The Knights of Camelot

by Mamare Touno

  There were about fifty zones that fit that description near Akiba. As far as hunting grounds were concerned, there might be three hundred or so. If those were ranked by quality of experience points, proximity to the town, and apparent safety, there would naturally be a scramble for the popular spots.

  Since the Catastrophe, all zones had been made available for purchase. The zone prices were determined by factors beyond the Adventurers’ comprehension, but at the very least, one of those conditions seemed to be area. This meant that zones with enough area to be hunting grounds would be too expensive to purchase, but there was no need to buy them: Any guild with enough members could use their human resources to “occupy” them.

  “…Plus. The Knights of the Black Sword are aimin’ for ninety-one.”

  “Huh?”

  Ninety-one. She probably meant the level. Since Homesteading the Noosphere had been introduced, the level maximum had probably been released, so that in itself was no surprise. If the level maximum had been let go, it should be possible to grow past level 90, the previous maximum level.

  However, in order to do that, wouldn’t it be necessary to hunt monsters that were at or above level 85? Shiroe had his doubts about whether anyone could skate on ice that thin in the real battles of this other world.

  “The big guilds are tough as things stand, but you know they can’t expect any new players to join up. So, it sounds like they think the issue of level height is gonna have a big effect on their power. That’s behind the player acquisition wars, too. And y’know the Knights of the Black Sword have always aimed for the top…”

  Shiroe nodded, acknowledging what Marielle had pointed out.

  Even in Akiba, the Knights of the Black Sword were a proud fighting guild, elitist to the point of seeming somewhat exclusionist. Not one of their members was under level 85. They didn’t even accept members under level 85. A pureblood combat organization: That was the Knights of the Black Sword.

  “The Knights of the Black Sword still have that level restriction on joinin’ up. Of course they’re still a prestigious major guild, too. The Crescent Moon League can’t compare. But D.D.D. and its 1,500 members are keepin’ the Knights on the ropes. After the Catastrophe, D.D.D. snapped up several smaller guilds. Well, with that level restriction on entry, the Knights of the Black Sword can’t assimilate any smaller guilds. That’s why they’re workin’ to get past level ninety, tryin’ to beat out quantity with quality.”

  “But how—”

  That was the heart of Shiroe’s question. He understood the motive. He also understood the feeling and the strategy… But was there any way to achieve it?

  “By usin’ EXP Pots.”

  “—EXP Pots…”

  EXP Pots were a famous support item in Elder Tales. They were potions that, when drunk, slightly raised a player’s attack power and self-recovery abilities and nearly doubled the amount of experience points won in battle.

  Ordinarily, players couldn’t get any experience points from monsters more than five levels weaker than they were. A secondary effect of the EXP Pots was that, although it wasn’t much, players were able to gain a few experience points from monsters as much as seven levels below them.

  The effects of the potions only lasted two hours, but as a result, during the time they were effective, it was far easier to earn experience points.

  Although these support items were powerful, it wasn’t necessary to go through a large-scale battle or jump any other hurdles to get them. In fact, almost all players had used them at one point or another.

  As a popular, long-running game, Elder Tales had continued to raise its level maximum over the course of its run. That made it difficult for newbie players who’d just begun the game to catch up to those who’d been playing longer. As a result, the administrators had given various assists to new players, and the potions were one of them.

  In specific terms, players under level 30 automatically received one potion per day, free of charge. They were a present from the administrators, given in the spirit of helping players reach midrange levels quickly and enjoy the game.

  “But those potions are—”

  “…There’s this guild called Hamelin. They advertised themselves as bein’ out to rescue newbies, and after the Catastrophe, they attracted a lot of ’em. Everythin’ was a mess then, and it’s true that most weren’t in a place where they could’ve helped newbs. We couldn’t do anythin’, either. But Hamelin… They’re sellin’ off the EXP Pots they collect. Hamelin’s gettin’ rich, and the big guilds are workin’ to boost their levels with those potions. I dunno who’s in the wrong here; maybe nobody is. But that’s the way things are goin’, and there’s nobody who can stop it…”

  3

  The heat of the banquet was gone completely.

  Even though it was early summer, the night wind was cool, and it blew strongly enough to set the tail of his tunic flapping.

  Cloud shadows skimmed across the ground. The moon was so bright it cast shadows, even now in the dead of night. It was past midnight, and Shiroe walked through the streets of Akiba as if he was chasing the contrast between moonlight and shadow.

  He didn’t have a particular destination in mind.

  It was as if he were running from this mysterious, black emotion. Running from it or possibly trying to see it clearly. Even Shiroe didn’t quite understand what he was feeling.

  He felt as if there was a huge, heavy mass in his chest. It was like the ocean at night, but nowhere near as refreshing; the mass was unidentifiable, so black and thick it could have been made of coal tar, and he failed to grasp it completely. He felt as if he had a huge amount of energy, but it wasn’t focused on anything. It was simply there.

  …Although it’s only there.

  Shiroe knew it, too.

  There was nothing for him to unleash this emotion on.

  There probably was a villain somewhere, of course. The Hamelin guild certainly wasn’t good. If he got the opportunity, Shiroe wouldn’t mind fighting them the way he’d fought the Briganteers.

  Still, even if Hamelin was bad, they were just a small-time villain. Hamelin wasn’t behind Akiba’s current situation. All sorts of things that “couldn’t be helped” had piled up, one on another, to make the atmosphere in Akiba what it was. That atmosphere was what he couldn’t stand.

  Besides, Shiroe was well aware that, if he turned that feeling on Hamelin exclusively, he’d be punishing them for something that wasn’t their doing.

  Shiroe walked, holding his breath.

  There was nothing cool about taking things out on other people.

  He didn’t want to lash out at someone just to make himself feel better.

  That left Shiroe unable to vent the pitch-black emotion inside him. To Shiroe, taking it out on Hamelin would make him even worse than they were.

  But in that case…

  In that case, he had nowhere to vent the feeling.

  So Hamelin was a small-time villain. Fine.

  Who was the main villain?

  Who was in the wrong?

  Was it the big fighting guilds, who must have had an inkling of how their EXP Pots were supplied, but were turning a blind eye to it in order to increase their power?

  Was it the newbies, who were fully aware they were being exploited, but had relaxed into the fact that they were weak and let the idea of being “protected” hold them captive?

  Was it the small and midsized guilds, who knew there was inequality between the guilds and had come together in order to do away with it, but had gotten distracted by their own interests, failed to cooperate, and could do nothing but squabble with one another?

  Was it all the players who knew that the atmosphere in the town was deteriorating but just stood by and watched, irresponsibly acting as if it had nothing to do with them?

  Yes. That was wrong.

  They were all wrong.

  Still, those “wrongs” were small ones; for the most part, the people in question were nothing m
ore than foolish or self-centered. None of them was the mastermind that lurked on the far side of all that was wrong. There was no fairy-tale “evil” whose defeat would solve everything. This was nothing so simple or convenient.

  Everything was warping, little by little, and it was frustrating. That was all.

  Shiroe was there, too, in the midst of that distortion. Things were getting more and more uncomfortable in Akiba; a warped order was becoming established, and here he was, with a higher level and more equipment than the majority of Akiba’s citizens, and what was he doing? Nothing. He had a good grasp of the situation, and still he let the moments slip by, letting things pass without comment.

  There was no difference between him and the “unconcerned citizens of Akiba” that he found so irritating. Add in the fact that friends of his were personally involved in the problem, and he might be even worse.

  Although Marielle had said it had failed, they’d managed to start discussing an alliance of guilds. Shiroe himself hadn’t made it even that far.

  The fact that he—he—was thinking that the smaller guilds who could do nothing but squabble with one another were in the wrong was so pathetic and laughable that he bit his lip almost hard enough to bite through.

  I’m uncool. …I may be the least cool one here.

  At some point, he’d reached the crest of a bridge. An old, mossy stone bridge built in a European style spanned the Kanda River. When he leaned on the railing, the scent of water and the sound of ripples spread under the moonlight.

  …Then what should he do?

  Without consciously putting that feeling to work, Shiroe thought. He had the sort of personality that felt compelled to think when it encountered a problem, and it was also a “job” he’d grown used to, thanks to the Debauchery Tea Party.

  Story after story was set up and destroyed.

  Shiroe’s right hand held the red card soldiers, and the black card soldiers were in his left. They crossed paths, sounding the notes of logic with spears of denial and swords of assent. Meaningless facts were weeded out, possibilities examined, and deductions flowed away down the dark river.

  The answer wouldn’t come. How could it? He’d known from the start that there were no easy answers. Shiroe had been saddled with a handicap from the very beginning, one that was much too large. Not only that, it was a handicap he’d picked up by choice.

  Even thinking of it as a handicap is presumptuous. It’s just a bill: what I get for having done nothing but run away. I’m a solo player because that’s what I wanted to be.

  What would she have said? Shiroe lifted his gaze from the surface of the river to the moon. The pure white moon illuminated the predawn streets of Akiba with a luster like that of a highly polished fossil.

  She was a dynamic person… And she wasn’t like me; she wasn’t a coward, and she didn’t drag regrets behind her.

  He could picture her laughing with her big mouth wide open as she resolved everything with the force of a typhoon. He could also picture her tossing Akiba aside because it felt like too much work.

  The most realistic was probably the scenario in which, after she’d rampaged around saying and doing everything she wanted, she dropped the situation into his lap as homework: “You figure out a way to clean up the mess, Shiro! That’s fine, right?! Got a problem with it? Of course you don’t! You’re one of the best, Shiro, so get things squared away ASAP!”

  He called up the telechat function.

  Those two names on his friend list.

  Touya. Minori.

  The twin siblings who were probably in Hamelin.

  Right. He’d known as soon as he heard the story. Shiroe and the twins had gotten separated, and right now, they were probably caught up in this problem. …All because Shiroe had left them on their own. Because, in the instant the Catastrophe occurred, he had prioritized meeting up with his old friend Naotsugu.

  He wanted to help them. He wanted to help, no matter what it took. However, this wasn’t like when they’d gone to rescue Serara.

  For one thing, in the Crescent Moon League’s case, Marielle had been there. When Shiroe had rescued Serara, he’d done so as Marielle’s proxy. In other words, he’d been working for a client.

  Of course he’d wanted to save the girl, but he knew that somewhere he’d had an excuse available: “I’ve accepted a request. All I’m doing is carrying it out.”

  For another, although Shiroe wanted to rescue Touya and Minori now, even more than that, he wanted to do something about everything. He’d felt the same way during their escape from Susukino. Back then, although there hadn’t been many players in the same situation as Serara, there must have been a few others. On some level, Shiroe had felt bad about abandoning the rest of those players and rescuing only her.

  However, there, too, he’d used the fact that his current mission was to rescue Serara as an excuse, closed his eyes to the rest, and returned to Akiba.

  If he used a similar excuse again this time, Shiroe was sure he’d lose all ability to fight.

  Rescue the twins, then, and abolish the tyranny of the big guilds, improve the atmosphere in Akiba and establish a new order… Could Shiroe do something like that? He was a solo player, not affiliated with even a tiny guild, let alone one of the big guilds… And so the answer was no, he couldn’t.

  Not even affiliated with a guild, hm…?

  The thought gave Shiroe a dull, penetrating pain.

  Now that he thought about it, Shiroe had always considered guilds to be something people belonged to. He’d felt they were nothing to do with him. Guilds had always been “there,” and whether that was good or bad, whether they suited him or not—he’d viewed them as an outsider.

  That attitude had been irresponsible.

  That was what he thought now.

  Wasn’t that just like the riffraff who talked about the current atmosphere in Akiba as though it was nothing to do with them, even though they lived there?

  Up until now, Shiroe had never participated in a guild, and he’d never had responsibilities toward one. On top of that, he’d forced his own preferences and convenience on others… The arrogance of that attitude staggered him.

  “Guilds. …Guilds, huh…?”

  “Mew still dislike guilds, Shiroechi?”

  Nyanta appeared from the shadow of a building; a few fragments of asphalt scattered, clicking, as he moved. He narrowed his quiet eyes in a smile, asking a question of Shiroe’s monologue.

  “!”

  Shiroe was startled, but he shrugged his shoulders and moved over slightly, making room.

  “No, I don’t. …Or at least, I don’t think I do.”

  Shiroe thought his hatred of guilds had probably stemmed from several unfortunate encounters. His relationship with the Crescent Moon League, both before and after the Catastrophe, had softened his obstinate prejudice.

  At this point, he could even understand that he’d been arrogant.

  However, on the other hand, he also remembered the PKs he’d met near Akiba and the gang of would-be bandits he’d encountered in Susukino. It was true that the guild system was easily corrupted. In the big guilds, where turf wars were the normal way of things, it was easy to imagine that morals would deteriorate.

  “…Yes, those aspects may exist.”

  Nyanta responded to Shiroe’s thoughts.

  “On the other hand, though, incorruptible things aren’t to be trusted. Birth, illness, old age, and death are the underlying principles of the mewniverse. Anything born will rot. It will suffer from disease and pain and will grow old and weak. Someday it will die. That’s a painful thing, but if mew deny it, mew’re denying birth as well. I know mew know this, Shiroechi. Perhaps it was particularly comfortable ‘there,’ but that’s simply because we all tried to make it comfortable, and we did. Any treasure gained without cost or trouble is no treasure at all in the end.”

  …Yes. He was right.

  Everyone had put in effort as a matter of course, and the work had seemed
so natural that they hadn’t even realized it was work. Now, though, he knew how precious that had been and how much unseen effort the cat-eared friend beside him must have invested.

  It was the same sort of work Marielle did.

  How much support did the Crescent Moon League gain from her smile? Did it not give the guild a strength, one that not even a wealth of rare items nor gold coins could hope to match?

  That meant that if the town of Akiba had been comfortable until now, it had been because somebody somewhere was silently putting in invisible effort.

  “Captain… What should I do?”

  At Shiroe’s words, Nyanta looked up at the same moon.

  In the wind, his black ears flicked, then went still.

  “Mew should do the most incredible thing possible.”

  “Incredible…?”

  Shiroe looked at Nyanta. His expression was as calm as ever, but in the moonlight, he looked even more mature than usual.

  “Mew hold back too much, Shiroechi.”

  He’d heard those words before, at some point, from Naotsugu.

  Shiroe chased their meaning, the meaning he had let slip past him back then.

  He thought seriously about what the words would have meant if they hadn’t just been said lightly, in the moment.

  What they meant.

  What he’d done for Naotsugu.

  What he’d done for Akatsuki.

  In other words, those two had already known…

  “I’ve been keeping them waiting?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And they did wait?”

  “That’s right.”

  “They stayed here with me, without going elsewhere…”

  “That’s right.”

  They were waiting for me to invite them to my guild?

  Shiroe looked down. The lump in his chest, that black, ocean-like mass, rumbled and roared. The feeling he hadn’t been able to vent roiled under the lid he’d clamped down onto it, coming near to boiling over.