Chapter 241
Chapter 241
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 241
Chapter Title: Throwing Sparks (7)
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The sandstorm ceased. At first, Bora thought he was seeing hallucinations from the thrill of battle. But that wasn't the case. The sky was gradually clearing. And the path had opened up.
"Uh...."
"Captain, should we attack?"
"Wait, hold on just a moment."
The knights stared in bewilderment at the skeletons and golems that had suddenly frozen in place. The creatures were simply gazing at them motionless. For knights who had been bracing for fierce combat, it was both astonishing and a tremendous relief.
Jumping right into the midst of them for a heroic last stand might sound noble, but the outcome was obvious. All that awaited them was a jade-shattering defeat.
Yet suddenly, the enemies had halted, their eyes gleaming with intensity. And the path had cleared—from the distant grand avenue where the royal castle loomed, all the way to this spot in a straight line.
The undead horde that had filled the street had all stopped moving at once, stepping aside to form a path. As if... they were soldiers escorting a king's procession.
-Rumble...
A brief earthquake swept through the ground. Beneath the drifting sand, the grand avenue emerged. It was a road adorned with inlays of exquisite beauty that even the empire's finest stonemasons would scarcely dare attempt.
"Ugh...!"
At the same moment, every skeleton dropped to one knee. The knights gripped their swords clumsily, frozen in shock.
-Step, step, step.
A group marched forward in perfect unison, the signature drill of the spectral legion. These were golems, each radiating an extraordinary aura. The heavy thud of their footsteps shook the knights' hearts like mini-earthquakes.
"This... this doesn't look good, does it?"
One knight groaned. If even one of those things attacked, could the wounded men here hold it off? But with the enemies clearly advancing this way, they were the only force left to stop them.
Retreat was impossible. Duke Erb's safety was unconfirmed, and beneath that mound of earth and debris, citizens were still alive, struggling to survive.
Sweat beaded coldly on the knights' brows as they raised their swords. Their goal was no longer survival or protection. It was buying time. Holding this position for even one more second.
[Are you the kin of the hero?]
From afar, a beautiful voice rang out, as if the heavens themselves were singing. It carried an overwhelming pressure. Bora was the only one here unmoved by it.
The lesser knights unwittingly lost their strength, their swords drooping. Bora clenched his teeth and stepped forward. If talk was possible, there was still hope. The undead had never sought conversation before, but if dialogue was feasible, buying time would be easy enough.
"Who are you!"
[I asked the question first... Well, needing proof is a cultural difference, I suppose. Very well, foreigners.]
-Clack!
At once, the golems halted. In their center, a massive, ornate palanquin descended gracefully to the ground. It resembled a huge altar carved from marble.
Atop it stood a figure who anyone would recognize as the noblest being in this city. Her slender silhouette glittered with countless jewels. Maidens fanned her gently.
[My subjects. My most cherished treasures. Do you know who I am?]
As the woman waved her hand dismissively, the kneeling soldiers rose as one. Yet they shouted in a chorus of different voices.
[Empress of the Scales!]
[Pharaoh of Ibaras!]
[King of Kings!]
[Monarch of the Plains!]
[Guardian of the Empire!]
[Repeller!]
[She Who Commands the Loyalty of Twenty Thousand Mamrus!]
Titles Bora had never heard before, ones no single person could claim. Even the most vainglorious emperor in history wouldn't command his subjects to proclaim such things.
Overwhelmed by the display, and feeling a touch of absurdity, the knights watched the undead. They chanted new titles with the reverence of priests worshiping a god.
[Enough.]
At the woman's word, every soldier snapped their mouths shut simultaneously. In the sudden silence, the empress spoke calmly alone.
[To put it simply, I am their master and the sovereign of this city you invaded. Now, where is the one worthy of my station? I have come in person to discuss peace.]
"......!!"
Bora jolted in surprise. Peace? In a war they had all but won, the enemy commander personally suing for peace? By the norms of military history, that was the act of a defeated king's desperation.
Seeing an undead capable of talk was shocking enough, but its first words proposing peace was even more astonishing. Bora stammered.
"Peace...? You said peace...?"
[I won't nitpick your speech. I am most understanding. But for you to question me... Even accounting for cultural differences, it is an insult to my dignity. I desire discourse with one of equal rank. Present him.]
"S-Sorry... I mean..."
Bora agonized over whether to use honorifics. Nobles never showed deference to enemy aristocrats in wartime, no matter their bloodline. But... if this undead took offense, the price might be every life here.
"Our lord is buried under that sand right now. We were searching for him too... but we haven't had the time..."
It was the least groveling tone he could manage. Bora floundered in the unfamiliarity of addressing what seemed like high royalty.
[Ah, so your commander led from the front lines personally? Astonishing. Admirable. I offer my respects.]
With those words, she waved her hand. At the soft whoosh, the sands began parting of their own accord.
Layer by layer, the dunes reverted to their original forms. As if time itself were rewinding... Before Bora could draw two breaths, the massive dune engulfing everything had transformed into ochre city walls.
Beneath them lay the soldiers who had been buried until now, sprawled out. Some bled profusely, others twitched feebly. The sight electrified Bora—he leaped forward.
"Your Grace! Your Grace!!"
There, amid them, was their lord. The knights rushed almost simultaneously, forgetting all decorum. Shoving aside corpses, lifting wounded men. And to their fallen lord beneath...
"Out of the way!!"
Bora shoved aside the knight supporting their lord at the forefront. With trembling hands, he hastily stripped off his gauntlet. He pressed his blood-smeared fingers under his lord's nose.
"He's breathing... He's breathing... Your Grace lives...!!"
"Your Grace!! Are you all right!!"
"Quiet down, all of you! He was buried under there! How could he be unharmed!"
Bora bellowed, then carefully helped Duke Erb to his feet. The duke gasped raggedly, mumbling something.
Bora urgently pressed his ear to the duke's lips.
"Your Grace, give your command!"
"Get your hand away."
"...Pardon?"
"It reeks. Move your hand, you fool."
-Smack!
Erb brushed Bora's hand aside and stood on his own. He staggered briefly, shook his head to spill sand, and chuckled.
"Damn it all. I survived."
"Your Grace... Are you injured anywhere?"
"I'm fine. Nearly went to meet the ancestors, though. No need for hysterics. This wasn't my worst scrape."
"Not the time to say this, but... if this wasn't your worst, then when was..."
"When you were eight, and you grabbed a longsword from somewhere, yelling you'd take the enemy commander's head and demanding a horse in return. That was the lowest point of my life."
Erb chuckled and stepped forward. The knights forgot their dire straits, chuckling along as they flanked the duke. The wounded trailed behind as before, the enemy's might and numbers remained overwhelming, yet the knights now exuded calm confidence.
In their Livre Knight Order's structure, the duke was always at the center. With his survival confirmed, tension and fear evaporated from the knights.
The duke scanned them appraisingly. Many survivors. Well done. After a moment, Erb turned to the woman overlooking them.
Her attire was that of the dead, her golden mask impassive and authoritative. Yet the eyes gleaming beneath seemed... pleased, somehow.
More human than empire nobles twice over. Erb chuckled and advanced.
"You saved me."
[Indeed. Though you sought to kill me.]
"I am grateful for your mercy."
[Can we converse properly? If you're not fully recovered, I can grant you a few more days.]
"Asking for more mercy would be greed. My thanks for your concern, but I'm fine."
Erb smiled as he spoke, and the woman nodded. She slowly extended her hand.
[I propose peace. Depart my domain, and I guarantee safe passage along that road.]
"No guarantee we won't come for you again?"
[That guarantee comes from another. This is merely my goodwill.]
"Why let us go?"
[A true king's quality lies in his retainers' conduct. Defiant in the face of disadvantage, prioritizing their sovereign's safety in peril—you are a hero of chaos, destined great king in prosperity. I find you and your vassals pleasing.]
Erb fell silent for a moment. Ravira continued.
[Some say we are the dead, our city the land of death. So proclaim proudly: your virtue saved your army. You are their pinnacle.]
"Grateful for the kind view, but..."
Erb gazed incredulously at Ravira and her forces. Their presence was formidable, their numbers twice those atop the walls. Defeat was certain. Even on open plains in pitched battle, victory wasn't assured against such a host.
We underestimated them. Erb gave a wry smile. How many had died in that last clash? Likely most of the vanguard.
Unlike his forces, the imperial army had assaulted a broader wall section more frantically. Their losses must have been double his.
We lost. Erb chuckled and nodded. Defeat was familiar. Fifty years warring the sultanate had been a trade of victories and losses. Survival always trumped defeat.
"My deepest thanks. I swear upon my name, my army will never treat you as foes again."
[I shall trust it.]
"But one more request, if I may be so bold..."
[Speak.]
"Other forces joined my soldiers on this battlefield. If any survive, I wish to withdraw with them. However..."
[They might one day turn blades on me. Is that what you mean?]
"Yes."
Ravira waved her hand dismissively. An earthquake rumbled, and buildings began rising. One by one. Those toppled by sandstorms, even the exploded outer walls.
Every district of the city restored itself pristinely to its pre-battle state. In the distance, soaring spires and watchtowers. Even the massive outer walls, intact...
[Any among them still breathing will not die today, at least.]
"My thanks..."
[My goodwill was a transaction. You owe me no thanks, nor reason for it. Now go. I tire of dealing with foreigners.]
Ravira turned and departed. As she ascended her altar and sat upon the ornate throne, the golems hoisted it onto their backs in unison.
Ravira slowly vanished from their sight. As she did, the skeletons began withdrawing.
"Your Grace, we... we survived."
"Yes. Haah..."
The duke exhaled deeply, stumbling as his foot missed its mark. As Bora rushed to support him, Erb lightly swatted his arm away.
"Let go. We're still in enemy territory."
"Are you hurt?!"
"My whole body's about to shatter. Don't show it. A commander can't appear weak in the enemy's lair."
Erb chuckled, shaking off the knights' aid and walking on his own. Blood soaked darkly through the back of his armor. The knights followed silently behind.
* * *
"W-We survived!"
"Shut it."
Everard snapped coldly at the excited noble chattering away. He clutched his head, shaking out sand. They too had heard Duke Erb's exchange with the pharaoh.
No—everyone alive in the city had heard it. If only those nearby had caught it, that would have been preferable. He could have silenced them.
But shrewdly, the pharaoh had ensured the conversation echoed across the entire city. From end to end.
Peace treaty? Showing mercy? Hero... Hero...
Everard's mind tangled in confusion. If all soldiers had perished, it might have been better. Rumors of an imperial legion wiped out would prompt the emperor to call on elector counts' forces, resolving the crisis mildly.
Concentrated imperial might could easily crush a mere undead horde ruling one city. But this situation was the problem.
"What did that skeleton boss even mean?"
"It means they're burying us politically."
Foolish pig. Everard didn't hide his contempt as he replied to the noble reveling in survival.
"Wh-What..."
"Every soldier will gossip about this. Not one or two—'every soldier'! How to hush it? Bards will fill the streets with tales of the empire's great hero and the undead lord moved by him. The elector counts' prestige soars—delightful, isn't it?"
At Everard's words, the surviving nobles paled. High nobles, these dullards... Everard spat bitterly.
"A monster has been born in our era. One whose political life rivals His Majesty's."
Everard scowled in thought. Whose idea was this? How could such a thing happen?
'The undead lord couldn't grasp imperial politics to act this way. But was that truly, sincerely the demeanor of a king "moved" by an enemy sovereign? No... no.'
Central nobles, even knights of the orders, were utterly political creatures. They parsed intentions through a political lens with masterful precision.
Thus, Everard saw it as political theater. Otherwise, why broadcast the exchange citywide? Not Duke Erb's doing—he'd fought alongside them, shared their losses.
Therefore... someone existed. Knowledgeable in imperial politics, linked to the undead lord, perhaps able to incite beastfolk, backing Duke Erb...
Realizing this, Everard burst into a chuckle.
'Such a monster can't exist.'
Apparently, surviving had left him paranoid. Everard shook his head and prepared to retreat with the nobles.
'Right. No such monster exists.'
Seeing everything as one person or group's scheme was paranoia. Better to deem it all coincidence—most malicious to the empire. That was rational.