Leorino’s face couldn’t lie. He only stared at Gravis in silence, with a pitiful, pained look on his face.
“Fear not. Our purpose is to destroy the Zwelf royal family, the root of all evil. What form of rule we take will depend on future discussions, but we will take responsibility for the invasion. This is the last time we will make the people of those lands suffer. We will not let them starve any longer.”
There was reason in Gravis’s voice, and he was clearly thinking of the people of Zwelf. That was enough. Leorino relaxed his shoulders, realizing that he had nothing more to add.
“We have also detained a secret messenger sent to the Marquis of Lagarea by Vandarren’s close associate, General Zberav.”
Leorino looked up. Gravis nodded.
“It must be because we captured Smirnov. It seems that now he had to send his message by more traditional means.”
“So that means…”
“Yes. We have strong evidence of betrayal, although it would be ideal if Lagarea’s name was on it. Now we can denounce him. We have the secret messenger, Smirnov, and letters from Zberav. We have everything we need.”
Gravis cupped Leorino’s cheeks between his hands.
“Soon, Leorino.”
After crossing the border of the Baedeker Mountains, the Fanoren army kicked up the slush of earth and melting snow and drove back the Zwelf army without fail.
The capital of Zwelf was only a few days away.
In the innermost recesses of his palace, King Vandarren of Zwelf was furious with his entourage, upset that nothing was going his way.
“Make Gdaniraque compensate us for not fulfilling our contract! Do you have any idea how much money we’ve wasted on them?!”
“Gdaniraque has lost half its troops, and our country has lost half its territory! We can no longer rely on them!”
“Fine, you think of some way to protect me! As long as the blood of the royal family survives, we can take back our lands when the time is right!”
“Your Majesty…you are truly…”
“What, you think it’s my fault?! You are here to serve the royal family!”
The people of Zwelf still remained in the capital.
Vandarren could accept his people being trampled by the armies of other countries, only to flee himself? He had once been disinherited; perhaps they should have expected this when he usurped the throne again by killing the young king.
“…The people are starving and our treasury is empty. Countless soldiers died in the war. We have no more weapons to defend the crown!”
“Which is exactly why we take what we need from others! Why is there such a difference between our country and Fanoren, when we are neighbors?! It is Fanoren that should be destroyed for monopolizing such fertile lands!”
The entourage despaired at Vandarren’s outrageous statement.
The vengeful king held on to the impossible fantasy of destroying Fanoren and making it his own. To realize this fantasy, he continued to funnel the country’s funds to Gdaniraque, even as he starved his own people.
The aides finally saw the truth.
Their kingdom was not poor because the lands were barren. The destruction of the country had been looming over them since the moment they had installed as king a man who had no sense of honor or compassion as a ruler.
His entourage trembled with the fear of impending doom.
That night, in the innermost recesses of the palace, King Vandarren lay in terror, his cheek resting on the breast of his favorite concubine.
General Zberav, now the only one loyal to the king, knelt and advised:
“I will devote the remainder of our forces to the Fanoren army. In the meantime, please flee to safety, Your Majesty.”
“Y-yes… Zberav, you are a loyal man and my only ally.”
“I have also asked him to ensure your safety.”
The king lifted his head from his concubine’s breast.
“The man with the uncanny powers who was in charge of communicating with you-know-who has not appeared recently, has he?”
“I have secretly dispatched a messenger, though it goes against the promise I made to Lagarea. Until the time is right, please take refuge in your palace. We should receive some news from him soon.”
The king of Zwelf’s bloated face glowed with hope.
At that moment, the shadow of a man appeared out of nowhere, visible through the thin decorative curtain. The shadow spoke to the king.
“I have news from Fanoren.”
At that moment, Vandarren thought that Smirnov, the liaison, had returned.
“Oh! …We were just talking about you!”
King Vandarren beamed with delight. But Zberav paled instead.
“No, Your Majesty… That is not Smirnov’s voice!”
Just as Zberav warned the king, the curtain was lifted and three men suddenly appeared.
They pointed their blades at the throats of the pair.
The concubine screamed and fell off the settee. A red-haired invader immediately seized her throat with his fingers, knocking her unconscious.
“Eeek!”
“…! Y-You are…!”
The man holding the blade to the King of Zwelf’s neck stood on the settee and looked down at the king arrogantly.
“We meet again, Vandarren. It’s been nineteen years.”
King Vandarren looked up at the man with shock in his eyes.
He recognized his impossibly flawless beauty and cold, starry-sky eyes.
When he remembered who the man was, Vandarren began to tremble violently.
Of course. The man who had been at the trial after his defeat nineteen years ago.
“Gravis Adolphe Fanoren…”
The man nodded.
“That’s right. I have come for your head to pay for the war nineteen years ago, and to end this pointless war.”
Vandarren screamed and, like the concubine before him, rolled off the settee.
The king of Zwelf tried to flee the scene, but Gravis stepped on his back. Vandarren let out a yelp as he was pressed to the ground.
Leaning his weight onto Vandarren’s back, Gravis whispered to the king: “Rest assured. The people of Zwelf will suffer no more… Your life will redeem them.”
There was nothing kinglike about the man. Vandarren wailed pathetically.
The men of Fanoren felt a sense of emptiness, realizing this was the man who had declared war on them twice.
Gravis let out a small sigh and lifted his foot from the man’s back.
“…I won’t waste my blade on him.”
Relieved to be alive, the king of Zwelf tried to crawl away, weeping and drooling.
“Lucas.”
Gravis called the lieutenant general’s name.
“Yes, sir.”
The next moment, Vandarren’s head was easily separated from his torso by the lionlike man’s greatsword.
Zberav could only stare in dismay at the scene. The man who had beheaded the king with his greatsword turned the corpse with his blade to avoid the blood.
The general murmured in a weary tone, “This man’s head…is not enough to make up for the lives of Ionia and the soldiers who died in the war, is it?”
“I suppose not… It’s a shame. Then this one is next.”
The lionlike man once again held his sword against Zberav, flashing the blood-soaked tip of his blade.
From his distinctive appearance, Zberav knew that the man holding the sword to his flesh was the famously valiant Lieutenant General Brandt.
“What do we do with him?”
“Behead him.”
Zberav paled at the general’s answer.
“This man is effectively the war criminal who fueled that pig’s ambition, and the one who joined forces with our country’s traitors to start this war.”
“I can’t say it feels good to take the head of a man who offers no resistance, but if their heads mark the end of this foolish war, perhaps there’s a point to wetting my sword.”
If the sword at his throat was drawn back, it would be over. As Zberav closed his eyes, ready for the end, a red-haired man called out from behind him.
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t we let him live?”
“Hah? Dirk, I know you must be very proud of yourself for capturing that secret messenger on your own, but—”
“But he mentioned the traitor’s name. He is an irreplaceable living witness, even more unimpeachable than the messenger.”
The two men exchanged glances at the adjutant’s suggestion.
“Well, if we take that pig’s head and tie this man up and expose them both to the soldiers, the royal capital will fall with nearly no bloodshed.”
“Not a bad idea. But only if the man tells us everything.”
The men nodded.
“You can do as you please, Dirk.”
With the permission of his superiors, the redhead peered into Zberav’s face.
“General Zberav, what do you say? If you accept our terms, we will spare your life and the lives of all the women you’ve ever cared about.”
Hearing the terms, Zberav nodded in humiliation and anguish.
The next day, true to Lucas’s words, the Zwelf army lost all will to fight when they saw the general who had been taken prisoner and the head of King Vandarren of Zwelf.
When the Kingdom of Fanoren urged them to surrender, the soldiers abandoned their swords and gave up the royal capital without resistance.
On that day, the Kingdom of Zwelf disappeared from the map of the Agalean continent.