Глава 14

The roaring golden ocean smashes against Rhodes Island. The sovereigns' will sinks into the sea of infinity, then rises up again at the only ship upon the waves.

Will the echoes of the kings never cease while the voices of the myriad remains?

No, it is not just the roar of the myriad souls that is causing this. That tower—

It's trembling. The tremors at the root have stirred the tides.

You have encountered them...

I could not see the end of this tower that stretches beyond the heavens, even if I etched incantations into my eyes.

Originium has obstructed my sight.

Is this your way of telling me that it is not my battlefield to intervene?

The waves answer the Banshee's call. The sovereigns beckon.

I will not yield.

I have promised with my song to they who have gone beyond the other side of the tower—

Ever shall Rhodes Island be our terra firma; never will it sink beneath the waves.

The young Sarkaz raises his bone pen and steps towards the void, writing incantations upon the waves.

The waves attempt to break free of their shackles, but the Banshee is silent.

He peers up at the sky, listening to the sound of the tower trembling.

He knows that King and King are clashing against one another, beyond where his eyes could see.

This is your war, Amiya... it's not my place to intervene.

I can only pray for your safe return.

'I can calm the angry roar of the myriad souls...'

'But the only true answer lies in cutting off the source of all our suffering.'

'What is suffering to us Sarkaz?'

'Is it the brief respite by the only candle in the dark mines after a long day of working in ice and snow?'

'Is it the murder of the children of a Sarkaz and a Liberi who truly love each other, committed by the fanatics of the frontiers solely out of fear of their appearances?'

'Or polishing our horns day after day, spending our entire life living in fear wearing a Caprinae disguise?'

'A Sarkaz may encounter countless forms of injustice and suffering in their lifetime...'

'Injustice has become the norm, the entirety of their lives...'

'Such that when they are asked what suffering is...'

'They could not answer.'

Atop the tower, the pure-white figure gazes down at you.

'The King of Sarkaz.'

You have spent so much time with that Cautus girl that you have forgotten the implications of this title until now.

Theresa was not the King of Sarkaz simply because of the crown.

What kind of strength, wisdom and cunning does it take to convince all Sarkaz to willingly, gladly call her their king?

Massive energies rush out from the tower, forming white threads and silk that stretch on and on without end, permitting no resistance.

I have never seen Arts of this kind.;None of the stories about Theresa ever told of anything like this.

Before she was the King, Theresa was a caster the likes of which is only seen once in a thousand years.

We're on her home ground.

This is not witchcraft, nor any power of the King of Sarkaz that I know of.

She is reconstructing and utilizing the information inherent within Originium.

Observe and understand what she's doing, Doctor. Help Amiya and W resist her attacks!

I'll try...!

This suffocating presence...

The feeling of impending death... she truly wants to...

No, there's no way! The real Theresa would never—

'The real Theresa'?

She cannot help but mock the ridiculous notion.

She casts her eyes at the familiar, yet impassive Theresa.

*Sarkaz expletive*, only one thing to do!

Damn it, these strange limits she's set have made my bombs useless.

We're all done for, if this thing keeps falling!

Do something, hag!

Ordinary measures are of no use here, not even Originium Arts.

That doesn't mean she can't be defeated. At least—

You mean the bunny?

She looks towards Amiya, still resisting the overwhelming Arts. A black crown floats above her head.

The power of the King can break through the limits of Originium.

I don't have a clue what you're talking about, but—

Right now, I guess I've got to trust you and the bunny.

W realizes that she started believing in Amiya a long time ago.

As she did on the burning command tower in Chernobog, when the bunny delivered the box with the key in it into her hands...

She believed that the city would stop.

W looks at the girl. She almost sees Theresa.

Theresa chose Amiya.

The one Theresa chose would not disappoint Theresa, or W.

If you're all bound up in the myriad souls—

I'll blow the myriad souls to pieces.

She begins to move.

She never hesitates or doubts herself.

The only thing she feels is excitement, the moment she came up with the brilliant idea of blowing those blasted myriad souls to pieces.

As she does whenever she goes into battle.

Bunny!

I know you can hear me!

W, I—

Don't turn around! Focus!

Use your magic rings to link me directly to the *Sarkaz expletive* myriad souls!

What—?

You can do that, right?

I know the Confessarii did something to bind the myriad souls to Her Highness. Let me hear what the old garbage told her—

Then I'll blow them to pieces. THEN I'll find a chance to talk to Her Highness.

I'll try!

Just be careful!

Enough talking, I'm ready—

W hears voices innumerable, but it is not as she had imagined.

She thought she would hear angry roars like the revenant's, but the voices are far calmer than she expected.

They quietly tell of countless lives and deaths as Sarkaz.

The sigh of relief when drifting farmers finally find a land to settle on. The last pleas of Infected thrown alive to the furnaces.

The futile howl of dying soldiers forced to watch their city conquered. The helpless cries of hungry children lying weakly on their beds.

So many different upbringings and circumstances, all bestowed a tragic fate just because they were Sarkaz.

Their joy, their anger, the emotions amplified by the span of nine thousand years—

If this was what Theresa was always listening to... why?

Was it the myriad souls' will that the twin kings came to be again? Was it their will that sent the Sarkaz into this war?

The Sarkaz engrave their sorrows into the myriad souls, and the will of the myriad souls leads those who come after on a similar path. This is a tragic cycle.

Hate ignites hate. Sorrow reflects sorrow.

...Is that all?

W feels like she is being swept along by a rapid current.

Her life is also amongst the voices of the myriad souls.

'I will detonate things and defend things.'

'I will destroy things and direct things.'

'They're living, breathing people, W.'

'I don't need you to tell me, Ines. Hoederer taught me the difference between people and things.'