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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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The banquet held on the second night was, contrary to expectations, a great success. The romantic program of a ball was utterly lackluster, but the hall was as busy as it could get, with Kara’s local gentry and aristocrats running about in all directions, eager to at least show their faces to the delegation.
It was a war. Of the few dangers that could topple the established elite, war was the most lethal. For them, there was no choice but to do whatever it took to survive.
The Marquis Fabius, who was sharing drinks with me, let out a remark as he looked upon the scene.
“Everyone seems busy.”
“They just want to live, that’s all. Can’t exactly blame them for it.”
“But for Kara’s lords, mustn’t their blood run dry from this?”
“If you know that much, then maybe go easy on them. Don’t you think those three reinforced conditions are too much, even for you, old man? That’s practically a declaration of war.”
The Marquis Fabius shrugged.
“Well, yes. Kara could never accept such terms. But our kingdom has poured money and effort into preparing for this war—surely we can’t just suffer losses?”
I smirked.
“Hey, old man. Do you know why gamblers ruin themselves? Because they can’t stop thinking about recouping their losses. Sometimes you’ve got to cut and run.”
“And for what reason should we?”
“The desert bandits. You can’t wipe them out.”
“And why not?”
“Well, their range of activity is a bit too broad? Just to station one soldier per square kilometer along the Demon’s Trade Route alone, you’d need four hundred thousand security troops. What are you going to do about that?”
The Marquis Fabius cast me a subtle look.
“You sound just like the Duke of Bastain.”
“The Duke said the same thing?”
“He did. Which is why he vehemently opposed this war.”
“For crying out loud. So you all knew, and yet you still went ahead with this war? Unbelievable.”
“Even so, just securing the western steppe and Kara itself would already be a profitable venture.”
That was only true if the Shika independence faction didn’t exist. Right now, the desert bandits weren’t touching Kara’s trade caravans, but once that changed, they’d strike mercilessly. And it wouldn’t be mere raids, but bloody pillaging.
That would choke off the Desert Trade Route itself, drastically reducing intercontinental trade compared to before.
“Since when did the world ever move as men wished?”
“Still, it isn’t really my concern.”
“Hm?”
“I’m a soldier. If ordered to advance and fight, I’ll advance and fight. Politics is for politicians.”
I stared at the marquis for a while before nodding.
“Well, that’s true enough.”
The marquis, his face weathered with years, glanced out through the window at the night sky.
“Whatever the case, this war will be my last. So I intend to march forward with no regrets.”
I tilted my head at him, surprised.
“Your last war?”
“Yes. I’ve grown old, and my strength has waned. After all, I’m just a man. No human can resist the power of time.”
Wow, listen to this old man whining.
Eight years later, during the Age of Ruin, countless heroes would rise and fall, but if I had to name the one who rampaged the fiercest, it would be none other than this very old man.
At the Siege of the Folkin Gate, he had marched alone beyond the monster-swarming walls, cutting down hordes before returning. Against the Demon King Jod, he was the first to charge, even landing a wound on the creature’s foot.
There was a reason people called this old man a psycho. He was the Age of Ruin’s greatest shock trooper—the Marquis Fabius.
“Old man, maybe you should save the life-regrets speech for later? Honestly, you still look fit as a fiddle.”
The Marquis Fabius stroked his face.
“Do I?”
“Yep. You’re going to live a long time. I guarantee at least another ten years.”
Of all the people I’d known, only I had lived longer than him. This old man clung to life stubbornly, surviving to eventually serve as the final supreme commander of humanity’s forces.
The marquis’s face lit up with satisfaction.
“Well, yes, one must live long. Especially since I’ve gained a lead here toward becoming a Mind Master—it would be a waste to die now. Right, right.”
“Exactly. Become a Mind Master, take more wives, have a few more youngest sons, and reunite with your fallen brothers.”
“Very well. Heh.”
With that, the Marquis Fabius set down his glass and rose.
“Leaving already?”
“Tomorrow’s schedule is full. Best get some sleep.”
“Alright. Then take care. See you tomorrow.”
As he was leaving the banquet hall, the Marquis Fabius suddenly stopped and turned his gaze back to me.
“By the way, White Mask. What do you plan to do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m asking—whose side will you take?”
I brushed off his meaningful look with indifference.
“A fixer like me doesn’t have sides. I’ll only stand with whoever offers the best deal.”
“Then surely you’ll side with our Robros Kingdom.”
“On what grounds?”
“Because we’ll offer much better terms than Kara.”
I let out a dry laugh.
“Sorry. You won’t be able to.”
“And why not?”
“Our fixer’s guild charges astronomical combat participation fees. I hate war, you see.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s boring. Every time I fight, I lose. That makes it dull, doesn’t it?”
“How bad are we talking here…?”
“Honestly? I’ve fought more battles than you have, old man. And I lost every single one. Not a single win to my name.”
I had participated in countless battles, most during the Age of Ruin against monsters, but even before that, there were plenty.
And yet, strangely enough, I had never once tasted victory. The defeats were so crushing, I couldn’t even fake statistics to make them look like wins.
The Marquis Fabius rolled his eyes.
“So you’re saying you’re not just incompetent, but cursed with endless defeat?”
“Worse than that.”
“White Mask, then just join Kara. With that kind of luck, it’s not about skill—it’s destiny.”
“Oh, come on, don’t mock me. I’m serious.”
“Understood. Hahaha.”
Barely stifling his laughter, the Marquis Fabius returned to his lodgings.
It was late at night, after the banquet had ended. I was walking quickly through the shadowed corridors of Kara’s palace to return to my quarters.
With no one around, it was eerie. The bright full moon outside the windows only made it worse. The statues of Euroa placed along the halls, catching moonlight, created an uncanny atmosphere.
“Seriously, couldn’t they light some magic lamps?”
Just as I rounded a corner, a sharp swishing sound made me flinch. It was like an odd whistling noise, repeating rhythmically and disorienting my ears.
“What the hell?”
Peeking outside cautiously, I saw in the training yard a young woman with blue hair, swinging a spear. Relieved, I exhaled. At least it was a person.
“Who’s that?”
She wore a very tight black martial uniform, shoulders bare. Her aura of mana was strong, her movements sharp and disciplined—clearly a long-trained spear fighter.
But something about her was familiar. Her back, the spear she held…
“The Divine Spear of the Water God, Gauss…?”
The “Divine Spear of the Water God, Gauss” was one of the Seven Sacred Relics left behind by Saintess Euroa. It was currently enshrined in the Sanctuary of Holiness, but would emerge next spring with a new wielder.
The spear she held had to be a replica.
In Kara, where the people revered Saintess Euroa as practically a deity, it was not strange to see someone carrying a replica of Gauss.
“But still… she looks familiar. Could it be Padilla?”
My eyes widened.
Padilla was the woman who, next year, would become the true wielder of Gauss. After vanishing for a time, she would resurface during the Age of Ruin as the Empress of Torrents and commander of the 3rd Sacred Relic Division.
But Padilla belonged to the dark kingdom of Caligo. She had no business being here in Kara.
“Maybe not?”
Yet I couldn’t rule it out either. The woman had blue hair, sun-bronzed skin—Padilla had the same.
Padilla despised the Robros Kingdom with near-obsessive hatred. She never accepted Robros citizens into her 3rd Division, and even during the Siege of Folkin Gate, she refused to support Robros defenses, instead reinforcing Yosrahim’s or others’.
If she was originally from Kara, that would make perfect sense. Kara had been destroyed by Robros.
“Padilla… I miss her…”
During the Age of Ruin, Padilla was the only one who treated me kindly.
At Folkin Gate, she saved our unit multiple times. After Yosrahim fell and I wandered, shunned and starving, she asked the Kern Kingdom’s high command to appoint me as a Centurion.
We fought together many times afterward, even shared meals now and then.
Though she could be a nuisance. I always wanted to be where Ignes was, at the 2nd Division’s front, but she kept dragging me to the 3rd Division’s front, keeping me from seeing Ignes.
Still, thinking of her end pains me. Was it during the interception of the Demon King Jod? Padilla’s Gauss was destroyed, her body broken beyond recovery. She found me in that state, and breathed her last in my arms.
Anyway, my memory of Padilla was of a stunning woman—strange, though, with crippling social anxiety and poor at expressing emotions.
“Well, I’d better confirm first.”
I leapt down from the window and cautiously approached the woman who might be Padilla.
She was tall for a woman. Her body, shapely with firm curves and long elegant legs, was striking. Her long blue hair flowed like silk down to her waist, gleaming in the moonlight.
Her blue eyes shone like sapphires, her sharp nose prominent even though her lower face was veiled with white silk.
Only her modestly sized chest seemed a flaw, but overall, she was undeniably beautiful.
“She really could be Padilla…”
Only removing her veil would confirm it, but her build matched Padilla’s. Driven by curiosity, I revealed myself and approached.
Sensing me, the woman spun around.
“Who’s there!”
Her sharp voice struck me, and a wave of nostalgia hit. Her voice was just like Padilla’s.
“Hey. Hello.”
She eyed my masked face and narrowed her gaze.
“Are you… the White Masked Kaoyan?”
“You know me?”
“I do. But what are you doing here? This training yard is not a place for just anyone.”
“I was just curious. I promise I’m not here for anything bad. I just want to ask one thing.”
She eased her stance slightly.
“Very well. Speak.”
“What’s your name?”
“My name? You intruded here just to know my name?”
“To me, it’s very important. You look so much like someone I once knew.”
She dismissed me with a careless tone.
“Hesa Sharif Kara. Satisfied?”
“Ah… huh?”
Hesa Sharif Kara—the name of Kara’s lord.
I had come in excitement, thinking she was Padilla, only to run into this mess. If she felt threatened and called her guards, I might end up fighting all of Kara.
Flustered, I couldn’t even think to leave, when Hesa spoke warningly.
“Do you have any further questions?”
“No, none.”
“Then go.”
Thankfully, she seemed willing to let me leave. I hurried to depart when she tossed out a question in passing.
“But tell me—who is this person I resemble?”
“Oh, Padilla. A girl I knew a long time ago. Nothing important, don’t mind it.”
The moment she heard that, Hesa’s eyes widened, and she shouted.
“How do you know that name! Only a handful alive know it.”
“Huh?”
“Padilla is my childhood name.”
So it was Padilla after all. I felt glad, but her angry reaction made it impossible to show it. After all, as far as she knew, we were strangers.
“Uh…”
“White Mask, didn’t you hear me? How do you know my childhood name? Answer me!”
“W-well, that’s…”
Hesa stepped closer, scanning me up and down. After a tense pause, her hardened expression softened, and then bloomed into a radiant smile.
“Could it be… Lord Yan?”
Suddenly, my true name spilled from her lips. My face went pale with shock.
“What nonsense? Lord Yan is dead. How could I be him?”
“But apart from my late parents, the only one who ever knew my childhood name was you, Lord Yan. We met at Emperor Yosrahim’s coronation, remember?”
I recalled it now—back when I was very young, at my uncle’s grand coronation. Famous figures from across the world had come to celebrate. Among them was a foreign girl.
Now I remembered. She had been bullied by imperial children, mocked and pelted with stones for her dark skin. I happened to pass by, and the kids fled at the sight of me. She thought I had saved her, and thanked me.
Of course, I hadn’t intended to rescue her—but the misunderstanding stuck.
“Oh?”
“So it really is you, isn’t it?”
“No! Absolutely not. Well then, goodbye.”
I fled in haste. How could fate tie things together like this?
For the Lord of Kara to be that same Padilla, and Padilla to be that foreign girl I’d “rescued” at my uncle’s coronation… It was as if some damn god was playing tricks on me.
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