Chapter 322
Chapter 322: Our Lot Really Are Something Else
A blinding white radiance blazed into existence all at once, the pressure wave tearing through everything in its path.
The surrounding space fell into a prolonged distortion.
The scorching, desiccated air was folded up and crumpled into a mass, hurled outward in all directions.
The gorge shattered into scattered floating rock, and the drifting black cloud cover was completely obliterated.
The entire sky transformed into a pristine, pitch-black expanse.
Enormous blue clouds were scattered sparsely across the sky.
They tilted their slender forms outward, like a flurry of fallen leaves drifting endlessly away.
A dense sea of stars hung in the deep reaches of the night sky.
A pure, bright-white moon lay quietly in the darkness, silently radiating its luminous glow.
The surroundings became incomparably still—even the gentle passage of the breeze was audible with perfect clarity.
That enormous golden holy angel had long since vanished, as though it had never existed.
Under that one dazzling strike, not even a trace of viscous, putrid odor lingered in the air.
Only a simple coolness, and the scent of something scorched.
Under that force that could only be described as purifying everything.
This stretch of sky seemed as though no crisis had ever visited it.
Only the somewhat battered floating train still stood as proof of the extraordinary events everyone present had just lived through.
The entire magical train carriages shone brilliantly against the night sky—like a falling meteor.
The ministers remained afloat inside the train in the air.
The Knights steadied themselves and rose to their feet, staring blankly upward.
All of them were wide-eyed, as though the scene that had left them so profoundly shaken continued to linger before them.
They no longer knew how to put into words the sense of awe within them.
The white light had long since faded, yet still not a single person aboard the train had made a sound.
The entire carriage was utterly silent, but within every heart, something like ten-thousand-foot waves had risen, swallowing whole what remained of their rational minds.
Nearly all of those present had witnessed Viktor fighting at such close range for the very first time.
In that moment, they finally understood.
Why did Viktor—who could rightly be called the Empire's mightiest Mage—deserve to be called that?
They raised their heads, slowly.
The body of the black Goddess of Justice still lingered in the sky above.
The darkness around her nearly merged with the night sky, and the vast wings at her back stirring gently looked as though they could blot out the entire sky.
Her colossal form radiated justice and majesty in all directions as naturally as breathing.
Those concealed eyes seemed to be passing judgment upon all things.
And before that immense Goddess, Gwen floated quietly in place.
She too beat her pure white wings, creating a stark contrast with the black angel behind her.
Until a gentle gust stirred, tracing a path through the chaotic starfield, passing through the body of the Goddess of Justice as it began to gradually dissipate.
The colossal form began to fade like ash consumed by black flame.
The black armor upon her body cracked apart into fragments, scattering through the air like cinders.
As the Goddess of Justice dissipated, it was as though all power had been drained away.
Gwen's body, high up in the air, began to sway.
The white wings at her back slowly furled, dissolving into faint amber-yellow specks that gradually faded amid the swallowing black ash.
The golden crown atop her head was drawn out thread by thread, its shell vanishing piece by piece, until 2 golden filaments streamed away into the night sky.
What remained was Gwen with her eyes tightly closed, her body tilting sideways as she fell—plummeting in a straight line from the sky down toward the earth.
The onlookers watched Gwen, wreathed in orange flame, fall like a meteor, and their hearts lurched.
From a height like this, if she hit the gorge below, Gwen would surely die!
But in the next instant, a figure cut swiftly through the night sky.
Accompanied by ripples in the surrounding space, Viktor appeared directly beneath Gwen.
He simply reached out both hands—one catching beneath her legs, one supporting her back.
And held her firmly against himself.
Gwen had drawn on far too much power, and this had been her first time experiencing a battle of this kind.
So much so that she lost consciousness against her will.
However……
"You did very well."
Viktor held Gwen, suspended in the air, his eyes carrying a trace of satisfaction and tenderness.
This scene was witnessed by everyone in the carriage.
The long-silent carriage finally came alive with sound again—but this time, what emerged sounded like the hushed murmurs of people who had just seen something delightful.
High in the sky, Viktor's coat swayed gently, drifting above the shattered gorge.
Only calm and composure remained, flowing through the world like water.
At some point, Auréliane gazed through the carriage window at the starlight slowly turning overhead.
The only thing in her eyes was Viktor's familiar silhouette.
Full of longing.
***
3 days later.
Houses of red-tiled brick sat nestled among what felt like a forest. Passersby moved at a leisurely pace in all directions, and sparse cries of vendors drifted over from every side.
The night streetlamps flickered like fireflies—barely 3 parts bright—casting a cool light to guide those who passed.
But in the Kant Kingdom, regardless of whether they were men or women, beneath their fine and elegant attire, everyone wore a longsword at their waist.
A cluster of nobles in opulent court clothing had gathered at the Magic Train platform.
Like everyone else along the way, they too each wore slender dress swords at their sides.
They had assembled here as though waiting to receive someone.
Some had already begun to show signs of impatience, brows furrowed, pulling back their sleeves every few minutes to check the hands of their pocket watches.
Then they would raise their heads again, and their gazes would invariably drift toward the man standing at the very center of the crowd.
He was a middle-aged man who carried himself with a composed, settled air, with a thin, neat strip of a beard.
He bore no weapon, only stood there leaning on a fine walking cane, giving off an air of distinguished bearing.
A single glance was enough to make it clear this man was no ordinary figure.
One of the nobles approached him, facing the man and letting his gaze pass over the 3-star medal on his chest.
He then bowed respectfully and asked:
"Count Laurien."
The man addressed as Count Laurien turned his gaze toward him and gave a nod.
Only then did the noble straighten up and ask the question he had come to ask.
"The Empire—have they decided not to come?"
"They said they'd arrive in the morning, and it's already nearly evening. We've been waiting far too long…"
The man gave the noble a languid glance:
"What's the rush?"
"We are waiting for the princess of a nation—not waiting for someone's daughter to come to your house and make a scene over money."
"As long as the Empire hasn't clearly said they aren't coming, we wait here—even if we must wait until tomorrow, or until next month."
The noble who had approached fell silent immediately, and stepped back with some embarrassment.
Count Laurien gave a satisfied nod and continued to stand with composed dignity, gazing ahead.
Both hands resting on his walking cane, waiting for the train to arrive.
No one knew exactly how much more time had passed when, just as many were beginning to feel the drag of impatience—
All at once, a magical rail track gradually materialized in midair, extending in the direction of the station.
The nobles who saw this finally felt a wave of relief.
They had waited so long—their visitors had at last arrived!
As the Magic Train's tracks finished extending completely, even Count Laurien's gaze was drawn over.
And then, their eyes found the train hurtling in from the far horizon.
In that moment, every single person present couldn't help but freeze.
Could that thing still be called the Magic Train they knew?
The entire train was severely damaged. The carriage was dented and warped, the metal paneling almost peeling away from its frame—it looked dangerously unstable.
The slowly rotating wheels were bent out of shape, visibly wobbling as they rolled along the rails.
Black smoke seeped out from the underside of the carriages, drifting steadily upward.
It looked like a carriage someone had casually pulled out of a scrapyard.
The train came to a slow stop, and as it braked, the iron door shuddered—then detached from the carriage entirely.
It fell to the ground with a resounding clang!
Every noble waiting on the platform stared wide-eyed.
Even Count Laurien could barely hold onto his composure, his brow twitching slightly.
Then, finally, that train—which might as well have been an abandoned tin can—slowly opened.
Like the jaws of some great beast parting, a cloud of dust and smoke poured out all at once.
Down from that carriage stepped a group of diplomatic ministers in Imperial attire.
The moment their feet hit the ground, they burst into coughing all at once.
When they spotted the elegantly composed middle-aged man, they recovered somewhat and brightened considerably:
"It's Mr. Laurien!"
Since these ministers frequently served as diplomatic envoys to other nations on the Empire's behalf—maintaining cordial relations between countries—they were naturally acquainted with many foreign nobles.
The middle-aged man before them was a figure of considerable standing.
Laurien Nis.
He was a subordinate of the Kant Kingdom's mysterious Grand Duke.
And at the same time, a renowned 3-star Count.
In the Kant Kingdom, a noble's honor, status, and power were tied to the number of "stars" they could obtain.
A noble with 3 stars—like Laurien—was a Count with a territory to their name.
By extension: 4 stars, a Marquess; 5 stars, a Duke.
Each star tier came with strict criteria in terms of power and authority.
And this rigorous star standard had given rise to the Kant Kingdom's distinctly unique nobility system.
If one could acquire a single star in the course of everyday life, even an ordinary commoner could become a Baron—bringing glory to their entire family line.
And the paths to acquiring stars were many: advancing in power, accumulating honor and military merit.
So the Kant Kingdom was a nation where every person carried a weapon.
Even commoners by the roadside could be seen wearing longswords at their hips.
At this point, Count Laurien slowly straightened up.
One hand rested on the top of his walking cane; the other was placed over his chest.
He gave an elegant bow toward the ministers:
"Welcome, envoys of the Carencia Empire."
The ministers returned the courtesy politely—first giving the Count a formal bow—and then continued:
"Count Laurien, our sincerest apologies."
"We arrived so dreadfully late. We've made you wait a long while."
"The Princess will be descending from the train very shortly."
At this point, the nobles of the Kant Kingdom couldn't help but stare once more at the wrecked train, blank-faced.
For a moment, their eyes were filled equally with bewilderment and confusion.
Count Laurien too couldn't quite hold back, and opened his mouth:
"This train, just how did it……"
They desperately wanted to know: what on earth had happened to bring such a sturdy Magic Train to its current state of ruin?
However, the diplomatic ministers waved it off, forcing a casual air.
In the face of the Count's question, they spoke with the tranquility of people discussing something utterly unrelated to themselves:
"Ahh, nothing much."
"We just happened to blow up about half of the Nangabur Valley when our group passed through it, that's all."