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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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Armida noona and I arrived at the desert city of Braam via spatial teleportation.
Braam, a city of 150,000, lay between Karah and Polkin Fortress. Though less wealthy and populous than Karah, its influence over the Great Desert tribes was immense—it was the economic and political hub of the Shika people, who numbered over two million across the western grasslands.
The Opis River, visible east of Braam, was the lifeblood of the western plains, flowing from the northern icy lands all the way to the southern coastal city of Asad.
‘Huh?’
From the teleportation tower’s observation deck, I spotted a long caravan of wagons stretching eastward along the paved road, loaded with construction materials—water pipes, bricks, gravel.
‘Ah, war preparations. Karah’s really surrounded by enemies.’
The biggest obstacle in the upcoming war between Roblos Kingdom and Karah was the month-long trek across the “Demon’s Trade Route”—a barren desert with almost no water or grazing land. Supplying an army there was impossible.
Hence, the road and aqueduct construction. Troops needed water, and a clear path would prevent them from getting lost.
‘But Braam’s the one doing the construction. These backstabbing bastards.’
Braam and Karah were rival cities.
Braam ruled the western plains; Karah dominated the trade routes. Both had long sought to unify the Great Desert, using wealth and force to expand their influence.
The problem? They were too close, separated only by the harsh Demon’s Trade Route. Neither could conquer the other because the environment made large-scale warfare impractical.
So their dream of unification remained just that—a dream.
Honestly, with all their diplomatic posturing, how could they ever unite? They were stuck in a stalemate.
This construction project likely stemmed from that history. If Braam could overcome the desert’s challenges, its superior military might crush Karah.
The issue was funding. Braam couldn’t afford this alone.
Yet they were doing it—proof someone was backing them.
Roblos Kingdom.
Roblos, the second-greatest power on the Procia continent, had the wealth to fund this. But why?
To colonize the Great Desert. They didn’t just want Karah’s riches—they wanted its status as the desert’s overlord.
But Braam was one of the desert’s two major powers. Roblos would have to eliminate it too to fully control the region.
‘Blinded by the prey in front, they don’t see the tiger behind them. Tsk tsk tsk.’
Just then, Armida approached with a worried look.
“Little brother?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not sure I should take this job.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a Valkyrie.”
“And?”
“I’m not supposed to interfere in worldly affairs.”
I scratched my ear. Now she brings this up? The teleportation fee alone cost 4 leaf gold.
“So what can you do?”
“Hunting monsters, spreading faith, or searching for lost Sandia who left Chronos.”
“Then it’s fine.”
“How?”
“This job falls under ‘searching for your friend.’ Remember? I said building connections through work would help find her.”
“I heard that, but… really?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
I shrugged.
“That’s how the world works. Even complete strangers are connected within a few steps. Your friend’s in that network somewhere.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. So we build connections, grease the wheels with money, and others will find her for us.”
Armida brightened.
“Then it’s okay. Let’s go.”
As I headed for the spiral staircase, she stopped me.
“Little brother, why walk? Let’s teleport.”
“Polkin Gate has no teleportation tower.”
“Why not?”
“Military fortresses don’t allow them. Enemies could teleport in.”
Armida looked puzzled.
“Like how Divinum Sanctuary has no tower?”
“No. That’s because it’s holy. Teleporting there would be disrespectful.”
“Oh.”
I waved her down.
“Come on. We’re short on time.”
She still hesitated.
“Why walk? Do you know who I am?”
“A Valkyrie.”
“Then you know I can cast spatial teleportation?”
Spatial teleportation—an advanced 8th-circle spell—was notoriously difficult. Most mages couldn’t even attempt it.
I hesitated.
“Yeah, but…”
“Good. I’ll take us to Polkin Gate.”
I narrowed my eyes.
I hadn’t taken the expensive teleportation tower because I didn’t know the spell. I just didn’t trust Armida’s teleportation.
One mistake, and we could end up buried underground or floating in the clouds. I’d rather ride a wild horse-drawn carriage.
“Do you even know the coordinates?”
“No, but I have a coordinate guidebook.”
“From when?”
“Uh… the dawn of human civilization?”
So, coordinates from thousands of years ago. High chance of merging with a tree or building.
“No thanks.”
“It’s fine! Just wait—”
She rummaged through her dimensional pouch, then awkwardly followed me, whistling innocently. She must’ve forgotten the guidebook.
‘Trusting her teleportation would be suicidal.’
Soon, we exited Braam’s west gate and reached the Opis River bridge. I summoned Obsidian Reaper. On foot, Polkin Gate was six days away. Riding hard, we’d arrive in half a day.
Armida summoned her steed—a creature similar to Obsidian Reaper, but with smoky black wings sprouting from its back.
I glanced between the two.
“Noona, something’s off.”
“What?”
“Your horse looks better. Did you give me a downgraded version? I’m hurt. We’re family.”
She averted her eyes.
“No~ They’re the same. See? Same name—Obsidian Reaper.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what’s with the wings?”
“Oh, just accessories. They’re pretty.”
“So… they don’t let you fly or anything?”
“Uh… It’s been so long, I barely remember. Probably not.”
Her evasiveness was telling.
“Fine. I’ll trust you. Let’s go.”
“Yeah. Hurry.”
We set off at a gallop. But something was odd—Noona’s horse occasionally lifted all four hooves off the ground, gliding forward smoothly.
‘She totally gave me a worse one.’
After hours of riding, the Ipogeum Mountains appeared in the distance—a jagged line on the horizon.
I gazed fondly at the towering cliffs and peaks. These mountains, now the border between Procia and the Great Desert, would later become a bulwark against the monstrous hordes during the Age of Ruin.
‘Polkin Gate. Long time no see.’
Soon, the gate itself came into view—a 210-meter-long, 90-meter-high fortress carved into the cliffs. Legend said it was built by the Great Saintess of Earth.
Whether true or not, this fortress would hold back the monster armies for over a year during the Age of Ruin, earning its reputation as a holy shield.
‘Wonder how Duke Bastian’s doing. Haven’t seen him in years.’
Duke Bastian, the great general who’d lead Roblos’s forces against Karah, was a strategic genius.
Ironically, I’d met him before—during the Polkin Gate siege in the Age of Ruin. As commander of the Yosrahim Empire’s reinforcements, I’d been tasked with fortifying a bypass the monsters had carved. My defenses kept failing, earning me Bastian’s ire.
But the man was meticulous. He accounted for troop placements, supplies, terrain advantages, even weather changes. Watching his strategies unfold was like seeing puppets dance on strings.
Old Man Cloud once said of him:
‘Gaining nothing from fighting that man is the best outcome. Avoiding battle is wiser.’
Once Bastian started a war, it was already over. Enemies resisted desperately, but he merely collected the victory he’d orchestrated.
His greatest feat was holding Polkin Gate for over a year, forcing the monster horde to detour through the northern orc plains. That delay gave Procia crucial time to prepare—a key reason they survived the Age of Ruin for two more years.
Yet even Bastian had a weakness: the jealous old king of Roblos.
As my brother Josef once said: “Great generals are hailed as heroes by the people, but to rulers, they’re just thorns. Why? Because they possess everything a king should have—administrative skill, public support, military power.”
Even our uncle, the emperor, loathed Old Man Cloud. (Though I was dearly loved in my past life.)
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