Chapter 417
Chapter 417
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Railed (21)
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****
Heading east from Pardau takes you straight to the dungeon subjugation site that's currently under heavy construction, and further down that line lies the Straug fortress city.
“Stopping—! Stopping now~ Supports coming in~”
Clang.... Clang....
Pssh!
But the tracks we'd ridden in on were far older, a relic from long before the Straug fortress city even existed—a disused old line connecting Oton Hill at the tip of Polgrad Island to Pardau Fortress.
The relay station we pulled into was a small outpost smack in the middle of that abandoned route, known as the "Pilgrim's Lighthouse."
“Hahaha! Seeing you lot still alive proves those noble house pursuers aren't all that! No big trouble, right, Volteus?”
“Long time no see, Bedar.”
“Dabi. Does this look like no big trouble to you? Huh?”
“Krahaha! A magitech train rolling in clean is what's weird! Ain't that right?”
“Hey~ Bedar~!”
“Thunder-struck mountain! Gerry?!”
The man who'd let our rail ship—decked out with heavy armament on its turret arcane shooter using mid-tier mana shells, battle scars and all—dock without so much as an inspection greeted the disembarking crew with warm reunions, then eyed me, the last one off, with a dubious look.
“Uh.... Sis? The rail ship's got an extra passenger? How'd that happen?”
“Volteus kidnapped him as a squire. Name's Professor.”
“Professor? Ah~ Using the Saint's name, huh? Must be an orphan too. Orphans can ride the rail ship, no problem.”
“It's.... a bit complicated. Where are the other station hands? I need to talk privately—put 'em on train repairs.”
Small as it was, this was still a train relay point. As Naelda sharpened her tone at the station's eerily quiet vibe, Bedar let out a hearty laugh and waved it off.
“Agh, don't ask. With both cities pouring every last scrap of manpower into that subjugation site construction, they've dragged off anyone they could find. Even our boys are all out digging dirt and salting the earth. They tried hauling me off too, but I flat-out laid down and said, 'Who manages the station with no one here? Who relays the magic comms?' So here I am.”
“So it's just us? No one else?”
“Yup. Nice and quiet~.”
“Perfect.”
At Bedar's words, the tense engineers sighed in relief and slumped down.
“No slacking here—let's head inside and rest up. Yeah? Station's got leftover supplies since everyone's gone, so eat, recharge, then we'll talk.”
“Sounds good. We'll impose on you a bit.”
“Yeah~ Thanks, Dabi!”
“Heh heh heh. Good you know. Hey~ Head inside! I'll handle cleanup!”
Familiar faces of old comrades and a safe haven put smiles on everyone's faces.
As they staggered into the building, a tall pole like a utility post twinkled with mana light overhead.
****
“Let me see.... Kid's name is Professor?”
“Not Professor—Professor Brasol, 'sir.'”
“Yeah, yeah, a noble so grand he hauls a nanny onto the train. And yet he's officially part of the rail ship crew, a rebel group if there ever was one. Quite the talented fellow all around, eh?”
After a short rest, some food, and catching up on backlog to recover strength.
The engineers dove into repairs on the rail ship, its battle damage glaring, while I, watching from the sidelines, got handed off to this chatty bearded fellow alongside Catreia.
Fair enough. No one wants to show a nine-year-old the job of prying crushed humans from between train wheels and axles.
The man called Bedar kept swapping small handsets to his ear, explaining he was logging magic comms flying in from all over Polgrad.
“Since the new line opened, this 'Pilgrim's Lighthouse' station barely sees any action. But it sticks around thanks to a key role: magic comm relay point. Saw that big metal pillar outside? The one flashing?”
“Yes.”
“That's a magitech device that catches incoming magic comms from afar. Magic comms get unstable over distance due to atmospheric mana, right? So beyond a certain range, they route straight to relays like this. I listen, jot it down, then—”
Fwoosh—
[This is a relayed magic comm. From 'Pilgrim's Hill.' From merchant Puarm in Pardau: “One of the three tea mushroom batches you sent was defective. Keep this up and the next contract's off.” End transmission.]
“—send it out again via the magitech device. That's why this station's still here.”
“Relay comms, huh....”
“It's slower than direct mage-to-mage—daily charge limits on the device, plus human sorting—but with relays, news travels way farther. Pretty vital gig?”
Bedar grumbled that the other three station hands got dragged to the construction site, leaving him solo on this crucial task. Even amid his hustle, he'd wave big whenever he caught a rail ship crew member's eye.
“You really like the rail ship folks, huh?”
“What's to say? Our lives are tangled like spiderwebs with debts of blood. This gig? Naelda-sis pulled strings for it. Safe, steady pay, watch trains roll in and reminisce—perfect for a retired engineer.”
“....Though being stuck out here alone gets lonely and boring.”
Bedar skimmed a few fresh comms, then turned to me and opened the door to outside.
“Time to head back to the rail ship. These relay comms are confidential—magic contracts mean you can't blab.”
“Ah, got it.”
“By now, the nasty stuff's cleared, so go help load cargo or whatever~!”
“....”
Click—
Bedar shooed me out and dove back into relays. I headed to the rail ship, face a bit stiff.
****
“Bedar? Fun guy, right? All that fuss despite his looks.”
“Dabi, you mean? Kid might grin now, but he was once 'Viper Dabi'—every engineer knew the name, a real vicious one.”
“That's Bedar for ya. Oton Hill, was it? Stuck in Track Village a day for city entry permits, and damn land roaches popped out? Bedar, mid-shower, got swallowed whole—sliced the belly open with his bread knife and crawled out. Naked bearded guy ripping out a land roach.... Scared me so bad I shot him. Scar from my bullet's still on his thigh.”
“Bedar? That guy's....”
“Dabi, no matter what....”
.
.
.
.
Thud.
“Something's off.”
“....This sack of dried mushrooms?”
“No, the whole situation! Catreia, you don't feel anything weird?”
“Hmm.... Everything feels weird to me?”
I'd been grinning like a maniac, face twitching, until we slipped into the empty supply depot—then I dropped the act and confessed to Catreia.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
I'd trailed the rail ship crew, asking about Bedar.
Every answer was glowing praise. Engineers who'd barely stepped outside Pardau station were unanimous: Bedar was a fun, good guy. He'd only left the train due to circumstances, still considered himself rail ship crew.
“There's definitely something. What....”
Made sense, hearing it. The soft lands were deadly, and engineers had all saved each other's skins at least once.
Reasons checked out, no glaring red flags. Bedar holed up in the comm room all day post-welcome—no funny business. I'd stuck close thinking he was waiting for something, but even now, mid-rest and resupply, nothing.
“But why suspect him, young master?”
“Gut feeling.”
“Huh?”
“That.... unexplainable vibe! Like a sharp 'zing,' or chills down your spine!”
“Young master, into soul arts by any chance?”
“It's not that....! Anyway, it's just off!”
In my 25 years, this hunch had saved my neck more than once or twice. Even from a rational 21st-century world, there's.... something to it!
Hyde said it once. Even if I miss it, my subconscious hides the overlooked info. We can discuss shared consciousness because he checks that subconscious.
‘What is it? Why am I this uneasy?'
The scene before me was pure 'tranquility.'
Engineers wailed prying clothes jammed tight between cars; Naelda nagged Volteus lifting the engine—“Water's precious, ease up on the tea!”—while screw-tightening and humming provided backdrop.
‘....Why so tranquil?’
Maybe overreaction. To rail ship folk chased for years post-dungeon subjugation, this was routine—hence the leisure.
But recalling Brasol manor basement.... This calm didn't add up.
‘Even in 3rd World, hiring that many same-school soul mages was rare. 4th World says soul arts school is top faction. To field that many, they'd need ties.’
‘Just wreck some tracks and let us go easy? We're spinning tops trapped outside Polgrad anyway—cocky leisure?’
‘....No. Then why suddenly hit the rail ship Naelda's threats ignored for years? Lord's shard blackmail risk—they're desperate for Volteus, risks be damned.’
Risk. Yeah, Naelda holds a Lord's shard—attacking rail ship is risky. Meaning, something made the risk worth it.
Political or unknown, unlike past years, Brasol now had reason to kill us.
‘From that angle, Brasol let us go too easy.’
Track Village folk? Suicidal against a hundreds-of-tons magitech train with hooks, scythes, junk guns.
Wall barrage? Pardau civilians, not trained Brasol troops. They focused pounding Track Village—hiding this 'sacrifice rite' kids and moms—hitting rail ship just twice amid countless shells.
‘Real-world terms: reserve platoons vs. biochem terrorists. Why? Trusting me? Betting the farm on a nine-year-old bastard?’
No way. No idiot that big runs a city—let alone a tangled colony.
Letting rail ship slip Pardau easy? No sense.
Too reliable boy spy Professor Brasol (9), soul catalyst ties? No excuse.
Only one logical path.
‘Someone else reliable—not me—is handling the job properly!’
****
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Hey! No walking the corridors while checking the under-engine! Echoes hurt my ears!”
Amid good-natured curses, footsteps crossed the repaired rail ship.
Slide—
The steps headed behind the tail car, where engineers slept. Precisely, a small drawer there.
....Clink!
Inside, a small leather pouch with bone-carved-like white, round lumps.
Confirming contents, he tucked the pouch into a box of iron parts and lifted it.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Sliide—
“Whoa!”
“Close call. You okay, George?”
“Thanks to you, Volteus. This leg won't listen....”
“Told you last time—knee like that, no heavy lifting.”
“I know, but Gerry begged me to bring these engine parts to Naelda—he can't cross dark corridors....”
“Gerry must be scatterbrained. I'll take 'em—go rest.”
“But I gotta do something....”
The engineer feigned deep regret as Volteus took the box.
‘Doesn't wanna look useless.’
Knowing why rail ship folk stuck here, Volteus chose to leave quick—for the knee-grabber's sake.
So he missed the sly smile.
Thump!
“Ah, Volteus? What's that?”
“From Gerry. Engine parts, he said.”
“Gerry? That fire-phobe asking for unrequested parts....”
Naelda rummaged puzzled—spotted the leather pouch, kicked the box.
Crash!
“Damn it! Volteus, back off!”
“....”
“Volteus, shit, Volteus!!!”
Parts scattered, Naelda's voice echoed.
Suddenly, time slowed for Volteus.
Leather pouch amid debris. White shards visible sharp through hide—couldn't look away.
『Here.... you were.』
Ear-scratching voice, white shards blackening shadow-swallowed.
『Now then.... To the starving, the feast.』
Crunch!
With eerie ring, Naelda and train vanished—endless black void spread.
A space faced once. When hand brushed colored shard by chance, and
Crunch, cruuunch!
That day, the toothed black shadow that ate his part.
‘Must escape.’
Unlike before, white-aura shadow lunged headward.
Frozen immobile. As it opened maw, mid-chew nonstop, Volteus saw fragments inside.
Memory never to forget.
Cloudless high sky evening. Dragged by Naelda to train roof, side-by-side, force-chugging tasteless mushroom tea.
Brushing wind, evening glow. Colors stolen by shard, one promise.
“Naelda....”
“Volteus, Volteus! Hear me? Please!”
“Naelda....”
Eerie mana-flux engine room, elf clutching his face, eyes locked. And,
Cruuunch, cruuuuuuunch!
Shard piercing body-growth, dominating him—Dawn's fragment.
“Promise. The promise....”
Volteus gripped fading mind, overlaid hand on Naelda's. Pre-loaded rifle. Why she'd set it there.
Click!
“Damn it. Told you to eat moderate, skip shard knight bullshit from start.”
“Couldn't.... help it.”
Else, couldn't shield Naelda from pursuers, assassins chasing all these years.
Gun to forehead, finger on trigger.
“Sorry....”
Sensing end, Volteus closed eyes.
“....Sorry, Volteus.”
“Naeld....a....”
“Fuck. Thought I was different.... But elves are elves.”
The waited moment never came.
‘No.’
“Elves don't change easy. Especially inside.”
‘No.’
“Big shock changes 'em? Stuck till death.”
Volteus felt Naelda's tear on stiffening face. Her lips prayer-kissing forehead.
“So elves.... never abandon true-accepted mates. Any situation. No matter what.”
“....Sorry, Volteus.”
Stiffened body twitched—not his will, but evil soul possessing him.
“No....”
“Guess I'm elf too.”
Dawn-shard-covered arm savored, slow to Naelda's throat.
Somehow, Volteus felt the grabbing hand's sensation.
Convulsing skin.
Gasping breath.
Tears dripping from hijacked hand,
Snap.
Something solid breaking.
“No....”
Body returned under his will.
Shards absorbed, sprouting traits, grotesquely fused body.
Engine room cramped by grown bulk, armful someone.
Eyes unclosed departed lover, vivid fingertip sense.
.
.
.
.
.
.
“Ah.”
Craaaaaaaaash!
Something horrifically fused shredded the rail ship.
****
Fwooooosh!
Blinding light poured through the dim supply depot's small vent.
Light Volteus showed tail car before. Brighter severalfold, dawn blaze searing eyes.
‘Something's gone wrong.’
Dropping sack, dashing out—someone opened depot door, entered.
“Best not go out there, young master Brasol.”
“Bedar...!”
Station chief, years of highs-lows with rail ship crew. Bedar.
“Rampaging shard knight's near-demon—indiscriminately attacks nearest. Better keep you alive, so stay put.”
“You betrayed us....”
“Betrayal's strong. I'm from there—technically, still-on-train bought George is traitor. I'm just collaborator.”
Click!
Bedar locked depot door, sighed.
“Regrettable, but everyone has reasons. Oh, young master—read you Pardau message? Their side'll take time.”
Boom!
Depot flooded eye-searing light, blasts. Metal tearing, screams.
‘Weapons. Something usable...!’
As Bedar rummaged pocket, I quietly gripped wooden wedge at feet.
“Ah, here. Uh, let's see....”
‘....Now!’
Bedar's hands on memo, eyes down—
Grip!
“....Huh?”
Lunging for chance—arms hugged me from behind.
“....Catreia?”
“You stay here.... young master.”
“You don't mean....”
“Only way your life continues.”
Craaaaaaaaash!
‘What strength...!’
Catreia crushed small body squeeze, Bedar eyed wood chunk dropping from my hand.
“Catreia, please!”
“....”
No thrashing budged her—she squeezed eyes shut.
Outside unilateral slaughter noise,
fully
faded
until.
****