Virgin Knight Who Is the Frontier Lord in the Gender Switched World - Chapter 213

At a certain assembly.

Among the imperial family of Greater Mongolia and the chiefs and senior officials of influential tribes, a single former Phayronian walks up to Toktoa.

And she speaks.

“Are you plotting something? Is that wise?”

She is a woman with long hair.

Somewhat older.

In the midst of a relaxed gathering, far from a boisterous banquet, she alone wears a frown.

Her attire has not changed from when she was the Chancellor of the Phayron dynasty, showing that she has not forgotten her past role in the slightest.

It’s clear she finds it utterly distasteful to serve as Chancellor to Toktoa Khan, right before her eyes.

Her expression says she finds it unbearable and that she doesn’t mind being reprimanded by anyone.

Her demeanor is bold, and reprimanding her requires firm resolve from others.

“Chancellor, my master. That alone does not tell me what you wish to express.”

Indeed, that’s the case.

If anyone were to reprimand her for her attitude toward Toktoa, Toktoa himself might retort, “Do you have any issues with my Chancellor? She is my mentor, invited by me personally.”

The Phayronian standing in front of him clearly shows an attitude of disdain toward Toktoa, but Toktoa admires her spirit.

“What is this about?”

“Your daughter, Seora.”

At this, Toktoa thinks to himself that she truly fears nothing, not even death.

People who aren’t afraid of death are his weakness.

Considering her background, she had topped the imperial exams of the Phayron dynasty, excelled in all academics, and was an expert in astronomy.

Toktoa, being a nomad, often wondered, while looking at the vast horizons, about the stars that seemed to change and shift in the sky.

Could the earth be round, he wondered? Perhaps the ground he galloped upon with his horse was akin to the stars in the sky?

When he expressed these doubts, his men looked at him bewildered, except for one day, when a captive responded sourly.

It was her, standing before him, who, even bound and on the verge of being beheaded, spoke boldly without begging for her life.

“Do you barbarians not even know this?” she mocked, explaining in detail.

Since she was to die anyway, she explained every mystery Toktoa had about the world without holding back any detail.

Toktoa held deep respect for her from that moment.

He cherished her as a mentor of unparalleled standing.

Though she never accepted him as her disciple, she didn’t mind being summoned as a Chancellor.

She said that even if the Phayron dynasty had fallen, its people remained.

If it meant protecting those people, she would not refuse to become his Chancellor.

She accepted the role with biting candor, showing no deceit in her actions.

In fact, she had protested a heinous plan — to kill all the Phayronians in the northern plains, transforming it into suitable land for nomads.

Instead, she created a census categorizing people by profession, settled them, and built cities, bringing immense tax revenue to Mongolia.

No one could underestimate her after she accomplished so much.

Toktoa simply smiled, knowing his mentor could handle it.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I laugh at my mentor. I laugh at my Chancellor.”

Not in mockery.

He laughed at the monstrous intellect of the highest caliber from the Phayron dynasty.

Yet, she did not take his laughter as joy.

“What do you intend to do with Seora?”

She was only truly worried about one thing.

Her disciple in a position she disapproved of — her daughter, Seora, who seemed to be plotting something odd on her expedition.

Toktoa understood her misunderstanding — that she thought he intended to kill Seora.

“What would I do? You think I plan to kill my own daughter?”

“If needed, you would kill her. My disciple. Seora.”

“If necessary.”

To him, it was a matter of indifference.

If it concerned something after death, it could be dismissed.

“But there’s no need for that.”

Seora had always been a peculiar child, wearied by everything.

She hated stealing from others, a foolish girl by his standards.

In any era, stealing was a constant, and he doubted a time would come where fair transactions existed without deceit.

People deceive, fight, and kill to take from others.

That was the simplest way.

Toktoa didn’t see his actions as wrong; he won his possessions through battle and refused to be labeled for wrongdoing.

The weak should either grow stronger or take from others, as he did.

But if Seora chose a different path, that was her prerogative.

What did she think her noble governance, which increased the rulers’ burden and redistributed wealth to the people, would prove?

If a truly noble person existed, they would guide the destitute to new lands to start anew.

Appear before the desperate and downtrodden.

Teach them to tend sheep, to butcher animals bloodily — a gruesome yet honest display.

Even if it meant cultivating the land as the Phayronians did, teach them hands-on, hands blistered and bleeding.

Let them see her as a leader just for them.

Such a foolish woman might not even exist in this world, he mused suspiciously.

“…In the western conquests, you would acknowledge the succession of the Holy Empire, then?”

“If Seora has determined that it’s the most efficient course, then so be it. Naturally, she will have to reimburse the expenses incurred for the conquest. Moreover, transferring the imperial throne without bloodshed is impossible. She must understand the necessity of battle. I told her, if she wants to govern according to her ideals, she should just go ahead. So, it really doesn’t matter to me.”

It doesn’t matter at all.

Toktoa’s aim has always been the conquest of this continent.

But after all, he is only human; even a superhuman cannot extend his command and vitality into every trivial matter.

Whatever kind of country Seora wishes to create, she is free to do so.

Besides—Toktoa will soon die.

The Silk Road, once bustling, is now a desolate path trodden by only a few hundred travelers and merchants.

He plans to rebuild this trade route and conquer it, completing his life’s work.

That will be the extent of his life.

“Hope that the country Seora aims to build does not fail.”

He spat the words out and ended the conversation.

But since his mentor had spoken to him, he might as well indulge her in a bit of small talk.

“…However, it feels a bit regrettable now.”

“What does?”

“The assassination group from Parusa. They called themselves the Star of the Evening. Maybe I should have been more patient with them until I learned their secrets.”

The secrets of “The Old Man of the Mountain” were not recorded in any books.

He had wanted that knowledge, just a bit.

Assassination techniques were trivial, but they left behind a lingering curiosity as they disappeared.

“That leader Nahid claimed she had lived for hundreds of years.”

There was a slight interest.

Very slight, though.

She crossed her arms and dismissed it with a scoff.

“There is no such thing as immortality. That Nahid is just a pitiful puppet.”

“No, of course, I don’t believe she is genuine. It’s hard to believe that girl has lived for hundreds of years. Even superhumans have lifespans. I don’t intend to collect secrets of immortality from around the world like the foolish kings of the Phayron dynasty. Because such a thing does not exist.”

He suspected it was some sort of secret technique.

The method was a mystery, but somehow experiences, knowledge, and memories were implanted into a girl of their bloodline.

Even the girl herself might be convinced that she is “The Old Man of the Mountain.”

It must be a type of brainwashing crafted by the assassination guild.

It’s not that “The Old Man of the Mountain” himself has lived for hundreds of years.

“If there were such a thing as immortality, then this superhuman among superhumans, Toktoa, would not be dying of disease.”

The illness was consuming his body.

And he understood this better than anyone else.

He had, perhaps, three more years.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t die.”

“Oh, my master. Have you finally awakened to affection for me now?”

“Nonsense.”

She laughed through her nose.

“Even if you die, the nation will not descend into chaos. Phayron has no power left to resist Mongolia. What worries me is not knowing how much your daughter, who will succeed you, will rely on me. I’m not afraid of being executed and dying, but whether the people of Phayron will be cared for in future generations. That’s my only concern.”

“Indeed.”

The nation will not descend into chaos.

Perhaps the alliances with nations other than the once-mighty Phayron dynasty may weaken.

But that would not destabilize Mongolia’s governance.

Such is their military superiority.

“Killed, killed. I’ve killed many. No one will oppose us anymore. Not even in the lifetime of my grandchildren.”

If our empire is ever to fall.

It would likely be long after the terror established by Toktoa has faded.

When we, as nomads, forget our pride as nomads and begin to live in stone cities.

When they start whining like Seora.

“…I have one thing I want to ask you.”

“Go ahead, my master.”

After hesitating a bit, with her thin Phayronian lips and silver hair flowing, she spoke.

“Do you love Seora?”

“I do. As a daughter. So don’t worry. I won’t do anything.”

If she wants to build her ideal state, let her.

Toktoa will not interfere.

He loves his daughter, so he will not stop her.

He might even support her.

“But I must warn you. Seora will fall spectacularly. She will fall and cry. She will fail at least once. And that’s because she detests and underestimates the act of taking too much.”

She will fail in her attempt to seize control of the state.

Toktoa just has that feeling.

Laughing, he let it go.

Her mentor, the wisest of the Phayron dynasty, simply fell silent.

For her, it was an undeniable reality.