Chapter 110 : Alchemy

Chapter 110: Alchemy

“Phew… I’m going to die.”

From February 25th to the 28th, I spent my days soaked in alcohol.

It was because I had to reward the warriors and officials who had fought and worked hard over the past year, and host a grand festival for the entire city.

My body had worn out from going around every district and drinking at each stop, but I could not afford to neglect it.

Only through such a process could the city become *mycity, and the army be reborn as a true army.

I paid special attention to the festival. It wasn’t just a matter of handing out delicacies, unlimited meat, and alcohol.

I mobilized all my connections and money to bring in top-class dancers and singers, preparing the best performances. I even invited artists from Gloryland to exhibit their beautiful works.

That wasn’t all. I also prepared various events where skilled warriors could stand out.

An obstacle course competition. An arm-wrestling contest. A strongman contest. A gluttony contest. A drinking contest…

During the festival, warriors were bound to be the stars wherever they went.

The title of being *mywarrior—

And the medals I had distributed through the awards ceremony became currency in themselves.

The best seats at performances went to the warriors. Those with medals could even enter better places.

The same went for the art exhibitions.

Moreover, warriors who showed remarkable feats in the contests earned the admiration and respect of the masses.

I also held private parties just for the medal recipients. Those with medals eagerly brought along men or women, and indulged in extravagant private gatherings.

So, no matter what anyone said, the true stars of this festival were my warriors.

At first, some scoffed—saying, “What kind of ridiculous medals are these, this isn’t even Gloryland”—but after tasting the joys of the festival, they proudly displayed the medals on their chests.

Yes.

This process was necessary for the birth of a true army.

For a true army needed dreams and love.

And so—

Warriors drank at every corner.

Warriors found friends or lovers over shared cups of alcohol.

Some waved their medals, leading companions into performance halls, exhibition halls, and private party rooms.

This was not just a festival—it was closer to alchemy, a process that transformed and developed Roberland, that hopeless land.

I, thoroughly drunk, wandered the streets and slipped in among a group of warriors. They were gathered around one who had narrowly failed in the obstacle course contest.

“Having fun?”

Though I suddenly joined them, they welcomed me with easy humor, without the slightest sign of surprise.

“Oh! Your Grace the Grand Duke! Welcome, welcome!”

Had this been Gloryland, such a casual way of speaking would have cost them their heads on the spot.

Well, maybe it was the alcohol, but in truth, that was just the way most of Roberland’s warriors were—an unruly bunch.

But I didn’t dislike it.

“Come now, Your Grace. At least have a drink first.”

“Sure.”

The warrior who had just missed winning the obstacle course seemed to be the leader of the group. I downed the cup he poured me in one gulp.

As the warriors cheered and clapped, I raised the bottle toward them.

“You all take one too.”

“Ooooh, it’s an honor, Your Grace!”

Once the drinks had gone around, we clinked cups together and drained them.

“Ahhh… this liquor’s deadly good. Deadly good. But you know, Your Grace, it’s a bit disappointing.”

When the leader spoke as their representative, the other warriors nodded in agreement.

I just let out a faint laugh.

Because I knew exactly what they were getting at.

“What? You’ve got everything, but no women or men? That’s what’s disappointing?”

“That’s it! As expected of our lord, you understand us right away, eh?! Not just us men, even the women warriors are grumbling.”

That was the way of Roberland.

It was practically a tradition here for the lord to personally arrange all kinds of strange and decadent entertainments for the warriors.

That was how they won over the warriors’ favor and, in exchange, claimed their blood and loyalty.

But I was someone who would found a kingdom. I couldn’t stoop to the cheap tricks of third-rate thugs.

“Take care of that yourselves.”

“Eh? What do you mean, Your Grace? Isn’t that the lord’s duty?”

“Duty, my ass. I pay you a lot, don’t I? On top of that, medals and all kinds of privileges. And after I’ve handed out all this, if you still can’t charm a single woman on your own, isn’t that your own problem? You ought to bury your faces in your soup bowls and die.”

“Hehh… courting someone yourself is different from the lord providing it.”

“It is different.”

I tossed back another drink and continued.

“And this way is far better.”

“What? Why should Your Grace be the one to decide which way’s better?”

“You’ll come to think so too.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Just wait and see. By this time next year, you’ll be thinking like this: ‘Ahh, this time I must win the obstacle course contest. Last year, that guy Theos met a woman at the festival and got married, didn’t he? This year, it’s my turn…’ Like that.”

“You think so?”

“I’m telling you, you will.”

Saying so, I poured an overflowing drink for that cheeky warrior who had even slipped into casual speech with me.

I’d said it lightly, like a joke—

But I was serious.

Because I wanted them to be happy.

Not the kind of life that says: *Who knows if tomorrow will come? Let’s burn ourselves out in debauchery today.*

But rather, meeting someone to love. Finding a city to love, settling down to live there. Having children. Dreaming new dreams for the sake of those children.

That was how a nation was built.

At my words, the cheeky warrior smirked.

“Heh, that sounds terribly boring.”

“Boring, but very good.”

We laughed together and clinked our cups.

*         *         *

Bucason, a warrior of Roberland, was a rugged man with a beard like a bandit.

He lived with the worldview so common among Roberland’s warriors: roaming the world aimlessly, living as he pleased until he died.

By chance, he had been swept up into the war between Haarun and Ransen, and by further chance ended up under Ransen, who had unified Ailun. But even then, he thought of it as only temporary.

The pay was good, so he might stick around for a few years. But once he had earned enough, wouldn’t he wander off again?

Among the warriors, there were not a few who held the fanciful dream of saving diligently for the future and one day returning home in glory. But most of them thought like Bucason—that life was only lived once, so live like fire and fade like the wind.

And yet, even for Bucason, who had roamed across the whole Roberland continent and experienced all kinds of cities, this was something strange and unfamiliar.

“Hehh…”

“Hmmm…”

It was the exhibition hall that Grand Duke Ransen had prepared.

For some reason, Bucason could not easily tear himself away from that exhibition all day.

He had always thought of artworks as nothing more than toys of rich lords, wasting money to fill their mansions for show.

But the works displayed in this exhibition hall drew at his heart in an uncanny way.

“Artist from Gloryland. Agnes Penter. Hm… as expected, it’s Gloryland? Somehow… somehow it’s different.”

On a massive canvas several meters wide was painted a lion.

But you only recognized it as a lion if you looked closely, for a long time. At first glance, it seemed nothing more than a mess of splashed colors.

At first, it was just the colors that drew him in.

Colors so vast, so alive, that he had never once seen in all his life—they moved Bucason’s heart.

So he stood there blankly, gazing at the painting… until, at some point, those colors gathered into the form of a lion.

In that moment, Bucason admitted it.

Ah, I am moved—by a work of art.

He had always thought such things were nothing more than the pretentious posturing of pen-wielding scholars…

Who knew how long he stood staring at the painting?

“What do you see?”

A woman suddenly approached and asked.

Young, beautiful, and refined—when you looked into her eyes, they were filled only with a straight and pure passion, as if she had never known the storms of the world.

Bucason truly thought she was a woman who had nothing in common with him, not in one single way.

As if she belonged to another world.

To him, women were nothing more than companions for a night after drinking heavily, people you parted from the next day and never sought out again.

His voice grew a little brusque.

“A lion.”

“What kind of lion?”

The woman’s voice turned a little more lively.

Annoying. Why’s she acting like this? he thought, but Bucason still answered honestly.

Perhaps he wanted to share the feelings he’d had while looking at this painting with someone.

If he told his fellow warriors, they’d only laugh at him as a soft scholar.

“Well… strong and proud. But looks a little lonely, that lion.”

“So… do you like it? This painting.”

Bucason admitted without hesitation.

“I do. Maybe it’s because it was painted by a Gloryland artist.”

But the woman shook her head.

“No. This painter isn’t from Gloryland.”

Bucason silently jerked his chin toward the plaque beside the painting.

It clearly said: *Artist from Gloryland, Agnes Penter.*

And yet the woman shook her head again.

“Until she was fifteen, she was an orphan living in Kushan City here in Roberland. Eight years ago, thanks to the benevolence of His Grace Grand Duke Ransen, she was sent to study in Gloryland.”

“And how would you know that?”

The woman grinned and held out her hand.

“I’m Agnes Penter. So, um, if you haven’t eaten yet… would you like to have lunch together?”

Bucason wondered if he was dreaming.

He looked at the woman once, then at the painting once.

So then—

The person who painted this damned piece that tickled his chest so much was this woman standing before him?

While Bucason stammered in shock, the next thing he knew, the two of them were outside, having a meal together.

By chance, fellow warriors they ran into whistled as they passed, shouting things like, “She’s the one for today, eh?”

It was natural enough.

These days, wherever they went, Ransen’s warriors—men with money and power—were popular.

Even Bucason himself, just that morning, had whistled at a female warrior who was walking by with some pretty-looking man. *So he’s your pick today?And she had laughed proudly in response.

So why, now…

Why did it feel uncomfortable?

Bucason glanced nervously at Agnes, then burst out angrily.

“It’s not like that, you bastards! Get moving!”

Lunch was delicious, and somehow it all felt unreal.

Lunch, followed by a walk.

Then they dropped by a library, had dinner together, and went for another walk.

For the first time in his life, Bucason went to a place called a cocktail bar, where the two of them sipped cocktails together.

A cocktail, not beer or distilled liquor. He had always thought such things were for smooth-faced youngsters who couldn’t even grow a beard… but somehow, this wasn’t bad.

No—in fact, everything about today was like that.

A day he had never once lived before.

And yet, strangely, his heart felt at ease, bubbling warmly like a hot spring on a winter’s day.

Before he knew it, night had fallen.

Under the faint moonlight, Agnes spoke.

“When I was little, I hated this city… I swore I would never come back. But I could never forget it. And you know what? I think it was good that I returned. I love this city. No… I love this country. My heart feels like it’s going to burst! I can’t even put it into words.”

Looking at her brightly smiling face, Bucason suddenly thought—

That maybe he too, somehow, was starting to like this city, this country. No, perhaps he already did.

And it wasn’t only Bucason.

All across Ransen’s cities,

a change—something that could only be called alchemy—

was little by little transforming the hearts of the warriors.