Ch.411The Federation of Inma. Mount Kavalaia (2)

The priest headed to a place with an old, seemingly abandoned altar.

Though worn, it showed no signs of collapse, and the traces of human presence suggested it was regularly cleaned or used for ceremonies. Evidence of this could be seen in the lingering food smells that hadn’t been completely wiped away and the ground that had been flattened by people’s footsteps.

Judging by the absence of cracks, it seemed the altar underwent regular maintenance. The priest stood at the highest point of the altar and, struggling, began to descend with the thickest book Sun had ever seen, which he had taken from a box on the platform.

“Bring that here.”

“Yes.”

Sun, seeing how pitiful the priest looked, ordered his honor guards to help him. The priest, who had been descending the stairs with trembling legs, was able to safely come down with the assistance of the guards.

“My lord. Here…”

“Hmm.”

*Rustle*

Sun gently brushed his hand over the book. It wasn’t paper or parchment. It seemed to be made of some kind of strange leather. He showed the book to Simon and asked.

“I can’t identify the material of this book. Simon, can you tell what it is?”

“Hmm…? Just a moment…”

Simon blinked for a moment, then cast a spell, sprinkling light onto the book. The book glowed brightly for a moment before quieting down again, and Simon spoke with a furrowed brow.

“This is… human skin.”

“Human skin…?”

Upon hearing those words, the honor guards simultaneously placed their hands on their sword hilts. When the menacing sound of *shing* reached the priest’s ears, he began to scream and prostrate himself on the ground.

“Stop. Would you dare kill someone without my permission?”

“We apologize, my lord.”

“No, I understand your reaction. Well then, Priest? It seems an explanation is needed. To make such a thick book… I imagine more than just one or two people must have died.”

At a glance, the book appeared to have over 10,000 pages, meaning that at minimum, an entire village must have been sacrificed to create it.

Even if one weren’t the master of humanity, most decent people would gasp and draw their swords at such a revelation. If the priest couldn’t provide a satisfactory explanation, Sun would have no choice but to take his life.

“Well…”

The priest finally spoke. He explained that this book had been passed down from the Era of the Solar Eclipse, and was made from the skin of those who had violated the Golden Mountain Edict, which prohibited access to the upper parts of the mountain—the fundamental principle of the Cabalaria Mountain Alliance.

Such extreme punishment was possible in the Era of the Solar Eclipse, when universal ethics couldn’t be expected, and when monsters were responsible for national defense. If humans had been even slightly more dominant, they wouldn’t have made books from human skin.

“I see. If that’s the case, I won’t hold you accountable for this. It will be a tenet of the new empire that descendants do not inherit the sins of their ancestors. However, if you ever use this precedent to impose extreme punishment on criminals in the future, the sun’s wrath will manifest on this land. Do you understand?”

“Yes! Of course, Your Majesty! Thank you for your mercy!”

The priest’s face had turned pale. He seemed never to have imagined that “something like this” could lead to his death. This was common in rural areas, where people were trapped in local customs and old practices, internalizing behaviors that contradicted universal ethics and social order.

They couldn’t be called evil, but they could certainly be called foolish. Sun greatly lowered his estimation of the priest, then sighed and opened the first page of the book.

“Imperial script… hmm… something’s different… what is this? Was the notation different back then?”

He knew the imperial script, but that only meant he could understand the standard writing used by the military, officials, and in cities where administrative power reached. It didn’t mean he could understand the crude script of rural areas like this.

Though the imperial script was said to be unified, until just before the Era of the Solar Eclipse, each continent’s native languages remained strongly present in the form of pidgins and dialects. If these were directly transcribed into imperial script, they would be nearly impossible to decipher for someone with knowledge comparable to Victor’s.

“Simon, can you decipher this?”

“Hmm… indeed. It’s a mixture of this continent’s pidgin and dialect. Common in places like this. Give me some time… given the number of pages… it will take a while.”

“Take your time. We have plenty of it.”

Naturally, one couldn’t use improper script mixed with dialects and pidgins in official documents. However, in local government offices, especially in small villages, where all officials were locals and there was no need for approval from higher authorities, such improper script was often used in official documents.

After all, all locals could understand it, and it avoided the resentment of appearing pretentious—a win-win situation. The only problem was that it was incredibly difficult for future generations to decipher.

“It seems this will take a long time, so rather than struggling here, we should find somewhere to stay.”

When Victor spoke to the village chief, he nodded and guided the Iron Walker party to the best place in Cabalaria.

*

“I never expected a place like this.”

Surprisingly, the place the priest led them to was some old imperial military facility. More precisely, it was a radar base built on the middle of the mountain. It was built midway up rather than at the top to maintain some level of concealment, and after the covenant was established during the Era of the Solar Eclipse, the people of Cabalaria took over this base, which was situated in the middle rather than at the top of the mountain, and have been using it ever since.

“The inside is quite clean. Honestly, I expected cobwebs.”

“Strangely enough, it cleans itself without anyone having to do it. Isn’t this the power of imperial technology? As long as you provide some power, it maintains itself as if it were alive. Nothing could be more convenient.”

“Well… it’s a military facility, a radar base at that, so it’s not surprising it would have such technology.”

Naturally, if a radar became dirty, it couldn’t detect enemies. So it made perfect sense that it would have functions to automatically clean malfunctions or contamination. The power of the ancient empire could be felt in such small details.

If someone were to point out that even such a great empire eventually fell, there would be no counter-argument.

“This is the best place.”

“Here?”

The place the priest guided them to was where the anti-aircraft battery was located. The anti-aircraft guns still proudly displayed their barrels, and he was saying that the control room for these weapons was the best accommodation in Cabalaria.

In truth, it was hard to argue with that. The view was wide open. It was safe from surprise attacks. It could even protect against poison gas. It wouldn’t be breached by ordinary attacks, and it maintained a consistently pleasant temperature and humidity.

Except for the mechanical devices all around, it was like a hotel suite. Considering that the technological level of Mount Cabalaria was at best medieval to early modern, this place truly was excellent.

“Well, fine. At least we won’t be exposed to the elements.”

“I’ll bring your meals a little later.”

“Good. Please take care of my subordinates as well.”

“Understood.”

The priest closed the door and left, and the Iron Walker party sat down on the floor, exhaling deeply.

Among them, Victor sat at the weapons control seat in the command center. Perhaps because it was a seat meant for long periods of sitting, the chair was incredibly comfortable.

How many such facilities remained, he wondered. And how many people relied on such facilities to survive?

If he adjusted the angles of these anti-aircraft guns right now, they would reach the residential areas of Mount Cabalaria. Since the transcendent technology wouldn’t have been applied only to these guns, it wouldn’t take much time to wipe out the lives on Mount Cabalaria. The residents must know this, yet they chose to live below that mountain.

Because those who didn’t choose to stay had all left. The world was becoming increasingly connected, and before long, these facilities would be occupied by the newly formed imperial army. What fate would await the people below the mountain then?

It was certainly too trivial an issue to reach Victor’s audience chamber, so their fate would be determined by the local governor who ruled the area. Given the fame of the landmark, they probably wouldn’t meet a bad end, but as evidenced by his own past struggles to survive alone in Parsifal, not being able to determine one’s own fate was a deeply humiliating and shameful thing.