< 117. The Pearl of the Wilderness, Ptaha (2) >
The night in Ptaha was dazzling. The undead, who had no need for sleep, threw festivals and banquets as if there were no tomorrow, laughing and chattering away.
Some pretended to be heavily drunk, staggering their way home. Others boasted about their heroic deeds, while a few bold specters suddenly drew their curved swords and challenged others to duels. Both the challengers and the responders were merely playing the role of drunkards, and no one took it seriously.
This city was like a daydream. A fantasy created by the undead who believed—or had to believe—that they were still alive.
Ptaha was the desperate struggle of the undead, unable to accept their state after the boundaries of the Soul Realm had collapsed.
Thus, they did not discriminate against the living. Because they themselves were pretending to be alive. A pitiful deception.
However, ironically, this made it all the easier for the living to infiltrate this City of Wraiths.
‘How pitiful.’
-Is that sincere?
‘Yes. Those fools know that this festival will inevitably end one day, and in a very ugly way. They just refuse to face their own demise until that day comes.’
That’s why it’s pitiful. Fernandez sat quietly, his calm eyes gazing down at them from the city’s spire.
-You know, don’t you? Your way of thinking is no longer the same as mine.
‘Didn’t we agree that it’s a difference created by the flesh?’
-That’s just a hypothesis. We have other hypotheses, don’t we?
‘…Yes. A hypothesis I don’t want to accept.’
When Faijashi and I returned to the past. That is, a little over a year ago. In front of the campfire in that cold coniferous forest, on the eve of my 16th birthday.
At that time, the soul of Faijashi, an eighty-year-old man, had entered this body. Clearly, he was the same person as before. Even though he now inhabited a young body, his essence hadn’t changed.
But from the moment Vaitas implanted the Stigma and split the soul, Fernandez and Faijashi began to walk entirely different paths.
This was intentional. They had decided not to follow the records of the past and to use their power to save this world this time.
However, even their tendencies and emotions were no longer the same as Faijashi’s. Fernandez and Faijashi came up with one hypothesis.
‘The soul of the sixteen-year-old Fernandez.’
Where had the soul of Fernandez, who had lived for sixteen years before Faijashi entered the body, gone? According to Vaitas, who claimed to have created the horizontal world, that soul must still be here.
What if the fragments of that fragile soul, which had been melting under the weight of Faijashi’s powerful spirit, had taken on Faijashi’s memories and become independent? What if it was a newly constructed soul, arranged by Vaitas?
This emotional, impulsive, passionate, and sometimes excessively ‘righteous’ behavior. What if it was created by Vaitas?
It was a horrifying hypothesis. Fernandez didn’t want to believe that his spirit, soul, and essence had been woven by someone else.
‘I am an independent being. Faijashi.’
-I hope so. Otherwise, wouldn’t it be too ridiculous? The whole puppet show of ours.
‘Even if it were so.’
Fernandez looked up at the night sky. Toward the vast expanse of the heavens scattered with stars. His blue eyes glowed gloomily.
He stared at the beings who were watching them from somewhere far away.
The sealed Temple of the Gods in the heavens. Toward Vaitas, who was watching him from above. As if declaring, he spoke briefly.
‘I am an independent being.’
He and the gods were not in a hierarchical relationship. They were partners. And Fernandez would never sign an unequal treaty.
Even if the end of this journey was nothing but a game, even if all these events were part of a scheme in your palm.
‘If there’s no part for me, there’s no part for you either. Vaitas.’
A pawn with his son’s life as collateral? Of course. But Fernandez was not subjugated to Vaitas.
Because Vaitas, too, had his daughter and this world as collateral.
-Whistle…Boom!
A firework slid across the night sky and exploded brilliantly above his head. The undead, who were celebrating, chattered noisily as they poured wine and food into their hollow stomachs.
Fernandez turned his gaze to a building in the distant Garam district.
‘The signal fire has been lit.’
It was time to begin. He stood up, strapping his greatsword to his back. Soon, his shadow swept across the rooftops.
Selina Kesselhof. Team leader of the Western Strategy Team 3, also known as the ‘Grave Hounds,’ of the Imperial Iron Side’s Gray Circle.
She was lamenting her situation as she looked down at the spoiled wine that emitted a sour smell.
The undead had no sense of smell. They tolerated most food ingredients as long as they were ‘plausible.’
Thus, among the many ‘wines’ they possessed, very few actually fell into the category of real wine.
[Come on, drink up! Hahaha!]
“…Yes, yes.”
Selina looked at the undead, who were noisily chattering and flaunting their ornate gold jewelry, with pity.
Those vain undead were still pretending to be living nobles, adorned with the excessive luxuries and burial goods they had possessed in life.
“Sigh…”
How had she ended up like this? Selina poured the wine away, avoiding the undead’s eyes, and forced a smile to appease them.
Hiding a sigh, she grabbed her pipe, and one of her subordinates approached from behind, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
“Team leader. Imperial intelligence.”
“Speak.”
“The Shaksisi have all disappeared.”
“…What? They retreated?”
“According to the situation… There’s information that a large number of the living have fled near the West Gate.”
“Source?”
“We have someone who bribed the guards. It’s almost certain.”
“Prepare.”
Selina crushed the tobacco leaf and took a sip of water. A spark from her finger lit the end of the pipe.
Inhale.The sound of dry leaves burning could be heard. Soon, white smoke seeped from her mouth.
She whispered in a quiet voice.
“Prepare for their ambush. It’s a trap.”
“…Would they be crazy enough to attack where the prince is?”
The subordinate glanced at the noble who was laughing and chatting. Prince Meremre. He had defeated the Beastman Nobility who had fled to the Empire, and after his rival Neferka suffered an absurd defeat, his political standing had skyrocketed.
He was one of the top five figures in the court of Pharaoh Tutankhamun Gartep. His personal skills were also outstanding, and in close combat, he was always counted among the top warriors below the Great Warrior.
He seemed like nothing more than a stupid, vain, and incompetent undead. But attacking him in the heart of the city meant having no intention of surviving in this city.
Therefore, Selina had not acted immediately, even though she had known for days that the Shaksisi were hiding. Attacking rashly would only scatter them and cause trouble.
As the leader of the strategy team, she had learned to see the bigger picture. And if you’re going to see the big picture, it’s always more strategic to push the situation to its worst extremes.
‘Neither the enemy nor our allies can grasp the situation…’
