To the Empire [3]

Warm morning sunlight filtered softly through the carriage window.

I sank deep into the sofa, lifting the teacup from the table. The faint aroma of tea leaves tickled my nose.

"Peaceful, huh."

I murmured softly, glancing to the side. There lay Lulu, sleeping soundly as if last night's commotion had been a dream. And sprawled across her belly was Mimi, limbs splayed out, lost in deep slumber alongside her.

The kids had been fascinated by the changing scenery as the carriage ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rolled on, staring wide-eyed out the window, determined to catch the sunrise.

But they couldn't fight the overwhelming drowsiness and conked out before the sun even crested the horizon. Recalling that adorable sight, a chuckle slipped out unbidden.

I took a sip of tea and began mentally sorting through what needed doing once we reached the Empire.

First up, identity.

Right now, I had no papers to prove who I was, no one to vouch for me. Sure, the Saintess's guarantee was in my pocket, but I didn't want to bother her with something like this. With Lulu's treatments ahead, I'd have to ask for favors often enough as it was—no need to pile on more debt.

Yesterday's hint was the mage thing.

Mages on this continent were notoriously reclusive.

They holed up in their towers, buried in research, and even now, with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the continent in crisis, they'd only sent one to the hero party. That said it all.

Occasionally, when funds ran low, they'd venture out for public service, fling a few spells, and rake in astronomical fees. But their personalities were so eccentric, the mere sight of them could split the ground. Hell, rumors even swirled that the tower master was a dragon. Faking a mage convincingly should make vouching for my identity a piece of cake.

Even if I run into a real one, one hypnosis shot ends it. Proof? Just fine-tune the Sloth Force a bit—that's magic, right? What's the big deal.

Knight circulate mana through their bodies for enhancement; mages pull it out and control it externally.

Same essence, yet they strut around like it's different. Tsk. I clicked my tongue and moved to the next item.

Next, Lulu's clothes.

She was wearing my most comfortable black hoodie, resized to fit. But she's a little girl, after all.

She ought to try pretty outfits, get ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠proper undergarments and pajamas—that's how she'll develop a sense of style. Food shouldn't be an issue in the Empire's capital; plenty of fresh stuff for sale. But...

The problem was money.

I could pile up mountains of gold with a flick of my wrist, but memories from my past life held me back. Weimar Republic, Zimbabwe, Hungary in '46. I knew all too well how inflation could shatter a nation.

Just make a little and spend it? No can do.

This was a world where mana existed. People's mana and my Sloth Force were fundamentally different. Even if I minted identical coins, perfectly replicating the mana imprinting would be tough.

The moment rumors spread of "strange coins circulating," I'd be dragged into a mess. It was only a matter of time.

So, earn money legitimately, or find a backer who can cover extravagant spending...

I leaned back against the sofa, narrowing my eyes. Maybe snag one of the Empire capital's shadowy money lines lurking behind the glamour. Hmm. A morning steeped in contemplation.

Can't hypnotize the whole capital like the refugee village.

Scale was an issue, but the sheer volume of people flowing in and out, plus residents, defied imagination. Add the refugees flocking to the "safe" capital amid war, and counting them was impossible.

Before the Saintess left, that muscle hog Gawayne reported the demon army retreating, so it was a temporary truce now. People would swarm the capital, and hypnotizing thousands one by one? My neck ached at the thought.

What a hassle. Manual labor like that's not my style.

I sipped my tea and sank deeper into the sofa. Best to use powers sparingly, on a few at a time, only when necessary—and naturally.

Pretend to be a mage, help out moderately, get paid fairly(?). That's the most rational for now.

For Lulu's sake, it didn't even feel bothersome. Pretty clothes and tasty food? I could play mage with my eyes closed.

Just then, a vast lake with rippling blue waves came into view outside. I set down my cup and rose slowly.

Crack, pop—!

Stretching my stiff body, my joints protested. Feeling lighter, I called softly toward the front of the carriage.

"Let's take a break. At that lake."

My words barely landed when a vigorous snort echoed from outside. Prrrrng!

They perked up the instant they spotted the lake.

The carriage glided to a smooth halt near the shimmering shore.

As the scenery stilled, I gently scooped up the soundly sleeping Lulu and Mimi—whose cotton paws twitched atop her—and laid them on the bed.

Dead to the world, both of them.

I opened the heavy carriage door and stepped out.

"Mm..."

The sun blazed blindingly in the afternoon sky.

I approached the group settled by the lakeside.

Nana and Lara.

Names Lulu had given these unlikely beasts yesterday.

Simple, just like her. I absently stroked their soft manes.

The rough fur felt nice under my fingers. Turning, I took in the gruesome ruins scattered around the lake—village remnants.

Collapsed walls that once sheltered lives now cast eerie shadows on the peaceful water.

"Battlefields are such filthy, desolate places."

I muttered drowsily, as if lecturing some invisible listener beside me.

"Those self-proclaimed 'gods' drape themselves in grand baubles like 'the greater good' and 'holy war,' forcing the humble lives of mortals to kneel at their feet. Strutting like they're the world's sole truth—it's grating."

I tilted my head, staring at a charred house foundation.

"A grotesque stage where they prove their worth only by making all humanity gaze up in despair. They devour souls whole if confronted directly, yet dread anyone glimpsing their true faces. 'Revere me, but dare not pierce my essence'... What arrogant dictatorship. Those ash piles rolling around? That's the only truth that hypocritical 'war' leaves behind."

The ruins offered no reply. They merely, mercilessly, silently gnawed at the lakeside serenity.

Without turning, I gazed at the lake's waves and spoke.

"What do you think, kid?"

Instantly, a stifled breath halted beyond the crumbled wall behind me. I added lazily,

"Or rather, the 'hero' hailed as humanity's sole savior?"

Swish—

The boy emerging from the ruins' shadows was like a finely carved statue.

His platinum hair gleamed blindingly amid the ashes, an otherworldly mark of the chosen one.

But contrasting that splendor, his eyes were voids—deep pits devoid of life.

Those unfocused pupils held no spark of vitality, only the cold, mechanical chill of a doll awaiting orders.

"...May I ask who you are?"

His voice was flat, devoid of inflection. Impeccably polite, yet utterly barren of any warmth.

A being who'd lived with dozens of gods' voices crammed in his head. His sense of self, that wall called ego, crumbled under divine clamor—a pitiful shell.

I stared straight at him.

"Dunno. What do those 'high and mighty' ones yammering in your head call me?"

My question twisted his expressionless face into something grotesque. Trembling, as if fighting to shatter the noise in his skull, he gripped his sword tighter and spoke.

"...Alien void. Something primal that shouldn't exist. Catastrophe. Exists yet does not... "

Ethan's voice echoed unnaturally, like layers overlapping.

"Kill it—no, flee. Worship it—no, erase it... Countless voices clash, screaming. They can't define you... driving them mad."

I watched impassively, calculating inwardly.

Hm, a notch below the Saintess's goddess, as expected.

That goddess had recognized me and pinpointed mine and Lulu's location precisely.

Power on Bael's level, or just shy.

But this 'War God Barat' clinging to the hero was subtly lesser.

Impressive rank among the three major gods, yet that hair's breadth was decisive.

Unable to pinpoint or interpret me, it glitched his system, screeching in the hero's mind.

Graspable yet ungraspable—the gap drove the god insane.

For a minor deity, way too prideful. Extra hassle.

Glancing back, his condition worsened.

Sweat poured like rain through platinum strands; his face paled to paper.

The doll-like blankness vanished, replaced by grimaces from the gods' frenzied din.

I asked indifferently,

"And now? What're they saying?"

My voice struck his ear; he groaned, knees buckling.

"'Erase it'... 'Carve that existence from this world,' they command."

These were reasons to stand on the field, grounds to pierce enemy hearts, the sole condition for hard-won peace—even if it meant trampling lives.

To the boy, 'god's command' wasn't lofty justice. It was the only escape from hellish noise.

"...Forgive me. I must silence the voices."

Ethan's tone stayed dry, laced with desperate craving for quiet.

Meeting those wretched eyes, I stretched my lips into a long grin.

Creak—

A chill smile spread across my face.

A soul enslaved to gods its whole life, now swinging at an unknown like me for one thread of silence.

How twisted, how intriguing. Blind to who—or what abyss—I am, he charges to still the racket. The gods' forged hero races toward death.

"That so? Come at me, then. I'm curious myself. How good is this 'self-proclaimed apostle of gods' those noisy bastards cooked up?"

My words ignited him; Ethan exploded forward.

Boom—!

The ruined ground cratered underfoot, dust billowing.

In that instant, Ethan was upon me.

Platinum hair whipped sharp arcs; his holy-light sword lanced straight for my heart.

Simple, yet god-blessed, it cleaved space itself.

"..."

But as the tip neared, no emotion flickered in his void eyes.

Though thrust dead-on, the blade bizarrely curved mid-air—yet he transitioned seamlessly, as if anticipated.

Using the bend's momentum, he dropped low, unleashing a lightning slash at my gut.

...Insane situational judgment. Beyond human reflexes.

Without twitching a finger, I felt the razor wind at my feet and met his empty gaze.

In that blink, I probed his shallow memories with Sloth Force.

But my brows furrowed. His mind was a utter wreck.

Dozens of gods' screams and madness, lifetimes of gaslighting fragments—impossible to parse.

Every damn god crammed in there. Tsk.

Tongue-clicking, I swung my hand instinctively to shove him back.

As light Sloth Force released to push—

"...?"

My eyes widened slowly.

His unfocused pupils tracked my hand's path and force direction—before I even moved.

As if he'd foreseen it.

Whoa! Foresight? Some future sight ability?

Beyond reflexes or instinct: clear glimpses of 'future fragments.'

This god-forged doll-hero traded their voices for prophetic eyes.

"Impressive, huh?"

I chuckled, interest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠piqued in his moves.

Thought he was just a god-puppet shell; turns out a high-end toy.

"How 'bout this?"

I snapped my fingers, unleashing light Sloth Force. No mere push.

Dozens of false future trajectories woven to baffle foresight—a complex strike.

Potent enough to shatter his sight, but non-lethal.

Dozens of paths shredded the air toward him.

But then, holy light from him thickened intensely.

Gods' absolute blessing. Like a water strider on waves, he slipped through my myriad paths flawlessly, parrying all.

Clang, screee—! Ear-splitting metal rang through the ruins.

Transcends human limits. Superhuman? Nearing transcendent.

"Ha!"

I couldn't hold back the laugh. A being to shatter eons of boredom. How far could he go? Curiosity peaked, I sensed oddity.

As battle intensified, Ethan's pain-twisted face smoothed to serenity.

"What? You're looking better?"

He readjusted his grip, murmuring low.

"...In battle, it's quiet. I like that."

Judgment called slaughter and ruin.

Executing 'erase' embodied silenced the hellish din.

To the boy, this desperate clash wasn't justice or victory.

Merely mechanical 'silence' from divine obedience—his sole sanctuary.

"I see."

I smirked, letting my hand drop languidly.

He seized the gap, surging explosively. I slowly closed my eyes.

Diving memory's depths, across past life and Hell's ages, I recalled the most beautiful, lethal sword I'd witnessed.

Bael.

Hell’s king, once pushing me to death's door.

Her swordplay wasn't technique—it was law.

Can't match her perfection, but I can mimic.

I overlaid her sword data onto my body.

From muscle tremors to Sloth Force flow, imprinting Hell’s king's slaughter-honed form.

Whoooosh—!

Then, his blade tip rushed to my brow—precisely 1cm short.

But.

"...!"

Ethan's void eyes twisted grotesquely in that instant.

Shing—!

Behind him, a sword-beam plummeted vertically.

The emotionless boy, numb to all via foresight, bore 'shock' for the first time.