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The combined legion of the Revolution Army and the Kingdom of Ferma, numbering nearly thirty thousand, thundered across the night plain.
Two powers that had snarled as if they could never coexist had finally sheathed their blades under the Church’s mediation. “Mediation” may have been a stretch for this negotiation, but the fissure between the people of Ferma and the Empire ran far deeper than such semantics. Had it not been for the coercive leverage of force, neither side would likely have accepted any compromise.
Irexana, hearing the news belatedly, couldn’t help but admire it and expressed it honestly.
“You have a remarkable eye, Hero. You’ve managed to reach a compromise at a level that preserves Valter’s pride and Ferma’s honor.”
“Huh…?” Leon looked bewildered, as he didn’t fully understand how things had unfolded, even though he’d set them in motion.
After all, the Hero had no taste for political calculation.
Irexana laughed pleasantly. “Hahaha! Of course, I expected as much.”
Cardinals of the Holy Church were people who had endured decades—often a century—of austere hardship and had met every kind of human in that time. Reading a person was trivial to them. It was even easier with someone young and sincere like Leon.
He had only acted on what he believed to be right, Irexana thought.
Suppressing pointless slaughter—even by force if necessary—had produced the best outcome. That was a hero’s duty: to make ideals tangible where mere wisdom disguised...
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