Chapter 74
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: The End of the Civil War
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Chapter 74
In the central region of the Holy Human Empire, Richland, the vegetation reaches for the sky.
The great Eleanor River, which carves a wide path through the empire's heartland, has defined the climate and way of life for the people of the Central Plains.
Blessed by the Eleanor, the central lands were green and fertile, a tapestry of springs and flower fields.
If you were to ask where the most beautiful land in the empire was, eight out of ten people would name Richland.
And if you were to ask for the most beautiful sight in Richland, those who loved flowers would answer: Siastulika.
Siastulika, the land of tulips.
A plain where tulips swayed as far as the eye could see, and the chirping of insects filled the air…
All these descriptions, they say, were true until the civil war began.
“It breaks my heart…”
The surface of the earth was scarred with unsightly trenches.
Along the barbed wire lining the trenches, bloodstains and bits of flesh were caked and dried.
Countless gun barrels and field cannons were arrayed behind them, reflecting the sunlight into a grim, metallic sheen.
The banner of the central Elector, House Saion—a rainbow crest on a pure white field—fluttered above them.
“It was from that very hill that I picked tulips to send to Mir… That was nearly three hundred years ago.”
Sorrow filled the eyes of Setsunen of Thunderous Fragrance.
Perhaps it was because she had watched over this flower field longer than anyone else; this field was part of the domain of the Margrave House Ludwig.
To Setsunen, this field was a lost home, a link to a childhood she could never return to.
“And this is where Raminea’s first birthday celebration was held. It’s a relief that it’s still somewhat intact…”
“This place was… Mother’s…?”
“She preferred bellflowers to tulips. Born when the bellflowers bloomed, she smiled with a clarity and blueness that surpassed the flowers themselves…”
In Setsunen’s voice, Kaisen felt the bygone scent of a floral breeze—one he could never have known—brush past his ear.
That floral breeze unfolded a scene before his eyes that he could not see.
A vision of his mother as a baby, crawling on all fours across a mat in the flower field, blessed by all three Spirit Dragons.
A sword.
A grimoire.
A holy book.
Ignoring them all, his mother crawled toward a lone bellflower blooming among the tulips.
As she deeply inhaled its fragrance and giggled, Setsunen laughed, and a quiet smile spread across the Crimson Flame's lips.
The Blue Star then lifted his mother high into the air and bestowed this blessing.
—Do you wish to change the stench of blood in this world into the fragrance of flowers? If so, I shall give you the name Raminea. It is the draconic word for ‘flower fragrance.’ All dragons live lives that match their names. May you do the same.
Did she understand his words?
As his mother nodded and smiled, laughter bloomed all around, more beautiful than any flower.
Among that laughter was the sound of his grandparents.
It was a day of blessings, imbued with the laughter of every knight, soldier, butler, and maid under the family’s command, and even the laughter of the sky, the earth, the wind, and the clouds.
‘Mother…’
A past landscape, made tangible through Setsunen’s memory resonance… Kaisen looked down at his mother's shortsword and swallowed a sob.
‘…You, who loved flowers more than all of this, why did you choose the path of the sword?’
That sorrowful question was swept away by the sound of flowers being trampled by military boots and crushed under the wheels of artillery carriages.
“Battalion, halt!”
Numerous soldiers were gathering from the south and southwest.
Under the Azure Dragon banner of the southern Elector, Arhen, the forces of his vassal houses assembled.
Under the Black Tortoise banner of the eastern Elector, Tissria, the forces of the empire’s east swarmed.
The Southeastern Allied Forces formed their battle lines, facing the central army visible on the distant horizon.
The tension was suffocating, as intense hatred and resentment simmered between them.
Yet, no one fired the first shot to spill blood upon this old flower field.
It was because of the two transcendent beings standing in the center of the three factions.
A dragonkin with sun-kissed hair flowing from under a worn straw hat, and a swordsman with flowing white hair.
Their auras were a stark contrast.
One was like the gentle sunlight that peacefully illuminated the heavens and earth, while the other was a sea of blood, redder than any twilight.
Caught in the contrast of their presence, the commanders dared not give the order to fire.
“You’ve waited a while, haven’t you? They say the concert is about to begin.”
Tarsiyo approached them and spoke. Kaisen replied with a sigh.
“I’ll say it again, this is a damn waste of time.”
A concert… The word sounded as absurd as ‘administrator.’
Like the language of people living in another world, untouched by the horrors of this one.
—To move a large force to the north, securing the railway must be our top priority.
Julius Page had said.
They had to strike the Western Army from behind in a pincer attack before the north fell completely.
With the Elite Knights’ northern campaign nearing its climax, every moment was critical.
—The railway to the north is in Rainbowgarden, the main castle of House Saion. As Duke Saion still vows to fight, battle is inevitable.
Would there be any Players left in that turmoil?
Setsunen and Tarsiyo might wish for no one to die, but preventing even a single death in that slaughterhouse was impossible.
As he prepared to build a mountain of corpses to reach that future, Douglas Page had stood in his way.
—Please leave it to me. I’ll make the central army surrender without shedding a single drop of blood.
He had asked how.
The reply was that they would hold a magi-orchestral concert.
—For that, I need the FakeWarrior’s help. As long as you are present, no one will dare to even think of fighting.
A concert, of all things…
He had been about to refuse outright.
If only Tarsiyo hadn't grabbed his hand and shaken her head. If only Eos hadn't defended his student.
—It’s about the heart. Everyone has a spirit wounded for their own reasons. If you can connect that pain, that ache, as one… a path will open. Without a single drop of blood being shed.
That distant memory was drawn into the suddenly quiet horizon and vanished.
The performers were entering.
Were they really performers? Half of the sixty were children. Even the watching soldiers seemed bewildered.
“What in the world are they planning to do with that…?”
Kaisen muttered blankly.
The air was thick with the suffocating scent of killing intent, as each side aimed at the other.
When only blood could wash away hatred, what could mere music possibly achieve?
“What if one of them gets hit by a stray bullet? What if a shell ricochets? What will they do then?”
Suddenly, he felt a warmth in his hand.
It was a mystical warmth, one that made the frustrating smoke of doubt simmering in his heart vanish as if by a lie.
The source of the warmth was Tarsiyo, who smiled brightly as she interlaced her fingers with his.
“Kaisen, did you know? The one who created magic was Karenden… my father. But it wasn't my father who combined magic and music.”
“…?”
“So please, help this concert finish safely. So I can engrave it in my heart. So I can tell my father about it. About the first and last concert of my life.”
The End of the Civil War,
An Echo Beyond Your Heart
The sun-scorched rocks of summer and the mats spread around them served as the stage.
The soldiers had dug their trenches into the gently rolling hills, giving them a clear view of the performers below.
Following Douglas’s lead, the children bowed to the soldiers.
They were of an age where even their nervous fidgeting was endearing, and a few soldiers forgot their murderous intent and chuckled.
The children took out their instruments. They were simple.
A drum made of hide crudely stretched over a wooden frame, or a pair of roughly carved pieces of wood clapped together like shells for castanets.
Only the string instruments and others requiring a higher level of skill were handled by the adults; the rest were all played by the children.
Setsunen, in her dragon form, had moved a piano—a keyboard-string instrument—into place, and Eos sat before it, exuding the dignity of the sun.
Douglas and Eos exchanged glances.
Confirming that the orchestra was ready, Douglas Page took a deep breath and then exhaled.
He then amplified his voice with magic and spoke.
“The piece we have prepared for you today is titled ‘Even After Two Millennia Pass.’ It was dedicated to the first sage, Emitsa Page, by her disciple, Rigwind, the originator of sonic arts.”
The soldiers on the front lines paid him no mind. They were methodically loading bullets and shells under their officers' orders.
“All of you, take your hands off the triggers.”
At Kaisen’s command, the four Supreme Holy Swords each unleashed their own sword light, suppressing the crowd's bloodlust.
For a moment, silence fell.
Was it the tension of the hair-trigger situation? Kaisen felt Tarsiyo's hand, clasped in his, tremble. Douglas continued.
“Our skills may be lacking… but we would be truly grateful if you would lay down your weapons, just for a moment, and listen.”
The metallic murmurs that had been rustling here and there in hushed tones, the next moment—
The moment Douglas raised his baton—
Were cut short, as if pierced by an arrow.
“…”
“…”
“…”
First, the sound of the piano was released.
Into that brilliant resonance of strings, other sounds began to mingle, one by one… Each sound soared mournfully or blossomed joyfully, shaking the flower field and the hearts of the people.
Within that release and tremor, patterns of wind formed into droplets, then were newly woven and unraveled again…
‘What is this…?’
It was like painting a watercolor onto the canvas of the mind… into the space of memories that everyone held within their hearts.
Is this an illusion…?
No, illusions don’t work on this body. Not unless it’s one crafted by an Old Noble…
‘Is this possible with just sound, with music?’
It was a seashore where schools of flying fish soared over the waves.
The whole family…
It was the cliff where he had stood with his father, mother, and sister, looking down at the sea and laughing.
A stillness settled over the twilight-bathed flower field.
Beneath the respectful silence held by everyone present, the ripples of tears could be felt.
The suffocating vibrations of killing intent subsided one by one, giving way to something that swelled and rose like droplets…
‘How…’
Clutching his chest and gasping for breath, Kaisen stared blankly at Douglas's back.
‘He’s conducting music in the middle of a battlefield. And yet, he shows no fear?’
Even though he’s just like me.
Even though he lost his parents at the start of the war and carries that hatred and sorrow, can he truly gift such a scene to others?
If so, aren’t you the truly strong one, not me?
—The great mage Rigwind, the originator of magi-music, is said to have remarked, ‘Music is the vessel of the heart.’
Amidst the silence, a conversation he’d had with Eos suddenly came to mind.
—What’s interesting is that the Dragon Sage, who founded the magic of unfolding mental landscapes and opened the curtain on magi-orchestras, left behind similar words. ‘Magic is the vessel of the heart.’ Douglas, that child, has poured his own heart into the music. The desire to connect everyone’s hearts.
—The heart?
—Yes, the heart of everyone who wishes for this civil war to end. Are you surprised that it’s similar to you all?
—What do you mean?
—Doesn’t it resemble you, who fight by pouring your hearts into your holy swords?
The heart… What does it mean to pour one’s heart into something? No, what is the heart in the first place?
He had asked the same question once before.
Before being chosen by Aradamanthel.
—I’ll let you live. Go, become a warrior, and come back to avenge your mother.
—Impress me. Show me if you’re worthy of being taught the sword.
—Kaisen Alter Aradamanthel, will you vow to dedicate your all to bringing light to this land?
A summer that began at the age of thirteen and consumed his entire life.
From that moment on, I…
I became someone who knew nothing but how to swing a sword. So even my prayers were simply prayers for slaughter.
—Kaisen, you actually understand the meaning of these words better than anyone.
—…No, not at all.
—Then let me rephrase the question. Why have you been fighting? For what reason, have you continued? Even after realizing that no amount of cutting and killing would grant you what you desire.
Why? The question to himself yields no answer.
For what reason…
The desire for his sister to be happy, to live her life never knowing the turmoil of this war—that was a relatively recent feeling.
—I just felt that… I had nothing but the sword.
Only the sword. It was what his mother left him, and what his master left him.
Only the sword.
So was it that only when holding the sword, only when swinging it, did he feel connected to them… and so he couldn’t let it go?
‘Mother, Master.’
Please tell me. What is the heart?
Do I… also have a heart like the ones you possessed?
Was my heart nothing more than a means to vent my anger at myself, through cutting and killing?
“May I guess what that heart is?”
The question of ‘how’ no longer even occurred to him. Not with you, smiling as if you already knew everything.
“You wanted to protect them. The daily lives of other people.”
“…?”
“Even though your own daily life was already shattered, you knew that pain all too well, and from the desire for others not to suffer the same, you fought.”
The symphony reaches its crescendo.
Each and every note becomes light.
Each and every sound becomes a fragrance, a whisper of memory.
—The first time we met, I told you. You are strong. You are truly strong. Your body and your heart are strong enough to be called a Yongsa without a single flaw. Only you yourself deny it. You are denying yourself. Why are you doing that?
That question seemed to stem from the same heart as Akirea of Crimson Flame, who had forced him to confront his inner self.
—You must first learn to love yourself. Only then can you come to love others.
A forgotten childhood day.
It brings back the image of his mother’s hair as she swung her sword in the yard, and the tip of the blade suddenly flying before his eyes.
And the voice of his mother, who, after retracting the blade, stood with her back to him, that sword-wielding hand at her side.
—Kai, how do you want to use this sword?
From the moment I held Aradamanthel, I believed my fate to walk the path of the sword was sealed.
Could it be that wasn't the case?
Was I, in fact, trying to answer the question my mother asked that day with my very life?
‘Perhaps.’
Aradamanthel, perhaps… I just wanted to be like my mother and my master.
Beyond their figures that wielded the sword so beautifully, to the very heart they poured into the blade.
Was it because you knew this inner self, a self even I didn't know, that you… chose me back then?
*Vmmm…*
As if in answer to his question, Aradamanthel cried out, a high, mournful sound.
Then Scherpang followed.
And Gaumris.
And Solang.
Each cried out with its own sound and light, and with those sounds and lights, they embraced one another.
‘Mother…’
If this is the heart with which my mother, who embraced a flower at her first birthday celebration, came to wield Aradamanthel…
‘Though I know nothing but cutting and killing…’
If this is the heart of my master, who stood before all others and wielded Aradamanthel…
‘Will I, too, one day… be able to become like you?’
There was no one to speak to.
And no one to answer.
But in that moment, he felt as if two hands had been placed on his shoulders from beyond the wind sweeping through the flower field.
Mother.
And Master.
Was the vision of his mother smiling proudly, and his master laughing as if to ask why he’d ask such a silly question, truly just a vision?
—You are the disciple that I, Camilla Alter Aradamanthel, personally chose and raised.
It was the heart.
—If only Camilla could have seen you grown up like this, she would have been so happy.
All the connections he had made so far.
The heart that had been protected through those encounters, allowing him to come this far.
—I’ll see Camilla again and tell her. That your disciple has become a magnificent FakeWarrior, just like you…
A heart he was too shy and embarrassed to show, yet one that everyone knew.
—What are you so afraid of? From the moment you were assigned to the Iron Cross, you were never alone.
The moment Douglas raised his baton high, bringing the wave of melody to a close, the sounds vanished.
—If you wish to hear the answer to what a Yongsa is, then go outside.
His vision blurred and swelled.
—The world will give you the answer.
Beyond the fierce silence, a metallic clang was heard. Then another, and another, and another.
“What are you doing! Why are you dropping your guns! That’s an order! Pick them up! Do you want to die!”
Only the commanders of each faction shouted such things. Even their voices soon faded.
There was no need for applause. No need for the sound of hands.
The ceaseless clatter of swords and guns being thrown onto the field, echoing from all directions—that was the applause.
On that day, the civil war ended.
Without a single drop of blood being shed.
Instead, amidst tears that soaked the earth, the path to the north was opened.