Chapter 349
Chapter 349
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 349
Chapter Title: Saint and Completer (5)
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“Landing! Landing!”
“Those with mana stones or air mana accessories equipped, please stay away from the landing site! You could get caught in a mana storm!”
In the middle of a wide open field, people waving flags of various colors were running around, while merchants in their distinctive attire shouted themselves hoarse to the crowds gathered around the perimeter, sweat pouring down their faces.
Each one decked out in lavish attire and expensive jewelry, they were far too famous and noble to be lumped together under the bland term “crowd.”
“In the end, the rumors about Aedran on the brink of collapse were just nonsense, weren’t they?”
“Exactly. Even you, Countess?”
“...With Aedran, who always boasted that carriages and horses were a merchant’s home and family, packing everything up—who wouldn’t be tempted? We had goods and caravans all ready, and now this. Honestly, it doesn’t sit right with me.”
High nobles of Teldrat.
“How far have the caravans from the Masren direction gotten?”
“Past Quillan, probably reaching Parell by now...”
“Tell them to turn back immediately. There’ll be people too scared to pounce and starting to sell off their horses and carriages again. Have them sell the goods prepared for the caravan as payment to raise cash, then buy up more horses and carriages hitting the market.”
“More horses here?”
“Yes! More! Right now, those ships flying in the sky will dominate world logistics for at least the next three hundred years! It’s no exaggeration to say Goldgeizer already has a stranglehold on the big trade routes!”
“Then why...”
“You idiot! All trade routes are being completely redefined! The straight lines connecting major cities will be airship lanes! Doesn’t that mean we need to stake our claim on the retail sub-routes branching off like twigs? Passage rights through territories on those routes, trading taxes, connections with lords—there’s no end to what needs handling! Hurry!”
“Yes, sir!”
Merchants from the Free Trade Alliance. And—
“It’s been a while, Your Highness.”
“...‘A while’ doesn’t quite cover it, does it? Seeing your face is harder than ever. I’ve told you to at least show up at the palace once a year, Volter Aedran.”
“Your Highness and I are both at an age where getting out of bed is an adventure in itself, aren’t we?”
“An adventure... Indeed, you’ve embarked on quite the grand one. They call it an airship? What a magnificent creation. Congratulations. This is a great boon for Teldrat.”
“A boon for Teldrat... Though it’s just a single prototype in development now, once more airships are built, we’ll charter the first ones to the royal family.”
“...I thought the last family to rival the crown was finally falling, but you’ve gone and surpassed it instead.”
“In the past, as today, House Aedran and the crown are simply good friends. The crown protects the nation. Aedran provides the gold and jewels to make Teldrat stand tall. Isn’t that right?”
Teldrat’s king, Siodell Bellaster III, who had personally visited Aedran lands to witness the miracle of magitech known as the airship, and Volter Aedran, patriarch of House Aedran.
Having completed its first official flight, the airship descended into its dedicated landing pad within Aedran’s inner citadel, under the gazes of this constellation of luminaries.
Vrooooom...
Clank—
Hiss!
As the peculiar hum of the magitech engine faded and the airship settled fully, even the people momentarily set aside their schemes and applauded as one.
The clunk of unknown metal mechanisms locking into place. Vibrations unnatural to nature, followed by ripples of purple and blue mana waves from the landing shock. All this unfamiliarity transcended mere spectacle, making them feel they were witnessing a page of history.
And one of the pillars who made this history—the patriarch of the golden house, who had poured out endless wealth—strode up the gangplank amid the crowds’ cheers.
“I’m back, Patriarch.”
“Good. You’ve worked hard, traveling all the way to that dangerous desert.”
The patriarch beamed as his son appeared on deck. At a glance, it looked like a father praising his accomplished son, but their hushed words, spoken close together, were quite different.
“Where’s that bastard?”
“That bastard? You mean the magitech engineer—”
“Lower your voice. I don’t want the king spotting Roman.”
“...He’s not in the territory?”
“It’s not a kidnapping. His mother’s still at the castle, so he hasn’t vanished. He must have boarded the airship, but you not knowing means you haven’t won over the crew yet. Useless fool.”
“...You’re saying the crew lied to me?”
“You merchants and the others might miss it, but not to notice from the ones who operate and maintain the ship? That doesn’t add up.”
“These lowly sailors dare—”
“Shut your mouth if you don’t want to lose your position, Bergenev. Right now, compare your value to those—the only ones skilled with the airship. Do you really think you come out ahead?”
Bergenev Aedran, who had gone to the desert as the airship’s captain, shrank under his father’s icy gaze. Beneath the mask-like smile lurked chill. The old serpent of Aedran, said to have silver flowing through his veins instead of blood. Having seen that look his whole life, Bergenev fell silent.
Of course, even that didn’t please the patriarch.
Watching his pathetic display, it pained him to think of entrusting this great house and company to one of his other worthless children, no different from this one. Inevitably, he found himself missing his daughter, who had fiercely rebelled against his order to marry. Emotional, yes, but spirited and brilliant.
“Tch. If I’d known Lucilla would turn out like that, I never would have sent her away.”
Had he, a man who spent his life reading and manipulating people, failed to predict Lucilla’s reaction? Deep down, he’d been pleased when she stared straight into his cold eyes at the marriage command and spat insults like “You’re so old you can’t even judge a person’s worth anymore, you doddering fool!” He’d expected her to return from the world’s tempests a finer merchant. Yet she’d become the Empire’s Empress.
“...No loss there. A priceless gain, even. But I thought I’d finally found a child worthy to succeed me. What a hassle.”
Volter savored the rare taste of the unexpected. Predictable trade was stable, but true fortunes always hid in the unforeseen.
Naturally, his interest turned to the man connected to both Roman and Lucilla.
“So. Where’s the saint? The last report said he boarded with you.”
“He had cargo that couldn’t be loaded, so he’s coming separately with it.”
“You stopped at Nullak, right? Must’ve borrowed his earth mages. The kind who wouldn’t even ride a palanquin, let alone a carriage.”
“Turned out for the best. He tore up the contract right in front of me—barbaric, just as you’d expect from the pinnacle of those Radiant Church clerics. If he’d come here with all these nobles and royals gathered, it would’ve been a disaster.”
“...So you sent him separately?”
“They asked first, so I agreed without a second thought.”
“...What an idiot. Can’t even accept a favor handed to him.”
To call the man who conquered the empire’s viper pit of high society barbaric. Unbelievable. In that empire’s social circles, which devoured saints and saintesses alike, he’d secured a flawless position with no scandals whatsoever—a monster. And to judge him barbaric based on appearances alone.
Even more, despite holding the highest status there, he’d asked this dimwit son if he could “step down and go separately”—meaning he’d calculated the fallout of appearing with him at this landing site, where rumors of the airship had drawn every noble.
The image of the Radiant Church’s pinnacle and the airship’s master together. Knowing the intangible power and wealth that picture would generate, he’d sought permission out of necessity! The first airship’s route being set for the warzone wasn’t mere logistics innovation but to show thick-headed nobles its unmatched military value. The moment the Radiant Saint descended from the airship at the front lines—what boundless intangible value that scene would create!!!!
“...And you didn’t even calculate that before telling him to get off. Bergenev isn’t just incompetent—he’s worthless.”
Volter shoved his son away with a frosty glare and addressed his attendant.
“Send someone to the territory outskirts. A VIP is coming. Have them carry the saint’s portrait.”
“Yes.”
Since he was already coming separately, they’d at least prepare a proper welcome. Volter stroked his beard, recalling the files his company men had gathered on him from everywhere.
From fallen nobility. Bottom-rung mercenary, conscript, even wanted for desertion at one point—risen to his position through grueling lows.
Peerless in both letters and arms, with the political savvy to wield the Church’s backing deftly and without hesitation.
Setting aside personality, a genius acknowledged by all—even imparting magical insight to Roman, skilled in magitech. As proof, his “chicken sensor”—irreplaceable despite some damage from tests—had been adopted as a core component of the official airship.
“Hm? Oh... dear me.”
“If you’re unwell, we can escort you inside.”
“No. This old body’s just acting up a bit. No need to worry. Control the crowds so outsiders can see well, but carefully ensure no one—sailors, mechanics, magitech engineers—approaches them.”
“...Are you planning to step away?”
“You’ve grown. Reading my mind now.”
Volter shook his head, feeling blood rush to his ears for the first time in ages.
A man with the talents of ten is called a hero.
Heroes are born in chaos, and at chaos’s end, the world changes.
“I thought ascending to patriarch meant no more thrills...”
“P-Patriarch?”
The attendant, who had served Volter his whole life, stammered at the eerie smile on his face.
Serpentine cold eyes, vulture-like savage grin.
It was the face of the gambler-merchant who, long ago as Aedran’s fourth son, devoured his brothers’ companies to claim this seat.
“Y-Your Majesty the King and the high nobles are all gathered! It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say all Teldrat is crammed into this citadel. If you, the host, leave—”
“Prepare my carriage. With escorts.”
“Th-Then, at least let me know how to explain to the guests...”
“Hmm. Words to placate the fools...”
Volter looked down at his anxious, scheming body servant. The eldest was a merchant genius but mad for war gold, abandoning the house. Second had no vision, third was crippled—none fit to inherit.
“Come to think of it, some imperial houses make heirs serve as body servants.”
“Make something up.”
“Y-Yes? B-But...”
Having served him over fifteen years, the boy was now a man in his mid-twenties. Better to give chances to promising outsiders than cling to rotten seeds and ruin the house on the cusp of greatness.
Wasn’t there a saying?
The foolish merchant breaks in fierce winds.
The wise merchant bends softly.
The great merchant rides the storm and soars.
“Failed at raising heirs—better scout new ground than weep over bad seed.”
Volter hurried his steps, recalling promising Goldgeizer executives he’d eyed, thanking the storm for blowing before he grew too old.
He mounted his prepared horse.
****
Clop clop clop clop—
“So. You came all the way out here?”
“Escaped using your excuse. At my age, rubbing shoulders with money ghosts from across the world’s gotten burdensome.”
“Too burdened to ditch your king and foreign dignitaries? On the day you unveil the airship you’ve kept secret forever, right in front of them?”
“Yep.”
“Hey, coachman! Looks like the Aedran patriarch’s senility’s bad. When your charge starts giggling ‘Gonna go have fun hehe~’ and running off in a daze, you gotta stop him! Indulging him’s negligence! Swore loyalty? Serve till he’s in the coffin! Slacking at the end? Useless!”
“You there! Senility? How dare you slander the patriarch—”
“Quiet, Sir Hayward. Since you brought it up, why not pray with those famous holy powers? Straighten out this doddering old man’s mind.”
“You wretch! How dare you speak of Lord Haram and the Saint like—”
“Keep interrupting, and I’ll skip the sainthood again, Gregorius. Archbishop’d die of apoplexy—real tragedy.”
“Urgh...”
The old man and I locked eyes as we silenced our nags beside us.
“Not just anyone, but the great hero of this age, who’s bestowed no small favors on our Aedran—shouldn’t I come greet him myself when he’s rushing here like this?”
“Since the image of me descending the airship amid nobles is off the table, you’ll flaunt our connection this way? Staging the old patriarch ditching that vital event to welcome me personally?”
“Mutual benefit, no? Though if I’d known the hero was charging barefoot, hauling a half-broken carriage on his shoulder, I’d have sent an extra one. Heading back like this’ll spread rumors we treated our guest abysmally.”
Tch. No retort to that.
As the patriarch said, I was dragging the carriage on foot, escorted by holy knights. Looked ridiculous. Gregorius was even whispering to the patriarch’s retainers to “keep this quiet for the Church’s honor.”
Even the impassive Volter Aedran would marvel at my current state—courtesy of our oil mages, of course.
After twists and turns entering Kalasan, we headed straight for Aedran, but they refused to go trussed like tuna.
“To gather earth essence for the war, we need both hands free! Can’t do it hastily in battle—must stockpile now!”
Bound like that, they couldn’t prepare properly. I’d shrug off most requests, but hindering combat prep warranted thought.
So I asked the dazed Kalasan lord.
“Got any prisoner transport carriages? Y’know, the ones chaining vicious criminals to the walls, hands and feet bound.”
“...Pardon?”
Clank—!
The five [Oil Mage Exclusive Carriages] I was pulling were modified versions. Huge shackles meant to pin felons to the walls now secured their waists, with the floors removed to spare the axles.
Result?
Clop clop clop clop—
Splash!
Their bare feet, dangling from the walls, dragged along the ground through the open bottoms. This genius invention let lifelong pedestrians—the earth mages—ride carriages.
...Sure, from outside, it looked like five carriages with twenty legs underneath crawling like centipedes—a horrific procession. Volter entering the territory with us would surely suffer grave dishonor.
But! It let our oil drums secure oil calmly while moving fast and safe. A perfect solution piercing all obstacles—worthy of praise!
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- Professor: Isn’t prioritizing practicality over design obvious?
- Take a Look: The problem’s that design’s having its own effects, moron.
- Deer Drug Please: Now I get why ancestors persecuted practical scholars. Pragmatism hits hard.
- Jokass: Even zombies pouring from graves wouldn’t be as scary.
- Professor: Tch tch. How could a sparrow grasp the great peng’s intent?
- Jokass: Peng my ass, you peng bastard.
- Holy: Why does it get more grotesque with each “improvement”? Some curse?
- Take a Look: GG’s balance system thrashing to compensate?
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“...If it bothers you that much, slow down before the territory comes into view. You go ahead separately.”
“Appreciated. Since I’m here, shall we finish the deal my fool son botched...?”
“Ah, time-saving. Always welcome. Got the contract?”
“You ask for mere paper before Aedran’s patriarch?”
“Indeed. First, the existing grain monopoly—considering the great hero saint’s endorsement, we must adjust... Ah, ‘endorsement’ meaning—”
Our intense first impressions faded, and things proceeded smoothly. With a world-fate war, logistics were endlessly complex and vital. Volter Aedran headed Goldgeizer, the conglomerate handling everything from helmets to underwear.
The four-hour marathon en route to Aedran’s walls ended with satisfying results for both.
Thanks to the patriarch entering first and our holy knights, rumors stayed at “cleric-pulled hundred-legged monster”—we entered unscathed.
****
Creak—
“You must be tired from the long trip—rest here. Need time for the outsiders to calm anyway. Or join the evening banquet? A lineup flashier than any royal ball.”
“...Eh?”
“Knew it. Your group all said rest too. Meals to your room.”
The patriarch, pleased with the deal, assigned fine quarters and urged me to relax. Makes sense—with those terms, House Aedran’s gold vein wouldn’t dry for ten years.
Creak—click.
Door shut, the expensive room blocked outside clamor with eerie silence.
“Rest. Rest, huh...”
Splash!
After roughly washing my dusty body with water, I flopped on the bed. Stillness brought more thoughts.
‘Airship speed: three days to Lordric’s Kingsland from here. One more to the western front.’
No plans to linger. War logistics details settled en route with the patriarch. Once loaded, straight to Lordric.
No time to rest with war skies ahead.
Humm—
Staring at his fingertips burning with gathered holy power, the Professor pressed it to his forehead.
“...Yes, Archbishop. It’s me. Long time—ow, my ears!”
With rear business done, time to face the front directly.
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