Chapter Twelve: The Butterfly That Sets Its Wings in Motion (Part Two)

“We are acting on behalf of the Church, as well as representing the collective hopes of several nations in the East and Center, and at the same time upholding an ancient pact, to extend a hand of friendship to the young Republic of Landia, Sir Lind Knight.”

“However, I am not optimistic about your Prime Minister. Much like the name of his party, he is too enamored with liberty. He does not afford us the respect we are due, but you are different. Ten years ago, when you were merely a Herdasyn parliamentarian, you began to criticize certain policies of Warrenheit; seven years ago, during the Great Parliamentary Debate, you stood up and confronted him; five years ago, you led your party in the successful blocking of a motion, restoring your party’s reputation; three years ago, you exposed a scandal among the Liberty Party’s MPs, almost causing them to lose face, nearly breaking apart the government cabinet.” The Bishop narrowed his eyes, recounting each of Kidd’s triumphant moments. At the founding of the Republic of Landia, the Democratic Party and Liberty Party were neck and neck, but since Warrenheit’s administration, the Liberty Party had nearly suffocated the Democrats until Kidd’s star began to rise, slightly reversing their decline.

“These are all trivial matters.” Although Kidd spoke modestly, his eyes shone with pride, and his fingers tapped the table as he pondered the Bishop’s earlier words. “Could you clarify a bit more? For instance, what is this pact you refer to?”

The Bishop smiled, “This pact was forged after humanity buried the Rochester Earthling Dynasty. The Celestial Dynasty you are familiar with was among the signatories. Of course, the terms are simple and refrain from interfering in domestic affairs, which is why, when your people overthrew the Celestial Dynasty, we did not intervene directly.”

“So you mean this is a pact among human nations? To collectively oppose elves or resist the Orc Empire?” Kidd asked, puzzled.

“Not quite. The pact’s scope is far broader, and consists of two parts. The first part allows the Radiant Church unrestricted missionary work among human nations; but this does not apply to elves, orcs, and other non-human powers. As for the second part, tell me, Parliamentarian, have you ever heard of a mysterious group who call themselves the Transcenders?”

Kidd’s expression changed subtly, and he hesitated before replying, “Oh, I’ve heard a little. It’s a secret from the Celestial Dynasty’s archives, said to be people from another world. The Celestial Dynasty considered them the most dangerous and terrifying—just as we now treat the Commyneson Revolutionary Group on the Gall Plains.”

Sir Lind Knight spoke up immediately, “Ah, Parliamentarian, believe me, no matter how much the people of Landia despise the Celestial Dynasty, in this matter they were not wrong. The second part of the pact is aimed at these people. It binds not only human nations, but even our mortal enemies, such as elves and vampires. The stipulation is simple: the Transcenders must be eradicated.”

Kidd rose from behind the table, lifted his hands and let them fall. “Wait, can you tell me why? The Celestial Dynasty’s secret documents are few; most were burned when the palace was set ablaze by enraged citizens.”

“Because…” Child stared at Kidd, as if searching every nuance in his expression. “The Church’s first discovery of a Transcender was Rochester himself—the mad, brutal, and, yes, incredible and powerful Earthling Emperor. He cared nothing for the lives of his subjects, only for his own boundless demands. Yet his strength forced everyone to submit, and they lived in darkness for over two centuries, until one day he vanished, and then everything changed, as you surely know.”

“The races began to rebel against the Earthlings, uniting to overthrow them—I know,” Kidd said.

“Yes, without Rochester, no one could command the vast golem legions; and without a leader, the divided earthlings were no match for the united races,” said Sir Lind Knight.

“Then, are you saying Landia should join this pact?” Kidd asked.

“And do you believe it should not?” Bishop Child countered.

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On a hillside more than a hundred kilometers from Valencia, a cluster of golden starlight descended. Wei Wuji withdrew his traveling light and stood still. This was the highest hill in the vicinity, offering a panoramic view. Wei Wuji’s eyes flickered between scenes, sometimes clear, sometimes blurred; his ears, pointed and upright, seemed to listen for something.

This was a Daoist spell called Heavenly Sight and Earthly Hearing. Wei Wuji scanned the area within fifty kilometers but found nothing—his target was nowhere to be seen.

With a few leaps, Wei Wuji landed on the main road from Valencia to the Gall Plains. Here, the crisscrossed marks left by passing carriages revealed no clues.

Thinking it over, Wei Wuji continued along the road. According to Amango’s information, the Commyneson Revolutionary Group was in the direction of the Gall Plains.

Now, more than five hundred kilometers from Valencia, the black-clad warrior Gamio was driving the carriage. The horses had been changed six times already; the relay stations between Valencia and the Gall Plains had been raided by marauders. Two black-clad bandits had stolen the horses meant for the government army's messengers—these were the reserves that allowed urgent messages to travel eight hundred kilometers to Valencia in a day, relying on constant horse exchanges and relentless speed.

Using horses seized from the relay stations, the carriage maintained its pace. Laiad came to relieve Gamio at the driver’s seat; Gamio had been driving eight hours straight, his eyes bloodshot.

Laiad nudged his usual sparring partner. “Go get some sleep. I’ll take over.”

Gamio slowed the carriage so he could hand over the reins. “Alright, I’ll rest. Don’t stop; change horses again at any relay station. I suspect Valencia is in turmoil since the Hegel family vanished. That great statesman won’t want the leader and Mr. Hegel to meet. By now, those secret units from the Inspectorate are probably tailing us.”

As the carriage slowed, Laiad took the reins, grinning. “Let them come. We’ll show them what we’re made of.”

Gamio left the driver’s bench and climbed carefully into the carriage. Inside, seats lined the front and rear, leaving space in the middle for four to six people—or up to ten, if some crouched. At present, only three occupied it: Hegel, chief engineer of the Republic’s First Auxiliary Armaments Works, and his family.

Gamio squeezed next to Hegel, facing two women. “Hey, make some room. I haven’t slept in eight hours. Ah, let me rest my eyes.”

“Mr. Gamio, how much longer until we reach Commyneson’s base?” Cecily couldn’t help but ask. Her mother, beside her, sat with eyes half-closed, her face pale as rotten wood fished from water.

“At this pace, another day and a half. It’s about twelve hundred kilometers from Valencia to our base. Don’t worry; once we reach Commyneson’s base, you’ll be safe,” Gamio replied. But looking at the three, especially Lady Serra’s ghastly complexion, he felt something odd about this family, though he couldn’t pinpoint what.

After answering, exhaustion overtook Gamio. He soon fell into deep sleep. He was still injured; Laiad had easily infiltrated the Hegel home and spirited them away, but Gamio had served as bait, luring away two Inspectorate agents, and had driven the carriage non-stop since their escape from Valencia, alternating with Laiad, who, being a mage, took over for four hours at a time.

Gamio didn’t know how long he slept before being jolted awake by the carriage bumping over rough terrain. He opened his eyes and called out to Laiad, “Hey, what’s going on?”

The mage’s reply drifted on the wind, “Damn it, the road’s gone. The highway between Valencia and Gall City is only half finished. There’s no relay station, and the horses are worn out.”

Gamio looked around in alarm. “You fool, you took the wrong road. The highway isn’t complete, but there’s a dirt road the carriage can barely manage. But look where you’ve brought us—there’s a forest over there!”

The mage retorted, “And who told you to sleep? You know I’m always getting lost, yet you gave the most critical fork in the road to me!”

“Do you think I don’t need sleep? Enough, reverse the carriage and get back to the last fork!” the black-clad warrior snapped.

Panicking, the mage fumbled with the carriage. The horses, stumbling over something painful, neighed in distress, and instead of reversing, the carriage bolted forward.

“Damn it, what are you doing? I said return to the last fork! You idiot mage!” Gamio shouted.

Even under such misfortune, the mage refused to yield. “You’re the idiot. I’m an excellent dark mage, not an expert coachman!”

The commotion had the family inside the carriage asking what was happening. Gamio could only reassure them that everything would be fine with him there. But before he could correct the mage’s navigational blunder, the carriage crashed into a thicket. Sensing danger, the horses tried desperately to break free from the shafts, and the carriage overturned.

Two frail figures were thrown from the carriage at the critical moment; the mage-coachman rolled like a ball and collided with a tree.

“Oh, Father!” Cecily cried, scrambling to her feet. Lady Serra remained composed, but hurried toward the carriage.

“Don’t come any closer,” Gamio’s slightly embarrassed voice came from the carriage. With a loud crack, the carriage broke into several pieces. Cecily saw Gamio stand slowly, holding a long blade, while her father, Mr. Hegel, leaned pale against the black-clad warrior, only dusty but otherwise unharmed.

“Oh, heavens, that was close,” Cecily said, tears brimming as she helped her father.

Gamio, embarrassed, addressed the three, “I’m terribly sorry. It seems we’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”