The rainy season in Kazdel was soaked with the scent of rust and dust, dampness settling into every breath.
Ascalon, the red-haired Sarkaz woman who claimed to be a Messenger of Babel, led the way in silence ahead, occasionally turning her head to steal a glance at Lacey.
Her footsteps were very light; even when treading through the mud, she splashed only sporadic specks of dirt.
Lacey still remembered the scene seven years ago when he had saved this child from a Catastrophe storm.
Her expression back then... it was hard to describe as something that should appear on a child's face. Her eyes were dull, lifeless, as if she didn't care in the slightest whether she lived or died.
Lacey had saved her and kept her by his side, caring for her with great attentiveness. The title "Uncle" was something he had taught her to say at that time.
However, he was traveling abroad back then, and having a child with him was quite inconvenient.
So, after a period of time, he entrusted a Sarkaz mercenary he was acquainted with to send the child to Kazdel, attaching a letter.
He asked Theresis and Theresia to take care of her on his behalf.
But when he sent her away, Lacey hadn't seen any reluctance on her face.
Unexpectedly...
Lacey subconsciously touched his arm, smoothing down the goosebumps raised by the chill of the rainy season.
The journey was uneventful.
Following behind Ascalon, Lacey arrived at the stronghold of Babel.
He surveyed his surroundings.
The so-called Babel was not a towering architectural wonder reaching into the clouds, but simply the name of an organization.
Its core area was hidden amidst a relatively intact section of ruins within Kazdel city.
This place had once been a large-scale workshop, now reduced to broken walls and rubble.
However, among these ruins, many newly built simple prefab houses could be seen. People shuttled between them, mostly looking exhausted, yet their eyes held a trace of vitality absent in the Sarkaz elsewhere in the city.
Occasionally, the tender voices of children reciting books could be heard. Though intermittent, they sounded like faint musical notes playing upon this dead land.
This was Theresia's position.
An organization dedicated to education and medical care, attempting to sow the seeds of civilization on a wasteland where even survival was a problem.
There was no mockery in Lacey's heart, only a complex, unspeakable heaviness.
"We have arrived."
Ascalon stopped in front of the largest prefab house. This building looked like a temporary command post, with two armed guards standing at the door.
When they saw the Black Crown on Lacey's head, their eyes clearly sharpened, but they made no hostile moves, simply stepping aside silently.
Ascalon opened the door for him and made a "please" gesture, but she did not follow him inside.
Lacey stepped in.
The furnishings in the room were exceptionally simple: a long wooden table, a few chairs, and a military map of Kazdel hanging on the wall, marked with various information in different colors.
Aside from that, there were mountains of files and reports.
A figure stood with her back to the door, facing the map, seeming to be pondering something.
She wore a long white dress, her pinkish-white hair draped smoothly behind her shoulders. The pair of black horns on her head appeared particularly striking in the dim indoor light.
Hearing footsteps, she slowly turned around.
It was Theresia.
Her features were gentle and graceful, her pink pupils pure. Though she was hundreds of years old, her face showed not a trace of time.
When her gaze fell upon Lacey, and especially on the Black Crown atop his head, a ripple—difficult to detect—stirred within those pure eyes.
"Lacey. Long time no see. You have returned." Her voice was soft, like a spring breeze brushing against one's face.
Lacey nodded, his gaze sweeping around the room before finally resting on her face.
"Yes, Theresia. I am back."
A brief silence fell between the two.
They were old acquaintances, fellow members of the "Seven Sarkaz Heroes," who had once fought side by side in that tragic defense of Kazdel.
But as Theresis knew, Lacey's relationship back then had been closer with Theresis, the Nachzehrer King, and another hero, Lamalien, the Lord of the Banshee Royal Court.
Between him and Theresia, there was more of a camaraderie based on shared goals rather than a personal friendship.
"Sit."
Theresia pointed to a nearby chair and gracefully took a seat herself.
She poured a cup of water for Lacey, the clear liquid swaying slightly in the rough clay cup.
"I heard from him that you traveled through the nations of Terra for the last few decades," Theresia spoke first, breaking the silence. "You must have seen many landscapes we have never witnessed."
"I wouldn't call them landscapes. It's better to say I witnessed all sorts of people and things."
Lacey picked up the cup but did not drink.
"Yan, Ursus, Leithanien, Victoria... every nation has its own way of living, some good, some bad."
"Then, in what ways do you think they are better than us?" Theresia's eyes were earnest, like a student humbly seeking instruction.
"At least they can let the majority of their people eat their fill," Lacey replied simply.
Except for Yan. Yan's grain production was number one in Terra; aside from feeding their own populace, they could spare a portion for export trade to earn foreign exchange.
This statement caused Theresia's movements to pause slightly.
She seemed to want to say something, but in the end, it turned into a soft sigh. "Yes... eating. The simplest, yet the most difficult thing."
She raised her head, her gaze becoming firm again. "That is why we need to rebuild Kazdel, is it not?"
"All these years, Theresis and I have been working hard."
"The Military Commission is responsible for resisting foreign enemies and reshaping the martial power of the Sarkaz, while Babel is responsible for..."
"Responsible for medical care and education," Lacey took over her sentence. "I saw it. There are simple schools you set up by the roadside. You have done... very well."
"But..."
Lacey put down the water cup. The bottom of the cup hit the tabletop with a soft clink.
He stood up and walked to the map.
"Theresia, when I left Kazdel, what did it look like? Now that I am back, it looks almost exactly the same."
"The Sarkaz in the city still live in dilapidated buildings, relying on extracting crude iron from the slag of the Soul Furnaces to exchange for a pitiful amount of food."
"Mercenaries use the identification tags of their compatriots as currency in the 'Scar Market,' buying and selling each other's lives."
"Aside from this small patch of land under Babel's protection, I cannot see any signs of hope."
Lacey turned around, staring at Theresia with a burning gaze.
"I am curious, very curious."
"You are the Lord of Fiends of Kazdel, and Theresis is the leader of the Military Commission."
"You two siblings hold the supreme power and strength of Kazdel. You have used decades of time. Why can't our hometown even solve the most basic problems of food and clothing?"
His questioning mercilessly pierced the core of Babel's philosophy.
"A country, or a city, going decades with almost no change... this is simply..."
"A miracle."
A different kind of miracle.
In Lacey's mind, the ever-changing cityscapes of the twenty-first century from his past life flashed by. The scenes from his simulation in Leithanien, where the entire empire was revitalized in just a few years, flashed by.
Five years, ten years—for a leader with a clear goal, that was enough to bring about earth-shaking changes to a region.
But here, decades had passed, and time seemed to be standing still.
"Theresia, Theresis... what exactly are you two doing?"
Faced with Lacey's undisguised confusion and interrogation, a trace of sorrow and helplessness finally appeared on Theresia's gentle face.
She did not avoid Lacey's gaze but met it head-on.
"Lacey, what you see is only the surface," she said softly. "Do you think that just by letting everyone eat their fill and dress warmly, Kazdel can be saved?"
"If not that, then what?" Lacey retorted. "Are we to let a group of people with empty stomachs think about the future of the Sarkaz, to look forward to an ethereal peace?"
The air in the room seemed to congeal at this moment.
"Peace has never been ethereal, Lacey."
Theresia stood up and walked to Lacey's side.
Her height only reached Lacey's shoulder, but the aura she exuded at this moment did not lose to his in the slightest.
"You have traveled for decades; have you not discovered it?"
"On the continent of Terra, the hatred towards us Sarkaz has seeped into the marrow."
"We are called the devil race, viewed as the embodiment of evil and catastrophe. This hatred cannot be eliminated by a single full meal."
Her voice remained soft, but every word carried a heavy weight.
"I have seen it too many times. Our Sarkaz mercenaries are used by various nations because of their powerful strength. After the war ends, they are discarded like pawns, or even treated as 'post-war liquidation' achievements."
"We try to build our own home, yet time and again it is destroyed by foreign enemies. Why?"
"Because in their eyes, a unified and powerful Kazdel is, in itself, a threat."
She reached out, her fingertips gently tracing the fragmented territory of Kazdel on the map.
"Theresis's idea is to use stronger military force to sever all threats. He wants to build an invincible army so that no country dares to look down on us again."
"But, Lacey, when will the cycle of vengeance end?"
"Peace bought with war will only spawn the next, larger scale war."
"We Sarkaz have bled enough."
"So, you do the opposite?" Lacey's brows furrowed. "You want to use education and medical care to influence them? To influence those enemies who view us as bandits?"
"Even going so far as to absorb a large number of non-Sarkaz members into Babel to show them our 'goodwill'?"
"I just want to find a new path." Theresia's eyes held a devotion bordering on martyrdom.
"A path that allows us Sarkaz to be truly accepted by Terra."
"Hatred stems from ignorance and fear. If I can use Babel to let other races understand us, understand that we also have joys and sorrows, that we also crave peace, that we also struggle painfully under the torture of Oripathy..."
"Then, the hard ice of hatred will melt one day."
"At the same time, I am also educating our own children, letting them know that besides fighting and plundering, we have other ways to survive."
"Letting them learn knowledge, learn to think, instead of passing down hatred from generation to generation like their fathers."
"Only by changing the Sarkaz ourselves from the spirit, from the depths of the soul, can we truly walk out of this quagmire and welcome a future that belongs to us."
Listening to Theresia's confession, Lacey fell silent.
He had to admit, Theresia's ideal was great, and her vision was long-term enough.
But...
"Heh."
A very faint laugh escaped Lacey's throat.
He turned his head, looking into Theresia's pure pink pupils, and said word by word, "Theresia, your idea is like building a Hanging Garden over a swamp."
"It is beautiful, very beautiful. Beautiful to the point of being unrealistic."
"I understand everything you are saying."
"Eliminating hatred, seeking understanding, educating future generations... these are all correct, all very important."
"But, you have forgotten the most fundamental point."
Lacey extended a finger and pointed to the ground beneath their feet.
"The foundation."
"A person who cannot even eat their fill, who might freeze or starve to death in their sleep at any moment—you talk to them about ideals, about the future, about the soul of the nation?"
"Don't you find that laughable?"
"Maslow's hierarchy of needs... no, let me put it in a way you can understand." Lacey's brain spun rapidly, translating the knowledge from his past life into language this world could comprehend.
"Humans are animals first, and intelligent beings second."
"When the instinct for survival is magnified infinitely, morality, ideals, and civilization are all vulnerable to a single blow."
"Your Babel can still maintain operations now because you can still obtain resources from the outside, and can barely maintain order in this small area."
"But once Kazdel is completely blockaded, once you cannot supply even the most basic medicine and food, guess what? Will the people under your protection forget the knowledge and principles you taught them completely for half a piece of bread?"
Theresia's face turned somewhat pale for the first time.
Lacey's words had struck the point deep in her heart that she worried about most, yet dared not think too deeply upon.
Lacey gave her no chance to catch her breath and continued, "And your brother, Theresis."
"He is more direct. He wants to forge a sword. Fine, the sword is forged, and then?"
"Use this sword to rob grain? To rob land? How is that different from what we have done for the past few thousand years?"
"How long can things obtained by robbery last? It will only make the entirety of Terra unite even more consistently to deal with us."
"When that time comes, it will be the second, the third multi-national coalition besieging Kazdel."
"How many Seven Heroes will we Sarkaz have left to stand up then?"
"You two siblings: one paints cakes in the sky, the other digs pits in the ground."
"One wants to turn the Sarkaz into unarmed saints, the other wants to turn the Sarkaz into a nation of madmen at arms."
"You both saw the problem, but you both only saw one extreme of the problem, and then ran wildly in that direction."
Lacey took a step back, opening the distance between him and Theresia.
The Black Crown atop his head emitted a deep, profound light.
"Your paths are both dead ends."
"Then tell me, where is the road?" Theresia's voice trembled slightly; she was shaken to the core by Lacey's merciless dissection.
"The road is right under our feet." Lacey's tone softened.
He knew that total suppression would only cause a rebound.
Now, it was time to throw out his own plan.
"Theresia, I admit your ideal is correct. The rise of a nation must ultimately rely on the rise of spirit and civilization."
"I also admit Theresis's methods have their necessity. Without a sword, we don't even have the qualification to stand and speak."
"However, a meal must be eaten one bite at a time; a road must be walked one step at a time."
He looked at Theresia, his eyes becoming sincere as never before.
"Therefore, I choose to walk the third road."
"Seek survival first, then plot development, and finally, achieve the peace you expect."
"Survival?"
"Yes, survival." Lacey nodded heavily.
"I want every Sarkaz in Kazdel to first be able to eat their fill, have clothes to wear, and have a house to live in."
"I want them to see that through their own labor, they can exchange for a dignified life, instead of only relying on selling martial force or wagging their tails and begging."
"This is the foundation."
"Only when people no longer worry about tomorrow's bread will they have the mind to learn the knowledge you teach, to think about the future you speak of."
"And only when our home is no longer a ruin, when our people are no longer refugees without clothes to cover their bodies, will the sword in Theresis's hand be a sword of guardianship, not a sword of plunder."
Lacey's words seemed to possess a peculiar magic.
He didn't use flowery rhetoric, didn't preach profound philosophies; every sentence he spoke was simple, practical, and pointed straight to the heart.
[The Art of Language] was not fabricating lies out of thin air, but conveying one's own firmest convictions to the other party in the way most likely to resonate.
Theresia stared blankly at Lacey.
She felt a quality in this man that was distinct from both herself and her brother.
That was a down-to-earth steadiness, a wisdom that penetrated the essence of things, and a... love and responsibility for the Sarkaz nation that was equally deep to the extreme.
This love was not pity, not sympathy, but a kind of accountability that said, "I am one of you, and I will lead you to live on together."
She could feel that the Black Crown atop Lacey's head was resonating with his soul.
This crown, which carried "Civilization's Continuance," had found a new direction on Lacey.
A direction neither she nor Theresis had ever thought of.
"Your third road... specifically, what will you do?" After a long time, Theresia spoke and asked.
Lacey smiled.
"Very simple."
He walked to the empty filing table, picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and began to sketch rapidly on a blank sheet of parchment.
"The first step, and also the most core step, is called 'Infrastructure'."
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