Ch.197Migration (2)

“Really now, if you’re going to call me mother, couldn’t you at least let me save face?”

Ortemilia grumbled her complaint to Llewellyn as soon as the audience had withdrawn.

“It was a scene I carefully prepared and deliberated over!”

Llewellyn looked at Ortemilia with cold eyes.

Come to think of it, Ortemilia had shown this side of herself when they first met too.

He sometimes forgot because of her mature speech, thoughts, and consideration despite her childlike appearance.

This was just another facet of Ortemilia.

Perhaps it suited her childish exterior that enjoyed showing off and flaunting.

Llewellyn silently observed her, then noticed people packing what appeared to be experimental equipment a short distance away.

They were the ones who had nearly been annihilated by Llewellyn and Lucilla but had barely survived.

They glanced at the man who seemed to be the younger sibling of the infamous Annihilation before retreating, and Llewellyn silently watched them leave.

“Are you listening? I even referenced what I heard from you…”

“You’re grateful?”

“Grateful? Hardly! That was the most entertaining part!”

Unable to contain her frustration, she punched Llewellyn in the stomach.

It was a feeble punch that wasn’t even painful enough to register as an attack.

If one had to assign a sound effect, it would be something like “tap-tap”—that’s how insignificant it was.

Llewellyn endured the punches for a moment before gently rubbing his temple.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong, you ask! Don’t you understand this aesthetic? You seemed quite pleased when telling that story yourself!”

Llewellyn refrained from hurting her feelings by saying that it was enjoyable only because it was drama, and that actually seeing someone imitate it in real life was embarrassing.

Even Llewellyn, as socially unaware as he could be, had enough tact for that.

Instead of answering, he quietly surveyed his surroundings.

It was a clean, well-maintained space.

“A laboratory?”

“Hm? Ah, yes. It was a laboratory. A place where they were replicating my medicine.”

Ortemilia withdrew her fist from Llewellyn’s stomach and placed her hands on her hips.

Llewellyn seized the opportunity to ask:

“What exactly are those things, and what were they doing here? Besides imitating what I told you about.”

Though Ortemilia still seemed somewhat disgruntled, she resigned herself to answering, as if compelled by some instinct to respond to questions.

“Recruitment.”

With that word, she methodically explained everything that had happened.

The decision she had made after careful consideration of what needed to be done while Llewellyn, Lucilla, and the God of Dreams were all absent.

To summarize it briefly:

“You’re accepting drug manufacturers as your subordinates?”

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

Llewellyn furrowed his brow in incomprehension, but Ortemilia was resolute.

“How many people in this land do you think can assist with my work?”

Quite a few, Llewellyn thought.

Even just considering mages, they should be able to provide adequate assistance. Llewellyn thought of Melody.

“Melody can’t do it. In fact, most mages can’t.”

“…Really?”

“Dark mages might be capable enough, but they’re like untamed wild dogs. If you mistake feeding them for having them in your grasp, trouble will follow.”

Llewellyn quietly nodded.

Those who would do anything for their research, who would cross any taboo for their ambition and knowledge.

That’s what dark mages were.

It wasn’t surprising. Llewellyn acknowledged this.

“So those guys can do it?”

“Yes. They’ve already stepped into ‘alchemy.'”

Alchemy is a technology that doesn’t exist in this world—at least as far as Llewellyn knows.

Potions, scrolls, and magical items exist, but they are products of magic, not alchemy.

However, Ortemilia’s alchemy was somewhat different from the “Earth alchemy” that Llewellyn knew.

In fact, Llewellyn’s understanding of the term “alchemy” might be due to the automatic translation of his status window.

It could very well have a name unrelated to creating gold in reality.

“To synthesize substances that affect the human body requires a certain level of magical and pharmaceutical talent and effort. Those fellows have both. It’s a rare opportunity to find apprentices.”

Llewellyn nodded, and Ortemilia wore a smug expression.

“So I recruited them. As you wished, I’ll gradually reduce the addictiveness of the drugs… helping rehabilitate the addicts while improving their skills.”

“Ortemilia, you have it all planned out.”

“Of course! Have you forgotten who I am? The greatest genius of the three clans, an archmage who could establish an entire school of magic and more!”

Ortemilia was unusually excited. Llewellyn, though somewhat dubious, humored her reaction.

“So what happened with the rest of the story?”

Despite steering the conversation in a different direction, Ortemilia didn’t get upset.

Perhaps it was thanks to her maternal instinct.

Ortemilia briefly made a blank expression before taking the lead.

*

Arba watched as the two who had disappeared toward the sewers returned with Ortemilia.

“Lady Ortemilia.”

Arba greeted Ortemilia first, rather than Llewellyn or Annihilation who could harm her at any moment and with whom Llewellyn had established equal power and friendly relations.

It was just as Ortemilia had said. Llewellyn looked at Ortemilia with surprise.

“I have returned. Well, are the preparations for departure complete?”

“Thanks to you, everything is ready.”

That too was as she had said. Not that Llewellyn had doubted Ortemilia.

Llewellyn recalled what Ortemilia had told him, and Ortemilia read his expression.

“What of the mercenaries?”

“We successfully persuaded them with the prototype Lady Ortemilia provided. Most agreed. Even those who didn’t initially agree followed once we offered compensation.”

“And the dark mages?”

“Hearing that Valterok is here, they seem to have changed direction and disappeared… Are you sure this is alright?”

“It’s fine. Dark mages are uncontrollable, aren’t they? The ‘apprentice alchemists’ are sufficient, so don’t worry.”

The conversation was practically meant for Llewellyn’s ears.

The God of Dreams remained quiet, as a talking head would only cause confusion, and Lucilla followed slowly behind her brother with her hands behind her back.

Only Llewellyn focused on the conversation.

Mercenaries recruited, dark mages expelled.

Dark mages and dark knights were like sheep and wolves, so it made sense.

There were also victims of dark magic who had been rescued by dark knights before, so it was natural.

Llewellyn had worried that Ortemilia might have accepted people indiscriminately, but that wasn’t the case.

Rather, she seemed to have been quite selective. Llewellyn could confirm this in the ensuing conversation.

Assassins were accepted, but cannibals were not.

Most of the sewers were prepared for relocation without announcement, and most sewer residents who were preparing to relocate together were expelled.

There would still be quite a few humans left in the city, but Arba was a woman who knew well what to cut and what to protect.

She was a knight before being the city’s ruler.

She said she had reluctantly accepted them but would have cleared them out anytime if desired.

‘Well, to lead a rebellion, I suppose that much is necessary.’

Llewellyn thought this and nodded, and after observing Llewellyn’s reaction, Arba spoke:

“Shall we depart then? It’s a long journey.”

“Hmm? Shouldn’t you be asking the master of the Pantheon here, Llewellyn, rather than me?”

“…Shall we depart, Llewellyn?”

Thoughtfully indicating who the person in charge was, Llewellyn nodded.

“Let’s go.”

With those words, most of the city gathered their belongings and began walking.

Some drove carriages or pulled carts.

But most walked.

Perhaps because the majority of the population was mercenaries, there was no one who couldn’t move or needed to be carried.

Most seemed to consider it virtuous to walk their own path, able to travel on their own feet.

Llewellyn found himself walking at the very front of the procession. Arba’s flag, attached to her long axe, fluttered as they followed the winding path.

If viewed from above, it would look like a path made of flags. Llewellyn thought this as he steadily walked toward the Pantheon.

[Play Time: 10,161 hours]

How long had it been since they left? The play time was displayed, but his memory wasn’t good enough to be precise.

Still, it felt like quite a while. Llewellyn thought this as he led the way.

The procession advanced along the long flag-lined path.

Sometimes they stopped, setting up campfires and establishing campsites.

Perhaps because almost everyone was a mercenary, the campsites were very simple yet had everything necessary, and thanks to the black knights’ tendency to keep the area clean, safety was assured.

Even without the black knights, monsters rarely attack a column composed entirely of experienced warriors.

Even if they did, Llewellyn and Lucilla could handle it sufficiently.

The procession reached the mountain range quickly and safely.

[Play Time: 10,187 hours]

Beyond the palisade, now with walls being built and a black tower standing in the center—the cradle of the black knights.

And the palisade visible partway up the mountain range in the distance.

These were changes that had occurred during his absence. Llewellyn closed his eyes briefly as he looked at the palisade blocking the path.

Thump!

Divinity emanated from his body, enveloping the surroundings.

A clear divine pulse. The soldiers blocking the palisade stepped aside, and black knights descended from the sky to offer a sword salute.

Llewellyn walked, feeling as if he were passing through a triumphal arch.

“It’s like a triumphal arch. I wanted to visit one someday.”

Lucilla giggled beside Llewellyn, while Arba followed behind, seemingly unadjusted to seeing the feminine side of “Annihilation.”

Though the journey wasn’t long, it had been enough time to see a side of Lucilla different from what Arba had imagined.

Llewellyn ignored Arba’s newfound gaze as he headed toward the Pantheon.

“What should we do? Where should we…”

“There are many sites in the mountain range. It would be best to discuss and decide. I’ll send someone there, so for now, stay here today.”

“The place is still vacant, right?”

“Of course.”

Thinking he could send Lie Hezedia, Llewellyn left Arba and the mercenaries behind and headed toward the Pantheon.

“Whew, I’m nervous. Please give me a moment…”

Ignoring the God of Dreams who seemed tense and asked for time, Llewellyn walked steadily toward the Pantheon.

That’s when he saw the flower bed that had been devastated by an explosion. It had been somewhat restored, with flowers sparsely visible.

There, Llewellyn saw someone approaching him in a straight line.

A woman who was predominantly white, which seemed out of place on the uphill path with warm spring breezes, but who exuded an atmosphere like a single flower.

Her ears perked up, and her plump tail gently swayed from side to side.

Llewellyn glanced at his sister beside him before stepping forward, hoping she wouldn’t interfere.

Belatedly, he spread his arms in welcome.

“Isla!”

“It’s terrible.”

He had hoped she might run into his arms, but that didn’t happen.

Instead, Isla stopped in front of Llewellyn and, unusually, displayed worry all over her face.

Wondering what could possibly be wrong, Llewellyn heard Isla say:

“Lorian has fallen ill.”

It was a statement Llewellyn could never have anticipated.