting the blow, and drove his opposite elbow into the man's midsection.
Thud.
The strike landed between the stomach and heart, knocking the wind out of him.
"Guh!"
The guard crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. It was a critical blow, one Enkrid had learned from Audin, targeting the respiratory system.
The other guard, more cautious, didn't intervene. Standing behind Marcus, he simply observed, evidently weighing his chances and recognizing the skill disparity.
Straightening himself, Enkrid adjusted his posture and turned his attention back to the conversation.
Krais had posed a question about confirmation, but Marcus hadn't answered.
What was confirmation?
Krais had refrained from voicing his final thought, judging it too dangerous. But Enkrid had no such reservations.
"Is it a civil war?"
He asked directly.
What kind of confirmation was this about? Picking sides. Who's an ally, and who's an enemy? And the only reason to draw such lines was war.
If it were against an external enemy, this wouldn't even be necessary.
No—it could only mean civil war.
"Sharp as ever," Marcus remarked.
Enkrid glanced at the fallen guard, wary of another attempt, but the man had wisely taken a step back, clutching his stomach while retreating. His expression was fierce, but his actions betrayed an understanding of the gap in their abilities.
"A man worthy of standing against Kin," Marcus added, an enigmatic comment that left Enkrid wondering what relevance it had to the discussion at hand.
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