Epilogue
THE TRAIN CARRYING HAROLD sped along at an incredible pace. It felt wonderful. Harold was in the first-class seats for this test run, and he had the carriage all to himself. He sat in a lavish velvet chair in the luxuriously decorated car while he sipped expensive wine. He felt like a king.
It was still winter in the empire, and though there was a certain loneliness to the scenery outside, that too was part of its charm. When the train passed by cities and towns, he saw people waving as it went by. He tried to wave back, but the train flashed by them in mere moments.
Four hours had passed since the train left the imperial capital. It stopped on occasion for the loading and unloading of various cargo, but even then it was far faster than using a horse-drawn carriage. The world was still a long way from making flight an everyday means of travel, and trains were sure to start a revolution—although they used the same engines as airships, the fuel cost was much lower, and they could carry vast amounts of people and freight.
“Amazing that they’ve managed to cover so much ground in just two short months,” Harold said to himself.
The train’s abilities were a marvel, of course, but even more amazing was Vulcan Industries and how it had connected the empire’s main cities in such a short period of time. Even taking away the fact that they had received strong support from the nation, the engineers, the class-buffed laborers, and their excellent use of resources were astounding.
Then again, by the time Johann publicly announced the railway project, all the preparations were complete. They were just put on hold when Noel made a point of inserting himself into the situation.
“Nothing if not a handful, that boy,” Harold said. “Making everything harder for everyone…”
The words were perhaps harsh, but the expression on the old man’s face was kindly.
Noel was a storm. He did not mind what trouble he caused for others, and he was not against wrapping the entire nation in his schemes so long as it meant he came out on top. The scale of it all was what drew people in, and his very existence was now a necessity. Crisis and calamity loomed over the empire, threatening its destruction.
A Valiant was a cataclysm that defied order. Without a hero who could come and wrap the whole thing up like a storm, it could not be defeated. Harold knew this for certain—he had been there for the battle against Cocytus.
“He has so little time remaining too.”
The empire desired a true savior. A messiah. But for Noel, displaying the smarts and abilities that surpassed all others came at great cost. Even now, Harold almost wished his best friend hadn’t put his beloved grandson on the path of the Seeker. It was Harold’s duty to stop Noel, but he didn’t. Instead, he supported the young man. And though it was necessary for the good of the general public, as Brandon’s friend, it was nigh unforgivable.
“When the two of us meet in hell someday, the first thing he’ll do is smack me in the face.”
The sun began to set, spreading a golden light across the lands. Harold let out a sigh as he gazed at the scenery soon to be blanketed in twilight. Right as he lit a cigarette, the door of the carriage opened, and a commanding, black-haired man arrived in a long, white coat. He stood in front of Harold with a daring smile.
“You are Harold Jenkins, correct?”
Harold’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. He did not know this person. The man clearly wasn’t one of the train conductors, but he didn’t look like he worked with the freight either. Even though they were meeting for the first time, Harold also felt something like déjà vu.
“My apologies, but you are…?”
“My name is Empireo, Soul of the Samurai.”
“Soul of the Samurai…?”
“This is the first time I’ve ever uttered my name to your kind. Perhaps this will help clarify?”
Harold was on guard as the man held out his right hand, which filled with a light that began to take shape and formed into a gigantic battle-axe.
“Is that—?!”
But Harold could speak no more. Faced with the axe before him, he was momentarily lost for words. There was no doubting the rugged black axe—it was one Harold knew all too well.
“Onikagura?!”
“Indeed it is,” replied Empireo. “A trophy from a very particular battle.”
“No… That means you’re…?”
Empireo’s smiled deepened.
“Draw your gun, Harold Jenkins, for this is where I kill you.”