by Ennki Hakari
I imagined myself spending more time in the elven villages and even living among the mountain people. There were whole fandoms in Japan who’d love to be in such a position.
Ariane turned her gaze toward me. I could tell what she wanted without her even needing to say anything.
I nodded and looked around my room, burning the image into my mind.
“Transport Gate!”
A bluish-white pillar of light rose around us, Ariane, Chiyome, and I standing still while Ponta rolled around excitedly.
Chiyome looked up to me, her surprise evident on her face. The next moment, we were in the middle of a grassy clearing, a large boulder with a tree wrapped around it sitting in front of us. A bed and chair sat in the middle of the clearing as well, looking incredibly out of place. Apparently, Transport Gate’s area of effect had grabbed the furniture in the room along with us.
Chiyome’s head jerked back and forth, the ears atop her head twitching frantically as she tried to grasp what had just happened.
Ariane made a face and let out a low groan, evidently not having expected to teleport all of a sudden like that.
Maybe I’d misunderstood the look she gave me?
I’d wanted to show off Transport Gate to Chiyome, since it could be useful to our upcoming operation.
Chiyome finally came back to herself, though she was still at a loss for words. “Wh-where are we?”
“We’re in the forest at the base of the Anetto Mountains.”
Chiyome continued to pivot her head back and forth, muttering to herself. “The Anetto Mountains…huh. So, you can also use space-time ninjutsu abilities?”
“Space-time…ninjutsu?”
“According to the legends, the great founder, Master Hanzo, mastered the technique known as space-time ninjutsu, allowing him to travel great distances instantaneously. You can use it too, Mister Arc?”
It wasn’t ninjutsu, really. Just simple teleportation magic. Nor was space-time ninjutsu one of the skills I’d learned from the top-tier Ninja class. But as usual, there was no guarantee that the world here was a one-to-one match with the game. It was possible that teleportation magic was simply known as space-time ninjutsu to the beastmen. And with a name like Hanzo, the great founder must have been quite the ninja maniac.
I finally asked what was on my mind. “Miss Chiyome…is that your real name?”
Chiyome puffed out her chest and beamed with pride. “No. My name is one of six passed down to the most powerful ninja in the clan.”
That meant that her name came from Mochizuki Chiyome, a famous female ninja from my world. If there were six in total, then I had to imagine the others had names like Kirikagure Saizo and Sarutobi Sasuke.
Ariane’s voice brought me back to reality. “Why don’t we at least go back to the inn to discuss the next steps?”
She was right. The forest was full of monsters and other dangers. Not that such things would be a problem for a group as well trained as ours, but it wasn’t exactly an environment suited for strategizing.
I summoned up the spell again and brought to mind the image of our room at the inn. The spreading magic pillar glowed even brighter than before, and, in a flash, we were back in the room…along with the bed and chair.
Ponta patted the floor with its front paws, as if to confirm that the grassy meadow had been replaced with hardwood.
“Kyii?”
Chiyome also looked impressed as she glanced around the room.
“Since Arc will also be helping you out, that means we’ll have access to teleportation magic…” Ariane’s voice trailed off, an inquisitive look on her face as she shot me a glance. She then turned her gaze toward Chiyome. After all, the young ninja girl was the only one who actually knew when this operation would be carried out.
“That was magic? Well, if we can use that…” Chiyome crossed her arms and muttered to herself, as if examining how this changed her plans. “Mister Arc, how far can your magic take you?”
“I can teleport to any unique location that I’ve been to in the past.”
Transport Gate wasn’t restricted by distance. Even if I were surrounded inside a building, I could use the spell to teleport somewhere safe and far away…meaning, for example, that I could draw out enemies and then make an easy escape.
Chiyome asked several follow-up questions about how many people I could take, how frequently I could use the spell, and so on. However, I could only give my best guess on many of these, since there was still a lot that I didn’t know myself.
Based on the game, I could probably use Transport Gate a hundred times or more without issue. Besides, I’d had no problem using Rejuvenation over and over, and that consumed far more magic than Transport Gate.
After hearing my explanation of how teleportation magic worked, Chiyome grew excited.
She and Ariane started putting together a plan of attack for the slave market, though it was still very similar to the original plan—they would lay siege to the market along with their freed comrades.
“Mister Arc, Miss Ariane, I should probably go tell my allies of the change in plans. Please continue the preparations while I’m away.” Chiyome hopped out the window, running off along the rooftops.
“Miss Ariane, did you get the impression that we’re carrying out the operation tonight?”
“That’s how it sounded to me.”
I looked out the window, but Chiyome had disappeared.
“Well, I guess we’d best prepare as much as we can.”
Ariane shot me a quizzical look. “But what should we prepare, exactly?”
I stuck my index finger in the air and struck a confident pose. “We’ll need to disguise ourselves, of course.”
I was actually being quite serious, but Ariane just stared at me blankly.
“But…you’re already wearing a helmet. That should be enough, no?”
If looks could kill, this one would have at least maimed me. I’d given this plan a lot of thought. I felt as though my eyes were welling up with tears. But of course, skeletons can’t cry.
I typically covered my flashy armor with my Twilight Cloak, but that still left my head exposed. I’d definitely stand out among the members of the raiding party. Even if the plan went off without a hitch, I’d have a pretty hard time moving around human towns if there was a follow-up investigation involving my helmet.
Of course, the same was true for the other times we’d snuck into various estates, but this time we were dealing with nobles and slave traders who weren’t violating any treaties. They weren’t criminals, at least in the eyes of the law. Though they might be capturing mountain people, we would still just be attacking a slave house operating on the up and up under human law. Being nothing more than an insurgent, it seemed like a wise idea to exercise some caution and disguise myself in the event that someone came looking for us afterward.
“Well, at least I don’t need anything. See? I’m fine like this.” Ariane tugged her charcoal cloak low over her face again.
It seemed like I’d managed to sell her on the idea that I needed a disguise, but she had no intention of getting one for herself.
That was the end of that, so I left Ariane behind and headed out alone to find my new look. Once again, I made my way toward the stalls lining the third wall.
A stall selling some strange items caught my eye.
Numerous traditionally handcrafted goods were spread out across a cloth-covered table, ranging from disturbing statuettes of animals, to tools with undiscernible uses, to some bizarre-looking masks that I could only assume were for festivals.
A man with a wide grin—the stall owner, I assumed—approached me as soon as I stopped to look.
“Hello there, good sir! Do you see anything that interests you?”
The man’s round chin was covered in a thin beard, and he was wearing a gaudy, multi-colored coat. There was something slimy about the way he called out to me, rubbing his hands together the whole while.
I picked up o
ne of the masks. It was made of wood, painted black, and carved into the shape of a human face. The eyes gave off a vacant stare, and the mouth sported a creepy grin, almost as if it had been torn into that shape. The back of the mask was decorated with feathers, providing coverage for your whole head.
The stall owner wasted no time swooping in to close the sale.
“Ah, I can see that you have good taste, sir. This comes from the nomads living in the untamed wastes far beyond the border of the East Revlon Empire. Magicians with special abilities known as ‘Soodu’ wear the masks during their rituals. It’s incredibly rare.”
I continued to look the mask over as he spoke, the devious look never quite leaving his face. I was actually was fond of the design, and I’d be able to wear it over my helmet.
“How much?”
The stall owner grinned. “Well, considering its incredible rarity, I’ve priced it at twenty sok.”
Twenty gold coins. I set the mask down and started to walk away, but the seller hurried over and called me back.
“A joke! It was merely a joke, good sir! Fifteen sok? How does that sound?”
“Ten sok,” I countered.
Sweat ran down the man’s neck as we continued to negotiate, his smile slowly fading. Ultimately, we settled on thirteen sok.
For a normal person, thirteen gold coins might have seemed absurd for a hand-carved wooden mask. However, there was something about the mask that changed its value entirely for me. I liked it so much that I would have been fine paying the original twenty sok, though I didn’t like the idea of paying a man like this exactly what he was asking.
I handed over the money and put the mask into my bag. I’d gotten what I was looking for. All that was left was to talk with Chiyome, the only person who had the full picture of the upcoming operation.
***
The palace sat at the very center of Olav, the capital of the Rhoden Kingdom. Off in a secluded room, a lone magical lamp provided illumination as the sun sank outside. The light reflected off a silver cup as a man threw it across the room, a vein bulging in his neck.
The cup hit the ground, rolling into the corner with a clang that reverberated throughout the room. The wine inside splashed everywhere, filling the air with a fruity aroma. The two other men in the room watched the cup’s journey before returning their attention to the enraged man.
“Dammit! Why did they have to kill Count du Houvan now, of all times?!”
The man stood up from a leather sofa and clenched his now-empty fist. Dakares Ciciay Karlon Rhoden Vetran, the second prince of the Rhoden Kingdom, ran his hands through his hair and breathed rapidly, his face contorted, his blue eyes burning with rage.
“The townsfolk rose up in revolt. We’ve been unable to reach the count through the chaos.” One of the men, the target of Prince Dakares’ intense stare, spoke slowly as he repeated the report from his messenger.
The man’s name was Duke Maldoira du Olsterio, one of the seven dukes of Rhoden and general of the Third Royal Army. He was an older man with graying brown hair and a well-groomed mustache, and he was far more muscular than his years might suggest.
Prince Dakares continued his tirade, this time directed at the monsters. “If those haunted wolves hadn’t shown up, Sekt would’ve been finished by now!”
The man next to General Maldoira spoke up, attempting to placate the prince. “Your Highness, if the monsters hadn’t appeared along the route, we would have arrived in Houvan as planned and been caught in middle of the revolt.”
Cetrion du Olsterio, a brawny man wearing a lieutenant general’s uniform, looked like a younger copy of General Maldoira.
Unfortunately, Cetrion’s words only served to further enrage the prince.
“You’re trying to put a positive spin on this?! We could have taken advantage of the chaos to murder Sekt!”
The two men could do nothing but sigh in response to the prince’s foul mood.
They had plotted with Count du Houvan to murder Prince Sekt, but the sudden appearance of monsters along the route to Houvan had prevented them from arriving in time, and their co-conspirator had ended up dead at the hands of his own subjects.
“The timing was wrong, nothing more. We need to keep an eye out for the next opportunity.”
General Maldoira provided the rest of his report, frustration clear in his voice. A contingent of the Royal Army stationed in the capital had been dispatched to secure the roads and pacify the situation in Houvan. For now, it would be difficult for Dakares’ men to leave the capital, meaning that the trip to Houvan had to be called off.
The prince muttered angrily to himself. “And that hag Yuriarna managed to slip through my fingers! I hear she’s reached Limbult…”
Someone knocked loudly on the door. “Master Maldoira, I have an urgent matter that needs your attention!”
Cetrion moved to the door, opening it a crack. The soldier offered a swift salute before whispering his news into the lieutenant general’s ear. Cetrion nodded, then sent the messenger on his way. He repeated the report to his father in a low voice.
Prince Dakares glared at the two men, making no effort to conceal the annoyance in his voice. “What is it?”
Maldoira cleared his throat. “Apparently, the Etzat Market’s central office is under siege. The attackers are quite skilled, and the market is asking for emergency assistance from the army. What should we do?”
The prince rubbed at his temples. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another!”
The Etzat Market was used heavily by the major trading companies—not to mention elven slavers—so Dakares was in no position to deny a request from the market’s chairman.
The prince let out a curse-laden scream. After catching his breath, he turned his steely gaze to the general.
“I’ll smooth things over with Father later. Assemble a squad and suppress the attack. The chairman will owe us a heavy debt if the general himself is involved.”
Prince Dakares’s lips twisted into a smile, eliciting a grin from Cetrion as well.
“Understood.”
The general bowed to the prince before striding out of the room.
After his father was gone, Cetrion spoke up. “We haven’t been able to confirm it yet, but we’ve received a report that elves might have been involved in the Houvan incident.”
“What?!” The prince glowered at Cetrion.
“This attack on the Etzat Market might also be their doing.”
“How do you mean?” A tinge of anxiety had entered the prince’s voice.
“According to the reports, Marquis du Diento had been keeping an elf who has since disappeared. Count du Houvan had also purchased an elf. It seems likely that these two incidents are related.” Cetrion struggled to keep the tone of his voice even.
“Are you suggesting that now they’re after me, the one pulling the strings? No, no…that would be silly. Whoever’s behind this, there’s no way they could breach the royal palace.”
“It’s possible that this is the work of someone within the nobility. Marquis du Diento’s castle was an imposing fortress, and you can see how well that worked out for him. If the attack on the market is merely a distraction, then someone might be coming to take your life as we speak.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I think it would be best to lay low, somewhere no one would think to look for you. I’ve already prepared a place in the first district. Please, come with me, Your Highness.”
Prince Dakares hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Cetrion went to the door and spoke in a low voice to a messenger he had standing by.
“Prepare a carriage at the rear entrance for the prince. Hurry!”
The lieutenant general summoned several guards to escort the prince. This hallway was reserved only for the royal family, their relatives, and closest associates, so the only sound was that of their hurried footfalls echoing through the empty halls.
When they arrived at the rear entrance, a b
lack carriage bearing the crest of the royal family skidded to a stop in front of them, its lamps extinguished despite the darkness. Four mounted royal guards stood watch from the front and rear of the carriage. Cetrion opened the door and waved the prince inside before climbing in after him.
The driver cracked his whip and the carriage sped off through the rear gate of the palace. The guards stationed there glanced at the symbol on its side as it barreled past, but they said nothing.
The carriage’s wheels rattled as it made its way down the first district’s cobblestone streets, lined with the manors of various nobles.
Suddenly, the horses let out a loud whinny, and the carriage came clattering to a stop, throwing Prince Dakares forward.
“Who goes there?!”
A royal guard called out, but instead of a response, the next sound the prince heard was the clash of swords.
“Cetrion, what’s going on out there?”
Prince Dakares peered out his window into the darkness, but he couldn’t make out anything other than a vague movement in the inky shadows.
“Please, stay calm, Your Highness. There is nothing to fear.”
Cetrion reached down, drew the intricately decorated saber from his waist, and thrust it straight into the prince’s heart.
The prince looked confused, staring down at the silver blade sticking out of his chest. His eyes found Cetrion’s.
“But…but why?”
Blood frothed at the corners of his mouth, and his head fell back.
The door to the carriage opened, and a man climbed in.
Cetrion nonchalantly pulled the saber from the prince’s chest, wiped it clean, and returned it to its sheath before dropping to one knee.
“It seems all went according to plan. Well done.”
A tall, handsome man with light brown hair smiled down at Cetrion. “I am not worthy of such praise.”
Cetrion looked up at the man in front of him—Sekt Rondahl Karlon Rhoden Sahdiay, the first prince of the Rhoden Kingdom.
