No Game No Life, Vol. 4

by Yuu Kamiya

  “Eh, uh, all right… S-so?”

  Steph averted her gaze. Sora’s eyes flitted over to where an unfamiliar, dark girl with a face assailed by troubles stood.

  “See, apparently Siren and Dhampir are about to go extinct or something, so we’re gonna go save ’em real quick—or really…”

  And then, casually as you please—

  “…we’re gonna go grab the resources and territory we need so badly to build our Commonwealth with the Eastern Union.”

  At Sora’s declaration, the corners of Steph’s eyes got a little hotter.

  It was true after all. This man had done everything for the sake of Elkia. And now it was Shiro who approached.

  “…So, Steph… Can, you, sew…?”

  “—Pardon?”

  “So, basically, we’re going to the beach. Can you make us all some swimsuits? I’ll give you the designs.”

  —It meant, in other words, that her workload would increase again. Steph, smiling, decided to just quietly pass out…

  CHAPTER 2

  STRATEGIST

  —The beach. One of the top two destinations for rest and recreation, competing only with the mountains. A place where, come summer, throngs of people will gather instinctively, like insects to light.

  —In reality, it’s a setting where the sand stuck to your feet stubbornly refuses to leave your body, your sunburned skin torments your flesh for days to come, and the salt breeze corrodes your hair every second. When you think about it, it’s a landscape whose appeal was absolutely mystifying; a place meant strictly for people with lives. However—even a place as loathed as this can take on a new meaning in a different set of circumstances.

  “Hhh… Wiiin… ”

  Under a Japanesque parasol, Sora reclined on a bed woven of grass with a glass in his hand. At his sides were several animal-girls, apparently servants of the Shrine Maiden, who fanned him with giant leaves. Their short, little Japanese-style coats—apparently Eastern Union swimsuits—opened wide at the front, offering glimpses of their breasts and lower bodies as they slipped smoothly out from under what little coverage the cloth offered, in contrast to their furry ears and tails, more dazzling than the sun. Waving the glass in his hand, Sora thought to himself—this was heaven.

  “…King Sora, you seem quite content under this sun… Rather high and mighty, aren’t you?”

  “Yup! Thanks to Jibril’s mysterious sunscreen, formulated with optical spirits or something! But never mind that—”

  Sora answered Ino’s cool voice in a suspicious tone, without looking over.

  “Old man, I’m keeping you out of my vision, okay, but don’t tell me you’re wearing nothing but a loincloth again?”

  “Sir, what an odd thing to say… What shall a man wear to the sea but a loincloth?”

  The brawny elder, wearing only—just as Sora predicted—a loincloth, gave him a quizzical “Hmm?” look. With a displeased sigh, Sora pointed to himself and mumbled:

  “Look, Gramps. Look at me. What do you see?”

  “—Sir, you are of that persuasion?”

  “You trolling, old fart?! Shorts and a shirt! This is perfectly good swimwear!”

  Sensing a voice tinged with disgust as the old man retreated a few steps, Sora sat up shouting. But Ino just shook his head, Dear, dear.

  “I see a man ashamed to show his meager body. This is quite prudent, Sir. It is good courtesy to hide that which should not be seen.”

  “I have no interest in being some macho douchebag like you! And don’t say ‘meager’! After that FPS match with Izuna, I realized my physical fitness is actually important and started working out a little, believe it or not!”

  His venom spent, Sora clucked his tongue once in irritation and lay back down.

  He kept silent about how he himself had been surprised that his limit for crunches and push-ups was fifty.

  “…Anyway, screw you. Where’s everyone else?”

  “Women take time to get ready, Sir—pardon me, is this news to you?”

  “I’m trying to say I hate sitting here talking to a macho old fart! Have you heard of sarcasm?! Have you?!”

  Squinting and yelling, Sora turned his gaze behind him.

  “Yooo, Shirooo, are you done yeeet?”

  “…Mm, just…a little longer…”

  Shiro’s voice emerged from the trees at Sora’s back. There was some rustling or something going on back there, but in any case, it seemed she was having trouble changing by herself.

  “What would be the problem with simply changing in the changing room with the other ladies?”

  “You said it. In fact, that’s just what I said, until I got chased the hell out…by you!”

  Sora and Shiro could not separate. Changing was no exception. Under this self-evident truth, at his usual pace, as nature would have it, in the most natural way, Sora had attempted to follow Shiro into the girls’ changing room—then got chased the hell out, and here we were.

  “Let you peep on the bare flesh of the Holy Shrine Maiden? Even if Tet forgives it, I never will.”

  “Dude, the Shrine Maiden was all, ‘’Tis no matter to meee’—!”

  Suddenly a sense of humiliation overcame him for having bowed to the intimidation of a muscled old fart in a loincloth.

  —Was it too late to rush past Ino? Sora painted the plot in his mind, yet—

  “…Here you bitches go, please.”

  “Hmmm…Izuna, my dear, you’re so darling no matter what you wear!”

  At the the young girl’s salutation and the sudden transformation of Ino’s voice into that of a sweet old man, Sora turned. Izuna was the first to show up fully changed, and Ino softly sighed, laying a hand on his chest.

  “When I heard the swimsuits were chosen by Sora—I was worried at what sort of disgrace might be forced upon you.”

  “You ignorant old fart! For starters, everyone knows a little girl is supposed to wear a school swimsuit!”

  Izuna toddled down the sand, waving her big tail. Her swimsuit was from Sora and Shiro’s world…an old-school swimsuit. Naturally, until now, such a thing had not existed in this world. It should also be noted that synthetic fibers such as polyester were not available, even in the Eastern Union. However, school swimsuits originally, before the war, had been made of silk. Using the disturbingly detailed information recorded in the tablet, Steph had recreated the garb most admirably. Steph—the highest of props to you.

  “…But you really did manage to keep it quite modest.”

  “Once more I tell you: Old fart, you are ignorant. What sort of romanticism is there to be had without taking culture into account?!”

  —Yes, Izuna, on top of her school swimsuit, wore a jacket-like garment with dangling sleeves and an open front like those of the surrounding Werebeasts. Animal ears. Little girl. School swimsuit. All fused with the culture of the Eastern Union—!

  —This—

  —was Sora’s—“answer”…

  Standing before Sora, Izuna spun around as if looking behind her.

  “Is this okay, please?”

  “C’est magnifique… You were already so cute it’s not even fair, and now you’re a frickin’ cultural heritage.”

  Ino watched Sora flash a thumbs-up and a fine-young-man smile.

  “…I can’t say I follow, but you have my honest praise for not seeking lasciviousness in my granddaughter.”

  —Then.

  “U-umm…I-I’m done changing.”

  “Oh, Steph. Wowww, you did some fine work”

  Turning toward Steph’s shy voice to commend her—Sora froze. The red-faced Steph had preserved the lacey, girly image of her normal clothes as she wore a bikini-style swimsuit decked out in frills and a pareo, squirming and shifting her eyes as if she didn’t know what to do. As far as Sora knew, Elkia had no swimsuits like that. In Elkia, a swimsuit meant—you know. Those full-body drawers that passed for swimsuits in the dark ages of seventeenth-century Europe. That was why he had asked St
eph to make some proper swimwear. From the look on her face, it could be surmised that Steph had conformed to the swimsuit design Sora and Shiro had ordered for her as well. Sora froze like a rock—but not for the bikini. Rather, it was the ample volumes that threatened to spill from its top that stunned him, sending figures bounding through his brain.

  “—It—it can’t be. Eighty-nine, fifty-eight, eighty-nine…a power level of fifty thousand—?!”

  “H-how did you—? I mean, no! What are you talking about?!”

  Sora shivered at the unexpected boob force indicated by the meter in his brain. What could explain this? Had he all this time overlooked it as a consequence of the undue diligence of Mr. Steam?!

  “…Mm, mmgh… How can Steph be so high-level?!”

  “Er, uh, I—am I? I-I wouldn’t say that…”

  Steph squirmed as if not entirely displeased. Sora opened his mouth to utter another word or two—but was stopped short.

  “Please excuse me, Master. It took some time to ‘weave’ the appearance you requested.”

  “Heh-heh-heh, you mustn’t worry, dearie. Keeping a lad biting his nails while waiting is what a good woman does, don’t you know?”

  At the two voices, everyone turned—and in that instant, the needle on the meter in Sora’s brain was pinned at maximum. Sora and Ino, before they could think, followed their instincts. Which told them it was their duty to throw themselves on the ground then and there. Where they’d turned were—indeed—two goddesses.

  Two goddesses—of whom one was Jibril. Her long hair, which reflected light and changed color, fanned by the breeze in the seaside sunlight, grew all the more brilliant. A sculpted beauty, worthy of being called the ultimate, at which any sculptor’s heart would break at first glance. Covering this masterpiece of a body was the swimsuit Sora had specified. For Jibril, who showed plenty of skin regularly, he’d intentionally picked a one-piece, woven with string across her midsection. From a largish shawl wrapped like a pareo around her hips extended her faintly glistening wings. The halo turning above her head took all this divine splendor and made it still greater. Her beauty was such that it stole away any room for doubt she’d come from the sky, rendering the reality beyond question.

  * * *

  Two goddesses—of whom one was the Shrine Maiden. Her golden hair and ears and tails, and her fair skin, lit by the sunlight, could only be summarized as—an aureole.

  Lines somewhat more reserved, but if Jibril was the ultimate—the Shrine Maiden could only be the supreme. Her soft skin, usually wrapped in a kimono, was now wreathed in the consistent theme of a swimsuit resembling a short Japanese-style jacket. But through her languid manner of dress suggestive of a club hostess, a “butterfly of the night,” her shoulders peeped lithely, lustrous. Her golden hair and two tails, scintillating as they slowly waved with each step on the sand, and the bewitching smile that arose on her face, convinced one of the existence of the fox spirits that were said to live forever and ascend to the divine—no mere spirit, but a deity who stood above them all. Tears streamed down the faces of the two earthbound men. They did not know why, yet without understanding anything, they prayed.

  “…I, Ino Hatsuse, have finally learned the reason I was borrrn—!”

  “Ohhh, god! I don’t know who or where you are, but, friggin’ inspired god who created Jibril and the Shrine Maiden for us in this world—ahh, make me your disciple…”

  A new religion was rising up. Steph and Izuna, having witnessed one of its key tenets, felt obliged to interject.

  “—Excuse me. I recognize that it’s a hard comparison to stand up to…but can you really treat us this differently?”

  “…? Didja all get sand in your eyes, please?”

  Izuna, looking back and forth between Steph and the two still prostrate, looked puzzled.

  “Oh, Master, you honor me more than I deserve, but please raise your head!!”

  “Hmp, don’t stand on ceremony, lads. You may as well savor the blessing of my seaside attire!”

  Jibril lowered her head to the ground at the sight of Sora’s state as the Shrine Maiden crowed with laughter. At the women’s urging, Sora and Ino rose tentatively. Faced again with the divine radiance of the two, Sora and Ino turned their gazes toward the sky together.

  “…Somehow, it feels like I’ve already experienced more than enough.”

  “…I must concur. My heart fills with the feeling that I have done my bit.”

  “…Shall we go back now?”

  “…For once, our opinions coincide, Sir.”

  —Apparently it was philosophy time for the two men. Though ever at odds, in this setting alone, there was no bad blood, no wall between the races. The two simply, as fellow men, looked up to the sky together and nodded with the same feeling in their hearts.

  —Why must there be fighting? When the world is so very beautiful—

  “Hey, hold on there! What do you suppose you came here for?!”

  Upon the two walking the path of enlightenment, Steph’s voice rang down like a clarion.

  —What indeed.

  “…Why was it again?”

  “I am afraid, Master, that by my recollection, it was to visit the city of Siren.”

  …Oh, that’s right. Sora finally remembered.

  —Indeed. As Jibril had said, they hadn’t come just to swim. They’d come because Plum had indicated that a boat from Siren would arrive to pick them up. After all, the city of Siren—Oceand—was at the bottom of the sea. Jibril, neither having visited nor able to see it, was unable to shift there. Thus, Plum was to be their guide, but—

  “So where the hell is Plum?”

  “I-I’m here…”

  “Whoa?!”

  Sora jumped at the little voice coming from his feet. How long had she been there? Almost imperceptibly, two eyes peeked out of a crate by his feet.

  “…Uh, is that you, Plum? The hell are you doing? This is the beach.”

  “P-please don’t be unreasonablle… Th-this is the most I can dooo?”

  Plum answered, producing one of the patterns that arose when she used magic—and tears while she was at it.

  “Master, direct sunlight is lethal to Dhampir. Even with that box around her, she must bend light or she will—”

  At Jibril’s words, Sora remembered the “illness.” So given that it was transmitted by sucking blood, that meant that the Dhampir herself couldn’t get out in the sun?

  “The greeting vessel from Oceand is to come at night, you knowww? Why are we here in the middle of the day…?”

  —Indeed. The boat was supposed to pick them up after the sun set. Plum, groaning, Why did we have to come here when the daylight is like the flames of hell—?

  “But d00d, it’s the beach. You want me to skip past the swimsuit scene when we’ve got this crew? Are you nuts?”

  —Though even Sora would have excused himself if he didn’t have Jibril’s mysterious sunscreen.

  “Hey, come to think of it, Jibril. Won’t that sunscreen work on Plum?”

  “Unfortunately, Master, for Dhampirs, it is being exposed to the sun itself that is lethal.”

  At Jibril’s unqualified ruling-out of hope, Plum provided a correction.

  “Uh, no… If I weave a more powerful rite, I’ll be fiiine…but, you know, it’ll use a lot of power…”

  Considering how tired she’d looked when she had first come to them, basically she was saying that walking straight through this blazing sun would wear her out to that point.

  “Y-you seee…Sirens’ blood just isn’t enough to, uh, d-do anything biiig…so.”

  Whooosh, Plum peeked out of the box with a nice smile.

  “If I could! Just lick the feet of Queen Shiro one more time, I’ll have no trouble with that riiite…eh-heh-hehh!”

  “Denied. You just squat there.”

  At the swift stroke that cleft her proposal in twain, Plum let out only a moan as she plonked her crate closed again.

  “…Hey, fo
r being Rank Twelve, isn’t Plum just too frickin’ weak?”

  —This was something he’d always thought about the vampires postulated in his own world, but still…

  “Dhampirs amplify their power with the blood they intake—the strength of its soul,” Jibril answered. “If they ingest blood befitting the height of their natural aptitude for illusion and stealth—for instance, the blood of Elf—they become the vilest of assassins. In the Great War, they were, in fact, something of a threat.”

  …Ah, Sora thought, remembering that first night. Allowing that she was off her guard, even Jibril had fallen prey to Plum’s tricks for a time—but.

  “—Now look at them, right…”

  Sora mumbled, squinting down at the crate as his feet. Seeing that she was still trembling even inside the crate was almost sufficient to bring tears to one’s eyes.

  “—I’ve been thinking this for a while, but aren’t Elf and Flügel a little too different in power for being just one rank apart? I mean, you’re saying this twerp can drink Elf’s blood, but she’s gonna vaporize if she drinks yours, right?”

  Sora indicated the crate at his feet as he posed the question.

  “Yes, for that is just where the ‘separation line’ lies in the ranking,” said Jibril.

  “‘Separation line’?”

  “Simply speaking, ranks up to Seven are ‘living things,’ whereas higher ranks are ‘living beings.’”

  “…Huh?”

  “You might understand it best by thinking of ranks up to Seven as those possessing physical bodies, who reproduce by ordinary means, and are generally defined as ‘living things,’ whereas the higher ranks are energies or concepts that have acquired will, or in other words ‘living beings.’”

  —Hmm, then it was simple. It was the line at which common sense no longer applied. Sora understood.

  “While we’re on the subject, what about one above you, Jibril—Gigant, was it? What’s the power relationship look like with those guys?”