Translator: AkazaTL Pr/Ed: Sol IX
***
The Southern Continent had become hell.
The Conquest Army of the Great Land—summoned by the Order of the Cross—proved perfectly why they were called “the devils who run across the plains.” The land once called paradise had lost its peace. Instead, only death surged here. The Papacy could not possibly rejoice at this sight—never.
“Buddha.”
The Great Warrior of the Sun, imprisoned within the Papacy. Looking upon the most sacred and greatest Proxy Warrior, the old men of the Papacy whispered through trembling voices.
The old Monk, bound in chains, was barely clinging to life.
The Descendant of Khan intentionally did not kill him. Killing a Warrior of God was foolish, because even if one Warrior died, another would always be born.
“It seems… we really did make a mistake.”
“……”
“We have… destroyed our own land.”
Among the Proxy Warriors, “Buddha” was a special case. No other Warrior was loved by the deity as deeply as this old Monk.
The Descendant of Khan feared the wrath of the Goddess that would befall him if Buddha died.
The Sun Goddess Revrua was known for not interfering in the matters of the mortal plane—but if Buddha were to meet a miserable end, no one could predict what that Goddess might do. No one.
“Great Warrior of the Sun…”
And so, looking upon the still-breathing Buddha, the old men of the Papacy sought guidance. They had witnessed the horror and prayed again and again, yet their God gave no answer. Thus, they asked not a god, but a human. The most sacred and noble human they knew.
“How… how do we atone for our mistake?”
Most of the Southern Continent had already fallen. For the Crusaders, occupying the scorched Southern Continent would be simple. But what value was there in land reduced to ash? Many clerics of the Order of the Cross had taken their own lives. Small towns and cities once filled with warmth and peace were now drowned in despair and death. From the burning plains came the smell of burnt flesh; in every village and city, spears with severed heads rolled across the ground. Crows that feasted on corpses filled the sky.
There was no glory here. No salvation.
“What… what must we do…?”
The old men of the Papacy could not bear the weight of their actions. If they had known this would happen, it would have been better to vanish into history. Better to disappear than be left with ashes. This was not what they sought. They had been greedy, yes—but they had loved the Southern Continent more than anyone.
“……It is too late to turn back.”
Buddha murmured.
“Those devils… will scrape away hope, crush even the smallest lives remaining. They will leave not a single light behind.”
“……”
“You realized it… far too late. Far too late.”
The blind Monk whispered, barely breathing. Then he spoke again.
“Foolish ones.”
“……”
“You wish to… correct your mistake? Even if only a little…?”
The old men of the Papacy nodded. The old Monk spoke.
“Release me.”
“……”
“Then I shall tether their feet. Even if only for a little… before they march out into the greater world, I shall hold them.”
“What meaning… is there in delaying them only slightly?”
“There is… immense meaning.”
Amidst their defeated voices, Buddha answered.
“To the old… time is but the approach of death. But to the young… time is the most precious material from which miracles are born.”
“……”
“I will gift… my time… to the young ones of the new age.”
The Monk’s clouded eyes shone. Unbelievably bright for the eyes of a blind man.
“So that… they may blossom miracles.”
***
The ruler of the Southern Continent had changed hands.
The land stripped of holiness had fallen to devils, and now none doubted how the Conquest Army would use this continent that had become their hunting ground.
The Great Land would pursue the dream it had failed to reach through all history: conquest of the entire continent created under the blessings of the Seven Lords and the Nine Goddesses.
To do that, the Great Land had to overthrow the Sky Empire—the empire that had, throughout history, held the Conquest Army in the Eastern Continent and never once allowed them to cross into the Central Continent.
The Great Land, having broken the ancient covenant, was thoroughly prepared. They had allied with the ruined Machine Empire and absorbed its arcane engineering.
Warp Gates, magical inventories—such tools covered most of the Conquest Army’s weaknesses.
They no longer had to worry about supply lines or how to deploy ground forces in the millions.
They could open Warp Gates above enemy territories and unleash the devils upon the cities and rear lines.
With supply and mobility both solved, the Conquest Army was, in truth, nearly invincible. In terms of pure combat power, no ground army on the continent could defeat them. But.
“You mean… we cannot open a Warp Gate?”
Variables always occurred.
“…The Ruler of the Sea is blocking our path.”
“The Ruler of the Sea?”
“The Black Archipelago has appeared.”
The Black Archipelago.
The lives burned away by Zeppelin Gold had summoned them.
“A Warp Gate connects one dimension to another. For the gate to open without error, the pathway must be completely undisturbed. But the waters between the Central and Western Continents—our target route—are filled with the fleet of the Black Archipelago.”
“……”
“It’s almost as if they predicted our intention to advance beyond the Southern Continent toward the central and western lands.”
“They would expect it. Anyone would. The warriors of the plains would never come all this way just to take one southern prairie. The moment the Conquest Army stepped into the sea, the covenant was broken. From that moment onward, everyone would know—we have bared our fangs at the Empire.”
Yes, it was predictable. But not that they would act this boldly. They should never have let that descendant of Gold die. One way or another, he should have been saved. The “Golds” always took revenge on those who harmed their family. Without fail.
“To break through them, we would have to launch our own fleet and win a naval battle. Yet the Black Archipelago’s naval strength rivals the undefeated fleet of the Free City—they are also known as the ‘Rulers of the Sea.’”
“And now that the undefeated fleet has sunk, they have become the true rulers.”
“There is… one method. The Black Archipelago has provocatively adjusted their position so that the coordinates of our Warp Gate would place us on top of their deck.”
“On their deck? What does that mean?”
“It means that if we open a Warp Gate, we will fall directly onto their heads.”
No one needed clarification. It meant: Come if you dare.
“This must be asked of the Descendant of Khan.”
“He will not avoid it.”
“Those foul, salt-smelling sea rats…”
The warriors of the plains growled in fury. But.
“The Descendant of Khan would hesitate to go there.”
“What do you mean?”
The War Mage of the Machine Empire offered a differing opinion.
The warriors turned toward him, irritated by the implication that their leader would hesitate. Feeling the predators’ eyes, the War Mage exhaled slowly.
“Upon their ship… is the Master of Gold.”
The Master of Gold. Only one person could bear that title.
“On land, one might contend with her. But on the sea… she is far too dangerous.”
Martina Gold. One of the Six Masters, and the current head of Gold. The oldest living Swordmaster, a woman who had existed since the Age of War.
“And others are aboard as well.”
“Others?”
“Mercenaries of the Arman Union—paid by the Red Bank. And the current head of the Gold family, along with many successors. All the pillars that support the modern-day Golds are gathered there.”
“……”
“So this is not a decision to be made lightly.”
The pillars of Gold. A Swordmaster among the Six Masters. And even the Arman Union’s mercenaries.
The warriors of the plains finally understood the scale of the force the Black Archipelago had brought. It was practically their full might, enough to erase a small kingdom instantly. If they fought carelessly, they would be annihilated without leaving dust behind.
Facing such resolve, the warriors recalled an old saying of the Black Archipelago:
“Do we… have enough gold prepared for this?”
***
“This city… is gray as well.”
Machine Empire Lafrien. Holding the flag of the fallen empire, Ian Cherville murmured. After the Six Free Cities, he had now taken another empire. The Iron Kingdom of Cherville now held the path to the Central Continent and possessed both resources and technology.
Even if Ian Cherville died here, the Iron Kingdom would flourish based on what it now owned. And history would forever remember Ian Cherville as the monarch who laid the foundation for the Iron Kingdom—no, the Great Iron Empire of Cherville. He knew it. Even if he ended here, he would be hailed as an immortal ruler. But he had no intention of stopping.
“All have been blinded by the seeds we sowed. The greed of rulers has boiled over. Desire for glory and victory has erupted everywhere. And everyone has realized—war is the fastest, surest path to it.”
Glory. Honor. Such things had never been what Ian Cherville sought.
“The Second Age of War begins soon.”
Ian Cherville lifted his head from the throne. At his side stood the strongest executioner of the continent. Kneeling before him was a woman draped in a dazzling robe—so brilliant it hurt to look at.
“You understand what this means?”
“Of course I do.”
The woman raised her head. The hood slid off, revealing her face—beautiful, yet her eyes were reptilian. Sharp, gleaming pupils that proved she was not human.
“At last… our time has come.”
“……”
“Ah! I could throw myself into your arms from sheer excitement. Do you know how long the young dragons and I have waited—ever since we destroyed the shabby fleet of the Free City?!”
Her laugh was joined by another voice, not human. The cry of a born ruler, a predator who looked down upon all.
“To finally leave that suffocating nest and soar through the vast sky… ah, it is ecstasy. Pure ecstasy. The thought of burning everything, placing all beneath the heavens—my happiness is unbearable!”
Her body twisted with a growl. In the next moment, she shed the shell of a human. Sharp horns emerged, disguised flesh fell away, and the hardest scales of the continent grew in its place.
“The devils who run across the plains—barred from crossing the sea by that old woman who lost her child.”
Ian Cherville smiled crookedly.
“Open the path for the lost devils, little dragon.”
At his command, the dragon took flight without hesitation.
The ceiling of the Blade Palace shattered, and she ascended into the sky beyond. With a thunderous roar, countless dragons gathered around her. A sight unseen since the Age of War —the dance of dragons before war.
Watching the dragons soar freely, Ian Cherville thought: Soon, the Black Archipelago would face the returned rulers of the sky. They would not dare claim dominion over the sea in front of dragons.
The dragons, bearing devils upon their backs, would land on the Central Continent. And the devils who ran across the plains, alongside the returned rulers of the sky, would burn everything they saw. None would live. Not one.
“Carlos.”
“Yes.”
“Prepare yourself.”
Amid the swirling storm of fate, Ian Cherville looked at his executioner.
“The time to fulfill our promise is near.”
***
A rapier was a type of sword. Long and slender, less favored than the longsword, for it was wielded with one hand. Rather than a sword used by warriors, it was closer to a noble’s self-defense blade.
And Tom’s sword—the blade of the old Arena fighter—was this rapier. A strange choice for a fighter of the Arena, but judging from the traces on the blade, Tom had used this rapier since very long ago. How did Tom survive using such a thin blade in his youth? How had he succeeded as a fighter? Why had he chosen this weapon in the first place? I had many questions. And I would soon learn the answers.
“Whew.”
This sword would now become part of me.
“……”
I looked at Tom.
The old steward met my eyes with difficulty, then nodded. It meant I could eat it without hesitation. I nearly asked again if he was truly certain—but stopped. Asking further would insult Tom’s resolve. What I needed was not concern, but to absorb this sword completely. Perfectly.
“Hup.”
I placed Tom’s sword into my mouth. And.
『In the Arena of the Iron City Ferma, young blood boils.』
A fierce voice began echoing.
『Since the Age of War, countless youths have gathered in the Arena to test their valor. Some die and vanish, others seize glorious victory and shine brighter than the day before.』
『He was the only old man of the Arena of Iron City Ferma.』
The voice of the sword.
『For 84 days, he fought without missing a single duel.』
『And he did not win a single match.』
.
.
.
『Not a single victory.』