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Translator: AkazaTL
Pr/Ed: Sol IX
***
Chapter 221. Golden Vault (2)
Sherpa Gold furrowed his brow.
“An orc named Sherizik, is it?”
Ẁе b̈ ń о̄ v̊ eľ Е̃n um̊ а̃
“You know my name?”
“It would be harder not to know.”
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Whoosh.
A sword settled into Sherpa Gold’s hand. Its blade gleamed—golden.
“The hero of the Arman Union. The hope of the orc race.”
That blossoming golden glow soon became golden Armor.
Е n̂ ů m̈ а
With Armor wrapping his entire body, Sherizik stomped her foot.
“Green Full-body, Great Warrior Sherizik.”
CLANG!
A glaive. A golden sword.
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The two blades collided.
***
Еn̂ ǔ m a .і́d
The dragon host had split into three groups.
The first and second groups crossed the sea. The first served as bait to draw the attention of the Black Archipelago fleet and Swordmaster Martina Gold.
The second served as the “main force” led by Dragon Charlotte—assigned to retrieve the Conquest Army of the Great Land and the Machine Empire’s Arcane Corps, both stranded in the Southern Continent, and deliver them to the Central Continent.
And the third group?
“All of them died?”
“Yes. I just confirmed it in the Spirit World. The spirits all said the same thing. The dragons who headed to the Dwarf Kingdom—all deceased…”
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The assault on the Dwarf Kingdom.
They were the group sent to open the Golden Vault.
The third group had been deliberately composed of weak, young dragons—dragons afraid of everything. Why? Because unlike the first and second groups, which carried dangerous roles, the third had no reason to face danger at all.
Did the dwarves… bring in outside forces?
No matter how refined their technology, dwarves could never create weapons capable of opposing dragons.
Dwarven weapons were crafted from steel and fire. And no steel or fire on the continent could ever harm a dragon—never. Has technology advanced through the ages to the point where they produced a dragon slayer? No, impossible.
Ŵ é bn оvеl̃ Ênù m̈ а̌
The era when dragons were most active was also the golden age of the dwarves. Their craftsmanship peaked then, and under the dragons’ constant suppression, dwarven technology had never developed past a certain threshold.
Even at their most brilliant, dwarves had never managed to harm even a single dragon’s hair.
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Dragon Charlotte simply couldn’t understand. Did they bring in elves? No. Even the oldest among them—a High Elf—couldn’t kill a dragon. Then who…?
The Army of Heaven? Yes, they could harm dragons. But why would the Sky Empire harm dragons? They have no reason. The Arman Union? No, they also…
A variable. An unforeseen variable.
And the identity of that variable soon became clear.
É ǹ ū m̃а́ .і d̄
“Steel.”
“Steel?”
“They say the last Karavan killed them. With a single stroke.”
Dragon Charlotte momentarily lost her words.
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The warnings of the ancient dragons— their command to beware of the Karavans—came rushing back.
So did the trembling voices of the fearful elders who had lived since the mythic age, speaking of how young dragons—dragons lacking historical experience—did not know fear. Their voices began to grate on Charlotte’s mind for no clear reason. And so,
Ŵе b n̊ ov̀el̃ Е n̄ ũḿа̌
“Send the Great Dragons.”
“The Great Dragons…?”
“The dragons who inherited the strongest bloodlines.”
Charlotte was not going to leave the variable unattended.
“Send those who each carry their own color to the Dwarf Kingdom. And order them to bring back the head of the Karavan who slaughtered our kin.”
“But they were assigned to other tasks—”
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“Now is when they must act.”
The Great Dragons. Red Dragons, Blue Dragons, Gold Dragons—dragons with special-colored “souls.” Charlotte decided to draw her trump card. It was not meant to be used yet. But Charlotte felt it.
“I sense it. Now is an important moment.”
“……”
“The Golden Vault must not fall into jeopardy. The ancient dragons trembled with fear of ages gone. Yet even when they were fearless and mighty, they never touched the Golden Vault. Their fear may not have been in vain. With everything proceeding smoothly, there is no reason to leave a variable alive.”
“……”
Ē ň um a. іḋ
“Make sure they cannot open the Golden Vault. If needed, destroy the Dwarf Kingdom and bury all dwarves beneath the earth. Do whatever it takes—release the most reliable hunters so no variables can emerge.”
If left as is— things would go terribly wrong.
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That was her feeling as a Watcher.
***
“The Golden Vault is the place where the treasures of the dwarves are gathered. It holds the history of the dwarven people—and the relics left behind by the dwarves of their most glorious era.”
The Dwarf King, Jerome Stone, gladly guided me toward the Golden Vault. Dwight could not accompany us. Only the king’s bloodline and the Blood of Steel could enter the vault.
W̊ ӗb n̆ о̀ v̂ е́l Е̄ n um̊а̂
“It is an honor to open this vault in my lifetime, O descendant of Steel.”
The Golden Vault was not a specific room.
The Golden Vault was a boundary of the world.
One of the continent’s mysteries. Like “Ernest,” which had existed in the middle of the sea.
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“The Sky Mountains are the first mountains of the world and hold all ancient mysteries. A mountain where a great will sleeps. And the Dwarf Kingdom is the lowest kingdom, carved out beneath the sacred earth halfway up those Sky Mountains.”
The path to the Golden Vault lay beneath the Dwarven royal palace.
Ӗ n̄ uṁǎ
The underground passage smelled musty, as though it had been left untouched for ages, and mud smeared the walls. At regular intervals, torches were mounted on the walls, and beside each torch, murals were drawn—murals depicting dwarves, inscribed with unreadable hieroglyphs.
“Beneath the lowest kingdom, in the ley-lines supporting the Sky Mountains, lies the door to the Golden Vault. That is why no one has ever found it. An artificial world built under a mountain saturated with heavenly energy. It is said that long ago, ten dwarven artisans forged their own souls to create this vault. They did so to hide it from the eyes of dragons—and from the gaze of the Seven Lords and the Nine Goddesses.”
After walking for a long time, Jerome Stone suddenly stopped.
At the end of the passage was a massive chamber.
Ten statues shaped like stout dwarves stood there, and in the center stood the statue of a long-bearded man. A man seated on a throne made of swords.
I immediately recognized his face.
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Master…
Liam Karavan.
A statue modeled after the first Karavan stood there. I slowly turned my head toward my master. Slightly different, yet the same man.
The young Liam Karavan— it was unmistakably modeled after him.
「Tsk, they should’ve set that right in front of the palace gate. No dragon would dare enter then.」
“……”
Ё_n ũm̌ а̇.і̀ d
「Seeing my younger face brings back memories. Every woman on the continent used to follow after me, hahaha.」
Hmph. Didn’t seem like the face for that.
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“Descendant of Steel, take this.”
Jerome Stone offered me an old lump of metal.
“What is this?”
“A key.”
Ѐñu m а̇ . і̄ d̀
A key?
“The Golden Vault is a fissure of the world. And to enter it, you must carry the Blood of Steel while also bearing the soul of the Dwarven royal line. Only when the two pieces fit together as one can you enter.”
“When you say they have to fit together…?”
“Use the Power of Steel, descendant of Steel. If you consume the will of the Dwarf Kings contained within that object, the Golden Vault will call to you. This is why no one has ever opened the Golden Vault until now.”
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Ah. So that was how it worked.
‘Store the Dwarven king’s soul in a blade and preserve it across generations, and only by absorbing it through the Power of Steel can one enter. Insanely thorough.’
Èńu ṁа̇ .іd
A method allowing only a Karavan to enter.
I accepted the key from Jerome Stone. Its worn, rusted appearance genuinely made me not want to eat it. Just imagining the metallic stench filling my mouth the moment it went in made my stomach turn. Not that I cared— I’d eaten countless horrible pieces of metal before. Heat it over fire and swallow; it all becomes the same.
「Young descendant.」
I touched the tip of the key to a torch for a moment. As heat spread through the metal, Liam spoke.
「Do not let your ancestors sway you.」
Do not be swayed—Liam told me that.
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「No ancestor has pleased me as much as you. No ancestor has had a heart as strong as yours, nor walked as straight a path. So do not be shaken. No matter what they say.」
“You don’t need to worry.”
I meant it. I had resisted countless temptations until now.
What was there to fear at this point?
「Good. I trust you.」
Yes, please trust only me.
Еn u̇mà. іd̂
“Hoo—!”
I took one deep breath. Then swallowed.
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A rush of heat surged from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, followed by dizziness.
My vision turned red, and in the next instant the world around me was swallowed by flames.
The flames washed away the darkness of the underground passage and filled the vast chamber with golden light. I blinked once, and—I was standing in a space overflowing with gold.
The floor, the walls, the ceiling—everything was gold. Transparent crystal chandeliers hung everywhere, and in every chandelier, long blades were embedded upside down. Swords. Nothing but swords.
Ẁ е b.nо v̆е̂ l̇ Еn̄ ǔ m̃ а̃
On the floor, walls, ceiling—there were swords.
“You’ve arrived.”
I stood there for a moment, overwhelmed by the dazzling scene. Footsteps echoed from afar.
Step, step.
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“We meet again since the Land of the Small Sword.”
“I didn’t expect you to come this soon.”
W̌ ё ḃňо vе̊l Е̂ñú_m̄ā
“It has been a long time, child.”
Familiar faces.
From the Blade City Cherville.
The three ancestors I had met in the Land of the Small Sword with Vermartin’s help—the old man, the youth, the beautiful woman.
Three Karavans approached.
And,
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“That one? The last Karavan.”
“A fledgling. But with a firm heart.”
“So he truly is the final Karavan?”
“He’s handsome. Un-Karavan-like.”
From the walls and the ceiling, countless presences stirred.
All of them were Karavans.
Ё n um̄ ä
“Welcome to the Golden Vault, distant descendant.”
There was warmth, a sense of returning home.
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But the warmth did not last.
“…Welcome?”
A voice like metal scraping across stone. A chilling sound rippled through the space. All the other voices stopped at once.
“How laughable. Who are you trying to welcome?”
W̌ѐ b̄n оvе̂l̃ Е̊ń u̇ m̊ a
Creeeeak.
A strange sound reverberated as the innermost part of the golden world trembled. There, embedded in the golden floor, was a pitch-black sword—made of the same black iron as Dwight’s Blade. The sword pulsed with an ominous energy like a cursed object.
The black blade shuddered. Then—WHAM—a force yanked me upward. My neck tightened. Gasping, I looked down— A man had grabbed my throat. He lifted me with one hand.
I tried to pry away his grip, but it wouldn’t budge. It felt like pushing against a mountain— not a living being, but nature itself.
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“So the first Karavan chose you?”
The man’s eyes were hollow. Blackened lids sunk deep like those of a corpse. His cheeks were gaunt, skin clinging to bone. He looked like a walking corpse— yet the soul within his ravaged body was impossibly immense. Like a legendary sword sheathed in a tattered scabbard.
Е ñ ŭ m а̄. і̀d_
“Has that old man finally lost his mind?”
Still gripping me, he glared.
The darkness in his eyes was like the abyss— as if every shadow of every night in the world had gathered there. Staring too long made my soul feel like it might get swallowed.
Then, with a sudden release of strength, he let go. My body dropped—thud, tumbling onto the floor.
“Or has age softened him?”
“...Khuek.”
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“Why would he choose such trash…?”
He looked down at me lying on the floor with the eyes one would use for garbage on the roadside.
“Answer me, last Steel.”
This man was unlike any other Karavan. A ghostly, cursed presence. A suffocating aura, heavy with death itself.
“In this accursed Golden Vault, the oldest soul— the second Karavan, and the ancient Karavan who inherited the thickest blood of Steel, Leon Karavan—asks you this.”
Around his neck hung a rotten rope. A noose.
W е b́ n о_vel̀ Ĕñ u mа
“Why did the first Karavan—Liam Karavan…”
It looked unmistakably like the mark of someone who had hanged himself.
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“…why did that detestable father of mine choose trash like you as his successor?”
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