Chapter 115
Chapter 115
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: The Immutable World
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“Forgive me, but everyone needs to get off here.”
The coachman said, gripping his sword. The young man who had been riding with him already had a dagger in hand.
“You two there. Leave your luggage on the carriage and get off. The rest of you wait. It’d be best if you stayed quiet until I say otherwise. Unless you want to be made an example of.”
The young man wagged his finger. The pointed-out couple climbed down from the luggage cart. They had been buzzing with excitement, saying this was their first trip.
“Free citizens, huh. Must be nice, being able to move between cities and territories whenever you please.”
The young man said as he examined their identification tokens.
“We’ll give you everything we have. Just please return our tokens.”
“I’ve got no use for junk like that anyway.”
The young man tossed the tokens to the ground. The man scrambled to pick them up and stuff them into his bosom.
“Hey, lady. Lift your skirt.”
He flicked his dagger as he spoke, and the woman hiked up her skirt. There was a pouch banded to her thigh.
“Knew it. Untie it nicely and drop it.”
The woman exchanged a glance with her husband. The young man glared and bellowed.
“Don’t you get it? Want to lose an arm or a leg each?”
“No, we’re sorry.”
The woman untied the pouch and set it on the ground.
The watching coachman trudged over and picked it up. His eyes were calm as he peered inside.
“Use this to tie each other’s legs. If it’s sloppy, you won’t have legs left to tie—so make it tight.”
The couple bound each other’s legs with the cord.
The coachman watched the process, then nodded to the young man. The young man’s finger moved.
“You two on the left. Out.”
The next pair stepped out and underwent the same body search, binding each other’s legs with cord.
It was the next pair’s turn to exit.
The burly-headed man, who had been sitting and gauging the situation, charged at the young man the moment he stepped out. He clutched a self-defense dagger.
“Don’t be scared—come on out! We’ve got the numbers!”
At the burly man’s shout, the men inside the luggage cart leaped out in unison. They shed their cloaks to wrap around their hands and grabbed stones from the ground.
The coachman and young man urgently exchanged glances.
“Hey! You too—get out here quick. Numbers are on our side.”
The burly man brimmed with confidence. The singled-out Gilliud smiled faintly and stepped out of the carriage.
He knew how this fight would end. What he had seen with the “Eye of Prophecy” never missed.
Gilliud placed a hand on the luggage compartment and slowly walked toward the horses.
The burly man, facing off against the young man, shouted urgently.
“What the hell are you doing!”
Those were his last words. The coachman’s sword sliced into the burly man’s chest—not a mere threat, but the skilled strike of a man who had lived by the blade his whole life.
The young man moved too. It took mere moments for the two men facing him to crumple to the ground.
“You there. Come up front.”
The young man said, wiping his bloodied dagger on the corpses. The other hostages, legs bound, stifled screams at the coachman’s gesture.
“I said come. You’re not deaf.”
Gilliud said nothing as he unhooked the harness linking the horses to the luggage cart. The horses snorted and tossed their heads.
He stroked the horse’s neck, telling it there was nothing to fear.
“Too many stubborn customers today.”
The young man approached, dagger reversed in his grip. His eyes blazed with anger, his mouth twisted in annoyance.
Gilliud said to the approaching young man.
“I’ll be taking this horse.”
“Who says?”
“It’s fated. You handle the rest.”
“No can do. Guess I’ll start by cutting off an ear.”
The young man sneered and closed in.
“I wouldn’t recommend that.”
“And why should I listen?”
“But it’s already too late.”
The young man’s eyes darted side to side. He had sensed something off.
As he whipped around, the coachman’s sword came down on his head. The blade bit into his shoulder, crunching through bone.
The young man’s body split diagonally. Blood soaked the ground around them.
Before the body cleaved, Gilliud had stepped back two paces. Blood splattered onto his foot.
He frowned. It deviated slightly from the future he had foreseen. No blood should have splashed. A minor discrepancy, but irritating all the same.
“What are you?”
The coachman didn’t approach boldly like the young man. He kept a safe distance, wary.
Gilliud repeated himself. He would take the horse, and the coachman should collect the other passengers’ money.
The coachman swallowed dryly, then lowered his sword.
“That’s what you need to do.”
He mounted the horse and lightly snapped the reins.
A world where everything was fixed. Subtle differences in events, but they all converged on the same end.
The futures he foresaw were always ruin. After ruin, nothing awaited.
A world of utter nothingness—that was the futile end this world would reach.
Yet he had glimpsed a sliver of possibility. A way to shatter the fixed flow and bring a wholly different conclusion.
Further, through the Realm, he had learned a way to restart this damned world.
It wasn’t something the faceless masses could achieve. Only a miracle by the rare few who confronted reality and grasped truth.
His goal was unwavering: shatter the laws the Realm had forged and reset everything to zero.
The turned-back clock hands would not rush to catastrophe, but toward a better world.
There, perhaps, his wife and son would not die.
No cause for shedding bloody tears.
A world where pure human free will could spawn diverse possibilities. For that ideal he must strive.
For now, he had to submit to the laws. Follow fate. Ride the Grand Flow as a pawn stripped of will, doing what must be done.
But at the final moment, he would change it.
This unchanging, wretched world.
To do so, he needed to find the “Monolith” once more. Meet the “Hut Sage” who appeared with it.
Kalligo had surely already contacted the Sage. The Sage would have planted doubts in Kalligo, who would act boldly to resolve them.
This too was fated. A future seen by the Eye of Prophecy. Everything would flow clearly, tediously.
But one thing gnawed at him.
“You’re going to do it again? This same thing?”
The Hut Sage’s words eluded understanding.
Again? What? Only one guess came to mind.
Had he already challenged this wretched world, failed, and now prepared anew?
He might have succeeded in turning back the clock hands but failed to escape the Realm’s laws.
If true, how did the Hut Sage know everything?
Had that one escaped the Realm, or was he one with it?
“Or perhaps he is the Realm itself.”
This world was crafted too convincingly. A common language, common measures. Not standardized over human ages, but appearing overnight.
Such thoughts hadn’t occurred before entering the Realm. Only by peering slightly into the world’s structure from within could they arise.
As he prepared, he harbored these dangerous ideas.
Perhaps this world wasn’t made by many gods, but by a single individual.
A bird perches on a branch. To it, humans must seem colossal, inescapable beings.
Then how did ants see us? Things smaller than ants?
Even now, might some higher existence we can’t perceive be watching us, amused?
Gilliud gripped the reins tighter.
It didn’t matter. Things beyond awareness should be left be. What mattered was the world he perceived.
He couldn’t be sure how much an insect’s struggle could change the world, but he would never give up.
Challenge after challenge.
Until the day an ant could climb atop a human’s head.
* * *
Gailbans dismounted before the checkpoint into the Holy City. Seeing the line shorten, he tensed slightly but soon steadied his breath and relaxed his face.
No issues. He had dealt with the carriage and passengers. He’d meant to spare them, but something felt off.
All because of that bastard. Without him, no murder would have happened.
He was used to it, but killing still left his sleep restless. That’s why he preferred just taking valuables and leaving them by the road.
Damn it. He swallowed dryly. That bastard’s eyes surfaced again.
The robed man. Even as his partner’s body was rent, his expression hadn’t changed.
He knew instantly. Dangerous. Not to be touched.
Fortunately, the man left quietly. Leaving incomprehensible words.
“That’s what you need to do.” Incomprehensible words. But hearing them sent chills down his spine.
He hastily slaughtered the passengers and fled because of it. That carriage would’ve fetched a good price.
“Next.”
He smiled brightly at the checkpoint. Answered well, showed his token.
Mercenary 5th grade. Not highly regarded, but it proved his identity.
“You must visit the administrative office every five days during your stay to log your records. Violating this could lead to legal issues, so keep it in mind.”
“I log it without fail every time, so no worries.”
“Good. Next!”
Gailbans pocketed his token and entered.
The Holy City. How long since he’d returned? He patted his chest. The string-tied pouches carried heavy weight.
No small sum. Not enough for free citizen rights or Holy City citizenship, but plenty for operating funds.
War’s end meant no jobs. Joining nobles’ honor duels for pay was tough—top talent hogged those.
Scraping by with petty work didn’t suit him. In the end, big scores were all that remained.
The Holy City teemed with famous gambling dens. Taxes took half, but one big win could change your life.
Becoming a free citizen and living it up wasn’t impossible.
And he had a surefire way. Not chance, but a guaranteed win.
He walked along the long city walls. The benefactor granting a fortune of gold was near. Just exit this alley…
“The Foreseer’s messenger has finally arrived.”
He ran into shady figures in the crooked alley. Face-covered men approached him.
“What the hell are you?”
His hand went to the sword at his waist. Drawing weapons recklessly in the Holy City meant prison, but they’d show leniency in this situation.
As he tensed and stared ahead, the facing man raised both arms.
No weapon visible. What the hell?
“Blessings upon the messenger.”
The man said.
(To be continued next time)