Chapter 467
Chapter 467
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Another Solo Play (26)
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The space beyond the door was a world entirely apart from the outside.
A colossal tree had appeared as if by magic amid the purple mist, its branches and roots entwining every structure within the Imperial Palace.
“The Imperial Palace... manifests as the form of the empire that the emperor envisions.”
When the Professor had first entered this place, he had encountered an aged emperor sitting alone upon a throne in a vast, empty audience chamber.
Lucilla and Yggdrasil had wandered a bizarre village filled with log cabins and dilapidated old buildings.
The former emperor, Theod IV, had placed his body upon the lonely throne that stood alone, and he had left the sword Lionel—symbol of the imperial house—in the barracks from his days of dominating the knights and the empire. To him, the empire was a realm ruled solely by the emperor, and at the same time, a place where the struggles of his youth still raged on without end.
So what, then, was this current Imperial Palace?
“A colossal tree...”
Filling the palace interior was a single massive tree, strikingly similar to the symbol of the empire that Gainax had altered.
Squelch!
“...Insane.”
The floor was thickly carpeted with those familiar breathing masses of flesh, forming the soil itself.
Stab! Stab!
“Grk—!”
“...Phew, haah—”
Each time a root like a massive stake moved alive like a spider’s leg, skewering the piles of flesh, blood and agonized breaths sprayed forth.
[The... palace...]
[Entirely to our great... majesty...]
[In accordance with our oath, everything...]
Atop the roots that tortured its very foundation, thick silver trunks formed of swords, armor, and their owners reflected the ominous light permeating this place.
‘The roots are the citizens. The trunks are the knights. Then what lies above... must be what this emperor considers most important.’
Slowly lifting his gaze from the revolting scene, he beheld a sight utterly divorced from the hellish chaos below, as if a line had been drawn to separate them.
Branches blooming with beautifully cursed flowers in their outward form, thick and lush boughs brimming with life as if they might scatter in a cool breeze at any moment.
Nestled amid those beautiful branches heavy with eerie purple fruit slept an old man.
‘The emperor.’
There he was—the culprit behind every grotesque horror encountered in the capital.
Sunken eyes, arms frail as if they might snap, skin stretched taut over bones like pulled leather, a neck so thin it seemed it could not bear the weight of his crown for another instant.
“You... It’s you. The one who wormed into my grand duty and stirred up chaos...”
Crunch, crunch!
With the sound of the fine roots encasing the emperor’s body tearing free came the emperor’s voice. He exhaled thick purple mist with every breath, as if freshly awakened from a deep slumber.
“I shan’t command you to show decorum. The moment a criminal presents himself before me of his own accord, it’s as good as the speck of courtesy a lowly barbarian can muster...”
An arrogance beyond measure, deeming all else beneath him.
“Is this the Baltin Empire as you envision it? Emperor?”
“To some extent... indeed.”
“Behold... how beautiful this unity is... Truly, is this not the empire made one? The populace becomes nourishment to raise the knightly class... The knightly class is wielded for loftier lords... And at its pinnacle, radiant fruit blooms. How true... how truly an empire this is. Just as in the empire of old.”
The emperor spread his gaunt arms wide, as if the grotesque creation he had wrought filled him with irrepressible pride.
“You ignorant rabble could never understand. How vast an empire fractures and scatters—such things are visible only from the exalted vantage of one like me.”
“Loyal houses spanning generations abandon the empire of their own accord, commoners forget their place for a few filthy coins and dare lift their heads to gaze above, nobles presume with blasphemous ‘opinions’ on their tongues to stand level with the emperor’s will. This age has shattered more than mere land.”
“The moment filthy vermin trampled the imperial capital, I realized it. All of it was wrong!”
Crunch!
A sensation gripped at his toes; he swiftly leaped back, pressing himself against the wall.
“This is...”
It wasn’t something grabbing him. The tree roots were merely sucking up the blood from the living soil with abandon; the dried-out piles of flesh between them had clenched around his leg.
‘My guard is down.’
As the emperor’s voice rose in rapture over his own words, the blood-soaked colossal tree began exuding an even more sinister aura.
‘This is my chance.’
Curses didn’t always dissipate upon slaying their caster, so he hesitated for a split second—but charging in beat hesitating and failing by a hundredfold.
The branches and trunks, tightly wound until now, thrashed wildly as if mirroring the emperor’s emotions. Trunks clad in swords and shields ground against the palace interior, but the wall encasing the emperor vanished.
The enemy was a mage—a black mage, no less, whose spells demanded more time for catalysts and rituals than ordinary magic. Giving him time was unwise; this opening was the most advantageous moment.
“My rightful claim! The empire I ought to enjoy is so woefully deficient!”
“Even before you usurpers appeared before me, the empire was already fracturing beyond repair! Before it grows too late... it must be forged into one! Utterly as the empire—”
Crunch—
“As my empire—!!”
Whoosh!
With the emperor’s sudden shift in demeanor, the trunks of the colossal tree—sheathed in swords and armor—came surging forth.
‘130 paces. Too high to reach with a jump.’
His coldly settled mind calculated the distance between foe and self, the elevations. Breaking through interference to close in would be difficult; advancing where every direction was enemy flesh, even more so.
‘Enemy and my combat power. Mass. Endurance. All inferior on my side.’
A hit meant death. Blocking would only shatter him or fling him aside like trash.
Amid the countless whooshes and scattering mist, the emperor’s form flickered into view like the eye of a needle for an instant. He etched it all into his brain like photographs, overlaying his own position atop them.
Which way, how, to reach him.
‘...Five.’
‘Just five times.’
Scrutinizing the enemy, the paths, planting a flag amid countless forks—he launched himself forth.
Thud!
Clang! Claaang!
Hundreds of trunks thick as temple pillars swirled into a curtain to greet him.
‘One. My sole advantage.’
Slash!
Straightforwardly. With pure white flickering aura, he sheared off the first trunk as if whittling it away.
Boom—!
‘Rebounding.’
The price of blocking an attack of overwhelming mass: his body flung backward.
In that instant, countless arms from the trunk he’d slashed left swung swords toward his entire left side.
‘Two.’
Screeeeech!
Kicking off the ground, a blade grazed his toe. He shifted his barely maintained balance—the cost evading the attack.
He dodged, but now his body floated in midair.
Three clusters of blades rent the palace wall, thrusting toward him.
...Click.
‘Three, four. Movement and positioning.’
He activated the bomb, letting it trail behind, and gritted his teeth.
A ruinous mess, but the mixed bomb that had dispatched the Knight of Ruthlessness in one blow.
KABOOM!
More than enough to hurl a grown man flying.
Thanks to the rag of a cloak the dragon had made, which absorbed no damage but transmitted the shock unscathed,
“Guh! ...Gu, hngh—!”
He savored the sensation of being crushed between colossal gears throughout his body.
Crunch! KABOOM!
But the trunks that should have impaled him merely cleaved empty air. His blood-spraying body tumbled wretchedly over the dried flesh piles—but he’d reached his desired spot.
Something dripped from his nose. Blood, probably.
Vision blurry.
‘Floor. Floor. If I rebounded this way across the floor, surely it’s here...’
Blade—no. Bone. Armor shard, bone, no.
How many seconds passed? 0.5? 1? How much leeway before the extended trunk retracted?
Armor. Bone. Bone. Shield—
‘Shield!’
Grab!
The thick tower shield, overrun with veins and fine roots, met his hand; he wrenched his explosion-numbed mind awake and hoisted it.
A knight’s shield clinging to the trunk he’d severed with aura on the first block.
The first attack had sent him flying back, so the second extended far from the emperor; he’d vaulted forward over the trunk on the bomb’s blast.
Positions aligned: colossal tree, him, already-extended trunks. The trunk behind him returned toward him shield raised. An attack slanting downward.
Boom! Boom! KABOOM!
The scattered bombs detonated in sequence, just barely lifting the trunk pre-impact—
Doooong—!
“Urgh, grrrgh! Stoooop!”
He thrust the shield upward at an angle, flinging it skyward.
A feat defying reason, mind-dazing. Impossible without near-perfect calculations and eyes remembering instants like photographs.
Crack, craaack!
‘Feels... like... dying... nghhh!’
Though shielded by shield and aura, the direct hit utterly shattered the bones of his shield-bearing arm,
‘One right arm... a bargain!’
His body, flying like a spent shell, hurtled toward the now-exposed throne, trunks fully extended.
Screeeeech—!
30 paces. The withered emperor’s expressionless face came into view.
20 paces. Blood-engorged cursed flowers began raining droplets like biblical downpour beneath the tree.
10. The emperor’s slender arm raised a massive crystal.
5. His limp right arm lost grip; the shield fell.
.
.
.
.
1.
“Huuuuh!”
One pace. Breath-sharing distance.
Gripping the sword hilt till it might crumble,
“...How dare you so—”
Slaaaash!
Merging with his flight speed, bottom-to-top.
From flank to shoulder, cleaved asunder.
Thud!
Rustle!
The emperor’s diagonally bisected body and the battered knight’s tumbled across the leafy boughs.
****
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.
.
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Swaaaa—
Blood droplets from the blooming cursed flowers filled the sealed palace with a blood-iron rain.
“Hah, hah, hah!”
Each withheld breath he drew burned his nose and throat with its fishy, sickly-sweet reek.
The colossal tree stilled. The emperor lay in two. He stood, battered but upright.
‘...Why hasn’t it ended?’
The emperor was dead. At his feet rolled the severed torso, frozen mid-sentence; the rooted lower half dangled limp as a corpse.
Squelch, driiiip—
The ominous sound was the still branches stirring anew.
“...How so foolish, so foo—grk, the world wi—kghrk!”
The severed imperial upper body convulsed wildly, soon buried in countless branches.
“Damn it!”
Crunch!
He slashed several more times before it fully engulfed, but the emperor’s mouth never ceased.
『Thiiiis—insolent wretchhhh!!! To the heaavens of my empiire, a mere iron rod liike yooouuu!!!』
‘...It’s not ineffective.’
Something like a dam breaking. For better or worse.
『Empiire, my empiireee!!! History! 750 yeeeears!!! Generations of wor—shiiiip!!! Was it not mine by riiiight!!!』
『Insuffiiiicient!!! A half-baked empire even vermin hordes can’t stoop—not thaaat!!! Insufficient! The rightful recompense that should’ve been in my haaands! Mine! My due riiiight!!! Insufficient!!!』
Thud—thud—thud—thud—
Something battered fiercely from within the woody cocoon. As aura peeled it away, the impacts turned glutinous with viscous fluid.
Slash!
By the time he’d cleaved through the layered cocoon entirely,
It was the instant the torso-only Theod VIII smashed whatever he clutched into his own skull.
Swish, rustle!
“Ah, aah...”
A branch from below snatched the massive lump in his embrace, dragging it into the tree in a flash.
“Must protect... the empiire... slipping through my fingeeeers... empiireee...”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
His cracked skull drumming the vanished spot resembled nothing so much as endless bows to empty air.
That ghastly sight conjured a thought that froze him.
“Brother... little brother... father... uncle... all slain... duty, the emperor’s duty, to proteeeect the empiire...”
Tap. Tap....
“The emperor’s duty...”
Tap.
“The sovereign... is the ruuuuler... wielding all... the most glorious... my due... into an empiire!”
In that instant—was it coincidence?
The utterly deranged emperor’s eyes locked straight onto him.
Crack!
Then, the branch-impacted head shattered completely.
His crumpling diminutive form, the convulsing colossal tree.
In the void left by the massive something’s absence, words emerged in the emperor’s blood.
[The empire makes its history through its own history.]
History through history. Building the future atop the past.
‘It’s complete.’
He knew not what manner of curse, but in this moment, the curse the emperor had wrung from the capital’s every soul stood finished.
The empire’s highest nobles.
Loyal knights.
Citizens who had lived generations as imperials.
And the emperor’s own life, sacrificed to complete the incantation.
‘Echo Maria’s cursed flower takes root, spreads, and drains the life force of beings in its place.’
‘That life force fulfills the caster’s desperate wish.’
‘...In somewhat twisted fashion.’
Whether the curse corrupted Maria or her corruption birthed such a curse, he knew not. Echo Maria had sought to save even one more forsaken soul, yet her curse slew all approaching souls, turning them to fallen wraiths.
‘He didn’t want the empire wholly in his grasp.’
‘He merely wished, by any means, to staunch the empire’s fraying bonds since the Great War of the Two Empires.’
If the purple flower’s curse manifested thus, how had the emperor’s aspiration taken form?
Swaaaa—
...
..
.
.
.
The rain of blood droplets from the branches ceased.
Tap. Plop. Tap.
Amid it, heavy thuds rang out in succession, like ripe fruit tumbling down.
‘Roots. Trunks. Branches. And fruit.’
Why hadn’t he noticed? If the emperor saw the empire as this symbolic tree, the answer was set in stone.
Sweeping his sword cleared the dense boughs, revealing below.
The purple fruits he’d passed by upon first entering the palace.
Up close, they were no fruits.
Plop, plop!
Merely corpses, bloated with purple curse, necks noosed upon the branches.
“You... you mad bastard...!”
Only upon facing a familiar visage among the falling cadavers did he grasp the meaning of the emperor’s final ravings.
[Wielding all... into my due empire.]
Not his crumbling empire of recent years, but the glorious empire of yore.
As the empire built its history through history, its past erecting the future.
That which he so yearned for, the great empire of old.
This moment,
Here.
Boom—
With the final ‘fruit’ detaching, the colossal tree withered sharply, as if its task done.
Twelve in all. Corpses divided from the life force absorbed over three years from the entire capital.
Unlike their half-rotted, bone-bared forms, the items they bore were uniformly extraordinary.
One burdened with armor emblazoned with the crest of the empire’s once most puissant house.
One wearing around his neck the Nine Sword Shard Seal—among the sword house’s seals, granted to a mere three in history, foremost in imperial might.
From lowliest executioner to knight serving the highest, wielding a massive axe.
One astride a ghostly steed with crown donned, one bearing a tome two spans thick, one cloaked head to toe in pitch-black flame.
And.
Clank.
A greatsword once adorned with lion-head guard, long since removed for someone. Bearing the sword symbolizing the imperial house’s history and legitimacy—someone.
“...Gainax.”
The friend he’d had no plans to meet again stood there.
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