Nearly all the roads and buildings were made of a sandy red rock, and most of the residents wore some kind of red-based clothing. Therefore, the two boys from the north in their blue tunics stuck out like a sore thumb. Eugeo kept his face pointed downward, feeling self-conscious about the attention, but Kirito paid them no mind and peered at the various carts and stands along the main road.
“Ooh, the meat buns here look good…but the skewers earlier were two shia cheaper…What do you feel like, Eugeo?” Kirito wondered, turning back to look at his partner. He finally noticed Eugeo’s low energy, and he rapidly blinked a few times with annoyance. “Come on, Eugeo, it’s our third visit to Zakkaria! You don’t have to be so nervous anymore.”
“You mean it’s only our third visit. Remember, I never saw so many people at once until I left the village…”
“If you can’t handle Zakkaria, how do you think you’ll do in the big city? And remember, the tournament’s going to be in front of an audience of hundreds. Plus Farmer Walde, his wife, and the girls are coming to root for us, so you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of them,” Kirito said. He smacked Eugeo’s back again, much to the other boy’s displeasure.
“I—I know that…You know, it’s times like these when I envy your lack of caution…”
“Well, well! You talk a big game for a guy so pale and nervous. Don’t you know that a lack of caution is a major secret to the Aincrad style?”
“Huh? R-really?”
“Yep, for sure.”
They continued like this down the five-hundred-mel-long west main road. Up ahead was a building that towered over the others. It was the central grounds, the biggest facility in Zakkaria. This rectangular plaza, which matched the length ratio of the town walls themselves, was lined with tiered seating for an audience. The space was used for a variety of purposes, such as addresses from the liege lord, musical and dramatic performances, and today, of course, the swordfighting tournament.
Admittance was free, so while things wouldn’t kick off for another two hours, there were already many people in attendance. To the human units whose daily schedules were bound and regulated by their callings and the Taboo Index, this was the biggest, most exciting event of the year.
But for Eugeo, the added intensity of the expectant crowd only added to the pressure on his shoulders, and his color was even worse than before.
“…W-we’re going to compete in there…?” he rasped. Kirito wasn’t in the mood to pump him up after every little comment, so he grabbed Eugeo by the arm and dragged him over to the registration desk near the entrance to the grounds.
Most of the contestants were either staying in town or already lived there, so they had probably registered first thing in the morning. A single elderly, bearded sentinel who appeared rather bored manned the long desk. Kirito walked up boldly and proclaimed, “Two entries, please!”
The old man raised a gray eyebrow, cast a suspicious glare at Kirito and Eugeo, and cleared his throat. “To enter the tournament, you must have the calling of a man-at-arms in any of the northern towns, or be a Zakkarian sentinel in training, or—”
“We’re the last ‘or.’ Show him,” Kirito said, elbowing Eugeo.
He reached into his tunic and pulled out a faded parchment envelope. The surprised clerk took it and pulled a single sheet of paper from inside.
“Let’s see here…Ah, a handwritten note from the elder of Rulid. This note serves as witness that these two young men have completed their Stacia-given callings and now seek a new way of life. Interesting…”
For the first time, a hint of a smile tugged at the elderly sentinel’s mouth. “So two boys from tiny, distant Rulid, not even men-at-arms, have come in search of entry to the hallowed Zakkaria garrison, eh?”
“That’s correct,” Kirito answered, grinning back. “But we’re not stopping at the garrison. Next we’ll be heading for Cent—”
This time it was Eugeo who elbowed Kirito to shut him up. He quickly stepped in and said, “S-so there, now you’ve heard our story, and we’d like to be registered for the tournament!”
“Hmm. Very well.” The sentinel opened up a leather-bound register and produced a copper pen. “Write down your name, place of birth, and sword style.”
“…S-style, too?” Eugeo asked, pausing mid-reach. Kirito snatched the pen away instead. Unlike the high-durability parchment, the register’s paper was cheap and made of threadgrass, and it was full of the names of all the participants who had already signed up.
The black-haired youth filled out the name Kirito and place of birth Rulid in the common language of the Human Empire, then paused before scrawling down Aincrad style.
The observer had been curious about a number of things in its five months of surveillance, and this strange name was first and foremost among them. There were around thirty different schools of swordsmanship in the human lands, and the name Aincrad style did not appear anywhere else.
At first, the observer wondered if bold, confident Kirito had decided to start this style all on his own, but over time, that turned out not to be the case. The mysterious Aincrad style did not have just one “secret form” like all the others but more than ten…
Kirito and Eugeo finished jotting down their information—Eugeo indicated the same style—and returned the pen to the sentinel. He put it in the holder, turned the register to face him, and raised an eyebrow again.
“Hrmm. I’ve been swinging a sword for many years, and I’ve never heard of this style before. Is this from around Rulid?”
His suspicion was warranted. There were over fifty names on the register already, and half of them belonged to the Zakkarite style founded by the original lord of Zakkaria. The other half belonged to the Norkia style spread far and wide within the Norlangarth Empire. No other participants registered under a little-known name like this one.
But Kirito proudly announced, “It’s a pretty new school, from what I understand.”
Eugeo could only nod, his face growing paler by the moment. The sentinel merely grunted—it certainly wasn’t a reason to turn them away—and handed each a thin bronze placard. Kirito’s had the number 55 engraved on it, while Eugeo’s said 56.
“Be in the waiting room of the grounds by eleven thirty. First thing, you’ll be sorted by lots into the East Block and West Block. That’s where you’ll get your dueling sword. When the bells ring noon, that’s when the preliminary round starts. You’ll demonstrate your forms until each block is whittled down to eight. The forms from one to ten were announced ahead of time; I trust you know what to do?”
Eugeo nodded lightly; Kirito, a little oddly.
“Very good. The final competition will begin at two o’clock. You will duel such that eight becomes four, then two, then one. That one winner—in other words, the two from West and East—will be given the calling of a Zakkarian sentinel.”
This time, both boys nodded with vigor. From within Kirito’s bangs, the observer went back to its thoughts of several hours ago.
The boys sought to join the garrison here. That required them to be placed separately, in either block, then pass the prelims and combat rounds to win. But if the luck of the draw had them in the same block to start with, their scheme was ruined right from the start. Had they even considered that? What was their plan if that happened…?
As it happened, that very topic came up after the boys finished the registration process, while they ate their lunch of meat buns and skewers in the square.
“…So here’s the question, Eugeo…What will we do…if we’re in the same block?” Kirito asked in between bites of the split meat bun.
“…What will we do?” asked Eugeo after finishing his first skewer.
Neither of them had given it any thought. The observer had had an inkling of this, but it was still so shocking to hear that it nearly tumbled out of Kirito’s hair. It channeled its raging demand to think! into gripping the hair even harder—but just then, Kirito raised his right hand, and the observe
r had to make a quick evacuation of his head. Kirito scratched at his bangs and came to his grand conclusion.
“Well, whatever happens happens. It’s fine; I’m sure we’ll wind up in separate blocks. Besides, I prayed to Stacia and Solus and Te…Terror…”
“Terraria!”
“Right. I prayed to Terroria for this to happen.”
Eugeo sighed loudly at the same moment as a tiny, inaudible sigh in Kirito’s hair. It returned to its usual position and told itself, Well, if you say so. But this really could be it, boys.
Thirty minutes later, just before the ringing of the half-past-eleven bells, they made their way into the waiting room.
On the western side of the large chamber, twenty mels to a side, there were four long benches, upon which sat the tournament participants, facing east. On the east wall were four rather fine chairs. They were still empty, but a sentinel stood at the registration window.
The instant Kirito and Eugeo stepped into the room, fifty-four pairs of eyeballs turned upon them.
All of them were large, powerful, confident men. About ten wore the tunics of Zakkaria’s sentinels-in-training, most of whom were young, but the majority of the guards from neighboring towns and villages were in their prime. Some wore whiskers that covered most of their faces, while others proudly bore ugly scars.
Eugeo flinched under all the attention, but Kirito just stared around at the large chamber and murmured, “Ah, good…”
“Wh-what’s good?” Eugeo hissed back at him.
He turned and whispered, “There aren’t any female entries.”
“…Come on, Kirito…”
“Hey, you don’t want to have to fight a girl, either, do you?”
“W-well, no, but…I wasn’t even thinking about that.”
“Hopefully we won’t have to worry about fighting girls until that unified, four-empire whatsitcalled.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I heard a story once about a band of knights that was entirely made up of women.”
“…Ooooh.”
The fifty-four warriors quickly lost interest in the two boys and their frivolous conversation. They would be gone in the prelims soon enough. The men returned to their inspection and care of the supplied swords and leather gloves.
Kirito gave the room another once-over and left Eugeo’s side to walk straight to the long benches where the participants sat. He walked from bench to bench, sniffing the air repeatedly. It was anyone’s guess as to what this meant.
For five minutes, he strolled around all the competitors, then returned to Eugeo’s side. His partner gave him a suspicious look, so he leaned in and whispered, “Don’t turn your head. Can you see the young guy at the very end of the second bench?”
Eugeo swiveled his eyes to the spot. “Yeah. The one wearing the sentinel apprentice uniform?”
“If you face off against him, watch out. He might try something.”
Like Eugeo, the observer peered doubtfully out of Kirito’s bangs. Seated in the spot in question was a young man with long, sandy hair, wearing a brick-red tunic with the Zakkarian insignia on it. According to his Stacia Window, he was eighteen years old. His life numbers and object control authority were below average, suggesting that he wasn’t particularly noteworthy.
“Huh…? Do you know him?” Eugeo asked. Kirito shook his head.
“No. But…maybe this will explain it to you. I’m pretty sure he’s got a personality like Zink’s.”
The observer knew that the unit named Zink was the current chief man-at-arms of Rulid, their home. He had a personality index that these two did not particularly want to associate with.
Human units strictly followed the laws and accords of the world, but that did not mean they all acted with perfect benevolence. Some units were like the Walde family, taking in suspicious wanderers and treating them generously, while others might intercept, manipulate, or insult others with whatever words they could use that did not violate any laws. Zink in Rulid was one of the latter type, so if Kirito’s statement was correct, that harmless-looking apprentice was, too.
“…Like Zink’s, you say? Then before my match, he’ll probably try to smear bittergrass sap on my blade,” Eugeo said, scowling.
“Wouldn’t that be against the rules?” Kirito wondered.
“It wouldn’t affect the life of the sword; if anything, it’d add a shine effect. But when freshly applied, it stinks like crazy. Zink got me with that one many times as a kid, and I could barely focus on the exercise.”
“I see…Better make sure not to let go of the swords they give us. Don’t lose focus in the match, either. Hopefully he’s on my block instead…”
“If that happens and he tries some nonsense, you’d better be careful not to get angry and mess everything up, Kirito.”
“…I’ll try.” Kirito grinned weakly. He and Eugeo headed for the registration window, handed over their placards, and received the swords that all participants would use. They were metal blades rather than wooden and had plenty enough power to lower a human’s life, despite their low-priority value. Naturally, the rule said that they had to stop at the last second, so there would absolutely, positively be no bloodshed.
With their swords, the boys returned and sat on the very front bench, right around the time that four new units proceeded through the door in the back. They were proper sentinels in their dazzling red uniforms. One of them was the grizzled old sentinel from the desk out front.
A fortysomething man wearing the golden shoulder badge of a captain gave a quick greeting, and then a younger sentinel brought in a large box. The captain patted the box and said, “Inside this, we have red and blue balls, each with a number from 1 to 28, so that there’s one for all fifty-six of you. You will reach in through the hole at the top and take out a ball. Red is for the East Block; blue is for the West Block. Your preliminary form demonstrations will happen in the order of your numbers. If there are no questions, then starting from the front bench, you may now draw your—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Kirito shot to his feet and rushed to the box. Eugeo hurriedly followed him, and the rest of the participants clanked to their feet as well.
The observer leaned out to see that there was a little hatch about ten cens across in the lid of the box. The interior was dark enough that even its powerful eyes couldn’t identify any individual balls. Kirito clicked his tongue in disappointment; this explained his haste to be first to draw. He was hoping that when full, the box would allow him some measure of identifying the ball color before he drew it.
For being so lackadaisical, the boy certainly had a devious side, just not the knowledge he needed. In this world, lottery boxes built to avoid being seen into were impenetrable to the naked eye. Only with some element that eliminated the box’s properties—such as creating a light element inside the box or casting an art of visual strengthening—could the contents be seen.
“Go on, draw your ball, youngster,” said the captain. Kirito slowly reached inside. Without being able to see the color, it would be up to luck to ensure that he and Eugeo weren’t in the same block. But…
…I’ll help him out this time.
Just before Kirito reached into the hole, the observer leaped from his bangs to the lid of the box. It raced along the shadow cast by the boy’s arm and into the hole.
Kirito’s hand rushed into the box after it, grabbed the first ball it touched, and pulled it out. Once inside the box, the colors were easily visible. Kirito had pulled out a blue ball—putting him in the West Block.
The observer shifted the size of its body, going from the minimum of five mels to ten cens, twenty times the size. It was still small in comparison to its original size, but this would do. It used two arms to lift up a five-cen wooden ball—colored red, of course.
Seconds later, a fumbling white hand entered, obviously Eugeo’s. Unlike Kirito’s direct grab, his fingers wandered around timidly, so the observer pushed the red ball up toward them. The fingers flinched
at first, then grasped the ball and yanked it out of the box. The boy even let out a cute little “Yah!” as he pulled.
A few seconds later, he finally opened his hand and exclaimed, “Look, Kirito! It’s red!” The next sound was of hasty footsteps as the following contestant ushered them out of the way.
What a handful…
The observer was about to shrink down again and leave the box, but it paused to think first.
The young, sandy-haired apprentice. Why had Kirito focused on that particular unit? The observer had a professional interest in this. Perhaps that apprentice ought to face off against Kirito, rather than Eugeo.
It decided to wait in the corner of the box rather than leave. If anyone opened the lid, the sight would shock him. It was only ten cens in size, but there were no living things of this shape in the world of the human units.
It lay in wait for several minutes. After a few dozen other searching hands had taken their turns, a weak, spindly limb entered the box, its window specifying that it belonged to the sentinel trainee in question. As the fingers rubbed nervously over the bunch, the observer slid its prepared blue ball into them. He grabbed the ball without suspicion and pulled it out, much to the observer’s relief. This time it shrank down to minimum size and clung to the sleeve of the next arm that entered the box.
It rode on the sleeve back to the waiting benches, then raced across the floor with some amount of risk to the feet of the boys sitting at the end. It climbed up the worn leather boots, the back of the dark-blue tunic, and then into the black hair hanging over the back collar. Once it was back in its usual spot near the front hairline, it sighed.
Manipulating drawing results was completely out of line with its duties. If Master found out, it might even suffer a word of rebuke.
No…Separating Kirito and Eugeo into different blocks would make observation more efficient, and it might learn something by arranging for Kirito to be in the block with that apprentice. These actions were certainly not from a line of thought that violated its duty. It most definitely was not considering a possible sacred arts interference if the apprentice tried any funny business in a match against Kirito. Not at all.
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