Chapter 80: Why do I Trailblaze? Only because there is no end to what I see.
"I didn't expect you all to be so interested in that fellow Otto's story."
Welt sat comfortably in the parlor car's plush armchair, taking a slow, dignified sip of his freshly brewed tea. The warm, ambient lighting of the Astral Express cast a soft glow over his glasses.
"Uh, it's not exactly the story we're interested in," Stelle replied, leaning forward on the sofa. "It's mostly that listening to your stories, Uncle Yang, is particularly entertaining."
"If you really want to hear Otto's voice, you can just go chat with the Void Archives for a bit," Welt remarked, lowering his cup. "That golden cube's voice template is literally Otto. After hijacking his appearance and voice for five hundred years, it became thoroughly seasoned. The moment it opens its mouth, it oozes that distinct, insufferable Otto flavor."
"Then... why do I feel like that Bishop is a bit of a jerk?" March 7th asked, tilting her head, her pink hair swaying slightly.
"That's just a stereotype," Welt replied, his tone turning serious. "The man was extremely cunning. Dangerous, even."
"True, but Uncle Yang, you were really capable when you were young to deal with someone like that." Stelle looked at Welt, her golden eyes shining with the kind of deadpan, worshipful gaze one usually reserved for a legendary elder.
"Ahem. Of course."
Welt adjusted his collar. Clearly, he was enjoying the praise. A faint, proud smile touched the corners of his lips. He felt deeply satisfied.
"In that case, I'll explore a bit deeper into this man's motivations." Welt set his teacup down on the saucer with a soft clink. "Actually, over five hundred years ago, Otto once had a sweetheart."
"Over five hundred years old..." March's eyes widened. "Uncle Yang, are the people on your home planet all this long-lived?"
"Uh, his situation was special. He swapped bodies. Frequently." Welt coughed into his fist, trying to keep the narrative on track. "In short, the original Otto Apocalypse was actually a sickly child with absolutely no friends."
"I always feel like you're intentionally vilifying him, Uncle Yang," Stelle pointed out, crossing her arms.
"I can testify that what Uncle Yang is saying is actually entirely true."
Rekka sat sprawled in a nearby chair, casually propping up his cheek with one hand. A mischievous glint danced in his eyes.
"For real?" March gasped.
"Of course it's true," Rekka continued, his grin widening. "And Otto actually had a history of cross-dressing."
Welt stiffened, leaning back so fast the leather armchair squeaked. "You even know about that?"
Rekka shot Welt a sideways glance. Wait, Welt actually knew about this?
Welt stared back, his expression frozen.
No, Welt thought frantically, I was just stating a historical fact that Otto had disguised himself in women's clothing before. I didn't expect this kid to actually play it so wild and bring it up!
Unbidden, horrifying images of that blonde, scheming Bishop parading around in a frilly dress surfaced in Welt's mind. No, no, no, no! Brain, stop! Don't be so imaginative at a time like this! I do not want to see Otto in a dress!
"Ahem. Anyway, the young master of the Apocalypse family was exactly like that." Welt performed a swift, tactical glasses-push to alleviate the sudden, suffocating awkwardness in the room. "The most tragic thing is that the woman he liked eventually claimed to have fallen in love with another woman..."
"Pfft."
Rekka clamped a hand over his mouth, his expression beyond words.
It was indeed all accurate history, but hearing it summarized from Welt's mouth, Otto's grand, imposing image was truly reduced to something else entirely. He sounded like a pathetic stray dog kicked to the side of the road.
It was reasonable, though. It was all factual, and it was good to let Uncle Yang vent some old grievances. Besides, the Lord Bishop wasn't exactly a saint, and the man himself wouldn't have raised any objections to this retelling. Not to mention, Bishop Otto was currently very dead; even if you dragged him back from the afterlife, he'd probably just listen to this roast with a polite, infuriating grin.
Otto's greatest strength had always been his astronomically thick skin, closely followed by his stubborn dedication to using Kallen's memory to mentally torture himself every single day.
"Sickly, no friends, a shut-in loner, his crush didn't like him, the person he liked liked someone else, and finally, the person he liked died." Stelle counted the points off on her fingers. "Uncle Yang, the person you're talking about sounds exactly like one of those tragic, pathetic side characters you see in cheap light novels."
Although he desperately wanted to laugh, Welt tried his absolute best to keep his expression stern and educational. "While the facts are indeed so, you shouldn't underestimate him. This man later accomplished many terrifying things and completely changed the course of our entire world."
"Oh, oh... like sneak-attacking you, Uncle Yang?"
The moment Stelle dropped that deadpan comment, March 7th accidentally snorted, bursting into a fit of giggles.
"Ah... cough... no, sorry, I didn't mean to laugh!" March waved her hands frantically, her face flushing pink. "Haha, Uncle Yang, please continue..."
Actually, it wasn't an accident at all.
Even Dan Heng, who stood leaning against the wall with his usual expressionless facade, was struggling. If one looked closely, the corners of his mouth were twitching violently. His shoulders were even trembling under his jacket.
Wow. The Express's stoic guard was practically a walking block of ice, yet even he was cracking.
"Alright, let's end the story here for today." Welt stood up abruptly, smoothing out his coat. In reality, he just didn't know how to salvage his dignity or make up any more educational spin for the story.
"Are you all free right now?"
Seeing that the crew was currently relaxed and idle, Rekka finally spoke up, shifting his posture.
"Of course we're free, what's up?" March asked, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye.
"Are you interested in a game of chess?"
"Chess?" Stelle blinked.
"What kind of chess?" Dan Heng asked, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.
"A game to help me execute [Equilibrium]," Rekka explained, his tone shifting from chaotic to surprisingly deep. "For the balance of all realms, the strong shall find opportunity, and the weak shall have a chance to breathe. In short—it's combat. You will fight against your own phantoms. You won't be truly injured; nothing will be added, and nothing will be lost."
Rekka spread his hands outward. The air in the center of the parlor car rippled, and a massive, ethereal chessboard composed of pure black and white cosmic energy materialized, hovering just above the floor.
"Will you come? For the sake of [Equilibrium], how about participating in a round of [Heteromorphic Arbitration]?"
"Wouldn't that mean we can never win?" March scratched her head, staring at the glowing grid. "How can you win against yourself?"
"It doesn't matter whether you win or lose," Rekka said, his eyes reflecting the monochrome light of the board. "I can use the resulting clash of identical forces to gain the power needed to maintain cosmic equilibrium."
Dan Heng's gaze fell upon the empty black and white squares. Although his teal eyes remained calm, Rekka could easily spot the intense spark of martial interest hidden within them.
"What is the true significance of this kind of combat?" Dan Heng asked softly.
"The significance lies in [Equilibrium] itself," Rekka explained, floating slightly off the ground. "When two identical existences fight each other, it forces the universe into a state of perfect balance. Of course, for you, it's also a remarkably rare experience—to fight yourself, to read your own tells, and to truly understand your own limits."
"Indeed, this is a rare training opportunity." Dan Heng nodded slowly. "Within the domain of equilibrium, all external interference is stripped away, leaving only your understanding and application of your own abilities. Rekka, this arbitration space shouldn't cause physical damage to the Express, right?"
Rekka hovered in mid-air, his tone leisurely and confident. "No. It is an illusory crack in reality. Nothing will remain, and nothing will be taken away. Start whenever you are ready. If you are good, your opposite is evil; if you are evil, your counterpart is good—just as electrons have positive and negative charges, and magnets have two opposing poles."
"Sounds quite interesting," Stelle muttered, rubbing her chin. "If I win, it proves I'm stronger than myself. If I lose, I lost to myself anyway, so it's not embarrassing at all."
"That logic of yours..." March opened her mouth, staring at Stelle in disbelief. "...It seems I really can't find a flaw in it?"
Dan Heng had already walked up to the edge of the ethereal chessboard.
"How do we start?"
"Touch the board."
Dan Heng reached out. The moment his fingertips brushed the glowing grid, his physical form dissolved into a stream of light, instantly transforming into a small, carefully carved white chess piece. Rekka reached out, gently picking up the piece and placing it firmly on a white square.
Immediately, the adjacent black square began to boil with dark energy. A second chess piece materialized—identical to Dan Heng's, but radiating a suffocating, eerie black aura.
"Alright, who wants to challenge it next?" Rekka asked, looking back at the girls.
"Me!"
Stelle had long been unable to restrain her chaotic urges. She eagerly rolled up her sleeves, marched right up to the board, and slammed her hand directly onto the glowing surface.
"Let me see my evil twin!"
A flash of light consumed her. Corresponding to Stelle, a special chess piece materialized on the board. However, unlike Dan Heng's, this piece was placed entirely backward.
"Hmm...?" Rekka raised an eyebrow, floating closer to inspect it.
The space above the board distorted. A figure materialized.
It was a person wearing a ridiculously oversized, pink fluffy hat.
"...Where the heck did I end up?" The figure muttered, scratching her head. She looked exactly like Stelle, but her vibe was completely wrong. She glanced around the pristine parlor car, utterly bewildered. "Is this still Talia: Kingdom of Banditry?"
The alternate Stelle blinked, realizing she had definitely taken a wrong turn in the multiverse.
"Eh, whatever. Leaving, leaving."
Before anyone could say a word, the fluffy-hat-wearing Stelle turned around and vanished into a glitchy portal, popping out of existence as quickly as she had arrived.
Stelle's consciousness, hovering within the board, didn't quite understand what had just happened. But immediately afterward, the space violently shattered. The atmosphere plummeted, growing heavy and suffocating.
It seemed the proper Boss had finally arrived.
Its physical appearance was identical to the person who had just taken the wrong turn, but its eyes were hollow, radiating a chilling, destructive pressure. The phantom slowly raised its head, its voice echoing like grinding static, completely inverted.
"[?ezalbliarT I od yhW]"
"[.dne on si ereht,ees I tahw esuaceb ylnO]"
]
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