Chapter 415
Chapter 415
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 415
Chapter Title: Chapter 18. Railed (19)
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****
Click.
“So. You came running home right before departure... all because of that?”
The head of House Brasol, Delpiad Brasol, scanned the thoroughly cowed boy before him.
Professor Brasol. By blood alone, he could be called his son.
‘Looks like he’s been through quite a bit.’
The boy who had pounded on the doors of House Brasol at the crack of dawn looked nothing like nobility. Not only was his entire body caked in coal dust and oil—who knew what he’d been up to—but his previously fine face was now wrapped in bandages.
“Did they turn hostile toward you?”
“H-House head... If I left with them, I wasn’t even sure I’d survive...”
The deep wound under his eye. Delpiad Brasol was immensely pleased by the sight of the young spy returning after just one day with such grave injuries.
‘The Railship abusing one of our house’s own is only natural. With departure imminent and so much to do, the fact that they didn’t stop this boy from heading home is their way of mocking me—treating House Brasol’s people so harshly.’
Dwarf racial law? Delpiad wasn’t foolish enough to swallow such nonsense and take a loss. If he were, he never would have been granted the seat of house head.
Hostage. Uneasy with just a shard of the Lord’s fragment, they’d demanded one of the house’s blood kin as well. The clear signs of labor and abuse suggested he was being properly treated as one.
“Well done.”
“...Pardon?”
“I said you did well. The more they treat you like trash, the less they’ll suspect you, right? Cherish the pain and wounds you’ve endured. That way, the joy that comes when they meet their ruin will be all the greater.”
“Y-Yes... House head, I...”
“They let you go, but staying away too long isn’t wise. Your role is the most crucial in this plan, so you should minimize contact with the house, no? Being on the train lets you respond swiftly if something arises.”
“Uh, um...”
As the hesitating Professor opened his mouth to speak, Delpiad clapped the boy’s shoulder—sticky with congealed coal dust and oil.
Pat pat.
“I’ll be seeing you in a new light. If I’d known you were this capable, I’d have paid you more attention sooner.”
“Uh, er...”
“Once this is over, I’ll formally accept you into the house. You’ll compete on equal footing with your brothers.”
“J-Just once this is over?”
“That’s right. Just finish this one job well.”
The boy’s face, half-hidden by bandages, lit up at Delpiad’s firm assurance. Of course it would. In the past nine years, he hadn’t received so much as a kind word, let alone a proper glance. The direct line into the Railship was still needed, so despite the hassle, a little soothing was in order.
With this assurance, he’d report back on his own. For someone who’d stumbled into the plan by chance, he was a surprisingly useful card.
“If you’re worried, take that maid you mentioned. They’ll all be dead soon enough, and you won’t need to labor on that train for years after, so no real servant to tend you is necessary. But we told the dwarves we’d attach a maid, so bringing her will reduce suspicion. Have her go with you on the way back.”
“Y-Yes, House head.”
“Good. Magic engines can cause communication interference, so stay near the passenger cars as much as possible.”
With a gesture from Delpiad, who had said his piece, the boy slunk away.
“...Gilder.”
“Heh heh heh heh. You called?”
“They’re departing soon. Check the spells we’ve prepared.”
“If the catalysts work properly, there’s nothing left to prepare...”
“Not that side. The ‘other’ preparations.”
“Ahh~ You mean that one...”
At Delpiad’s dry tone, the soul sorcerer fiddled with a small vial in his robes and chuckled convulsively.
“You know the payment, right?”
“I’ll contact the main house. Request more support for your school.”
“In that case. I have preparations to make...”
Grind—
Having gotten what he wanted, the soul sorcerer vanished behind the office’s secret wall.
“...Filthy vermin.”
Soul sorcerers, citizens, house servants and retainers—all of them, nothing but bugs scrambling for their own bowls. Like dogs barking at the sight of food.
“...This has to succeed. I can’t go back to being livestock. Never, never...!”
Delpiad Brasol recalled the cold gaze of the messenger from the main house as he traced the scar near his collarbone.
The vivid scar felt beneath fine fabric.
He would never return. Delpiad vowed it to himself again and again in the silent office.
****
Splash!
“Ehehehe! Cartrea, I know I look a bit rough, but we’re short on time—”
“I know! We have to board by six a.m.! We’ve still got forty minutes! It’s not like the manor to the station takes that long!”
“No, but clothes or luggage or something—”
“The only luggage I need to pack is you, young master!”
Scrub scrub, wipe wipe!
Current time: approximately 5:20 a.m.
The meeting with the house head had gone well. The man was suspicious enough to hide his reasons even while throwing his nine-year-old son into enemy territory, but the mangled eye had been effective enough to dispel most of that doubt.
‘From his perspective, this is only natural.’
Of course, the talk of the Boltus fragment holding unprecedented potential was all lies—the truth was snatching their treasure from suicide-bomber threats. With House Brasol and the Railship in total enmity, returning unscathed would have raised the house head’s suspicions plenty. It was an accidental injury, but when it could be useful, use it.
‘I’ve dispelled most of the house head’s doubts. At least until we’re out of Pardau Fortress City’s range, he’ll believe my false reports.’
He’d thought that upon seeing his reflection in a water bucket while getting treated on the Railship. Ah, anyone looking at this would think it’s an abused face. If he went home like this, the house head would be satisfied, thinking, ‘Things are going~ well.’
So on the way back, he’d finished other preparations and stopped by the house without even washing. He needed to fetch Cartrea too, and it might delay the moment his false reports were exposed.
Everything had gone smoothly up to this point.
Wipe wipe wipe!
“You bad, bad people... How could you do something so horrific to such a young, fragile young master—in less than a day!”
“No, it was an accident, no one did it on purpose...”
“You stay still, young master! I’ll show those ruffians who they’ve messed with this time!”
As he’d said, the moment Cartrea saw his ‘anyone could tell’ abused appearance, she’d exploded.
Ten minutes to run to the city’s coal storage yard. Thanks to its simpler-than-expected structure, thirty minutes to prepare everything. Twenty minutes for the house head meeting. And with some time to spare, he’d just started on other preparations when—
“Perfect! You’re clean enough now, so pick out some clothes to wear while it dries!”
“...Can’t I just wear my usual shirt and pants?”
“No way! The moment we arrive at the station, you have to look like a noble young master to anyone watching! How about this? The frills on men’s formalwear are seen as symbols of wealth since they wear out the fabric faster—”
Forty minutes of washing, scrubbing, and changing amid Cartrea’s shrill screams upon seeing him.
“...Did I even have clothes this nice?”
“I saved up and bought them! Someday you’ll have your portrait up for marriage alliances from various houses, so I thought they might come in handy. Some start looking as early as eight!”
The clothes Cartrea had prepared couldn’t even charitably be called luxurious. Through good lining and stitching peeked obvious mending marks. She must have paid extra to some other maid for noble castoffs. She’d unpicked seams at the back and underarms, fitted them to his body, and mended them in stolen moments from her busy maid duties.
Perhaps that was why the noble formalwear he wore for the first time in his life fit him perfectly, if not stylishly.
“Cartrea.”
“The potion healed the wounds nicely, but covering it looks cooler. An eyepatch—a noble eyepatch—I wonder if we can find one...”
“Cartrea. Let me ask again: why are you so good to me?”
So he had to ask. The reason for her devotion.
‘The moment my betrayal is exposed, Cartrea—my exclusive maid in charge of my discipline—dies.’
With no tutor or governess to teach him, any waywardness was solely her failing. When the dwarves came, he’d insisted on taking Cartrea to spare her innocent death for his failures.
But... what if her devotion and affection were due to House Brasol’s brainwashing?
---------
‘What? Take a house servant? Girl, are you insane?’
‘Her name’s Cartrea—she’s like a parent to me...’
‘As a woman, let me tell you: engine crew life isn’t easy on a woman’s body. It’s no joke. You can’t even wash, stuck 24/7 with sweaty men reeking of sweat—all for you? Isn’t that a bit too selfish?’
‘She’ll die if she stays. For failing to raise Professor Brasol right.’
‘...Fucking noble human-slaughtering bastards.’
---------
The Railship crew had voiced concerns. If Cartrea was thoroughly brainwashed by the house, the escape plan could unravel from the start.
So he had to confirm. Was her affection for the nine-year-old Professor, or for the ‘Brasol’ behind him?
Cartrea, rummaging through a box of fabrics in the corner for eyepatch material, met his serious gaze and froze.
Up close, Cartrea’s eyes were quite large.
“Young master. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No, it’s not that. I just... can’t understand it. Fine fabrics, good food, turning my drafty storage room into something livable. If you spend all your earnings and spare time on me, what’s left for Cartrea’s life? If it’s just house orders, you don’t need to go this far...”
The hands of nineteen-year-old Cartrea were rough as a lumberjack’s or miner’s.
The nails protruding here and there in his room, the ill-fitting wood panels, were thanks to her clumsy repairs on the leaky storage shed.
The incongruously fine clothes were from her own pocket.
Why? Why did she tend him more diligently than a slave?
“Haaa. How do I explain this...”
With a deep sigh, Cartrea resumed her sewing.
“It might be a bit early for you, young master... but people on this shattered continent all carry a small pillar in their hearts.”
She rummaged in the box, holding up embroidered patches, then some leather straps to compare.
“A pillar?”
“Yes. It’s such a harsh world with storms raging everywhere. You wake up to stacks of death notices, living is tough, the future’s uncertain... You wouldn’t know, but nowadays, ‘living’ is treated like ‘wearing down’ for people. The world’s so rough, just surviving grinds you away.”
“So everyone draws their own line inside. ‘No matter how hard, if this remains, I can endure.’ Or ‘At least I’ll stay this kind of person.’ A final vow to cling to till the very end. The last line where, if life wears down to here, you just die.”
She said such things naturally emerge when you often ponder why live, why go on.
“For me, that was you, young master.”
Cartrea continued softly while sewing. How burdensome, how difficult it was raising a noble son entrusted to a ten-year-old novice maid.
How furious she’d been in an atmosphere ignoring her ignorance, realizing the position wasn’t honor but shared ostracism.
Nursing from a maid with a child, helping her work while learning childcare; feeding him milk every two hours without sleep at dawn; inwardly wishing he’d just die, yet unable to turn away from the noble bastard and raising him.
In the rush of busy days, one day he smiled at her—gurgling ‘goo goo’—and Cartrea realized.
“Ah, I’m the one caught by this child— that’s what it felt like. No special reason or event. Just, at some point, you’d taken root at the center of my weed-like life. In people’s terms, you became my pillar. If it falls, Cartrea crumbles forever.”
Click.
“Here, try it on. Hope it matches the hat.”
Without pausing her words or hands, Cartrea fitted the finished eyepatch and smiled warmly. A smile at his nicely dressed figure, without ulterior thought.
‘It’s real.’
At least to his eyes, Cartrea spoke nothing but truth.
“...If this is a lie, I’d fall for it just for the effort.”
“Huh? What was that?”
“Nothing. All dressed? Let’s go. We’ll be late.”
Grabbing Cartrea’s hand at the faintly brightening horizon, he led her outside.
The manor’s iron gates opened, dawn heat from the city embracing them.
“Hurry. We’ll be late.”
“Ow-ow, young master? Trains never arrive on time anyway—a few minutes late won’t be a big deal...”
“No. It will be. I timed it exactly.”
“Timed it... exactly?”
“Yeah. Factory machines don’t move irregularly, right?”
“????”
Cartrea’s face grew more puzzled, but he whistled a tune as he dashed down the hill.
Clank-thud!
Clank-thud!
Sounds echoing everywhere in the city. Near aqueducts pumping water, bellows in magic workshops,
Clank-thud!
Clank-thud!
Near fuel yards, rhythmic crushing of low-grade coal into powder.
Six a.m. was the shift change from night to morning crew.
During that brief break, as laborers escaped hated coal dust for distant eateries, machines kept running. Factory equipment racks up losses the moment it stops and takes time to restart.
His preparation: thread tied to gears and a handful of flint. No grand bombs or gear—simple things any child could carry innocently.
Coal dust-filled crusher. After five full gear turns plus twenty-five teeth, the thread pulls with the gear,
Thud-crack.
Thud-crack!
.
.
.
.
Thud.
The massive crusher slams down on flint dropped into the coal pile.
Sizzle—
KABOOOOOM!!!!!
“Kyaaaaah! Y-Young master! Duck! Explosion in the city—in the city...!”
“Yeah. Right on time. Don’t stop—keep running. Station’s just ahead.”
“W-Who attacked the city? Mutants or...”
“Me. I did it. Learned from a close friend.”
“...Huh?”
Rumble rumble,
BOOOOM!!!
The explosions chained on. Coal crusher next to coal yard, oil tanks behind.
In a cramped city prioritizing space, they’d naturally build adjacent. No modern safety codes in the 4th World.
Of course, this tinderbox cluster was built beside the track crossing the city for easy transport.
Clang!
Reporters gathered at the station fence like always, station staff too—all dumbfounded by the mushroom cloud, easy to slip past.
Leading dazed Cartrea to the maintenance yard, Naelda—who’d been jiggling her leg—barreled over.
“One more second and I’d have left without you, brat! What kept you! And what’s with that getup!”
“Eh, circumstances.”
“There’s chaos outside—know anything? If Brasol cut the outbound track—”
“Just depart. Station’s outskirts near city entrance, fuel yard central. I cut it pretty— no other trains chasing.”
“...You didn’t.”
Instead of words, he shoved Cartrea aboard and thumbs-upped.
He didn’t know Brasol’s exact plan, but one thing was sure.
Besides him, they had means to execute it.
No time or way to uncover it, so couldn’t stop that.
‘If I can’t block one side of the plan, smash the blockable side to bits!’
So he’d severed it. Block pursuit routes entirely—no external threats, time to handle internals.
“Hey, that...”
“Later—after departure, okay?”
“Uh... right. D-Depart! Release brakes, open doors!”
Grind—
At Naelda’s gruff shout, pre-positioned engineers flung open the massive doors and scrambled atop the train.
The magic train picking up speed, city gates still wide.
Amid city chaos, familiar noise buzzed in his ear aboard the crammed train.
Static—
[Soul sorcerer! You on the train now? What happened!]
Far from previous annoying chuckles, a thoroughly panicked voice. Ah, ahem. Let’s see~
[S-Soul sorcerer! B-Big trouble! Railship engineers b-bombed the tracks and e-escaped!]
“W-What? Tracks destroyed?]
“C-Come save us? I-I won’t get dragged off like this, right? Right?]
[Urghhh...]
Groan from deep in his lungs. Ah, shouldn’t laugh. Need to sound tearful.
[S-Stay hidden for now!]
[Soul sorcerer! SOUL SORCEREEER!!!!]
Click.
Cut amid anguished wails.
The boy grinning ear-to-ear, soot-streaked faces staring.
Sluurp!
“They won’t catch us right away~”
He beamed at them.
****
“...You, maid girl. You raised this kid?”
“Y-Yes...”
“What’s the secret?”
“Uh, um...”
Cartrea couldn’t answer.
The magic train sluggishly accelerated.
By the time they slipped gates amid chaos,
Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!
City bells tolled.
Slash!
“Damn it, snap to! Don’t know what, but saved us gate trouble! Interceptors incoming—shoot ‘em dead, keep ‘em off!”
Slapped by Naelda, dazed engineers sprang to action.
“We’re escaping now, right?”
“Magic trains run well but take minutes to speed up. Gotta deal with them meanwhile.”
Savage-faced Naelda pointed out the window.
The barren plain locals called ‘soft earth,’ tracks stretching ahead.
Shacks hugging both sides like blades, people shambling out entranced.
From tool-wielding farmers to those with battered arc-shooters, resolute crowds gathered—as clacks echoed from city walls.
Human wall blocking ahead, blue mana glow on walls brighter than dawn.
“...They’ve no intent to back off before dying anyway.”
Clack!
At Naelda’s words, a nodding engineer fingered the heavy machine gun trigger.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
“Eek!”
“Ack!”
“S-Stick close! Front guys’ll block!”
“City alarm’s ringing! This time, this time we’ll catch eyes!”
“We can enter the city!”
“Buy time! Just till wall mana cannons heat!”
As if signaled, ragtag folk swarmed the train wildly.
Incomprehensible fervor. Incomprehensible slaughter. Incomprehensible 4th Worlders accepting it as given.
Frowning to grasp it, soft hands covered his eyes.
“Young master. This is the shattered continent I mentioned. People living vowing to die if they cross their final bastion.”
“Girl. Hard to accept, but this is fortress city folk. Told you—they’re deeply brainwashed.”
Naelda and Cartrea soothed him.
“Always think it, but feels like sinning in front of kids. Making them live in this world.”
That was before Naelda hosed the masses with the flamethrower.
****