Chapter 472
Chapter 472
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 472
Chapter Title: Last Parade (3)
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Riding the magic train and wandering the world, I ended up encountering quite a few people whose days were numbered.
Well, the prime example was the Shard Knight who’d grown close to Maro. Or a worker who’d borrowed a huge sum of money he couldn’t repay, ending up with nearly half his organs pawned off. Or someone poisoned by unrefined mana while working in a mana stone mine. Or a guy who spotted a cheap assassination request for about 4,000 shillings plastered on the signboard of his regular eatery over some petty grudge.
Anyway, when I saw people like that, their behavior upon sensing their impending death was pretty much the same regardless of status or age. They’d say their goodbyes to the people they knew, wrap up personal matters they hadn’t gotten around to finishing.
Of course, some would share unspoken words with loved ones, while others would track down enemies they harbored grudges against and casually declare, “Let’s both die!”
Anyway, back then, I couldn’t quite understand it. As someone who’d spent their whole life chasing something, the idea of obsessing even harder to achieve something before time ran out—rather than fussing over what you’d leave behind—didn’t make sense to me.
“Ah~ Nice weather.”
Now, heading to my own deathbed on my own two feet, I got it.
“This is the first time in my life I’ve felt this at ease.”
What should I call this? Freed from worldly customs? Indifferent to it all? Mind cleared?
Whatever it was, contrary to my expectations, my heart was filled with an incredible sense of leisure.
‘Not a single burden on my mind.’
As a kid, I wandered like a madman searching for some unknown something. Once I recovered my memories, I fretted endlessly over an uncertain future, clutching my head with no time to breathe.
And finally.
After 220 years separated from the Professor’s body, I was liberated from all that uncertainty and anxiety.
Now, racing toward a certain future with the best preparations in place, my mind was as clear and serene as a monk who’d attained nirvana.
And that was—
*Boom!*
*Fwoosh—*
『Hahaha. Let me say it again: I’m Mutelogak, lover of peace!』
*Clang!*
『As a mu...te, I have some trifling business in Windhole Fortress City—』
*Thwack!*
『—here....』
“Fire! Fire until the barrels melt!”
“We can’t let monsters approach the homeland of the winds!”
.
.
.
.
....That was,
The fact that I could somewhat tolerate these vicious humans blasting away at Hyde—who was clad only in a single arm toga (cloak), a nonviolent nudity that would make even Gandhi weep—with anti-mute fortress cannons.
Sure, that nudity belonged to a monster with blood-red skin and bulging muscles, but that’s why I shouted from afar and approached first, right? I even walked up with both hands raised high in a peaceful gesture.
‘I’m different. I’m not like Professor Park! My aura proves it!’
*Boom boom boom boom rumble slice boom boom!*
『Wai—gah! Wait—a—urk! Just, let me—talk—!』
‘I’m different! I can’t let that bastard do to Windhole what he did to Tobrun, the place full of nothing but good memories—’
“It regenerates! Don’t stop firing! Keep it from focusing!”
“It’s a suicide type! It’s charging with a purpose—probably plans to stick to the walls and blow itself up!”
“Those who can use lightning, unleash it! Don’t yield even a single gust from Storm Hill to those beasts!”
‘I can’t commit terrorism....’
.
.
.
.
Fuck.
Ah, my friend, my senior, my father—Professor Park. Lesson learned once again today.
I’d figured since I had a showdown with Professor Park coming up, I’d use this as practice and try finding a different solution from his approach.
*Drip.*
My Buddha-like patience hit rock bottom along with my jaw, blasted off by a mana cannon.
The light in my memories once said: Call someone a thief, and they become a thief; call them a saint, and they become a saint.
....*Rattle!*
“Ahh. A body that doesn’t have to worry about getting caught in explosions—how wonderful.”
If you call me a “super-regenerating suicide mute,” then that’s what I’ll become.
They poured out in a rumble from the cloak pocket.
And the mute’s footsteps quickened as he clutched them to his chest.
Alright. Let’s say the peaceful, gentlemanly Mute-Hyde just got blasted to death right there in front of them.
*Ahem, ahem.* How did that guy do it back then? *Ahem, ah. Ahh—* *Kuh, kuhaa—*
『Kwaaaaaaaa!!!』
“It’s coming!”
“The beast is showing its true nature!”
“Knights to the gates! Prepare for all-out war!!!”
With a fairly monstrous roar, I closed the distance in an instant, and I could see the confident faces atop the walls turn to terror.
Ahh, the world is so fun.
But what now? If they get too scared and the defenses crumble for real, that’d be a problem too.
Recalling my original purpose for coming here, I scanned the panicking enemies(?) while thinking. The useful ones were probably those green-robed folks in impressive numbers.
About thirty paces from the walls. I hurled my body toward them, roaring in the mute’s guttural voice.
『Humans!!! Hand over the legacy of Archmage Astraad!!!』
Hand it over—hand it over—hand it over—
.
.
.
.
Even amid the endless cannon fire, the savage roar echoed and faded.
At that moment, the green-robed mages who’d been diligently casting spells froze as if by magic.
“....That silver.”
“By the east wind of S....”
The atmosphere shifted abruptly, and the mages began muttering sinisterly, eyes gleaming.
Wind mages are the most impulsive beings alive. Even faced with life and death, if it doesn’t suit their mood, they can’t bring out their full power.
*Skreeeeee!*
“You filthy beast pup, daring to eye the legacy of Highwind!!!?”
“I’ll burn your half-baked flesh to charcoal and scatter the ashes to the eternal permafrost!!!” “How dare you! How DARE you!!!”
“Crawling out of your filthy wet hole to utter his name!” “I’ll *&%^ your nauseating guts and %&@—!!!”
“%^#%@!!!!”
“&%@8!!”
*Waaak! Waaak!*
In an instant, the wind mages’ spells—overflowing with enthusiasm to the point of bursting—came flying at me,
『Kuhahaha! Yes! As expected, Storm Hill wouldn’t be this weak!!』
“Die! Dieeee!!!”
“Perish with that tongue that mocked the winds!!!”
.
.
.
.
*BOOOOMMMMM!!!!*
And an explosion like the heavens splitting shook the walls of Windhole Fortress City.
....Yes, that Windhole.
The small village where Professor Park and his party stayed one night before climbing Storm Hill, back in the day.
A rocky land adjacent to the Blue Line.
Separated by a single mountain range from the Magic Empire, the wind mages’ homeland housed the empire’s most vital communication facility, naturally making it a focal point in the war between the two great empires.
The village became an outpost, the outpost a city, split along the Blue Line mountains, and Windhole—with the sea ahead and vast bedrock below—had grown over 200 years into a fairly sizable fortress city.
Originally, I’d planned to approach as a cooperative, peaceful Hyde, hitching a ride to the Teldrat region where Professor Park was or getting help from the mages.
*Thud—rumble!*
*Roar!*
*Step. Step. Step.*
『Pathetic.』
“Ughhh, this monster....!”
『So frail. Infinitely frail....!』
But somehow, I ended up emerging unscathed from an explosion that cracked the walls, facing them as a city-raiding monster.
“No.... This place, of all places where he vanished.... Cough!”
Mages who couldn’t fully block the blast staggered up, raising their staves.
“B-behind me are my family....!”
Soldiers gripped spears and arcane shooters in place of the wrecked wall cannons, dragging trembling legs forward with grim resolve,
While knights drew swords and ignited their killing intent.
....*Thud!*
The monster that had walked out against the burning walls suddenly plopped down right there.
*Swoosh—*
Raising both hands peacefully, just like when he first approached.
『Now, I suppose you’re in the mood to talk.』
The exact same words as before.
The difference was, earlier it was the cry of a single monster eating cannon fire like a live target; now, it was the words of a lone monster who’d breached Windhole’s walls without a scratch.
‘Violence, oh violence! Who knew there was such an easy path in the world! It’s almost insulting to my Pathfinder ego how simple it is! Power is truly the best!’
Simple principle. A guy you think you’ll lose to won’t wag his tongue. Even the Windhole folks who started by the manual realized, “Oh shit, this is no ordinary mess!” and naturally shifted to thinking about not fighting.
“You dare eye Highwind’s legacy and now talk of talk—?”
Of course, the wind-heads with peripheral nerves instead of brains in their skulls didn’t change,
“Uwup! Let go! I’ll slaughter that bastard no matter wh—uwup!”
“Lord! Don’t fall for it! He can’t touch even a hair of Astraad’s ruins—uwaaah!”
See? The higher-up who gestured to restrain the deranged mages seemed to think differently.
『....Mages are oddballs now as they were then. Don’t you agree, human leader?』
“You speak as if you know humans so well, monster.”
The noble—likely the castellan—seemed quite surprised that I’d opened the door to dialogue first.
Alright, now for this. No matter how the basic conditions are met, how to turn this abnormal, extraordinary situation of “mute” facing “human” and flapping mouths into one where that noble’s tiny brain can comprehend and converse.
『Humans.... Kuhuhuhu. I know well. Very well. Who knows you better than I, who’s wandered human-made hellscapes for centuries, hating you, killing you, taking it all in?』
“....What?”
Simple. Match the extraordinary situation with an extraordinary counterpart.
‘Centuries’
‘Hated humans.’
‘Mute.’
‘Mages now as then....’
To foes dying of curiosity about the mystery monster before them, this info slipped in naturally becomes precious clues, firmly embedding in their heads.
Add fluent speech, hints of ancient life, distinctive red skin—
“A red mute from the Mute Species War era...?”
『That’s one name they gave me.』
No need for me to blab; they figure it out and lock it in naturally.
Extraordinary situation.
Extraordinary to the point of being a legend still whispered 200 years later.
‘How can a mute talk—’ shifts seamlessly to ‘If it’s that legendary red mute, maybe—’
“Hah, but the red mute.... wasn’t it the form Arch-Saint Professor took on to bear sins for power?”
Of course, the legend’s so famous that facts still get passed down.
*Shriek!*
『Say that crap one more time, and I’ll rip off every head here and paint the walls with the juice.』
“Kh-khm! My apologies....”
It’s been 200 years—what’re you gonna do? Dusty books, printed by religious groups second to none in inflating their tales. Anyone left in this era who’d swear by those as fact?
Especially bullshit like “The great saint who massacred mutes was so great he could wield mute power too!” Anyone buying that hook, line, and sinker belongs in a church, not dicking around here.
『Then. Shall we continue our chat? Peacefully, humanely.』
Well, it took a somewhat complicated, shady, violent process. But ultimately, it was just laying the groundwork for passage across this rough sea to the Teldrat region.
My ugly mug meant I needed a lot of credentials to be seen as “someone worth talking to” + “someone amazing enough for the castellan to grant favors.”
『What I want is the traces left by Archmage ‘Astraad Dylan Delhast’ before he vanished. I just want to see and confirm. If even that’s denied, I’ll assume it’s hatred of my existence and won’t attempt talk again.』
“Just see and appreciate? No possession, destruction, or anything else.... Purely tourism?”
『You humans overthink. That’s why the same words hit different heads and get twisted.』
“Dear me. To think our city walls suffered so much over something so trivial....”
“Uwup! Don’t fall for it! It’s a monster! Astraad’s ruins absolutely—uwaaah!”
A mage briefly freed from soldiers’ restraint went berserk, but the castellan’s mind seemed swayed my way.
Hm, he’s a bit tense—probably planning a demand.
“....The harbor. Recently, massive waves destroyed all port facilities. The bedrock’s eroded so badly we can’t even dream of repairs. Clear the debris and restore the cliffs and ground to our specs, and as Windhole’s castellan, I’ll formally permit the ‘red mute’ to tour the wind mages’ homeland.”
『A deal, is it? Presumptuous.』
....*Gulp!*
Sweat beaded thick on the castellan’s forehead.
“....It’s not for just anyone. Every wind mage is a city pillar; even as castellan, I can’t disregard them. Refuse, and I’ll deem you disrespect us and the citizens, resuming battle.”
『Hm....』
My already fierce face scowled, and the fading tension thickened again. Knights readied to protect the lord and retreat if needed; soldiers gripped weapons white-knuckled.
Oh. Sweet.
I inwardly cheered.
What, clear harbor debris? Terrain work?
With my current power, it’s like playing with oversized modeling clay.
Just as the castellan respects mages, the wind mages sheltered in this harsh world’s city must respect his word to some degree. Kill me or not, if he formally permits the tour, they’ll grudgingly play along.
Saying I came for Astraad’s ruins.... was an excuse. A legend-mute matching a legend-mage. A pretext fitting the image the castellan conjured himself.
After the tour and busywork—small deal done—they’d ease suspicions, and I could broach the ship to Teldrat. Deals are hardest first; after, it’s just math.
‘Astraad. Highwind’s mage.’
I reunited with Astraad around the imperial war, after Lucilla died and I went wild. Storm Hill was the fiercest battlefield; he had to guard Felix Home.
[Mr. Hyde. Sorry, but Home can’t help people like before. It’s long exceeded its magic capacity. Now, it barely holds form as a symbol for wind mages.]
‘....He was really sorry.’
90-year-old Astraad sadly refused my plea to borrow power for my plan. He piled me with magic items, apologized for not being decisive help; I reassured him it was fine, over and over.
In my busy life-and-death schemes, I never revisited Storm Hill after.
Just, about 20 years after continental rifts from leyline twists, I heard via ragged newsletter that Felix Home vanished.
‘Dead, probably. Astraad. Home followed its master.’
Knowing Home’s flaws and innards, I easily inferred why they vanished together.
So, the ruins tour’s just an excuse. One I’m very slightly—okay, quite—curious about.
*Thud.*
While lost in old thoughts, the castellan gripped my hand, straining not to tremble.
“With that settled.... Welcome to Windhole, ancient one. I hope you enjoy the city safely.”
『Yes.』
I shook his hand, shoving trivial thoughts aside.
Like how I could’ve just intimidated the castellan from the start for a ship across the continent, or didn’t need all this roundabout crap.
‘I’ve come this far; gotta pay respects at the grave.’
I chalked it up to that personal sentiment.
I’m not unworthy of such a luxury.
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