by Mamare Touno
“Let’s roll, Shiro.”
“Hurry, my liege.”
Leaving those words behind them, the two of them leapt into the sunset sky, pursued by Taliktan.
Falling.
Shiroe and the others had jumped from a height of several dozen meters.
They plunged toward the ground like stones, falling through air that seemed to have turned solid and howled in their ears as they passed. Even though turning Fly into a range spell had weakened its braking effect, Shiroe glared up at the shape bearing down on them, silhouetted against the moon.
Come and get us.
He hit Taliktan with that thought, without speaking it aloud. This might have been a more important move than confronting the Genius. Taliktan pursued them, and the rainbow bubbles clung to him, following him. Just as Shiroe had thought, even the Genius of Summoning needed that iron tower—in other words, a channel to the moon—in order to summon Eternal Moths.
To separate Taliktan from that tower, Shiroe’s group had executed a maneuver that was like diving. The Genius already begun to summon. Unless they stopped Taliktan here, the damage would be even greater. In addition, they’d probably lose their means of contacting the moon and of closing in on the heart of the mystery.
However, as Shiroe murmured to Taliktan, he wore a fearless smile.
“If this is a raid, it’s my battlefield. Watch what eight years of constant fighting on countless battlefields and accumulated knowledge can do.”
Before anyone heard them, the words were shredded by the wind and vanished.
4
“Uhhh, yes, yes. Put them all out. No, never mind that, forget about profit. Use ammunition and potions right and left, open all storehouses up to tier six, and clear out all the stock, thanks in advance, ’bye.”
Right after ending his telechat with the dwarf girl who acted as his inventory manager, Calasin leaned in from the corridor and spoke to the People of the Earth maids and cooks: “I brought you some meat.” Many impromptu kettles and tents had been set up in the courtyard, and the place was as noisy as a battlefield. Or rather, it actually was a battlefield.
Castle Cinderella, the heart of the Maihama duchy, was currently serving as a frontline base. Since the Eternal Moths attacked from the sky, castle walls and city streets meant nothing to them. In the dusk, this castle was caught up in a battle with attacking monsters.
The monsters seemed to prioritize targeting beings with high combat abilities or mana. In this world, that description was synonymous with Adventurer. In the urban areas of Maihama, the doors of all the houses had been shut tight, and martial law had been declared. The People of the Earth just held their breath and stared up at the sky. The city and castle were being defended by a force that had been built around the Knights of the Black Sword.
The idea of holding the Eternal Moths back in forests and highways away from the town had been suggested, but the monsters attacked Adventurers only “as a rule.” They weren’t intelligent enough to let People of the Earth they happened to encounter get away. In that case, Isaac, who led the Knights of the Black Sword, had decided to keep them where he could see them and guard them that way.
Calasin’s motives were different, but that didn’t change the conclusion.
As a result of these things, the defense operation was underway.
“Mr. Calasin.”
“Oh, would you look at that! Thanks very much for the present.”
Bright female voices sent up cheers.
In this castle, Calasin was even more popular than Isaac. The goods Shopping District 8 brought were useful to People of the Earth of every class, and the demand was particularly large among the kitchen personnel. Items like sauces, soy sauce, and high-purity sugar were still difficult for the People of the Earth to make on their own.
“You’re real popular, GM!”
Glancing at Taro, who’d complimented him with wide, startled eyes, Calasin grumbled: “Well, sure: I’m the Young Gent.” About 20 percent of those cheers had come from hungry soldiers, and 70 percent had been from the middle-aged maids and chefs who were preparing the food. Even Taro, who looked startled every time and wore expressions that said, That’s amazing. Wow, I’m jealous, knew this and was acting that way on purpose. Calasin couldn’t deal with the guy.
After he dexterously removed groceries and potions from his fantasy-class Holy Precincts of Ku Lal Bag and lined them up under the tent, his job here was done. Beside him, Taro had taken bandages out of his own shoulder bag. Having finished his work as well, he nodded firmly.
“From the southwest and the west, you think?”
As they traveled along the top of Castle Cinderella’s retaining wall at a jog, Taro spoke.
Sounds that were sharp but somehow light, as if paper bags full of air were being popped, rang out one after another. It was the noise of attack spells, bursting in midair. Since they were far away, they sounded flimsy.
“That’s where the Black Sword’s main forces are. The People of the Earth knight brigade should be there as well.”
“Is that gonna be okay?”
Calasin answered Taro’s drawled question with a nod: “No worries.”
It should be all right. In fact, as far as the current uproar was concerned, he predicted they’d do extremely useful work. After being trained by Isaac and company, the Glass Greaves’ levels were in the high twenties. Among the People of the Earth, these abilities were considered elite, and they had combat power that civilian People of the Earth couldn’t hope to match. Since their basic abilities like strength and endurance had grown as well, they’d be able to fight for a long time.
On top of that, since they were still far from the level-90 Knights of the Black Sword, the Eternal Moths wouldn’t be as quick to target them. While the Knights of the Black Sword held the enemy in check from the front, they could act as guerilla fighters and attack from the flanks or direct evacuations all they wanted. In fact, Calasin had been getting reports to this effect.
“Before sunset, though, huh? I wish they’d stick to the schedule.”
“There’s no help for that. Trouble always crops up.”
Calasin shrugged.
It wasn’t clear what had happened, but the Eternal Moths had attacked without waiting for moonrise. However, Calasin was taking that as a positive sign.
“Shiroe and the others must have done something.”
“‘Something’?”
“Yes, something.”
He had no idea what was going on, but it wasn’t anything he needed to think about.
At any rate, Shiroe had taken action out on location to corner the enemy, and the schedule had shifted. Calasin had assumed that, since Shiroe had gone, he’d get it done, so there didn’t seem to be any point in thinking about the details of the situation at the site. This wasn’t because he trusted Shiroe or anything. It was more that he thought that, since the world was like a violent torrent loaded with unexpected happenings and hurtling downstream, there was no point in worrying about things he couldn’t completely control on his own. Though, thought might not have been the word: Calasin had his hands full with his own territory, so he didn’t have time to meddle with anything extra.
Although taking care of little Minori and other girls is another thing entirely…
Worrying about Shiroe was ridiculous. It was what was known as a wasted investment.
That said, as far as the battle in front of him was concerned, he was involved, and he’d probably have to get through it.
“Taro.”
“Yessir, GM.”
His contemporary straightened up and saluted, and Calasin issued several requests. Taro, who’d pulled a memo book with a paw pad mark on it out of his back pocket and was taking down notes, said “Really?” and “Really for real?” several times, making sure, then made tracks for the front line. The defensive wall around the town itself was several kilometers away, but if an Adventurer put their strong legs to work, they could get there in a bi
t under ten minutes.
The stock discharge wasn’t a problem at all. The Adventurers of Akiba almost never used items compatible with level 30 and under anymore. You could have called the stuff backlogged inferior stock that had been sitting around since the days of the game. If they let it go here, it might not look so good on the books, but it wouldn’t do them much damage. On the contrary, Calasin thought that if they had the opportunity to create some obligations, they should go ahead and do that.
Calasin entered the great hall, passed through it, then went down a colorfully carpeted corridor to the main tower. Slowly, he climbed the broad spiral staircase. There were small windows whose purpose was to let in light, and the color that filtered in through them was madder red. The tower was filled with the chilly air of an early spring evening.
He hadn’t climbed up to it many times, but the top floor of this main tower probably had a view across the whole city. From what he’d just heard, Duke Sergiad was up there as well.
Partway up the spiral, Calasin and some knights on guard duty passed one another. They weren’t just People of the Earth; Adventurers were in the group, too. Lezarik was in charge of security, and apparently, he was posting sufficient forces.
Although the streets he saw from a small window halfway up the tower were brimming with tension, he didn’t see any fighting. It was probably just a bad angle; the fighting was over by the hills and the defensive wall.
Calasin sighed and continued on.
The situation was pretty tiresome. However, he thought tiresome might have a saturation point. Just as it wasn’t possible to dissolve more than three hundred grams or so of salt in a liter of water, there was a limit to the number of exhausting things that would melt into human lives. Where did the fatigue go when it reached its limit and overflowed? It spilled over into the surrounding area. It was just like a room in chaos. There were limits to the amount that people could clean up.
Since mystery monsters had appeared with such excellent timing, further inquiries into the Iselus assassination affair had been shelved. That had been convenient for Calasin, too, so he hadn’t made a fuss, but assassinations weren’t the sort of thing that could be neglected, either.
Yes, there were limits to the amount that people could clean up.
Still, people were said to be creatures who could work together, and so in order to fulfill the duty in front of him and his own curiosity, Calasin climbed the tower.
“Hello.”
“Oho. To think you’d come here, Sir Calasin.”
Sergiad, who’d given a laid-back response to a laid-back greeting, was gazing at the battlefield from the tower balcony. His profile had been stern, but when he turned to Calasin, it was mild again. The knights who were attending him didn’t look stressed, either, probably because the battle they could see from the balcony was going their way.
“How does the monster attack look?”
“Incredibly abnormal. There are no records of an attack that would require Adventurers to line the town walls in the history of Maihama.”
“You look very calm, for all that.”
“Well, I’m leaving everything to Sir Isaac. Panicking would be an insult to his bravery.”
Duke Sergiad laughed lightly, and Calasin smiled along with him.
Inwardly, he frowned. He was like his boss in the old world. Not only that, but he wasn’t a direct boss; he was something like a managing director, a member of the executive class, somebody whose station was far above the rest. He had the sort of monstrous aura that left you unable to taste what you were eating when he invited you to lunch on an apparent whim.
Come to think of it, Michitaka and Isaac seem to hit it off with him. Do sportsman types correct for things like that?
I really, really can’t, Calasin thought, getting in an internal verbal jab.
With someone like this, being tactful in a halfhearted way could be nothing but a weak point. They’d predict your actions and words and end up striking them all down. He’d have to distance himself from the mind-set of competing during negotiations.
Well, it should be fine.
Calasin gave up on thinking. If there were problems left over, somebody somewhere would just have to mop them up afterward. After all, the range that one person could clean was limited.
I say “somebody somewhere,” but it’ll probably be Shiroe.
Internally, he clapped his hands together in apology.
“And so what will you do about diplomacy with Westlande?”
“Is the Round Table Council finally venturing into Yamato’s politics?”
“Perish the thought. I’m just a petty merchant gathering information in order to protect myself.”
Calasin shrugged and looked self-effacing, but he wasn’t speaking in earnest. He also didn’t think Duke Sergiad would accept the idea that he was only a merchant making small talk. He was speaking with the head of a political body that divided Yamato into two parts.
Calasin had thought that, if he held back, he’d only fall behind, and nothing good would come of it, so he asked question after question, wearing an intentionally audacious expression. Even if he was dripping with cold sweat internally, throwing himself on the man’s mercy seemed like a patently terrible move.
“Do you think there’ll be a war?”
“—I’d like to avoid that.”
As he let those words fall, Duke Sergiad was gazing into the distance.
“Unfortunately, things never go as you’d like. You may ask that, Sir Calasin, but to the Holy Empire of Westlande, our Eastal is a disobedient enemy of the emperor. It isn’t a question of whether to go to war or not. To them, long before that, we are rebels who must be destroyed. The only reason the Holy Empire of Westlande hasn’t invaded us during the past three hundred years is that they didn’t have the military force to do so.”
“And when the Adventurers appeared, that broke down?”
“Westlande isn’t a monolith, either. In the near future, it will probably crack.”
Duke Sergiad’s words were half blown away by the wind, but they reached Calasin’s ears clearly.
That was a definite possibility.
Conditions in Minami were complicated. In a way, that relationship was more complex than the one between Akiba and Eastal.
Most of Akiba’s Adventurers believed Plant Hwyaden was an organization of self-government that was headquartered in the Kansai area and had been created by the Adventurers: In other words, it was Western Yamato’s Round Table Council. …But this wasn’t the case.
As proof, Plant Hwyaden’s Ten-Seat Council had People of the Earth members, as well as Adventurers. There weren’t many people in Akiba who gave serious thought to what that signified.
“Is that, erm…? Would that be the Adventurers’ fault?”
“The ambition belongs to the senate, mind you. Still, where there’s oil, fire burns more fiercely.”
Plant Hwyaden was not an Adventurer organization of self-government.
It was the new governing organization of Western Yamato. The subjects it governed were the People of the Earth, and the Adventurers who were part of Plant Hwyaden were a new ruling class, an aristocracy. The Ten-Seat Council said no such thing, of course, and it was likely that most of the Adventurers who lived in Minami weren’t conscious of the fact. However, in practice, this was already the case. A system in which that was the inevitable result was already in operation.
To make matters worse, that didn’t mean Plant Hwyaden was the only governing organization in West Yamato.
West Yamato already had a governing organization known as the Holy Empire of Westlande. Internally, it had a bureaucracy known as the senate and nobles in the form of the House of Saiguu. It could be said that the rivalry and cooperation between the senate and the House of Saiguu was the history of the Holy Empire of Westlande itself. The senate, which ruled the people, and the House of Saiguu, the people’s hope. Plant Hwyaden had been added on top of this double-layered control.<
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By rights, the confusion generated by the churning inconsistencies could easily have collapsed it. However, those inconsistencies were being hidden by the safety and the new technologies—in other words, the benefits—provided by the Adventurers.
What Duke Sergiad had said seemed to support Calasin’s misgivings.
“We don’t know what sort of confidential talks have been carried out or who’s collaborating with whom. However, someone in Westlande, probably the senate’s faction, must have thought that they wouldn’t mind a war. That their chances of victory were great enough.”
“I wonder about that.”
Calasin shrugged.
He doubted whether Zeldus had that much fighting spirit.
“The odds of victory don’t really show up as numbers to that extent.”
“A strange statement, coming from a merchant.”
Calasin thought as he responded to Sergiad.
“No, it’s because I am a merchant. Projects—new businesses—are uncertain things. Once you start them, you can’t stop, and the results are mostly ambiguous. Ninety percent of the time, the outcome isn’t a definite win or a loss. For example, maybe the capital you had lined up went down the drain, but you got by without losing your personnel. Or maybe your sales were bigger than you’d planned on, but it triggered a labor dispute at your new factory.”
“You mean it’s never a perfect win or a perfect loss, then?”
The ultimate goal of the Round Table Council, and of Shopping District 8, was survival. In this warped world, Adventurers didn’t die. However, the simple fact that they didn’t die didn’t necessarily mean they were living. Calasin was running a commercial guild precisely because he didn’t think those things were equal.
Since there was no end, the question of how to spend that infinity became a problem.
