Warhammer Divine Throne

"Why not?" Richard shook his head again and again. "Laine was able to start trading with the Wood Elves right after he arrived in his fief—can you? Laine could, with just a few words, persuade the Dwarfs to set up workshops in his lands—can you? Laine maintains excellent relations with the Empire, with trade flowing without cease—can you? Laine could even invite the High Elf Supreme Grandmaster Tygris to cross the ocean to attend his grand wedding—can you?"

"Laine is very clever. He has never swallowed alone the great share of trade profits and the enormous gains from land development that he draws in as the center." Richard went on, "On the contrary, his system does not harm others’ interests. Precisely because the system he has established brings in large dividends that both let nobles like Francois and Bodric, who support him, eat their fill, and at the same time does not injure their interests, these people are willing to follow Laine in reform! This is the essential difference between you and him! You do not have a single piece of unused land!"

Richard’s words left Lorne-Rio Cornwall speechless. The Holy Grail Knight and Duke of Connet turned pale; he realized what a gargantuan problem he was facing.

"That is why, in the past, when I did not need to abdicate, I wished to, whereas now, when I ought to abdicate, I brace myself and do not." Richard smiled faintly. "The position of King is not something you sit upon and then may command the Kingdom’s nobles at will. Rather, only when you are able to command respect and then sit upon it will you find it easier to give orders to all the nobles of the Kingdom. The throne is granted by the Lady, but whether they heed the King’s commands is the nobles’ own freedom."

"He who would wear the crown must bear its weight." There was endless bleakness in Richard’s words. He gave a low laugh. "Before I became King, my head was filled with thoughts of reform. But when I was truly chosen as King at the King Selection Council, I was forced to act in the manner expected by the dukes. Everyone wishes to be King, yet very few realize what kind of responsibility comes with sitting the throne. If one does not even possess that little bit of courage, then one is unworthy to be King!"

"Then...uncle, how am I to resolve this predicament?" Lorne’s brows knit tightly. He had realized how difficult the problem was; the nearly fifty-year-old Holy Grail Knight was earnestly seeking counsel from his nearly one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old uncle.

"Still Musillon." Richard closed his eyes and spoke slowly.

"Still Musillon?" Lorne faintly felt he had grasped something.

"Yes, still Musillon. If you can utterly resolve this cancer in the Kingdom, if you can reclaim Musillon, which for hundreds of years has never been truly dealt with, then you will gain the nobles’ support and trust. Where there are merits, there is prestige; where there is prestige, there is trust." Richard let out a long sigh. "With trust, with support, you will have the capital to advance reform. So now you understand why, after my accession, I launched several campaigns against Musillon one after another, do you not?"

Looking at his aged uncle, Duke of Connet, Lorne-Rio Cornwall, suddenly felt his eyes grow hot with unshed tears. He could sense that Richard had grown old; his last trace of sharpness had vanished with the failure to suppress Laine and with Jules’ death in battle.

"Uncle, if you abdicate, who will support me in advancing the steps of reform?" Lorne’s voice trembled slightly. He swallowed, feeling his shoulders grow unbearably heavy—that was the weight called expectation and responsibility pressing down upon him.

"All men must grow old, Leon Kohl." At this point Richard laughed with a carefree air, the wrinkles on his face all unfolding. "One day, this will end. I have already been Knight King for more than thirty years, which counts as a rather short reign among the Kings of old. But I feel it is enough. Let me stand my post for this last watch. The future belongs to you...or to Laine Macado."

Leaving the Royal Palace, Lorne-Rio Cornwall felt as though a veil of mist lay over his field of vision. He opened his mouth, gazing at the boundless night sky, yet could not utter a single word.

Brittania, the Knight Kingdom—whither will its future course lie?

No one knew, but Lorne knew that he would strive for it.

He would not rest until death.