Count Steven Boris was often called the 'Beloved Fool' by other nobles. As a ruler who truly loved his subjects, he often overlooked the transgressions of his vassals, even going as far as pardoning cases of corruption within his government.
Although people said that he was nothing but an injudicious ruler, his three sons knew that Daxton City wouldn't have grown to what it was today without the count's guidance.
Despite his shortcomings, Count Boris did everything in his power to transform the small city near the Forbidden Region into one of the major cities of the kingdom. During his younger years, the count even went on dozens of expeditions to the Forbidden Region. He spearheaded the creation of a detailed map of the territory, marking the dangerous regions infested with monsters. He also led the soldiers in clearing the monsters roaming near Daxton City, paving the way to a monster-free border and outskirts.
That's all in the past now, thought Count Boris.
Currently, he was lying on his bed, in his room in their estate in Daxton City. It had already been a year since he became completely bedridden. The poison, from his numerous expeditions to the Forbidden Region in his younger years, could no longer be suppressed by medicine.
Count Boris' muscular body had become skeletal, and his auburn hair had turned white. Black marks, resembling veins, crawled through his skin, covering most of his body.
"Marianne," said Count Boris. "Are you there?"
After his senses dulled, the count also started losing his eyesight. The healers said it was no longer feasible to halt the progression of the poison with medicine alone. According to them, the count only had a year left to live at most.
"Yes, Master," said Marianne, Count Boris' most-trusted maid. "I'm here."
"Water," said Count Boris.
Carefully, the maid pulled the count's body up and assisted him in sipping water. She also gave him painkillers and several other medicines.
These medicines were foul-tasting, most of them bitter, but the count, who was also starting to lose his sense of taste, thought they were no different from water. This was probably the only saving grace after he'd started losing his five senses.
"Haaa," said Count Boris. "I'm sorry, Marianne. To think that your master's last moments would be like this. How… pathetic."
Those words filled with mockery pierced Marianne's chest. As one of the vassals who'd been serving the master the longest, she knew how much effort Count Boris had made to make sure the citizens of Daxton lived in peace despite being located next to the Forbidden Region. Although he was flawed, he was a master who truly loved his people. It really pained her to see him in this state—helpless, hopeless, just waiting for death to loom closer.
"Tell me. How are my sons?" said Count Boris.
Marianne started reporting everything she knew regarding the count's sons and the current events in the kingdom.
After the count had fallen ill, Arzen Boris took over his role and started governing Daxton City and the three towns adjacent. Quickly, he uprooted the corrupt officials within the local government and publicly executed them. Furthermore, he also started pouring funds into the three towns near Daxton City. He started mobilizing his people to cultivate the lands in that territory, planning to turn it into an agricultural region in the near future.
Aris, on the other hand, had been officially chosen as the High Priest of the Water Temple.
Finally, Mokuva. With the weakest constitution among the three brothers, he remained cooped up in the library most of the time. He would frequently find himself lost in his books from day to midnight.
Marianne also informed the bedridden count that a new king had ascended the throne.
"Lord Arzen and Young Master Mokuva were summoned by the crown for the coronation ceremony," said Marianne. "Considering the distance between here and the capital, they should be back soon to fulfill their duties."
"Is that so?" said Count Boris. He smiled.
His sons had grown splendidly.
Mokuva had long surpassed him in all fields of knowledge—theocracy, arithmetic, geography, agriculture, finance, arts, history, and even ethics.
Arzen had long surpassed him in his ability to govern the territory and its people. Aris, on the other hand, had reached a really high standing on the temple. Even if he died now, Count Boris had no regrets.
"Now, if only one of them could give me a grandchild before I die."
Count Boris chuckled weakly. "It would be a perfect ending for this old man."
"Please don't say such things," said Marianne.
Count Boris laughed. "Come on now. We both know that this body has long reached its limit. There's no need to dwell on things outside our control, is there?"
Marianne sighed. "Young Master Aris would cry if he heard those words. You know that he entered the temple just to find a cure for the poison."
The reason Aris Boris had been so insistent in becoming a High Priest of the Water Temple was related to the poison eating away at his father. For years, Aris strived to reach the top of the ladder, going as far as aiming for the position of a High Priest. According to their intel, the Water Temple held rare and powerful elixirs capable of curing almost all poisons and curses. They'd heard that this was the same elixir used by the Royal Court Magician, Lady Ropianna, to halt the progression of King Alvis' curse.
Unfortunately, these elixirs were given only to the high-ranking members of the Water God's Temple.
"That fool," said Count Boris. "I told him to live his life the way he wants. I told him to stop worrying about this old man."
Count Boris' chest tightened. He coughed, making blood and spit fly about. Had he been able to move his limbs, he would have been writhing in pain by now.
"Master!"
Marianne hurriedly wiped the blood off the count's lips.
"The medicine! I'll get the medicine!"
"It's fine," said Count Boris in a weak, gasping voice. "They no longer work on this dying body anyway. Just help me change into clean clothes, will you?"
Tears started forming in the corner of Marianne's eyes. She nodded.
"Of course."
After Count Boris changed into clean clothes, the door opened and a man barged inside the room.
"Father!" shouted Mokuva, huffing. Judging by the beads of sweat on his face, he must have run all the way here.
Both Marianne and the count were surprised to see him. He wasn't supposed to return for another three days.
From his bag, Mokuva took out a small chest and opened it, revealing a vial. He grabbed the vial and knelt next to the count's bed.
"Father! I finally found it!" said Mokuva fervently. "The cure for the poison! We can finally cure you!"
Marianne looked at the vial in Mokuva's hands. Golden liquid sloshed inside the vial which was small enough for a child's hand to wrap around.
Although Marianne didn't know what it was, it looked incredibly precious.
"Father," said Mokuva excitedly. "You've heard the rumors of the so-called middle-grade potion being sold on the black market, right?"
Count Boris and Marianne's eyes widened.
Indeed, rumors regarding the potion had even reached their county.
According to the rumors circulating within the nobility, the middle-grade potion was so potent that it could even heal a man on the verge of death.
They'd tried using all means to acquire even a single vial of the potion, but to no avail. It was so rare that it was nearly impossible to acquire even if you offered massive amounts of wealth.
"D-Don't tell me," said Count Boris, his voice quavering. "T-This… this is that potion?"
Mokuva smiled. "I believe so, Father. Although King Lark didn't tell me the name of this potion, he told me that it's capable of bringing someone back into full health. A potion capable of curing all sorts of illnesses, as long as the patient is alive."
It sounded too good to be true, but rumors regarding the existence of such potion had already spread throughout the kingdom. Moreover, these words came from the king himself.
With trembling hands, Mokuva opened the vial, producing a small popping sound. Unlike the dozens of medicines Count Boris had tried throughout the years, this didn't have any distinct smell. There was no horrible scent, no fragrance.
For a moment, they wondered if this potion was the real thing.
"Here, Father," said Mokuva.
Carefully, he administered the potion. The golden liquid slowly dripped down the vial, flowed through the count's lips, and down his throat.
The first few seconds felt like an eternity. To everyone's amazement, the potion was unbelievably potent. At a pace visible to the human eye, the dark veins covering the count's body receded. His ashen hair regained its vibrant auburn color, and his skeletal limbs regained their lost muscle.
Color returned to his pallid skin. Indescribable strength started surging within him—like he could lift, toss, and crush boulders with just his bare fists. Moreover, colors returned to his world as he regained his lost eyesight.
"H-How do you feel, Father?" Mokuva finally asked.
Still stunned from the sudden turn of events, it took the count several seconds to utter a response. He mumbled, "It's… incredible. The last time I felt like this was when I first entered the military academy. Words can't fully describe this feeling!"
The count jumped from the bed and started stretching his body. Seeing him move so nimbly, the image of the dying count lying on the bed just moments ago seemed like a dream, a fleeting nightmare.
The potion was nothing short of a miracle.
Witnessing how potent it was, everyone in the room immediately understood how precious it was. This was not something money could buy.
The potion was so great that Mokuva wouldn't be surprised if the Great Empire waged war against the Kingdom of Lukas the moment they got wind of its existence.
Once again, Mokuva recalled King Lark's words. The new king assured him that the potion would work, that as long as the recipient wasn't dead, it would be capable of bringing him back to full health.
Mokuva slowly stood. He clenched his fists, and after steeling his resolve, he said, "I'm going back, Father."
Count Boris stopped stretching his now healthy body. He noticed the resolve within Mokuva's eyes. Wordlessly, he waited for Mokuva to continue.
"I promised His Majesty," said Mokuva. "I promised that the moment father was cured of the disease, I'd immediately head back to the capital and serve him."
Although Mokuva had the weakest constitution among the three brothers, he was the most stubborn. Now he'd made up his mind, Count Boris knew there was no way to convince him otherwise.
"How long will you be gone?" said Count Boris.
Honestly, the count wanted to hold a celebratory feast for this miracle.
But it would feel empty without this son of his.
"I don't know, Father," said Mokuva. "It might take a year, maybe a decade. I plan on serving King Lark until I'm no longer needed. At the very least, I want to pay back this debt."
It seemed his son would be gone for a long time. Count Boris suppressed a frown from forming on his face. He felt as though Mokuva had exchanged his time for his.
"Come here," said Count Boris. He moved closer and hugged his son tightly. "No matter what happens, this is a home you can return to.
Remember that."
It had been quite a long time since Mokuva felt the strong embrace of his father. He slowly bobbed his head. "Yes."
"Before you go, stop by the treasury," said Count Boris. "Don't worry about anything and take as much money as you want with you. Despite how I look, I'm still the wealthiest noble in the Southwestern Territory."
*** After parting ways with the count who'd just recovered, Mokuva made a small detour to the Town of Alia—one of the three towns adjacent to Daxton City. Where the Three Sisters Orphanage, the place the former captain of the royal knights was currently staying, was. Mokuva believed that his older brother, Arzen Boris, would still be here by the time he arrived.
And he was right.
"I knew you'd be coming, so I waited," said Arzen the moment Mokuva arrived at the orphanage's gate.
Standing beside Arzen was a tall man wearing commoners' clothes. As one of the famous warriors in the kingdom, Mokuva immediately recognized him as Symon, the former captain of the royal knights. The only son and disciple of Sword Saint Marozzo.
Mokuva's eyes moved to the captain's arms. He felt shivers crawl down his spine seeing both of them intact.
It was terrifying that the potion King Lark gave them was even capable of recovering lost limbs. It was nothing short of a divine potion.
"I see you've already given the captain the potion," said Mokuva.
"Isn't that a given?" said Arzen. "Little brother, how's Father?"
Although Arzen seldomly showed affection to their father, Mokuva knew he cared about him as much as he did.
"He's fully recovered," said Mokuva.
A small smile formed on Arzen's lip. "Is that so? That's good to hear.
Now that I've rooted out all the corrupt officials within Daxton City, even if that naïve father of ours returns to his position, there shouldn't be any problems."
Mokuva quickly understood.
"T-Then… you're?" said Mokuva.
"I'm coming with you," said Arzen. He looked at the man standing next to him. "No, to be precise—we are coming with you to the capital."
The tall man standing next to Arzen took those words as his cue.
Captain Symon placed a hand on his chest and lightly bowed his head.
"This humble soldier greets Lord Mokuva. I am Symon Marozzo. I am pleased to make acquaintance with the younger brother of my benefactor."
Mokuva felt uncomfortable seeing the captain acting this polite to him.
As a man well-versed in military tactics, he knew of how strong Captain Symon was. Before he lost his arm, this man easily ranked among the ten strongest people in the kingdom.
After losing nearly all of his men, along with his arm, Captain Symon resigned from his position as captain of the royal knights. The title no longer held any meaning to him, now most of the royal knights had been killed in the expedition.
Now, Symon was living his life here in the orphanage, helping with various mundane tasks like cooking, weeding, and taking care of the children. Every now and then, he would provide sword guidance to Arzen Boris. The former captain of the royal knights had planned to pass down the swordsmandship of his father to Arzen and live the rest of his life living here, atoning for his mistakes— Until this opportunity came.
"For a man who ran away from reality after losing his comrades, it sounds shameful to say this but," said Symon, "please allow me to accompany you and Lord Arzen to the capital."
Mokuva felt conflicted. Looking at Arzen, he realized that he felt the same. The two of them were no fools. After putting the pieces of the puzzle together—the news, the rumors—they came to the conclusion that the seven-headed monster that nearly annihilated the royal knights was the same monster currently serving King Lark. A lot of witnesses had reported how the monster looked after seeing it on the capital and the Marcus Duchy.
All evidence pointed to the fact that the two creatures were one and the same.
They didn't know how the captain would react if he came to know this fact.
"Captain," said Mokuva, clearly hesitant. "Before that… I believe you need to be aware… regarding the monster you encountered in the Forbidden Region—" "It's the same creature the new king has tamed," said Captain Symon.
Arzen and Mokuva's eyes widened. "I know."
"T-Then—" said Mokuva.
"We are soldiers, Lord Mokuva," said Symon. "Knights who vowed to protect the kingdom. Although it's pathetic that a person who ran away from his responsibilities is saying this, I believe that none of my deceased comrades would blame King Lark for what happened. We were the ones who entered that creature's territory, not the other way around. Even I, who lost an arm, am aware of that."
There were several seconds of silence.
Even Arzen, who was closest to Symon, was surprised that the captain thought of things this way.
"Although I would be lying if I said I don't have any thoughts of revenge," said Captain Symon. "But worry not. Hatred is heavy, it's useless.
I vow to bury it and serve King Lark, my benefactor, with all my heart. It is only thanks to him that I can finally return to the battlefield."
Captain Symon was truly a man of great character.
If it were them, would they be able to think and act like this? Would they be able to arrive at such a conclusion?
Even Mokuva, the most rational among the brothers, wasn't sure.
Despite what the captain was saying, he knew it wasn't easy to let such heavy grudges go.
Mokuva breathed in deeply and calmed his mind. He said to Arzen, "Brother, how about you? What do you plan to do?"
Arzen spat, "Didn't I tell you already? I'm coming with you to the capital."
Arzen grabbed the leather bag sitting on the ground. Using his thumb, he pointed at the horses tied to the tree nearby. "Honestly, it's frustrating that that Marcus brat ended up becoming king. And now, I'm going to end up serving him."
Mokuva frowned. He looked around, in case anyone heard those blasphemous words.
"But I know a competent ruler when I see one," said Arzen. "That bra — no, King Lark—he gave out such precious elixirs without batting an eye.
He also managed to tame that seven-headed monster, and that spell he performed at the capital during the coronation ceremony far surpassed the spells of royal court magicians."
Arzen looked up and sighed. "It pains me to say this, but I'd be a fool if I let go of this opportunity. Listen, little brother. It's better to be the tail of a basilisk than become the head of a viper. It's better to be the direct vassal of that king rather than the ruler of Daxton City."
Mokuva realized that Arzen must have thought of this a lot in the past, but was simply too proud to bring such an offer to King Lark. Fortunately, this incident was the perfect excuse to finally come under the wings of that monarch.
After that exchange, for weeks, the three rode their mounts all the way to the capital.
By the time they arrived, a commotion was occurring at the capital's outskirts, where the barrier was located.
Hundreds of metallic carts pulled by large horses lined up on the main road. Over a hundred dwarves, mainly dwarven blacksmiths and engineers, along with their escort warriors, were there, waiting.
But the dwarves weren't the ones who stunned the three of them the most.
It was the corpses.
Thousands of monster corpses were piled on top of the metallic carts, forming small mountains. Each of them looked grotesque, and the humans who saw them knew a single one was capable of slaughtering dozens of their soldiers.