Fleshcrafting Technomancer 38 Farewell Ostria

Kilian never planned to kill Klaus. His death couldn't sate his appet.i.te. Only by ruining all his goals, hopes, and aspirations then forcing him to endure the result across centuries, could his soul find peace. At least, those were his initial thoughts.

But now, it all appeared so meaningless. Could he even complete the miniature star before Klaus' predetermined death? And if he did, so what?

What an irritating situation.

For a second, Kilian wondered what use his revenge even held. Was it nothing more than a duty unto himself? A proof of his failings? The culmination of his rage and hatred, perhaps. Good to satisfy a brief fehl high. Yet, though his mind could see through the truth, his heart couldn't let go. Why should it?

Pulling in a deep breath, Kilian shut his eyes and formed a mental picture of Klaus' deeds. Did Klaus raise him to destroy him? Would shattering all of his plans and aspirations turn into his salvation gate? Or did more lie buried?

Who cast the curse?

"The eldars." The answer came nigh instantaneously. Almost 50 years ago, Niklas genocided the eldars. Though the most arcane gifted race of Arcadia, a dwindling population added to a lack of interests in the pursuit of power, weakened the eldars across generations.

However, masters of the arcane they remained. If not for Niklas' sudden and unexpected a.s.sault, they could have never perished so easily. And even then, the Divine Glory suffered non-negligible casualties. Knowing that only destruction awaited them, did the Eldar Exarchs gather their tribesmen for one final stand, and in their grief, hexed Niklas' very lineage?

That being the case, why did none of the three princes show those symptoms? The youngest, Ayden, currently was 21. How did they survive? Did the hex only affect one? Where were the lesser souls? All the questions and hypotheses swirled in Kilian's mind and finally united in a single answer.

His eyes opened wide, and he stood up.

"Pack your things, we're almost late for the Academy," Kilian stated and stood up.

Before his departure, there were still many things he had to organize, many instructions Olaf and his clones needed to follow. All along, Jezebel silently observed the fluctuations in Kilian's face and emotions, wondering when he'd inquire about her relations.h.i.+p with Niklas. However, he never did.

Did he care so little? Or, like he previously said, it just wasn't relevant? But then she remembered that he quietly took care of her for a week, and the rest became irrelevant.

…

Back in his study, Kilian faced Olaf, who bowed in silence.

"The creation of the miniature star, the venandi and the boyars' progress, all rely on my clones. However, the production of battle armors, aircraft, anti-tank weapons, and the missile defense system will still depend on you.

From now on, our subordinate dukes and marquises will provide you with various resources. I will also put six million qraftas at your disposal, and let you handle the revenues of the Celestial Garden."

Though inwardly, Kilian planned to make the miniature star the driving force behind all his energy weapons and armors, in the outside, he still needed to establish a robust "military state" to ensure Ostria could handle all challenges within Orloth. Based on the resources at their current disposal, in half a year, Ostria's modernization should be complete. At the very least, it wouldn't lose out to the capital of an imperial duchy.

"As you command, master!" Olaf replied. Having suffered extensive modifications across the past months, although in magical powers, he remained at Core Emissary level, just like the boyars, Olaf could now compare to a top-level High Emissary in battle prowess. However, there still was one problem left.

"In your last checkup, I had the clones implant you with a nanochip; activate it," Kilian ordered and, without delay, Olaf pressed his thumb on his right eyelid, squeezing it with mild pressure.

As if hit by a jolt of electricity, he staggered, teetering on several steps while confusion filled his blue eyes. In three seconds, the confusion vanished, replaced first by jitters, then waves of elations. Olaf's lips curved into a broad grin, and spinning 180, he wiggled his hips, waved his hands, screaming for all to hear:

"I AM BACK! I'm back, I, I, I'm back! I AM BACK! I'm back, I, I, I'm back! I AM BACK!"

Seeing this, Kilian shook his head. Because in the following months, Olaf would have to deal with many old faces, Kilian had his clones implant him with a chip that'd rearrange his neurons to mirror his previous behavioral styles. The result now stood before him.

Following five seconds of improvised nonsense, Olaf spun back to face Kilian and bowed with utmost seriousness.

"Lord father, have no fear, I will follow your instructions to the letter!" He solemnly pledged, and knowing that Ostria would be in the trustworthy hands of Olaf von Verden, Kilian shoved a nano-spider down his throat and left with great sorrow.

…

As an inst.i.tution located on an island northeast of the Imperial City, the Imperial Academy naturally stood thousands of kilometers away from Ostria. Applicants from foreign nations typically made the trip in flying vessels, frigate-shaped aircraft powered by dra reactors, and used for both offensive, defensive, and recreational purposes.

Though the average vessel possessed a speed of Mach 2.1, and the trip wouldn't take more than two hours, the academy organized a banquet to welcome its prospective students a week before the official opening.

They only had 14 hours left. If not to prevent any disturbance to Jezebel's recovery, Kilian would be long gone.

By now, Lena had handled all the necessary paperwork and had the vessel ready for boarding. Investing in aircraft was one of Olaf's first decisions as viscount of Ostria, and although he only possessed one, it spoke tales of his despotism and misrule. The average aircraft went for 10,000 qraftas, a price that counts couldn't afford. Where did the money come from?

At the base of the airstair, Lena stood in wait and welcomed Kilian with a polite bow.

"Master, all is ready. You may board at once."

"Jezebel?"

"Awaiting you in the cabin."

"You're about to leave the prestigious post of Sheriff of Ostria to make an enemy of Arcadia's elite and smack a great many deal of knuckleheads. Any regrets?"

"None whatsoever!"

"And they say romance is dead," Kilian sighed and crossed the airstair to step into the cabin—leaving behind a dumbfounded Lena.

What was the link with romance?

Soon afterward, the vessel took off, taking Kilian, Jezebel, and Lena beyond Orloth, and across Arcadia!

In a flash, one hour pa.s.sed. While resting on Kilian's lap, Jezebel used the time to explain the details of her confrontation with Klaus, Niklas' intervention, and how long the two of them would remain comatose.

Lena listened with rapt attention while silently wondering if the vixen wasn't exaggerating her contributions to impress the master. Kilian, however, appeared slightly distracted.

And while the two vied for attention…
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....dark purple light flashed from beneath the vessel, and Kilian saw a dark-purple arrow tear through his cabin!

Instantly, he seized Jezebel with one hand, Lena, with the other, smashed open the porthole and leaped beyond the vessel's range.

A ringing blast thundered, and the vessel burst into smithereens—catapulting the three toward the ground!