Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 119: Meeting with Crown

Chapter 119: Meeting with Crown

The room was cold, the stone walls lined with ancient tapestries and the air filled with the faint scent of incense. Christina stood tall, her posture perfect despite the tension in her shoulders. Beside her stood Shennong, arms relaxed but eyes alert. Both were being inspected thoroughly by the royal guards, a standard procedure when being granted audience with the king.

"Have you ever met King Soris Sturgon before?" Shennong asked quietly, his voice low enough to not carry beyond the space between them.

Christina glanced sideways. "I might have. I was a child then, so I don’t remember it clearly. But my father told me stories."

"What sort of stories?" Shennong asked with genuine curiosity.

Christina drew in a breath. "They say the King is a man of very few words. But every word that leaves his lips either changes the kingdom... or reshapes the balance of the entire continent. That’s how powerful his words are."

Shennong raised an eyebrow. "So he’s more powerful than Sir Juno?"

She gave a small, uncertain smile. "That’s a question no one really knows how to answer. Sir Juno respects the King deeply. They’ve never dueled, not even once. But... in his youth, King Soris was considered the best swordsman in Sturgon. That title alone says something."

"Interesting," Shennong said, stroking his chin.

Just then, the heavy door creaked open and a butler stepped in. "Everything is ready. Lady Christina is invited."

Christina nodded and began to walk. Shennong followed, but his thoughts were already spinning. He had escape plans. Always did. A tunnel he had dug days ago ran deep beneath the castle—a last resort if Sir Juno proved unpredictable.

Led by Christina, the pair entered a grand hall. Dozens of nobles were already seated, their clothes glittering with jewels and fine embroidery. The room screamed luxury—golden chandeliers, rare tapestries, priceless sculptures. It was everything one expected from a royal castle.

Among the sea of unfamiliar faces, one stood out—Sir Juno, in the center of the room, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Announcing Lady Christina Percival, daughter of Lord Jamie Percival of the Barony of Elmont," the herald declared.

All eyes turned to them. Christina and Shennong bowed as commanded.

At the far end of the room sat King Soris Sturgon. Shennong’s eyes narrowed. The King looked... familiar. Short white hair, a crown more beautiful than any jewel in the room, scars marking his face like battle medals. He wore a robe of white tygros fur—luxurious beyond reason. Around him sat elegantly dressed women, clearly the queen and royal consorts.

The King said nothing.

Instead, Sir Juno stepped forward and began to speak. "Your Majesty, lords and ladies, I bring news from the dungeon recently discovered on Lady Christina’s land."

Everyone listened intently as Juno described the dungeon in detail—the monsters, the layout, the dangers.

"It is a safe dungeon for adventurers," Juno concluded. "But for common folk, it remains a deadly place. We recommend it be restricted. Lady Christina may offer her words, as it is her land."

Christina swallowed hard. Every gaze shifted to her. Her heart pounded in her chest.

She stepped forward. "The dungeon... it has brought many minerals and valuable resources to my barony. It holds great value for everyone in the kingdom."

She continued, adding what little she could recall from the brief reports she had skimmed. Juno nodded along, but his eyes weren’t on her—they were on Shennong.

Shennong, for his part, stared at the King. That familiarity gnawed at him. Had they met? Was this a forgotten memory?

Then, at last, the King moved. He raised his hand, and all fell silent.

"That will be enough," the King said. His voice was deep and heavy, like a blade sliding free from its sheath. "Tell me, Lady Christina. How fares your father, Lord Jamie? I heard he has fallen ill."

Christina’s voice trembled slightly. "My father... he is not in good condition, Your Majesty."

The King nodded slowly. "Regrettable."

He turned to Juno. "Send letters to every noble house and registered guild. They are permitted to explore this dungeon freely."

With that, the King leaned back. The decision was made. His face was unreadable, distant, as though burdened by matters beyond this gathering.

The nobles around the room began to whisper, murmurs of opportunity and wealth already blooming.

Meanwhile, Juno’s gaze slid once more to Shennong. He gave a slight nod, then exited the hall quietly, disappearing into the shadows.

Shennong watched him go, lips pressed in a firm line. Their silent exchange was not lost on him.

Christina, however, was immediately surrounded. Nobles crowded her, asking questions about the dungeon.

"How deep does it go?"

"Is there mithril?"

"Can my house send explorers tomorrow?"

Christina did her best to answer, trying to remember what she could from the briefing notes. Shennong drifted away from the crowd, toward a tall window.

He stared out, but his thoughts were inward. That King... that face...where had he seen them before.

***

Shennong stood silently on the stone steps of the castle’s outer courtyard, his golden eyes locked onto a lone figure leaning against one of the marble pillars. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a battered cloak over his armor. His silver-blond hair shimmered slightly under the setting sun.

Sir Juno.

No one else was around. The knights had cleared the area, probably out of respect—or fear.

Shennong’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t looking at Juno himself. His gaze fell to the man’s hip, where a sheathed sword rested.

There it was again—that dreadful feeling. A tightness in his chest. A chill that scraped against his bones.

That sword... it’s the same one, Shennong thought. The wound that won’t heal... Yenissa’s wound... it came from that blade.

He clenched his fists. For a moment, he felt like just charging in and demanding answers. But he stopped himself.

No. At this pace, maybe I don’t even need Mandira’s help... if this man is the source of the wound, maybe he’s also the key to the cure.

But even as the thought passed through him, a deeper part of him stirred—something darker. He looked at the sword again.

I came here for the cure... but now I know I’ll want the sword too.

Shennong took a breath, steadying his emotions, and approached calmly. "Sir Juno," he greeted with formal courtesy. "I hope I’m not interrupting."

Juno didn’t even look at him. "Drop the act," he said, voice low and tired. "I’ve had enough nobles talking in circles. What do you want?"

Shennong stopped a few steps away and met his eyes. "I want to know how someone injured by your sword can be healed."

That made Juno blink. He turned fully to face him now. "What?"

"I said," Shennong repeated, voice firmer, "someone I care about was wounded by your blade. The wound won’t close. No healing magic, no potion, not even holy light can fix it. I need to know why."

Juno frowned. "That’s impossible," he muttered. "I haven’t fought anyone recently. Not outside the battlefield."

"So you admit it," Shennong said. "This happened during the war."

"I didn’t say that," Juno snapped. "And even if I had, no wound should behave like that. You’re telling me someone’s bleeding out from a scratch I gave them weeks ago?"

Shennong’s silence answered for him.

Juno scratched his head, confused. "Look, I don’t remember hitting any civilians or nobles. I was on the frontlines. Unless they were disguised or—hell, I don’t know."

Shennong’s gaze sharpened. "A war hero... the greatest hero of a nation... wielding dark powers sealed in a sword. Are you really the kind of man this kingdom looks up to?"

Juno’s eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth."

"Where did you get that sword?" Shennong pointed at the weapon.

"This isn’t Ebonfang," he added. "I’ve seen that blade. Yours is something else. Something darker."

Juno’s face twisted. "That’s none of your business."

"I think it is."

"I said," Juno growled, "you don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t owe you an explanation, boy."

Shennong’s eyes flared. His voice dropped to a cold whisper. "Is that so?"

He turned his back on Juno. "Then I suppose we’ll do this the hard way."

He took a few steps away, the stone echoing beneath his boots. "I thought this meeting would be a fruitful one. Apparently, I was wrong."

Juno stared after him, scowling. "What the hell is his problem?" he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t like this. This kid—he couldn’t be older than Daniel, his nephew—was talking like he owned the world. Acting like he had the right to judge him.

But there was something else too. Something about the way Shennong looked at the sword.

He knew. He felt it.

Juno glanced down at the blade on his hip.

"Just leave her alone. Don’t meddle in my matters,"

he muttered—whether to himself or to the sword, he wasn’t sure.

He looked back at the young man walking away.

What is he planning...? Are his claims about Marciel land being in danger just lies? Or is he truly that powerful?

Juno didn’t know. And that uncertainty gnawed at him.

But one thought echoed louder than the rest: If I kill him now, nothing will happen. No one will know. No one will stop me.

That was the thought taking shape in his mind—

and he was ready to act on it.

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