After dinner, the troubled Knight King sat alone at his seat, staring at the map, and sighed softly.
"It's just an ambiguous prophecy, dear. You don't need to take it so seriously." Seeing Ryan in this state, Veronica, aware of the heavy burden on his shoulders, sighed quietly. "Do you need some space?"
"Hmm, go ahead and tend to your own matters," Ryan gestured for Veronica to leave. After every battle, Veronica would gather the participating witches for a debriefing, highlighting strengths and pointing out areas of improvement. As a practical-minded sorceress, she valued real-world experience over theory, believing firmly in the saying, "Practice is the only test of truth." She emphasized the importance of learning how to survive the chaos of the battlefield through hands-on experience.
Teresa and her Ice Witches were different. Ice magic focused on control, but it was difficult to master. A mistake could turn the caster into an ice statue, so Teresa emphasized theoretical teaching, making her approach more academic.
"Olica, you should rest as well. I want to be alone for a while," Ryan then gestured for the dark elf to leave. Olica was clearly surprised by Ryan's request, but she complied nonetheless.
Now, only Ryan and the squires responsible for clearing the table remained in the tent. These squires were the second or third sons of famous knight families from across Bretonnia, sent to serve Ryan after he became Duke of Mousilon and heir to the throne. It was a common practice for noble families to send their sons to serve under a future king, just as Ryan planned to send his own son to serve under Calard for a few months every year to learn chivalry and combat skills.
Thinking of his son and wife, Ryan's stern expression softened with a smile. He had received two letters from Sulia since the war began. She mainly reported on the management of their lands and expressed hope for his victorious return. The rest of the letters mentioned their son, Devonshire, who had been spending time with his uncle, Angron. The boy had grown strong from drinking milk and eating beef with his uncle, but Sulia's only request was that Angron not teach Devonshire to wield an axe. She preferred him to use a sword or hammer instead, and Angron had readily agreed.
Sulia was a good mother, a good wife, and an excellent queen. Ryan took out one of her letters again, and a warm smile crossed his face.
If Ryan's identity as a Grey Knight Primarch was ignored, his marriage to Sulia would seem like him marrying up. He had little choice, as marrying into one of the Twelve Founding Grail Knight families was one of the few ways to reach the top of Bretonnia's power structure. Without this marriage, he wouldn't have been eligible to even compete for the throne, let alone launch a campaign to reclaim Mousilon.
After some thought, Ryan called out, "Someone, bring Baron Juan and Bertrand, the commander of the Old Guard."
"Yes!" a servant replied loudly. A few minutes later, Bertrand and Juan arrived. Juan was energetic, while Bertrand appeared slightly tipsy, his beard still bearing traces of food. Ryan knew Bertrand had been drinking; the Old Guard commander liked to indulge in a couple of dwarven ales after dinner, which was a well-known habit.
"My lord?" Juan asked curiously. Ryan had mentioned he planned to pray to the Lady of the Lake tonight, so why had he called them?
"Sit down. I need to ask you something," Ryan said. "How have things been in the camp? Have there been any disputes?"
Juan and Bertrand exchanged glances. Juan, being younger and more impulsive, was about to speak when Bertrand gave him a look, causing him to close his mouth.
Ryan narrowed his eyes, sensing something was amiss. He turned to Bertrand. He knew Juan, Bertrand, and others like Lopus and Olivier naturally formed a group of outsiders.
"My lord, are you referring to the situation with the Independent Regiment?" Bertrand asked respectfully. The Old Guard commander held a high position among Ryan's subordinates. Even the knights respected him, partly because he was a native Bretonnian, but also because Ryan favored him and he was quite capable.
"That's right. I don't believe that after the incident with Blackheart Rep, the knights wouldn't react. Yet things have been too quiet," Ryan frowned.
"Well… there have been some issues," Bertrand admitted. "A few errant knights tried to provoke the pistol cavalry of the Independent Regiment. There were also disputes about camp placements, but Blackheart Rep has been strict with his men, preferring to endure some losses rather than escalate the conflict. Some knights were ready to provoke further, but Sir Anthelm and Lord Federmond intervened, calming things down. So, for now, we have peace." Bertrand paused before continuing. "However, I've noticed the quartermaster has been assigning old supplies and substandard rations to the Independent Regiment."
"Hmm… I see. It seems both sides are holding back for now," Ryan nodded slowly. "But this can't continue. I'll need to groom a new representative."
"My lord, their behavior is unjust! Wasn't your ruling fair? Didn't you uphold the principles of chivalry? Why do they keep hounding Blackheart Rep?" Juan finally spoke up, his anger evident. "And why would you consider replacing Blackheart Rep?"
The atmosphere in the tent grew tense.
"Sir Juan! The king is protecting Blackheart Rep!" Bertrand quickly interjected, his well-groomed mustache now slightly disheveled. "Don't be impulsive. This is more complicated than you realize."
Ryan looked at Juan, who met his gaze head-on. After a moment, the king smiled. "Do you believe that if I don't replace Blackheart Rep, it would be as good as signing his death warrant? He has offended the entire knightly class, including you, Juan-Carlos Watcher of the Sun."
"I would never do such a thing!"
"Your father, Rubio, told me that when you were twelve, you accidentally killed a girl outside the farm at Marguerite while riding a horse," Ryan's voice remained calm. "Now, tell me why you're still alive and standing here? Tell me, my baron."
The young knight's face flushed with embarrassment.
"It's easy for outsiders to criticize. They can just oppose whatever they dislike because they won't suffer the consequences," Ryan continued, his voice growing colder and louder. "But I can't! I'm the king! I'm the Knight King! I'm their leader, their ruler!!!"
"Bretonnia cannot do without me!"
"For more than a decade, I've quelled internal and external threats to the kingdom. I've reformed taxes, commerce, and military affairs. I've fought endless wars, both domestic and foreign. The Red Duke, Kemmler, Moussillon, Egil-Red-Eye— I've led the armies against them all! The lost city of Mousilon, it was restored by my hand! Now, I lead the Grand Expedition to the Badlands, to Eight Peaks. I bring them benefits, real, tangible benefits. That's why the dukes have sent me their finest troops!"
"So if I want to protect Blackheart Rep, I can. If I want to punish him, I can do that too!" Ryan stood up, his face filled with restrained anger. "Because all the knights know that the kingdom cannot survive without me!"
The tent fell silent. Juan's face alternated between red and white, while Bertrand sighed softly.
"But I also need the knightly nobility!" Ryan continued, veins bulging on his forehead as he stood in front of Juan. "I need them to fight for me. I need their support for my rule. I need them to implement my reforms. Without them, what am I to do? Personally visit every village to enforce my policies? Lead an expedition to Eight Peaks with no army?"
"No system can function without its executors. These knightly nobles are my executors! And I am their greatest representative! I must appease them. I have to protect Blackheart Rep, but I also have to keep the knights content!"
"Now Blackheart Rep has offended them. He's angered them completely. Yes, he may not have been wrong, but under these circumstances, keeping him as our representative would be disastrous! If I want to save Blackheart Rep, I have to replace him with a new representative. Otherwise, his fate is clear."
"Blackheart Rep no longer holds much value for us. I have to protect him, or else I would be seen as compromising our chivalric values. But I also have to replace him, or else the army will become divided. Do you understand now?"
"...I've been too naive, my lord. I oversimplified the issue," Juan finally admitted, kneeling on one knee and sincerely acknowledging his mistake.
"..." Bertrand knelt as well, his body drenched in sweat. He realized that he had been unknowingly overwhelmed by Ryan's authority. In front of him stood not just a leader but a formidable king, a true hero.
Ryan's long speech had finally relieved some of the pent-up frustration in his heart. He was beginning to understand why Richard had always been so hesitant, so cautious in handling every issue, why Ryan had once thought him indecisive. Only after becoming king himself did he realize the constraints of power.
In politics, you can sin, but you cannot err.
The weight of the crown pressed heavily on Ryan's shoulders, making it hard for him to breathe.
As he contemplated this, Ryan suddenly felt a summoning. He waved his hand. "Juan, Bertrand, you can leave now. Remember, keep the Sun Knights and the Old Guard out of this."
"Yes, my lord." Juan and Bertrand withdrew, leaving Ryan alone in the tent. He closed the entrance, signaling that he was about to pray.
The next moment, the bright light of the Lake God filled the tent, illuminating it with pure, white brilliance. The cold air in the tent was replaced by the warm, powerful presence of the goddess. The Lady of the Lake appeared from the mist and divine light.
Today, the goddess wore a flowing white lantern-sleeved silk gown that rippled like waves, her golden hair cascading down to her ankles, moving as though stirred by an unseen wind. A wreath of vibrant irises crowned her head, and a thin ribbon accentuated her graceful figure. Her face, flawless and beautiful, radiated warmth. Beneath her gown, a pair of slender legs clad in sheer black stockings ended in delicate, silver-pearl high heels. A platinum ankle chain adorned her foot, making her even more captivating. In her hand, she held a golden chalice as she descended, and seeing no one else present, she pressed herself against Ryan's back.
The powerful sensation from her presence weighed heavily on Ryan, yet it also relieved some of his internal pressure. The Lady of the Lake wrapped her arms gently around his neck. "My champion, you seem deeply troubled."
"I can handle it, my Lady," Ryan's expression softened as he shook his head. "I've made the necessary arrangements."
"And I have always trusted you," the Lady smiled, nodding. She didn't dwell on the matter further, trusting Ryan to manage it. "I heard you were calling for me?"
"I hadn't yet called for you, and here you are," Ryan smiled as he turned to embrace the goddess, letting her sit on his lap. "Lilith, you've been spying on me again."
"It's always so interesting," the Lady of the Lake giggled. "You always manage to surprise me, my champion, in more ways than one."
Ryan could only chuckle helplessly. He inhaled the fragrance of irises from the goddess and felt her fingers playing with his long black hair. Just as he was about to tell her about the prophecy, she placed a finger on his lips. "I know everything, Ryan. I know it all."
"Prophecy isn't my area of expertise," Ryan sighed. "This expedition is already incredibly difficult. So, who is the Huntress? Who is the Blood Queen? What does Morrslieb's curse symbolize?"
"Don't worry, my champion. Let's analyze this step by step," she said softly.
"Alright."
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