Chapter 48
Chapter 48
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: Faint Memories of Padilla
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The banquet on the second night was proceeding splendidly, far beyond expectations. The romantic ballroom dancing felt utterly lackluster, but Kara's local notables and nobles were scurrying about in all directions, desperate to at least show their faces to the delegation members. The hall buzzed with frantic activity.
It was war. Among the rare perils that could topple the entrenched elite, war was the deadliest. They had no choice but to do whatever it took to survive.
Marquis Fabius, who had been sharing a drink with me, glanced at the scene and let slip a comment.
"Everyone's busy."
"They're thinking survive first, sort it out later. Can't really blame them."
"But from Kara's emir's standpoint, wouldn't his blood run cold?"
"If they know, they'll tread lightly. Those three reinforcement conditions—don't even you think they're excessive, Grandpa? It's basically a declaration of war."
Marquis Fabius shrugged.
"Well, they are terms Kara could never accept. But our kingdom has sunk a fortune and endless effort into war preparations. We can't just eat the loss, can we?"
I let out a dry chuckle.
"Hey, Grandpa? Know why gamblers go bust? They get hung up on recouping their stake. Sometimes you gotta cut your losses."
"Why should we?"
"Those Great Desert bandit hordes. We can't wipe them out."
"Why not?"
"Their turf is massive. Just in the Magic Trade Route zone alone, one soldier per square kilometer would take 400,000 troops for security. What's the plan?"
Marquis Fabius eyed me with a knowing look.
"You. You're echoing Duke Bastain exactly."
"The duke said the same?"
"He did. That's why he opposed this war tooth and nail."
"Jeez. So you're pushing ahead knowing that? Ridiculous."
"Still, grabbing the western great plains and Kara here? Profitable venture."
That only holds without the Sika tribe's independent forces. Right now, the desert bandits spare Kara's caravans, but come that day, they'll pillage without mercy—bloodily so.
The Great Desert trade routes would grind to a halt, and continental commerce would plummet sharply from before.
"Does the world ever bend to human whims?"
"But it's got nothing to do with me."
"Huh?"
"I'm a soldier. If ordered to advance and fight, I advance and fight. Politics is for the politicians."
I stared at the marquis for a long moment before nodding slowly.
"Fair enough."
The marquis gazed wistfully at the night sky beyond the window, his face weary.
"Whatever happens, this will be the last war of my life. I'll charge ahead without a single regret."
I'd been nodding along, but suddenly shot him a baffled look.
"Last war?"
"Yes. I'm old now, my vigor much faded. Then again, no mere human can defy time's inexorable march."
Wow, listen to this old man lay it on thick.
Eight years from now, in the age of ruin, heroes rose and fell in droves, but if picking the most indefatigable? This geezer, hands down.
How much? At the Polkin Gate siege, he strode out alone beyond the monster-swarmed walls, hacked down hordes, and returned. Facing Monster King Jord, he led the charge and even gashed its foot.
They don't call this old man a psycho for nothing. Top assault captain of the ruinous age: Marquis Fabius.
"Grandpa, save the life regrets for later, yeah? You look spry as ever to me."
Marquis Fabius touched his face.
"You think?"
"Yeah. You'll live long, Grandpa. I guarantee at least ten more years."
Among folks I know, only I outlived this old man. He clung on tenaciously to become supreme commander of humanity's final army.
Marquis Fabius beamed, pleased.
"Well, I ought to. Came here and snagged a clue to Mind Master besides. Dying now would be such a waste. Indeed~."
"Right. Hit Mind Master, snag a few more wives, watch more little ones grow, reunite with your Moore brothers."
"You got it. Heh."
Marquis Fabius set down his glass and rose.
"Off already?"
"Tight schedule tomorrow. Need shut-eye."
"Alright. Catch you tomorrow."
As Marquis Fabius left the banquet hall, he paused and glanced back.
"Oh, White Face. What's your next move?"
"Huh?"
"Which side are you taking?"
I brushed off his loaded gaze with indifference.
"An intel broker picking sides? I'll back whoever meets my terms."
"Then you'll side with our Robros Kingdom."
"What makes you think that?"
"We'll offer far better terms than Kara."
I chuckled.
"Sorry. Doubt it."
"Why?"
"Our agency's combat fees are sky-high. I despise war."
"Why?"
"No fun. I always lose in battle. Total drag."
"To what degree...?"
"Straight talk: I've seen more fights than you, Grandpa. Lost every damn one. Zero wins."
In the past, I'd joined countless battles. Mostly monster scraps in the ruinous age, but plenty before too.
Oddly, never a single victory. Defeats so abject, couldn't even fake the records.
Marquis Fabius rolled his eyes.
"A general undefeated... in defeat?"
"Worse."
"White Face. Stick to Kara. Not skill—pure jinx."
"C'mon, quit ribbing. I'm serious."
"Fine. Heh heh."
Marquis Fabius stifled his laughs and headed to his quarters.
It was deep night after the banquet. I hurried through Kara Palace's shadowed corridors toward my lodgings.
No one around—creepy. A bright full moon gleamed outside the windows, but that amplified the eeriness. Euroa statues lining the halls cast spooky silhouettes in the moonlight's seep.
'Idiots. Light some magic lamps already.'
Turning a corner, a sudden whoosh made me flinch. Like an eerie whistle, rhythmic, scrambling my ears.
"Damn. What is that?"
Peeking out, I spotted a blue-haired young woman swinging a spear in the outdoor training yard. Relief washed over me. Human, good.
'Who?'
She wore a skin-tight black outfit baring her shoulders. Potent mana aura; spearwork precise, honed razor-sharp from years of practice.
Familiar, though. Her silhouette, that spear...
"Great Divine Spear Gauss of the Water God...?"
The 'Great Divine Spear Gauss of the Water God' was one of Grand Saintess Euroa's Seven Divine Artifacts. Housed in the Hall of Divinity now, new wielder next spring.
Her spear looked just like a Gauss replica.
Kara folk idolize Grand Saintess Euroa near-divinely—no shock seeing a replica about.
'But that woman... seen her before. No way—Padilla?'
I gawked.
Padilla: next year's Gauss guardian. Vanishes awhile, resurfaces in ruinous age as Turbulent Empress, Divine Artifact Squad 3 captain.
Yet she's Caligo Kingdom—dark faction. No place for her in Kara.
"Nah?"
Can't rule out. Blue locks, sun-bronzed skin—Padilla's marks.
Plus, her Robros phobia bordered obsession. No Robros in her Squad 3; at Polkin Gate, skipped their zones, aided only Yosrahim Empire or others.
If native Kara... fits. Kara falls to Robros.
'Padilla... I miss her...'
In the ruinous age, sole soul kind to me: Padilla.
Polkin Gate: saved our unit repeatedly. Post-Yosrahim fall, shunned beggar me? Pulled strings in Kern Kingdom HQ for my Thousand-Man Commander post.
Later, frontlines together, shared meals now then.
Annoying quirk: Craved Squad 2's Ignatius zone, but she'd drag me to Squad 3—no more sightings.
Her end still aches. Divine Squad intercepting Monster King Jord? Gauss shattered, body wrecked beyond salvation, she sought me—breathed last in my arms.
Anyway, my memory's Padilla: stunning beauty, but crippling social phobia, emotions clumsy.
"Gotta check."
I dropped from the window, crept toward the Padilla suspect stealthily.
Tall for a woman. Taut curves, legs sleekly alluring; waist-length blue hair silken sheen.
Sky-blue eyes sapphire under moon; aquiline nose jutted despite white silk veiling jawline.
Medium bust a nitpick, but overall: knockout beauty.
'Padilla, maybe...'
Veil off to confirm, but build screams match. Curiosity peaked—I stepped out, approached.
Presence pinged; she whipped toward me.
"Who's there!"
Her yell drowned me in nostalgia. Voice: Padilla clone.
"Hey. Hi."
She scrutinized my masked jaw, eyes narrowing.
"Kaoyan the White Face?"
"You know me?"
"I do. But why here? This yard's off-limits to randos."
"Curiosity. No harm. One question."
She eased her stance a touch.
"Shoot."
"Your name?"
"Name? You snuck in for that?"
"Big deal to me. You resemble someone from way back."
She replied dismissively.
"Hesa Sharif Karada. Happy?"
"Ah~. Wait, what?"
Hesa Sharif Karada: Kara's emir.
Rushed in thrilled for Padilla—what fiasco. Threat vibe, calls guards? Might face all Kara.
Flustered, lingering; Hesa warned.
"More queries?"
"Nope."
"Then scram."
Luck: easy out. Hustling off, Hesa tossed casually,
"So, who do I look like?"
"Oh, Padilla—a girl from long ago. Nothing, forget it."
Instantly, eyes bulged; she bellowed.
"How do you know that name? Bare handful do."
"Huh?"
"Padilla's my childhood name."
Bingo—Padilla. Thrilled, but her ire killed any glee. Strangers now, us.
"Ah..."
"White Face. Answer: how'd you know my pet name?"
"Uh, well..."
Hesa closed in, scanned me head-to-toe. Moments later, tension melted; face lit radiant.
"No way... Grand Duke's Heir Yahn?"
My true name blurted. Shock blanched me white.
"What? Yahn's dead—how'm I him?"
"But save my late parents, only you knew it, Young Master Yahn. Yosrahim Emperor's coronation—we met."
Memory flashed: toddler days, uncle's lavish rite. Global VIPs thronged; one foreign kid girl amid.
Recalled now. Bullied, pelted by noble brats for dusky skin, weeping—I passed, "saved" her.
Not on purpose; kids bolted at my sight, she gushed thanks—legend born.
"Ah?"
"It is you."
"No. Totally not. Later."
I fled. How this entanglement?
Kara's emir Hesa is Padilla; that coronation girl I "rescued"... Felt some prankster deity's jest, absurd.