Chapter 345: The King Who Kills Others, The God Who Kills Himself - 1
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 345: The King Who Kills Others, The God Who Kills Himself - 1
The hatch of the Golden Ark lowered. When we stepped outside, an old man in a straw hat was waiting for us right in front. We were speechless for a moment.
He was standing there without anything below his knees, looking up at us.
It was frightening, but so sudden that it was more bewildering than anything. I couldn't tell if he was trying to appeal to our pity or trying to look scary. Before we could react,
“Kekeke! Seeing your dumbfounded faces is always a delight!”
The old man chuckled playfully and took a deep breath.
Hiss. A sound like air filling something echoed, and his body shot upward. Now at eye level with me, the old man laughed heartily.
It wasn't just his legs below the knee that were missing. He had no lower body at all. Instead, he walked around on pistons attached to where his legs should have been.
Dominarch Hector. The Primarch of the Fallen Dominion, who handled the pistons as if they were his own limbs, walked toward us cheerfully, his joints making hissing sounds.
“It’s been a while, Jannok. Sorry for the rough stop. I was in the middle of work, so I got the report late. But I trust you’ll understand.”
“Is ‘sorry’ supposed to fix everything? The sudden stop made me spill all my tea.”
While everyone else was reacting, I was the only one who looked like an idiot. How are you going to compensate me for my mental distress? As I grumbled, Hector just shrugged as if to say, ‘What can you do?’
“What was I supposed to do? A ship of crushing iron that pulverizes rock and steel was about to trample my farmland. My apology was just a courtesy; I didn't mean it. If you’d actually trampled my cornfield, I would have flipped your whole ship over.”
His reply was so brazenly cheerful that I momentarily doubted my ears.
So far, the people I'd spoken to from the Fallen Dominion were a gear-fetishist, a hothead, and someone with communication problems. By inductive reasoning, I had subconsciously assumed the next Primarch would be abnormal too.
He even lifted the Golden Ark with a lift without any warning, so I thought he was either an enemy or a madman. But he's surprisingly well-spoken, isn't he?
“What the. Why does he seem so normal?”
Oops. My inner thoughts slipped out.
“Kekeke! In this country, I’m the strange one! A nation needs at least one normal person like me to function, don’t you think?”
This is really strange. He just laughed off my comment like it was a joke? Is this really someone from the Fallen Dominion?
This is why you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. The guy with no legs has such a great personality.
After his friendly reply, Hector took out a staff, extended it, and planted it on the ground. Balancing himself, he asked Peru with sharp eyes.
“Now, then. If you had no business here, you could have just gone around. The fact that you’ve disembarked suggests you have another purpose. I’m getting old and it’s hard to stand for long, so why don’t you get to the point?”
The Regressor stepped forward, speaking before Peru could.
“We are peace envoys from the Military State. We wish to speak with the Golden Lord about stopping the war and negotiating a treaty.”
It was a fastball aimed right at the body. A statement so honest there was no room for misunderstanding, yet so blunt it was hard to believe.
Even Dominarch Hector couldn't process it for a moment and blinked. He stared suspiciously at the Regressor, finding it hard to believe. Fortunately, we had Peru to vouch for our identities.
“Is this true, Jannok?”
“…Yes.”
“Do you have anything to prove your identity?”
It was a common-sense procedure, but the Regressor had no such proof. As she hesitated, Hilde stepped in.
“We have proof of identity, but would you even recognize it? As an alternative, I could tell you the reason why Maximilien never became a Primarch.”
“That’s enough. It seems you really are from the Military State. Besides, what kind of fool would ride Witherarch Jannok’s Juggernaut across the entire Fallen Dominion if they didn't have business with the Golden Lord?”
Convinced, Hector furrowed his brow and stroked his beard.
“Hmm. Peace envoys, you say. I never expected the Military State to make the first move.”
Fair enough. The Military State didn't know either. If it weren't for the Regressor, they would have sent an army, not peace envoys.
A matter this important couldn't be decided so easily. Hector scratched his straw hat, then looked at the Dholes surrounding them and spoke.
“This isn’t a good place to discuss political matters. Shall we go inside and talk for a bit?”
“Fine. Lead the way.”
The Regressor nodded readily, which made Hector pause.
“Stepping so willingly into what could be a trap. Don’t you feel any sense of danger? If you peace envoys were to disappear, the chance for peace itself might vanish into thin air.”
“Try me.”
Damn. So cool. When will I ever be able to say something like that?
Even with the ability to read minds, I could never say that. Sometimes people have no ill intent, but then they get pissed off and actually do it. You have to be confident you can survive in the middle of an explosion, like the Regressor.
It was an overly confident answer, but Hector just laughed it off.
“Hahaha! How bold! Of course, this city isn't without its traps, but I won't use them on you! Now, let’s go! I’ll lead the way!”
Things seem to be going better than I expected. Even when the Regressor just plows ahead, things go smoothly with a normal person like him. Or maybe it's because he's a man of his stature that he can accommodate her.
‘He’s not hostile, even though I was aggressive. I should remember that.’
The Regressor, who had been prepared for a fight just in case, put away Chun-aeng. She watched Hector limp along on his piston legs, lost in thought for a moment.
‘Fireblastarch, Witherarch, and now Dominarch. The changing of the guard in the Fallen Dominion may be fast, but I’ve never heard of these Primarchs. The only one I know is the Thunderarch of Claudia.’
Hector's appearance was very distinctive. As he walked on legs made of pistons, the rhythmic sound of hissing air and creaking metal followed him. He was hard to forget, both visually and audibly.
It wasn't just Hector. Fireblastarch Rocket was the same. Peru, who had to ride a horse because she couldn't use a Juggernaut without it disintegrating steel, was the most normal of the bunch.
But the Regressor didn't recognize any of them. I can't read memories from past timelines, so I don't know for sure, but it was probably because she had never seen them in previous cycles.
‘Did they all die because of the war? Or… before the war?’
It was still midday. Tyr hated the sunlight, and Azzy would just bark nonsense even if she heard a complex story. That's not a slight against beastkin; it's just a fact. There was no reason for them to stay in the city when they had a perfectly good Juggernaut, so only Hilde, the Regressor, and I decided to go.
Truthfully, with those two handling the practical matters, there was no need for me to go, but reading minds is always useful.
A few of his subordinates ran up, but they scattered in an instant after Hector gave a simple command. They were remarkably disciplined. Less so than in the Military State, but everything is relative. The very fact that he could command the Dholes demonstrated his leadership.
Hector walked down the main road, leading us to the center of a plaza. The plaza, paved with white stone, had a few backless benches arranged around a statue in the middle. Hector sat down on one as if exhausted and adjusted the length of his pistons.
The Regressor looked around and said, “This doesn't seem like a good place for a political discussion either.”
“Of course this isn’t it. Just wait and see.”
Hector raised a finger and pointed at the statue.
It was a statue of a middle-aged man with a stern face. The depiction was incredibly realistic, but the round steel food cover on its head instead of a hat shattered that realism. The material was different from the rest of the statue, so it seemed to have been placed there after the statue was made.
Hector activated his Unique Magic, aiming it at the cover.
To make steel, it needs to be hammered and flattened. Even after the birth of alchemy, the process of hammering iron to shape it has remained common.
The Dominarch's Unique Magic manifested with the image of hammering steel.
His power applies pressure to steel. Shape and form don't matter. As long as it's steel, he can apply pressure to it. If the direction of the pressure were distorted, it would be difficult to move, but by shaping it like a piston, he can control the immense force from his Unique Magic in a single direction.
That's why his pistons operate independently of heat or wind. It was also how he was able to lift the Juggernaut.
Hector applied that ability to the steel cover. From the inside out.
The cover gradually grew larger. The alchemic steel, with its excellent ductility and malleability, swelled up like a balloon under Hector's power. Normally, a metal would tear after expanding to a certain point, but this was a Primarch of the Fallen Dominion, a union of alchemist and Unique Magic. The exquisitely controlled alchemic steel expanded steadily without tearing or breaking.
At some point, the cover touched the ground, having grown larger than the statue itself. And it didn't stop there; the steel cover grew even larger, enveloping the entire plaza.
Alchemy can also transform materials, but creating precise shapes is difficult. Spreading steel thinly and uniformly, in particular, relies more on the caster's sense than on alchemy itself. However, the Dominarch, who could perform the rolling process with his Unique Magic, could create a steel plate thinner than paper with his bare hands.
The Regressor observed his ability and thought, ‘How precise. If he can expand it, he can probably compress it too. Is this a warning that he could attack us if he wanted to…?’
“Hahaha! What do you think? A bit more private now, isn't it?”
No, I think he just wanted to show off.
Chuckling, Hector adjusted the length of his legs, then wiped the smile from his face and got down to business.
“Alright. First things first. I don't particularly want a war either.”
The Regressor nodded in satisfaction, but it wasn't for the reason she thought.
“I harvest and sell the Fallen Dominion’s food. If a lot of people die in a war, that’s just a decrease in my potential customers, isn't it?”
“That’s the reason?”
A cold cost-benefit analysis. This was the Fallen Dominion, all right. Even if he was different, his roots were the same.
“I’m willing to help you. As Jannok probably knows, the Golden Lord is not far from here. I know his exact location.”
“Then why didn’t you just take us there? Why bring us here?”
“One thing, though. It’s impossible right now. I need you to wait for one day.”
We still had time. But there was nothing to be gained by dragging things out, so the Regressor asked reluctantly, “Why?”
“I don’t really have a reason to explain the circumstances, but I’ll answer in return for your honesty. He is currently tilling a field not far from here.”
“A field? There’s a field right here.”
“More fields. Because this isn’t enough.”
The cornfield we just saw was already immense. And he's making more? Does he plan to feed the entire Fallen Dominion and still have leftovers?
The Regressor's thoughts were similar to mine.
“A Homunculus field isn't that important, is it? What's really important to you people is the real food from Claudia, right? This corn should be more than enough, so why more?”
…Though her phrasing was a bit harsh.
At the mention of the Fallen Dominion's secret—the Homunculus—Hector flinched. He stared at Peru in shock.
“Jannok! Did you tell them?!”
“…She already knew.”
“What? She already knew?”
“…There’s no way I would have told her…”
‘That’s true. Even Witherarch Jannok wouldn't reveal that to an outsider for no reason, especially not a key figure from the Military State. The State’s intelligence network… I shouldn't underestimate it.’
Calming himself, Hector let out a deep sigh and said, “That doesn't mean this food is meaningless. It's better to eat something than to starve. Besides, the human body processes the food in its own way, so eating Homunculus food doesn't cause immediate resonance with him. There's a grace period of a few weeks. If you ferment it into alcohol, or use it as feed to fatten livestock before eating them, the end comes tens of times slower.”
Hector tapped his staff on the ground and continued.
“That is the role of my Drum Trading Company. To process the Homunculus food. The more I work, the more food is distributed throughout the Fallen Dominion. Food that can be eaten without major problems! That is my job, my mission, and my pride!”
He spoke, filled with a sense of mission, then added in a small voice, “Of course, I do take a small financial profit in the process, but that can't be helped.”
“So it is about the money, isn't it?”
“It’s for the money, but it’s also for the Fallen Dominion. The days when even Homunculus food can be harvested are few. If we miss this window, the Fallen Dominion will face a food shortage. That’s why I asked for a day’s delay. If you want to go to the Golden Lord without my help, I won't stop you. But, if you wait just one day, I will guide you to him myself.”
His reasoning was understandable, and it wasn't a bad offer. The Regressor fell into thought.
‘It’ll take time to find the Golden Lord anyway. I should accept his offer as a backup in case we can’t find him. If things go south, I can just ignore him and head for the Golden Palace, right?’
And this is supposed to be an apostle of justice. Justice itself would weep. Just as the Regressor was about to accept the offer, hiding her dark intentions,
“Wait a minute. I have a question.”
Everyone else has had their say, so it's my turn to get some answers. I already have a rough idea from reading his thoughts, but it's better to have him think about it directly for a clearer picture.
Hector said, “Go on.”
“What happens to a human who resonates with the Golden Lord?”
“I’ve already said more than enough. There’s no need for me to say any more…”
“Do they, by any chance, become like that statue?”
The statue of a man, depicted with extreme realism, resting on a pedestal with a simple pattern.
I pointed at the work of art, one that no untalented human could have sculpted, and asked.