Returning to the imperial palace in the capital once more, Alan felt as though a lifetime had passed.
Strictly speaking, he was still a traitor who had turned his back on Ryan; he had never imagined he would have the chance to set foot here again.
The surrounding guards cast strange looks in his direction. Anger, hatred, admiration, and bewilderment—a tangled mess of conflicting emotions showed on their faces.
Most devotees of the Lord of the Dawn were bound by the precept of honesty, so these unseasoned youths had little ability to mask their feelings.
Alan let out a soft sigh. Deep down, he understood their doubts and wished he could sit down and talk through everything with them. He wanted to tell them of the empire's rampant decay, of how many people were corrupting the teachings of the Lord of the Dawn, and of how the future of the empire ought to rest in the hands of youths like them.
Yet Alan could not do that. He had a far more pressing task today.
He had come to see the emperor. He needed to go to the front lines and do his part for this disappointing empire.
With the orc host bearing down upon their borders and tens of thousands of Ryanites slaughtered, whatever grievances Alan harbored toward this nation had to be cast aside. In a moment like this, he was resolute in his desire to stand at the vanguard and hold off the invasion.
Regrettably, the emperor had repeatedly denied his requests.
Alan could not fathom why this was something to refuse.
It was not born of arrogance; his personal combat prowess had grown rapidly of late. Among Ryan's current paladins, if he was not the absolute strongest, he was easily in the top three.
Ryan was sorely lacking in high-tier combat power, leaving them unable to gain the upper hand on the battlefield. Sending Alan to the front should have been the most logical choice. Why would the emperor refuse?
After coming so many times, he was finally granted an audience with His Imperial Majesty.
Guided by the guards, Alan made his way into the palace depths.
What should have been a bustling, magnificent hall now felt desolate and chilled. Hardly anyone could be seen in the vast palace, and even the lamps burned dimly. Rather than a royal palace, it felt more like a colossal tomb.
The young Ryan Emperor sat high upon his central throne. By custom, Alan should have bowed his head and knelt deferentially before him—an act of reverence paid not just to the monarch himself, but to the monumental achievements of Arthur Ryan and the millennium-old empire. Yet now, Alan merely offered a calm, formal bow, then looked straight at the young emperor.
"Alan, this is our second time meeting, isn't it? The last was at the funeral of your teacher, the Silvermoon Knight."
Hearing the emperor bring this up, Alan replied without the slightest tact, "Your Majesty, I still maintain that forcibly relocating another hero's tomb was an insult to my teacher."
To ensure the Silvermoon Knight was interred at the very center of the cemetery, the hero previously resting there had been forcibly exhumed, driving that hero's descendants to commit suicide in grief and humiliation. In Alan's eyes, that was no different from the emperor killing them with his own hands.
He had expected the emperor to flare with anger, but instead he heard the sovereign say in a somber tone, "Indeed. I made a grave mistake back then. I have already sent people to comfort the affected family and offer restitution. Ah, Alan, if only you had told me directly back then."
Alan was somewhat taken aback. After not seeing him for such a short time, the emperor's transformation was astonishing.
Though he had heard numerous rumors and knew the monarch had changed, admitting a mistake face-to-face was exceedingly rare for an emperor. Those in high positions seldom conceded fault, for imperial majesty was an indispensable tool of rule. They would sooner persist in error and make others pay the price, solely to preserve the fear they instilled. Even the rulers of the Ryan Empire had been largely cut from that cloth for generations, and everyone had grown accustomed to accepting conduct that defied their sacred doctrine. Yet now, the emperor had openly admitted fault. It stirred an unexpected sense of gratification within Alan.
Could it be that the emperor had truly seen the light and was willing to make amends for the sake of the empire?
Alan hurriedly stated his purpose: "Your Majesty, I come with the same petition as before. I request permission to go to the front lines to repel the orc invasion and protect the empire."
The emperor did not directly answer the request, asking instead about past events: "Alan, it was on the battlefields of the Orc Mountains that you abandoned the empire. Why seek to return to the front lines now?"
"So that was why Your Majesty refused my request to join the front?" Alan explained helplessly, "Back then, Ryan was invading the Orc Empire. Such a war was unjust, which was why I chose to leave. But now, the orcs are invading our land. Defending Ryan is my duty."
Following Alan's explanation, the emperor burst into hearty laughter. "Alan, I thought that after traveling the continent for so long and associating with that deceitful lich, you wouldn't voice such childish notions. Yet you disappoint me once again. Is our war with the orcs so easily divided into justice and injustice?
"Seventeen hundred years ago, no sooner had the funeral of our great Holy King Arthur Ryan concluded than the Orc Kingdom demanded a share of our imperial artifact, the Dragon Tyrant Armament. Without even waiting for the Holy King's coffin to be laid to rest, they caused such a scene at the funeral that everyone parted on bitter terms. The orcs seem to have forgotten that their kingdom was founded with Ryan's aid in the first place! From that day on, strife between the orcs and Ryan has never ceased, and the blood debts between us have become impossible to tally.
"If vengeance is just, how dare you claim our war against the orcs was an unjust one?"
Alan met the emperor's gaze and let out a sigh. "Your Majesty, you are right. The blood feud between us and the orcs can no longer be tallied. But just as you say, our mutual hatred is already hopelessly entangled, and it is impossible to calculate who is more at fault. If, starting today, both sides could put aside such unjust warfare, would Ryan and the orcs still harbor hatred for each other a thousand years from now?"
The emperor looked at Alan, genuine shock written across his face. He couldn't help but ask, "You... don't you find yourself childish? Do you truly believe such a thing is possible?"
How could war ever be averted? Even if another thousand years went by, both sides would only continue slaughtering each other, deepening their mutual enmity until one was wiped out entirely.
Yet Alan replied with firm conviction, "The chances are slim. I know wars arise not only from hatred, but from self-interest. When our two nations compete for living space and resources, conflict becomes inevitable. But we cannot give up simply because it cannot be done. Your Majesty, we know that peace is the true path of righteousness. Even if it seems unattainable, it is something worth dying for. Isn't that precisely what the Lord of the Dawn taught us?"
After all this time, Alan had long since thought through everything.
He knew full well that his aspirations were naive and childish, with almost no hope of success, but that did not waver his resolve. Believing in goodness and never relinquishing hope—that was the creed of the Lord of the Dawn.
The Holy King had taught Alan that an individual's life or death was unimportant, as was one's personal success or failure. What mattered was the path walked, the ideals and convictions that would endure to draw more like-minded souls onto the same journey.
One person's strength was insufficient, but so long as that faith was passed down, there would always be people like him to reshape the world. Such an ideal might seem childish today, but who could say it would not bear fruit after a thousand, or even ten thousand years?
Staring at the steadfast Alan, the emperor caught a fleeting glimpse of that same high-spirited, resolute paladin from all those centuries ago. Back then, nobody believed Arthur Ryan could prevail; they had joined that paladin's banner only because they were cornered, wishing only that their deaths might carry some small measure of meaning.
Back then, they thought the best outcome would be to slay a few dragons to vent their fury, then die painlessly beneath the breath weapon of another wyrm. Inflicting even a scratch upon the dragons would count as victory.
At first, even the dragons had thought the same.
Merely an inferior race—what could they possibly accomplish? Conviction? Righteousness? How could such tedious, childish drivel ever sway the tides of war? Yet it was precisely that sort of man who ultimately severed the head of the peerless Demonic Dragon, cleaving through the crimson mist and chaos to usher in an entirely new era.
Those distant memories stirred a sliver of murderous intent within the Ryan Emperor.
Left unchecked, this Alan Watson seemed poised to become the next Arthur Ryan.
Yet now was not the time to strike. The emperor had no confidence he could actually kill Alan. The brat's legendary boon was far too slippery; when it came to fleeing, probably nobody could catch him.
The power of the time dragon was formidable, but he had only a single opportunity. A single misstep, and Alan would uncover his secret. More importantly, Alan was still useful.
The emperor pondered for a moment, then spoke to Alan. "Alan, I admire your conviction, but precisely because of it, I cannot permit you to go to the front. The orcs are invading Ryan, and their methods are utterly merciless. Thinking the way you do will inevitably breed conflict with the soldiers on the front lines."
"Your Majesty, I won't—"
Alan moved to explain, but the emperor cut him off directly. "Say no more. No matter what you say, I will not believe you can strike at an orc without the slightest hesitation. Even a single hesitation is a wound inflicted upon Ryan. However, I am not dismissing your ideals outright. Thus, you may serve Ryan in another manner."
Alan asked, puzzled, "Your Majesty, what do you mean by another manner?"
"The crisis at the front is not because your brother lacks capability, but because the orcs possess war machines far superior to ours. And only your old friend can manufacture such weapons. Yet that lich insists on meeting me in person before he will trade with Ryan. Frankly, I worry the lich harbors some sinister plot—after all, the Holy Light and the undead are irreconcilable foes.
"Therefore, I entrust this mission to you. Alan, if you truly wish to help, go find that lich. Secure the purchasing rights to all his weaponry from him, and help us turn the tide of this war."
Chapter 476