Chapter 348: The King Who Kills Others, The God Who Kills Himself - 4
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 348: The King Who Kills Others, The God Who Kills Himself - 4
A swift, stealthy ambush. Had I come alone, I might have been killed before I even knew what was happening. But why do you think I brought Tyr along? When it comes to protecting me from humans, she's the most reliable ally I have.
Azzy protects me, but she's not great against humans. The Regressor is good against humans, but she doesn't protect me.
Darkness surged from the gaps of her black parasol. The shadow that had attacked me was engulfed by the darkness and slammed into the ground. I turned to see Tyr with her small fist clenched.
So dependable. I really picked the right ally.
“Is it okay to use your darkness in the sunlight?”
“A little is fine. Besides, we're in the shade.”
As Tyr and I were having this pleasant chat, the attacker, still wreathed in darkness, spoke.
“I warn you. This is for your own good.”
For someone pinned to the ground, the attacker spoke with unshakable confidence.
“If you wish to protect yourself, turn back now. Forget what you have seen, erase what you have heard, and leave. Do not think of returning. Your curiosity will be the death of you.”
“Isn't that a bit much to ask? How could I not be curious?”
The attacker was wrapped in a thick robe and wore a golden mask, as if trying to completely conceal their face and figure.
But their efforts were in vain. The prominent bulge of their back was clearly visible even under the robe.
A hunchback. I've only ever seen one hunchback in the Fallen Dominion.
I slowly approached, placing a hand on the golden mask.
“Especially when you, who should be dead, are alive and well right here.”
Click. I undid the clasp, lifted the golden mask, and called out the name of the face I expected to see beneath it.
“Isn't that right, Lord Rocket?”
Fireblastarch Rocket. The Primarch of the Fallen Dominion, who had certainly died at Hilde's hands back at the camp, was right before my eyes.
His identity exposed, the Fireblastarch muttered in a toneless voice.
“So he is dead. As expected, he was not fated to live a long life.”
“Thanks to you, it's now certain that you're a homunculus. And that means this must be the Golden Palace, right?”
“You approach the Golden Palace knowing this? Do you not value your life? No.”
The Fireblastarch looked up at me from the ground and asked.
“Do you not fear the soul that will be defiled here, the dignity that will be blasphemed, the existence that will be violated?”
“Soul, dignity, uniqueness—I couldn't care less about any of it. The only thing I value is my own life.”
“Impressive.”
“Hardly. You're much more civil than the original, you know.”
Kind words are exchanged, and a bond blossoms. To think we could have such a normal conversation. Does turning a raving lunatic into a homunculus somehow produce a sane result?
I expected to make a similar discovery, but... I'm lucky you showed up right away. Saves me the trouble of explaining.
“Hah. Don't tell me...”
Someone who had died once was standing before her. Witnessing this unbelievable sight, Tyr was, for once, astonished. Having lived for 1,200 years, she was not easily surprised, but the truth before her eyes was enough to startle even her.
“Are you saying... that the Golden Lord can create human beings?”
A reasonable guess, and close to the right answer. But the Golden Lord hasn't reached that level yet. I shook my head and pointed at the Fireblastarch.
“They can't create humans in the truest sense. If they could create them perfectly, there would be no need to model one after the Fireblastarch. And if they did, it would have the same personality as the original.”
If they could create humans, the Golden Lord would deserve to be the King of Humans. No, on second thought, even the King of Humans can't create life without giving birth. In that case, they would be beyond a king; they should rightly be called a god.
But the Golden Lord has not reached the level of a god. If they had, there would be no need to collect humans.
“But at the very least... they've created a near-perfect human 'body.' Isn't that right, Fireblastarch?”
The Fireblastarch shook his head.
“Perfect? No. It is an ideal. The body created by the Golden Lord is an apex that imperfect humans could never reach. If only the original had been sound, this body would have been flawless.”
“Hoh. So it's a machine crafted from flesh and blood. Is it the same for the crops cursed by the Golden Lord?”
“The crops made by the Golden Lord are not cursed. Rather, His creations are 'ideal'—they are simply crops with outstanding alchemic properties.”
Alchemic properties—the nature of reacting to alchemy. Trees and grass are known to have low alchemic properties due to their irregular structures, but the crops made by the Golden Lord seem to be different.
So that's why those who filled their bodies with the Golden Lord's crops resonated with him.
“And... it is not just the 'body.' If it is a Primarch who has understood even a fraction of the Golden Lord's great Axiom, then their Spiritual World as well.”
The moment the Fireblastarch uttered those words.
Localized explosions erupted all over his body. The blasts were emissions of heat and light. The darkness burst apart, and for a moment, his restraints weakened. Through that opening, steel wings shot out. Before we could react, the Fireblastarch soared high into the sky.
“A Primarch's Spiritual World is fundamentally rooted in the Golden Lord. Even their Unique Magic is nothing more than a technique the Golden Lord can replicate.”
Rocket's Juggernaut, the Wyvern. It appeared before us, looking far more vicious and powerful than before. The Fireblastarch wreathed the entire Wyvern in flames and roared at us.
“I am a Guardian of the Golden Palace! Die regretting you ever came here...!”
Tch. That idiot. He's acting as if he's a real human. If he were human, I would have read his thoughts and stolen his Unique Magic.
But I can't read 'that thing's' thoughts. I can't steal its Unique Magic either. No matter how I look at it, that thing is...
[Let them be.]
Just then, a voice came from somewhere. The Fireblastarch, who had been about to charge, scattering flames, froze mid-air.
“Goldenarch...!”
As if in response, the calm voice of the woman called the Goldenarch echoed.
[Let them come. The Golden Lord requires inspiration.]
“Kuh...!”
His face contorted, the Fireblastarch withdrew his flames. The Wyvern, having lost its propulsion, plummeted to the ground. Landing with a thud, the Fireblastarch glared at me and shouted.
“You...! You will regret not dying here...!”
Is he trying to be considerate, even though he's nothing but a residual thought? A mere corpse.
Amused, I gave a faint smile and patted the Fireblastarch's shoulder.
“That won't happen. I don't do regrets until the moment I die, you see.”
The Fireblastarch glared at me before putting his golden mask back on. I left him as he turned away and headed for the Golden Palace.
I'm almost there. I can feel it. The Golden Lord. The thoughts of a Divine who can create all things.
*
Yuria Elric, the King of the Golden Empire who held all the world's wealth, and the King of Steel who had mastered all its knowledge and technology. She slammed the fan in her hand onto her desk in frustration.
Having replicated every technology and mastered countless fields of knowledge, she was now suffering from a profound sense of ennui.
Born with the Authority of the King, she could create anything that wasn't impossible to create. When the line between the possible and impossible was so clear, what meaning was there in a challenge? Unable to feel the joy of venturing into the unknown, the world seemed to her a dull and monotonous textbook.
The only thing she devoted herself to was raising disciples.
Humans were creatures that harbored chaos. Even Elric, who could understand anything, could not predict them. Though their skills were leagues below hers, the trivial imaginations of her disciples could at least become sparks of inspiration. Like all the Elrics before her, Yuria Elric also had numerous disciples.
Lately, however, even that had grown stale.
It all started with a challenge Elric had given out as a jest.
Fill this room with a single gold coin.
It was widely known as a test of wisdom and wit, but that was not the truth.
Using a single gold coin as seed money, one could multiply it enough to fill the room. At least, Elric could.
A sword sharper and sturdier than any other would sell for several times the price of an ordinary one.
An alloy created by combining several metals in a specific ratio would become a legendary metal, its price whatever one named it.
It was something that could be achieved by using just a fraction of the myriad skills Elric possessed.
That was what Elric wanted. She wanted her disciples to rack their inadequate brains and try all sorts of things to multiply that single gold coin as much as possible.
But.
“I have filled the room with the light of a candle. The brilliance of gold pales before true light, so is it not only light that can truly fill this room?”
Someone had come up with that clever trick. It was childish, but among the countless failures, it was a relatively novel answer, so Elric praised him greatly. It wasn't the direction she had wanted, but it was still sufficiently inspiring.
The problem came after that.
“It's a torch!”
“It's an incense stick!”
“It's smoke!”
Afterward, however, everyone began to give the same answer, as if it were the correct one.
Even a novel answer becomes cliché when repeated. Worse, when it's nothing more than a shortcut, it's just irritating. So Elric prepared a second question.
“Now, turn what you filled it with back into gold.”
At that, they would all look dumbfounded and tear at their hair.
It wasn't a question with any deep meaning. Elric was simply being spiteful. Whether light or fragrance, once dispersed, it loses its value. She just wanted to vex the fools who dared to use cheap tricks before the King of Steel.
Elric's ploy worked perfectly, and the number of those attempting such tricks began to dwindle.
“It's a bell! I have filled this room with the sound of a bell!”
Perhaps having heard the news late, a disciple appeared with a small bell. As always, Elric gave him the second question.
“Turn this back into gold.”
“Y-yes? Into gold, you say?”
The disciple was greatly flustered. Guessing his thoughts, Elric clicked her tongue in annoyance.
There were such artisans among them—those who knew how to buy materials and create things, but not how to sell them. No matter how skilled they were, if they had no talent for business, they were fated to be exploited their whole lives and die penniless. Elric deliberately scowled and spoke.
“Are you saying you cannot do it?”
“I-I am sorry. I cannot think of a way... Please, grant me your teachings...”
A surge of anger welled up inside her.
Many had come with candles or incense. Elric despised them for proudly presenting such things of fleeting beauty, so she had spitefully told them to turn them back into gold. Then, those idlers who had mindlessly copied another's trick would turn pale.
However, unlike those things that lost their value over time, a bell retained its worth. It wasn't the answer Elric had hoped for, but the bell the disciple had made was a high-quality piece whose clear sound resonated deep within the heart. If he just sold it as it was, he could easily earn back the gold he had spent.
And yet he says he can't even do that?
She had praised the wit of the one who filled the room with light because she had given high marks for his flexible thinking and slick tongue. But this one was just parroting a trick he'd heard somewhere, and on top of that, he had no business sense and was asking for her teachings.
Elric's face twisted into a fearsome scowl.
“You turned gold into worthless metal, and yet you don't even know how to turn metal back into gold! You turn gold into trash and still wish to be the king's disciple?! Get out of my sight! And don't come back until you've turned that thing into gold!”
As Elric roared, the disciple retreated in terror. Having driven out the pathetic disciple in an instant, Elric clicked her tongue and sat down.
The sound of the bell was good. It was.
It was just that, to Elric, who possessed the power of understanding, such a skill was utterly trivial. The moment she understood it, it became an incredibly simple technique...
No skill could truly impress Elric anyway. In that case, shouldn't they at least have some wit, like the one who had shamelessly brought the candle?
If she had known this would happen, she never should have praised that first one. Elric lamented as she called for the next visitor.
A day passed.
Two days went by.
Over the course of three days, Elric tended to numerous disciples and received guests from afar. As the memory of the disciple with the fine-sounding bell gradually faded into her daily routine...
“I-I've done it! O eternal Elric! I have accomplished what Your Majesty commanded!”
He had kept his word to turn the bell into gold. However, the method he used far surpassed even the imagination of Elric, who had mastered all knowledge and technology.
Before Elric lay a brilliantly shining golden bell.