Chapter 349: Echoes of Empire and a Father’s Plea

Rememver didn’t need to delve deeply; he saw it the moment he considered the Republic.

The Republic preached freedom and equality, proclaiming sovereignty belonged to the people. Yet, Rememver instantly saw the inherent contradiction: power remained firmly in the hands of its leader. The leader justified this by claiming it necessary to protect the nation and its people, ensuring equal distribution of everything. But in truth, this leader wielded power no differently—perhaps even more so—than the kings of other kingdoms.

“……Anyway.”

Not that it was his concern.

Whatever thoughts or schemes that Republic’s leader harbored were of no concern to him. Instead of elaborating further on the Republic, Rememver shifted the topic to another nation.

“The Republic isn’t the only nation worth noting, however.”

There were still many other tales to tell.

“After the Empire crumbled, the Kingdom of Ardal rose from its ashes. As you might guess from the name, it was founded by ‘that’ Chancellor Ardal. Outwardly, it appeared to be a kingdom separate from the Empire. But upon closer inspection, it seemed more like a successor state. They likely concealed this due to the… delicate situation.”

***

Though no one seemed to start it intentionally, rumors of Deon Hart’s death began to circulate.

Lindel Riner, upon hearing this, quietly thought of his brother—the steadfast knight known as ‘Sir Lien’ for most of his adult life.

And with that thought came another memory: Deon Hart, who had once tried to kill him but ultimately spared his life.

“Deon Hart… dead?”

A bitter chuckle escaped him.

Back then, the man seemed to mistake him for Lien. Instead of striking his neck, he plunged his weapon into the ground beside him and murmured her name, his face contorted with near tears.

He hadn’t had time to dwell on it then, but it seemed that moment had left a deep impression.

‘…This should be good news.’

He should be rejoicing.

Yet, he found himself unable to feel truly happy. Realizing his own conflicted emotions, Lindel offered a wry smile.

As the heavy silence stretched, Ardal, who had been writing on paper, glanced up at him.

“You seem troubled. Are you alright?”

“…I’m fine.”

Of course he was fine.

After all, wasn’t the man who killed his brother dead? His conflicted feelings stemmed from remembering the devastation on Deon Hart’s face that day, a clear indication of his affection for Lien. But those feelings were separate from whether he was truly “alright” or not.

…But he didn’t want to dwell on this topic any longer. Lindel steered the conversation in a different direction.

“More importantly,” Lindel continued, “are you truly intending to revive the Empire? Wouldn’t it be simpler and cleaner to start fresh as the first king of a new kingdom?”

Chancellor—no, King Ardal—had declared his intention to establish this kingdom as the successor to the Empire.

Honestly, it was a baffling choice. If the Empire had been beloved by its people, perhaps it would make sense. But its final act was a rebellion. Public sentiment had been at its lowest. Why deliberately choose such a disadvantageous path?

But Ardal, flipping over a document already dense with black writing, answered calmly.

“The last Emperor, who willingly offered his own body to me, had only one request: to ensure the records of Eudoardo Deserte were preserved in history.”

“But for that, you don’t need to revive the Empire!”

“A nation’s own history is always valued more than that of another.”

…

“Especially with the flames of war threatening to consume countless historical records, who would bother preserving the history of other nations?”

Even as he spoke, his hand continued to fill the blank paper with writing. Ardal calmly presented his reasoning against the backdrop of Lindel’s silence.

“The Kingdom of Ardal, as the successor to the Empire, will ensure the records of Eudoardo Deserte, its first Emperor, are never forgotten or lost.”

Furthermore, though unrequested, he would also preserve the records of Elpidius Deserth, the Empire’s second and final Emperor.

These records would vividly depict how a man who could have been a wise ruler devolved into a tyrant and met his downfall—a valuable cautionary tale.

“Of course, I’m aware that openly declaring ourselves successors to the Empire would invite backlash. That’s why we haven’t made it public.”

…

“We will take measures to keep this knowledge confined to key figures, such as royalty.”

Lindel offered no further objection, seemingly convinced. Ardal then flipped over the document, now filled with records.

*Flip* – Another page turned.

…

[…Investigation revealed the earliest records concerning the Empire of Ardal were penned by its first king, Ardal himself.]

[What follows is an excerpt from the original text.]

[Ardal is the ‘Later Empire,’ a nation succeeding the ‘Empire.’ Therefore, these records begin with the ‘Empire,’ not ‘Ardal’.]

[First Chapter: Eudoardo Deserte]

[At the very end, there stood an Emperor who faced disaster alone.]

***

“…And I imagine this is what you’re most curious about.”

A faint smile touched Rememver’s lips, as if he were recalling familiar faces. His voice, gentle as spring sunshine, continued.

“The Lofty Knights are now working as mercenaries. In fact, they’re even operating under the name ‘Lofty Mercenary Company.’”

***

As war truly erupted in the Human Realm, the mercenary business boomed.

From simple errands, escorts, and monster disposal—commonplace before the mercenary business truly flourished—to major commissions like battlefield participation, now their bread and butter.

The mercenary guild was always bustling with people accepting and assigning commissions. Into this throng, someone new stepped through the door.

*Creak* – The old door opened hesitantly.

“Excuse me.”

A voice, soft and aged, that was clearly not a mercenary’s.

Older mercenaries typically had rough voices, so this must be a client. Mercenaries weren’t exactly known for politeness like “Excuse me.” Drawn by the prospect of a lucrative commission, the mercenaries lounging in the guild turned toward the sound.

Sure enough, a frail old man, seemingly unsuited for combat, came into view. And beside him, clinging to his leg, was a baby, perhaps three or four years old.

‘…A baby?’

As confusion flickered in their eyes, the old man, sensing their reaction, hesitantly opened his mouth.

“I came to ask a favor…”

“…Sir, with all due respect, this is a mercenary guild. We deal in ‘commissions’ for coin, not ‘favors’…”

“Ah… If you grant my favor, I will give you my entire fortune.”

…!

Entire fortune!

The old man’s complexion was wan, as if death was near. Yet, the baby beside him had rosy cheeks, and both were dressed in fine, clean clothes. Their bearing hinted at a life of comfort, suggesting his “entire fortune” wouldn’t be a trivial sum.

The mercenaries’ eyes sharpened. Some even leaned forward, abandoning their relaxed postures, their full attention now on the old man.

Their initial bewilderment quickly faded. Realizing they had a potentially lucrative client, a guild employee emerged from behind the counter, plastering on a professional smile.

“If you’re offering payment, sir, then it’s a commission indeed. What is it you wish to commission? If it’s too sensitive to discuss in the open, we can move to a private room…”

“Ah, no. That won’t be necessary. It’s just… what I’m asking is…”

His life force was fading by the minute; he couldn’t afford to waste time.

The old man lowered his gaze to the baby clutching his pants leg. Bitterness and despair clouded his eyes as he met the innocent child’s gaze.

“I… I want you to raise this child until he comes of age.”

“…Pardon?”

“When he comes of age, you can let him go, or raise him as a mercenary, use him as an employee… It doesn’t matter. Until he’s grown, I want to entrust this child to your ‘mercenary guild.’”

Had his health been better, he wouldn’t be asking to entrust the child to them. But it was unavoidable. The old man, a former court physician of the Imperial Palace, instinctively knew his lifespan was rapidly dwindling.

‘It’s just an old body that’s lived its life anyway. Death itself isn’t regrettable, but…’

What would become of the child, left all alone after he died?

‘Who would care for this poor child?’

There was no one else he could entrust the child to.

Entrusting him to ordinary folk would only burden their already difficult lives. Besides, they wouldn’t be able to protect the child from the inevitable flames of war.

Considering the world to come, a guardian needed to be someone with enough martial prowess to survive and protect the child.

All he possessed was the money he’d earned serving at the Imperial Palace. After much deliberation, the old man had sought out the mercenary guild.

…But it seemed it was still impossible.

A troubled look flickered across the employee’s face. Not missing this, the old man immediately resigned himself to rejection.

‘Of course… Raising a child wasn’t something one could easily agree to on a whim.’

Children demanded constant attention, a heavy responsibility. It wasn’t a short-term favor; he was asking them to raise the child until adulthood. Rejection was inevitable.

The room erupted in mocking laughter from the mercenaries.

“The old geezer’s gone senile! Even if you’re desperate to get rid of the brat, why come to a mercenary guild?”

“Hey, old timer! You mentioned your ‘entire fortune’—how much are we talking? Depending on the sum, I might just take the kid off your hands!”

“What? Are you serious? Kids are baggage! You won’t be able to take on commissions freely!”

“So what? If the payout’s enough to retire on, it’s a win-win! And if not… well, if the kid’s too much trouble, we can always dump him later…”

“G-Grandfather…”

The child, already frightened by the tense atmosphere, finally burst into tears. As the old man frantically tried to comfort him, a barrage of jeering comments rained down—how noisy it was, how brats were always a nuisance.

And just as their taunts crossed a line…

“Silence Magic.”

“…Huh? Gack!”

“Silence.”

A man suddenly appeared and struck the loudest heckler in the Adam’s apple.

Dumbfounded by this absurd turn of events, everyone froze. Then, others, who seemed to be the man’s comrades, began to deal with those who had uttered the offensive remarks.

“Sleep Magic. Slumber!”

“Physical Magic. Repent!”

It was… a rather unorthodox method.

That was just a neck chop to knock someone out cold. And how was slamming someone’s face into a table “repentance”? And “Physical Magic,” no less.

Bemused whispers rippled through the room. But they quickly died down when the group, having finished their… cleanup, scanned the room with a menacing gaze.

Silence descended.

“Cough, cough! Which crazy bastard… Hrk!”

“I’m the crazy bastard, you bastard.”

The man who belatedly realized who had struck his Adam’s apple flinched, his gaze dropping. His murderous glare and savage growl vanished as if they’d never existed.

Not only that, but despite causing such a ruckus within the mercenary guild, no one dared to intervene. It was understandable.

Because they were, after all, madmen.

‘Mad dogs…’

‘The Mad Dog Mercenary Company…’

Their official name was the ‘Lofty Mercenary Company.’

They were infamous for their explosive temper and violent reactions, caring little for money or anything else. Their skills were formidable. Those foolish enough to challenge them were left battered and broken. Rumor had it that even assassination attempts failed; they’d reappear unscathed the next day, while the clients who issued the commissions vanished without a trace. This terrifying reputation had effectively stopped anyone from hiring them for assassinations.

“Hm! Much quieter now.”

Pleased with the sudden silence, the men who had caused the commotion approached the old man, who had been the target of mockery moments before.

Amidst the baby’s loud cries, Milan, leader of the mercenary company, stood before the old man, who clutched the child protectively, his eyes wary. Milan smirked.

“Old man, how about we raise the kid?”

“What… what do you mean?”

“We’re confident we can raise him safely. We’ll cherish him and raise him well until he’s a man, never abandoning him.”

“Yeah! With a face like that, we couldn’t abandon him even if we wanted to!”

After acting like complete lunatics just moments ago… what were they thinking?

The bizarre, violent scene from moments ago was still fresh in his mind. Could they be after his “entire fortune”? The old man gently patted the child’s back, his gaze cautious yet sharp.

“May I ask… your reasons?”

The answer came from Kleter, the vice-captain, who stood a half-step behind Milan.

“We lost our precious son, you see.”

…

“The emptiness… it’s too much. We thought… maybe raising a new child might help.”

We need to live, after all.

“We need a reason to live.”