Chapter 316
Chapter 316
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 316
Chapter Title: War of the Puppets (13)
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Fernandez was pressing onward across the grasslands. Into the vast wilderness where sprawling meadows, open plains, and patches of jungle that appeared whimsically now tangled together in chaos.
Slowly across this ever-shifting land that had transformed from a realm of death into one of creation.
“I’ve come, Ravira.”
Standing on the broad plain where a river flowed like a boundary line, Fernandez whispered softly.
Beneath the expansive ground of the great wilderness flowed immense veins of magic crystals. Traces left by Mumto’s ascension. No matter how thoroughly one twisted the ley lines, it was impossible to cover the scars left by a great demon’s ascension.
Thus, the magic deeper and denser than normal flows moved intact along its tributaries, untouched by Karadaskar’s sabotage.
And his opponent was a hero from the ancient Upper Asit era. A champion from the height of that ancient kingdom which had already established an empire to fend off invaders even in the dawn of civilization, when humanity was just beginning to form nation-states.
The guardian Ravira. The seal she had created slowly drew back its long veil before Fernandez’s eyes.
-Whoooosh!!
A scorching hot wind blasted forth. Fernandez gripped the reins tightly, soothing his startled horse. Like a mirage settling over an ordinary field, a city began to materialize slowly.
Majestic yellowed buildings, a massive altar built of marble, city walls adorned lavishly with colorful linens and flowers, and towering statues rising like spires.
-What the hell is that...?
At that moment, Feizashi let out a deflated mutter. Fernandez looked in the direction he was pointing. There, amid ongoing construction, stood some kind of statue.
It was the largest statue in the city, masterfully carved from marble and hoisted into place. Nearly complete, its hair, the crown atop it, and its ornaments were already being sculpted.
The revealed form... that appearance... anyone who saw it would...
-Wow, live and learn. It’s seriously ugly as hell!
“Uh... yeah... no words for this one. My bad.”
-I’ve lived eighty years and never seen a bribe that bad, kid. Speechless, really.
Feizashi and Fernandez both fell silent and froze in place. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that he had sent his companions ahead with Kirhas to the beastkin alliance.
If he’d seen that thing with the others, even someone as shameless as him might have considered seppuku out of sheer embarrassment.
Soon, the gates groaned open with a heavy thud. Petals poured out like a waterfall beyond them.
-What’s this...
-Thud! Thud! Thud!
Moving statues and skeleton soldiers slammed their spears against the ground in unison, scattering petals. Like a vast carpet, the petals trailed long in the wind toward where he stood.
“Ha...”
Fernandez swallowed hard, then trudged toward the city interior, following the skeleton soldiers’ welcome with a truly reluctant expression.
* * *
[I have been awaiting your arrival.]
“Overkill... Ravira.”
[Behold. This is the hospitality of our Upper Asit Empire.]
Even from behind her expressionless golden mask, Ravira seemed to proclaim proudly as she thrust her hand high. Silken fabrics and jeweled accessories jingled with her gesture.
What she pointed to was the massive statue within the city. She declared confidently.
[My subjects, who neither eat nor drink, devoted weeks, months solely to this task. With one heart and mind, honoring our savior... Behold. The majesty of Upper Asit...]
“Stop... please... just stop.”
[Young humans these days are so bashful! Yes, our people’s memories preserve every scene unwarped, but even so, doesn’t a great hero deserve a monument fitting his glory?]
“Stop...”
Fernandez turned away from Ravira’s booming proclamation and clutched his head. Ravira laughed “Ha ha!” and cried out.
[This colossal statue, crafted by the city’s finest sculptors. Is the worship statue of ‘Fernandez, Godslayer of Death’ to your liking?]
“Even the name’s the worst, Ravira.”
[Then bestow a better one, oh Slayor of Death?]
-Your naming sense is just like hers. Kill her first, then suicide. Let’s start over.
“Shut... up...”
Even Feizashi trembled with shame. He strained in midair to strangle Ravira. The best attack an old lich’s spirit could muster without magic.
Fernandez watched the scene, sighed, and slumped onto the sofa. No sooner had he sat than mummified attendants in masks began fanning him.
“Dismiss these too.”
[Withdraw. Our savior is about to speak gravely. Summon the scribes. Today’s meeting must be etched on the great tablets without missing a single word.]
“You seem different...?”
[Time twists even corpses. Why should we be any different?]
Ravira spoke in a songlike melody, her voice beautiful. She sauntered over and sat across from Fernandez.
[Our city has no food. We offer only pure water, and our luxuries are things the living cannot consume. Bear with us.]
“I’m not here for meals, so worry not.”
The revenants of Upper Asit replayed their living behaviors to maintain their identities. They endlessly ate, drank, played, and chattered despite no need.
Thus, the city brimmed with stockpiled wine, roasted beasts, and sprinkled spices—but inedible for the living. Spoiled, tainted foodstuffs and drinks.
Shells made solely for form. That was the revenants’ essence. Like sumptuous platters still rotten within. Like withered bodies hidden beneath lavish garb.
[Now then, speak. Why have you sought me?]
“How fares your relation with Apotajar?”
[Apotajar of Tanis? We barely interact. He came after my era, so if I command, he dares not defy.]
Ravira spoke boldly. But Fernandez shook his head. Pharaohs weren’t ranked by seniority like monks. Each fancied himself the one true god, arrogant to a fault.
Ravira knew this well. She pondered briefly, then said.
[Do you need his aid?]
“Yes.”
[Likely for the war against those barbarians on their mounts?]
“Correct.”
[Then it’s tricky. Apotajar of Tanis values ‘survival’ above all. He ignores those with low odds and switches sides opportunistically.]
Indeed, during the Empire’s dominance, Apotajar had steadily traded with them to ensure survival. But with the Empire’s shelter crumbling, no guarantee he’d maintain that now.
“How long to send a message?”
[Three days suffice. We can attach a letter to corpse-crows.]
“Then relay this: ‘Join us, and perish after defeat. Join them, and perish after victory.’”
Karadaskar was hostile to all civilized society. No reason to spare the revenant dynasties. Aligning with them might buy time short-term, but post-Empire fall, Apotajar couldn’t repel their invasion alone.
“If he truly thinks for survival, he’ll know whose side raises those odds.”
Even amid the Fifty Years’ War, the Empire hadn’t targeted Apotajar or the revenant dynasties. If talks worked and trade flowed, they’d recognize new kingdoms and respect borders.
No loss for the Empire. Revenants or not, their domain was the ownerless great wilderness. No need to poke the hornet’s nest for tomb treasures.
Thus, to Apotajar, the Empire was a neighbor amenable to words. No need for friendship, but no gain in enmity either.
[Reasonable thinking.]
“Think he’ll agree?”
[Until decisive defeat, yes. ‘Irrationality’ is the living’s trait. We always choose rationally. But if you and your nation are utterly crushed, resistance gone...]
Revenants didn’t need air to breathe. Burying their mausoleum cities and crypts in sand anew harmed them none.
All pharaohs lusted to dominate the great wilderness and nearby civilizations. A curse from before Mumto’s, innate from life.
Thus, Apotajar had quietly expanded influence aboveground till now... but post-survival, he’d abandon years of effort and burrow underground if needed.
“You too?”
[Why speak so hurtfully? You’ve saved my people twice. So I’ll die for you twice. Words from one already dead—lightweight, no?]
Ravira laughed brightly. Her voice from behind the mask rang so clear and pure, hard to believe from a corpse—like an instrument’s tone.
Fernandez, who’d seen her living form in illusion spells, could scarcely credit the being before him as dead. He sipped the pure spring water she offered and said.
“No need to hear what I’ve prepared?”
[I can guess.]
Ravira’s eyes gleamed.
[Needing both me and Apotajar... with the enemy invasion imminent, hard to ignore. Especially a spellcasting mage like you.]
She extended her hand slowly. Three fingers spread playfully.
[So if I guess all your aims, grant my wish?]
“Three guesses?”
[You’re no ordinary soul acting on one or two motives. Fools see one thing, the clever the next, but you weave three strands.]
“You flatter me too much.”
[I’m the monarch who judged your worth most wisely in this world.]
Ravira folded one finger.
[Rivers bend and slow. Don’t you wish us as those submerged boulders?]
Same as Robert and Piel’s strategy. Acting as breakwaters to weaken the enemy assault in its final phase.
Draining foes’ combat capacity to hasten their offensive’s end. Yes. Fernandez nodded.
[Next. They march straight for the Empire, yet you seek northern Apotajar and southern me—unrelated to their path. You envision encirclement. You want none escaping post-war.]
Karadaskar was surely the current Amar Kagan. But with some fateful force advancing their northern push by thirty years, who could guarantee it wouldn’t recur then?
With Eric’s invasion quelled, only Karadaskar remained. Thirty years on, he’d be gone, most heroes dead or unknown, civilizations uncertain.
Thus, the White Kingdom demons must be exterminated without exception. Massacre if needed—absolutely, no survivors.
Not one spared. A meticulous encirclement for that. Kirjzat blocking their waves at Rahot Fortress. The Empire preparing final battle near Paltennoia. And aid from two revenant dynasties.
A triangular noose tightening on their throats.
[Finally. You, mighty spellcaster, against their anti-magic tricks. To block them in a spell-less space via melee... you’d not abandon spells for new tactics but seek alternatives. Isn’t that why you came to me, mage of Upper Asit? For ancient secrets?]
Necromancy. Marching dead waves heedless of numbers, disadvantage, fear, or fatigue.
Countless such slept beneath the great wilderness. Most advanced rites to awaken them: Upper Asit’s burial priests’ necromancy.
Beating Karadaskar in pure melee was near impossible. Available forces—infantry and cavalry combined—fell short of their mounted might.
Add one variable: necromantic support essential.
“All correct.”
[Then I can offer much right now. Far more than last time. From that statue to spell transmission, I’ll support you unstintingly.]
“...Why phrase it so?”
[By the solemn laws of ancient Upper Asit, I claim right to three wishes from you.]
“...Such laws exist?”
[No. But my word is this nation’s law. Who do you think I am?]
Ravira rose with a hearty laugh. She beckoned Fernandez.
[Follow. Whatever my wish, passing the spells comes first. That’s the deal, no?]