Chapter Thirty-Seven: Negotiation

When the King of Dawn learned that the higher humans possessed the power to instantly annihilate a nest of green fiends, he had long harbored the idea of leveraging this formidable external force to intervene in the royal selection. Yet he could not be certain why the higher humans would assist him, or what motive they might have to help. They were neither kin nor allies; what reason would they have to support his cause? As for the envoy’s earlier claim that Xuan Law was a peace-loving nation eager to aid others—no one, not even a fool, would believe such empty words; they were mere diplomatic pleasantries.

Therefore, the King of Dawn had been waiting for one person—the individual of whom Olina’s old maid had spoken, the one to whom all higher humans deferred implicitly. Now, this very person stood before him. According to the information the maid had sent back, this man treated Olina with extraordinary kindness, providing her with vast quantities of precious food to support her persistently naïve endeavors: taking in countless refugees, building houses for the commoners, even supplying them with three meals a day.

If nothing unexpected occurred, Qin Le must surely be fond of his daughter; otherwise, how could he indulge Olina’s unreasonable demands so readily?

Qin Le shook his head and said, “I refuse.”

“Then tomorrow I will—” The King’s words faltered halfway, abruptly cut off.

“What?!” He had offered such generous terms, and yet the other had refused? Olina, save for having a low-born mother, was without fault in any respect. In fact, when it came to beauty, she was considered the most attractive among the princesses, though she rarely dressed up, preferring to wander about in tattered armor. Even so, she had attracted the attentions of countless young nobles, each of whom had pursued her ardently, only to be unceremoniously beaten in the end.

Not to mention her remarkable talent—she might one day become the legendary Sixth-Rank Knight King. Even by imperial standards, she would be highly sought after, and yet this man had rejected her outright?!

Could it be that his status was truly so exalted, or were the higher humans’ pride so unassailable?

Seeing the king’s bewildered expression, Qin Le explained, “It’s not that Olina is lacking in any way—it’s my own issue; more precisely, it’s a matter of my position.”

No matter how kind Olina was, or how closely her ideals aligned with those of Xuan Law, it could not change the fact that she was a princess. His own identity was highly unusual; to put it with some self-aggrandizement, he was one of the founders of Xuan Law. Though he had never participated in the administration of the nation—initially playing the double agent within the empire, later assuming only the role of executioner, and finally vanishing after assassinating the emperor—hardly anyone at home knew his name or cared who he was.

Nevertheless, he was at least a figurehead for the vanguard, and could not afford to forge deep ties with the old nobility. Unless Olina could completely renounce her noble status—which was clearly impossible for now, as everything she had was founded on her identity as princess—he could not accept. Even putting aside considerations of interest and position, Qin Le personally found such political marriages thoroughly distasteful.

“Your position?” The King of Dawn frowned slightly. “Is it that you adhere to some religious vow, or hold a special post that forbids marriage for life?”

Such things were uncommon, but not unheard of.

“No.” Qin Le shook his head again, then chose not to pursue the topic further. “Your Majesty, while I cannot accept your proposal of marriage, Xuan Law can promise to help stabilize the realm for Olina after she ascends the throne, until she has fully come into her own.”

The King of Dawn frowned, pondering for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I still believe a marriage alliance between you and Olina is the most secure option. And if you already have someone you care for, you may take her as well. The Kings of Dawn have never insisted on monogamy.”

If Qin Le and Olina were wed, becoming King and Queen of the Dawn Kingdom, there would be no need to cede large tracts of land or dilute royal authority; this arrangement would benefit both sides. Once he became king, the entire realm would be his and Olina’s to command. As long as their heirs carried Olina’s bloodline, all would be well.

Witnessing this, Qin Le felt a touch of helplessness. He understood what the king was thinking. In this era, the most steadfast way to forge an alliance was through marriage. Bloodline trumped all. Unlike in modern societies, where nations could rely on mutual credit, kingdoms of this age were not mere profit-driven conglomerates—the personal will and emotions of the king inevitably colored their dealings.

The two men locked eyes in protracted silence. At last, Qin Le broke it. “Your Majesty, it seems neither of us can persuade the other. Very well, let’s compromise: Xuan Law will ask only for the Death Swamp and its surrounding lands from the Kingdom of Dawn, and you may abandon your plans for a marriage alliance.”

“What?! What did you say?” The king’s expression was incredulous, as if he doubted his own ears.

The Death Swamp, though nominally under the Kingdom of Dawn’s control, was a place no one wanted. It yielded no crops, was a mire of black water and sludge where no houses could be built, teeming with monsters and unfit for most races to inhabit. If not for the World Covenant—which demanded that nations bordering the Death Swamp monitor and defend against its dangerous creatures, such as the green fiends—every country, including the Kingdom of Dawn, would have long since thrown off this burdensome responsibility. It was a deadly yoke, a poisoned chalice that could bring sudden calamity.

Yet now, someone actually wanted to take on this burden? Could that be possible? Surely he had misheard.

Qin Le repeated himself: “In exchange for Xuan Law’s assistance in stabilizing the kingdom and preventing civil strife or division, the only compensation we require is the Death Swamp and some of the surrounding lands.”

The King of Dawn drew a sharp breath, his face awash with disbelief and delight. Someone actually wanted to take this black pit off his hands—could the Death Swamp truly serve as payment?

After a good ten minutes, the king finally calmed himself, confirming that the demand was indeed genuine. The pallor and weakness that had marked his face were replaced by a long-lost flush of excitement and joy.

For a few minutes, Qin Le even wondered if the old king might suffer a heart attack on the spot.

“Since you accept our proposal, let us move to more pressing matters,” Qin Le said. “I would like to know—which candidate do you truly wish to see become king?”

Though the earlier conversation had all but confirmed that the king favored Olina, the least-favored candidate, Qin Le wanted to be sure.

Yet the king’s reply was unexpected.

With a wry smile, he said, “My preferred choices are Olina and Irene. Because of Olina’s ties to you, I lean towards her. But the outcome of the royal selection is not for me to decide—it is determined by another.”

Baffled, Qin Le watched as the king placed the Dawn Sword, wreathed in a faint golden glow, onto the table.

“The Dawn Sword decides?” Qin Le asked, puzzled.

The king explained, “Every king in the history of the Dawn Kingdom has been chosen by the Dawn Sword. The criteria are those of the royal selection: first, royal blood; then, from among the bloodline, the sword selects the one with the greatest capacity for rule, the highest virtue, and the greatest strength.”

“So you cannot simply name a victor; the selection must proceed as always?” Qin Le asked.

“Exactly.”

With that confirmation, the earlier oddities made sense. No wonder the princes and princesses acted so wantonly, disregarding the king’s wishes and forging alliances with powerful factions. In the feudal days of Xuan Law, such conduct would have meant beheading or banishment, never mind succession.

The true power lay with the Dawn Sword; it was the core of the royal selection.

This complicated matters. If the sword truly judged by those standards, Olina, aside from her talent, was lacking in other areas. The sword was unlikely to be swayed by Xuan Law’s financial might.

It seemed the King of Dawn must not die—not until Xuan Law resolved its shortage of supernatural power and portal capacity. For now, Xuan Law needed a stable Dawn Kingdom; any impending civil war would drain precious manpower.

Qin Le signaled the fish-headed man standing outside the pavilion, who left his ranks and strode forward.

Under the king’s confused gaze, the fish-headed man produced a black cube, about the size of a palm. The cube emitted a faint glow, and, to the king’s astonishment, a red circle slowly materialized, eerily slicing apart the scenery around it—like the legendary teleportation magic.

Qin Le spoke: “Your Majesty, let us discuss your treatment first.”

As black-haired men and women in white coats emerged from the portal, each carrying a strange box, the king listened to their explanation with growing amazement and joy. Caressing the Dawn Sword in his hand and feeling its response, he finally agreed to the unconventional treatment.

Time was running short for him. If he could survive and gamble on this one last chance, then even if he died, as long as the Dawn Sword remained, the kingdom would endure.

...

Half an hour later, Qin Le and several of his personal guards (the exploration team) walked through the palace, led by Mark, the commander of the kingdom’s knights. The fish-headed man, holding the glowing black cube, joked in the language of Xuan Law, “Captain, now that I’ve become the Gatekeeper, do I get a promotion and a raise?”

Qin Le glanced at him. “Third-class merit.”

The recent attack by an unknown enemy had made them acutely aware of the dangers of this world and their own vulnerability. To ensure the safety of the portal, Xuan Law had decided to strip Qin Le of his gatekeeper status and manufacture hundreds of teleportation cubes.

The cubes were forged entirely from metal, fitted with five hundred watts’ worth of colored LEDs—sturdy enough to be used as bricks.

“What? Only third class?” The fish-headed man was taken aback.

Qin Le smiled, “First-class merit is earned with your life. You’re only a temporary gatekeeper. The official ones will be appointed when the word is quietly sent out.”

A few days earlier, through frequent use of the portals, Qin Le had discovered certain tricks—one of which was opening the gate with his mind. He could now open a portal anywhere within a hundred meters, without physical contact.

Thus, a new plan was born.

The Gatekeeper Plan: to better conceal Qin Le’s special identity, Xuan Law would publicly claim that the portal was a technological achievement, and that there was a position called Gatekeeper, who could use teleportation cubes. To guard against supernatural lie detection or mind-reading, all gatekeepers would believe themselves to be genuine, knowing nothing of the true nature of the portal.

The leadership was optimistic about this plan, but Qin Le remained uneasy; it was, after all, just a smokescreen, not a real solution. To truly extract resources from the new world, the size and duration of the portal would have to be increased. At present, only the supernatural offered any hope of expansion.

Suddenly, Commander Mark halted, and the group stopped as well.

Rounding the corner of a white-stone veranda in the courtyard, a red-haired woman appeared. Her features were striking, her gaze as sharp as a blade, and she wore black armor adorned with gold, carrying herself with heroic flair. She was accompanied by five or six monster hunters, each equipped differently.

Each bore a golden badge of the Hunter’s Guild on their chest, and all exuded an overwhelming aura.

The red-haired woman strode up to them, a bold smile on her lips. “Master Mark, I hear that old man is about to die.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Princess Irene.”