Chapter 256: The Country of Steel and the Faceless Men - 5
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 256: The Country of Steel and the Faceless Men - 5
Even just before entering the central control room, the Regressor and Historia hadn't reached a conclusion. Anyone in their position would have been trapped in the same dilemma.
The Regressor repeated a line she felt she'd said countless times by now.
“I'm telling you, just killing everyone isn't the answer!”
Historia countered with a similar argument of her own.
“There's no other way. What, you can't bring yourself to kill the helpless? Do they have to stand up and challenge you to a duel for you to kill them? Look at Sir Knight over here.”
“No, it's about their postponed execution, whatever. A stunt like that can't possibly end well. If we wipe out the alchemic steel refinery, they'll just end up capturing innocent people later on, I'm telling you!”
“So you're a prophet, not a knight? Did you take a peek into the future?”
“Yes… No! A simplistic method like that won't solve anything!”
It was an argument that would never end, because it wouldn't lead to a fight. Faced with a problem that had no justice and no right answer, the two debated endlessly, but a conclusion remained elusive.
‘Kerapald’ pointed to the steel door at the end of the long corridor, looking flustered.
“Um, that's the central control room, but…”
As Kerapald tried to step between the two growling women, Shiati pulled him back by the arm.
“Kerapald. Stay back for now.”
“This doesn't seem like a place for me to interfere. What should I do? Should the Princess have been here?”
“…It wouldn't have made much of a difference even if she were. These two aren't the type to listen to the Princess's orders.”
“This is a problem.”
‘Kerapald’ wore a troubled expression, but inwardly, he was smiling.
The alchemic steel refinery was a facility so cruel that even soldiers of the Military State were appalled by its brutality. One could guess at its horror from the fact that the people moved about, threaded onto chains, were considered the lucky ones.
In the next building, they saw prisoners screaming inside small cages. Their left arms were stuck out, and a funnel was attached to the bio-receptor on each one.
Molten alchemic steel dripped into the funnels. It fell in droplets, but the sound was as dull and heavy as a stone hitting the ground. The molten steel would then spread through the body, absorbing a great deal of mana before circling back to the bio-receptor. A lump of steel would form on the prisoner's wrist.
The prisoners had to tear it off quickly, if only to survive. Otherwise, the steadily increasing weight would snap their arms.
The alchemic steel that fell onto the rail was then carried away somewhere.
This process was repeated mechanically until the day's labor hours were over.
'Hey! Help me! Please, I'll do anything!'
'L-let me go! I'll never commit another crime again! I'll live a good life!'
A storm of cries for salvation washed over them, but the group, still without a decision, ignored them and walked on. The pleas for help then twisted into a torrent of curses. Leaving all that hell behind them, the Regressor and Historia reached the central control room.
They weren't so weak as to be scarred by such things. However, it gave them more than enough reason to hesitate.
“More importantly, these people have already paid for their sins once in this way. It would be wrong for us to just kill them on a whim.”
“For someone committing terrorism against the Military State, you sure need a lot of justifications. I can just imagine how much trouble Huey went through putting up with your stubbornness.”
“Why are you suddenly bringing that bastard up? He has nothing to do with this!”
Did they know?
That every scene they had witnessed was, in fact, exquisitely designed by Zigrund, who was playing the part of ‘Kerapald’.
He secretly observed their reactions. Reading emotions without looking directly at someone was his specialty. He would distinguish between positive and negative responses, and if one side's reaction seemed to weaken, he would devise a new route to compensate.
In the end, their opinions diverged completely, pitting them against each other.
‘Conflict, confrontation, and anguish. A perfect story. Indeed, no lavish stage, no theater filled with a grand audience, could ever compare to this stage set against the backdrop of the wide world itself.’
‘Kerapald’ briefly recalled his much younger self.
The Empire's vassal states were vassals in name only; in reality, they were no different from colonies. Food, wealth, culture, even people. The vassal states had to offer tribute to the Empire just to survive.
Among the tributes offered to the Empire, cultural assets drew the most attention. Culture, which cost little, fully satisfied the vanity of the Imperial elite, and possessed a unique character, was the finest tribute a vassal state could offer.
Recently, the most popular of these was theater. To win the tribute competition, vassal states would often run their own national theater troupes.
In a theater troupe, the most important element was, of course, the actor.
To embody all manner of roles required commensurate skill: an outstanding memory, the power of observation to tenaciously study a subject, the physical prowess to reenact heroic tales on stage, the adaptability to apply learned knowledge, and so on.
Before he was called the Camarilla, he was an actor who could hold his own anywhere.
‘But in a vassal state that had to constantly curry favor with the Empire, one could not reflect reality. I was a half-corpse, alive only upon the stage.’
The official from the Empire openly accepted bribes, yet no one could criticize him for it. On the contrary, they were in a position where they had to disguise the bribes as something else, lest they offend him.
Zigrund found this fact ‘amusing’.
There was no sense of injustice or unfairness. No feeling of resistance from swallowing his indignation in the face of power.
It was simply amusing.
If he were ashamed, he shouldn't accept the bribe. If he craved wealth, he should take it with joy.
But the sight of the man acting all high and mighty in public while accepting all sorts of favors behind the scenes was so ridiculous that Zigrund satirized him to his heart's content. Donning a petty-looking beard, he used comical acting to make the official a laughingstock for all to see.
It was merely an expression of the satirical nature inherent in any artist, but the consequences were disastrous.
‘Ahahaha! I couldn't have known back then! That thanks to that, I would be fated to wander the world.’
His long life as an actor proved to be a great help. He survived several crises by calmly acting his way out of them, even when faced with fearsome pursuers from the Empire.
Changing his face. Moving his residence. Altering his clothes. Shifting his demeanor. Severing all his ties.
Just as he was about to forget who he truly was, ‘she’ came for him, somehow knowing where to find him.
‘She wanted to borrow my strength to eliminate corruption in her newly-born country! Ahahaha! As if that made any sense. It's not like I'm particularly fond of integrity!’
But Zigrund accepted her offer. For him, exhausted after long years on the run, it was an unavoidable choice.
The threat to his life was one thing, but more than anything, it was to protect his own self. Zigrund was a born actor; he had donned dozens of personas, layering them over himself time and time again. His masterful acting had saved him from danger, but from changing his identity so often, he had reached a point where he could no longer clearly recall his original self.
However, ‘she,’ who had sought out not one of his dozens of personalities but the ‘self’ that was the sum of them all, became an anchor that defined him.
‘Oops! Almost forgot again. Focus. I am focusing. I will not forget. I am Zigrund, the Camarilla, disguised as Kerapald.’
Having composed himself, ‘Kerapald’ once again pictured the image in his mind. An average build, an average frame. The face of a man with no distinguishing features or special impressions—a blank canvas. The body of Zigrund, to which he must return when the role of ‘Kerapald’ was over.
The anchor of self, created to protect himself amidst countless personalities and identities.
Resuming his performance, Zigrund joyfully watched the actors before him. The conflict he had created was gradually escalating.
Normally, a third party's mediation would be needed in such a situation, but unfortunately, there was no one here to mediate between them.
Tyr, the most level-headed of them, urged the two on.
[Decide on a course of action soon. Or I will bring Huey here myself. Without Huey, this conversation is going nowhere.]
“Tch. Fine. Anyway, you're still planning on destroying the facility itself, right? Before we decide the laborers' fate, let's just break everything first and think later…”
Just as the Regressor was reaching that simple, violent conclusion, she sensed a presence on the other side and frowned. Her expression changing in an instant, she glared at the sharp steel door and asked ‘Kerapald’.
“Wait. I feel a presence inside. Hey, are there guards in there?”
“…W-well, I'm not sure. It's an emergency, so perhaps. I don't really know.”
‘Guards? Impossible. Hiding the State's soldiers in here would be of little help; it would only be static interfering with the conflict between the characters. The scene where the ambushing soldiers appear is much later.’
Everyone grew anxious. With the appearance of an unknown interloper, there was no more time for arguing.
Much to Zigrund's displeasure.
“Let's go! I'll go in first!”
The Regressor thrust her twin swords forward and broke into a run. She crossed the corridor in just two strides and, without slowing, kicked the steel door. The kick, heavily infused with Qi, mercilessly crumpled even the Grade-3 Alchemic Steel door.
“Who's there…?! Huh?”
The Regressor was about to swing her sword but froze.
The space was filled with complex machinery and unfamiliar noises. The clamor of steel striking steel echoed loudly. As if machines, unlike humans, had no need for light to move, a dim light faintly illuminated the interior. Standing in the middle of the central control room was…
None other than me.
I, who had run outside earlier, claiming I couldn't bear to witness the horrific scene, had now appeared in the heart of the facility.
“Huey? How did you get here… Did you get ahead of us?”
[Huey? You've come at a good time.]
Soon after, Tyr, Historia, Shiati, and ‘Kerapald’ appeared one by one. They were all surprised by my appearance, but that was all. Since I was an ally, there was no need to be wary.
Only ‘Kerapald’ felt an ominous shift in the current and shuddered.
“Why… are you coming out from there?”
‘Why is a character who already exited the stage back on it? This isn't in the script…!’
As everyone's gaze fell upon me, in that space where the dim light seemed to wrap around me…
I took a deep breath and opened my mouth, my voice heavy.
“You're earlier than I expected. I wanted to finish before you arrived.”