Even after being born in another world, Farris had still been able to find like-minded companions. He must have dearly enjoyed cultivating his life’s passion with them.
“Most of the villagers were elderly. Among them was a man called Master Carzen.”
Zaimon suddenly reacted to those words. “Master Carzen? The Silvercastle Master Carzen Elminac? The one who created castles for the previous ruler of Balandias?”
Farris nodded. “Master Carzen and the castle carpenters he worked with came to a realization in their time at the atelier: They wanted to create a beautiful castle that wasn’t a weapon of war. I taught them the magic techniques I gained through creating Zeridheavens, and they began to pour their hearts and souls into castle creation.”
“I heard he retired due to age, as he was unable to create castles anymore...”
Zaimon’s confusion and disbelief was clear on his face. He couldn’t understand the purpose of a castle that just looked beautiful and nothing more.
“Master Carzen said he retired because he couldn’t extinguish the smoldering emotions in his chest. His fellow carpenters who felt similarly followed him when he left. They had all planned on quietly living the rest of their lives in that remote village. And although they all quit creating castles, they never quite understood what that smoldering feeling in their chests was.”
In telling his story, Farris spoke carefully, with each word practically overflowing with his sincerity towards art.
“And so our meeting felt like fate.”
From the sound of his story, there was no such thing as art or an art culture in Balandias. If there were, it was even less developed than it had been in Dilhade two thousand years ago. Such a lack was why Master Carzen and his fellow carpenters had had no understanding of the burning sensation—their hearts’ desire—in their chests.
But they had met Farris Noin, the famed creation magic artist, and he too had been seeking someone who could understand his works.
“It was like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. This was what they wanted to create all along. They hadn’t created tens of thousands of castles for war—they had created them simply because they liked castles. That was what their hearts had been crying out for this whole time. And thus, after many, many years, five castles were completed.”
Farris’s gaze returned to the five paintings. His eyes were clear.
“These are their posthumous works. They passed on with the most satisfied smiles on their faces.”
What had been smoldering in their hearts their whole lives was their love for castles, their love of their craft. When they finally realized that, their love had burned hotter than ever before.
“These five castles are the works of my fellow artists. They exist to be admired for their beauty and that is all. They are never to be used on a battlefield. I decided to frame them, to seal them from anyone trying to use them until the day Balandias’s war with the outer worlds comes to an end and peace finally arrives.”
Farris turned back to Zaimon.
“But one day, while I was away, the Tigrisfort Army came to the village. They stole all five frames with the castles inside. I wanted to retrieve them, but...”
He reached out to the paintings. The moment he made contact, his fingers were set aflame, and he automatically retracted his hand with a flinch. Maytilen, who had been curled up asleep this whole time, opened one Divine Eye.
“What are you doing? Mind the barrier,” she said before closing her Eye again.
“As you can see, I don’t stand a chance against the powers of the chief god. So I pleaded with the Immovable King. I promised to create a better castle than the ones he stole so that these five could remain in their frames.”
“And that’s how you became the Silvercastle Creator?”
“Yes.”
Farris understood the feelings of his fellow artists all too well. And so he had handed over his soul, all to make sure the works imbued with their souls would never be used for war.
“It may be mere castles to you, but to me—”
“Then let’s get them back,” Zaimon interrupted.
Farris looked like he couldn’t believe his ears. He turned around to look at the Royal Tiger, but Maytilen’s eyes were still closed in disinterest.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already spoken to our chief god.”
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Kaltinas has created too many enemies. While his efforts to bring Balandias to the deep levels is commendable, his methods to do so have repulsed many of his confidants and other castle lords. He is steering Balandias to its own ruin. Above all, he is not capable of being ruler.”
Farris stared at Zaimon in shock. “I thought you swore loyalty to Lord Kaltinas.”
“Only for the greater good. And for that good I will perform whatever I need to, pretend whatever I need to pretend. Not to quote him or anything, but Balandias cannot be saved by ideals alone.”
So Zaimon was planning a rebellion. Judging from the situation, the people we passed earlier also seemed to be in on it.
“I climbed this far by catering to his moods. The Royal Tiger has agreed to close her eyes to the rebellion for the sake of obtaining a better ruler of Balandias.”
“And will that be you?” Farris asked.
Zaimon shook his head quietly. “You do it, Farris. You detest war, so you know best when a fight is truly necessary. You are the one who is most worthy of being the ruler of the Silvercastle World Balandias.”
Farris was wide-eyed. He hadn’t been expecting those words at all.
“This way, everything can be resolved peacefully. You will regain your paintings, Balandias will gain a more worthy ruler, and the castle lords and I will gain a respectable master to serve. Even the chief god will gain more power in the end. If you wish for peace with Militia’s World for old times’ sake, then you can make that happen.”
Farris struggled to reply to Zaimon’s offer. He didn’t speak immediately.
“We cannot afford for this plan to fail. If the Immovable King learns of this, we’ll have no chance of success. But despite the odds, all you need to do is say the word, and I will give you my life. And I’m not the only one. All the castle lords will follow.”
“Zaimon, I...” Farris looked down in thought for a moment, then looked up. “I was just an ordinary artist. But I’ve realized that I can’t protect the works of my fellow artists if I don’t replace the paint on my brush with blood. In Militia’s World, I lived in an endless state of civil war. Most of Balandias’s wars were with outer worlds, but regardless of the opponent, war is still tragic.”
Balandias must have fought many miniature worlds that weren’t affiliated with Pablohetra. So it seemed that even though Farris had reincarnated with dreams of peace, he had been born in the flames of war once again.
“Two thousand years ago, when the Great War was worsening in Militia’s World, my comrades and the great king who protected me were the only reason I was able to keep painting.” He took the castle sword at his waist into his hands. “They spoiled me. It was only when I was separated from them that I first experienced what it meant to protect others. That was when I finally realized it—painting cannot save anyone. People need defensive castles and swords that can defeat the enemies, not paintings to look at.”
He clenched the castle sword’s hilt.
“It took me this long to realize something so simple. I was just a spoiled artist, painting while my comrades sacrificed their lives to protect me. I could never be a ruler,” Farris said quietly, as though he was confessing his sins. “One day, a light will be born in Balandias, and it will be the true light who can lead our world to peace. If you need someone to give your life to, Zaimon, I ask that you wait for this person to do so.”
Zaimon grabbed Farris by the shoulder, fixing his comrade with a fierce gaze. “That light will not be born, Farris. We’ve waited long enough. And you were the one who arrived!”
“You are the wings who will lead us forwards, Farris,” Zaimon pleaded, every word dripping with earnest passion. “You’ve fought as the Silvercastle Creator. We were able to make it through the harshest battlefields thanks to you and Zeridheavens. Above all, you always, always remained true to your ideals without fear of Immovable King, even when he threatened your life! All twenty-four castle lords of the Balandias Fleet and their soldiers approve of you!”
Zaimon then knelt on the spot, bowing down on both hands.
“Please, Farris, please. Fight for us. I will create an opportunity for us to show you our resolve. You are the blessed one of war, the wings of Balandias that fly freely through the battlefield. No one will ever stand in your way.”
He bowed to Farris, so low that his head touched the floor.