Chapter 43

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: The Chief and the Lord
-----------------------------------------------------------------

“I just bathed…”

Lucy muttered, sounding wronged, but Whees swallowed his own agitation and silently brushed off his master's body as if nothing was amiss.

They passed the main command building and arrived at the annex where the underground prison was located.

“Ah, this isn't the place, is it?”

Just as she was about to step onto the stairs leading down, Lucy remembered that the residence of the person she was here to see had changed a few days ago. She turned and headed for a small chapel inside on the first floor.

The small chapel for the soldiers contained a few long wooden pews and a circular ring symbolizing the nameless god, sitting forlornly in the desolate atmosphere.

The only person in the empty chapel was a man sitting in a corner of the dais, reading a book.

Lucy broke the silence and stood before the man.

Sensing her presence, the man looked up from his book to see Lucy.

“I heard you have trouble with your eye, but it seems you're fine with reading.”

Duke Kill's son, Atlind Kill, managed an awkward smile, a look of unease on his face.

“This humble one greets Your Majesty. Only one of my eyes is blind, so I have no trouble reading.”

“Hmm. My apologies for interrupting your reading, but I'd like a moment of your time.”

“Please, think nothing of it. To have the honor of a private audience with Your Majesty in such a humble place… I am the one who should be sorry.”

His gentle tone and his hesitant, half-standing posture suggested he wasn't merely spouting flattery. Lucy instructed Whees to wait and promptly sat down next to Atlind.

The faint sound of rain, barely audible, filtered in through the floating dust motes. Lucy, who had been listening quietly to the rain, turned her eyes to examine the book Atlind was holding.

“Reading a theological text. You seem to have a great interest in the nameless god.”

“With my father at the temple, I suppose I was naturally drawn to it. There are many interesting points if you look closely.”

Lucy's eyes narrowed slightly.

On Atlind's face, smiling awkwardly with furrowed brows, there wasn't a speck of negative emotion like hatred or anger.

*Even for someone with a detached personality, how can he be so calm in front of a political rival?*

He was indeed an unusual young man, just as Walter had said.

Lucy continued in a soft voice, carefully observing his reaction.

“I'm telling you this in case you were worried, but Goedel Kill is doing well. It seems he's more at ease now that he's let everything go.”

“Is that so… I can understand. My father has a personality that adapts quickly to reality, so he may genuinely be at peace.”

“That's a good personality to have. I'm so petty that when I'm wronged, I can't sleep until I've paid it back.”

“…”

“I have something to ask you, Atlind.”

Atlind flinched, his gaze turning defensive. Lucy spoke in a tone as devoid of emotion as possible.

“Do you hate me for overthrowing your father and becoming king?”

Atlind's eyes widened before narrowing again.

He looked down at the theological text, then shifted his gaze to his fidgeting fingertips, and then to the dais where the symbol of the nameless god stood.

His eyes fixed on the circular ring, Atlind let out a hollow laugh.

“That is a question I would like to ask you, Your Majesty. Do you hate us?”

“No. If I hated you, I wouldn't have let you live. I simply believe we ended up in this situation because our interests clashed.”

“I feel much the same.”

“You don't hate me?”

“No.”

“Then shall we reconcile?”

Atlind, who had been avoiding her gaze, turned to look at Lucy with a troubled expression. Lucy offered a hand and smiled faintly.

“Goedel Kill still seems to dislike me, but I need him. And to change his mind, I need your help. I would like you to cooperate with me.”

“Why my father… If it's capability you're after, other lords would be more than sufficient. There's no need to persuade him.”

“What I need is not someone capable, but someone with credibility.”

Lucy said firmly, cutting him off.

“Now. Let's assume there's a village chief.”

“…Yes.”

“This chief is uneducated and ignorant, but he knows all the village affairs, inside and out. He knows when to plant the seeds and when to harvest. But one day, a new lord arrives in the village.”

“A lord… a new leader, you mean?”

“Yes. The new lord is well-educated and from a good family—a talented man you could present anywhere with pride. The lord pushes the chief aside and declares himself the ruler of the village from that day forward. The chief, who only happened to become the village representative, meekly returns to being an ordinary villager.”

Lucy’s gaze drifted into the distance as she continued in a low voice, as if talking to herself.

“Everyone praises the new ruler. But when something truly important comes up, they don't seek out the lord. They all go to the former chief to discuss their worries. The lord is smart, but he doesn't know when to plant seeds, or the time for harvest, or how many elderly people there are, or how many new children have been born, or which house is celebrating good news. He knows nothing of these things.”

Atlind nodded with a bitter smile, as if he understood the rest of the story without hearing it.

“From the villagers' perspective, the chief is a far more credible figure.”

“Precisely.”

“And that chief is my father. The new lord is you, Your Majesty.”

This time, it was Lucy who let out a wry laugh.

“Even if Goedel Kill is a traitor, his past record doesn't disappear. He wasn't blinded by personal greed to embezzle wealth, nor did he use his connections to muddy the political waters.”

Her slender fingers lightly brushed her white, porcelain-like cheek. Lucy toyed with her cheek, slowly closing and opening her eyes.

“No matter how brilliant I am, I cannot navigate this world alone. A ship may be maintained by a captain, but it is the boatmen who guide it through the sea. Your father has the power to unite those boatmen.”

“…”

“Above all, Kill must atone for his treason. I can't let him live so leisurely forever.”

Lucy gestured to Whees, who was standing at a distance.

Whees reached behind his back and produced a wine bottle wrapped tightly in dry vines, handing it to Lucy.

Lucy stared intently at the wine bottle, the corners of her lips pulling up a little more sharply.

“He seems to be living quite comfortably in that temple… I can't stand the thought of it. I'll have to work your father a bit harder. That's my conclusion.”

“I don't think my father will accept Your Majesty's command just because I try to persuade him…”

Lucy handed the wine bottle she was holding to Atlind. Atlind, who took the bottle in a daze, widened his eyes as he saw the label on the front.

“Your father seems to be cleaning here and there diligently, but he doesn't seem to have any talent for it.”

“…”

“Tempt him with this wine. Since he's a drinker, he'll know its value. Tell him if he comes to my side, I'll give him a hundred cases of it.”

“Well, goodbye.” With that one-sided farewell, Lucy stood up and disappeared outside.

Staring alternately at the wine bottle and her departing back with a bewildered expression, Atlind noticed the Raphi who had come with her standing there blankly, watching him. He tilted his head at the Raphi.

Tilting his own head in return, Whees approached Atlind with a bright smile.

“Well, let's go.”

Whees grabbed him by the collar, pulled him to his feet, and before Atlind could say a word, fastened a fixture over his clothes and dragged him outside.

“Wh-where are we going?”

*Wait, where, where now?* While he was stammering, the sound of flapping wings filled the air, and his body was lifted off the ground.

A light mist lingered over the damp earth, a remnant of the rain. The flapping grew stronger, and soon a fierce wind whipped around his body.

Atlind was left speechless, his mouth agape at the magnificent scenery unfolding beneath his feet.

“Hah… what in the world is…”

About ten minutes passed as he remained captivated by the view.

Atlind, clutching the wine bottle tightly and flailing his feet, noticed they were descending and turned his gaze in the direction the Raphi was heading.

In his single eye, the Temple of the Nameless God slowly grew larger, filling his vision.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

The rain must have stopped at some point, as the chirping of birds drifted in from outside the window.

Goedel Kill, who had been lost in thought while holding a cleaning rag, finally snapped out of it upon hearing the footsteps of the monks. A young monk, concerned for him, approached and took Kill's hand.

“I was worried because you've seemed strange since this morning… Are you feeling unwell? Shall I call another monk?”

“Ah, no. I'm fine. I must have been spacing out, lost in thought. More importantly, it's almost time for the afternoon meditation. You should hurry along.”

He gently urged the monk away, speaking as affectionately as if soothing a grandchild. The hesitating monk finally left with a backward glance after being hurried along by another.

Kill gazed at the spot where the monk had stood, then sighed and got to his feet. He was now alone in the chapel.

He went out to the backyard to wash the rag. He then went to a storage shed in the corner to hang it up, before slumping down inside the shed and beginning to mend a worn-out twig broom.

He carefully wove the bare bush clover branches together, tying them tightly, then wove in more twigs to gradually increase its size. As he was engrossed in his work, he heard a familiar voice from somewhere.

*…Strange.*

*That sounds just like Atlind's voice.*

“I must be getting old, hearing things.”

Amidst the chirping of the birds, he thought he heard his son's voice. *Father.* The distant auditory hallucination brought a wave of longing, and his eyes grew moist.