The Conqueror from a Dying Kingdom: Volume 7 [Parts 1 to 5] by Fudeorca

Author:Fudeorca
Language: eng
Format: epub

V

Galla Godwin wore an exhausted expression as he returned to the office in the fort on Royal Castle Island.

The royal capital had been in a state of crisis ever since the incident five days ago, and now the disorder was reaching new heights.

Amidst it all, he’d gotten a taste of the woes that beset middle management. Galla’s superiors had been bribed—that much was certain. Younger soldiers felt compelled to express their outrage with strong words. His job was to stand in the center and bear the brunt.

The sun was finally setting on what had been a long day. After entering the pitch-black black room, he reached up to hang his lamp on a hook in the ceiling.

Exhausted as he was, he couldn’t return to his home in the city’s northern sector to rest because war was underway. To make matters worse, he had no place to sleep in the barracks. His bed was at home. Instead, he was forced to sleep here in the office.

There was a couch for guests to sit on, but he couldn’t lie on the accursed thing because it had an armrest in its center. Instead, Galla had to rest in a sleeping bag on the hard wooden floor.

He removed his uniform’s jacket, folded it in two, and draped it over the couch. Next, he began undoing his belt, ready to remove his uniform’s pants.

“Hello.”

“Whoa!”

Someone else was in the room.

When Galla looked to the source of the voice, he saw a lone woman standing by the door. He readied his body for a fight.

“Wait—I’m a royal sword. I’m here to talk.”

Regardless of whether she was a royal sword or not, he was surprised he almost took his pants off without noticing her. He decided his exhaustion had to be to blame. Feeling slightly awkward, he re-fastened his belt.

“A royal sword? Who do you work for these days?”

“Princess Carol.”

“I see... Then Her Highness survived.”

He decided to put his jacket back on too. When he reached for it, he felt the gritty texture of dirt on the palm of his hand. His uniform had gotten dirty over the past few days of turmoil. Galla lost interest in his jacket and instead sat down in his shirt.

“Well, what are you here to talk about? Let’s hear it.”

Galla had very little contact with the royal swords, but they were familiar to him. In terms of status, they were close—like soldiers assigned the same responsibilities but in different departments.

Tillet was standing with her back resting against the wall. “I’ll put it bluntly. Defect to our side.”

“Whew...”

“Defect’s the wrong word, isn’t it? Serve your rightful master.”

“What do you mean, ‘rightful master’? Queen Carla isn’t an imposter, is she?” Galla knew how foolish his words sounded as he tried to argue.

“The royal swords have recognized Princess Carol as the true heir. The witches may have declared Carla queen, but there can be no argument as to which daughter carries on the will of Queen Shimoné.”

“Haaah...” Galla was exhausted.

He was tired of hearing this kind of reasoning from his subordinates.

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