WeTried Translations

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Hydrogen B

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 256: The Land of Steel and the Faceless Humans - 5

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Even just before entering the control room at the very heart of the facility, the regressor and Historia had not reached a conclusion. Anyone else in their place would likely have been just as conflicted.

The regressor repeated a line she had said more times than she could count.

"I'm telling you, killing everyone indiscriminately isn't the answer!"

Historia argued back in much the same tone.

"There's no other way. What, you can't kill someone who's helpless? Do they need to stand up and challenge you to a duel before you can kill them? What a ridiculous knight you've become."

"No, even if their executions were only postponed, nothing good can come from doing that. If we clear out the alchemical steel refinery, the military state will eventually bring in innocent people to replace them!"

"Are you a knight or a prophet? Did you go see the future?"

"Yeah... No! Nothing can be solved with such a simple method!"

Since it would not come to blows, it was an argument that would never end. Faced with a question that had neither justice nor a right answer, the two argued from every angle without reaching a conclusion.

"Carapald" pointed uneasily at the iron door at the end of the long corridor.

"Th-that is the control room at the very heart of the facility, but..."

As Carapald tried to step between the two women growling at each other, Siati stopped him by pulling his arm.

"Carapald. Step back for now."

"I don't think there's room for me to intervene. What should we do? Should the princess have been here?"

"...It wouldn't have made much difference even if she were. These people don't follow the princess's orders."

"This is troublesome."

Carapald looked troubled, though inwardly he smiled.

The alchemical steel refinery was a facility so cruel that even military state soldiers clicked their tongues at it. One could guess at its horror from the fact that those being moved while pierced through with chains were receiving relatively good treatment.

In the next building, they saw prisoners screaming inside small cages. Funnels had been attached to the bio-terminals on their left arms, which they held outside the cages.

Melted alchemical steel dripped into the funnels. Each drop landed with a dull thud like a stone. The molten iron spread through their bodies, absorbed a great deal of mana, then made a full circuit and returned to the bio-terminal. A fruit of steel formed around their wrists.

The prisoners had to tear it off quickly if they wanted to survive. Otherwise, the growing weight would eventually break their arms.

The alchemical steel that fell onto the rails was carried away somewhere.

The process repeated mechanically until that day's labor shift came to an end.

'Hey! Save me! Please, I'll do anything!'

'P-please let me go! I'll never commit another crime! I'll be good!'

Cries for help flooded in, but the party, unable to reach a decision, ignored them and passed by. Their pleas for aid then turned into curses.

Leaving all that hell behind, the regressor and Historia arrived at the control room in the deepest part of the facility.

They were not weak enough to be emotionally wounded by something like that. Still, they had more than enough reason to hesitate.

"More than anything, they've already paid for their crimes once in a place like this. It doesn't feel right for us to kill them as we please."

"You're carrying out terrorism against the military state, yet you need every excuse in the world. I don't even need to see it to know how much Hui suffered because he put up with your nonsense."

"Why are you suddenly bringing that bastard up? This has nothing to do with him!"

Did they know?

Every sight they had been shown had actually been carefully designed by Zikhrund, who was playing Carapald.

He secretly observed their reactions. Reading emotions without looking directly at them was one of his specialties. After separating the positive reactions from the negative ones, he devised new routes whenever he sensed one side's response weakening, in order to compensate for it.

In the end, their opinions split completely, setting them against each other.

'Conflict, confrontation, and anguish. A perfect story. As expected, no lavish stage or theater filled with splendid audiences can compare to a stage built against the backdrop of this vast world.'

Carapald briefly recalled his much younger self.

The Empire's vassal states were called vassal states, but in truth they were little different from colonies. Food, property, culture, even people. The vassal states had to offer tribute to the Empire to preserve themselves.

Of all the tributes presented to the Empire, cultural assets drew the most attention. They required little expense, fed the vanity of the Empire's upper class, and carried distinct local character. Culture was the finest tribute a vassal state could offer.

The most talked-about form of culture lately was theater. To win the competition over tribute, vassal states sometimes ran theater troupes themselves.

Naturally, the most important part of a theater troupe was its actors.

They needed considerable talent to handle every sort of role. Exceptional memorization, keen observation that dug persistently into a subject, enough physical ability to recreate heroic tales on stage, and the flexibility to make use of acquired knowledge.

Before he came to be called the Shadow Casket, he had been an actor who could hold his own anywhere.

'But a vassal state that had to watch the Empire's mood could not reflect reality. I was a half-dead man who only lived on stage.'

An official sent from the Empire accepted bribes openly, yet no one could criticize them for it. People even had to disguise their bribes as something else, terrified of offending them.

Zikhrund found that amusing.

He felt no sense of injustice or resentment. There was not a trace of resistance in him, none of that bitterness people swallowed before power.

He simply found it funny.

If someone was ashamed, they should not take bribes. If they craved wealth, they should gladly accept it.

Yet the official acted dignified and superior in public while accepting every kind of favor behind the scenes. Zikhrund found the official so laughable that he mocked them without restraint. He attached a shabby beard and turned the official into everyone's joke through absurd acting.

It was only an expression of the humorous nature every artist possessed, but the result was devastating.

'Ahahahah! I had no idea back then, did I? That I would be doomed to wander the world because of it.'

His long acting career helped greatly. He escaped danger several times by acting calmly even before terrifying pursuers sent by the Empire.

Changing his face. Moving his residence. Altering his clothes. Changing his manner. Throwing away every connection he had.

Just as he was beginning to forget who he really was,

she found him, somehow.

'She said she wanted to eliminate corruption in a newly born country and needed my help! Ahahahah! What nonsense. It's not like I particularly care for incorruptibility!'

Still, Zikhrund accepted her offer. After years of pursuit, he was exhausted, and it was an unavoidable choice.

The threat to his life mattered, but more than that, he needed to preserve his sense of self. Zikhrund was a born actor, so he had layered dozens of personas over himself again and again. His superb acting had allowed him to escape danger, but he changed identities so often that he had reached the point where he could barely remember what his original self had been.

Yet she had come looking not for one of those dozens of personalities, but for the "self" that encompassed all of them. She became an anchor that defined who he was.

'Whoops! I almost forgot again. Focus. Focus. Don't forget. I am Shadow Casket Zikhrund, disguised as Carapald.'

Having composed himself, Carapald pictured his appearance again. An ordinary build, ordinary bone structure. The face of a man like a blank canvas, without distinctive features or a memorable impression. Zikhrund's own body, the one he had to return to once Carapald's performance was over.

An anchor of self created to preserve himself among countless personalities and identities.

Zikhrund resumed his performance and happily watched the actors before him. The conflict he had created was steadily escalating.

Normally, this was where a third party would mediate, but unfortunately, there was no one here who could settle things between them.

Tyr, who was at least relatively calm, urged the two onward.

[Decide on a course soon. Otherwise, I will bring Hyu here myself. Nothing can be settled without Hyu.]

"Tch. Fine. We do intend to destroy this entire facility, right? Before deciding what to do with the laborers, let's destroy everything first and think afterward..."

Just as the regressor reached a simple and violent conclusion, she sensed someone's presence beyond the corridor and frowned. Her expression changed in an instant as she glared sharply beyond the iron door.

"Wait. I can sense someone inside. Hey, are there guards in there?"

"...I-I don't know. It's an emergency, so perhaps there are. I'm not certain either."

'Guards? There is no way. Even if military state troops were hiding in there, they would not be much help. They would only become noise interfering with the conflict between the roles. The scene where the ambush troops appear comes much later.'

Everyone grew tense. Now that an unknown intruder had appeared, they no longer had time to keep arguing.

To Zikhrund's displeasure.

"Let's go in! I'll enter first!"

The regressor thrust both swords forward and rushed ahead. She crossed the corridor in just two steps, then kicked the steel door with all the momentum of her charge. Her kick, wrapped in dense qi, brutally dented even a level-three alchemical steel door.

"Who are... Huh?"

The regressor stopped cold just as she was about to swing her sword.

The room was filled with complicated machinery and unfamiliar noises. Iron clanged loudly against iron. Perhaps machines did not need light to move as humans did, because faint lamps dimly lit the control room at the very heart of the facility.

Standing in its center was none other than me.

I was the one who had run outside earlier, saying I could not endure this atrocity any longer, yet there I was in the deepest part of the refinery.

"Hui? How did you get here... Did you get ahead of us?"

[Hyu? You came at just the right time.]

Tyr, Historia, Siati, and Carapald appeared one after another. Everyone was surprised by my appearance, but only to that extent. I was an ally from the beginning, so there was no reason to be wary of me.

Only Carapald sensed an ominous turn of events and began to tremble.

"You... Why are you coming out of there?"

'Why is a role that has already left the stage over there? This isn't in the script...!'

With everyone's eyes upon me, standing beneath the dim light, I gathered my strength and spoke heavily.

"You arrived earlier than I expected. I wanted to finish before you got here."

Footnotes:

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