Novel Full Chapter 260: Iron Lotus [6]
Chapter 260: Iron Lotus [6]
Under relentless assault, the barrier eventually began to give way against Eisenreich’s defenses.
It endured far longer than anyone had expected. For over five hours, it held strong even as countless Cthulhus pressed constantly against the limits of its integrity.
——All hands on deck!
The announcement resounded through the ship as the sound amplifiers converted it into vibration, sending it reverberating through every corridor and bulkhead of the vessel.
“You should go,” Vanitas said.
“I don’t need you to tell me that.” Iridelle snorted, tucking the book under her arm.
Without another word, she turned and left the Eisenreichs’ library.
Vanitas watched her go, then reached for another book and settled into a seat. He crossed his legs and began to read.
The ship quaked a shook. Somewhere beyond the walls, screams echoed through the Eisenreich as alarms continued to blare. None of it seemed to reach him. He turned a page calmly, as if the world outside the library was nonexistent.
“They’ll kill me, huh?”
A grin slowly spread across his face.
“They’re welcome to try.”
* * *
“Pardon?” The Celestine War General froze. “What did you just say, Admiral Schneider? That it’s delayed?”
“Exactly what I said.” Admiral Julius Schneider said.. “The operation is suspended for the time being. Vanitas Astrea and Franz Barielle Aetherion’s execution is postponed.”
A stream of smoke slipped from his lips as he exhaled.
“At this stage,” Julius continued, “their survival is essential to the operation. Removing them now would do more harm than good.”
“…Is that so?” The War General paused. “And what of Astrea’s fiancée?”
“Don’t touch her. And don’t give her any reason to grow suspicious.”
“….”
“If they return without locating the leyline,” Julius continued, “and Astrea realizes we interfered, it will be a disaster. He will not cooperate with us at all. As much as I dislike acknowledging it. Vanitas Astrea may be the only one capable of finding the leyline for us.”
The War General fell silent for a moment, then nodded.
“I see.”
It had never been a call for aid.
It was an assassination.
A rumor had begun to circulate that Vanitas Astrea was a cultist, that he was colluding with the cult known as Araxys. In that light, everything he had done until now could be conveniently explained, or so they claimed.
Because of that rumor, the Zyphran Dominion chose to act on its own authority. After Iridelle Vermillion’s debriefing on the events within the Theocracy, the conclusion had already been decided.
The Zyphran Bundesritter seized the opportunity to request assistance from Aetherion. On the surface, it was a joint operation meant to deal with the accelerating spread of the Cthulhus.
In truth, it was two birds with one stone.
Suppress the threat of the Cthulhus, and eliminate Vanitas Astrea and Franz Barielle Aetherion in the process.
All the while, the two of them remained blissfully unaware that an entire nation was arranging their deaths behind their backs.
“That said… Admiral… can we even contain someone like that, if the need ever arises?”
Both of them turned at once.
Below, a woman with snow-white hair cleaved her way through the battlefield. Cthulhu after Cthulhu fell apart under her assault as if they were nothing more than blocks of tofu.
It was a surreal sight.
Where naval units struggled to maintain formation, she moved freely. Where even the toughest Bundesritter navy men were forced onto the defensive, she pressed forward.
She outpaced them, outclassed them, and overwhelmed foes that should have required coordinated suppression fire of spells.
The surrounding soldiers could only follow in her wake, reduced to witnesses rather than participants.
For a moment, the battlefield itself seemed to bend around her figure.
Slash——!
Margaret Illenia.
Perhaps she had the potential to join the ranks of the Great Powers.
As Admiral Julius Schneider watched her bladework, a slow chill crept up his spine.
Every strike was carried out with a certainty behind it, as if the outcome had already been decided before the blade ever moved.
He had felt this sensation only once before.
“Aston Nietzsche…”
And that was when he had witnessed the Sword Saint in action for the first time.
After being replaced by reinforcements, having endured wave after wave without pause for hours, Margaret finally withdrew to the rear.
She entered the tent, where refreshments and food were already being handed out. Franz Barielle Aetherion himself was there, overseeing the brief reprieve.
“Knight Illenia. May I speak with you in private?”
Margaret lowered the cup in her hand. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Franz led her away from the others, all the way to the tent reserved for the Emperor of Aetherion. The canvas fell closed behind them, muting the noise outside.
“Please,” he said, gesturing inward. “Take a seat.”
Margaret complied, setting the cup aside as she took her seat.
“What is it, Your Highness?”
“Do not consume anything Zyphran provides you.”
“Pardon?”
“They are here to kill us,” Franz said seriously. “More specifically, Vanitas and I.”
Margaret’s brows rose in shock.
“And since you are his fiancée, it is highly likely you are a priority target as well.”
“I… understand,” she said after a pause. “I will keep it in mind.”
“For the time being, we are relatively safe,” Franz continued. “Thanks to Vanitas.”
“I-Is that so…?”
“As long as the leyline remains unfound, they cannot make any overt moves. That is our leverage. Until then, prepare yourself for any variables that may arise.”
“Then I take it that I am to protect you for now, Your Highness.”
Franz eyed her for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“Hahaha! There really is a stereotype at work here. I am not someone who needs protection, Knight Illenia.”
“I am aware of Your Highness’s prowess,” Margaret replied calmly. “However, your life carries greater value than mine. By hierarchy alone, I am expected to die before you—”
“Don’t say that, Illenia,” Franz cut in. “Those words diminish Vanitas as well.”
“….”
“If you are ever to give your life for someone,” Franz continued, “make it be for him. Not for another man.”
“Yes. I know that, Your Highness,” Margaret replied evenly. “But I never said I would die for you.”
“Eh?”
“I only said that I should die before you,” she clarified. “Not that I would needlessly throw my life away for your sake.”
“…?”
She inclined her head slightly into a small bow.
“I apologize for my impertinence, but there should be honesty here. My loyalty does not lie with the crown. It lies with Vanitas Astrea. Before I am his fiancée, I am his knight.”
“Uh…”
That, in truth, was not unusual.
In the past, knights had not been symbols of absolute loyalty to a throne. They were professionals bound by contract and conviction rather than bloodline.
Their allegiance was owed to those they served, not necessarily to a crown or an empire. Some entered imperial service and pledged themselves to dynasties. Others chose their own paths, answering only to the names they deemed worthy.
Margaret Illenia clearly belonged to the latter.
“If that is all, I will take my leave. Have a good day, Your Highness.”
With that, Margaret exited the tent.
Franz remained where he was, blinking once. Then twice.
Ever since he had established himself as the heir and later ascended as Emperor, no knight had ever spoken to him like this before.
And yet, rather than irritation, Franz felt a sense of thrill stir within him.
“I apologize for this, Vanitas…”
He rose from his seat and stepped outside the tent.
“Illenia.”
Margaret halted and turned at the sound of her name. “Yes?”
Franz regarded her for a moment before speaking again. “Would you care for a spar?”
It was not wounded pride or anger that prompted the question.
He simply wished to understand the strength of someone who could stand before an Emperor and speak without fear.
What kind of person that stern, straight-faced Vanitas chosen as his future bride?
“No, thank you, Your Highness.”
Her refusal only deepened Franz’s confusion. “Pardon?”
“If I were to wound you…”
Ah. So that was her concern.
“I won’t put your head on the guillotine,” Franz reassured her. “I will take responsibility for everything.”
“Is that so?”
A faint twitch appeared at the corner of Margaret’s lips.
At last, there was an opportunity. An excuse, even, to strike the person who had stolen most of Vanitas’s time from her.
Margaret may have hidden her feelings well. So well that Vanitas himself believed she did not mind, that she understood, that she respected his responsibilities.
To him, she was never demanding more than what he could give.
But beneath the armor, beneath the calluses etched into her fingers, Margaret was still a woman in love.
And like any woman in love, she wanted time.
Time with the man she was to marry. Time that had been taken by the man now standing before her.
Perhaps it was jealousy. Perhaps it was something else entirely.
Whatever the cause, the ever-aloof Margaret could not stand it at all. She endured it by burying the feelings away, but the resentment was undoubtedly there.
To the point where, if it were ever possible, if it ever became truly unbearable, she would commit treason and behead the Emperor herself without hesitation.
It was all humor, of course.
“Very well, Your Highness.”
She had no intention of killing him. At most, she planned to teach him a lesson.
Margaret Illenia was ruthless to her enemies, yet before Vanitas, she was as gentle as a docile lamb.
The contrast was almost absurd. And if Franz was unfortunate enough to stand between those two sides of her, then that was simply fate at work.
Hopefully, he would not run to Vanitas afterward and complain about whatever was about to happen here.
“I will take the opposite side.”
That was the moment Franz realized it.
Perhaps inviting her to spar had been a very big mistake.
* * *
As Vanitas turned a page, legs crossed and posture unhurried, the air around him warped.
“Hello, Vanitas.”
He looked up.
A woman had appeared where there had been nothing before, clad in a flowing white dress. Yet the moment his eyes met hers, the illusion fell apart.
“Fyodor.”
Because it was Fyodor.
Fyodor smiled. “I see you’ve been busy. But do you have a moment to translate this for me?”
He extended a tabloid toward him.
Vanitas glanced at the paper, then lifted his gaze to meet his. “Is this entire leyline mess your fault?”
“Indeed,” Fyodor replied. “You could call it an industrial aftereffect. I’m quite pleased you’re cleaning up after me. So, could you translate it?”
Vanitas lowered his eyes again and resumed reading. The tabloid was written entirely in Korean. The contents, however, failed to surprise him.
“A lone tree cannot form a forest on its own,” he began translating. “But night will come. And every night is followed by dawn. A mere star that is destined to fade cannot hope to outshine the rising sun.”
Fyodor fell silent, turning the words over in his mind. After a moment, he let out a sigh and nodded.
“Cryptic as ever,” he said. “Archmage Zen truly was eccentric when he designed the seal. What do you think the passage means?”
Vanitas turned another page of his own book, as if the question itself carried no urgency at all.
“Perhaps…” he began, “the seal was never meant to be read as prophecy.”
Fyodor tilted his head but said nothing.
“If I had to guess,” Vanitas continued, “Archmage Zen wasn’t writing about victory. Or defeat. He rarely ever did in his scripture. But maybe it was conditions.”
He tapped the passage once with his finger.
“A lone tree cannot form a forest,” he murmured. “Maybe that refers to the Black Dragon itself. Something too absolute and singular. Powerful enough to stand alone, yet incapable of existing within a system.”
Fyodor folded his arms. “So the forest would be…?”
“The world,” Vanitas said. “Or time. Or even causality itself. I’m not sure. From what I could decipher from his scriptures, Zen liked to stack meanings until none of them could be separated.”
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
“And the night,” he went on, “could simply be the seal’s function. Not an ending, or destruction. Just… suspension. A prolonged delay.”
“Then the dawn?”
“Maybe it’s an era,” he said. “Or a state the world has to reach before the Dragon can exist without collapsing everything around it. Zen might’ve believed that some threats can’t be removed. Only postponed until the environment changes.”
He closed the book halfway, thoughtful.
“If that’s true,” he added, “then the seal on the Black Dragon isn’t failing in the way people think. It’s… aging. Doing exactly what it was designed to do.”
“….”
“Or maybe I’m overthinking it. With Zen, guessing was always part of the seal.”
“…Then this is far more complicated than I thought.”
“That’s because you’re looking at it from the wrong angle.”
“What do you mean?”
Vanitas leaned back. “How long have you lived, Fyodor?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Fyodor replied after a pause. “It’s been too long to count. But there is one thing I can say with certainty.”
“Hm?”
“I witnessed the Black Dragon’s rampage,” Fyodor continued. “And I witnessed its solitude.”
“….”
That meant Fyodor had existed during the era when Archmage Zen was still alive.
“Then,” Vanitas said, “try to think of it from an Archmage’s perspective.”
Fyodor narrowed his eyes.
“If Zen had simply wanted the Dragon gone, he would have destroyed it. I refuse to believe someone like him didn’t have the means to. The fact that he didn’t tells me he never believed destruction was the answer.”
Fyodor’s expression darkened. “You think he pitied it?”
’Because the Black Dragon’s vessel was his sister.’
But Vanitas didn’t want to tell Fyodor that.
“Perhaps he did.”
And so the question remained.
What, exactly, had been Archmage Zen’s motive?
History interpreted Zen as a tragic figure. A genius who had failed to defeat the Black Dragon, forced instead to rely on a seal.
But Vanitas knew better.
He knew the nature of the Black Dragon. He knew what it meant for Zen to have faced it.
Which meant one thing.
There had been something else at play. Something history couldn’t ever know.
“Have you ever heard of the Archives of Haven, Fyodor?” Vanitas asked.
“I am searching for it.”
“….”
“This stays between us, Vanitas. Many believe I seek to summon the Black Dragon as a form of salvation. A reset. A divine correction. That belief is convenient. But it is only a means to an end.”
“A means?”
Fyodor nodded. “I translated a passage once. I can’t guarantee its accuracy. You should verify it yourself. But according to that text, the Black Dragon is not merely a calamity.”
He met his gaze.
“It is a key.”
Vanitas’s expression did not change, but his eyes sharpened.
“The passage claimed the Dragon has ties to the Archives,” Fyodor continued. “Not metaphorical ties. Literal ones. As if its existence is intertwined with whatever lies sealed within its doors.”
Silence settled between them.
“Then our interests truly do align.”