Chapter 419
Chapter 419
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Railed (23)
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BGM(Recommendation): Solemnis / Bruno Sanfilippo
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Whoooosh—
A relentless dry wind blew across the barren, treeless wasteland.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A boy climbed the steps of the half-wrecked train, a small bag on his back and a bundle wrapped in cloth clutched to his chest.
Thump—
Wobble!
There were far too many obstacles in the way for a boy carrying such a heavy load.
“...Gerry.”
The dwarf who had feared the dark was now inside the engine's combustion chamber, shovel in hand, his head engulfed in roaring flames.
“Black Foot.”
Gerry's friend, the dwarf engineer, was dangling from a mounted machine gun, its barrel pointed at the train. Only half of the gunner remained atop it; the other half had vanished, leaving a long trail of blood.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The deeper he went inside, the more bodies and traces of people he stumbled over. An engineer clutching a broken gun. A beastkin crushed with claws fully extended. Engineers whose names he hadn't even learned properly, but whose smiling faces stuck in his memory.
And only at the end of that long trail of bloodstains did he finally meet the last two.
“You're late.”
Bolteus, whose hair had turned completely white,
“...To fulfill my duty, I've arrived far too late.”
And Naelda, asleep on his lap.
Unlike his calm tone, his body was a nightmare made flesh. Aside from his head and parts of his torso, scarcely any human features remained.
“You look ugly now.”
“Words... indeed.”
It wasn't recovery—his lifespan and strength had burned away entirely, leaving the fragments too weak to rampage, allowing his sanity to return.
The Shard Knight, regaining his senses in his final moments, had to face all the horrors he had wrought.
A Shard Knight's life was like a boulder rolling down a snowy mountain.
An endless descent. To avoid shattering, it must grow larger still.
And when it reaches the end, it crushes the innocent below and shatters into pieces.
The origin of Shard Knights lay in soul arts, and the origin of soul arts lay in black magic.
Black magic activates by paying a price.
Thus, every Shard Knight pays that price.
“Fleetingly foolish.”
Everyone knew this, yet Shard Knights were endlessly created. They had rolled down without end to reach this point. Had fear of ruin stopped them, they could never have wandered this frozen world and would have ended powerless.
Thus, fleeting. After screaming all the way here, he had shattered everything in his arms with his own hands.
Thus, foolish. Even his last shining memory to comfort himself had been offered up as the price.
Crunch, crackle!
Bolteus covered the crumbling Naelda with his own collapsing body.
A cold gun barrel pressed against his forehead. Bolteus met the boy's gaze with fading eyes.
‘You've fallen too. Just like us.’
The boy's eyes were thickly coated with the same regretful mire that dwelled in everyone across the shattered continent.
“And yet you aid me still? Me, who tried to bestow upon you the same fate?”
“Better to do something than nothing at all.”
For some reason, the boy seemed oddly familiar with such scenes. In the boy's eyes, Bolteus saw something different from the rest.
A certain glow. Or perhaps, a certain flame.
Deep in that sticky mire, a sunken flame clumped like a planet's core.
Not a resolve to illuminate the world, but a firm resolve locked within himself.
‘You, even after seeing this one who paid all costs with his own hands... willingly.’
Accept it, you do.
A smile of unknowable meaning formed on the lips of the crumbling Bolteus.
“Foolish...”
How, even in this state of the world, after seeing it all,
Do these fools throw themselves away so fleetingly?
Click—
Feeling the small vibration against his forehead, Bolteus closed his eyes.
“If you must, then leave no regrets to the very last moment.”
“...Thank you, Bolteus.”
Bang—
Crack, craaaack!
Boom!
With nowhere left to stay, no kin, not even his most precious memories—erased by his own hand—he collapsed upon himself.
Even stained in blood, that form—like a waterfall of a thousand jewels—evoked a certain grandeur.
All a Shard Knight could leave the world were a few still lifes bearing his traces.
The boy picked up his final traces.
Clank.
“...Dawn Shard.”
A colored fragment the size of a thumb.
And Bolteus's personal weapon, larger than the nine-year-old boy's body.
He pocketed the fragment and, compromising, leaned the weapon against a passenger seat as best he could.
He tidied up the rest one by one.
One per person. Gerry in the furnace went to a sunlit window seat. His friend Black Foot to the one beside.
It wasn't easy moving them with a young boy's body,
“...I said I'd stay on the Rail Ship with my own mouth. Can't help the youngest pulling his weight.”
As the last engineer, he decided to see to the passengers who had joined for the Rail Ship's final run.
“No room left after selling off all the passenger cars. Luggage car okay? Naelda.”
Creak—creak—
Thud.
“Catreia. You'd like the seat next to me, right.”
Sliiiide, plop.
“Bedar, you... hmm... satisfied with the ride since you've sins to atone for.”
It took about three hours to sort everyone.
“...Is this professionalism? Everything smashed, but the key engine's fine.”
It was just what he'd eyeballed and learned on the way from Pardau to this station, but since the train had been ready to depart when the accident hit, even an amateur engineer could handle the basics.
Coal tender had 20% water left. Most of the roof and some walls damaged. Fuel full. Engine fine.
That was enough. Barely a day's trip.
Switching the station's complex tracks, preparing and starting the train took another two hours.
He dashed around the empty station until his mouth tasted of blood.
His small shoe prints in blood dotted the station everywhere.
“...Is this how you pull it?”
Hiss—shiiiish—
『Toooooot—! Toooooot—!』
.
.
.
.
“Alright then, let's depart.”
Pulling the heavy lever with all his might like hanging from it, the sturdy train somehow began to move despite its battered state.
The direction: back where they had come from.
To the Pardau fortress city.
****
Static, zzt—static—
[Comm—zzt! ...within range... zzt! Returned—]
“Ah, Soul Mage? Name was Gil or something? Right?”
[Plan is... zzt! Station report... zzt!]
“Yeah, I'll explain everything. Is the family head there? I have something to say.”
Rumble rumble ruuuumble!
Fierce wind poured in through the gaping hole in the dim morning ceiling. The glowing red engine visible through the detached walls looked, from afar, like a comet trailing a long tail as it raced along the tracks.
[Strange business.]
“Three days, family head.”
[Guards spotted magic train smoke on the horizon. Returned with the Rail Ship? What of the rest—the collaborators and the watcher I assigned you?]
“Horizon? Oh, I see it. Running the factories hard since morning? Smoke from the chimneys is visible even from here?”
[...Did you hit your head?]
Head? Yeah, hit hard. Felt like a real solid smack.
[Save the chatter for arrival. Did you secure Bolteus's fragment?]
Fragment. Bolteus's fragment.
“Yeah. Very clearly right here with me.”
...Zzt—
[Well done. Mission accomplished splendidly.]
“Ah, well, not quite.”
[...What nonsense?]
“What nonsense? Exactly what it sounds like.”
Crunch—
Glancing at my throbbing left shoulder, I grinned at the fortress city coming into view.
Half a day wasn't enough, apparently—the fragment hadn't settled properly and was writhing like a living thing, growing and vanishing repeatedly.
“What happens if you give a 'touch this and become an awesome Shard Knight' item to a mere nine-year-old? 'Waaah! Me too!' and gulp it right down.”
[...Thought you were clever, but you're courting death.]
“You don't sound too torn up about it?”
[Since your freakish talent seems real as reported. Better to have you absorb the other fragments left in the territory and retrieve a more valuable one, no?]
...Yeah. That's how you'd think.
“...Think you can handle it?”
[What? The likes of you?]
“Right now, besides me—who you'd toss into that fragment pile—what if I absorb every last one there?”
Talent. Extraordinary, no, absurdly beyond normal Shard Knight talent.
The moment I accepted Bolteus's fragment, I understood. Why fragments not meant for me reacted to me. Bolteus's, Catreia's, all the minor colorless ones—they all responded.
“That hellish ordeal left behind a legacy. Not blue mountains and rivers or a splendidly grown world—just this measly thing.”
Data souls corrupted by errors are extremely aggressive and malevolent. Like comparing to paranoia, depression, or persecution complexes at their peak.
The fragment's 'curse' is the price of recklessly contacting such data souls—exposed to their wrath.
And a 'suitable' vessel is an acquaintance. Or someone with some connection to the fragmented data soul.
Not in this world, but across countless worlds lived as countless others—adventuring together, living together, parting.
Fragments reach out only to other data souls with good ties in those piled-up memories. Conversely, contact with those bearing grudges unleashes full aggression. That's why some curses are mild fevers, others instant death.
Then, the reason all fragments reacted to me was obvious.
“...All familiar faces. 'Save us,' right? Yeah? My brothers.”
Memories of salvation. Amid endless repeating worlds of ruin, the moment I overcame and saved them.
The sole salvation amid endlessly piling memories of destruction.
The one person this world seemed prepared for, amid it all.
‘Save me.’
‘Save me. Please.’
‘Just once more, one more time.’
Scratch scratch scratch scratch.
The desperation of those already lost to reason. Amid fragments gnawing memories like worms, nothing but endless pleas for help.
The being who implanted salvation's memory in every data soul of the 3rd World.
The memory they all crave: mine.
The reason I'm suitable for every fragment.
“...Family head. You like Saint Professor stories? The great hero from 200 years ago.”
[Such drivel—]
“I love them. Love them a lot. And there's one I especially want to share. Wish I could tell it from start to finish, but...”
Ruuuuumble ruuuuuumble!!!
“...Hear that? No time left, so just one line.”
Rattle rattle rattle!
Clunk, clunk clunk!
The magic train, exceeding top speed, rocked wildly.
Long ago, an old priest in some temple.
The priest who said he'd write my story.
=========
It's fine now. Though there's no staff to guide the path of light ahead, there's a club to break our legs and stop us if we stray wrong, isn't there?
Saint.
=========
“...Sorry it's not a staff.”
[You've lost it.]
“Finally standing before you all.”
Bolteus said a Shard Knight's life is an endless downhill. Ultimately, a steep plunge dragging all who rolled down with him to ruin.
‘...No, Bolteus. Not just Shard Knights.’
The world is tilted.
Why had I forgotten? Data souls aren't mere NPC data—they're like tiny admins composing this GG world.
When countless data souls share a belief, it births a god. If all believe the sun rises in the west, it does. Their intertwined beliefs and thoughts form the world: GG's world.
‘Data soul corruption isn't just more villains. The world itself harbors malice.’
Everyone in this world stood atop an endless downhill of malice, rolling down.
Bolteus. Naelda. George. Bedar. And Catreia.
All carried a small light in their hearts—unique hope in this wretched world—and to protect it, they killed, willingly plunging into pits of evil.
Good intentions.
Evil deeds.
Even meaningless acts.
All hurtled toward tragedy on this 4th World's malicious downhill.
Like hands reaching up on a scale—unable to tilt the descending pan.
Everyone here, merely by living, commits unwanted evil, becomes villains, falls into despair.
...Thus. Since the world is already askew.
“I'll stop it.”
No more unwanted evils from you. No more lives twisting to tragedy no matter what.
I'll smash that tilted scale. Throw myself gladly down that downhill.
For me. For you.
For the end of all this damned shit.
“Here, I'll stop it.”
[...Seems the shock hit hard.]
“Doesn't matter if you don't get it. Not seeking approval. Not praiseworthy.”
Quite the opposite—horrific. If I was called saint in the 3rd World, this time it's different.
Massacrer.
Madman.
Lunatic.
...Monster.
‘Essence, after all.’
The system said: characters always follow the player's essence. To evaluate as true completer.
Then, my essence is what I've been in this world.
Mage. Making impossible possible, viewing and solving from unique angles.
Saint. Unable to ignore the left behind, bearer of good banner.
The flesh encompassing all: monster.
Essence unable to endure own weakness, reborn differently. Ignoring form and horror, casting off all self for purpose—immortal beast.
...So, it'll be fine this time too.
That's the kind of person I am.
By nature.
“Hyup.”
The people atop the walls were visible to the naked eye now, so I stood.
Grip.
Catreia's backpack, securely fastened inside the cloak.
Click.
Bolteus's fancy gun, somehow slung diagonally.
Good thing Bolteus had absorbed enough strength-related fragments. Too good to leave behind.
“It'll be fine. For me.”
Atop the train madly charging the city, I told myself.
It'll be fine. Or not.
Even if everything from now on eats away at me.
『Toot! Toooooot—!』
“...Never thought of turning back.”
One last look at the Rail Ship, then I kicked off without regret and jumped.
The brakeless train didn't stop before the city.
With its departed final passengers.
Packed full—not just a few warehouses—with dozens of coal and magic stone stockpiles, toward the city.
Collect fragments. Gather data souls.
Ultimately, more fragments mean higher authority granted to me, this data soul, in GG.
If I could collect every data soul. Gain higher authority than the system.
Couldn't we all leave this endless purgatory together?
Me to reality, the overworked data souls to... rest.
“...Wait for me. Until I get us all out of here.”
Until that day, rest easy.
Screeeeech—!!!!
Magic train derailing, unable to match speed against the barrage from the walls.
The unstoppable train threw itself at countless people's homes.
I, tumbling from the train, shielded in Bolteus's fragment, watched thousands of lives vanish.
First toll on a world rushing downhill.
I'll save them.
Like this, if need be.
Stop them all, with my own hands.
****
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Ding-!
[Scenario Updated]
[Player ‘Professor’ enters Scenario 24E-4032]
[Deviation 20.04%—372 outlier variables confirmed]
[Prediction Variables: Extremely High]
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[Calculating next scenario based on player psychological analysis.]
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[Trust Level: 73%]
[Scenario ‘Return to Purity’ on hold]
Ding-
Ding-
Ding-
Ding-
[System: Highest Priority Scenario Added.]
[Reviewing possibility of Scenario ‘My Own World’]
****
****
A glittering city. Somewhere in the back alleys handling its underbelly.
“Hey.”
Tap tap tap tap.
“Heyyy~ Newsboy! Got money—spill today's news!”
Halt.
“Go to the main street for proper papers.”
“Paper ain't cheap! That's why we use you newsboys! No more yakking—c'mere!”
“...You really gonna pay?”
The grubby boy eyed the thug who stopped him up and down.
A cloak like rotten cloth soaked in mud for days.
Sloppy attitude, cheapest mushroom powder soup in hand.
‘...Hm?’
And faintly, metallic sheen leaking from under the cloak.
‘Knightly order devotee?’
Armor worn by old knights traded high regardless of taste—plenty of iron in it. Only auror knights or knightly devotees wore proper sets, and neither were light pockets.
‘Not full plate mail, so not city auror knight. Moderately equipped within means... devotee!’
Looked more appetizing by the second. Real auror knights were picky spenders, but knightly zealots blew cash thinking it showed dignity!
Convinced this thug had real money, the boy scurried over.
“Ahem. Sincere~ most sincere~ thanks to today's patron! As for me, newsboy of the famed Big Mouth morning paper—lineage from the Teldrat Empire days—”
“Skip intro. Shard prices first.”
“Yes sir!”
‘Thug in alley 1: Knightly devotee—shard hunter.’
Boy inwardly cheered at the direct shard price query. Shard hunters had big money; play it right, get tips.
He rattled off the news memorized till dawn headache.
“...You really memorized right? Shard prices up that much?”
“Yes sir! My memory's top three in Big Mouth for pinpoint accuracy—”
“Shut it. Reason? Any related news?”
“Heh heh heh. Well...”
Of course there was, but boy rubbed fingertips, gauging the man. Smart newsboys memorized days or months of news; linking vast info was pro work.
Premium service, extra charge—natural, right?
“Here, extra fee.”
“Yes sir! Two months ago, madman dropped in old Lordric area!”
The fat silver coin loosened his tongue fully.
“Madman?”
“Yes! Madman! One landed nearby!”
Boy paused here. Silence spiced the tale best.
“You a shard hunter, sir?”
“Er... yeah. For now.”
“Then, heard the urban legend among hunters and Shard Knights—the monster?”
Man shook head; boy beamed, rubbing fingers again.
Jingle!
“Warlord! That mysterious shard hunter of rumor—walking urban legend—dropped in old Lordric!”
.
.
.
.
“...”
“...”
Smack!
“Ow! Why hit me!”
“You little punk! Season lightly! Warlord my ass!”
“Ow, legit from reliable source!”
Boy protested innocence, but truth be told, even he wasn't sure.
Who was Warlord? Half urban legend freak, right?
Rumor: wandered softlands like home, hammered ground with huge hammer to flush earthworm hunts.
Soloed dungeons; wandering mutant lord Nigmi, pure muscle brute, fled continent's end at sight.
Even 19 years ago Polgrad Island bloodbath, three fortress cities razed in a year—unprecedented, his doing?
‘Humanly possible?’
Boy's common sense said no, but juicy popular rumor. Some said soul mage secret society hailed him ‘Master of Great Unification.’
“Anyway! Monster scooping shards froze the market! Merchants hush fearing sweeps, Shard Knights panic at hunter vibes—hoard instead of sell, desperately absorb any. Soul mages raking fees—could build fortress city.”
“Hm. Warlord... hot air?”
“Uh, well, rumor technically, but on evidence-info border, somewhat substantiated—”
“Worthless for money, but fun. Scram.”
“Yes sir! Always fast, accurate~ Big Mouth! Your newsboy!”
“...”
“Not going?”
“Oh, uh... staying here long?”
“Maybe? Arrived yesterday... three months?”
“Oh, then, then...”
Boy hesitated but couldn't miss rechancing this godsend—eyes shut, blurted.
“W-Would you subscribe to Big Mouth newsboy regular service—!”
“...”
“P-Pay steady, newsboy visits dwelling every morning with freshest news! Subscribers get extra valuables, or fun tales and jokes like today to brighten your day...”
No reaction; boy half-gave up.
Newsboys seen as city spies. Subscription handed dwelling and habits to info brokers wholesale. Most cursed, snatched coins back.
‘Boss, what idiot product...!’
Bad reaction, but Big Mouth boss pushed it. No firing—meet quota.
“Sure, why not.”
“S-Sorry! Pretend you didn't hear... Yes?”
“Doing it. Lively mornings sound good.”
“What an idi—! Thanks! Thank you!”
Fearing change of heart, boy whipped out form.
“I'll fill boring bits! Me mornings okay?”
“Yeah. Like a smooth talker.”
“Dwelling—”
“Wigen Station, 2nd floor room 3.”
“Gasp! Noble patron! Last, your name?”
“Gimme. I'll write.”
Man took form, scrawled thin plank.
Tap. Tap tap. Tap.
[HIDE]
“Uh... how read this? My learning's shallow...”
“Hide. Most don't know—no shame.”
“Hide... Lord Hide! Thanks! See you tomorrow morning!”
“Told station staff, so come straight in.”
“Oh, such kind soul—er, patron!”
Patter patter!
Grinning ear-to-ear, boy bolted alley out.
“Won't regret, Lord Hide!”
Lord Hide—
Lord Hide—
Lord Hide—
Lord Hide—
Boy's booming voice; Hide just raised cheap soup bowl.
“Warlord...”
Recalling boy's left rumor, Hide set down empty bowl, headed alley out.
Hoping this time, it's his man.
****