The war was over.

I stood with Alto and Chining on the silent battlefield.

Unburied corpses littered the ground—Baha Balm’s and Leahdon’s.

Only half a day had passed, yet flocks of crows already circled above, waiting to feast.

None of us wore a victor’s joy.

“This winter… how will we survive? How will Baha Balm’s fifty thousand people endure it…”

Alto’s face held not a trace of color.

Half of Baha Balm’s grain came from Windward Fortress.

Windward’s harvests were untouched by disaster, far richer than villages under Baha Balm.

But Leahdon’s army had trampled every field along their march to Windward Fortress.

The crops there lay unharvested.

All winter, our people would face hunger’s torment.

Southern winters weren’t harsh, yet this one would feel colder than any for Baha Balm’s folk.

“Raaaah!”

Alto roared.

Chining and I stayed silent—he needed to vent.

“Aaah… I only wanted my people to be happy…”

Alto dropped to his knees. Tears streamed down his cheeks unnoticed.

He didn’t know what to do. He had ideals but no power to realize them.

His broken state pierced my heart.

Yes—I understood that pain of having dreams but no strength.

“Hmph, Alto!”

I called him without honorifics.

My face was utterly blank.

“Look at me.”

Alto lifted his head.

“What’s your ideal?”

“To make my people happy. To give them good lives. To pull this nation from suffering.”

He answered without hesitation, no trace of doubt.

“And what do you have?”

“…”

He fell silent.

“Do you have fame that echoes across the land?”

Few nobles even knew his name, let alone the world.

Alto gave a bitter smile and shook his head.

“Do you have wealth rivaling a first-rank duke?”

First-rank dukes hoarded fortunes that dwarfed royal treasuries.

Alto’s shoulders slumped. He shook his head again.

“Do you have an army to match the Northern Wastes’ heroes?”

Northern Wastes warriors were legendary—their might surpassed even the imperial legions.

Another shake of his head.

“Hmph. Then how can you make your people happy?”

Alto stayed silent.

“Lord Alto, you have nothing!”

“I have nothing…”

Alto murmured.

He realized he’d been a lord for years—just a third-rank title, achieving nothing.

“Tell me. For your ideal, what are you willing to give?”

Alto froze. Then his dull eyes blazed with light, growing brighter.

“I’ll give everything! If someone helps me, I’ll trust them with my life! If a demon promised this dream, I’d pay with my soul!”

Hmph. That was Alto’s ambition.

Exactly what I wanted to hear.

Heh—he had a king’s spirit after all.

I smiled. A true king didn’t need genius tactics or unmatched strength.

He just needed to wield brilliant advisors and mighty generals well.

A king’s duty was simple: make right choices, use right people, walk the right path.

And Alto had done that well in this war.

He knew he couldn’t command armies or strategize.

He knew he couldn’t fight like Chining.

So he trusted Chining and me completely.

“Hmph. Become a king!”

“Huh? Huh!”

Alto blinked, startled by the sudden shift.

“Do you still hope for this nation?”

“…”

“The realm is crumbling. The Uler Empire is already dead.”

“I…”

“The Uler Empire will fall. New rulers will rise from this land.”

“…”

“The next king might be wise, foolish, or a Tyrant. Why leave our people to that uncertain fate? Why not seize it yourself?!”

Silence swallowed the battlefield. Even the crows stopped cawing. Chining watched us, silent.

Alto rose, his face solemn.

“Tell me. What must I do?”

He’d given his answer.

“King Altos! Raise Baha Balm’s banner high! Let the rotten Uler flag rot in hell!”

I burst into wild laughter, no noble grace left.