Enkrid knew that at times he took fairly bold actions. And the masked man before him was no less daring than himself.
“What do you think?”
The man who asked this while wearing a mask—his name was Kdianat Langdiers Nauril. He was the king of the nation to which Enkrid belonged.
“Is there a need to hide your face and move around in a black carriage under the cover of night?”
“It makes it feel different. The mood, you know.”
Krang said as he lowered the mask. Various circumstances had led him here, but the biggest reason was Krang’s own will. Looking at the flow of time, it began when the outcome of the war and its developments were reported back to Nauril, and the king first heard the news that there had been no casualties.
“Does that even make sense?”
Some, especially those who secretly envied Enkrid, had scoffed. It was before the rumor spread of him single-handedly blocking an army like an Iron Wall, so it was utterly incomprehensible to them.
“Wouldn’t it be more believable to say that four soldiers from the Border Guard became knights, formed a new knightly order, and attacked? That would at least sound plausible.”