Chapter 117
Chapter 117
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: Pearl of the Wasteland, Ptahha (2)
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*
Ptahha's nights were dazzling. The wraiths, needing no sleep, threw festivals and banquets as if there were no tomorrow, laughing and carrying on.
Some staggered home, pretending to be thoroughly drunk. Others boasted of their exploits, while a few bold spirits suddenly drew their curved swords and challenged foes to duels. Challenger and challenged alike played the part of drunken revelers—no one took it seriously.
The city was a kind of daydream. An illusion crafted by wraiths who believed—or had to believe—they were still alive.
Ptahha was the desperate flailing of souls unable to accept their undead state as the boundary between the spirit world eroded.
Thus, they held no prejudice against the living. They themselves pretended to be alive, after all. A pitiful deception.
Yet because of it, the living could infiltrate this city of specters with utmost ease.
'Pitiful.'
-Is that sincere?
'Yes. Those fools know this festival will one day end—most hideously. They simply refuse to meet their doom's gaze until then.'
Thus, they were pitiful. Fernandez gazed down upon them from atop a city spire, his eyes quietly settled.
-You know, right? Your mindset is no longer the same as mine.
'We agreed it was a difference born of the flesh, didn't we?'
-That was just a hypothesis. Don't we have others?
'...Yes. A hypothesis I'd rather not accept.'
When he returned to the past with Feizashi. Over a year ago, by the campfire in that frigid conifer forest on his sixteenth birthday.
That was when the soul of eighty-year-old Feizashi entered that body. He was undoubtedly the same person as before. Even in young flesh, his core remained unchanged.
Yet from the moment Beitasser imprinted the stigmata and cleaved his soul, Fernandez and Feizashi began walking entirely different paths.
It had been intentional. He resolved not to repeat the past records but to wield his power to save this world.
However, even his inclinations and emotions no longer matched Feizashi's. Fernandez and Feizashi formed one hypothesis.
'The soul of sixteen-year-old Fernandez.'
Before Feizashi's soul entered, where had the soul of Fernandez—who had lived sixteen years—gone? Per Beitasser's words of creating a horizontal world, that soul had to remain here.
What if the fragile remnants of that soul, crushed and melted by Feizashi's potent spirituality, had gained independence with Feizashi's memories? What if it was a soul newly forged by Beitasser's design?
These occasional emotional surges, childish impulses, passionate flares, and excessive 'righteousness.' What if they were crafted by Beitasser?
A horrific hypothesis. Fernandez refused to believe his spirit, nature, soul, and vital soul were woven by some other being.
'I am an independent entity. Feizashi.'
-I hope so. Otherwise, it's all too ridiculous—our entire puppet show.
'Even if that's true.'
Fernandez looked up at the night sky. Toward that vast firmament scattered with star clusters. His blue eyes gleamed somberly.
He stared at the beings watching him from somewhere far off.
The sealed Celestial Holy Pantheon of Good Gods. Toward Beitasser gazing down from above. As if declaring, he spoke curtly.
'I am an independent entity.'
He and the god were not superior and subordinate. They were partners. And Fernandez would never sign an unequal treaty.
Even if this journey's end was mere playacting, even if all these events were schemes upon the god's palm.
'If there's no share for me, there's none for you either. Beitasser.'
A god holding his son's life as collateral? Of course. Yet Fernandez had not submitted to Beitasser even so.
The bastard had his daughter and this world as collateral too.
-Piiririk... Boom!
Fireworks glided across the night sky and burst brilliantly above his head. The reveling wraiths cheered wildly at the sight, pouring liquor and food into their hollow bellies.
Fernandez turned his gaze to a building in one corner of the Garam district, far off.
'The signal flare's up.'
It was time to begin. He slung his greatsword across his back and rose. Soon, his shadow flitted across the rooftops.
*
Selina Kaselhof. Imperial Ironside, Gray Circle's Western Strategy Team 3—nicknamed the 'Grave Hounds'—team leader.
She gazed down at the sour-smelling spoiled wine, despairing at her situation.
Wraiths had no sense of smell. They tolerated most ingredients as long as they seemed plausible enough.
Thus, among their myriad 'liquors,' those truly qualifying as such were exceedingly rare.
[Come on, drink up, everyone! Hahaha!]
"...Yes, yes."
Selina pitied the wraiths rattling their ornate gold jewelry amid the clamor.
These vanity-filled specters, draped head to toe in the lavish luxuries and grave goods from their living days, still pretended to be noble aristocrats.
"Haa..."
How had she ended up like this? Selina poured the booze roughly out of sight of the wraiths' eyes, then forced a smile to humor them.
Suppressing a sigh, she gripped her pipe when her subordinate approached from behind and whispered in her ear.
"Team leader. Intel from the Empire side."
"Report."
"The Shaxisi have all vanished."
"...What? Withdrawn?"
"From the looks of it... intel says a large group of living fled near the west gate."
"Source?"
"We bribed someone in the guard corps. It's solid."
"Prepare."
Selina crushed the tobacco leaves firmly and bit down on the mouthpiece. A spark flew from her fingertip to the pipe's end.
Suuup. She inhaled deeply, the sound of dry leaves burning rising. Soon, white smoke seeped from her mouth.
She whispered in a quiet voice.
"Prepare for their ambush. It's a trap."
"...They wouldn't dare strike where the prince is, unless they're insane."
Her subordinate glanced sideways at the laughing, chattering noble. Prince Merenre. The beastkin refugees fleeing toward the Empire had been pursued and routed, and with his rival Nepherka's absurd defeat, his political standing had skyrocketed.
One of the top five in Pharaoh Tutan Garthep's court. His personal prowess was exceptional too—said to rank among the elite warriors below the great champions in melee combat.
He just looked like a foolish, vanity-swollen incompetent wraith. Still, ambushing him in the city center meant having no intention of surviving this city.
Thus, Selina had refrained from striking first despite detecting the Shaxisi infiltrators days ago. Attacking rashly would only scatter them into annoyances.
As strategy team leader, she had learned to see the broader picture. And when viewing broadly, driving the situation to the worst extremes was always the more rational strategy.
'Leave both enemy and ally blind to the battlefield.'
That was Strategy Team 3's motto. Selina had deliberately shown openings. Pressuring the Shaxisi so they could wait no longer, forcing Kirzhat to strike at her and the Pharaoh directly.
That day would be their slaughter. Scattered assassins were troublesome, but an army charging in one spot was far easier prey.
-Piiririk... Boom!!
The room lit up brilliantly as fireworks burst overhead. Some idiot firing fireworks this close? Selina frowned and looked skyward.
And there, she read the flicker of mana flow amid them.
"They're coming!!"
A feral smile curled her lips. Digging a trap for an ambush? An ambush meant striking where the foe least expected.
Time to show the Sultan's dogs what a real ambush was.
*
The Garam district was affluent. Neatly paved roads and beautiful canals with clear water lined the streets, illuminated by magically treated lanterns.
A remarkably advanced civilized city. Fernandez hid from patrolling guards below as he traversed the rooftops.
Well-armed, trained guards made their rounds. Felling them was simple, but that wasn't his role. Disrupting their patrol patterns was the Shaxisi's job.
In this operation, he had only one mission.
Fernandez cautiously advanced along the eaves. Angela had infiltrated her massive mansion. A beautiful building with a courtyard.
Not far off, he spotted Angela chattering with gaudily dressed wraiths. A banquet was in full swing in the walled courtyard.
'Found her.'
At last. Fernandez gripped his sword hilt and leaped down to the wall's base. His violet robe fluttered in the wind.
-Smack.
The robe spread wide as he landed. Fernandez felt the gazes upon him and slowly rose. No need to rush.
The mansion was already fully surrounded by Shaxisi. Even if some commotion arose, the guards wouldn't aid them in time. The Shaxisi were experts in interference.
[Who are you? Insolent whelp. How dare a vagrant intrude here... What are the guards doing!!]
Beside a noble-looking wraith, a guard officer drew his curved sword and bellowed. Fernandez ignored the shout and turned to Angela staring at him.
"You... Ha, haha. You've allied with the Shaxisi? That's why those damned mutts grew so bold."
"If anything, it's because of you."
Fernandez pulled back his hood and stepped forward. In that instant, the guard officer charged, swinging his curved sword.
[You scum!!]
-Clang!!
Without tearing his gaze from Angela, Fernandez drew and swung his greatsword. A fluid, natural draw and strike like flowing water. The officer's waist severed, and he crumpled, his wraith flesh crumbling to dust.
[...Madman!!]
Prince Merenre, witnessing it, shot to his feet and yelled. The mummies around him drew blades en masse and rushed Fernandez.
Yet still, Fernandez walked toward Angela.
"Think you can escape alive from here? You got lucky in Mosat City. Saintly sir."
Fernandez met Angela's sneer and took another step. Guard officers swung curved swords at him, howling.
-Krunch!
The greatsword cleaved the air. With it, wraith limbs and heads flew. Like a lion striding through sheep. Fernandez advanced without pause, his sunken eyes glaring at Angela.
"Prayer... no. Do not pray, Angela."
"...What?"
"Prayer is the final plea extended to the repentant faithful."
-Kwachak!
Once more. The greatsword slashed the air. Wraith remains swept along with it, rolling across the ground. Fernandez stepped over their crumbling flesh, advancing step by step.
"To no god speak a word. A sentence remains to be pronounced upon you, and your chance to plead is gone. Thus, I enjoin silence. And do not yet take your own life."
"...Ridiculous. What, playing priest now? You'll need prayers! This is your grave! Albert! No, Fernandez Cerned! You damned brat!"
Angela laughed harshly. Fernandez severed the last approaching wraith's neck and regarded her. Potent magic emanated from around her. Mana enveloping the entire mansion.
And throughout the mansion, mages lay in wait, preparing attacks on him. Fernandez detected their presences amid the mana traces.
-Well prepared.
'So are we.'
Preparation was the basis of strategy. War was a contest of how much fodder one readied for the decisive moment. The same held for mages—
In the realms of mind games, intrigue, and plots. And in the realm of magical combat. Feizashi had never lost.
-Piiriririk... Boom!
Fireworks burst overhead. Fernandez sensed the Empire agents' blasting spells charging toward him.
"Religious tribunal jurisdiction. Heretic summary execution authority. Exorcism forces transfer authority. Clerical sacraments proxy authority. By these powers guaranteed by the Holy Pantheon, I shall conduct this heretic trial. Selena Kaselhof."
"You're insane!! What are you waiting for? Everyone! Kill that brat—"
"Holy Pantheon, grant your blessing."
-Piiririk...
As if fireworks launched skyward,
-Kwaaaaang!!!!
"Kyaaaak!!"
A massive explosion rocked the ground, shaking the entire building. Building? No—the whole city quaked.
Banquet tables toppled, wraiths and humans alike losing balance and staggering. Beyond the walls came sounds of shattering objects, crumbling earth, cracking bricks, and collapsing eaves.
-Kwaaaaang!!
Far off, flames erupted. Black smoke began rising from spots across the city.
-Step.
Amid the quake, Fernandez steadied himself and took another step forward.
"For the crime of plotting priest-murder. For the war crime of bombing an innocent trade city. For awakening wraiths and causing loss of life. For daring to usurp divine authority and profaning life's value by possessing a wraith."
"What have you done! You mad brat! Kill him, kill him!!"
-Kwaaaang!
Even in the chaos, the trained Empire agents' spells erupted toward him in unison. Concise yet potent effects—the Empire's signature blasting mages.
-Whirrik.
With his free hand, Fernandez swiftly formed seals. At once, harsh blasts exploded beside him, kicking up thick sand dust.
-Kururung...
The city still shuddered violently. Angela, regaining her wits, clutched the shaking ground and barely stood.
Soon, the dust settled slowly, revealing violet robe hems. Robe torn in spots by blast residue, and rough hands scarred and weathered!
Angela ground her teeth, staring through the sand haze at Fernandez's somber eyes gleaming.
"Holy Pantheon, grant your blessing. The defendant's penalty is death."
Beyond the quake-shattered wall gleamed the cityscape aflame. Fernandez approached Angela, flames at his back.
One step at a time. Unhurried.
No need to hurry. All proceeded as planned. Sounds of guards rushing everywhere. Clashing weapons. Wraith shouts and screams mingled amid it.
"What have you done...!!"
"Defendant, I enjoin silence."
Fernandez raised his greatsword high. The dusk-hued blade gleamed ominously in the moonlight. Nepherka had done well. He watched Angela frantically forming seals.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."