Chapter 232: New Era (3)
Chapter 232: New Era (3)
“Zeppelin isn't gone.”
“...What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“If you’re about to tell me he lives on in our hearts, then stop. That kind of sentiment is no comfort to me. If anything, it only sharpens the grief—”
“I’m not talking about sentiment.”
There was something I had forgotten.
To be precise, I remembered the fact, but I hadn't truly grasped its significance until now.
The vow.
“Zeppelin Gold’s soul still exists.”
“Where?”
I had forgotten, but my Master had not.
In truth, it was only natural. Liam was the master of that very vow.
‘I shall not speak falsehoods before the Land of Swords, nor shall I divulge the truths I have heard to others. I shall never betray Arhan Caravan.’
Zeppelin Gold had sworn upon the Land of Swords.
The Land of Swords calls to those who break their vows. And at the very last moment, he had broken his.
“In the Land of Swords.”
Because he had told me a ‘lie.’
*
The northern reaches of the Iron Kingdom are a land of eternal winter.
Bordering the Northern Continent, this frigid region is the domain of House White. It serves as a fortress to protect humanity from monsters—the incarnations of violence that have crossed the Wall of Despair guarded by the Demon Race. For centuries, the Whites never once neglected the sacred duty passed down through their bloodline. Even during long periods of peace, they remained sentries, the guardians of order. While those in the warm south sang of love, the sentries kept watch, driving back the fragments of ruin and staying alert to danger.
No one complained. No one lived idly.
Thus, amidst this strict vigilance, one of the watchers of the Winter Fortress spotted two men walking through the blizzard across the pure white snowscape. Suspicious individuals.
The North was the land of the Whites; to traverse the snowdrifts from the north meant one could only be coming from the Northern Continent. The rule of the watchers was simple: anyone coming from the Northern Continent was to be executed on sight, regardless of identity. Knowing this, even the Nobles of the Night—the Demon Race—never walked the snowy plains. In several hundred years, not once had a demon appeared via the snow.
A watcher raised a hand, and soon, several others drew their blades, taking up defensive positions. Amidst the howling wind, a sharp ping echoed as arrows were loosed from atop the Winter Fortress. There were no warning shots. The arrows were aimed precisely at the men's heads. The platinum-tipped shafts flew through the blizzard, but in the next instant, they stopped dead in front of the two men and fell limply to the ground.
It was bizarre. The watchers of the Winter Fortress turned to their mage.
“What kind of magic is this?”
“It... it isn't magic.”
“What do you mean?”
“I—I don't know. I have no idea what kind of Mystery that is.”
The mage’s eyes were trembling violently.
Not magic?
While the watchers were momentarily stunned, the two men crossed the snow and approached the Winter Fortress. As the distance closed, the watchers could see a rope held in the hand of one of the men. The rope trailed behind him, and tied to the end were blood-soaked demons. The bound demons had lost all their usual nobility and dignity, trembling in the grip of absolute terror. It was as if they had encountered something truly horrific.
Among the bound demons were even high-ranking nobles, those who held the highest positions among the defenders of the Wall of Despair. These were venerable sentries who had never lost their courage, even after fending off over ten massive monster waves. These guardians, who possessed heroic mettle, now had their spirits completely shattered. Seeing their ruined faces, the watchers felt a sudden chill crawl up their spines.
However, they could not retreat. They could not flee.
“Fire!”
They loosed their arrows once more. This time, they were bolstered by magic.
‘What...’
Arrows and magic alike—the violence unleashed across the snow simply vanished like mist. The man walking the snow slowly lifted his head. His face was somehow familiar. The watchers of the Winter Fortress belonged to the Iron Kingdom, and most were humans born and raised in this land. The human before them was someone no citizen of the Iron Kingdom could fail to recognize. The highest of the high, the newly crowned King.
Ian Chervil.
“Who do you dare threaten? You watchdogs.”
His ash-gray hair fluttered in the wind. Ian Chervil was smiling brightly, like a young boy anticipating something fun.
“Carlos.”
Ian Chervil called the name of his executioner.
And then, the execution began.
“Yes.”
“A Swordmaster... Swordmaster Carlos is—”
The lower jaw of a watcher who was trying to shout something flew off. Next, a red line was etched across a throat, and a head soared into the air. The moment blood sprayed, countless lines were drawn across the bodies of the watchers guarding the fortress walls. Their pure white armor fell to pieces, stained crimson. Immediately after the blood was spilled, lines were etched into the white stone of the Winter Fortress itself. Along those lines, the impregnable fortress—which had not fallen for centuries—began to collapse with pathetic ease.
As the structures crumbled, servants and watchers rushed out screaming amidst the thunderous roar. But those who narrowly managed to escape soon had vivid lines drawn across their bodies. The moment the lines appeared, they fell apart. Like the snow falling from the sky, the bodies of every human who emerged from the fortress scattered into dust. Pure white snow and red blood mixed together, melting as they hit the ground. A winter of blood had come to the fortress.
Those who ran out to save themselves were killed by an irresistible sword. Those who stayed inside were crushed to death in the collapse. With only death remaining regardless of their choice, the residents living within the Winter Fortress fled in a panic. But even they could not escape unscathed. Ian Chervil’s executioner was the most powerful Swordmaster on the continent—a being who transcended all things. Such a being could cause phenomena that defied common sense, transcending distance and the laws of physics.
“Son, hurry, run—”
Carlos swung his sword once. In the next instant, an impartial death found every human over the age of eighteen within the territory of the Winter Fortress. The fleeing children saw lines etched into their parents' bodies. They watched as their parents' faces and torsos slowly separated along those lines, and they saw the grisly contents of their bodies spill out obscenely.
“A-Ah... Aaaah! Aaaaaaaah!”
A single stroke of the blade.
With one swing, the majority of the adults living in the Winter Fortress met their end. That death was not dramatic, as depicted in chivalric novels. Death came insignificantly, simply, and miserably. Faced with this horrific calamity, the watchers felt a suffocating pressure and a profound sense of helplessness. An irresistible being. What were they supposed to do? What meaning was there in swinging a sword against this being, knowing they would die?
They didn't know. They were afraid.
Yet, they had to do it. Because it was their duty.
And then, a grand vibration echoed out.
The vibration came from beyond the snowy plains. It was a terrifying weight felt through the soles of their feet, a threat far more familiar to the watchers than that Swordmaster. Primal violence. Monsters with infinite gluttony, existing only to devour everything living. The calamity of the Northern Continent was coming.
‘Captured demons, an attack by a Swordmaster...’
The situation spoke for itself. Ian Chervil had torn down the fortress of the Northern Continent. The Monarch, having destroyed order, had come to the second fortress with demons as his prisoners. He intended to destroy this place as well, just as he had destroyed the demon fortress.
‘For what... for what purpose?’
The watchers' eyes wavered. It was an incomprehensible act. To gain more land? If that were the case, shouldn't he be waging war against kingdoms and empires? Why release those monsters and destroy the fortresses built to protect the seven races? It made no sense. This looked like nothing more than an attempt to set the world on fire—a demonic intent that transcended human logic like war, victory, or politics. A horrific mindset that could not be understood by any normal way of thinking.
‘Just... why...’
Their minds turned as white as the snow.
Amidst the confusion, Ian Chervil’s executioner walked forward with a stoic face. The watchers desperately blocked his path, but no one could impede his steps. Every time Swordmaster Carlos took a step, the bodies of those standing in his path separated and collapsed. The process of the sword stroke could not be seen; only the result of death remained.
Unreason. Embodied unreason stood there.
And, fortunately, unreason existed here as well.
“Executioner. A transcendent favored by the gods.”
Only a Swordmaster can face a Swordmaster.
“How does one so dishonorable dare to cause such a ruckus in the fortress of the most honorable sentries?”
According to that maxim, another Swordmaster appeared before the executioner.
“The Winter Fortress does not welcome uninvited guests.”
Russell White. The Head of House White.
“Begone. Even you must know that it is impossible to contend with me while I am defending this land.”
The two Swordmasters faced each other. The Sentry and the Executioner.
As they stood in opposition, Carlos slowly drew his sword. Then, he spoke.
“The first.”
“What?”
“You shall be the first.”
*
Martina Gold looked at me.
“So that’s how it is. A stroke of heavenly luck.”
The darkness had vanished from her expression. The fact of his death hadn't changed, but to a transcendent like Martina Gold, ‘complete annihilation’ and ‘simple death’ were entirely different concepts. As she let out a sigh of relief, I glared at Liam.
「Tell her exactly what I said, young descendant.」
Liam was still rambling.
「If you just say those words, you can make Martina Gold your absolute ally. And she will be of great help in the situations to come.」
Liam’s opinion was correct. Thinking objectively, Liam had pointed out the most optimal path. But the more I heard his advice, the more I felt I understood why his descendants had loathed him and why he was such a ‘twisted individual.’ Well, I suppose I’ve been experiencing that firsthand all along.
「If a card has fallen into your hand, you must use it.」
Liam’s suggestion was simple.
「Say it, quickly.」
Zeppelin Gold, who had entered the Land of Swords. Let’s use his soul as a hostage.
‘Are you actually insane?’
No wonder his descendants all abandoned him. I cleared my throat with a dry cough and spoke.
“Master of Gold.”
“You may call me Martina if it puts you at ease.”
“I couldn't do that. There is one thing I must tell you.”
“Speak.”
Zeppelin’s death was a tragedy. But now was not the time to fully indulge in grief. It was time to forge ahead, using this small, connected bond.
“The Land of Swords where Zeppelin made his vow is centered around me.”
I couldn't help it, even if it seemed cold-blooded. In this era of chaos—in this new era—I had to become a little colder.
“What do you mean?”
“It means that if I disappear, the Land of Swords disappears as well.”
Just a little. To that extent, I needed to resemble my Master.
“The world has been quite chaotic lately, hasn't it?”
“So, what you’re saying now is—”
“If I die, Zeppelin will also completely vanish.”
Well, we share the same blood. It’s only natural to take after him a bit.
“Martina Gold, Master of Gold. Only if I live can Zeppelin Gold continue to exist. Therefore, there is one favor I would like to ask of you.”
Zeppelin. I’ll visit the Land of Swords and apologize later. Please forgive me just this once.
“...I am listening.”
We’re friends, aren't we?
*
The Land of Swords. A world where only barren steel resided.
“Use my name as much as you like, My Lord.”
A soul staying there—the only soul who knew nothing of the sword—chuckled.
“That’s why I stepped onto the scales myself. Take the Matriarch’s help, take all the help Gold can give. Aren't we friends? So, please, ascend to the place you are meant to reach.”
Zeppelin Gold. The soul staying there after losing its body.
“I’ll be waiting here, so those bastards who killed me and my people... send them all to hell. I’ll watch every single moment with my own eyes.”
Zeppelin was certain this time that his investment was not a mistake.
“You will surely succeed, My Lord.”
There was no need to feel guilty.
Because.
“We’re friends, aren't we?”