The Gold of the Kunie

by Mamare Touno

  Say for instance that, as Li Gan had said, Shiroe and the others had been summoned to this other world through a world-class spell. The other world just happened to look exactly like the game they’d played. Could anything actually be that convenient? Of course, the possibility of it happening probably wasn’t zero, but there had to be a better explanation.

  Even on the Earth Shiroe remembered that brain-wave detection technology research had been advanced. They’d been able to extract brain waves and use them to move cursors, to communicate easily with people in vegetative states, and according to recent news, they’d managed to export dreams to external equipment as images. Most of this research was being done in medical fields, and in a few decades, it would probably be applied to the fields of entertainment and space development as well. That cheerful news, the first in a long while, had lit up the Internet.

  The latest research tended not to show up on the news. Some national agency might be able to inflict a gamelike virtual experience on test subjects in the course of its secret research. The possibility was definitely there.

  However, it had happened to several tens of thousands of Japanese people at the same time, and that was another story entirely; the idea was ridiculous. Shiroe and the others hadn’t even been wearing special equipment.

  There had to be a slightly better explanation.

  Shiroe had endured the eerie feeling he’d had over the past several months, the feeling that seemed to be warning him of something, and he had continued to think on the possibilities. It was the same sensation he’d felt when he’d heard about the Spirit Theory from Li Gan. That explanation had appeared to be the correct answer, and he fumbled roughly through the darkness that lay in its depths, using only the power of his thoughts.

  He’d used his Round Table Council connections to commission a variety of investigations.

  He’d asked Roderick about the possibilities of flavor text. Soujirou about changes in monster ecology. Michitaka about how the southern plants were flourishing. He’d asked Calasin to collect and organize the folk tales of Eastal, the League of Free Cities.

  With each investigation, he’d found multiple items of proof. It was supporting evidence that there was no “third party” in this world. For that very reason, Shiroe’s doubt had grown stronger. “Stories someone had just remembered,” presented at a convenient time, seemed to be proof from the opposite side.

  …But that’s no excuse. I was careless. I was afraid, and I stopped trying to know.

  There had been more he could have done for Demiquas, and for William.

  He should have told Naotsugu everything. Nyanta, too.

  Shiroe’s efforts to avoid worrying people had probably caused them endless trouble. This was something he should have learned many times over, but his laziness had caused it all to amount to nothing.

  Just as they’d waited for him to invite them to a guild on that windy night, the people Shiroe treasured were undoubtedly waiting for him again.

  Hadn’t they proved to him that his cowardice and laziness had only kept people away?

  Shiroe thought about getting up from the bench and starting back to where everyone was.

  If he didn’t do at least that much, he’d be embarrassed to face them.

  He also had to apologize to Kinjo.

  In that hut in the snow, Shiroe had doubted him, and he’d been stingy with his words.

  He had been stingy. He really should have said everything he could with all the power he had. For the sake of the future Shiroe believed in, he should have persuaded Kinjo. He should have insisted that this was a significant problem for both of them, as fellow inhabitants trying their best to live in this world.

  He had no positive proof, but Shiroe felt eyes watching him. It seemed as though it had always been like that, from the beginning, from the very instant of the Catastrophe.

  Shiroe stood, using the slight kickback as an assist, and in that instant, he heard a voice he knew from somewhere.

  It was like a whisper from someone, foretelling a chance encounter.

  2

  After the lightheaded sensation that always accompanied teleportation, Shiroe was standing on a vast, white, sandy beach.

  The clear light of dawn illuminated the waterline.

  The slowly repeating waves made faint sounds, trailing lacy patterns of foam.

  The borderline between white and blue continued into the distance, as far as he could see.

  When he took a step, the noise it made—like crumbling mille-feuille—startled him.

  Shiroe began walking, awestruck by the unblemished sand.

  There was no point in just standing there, and he felt as if he were being led by something.

  When the wind buffeted Shiroe’s cheek and he looked up, a great shadow was making for the sky’s zenith from behind him.

  Did those elegant wings belong to some sort of seabird?

  The white shape danced in the dark cobalt sky, as if playing with its fellows.

  Its smooth flight rode the wind, and Shiroe remembered a novel by Richard Bach that he’d read a long time ago. Like that seagull, the seabird flew on forever.

  Still, what a strange place…

  For a near-death experience, it didn’t look familiar.

  He wondered if it was somewhere he’d visited in early childhood. He remembered reading in an article that people didn’t lose memories; they only stopped being able to retrieve them. Still, Shiroe thought perversely, since human memories are encoded connections between synapses, isn’t it all right to consider them lost if you aren’t able to decode them? Regardless, he really didn’t remember this place.

  That said, even if it wasn’t in his memories, it was beautiful.

  The perfectly clear winter air seemed to unfold infinitely over the sand dunes.

  A pale, unspoiled cream color. An ultramarine so clear it felt wasteful to put it into words. The contrast between the two was so vivid it made his eyes smart.

  All alone, Shiroe walked along the water’s edge.

  His footprints on the ivory sand seemed to be the first in tens of thousands of years. They were a log that traced his path.

  Whether it was because he’d left it on that bench in the park or because the silver sands he’d walked over had absorbed it, the sense of helplessness Shiroe had felt was gone.

  Only a faint sense of guilt remained. It was a debt he’d have to repay after he resurrected.

  Shiroe, who’d walked for a long time, stared out at the ocean as he organized his thoughts.

  At his feet, particles of light formed widening ripples.

  There was a peculiar crystalline sound, and it triggered a doubt in Shiroe.

  The lapis lazuli orb that illuminated the beach was cobalt-marbled with clouds, something he’d seen only in photos. The light in the heavens, which he’d just assumed was the moon, was a blue planet.

  —Is this the moon?

  When he looked around, that seemed to be the correct answer.

  The sand dunes the color of desiccated dinosaur bones and the dreamlike sapphire light that washed over them were a fragile, fantastic sight.

  Quickly checking the zone, Shiroe confirmed that this was the fourteenth server, a place he’d heard of only in rumors.

  The zone name was Mare Tranquillitatis.

  Apparently it hadn’t been registered to the automatic translation system yet. If he believed the display, shown in its original language, this was the Sea of Tranquility.

  This was probably the test server Atharva Company had packed with content that was currently under development. Shiroe didn’t know whether the Catastrophe had brought it to this side of things, or whether there were different circumstances at play.

  With no way to investigate, Shiroe searched his memories, grateful for the fact that it was possible to breathe.

  Through the Half-Gaia Project, Elder Tales had been equipped with a world that approximated Earth, and its territory was divided across thirteen server
s. The test server was said to be a fourteenth server not officially included in that number.

  However, that didn’t mean it was secret.

  Users were able to create characters on the test server at will. Characters created on that server couldn’t be moved to the regular game server; all they could do was explore an endless labyrinth that spread through a subterranean world.

  Even so, this system held benefits both for users and for the developer.

  The developer was able to have Elder Tales players—outstanding debuggers with basic knowledge—check systems that were currently under development at no cost. The most surefire way to improve quality where the damage balance from special combat skills and weapons was concerned was to ask for input from users who’d actually played the content, instead of simply acquiring the numerical balance through simulations.

  To users, this server was a place where they could experience elements that would be introduced to the game in the near future, free of charge. Changes in combat balance and the introduction of new special skills, items, and monsters all changed the game environment. The surest way to get this new information a step ahead of everyone else was to participate in debugging the test server.

  These two sets of motives had made it possible to operate the test server.

  The server was a system by which Atharva Company, the North American developer of Elder Tales, developed common global content and researched system updates in cooperation with beta testers.

  Shiroe himself had a subcharacter permanently stationed on this test server.

  Considering that the character was a female Summoner, the fact that he’d gotten caught up in the Catastrophe as his main character (Shiroe) was probably all for the best.

  However, even though Shiroe had some knowledge of the test server, he hadn’t known that that server had a “surface.” There hadn’t been any data like that on the overseas information sites, either.

  As the name indicated, the server was an environment for tests.

  When Shiroe thought of it, he pictured a labyrinthine, underground world divided into areas labeled only with numbers and composed of a series of dungeons: some old, some new, and some that had been scrapped.

  Although it was only a vague memory, he seemed to recall that, during the week before the new expansion pack had been released, the personnel who operated the test server had been redirected to expansion work as well, which meant it hadn’t been possible to log in.

  Shiroe mulled over the information he’d acquired, but it didn’t yield any new theories.

  In the first place, he’d never heard of people coming to the test server during near-death experiences.

  Had the other Adventurers not realized this was the test server?

  Shiroe thought that was a possibility.

  Since the area managed by the test server wasn’t in the Half-Gaia Project, the idea that it might be on the moon or something had been debated only on overseas message boards a few times. Among Japanese players, it wasn’t anything close to major knowledge.

  If Shiroe hadn’t known, even he wouldn’t have understood that Mare Tranquillitatis was the Sea of Tranquility. He was pretty sure that was Latin.

  When he’d thought that far, Shiroe abruptly realized that there was someone very close to him, looking up at him.

  The figure was disrupted by digital noise, like falling snow. When Shiroe strained his eyes, it proved to be none other than Akatsuki, the girl he knew well.

  She wore a camel-colored duffel coat, and she was looking up at Shiroe with an expression that was wary and slightly troubled, yet pleading.

  It made him remember a neighborhood cat that had refused to be friendly, but had always come right up close to him.

  When Shiroe nodded, Akatsuki seemed to feel the same sort of relief.

  She was looking up through her eyelashes as if she were sulking, but Shiroe knew her expression grew very gentle when she smiled.

  A satisfied, cheerful, bashful smile.

  As if inviting Akatsuki to follow, Shiroe began to walk down the beach again. After all, there didn’t seem to be any information to be gained from staying where he was, and Akatsuki, who was twirling around at the waterline, seemed to want to move forward.

  The two of them made their way along the beach, taking their time.

  He didn’t sense any malice or hostility here at all, but even so, it was an unfamiliar place.

  Shiroe kept a careful eye on their surroundings, but Akatsuki seemed to be relaxed.

  When he looked back, she was bent over, scrutinizing their tracks in the sand.

  When Shiroe noticed this, he turned back and stopped, and she ran up to him with a lightness that made her seem weightless. She spun around him.

  Then the two of them began walking again, side by side, and sometimes Akatsuki went on ahead, checking the waterline or pointing at a large bird in flight.

  The girl was like a swallow, and her cute camel-colored duffel coat suited her very well.

  Possibly because she was a little cold, her cheeks were faintly apple colored, and she sometimes walked ahead of him as if to hurry him along.

  This world really must be connected to Elder Tales.

  The atmosphere was vast, and the low sound of the wind, unique to the outdoors, showed its slow movement. It harmonized with the sound of the surf, forming the basic background noise for the world. The only other sound was the noise of their footsteps.

  Maybe because she was a little frightened of something, Akatsuki’s footsteps grew slower, and she started to lag behind.

  Shiroe waited for her patiently, taking his time.

  Waiting didn’t bother him at all.

  At some point, pure white phosphorescence had begun to drift down from the sky.

  The light was endlessly pearlescent and pale, and it fell equally over the dunes and the wide ocean, Shiroe and Akatsuki.

  Startled, Shiroe touched it with a fingertip, and felt his heart ache at its dreamlike fragility.

  It was just like the snow he’d touched as a child: Even when he thought he’d caught it, when he looked at the palm of his hand, it was gone.

  Akatsuki’s eyes were round, and Shiroe nodded to her.

  They were both seeing the same wonder.

  They were touching the same marvel.

  For no reason at all, this brought Shiroe a sense of peaceful satisfaction.

  Fear, anger, and regret were all melting into the quiet winter beach. The two stilled in the face of such silence, and its serenity purified them.

  “I didn’t think it would be such a quiet place,” Shiroe murmured, stopping at the edge of a perfectly clear, blue inlet.

  “Mm.”

  From beside him, Akatsuki responded.

  The response had been brief, but Shiroe had sensed a feeling of awe in her voice that matched his own.

  From far, far beyond the horizon of the ocean, a sound like a church bell echoed faintly.

  It seemed almost like an old signal from an unknown species that had lived in isolation since its birth, for tens of thousands of years, and was attempting to communicate its existence to its companions.

  Although he had no grounds for thinking so, Shiroe was sure that this inlet was a special place.

  Next to him, Akatsuki trembled slightly before she released a heartrending sigh.

  At that, for the first time, Shiroe realized Akatsuki had met with death as well.

  Even if it was temporary, death was death. It had passed mercilessly over Akatsuki, and had left its mark. She must have felt grief, as well as humiliation.

  However, Akatsuki’s eyes at the moment were a little more mature, and far stronger, than the ones Shiroe knew.

  If, as William said, death taught you something, then they had a duty not to waste it. Shiroe swore this firmly in his heart, even though he didn’t know what the purpose of that duty might be.

  If that was why this inlet took memories, then he wanted to offer them himself, as compensa
tion.

  That was Shiroe’s wish.

  This was a necessary ritual, in order to become someone who knew just a little more than he’d known yesterday; in order to overcome his regrets and get closer to something he’d wanted.

  Shiroe took a small knife from his pocket and voluntarily cut away a tiny piece of his memories.

  Seeing this, Akatsuki cut off the tip of her ponytail as well and let the sea take it.

  The snow that fell from the sky, this blue ocean—all of it was made from emotion shards.

  As liquid energy, soul fragments created the sound of the surf.

  The tears shed by Adventurers who hadn’t made it to this inlet were also swallowed by the ocean. This was more a certainty than a guess. Right now, Shiroe was seeing the Spirit Theory with his own eyes.

  A small hand gripped his coat.

  Without taking his eyes off the ocean, Shiroe whispered, “Amazing.”

  Akatsuki nodded. Until the throbbing in their chests subsided, they both gazed out over the sea.

  “You fell, Akatsuki?”

  At Shiroe’s words, Akatsuki looked startled, but she nodded.

  Gazing desperately up at him, the young woman opened her mouth to speak.

  Or rather, tried to speak.

  It seemed hard for her to do so; she gave it several tries, then shut her mouth tightly in a thin line.

  When Akatsuki looked up at him again, she had tears in her eyes, but they seemed to be tears of frustration more than sadness. In the end, she hugged her inner pain to herself, confessing none of it to Shiroe.

  Her expression hurt him. To be here in the first place, Akatsuki had to have gone up against a very difficult problem and been defeated. He wished he could have helped, but he hadn’t been there.

  “I see. That makes two of us, then. I died.”

  “You, too, my liege?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  When he closed his eyes, it came back to him—Silver Sword’s firm voice: