Chapter 470
Chapter 470
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Last Parade (1)
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****
‘Cold.’
It was, even by his own reckoning, a strange thing.
The pre-dawn sea breeze was quite chilly, but the wall he sat astride was flushed red-hot from the flames consuming the city below.
Any ordinary person would have their skin melting just from being nearby, so this chill probably wasn’t in the realm of sensation.
So where was it coming from?
“You’re gazing at the sea again.”
“...World.”
His adjutant. World shook the blood from her long white hair and tossed what she’d brought carelessly at his feet.
“You used to be quite polite.”
“You seem to prefer this. I know you dislike unnecessary courtesy, ceremony, and pretense.”
“...You know me well.”
The man, Warlord, gave a hollow laugh at the sight of his adjutant sharply tying up her blood-flecked white hair, then picked up the object from the ground.
The head of the lord—tongue lolling out, eyes unable even to close—spilled fragments of multicolored mud-like sludge from its sockets as his hand touched it.
“A vicious bastard.”
“The Brasol family’s fragmentation slave research appears to have been distributed more widely than expected. This lump of fragments you see now seems to be the lord forcibly merging into himself every fragment he’d implanted in his limbs as a last act of resistance. It spared us the trouble of collecting them one by one, at least.”
“...Brasol.”
The sharp word surfaced in his fog-shrouded, dreamlike mind.
In that instant, a chill wind howled into his hollow chest.
Brasol.
Tarigden Archipelago.
Bolteus.
Naelda.
Catreia.
The engineers slaughtered mercilessly, and Bolteus, more wretched still, apologizing and pleading with me.
Catreia, showing me the fragment rooted in her chest, begging me to survive. Her neck, severed by her own hand, rolling to my feet.
The exploding magic train.
The burning city.
A single resolve.
...Resolve?
For what?
Me?
.
.
.
.
[Yes, me.]
Whoosh!
His shattered, torn spirit plummeted.
A black, damp space.
‘Here again.’
The end of painful memories always led here. Vast, dark, eerie like ruins.
Someone shrouded in black shadow sat facing me.
[I can’t win.]
Was it speaking to me, or muttering to itself?
Before him, slumped on the dark water, rose a small chessboard formed by the water.
Splash!
[The pieces on the board can never defeat the hand that holds them, no matter how hard they try.]
Fear gripped me.
Who are you?
[Glse?]
Thud!
The bishop toppled and sank, the board expanding.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Rook, queen, knight fell one by one, transforming the dark space into a vast chessboard.
The watery streets, the walls, the world all took shape.
I too stood placed on a square tile.
[....It is.]
White teeth gleamed in the darkness.
In that moment, ten white pillar-like fingers pierced the veil of shadow from above.
The man’s voice faded, leaving only clear eyes facing me.
Why look at me like that?
What do you want?
Tell me.
Please, tell me!
Crash!
The fingers enveloped me, the man in shadow blurring.
Silently, the man’s lips moved.
[......]
And then, eyes opened.
Light, chill, heat, pain.
“Ughhh!”
World overlaid her hand on mine clutching my head, embracing me.
It hurts.
Like someone gripping my crown and splitting my skull in two.
“World, World!!”
“I’m here.”
At my pained voice, World promptly offered a vial the size of a finger containing potion, as if she’d been waiting.
My fingers trembled too much to grasp it, so she poured it directly into my mouth.
Her white, slender fingers brushed my lips.
Gulp.
...It subsided.
With the black honey-like liquid, the memories too. The pain too. All dulled like worn gold dust with rounded edges.
“Are you feeling a bit better?”
“Somewhat. ‘Brasol’ seems to have stirred something.”
“You don’t remember?”
“...No.”
“Breasol. Warlord, it’s your castle. Third son of the Brasol family.”
“...”
Factory. Rails. A roof like a wide-brimmed hat, gutters like rainwater spouts—faint images rose and faded.
Brasol. Warlord Brasol. Brasol Warlord. My name?
No, it felt slightly off.
“...No need to remember it anyway.”
Most of my memories were like this. Mostly gone, and what surfaced was always sharp and bitter, like blades rattling in my skull.
That’s probably why I forgot. Whatever life I’d lived, if all that remained were things like that, better not to remember.
That black sticky potion—I hadn’t ordered World to always carry it?
“Sorry to worry you.”
“It’s fine. That’s why I’m by your side.”
“...Right. Every time—”
...
...
....
Why? Why did thanking this perfect, devoted adjutant—who seemed born for me—feel so repulsive?
Had the me in lost memories been that cold?
“...You’ve been through a lot, as always.”
“Not at all.”
For a brief moment, as I hesitated, World’s eyes seemed to scan me sharply.
She was human too. No negative feelings toward a superior who never thanked her despite constant care? That’d be a lie.
Clank!
“Already getting up? Your headache must still be there.”
“That’s why I want to finish this as quickly as possible.”
This, at least, his body and heart screamed in unison.
Finish the work.
Put an end to the endless slaughter.
‘Said we could make a wish...’
World had told him of their goal, which he’d forgotten.
Fragments were human will crystallized, and humans were shards of this world’s broken crystal.
Gather all fragments into one, and you’d gain power to wish anything even against the world itself.
So, forget.
Cast aside all that weakens him, toward duty.
For those in his remaining memories, who died for him one after another.
‘To the past.’
Before the events that broke his memories even to himself. To the past.
Then, he could pour out apologies and thanks he couldn’t voice till now.
Thanks for caring for my broken self. For leading me here. For waiting, for helping.
.....World.
Damn it. Why did even thinking it feel so repulsive and unpleasant?
‘Anyway, it’ll sort itself once it’s over.’
His throbbing head had improved, so he decided not to dwell.
“The report.”
“Port city Karamade has been captured. All lives capable of influencing the world have been collected as fragments. A few survivors remain, but not enough to affect authority.”
“We can consider the Teldrat region wrapped up.”
“All ports incinerated, rails connecting cities mostly destroyed—so all that’s left is tightening the noose over time. Most fortress cities are taken; only some inland metropolises like central Wigen remain holding out. Even with just my subordinates, we could ‘collect’ them all.”
Accomplishment was one of the few pleasures he could feel.
With each continent burned, his duty neared its end.
“Just the Western Empire territory left now.”
“Yes.”
He turned his head once more toward the sea beyond.
A direction pulling him inexplicably, as if calling him.
“...We’ll depart as soon as things here are finished.”
The last one. Just one final continent remained.
His task. The work he’d dragged this far on blurry memories and World’s aid.
[....Last....]
Suddenly, as he turned toward the burning city, the fading shadow’s lip shape resurfaced in his mind.
Someone vanishing, finger to lips as if in secrecy.
[....Remember. It’s the last....]
He couldn’t understand what the shadow meant.
****
‘Freezing cold.’
The first sensation was the chill of the stone altar against his back.
Shoulder blades, lower back, hips, calves.
No sensation in shoulders, arms, ankles—startling at first, but not what he’d feared.
His body had simply grown too large for the average-sized altar.
‘What... happened to me?’
He recalled groping toward the altar amid curse flower light in shock-blinded haze, the sensation of his body disintegrating.
And after that—
...Twitch!
Zap! Whoosh!
...Everything sharpened in an instant, overwhelmingly vivid.
‘Senses too acute—can’t get my head straight.’
After the back’s chill came the shapes of everything touching his body.
Blood flowing along his spine felt like rivers on a massive map.
Dust and stone chips on the altar—each shape, position on his back, cataloged like numbered exhibits in his mind.
Inhale—
Exhale—
He could sense how many dust motes entered with breath, where those exhaled clung, choking his throat.
Snniff—
Breath. Right, he was breathing.
Awareness of breath lagged a beat, then his revived sense of smell exploded.
What he’d thought foul blood stench now distinguished whose blood of which race amid the mix.
What he’d felt sickly sweet now revealed pollens and their curse powers hidden within.
“Hide.”
What he’d taken for the Mutts’ unique racial scent became wet dog smell. Friendly fishiness. Blood-soaked kin aroma.
As the scents of old building mustiness and construction dust allowed him to distinguish those surrounding him, sharp claws brushed his eyelids.
Drip, drip—
“Pardon. Seems some rootlets are snagging your eyelids.”
And finally, he opened his eyes.
“Whoa....”
Not a pretty sight. Blood-soaked monsters, suspicious altar and lab, vibrations like imminent collapse, pouring dust.
Yet his立体 vision processing all data turned even this stark horror into something awe-inspiring.
“Are you coming around now?”
“Still, uh, not sure what’s...”
“Expected. Even from our race’s view—born via gestation, fission, cloning, all methods—your birth, Hide, was exceptionally unique.”
Crunch!
The altar cracked under his fingers as he tried to rise.
“Oh.”
Everything happened simultaneously.
He stared at the finger-shaped indent in the stone altar,
And in that instant, faint hostility from Cauld’s direction triggered—
His body leaped toward the opposite side before thought could catch up.
Boom!
‘Hostility? Why? Who? Who first?’
Crunch, crunch!
Body reacting to hostility coiled like a spring; newly grown claws gouged deep into stone floor. Legs pressed down, ready to charge.
Blood? Hormones? Whichever, hotter and more sensitive than human or even Professor’s red Mutt body.
‘This must be a true Mutt body.’
Shaped as he desired, yet made from true Mutt and curse flower power—ingredients unknown to him.
“Huff, huff, huff.”
He exhaled rapidly, venting inner heat.
Calming the newborn rampaging body with a mind not yet adjusted.
Cauld blocking Nigmi, poised to lunge. Affection and slight wariness in his kin eyes. Behind, long-armed Quadurpu more overtly guarded. Wariness? At me? Why?
Ah. The curse.
“...Makes sense. Even the emperor who withered with the great tree didn’t plan to end up like that from the start.”
“Hide. Asking again: are you ‘yourself’?”
Cauld’s question wasn’t mere check if conscious.
Having absorbed all curse flower power filling this underground lab before his eyes—he asked if Hide retained his prior mind.
That’s why blocking Nigmi, preparing for if not.
“No need to worry....”
Probably.
“You don’t sound certain.”
“I’ve got plenty experience reviving, but first time in a Mutt body—feels pretty alien.”
“...Then, until you’re sure, no approaching Her Majesty.”
Words were firm, but his joking demeanor showed relief.
Rustle—
Crunch!
“Oops.”
Rising from wall, his grip crushed more stone chunks.
Not living in a cookie world. How’d Professor control strength? Ah, he hadn’t bulked instantly—grew gradually amid body rebuilds?
“If you plan to smash more walls, get out first. This place’ll collapse soon.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Tuck in claws. Tunnel beetles have weak insides.”
“Hmm....”
Unlike briefly turning Mutt in Professor’s body at old Tobrun Mage Tower—everything awkward now. Back then, sprouting dozens of eyes on limbs, stretching, acrobatics felt natural. Meant he’d adapted to human senses?
‘Yeah. Two weeks old then, over 200 now. 99.9% human-synchronized.’
After wrestling sudden body twitches and stubborn claws back in, he rode a separate tunnel beetle from Nigmi toward surface.
Rumble—
Like yoga, limbs held high to avoid walls/floor—claws still out—only butt touching ground.
“Keep balance. If hand or foot slips, claws’ll rip tunnel beetle’s walls. Then it’ll spit you into some dark pit.”
“Then hold me steady. Why’d you ride with me, Cauld? Not guarding Nigmi?”
“With limited foes and separated from principal, neutralizing threats protects better than guarding directly.”
“Fancy way of saying you stayed to deck me if needed.”
“...Also have business to discuss.”
Business, huh.
Nodding go-ahead, Cauld hesitated uncharacteristically before speaking.
“You’re our kin.”
“Yeah. Past 10 minutes or so.”
“No, always were. In canyon darkness protecting Her Majesty, accepting you ridiculously easily. Wariness dulled absurdly fast. Your words felt true without reason. Looking back, not my usual self.”
“What, not just soft-eared?”
“Would’ve severed your tendons before Queen’s throne normally.”
“Her Majesty sensed it quickest. That’s why she approached you so warmly.”
True. From second meeting, Nigmi clung disgustingly close. Thanks to her, lots of conveniences.
But why’s our Mutt king saying this?
“I’ve watched countless kin charge to death these 3 years. Sent them myself. For the Queen.”
“At some point, same light in your eyes as theirs.”
“...Aha.”
“You taught me joys and desires of living, yet head opposite way yourself.”
Brief pause. Choosing words? Unsure what to say?
“...If you die, Her Majesty will be devastated.”
Probably wanted to renege on that dark canyon promise.
Trust me, I’d mobilize Mutts to shake emperor’s army; somehow get emperor’s sword, smash Warlord with it.
Now with empire mine, recover forces, build defenses, prepare—handle when he comes. That sorta talk?
Not bad. Was original plan baiting Cauld.
“...I’ll manage.”
“That so.”
Memories back now—no need, so declining.
Crack!
Reached surface; light leaked through tunnel beetle’s gaping maw-leaves.
“Oh. Sun’s up.”
“First in 3 years.”
Purple mist gone, sun rose as if for revenge, illuminating capital.
Light reflected his form in shattered glass.
Nearing 3 meters tall.
Red skin, bursting muscles.
Unlike familiar red Mutts—
“This....”
“Roots. Like those we’ve beheaded.”
Unlike red Mutts recovering via Mutt blood, this Mutt Hide’s body recovered via absorbed curse flower power at rebirth.
Slicing forearm with claw—dense rootlets wove instantly, mending the cut.
“...Expendable, huh.”
Body powered by vast battery. Without curse rituals like here in capital, power depletion means shutdown.
‘Not a big deal.’
Almost there anyway. Last step. One more, to the end.
Rumble—
Crunch!
Nigmi’s tunnel beetle arrived too.
“Ah, right. Cauld, seen my cloak?”
“This?”
Thoughtful king. Brought this too.
Too big for cloak now. Looked like lady’s cape; plus, monster in cloak-only? Nah.
‘Mostly covered, but feels off!’
Tied tight to arm, pouch outward.
From makeshift arm-pouch: crown studded with eye-sized gems.
“Hyeeee-de!”
Whoosh!
Nigmi burst from ground, tackled him; Cauld didn’t stop her this time.
Sniff sniff—
“Hmm... urk. Hide, sweet smell.”
“With that mug? You reek of reptile fish, punk.”
Aimed head-flick, but’d scalp her before Cauld—disaster. Just crowned her instead.
“Here.”
“Huh, wha?”
“Empire. Yours now.”
I got Lionel; per promise, you get empire.
Nigmi, briefly confused, lifted crown, sniffed, licked with forked tongue—then got it.
“Empire!”
Useless crown held high like world conquered, beaming.
Cauld and Mutts, seeing her, faces like they owned world too.
Such simple, pure race. Queen’s innocence spread to whole species.
‘Can’t call them old Mutts.’
No human hatred, greed.
Sole goal: serve Nigmi, inheriting Queen’s familial love.
Nigmi’s goal: kin together forever.
Tail-biting snake, perpetual happiness engine in one spot.
No outside meddling? Happy eternally.
‘Don’t need these fools.’
Empire remnants huddled coasts; capital quiet awhile.
For my business? Nah. Didn’t know plan fully—thought crush Warlord/system armies by force, then decide. But now different.
‘Force won’t solve it anyway.’
As Nigmi danced crown-raised goofily, Mutts drawn to her joy, faces slack.
Left empire’s new idiot rulers dancing, exited capital.
Cauld noticed, pretended not.
Nigmi’ll rage when notices gone. Cauld’ll handle.
“...Won’t send trackers to drag me back.”
Lion-headed monster soothing tantrum white snake like kid. Chuckle escaped, but steps quickened.
Trouble if real pursuit.
Going to die anyway—no need dragging others along.
****