The King of the Orcs already exists.
A monster who unified thirty out of the countless scattered Orc tribes on the continent and established a single nation.
“Orc Lord, Krakta. You know of him too, don’t you?”
I thought of that monster who reigns over the Orc Kingdom, ‘Titan.’
It is the land of the wildest warriors on the continent, a country of survival of the fittest.
There, there is a very unique system.
No, that one system alone is Titan’s only law and rule.
[The strongest Orc rules as king.]
Among all the Orcs gathered under the Red Banner of Titan, not one failed to dream of kingship.
There was no end to the ones sharpening their blades, aiming to slay the king and seize the King’s Throne.
It was truly both a sanctuary and a battlefield for warriors.
I told Huger about the ruler of that battlefield—Krukratri.
“Krakta, Krakta… I’ve heard plenty about his reputation. To cross blades with him has always been my life’s wish.”
Huger laughed as he stroked his chin.
His energy surged, almost pricking my skin, as if just the thought alone thrilled him.
At times like this, you really knew an Orc was an Orc.
“If you defeat the king in battle, you become king; if you lose, you die.”
I warned him, as he showed not even a trace of tension.
Orc Lord Krakta is truly a monster.
Even the Orcs grinding their blades under him, eager to claim the throne, could not be underestimated.
If not for the suffocating pressure of Battenverke’s presence, Titan might have turned the Northern Continent into a sea of blood long ago.
“Chwik! So, you intend to turn even the Orcs into followers of Hor, I see.”
The sharp Huger had already caught onto my intentions.
I nodded in response to his question.
Titan was too tempting to simply leave alone.
The land of warriors famed for their valor—second to none.
If the Hor Church could gain a strong foothold there, it would be as if I had an army of thousands at my back.
“Someday, I will need the power of the Orcs. But as rough as their temperament is, it’s not easy to befriend them.”
“Except for rare cases like you, Huger,” I added.
“If you become the king of Titan, everything will become much easier.”
At Riot Castle, humans and elves had begun to forge a harmony of their own.
While the bond between the two races grew firm, I was preparing the groundwork for reconciliation with the Orcs.
Of course, as always, the connecting link was the Hor Church, and there was no one more fitting to fill that role than Huger.
“Chwik! Well now, it seems Hor is guiding me down the path of kingship. I must follow, then.”
With a playful gesture, Huger put his hands together and grinned.
“If I return as king, maybe even Mary will see me differently.”
“I don’t think that has anything to do with becoming king or not…”
Watching Huger rattle off his nonsense, a faint sense of unease crept in.
You’re not actually planning to challenge the king the moment you reach Titan, are you?”
“And why not? No matter who my opponent is, if their head gets split, they die. My merciless axe makes no exceptions.”
His boisterous reply made me rub my forehead.
He’s right.
Split heads all die.
The problem is, whose head will be split—his or the opponent’s? No one knows.
“If you charge in without thinking, you’ll just end up dead.”
No matter how skilled Huger is, he’s not even a match for one of Titan’s generals, let alone the king.
Of course, that’s only as he is now.
“You’ll understand when you see it yourself. Learn much, and topple many there—grow strong. At the end of that path is the throne.”
Huger has natural talent and outstanding intuition.
If he is tempered enough in Titan, this guy has what it takes to become king.
It was as close to certainty as could be.
Huger, who had been looking into my eyes, grinned broadly.
“Tsk, those are eyes that trust me without a shred of doubt.”
He repeated my suggestion to become king several times over.
“Just keep it in mind for now.”
“Chwik, got it.”
It’s not as if he’ll become king right away, or depart for Titan immediately.
Right now, Riot Castle is in dire need of every bit of manpower it can get.
So for the time being, I had him focus on his role as a watchman.
When the day comes that he leaves, it will only be after the strength of Riot Castle is stabilized.
***
From the next day onward, meetings continued non-stop.
As the leaders exchanged opinions with sharp faces, the air quickly heated up.
“The gap between the first and second generations is even worse than we thought. If this continues, from the fourth generation onward, we won’t be able to avoid serious losses!”
“I agree. Before long, it will be unavoidable for us to seek support from neighboring territories. I believe it wise to send envoys before the situation becomes dire.”
Avart and the head of the Linne Family voiced their arguments.
“Even with support, not all problems will be solved!”
To this, the Captain of the Knights of the Royal Guard, Count Gastain, countered.
“Didn’t you say you would stabilize Baren’s situation after this plague? But seeking aid from nearby territories only eats away at Baren’s resources.”
He was more concerned about Baren than Riot Castle.
War by nature demands massive resources, costs, and casualties.
The larger the force involved, the greater the burden on Baren’s foundation.
“In other words, the bigger Riot Castle grows to confront the Plague Monster, the more Baren’s base is shaken.”
“We’re not too late yet. The best course is to eliminate the source of the plague as quickly as possible!”
Count Gastain emphasized his point.
It was a reasonable argument for a captain of the Knights of the Royal Guard.
At that moment, the leadership of the Union spoke.
“Trying to forcefully break the Plague Castle will also cause great damage. The magicians are just waiting to strike, and they’ll blame us for every loss they suffer!”
A perfect merry-go-round.
As I looked around the meeting room, where heated debate continued to spiral, I finally opened my mouth.
“It seems best to reinforce our forces.”
Honestly, I felt it was still a bit early for that.
Riot Castle’s influence hadn’t yet fully reached the northern territories through the Hor Church.
But it was much better than endlessly bickering to no end.
“Saint!”
Count Gastain and the royal officers looked grim.
They asked me to consider not just this place, but Baren’s overall situation as well.
“I have considered it fully. That’s precisely why I say this.”
I looked at them and spoke.
“We all know that the Hor Church is spreading throughout Baren.”
I recalled the Trantis Marquess, whom I had once thought to be a mere devout follower.
And I considered what sort of plans the Marquess and the royal family’s members were devising.
“The royal family intends to stabilize their troubled politics through the Hor Church. We need only trust them and focus on stopping this plague.”
Trust the royal family.
Only then did Count Gastain and the officers finally let down their guard.
We took a brief break before resuming the meeting.
Now that it had been decided to request aid, there were no further disputes.
As the lengthy meeting dragged on, I turned and glanced out the window.
The blue sky—one corner was ominously dark.
It was a sign that the Plague Monsters would soon descend.
“They really don’t tire of attacking, do they?”
***
After becoming the Saint of the South, Allan moved busily.
After returning with Mar Garten to the main house of the Marks Family, he assembled 200 of the family’s elite magicians.
Even that wasn’t enough; he also led 500 units of the Magical Armor Corps, the pride of the family.
Urrrr—
A grand procession continued down the road.
The emblem sewn onto the magicians’ robes gleamed as it caught the light.
“What’s the status of the Magic Union?”
“Eight thousand magicians have been gathered from each kingdom and family. The Union’s base is fortified, but the monsters’ curse is devouring the barriers.”
Allan’s brow furrowed.
The magician making the report continued.
“From what we know, the curse is much like a plague. Just being nearby rots everything black.”
“…So it’s a plague.”
Allan recalled the sacred voice he’d once heard.
『Gather the elites of Marks, and go to the plains where the plague runs rampant.』
『Do not let the red pestilence invade the southern lands.』
『By that, My name will echo across every land.』
Just recalling it made his heart beat faster.
He wanted nothing more than to receive another revelation, to bathe again in that light.
Such feelings were wholly unfamiliar to Allan.
“Am I going mad?”
Allan wiped his face and shut the carriage window.
Yet even so, the voice of god seemed to tickle his ears.
『I bestow upon you the title, Saint of the South.』
Saint of the South.
A title he’d recited to himself hundreds of times already.
Like a lovesick adolescent, Allan hadn’t gone a day without thinking of god since that moment.
He no longer minded it at all.
In fact, being given the title of Saint by god filled him with almost unbearable pride.
Before long, he collected his expression and let out a deep breath.
“The Saint of the North has already established the Hor Church’s power in full.”
Just then, a girl’s voice spoke up beside him.
It was Mar Garten’s spiritual body, the World Tree.
“They say there’s already a kingdom that fully accepted the Hor Church.”
Allan’s brow twitched at her suggestive tone.
“Shut your mouth. How many times are you going to say the same thing?”
A chill in his voice made the air in the carriage tremble.
Even so, Mar Garten kept digging at Allan’s nerves.
“Hor must be so fond of the Saint of the North. He’s so competent, too.”
Grit—
Allan ground his teeth.
The title of Saint of the North had become his rival.
No, by now, it was practically his archnemesis.
“What’s so great about a single kingdom!”
Watching Allan lose his composure and shout, Mar Garten—Mar—sighed inwardly.
“Father. Is this really the right thing to do?”
The order passed down through the roots of Adelgarten—Hor’s command.
Mar followed the command faithfully: endlessly provoke Allan Marks.
But it was a deeply uncomfortable task.
It couldn’t be helped.
“If I can just win over more believers. Saint of the North? Ridiculous! I am the one and only Saint in this world…”
If anyone saw Allan like this—
That infamous, obsessive madness unique to the Marks Family, known since ancient times.
That wicked temperament was in full bloom now.
And it was all directed at the existence called god.
Unquenchable desire had bred obsession.
“I’ll have to mediate things well from the middle. I shouldn’t push him any further for now.”
If she messed up, he might unravel completely.
The Saint of the North and the Saint of the South.
What Richard wanted was not conflict, but competition.
Mar sighed once more.
She couldn’t help feeling that she’d been given a terribly difficult role.