Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: The Interrupted Past Life Continues (2)
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A mansion encircled by earthen walls like ramparts.
Dense woods packed the area around it.
I climbed a hillock and surveyed the mansion's full layout.
The rise jutted up alongside the villa, offering the perfect vantage to peer inside.
With a quick scan done, I turned to the masked men.
"Is this the place?"
"...Yes, it is. What in the world is going on?"
Their voices brimmed with confusion. Faces bared as they pulled down their masks were frozen like stone.
The villa lay eerily silent.
No vigilant guards, no lanterns piercing the dark. Just the empty mansion, utterly devoid of any signs of life.
Something felt off.
The mismatch from expectations reeked of suspicion.
For the guy who'd brought soldiers all the way to the villa to vanish in the dead of night? No way it was a simple change of heart.
I eyed the dazed masked men.
They wouldn't have fled out of fear of these guys, either.
The situation boiled down to two possibilities.
Either urgent business called him back, or he'd come here for some other purpose from the start.
My gut leaned toward the latter.
I headed toward the villa.
No point dwelling here—this needed resolving on-site. The masked men hurried after me in a panic.
A steep slope linked the hillock to the villa, but I crossed it as easily as flat ground, vaulting the surrounding wall in one bound.
Silence greeted me.
Still no hint of human presence.
Looking around, braziers scattered across the courtyard bore traces of recent fires.
A faint residual warmth suggested they hadn't been gone long.
"They went this way!"
A voice called from afar as we poked around.
They'd found a trail.
With a light kick off the ground, I was suddenly beside him.
"Huh."
He gasped, startled by my arrival.
"Which way."
"Th-that way. See here—marks of a group passing through."
I followed his pointing finger. Sure enough, grass lay trampled and snapped haphazardly.
He was right.
I wasn't versed in tracking, but this much was obvious.
They hadn't expected anyone on their tail.
We followed the trail with ease.
Along the way, I asked why they'd gone for the assassination. Apparently, the guy's movements—some Palcherato fellow—had seemed fishy.
From their story, plenty of red flags checked out.
He'd anticipated their masked ambush.
He had a hidden squad called the Seven-Man Squad and moved the moment he shook them off.
Palcherato knew the Independence Army had eyes on him.
But it wasn't a ploy to draw out the masked men.
The leftover tracks showed he'd been rushing somewhere.
Coming to the villa was just a smokescreen to cover his tracks.
Palcherato had clearly been in a spot where he needed to lose his watchers.
Guys like him always had something shady going on.
Some secret affair he couldn't let anyone catch wind of.
"What the hell is he up to?"
They weren't fools, either—muttering among themselves, piecing it together.
They reached the same conclusion as me.
Ah, this bastard's got something he can't let us find out about.
But what it was? They had no clue.
* * *
The Kterer Mountains snaked through the northern reaches of the Francia Kingdom.
At the point where their majestic range began to stretch out, Freas Mountain hosted a village named after it.
A tiny hamlet absent from any map.
The quiet streets slumbered in the dead of night.
A metallic clanking spread softly on the wind above them.
It came from the armor of some thirty-odd knights marching in step.
Their steps halted before an ordinary home.
That was their destination.
"Drag him out."
At the man's command, the surrounding knights bowed their heads. In that instant, a man's everyday life shattered.
"Who's there!"
A bewildered old man's shout echoed from inside.
But these weren't foes a rural villager could handle.
The elder was hauled into his own living room without a fight.
The dinner table where he'd enjoyed a peaceful meal that evening now held a stranger.
A square-jawed middle-aged man.
His name: Palcherato Ias.
Bathed in the lantern's soft glow, his face mingled greed with anticipation.
Palcherato spoke.
"Where is it?"
"Wh-what are you talking about...?"
The old man's flustered voice rang out, but Palcherato ignored it and pressed on.
"No need for theatrics, Idehal. I know everything—that's why I'm here."
As the old man's eyes flickered faintly, a satisfied smile curled Palcherato's lips. He rephrased his question.
"Where's the national seal?"
Resignation settled over the elder's wrinkled face.
He'd come knowing it all, just as claimed.
His true name, hidden for a decade, had been spoken.
That said it all.
"The seal of a fallen kingdom. Do I need to rip apart and slaughter every soul in this village to get it?"
Idehal's closed eyes twitched at the corners.
Nearly ten years he'd spent here.
He'd buried it all, praying to live out his days in peace.
But the gods wouldn't grant it, it seemed.
Idehal pondered, though not for long.
This horrific moment he'd dreaded through the years had simply become reality.
Palcherato was right.
The kingdom had fallen.
He couldn't let the living die for the dead.
That was his thinking.
"If I hand it over, the villagers go free?"
"Of course."
"How can I trust that?"
"We don't want needless uproar over this mess, either."
Idehal weighed the words for truth.
No clear answer emerged.
They held the blade.
"I swear it on a knight's honor."
Idehal's eyes flashed at Palcherato's addition.
A knight's oath carried binding force among them.
Perhaps the man meant it.
"I'll trust you, then..."
"Good choice."
"It's inside the pillow I lay my head on."
Palcherato creased his brow in surprise, then nodded to the knights.
A ripping sound came from the bedroom, and an excited knight returned with a box.
Idehal gazed at it, emotions swirling in his eyes.
Palcherato took the box, opened it, and carefully lifted out the golden seal within.
Square-cut, it spanned a palm's width, two finger-joints thick, topped with a carved white lion—the face of the Leonir Lancer—as its handle.
Francia's national seal.
Palcherato turned it over, inspecting closely.
Who'd have thought the seal the Independence Army and turncoats had hunted fruitlessly for ten years hid in an old man's pillow.
"Kukuku."
His laugh gleamed with greed.
Palcherato thrilled at the historic moment unfolding by his hand.
Idehal spoke.
"Now leave us be."
"Not yet. Need to verify it's real."
Idehal nodded.
This one knew everything for sure.
Even the authentication method—he had backup.
Someone stood behind him.
No doubt...
Wooong.
The seal absorbed mana, erupting in prismatic light that etched "Francia" in red script on the floor.
Palcherato nodded at the sight, tenderly replacing the seal in its box.
"Good. Thanks for keeping your end."
He flashed a pleased smile.
Idehal eyed it tensely.
"No send-off needed."
"You misunderstand. The long journey ahead is yours, not mine."
Palcherato's smile chilled to ice.
Idehal ground his teeth at the sudden betrayal.
He'd suspected as much.
The oath meant nothing.
"Won't send you off alone—don't worry. This village ends tonight."
Palcherato's lips twisted wide.
Darkness swallowed Idehal's vision.
U unmoved by his own death, he roared in fury now.
"You bastard! How dare a knight swear a knight's oath then flip like a coin!"
Idehal's rage shook the room.
"Me, swear a knight's oath? Who heard it?"
Palcherato shrugged, scanning the knights. They stood silent. He sneered at Idehal.
"Getting senile in your old age, eh? Tsk tsk."
Shaking his head, he ordered the knights behind him.
"Whether infants, dying geezers, or the dogs they keep—leave no life breathing in this village."
As the knights marched out on crisp orders, Idehal gnashed his teeth.
"Human scum. Not content with selling out your country—you commit these atrocities too? No fear of heaven?"
Palcherato snorted a hollow laugh, rising.
"Heaven? Lived this long and still believe that tripe? It doesn't exist. You know what happened to those who gave their lives for the kingdom."
He reached for the sword at his waist, sneering.
"They died nameless in some field. Crows and wild dogs picked their bones clean. But look at me—still kicking, living large. Choice is obvious, no?"
Sring.
A chilling rasp accompanied the straight-drawn steel blade.
Faced with the sword, Idehal's clenched fists trembled.
He'd accepted his end.
Only the innocent villagers' deaths grieved him.
"Die!"
Idehal charged the armed man bare-handed.
Nothing to wield but his rage, he threw his body forward.
He knew his punch wouldn't land.
But it was his utmost defiance.
"Pathetic."
Palcherato scoffed, slashing.
White sword-light flashed.
Crimson blood trailed in its wake.