Chapter 224: War (1)
Chapter 224: War (1)
The other ancestors of the Caravan Clan.
The souls dwelling within the Golden Treasury watched Arhan with bated breath.
They saw it—his unyielding will, which did not falter even before Leon Caravan, the man born with the thickest Steel Bloodline second only to the strongest Caravan of all, the First Steel.
“…Can that child truly do it?” someone whispered.
It was a sentiment they all shared.
Arhan had swallowed Leon Caravan’s blade without a moment’s hesitation. That blade, Match, held a soul far more massive than its simple name suggested. It was the legacy of a radiant genius endowed with unprecedented talent, yet it was also the record of a downfall. It contained the life of a pitiful boy who lived his entire existence in his father’s shadow, never once allowed to step into the light.
Terrible solitude, sorrow, hatred, and questions left unresolved even after hundreds of years—Leon Caravan’s sword, entwined with all of that, was the most difficult blade to digest among all the Caravan swords in the Golden Treasury.
Could he? Could that young thing truly digest such a burden?
No one could predict the outcome. However, one thing was certain.
If that child managed to digest Leon Caravan’s sword—if he could fully absorb the arrogant soul contained within that blade...
Then that child would become one of the strongest beings of this era.
*
The dragons had soared from the Sky Mountain Range.
The subjects of the Sky Empire, who had marveled at the appearance of these mythical beings once before, soon encountered them again. Remembering the commotion from the last sighting, the citizens swarmed into the streets. Reporters made a fuss, claiming another scoop had arrived, while people called out to their families and friends, insisting they couldn't miss the sight this time.
Young lovers whispered words of love with their fingers interlaced, laughing. They poured out sweet words, wondering if the dragons had appeared to bless their union. Fathers and mothers, the pillars of their households, watched their delighted children and spoke of legends and old tales. The elderly smiled, thinking it a fine spectacle to witness in the twilight of their lives.
Young children harbored dreams. One small boy boldly declared he wanted to ride a dragon someday; another shouted that he wanted to fly like one. A young girl’s eyes sparkled as she compared them to the guardian deities in fairy tales.
Legends and myths. Old stories and the ballads of bards. Romance, love, and peace.
The subjects of the Sky Empire merely enjoyed the mysterious scenery that had graced their comfortable daily lives. Thus, they were late to realize the truth.
“Huh?”
The dragons flying through the sky drew closer and closer.
Pitch-black shadows stretched out, veiling the sun. Amidst the falling darkness, the subjects of the Sky Empire finally realized that strangers were riding upon the dragons' backs. Unfamiliar Easterners.
Even then, the citizens did not sense the danger. This was because the conquest army of the Great Land riding the dragons were all smiling—like clowns in a parade.
“It’s guests!” one child shouted in an excited voice.
And then.
“Coming on dragons, it’s so cool—ack!”
The child’s innocent voice was cut short. With a sickening thud, the boy’s body, which had been jumping for joy just a moment ago, was pierced by a spear thrown from above. With a sharp crack, the spearhead slammed into the ground. On the long spear shaft embedded in the pavement, the child who had been smiling brightly just seconds ago dangled, swaying.
The swaying child no longer smiled. With a face full of bewilderment and eyes brimming with tears, the child’s breath ceased. The moment the laughter stopped, a heavy silence descended upon the street.
Then came the roar that broke the silence.
With a heavy thud, the dragons landed. Immediately upon landing, bizarre, manic laughter—sounding like the singing of demons—erupted from all sides. Soon, with the thunderous beat of hooves, the conquest army of the Great Land, still smiling joyfully, began to move.
Even then, the subjects of the Sky Empire could not grasp reality. The sound of crunching bone echoed everywhere. People’s necks were snapped as they were trampled by powerful warhorses, and spears swung like toys ensured the deaths of those lying on the ground.
“Ah? Ahhh. Huh?”
The situation was so surreal that the people fell into a state of total panic. Without even a chance to flee, nearly a thousand people on the street were slaughtered. The conquest army of the Great Land burst into bright, incredibly bright laughter as they looked at the corpses piling up.
The heads of the dead, covered in tears, were hung upon the tips of their spears. It wasn't just heads. Ears, eyeballs, fingers, ankles, and wrists became trophies, hung here and there. They were decorations and, at the same time, symbols to instill fear in their enemies. It was a custom that revealed the cruelty of the Great Land—the tradition that had earned them the nickname "Demons of the Plains."
“U-Uwaaaaaah!”
Clang—!
Soon, a bell rang. The Sky Bell.
It was the danger signal calling for the Heavenly Legion, the shield of the Sky Empire. An SOS that had not rung once in the last hundred years echoed throughout the city.
However, the request for rescue did not spread quickly. Sound travels through the air, but the air here was controlled by the dragons. As the dragons beat their wings, all sound was trapped within the small city, merely echoing back.
Clang, clang, clang—the sound rang incessantly like a demonic knell.
Amidst the burning city, a man mounted on a pitch-black horse appeared among the conquest army. The master of demons, the War God descended to earth. He raised his sword.
“Warriors of the plains!”
“O Sun, O Sun that shall never set!”
“We! Have ascended to the sky!”
His booming voice resonated.
Amidst the spray of crimson blood, the conquest army had achieved a feat never before accomplished: setting foot on the territory of the most powerful empire. Before this brilliant achievement, the Descendant of Khan felt an indescribable ecstasy. And that ecstasy was not meant to stop. It had to continue—until the moment the Descendant of Khan finally ascended as a transcendent being, piling karma upon karma.
“Run! Run until the moment you die! Soak your entire bodies in the blood of your enemies! Then I shall personally lead you to the infinite steppe!”
The moment those words fell, the conquest army began to charge like madmen. Amidst the thunderous sound of hooves, the Descendant of Khan looked up at the sky and unleashed his authority. It was not an authority he held as a Swordmaster. It was the authority granted to him as the Proxy Warrior of the Father Who Never Sleeps, one of the Seven Chief Gods.
"Berserk."
Now, every soldier fighting under the Descendant of Khan could fight for ten days straight without eating or drinking. Their spent stamina and minor injuries would be recovered by taking the lives of their enemies. It was fine even if they died. These blood-starved soldiers would swing their blades until their final breath to kill just one more enemy.
“O Sky! I have come!” the Descendant of Khan roared powerfully. “To personally teach the meaning of war to those who are steeped in peace and have forgotten it!”
At that moment, warp gates opened in all directions. From within the circular gates, the Magic Corps of the Machine Empire appeared, fully armed. Immediately upon their arrival, they gagged at the sight of the tragedy unfolding in the city. Though they had formed an alliance and become allies, they could not grow accustomed to the massacre these people were perpetrating. How could humans do such things to their own kind?
But for that very reason, they felt relieved.
“…It has to be at least this much.”
The remnant of the fallen Machine Empire. The master of the defeated soldiers. Master Josef spoke.
“If we are to face the Sky.”
With these people, they would be able to stand against the Sky Empire. Even if they were defeated, they would deal a fatal blow to this powerful empire. And after the war? The Descendant of Khan, having exerted such a massive influence, would not be able to avoid his duty as a transcendent. He would ascend and return to the side of the gods—likely to the side of his patron god, the Father Who Never Sleeps.
Then, the remaining Magic Corps could choose from the destroyed lands, plant their flag, and build a new nation. Master Josef waved his hand, harboring a grand dream.
“Open the gates. Let those demons burn the world just a little more.”
A great roar of cheers erupted. Master Josef simply watched their march. Being human, he felt a pang of pity. But what did it matter? As long as it wasn't his family, his country, or his people dying, it didn't matter. There was no reason to waste emotion on the deaths of total strangers who weren't even his comrades…
“O Sky! The Descendant of Khan is here!”
*
Ian Chervil looked at the sky. It was dreary, as if it were about to rain.
Looking at the hazy sky, he spoke. “A whirlwind is sweeping the world.”
The plan was proceeding smoothly. The dragon Charlotte had successfully unleashed the conquest army of the Great Land, and the troops the dragon couldn't carry were moving through the Magic Corps' warp gates. An alliance of the Magic Corps, the Great Land, and the dragons. It was a nightmare combination. No matter how powerful the empire was, it would inevitably be shaken. It would be even better if it were caught in this whirlwind and met its ruin.
However.
“Even so, it will likely end at merely shaking them.”
The Great Empire of Velma. The title "Sky Empire" wasn't given to them for nothing. Though they were steeped in a long peace, they were still the most powerful empire on this continent. Those forces would not be able to topple the empire alone. All they could do was shake it.
Of course.
“That is enough.”
Ian Chervil’s plan was built with that assumption. The new Iron Kingdom, built by swallowing the Six Free Cities and the Machine Empire, was very powerful. However, even with a new kingdom and legion, a young dragon, and Executioner Carlos, it was impossible to topple the Sky Empire in its entirety.
To bring down the empire, a small hole was needed. The blood-starved warmonger would faithfully fulfill that role—the former foremost sword of the continent, who was both a Swordmaster and a Proxy Warrior of a god.
To stop him, the Sky Empire would have no choice but to bring out its strongest shield. And if they exhausted that strongest shield, they would never be able to stop Ian Chervil. The new order they had established would crumble. A new order would be established under the name of Chervil, and that order would create a new world and open a new era. A "perfect world" controlled by the most powerful and perfect monarch.
“Carlos.”
“Yes.”
“Prepare yourself. The time has come.”
Naturally, Ian Chervil did not underestimate the prestige of the Sky Empire. Thus, he had not prepared only one method to create a flaw in the empire. He would use whatever means necessary. Even if the world were reduced to ashes and shattered. As long as he could ascend to the highest point in the world, it was fine.
Yes.
“We are going to the Northern Continent.”
If only he could reach that height.
“We will tear down White’s Winter Fortress and slaughter the demons. Then, we will release the monsters imprisoned in the Northern Continent.”
“A massive wave will strike, then.”
“Yes. The most powerful Monster Wave in history will come.”
Ian Chervil thought to himself. The strong survive.
“And as long as the dragons move correctly.”
The one standing at the end is ultimately the chosen being. According to that unchanging logic, at the end of the fierce struggle, he would have everything.
Because.
“The oldest elves—the High Elves—will eventually be forced to join the war as well.”
I am the chosen being.
“The kings of the past era will all disappear now.”
The one qualified to possess the world. The chosen being.
“And in the new era, only one king shall exist. I, Ian Chervil.”