Chapter 100: Shadows of Silanatiell
Three days' ride from the Muet Empire's capital lay a vast farmland. This land boasted some of the empire's highest grain yields, not the domain of any noble but the emperor's own territory. In times of famine, the emperor used the crops from here to keep the nobles in check.
Beneath this massive farm managed by thousands of slaves was a secret space crafted by magic. Like an anthill, it was a labyrinth of complex passages bearing traces of human habitation. At the same time, the dust-covered furniture hinted at how long it had been abandoned.
This space, once home to those bearing the name Silanatiell, had lain neglected for over a decade, reduced to a state worthy of being called ruins. But not every corner of the burrow had been forgotten.
Deepest within, in a secret conference room once used by Silanatiell's heavyweights, everything remained pristine, free of even a speck of dust. True to its purpose, a single table dominated the rectangular room. A glowing relic in the ceiling illuminated the space, while the walls bore carvings of the sun, moon, and stars.
Three people occupied the room, each seated before one of the symbols, claiming a side of the table. Outside, they were nobles of different names and ranks. But within these walls, their identities converged as one: those who had borne the name Silanatiell. Not true Silanatiells, but ones who knew the name better than anyone.
The man before the sun symbol spoke. "Marina Silanatiell's second letter has arrived."
"Another one? What does that smug bitch want now, acting like she lacks for nothing?"
"Is it about that man? The one who knows the Galia family head?"
The woman before the star and the man before the moon reacted in turn.
"Yes."
"He's supposed to be in his early to mid-twenties, right? It's been twenty years since the Galia head died. No young man that age could know him."
"Could be someone with the mystery of immortality, or a successor bound by promise. But we wrapped that story up long ago, didn't we?"
"I'm just saying it's suspicious."
The woman before the star leaned back, crossing her legs. The man before the moon asked, "What's in this letter?"
The man before the sun slid the letter across the large table to the one before the moon.
— Marina Silanatiell's Second Letter —
The man before the moon read it, his expression hardening.
"What is it? Something worth all this fuss from you?"
"See for yourself."
The man before the moon tossed the letter, and the woman before the star caught it.
"The Hero's guide? A man who traveled the West with the Hero? How could we not know of such a person?"
"We know nothing of what happened in the fog. It wouldn't be strange if there were more inhuman monsters we don't know about."
The woman shuddered at the man before the sun's words.
"Several such monsters? Don't say creepy shit like that. We've suffered enough from just one Mar Silanatiell."
"It's just a figure of speech. There probably aren't that many. This guide is likely the last."
There couldn't be many who could endure the fog that devours history. That was what they wanted to believe. It was the shared thought of all three present.
The man before the moon spoke. "If she's made contact with someone connected to Mar Silanatiell, what about brainwashing? If he's part of that monster's crew, it wouldn't be odd if he noticed."
"No sign of that. If the brainwashing had broken, this letter wouldn't have arrived."
"Breaking the brainwashing means she's dead. Good riddance. I don't want to deal with that bullshit again."
"Enough griping. What do we do? If he's connected to another Hero, we can't just let it slide. No word from His Majesty?"
"There is."
The man before the moon visibly tensed, and the woman before the star straightened up. They were either former Silanatiells or descendants of those who bore the name. Ones who had changed their names to operate in the light, forsaking the shadows required of true Silanatiells. They knew what the name meant to the emperor.
"Watch the situation for now, he said."
"Not kill him outright?"
"It's a lead on capturing the Hero we've chased for ten years. We can't let it slip. And if he's truly from the Hero's party, do you think we could catch or kill him with simple tricks?"
"No."
All three knew what Mar Silanatiell had been like before slaying the Demon King and half the world. Even before heading west, she was a monster they couldn't imagine killing. And in the West, she had amassed an unprecedented history in human records. Now, they couldn't even guess the scale of the magic she wielded.
The woman before the star tapped the letter with her finger. "This name Marhal, though... doesn't it feel familiar? Like I've seen it somewhere."
"Not at all."
"No idea."
"Tch. Really? Must be nothing."
It irked her, but she had the weakest magic here. If the other two felt nothing, it was likely her imagination. Or perhaps a name remembered not from magic, but something else.
"No objections? I'll reply maintaining the status quo."
"None."
"Same here. Nothing to do until Silanatiell returns anyway."
The man before the sun rose first and left the room. The other two followed at intervals. The relic's light faded, plunging the room into darkness.
The village buzzed with activity. The workers hadn't come empty-handed. They had money in their pockets.
In a village, money and goods circulating stayed within limits. Stagnant water rots, and so do stagnant money and goods. Especially in a pioneer village unfit for farming, a lack of circulation was a serious problem.
Outsiders kept money and logistics flowing. Laborers wandering from village to village seeking work. Peddlers dropping by occasionally. They moved the West's goods.
For a village that could handle their numbers, hundreds of outsiders were a windfall to welcome with open arms. The village was in festival mode, offloading near-spoiled booze and food cheap, chatter filling empty buildings.
Marhal closed his eyes softly, focusing his mind. An experiment: could he use the land's history here too?
No luck.
Comparing this pioneer village to the midway city, the history accumulated here felt shallower. He'd been more active as landlord here, but the city's scale of used land and transient population differed.
Time will fix it.
Kaban's city wouldn't rebuild overnight. While it grew, this place would amass considerable history from the benefits.
No sign of Strekl or Kaban. Nor Marin or Bayola. Everyone was busy, really. Especially Marin and Kaban.
As usual, Marhal headed first to the mercenary guild branch. It teemed with outsiders. Amid them, Papuran lugged food with a face saying he was dying of annoyance.
Mercenary guilds couldn't skip meals entirely. Daytime hires would riot. But bartending suited Papuran? Hardly. A retired mercenary, skilled in killing, not hospitality.
Marhal called to Papuran, who carried food seemingly bought from a nearby shop. "Papuran. Nothing out of the ordinary?"
"Yeah. And I hope it stays quiet forever! No work? Help out!"
"Gotta make rounds."
Marhal slipped out before Papuran could grab him. In the village thronged with all sorts, no one paid him mind.
He checked on Havarsan at the inn, stopped by nearby shops, then headed to Ena's general store.
"Everyone gathered here?"
Inside were Karian, Hugo, and Kaban.
"You're here."
"Karian makes sense, but what's up with you two?"
Ena said, "What you ordered. Taxes."
"Not handled yet?"
Before the land race, they'd discussed nearby landlords wary of the pioneer village's unusually low taxes.
"Gotta keep him busy. Or make a messenger pigeon service."
"Can't set tax rates by letter."
"That's what he says. Look at this mess."
Ena spoke wearily. She managed the village's money and logistics in Marhal's absence. Dealing with nosy landlords fell to her too.
"And Kaban?"
"Here for city rebuild help. This guy suggested it."
Kaban's eyes seemed more sunken than usual, dark circles the cause. Experience building, breaking, repairing walls as a siege knight, but houses? Surprisingly little. Rebuilding a city left him clueless where to start.
"Not far. Better to help each other."
Karian brushed off Kaban's gaze. Marhal found the change uncanny—even he trembled with a single flag in the race not long ago?
"Marhal, got time? Watch the workers."
"Workers?"
"Yeah. Pubguk's founding day soon, right? Some want a festival."
Karian spoke as Ena, Hugo, even Marhal lost their smiles.
"Uh, serious issue, yeah? Figured so."
"Very. We're not Pubguk. Plus Empire and Holy Empire folk here."
Many who'd left homes for the West still harbored nostalgia. Memories beautify. Hardships here made old days seem golden. Livable lives back east? No migration. Glorified recalls rationalized the toil.
For them, homeland holidays were rare chances to relive memories.
"Nostalgia sounds nice. But telling West natives to celebrate Pubguk's day in front of them? How's that feel?"
Pubguk's was milder—also demon invasion victim. But demanding Empire or Holy Empire holidays before demon refugees stripped of homes? Curses first. Even non-West folk: Pubguk, Empire, Holy Empire long-time foes. Blending in West, but favoring one culturally sows village discord.
Karian asked, "How'd you handle before?"
"Skipped all. Nearby villages cover Pubguk, Empire, Holy Empire. Homesick go during festivals, done. Started by thoughtless few, but Pubguk majority means talk inevitable."
"How many truly care for nations? Mostly excuses to party. Give 'em what they want. We hold one too."
"What festival? Botch it, villagers gripe."
Village mixes Pubguk, Empire, Holy Empire natives. Workers add diversity. Favor none, or landlord-backed holidays breed resentment.
"Empire founding day."
"This year's Muet Empire day passed."
Ena said. Muet Empire's had come and gone. No date left.
"Not that one. Right?"
Strekl asked Marhal. Marhal would never mark Muet Empire's day. Only one founding day mattered to him.
"World's got more than one empire."
"...Sane?"
Ena asked. What Marhal proposed was that mad.
"Bachea Empire founding day's soon. Once West's grandest festival. Fallen empire's day—no fights, right?"