Chapter 64
Chapter 64
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 64
Chapter Title: Intermission: Trap
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*
The Kings' Corridor. Walking slowly down that long hallway leading to the throne room, Helrga read the traces of the past.
That graffiti was left by him when he was seven years old. That drawing was a mural he had seen and admired at twelve, and that mark was a sword scratch he had accidentally made at fifteen.
The faded heroic epics painted in the Kings' Corridor passed by his side and receded into the distance. Further and further ahead.
As he approached the throne room, images of even older kings appeared. Was it because of the torches flickering from the stone pillars? The former kings in the paintings seemed to move as if alive.
At some point, he had dreamed of it. Of having his own epic painted at the end of those sagas.
Right behind the mural depicting his father's life. So that his own grandson could behold it. And so that this great dynasty might endure for another millennium.
So that this long corridor might one day be filled entirely with weathered murals, necessitating the creation of a new one.
"Your Highness."
Before he knew it, his feet had stopped. His knights stood arrayed behind him, silently awaiting their lord. Prince Helrga stood frozen, glaring at the throne room door emblazoned with a roaring dragon.
"...No guards."
"Pardon?"
"How can there be no guards at the throne room? Are you certain His Majesty is inside?"
"No one saw His Majesty leave the throne room today."
"And the Round Table Council?"
"The Round Table knights should all be at their homes at this hour, should they not?"
"Draw your weapons."
The prince gripped the door handle. The brass ring clutched in the dragon's mouth let out a small frictional scrape. The throne room corridor fell silent. The prince whispered quietly.
"It's a trap."
-Shing.
The prince's retainers did not question it. They trusted their prince's judgment. As he heard the sound of blades being drawn from sheaths behind him, the prince roughly pushed open the door.
-Creeeak...
The throne room doors swung open. Slowly, accompanied by a nerve-grating frictional noise, revealing the throne room bathed in gloomy moonlight.
Between the stone pillars, in the center of this vast throne room where the epic of the founding king unfolded, far at the edge of his vision.
"...Cough."
The old king sat alone upon the throne, awaiting them. Half-reclined against the ornate dragon-carved throne, chin propped up, looking down at them arrogantly.
"..."
The prince sharply scanned the surroundings. The throne room was silent. Not a single maidservant attended the old king.
The prince slowly made his way toward the audience chamber. The forbidden ground. Those without royal blood could not tread there, and even those with it could not cross armed.
Further ahead.
-Clack.
The prince placed his hand on his sword hilt and looked up at the old king seated upon the dais throne. His emerald eyes blazed fiercely.
"Your Majesty, I have come."
"...Cough. So. You have finally drawn your blade against me."
The old king sneered.
"Your sister is dead."
"...!"
The prince's eyes shook with shock. He had heard that Moria had gone out to the market fire site, but dead?
Moreover, how long had it been since Moria left the castle... Had he received the news before him, who had rushed here immediately upon hearing it?
Someone is here. The prince's eyes narrowed. As he gripped his sword hilt tighter, the old king tapped the throne. Tap, tap.
"With your sister dead, you are now the only remaining royal blood."
"...Your Majesty."
"Then after you die, and after I die. Who will remain?"
The old king coughed harshly and slowly looked around. Behind the prince, the knights who dared not tread the forbidden ground stood arrayed. Ten of them. The old king twisted his lips into a smile.
"Have you come to witness the end of this dynasty?"
"The lineage of King Dane will not end at this hour."
"Helrga."
"Do not call me by that name!"
The prince bared his teeth and shouted fiercely.
"Call me Vicente. Your Majesty. Father. By the name you gave me!"
"So you refuse to carry on my name, and the names of your forebears."
"The era of Helrga is over. Where are the kingdom's knights now? The Round Table knights? The riders of the great knight king, the descendants of heroes, the honorable vassals! In your reign, they have all turned their backs on the capital!!"
"Kuh. Kuhuhu..."
The old king laughed sharply.
"With Moria dead, there is no one left to stop me. Moria... That wench was too cunning. She and I hid blades behind each other's backs... Cough. And cooperated all the while. Each trying to seize this royal house in our own hands..."
"...You?"
"Kuh. Kuhuhu. Cough. The king's body was too frail to accept me. It was so good in my youth. Kuhuhu. Cough."
The old king coughed harshly amid phlegm-choked laughter. The prince felt confusion at the king's sudden words. What is he saying... What on earth...
"That wench fell to her own schemes, swallowed by my ambitions. Kuhuhu. Priestess's affection, indeed. How pitiful. Cough. She played her role fully, and now this board is mine to claim entirely."
"Who are you."
"Who can stop me now? Cough. Kuhuhu. You didn't know Moria was the thread tying your life together. Kuh. Cough. Cough! Now, farewell to this damned husk."
Faster than expected, though. The old king cackled. Slowly, the old king rose from the throne. Moonlight fell upon his body, and a strange shadow rippled behind him. The prince stared at the shadow blazing behind the old king.
A dark green shadow danced under the moonlight. Strangely, writhing in twisted convulsions, it laughed.
[Your house ends here. Vicente.]
"May Shiled bless you."
-Shing.
The prince slowly drew his sword. Seeing this, the old king chuckled.
"Under your blessing, the eternal glory of the royal house."
[The god you should pray to is not him.]
As the moon hid behind the shadow and darkness briefly fell over the throne room, a skull-shaped spirit materialized over the old king's face.
[Pray to me, young mortal.]
*
Barrein eyed the flickering kerosene lamp with concern.
He had poured in his last oil an hour ago, and now only enough remained for the return trip. Yet no night had been better than this for exploring the royal family's secret tomb.
The market fire and explosion. And the paths of the palace guards. It all seemed arranged for him.
The Fernandez brothers were smashing every place that looked like heresy, just like the Demonica. Normally unwelcome behavior, but perfectly timed support fire right now.
Taking advantage of the lax security at the royal secret tomb—a place he had only planned for until now—Barrein had slipped in easily.
'The founding ancestor's tomb...'
This massive mausoleum, built for the founding ancestor, Knight King Dane, was said to mirror the legendary tomb made for the dragon Dane slew upon his death. No records of the dragon's tomb remained. It had probably been disgustingly deep.
Judging by how deeply the king's tomb delved. Barrein descended carefully, one step at a time, gazing at the murals flickering in the lamplight.
"Hmm. The third one."
As expected, the king's tomb had no mechanical traps. Only royals could enter this place—who would dig traps to kill their own descendants?
However, not physical traps. Magical barriers were occasionally set within this legendary tomb. Barrein thought as he carefully stepped over the trap's boundary.
'There must be something real here.'
In any case, calculating the corridor's curvature and mana density, the tomb's core was not far now. Astonishing. The entrance was outside the city's east gate, but this path below led straight to the city's center.
In other words, if he went straight up from here, above his head, there would be the castle entrance. Incredibly precise design. On the map, the castle entrance aligned vertically with the tomb's center.
He could feel the ancient people's architectural philosophy of seeking the ancestor's blessing at every moment. Barrein swallowed as he eyed the door visible at the corridor's end.
-Even after thousands of winters pass.
-Even if you tremble beneath the seasons.
-Son. Be bold. You shall not lose your way.
Under the flickering kerosene, text in ancient continental dialect shimmered. This inscription from King Dane's era retained its powerful strokes even after a millennium.
The heart of King Dane toward his children? Barrein slowly pushed open the door stamped with the king's inscription.
-Rumble...
The stone door slid open, dust falling. Soon, the tomb's interior came into view.
"Huh..."
His sigh echoed. Before Barrein's eyes stretched a vast cavern. Was the dragon's tomb like this? Had they carved a massive cavern for the dead dragon? Had they built this place in the same structure?
Here, instead of a dragon. A giant slumbered.
"Hill giant...!"
A massive human form lay on the floor. Only bones remained, arms outstretched toward the ceiling.
A house? A tower? No, a castle. The giant's size nearly rivaled a fortress. Barrein finally had to admit it.
The reason a hill giant could occupy the sunniest plains across the entire kingdom territory alone. And why Dane, who slew it single-handedly, was hailed as having achieved his greatest feat among all his accomplishments.
The giants in legends and fairy tales were mere pathetic distortions of this remains. Barrein was a sturdy adult male, yet one moss-covered molar of these bones was larger than his torso.
"Damn it."
Barrein stared at the sword embedded in the giant's skull. By size, proportion, shape, it was a greatsword, but lodged in the skull, it looked like a tiny nail or toothpick. Had such a small blade felled this colossal being?
"Knight King Dane..."
And far ahead, at the center of the solemn murals filling the cavern walls, lay the remains of the Dane kings. Seated upon a metallic throne emblazoned with dragon motifs, gazing down at the giant's remains. Facing directly toward Barrein's position.
Dozens of remains sat upon thrones, facing him—or perhaps the castle entrance they had once ruled. At the very center, the most imposing skeleton must be Dane's. Flanking it, his descendants sat arrayed like attendants.
Barrein approached the giant's remains step by step, entranced. As his lamp flickered, the shadow over the giant's skull undulated like something alive.
-Tap tap.
Somewhere, a sound like a rat scurrying. But Barrein, overwhelmed by the remains' grandeur, seemed not to hear.
For a moment, he forgot his duty—as a Heretica hunting heretics hidden in the capital—and drew near this historic relic.
-Tap.
Again, a sound like a rat scurrying—
-Sss...
Darkness engulfed everything. The kerosene finally ran out of oil and died.
"Damn it."
Barrein frantically rummaged through his pockets for spare oil. The tomb had no light sources, suffocating in silence and thick dust scent. His searching hands found nothing.
Finally, he drew a match and struck it against his wrist guard.
-Skree!
As the match sparked faintly, barely illuminating his palm—
-Squee.
A withered finger emerged from the darkness, pinched the match's tip, and extinguished the flame.
"Ha, Beitass—"
-Shunk!
Before Barrein could finish his prayer, a blade plunged into his throat.
*
The old king paused, looking down at the sword-drawn prince, then smirked.
"Just short a bit of priest's blood, but perfect timing."
-Rumble...
And then an earthquake struck the castle.
*