Chapter 131: Borso, the Royal Capital
The Main World.
Sunlight poured down from high above, radiating a fierce heat. The clouds were thin and scattered, while birds wheeled around the airship—sometimes soaring high, sometimes dipping low—before gradually being left behind near the tail fins.
After a long sea voyage, the group disembarked at a port within the Kingdom of Dulin. From there, they transferred to a steam-powered airship, bound for the kingdom's capital.
And now—the capital was finally coming into view.
Looking out through the narrow, cross-shaped windows of the airship, a hazy city slowly emerged on the horizon.
Seen from above, across the vast plains, countless plumes of smoke rose steadily from around the dark silhouette of the city, like frozen columns of cloud and mist.
Black.
White.
Gray.
"A century ago, Borso—the royal capital of Dulin—didn't look like this," someone said beside him with a sigh.
Turning his head, Charles saw that it was Zachary, who had come to stand beside him at some point without notice.
"Dulin has fallen," Zachary said softly, as though mourning something long lost.
"Both the royal family and the kingdom itself have lost the spirit—the dignity—the old Dulin once had a hundred years ago."
Charles didn't respond, but he understood exactly what Zachary meant.
According to the history books, the Kingdom of Dulin had once been a devout land—prosperous, sincere, and fervently faithful. Every citizen had seemed like an unshakable pillar of the Church of Thorns.
Now, however, that glory was gone.
Disorder reigned. The industrial revolution, once hailed as progress, had not brought renewal—but decay.
Living within this kingdom, the atmosphere it exuded felt much like the hazy city drawing ever closer outside the airship's windows: cold, chaotic, and faintly tinged with death.
Yes—death.
From afar, Borso, the royal capital—once praised and yearned for as the legendary City of Pure White—now displayed no trace of its former allure.
The city's architecture was predominantly white, a design meant to convey cleanliness and order. And once, it truly had.
But now it resembled a kitchen exhaust hood that had been used for decades—its once-brilliant surface smothered beneath layers of gray-black grime.
"This really is an ancient city," Charles murmured.
Though he lacked the cleric's sense of nostalgia, he felt the same disappointment.
In truth, in a world saturated with supernatural forces, he had expected something… different. Something strange. Something wondrous.
Instead, what lay before him looked no different from the gray-white industrial cityscapes of the nineteenth century etched into his memory.
The steam airship didn't look very large from the outside, yet once aboard it felt surprisingly stable. It was somewhat reminiscent of the hot-air balloons from Charles's memories—though the principles involved were clearly far more complex.
Hot-air balloons certainly didn't move this fast.
The same journey that had taken nearly two months by sea had passed in barely two days aboard the airship.
Two days—to cross nearly half the kingdom.
Charles suspected that magic played some role in this, though the exact mechanism was beyond him. There was no one to discuss it with either. Aside from a handful of crew members, the airship carried only Zachary, Connie, and himself.
Yes—they had effectively chartered it.
"In my last life, I never got treatment like this," Charles muttered inwardly. "Now I finally get to experience it."
As he gazed out at the scenery far below, a faint unease settled in his chest.
He knew why he had come here—to advance his Circle. That much was certain.
But how the advancement would take place, what form it would take, and what he might be forced to face beforehand—none of that was clear.
Charles did not believe he had been dragged all this way merely to perform a simple ritual. If it were that easy, Zachary could have accomplished it anywhere.
---
As the airship cruised onward, the city that had once looked like a dark smudge on the horizon steadily expanded in view. Eventually, the vessel entered the factory district, where thick smoke engulfed the windows and turned the world outside into a blur.
Moments later, the haze thinned, and the city revealed itself in sharp detail.
The outermost ring of Borso consisted of densely packed factories—a fact evident even from afar. Beyond the industrial belt lay a district of low, ramshackle buildings. From above, their chaotic layouts and worn appearances were unmistakable, resembling the decaying neighborhoods of a medieval town.
Further inward stretched a vast white-and-black zone—the very district Charles had likened earlier to a greasy exhaust hood. This area occupied the largest portion of the city, its buildings packed tightly together, disordered, and steeped in a lifeless gloom.
Beyond that came a more orderly district. Black lines of roads crisscrossed the white expanse, dividing it into blocks. Scattered among them were garden plazas and tall buildings rising in neat succession.
At the very heart of the city lay the final ring.
Manor houses and tidy residences dotted the outer streets, while deeper inside spread an open, circular plaza—pale, expansive, and eerily empty.
At its center rose a towering white spire, tall enough to overlook the entire city. Its surface shimmered faintly gray beneath the sun, dotted with countless dark windows like scattered stars.
If Charles remembered correctly, that was Borso Tower—the royal residence of the Dulin monarchy.
---
From the sky, the city's structure had been clear and complete. But as the airship descended, the buildings grew immense, until the sense of scale transformed into something else entirely.
A world.
The airship finally docked in a broad plaza paved with white stone—a landing ground not unlike an airport from Charles's memories. Many airships of identical design rested nearby, each bearing the same insignia painted on their hulls: the pale silhouette of Borso Tower.
"Officially, it isn't open to the public," Zachary remarked casually as they descended the ladder, "but as long as you have money, the Royal Borso United Airship Company doesn't care whether you're noble or common."
"This place alone generates enough revenue each year to support the entire kingdom's education system."
"So we should be grateful to the royal family," Connie said with a nod, utterly unaware that the bandaged man who once kidnapped her was himself a member of that very royalty.
Leaving the Third Borso Steam Airship Dock, the trio hired a black-lacquered carriage and set off toward Saint Cassow Church in the capital.
The carriage rattled along uneven streets, swaying occasionally, until it reached a broader avenue where the ride smoothed out.
Unlike the narrow roads behind them, this was a main thoroughfare—laid with flat blue stone bricks. Though mud collected from constant foot traffic, the road remained impressively maintained.
Inside the carriage, amid the din outside, Zachary spoke calmly.
"Once we arrive, we'll meet the High Archbishop directly. She'll answer whatever questions you have."
"What is going on, exactly?" Connie asked, unable to hold back her confusion.
To her, it felt as though everyone's attitude toward Charles had changed overnight—without explanation.
"This concerns church secrets, so I can't—"
Zachary was interrupted by a loud shout outside. They turned toward the window.
A young man in a tailored suit waved a flag vigorously in the middle of the road, forcing traffic to slow and divert. Behind him rolled a bizarre black iron contraption—slow, clanking, and unmistakably mechanical.
"That is…?" Charles asked, expression strange.
"A revolutionary invention by the Black Gold Company," Connie replied. "They call it a steam automobile. Supposedly it replaces carriages and frees human labor. Personally, I think it's all bluster."
"It's slower than walking," she added skeptically. "What's the point?"
"Aristocrats adore it," Zachary said flatly.
Led by the flag-bearer, the top-hatted owner lounged smugly in the narrow, open vehicle as it chugged past, leaving behind a trail of white steam.
Once it vanished from sight, the carriage resumed its journey.
---
From the sky, the city had looked bleak and oppressive. But immersed within it, Charles found it unexpectedly lively.
First—its vibrancy.
Though the avenue was wide and open, traffic moved slowly due to the sheer number of people.
Gentlemen in tailcoats leaned on canes; ladies in long dresses and veiled hats walked gracefully along the sidewalks, pausing to greet acquaintances. Workers with rolled-up sleeves clustered together in loud conversation. Beggars—thin, half-clothed—sat in shadows, shielding themselves from the sun as they raised battered bowls toward passersby.
A true cross-section of humanity.
Second—its modernity.
Compared to the quiet, ancient town of Pita, Borso brimmed with novelty: airships, steam clocks, brokerage houses, labor unions, slow-moving automobiles, and newspaper boys shouting headlines at the tops of their lungs.
As the carriage advanced deeper into the city, storefronts with glass display windows appeared along the streets—selling toys, formalwear, watches, even steam-powered devices.
Charles even spotted a lingerie shop.
Something unimaginable back in Pita.
---
Eventually, the carriage left the main avenue and wound through a narrow lane flanked by towering buildings. After a final turn, the view opened suddenly.
A vast plaza paved with pure white marble stretched before them. Clerics in white robes moved throughout—some seated on benches, others strolling, reading, praying, or gazing skyward in contemplation.
At the plaza's center stood a massive angelic fountain, sword raised high, wings spread wide. Water arced through the sunlight, refracting into brilliant rainbows.
Beyond it loomed a colossal cathedral, encircled by four white spires. The structure dwarfed its surroundings, casting a vast shadow across the plaza.
Its rounded architecture echoed Baroque design—arched windows, lifelike relief carvings, elegance blended with grandeur.
The carriage stopped at the edge of the square.
After disembarking and paying the fare, Zachary turned to Charles with a small smile.
"Come," he said. "High Archbishop Ferriji has been waiting for quite some time."