Chapter 61
Half of the Madak Kingdom's territory was desert.
If Ahan Territory, in the continent's southeast, had a hot, humid climate, Madak, to its west, was hot and dry.
The temperature difference between day and night was also extreme, so the people of Madak had to battle the sun during the day and endure bone-chilling cold at night.
Because of its god-awful climate, Madak's clothing had developed into a style of wrapping large swaths of fabric around the body to protect the skin from sunlight while keeping out the cold.
The traditional attire of Madak was to wear a broad, square piece of cloth called a keffiyeh over the head and secure it with a ring-shaped band called an iqaal.
A man wearing a purple keffiyeh, which only royalty and nobles were permitted to wear, walked quietly but hurriedly.
After passing through a corridor paved with pale yellow sandstone, he headed for a small detached palace on the outskirts of the Madak royal palace.
When he opened the crude brown door, a man wearing an orange keffiyeh spoke to him from among the ornate, delicate tiles decorating the walls.
“What brings you here, Prince Idris?”
“If I've disturbed you, I'm sorry, Hakim."
Hakim's room was filled with objects Idris could not make sense of.
The air was stale and suffocating, as though it had been left to rot for a hundred years.
There were all kinds of magical-beast bones and shells, along with dark, unpleasantly colored solutions whose origins he could not even guess.
How could anyone possibly live in a place like this?
Idris desperately suppressed his urge to vomit.
"I can't sleep; I just came to see how things are progressing.”
“Nothing has changed much. His plan will end in failure.”
The light leaking from the court mage's hand illuminated a bookcase that wobbled as though it might collapse at any moment.
“More importantly, have you found the dagger?”
“The Empire contacted us this evening, and they said it wasn't in Semplu.”
“That can't be. Please tell whoever contacted you to hand it over without a fuss. Before I go to Semplu myself and tear up every garden there.”
After saying this, Hakim let out a grotesque laugh.
At the unpleasant sound, Idris subtly rubbed his sweat-damp palms against his clothes.
“…Does that book really contain even something like that?”
Seated on the wooden chair, Idris shifted his gaze toward the old book in Hakim's hand.
“If you pay a fair price.”
Hakim tossed the murky brown book onto the table and approached Idris.
“So, Your Highness, set aside any pointless questions or curiosity and simply do as I tell you.”
His sticky breath crept over the back of Idris's neck.
As gooseflesh broke out all over his body and a dark unease swept over him, Idris sprang to his feet and backed away from Hakim.
“Surely you haven't forgotten the humiliation of that day.”
“How could I have! As you say, I'll contact the Empire immediately.”
Pretending to be calm, pretending he wasn't terrified,
Idris raised his voice.
“May the Madak Kingdom prosper forever!”
Looking satisfied, Hakim raised both hands first toward Idris, then toward the sky.
***
Closer. Closer. A little closer.
He had only one chance.
Laisen kept chanting a spell inwardly as he approached Vieta and the World Tree.
Though it had been made using the Empire's technology, the magical artifact he carried was lacking in several respects.
One of those was its power.
To burn through the World Tree's sturdy bark in an instant, he had to strike it with the magical artifact from close range.
“….”
The pink eyes stared at him without a word.
Laisen suddenly wondered whether he could even draw the magical artifact under that eerie gaze.
‘My remaining arm might be severed as well.’
Even so, it would be better than becoming an exile.
After taking one last deep breath, Laisen swiftly pulled the magical artifact from inside his hood.
The red energy within the orb glowed in the darkness,
and Laisen quickly threw the orb toward the World Tree's thick roots.
“This is the end!”
As flames surged fiercely among the shards of broken glass, Laisen's face lit up with triumph.
“…What are you doing?”
But the powerful flow of mana that surged in from behind split the flames in half and swallowed them.
“That can't be!”
At Laisen's scream, his one remaining arm flew into the air.
Just as he had expected.
Ghh... ghh.
Having lost both arms, Laisen staggered backward until his legs gave out.
Then his upper body collapsed forward, and black smoke spread from the places where his arms had been severed.
The sight was similar to Tuoang's fall, and Vieta's face twisted.
“Do you control magical beasts too? They said you were a noble elf, yet you do nothing but despicable things.”
At her scorn, Laisen struggled to continue speaking.
“…No matter how blind I may have been…, I would never…, ever…, borrow the filthy power of magical beasts….”
“Who would believe someone trying to set the World Tree on fire?”
“Ha.”
The blue ground around Laisen was stained a dark red by the blood he had spilled.
“…H-Hero, y-you... you d-didn't b-burn the W-World Tree e-either, d-did you?”
“….”
“W-Why, d-do you h-have n-nothing to s-say…?”
In the few seconds Vieta remained frozen by the unexpected counterattack, Laisen's speech began to slur.
If she left him like this, he would surely die soon.
"Y-you... y-you and I-I... we're, we're ex-exactly the s-same."
There was no value in listening, nor did Vieta have the time to wait.
Vieta lifted Laisen, who continued mocking her to the very end, and shoved him straight into the goddess's subspace.
All that remained was to deal with Arba Tree.
***
Fortunately, after leaving the World Tree, Vieta had no need to use her strength.
Her dependable companions had extinguished the flames at Arba Tree before she arrived and neatly dealt with Laisen's followers and even the unidentified mages.
All that remained was to clear the Empire of the false accusation and soothe the enraged elves so that Elrod's position could be secured.
As they divided up tasks for the aftermath, Fulcare voiced a complaint for the first time in a very long while.
“Laurent, wouldn't you and Iseria be enough?”
Apparently Laurent had been badgering him in the meantime, because Fulcare's face had turned deathly pale.
True to his nickname, the Polite Berserker, Laurent's fighting style was extremely rough.
When he was with his companions, Vieta preferred careful positioning, whereas Laurent was the type to throw himself in first and think later.
In other words, the phrase shut up and charge fit Laurent perfectly.
“No. There are several people we need to investigate.”
Laurent, however, was firm.
“No, we have to protect the prince too.”
“Can't the captain protect him?”
“Doesn't the captain need to rest too?”
As though seeking her agreement, Fulcare looked at Vieta with a plaintive gaze, but she had nothing in particular to say.
The sooner the investigation ended, the better it would be for everyone.
"Just go and come back.”
In the end, Fulcare drooped his shoulders and was led by Laurent toward the subspace.
While Allos and Iris were busy tidying up the area, Vieta took some simple refreshments and slipped away to find Blanc.
Knock, knock.
Recalling how he had been crying alone earlier, she knocked on the door out of consideration for him, but there was no answer.
Knock, knock.
Thinking he might not have heard her, she knocked once more, but there was still no response.
Could he have collapsed?
At the unexpected possibility, Vieta's heart sank.
‘…He might be asleep.’
Though Vieta had been about to kick the door down in alarm, she changed her mind, quietly opened it, and went inside.
*
After Vieta left,
Blanc, left alone, could not tell whether he had fallen into a frigid deep sea or been thrown into the scorching sulfurous flames of hell.
His insides felt unbearably stifling and aflame, while his body, drenched in cold sweat, was constantly assailed by an icy chill.
At times, his breath caught in his throat and he felt as though he might die right then and there.
Amid it all, he was grateful to be alone.
He looked far too miserable for anyone else to see him like this.
After being tormented by the World Tree's powerful energy, Blanc quickly grew exhausted and soon dozed off.
How much time had passed?
Blanc forced his eyes open at the faint, dull sound echoing through the room.
‘Did I hear that wrong?’
His surroundings were quiet, and his sweat-clouded vision was blurry.
He tried to curl up against the chill washing over him, but his limp limbs would not obey their owner's command.
If Vieta saw him in this pathetic state, she would surely be upset, but he truly could not move even a finger.
The battle apparently was not over yet, for his chest still felt constricted, and the cold continued to prick at his skin.
Blanc closed his eyes to endure the pain.
Then, countless memories of Vieta flashed across the darkness behind his eyelids like scenes from a revolving lantern.
Like the survival instinct that drives a thirsty wild beast to seek an oasis, the endless pain and pitch-black despair made Blanc think of Vieta.
[I'll be back soon.]
As the image of her leaving the room for the last time came to mind, Blanc's emotions began to churn.
She had said she would be back soon, so why was she taking so long? Why did he miss her and want to touch her so badly?
Unable to understand his own childlike feelings, Blanc gave a quiet chuckle.
Then Vieta, standing before the door in the illusion, spoke to him.
“Why are you laughing, Blanc?”
“Because you're so beautiful.”
That's why he didn't want to be apart from her even for a moment.
If he could, he would always stay by her side.
He wanted her at his side.
Unable to overcome the emotions surging within him, Blanc murmured quietly.
“I like you, Vieta.”