RMGCFW — Chapter 124 - The Kingdom's Path to Revitalization

Central Kingdom. The royal throne room.

"Your Majesty." Seeing the man upon the throne, Division Commander Izor dropped to one knee.

Izor was the leader of the Dragon Legion, directly subordinate to the king.

"How has the investigation gone?"

The king was an aged man.

By all rights, he had long since reached the age where he should have abdicated — yet he still gripped power with both hands, refusing to let go.

"The Clan of Parting's place of seclusion has been found," replied Izor, clad head to toe in armor.

"Well done." The aged king breathed out slowly.

Ever since the dragon-slaying hero Griffin's plan for immortality had failed, more than a few great nobles who once rallied behind him had begun showing signs of disloyalty.

That was something he could never accept.

Power was so sweet. And yet he could not hold onto it much longer.

Why were pureblood humans only allotted such a fleeting span of years?

He was not satisfied with this.

Fortunately, someone had recently presented the notes of a Great Sage from the Mythological Era, within which was recorded a magic capable of extending one's lifespan.

One merely needed to borrow the body of a long-lived race and "give birth" to oneself anew, thereby acquiring that race's bloodline.

In the world today, there were roughly three human-aligned long-lived races: elves, the Clan of Parting, and the Forest Elves of the south.

Ever since the Demon King ordered their slaughter, almost no living elves could be found anywhere.

As for the Forest Elves of the south, they belonged to the beastfolk, descendants of the First Hero.

In the culture of the Central Continent, which looked down on beastfolk entirely, even a king desperate for eternal life was unwilling to use Forest Elves to achieve it.

There was another important reason, of course: his reach simply did not extend to the frontier of the Southern Continent.

The Forest Elf clan in particular commanded rare and powerful magic. On the Southern Continent, where strength was the only law, they were treated as honored guests.

If it was possible to avoid offending them, it was best not to.

With two of the three options off the table, the only path left was the Clan of Parting, who still had traces of activity on the Central Continent several centuries ago.

"Go. Seize every woman of the Clan of Parting and bring them here!"

Hearing the command, the young Izor hesitated. "Your Majesty..."

"Izor! Have you forgotten who raised you up from among the commoners?! And who helped you take your revenge?!"

"...I understand, Your Majesty."

Watching Izor leave, the aged king settled back against the throne and continued issuing orders to the empty hall:

"Have an assassin skilled in concealment follow. If Izor hesitates, kill Izor on the spot."

"By your will, Your Majesty." The air nearby rippled faintly, and another elderly figure materialized from the distortion.

The pinnacle of magic in the Central Kingdom. Chief Court Mage to the royal court for half a century.

And something rarer still, a spirit magic user, the likes of which barely appeared once across all of human history. One who could commune with invisible spirits and channel forces of nature far more terrifying than any ordinary magic.

Seeing the mage about to depart, the old king seemed to remember something. "Has Alice returned?"

Assassination missions took time to arrange, that was expected. But this had dragged on far too long.

"The Great Spirit informed me that Lady Alice returned to the royal city a few days ago."

"What!" The king's fury cracked through the hall.

The royal family's own assassin had returned, and the first thing done was not reporting to the king.

The implications were obvious.

"Shall I dispose of her, Your Majesty?" The Chief Court Mage bowed slightly, voice perfectly calm.

As if even the kingdom's strongest assassin was nothing more than an ant.

"Never mind. Now is not the time for that." The old king waved a hand.

"The world believes you are dead. Before long, there will be foolish nobles trying to turn my children against me.

When that happens, I will need you to put the rebellion down."

"A prudent consideration, Your Majesty." The Chief Court Mage dissolved from sight once more.

"Soon... soon, the kingdom will flourish again — in my hands!"

Alone in the cavernous hall, the aged king gazed greedily at everything around him.

The resplendent golden dome. The gemstone-encrusted armrests of the throne. The wall of ancestral portraits stretching from end to end.

He had looked at these things for decades. Never once had they felt this precious.

He was old. So old that every morning his bones groaned the moment he woke, as if protesting the weight of another day. So old that lifting a wine goblet required a servant's help. So old that the face in the mirror looked a little more like an unburied corpse each time he saw it.

"Once I change into a new body."

He pushed himself slowly up from the throne, gripping the armrests, straightening his hunched spine inch by inch.

He turned. Faced the row of ancestral portraits.

A withered hand rose, trembling.

"When that day comes — I will outlive every last one of you."

...

Dawn broke faintly over the mountain, and most of the Clan of Parting were only just stirring.

A few of the more energetic children were already up and running.

"The hero must be awake by now."

"Obviously. My mother said he doesn't need sleep at all."

"My father said the same thing when he got home last night."

They were chattering happily, already heading off to find him, when a bell rang out from the mountain summit, a bell that had not sounded in centuries.

DONG. DONG. DONG.

The warning bell. The one rung only when the Clan of Parting faced an attack from outside.

Everyone spun around in alarm. It didn't take long to spot them, two massive shapes cutting across the sky, bearing straight toward the village.

"Dragons..."

"Maquia, go find the Elder! We'll warn the hero!"

Maquia broke into a run the moment the words left her companion's mouth.

But the Elder was nowhere. She searched everywhere and found nothing, as if the Elder had simply vanished from the world.

The dragons carrying the kingdom's soldiers touched down in the open courtyard not long after.

Soldiers dropped from the wings as they landed. Members of the Clan of Parting closed in around them from all sides, torches in hand.

"So the legends are true. Nothing but little brats."

"Come on, isn't that exactly what you're into?"

Two fully armed soldiers stepped off the dragons and swept their eyes across the small golden-haired figures without a trace of restraint.

"Move."

The single word from behind sent both soldiers snapping sideways, standing at sharp attention.

"Division Commander Izor..."

Izor walked to the front of the gathered crowd, pulled off the metal helmet, and revealed the face of someone in their prime.

"Who is the village chief?"

The question drew only exchanged glances.

Finally, a young boy clutching a torch found his nerve and stepped forward.

"Outsiders! The chief won't see you. Leave."

"Whether the chief sees us is not your decision to make." Izor's arm swept out. Every member of the Clan of Parting standing in the way dropped to the ground at once.

The air between the two sides went rigid.

The kingdom's soldiers were well-equipped and backed by dragons. The Clan of Parting had lived in seclusion so long they had forgotten what conflict even looked like. They were no match, not even close.

If it came to a fight, there would be no survivors.

➤ Next: Angry Frieren — Face to Face