Chapter 358: The King Who Kills Others, The God Who Kills Himself - 12
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 358: The King Who Kills Others, The God Who Kills Himself - 12
Everything was for the Golden Empire.
Everything was for His Majesty.
Everything… was for the beautiful, awkward smile that the King of Iron and Blood would sometimes wear.
So how did it come to this?
A blade was collared around his neck, and shackles bound his feet. The heavy iron ball hanging from the blade's tip was agony itself. His arm felt like it would be torn from its socket, but he couldn't let go. If he did, the weight tearing at his arm would simply shift to his neck.
A sharp needle pricked his back. His body reacted before the pain even registered. Despite his exhaustion, Democrias took a step to avoid the torment. A moment later, the thorn pursued him and stabbed him again.
Laden with a series of instruments designed solely to inflict pain and despair upon a human being, Democrias walked barefoot across the lands of the Golden Empire.
He heard curses. Stones were thrown at him. People charged him with maledictions, attacking him with brandished daggers. The soldiers escorting him only feigned to block the attacks, watching from the sidelines as the wounds steadily multiplied until Democrias was no better than a living corpse.
His screams of pain lasted only for a while. After five hours, he could no longer distinguish himself from the pain. Perhaps he had been born with pain as his companion.
I want to be at peace. I want to be free from all this suffering. I’d rather die and be free.
But Democrias couldn't even allow himself that escape.
Because he was the very cause of the brilliant Golden Empire’s ruin.
They say money can’t buy happiness, but you can’t be happy without it. Happiness requires a sliver of leeway, and in the fierce battlefield of life, the only means to create that leeway was money.
For the sake of a nation where everyone could be happy, Democrias created gold. So that the entire country could be happy.
That was how it was supposed to be.
That was what common sense told him.
Democrias looked around with dim eyes. Crumbled castle walls. Burning houses. The air was thick with screams and cries. An old farmer with a worn-out hoe was painstakingly tilling a rice paddy that had once been plowed over, crushed by the value of gold. But the land, steeped in metallic poison, had already drawn its last breath; no matter how carefully he tended it, it gave no answer.
The beggars on the streets were no better off than Democrias. With cracked throats, they held out empty bowls, begging for a shred of mercy. The bowls were made of gold, yet they couldn't promise a single meal. A grain of rice was more precious than a flake of gold.
A mother wailed, clutching the corpse of her dead child. Did she love it as the being that was once her child, or did she love it as a few days' worth of food?
The Poverty of Gold. The most horrific event in the history of the Golden Empire had occurred. The greater problem was that he couldn't even think of a solution.
There was no future. The past had been erased. In the end, he had made a deal with a devil, selling eternity in exchange for a once-brilliant moment.
The Golden Empire had become a hell made of gold.
And the one who created this hell… was the alchemy that created gold.
If only he hadn't created alchemy. This tragedy would never have been born. The devastating truth that his great discovery was the knowledge of a devil tormented his very soul.
Thwack.
Something struck Democrias in the temple. His head reeled for a moment. It didn't hurt. His body, already drained of all energy, had begun to accept pain as a chronic state.
Democrias stared with unfocused eyes at the object that had hit him. It was far too small for its weight, its brilliant gleam inflating its own value.
Gold. A golden coin, whose color was so difficult to capture with any other name that it was named after itself, rolled across the dirt ground.
As he watched it with a hollow gaze, an emaciated woman approached and screamed at him.
“It’s because of you…! If it weren’t for you!”
Was gold truly this useless? To that starving woman, it couldn't even provide a single meal and was thrown in place of a stone. It wasn't even very useful for throwing at someone. A jagged rock would have hurt more.
Gold that could neither be eaten nor used. He was once blinded by its light… but now, it was no different from trash that poisoned the earth.
If so, what had he, the creator of gold, been making all this time? Was he not making everyone rich, but making everyone poor?
“Give it back! Give it all back!”
The woman’s cry was a meaningless lament. Once something has happened, no amount of screaming and wailing can undo it.
However.
A memory flashed through Democrias’s mind like a dying vision.
‘Undo what you have wrought with your gold.’
The Golden Lord’s second challenge. The trial where he had created alchemy.
More difficult than creating something is returning it to its original state. The words of the king he so adored were carved deep into his heart. A final surge of vitality filled his dying body. In his fading consciousness, Democrias repeated what he had to do.
…I will restore it. The Golden Empire. For our king.
It wouldn't be difficult. He had done it once before.
Alchemy was created to restore things from the very beginning.
But could he truly reverse this? Could he turn this hell back into the beautiful and prosperous Golden Empire it once was? Could he return it to the nation of artisans and technology, where everyone worked together under a great king?
He was bound like this, suffering to the brink of death.
The time allowed to Democrias was short. He was dying. Even if he used all his remaining time, even if he squeezed out every last drop of his strength, he could only create one thing.
If that was the case. If he could only make one thing. Then shouldn't he just alchemize ‘something’ that would return this nation to its former state?
Democrias stopped walking and closed his eyes. With death imminent, the time left was short. He knelt and painted a picture in his mind.
All things are made of small blocks. Whether it’s gold, steel, or even a grain of sand. The type of block is all the same. It only differs in how it is stacked.
Stacked differently, and differently, and differently again. As a result, the world is filled with a variety of objects. Though no two things seem alike, if you look closely, they all have the same beginning.
That house, this land, that lonely tree, and the stream flowing beneath it. The wild animals that drink from it.
Even people.
Democrias didn't know what form it would take. But it would wander the Golden Empire for eternity, restoring this cursed land to its original state. It would create a beautiful nation once more and present it to his king.
As the Golden Lord, the king’s loyal subject.
His Spiritual World swelled like a monster. The power to change all things now extended its authority toward its master, to grant its dying master’s final wish.
Unique Magic. Elixir.
When I came to my senses, I was in a small workshop.
Once, King Elric of the Golden Empire had many disciples. She provided a space for them within the palace to look after them. In rooms with small, attached workshops, the disciples honed their skills.
It was a room full of memories for the Golden Lord in many ways. Above all, this was the very room he had once filled with a single piece of gold.
In the middle of it, a young man sat before a golden bell.
It was the Golden Lord, looking slightly older than he had from the outside. Just as when he died, he wore a blade around his neck with shackles attached. Considering this was a space within his Spiritual World, it seemed that even in death… he considered himself a sinner.
“…Who are you?”
The Golden Lord spoke slowly without even lifting his head. I shrugged and sat down in front of him.
“Just your average thief. I’m here to steal a relic. So, are there any trials or tests here?”
“…There is nothing of the sort. I have no lingering regrets.”
Even as he spoke, the Golden Lord continued to stare intently at the golden bell. A steel bell transformed into pure gold. An object that symbolized his most brilliant memory.
The first tribute that had connected the pure-hearted him and her.
To say he had no regrets when they were practically dripping off him. He really needed to learn how to lie better.
“If you truly had none, your lingering will wouldn't have remained. How about you get it off your chest?”
“I misspoke. My regrets are something no one can resolve. Even if you brought a fake who resembled Her Majesty, it would be the same. Because the real Her Majesty can never return.”
And just like that, he was getting it off his chest. Well, a lingering will exists to be understood by someone, so of course he wouldn't stay silent.
It just takes time. Once you get this far, you end up reading everything anyway. I calmly mulled over his Spiritual World and continued the conversation.
“If you know she can’t return, why are you guarding this palace? Is there any reason to protect a palace without a master?”
“Because I must atone for all my sins.”
“Sins?”
“Yes. Sins. The sin of leading a brilliant nation into war, and the sin of creating the Poverty of Gold, causing suffering for all.”
The Golden Lord confessed as if in penance.
“The Golden Empire was a paradise. Under the reign of the great King Elric, it was a nation of steel where brilliant artisans thrived throughout the land. I am the one who dragged that vibrant and bright country into the abyss. If it weren't for me, none of that would have happened.”
“By minting gold?”
“…Yes. Gold is valuable simply because it is rare. But I, ignorant of even that simple truth, created gold. Again, and again. When my own hands were not enough, I even trained other alchemists.”
If it had just been one Golden Lord, the situation might not have escalated so drastically. But the Golden Lord genuinely believed that gold would make the nation prosperous. That was why he shared his precious knowledge so freely.
Even that was likely him emulating Elric, but unlike the king's power, which was limited to an individual, alchemy was a Divine power. The gold spread uncontrollably.
The Golden Lord stared at the golden bell with a haggard face and said,
“I am a great sinner who led the nation to ruin. To pay for this sin, I must remember the Golden Empire. I must create it. I must restore it. Even if it is nothing more than a memoir.”
And so, the Golden Lord created the Golden Empire within his reach. He recreated the Golden Empire of what he considered its most brilliant moment.
A magnificent castle. A prosperous city. Even fertile fields. Even if the Golden Empire had vanished into the annals of history, within the Golden Palace, the Golden Empire always existed. Albeit a nation built by a single person, riddled with all sorts of flaws.
I see. So that was it, Golden Lord. Your wish was to rebuild the Golden Empire. That’s all well and good, but…
Hmm. Is that all? Is this the best you can do?
Before getting to the main point, I decided to warm up the conversation a little and offered some simple comfort.
“It’s not your fault. No one could have known that having more gold would actually make people poorer.”
“Spare me your empty comfort. Ignorance is no excuse for a crime. I deserve to be resented.”
Empty comfort? What was he talking about? I might bluff, but I don't say things I don't mean. I'm a man who's honest with himself.
“Do I sound like I’m talking nonsense? No. Not at all. I don’t resent you. In fact, I’m grateful.”
I meant it. This was so much better. The Golden Lord was hundreds, no, thousands of times better than a certain Grand Master from the Abyss who agonized over his choices only to have his life meaninglessly stolen.
Because he did it. He was different from that Divine who hesitated, lost his chance, and was left with nothing but regret. In the end, he had achieved it as a human accomplishment!
“Because thanks to you minting all that gold, humanity learned one more thing it could do!”