Chapter 284: A Gathering of Heroes

On the cold mountain paths of the Grey Mountains, Duke Casvan of Parravon and his army were making strenuous progress. The knights, in their bright armor, once carried the glory and enthusiasm of the expedition on their faces, confident in their venture.

The sight of Bretonnian knights marching through the Old World was a stunning spectacle, unmatched on the monochrome path of the Grey Lady. Each knight brought three to four warhorses, all covered in finely crafted horse blankets, bearing the crests of dozens of families from the numerous duchies of the Knight Kingdom, a complex array that even masters of heraldry would need time to identify.

Behind the troops, a long train of hundreds of freemen formed the baggage train, followed by yeomen, grooms, cooks, heralds, priests, and serf infantry. The soldiers overseeing the supply wagons created a picturesque scene.

But that was at the outset.

Now, continuous rain was falling from the skies, the dreadful sleet causing great harm to Casvan's forces. The bone-chilling cold washed over the massive cliffs on either side of the road, with roaring dark clouds overhead dropping a grey curtain of rain, tormenting the duke's army.

The zeal for the expedition waned under these conditions. The terrible sleet known only to those who endure it firsthand severely impacted the knights' morale. The exhausted knights trudged silently, heads bowed, while those still with energy cursed the wretched weather incessantly.

The knights could withstand the weather, but the serf infantry suffered heavily. Their animal skin cloaks or woolen garments could keep them warm on ordinary days, but were powerless against this severe cold. Each day, some would die, leaving many shallow graves along the march.

Despite these hardships, Casvan's forces were still crossing the Grey Mountains at a considerable pace, heading straight for Hemgarte.

...

In the evening at Hemgarte, a lively banquet was underway at the Emperor's Resting Lodge. As a significant imperial garrison point, Hemgarte housed an exclusive palace for the emperor. The banquet was particularly lively because scouts indicated it would take Casvan's forces at least three days to reach here.

The war between the Empire and Bretonnia had drawn attention from the human nations of the Old World. Among the attendees were not only Ryan and others who had come from afar but also Duke Falkard of Montfort from Bretonnia, along with several Electors from the Empire.

All were keen observers of this war, seeing it as a critical opportunity to assess the Empire's strength and Karl-Franz's capabilities.

Not all attendees were enthusiastic about the banquet, at least not Julius and Gerard, who sat bored in a corner, silently eating.

Some, however, thrived in the banquet setting.

"Hey! Boris! There's that grim face again!" Ryan, dressed as a count, toasted with his glass and laughingly pointed at Elector Boris Todbringer of Middenland, "You always look like you're harboring deep resentments, it's quite off-putting!"

"Hey! Ryan, you scoundrel, next time I get a chance I'll push your pretty face into the icy bogs of Drakwald Forest, to teach you the meaning of cruelty!" Boris, upon seeing Ryan, cracked a rare smile, "Alright, by Ulric, here we are again. I still vividly remember the last time we drove off Nurgloth the Great Unclean One together on the plains of Couronne. Praise Ulric, that was a splendid victory."

With that, Boris deliberately glanced at Emperor Karl-Franz standing next to Ryan.

The Emperor smiled thoughtfully at Ryan, "I knew you two were acquainted."

Boris had once been a contender for the throne, his maternal grandmother having married the brother of the Savior Ludwig, Heinrich. Compared to Karl-Franz's grandfather Leopold, Boris's lineage was even closer to Ludwig.

Thus, he had always been viewed warily by Karl-Franz, representing in some ways the opposition between the Empire's northern Ulrican faction and the southern tri-faith coalition.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I've known him for a while, but we weren't close until the battle at Couronne," Ryan said with a hint of mischief, standing slightly taller than the emperor, "If not for Boris, I might have died there."

"That was indeed a great battle..." Karl-Franz started to say when suddenly a Griffin Order champion knight burst into the banquet hall, "Where is that scoundrel who refuses to call His Majesty 'Emperor'? I demand a duel!"

The fully armed knight quickly located Ryan, whose reluctance to address Karl-Franz as "Emperor" was understandable to many since Ryan was no longer a noble of the Empire. However, many loyal Imperial knights were displeased with this champion of Nordland, who had deep ties with the Empire, and they were

 eager to shatter Ryan's pride.

Ryan was well-known, his deeds known to the Empire's nobility, and the Imperial knights knew they needed to dispatch a champion of equal rank.

The challenger was Rogar, a champion of the Griffin Order.

Before Ryan could respond, the champion knight threw a gauntlet at him.

Standing nearby, François, communicating with a Moors knight, furrowed his brows. Noticing that Karl-Franz seemed interested in seeing how things unfolded without objection, François suspected this might be a coincidence aligning with the emperor's wishes, or perhaps it was Karl-Franz's arrangement.

The new emperor, assertive and authoritarian, had also inherited his father Leopold's excellent diplomatic skills. In his few years as emperor, through a series of diplomatic and military victories, this young emperor had not only secured his position but had also gradually consolidated the Empire's power.

François thought of Bretonnia's aging King Richard with a sigh.

Richard was not Karl-Franz's match, a fact recognized throughout the Old World. Rumor had it Richard intended his distant nephew, Duke Leoncoeur of Couronne, to succeed him, but due to Morgiana's severe injury, plans were stalled, and in François's view, Richard was still too attached to relinquish the throne.

"For honor, I cannot refuse this challenge," Ryan accepted the gauntlet, his face still carrying a slight smile, "But our duel should not be without purpose, as we are all human brethren, aren't we?"

"Ryan speaks wisely," Karl-Franz nodded, smiling as his attendants quickly brought forth two rolls of velvet satin, "This is from the renowned seamstress Madame Eiger of Brunswick. I will award this to the victor."

That's a gift for my precious daughter, thought François.

"Then, please excuse me for a moment, Your Majesty, and Boris," Ryan, seeing the reward, smiled as he followed the Griffin Order's champion knight out of the lodge.

Elector Umberto Corleone of Toscana, holding a glass of red wine, approached the emperor, his full-bearded face whispering, "Your arrangement?"

"Why not? We must know his strength, right?" Karl-Franz shrugged, "Twenty-nine years old, a count, Holy Grail Knight, God's chosen champion, banisher of the Great Unclean One... Should we step outside to watch the duel..."

"Thud!!!"

Before he could finish, a loud noise came from outside the lodge, sounding like a blunt weapon shattering something.

Karl-Franz and Umberto's expressions changed.

Instinctively, everyone at the banquet turned their eyes towards the lodge entrance.

Ryan Makado, the Holy Grail Knight from across the mountains, re-entered the banquet hall with a smile, dragging the leg of the Griffin Order's champion knight Rogar, whose armor scraped against the floor, emitting a grating metallic sound.

The champion knight of the Griffin Order was unconscious, his eyes rolled back, vomiting, but appeared to have no life-threatening injuries. The emperor's attendants quickly dragged this embarrassing sight out of the banquet hall.

"I knew it would end this way," Elector Boris said gleefully, finding the defeat of the emperor's champion knight by a single blow quite satisfying.

It was the White Wolves then, and now it's your turn.

The Lady of the Lake's chosen champion collected the satin, holding his glass high before the emperor: "Thank you for the reward, Your Majesty, let's continue."

"Very well," Karl-Franz's face still beamed with a smile, as if nothing significant had happened.

A storm raged within the emperor; the Griffin Order served the emperor personally, and while not the top among the Empire's knights, they were not far behind. Champion knight Rogar, at thirty-five, was of legendary mid-tier strength, yet he was defeated by a single blow from Ryan.

What exactly has my empire missed?

On the surface, the emperor maintained his composure as he introduced Ryan, "Boris needs no introduction, but let me introduce you to others. Here is Elector and Grand Duke Umberto Corleone of Toscana, Lord of Averland, a major agricultural province of the Empire, second in wealth only to Reikland. Lord Umberto is the only surviving Elector who participated in the Great Crusade. He not only voted for my grandfather and my father but also cast his precious vote for me a few years ago."

"Hello, Lord Umberto," Ryan, recognizing the bearded elector's formidable reputation and political importance to Karl-Franz, expressed ample respect, "It's an honor to meet you."

"Well done, young man," Umberto clapped Ryan on the shoulder, "Looking forward to more impressive performances from you."

Then, a somewhat portly and somber elector with a thin mustache approached Ryan at the emperor's introduction, "This is Elector Wolfram

 and Grand Duke Wamil von Zhukov of Ostland. Ostland is a territory filled with forests and mountains, and since his accession, Lord Wamil has spent his life battling dark creatures in the mountains and forests. He is an excellent general and the guardian of the Empire's northern borders."

"I've long heard your name, Ryan Makado," with Ostland bordering Nordland to the west and Kislev to the east, Wamil was certainly familiar with Ryan, "It's an honor to meet you for the first time."

"The honor is mine, Lord Wamil," Ryan likewise nodded, aware that Ostland was one of the Empire's most remote regions, still struggling to recover from the ravages of the Great Crusade, its electors perpetually at war with the northern barbarians and dark creatures, "It's good to meet you."

"This is Baron Oleg von Zhukov, heir to Elector Wamil," Karl-Franz continued, "A fine general."

A man in his twenties, wearing a sable hat and a red coat emblazoned with the family crest of the Red Bull, approached Ryan with a robust and proud demeanor, extending his hand, "Hello, Lord Ryan Makado. Your prowess impresses me. We both despise the forces of Chaos; perhaps we could be friends."

"Ha, our mutual loathing for Chaos surely outweighs any minor disputes between us," Ryan shook his hand, "Chaos scum will surely meet their end, I believe it."

"I believe so too," Oleg nodded, feeling an immediate kinship with Ryan as they quickly found a private corner to chat.

"You have a fine son, Lord Wamil," the Emperor spoke calmly to Elector Wamil, "His ideas are indeed bold; the Empire has tried to push into the northern wastes to eradicate barbarian tribes, but venturing too deep always results in heavy losses, even total disappearance."

"Oleg is a brave child; he sought a mentor, a drunken White Wolf Holy Knight in Wolfsburg," Wamil explained, "Oleg was impressed by the knight's strength in a tavern and asked to be his apprentice. Initially, I disagreed, but the Holy Knight's power was beyond imagination. Without his intervention, we might have been completely defeated at the Battle of Wolfsburg."

"That only shows Oleg's excellence to be accepted as an apprentice," the Emperor nodded.

"Speaking of which, with Casvan's invasion, Your Majesty, how do you plan to respond?" Wamil, holding a glass of red wine, spoke softly, "The knights from across the mountains are not easy to handle."

"I already have a plan," the Emperor's voice was filled with pride and confidence, "Just watch."

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