Ifa, without a weapon, had killed Gerald. Nelly stared at her exposed white fingertips, asking coldly: “What exactly is this gear?”
Ifa, clasping her hands to her chest, smiled: “Isn’t it clear? This is the truth of the world, the truth you want to investigate.” She raised her hand, sending the Demon King flying backward, crashing into the stone wall before barely propping himself up.
Nelly gripped her dagger tighter, observing Calsas’s situation, and asked: “You could have killed me just now, so why didn’t you?”
“Oh my, that won’t do,” the Duchess laughed, “Because you are the only hope of stopping the Demon King.”
“Heh,” Nelly sneered, “Didn’t you just stop him?”
Lady Ifa looked helpless: “I can only suppress him here. Such a naughty child, always lawless once outside.”
Nelly calculated her attack methods and chances of success but found it difficult to decide.
The other party clearly didn’t want to harm her; rashly attacking might mean certain death. She at least needed to understand the monster-like spiral gear formation… and then destroy it.
The Duchess seemed to see through Nelly’s inner turmoil, releasing a low laugh and walking to the invisible barrier as if no one was around, touching the smooth shield, turning to Calsas with a smile: “With the living sacrifice and priest both present, it would be a shame not to give a speech.”
As she spoke, she easily passed through the barrier, turning dramatically.
In that instant, the gears simultaneously stopped, the intense light suddenly dimming.
He is the last surviving member of this kingdom’s tribe, stubbornly waiting for the death that will eventually come in his former homeland. Accompanying him, besides the ghosts of his kinsmen, is only the treasure in the cave behind him. He quietly turns around, passing through winding paths like a maze, arriving at the deepest part of the cavern. Countless gold rings, gold arm bands, gold cups, armor, sharp weapons, and shields are stacked like mountains, glimmering in the dim light. These are the kingdom’s carefully preserved rare treasures, now guarded by this nameless last descendant.
He can’t help but think that even if these treasures are exposed to daylight after his death, no one will know how a group of people once greedily and tirelessly accumulated these precious items.
“Warriors will grow old, kingdoms will fall, history will be forgotten… such is fate.” He bitterly smiles, murmuring to himself as he bends down to pick up a gold cup, which no one will now fill with fine wine.
Weak fingers trace over the gradually rusting armor, whose owner has already turned to bones.
The rare sword remains sharp, and merely touching its edge draws blood on his fingertips, but no one can wield it anymore.
He droops his head dejectedly, waiting for the shadow of death to cover him and freeze his last heartbeat with cold.
The last ray of sunlight in the cave is swallowed by the night, and everything falls silent.
The savage ghost Gael discovers this dwelling and occupies it as its lair. It doesn’t understand how to use these treasures, yet remains mesmerized by the gold’s gleam, repeatedly picking up the sandy treasures with its massive claws. Gael considers them its own and craves more and more treasures. Though lacking consciousness, the gold’s radiance is like a curse, inexplicably exciting and unsettling the ghost, preventing it from naturally sleeping in the darkness. It wants to go out into the daylight, drink more blood, obtain more shiny things.
The ghost Gael attacks the palace of Harga, the new ruler of Vildya, destroying the magnificent hall, its claws stained with warriors’ blood, deeply gouging the earth. The ghost believes there will be a treasure trove beneath the Red Castle, but only destruction awaits it.
“By the name of the sword in my hand, I swear I will cut you down today!” Harga raises the sword Brave Heart and charges toward Gael.
No one has ever witnessed such a brutal battle.
The collision of sword edge and sharp claws makes the hall shake; villages miles away can hear the ghost’s furious roar and the endless, repeated collision sounds.
This battle continues from midnight to dawn.
Gael finally falls, causing the earth to tremble.
Harga cuts off the ghost’s enormous head, holding it high in his left hand, and smiles victoriously at his subjects.
The next moment, Harga collapses to the ground. A fatal wound in his abdomen bleeds, staining his armor.
Hremont leans close to his brother’s ear, trying to discern his final words.
The great hero Harga laboriously whispers: “Gael’s lair… the treasure… must find it… bury me with it…” The wounded king pauses briefly before continuing to breathe: “Take care of… my sons…”
Hremont promises through tears.
He finds Gael’s treasured vault as his brother said, but when he and his attendants stand before the mountain of gold and silver, he feels unexpectedly sorry.
These gold cups, swords, and rings will be placed in the most beautiful ship with his brother’s body, as ministers weep while filling the cabin until the ship is too heavy to carry more. This ship will sail forever from the homeland with the great hero, to rest somewhere in the waves, unknown to anyone.
In the deep sea bottom, these treasures will be eroded beyond recognition. How would fish understand their beauty?
How tragic! Hremont silently laments as he returns to the Red Castle. His nephew rushes up with reddened eyes to hug him. Hremont strokes the child’s soft hair and looks at the Red Castle, pursing his lips.
He says: “Sleep, children.”
These children will never wake again in their small coffins.
The kingdom falls into war, with ministers divided into factions, turning swords against former companions. Hremont’s faction gradually gains the upper hand, but he finds it increasingly difficult to sleep. He never forgets the treasure in that seaside secret cave, constantly fearing someone might steal it in the chaos.
He recalls the rings given to his confidants and kills everyone who knew the secret of Gael’s treasures.
The lone king’s path reaches its end, and Hremont dies embracing the secret known only to him. Vildya, obscured by gunpowder smoke, in the endless killing with no tomorrow, the legend of Harga’s secret buried treasure gradually becomes known, but no one finds that gold vault.
Someone steps into the treasure-filled cave again, only many years later.
The kingdom newly established, Melot Dynasty’s founder Clovi I is in high spirits. He rides his horse, suddenly reining in, circling in place to show off his riding skills, then dismounts and looks at his respectful subjects: “Is it really Harga’s treasure in the cave?”
Lord Clair bows and answers: “Your Majesty, blessed by the goddess, inheriting the hero’s treasures is only natural.”
Clovi laughs, slapping Clair’s shoulder, and walks into the cave, falling silent while looking at the glittering treasures. He says flatly to the marquis: “This must be kept secret.”
The other’s expression tightens, and he bows deeply: “Understood.”
The Claire family was originally powerful, and even if Clovis had thoughts of silencing them, it would be impossible to implement. Rather than becoming enemies, it was better to join forces and share the treasure.
From that time on, the Merlo dynasty prospered and grew strong, with prosperous and obedient territories. His Majesty the King was wise and capable, and the people lived in peace and happiness. The oracles of Noen Palace always said that the goddess blessed all directions, and this was the best of times.
However, by the third generation of the kingdom, the territories gradually became restless. The political situation was still turbulent, with civil war imminent. Chancellor Pepin mediated between the Claire family and the Aquin Duchy, but tensions remained high.
