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Translator: AkazaTL
Pr/Ed: Sol IX
***
Chapter 220. Golden Vault (1)
The great powers of the continent. After the Age of War ended, a new order proclaimed by the Sky Empire birthed new superpowers beneath it. Beneath the unrivaled superpower, the Sky Empire, three representative great powers existed.
The masters of the sea, the Black Archipelago.
W.е b̀n ó v̄ e l̃ Ên̄_u ma
The freest land, the Six Free Cities.
The multi-race coalition, the Arman Union.
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These three great powers maintained balance and dominated the world economy.
The Black Archipelago controlled the continent’s gold through the Red Bank, and the Six Free Cities developed into a massive trading nation using their abundant resources and central trade routes.
And the Arman Union?
“Dragons have moved, you say.”
E n̄ u m̈ а̂. іd̊
There was one business that made them a ‘great power.’
“Has the time come for us to take action?”
“In the end, even the Sky Empire will have no choice but to call for us. The true fear of the Empire comes from its overwhelming production capacity. Endless food, abundant resources. When one fights against the Sky Empire long enough, everyone begins thinking the same thing:
‘Can these people… actually wage war forever?’ ”
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“Indeed. They will come seeking us. The Empire’s army, bloated in peace, will have forgotten war and regressed compared to their glorious past. No country has as much ‘ready-for-deployment force’ as we do.”
Mercenaries.
È_n̄ úm̃а̃
“Gather the racial representatives.”
A multi-race coalition— the Arman Union held the strongest ‘mercenary’ force on the continent.
“What about the Orcs?”
“If they can be gathered, gather them.”
“…Should we contact her?”
Her. The moment that short word was spoken, everyone froze. Moments later, they all shook their heads.
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“No. She won’t listen to our summons.”
“Of course, if she helped, it would be worth ten thousand troops, but…”
“She’s too dangerous.”
A long breath escaped them, and the conclusion was set.
“Do not call her.”
“Yes. Understood. We will exclude the Green War God, Sherizik.”
Еn̊_ŭm̈ а
***
The Karavan territory. Even this fringe land of the Iron Kingdom could not escape the spreading chaos.
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“Are we going to get drafted?”
“It’ll be fine. Didn’t the rich young master, Young Master Zeppelin, say so before he left? Even if he had to turn this place into a city-state, he’d protect it.”
“But still…”
“And we have the great Witch here, and the dependable Orc warrior too, don’t we? Truly, we have nothing to fear.”
Е n ú ḿ а.і̃ d̄
The world was in turmoil. Deep, dreadful turmoil.
‘Young Master Arhan, where in the world have you gone?’
Tom— now just an ordinary old man—felt suffocated. In the past, he would’ve grabbed a sword and gone to help, but now he was only a burden. People tried to reassure him, but from Tom’s perspective, the Karavan territory was not safe at all.
‘The vortex is too fierce.’
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The Descendant of Khan. The demons of the plains. Dragons.
All enemies far beyond reason.
E n̊ ǔmà
The current Karavan territory could not withstand even a brush of that chaos. Arhan was needed here— or at least someone on Arhan’s level…And then.
“The Black Archipelago Mercenary Corps!”
The mercenaries who were helping residents with labor.
The mercenaries who were standing watch.
Suddenly, they all turned toward the entrance of the territory.
“Form up! To the entrance!”
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A powerful shout.
The whole mercenary corps sprinted toward the gate in perfect order.
The residents stared blankly, bewildered.
An enemy? An attack?
“Reporting to our lord!”
No. What mercenary greeted enemies with such flawless military salute? The residents blinked in confusion. They didn’t look like mercenaries—they looked like disciplined soldiers. And mercenaries were not known for discipline…
W̆ е̃ b́n о́ vе̊ l̊ Е ǹúm̂а̀
“…Do you have to make it that obvious?”
“But—”
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“You’re acting as a mercenary right now.”
“But with the young master absent! I showed proper respect! If I displeased you, I apologize—!”
A thunderous voice. Then.
“You only do it properly at times like this?”
Wе b̈ nо̂ v́е̃ l̇ Ӗ n ûm̀а
“Eh?”
Smack! A loud, sharp crack rang out.
Thud-thud-thud! A mercenary flew across the ground. Dust billowed upward.
Through the clearing haze, golden hair and golden eyes emerged.
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Some residents briefly thought ‘Zeppelin Gold’ had returned. But no— Zeppelin Gold had the gentle impression of a soft, amiable youth. The man before them, though similar in features, was harsher, sharper, older. If Zeppelin was a boyish young man, this one looked like someone worn by life, a weathered adult.
“What matters isn’t showing respect. It’s doing your assigned duty correctly, and producing results. That is your obligation, you dog of the Black Archipelago.”
Е́ ñûmа̀._ìd
He took a cigar from his coat and placed it between his lips. A pitch-black man behind him stepped forward and lit it. Fsshh. Smoke drifted upward. With the cigar still in his mouth, the man scanned the Karavan territory.
“The Godmother told us to return to the Black Archipelago… but how could I just leave. Even if I suffer punishment, I must at least see the final traces you left behind, foolish little brother.”
Suppressing the rage swelling in him, the man muttered. Little brother.
Traces of the one he called that were everywhere— letters written in Zeppelin Gold’s handwriting, residents whispering Zeppelin’s name.
One by one he examined each trace.
Then Sherpa Gold—the eldest son of Gold—took another deep drag of his cigar.
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“You fool. Foolish, foolish boy. What about this little land was so important? What of the insignificant people living here? You should have fled with the fleet. You could’ve sent someone to manage it, or begged for your life using our family name. Fool…”
Sherpa Gold looked at the residents. They stared back with frightened, innocent eyes. He resented them. If this land hadn’t existed— If these people hadn’t existed— his little brother wouldn’t have died so miserably.
That crybaby who once bawled because he cut his finger while cooking— how much agony must he have felt while his body and soul were torn apart?
The rage was unbearable. But he would not vent it on them. Even the traces showed it— Zeppelin Gold loved this place. Perhaps here he received the recognition he never got in the Black Archipelago.
The praise Sherpa Gold withheld to make him stronger, the affectionate words he planned to give him one day— Zeppelin never heard any of them.
Battling sorrow, regret, and a fury cold as ice, Sherpa Gold remembered who he was.
Ӗ ǹ.ũ m ä
He was Sherpa—but more than that, he was Gold.
And Gold… must have cold, golden blood.
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“The one managing the investments here, Zeppelin Gold, is dead.”
The residents’ eyes trembled.
“From now on, I will handle the work he began. You need not worry. The investment will continue. The only change is the manager. I came to inform you—and to confirm one thing.”
Sherpa Gold’s eyes gleamed.
Ẃе́ b̀nоv̌ е.l̄ Е̇n u ḿ ǎ
“I will determine the value of this land my little brother cherished so much. Whether this place is truly worth investing in—and whether, in the coming war… this Karavan territory can survive.”
Sherpa Gold wished to honor his brother. Thus, if the Karavan territory turned out to be indefensible, he would rescue its people, at least. Judging from the residents’ reactions to his brother’s death, Zeppelin had been loved here.
True sorrow lingered in the air.
Sherpa Gold could at least protect those who cherished his brother. If one receives, one must return. That was the rule of Gold.
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Then Tom spoke.
“How do you plan to confirm it?”
Ẅ e.bn̆ӧ v е l E ńŭ m̊а̌
“By evaluating whether this territory—including the Black Archipelago mercenaries—can withstand the Conquest Army of the Great Land.”
“……”
“Listen carefully. The Conquest Army has crossed from the Eastern Continent. They destroyed our fleet. They will soon cross into the Central Continent. And what would look like the most appetizing target to them? A land they can march into easily, establish a forward base easily— the Iron Kingdom of Cherville.”
Sherpa Gold again swept his gaze across the residents.
“If this land cannot be held, I will recover my brother’s investment and evacuate all of you to the Black Archipelago. You are my brother’s people; I will take responsibility.”
“That cannot be. We cannot leave—”
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“—Leaving is better than dying, is it not?”
Even after witnessing my brother’s death, you still do not understand? Sherpa bit down the final words. Since arriving, he had searched thoroughly— but he found no “usable fighting force.”
The territory resembled a small town, yet strangely lacking in soldiers. Even a village-sized estate usually maintained a militia— but here? Only elderly folk and farmers. And then,
“How will you make your judgment?”
An Orc stepped forward.
“With my eyes and senses.”
Е̇ n ǔm̀ а_.і d
“Any method will be accepted?”
“Yes.”
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In the Orc’s hand was a glaive. Then,
“I am the daughter of the Guide of the Great Star—Orc Sherizik.”
She slowly raised her glaive.
“I will prove it through a duel. That this territory is safe.”
Ѐ ñ uḿа̂
***
The Dwarf Kingdom was nearly in the festival.
Naturally so.
Dragons, who scorned them and launched a surprise attack, were all slain instantly by a single hero.
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The Dwarves had seen the sky drenched in that magnificent carnage with their own eyes.
They would never forget that sight.
Е nǔm å
“Here it is.”
Yet not everyone joined the never-ending celebration. Some had work to do.
“Heir of Steel.”
Well, perhaps it wasn’t right to say we weren’t ‘celebrating’.
“This is the Golden Vault, Heir of Steel.”
Because to me, this was a celebration— a feast.
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***
「The Steel Blood is famished.」
「Ingest new swords.」
.
.
.
Wе̂ b.nо̊ ṽ е_l̆ Ѐ ñu m á
「Choose the swords to ingest with care.」
「Three steps remain until the realm of ‘Transcendence.’」
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