by Mamare Touno
“What are you planning to do by getting us all together?”
“Pain in the butt…”
“Why does stuff like this have to be said now?”
“I know what you’re trying to say, but what on earth can we do?”
As if to quell the murmurs that rose here and there, Ains, the young guild master of Honesty, asked a question.
“Will this be something like the earlier alliance of smaller guilds?”
“Similar. However, I hear that did fail.”
Shiroe glanced at the guilds in question, Grandale and RADIO Market. The two representatives went pale and nodded. These guilds—and actually, the Crescent Moon League as well—were far too small to be at this conference. In terms of numbers, several of the groups here were over fifty times larger.
“True, that plan did collapse. However, I think it was because it had several unreasonable aspects. The plan at the time was for the small and midsized guilds to band together and oppose the big guilds. …In other words, the small guilds would come together and fight to protect their own interests. Our plan failed.”
Akaneya, guild master of RADIO Market, was also a master-class Mechanist, a subclass that created mechanical clocks and devices. Marielle picked up where he’d left off, supplementing his words.
“That’s right. We said we’d cooperate, but we ended up just chasin’ after our own guilds’ interests…which meant we couldn’t agree, which meant things broke down.”
“Are you planning to speak to every force—or at least, all the leading forces in Akiba—and coordinate their interests this time?”
“…They couldn’t even bring the small guilds together. With the big guilds’ egos involved, it’ll never work. This is insane!”
The members began to react to Marielle’s words.
Marielle’s name—in other words, the Crescent Moon League’s name—had been on the invitation as well. As a result, the participants had probably thought, in the backs of their minds, Is the real purpose of this conference to continue the small guild alliance that failed?
That’s a natural assumption…
However, even if his name was familiar to a certain set of people, it would have been difficult for Shiroe to convene the conference on the strength of his name alone.
Marielle’s name value and the Crescent Moon League, alias “Snack Shop Crescent Moon”—the notoriety of those two names had carried him to the beginning of the conference. However, he’d need to clear up that misunderstanding as soon as possible.
“My purpose this time is a bit different. I want to improve current conditions in Akiba.”
The sound of a chair scraping back interrupted Shiroe’s clear words.
“In that case, count us out.”
The player who’d stood was the one who’d been fidgeting irritably, William of Silver Sword. He adjusted the saber at his waist and tossed back his mantle.
“We’re a fighting guild. The atmosphere in town is no concern of ours. We just come back here to exchange items. In other words, it doesn’t matter to us whether the atmosphere gets better or worse. The lot that cares about the town should carry on here. I’m not saying discussing it is a bad idea, although I do think it’s a waste of time. We just aren’t interested, that’s all. Leave us out of it.”
Flinging that remark over his shoulder, William left the conference room.
The room began to buzz.
The people in charge of Grandale, RADIO Market, and the Crescent Moon League looked particularly pale. Shiroe had heard that in the last days of the small guild alliance, members had dropped out this way one after another.
However, Shiroe, who was steering the discussion, had anticipated developments like this one.
Silver Sword is out, then…
Shiroe analyzed the fact’s influence on the tide of battle, updating a mental scorecard.
Silver Sword certainly was a large combat guild, but it wasn’t vital to this conference. If the biggest fighting guild (D.D.D.) or the biggest production guild (the Marine Organization) made a motion to leave, he’d do something to stop them, but he’d assumed from the beginning that one or two guilds would storm out.
More importantly, the departure of William and his group had unsettled the atmosphere at the conference, and he had to do something about that.
“There are eleven of us now, but I’ll continue. The reason I’ve called you here, as Silver Sword said a moment ago, is to advocate for the formation of an organization to discuss the self-government issues in Akiba: the ‘Round Table Council.’ Roughly speaking, there are two pressing objectives. First, to improve the atmosphere in Akiba. More specifically, to set it on a track toward revitalization. Second, to improve public order. For now, I will focus on these two points, with the ultimate goal being an organization which will be able to resolve issues with Akiba’s self-government.”
The assembly answered him with silence.
It was the type of stillness that occurred because participants were gauging one another’s responses.
Now it really begins.
In the awareness that he was finally standing at the starting line, Shiroe examined the expressions of those around him.
True, the players gathered here could influence about 80 percent of the population of Akiba. The membership of the assembled guilds alone was more than six thousand. That was 40 percent of the players living in Akiba.
On top of that, guilds this large had friendly ties with many other guilds, as well as numerous quasi-subordinate guilds. Arranging for materials and going hunting with other guilds also gave them wide-ranging horizontal connections.
The players assembled here held great influence over all the Adventurers in Akiba. Consensus at this conference would be nearly equivalent to consensus among everyone living in Akiba. Of course, Shiroe had chosen which guilds to invite to the conference with this result in mind.
However, in equal measure, it would be incredibly difficult to get guilds this enormous to come to an agreement. It would be many times harder than crushing a single guild. Shiroe had been fully aware of that going in.
“Before that, could we hear your criteria for member selection?”
It was Ains who first broke the silence. The guild master of the major combat guild Honesty, he spoke in a calm voice that meshed with his middle-aged appearance.
“Of course. First, I chose the Knights of the Black Sword, Honesty, D.D.D., and the West Wind Brigade because they are large-scale combat guilds or because they have achieved great things. Silver Sword, which has bowed out, was selected for that reason as well. The Marine Organization, the Roderick Trading Company, and Shopping District Eight were invited to represent the production guilds, as they are the three largest. The Crescent Moon League, Grandale, and RADIO Market were called as representatives of the smaller guilds. So that there will be no misunderstandings, I would like to make one thing perfectly clear with regard to these last three: These three guilds were selected in order to incorporate the opinions of players unaffiliated with a guild and of smaller guilds, which I was unable to invite to join us, rather than as single guilds in their own right. Just because a guild is small, that doesn’t mean we should ignore the weight of what they have to say. In addition, if this council is formed, I will probably request that they perform these tasks.”
He’d anticipated some backlash from having invited three smaller guilds to participate, but the assembly accepted it more calmly than he’d expected.
It was true that, in all, over six thousand players were affiliated with the major guilds he’d summoned. However, conversely, that meant that the number of other players in Akiba—in other words, the unaffiliated players and the members of small and midsized guilds—was close to nine thousand. They seemed to have accepted that the smaller guilds had been invited to represent these players.
Of course, Shiroe observed, there was a large possibility that they’d let it slide because they assumed there would be no council.
The taciturn question came from “Berserker” Krusty, the leader of D.D.D. Belying his name, he was a dandy who wore glasses.
“I’m attending as organizer and as the one who came up with the idea,” Shiroe said firmly.
He was hosting a conference regarding Akiba’s self-government. If the qualifications to participate in that conference were guild size or fame, then Shiroe himself technically wasn’t qualified to be there.
If the guild master of a guild formed just the week before—a guild with only four members, so tiny one hesitated even to call it “small”—began to talk about the future of Akiba, no one would listen.
Even from the perspective of the criteria Shiroe himself had used to select the guilds, he would have been out.
Still, that’s neither here nor there.
Was he qualified to participate? No, probably not. Well, then, had the big guilds that were qualified made the town any better? Had they done anything for the whole community since the Catastrophe? No, they hadn’t.
They’ve already demonstrated that things won’t go the way I want if I just sit around and wait. …Sure, it’s arrogant. I’m just indulging myself. I won’t stand on ceremony anymore. I won’t hold anything back. I’ll do what I want to do. And in order to do it, I’ll lay groundwork, and I’ll even convene a conference.
“Hm… In other words, you sponsored this conference and sent out invitations just to qualify yourself to participate?”
Krusty’s question was grounded in an accurate perception of Shiroe’s intent. Since that was so, Shiroe held his head high and answered, “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Say that council is formed. How exactly would you maintain public order? And actually, in this case, what deterioration in public order are we talking about specifically?”
At “Black Sword” Isaac’s question, Shiroe braced himself.
“I believe it’s common knowledge that a few guilds are keeping newbies under what amounts to house arrest on the pretext of protecting them. That isn’t a healthy situation.”
Directly confronted by these words, “Black Sword” Isaac flinched.
“…You mean the EXP Pots, right? But you couldn’t call that illegal…”
EXP Pots. The room buzzed at the abrupt mention of that noun. More than half the reactions were something along the lines of “Ah, I thought that would come up.” No doubt it was a fact that, questions of legality aside, the others had also felt vaguely guilty, at least to some extent.
“Right now, no law exists for the players. Saying that no law has been broken when ‘law’ doesn’t even exist is mere sophistry. I’m certain everyone here is aware of that.”
Isaac’s expression was grim. Shiroe continued.
“This is about more than EXP Pots. The problem lies in the fact that we, the players, have no law. As things stand, anyone can do anything at all, no matter how reckless. Even so, there’s almost no disadvantage to us, provided we’re the only ones we care about.”
“Now that’s an exaggeration. We have law. Any player who fights in a noncombat zone pays with their life.”
“That’s a result. It isn’t law. It happens because of a simple principle. …Let me put it more clearly: The act of fighting in a noncombat zone is the cause, and it carries the effect of an attack from the guards. That’s all. You can’t even call that a rule. It’s just a phenomenon. It isn’t something we approved. It wasn’t even created. How could something like that be law?”
At Shiroe’s words, Isaac shut his mouth.
The Knights of the Black Sword was one of the major fighting guilds rumored to be buying EXP Pots. His obstinate arguments were probably intended to cover up his own feelings of guilt. However, the arguments were an obstacle on Shiroe’s road to victory, and Shiroe cut them down with all his might.
“For example, I visited the town of Susukino the other day. In Susukino, a guild called the Briganteers had gone into business kidnapping young female NPCs and selling them to players as slaves.”
The conference attendees turned shocked faces to Shiroe.
“In terms of the conversation we’ve been having, since they weren’t attacked by the guards for it, it wasn’t ‘illegal.’ But is that what law is? In this world, it could be. At the very least, the specs make it possible. If asked to say whether it’s possible or impossible, it is possible. But that isn’t what law is. The question I want to ask you is, ‘Are we going to let that be a possibility with regard to ourselves?’ Isn’t that fundamentally what law is? It’s the question of where we put the rules by which we ourselves are governed.”
There were any number of possible excuses.
For example, the newbies were being penned up for their own protection. The EXP Pots were being confiscated to supplement the newbies’ living expenses, which they couldn’t completely cover due to their poor combat abilities.
With regard to the NPCs, it could be argued that they were just AI-powered dolls and so had no human rights. At the very least, one couldn’t prove that they weren’t AI-powered dolls and did have human rights. At any rate, real-world history showed that human rights were something that generally had to be won, instead of proven.
For that reason, Shiroe’s tactical objective wasn’t to take down these excuses one by one. At the very least, his short-term objective was to make everyone present admit that it was necessary to govern themselves in this lawless other world.
In reaction to the question Shiroe had tossed at them, some of the conference participants shut their mouths, and others loudly voiced their opinions. It wasn’t just the formal members, either. Their staff members also joined in, and tumult filled the conference room.
The responses seemed to be roughly split into two camps.
One held the opinion that it was indeed necessary to make rules of some sort.
The other held the view that that sort of consensus building would be impossible.
“Silver Sword said they wouldn’t participate in the conference and left, but they seem to have approved of the conference continuing. Suppose a force that doesn’t approve of the council’s very existence appears in Akiba. In other words, a force that defies the council’s aims. What will you do?”
Krusty directed his question at Shiroe. The question was as calm and to the point as ever, but he asked it as if he was voicing the second of the two views.
“Fight. Specifically, I’ll exile them from Akiba. Even if they manage to infiltrate, they’ll have a very difficult time doing anything. Of course, the option of forcing them to disband is also on my radar.”
Shiroe’s answer raised a great clamor, mostly from the combat guilds.
It was the same sort of startled cry that Marielle, Henrietta, and Shouryuu had given in the Crescent Moon League conference room two weeks earlier.
“Disband a guild,” “exile a guild”… These were easy things to say, but nearly impossible to accomplish. In this world, even death wasn’t much of a deterrent. After all, resurrection existed. With death no deterrent, being arrested lost much of its effectiveness. For example, if a player was arrested and detained, ultimately they could escape by committing suicide.
Under circumstances like these, it was incredibly difficult to do any lethal damage to guilds.
However, the baffled silence wasn’t rooted in a feeling of faltering helplessness, as the Crescent Moon League’s had been: The conference room held top players with influence over nearly 80 percent of the population of Akiba.
There were many things that, while impossible for the Crescent Moon League, would be possible if the members of this conference agreed to them. For example, they could set guards on all of Akiba’s gates, and if a player who had a warrant on them tried to enter, they could obliterate them with a PK. The production guilds could also refuse to sell articles of any kind to a wanted player.
Of course, such a move would take massive amounts of time and money. Even so, it would be possible to exert material and
immaterial pressure that way.
“You couldn’t do something like that without the help of combat guilds like mine, though.”
“Black Sword” Isaac tossed those words at Shiroe. He’d regained his composure.
“And anyway, if there were, say, ten or twenty people, it could work. We could punish ’em that way. But if a guild like the ones gathered here didn’t go along with the council, ignored its decisions, flipped the bird at the law… If one started talking like that, we’d have a war on our hands. Even if the council got off the ground, there’s no guarantee we’d reach an agreement on every single matter. Heck, under those circumstances, could we reach an agreement? If we try to forge an agreement between opposing views but end up with a war instead, there’s no sense in having a council.”
Isaac had a very good point.
The assembled players began to mutter their agreement, and the murmur spread.
For example, his Knights of the Black Sword had 190 members. If that many level-90 members rose up in revolt, it would be hard to oppose them practically. Since the town was a noncombat zone, they’d have to arrest or PK them in other zones, and even if they succeeded there, it wouldn’t do any decisive damage to the guild.
For a guild with more than a certain number of members, refusal to do business and other types of economic pressure wouldn’t have much effect: Guilds of that size could fill most types of internal demand through members who held production subclasses.
Of course, it depended on the level and ratio of subclass holders, but fifty of them would probably be able to create a self-contained system.
Based on these facts, even if the council Shiroe proposed were established, it was very likely that matters the big guilds were opposed to would be unable to get the council’s support. In other words, the big guilds would have veto power, which meant that conditions would be exactly the same as they were at present.
Shiroe lowered his gaze and adjusted his glasses.
All developments up to this point have been about what I expected. Certainly, under normal circumstances, if we established a council, infighting is probably the best we could manage. …But this time, I can’t settle for that.
