A Sunday in Akiba

by Mamare Touno

“Just sit there, Boss.”

  “You’re dumb, Chief, so don’t think.”

  As the people around him spoke to him this way, Isaac guffawed as though he’d been complimented. This was how the Knights of the Black Sword did things. To Lezarik, who stood nearby and was sending him pitying looks, he roared, “They’re full of energy today, too!”

  “Zone Patrol Team Three is back.”

  “Hey. Good work.”

  Isaac spoke to a group of three who’d just returned from outside. He thought that noticing this sort of thing promptly meant you were fit to be a general, and that it was just like him to be so considerate. It was definitely a skill based in charisma.

  “And? How was it? Hm? Did something happen?”

  “Yes, we rescued a wagon that had gotten stuck on a side road, mediated four arguments, and handled one suit for payment… Wasn’t that it?”

  “Great, that’s the way!”

  Isaac nodded magnanimously, affirming his members’ report.

  The Knights of the Black Sword were conducting voluntary town patrols.

  By now, the Libra Festival had gone beyond the boundaries of Akiba’s small and midsized guilds and its production guilds, and had come to the attention of nearby People of the Earth aristocrats and merchants. Crowds of producers and merchants were surging in, attempting to sell their products. Fielding them and sorting out trouble required a realistic number of people.

  The Production Guild Liaison Committee was working hard, but the organization’s reason for being was to balance interests between guilds. Where this matter was concerned, its main duties had been holding discussions and the lottery to select exhibition spots. It probably didn’t have enough people to handle any trouble in town proper.

  With that in mind, Isaac was running patrols and inspecting incoming People of the Earth.

  This was the Bridge of All Ages, which spanned the Kanda Irrigation Canal on the southern edge of town. Merchants from Izu and farther west crossed this bridge to enter Akiba. The entry checks were simple and cursory. Knights asked for the merchants’ names, and confirmed the number of people and wagons in their party as well as their main cargo. These items were written in a ledger, and that was it.

  Compared to an actual customs check, it was full of holes.

  However, Isaac thought that, with this sort of thing, what counted was fighting spirit.

  In other words, power.

  Knights of the Black Sword in rugged armor would break that lot’s morale by beating them to the punch. They’d hammer them with the intent to strike back hard if anyone caused trouble in town. It was all about fighting spirit and drawing lines.

  “You look bored.”

  “Shaddup. How’re things on your end?”

  Isaac turned his sharp gaze on the individual who’d just entered. Like Isaac, the big man with glasses was one of the eleven guild masters who made up the Round Table Council: Krusty, the intellectual warrior who led D.D.D.

  He was at the top of the town of Akiba, a man Isaac acknowledged as superior. Both as a guild master and as a Guardian, he was the only one equal to Isaac on the server.

  “No particular problems on our end, either.”

  Krusty’s lips turned up slightly. Isaac decided that was how this guy with glasses smiled.

  It wasn’t that they hadn’t been known to each other back in the days when this was a game. Although they led different guilds, they were both top players on the Yamato server. They’d spoken several times, and more than that, it would have been a lie to say that they hadn’t been on each other’s radar.

  For raid guilds like the Knights of the Black Sword and D.D.D., the competition to be the first to attempt a raid was very important. A new expansion pack was applied, and new raid content was added. These were brand new challenges, like untouched, new-fallen snow.

  And they were very difficult, of course.

  Raid content was another name for high-end content created just for serious veterans, those who’d played through all solo and party content. In order to break through that obstacle, you needed crazed junkies who’d trained to the highest level, had a full range of equipment at the highest level, and whose strength of will was at the highest level as well.

  In most cases, the raid content that was added with expansion packs consisted of between five and seven dungeons. Ordinarily, their difficulty was stair stepped. First, they’d test their skills by charging what was thought to be the easiest dungeon. The result had always been complete annihilation.

  At that point, Isaac and his comrades would lick their lips, undaunted.

  It meant, This one looks like it’s worth tackling.

  Making attempt after attempt, accumulating original ideas, and steamrolling a powerful raid boss brought an indescribable sense of achievement. As perks, they acquired fantasy-class items that held powerful, brand-new capabilities, and their companions’ military might increased. They’d use the items obtained that time to beef up their forces, then tackle the dungeon at the next difficulty level. And then, the cycle simply repeated.

  Of course, Isaac and the Knights of the Black Sword weren’t the only ones attempting that race. D.D.D., the biggest, toughest guild on the Yamato server, was capturing them in the exact same way. Who would take that boss down first? Who would manage to clear this dungeon first? What raid guilds were after was the race to be first.

  They were guilds that fought for fame.

  To Isaac, that was what raid guilds were.

  The fantasy-class items that came along with them were perks, nothing more than tools.

  Greeders, players who were dazzled by high-class items, weren’t warriors in the true sense of the world. The Knights of the Black Sword had no use for guys like that. That was what Isaac thought.

  “Right. But hey…”

  “Mn?”

  Still seated on his chair, Isaac looked up at the man in front of him. “This ‘nothing happening’ business blows. Think somebody’ll start something?”

  “I wonder.”

  “The People of the Earth ain’t picking any fights.”

  This calm, expressionless giant of a man was the same type of person as Isaac. Level, special skills, equipment, and money were all no more than footholds. They were true gamers who had vied with each other for the position of top guild on the Yamato server. That was precisely why they were able to keep patrolling the town this way, when there was no hope of any return. It led to fame, and most important, it kept them from getting bored.

  “With this great a disparity in combat strength… Well, I’d guess it’s fifty-fifty.”

  “Hahn. You rate ’em pretty high.”

  Isaac was already used to the way the young man with glasses spoke. If this man said it, it was probably true. Besides, Isaac felt it as well.

  “Hey.”

  “Yes?”

  “That guy. The Machiavelli guy. Whaddaya think of him?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what’?”

  Isaac’s question came right back at him. Isaac shot Krusty a glare, but he didn’t seem to have been dodging the question. Isaac shrugged and went in deeper.

  “Machiavelli. Is he smart or an idiot?”

  “I imagine it isn’t impossible to be both.”

  “Y’know… I asked Machiavelli to join up one time.”

  Did the guy in question remember it, or not?

  He’d evaded the matter at the conference, but Isaac remembered it clearly. It had been several months after the Debauchery Tea Party had suddenly disbanded. He’d figured the Tea Party would reform as a stand-alone guild, but it had just disappeared. Most of the members had withdrawn, seemingly without regrets, and returned to playing solo.

  Unusually for that group, Shiroe had been a player whose log-in frequency hadn’t dropped.

  “After the Tea Party, Machiavelli took part in raids all over the place, as a mercenary. When he came to ours, I asked him to join up. I didn’t ask him because of the Tea Party name, either. I�
�d seen him play.”

  “And?”

  At Krusty’s words, Isaac rolled his head, cracking his neck, and answered.

  “Turned me down. ‘That invitation’s too good for me,’ he said. So then I stopped caring. If a guy has the guts to rip through a raid monster, I’ll ask him to sign on even if he can’t stand it, but I’ve got no use for guys who are dried up and done.”

  Isaac really had given up on Shiroe.

  However, he’d never imagined that Shiroe would grow again, and that he’d come to have influence in Akiba that way. Had his eyes been clouded? The thought had been bothering him.

  If Isaac were asked whether he wanted to fight alongside Shiroe, the answer was yes.

  He’d thought it would be fun to fight beside that eccentric-looking guy with glasses. He’d probably use methods as crooked as his expression to yield maximum military results. When he’d come to help out, although their MP should’ve run out entirely, somehow he’d managed to recover it for a dozen players at a stroke.

  “Is the guy a strategist or a gambler? …Is he washed up, or can he still go?”

  “Shiroe’s… He’s probably the type who does best when ‘anything’s possible.’”

  “When anything’s possible—”

  “I don’t think he’s a strategist. He doesn’t care how it looks, he lets the end justify the means, he doesn’t expect any return, doesn’t pay attention to anything except the goal. Under circumstances like those, he shows unmatched strength. He’s a type of demon sword.”

  Isaac didn’t understand a word of what Krusty was saying, but as he listened to his voice, it suddenly all made sense to him.

  The Shiroe Isaac had seen back then must have been just Shiroe’s shell.

  The spirit he’d shown at that conference had been Shiroe getting serious. When he thought of it that way, Isaac grew absurdly excited. He guffawed at the tall man standing beside him.

  “Then that demon sword’s buried in files and groaning, huh? Well, now. I wonder when it’ll get drawn next. I bet the best is yet to come, yeah? All right… I guess I’ll head out to take in the festival! Hey, Krusty! C’mon with me.”

  After chewing out a subordinate who’d come to deliver a report, Isaac issued an invitation to Krusty, and they turned their steps toward their own hometown, which was seething with Adventurers and People of the Earth.

  5

  A short while earlier in another corner of town, the women of the Crescent Moon League were making preparations for the exhibition and sale of winter clothes.

  The venue was a newly created hall known as the Silver Hall.

  In the old world, the site of the building in which the hall was located had held a huge composite electronics emporium, but, as usual in this other-world Akiba, that had been replaced with a ruin.

  That ruin had been remodeled over two months, and the result was Silver Hall. Even if it was a ruin, the upper floors had only been sheared off; the foundation had still been completely intact, and its structure, like a high-ceilinged hotel, was convenient and had made the remodel relatively easy.

  They’d developed a process of making molds with wooden frames, pouring cement into them, then shaping the surface with stucco, and this had made remodeling ruins much easier. This was another discovery that had appeared after the establishment of the Round Table Council, and the work had progressed rapidly. The Adventurers’ ability to create items in very little time had worked to their advantage, along with the fact that they had spirits and other on-site labor to command.

  The interior of Silver Hall had been divided into several large exhibition spaces. The main venue for the autumn festival was a first-floor ballroom, the largest one in the building. Inside, many guilds were making final preparations at their sales booths.

  As one of these many guilds, the Crescent Moon League’s clothing and accessories team had decorated their booth.

  The booth was about five meters square, and between the crates packed with merchandise and the table for the cashier, there wasn’t much extra space. It held chests that had been made over into display shelves, and they were hanging up the all-important exhibit: the vegetable-dyed tunics.

  Marielle and a few members who worked with clothing and accessories were acting as sales clerks. Akatsuki, who had been kidnapped to assist them that morning, was being dolled up in a corner of the booth by an uncommonly enthusiastic Henrietta.

  “Akatsuki, dear, you’re adorable. I mean it! I truly think I’m going to fall for you…”

  “This is enough…”

  Akatsuki spoke firmly, glancing up at her as if she was troubled. The sight made Henrietta scatter heart marks around. Even so, when Akatsuki tried to get away, she held her wrist firmly, mercilessly declaring, “Not yet.”

  Akatsuki was dressed in a vegetable-dyed tunic blouse that was being displayed as merchandise, coordinated with a black undershirt and an asymmetrical cotton wrap-skirt. The fringe on the skirt’s hem and the necklace of wooden beads looked ethnic and cute.

  “Since we’re at it, let’s add a little makeup.”

  “I’m not… Rrgh. I’m not good with that sort of thing.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s going to be just fine.”

  Henrietta knelt on the floor, as if to put herself on Akatsuki’s eye level. Feeling an ominous premonition, Akatsuki tried to run, but when Henrietta took an eyeliner out of her pouch and began to draw it on, she froze, and there was no way for her to escape.

  In this other world, women’s skin was much better than it had been in the real world. To Akatsuki, it was good enough that there seemed to be no need for makeup at all.

  However, makeup wasn’t the sort of thing that was done simply because it was “necessary.” As a rule, there was no limit to the desire to look attractive. They might be pretty enough, but it was feminine instinct to aim even higher.

  Even Akatsuki wasn’t denying makeup itself. In the real world, she’d worn a little as well. (…Awkwardly, as camouflage, but even so.)

  Not only that, but in this other world, gazing fixedly at her own face in a mirror made her feel guilty, as if she were seeking some sort of narcissistic pleasure.

  It was something she’d done quite casually in the old world, but now that she thought about it, makeup was a rather outrageous act. Why, in game terms, it would have meant changing your texture. It was successfully disguising yourself as a different person.

  In any case, even during her time in the old world, Akatsuki hadn’t put on makeup properly. Simply painting on gloss had blurred the edges of her lips, and she’d never used mascara at all.

  “Uuu.”

  “You’re a Japanese beauty, Akatsuki.”

  “Erg?”

  Gently but quickly, Henrietta made up Akatsuki, who’d been recalling her own history with cosmetics. Using a thin brush, Henrietta outlined her lips. Akatsuki just stood stiffly, unable to resist.

  “Don’t worry. It’s light makeup, so its effect on silly men who don’t know the difference between natural makeup and no makeup will be excellent. Besides, since you’re a traditional beauty, your atmosphere’s a bit too rigid for this sort of clan-casual outfit. We need to increase your color saturation. Let’s pull your hair back with a barrette as well.”

  Akatsuki could do nothing but agree.

  When she looked down at herself, it was true that the patterned wrap skirt was ethnic—or rather, rustic—and it seemed as if it might not go that well with her black hair.

  Obeying Henrietta’s instructions, she closed her lips on a piece of tissue paper a few times, removing excess oil. “Ooh… You’re just too cute!” Henrietta smiled and hugged her.

  Up until a little while ago, she would have been mad about being treated like a mascot, but strangely, in the world of Elder Tales, she was able to tolerate it.

  Maybe it’s because I don’t feel like people are making fun of me?

  Even so, it made her uncomfortable, and she struggled a bit. Perhaps Henrietta noticed an
d took pity on her; she combed her hair a few times, clipped it back with a barrette, and released her. She was shown to the mirror, and she found that though her hair hung as straight and long as always, she looked just a little more mature. Maybe because her hair was bound back by the clip.

  She’d avoided this hairstyle because she’d assumed it wouldn’t work well with her short stature, but in combination with the light makeup, she felt as if it might not actually look bad on her. In spite of herself, Akatsuki came close to smiling.

  “Mature.” …I like the sound of that!

  “What do you think?” Henrietta asked.

  “Nn…… Mm-hmm.”

  Akatsuki was at a loss for words. She was happy, but acknowledging it clearly in words would be embarrassing. Besides, she would have really hated it if it sounded like she was bragging. That said, Henrietta had gone to a lot of trouble for her, and it would be mean to seem as though she was denying it.

  Of course, that was true even if this makeup and costume were decorations for the sale and the show.

  “Doesn’t it please you? —She does look sweet, doesn’t she, Master Shiroe?”

  “Uh…huh?!”

  However, her hesitation lasted only until she heard those words from Henrietta. Akatsuki froze, unable to move, just as if she’d been glared at by a Medusa. An uneasy Don’t tell me crawled its way up her spine.

  “Mm-hmm. I think it looks very good on her.”

  The perfectly calm, familiar, vaguely troubled voice Akatsuki heard behind her belonged to her liege, Shiroe.

  “How long—”

  “Since a little while ago. They called me here to help, too.”

  Shiroe shrugged and continued, but Akatsuki couldn’t even meet his eyes. She thought she’d tremble so hard her mouth would twist into a weird shape; she didn’t feel like herself.

  Henrietta, who wasn’t aware of these circumstances, said, “What do you think of this ensemble?” and pushed Akatsuki—who was trying to hide—forward.

  Akatsuki hastily tried to circle around behind Shiroe, but Henrietta gently restrained her, and she couldn’t move. Shoving her away and running would have been easy, but it would have been far too outrageous an act.