Chapter 333
Chapter 333
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 333
Chapter Title: Immortals and Mortals (2)
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[O Sovereign of the Five Great Lands and the Three Thousand Rivers Below. The grand rite of the Black Wolf has been fulfilled.]
[Bring the altar of Sigmat. With care, with caution. No scars must remain upon the soul.]
At Ravirata's words, the priest carefully brought forth the altar adorned with lapis lazuli. From the mana stone molded into the vessel emanated a faint turquoise glow.
Ravirata slowly caressed the surface of the altar, whispering incantations. After paying homage to the ancient priests and sovereigns, she tilted it over the Vessel of Genesis.
-Whoosh!
Blue flames poured from within the altar, illuminating the dark hall. The flames flowed like waves along the intricate mana circuits engraved on the vessel's exterior. Soon, with crackling flickers remaining, Ravirata lowered her head over the vessel.
[It is nearly complete. The soul's essence is projecting, and the body has begun to take form.]
[Astonishing speed, O Great Sun.]
[Indeed. Astonishing speed. I can only hope it manifests as perfectly as this pace suggests.]
The vessel's earthen exterior faintly projected the scene within. It revealed blue mana swimming inside, around a fixed soul and a body slowly assembling.
It resembled mere twigs at first. Thin branches extending busily like vines. Yet Ravirata, who remembered Fernandez from his living days, could easily overlay his image upon that shape.
Fibers connected in beautiful curves. Soon, fibers met fibers to form muscles, and bones began to grow within. Viewed as a whole, it resembled the anatomical diagrams displayed in the priests' laboratories.
[Truly astounding. This speed and precision...]
It signified perfect understanding of the body. Beyond merely moving muscles and operating joints, it encompassed the positions and roles of blood vessels, endocrine systems, internal organs—their movements and operational environments—all fully comprehended.
Feizashi Wildcast, the vast wisdom of the long-lived black mage, combined with Fernandez Cerned's direct experience of tuning his body to perfect condition and pushing it to its limits. His soul fully remembered the optimal limits of his own flesh.
Thus, the body grew at twice the speed of rites that resurrected ordinary souls. It was as if his soul thirsted impatiently to quench itself with its own flesh.
[The rite has been long and arduous. Pray, enter repose, O Incarnation.]
[Haha, even you speak as if among the living. Enough. I shall guard this place myself until he reaches full stability.]
[Though the Incarnation requires no sleep, such grand rites consume mental energy. Already five days have passed.]
[Excessive worry borders on disloyalty. Cease the formalities and report on the progress at Sun Plaza.]
[Ah, you speak of the idol's construction.]
Ravirata let out a soft laugh. A tickling sensation stirred deep within her heart. She longed to awaken him swiftly and show him that sight.
[Yes, the idol's construction.]
[It shall be a monumental sculpture unprecedented in Ivaris. Even from beyond the highest walls of Ivaris, its form will be visible, O Great Sun. The people labor with one heart and mind to hasten its erection.]
[Proceeding as planned?]
[This, you mean? Should you command it, we stand ready at once to bow toward the Azure Palace.]
[Good. Very good.]
Ravirata smiled gently as she gazed down at the Vessel of Genesis.
[So rise fully, then. I have prepared so much for you. This is the first wish I ask of you.]
* * *
An era of peace had dawned. From the highest nobles to the lowliest tenant farmers, none opposed it. The long wars had ended, and nearly all nations, drained of their war momentum, were preoccupied with rebuilding themselves.
All, that is, save a scant few individuals. And here was one such among that minuscule minority.
Rene Philippa de Carvelier. The hero who, to avenge her late father, suddenly drew her sword and slew the corrupt emperor, saving the empire; heir to the protagonist of the Fifty Years' War, she had quelled the empire's schism and crushed the southwestern barbarians herself, a warlord supreme.
"Your Majesty, Court Countess Tremulle requests audience."
"Let her enter."
The half-ruined imperial palace was undergoing hasty reconstruction, but the emperor had ordered her private office completed last. The palace's exterior was inextricably tied to imperial authority and could not be delayed, but her personal space had no such need.
Thus, Rene's office felt starkly austere, almost inhuman. Walls not yet plastered protruded with ugly fixtures, and the uneven, unfinished floor was roughly covered with rugs.
Piled high with documents on an old desk, Rene lifted her weary eyes toward the door. Soon, it opened, and soft skirts fluttered.
"Court Countess Tremulle. Why have you not returned to Guir?"
"Is that the first thing you say upon seeing my face, Your Majesty?"
"Your purpose in visiting is one of two things—do I need to hear more? Regrettably, neither has come to pass yet."
Golden blonde hair cascaded as she tossed her head. The countess, who had slightly bowed, slowly raised her face. Her large eyes brimmed with suppressed sorrow.
"It means neither your brother nor your betrothed has been found. You weren't even wed yet, so 'husband' is premature. Thus, should you not finish what your brother left behind?"
"I was ignorant of Guir's governance all my life—how can I suddenly claim a countess's title overnight, Your Majesty?"
"I am not so idle as to indulge your complaints."
"My worth is not so paltry that you can slight me thus."
Everis sat unhesitatingly opposite the emperor. Considering her father the previous sovereign had been Duke Tremulle—and the man who killed Rene's father—this made for a peculiar scene.
The heads of two houses whose fathers had slain each other, face to face. Rene suddenly recalled this, glanced at the innocent noblewoman across from her, and let out a wry chuckle.
She produced a teacup, poured warm tea, and slowly sank into the sofa.
"Very well, Everis. Why have you come today? I truly do not know."
"Robert is not a man to die so easily. He must be out there somewhere."
"How many war widows utter those words now that the wars are over? Compiling statistics would take our entire administrative staff a year."
"Do not speak so dismissively. I mean it. Robert lives. I will not inherit the countship. This is not the life I wanted."
"The life you wanted? Who in this position lives the life they wanted, Everis?"
Rene's eyes hardened coldly as she sighed.
"If you think ascending the throne meant poring over these piles for me, you are greatly mistaken. The two people I truly loved both died by demons' hands within a year. Is this the life I wanted?"
Her father and her lover. Both vanished by demons, leaving not even corpses—denying her even the final chance to mourn and let go.
Thus, Rene endured day by day in solitude, amid the endless tasks of addressing the empire's myriad ills, tasks so numerous they drowned even that loneliness. From afar, the emperor seemed a supreme aristocrat above all, but sitting there, she felt merely a cog in the empire's machine.
She could neglect duties, revel in corruption and luxury if she wished—the privilege of her throne. A negligent emperor inevitably doomed the empire, yet paradoxically, the empire's fate bore no relation to the emperor's own happiness.
"Documents flood my desk daily like this, and those I've approved since ascending fill over half the archives. Know you what these filtered reports awaiting my seal contain? So many dead here, so many starved there from some incident, with this many potential fatalities."
"Rene..."
"Starved. Frozen. Drowned. Shot down. Thousands of deaths daily on this land. And these are only the most critical, sifted for my eyes. In truth, tenfold more?"
Rene shoved the reports aside with a deep sigh, cradling her head on the desk.
"Now their deaths appear as mere numbers to me. Is this normal?"
"It is normal."
"Is it?"
"Yes. You are doing well. Rene Philippa de Carvelier."
"Then raiding the imperial treasury to prettily package these deaths, depleting national resources to distribute aid?"
An era of peace had dawned. The empire stood firm, imperial authority reigning over the fealty of all dukes. From eastern petty kingdoms to distant western tribal alliances, all subjects unquestioned the empire's sun.
To foster that image, the empire flung open its vaults amid withering roots, rampant famine, and surging paupers. Like sprinkling water on parched fields in drought. Outsiders would marvel at the seeming abundance, but the farmer knows: it is but a fleeting moment.
Come tomorrow, the bottom would show. Tomorrow, the dry soil would crack, exposing grass roots. Thus, Rene's task remained ever the same.
Postponing that tomorrow indefinitely. Sleepless nights of worry, dawn-to-dusk confinement in her office processing affairs, morning and evening councils gathering reports from afar.
Becoming the empire's cog. And becoming heartless. Numbing to human death, seeing report words as mere ink stains. Stamping approvals with an impersonal red seal, emotions utterly erased.
That was the virtue of a ruler. But it was not life. Not the life she desired.
"Robert... Robert Benatier de la Tremulle, Court Countess, fell in battle. He was no ordinary man; had he lived, he would have returned to his duties. No reports thus far mean it is better to deem him dead."
"But we must dispatch Ironclads to the wilds."
"We cannot move already manpower-strapped departments on vain hopes."
"It is no vain hope, Rene. I saw potential: Robert, Fernandez, and perhaps more."
Rene looked up at the woman seated opposite.
"Everis...?"
It was not the whimsical, immature noble lady she knew. There gleamed an inexplicable presence, as if bathed in holy light.
She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. Looking again, only ordinary Everis remained.
Too tired, perhaps. She shook her head, idly touching her teacup. Then, a man's voice echoed in her mind.
'She is more than she seems.'
Fernandez. He had said that upon returning from the ruined palace with a heretic inquisitor and that noblewoman. She had taken it as political rhetoric then, and Everis's words and actions since had seemed merely those of a flighty lady...
Knowing it futile, yet 'what if' stirred. An emperor should not indulge such sentiment, but the desperate easily cling to superstition.
She toyed with her teacup a moment, then spoke.
"I will dispatch the Regent to Guir. Three months only."
"Rene?"
"No more than that. We lack manpower and resources. I'll reassign external forces from Kirzart under you, Everis. House Tremulle has long been their liege; they won't resist."
"Really... thank you so much!"
Everis's eyes welled with grateful tears as she clasped Rene's hand. Rene nodded lightly and gestured with her chin. Everis bobbed her head repeatedly and exited the office.
Alone, Rene sank into her chair with a deep sigh. From a drawer beneath the desk, she retrieved the rosary given directly by the Pope, rolling it in her palm. No devout believer, but an item blessed by the Pope himself might hold some miracle.
"Is this a sign? You up there, answer me. Does he truly live?"
The gods remained silent, as ever. Rene smiled coldly and set down the rosary. Time to return to routine. Numerical games for the dead.