Chapter 473
Chapter 473
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 473
Chapter Title: Last Parade (4)
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‘Hansen, remember this! Even a rat hole lets in sunlight someday, and folks like us get our chance too—someday!’
The boy, Hansen, recalled the words of the old cobbler who had picked him up and raised him.
The old man, who’d lost all his teeth after getting beaten by a knight, had taken in many orphans besides Hansen, and whenever he had time, he’d say things like that.
‘Tch! When? When exactly? Last month, the month before, three months ago—it’s always just scavenging trash to survive, just like today!’
‘Someday!’
‘So when?’
‘The day sunlight reaches the rat hole!’
‘When’s that?’
‘Someday!’
Someday. The day sunlight reaches even the rat hole, someday.
“Hansen. Age thirteen. Newsboy who picks up gossip by the streets and sells it without belonging to any paper.”
“Y-Yes, that’s me, but why would a knight like you have business with a lowlife like—”
“You don’t pay taxes, you associate with somewhat seditious crowds, and you’ve been chased by the guard for petty crimes thirty-four times but escaped every one. Correct?”
“Eek!”
He knew it was futile, but he tried to run anyway—only for the shack he shared with his siblings to shatter under one kick from the knight in iron plate armor.
Now I’m dead, he thought, thrashing wildly as the knight grabbed him by the scruff like a kitten.
“By order of the castellan. Come quietly.”
“The castellan... himself?”
No way. A knight in gleaming armor was unbelievable enough, but the castellan himself wants me?
The knight didn’t skewer him on a spit like kebab or stuff him in a sack.
Instead, he set the now-still boy down on the ground and began muttering about etiquette, monsters, compensation, while his little siblings—who’d been screaming [Don’t kill my brother!]—watched with tearful, envious eyes and waved goodbye with cries of [Come back safe!].
Hansen thought.
‘Ah, that moss that floated down the sewer yesterday must’ve gone really bad!’
It’s a dream. Dreams are the opposite of reality, so this ridiculously fancy dream must be my final one as I die.
Otherwise, there’s no way a thirteen-year-old orphan who hasn’t even applied for refugee status gets to enter a splendid castle, meet the lord (whose face he barely remembered through the haze), and have three pretty maids—girls so cute they’d make his face burn red just looking—scrub him clean.
Slap!
Slap slap!
It hurts.
Weird. Why does a dream hurt?
Under the inexplicably urgent knights’ orders, he was washed, dressed, and primped in the blink of an eye, forcing Hansen to admit this was reality.
“Commoner. Are you listening?”
“Uh... Y-Yes? Yes, yes! I’m listening!”
“...It’s a somewhat dangerous mission, but remember: it’s an honorable one you’ll never get again in your life.”
“Yes! I’ll remember!”
Something huge had gone wrong in Windhol Fortress City, urgent enough to make stern knights sweat bullets, and for some reason, the castellan wanted a competent newsboy.
And that’s me. Windhol’s gutter rat, ‘shrewd Hansen’!
‘Grandpa, this must be the “someday” you always talked about, right?’
For cannon fodder on a battlefield, they’d mobilized too many busy knights.
No signs of heading somewhere dangerous either, and no reason to bathe and dress him for that.
Snap!
“Owowow, get it together, get it together!”
Hansen steeled himself. Precious people get precious treatment, and precious treatment means you’ll be used preciously, they said.
“Now... uh, where do I go?”
“To the checkpoint at the city gate. Kalitz, I’ll assign you fifty soldiers—take this boy with you.”
“Yes, sir!”
Precious treatment, fancy noble clothes decked with frippery, and an escort of city guards who’d normally beat him on sight. Whatever the reason, he’d clearly become someone important.
‘Folks like us get our chance too... someday...’
“...Yes, Grandpa. I’ll seize this chance.”
Hansen vowed. He’d grab this miracle opportunity. No more rotting in leaky shacks, no more feeding his half-siblings with weird roots floating in sewage.
‘Come at me, whoever you are, Your Excellency! I, Hansen, the guy who chats up even those scary hill mages with my wits and charm! I’ll do everything to please you!’
Burning his fear to ash with blazing resolve, Hansen arrived at the fortress city’s checkpoint, surrounded by fifty soldiers, bold as brass.
『What is that?』
“Th-Thank you for waiting, Red Mute. This boy will be your city guide from now on.”
And there it was—his ‘honorable mission.’
“Uh, uhhh...”
Checkpoint. One of the few wide-open plazas in a city crammed with buildings.
A colossal, blood-red mass that made even that plaza look cramped.
Whoa, it’s moving. It’s alive.
『A young boy.』
.
.
.
.
『Snack?』
The fierce blaze of will that had peaked in his thirteen years of life snuffed out at those words.
“Uh, ugh? Uhhh...”
Hansen stumbled back instinctively, bumping into cold plate armor.
“K-Knight, sir. I c-can’t do it—”
“Your trash siblings get expelled from the city.”
“Ughhh...”
“No matter what happens—even if that monster chews you up as a snack—don’t upset it. If this goes well, those sewer rats get Windhol citizenship.”
So that’s it. That’s why they picked someone like me.
Hansen swallowed the sob choking his throat, slapped his trembling thighs to steady his shaking legs. When he looked up, the monster’s fist-sized eyes stared right at him.
[Even a rat hole gets sunlight someday!]
“Ugh, heh, hehup... H-Hello, sir!”
‘Sunlight someday...’
Hansen pictured his siblings waving him off. Thirteen the old man had taken in; only five left now.
He needed sunlight for them, and fast.
‘I’ll... I’ll be their sunlight...!’
Citizenship. With that, they could at least live in the refugee district. Eleven-year-old Bold could join a real paper and become a proper newsboy.
If I just do well here—me alone!
If I hold out until the moment those sharp teeth crunch down!
“I-I’m Hansen, your Windhol guide, sir!”
A bright smile smeared with tears and snot greeted the terrifying monster.
****
Thud thud thud thud.
Footsteps on the city’s solid pavement.
Tap tap tap tap tap!
Added to that: the frantic patter of small feet straining to match the monster’s massive strides without running.
“Th-This big windmill here is Windhol’s pride, the wind mana condenser!”
“Wow, you’re so imposing, it makes this wide boulevard look narrow! Ahaha, hahaha...”
“I saw wider roads from the walls. That way.”
“Eep! Oh, th-that’s... Thiiiis way has more sights to see!”
Just a casual remark, and he froze like he’d been struck by lightning—then, as if nothing happened, he waved his limbs about with a plastered grin.
‘Wipe that snot first, at least.’
“Unlike other fortress cities that sprang up after the leyline twists, Windhol’s old and deep-rooted! H-Here! Look this way—you’ll see the street with our biggest market! Wow, just looking makes you feel the market’s lively vibe—”
“M-Monster!”
“A monster’s in the city!”
“Waaah!”
“Uh... The vibe... I-I feel it! So lively! Lively!”
This kid.
He’s desperately eager. So scared his pocket change jingles nonstop, freezes like a goat before a lion whenever I speak—yet he’s thinking through the guiding route.
Like that big avenue just now.
‘The city’s grandest boulevard is always where nobles live. Carriages pass, warhorses, the lord’s procession.’
‘Nobles’ districts hug it too. Having a monster like me there would inconvenience the highborn—but that’s the castellan and nobles’ problem...’
Scared as he was, Hansen the newsboy was minding the castellan’s gaze. Must’ve promised huge pay. Or instilled more terror than being eaten by a rampaging mutant.
Or both.
‘Sigh.’
I sped up to ditch him out of pity, but he chased doggedly. Panting hard, yet keeping that sales grin—greed bordering on resolve.
‘I’m weak to that stuff.’
Especially kids clinging so fiercely—it reminds me of myself when I first dropped into 4th World, hard to ignore.
Hm, newsboy. Monster, promise, and the castellan assigns this young, naive boy...
‘Windhol’s castellan knows his stuff.’
Obvious at a glance: that kid’s a disposable pawn.
Quick to grab,
Easy to use,
With the needed skills.
I didn’t know how bad the port damage was, but the city would wither without trade for months. Inland trade’s a mess since the capital mess; sea routes are it. Bedrock terrain’s tough—only moss and mushrooms grow. Feeding the teeming city’s tight already.
Plus refugees from everywhere to feed. Fix the port ASAP, resume trade with other port cities.
Desperate times: traded demolition and rebuild with a tempting super-strong mutant. But my slaughter-party looks screams trouble over quiet tour.
So they tossed in Hansen as a canary. Communicative, but might snap—monitor via early-attack alarm like a mine bird.
Not my style, but rational for a castellan guarding countless lives.
Fine, I’ll keep him. Not staying long anyway.
“How much do you know about Windhol?”
“Eep! Uh... Yes! Of course! I know the spiderweb alleys inside out, the clean white streets for nobles only, and—shh, don’t tell the guards—the rat holes where shady dealers trade contraband! Ah, might be tight for your size, sir.”
“So you know it well.”
Chomp!
“Waaah! N-No! Ughaaa! I-I don’t wash proper, live in sewers! Only eat rotten trash, so I taste like garbage!”
“Not eating you. Too slow—annoying matching your pace.”
“You’ll... carry me?”
“You’re for nonstop chatter. No need for legs.”
“Gasp! N-No! I need legs! I’m useful! Don’t cut ’em!”
“Not cutting.”
Instead of answering, I plopped the boy on my shoulder and strode off.
“Hyaah... Eep!”
I heard his involuntary gasp of awe. Curiosity befitting his age crept into eyes full of desperation and fear.
Well, gliding over the city on a house-sized monster’s shoulder? Every boy his age dreams of that.
“Y-You really just came for traces of the great archmage?”
“Acquaintance. Saw him about two hundred years back. One or two years older than you, I think.”
“W-Wow! You met the Wind Mage of Highwind yourself! Wait, monsters—eheup! M-Mutes...? Know humans?”
I softened my gravelly wall-voice, kept the concept, and his reed-shaking terror turned to the bright curiosity of a teen boy.
Yeah, kids should be like this. Compensation for my lost childhood.
“Haunting human lands, bound to happen. Know one newsboy too.”
“Wow! Another city crier serving you! Which city?”
“Wigen. Rocky metropolis.”
“Wigen! I know it! So, how’d you meet that friend?”
“Like this. Met on business. Dead now.”
“Oh.”
Brrrr!
Easy to read, this one.
No idea what he imagined, but not a happy ending.
Perfectly tense—not too stiff, alert—he dove back into guiding with zeal.
‘...Pablo. That was his name.’
Watching the boy point out spots we’d passed on my shoulder, another forgotten newsboy surfaced.
Professor Park headed to Teldrat region. We roamed that rocky city, slurped cheap mushroom soup, laughed, cursed—till he shoved a gun in my face. Probably burned up with the city by now.
Not just him—everyone I met there met the same end.
While I savored brief peace, the world raced toward its end.
Squeeze squeeze—
“Sir, there! That’s the ruin of Highwind’s mage, Wind Patriarch Astrad Dylan Delhast, and the last trace left by him and Felix Home!”
Lost in bittersweet thoughts, my long, sturdy legs crossed the city.
“Hm.”
Totally changed, but familiar terrain. Now inside the city, but back when Windhol was a village, this was the edge. Past here, a faint trail to a gentle hill (now crawling with shacks like roaches), steepening narrow path up to a vast rocky valley underfoot, long cliff’s end with a white round building—
Splash.
Roooar—
Splash.
Roooaaar—
...Gone.
No vast rocky valley, no white beautiful building.
No wind-song whistling through porous walls, no letter-dance cascading like white waterfalls.
No magma scars from airship barrages, no iron fences or barricades, no traces of knights and soldiers who charged with their lives.
“Really... gone.”
Nothing left. Storm Hill, no longer a hill, was gouged into a round basin centered on the home’s site.
Wave sounds from a saltwater lake filling the deepest crater.
Around it, mages’ crude tents and structures clung like barnacles.
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