Game’s End Part 1

by Mamare Touno

  Even then, no one’s coming to speak with us, which means… Are they deferring to Duke Sergiad? Or has some sort of secret agreement already been made? If not those, is there some wild rumor we can’t even begin to imagine going around?

  Shiroe considered this.

  It was likely that just as he and the other members of the Round Table Council didn’t know everything there was to know about Eastal, the League of Free Cities, Eastal didn’t know everything about the Round Table Council, either.

  The invitation had been a good example.

  Neither was sure whether it was all right to incorporate the other into their organization through what would amount to an order from above, or whether they would be met with severe retaliation if they failed to entertain them with the greatest care and courtesy.

  Each wanted information on the other, but the conversations needed to acquire that information would be careful ones, as they took care not to let themselves be tripped up.

  Inevitably, their exchanges would require a lot of time.

  We may be heading into some tough negotiations.

  Shiroe squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. Krusty and Michitaka were currently conducting the biggest of the negotiations with everything they had. In that case, it was probably Shiroe’s job to find a way through this while he had the chance, but at this stage, he had no ideas.

  Of course, he’d gathered as much information on Eastal as possible beforehand, but it was only knowledge from documents and the town’s taverns. Undiluted information from aristocratic society didn’t often find its way directly to the general public.

  While Shiroe worried, the music abruptly stopped.

  As the murmur of the guests receded like the tide, the throng near the arch of the great hall parted to reveal a shining procession. In the midst of a stir of goodwill and anticipation, three young girls and their partners had appeared.

  5

  “That’s my granddaughter, Raynesia. She’s fifteen this year.”

  Duke Sergiad smiled.

  As he did so, his aristocratic dignity softened, and he wore the gentle expression of a grandfather.

  “I expect you aren’t familiar with it, but this is a tradition of ours. Once they have reached a suitable age, ladies make their society debuts at this ball. The ten-day conference that begins tomorrow is a place to work out Eastal’s various problems, but it’s also a place for us to interact with each other. In order to protect our territories, we nobles use martial and financial power that we accumulate constantly, but in this harsh world, it isn’t enough. Well, and there’s no guarantee we’ll ever be able to prepare sufficiently, but even so. Sometimes friends and relations are better protection for us and our subjects than swords or money or castle walls.”

  Possibly having opened up to them a little, Sergiad thus explained the importance of their social circles to Krusty and Michitaka.

  “I understand. We form groups known as guilds, too, and we work with our friends to support each other. It’s a bit like being family. Sometimes we help each other across guild boundaries. That’s also the mission of the Round Table Council,” Michitaka answered.

  “There are limits to individual strength.” Krusty’s answer built on Michitaka’s.

  It was lip service, but lip service was appropriate to the situation.

  “I believe you’re right.”

  Sergiad smiled back at them, as if their words had matched his own thoughts exactly.

  Even as Michitaka and Sergiad talked, their eyes followed the three girls, who had just reached the center of the hall. The escorts—who supported their hands as if they were something very fragile—were probably knights who belonged to their territories. Each was very much a dandy.

  “They’re all beauties,” Michitaka commented.

  It was a merchant’s patent compliment, but Michitaka was probably glad to be spared the trouble of lying. This time, there was no need for empty flattery.

  The girl who’d advanced one step beyond the group looked a bit younger than fifteen, but she was lovely, with a slender neck and an air of fragility.

  “The one in the center is Raynesia, my granddaughter. The one on the right with spring-green hair is Apretta, the daughter of Marquis Lester of Ouu. The fiery redhead is the granddaughter of Sugana, the lord of Iwafune. They’re all making their first appearance in society this year.”

  I see… They’re quite beautiful young ladies. They’re currently being “presented,” and this will act as their society debut.

  As they looked on, the music began.

  Considering the circumstances, this had to be their first time dancing in public, but they must have practiced and practiced: None of the three betrayed any inexperience in their motions. That said, their expressions were tense.

  Woodwinds joined the stringed instruments, adding greater depth to the gentle waltz, and Shiroe realized that the music sounded familiar. It was the opening theme he’d heard every time the game loaded, back when Elder Tales was a game.

  In this great hall, only the ten people in Shiroe’s group shared that shock and nostalgia. They looked at each other sharply, as if they’d been stung, and soon felt flooded with the urge to smile wryly.

  When their eyes met, they shared the bitter thought that they really had come to another world and had no idea how to get home. However, that didn’t mean they were in any position to lose their composure, and they carried too much responsibility to do so.

  Soon the sequence of phrases came to an end, and the princesses curtseyed in dainty expressions of thanks.

  “Here comes the second piece. …You should go dance as well.”

  “Huh?”

  Michitaka answered old Sergiad with a question and an incredibly dull-witted expression.

  “As I told you earlier, this ball is a social occasion that precedes the conference. Look around. Everyone’s quite interested in you. I’m speaking to you in their place simply because no one knows how to interact with Adventurers, and they’re wary. If things keep on this way, I shouldn’t think you’ll have an easy time exchanging information, let alone be able to trust one another.”

  As he spoke, a hint of mischief showed in the dignified profile of the old lord and representative of Eastal.

  “They all want to see our guests dance. You there, the raven-haired young lady. What about you?”

  Finding the conversation abruptly focused on her, Akatsuki gave a small jump as if she’d received an electric shock and hastily fled into Shiroe’s shadow.

  “I am my liege’s ninja. Ninja are shadows and guards. I-I-I could never draw attention to myself in a public place like this.”

  His eyes then went to Michitaka, who shook his head from side to side, a rather strained expression plastered across his face. “No, no,” he said, “I’m clumsy. I really couldn’t!”

  Although he might specialize in production, he did have the physical abilities of an Adventurer: He shook his head so fast it left a blurry afterimage. It was funny.

  Well, of all of us, Krusty’s the one with the best presence, Shiroe thought, chuckling to himself.

  Krusty might have the fearsome “Berserker” as his subclass and byname, but to all appearances, he was a handsome, intellectual man.

  He would have looked right at home on an American football team, and the phrase “a solidly built, brilliant, elite, handsome type with glasses” suited him perfectly. In terms of position, he’d be the quarterback, and he’d probably be the sort of leader who could execute a frontal breakthrough.

  His powerful build meant he looked good in a tuxedo, and, conveniently, a lady from his guild was in attendance as his companion.

  “This sounds like a job for Shiroe.”

  However, before Shiroe could speak to him, Krusty himself gravely opened his mouth. Shiroe was about to tell him to stop kidding around, but he was checked by Krusty’s extremely serious expression.

  “I’d like to speak with Lord Sergiad a little
while longer. If you go, Shiroe… What was it? That’s right. ‘This ball is your hunting ground,’ isn’t it? I’d like you to use some of those brilliant techniques for the Round Table Council.”

  K-Krusty… You’re saying that on purpose, aren’t you?! D-dammit…

  Shiroe felt the blood draining from his face.

  He could face down high-level monsters and take a firm stand at major conferences, but Shiroe was a counselor type, a person who made meticulous plans and built battle lines with measures that were sure to succeed. If he’d had ten days’ advance notice, no matter how tough the issue, he would probably have found a way to get through it, but when it was shoved at him abruptly like this, he could only stand there blinking.

  However, Krusty, the representative of the Round Table Council, was asking him to take his place because he had matters to discuss with Duke Sergiad, the foremost lord of Eastal. Even Shiroe would have a hard time objecting.

  All else aside, because Krusty and Michitaka had been dexterously handling the negotiations up until a moment ago, Shiroe had been standing around doing nothing. Of course, he’d been thinking about future plans, but since he hadn’t been able to find any hint regarding those, once a task had been given to him, his feelings of guilt drove him to take it.

  Haaah… I guess I’ll just have to go embarrass myself.

  Shiroe’s shoulders were on the verge of drooping dejectedly when he felt someone watching him. He looked up and met Henrietta’s beautiful smile.

  “Master Shiroe. Sagging shoulders don’t suit you.”

  “That’s easy to say, but… I really can’t help it.”

  More than half desperate, Shiroe sighed, but Henrietta had put up her index finger and was wagging it from side to side like a professor.

  “Gentlemen must never betray a lack of confidence, even if all they can manage is a show of courage. That’s doubly true for a guild master, you know. Mari’s silly and foolish and thoughtless—and, while I’m at it, buxom—but that’s one thing she knows perfectly well.”

  She couldn’t have been more right. Marielle’s smile encouraged her guild members most at the times when smiling should have been impossible. Shiroe felt remorse.

  He was well aware that although he was clever, his weakness was a tendency to borrow trouble and brood over futures that hadn’t yet arrived.

  “All right. I’m sorry.”

  “Very good. Now, then… Since you’re such a good boy, Master Shiroe, I’ll give you a spell.”

  “Huh?”

  Turning elegantly on her toes, Henrietta came to stand in front of Shiroe. She held out a hand sheathed in a silk glove.

  “Akatsuki, my dear? Watch carefully.”

  When, overawed, Shiroe took her fingertips, Henrietta twined his arm around hers in a natural gesture and walked him out to the center of the hall.

  Wait… Miss Henrietta!

  As far as Shiroe was concerned, this was overdoing it.

  Even if they had to dance, there were lots of places where they could blend into the crowd and get through a number relatively unnoticed. A corner at the back of the hall, say, or near the southern exit. The center of the hall was meant for the banquet’s guests of honor, and for people who were really good at dancing.

  “Master Shiroe. Smile, and stick out your chest.”

  “……”

  He felt himself gulp. True, he’d been nervous at the conference that had launched the Round Table Council, and he’d had several heart-pounding experiences during PK battles and the earlier large-scale battles, but this was a unique sort of terror.

  He couldn’t shake the idea that the guests who filled the hall were watching him and snickering, evaluating him.

  “That’s good. Hold that posture, and put your hand on my waist… No, a little higher. …That’s right, as if your hand is resting on the small of my back.”

  “I’ve got a confession to make. I have absolutely no dance skills whatsoever.”

  “My. Don’t say ‘confession’ when we’re standing like this. You’ll make me blush.”

  Henrietta looked up at Shiroe and smiled.

  She’d changed from her usual career woman’s rimless glasses, possibly to match her ball gown, and her eyes looked larger than he’d expected. Being smiled at like that made Shiroe feel flustered.

  “That’s not what I meant. Seriously, please don’t duck the issue.”

  “Master Shiroe? You do know what my class is, don’t you?”

  “You’re an Accountant—Oh.”

  Henrietta lowered her eyes. Gazing at Shiroe’s chest, she listened closely and began murmuring in a soft voice. She was singing, faintly, like a songbird’s twitter, so quietly that it would have been easy to miss.

  Even though she probably hadn’t heard this waltz before, Henrietta predicted it in advance, marking time.

  “All right, Master Shiroe. Let’s begin.”

  The music filled the entire hall, like bubbles that rose from champagne and burst. The third song began. Henrietta stepped toward Shiroe, as if drawing closer to the elegant, classical melody.

  Shiroe kept his chest out, continuing to support Henrietta’s waist. Henrietta turned and twirled like a fluttering petal, guiding Shiroe, murmuring all the while.

  That’s right. Miss Henrietta…is a Bard.

  “Bard” was one of the twelve classes in Elder Tales.

  Although it was one of the three “weapon attack” classes—in contrast to Assassins and Swashbucklers, who used their own methods to inflict high damage—“Bard” was a support class.

  “Support class” was the general term for classes that made battles unfold to their advantage by amplifying their companions’ combat strength and lowering the enemy’s. In Elder Tales, the only two support classes were Shiroe’s Enchanter and Henrietta’s Bard.

  Bards’ defining characteristic was that they controlled music. As stated in their name, Bards had music-related abilities, and they acquired many special skills with long effect times. In the world of Elder Tales, where most special skills had effect times that ranged from a mere instant to ten seconds, Bards were unique: Many of their special skills had effects that lasted minutes, or even permanently.

  Henrietta said that she herself had never participated in one, but it was safe to say that these powers displayed their true worth in large-scale battles, where players had to withstand pressure for much longer than they did in normal battles.

  In addition, although they were less skilled than Assassins and Swashbucklers, they also trained in hand-to-hand combat, and they were particularly good with lightweight weapons such as slender swords and bows.

  Since weapon attacks didn’t use MP, in long-term battles, they combined weapon attacks that didn’t drain MP with long-term special skills that had good MP efficiency. Their energy-cost performance was outstanding, and they could maintain their combat abilities long-term.

  On the other hand, precisely because the class was so specialized to long-term combat, they had extremely low instantaneous force in all elements of attack, recovery, and support. Their ability to find a way out of a situation with a sudden reflexive action was poor, and the fact that the class required deep insight and an eye for future developments made it difficult to break into.

  And now here was Henrietta, in Shiroe’s arms, twirling and turning at the center of the great hall.

  Henrietta took the initiative and led, without forcing Shiroe into the steps. Before long, Shiroe grew used to the motions.

  To begin with, their bodies in this other world were dozens of times more capable than their real-world bodies. Compared to his real, Internet-addict’s body, even magic user Shiroe had agility and strength on par with an athlete.

  About the time Shiroe was beginning to have a vague grasp of the way his own body was moving, a tiny eighth note sprang from the base of Henrietta’s throat.

  “Are you starting to understand, Master Shiroe?”

  “Starting to.”

  Even
as Henrietta whispered in a small voice, she didn’t stop releasing the tiny eighth notes.

  C was a sweet orange.

  D was lemon yellow.

  E was spring green, and F was a bright blue.

  The G note was a blue as deep as the sea, and A was a magnificent purple.

  B was a red that was halfway between raspberry and the middle of a sunset.

  Shiroe didn’t know how she was showing them to him, or how she was managing to do it even as they talked, but the multicolored notes that spilled from Henrietta’s chest drifted around them like tiny fairies, then dissolved into the air.

  It was probably a visual effect from one of the Bard’s special skills, but wouldn’t it require extraordinary instincts to match the music this closely? Or was it something anyone with a Bard’s musical skills could do?

  In other words… It’s like a music game.

  Shiroe hadn’t been terribly good at them, but he’d had some experience with that game genre in the old world. In the real world, there had been games where you beat a drum or cut a rug while dancing on the foot panel of the large main unit.

  Compared to those, the tempo of the music was slower, and the steps were far simpler. Shiroe focused his concentration, linking the melody he heard with the rainbow-colored notes that skimmed past Henrietta’s smooth cheek.

  “That’s right. Right step. Right forward. …Half turn.”

  “Yes, maestra.”

  As Shiroe answered with a small chuckle, Henrietta looked taken aback for a moment. Then he saw her expression change to one of dissatisfaction, but, for some reason, even that was intensely fun.

  Ahh, it’s been so long since I heard music and enjoyed it. Since my body began to move on its own, Shiroe thought.

  Web TV, Web radio, MP3s. Before, music had been everywhere. It had been free and so ubiquitous he’d forgotten just how special it actually was.

  Music was special.

  Something that didn’t exist in nature. Something humans had created.

  Like food, it was the sort of experience whose richness they’d only noticed once it was gone. He was grateful to the beautiful Bard before him who’d never stopped playing melodies in her heart, even during the time when they’d completely forgotten music.