episode_0029

When I was young. When I was very young. Inside the shabby hut, Mother always told me a story she knew before I fell asleep.

Though my hometown was hungry, cold, and dangerous. No matter how much time passed and I changed as a person, that moment remained purely as a memory. Very purely. With the bedding spread in front of the softly lit lantern, I still remembered the countless stories Mother had told me.

Gently, gently.

The protagonists in the stories Mother told mostly had happy endings. Stories where, no matter what hardships and trials came their way, the characters in the story would help them overcome it. Standing by their side, offering strength, giving advice, and bringing enlightenment to the protagonist. Hopeful stories, where countless trials were overcome. In a city devoid of hope, Mother would tell me such stories, always instilling hope in me. She would say that no matter how difficult the situation, like the protagonists in the stories, I too would someday overcome my trials and find a happy ending.

“Most stories are made up, but ultimately, they also serve as a mirror reflecting a person’s life.” “A mirror?” Fantastical adventures, and various forms of trials. Even if individuals express them differently, the very process of overcoming hardships and adversities within the story’s narrative, is merely telling of the way to overcome adversity that only the person who wrote the story possesses. Overwhelmed by a giant enemy and falling into despair. Being betrayed by one’s closest friend. A minor misunderstanding leading to a great tragedy. Being abandoned by a loved one – such numerous hardships and adversities. Authors, she said, merely write out the solutions and problem-solving processes within their own stories, in the form of a narrative. Mother said that.

“So remember this, Agapé.” Though many stories contain many hardships and adversities, for every hardship and adversity, there are also countless ways to overcome them. No matter how hopeless it seems, no matter if you can’t see a way to overcome the trials, eventually, if you endure and strive and search for a way, you will someday overcome them.

“It is a very harsh world… but Mother hopes my son will remember that much.” Gently, gently. When I was very young, Mother said that while stroking my head.

‘I don’t know.’ I didn’t understand Mother’s words. Back then, I was too young to understand what Mother said. But as I grew older, and naturally recalled those past memories once again, reflecting on Mother’s words, I naturally realized one truth.

‘Overcoming hardships and adversities.’ Stories that serve as a mirror reflecting a person’s life. These stories are more numerous than the number of authors, and within them are written each author’s own methods for overcoming these challenges. However, I have heard and read so many such stories. Not a single one of them depicted a character overcoming hardships and trials alone.

Gently, gently. Drip-drip. I wasn’t born with a particularly sharp mind. Nor am I particularly wise. So, about complex things like fate and such, I don’t know them in much detail, as much as I hate them. But if there is fate. And if it is a huge wave that controls the flow of the continent itself. If fate itself is assumed to be like a story meticulously written by someone.

“A story, after all, also serves as a mirror reflecting a person’s life.” Then I wonder. How this story was crafted. How my fate was crafted. And, in this situation where there is no one by my side. How did someone craft this story, intending for me to overcome hardships and trials? What kind of inner self does that person possess, that unlike all the stories I’ve read, I must be so solitary and lonely, without anyone around?

“……” If fate is a type of story. Who, then, made this story? And what kind of inner self does that person possess? Mindlessly cutting down enemies who would soon become corpses, I was lost in past thoughts.

***

Creeeeak──── Thump────── As the audience chamber door creaked open, the thick scent of blood that filled the corridor crept into the chamber. Thump-thump. Before the smell could fully spread, I stepped into the audience chamber, which was filled with the scent of steel and roses. Gazing at the Empire’s audience chamber, the very heart of the imperial palace, I looked at a large but humble throne built upon dozens of steps.

The Golden Branch Throne. Made from a part of the World Tree, the Golden Tree, it was a unique artifact ‘personally crafted by the Navigator’ that amplified prophetic abilities. It was absolutely indispensable for becoming the Emperor of the continent, and at the same time, this throne was tantamount to the symbol of the Emperor. “……” 46 years. That’s how much time has passed since I was born into this world. Born in a cursed city, living a life worse than a commoner. As a powerless vagrant, I was busy just shrinking myself, and I took up a sword to survive. I wielded my sword to protect precious things, and then I was abandoned by those very precious things. And once again, I lived a life pursuing only strength, ultimately arriving here.

I looked up at the Emperor’s throne. The throne, which was tantamount to the Emperor’s emblem, was not as grand as I had imagined; instead, I felt only its humbleness. To the point where I wondered if it truly was that great Navigator’s artifact. I could feel an unknown, mysterious aura, but other than looking like a luxurious chair combined with golden branches, it had no special features. Its appearance was so simple for a chair representing the Emperor’s authority that a small sense of futility even washed over me.

‘In the past—’ That seat seemed so magnificent. A position to stand at the apex of the world and wield influence over all people. And the dukes and high nobles who followed the Emperor, and even the kings and nobles of the kingdoms. To me, who was treated worse than a street commoner, they seemed like great superhumans residing in a very high place. But now, standing in this place, seizing the heart of the Empire and personally driving the Emperor from the throne with my own hands, my past self, who could do nothing against such mere people, felt even more pathetic.

Thump. Thump. I approached the throne. With each step I took, the mysterious power of the throne began to distort Joshua’s form.

Crumble-crumble. Soon, cracks appeared all over his body, and small fragments began to fall. White hair. White eyes. And even the body clad in plate armor. The closer he got to the throne, the faster the illusion dissolved, and consequently, the form hidden within the illusion began to reveal itself.

Clank-clank. His footsteps, which had been clad in leather boots, grew heavier, making the sound of steel clashing. The dull silver plate armor disappeared, replaced by thick golden armor. The white hair and blood-covered face vanished, and a golden helmet formed upon it. Only the polearm, taken from a knight rather than being an illusion, maintained its true form, as Joshua’s appearance completely transformed into that of a knight in golden armor.

Thump. Thump. Thump. An enormous physique over 2 meters tall. His large build and the thick armor he wore made him look like a small giant. The murderous fiend-like appearance, covered in blood, vanished without a trace, and in its place remained only a small giant clad in thick armor. He ascended the steps, slowly climbing towards the throne. Darkness completely obscured the eye-slits of the helmet, making the inside invisible, but occasionally, strangely shaped golden eyes would gleam, gazing at the throne.

In a vision filled only with black and white, I continued to gaze at the throne. In a black and white world, the throne exuded a mysterious power, revealing its presence while emitting its own color.

‘Divinity, perhaps.’ A divinity of a different class than mere prophets. The great divinity contained within the Golden Tree seemed to reside even in the throne made from it. Having reached the throne, I sat upon the colossal throne and looked down at the entire audience chamber.

With the Shahlnu Knight’s giant polearm in one hand, I took in the scene that the world’s ruler had seen every day, into my black and white vision. His golden eyes repeatedly dilating and contracting.

‘I was vaguely afraid.’ After Roland told me about future events, I thought his words literally meant the worst-case scenario, and I feared the power of fate. But having experienced a future beyond what Roland spoke of, and as time passed, having driven out the Emperor and sat upon the throne, now, neither fate nor Roland’s words, which had only spouted grim futures, instilled any fear in me. To fear anything, I had already lost too much and experienced too much. So, after a very long time, I recalled a friend’s face and spoke. ‘You said no matter how much I tried, there was only a predetermined future for me.’ If Roland were in front of me now, I would probably have said this: “Is this future, too, just one of the countless futures you have seen?”