Chapter 1447: The Unfulfilled Promise
Roland watched the old man quietly.
He sat in a wheelchair — grizzled hair, sunken cheeks, forehead mapped by deep wrinkles. The body was clearly at its final accounting. But the eyes were something else: clear and quick, carrying the alertness of someone who had never stopped thinking, who would not stop until the last possible moment. The monocle on his nose bridge, the bow tie at his collar — small details, but deliberate ones. A man still maintaining his image. Still choosing how he was seen.
The old man was also watching Roland.
Roland let the silence run for a moment, then smiled. “It wasn’t easy to bring you all the way from the Kingdom of Dawn. Welcome to Graycastle’s new King City, Mr. Banach Lothar. I hope the journey was not too hard on you.”
“It is an honor to be received by the King of Graycastle.” The old man inclined his head slightly. “But may I ask — what does Your Majesty require of me?”
“Nothing you need to do. You have already contributed greatly to Graycastle.”
“I have?” A flicker of genuine surprise, quickly smoothed. “Your Majesty, is there some mistake?”
Most men at that age would be slow — speech blurring, thoughts arriving late. Banach Lothar had answered immediately and held his face steady. His mind, unlike his body, was still working at full strength.
“I understand your concern, but be at ease — I have no ill intentions toward Black Money.” Roland opened his hands. “The ‘Oracle’ who delivered information to you was from Neverwinter. The decision to send it was mine.”
He had used Pasha as his mouthpiece and the pretext of an opportune moment for an incarnation ceremony to summon Banach Lothar, then had men bring him here upon verifying his identity. A blunt approach. But direct.
“Your Majesty — I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I’ll explain until you do. It is a complicated story, but everything I tell you is true.” Roland walked him through it: the ancient witches, the truth of the God’s Punishment Army’s incarnation ceremony. Soul containers accepted only consciousness that carried magic power. For non-magic users, the process produced only an empty shell.
In one sense, becoming a shell without consciousness did align with how the ancient witches had once extended their lives — but it was not the same thing. Not what any of these people had been promised.
If Black Money had been an ordinary underground chamber of commerce, Roland might not have intervened. But Black Money had been useful during the Western Front’s campaign — deeply useful. They had built intelligence networks across Wolfheart Kingdom and Everwinter, filed reports on demon movements in areas the witches could not enter through the Red Mist. The contributions were real, whatever the intentions behind them had been.
Perhaps Banach Lothar had never intended to help mankind. Perhaps it was always business. But the help had been real, and transforming a man of genuine merit into a vacant shell struck Roland as a poor way to acknowledge it. So he had arranged this meeting.
After a long silence, Banach Lothar removed his monocle. His hands were not steady.
“You mean to say,” he said quietly, “that eternal life is nothing but a scam.”
“At present, those who can preserve their consciousness and not age must be magic power users. For humans, only witches.” Roland paused. Even he, who had opened the Dream World, could not provoke a response from a soul container. “It is not possible for ordinary people.”
“But after all the medicine I’ve taken, I genuinely feel better—”
“The medicine is not worthless,” Roland said. “It improves the ceremony’s success rate by drawing against your own vitality. But it cannot continue indefinitely, and it was never designed to.” He shook his head. “The side effects will emerge soon. That is part of why I sought you out with urgency.”
Banach Lothar stared at his hands.
“You mean — my time is short.”
“I’m sorry.” Roland said it plainly. “I cannot give you the promise they made. I can only try to compensate through other means. Black Money protected witches and contributed substantially to the Battle of Divine Will. Whatever you need — tell me. We owe you that.”
Nightingale had questioned this approach earlier: letting Pasha and the others handle it on their own terms. By making it a matter for the King, Roland was effectively taking Graycastle’s name and attaching it to the ancient witches’ deception. She was right to flag it. But Graycastle housed all of the Taquila witches — it shared in their contributions, and it was only honest to share in their failures.
Banach Lothar was quiet for a long time.
”…Can Your Majesty intervene even in affairs within the Kingdom of Dawn?”
“You know something of Graycastle’s influence there.”
“Then I am at ease.” He had not collapsed. He had not raged. What settled across his face was something that looked, very precisely, like calm — though Nightingale would note afterward that it had not been entirely calm. “The reason I wanted to live longer was to protect Black Money for my children. If I die, the other businessmen will move immediately. With so much profit on offer, a few lives mean nothing to them. But if Your Majesty is willing to involve himself — no one would act rashly. That is more reliable than any number of additional years. So why should I hold a grudge?”
Roland studied him for a moment. “Are you certain that is what you want as your reward?”
“Your Majesty — is that… not possible?”
“It is possible.” A pause. “Have you heard of Rainbow Stones?”
Banach considered it. “A new clothing line from your kingdom, I believe. Operates at a significant scale — some products have reached the Kingdom of Dawn. Though, if you will forgive me, the design is still somewhat behind what we produce in the City of Glow.”
That’s because Victor only ever hired artisans from the Lothars family. And he never told anyone the price is a tenth of what other shops in Neverwinter charge. Roland coughed. “The founder of that enterprise is called Victor Lothars — your fourth son. As of today, his business revenue has already exceeded ten thousand gold royals.”
Ten thousand was not a small number. Only the sale of Chaos Drink in Neverwinter had ever exceeded it — and the reason was simple: not everyone needed a drink, but everyone needed clothes. With Neverwinter’s population growing dense and fast, demand for necessities had exploded. Against an industry producing that kind of return, the deals circulated through underground chambers of commerce were trivial.
Banach Lothar’s studied calm broke. Genuine surprise crossed his face — the first unguarded thing Roland had seen from him.
“Your Majesty — is that… true? Since he left the City of Glow, we have rarely spoken. I thought he was still in jewelry.”
“Victor is in Neverwinter. It won’t be difficult for you to meet him and verify everything I’ve said.” Roland met his eyes. “But you should make haste.”
“Yes. I understand.” The old man reached for the wheelchair’s grip. The motion was quick, eager — not the movement of a man who had made peace with everything. It revealed, without meaning to, what the calm had been covering. “Please excuse me, Your Majesty.”
Roland nodded and called for guards to see him out — then Banach Lothar paused at the door.
“You said I don’t have much time left.” He did not turn around. “Is it possible… to spend my last days on the floating island?”
”…” Roland closed his eyes. “If that is your wish.”
The door closed.
Nightingale materialized at his shoulder. “Strange.”
“What was?”
“His responses in the beginning. Not lies — but my magic felt blurred, reading him. Not the calm he was showing.”
“I see.” Roland turned it over.
“You know why?”
“Maybe.” He lowered his voice and looked at the window. “Eternal life is always the last thing a person can bear to surrender. When it’s taken away, even the most controlled person needs time to land.” He was quiet for a moment. “But he understood that the outcome couldn’t be changed. Once a man truly accepts that, all the grief and fury become sunk costs — things with no return on them. Better to accept graciously, make a favorable impression, leave the situation on his own terms. Many people understand that logic. Very few can actually live it.” He paused. “That’s what’s impressive about him.”
He thought he understood, now, why the merchant class in the Kingdom of Dawn was treated with something close to noble regard. Their instinct for loss-cutting, for separating emotional cost from strategic reality, made them more capable than most of the nobles he had met.
“And as for you—” Roland turned toward her. “You sensed his emotions, not just his truths and lies. Is that something new?”
“Do you think I’m the kind of person who hides an evolution?” Nightingale gave him a look that could strip paint. “Have I ever struck you as that modest?”
…No. No, she has not.
Roland wisely said nothing.
Chapter 1447 - The Unfulfilled Promise
Translator: Henyee Translations Editor: Henyee Translations
Inside Graycastle’s parlor, Roland quietly observed the old man before him.
Seated in a wheelchair with a head full of grizzled hair, sunken cheeks and wrinkles bulging on his forehead, the old man was clearly approaching the final years of his life. But compared to his age, his eyes remained clear and youthful, with the vigor of an adolescent. The monocle hanging on his nose bridge and bow tie at his neck added a touch to his bearing. At the same time, the old man was also observing Roland.
Roland broke the silence after a short moment as he revealed a smile. “It truly wasn’t easy inviting you over from the Kingdom of Dawn. Welcome to Graycastle’s new King City, Mr. Banach Lothar. It must have been a long and tough journey for you.”
“It is my honor to be received by the King of Graycastle…” The old man lowered his head slightly. “But may I ask, what does Your Majesty have for me?”
“You’ve already contributed greatly to Graycastle; there isn’t anything you need to do.”
“Me?” The old man revealed a look of surprise. “Your Majesty, are you mistaken about something?”
Typically, a man at such an age would have their thought processes slow down substantially, their speech turning inarticulate or stammering, but not only did Banach Lothar reply promptly, he managed to control his facial muscles to maintain a poker face, enough to prove that his mind had never
stopped or slowed down. Compared to the inevitable aging of the body, his mind was still working at his prime.
“I know of your concerns, but be at ease, I have no ill intentions towards Black Money.” Roland spread open his hands. “The ‘Oracle’ that delivered the information to you is from Neverwinter. In fact, I was the one to decide that the information was to be delivered to you.”
By using Pasha as his mouthpiece and using the reason of it being the opportune moment for the incarnation ceremony as way to summon Banach Lothar, Roland had men forcibly take him back to the castle upon verifying his identity. Although this method was considered crude, it was straightforward.
“Your Majesty… I don’t understand what you mean…”
“It’s fine, I will explain it until you do—this is a very complicated story, but I assure you that it’s real.” Roland then narrated the story of the ancient witches, as well as the essence of the God’s Punishment Army’s incarnation ceremony. Soul containers only accepted consciousness that had magic power; in other words, non-magic humans could only turn into empty shells.
In a sense, turning into a shell with no consciousness coincided with how the ancient witches extended their lives. If Black Money was an ordinary underground Chamber of Commerce, Roland would not have paid much attention to it. But Black Money had contributed greatly during the Western Front’s military campaign against the demons, not only by assisting in providing intelligence network in Kingdom of Wolfheart and Everwinter, but they had also sent out crucial reports and filled the empty spaces which the witches were unable to investigate as a result of the areas being filed with Red Mist.
Perhaps Banach Lothar’s intent was never to help mankind or save humanity, but the contribution was tangible. Roland did not believe that turning a man of such meritorious deeds into a puppet without consciousness was a suitable reward; thus, he chose to personally interview him.
After a long while, Banach Lothar took off his monocle and spoke with trembles in his voice. “You mean to say that eternal life is nothing but a scam?”
Roland sighed. “At the present, the only ones capable of maintaining their consciousness and not age have to be magic power users. For humans, only witches can do that.”
Even Roland himself, who opened up the Dream World, was incapable of instigating a response from the soul container.
“But after drinking all of that medicine, I truly feel that my body has turned for the better—”
“It doesn’t mean that the medicine is useless. It increases the success rate of the ceremony by overdrafting one’s vitality, but it cannot go on continuously like that,” Roland interrupted and shook his head. “Very quickly, the side effects will surface, and that is the reason why I have sought you so urgently.”
Banach Lothar was stunned. “You mean to say, my days are numbered…”
“I’m sorry,” Roland replied lamentably. “I am unable to deliver a perfect promise, and can only attempt other means to make up for it. Black Money protected the witches, and contributed so much to the Battle of Divine Will. If you have anything on your mind, tell to me. We owe that to you.”
Nightingale had questioned Roland earlier, to have Pasha and the others resolve issue on their own. By using the King’s identity, it meant shifting the responsibility of the entire scam onto Graycastle itself.
Nightingale was right, but Roland was aware that since Graycastle accommodated all the Taquila witches, it not only meant enjoying the benefits of their abilities, but shouldering their faults as well.
“…” Banach Lothar remained silent for a long time. “Are you able to handle the matter, even in the Kingdom of Dawn?”
“You should know that of my influence on the Kingdom of Dawn.”
“Then I am at ease.” Unexpectedly, the other party did not fall into despair or turn hysterical, but instead revealed a calm smile. “The reason for my desire to live longer is to ensure the survivability of Black Money for my children —if I die, the other businessmen will not let this piece of the pie go. With such large benefits laid in front of them, a few lives are worth nothing. If Your Majesty is willing to get involved, I believe that no one will dare act blindly; that itself is much more reliable than me living longer. If that is the case, why should I harbor a grudge?”
Roland muttered to himself irresolutely, then spoke to him. “Are you sure you want that, as your reward?”
“Your Majesty, is that… not possible?”
“It is possible.” He paused for a moment. “Have you ever heard of the name ‘Rainbow Stones?’”
“I have heard of it.” Banach pondered for a moment. “If I recall correctly, it is a brand new line of clothes for your distinguished country that operates at a massive scale, with some products sold even at the Kingdom of Dawn—but forgive me for saying this, the style and design is still far inferior to ours.”
That’s because Victor only employed artisans from the Lothars family… And he never told any of you that the price of such clothes is only a tenth of other clothes shop in Neverwinter. Roland coughed twice. “From what I know, the founder behind this line of clothes is called Victor Lothars, your fourth son. Aside from that, the business revenue as of today has already surpassed ten thousand gold royals. With such a talent here, I believe that even without Graycastle’s support, he will not lose to the other businessmen.
Ten thousand gold royals was definitely a large amount, with only the sale of Chaos Drink in Neverwinter being able to beat that record—the reason was simple, not everyone needed beverages, but everyone needed clothes. With the Neverwinter’s population turning highly centralized, the demand for necessities exploded. In the face of a booming industry capable of producing large amounts of profits, the deals made within the underground chamber of commerces were nothing.
This time, Banach Lothar revealed genuine surprise. “Your Majesty, is what you said… true? Ever since he left the City of Glow, we have rarely communicated… I thought he was still in the jewelry business…”
“Victor is now in Neverwinter, it won’t be difficult for you to meet him and verify if what I said was true or not. But… you have to make haste.”
“Yes… I understand.” Banach Lothar could no longer help grab onto this opportunity, his actions clearly revealing the emotions buried at the bottom of his heart. “Please excuse me, Your Majesty.”
Roland nodded and was about to call for a few guards to send the old man out, when the latter spoke up again. “You said that I have not much time left… will it be possible for me to live my last few moments on the floating island?”
“…” Roland closed his eyes. “If that is your wish.”
When the doors closed, Nightingale appeared and whispered, “Strange…”
“What?”
“In the beginning, his responses were strange, not to say that they were lies, but my magic power felt blurred, unlike the calm he presented.” Nightingale shrugged.
“I see,” Roland replied thoughtfully.
“You know why?”
“Maybe.” He lowered his voice and turned his head towards the window. “The thing about eternal life is that it will always be attractive. When one’s expectation fails to be met, it’ll be the most difficult thing to accept, regardless of who it is.”
“But that’s not a lie.” Nightingale repeated herself.
“Because he knew that no matter what he does, he can never change the outcome,” Roland replied wistfully. “Since the outcome cannot be changed,
he has to accept it—rather than hold a grudge and become enemies with the King of Graycastle, why not act magnanimous and win a favorable impression. All other unnecessary emotions will simply turn into a sunken cost. That is what he most probably thinks. There are many that understand this, but very few are able to act on it… That is what’s impressive about him.”
Roland somewhat understood why many of the businessmen in the Kingdom of Dawn were treated like nobles—their ability to split control and have stop losses made them far more capable than a vast majority of the nobles.
“As for you—” At this point, Roland turned towards Nightingale. “Not only are you able to discern between truth or lies, you’re actually able to sense their emotions. Are you about to evolve?”
“You think of me as a person who will intentionally hide the fact that I’m about to evolve—or in other words, am I that modest a person to you?” Nightingale cast a glance at him and replied sourly.
Uh… I have no response to that.
Roland tactfully closed his mouth.