Chapter 238 — 윈즈 변경주
Chapter 238
The Wynz March
It hadn’t been long since Elric decided he ought to win over Andre Wynz, the Red Lion.
Who in the world is this man?
The thought had flashed through his mind.
Up to now, everything Elric had heard from Imperial High Command about Andre Wynz had been painfully simple.
A traitor to the Empire.
A collaborator with the demons.
A stooge for the tribes.
In short, a villain bent on harming the Empire and the Imperial House.
But to Elric’s eye, people were never that simple.
Especially the Red Lion—there had been no shortage of times he’d been portrayed as a loyal bulwark of the eastern march.
A man like that did not turn overnight.
More than anything—
What bothers me most is that he and Crown Prince Zeraitz don’t get along.
Elric’s own private, very biased judgment colored that thought, but the Zeraitz he’d met was no righteous man.
Given that the revolt had broken out in the collision with such a man, Elric assumed there had to be another side to the story the outside world didn’t know.
What’s more—
-Andre? He was never that sort. Honestly, he looks more like a scholar than a lion. Quiet, contemplative.
-What do I think of him? Pahaha! Of course he’s not lion-like. You’ve guessed as much, haven’t you? This whole thing was kicked off by the Crown Prince to cement his own power.
When he asked about Andre Wynz, Hermann and Sailor had said much the same.
Not lion-like.
The phrase tugged at him.
And after spending a long time operating beyond the Imperial frontier, many things stood out.
Everyone’s smiling.
The soil was poor, the mountain tribes could come raiding at any time—life at the marches should be harsh.
Yet those going about their livelihoods did not look like people living through war.
Only the soldiers’ discipline was ironclad.
In other words, the march was being governed very well.
He’s said to be soft-hearted, too… Do we really need to make an enemy of a man like that?
His conclusion followed.
-Let’s take the whole Wynz March in one piece and hold it hostage.
For your average noble—who would rate the lives of commoners beneath his own honor—the notion was unthinkable.
But Elric figured it was worth a try. Nothing ventured, nothing lost.
Even if that fails, I can still make this my turf.
Whichever way he looked at it, it wasn’t a bad bargain.
When all the fighting’s done and rewards are handed out by merit, he could ask for the now-masterless eastern march.
A land where the Star’s Campaign had been reborn.
Short as the time had been, his traces were everywhere. Elric liked the eastern march.
-Send Batu… back.
He’d also promised Priestess Sarnai—who had begged him to end the war—and he meant to keep it.
Thus—
Elric asked Augustine and the Senate to help him seize the Red Castle whole.
And just as he wished, a white flag was about to be raised.
Bang!
With a savage collision, the Ghost was flung back, then flipped in the air and landed lightly.
Beneath the deeply pressed wooden mask, his eyes gleamed balefully.
“Planning to swallow us whole, are you?”
The Ghost grasped what was happening in the Red Castle at a glance and his face twisted.
From the sequence of events, he’d already sniffed out what Elric was up to.
Swish!
Elric tidied his ice spear with a casual flick and smiled faintly.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to end this without heavy losses on either side?”
“Is peace all you’re after?”
“What else?”
“You expect anyone to buy that? Not even a dog would.”
Elric shrugged, feigning innocence.
That only made him more loathsome to the Ghost—and, in a way, more frightening.
It hasn’t even been a year since we met in the north… and he’s changed this much?
Back when they’d gone to abduct Prince Cromhel, the Ghost hadn’t found Elric all that noteworthy.
Elric may have thought he was blocking the Ghost’s approach, but the other soldiers were the bigger hindrance. Especially Hermann, the biggest obstacle of all.
Seeing Elric again here, the Ghost changed his mind.
Hermann and Sailor were still there, but Elric drew the eye most.
The instincts honed by a life as a killer screamed at him, over and over—
Run.
He’s like Andre—a natural enemy.
Thunk.
Resting the ice spear on his shoulder, Elric cocked his head and said,
“Instead of this, how about you give up and surrender? You’ve got eyes—use them. You know you can’t win this war.”
“…”
“Red Lion? He’s strong. I admit it. Batu? Mountain tribes are born scrappers. Demons? Those bastards are nasty. The Great Demon War almost toppled the Empire, so sure, they’re fearsome. But even so—do you really think you can beat the Empire?”
The Ghost said nothing.
Elric’s tone might be breezy, but his eyes were razor-sharp.
“Just the old men over there are insane, right? They don’t seem human. Want to know what’s scarier? Even with those old men, House Neresta isn’t number one in the Empire.”
“…”
The Ghost’s gaze flickered.
“That’s how crazy the Empire’s potential is. So how exactly do you intend to overturn it? You’ve seen enough to know.”
On that point, the Ghost had to agree.
They’d taken one Lion’s head, and wrecked a vertex of the hexagram that structured the Mage Tower.
Others might hail it as impressive feats, but the longer the war dragged on, the more he felt the weight of it.
The Red Lion’s army would fall eventually.
The first goal—bleed the Empire so badly that independence could be won—had already failed long ago, and the plan to spark civil strife by prodding the Empire’s hidden ambitious men was not going to plan either.
Still, the Ghost never voiced such thoughts.
He didn’t want to wound the soldiers who looked only to him and Andre as they charged through hell.
But he also knew that, with the mounting losses day by day, Andre couldn’t sleep without drinking.
“…Then what do you propose?”
In the end, the Ghost had to ask.
Thinking he’d half-won him over, Elric drove his ice spear into the ground and held out a hand.
“Take my hand.”
“Yours?”
“Yeah.”
“And who the hell are you to offer it?”
Elric’s lips twisted.
“Maybe I don’t look like much to you, but I hit the ancestor lottery before I was born. I’ve got pull.”
“…?”
“Thanks to my grandfather, I have something called the Danseo Iron Writ. I’ll give it to you.”
“What’s that?”
“A written guarantee that even a rebel gets pardoned once.”
“…!”
The Danseo Iron Writ.
A patent of merit granted only to saviors of the realm, bound in red, its pages laced with metal plates and wire so its words could never be erased.
The Imperial House had bestowed it upon the Star Mage, Usden Mervinger, after he led them to victory in the Great Demon War.
In short: for services rendered to the safety of Empire and Throne, this guarantees that if a descendant commits a grave crime someday, the Empire will close its eyes once.
So great was its weight that, across the Empire’s centuries, almost no houses held one.
And those that did treated it as the highest of honors, something to be worshipped and never used.
“…You’d really use that on us?”
“You been getting conned your whole life? I’m serious. Want me to swear a Pact of Mana if you need it?”
“…”
A thorough pragmatist, Elric had no such qualms.
It was a face-saving bauble the Imperial House had handed over because his grandfather had done what even they could not. Elric regarded it as a bond—as debt he’d saddled the Imperial House with.
So he meant to collect. And unlike real debt, there was no interest accruing with time. If anything, the Empire was getting off cheap, wasn’t it?
Whether they saw it that way or not was their business.
A thousand thoughts flashed through the Ghost’s head. If Elric’s promise was real, then for men marching into hell, it was a rope thrown down into the pit.
After a long moment, his conclusion was simple.
Shrrk.
The Ghost leveled his sword at Elric again.
Elric’s face scrunched up.
“Ah, hell! Why? I’m spoon-feeding you an end to this war—why say no?”
“There’s a much simpler way to end it.”
“What’s that?”
“Take off a few heads—yours, a handful of those old men, the Lions, the hexagram of the Mage Tower, and the Emperor’s. Twenty at most. Then tens of thousands don’t need to suffer.”
“You lunatic! You think this is some kind of numbers game?”
Elric barked, but the Ghost didn’t even pretend to listen.
“So stop me, if you want to stop that.”
Fwoosh!
The Ghost sank back into the air and vanished.
Elric ground his teeth.
In short, the Ghost was telling him to prove himself by taking him down.
“This is why meatheads with muscles for brains are hopeless!”
Elric had trained in more than a few martial arts, but he doubted he’d ever understand true martial fanatics.
“【Inhabit】.”
He decided to end it fast.
He let Nahatram’s soul ride him and stoked his dragonblood to the limit. The inner eye he’d sharpened after carving through Azazel opened wide, his Domain swelled severalfold, and his Maw Sense swept rapidly after the Ghost’s trail.
At that instant—
Zip—
The Ghost appeared behind Elric, eyes blazing murder, and swung with everything he had.
The blade kissed Elric’s neck—and met nothing. Elric’s severed afterimage blurred and faded.
Trap!
Only then did the Ghost realize Elric had slipped away. He spun—
But Elric was already out of his blind spot, driving the ice spear straight at him.
KRAAASH!
The Ghost’s body snapped back and skidded away. Shards of ice exploded in every direction as Elric chased close and thrust with all his might.
Boom-boom-BOOM!
Each time the ice spear detonated, a gale of mana roared out. The Ghost was shoved back, helpless to stop it. Even when he tried to vanish with stealth arts, it wasn’t easy.
Then—
Slice—
Elric raked the air with his empty left hand, and a razor wind slapped the Ghost’s face.
Tock!
The wooden mask split cleanly in two and fell. Seeing the bare face beneath, Elric smirked.
“So that’s what you look like? Un. Cle.”
The Ghost’s face went stiff.
The Mage Who Devoured Talent