Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Ideal (1)
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The independence fighters' tavern, 'Breath of Resistance,' was brimming with a festive atmosphere. Everyone was soaked in joy like soldiers returning victorious from battle. Thanks to that, seats were scarce, so they sat in the wide courtyard, drinking together.
"He's here!"
At one man's shout, all eyes turned to one side.
There stood figures striding in with the triumphant air of returning generals.
Allen, Freddy, Ches.
As they appeared, the center cleared space for them, and drinks began making the rounds.
With the protagonist Genes absent, they soaked up all the attention in his stead.
No sooner had they taken their seats than questions poured down like a waterfall from all directions.
"How did you meet him?"
"Just how strong is he?"
"Did you see him repel the Raven Knights with your own eyes?"
"How old is he?"
The barrage of excited questions was so intense that even three mouths couldn't keep up.
That was when a noise drawing all eyes rang out.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Everyone's gaze locked onto the man pounding on the tavern's outer wall.
The one banging was Hartwen, who had been sitting in the corner. Beside him were Urno and Hwarenca, all gathered together drinking.
Hartwen bellowed heartily.
"How's the story gonna progress like this? I'll host!"
Having emceed at the training grounds before, he stepped up to guide the tale.
Everyone was waiting for the trio's account.
Once the room quieted, Allen opened with a solemn expression.
"Then let's begin the story."
Among the three, Allen had the smoothest tongue and flair for storytelling. So he handled the main narration.
Freddy and Ches chimed in with the details he occasionally skipped, playing the role of seasoning.
True to form as a master storyteller, Allen wove in fitting gestures as he detailed their first encounter with Genes.
The listeners clutched their pounding hearts like children hearing hero tales, ears perked.
"Lord Genes says, 'Speak another word, and you die.' Just like that—and those guys, what do you think they said? It's ridiculous, right? Imagine some young punk who pops up out of nowhere saying that. Would you obey? Of course not. That's when Lord Genes reaches out. Grips his middle finger like nocking an arrow, aims at the air. One guy's mouthing off, and boom—a bang, one's head explodes, and he drops dead."
"No way!"
Those listening intently erupted in jeers at the unbelievable tale.
"You're kidding. Killed a man with a finger flick?"
"And burst his skull from thin air?"
"That's too much exaggeration!"
No one could deny Genes's strength.
But even accounting for that, the finger-snap story was impossible to buy.
"It's not exaggeration! It's true!"
"We all saw it clear as day!"
Even Freddy and Ches, who had been quiet, stood and protested vehemently, quickly quelling the backlash.
Less belief than a 'fine, let's hear more' attitude.
At any rate, the story continued to their encounter with the Seven-Man Squad.
"That's when I said it."
"No, I said it."
Freddy cut in on Allen.
Meaning the line about repaying the life debt and taking over from there was his.
The independence fighters looked at Freddy with admiration.
Allen smacked his lips and continued.
"Did you? Anyway, the reason we did that was the Seven-Man Squad—Palcherato's elite guards, real heavy hitters. We knew they were chasing us. But lo and behold, they'd already arrived. Seven shadows approaching from afar—man, they looked deadly—"
The crowd refocused on their tale, while the officers, already privy to events, sipped their drinks watching.
"They're really hyped."
As the story dragged, self-appointed host Hartwen returned to his seat.
"Can't blame 'em."
Urno gave a wry smile and wet his throat.
The daytime defeat still gnawed at him. Hwarenca felt the same.
"Damn it. Shouldn't have jumped in yesterday."
"Exactly. You escalated things, and I ended up utterly humiliated."
Urno shot Hwarenca a reproachful glance. Had he not lost yesterday, so many wouldn't have come to watch the duel.
Hwarenca bristled.
"Why's it my fault!"
"Cut the pointless bickering. Winner's me anyway."
Hartwen, who hadn't faced Genes, wrapped it up and proposed a toast.
Three glasses clinked at one point.
"What's it like facing him head-on? Even watching from the side gave me chills."
Hartwen asked, sipping his beer. Urno pondered before replying.
"Hmm, hard to say. It wasn't a sword—it felt like some massive thing swallowing me whole. I could see the sword coming, but no way to counter."
"Hoo, interesting take."
"What about watching from the side? That's what I'm curious about."
"Er...."
Hartwen let out a low hum, recalling the duel’s final moment.
The scene was vivid in his mind, yet words failed.
In that brief instant, he'd seen something—yet nothing.
Just an intuitive sense that something immense, incalculable, had occurred.
He summed it simply.
"Dunno what, but it was like X or three."
"You idiot."
Hwarenca scoffed at his description.
"Then you describe it."
Hwarenca froze mid-gulp of beer.
He couldn't explain either.
How to describe that sword slicing through an instant.
A realm he'd never approached.
For a moment, Genes hadn't felt human.
"So how about you?"
Urno asked Hwarenca, wiping foam from his mouth.
"You at least tried something."
Urno meant last night's clash.
Hwarenca shook his head, recalling the horrific sensation.
Chills had prickled his whole body at that palm blotting the sky.
Like becoming a bug.
He snapped irritably.
"Tried what? Swung at air, swept the ground a few times, done. By the way, he covered the dirt perfectly. If we'd seen those traces yesterday, no doubting the finger blew an imperial soldier's head off."
With that, they sank into their thoughts.
Different defeats, same emotion.
Awe.
An unfathomable gap, not even his shadow reachable.
A lifetime of training never felt so pathetic.
Yet no jealousy.
Not even on the same plane—jealousy impossible, only reverence.
Perhaps that's why?
Defeat was bitter, sword honed lifelong broken, yet his heart felt strangely light.
Frankly, thrilling like a madman.
Everyone here felt the same.
His strength, the more mulled, the more it set hearts racing.
Instinctively, they sensed it.
Something monumental was coming.
And he'd be at the center.
Somehow, Francia's independence, shrouded in thick fog, was outlining itself.
* * *
The night sky was pitch black, densely packed stars twinkling. A softly curved moon cast a gentle glow.
Dark, yet bright night.
Lively murmurs drifted from afar.
At the tavern 'Breath of Resistance,' the hero-less celebration raged.
I gazed at the one who summoned me to this small garden.
A familiar back.
He stared quietly at the sky. I stood beside him and said,
"What is it?"
"Just wanted to talk. Can I drop formalities?"
"Do as you like."
Now much younger than me, standing by Lucian somehow deepened my past life's hues.
To the point he felt like an old friend.
I'm the one losing out here.
His gaze stayed on the distant night sky.
His hair, reflecting pale moonlight, mirrored the sky—dark yet swirling with deep blue, dawn's hue.
He asked,
"Just how strong are you?"
Absurd question, laden with meaning.
I shifted my eyes skyward and answered.
"More than you think."
"Arrogant, but can't argue. You said you're seeking one worthy to be king."
"Yeah."
Sharing the sky stirred an indescribable tickle in my heart.
Last time gazing at the same sky with him was ages ago.
Past life's emotions sharpened.
Especially since coming here.
Precisely, since meeting him.
"Does the qualification to be king even exist?"
I didn't answer his question.
He hadn't asked for my answer.
He already had it.
He continued.
"Long ago, I knew one worthy to be king."
Coincidentally, about me.
"Destined from birth, I vowed loyalty to him."
"So you can't be king because that guy's dead?"
I asked incredulously.
"Did he really die?"
Lucian turned and countered.
I gave him a baffled look; he smiled bitterly at me and went on.
"I made a promise with him. To build a country where all citizens can live smiling."
...I remember.
We sketched Francia we'd build together daily. Anticipated leaning on each other for state affairs.
Dreamed of enriching every citizen's life.
We were young then.
I said,
"No such country exists."
The ideal nation we dreamed can't exist.
That's the world I saw.
Over long years, met countless people, experienced myriad humans.
Some good, some evil—but humans are just selfish beings.
That selfishness divided only by fitting society's frame or not.
I lived by my will, good to some, evil to others.
Good yet evil.
That's human—and me too.
In a world of such, not all can be happy.
"You know it's just an ideal. Possible only in fantasy, never reality."
Self-mockery tinged his voice.
He'd had varied experiences too.
Ten years of ordeals. His achievements showed it plainly.
"Still, I kept thinking it. Even shattered, broken, despaired, collapsed—I couldn't let go."
"Why go that far? No country left now."
"Hmm, it just gave me purpose. With country and house lost, my sole reason to live?"
I looked at him.
His gaze fixed ahead, but not on the starry sky.
Those star-filled eyes retraced his path.
"I know the country we dreamed differs from reality. Just an ideal. But."
His past-laden gaze met mine.
Eyes clearly confronting something.
"One day, I thought: Isn't an ideal something everyone yearns for? So even if unreachable, shouldn't we strive closer? Isn't that a leader's duty?"
"So, gotten closer?"
"Yeah. Infinitely smaller than Francia, but this is the country I built."
His fingertip swept horizontally over the Palette Merchant Group.
Then he looked at me, smiling sheepishly.
Yet I felt the conviction and pride within.
"If you became Francia's king, what would you do?"
"Become king.... Never thought about it. Not doing this to be king."
As I opened my mouth, he continued.
"But I do want to build a country."
Lucian grinned mischievously and spoke.
"I want to make a country without a king."