Chapter 4

In the Forest in the Sky -late autumn night’s dream- 1. Papier-Mâché Manager What am I? A long, long time ago, Willem lived in an orphanage. He met his master there. His master raised him, taught him everything he needed to live. His master was also a terrible adult. Typically, someone in the position of managing an orphanage would act like a parent to the children gathered there, but his master tossed that responsibility away. And so Willem took on the role himself, along with everything that came with being called Dad by those who were children, just like himself. His master had a terrible drinking habit, and Willem wished he would stop telling ridiculous stories like, “I used to be the Legal Brave, y’know!” with a reddened face at every opportunity. The old man was certainly stronger than other adults, handled the sword better, and was strangely knowledgeable about a lot of things, but the orphans at the time all agreed that “He’s not the type to be a Brave,” “He looks like a villain’s lackey.” He was guilty of many, many crimes. So many, they couldn’t all be counted. Vulgar whistling at girls in town, reading inappropriate books to small children, not shaving his lazy stubble despite numerous lectures about it, and— —being absent from home at the most vital moments. As a result, Willem resolved in his young heart that he would never, ever grow up to be an adult like that. At any rate, of the many proclamations made by his master, the old man also said: “Cherish your women. Men can’t ever run from them. “Treasure your children, too. Adults can’t ever win against them. “Steel yourself before young girls. No matter what happens, you and I won’t ever be a match for them.” Willem thought he’d been taught something worrisome. He wanted to avoid it if he could. But even worse, like everything else his master said to him, those words from long ago had become his flesh and blood now. No thanks to that, he’d been suspected of pedophilia once, but—well, he wanted to forget that incident if he could. Not having to do anything was much more comfortable than he thought it would be, and also much more painful. Now that he thought about it, he had been living constantly feeling like time was chasing him down this past year and a half. That was because jobs that accepted featureless workers all had terrible pay, and he took on as many as he could. He worked from the early morning until late at night, sometimes even into the next day. Regardless of day or night, he slept in short bursts whenever he had the time. And so just sleeping soundly in a soft bed, then waking up bathed in the morning light was indescribably pleasant. But at the same time—unlike all his time up until the day before, where a list of tasks was always looming over him, his current situation of “just stay here” was trying. In a single moment of idleness, his mind would stumble across things his heart didn’t want to remember. It was trying remembering things he didn’t want to think about. Being in the warehouse itself felt a bit odd. Altogether, there were nearly thirty children here. All of them girls. Their ages varied, but they were mostly between seven and fifteen. And without a single exception, they all had brightly colored hair. The colors were unrealistic, almost like they had leaped out of an abstract painting, but it was almost jarring how natural it seemed. That was probably because they weren’t dyed or bleached. It also seemed like the children weren’t used to being around adults or men, so they were very cautious around Willem and didn’t show their faces much. Well, there’s not much I can do about that, Willem thought. That’s typical behavior for little children, and the ones who cornered him in his room that first day were an exception. A large anomaly had suddenly broken into their small, closed world. Of course not everyone would calmly accept him. Willem would feel a presence as he walked down the hall and would turn around. There, he would see the back of a small, frightened child, running away at full speed. As that repeated over and over, he started to feel guilty for even strolling around outside his room. Needless to say, though, there was nothing for him to do locked up in his quarters. He hadn’t brought anything especially like a hobby, and there was no reason for him to temper his body anymore. He sat on the windowsill and passed the time staring out the window. It seemed like a wonderful thing to do, but there was no way he could spend the next months doing just that. He changed into casual clothes and took a walk to the town center. There were hundreds of stone-made buildings lined up along a slight slope. It was a given, but it was a different sort of charm than the decadence of Island No. 28; it was somewhat idyllic. What surprised him the most was that he walked down the streets without wearing a robe or hood, clearly displaying that he was featureless, but the people who passed by him didn’t seem to care at all. He went into a nearby snack bar for lunch and raised the topic with the shopkeeper. “Well, that kinda talk won’t get you nowhere round here.” The young lycanthrope, chestnut fur on his canine face, answered over his shoulder as he shook a frying pan. “You’ll never stop if you start pointin’ your finger at every guy who resembles some ancient baddies. If you wanna be pointin’ fingers, you’re better off giving a long, hard look at people doin’ bad things right now. Well, not much someone can do if they live in a place with too many baddies and too many awful things. I’m sure it’s too much for them to count all the things they wanna be pointin’ at, so maybe they just picked the historical bad people who stood out above the rest. Then the whole town does it; it becomes tradition. I’d say you’re someone who’s been through a lot—we take it easy around here.” I see, so that’s how it is. “And since you’re an outsider, you might not know, but they live near here. Terrifying featureless, even more than those old emnetwiht. You see ’em smile once, and you’ll forget everything about what happened long ago. You’ll be too busy thanking your stars you live in this day and age.” …I see, so that’s how it is. As he waited for his food, he sat idly at the table, paying no attention, when a familiar face drew near. “Oh? It’s you…” There was the girl with the clear sky-blue hair. “Hey, Chtholly… Um…” Behind her, there were two girls about her age. They were the three oldest among all the girls who lived in the warehouse. Well, they were more like midteens trying to grow up as fast as they could. “Hey, if it isn’t the handsome man everyone’s been talking about.” A girl with faded golden hair rushed over and leaned in close. “And what is this? Greeting only Chtholly by name—when did your relationship get so deep? Can I ask more about you two?” “Stop.” “Okay, stopping.” The girl immediately pulled back in response to Chtholly’s icy tone. “There’s nothing to tease about here. It’s just… How do I say this…? We just happened to meet earlier than everybody else, and by coincidence, we had the chance to exchange names. That’s all.” “Hmm. If you say so, then, well, I’ll leave it at that.” “Please do.” “Okay, leaving it. All right, Second Enchantments Officer Willem, I’d appreciate it if you learned our names while you’re at it. I’m the loud one, Ithea, and over there”—she turned around, pointing to the third of their troupe who was sitting at the corner table, pretending like none of this had anything to do with her—“acting like she’s going her own way is Nephren. Nice to meet you.” “…That’s a creative way of introducing yourselves, huh? I don’t have to say my name, do I?” “Well, we’ve got the gist of it. You like spicy meat dishes, don’t dislike anything in particular but can’t stand lizardfolk lunch boxes, like women who are patient and older…right?” I see those kids spread the information around. “…Wait a second, Ithea. I haven’t heard any of that before.” “Heh-heh-heh. The one who controls information controls the island. Persistent espionage today is delicious food tomorrow!” “Hey, come on, tell me!” As they happily chatted between themselves, the two moved back to the third girl—Nephren. They were a noisy bunch. “What, you know the girls at the warehouse?” The canine lycanthrope approached and placed the lunch set on the table. Fried potatoes, vegetable scraps, thick fried bacon, a small bread roll, and soup in a cup. “Yeah. I started living there yesterday for work.” “Huh, living in the ware…house…uh…” He knew why he saw the blood drain from the young man’s chestnut fur–covered face. “Eeeeehhhhhh?!” His host pulled back with astonishing speed. Plastering himself against the wall, his feet and hands floundered for something to hold onto. “I-I-I’m sorry please don’t kill me please don’t eat me I have five hungry mothers and an aging grandchild—” …It was an unexpected response. But Willem could easily imagine the root of the misunderstanding. “I’m not a troll.” “There’s still money in the register, and I swear my meat is hard and not very— Huh? What did you say?” He stopped, blinking his bewildered eyes. “I said, I’m not a troll. I know it’s hard to tell featureless apart, but I’m not gonna eat you.” “W-well…but…there’s no way you could live under the same roof as that ravenous monster unless you’re the same race as her, though.” “—Don’t tell me she’s eaten people here in town?” A possibility he didn’t want to consider popped into his mind as he watched how frightened the young man got. If it was true, that would not be good for him. Regule Aire fostered all sorts of different cultures, but they all shared the same laws—a fantastic union. Those laws dictated it was a felony to kill any intelligent being, regardless of race. It didn’t matter if someone was a troll—rather, especially if they were a troll… It was forbidden for them to eat however they pleased. “No, she hasn’t, but…” The young man’s ears drooped. “A little while back, a branch from a company of vulgar orcs was here. Blackfur, they were called.” “Nah, don’t say any more. I know how that’s gonna end.” Those orcs messed with the kids, so Nygglatho went to wherever they were to ruin them. Most likely, it ended with her being seen covered in blood and laughing maniacally. Willem wasn’t surprised. If anything, he could imagine it easily. She was definitely the person to do just that. Well, either way, Nygglatho was one of his saviors, one of the few people who knew about him, and was currently a coworker in the same facility. He should cover for her. “Well, Nygglatho’s not the kind of person to hurt anything and everything. It is easy to get the wrong idea…er, to get scared because of the way she acts. But underneath it all, she’s a normal, considerate girl. If you ignore her short temper and how quickly she strikes out and her low boiling point and how much she wants to eat people, she’s nothing to worry about.” Ninety percent of the time, when she smiled and said, “Can I eat you?” it was a joke. A bad one. She probably wasn’t saying that because she was actually going to eat him. There was absolutely no reason to worry. He wasn’t going to think about the other 10 percent. “You’re amazing.” For some reason, he was being looked at with admiration. “Let me call you a Brave.” When he said that, Willem lowered his head as far as it could go. “Please don’t.” The strongest warriors or the strongest weapons—whichever it was—they were actually girls. That was a common story throughout time and space. Well, of course it was. Women have always been what raises men’s morale the fastest. The vanity of men was an unexpectedly formidable thing. The battlefield was a messy place, where the line was blurred, where soldiers forgot all about victory and glory and prestige—but even those soldiers could not just toss that away. They didn’t want to look bad in front of women. It was that determination that granted amazing strength to even the weakest soldier facing death. Outstanding armies knew how to use that effect well. So they sometimes mixed women into a battlefield full of dudes. It worked fine with the supply troops and the rear relief troops, but it was more effective closer to the front lines. Lady knights who ran through the battlefield with superior swordsmanship, peerless female Braves chosen by the Carillon, tragic girl thaumaturgists with enormous power carved into slender bodies. It was easy to raise the morale of simpleminded men with nothing more than rumors that women were there. Even unrealistic settings that sounded like they came from some kind of storybook were the perfect flavor for the battlefield, where any sense of reality had long since disappeared. Willem knew a girl who had been celebrated as a hero like that. She was strong, but the men around her made her out to be stronger than she actually was. The girl enjoyed the whole thing, or perhaps it was her only salvation. She would pick up the papers circulating the battlefield, then laugh off the distant tales celebrating all her feats of arms. You don’t need to think too hard about it. It’s just as I said. We are the supposed weapons, as you call them. But the girls smiling here and now somehow seemed to be of a different breed. Heroes created for lifting morale had to be a bit more famous, of course. They had to belong to a more popular race, not featureless. And—well, to put it crudely, they had to be the right age to wholly accept the love of filthy men. The girls here were a little too young to take on such a role. So something was strange about all this. He felt as if something wasn’t quite adding up between the female weapons he was familiar with and what was going on with these girls. That being said, well— Whatever the weapons here turned out to be and whatever the girls were in reality, he felt like it was none of his business. That wasn’t his job. He was just the manager with no responsibilities. All he needed to do in his position during his tenure was stay out of their way. …Willem spent almost three days telling himself that. He thought it would be best to just persevere and put up with it. But he was at his limit. The children were afraid, and the reason for that was none other than himself. Those two facts combined left him unable to handle it anymore. “Huh? Oh yes, that’s fine…” “Thanks a bunch.” He asked the girl in charge of food that day if he could borrow a corner in the kitchen. Eggs, sugar, milk, and cream. Some berries. Chicken bones for making gelatin. After placing all the ingredients that looked useful onto the counter, he flipped through the recipes for easy desserts popular with small children in his head and reconfirmed the process. He started working. He put on his own apron, then lit the crystal stove. Little spies clustered together and peeked into the kitchen at him—“What is he gonna do?” The rule in the house was that absolutely no one else besides the one in charge of food that day was allowed inside the kitchen, so they couldn’t do much else but peer at him from afar. Willem continued working as he felt their stares prickling the back of his neck. He’d reached one conclusion in his past few days here, and that was that the girls’ appetites didn’t differ much from Willem’s own. Of course, there were variations in preferences due to their differences in gender and age, but that wasn’t much of a problem. The gap between tastes as a consequence of race (and by extension, physiological differences) were much harsher and tragic. Once before, he’d gone out to eat with a boggard friend (well, it was Glick). That had been a truly terrible day. Things that Willem thought were delicious, Glick said tasted like crap; things Glick said were amazing, Willem thought tasted like a nightmare. Though they could have just given up there and then, Glick announced, “We will find something we both find delicious,” and then the two of them spent a full day traversing beyond that initial nightmarish hellscape. The highlight came at the very end, when they were both gulping down water, tears streaming down their faces, crying, “This shit’s so good.” Anyway. He surmised that not only could they sit in the same dining hall while eating the same food, he and the girls didn’t have any big differences in taste. While he was cooking, he called over the little one in charge of the day’s meals and had her perform a taste test. The girl stared at the caramel in the spoon like it was a mutated animal she’d found on the side of the road, then finally readied herself, shut her eyes, and put the spoon in her mouth. There was a long moment of silence. Bashfully, she slowly opened her eyes. “…Ho good.” The spoon clattered to the floor. Unable to make a sound out of either joy or fear, several voiceless cries erupted among the spies. The result was, essentially, a success. The girls who ordered the “Special Dessert” added temporarily to the corner of the menu made the same determined faces they’d seen earlier when taking their first bites, went stiff for a few seconds, and then their eyes sparkled in the moment that followed. The whole dining hall was filled with a shining brightness as Willem watched. “All right!” This time it was Willem’s turn to check on them, peeking into the room, and he pumped his fist in victory. The way to win kids over was with sugar in their stomachs. “…What are you doing?” He could hear Nygglatho’s annoyed tone behind him. “That recipe was passed down to me from my master. I hate to say it, but kids are fearsome opponents, and that’s a proven fact. That’s been my downfall many times in the past.” “No, I’m not talking about that. You won’t get any more money even if you take on more responsibilities, you know.” “That’s not the problem.” He scratched his cheek. “They’re clearly scared of me, and it feels wrong just leaving things that way. This is the weapons warehouse, and if they’re the weapons, then I’d be a bad manager if I gave my charges unnecessary stress and worsened their condition. So this is… What do you call it…?” He couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t confident what he was saying was logically valid, but he said what he thought he should be saying anyway. “I’m not trying to suck up to them. I’m just trying to pull my negative existence here back up to zero. That falls under regular duties for a desk ornament like me, right?” “…If you say so, then I suppose that’s good enough.” Nygglatho’s eyes quickly narrowed. “But you’re talking rather fast. It sounds like you’re making a lot of guilty excuses. You come across so set on fooling yourself that I want to cringe, but if you really are serious, there’s nothing for me to say, right?” She saw right through him. “I’m sorry don’t ask me any more I swear please—” “When I first met you, I thought you were a cooler, more degenerate, and destructive character.” “That’s, well…” That was just because he aspired to be that way. He’d decided to assume that character, to live without bothering too much with the world around him. In reality, he didn’t have a very good disposition at the moment, either. “I’d lost sight of myself. I’ll be more careful from now on.” “Hmm. Well, I don’t really care. As long as the children are happy, there’s nothing else I can ask for. And…” “And?” “You smell incredibly delicious. Like sugar.” “I will be absolutely more careful from now on.” He swore that the next time he stood in the kitchen, he would be taking a shower right after, just in case. 2. The Girls in the Warehouse Moving on—Chtholly Nota Seniorious was a faerie. This year would be the fifteenth after her birth. She was an adult faerie soldier and the oldest among those in the faerie warehouse. It was confirmed that she was able to activate dug weapons, and so the name of her allotted sword, Seniorious, was added to the end of her name. Her hair was a light cerulean, and her eyes were slightly darker than that. She didn’t like the color herself very much. There were two reasons for that: First, it was very typical faerie hair, and it made her stand out in town; second, since it was such a cool shade, brightly colored clothes didn’t look very good on her. “…Why is that?” It was daytime in the reading room. Gazing outside from the seat by the windowsill, Chtholly murmured. She was watching the field in the forest. There, happily chasing a ball, were the youngest faeries and a tall, young man. Though his build, race, and gender were all different, before she knew it, he’d naturally blended in with them. It was probably because of that special dessert he’d served in the dining hall the other day. He had made it himself and, with that, lowered all the youngest girls’ guards in an instant. By the time Chtholly realized what was happening, they had become completely attached to him. “What on earth is he?” When she first met him, she’d thought he seemed…mysterious, kind, with some sort of strange shadow cast over him. He lived in a semifer city even though he was featureless, and he was nice to her the entire time despite all the trouble she’d caused him. The next time she saw him, Pannibal—one of the youngest—had knocked him over. Now that she thought about it, she’d been sitting on him when they first met, too. For a moment, she wondered if that was a fetish of his, but she quickly shook away the thought. Of course not. No way it was. And…he was always kind to the children. Those fussy, pushy, noisy, tiresome, annoying children had even cornered him in his room, and yet without a single sour expression, he’d chatted with them. Whenever she crossed paths with him afterward, he’d treated her the same— …The same? She caught herself tripping over the words in her mind, and her contemplation came to a halt. Could it be that we’re all the same to him? Was it possible that those children, little and still growing after barely ten years since their birth, and this Chtholly Nota Seniorious, who had reached maturity and believed herself an adult after fifteen years of living, were being treated identically? Of course, that wasn’t possible—that’s what she wanted to believe. That man—Second Enchantments Officer Willem Kmetsch—probably wasn’t much older. Though she’d been confused by his enigmatic presence, he was probably slightly younger than twenty. Then they were, at the most, three or four years apart. That was not an acceptable range for error. She would not be treated like a child. Or maybe it was because of their difference in height. That would make it a serious problem. This Chtholly Nota Seniorious prided herself on being the tallest among the faeries, but to the towering Willem, they were all very much the same little younglings. There was also the important fact that Nygglatho, who was huge in comparison, was close at hand. “—Whatcha doin’?” “Eeeek!!” Arms suddenly clasped her from behind, and Chtholly let out an odd yelp. “Ooh, I like that sound.” “H-hey, don’t scare me like that!” “Nya-ha-ha, sorry, sorry. You weren’t moving at all, so I had to!” “That’s not a reason, ugh.” She pried away the arms wrapped around her neck. Ithea Myse Valgulious was a faerie, too. This year would be the fourteenth since her birth. She was an adult faerie soldier, and she, too, was confirmed compatible with dug weapons. That was why she bore the name Valgulious. She had peculiar hair the color of ripened wheat. Her irises were the shade of faded wood. She had slightly slanted eyes, a catlike gaze, and a friendly smile. “He’s a popular one, huh? It feels like he’s been here for ages. Did you know? I heard he taught the kids the game they’re playing with the ball now because it’s something a lot of people can play, and even the kids that are bad at sports get a chance to touch the ball.” “Hmm…I see.” “You wanna know more about him, don’t you?” “I dunno…” Of course she did. Everyone who lived in the faerie house was the same. He was an anomaly, and he stood out wherever he was. “That’s a new hat.” Clatter. Chtholly almost slipped out of her chair. “You sure are taking good care of it. It’s all the way in the back of your closet, and you haven’t used it at all.” “Th-that’s all there is to it! The only thing those are good for are disguising myself when I leave the island, right? I don’t need to hide my face when I’m still on the island! And is that any way to change the subject?!” She was met with a wide grin. “What is with that smile?!” “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about how much I liked your reaction.” “My reaction? Anyone would complain if they were startled like that!” “Hmm, that’s not exactly it, though?” Ithea said suggestively, scratching near her chin. Then a rolled-up piece of paper sprung up above her head. “The reading room must remain silent.” There stood Nephren, expressionless as always. Nephren Ruq Insania was also a faerie, of course. This year would be the thirteenth after her birth. She had reached maturity that summer and had just recently been confirmed compatible with dug weapons. She had dullish gray hair and eyes the color of charcoal. She was so short that she would be buried standing in a crowd of the little ones. She constantly wore a blank expression, and Chtholly, at least, had never seen her smile or scowl. After a quick glance around, she couldn’t see any other faeries in the reading room. Everyone was gathered around the windowsill. “S-sorry…” Chtholly earnestly bowed her head, and the newcomer sat in the empty seat beside her. “So what sort of person is he?” Nephren started with a question. Chtholly’s shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Didn’t you just tell me to stop talking?” “I think it’s fine as long as you’re not yelling.” “And so our conversation continues… You think he’s interesting, too, Ren?” “Not really.” Nephren’s eyes flitted outside the window. “I only think he’s a strange person.” So she looks at him the same way, too. Chtholly was glad knowing that she wasn’t the only one. Someone who was just kind or just cheerful wouldn’t bother her so much. He acted so friendly, but it felt like there was a barrier somewhere. He seemed like he was having so much fun, but they got the sense that he was somehow sad. At first glance, he was fitting in well, but… At the oddest moments, he would gaze off, a distant look in his eyes, as though reliving memories of a place far away. So they couldn’t help but pay attention to him. They wanted to know. “…How many days left, Chtholly?” Ithea asked as she was spacing out. She understood exactly what her friend meant because of how the question was phrased. Chtholly was counting down every single day on the calendar in her room, so she knew the number she had to respond with. “Mm, a little more than ten days.” “Aww, that’s plenty of time but not enough at all.” “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about you enjoying your youth to the fullest, of course.” Thunk. Her head slammed on the table. “Chtholly. The reading room must remain silent.” “S-sorry… Wait, no I’m not! What on earth are you talking about, Ithea?!” “Nya-ha-ha-ha, don’t get so bashful! You’re a winner just by falling in love, especially in this world where so many faeries pass before adolescence. Aren’t you glad you were born a girl?” “Th-that’s not how I was looking at him—” “I see…I shall go find several volumes on heterogamy for your reference.” “Ren?! Wait, I really don’t need those!” “Chtholly, the reading room must remain silent.” “Who’s the one yelling here?!” Outside, the ball flew high, drawing a big arc in the azure sky. “…I really don’t, so please stop. I’ve finally managed to give so many things up, so I don’t want to make new regrets now.” Chtholly spoke quietly. “Okay.” Ithea gave a sad smile, and without another word, she gazed out the window. “…Mm.” Nephren nodded slightly, and she, too, remained silent, opening the book in her hands. Another week passed. Of course, it was about time Willem started thinking something was off. What had he signed up for? He was a weapons manager in name only. It was a military thing, a political thing. A world of metal and rust, of gunpowder and smoke. Well, he hadn’t thought he’d be close to any battlefields when he’d heard the position was only nominal, but he’d been under the passing impression that it was a vector that at least pointed in that direction. Now that he was involved, how would everything turn out? Tap, tap, tap, tap came the energetic sound of someone running down the hall. “Willieeee!” A beautiful dropkick with both feet pierced Willem straight in the back from a proper running start. “Oof?!” The attack had graceful form that blew away all differences in build and weight. The moment he lurched forward, short arms and legs skillfully attacked his joints. “All right, got ’im!” “Ahh no, no, that’s not right! That’s not what I meant when I said to get him!” “All’s well that ends well.” “Yep, no problem as long as he can’t get away.” “It didn’t end well! Because we’re the ones supposed to be asking for a favor!” “It is a basic military strategy to display your strength before asking for favors.” “But that’s something only bloodthirsty people do!” “Blooodthirstyyyy! Blooodthirstyyyy!” “That’s not something you repeat like a song!!” “…Oh…” Willem somewhat managed to grasp the situation as his joints were squeezed, almost comfortably. It was the energetic little animals known as children. “What, did you guys come to ask me something?” “Yeah, yeah, we did!” “We’re going to read a book, so you have to come!” “Th-th-that’s why you don’t attack the joints when asking for something!” You’re right. I thoroughly support what you said, so please tell them again. “…You want me to read you a difficult book? I hate to say it, but I’m not very good at reading and writing.” “Huh? But aren’t you an officer? Shouldn’t you be smart?” “Yeah, super-smart. I can read you stacks of ancient texts from five hundred years ago.” “Ah-ha-ha-ha. What?” They tugged on his sleeve as they laughed. “We can read ourselves. We just want you to stay close by.” “Y-yes, it’s an old story, so we’re scared to read on our own.” “I’m not that scared, but these kids really want you nearby.” “H-hey, that’s not fair!” As always, as words spilled from their mouths, together they pulled him somewhere. “An old story?” “An emnetwiht story!” An emnetwiht story. He felt slightly dizzy. Intense déjà vu. His memories began replaying automatically. His view of the warehouse on Island No. 68 wavered and was replaced with the old orphanage. This was where he used to live. It was a memory of when he’d looked after the youngest children as the eldest of those raised there. “Willieee!” “Geez, Dad, again?” “Ha-ha-ha, that’s evidence you’re healthy!” The floodgates cracked open. All the dear voices he’d tried so hard not to recall echoed in his head, one after the other. He’d forgotten what was important. Why had he stayed so long on dingy Island No. 28? It was uncomfortable. A terrible place to live. No one accepted him as someone who was clearly scarred as a featureless. It wasn’t home. That was fine. That’s why he stayed. Willem no longer had anywhere to go. Even if he wished to return somewhere, it would never be possible. Island No. 28 had reminded him of that as long as he stayed. He couldn’t forget it. But here— It was too much like that dear, old place. —No, he told himself. This was not his home. Just look at the clothes you’re wearing. A black military uniform that didn’t suit him. An exaggerated rank plastered on as a pretense. He only needed to work here a few months. So he was all right. He hadn’t forgotten or betrayed that place. He’d wavered for a moment. “Willem?” Someone called to him. “—I’m fine. I just didn’t get much sleep last night. Anyway, what’s up with emnetwiht?” “Oh yeah. I heard that people like that lived on the surface a long time ago!” The girls tried their best to explain with their awkward grasp of language. According to a picture book they read once, the land was full of scary creatures called emnetwiht. They were scary because, thanks to them, orcs at the time were all trapped in desolate areas, elves had their forests burned, lizardfolk were cornered in the water, lycanthropes’ peace was shattered, and even dragons had their treasure stolen. And to top it all off, they even thrust aside the punishment delivered by the new Visitors, who were born to cast judgment, and easily struck down the gods one after another. In the end, the emnetwiht called on the Seventeen Beasts from somewhere and brought about their own destruction. When that happened, they became even more wicked because they got everything on land mixed up with their problems. “Isn’t it scary?” Well, sure, when they put it like that, it was definitely scary. What villainous invaders they were. “It was a picture book, so some of those things might not be true, you know.” “But it said that it actually happened.” “That’s what all made-up stories say.” The girls looked at one another. “Then, does that mean the Braves in the story were fake, too?” the purple-haired girl murmured. “What? Oh no…” The rest of the girls were visibly troubled. “Well, some parts might be true in there somewhere… But you’re most worried about the Braves being false?” “Because…” The girls exchanged glances again. “We’re Braves, too, right?” What? He didn’t understand. They called the emnetwiht scary, so why did they liken themselves to something that could be called the very symbol of that threat? Well, sure—to them at the time, the Braves were kind of like a weapon. These girls called themselves weapons, so it wouldn’t be unusual if they felt a sense of affinity for them. That was how he intended to swallow the feeling that something was out of place. “By the way…Mr. Willem?” One of them interjected timidly. “Are you sure that doesn’t hurt…?” He finally realized that he’d been massaging his joint this entire time. 3. Faerie Warehouse Chtholly didn’t like her very much. But that probably wasn’t true the other way around. She’d said that she thought of Chtholly as a little sister and treated her that way. Of course, faeries didn’t have big sisters or little sisters, since they weren’t born from a mother’s womb. Quite frankly, it was annoying how she acted so familiar, simply on the ridiculous basis that they’d been born in the same forest on the same island, though five years earlier. She was apparently very proficient with her dug weapon, and that was one point that Chtholly definitely wasn’t thrilled about. She would fly into the battlefield, large sword in hand. Afterward, she would gallantly return, a grin on her face. Barging into the dining hall, she would wolf down the butter cake laid out for dinner and, with an expression of supreme bliss on her face, declare “I really feel like I’ve come home when I eat this.” This happened every time she went out on a mission, and Chtholly, who was still young and didn’t know the battlefield, thought it was all to spite her. “…Hey.” When had that been? Acting on a whim, Chtholly had once called out to her. “You’re always wearing that brooch, but it doesn’t look very good on you. You know that.” “Ah-ha-ha-ha, you really just say what’s on your mind. Your big sis is gonna cry.” “My big sis?” “What? I mean, there’s no way I can be the little sister!” “I am not asking you to change our relationship.” After their typical banter, her smile had suddenly wavered. “I had someone like a big sister a long time ago. I took it from her.” “…Took it? Not got it?” “It was her treasure. She always made sure to wear it on her. I asked her so many times to give it to me, but, eh, she never listened.” What a demonic deed, stealing something so precious… She ignored her little sister’s astonished gaze with a smile as she always did. “The more she refused me, the more fun I started having. I challenged her to all kinds of competitions, and if I won, it would be my prize. Our grades in the training courses, eating competitions, card games. But I could never beat her. I could never win, so I kept challenging her. I had so much fun.” Chtholly could guess how it would end after hearing that much. Chtholly hadn’t known the faerie who could have been this self-proclaimed “big sister’s” big sister. She didn’t know her, which meant she was already gone by the time Chtholly arrived. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked about it. That thought must have been visible on her face, as the other faerie patted Chtholly’s back. “Well, in the end, I won by default. It’s not a very satisfying story. For some reason, that was the only day she didn’t wear it to the battlefield. She left it on her desk in her room. So I snatched it up.” She laughed out loud, like there was some sort of funny element to the story. “I know it doesn’t look good on me, but I feel like I have to keep wearing it. I can’t go anywhere without it.” Chtholly would say it again: She didn’t like her very much. But—when she thought back on it—she didn’t hate her that much. That was why. The day she didn’t return from the battlefield, Chtholly visited her room. The door was unlocked. She flung it open to find it messy inside. Underwear strewn about, a card game was still dealt… Everything was all over the place. Among it all, only the desk was clean. Not a speck of dust lay on its sparkling surface, and sitting there, left behind, was a single silver brooch. Willem hadn’t seen some of the faeries for a few days. Chtholly, and Ithea, and Nephren. The oldest girls in the faerie warehouse had all disappeared somewhere together. He assumed there was some sort of reason for it and put it out of his mind. Not thinking about it anymore, he simply accepted it for what it was. It rained in the morning that day, and the ground softened. It was just after the red team, who’d been cornered the entire first half of the match, finally earned the right to attack. Everyone on their team was in high spirits, going wild about smashing the ball into the white team leader. Then, just as they hit the ball high in the sky, there came a strong wind. The wind blew the ball into a deep thicket. The only girl still chasing it hated giving up. She was the kind who paid no attention to where she was stepping when she looked up. Accounting for all these facts, there was only one way this could end. The girl’s feet slipped beautifully, and she plunged headfirst into the thicket. “Hey!!” Willem wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up with serious injuries—that’s how bad the situation was. “Ow, ow, ow…I messed up, I messed up.” So when she stood, smiling, speaking lightly, he was momentarily relieved. Then, in the next moment, he shuddered. There were deep lacerations on her left thigh. Tiny branches had pierced her right upper arm as well. If he was judging by how much she was bleeding, her heart rate didn’t appear to have quickened—the only silver lining in a bad situation. At the very least, her injuries weren’t so negligible that they could just leave it at “I messed up.” Willem quickly checked over her wounds. “They’re pretty deep. I’ll treat them right away.” “Aww, I’m fine though.” Her tone was indifferent. Did I hear that right? “But come on, let’s keep going! We’re gonna make a comeback!” Could it be her injuries weren’t as deep as they looked? His eyes inadvertently dropped down to the open wounds—but no matter how many times he looked, there was no doubt they were severe enough that if not treated quickly, they might endanger her life. “They…don’t hurt?” “They do. But we were in a really good spot!” A bright, wide smile, full of joy. He could see faint beads of greasy sweat forming on her forehead. He finally grasped what was going on. Just as she said, it wasn’t like she didn’t feel any pain. This girl—and the children around her who didn’t find anything unnatural about what she was saying—simply didn’t think being injured was a big deal. He felt a chill. It felt like he was surrounded by alien, enigmatic creatures. Or perhaps, it wasn’t a trick of his mind but something he simply hadn’t noticed until now— “The match is canceled.” Willem made his announcement one-sidedly and scooped up the girl. “Awwww,” came cries of disappointment. “…So why is it the girl herself isn’t upset but her escort is?” Nygglatho, wearing a lab coat over her normal clothes, asked in a quiet murmur. After they finished dressing the wounds, the girl, her arms and legs wrapped up in bandages, sat on the bed, muttering complaints about the game being canceled. Willem sat on a chair, his head in his hands, and without moving, he questioned Nygglatho, who probably knew something. “I hadn’t noticed it until today, but they’re completely indifferent about their lives, aren’t they?” “They are. They certainly have that tendency.” “That’s not normal. What are they anyway?” “Hmm.” Nygglatho hummed, as though planning something, then asked in return, “Do you really want to know?” Willem looked up. “Though it is only a title, you are still the manager here. If you request information, I am in no position to deny your request.” She spoke with a vague tone, almost like she was having fun yet dead serious. “To be honest, I don’t want to tell you. When you hear this, you will treat the girls differently. I don’t think you’d be able to keep your relationship with them as it is now. I thought your attempt to play a nice older brother these past few days was pretty gross at first, but all in all, I’m grateful. I want things to stay as they are now for a little while longer, if possible.” “…Tell me.” “Oh, well. Very well.” Nygglatho shrugged. “Strictly speaking, those children are not alive. And since they’re not alive, their bodies have no fear of death. Their inner feelings are different, but they’re dragged along by their bodily senses when they’re still young, so it’s easy for them to grow careless.” “…I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re saying.” They’re not alive? This must be some kind of joke. But they lived out their days so stubbornly, so brightly, so loudly. “Sure. I didn’t want to believe this logic at first, either,” Nygglatho said in a small voice, then she left the room and motioned for him to follow. “Come. Let me show you something.” Willem arduously pulled himself up and followed her out of the room. “You of course know about the emnetwiht, right?” Nygglatho asked as they walked down the hall. “…As much as anyone else.” “You don’t have to sound so modest about it.” She chuckled. “The legendary race that ruled over all the land over five hundred years ago. They were not blessed with any abilities whatsoever.” Essentially: They didn’t have enormous bodies like the giganto. They didn’t have elaborate sorcery like the elves. They didn’t have sophisticated engineering like the morian. They didn’t have explosive fertility like the orcs. And of course, they didn’t have overwhelming power like the dragons. All their abilities were half-baked, and they were generally considered lesser beings. And yet, they made enemies of almost every other race and were the supreme rulers of the land for a long time. “…Yeah. I heard they were that kind of people.” “Let me add one thing. It has been passed down through my people that they tasted the most delicious out of all the races, by a long shot.” That legend should just die out. “One of the cornerstones of their strength was the codified techniques that we now refer to as dug weapons and the physical manifestation of that system as actual armaments for use on the battlefield.” “…I’ve heard of them. Anala talked about them once. I think it was something like if you could find just one living dug weapon, it could earn more than enough to cover an entire salvage harvest in terms of pay…” “Right, that’s how much the Alliance values them. I think, two hundred bradal at the very minimum, and I believe eight million was the most ever paid?” Eight million. It could pay off the rest of Willem’s debt (which was by no means a small amount) fifty times over and still have some left over. “And so all the dug weapons the Alliance has collected—” Nygglatho stopped before a door. It was large and stout. Fashioned of solid metal, it had rivets all around the edge, a lock in a fivefold style, and the knob was a heavy-looking handle. It was almost unusual how this door alone seemed to exude the feeling of a military facility in this warehouse brimming with daily life. “—are stored in here.” Nygglatho unlocked the door with a practiced hand and pushed it open. Fwooooom— A deep sound resonated in the pit of his stomach. A wet scent of mold and dust tickled his nose. It’s almost like a tomb. The room resembled the kind of crypt a royal family would have been enshrined in thousands of years ago, their valuables entombed with them as burial goods, but where an idiot, lured by the promise of riches, tries to steal things and winds up cursed. Willem had never seen the real thing with his own eyes, but he’d heard many funny stories of the sort. Well, he didn’t know if there were any left on the surface as it was now. There was no light in the room. While he knew something lay beyond the dim darkness, there was no way to tell what it was. “Sure is secure,” he murmured absently. “This place does contain dangerous materials, after all,” came the response from beside him. “Ancient super-weapons the methods to create, repair, or even handle have all been lost to time. Long ago, a powerless race made these to stand up to the threats of the giant dragons, the Visitors. A symbol of their will to resist, the power to stand as a challenge. Even though they were meant as personal weapons, they could singlehandedly turn the tide of battles. In the long history of this world, these can be considered the upper echelon, the most reliable of trump cards against an opponent of overwhelming power—” Willem’s eyes slowly grew accustomed to the darkness. He could now faintly see what was in the warehouse. “Ha-ha,” he laughed quietly. Leaning against one wall were ten or so swordlike objects. At the very least, they were swords judging by their outward appearance. Many of them were much bigger than typical longswords used in ceremonies and combat. They varied in length, but most were about as tall as a person or slightly shorter. Their hilts were long, too, and were clearly meant to be wielded with two hands. The most peculiar trait was the structure of the blades. He picked one and approached it to get a better look. On the face of the blade, he could see something that looked like a crack running along it. When he looked even closer, he could tell the blade on either side of the crack was different in color. Swords were usually hammered or carved out of a single ingot. But this was different. Several steel billets the size of his clenched fist had been pieced together to create the shape of a sword, like a completed jigsaw puzzle. “A Carillon…” “I’ve heard they were once called that long ago, yes?” Nygglatho shrugged. When he looked around the room again, a clenching pain gripped his chest. He recognized some of these swords. But of course, he recognized the mass-produced Carillon, the Percival series. When he had just become a Quasi Brave and didn’t have a specialty sword, it had fought alongside him on countless occasions. Though it wasn’t equipped with any particular talents, its high basic specs and expandability—not to mention its standardized build—meant it was possible to perform emergency maintenance even in the middle of the battlefield. In short, it was incredibly easy to use. Its successor, the Dindrane series, didn’t suit Willem too well but, more stable than its predecessor, had been popular with other Quasi Braves. Deep inside, there was Locus Solus. It was the name of the giant, beloved sword that had fought alongside a Quasi Brave against the purple dragon to the south. Its muscular invigoration talent had manifested, but as its healing powers were broken, its wielder would always experience awful pain—Willem remembered that guy complaining about it. Beside it was Mulsum Aurea. A Quasi Brave had brought it along when called up as reinforcements to defend the Brilliant City of Ristiel. Willem had never seen its talent firsthand, but he’d heard it could actually confer temporary immortality. “…Ha-ha.” What a terrible kind of reunion this was, he thought. Thud. Not caring if he dirtied the pants of his military uniform, he sat on the spot. He activated a slight bit of magic and gave his eyes the power of Seeing. There was a sharp pain in the corner of his head, but he didn’t pay it any mind. Yeah, that’s what he thought. All the swords were tattered and worn out. Their veins of enchantment had come loose, were cut away, completely in disorder; everything everywhere was all over the place. Are you still fighting, despite all this? “—Can I ask you something?” “What is it?” “The Carillon are man-made miracles created for emnetwiht by emnetwiht. Only people of the same race with the qualifications to be a Brave can wield them. They should be nothing but museum pieces now. So why are you collecting them? How are you making them fight?” “Haven’t you noticed already?” “We’re Braves, too, right?” He ignored the voice replaying in the corner of his mind. “Tell me.” “Sophistry and stretching logic are the basics of magic. Since there are no emnetwiht remaining, we simply need to use a replacement. Those girls are leprechauns—the only race able to use the same tools as the emnetwiht and complete their work. That is the answer to your question.” “…I see.” So that was what was going on. He lifted himself off the ground and brushed the dust off his bottom. He looked at all the sacred blades lined up in a row. “So they’re your partners now, huh?” Willem felt lonely but proud, yet sad. He murmured, a strange mix of feelings inside him. What am I? Willem thought. Several things came to mind. Someone who once wished to be a Legal Brave. Someone who once lived with a Carillon as a Quasi Brave. And someone who’d lost that capability at the end of a battle and now lived as an empty shell. One needed the appropriate background to become a Legal Brave. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to call it persuasiveness. Someone born with divine blood, or the descendant of a past Brave, or born on a night of prophecy, or a person whose hometown had been destroyed by a dragon, or the only child who’d inherited a secret martial art, or somebody with a powerful demon sealed inside them. Real Braves all had backgrounds like that. The only people who could actually gain superpowers were those who others looked at and murmured with a nod, “I wouldn’t be surprised if that guy had superpowers.” That’s why Willem could never become a Legal Brave. No matter how much he wished, he would never be qualified enough for that. His birth parents had been ordinary cotton workers. He’d grown up in an orphanage. His life was somewhat unlucky but also somewhat lucky. It was only matter of course that such an unimpressive background would yield him nothing but unimpressive powers. That was something he had no control over and couldn’t do anything about. If only there had been classes for secret sword arts that were easy to learn in his neighborhood, but alas, the world wasn’t that convenient. “You got no talent.” His master at the time had laid it out for him bluntly. “That Brave salvation system is basically just for the elite. Legendary heroes, half man / half gods, created this system to fight off greater gods and whatever other threats. It’s on a total different dimension than things that look for victory in the smallest limits, like our battle techs. Something for people who carry the world’s trouble on their own shoulders, people with extraordinary jobs and destinies.” He shook his head. “Those arcane arts, too, aye. Decent folk can’t even activate ’em, and they wouldn’t be able to handle the reaction even if they forced it… Only breaks their body and ends with ’em in no state to fight at all. And Willem, I hate to tell you this, but you’re decent folk.” A short silence. A deep exhale. “Don’t make that face. I’m not giving you a death sentence because I want to. It’s a truth I have to tell you and a reality you have to understand. That’s all.” He had rejected those words back then. He’d still refused to give up. Looking back on it, it might have been childish retaliation. But he had been serious. Willem had not made the decision lightly when he chose to oppose his master, right up until the very end. He remembered the twentieth Legal Brave, appointed by the Church of Exalted Light. She had a breathtaking, impressive history. Not only was she a descendant of the very first Legal Brave, but she had also been born heir to a country of knights. In her ninth autumn, an army of gloom elves attacked her country. Everything precious to her—her parents, her friends, her home—was burned to ash. A loyal retainer spirited her away from the crumbling castle, bringing her to a retired old general who lived in a village far away in the borderlands, where she learned lost sword techniques. When he’d first heard her story, he could only say, “Is that so?” He had been oddly calm, seeing what kind of person was chosen to be a Legal Brave. Even when he learned that one of the only five oldest holy blades in the world, Seniorious—the beloved blade of the eighteenth Legal Brave—would be given to her, he’d felt neither happiness nor envy for her. He stopped thinking about how the more he compared these tales of another world to himself, the more miserable he became. It was only a long time afterward that he came to realize. There was a reason these people could fight. They had a reason to fight. They had reasons they had to fight. That’s why no one had noticed, including themselves. They’d taken it as a given and had never even imagined it. That girl. The twentieth Legal Brave. She who had been born with the power to strike down demons, who concealed the sadness of losing her family and home, who had taken up a mystical job that had been created long in the past, who carried a shining, holy blade that could even reach the Visitors. She had never once wished she could fight. Events had simply created a situation where she had to, so she thrust herself into a war of revenge. Those around her expected it of her, so she’d stood up to the dragons and the gods. She had simply been controlled by the demands of those around her—a puppet with no will. The moment he realized that, Willem hated her. He’d thought he could never forgive her. And in truth…even now, those feelings still lingered. The sun was setting. A light rain began to fall. “Should’ve brought an umbrella…” Though those words quietly escaped his lips, he didn’t feel like taking shelter from the rain or returning to his room. Island No. 68, the harbor. Everything necessary for airships to come and go was stored there—the doorway to the island. He stood by the edge as droplets pelted his body. Several torn cotton clouds were visible floating below him. And spreading out far beneath that, he could see what had once been the surface. The green of the trees, the azure of rivers and oceans, even the yellow of sand and stone no longer existed. All he could see was a strange, muddied gray dust that covered everything. He’d come out here to see this view. He wanted to confirm the things he had lost and could never get back. But even that gray was melting into the darkness of night as though being chased by the setting sun. Several things now made sense. For example, venenum handling. Venenum was like heat. By calling the flame of magic into his heart, he could set it ablaze, and returning that to the outside world was how he used his power. This heat, however, taxed the user’s body. Even if the user tried to gain an even more powerful fire, their own life force would hold them back. That was what decided the upper limits of how much venenum any person could wield, and it varied between races. That was why odd life-forms unconcerned with their personal well-being could wield such immense power that no other race could replicate. That power, which probably wasn’t kept in check, could go destabilize and detonate. The resulting explosion would be big enough to blow away both the user and their enemies, creating a gigantic crater in the battlefield and leaving behind nothing but a single Carillon in the center. “Sure makes for excellent weapons—” They were entirely disposable bombs. It might not be an entirely efficient way of using this energy, but there was a great meaning and value in having that option itself. There was one other thing that made sense. Willem had thought, Man, I bet these guys are strong, when he first heard about them. A race that specialized in war. A life-form whose destiny was simply striving for victory. What excellent persuasiveness. That was the only job they carried with them, and he had no room to complain. Those girls would be perfect inheritors of the title of Legal Brave. Though he could never become one, they could do it for him. Wonderful. What a joyous thing it was. They must surely be hoping for the same, too. In that case, he should be happy for them. He should give them his blessing. Woo-hoo, that’s great! I’ll leave everything to you, good luck! “—I wanna die.” Of course, he knew. He wouldn’t grumble about this. The ugly side of his warped disposition, swollen to the point of oblivion, was running around in circles inside his mind. He was thinking peculiar things only because he was alone in that place. It would be more gracious of him if he just went to the girls—rather, the faeries—and told them how he felt. But he couldn’t do something like that. Unrelated outsiders should never complicate the battles for which the Braves were preparing. “—Hmm?” A light pierced the sea of clouds above his head and entered his vision. An airship was approaching. The light was so bright, he couldn’t make out the silhouette very well. But he could at least tell it wasn’t a commuter airship or a ferryman’s airship. It was small, but it was probably a military transport ship. The heavy sound of metal resounded as the vehicle moored at the port. The impact deck groaned slightly. Three anchor arms were fixed in place, from back to front. The two rotor blades gradually came to a stop. The booming, running sound of the enchanted combustion furnace slowly grew quieter. The exit hatch opened with applied air pressure. Two figures emerged from inside the ship. “You—” The two figures were girls…leprechauns he knew. Chtholly and Ithea. Both of them wore clothes he didn’t recognize—a woman’s informal military uniform. Something was strange. Ithea wore a grim expression on her face while an exhausted Chtholly leaned on her as they walked. “…Well, well. Good evenin’, Second Enchantments Officer Willem.” Ithea looked at him, only her speech reminiscent of her usual self. “This is a strange place to meet. Out for a walk in the rain?” She was mostly right. Maybe she’d purposefully said something off topic as a joke, as a way to gloss over the situation. But regardless, he honestly couldn’t let them deceive him now. “You two, what in the world are—?” “Well, I suppose you could say the same for us. We just went for a little stroll off the island…but you wouldn’t believe me if I said that, huh?” “You’re damn well right. This is—” Willem faltered. He hesitated as to whether or not he should ask now. Yet— “You were off fighting, weren’t you? With the Seventeen Beasts.” “Nya-ha-ha, so you knew? How embarrassing.” Chtholly didn’t respond. When he tried to approach, wondering if she had been hurt that badly, there was more. “Um, no thank you. There’s nothing for you to do, Officer. If you’re going to ask, then if you could please, take care of this.” Ithea’s eyes briefly flitted behind her. He saw a mountain. The mountain was covered entirely in milky-white scales. It wore a military uniform. Slowly, it shrunk down and squeezed itself out of the airship. Eyes near the top of the mountain peak peeled open and glared down at Willem. —I’ve seen this guy once, this lizardfolk. “That uniform. Ssso you are Willem.” His voice hissed, like a threatening snake. Lizardfolk throats differed greatly from those of other races. So when they spoke the official language of the island cluster, their pronunciation was peculiar. “…Yeah. And you?” He ignored Willem’s question and said, “Carry these.” He practically threw two long, thin objects at him. The lizardfolk’s actions seemed so natural, Willem didn’t think too much about it and reflexively extended his hand. But while the load was nothing for a lizardfolk’s fantastic physical strength, it was much too heavy for the muscles of a regular emnetwiht. Willem couldn’t catch them, and the things fell to the ground. There was the grating sound of metal. “…This is…” There were two large swords, securely wrapped in white cloth. “Thessse are their weaponss. Return them to sstorage.” That was all the lizardfolk said before returning to the airship. “H-hey!” “I have nothing to sssay to you. Thosse who are not warriorss may not enter placcess where warriorss ssstand.” The door closed, swallowing the boulder-like back. “Ahhh. Don’t mind him. That’s just how he, I mean, Mr. Lizard is.” Ithea spoke lightly. “And while you’re not minding him, it’d be a big help if you carried those swords. As you can see, my hands are pretty full helping Chtholly.” “…Is she injured?” “Nah, she just got too into it and became dizzy. Well, if we just dump her in the infirmary, she’ll wake up eventually.” “I see.” He lifted one of fallen swords from the ground. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time, one he knew even through the thick fabric. Even in the faint light, there was no mistaking it. “Seniorious…right?” “Oh? Surprised you know.” Of course he knew. He was a Quasi Brave who had lived through a time when everyone recognized that name. A swing to the right cut down dragons. A swing to the left sliced through gods. The very first created even when counting among the Carillon. The golden-bronze dragon slayer. The deity crusher. The secret blade within the plain scabbard. Its various nicknames together could fill an entire book—the holy sword of holy swords carried much history and achievement. The beloved companion of both the eighteenth and the twentieth Legal Braves—the symbol of heroism itself. “Is he yours?” “Nope, that’s Chtholly’s. The one I’m compatible with is the other one,” she said, and as if he just remembered, he scooped up the second. “Valgulious.” “Sure is. What, you sure know a lot all of a sudden. Did you read our inventory list or something?” “No.” He shook his head. “It’s a coincidence that I happen to know a lot of swords.” “Hmm, I’m not sure what kind of humility that is.” Ithea tilted her head. “Give me that, too.” “Huh? Oh, wait—” He scooped up Chtholly, who was still limp, and put her on his back. Behind them, there was a shrill sound of metal. The airship was taking off from the port. “…You’re stronger than I thought.” Ithea, now with nothing to carry, waved both her hands as she mumbled. “It’s my job to support you.” “Wow, you sure sound cool.” Willem started walking first. Ithea followed a half step behind him. “So. How much did you learn about us?” “…I don’t know anything. All I know is that faeries use the Carillon…I mean, dug weapons…to fight to protect the islands. Something like that.” “Oohh, that’s pretty close to a bull’s-eye,” Ithea said absently. She looked up to the sky. “It didn’t freak you out? Our lives are disposable. We use the legacy or whatever left behind by those dreadful emnetwiht. Even I think it’s a pretty nasty setting.” “Don’t call it a setting.” Yeah, she’s right. That’s exactly what it is. To put it simply, Braves needed precisely those kinds of settings. The sadder, the better. The more miserable, the more ideal it was. They became stronger through a multitude of settings that would be their job or fate or destiny or whatever. Then, those qualities would simply be reduced to power for controlling the emnetwiht’s legacies. Whether they wished for it or not, they had nothing to do with those circumstances. “—A long time ago, I knew people in a situation similar to yours.” “Ooh, an old tale? Are you trying to seduce me?” “It’s not long enough to be a tale. I owed a lot to them. So when I heard about you guys, I just couldn’t leave it alone. That’s all.” “Wow, that was short.” “I said it wasn’t gonna be long.” “I guess you did,” she said in a flat tone, kicking a pebble at her feet. “Doesn’t it feel like this is the part where you confide in me and tell me everything, and we start establishing our love for each other? I mean, we’re all the way out here, just the two of us.” “Did you forget the third person on my back?” “Chtholly’s, like, the person who wakes up in the middle of it all and watches. Then we start a beautiful love triangle of adoration and jealousy.” “What’ve you been reading recently?” “Bursting Triad.” He’d heard that title before. It was a novel that took place on a fictitious island. If he remembered correctly, more than half the characters in the book repeat a cycle of cheating and adultery in the name of pursuing true love. Now it made sense. He’d wondered how this group of girls (and Nygglatho) learned generalities about society living by themselves in the forest, and romances were one way to gain knowledge (albeit biased) of the outside world. “Especially the third book. That is so good.” “I’m confiscating that. That’s not something for kids to read.” “That’s tyranny! Who are you calling a kid?! Wait, you know what it is just by hearing the title?!” On Island No. 28, in all its decadent charm, there was a constant influx of pleasures coming from all different islands. And as Willem went from day job to day job, he’d merely happened to overhear such information. That was all. In the meantime, he decided to brush off Ithea’s complaints and questions. “Don’t be so loud. You’ll wake her up.” As his back swayed slightly, he heard a slight groan. 4. The Valiant and Their Successors What am I? Willem thought. He wasn’t a Brave anymore, had no more reason to fight for this shrunken world, and lacked the power to do so. So all that remained was a flimsy weapons manager. Someone whose only responsibility was to stay there, like a decoration. He could disappear at any time. It wouldn’t hurt anyone. An invisible ghost. Ten minutes later, in the infirmary. “Why are you here?” That was the first thing Chtholly said after regaining consciousness. “I can’t stay by the sick?” “Who are you calling sick?” Her face still flushed, her voice caused her lips to actively pout. “You, obviously. Did you know? The old Braves, the ones you’re emulating, would get extra pay if they got specified illnesses or injuries while on duty. Right at the top of that list was acute venenum poisoning—what you have right now.” “…I don’t get your jokes sometimes.” She turned away in a huff. It wasn’t a joke, but Willem wouldn’t mind if she didn’t believe him. “Come on, look at me. Let me change the towel on your forehead.” “No.” “That’s not something for the sick to decide.” “It doesn’t bother me. This always happens, and it goes away if I rest a little bit.” “Don’t be silly.” He smacked his forehead lightly. “You have to completely drain the poison every time; otherwise, it’ll keep coming back. You’ll reach your limit fast if you just treat it like that.” “Wow, you sound like a specialist.” “I am a specialist. I’m an enchantments officer.” “Hmph.” Chtholly’s eyes turned away again, as though she didn’t want to listen to him. Actual enchantments officers were originally meant to work the general forging and regulating enchanted machines that supported operations on the battlefield, just as the title implied. A second officer had power and responsibility that rivaled the superior. And of course, a high degree of education and training were generally required in order to reach this position through normal channels. Willem, however, didn’t have such a past as a member of the Guard. What he mentioned was nothing but a front and didn’t correspond with his actual power—this was common knowledge among the faeries. “I’m the manager. At least let me worry.” “I don’t… It doesn’t matter if you’re a manager or whatever. You don’t have to worry about me.” She didn’t look at him. He couldn’t see her face. For the time being, he could see her ears were red, so her fever probably hadn’t gone down yet. “It’s just… Limits and stuff, none of that matters. I don’t have any time left anyway.” “Time? What are you talking about?” “Hey, let me ask you something.” Ignoring the confusion in his voice, she responded by queuing up a question of her own. “What?” “If. Just if. If I were to die in five days, would you be nicer to me?” …Silence. “What?” Unsure exactly what she was after, he inadvertently responded with another question. “Just answer, even if it’s hypothetical. Would you ask me about my final wish and stuff?” “Wait. Five days? Where did that come from? You need to tell me more about this; otherwise, I can’t answer.” “Five days from today, big Six, Timere, will attack Island No. 15.” Another silence. “None of the Seventeen Beasts can fly. That’s why Regule Aire stays afloat, even after everything on the surface was destroyed. But only Timere, the hidden Beast No. 6, can both leave itself on the surface and still attack Regule Aire. Its two powers are ripping itself apart and growing rapidly. It can leave its main body down below while tearing into millions of tiny pieces, then let those bits get carried away by the wind. It waits to be lifted onto an island by chance. When it gets there, it’ll grow incredibly fast, absorbing and destroying the island in six to eight hours.” Silence. “Of course, Regule Aire has a way to fight this. An interference as big as a Beast would absolutely trigger tactical precognition before it reached the islands. The stronger the fragment, the faster the forecast. And of course, it’s also possible to take preventative measures and prepare for such a thing. That’s how Regule Aire has managed to avoid many attacks from Timere. For hundreds of years.” Silence. “About six months ago, they foresaw a particularly large fragment coming. They identified its scale pretty accurately, too. The normal firepower they could deploy to the scene would be no match for it. But a faerie with a dug weapon—” “—Could defeat it in exchange for her life?” “…Right. I’d heard it was the perfect size for Seniorious, and I’m supposed to defeat it with a self-destruct suicide attack. As luck would have it.” Chtholly shrugged her shoulders on the bed. There could be no preferable outcome than the sacrifice of just one person. If her power was insufficient, even by a little, then they would lose a second or third faerie, too. That would probably end up being either Ithea or Nephren— “Of course, it’s just an example.” Slowly, Chtholly turned to him. A mischievous grin. But the smile never reached her eyes. “Well? If something like that happened, would you listen to my final wish and stuff?” “Depends on the wish.” “That’s, um, well, for example…,” she mumbled, her words faltering. “…Like, if I asked you to kiss me, would you?” Her too? He considered that it was probably his turn to get flustered or blush, but as Willem didn’t feel like doing any of that, he groaned. “You’re saying you have five days left to live, and that’s what you ask for?” “I-is that bad?” He created a circle with his thumb and middle finger. He tensed his middle finger, leveling it close to her forehead… “Owwww!!” He flicked her. “Stop acting like a cheeky kid. You’ve been reading too many of those romance books.” “N-no, I haven’t, I’ve been reading other kinds of books, too!” So she isn’t going to deny reading romances. The things Chtholly was saying were growing odd, either due to her fever or because she was honestly becoming flustered. Not only that, she hadn’t noticed what she was doing yet. “Wh-what’s wrong with wanting to create some final memories anyway?” She was probably doing it unconsciously, tightly clenching the silver brooch he’d noticed her wearing a few times before. “Even if you’ll be gone, you wouldn’t want to disappear, at least, right? You’d want someone to remember you. You’d want someone to be connected with you.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “What’s wrong with that?” “I didn’t say that. You’re making an irrational leap to say it’s wrong.” He placed his hand on her forehead. It was hot. “I’m saying, don’t sell yourself short by being so desperate that you’d be fine with anyone. Doing that with whoever happens to be nearby will just end badly for you.” “I don’t care, so come buy it all up while things are cheap! It’s fundamental smart shopping to not let a good opportunity to buy pass!” “This isn’t shopping with the missus, geez. And if you want to cry, then cry as much as you can while someone’s by your side. Only experts know how to stop crying when they’re alone. I can’t really recommend it to a novice.” “Shut up. You’re not gonna kiss me, so no talking. I am not crying.” “It sounds like you are?” “I’m not.” She insisted stubbornly. What was I? Willem wondered. He checked over and over. He was a shell of a Brave who’d lost everything he wanted to protect. Shells didn’t wish for anything. They didn’t have that power. “…Honestly.” Willem scratched his head. “Just lie down for a second.” “No.” Chtholly turned away in a huff. “Just listen to me.” “No.” “I swear, you’re so stubborn.” He gripped Chtholly’s shoulder forcefully and turned her toward him. As he did, he drew closer and lightly pressed his lips against the girl’s forehead. “Huh?” Chtholly’s entire body suddenly froze. A great shock caused her brain to reflexively turn on its limiters. Chtholly was unable to process what just happened to her forehead. She only knew that her body had been startled by something, and she locked up. The sensation she should have felt on her forehead hadn’t reached her brain at all. “Now I think you’ll listen. Hurry up and lie down.” “What? Hold on. What was that? I don’t really know.” “Hurry up.” Willem snapped his fingers on both hands. He gripped her shoulder and flipped her over. “Ahhh!” “It might be a little overbearing, but your fever will go down. Close your mouth, just in case.” “M-my mouth? Huh? What does that mean?” He placed his hand on her back and felt around her muscles and blood with his index finger. One characteristic of victims suffering venenum poisoning was that body tissue still active with venenum could lose its functions. So sometimes, the body acted on the assumption it had caught some sort of terrible disease, resulting in a high fever. Symptoms of that sort were common. However, on the flip side, if Willem could examine her properly like this, he could see where her venenum was pooling. “Here…and here.” “Eeee!!” He pressed down firmly with his finger. Having been a Quasi Brave as long as he was, it wasn’t unusual for either Willem or his companions to get venenum poisoning. And there were many times when they’d been forced to somehow alleviate the symptoms while still on the battlefield so they could continue fighting. It was insanely important to prevent their strength from being whittled down in a long battle. That was why Willem had latched on to busy field medics and forced them to teach him this technique. “Ow, that hurts!!” “Your venenum is coagulated in your muscles, that’s why. You’ll feel better when I loosen it.” “I know, but ah! That’s tickli—!” “Stop moving so much. Stay still.” “I said, I know, but… Hn, hnng, mmm…” The “points” were ten spots that ran parallel to one another along either side of the spine. One by one, he went to each and loosened them with his index finger. It was like he was pushing through the pools of venenum with healthy blood. To put it bluntly, the sensation was very similar to relieving stiff muscles with a massage. Well, besides the need to prepare for it beforehand by stimulating pressure points, it was practically the same. “Haaah…” He found tiny points of pooled venenum and forced their movement. At the next point, he did the same thing. He must have been doing that for ten minutes. After finishing the treatment, Willem finally released the girl’s body. The majority of the venenum knots had been loosened. As strength returned to Chtholly’s muscles and her blood flow normalized, the body would be able to clear the rest of the venenum on its own. “All right, that should be good enough.” Chtholly, having been tossed around by the storm-like stimulus, was spent of energy and stared blearily. Willem pulled the blanket over her back. “Now, just rest. You should be feeling much better in the morning.” “Ohay…” Her response was inarticulate, probably because she still wasn’t fully conscious. She would probably knock out on her own soon enough if he just left her be. That wasn’t a problem, at least. He left Chtholly alone, her breathing still ragged, and exited the infirmary. What am I? Willem wondered. But it quickly became a pain, so he stopped. He had other things to think about now. Paper. Paper. Paper. That was the first thing that caught his eye when he entered the room. It was also the second thing and the third thing he noticed. He took a half step back and double-checked the room’s plaque. Engraved there on the bronze sheet was, without a doubt, MATERIAL ROOM. Once again, he went inside. It was by no means a small room, but it was jam-packed with paper. Not only that, but the variation was astounding. Applications to have the toilet repaired in the faerie warehouse, instructions for coordinating with the other races on the unified front against the Seventeen Beasts, an order form for a big bag of carrots and potatoes, a nighttime patrol report, clippings from a girls’ magazine—and it was all jumbled together in one big pile. Tick, tick, tick. The second hand on the clock on the wall echoed loudly in his ears. “…This place is a mess.” Paper rustled as he made his way through it, searching for a desk and chair. He placed the stack that was on the chair aside for the time being, plopped into the seat, and looked around the room. “This place is a mess,” he murmured again. He sat for a while with his arms folded, thinking about where he should begin. He came to the conclusion that he would not reach any conclusions thinking about it. He reached out to the nearest pile and pulled out a sheet from the bottommost layer. It was a letter detailing the results of an equipment inspection ten years past. I see. Sediment from a decade ago. He felt a little like an archaeologist. But it would be a waste of time if he let it overwhelm him like this. For now, he would start with sorting everything out—but as he reached out to the nearest tower, he realized there was someone peeking into the room from beside the door. It was a faerie with ashen hair. Her enigmatic gaze focused squarely on him. Thinking she might need to do something in the room, he waited. But she didn’t respond. The way she stuck by the side of the door and continued staring at him without so much as a stir gave her the appearance of a sculpture. “You need something, Nephren?” “Not really.” Nephren responded with an indifferent tone, then turned on her heel and disappeared. “…What was that all about?” He tilted his head as he faced the room again. There was something he wanted to know. More than likely, what he sought was sunken somewhere in this ocean of paper. The clock on the wall chimed twelve times in a row. The date had changed. Even after spending so much time, all Willem had managed to do was put the bundles of paper on the desk in order. There was no doubt his search was going to take all night. But it was also pretty unlikely it was going to lead to anything, even if he kept working without stopping to sleep. “…I’m exhausted.” Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t considered food. The last time he’d eaten had been before noon, so he calculated he’d spent more than half a day going full speed ahead without any nutritional intake. When he realized that, his stomach grumbled. “Man…” Had he noticed a little earlier, he might have been able to ask for a snack in the dining hall…but regretting that now wouldn’t fill his stomach. Willem lay his head on the desk. He closed his eyes. Regardless of his empty stomach, if he kept chugging along while ignoring his exhaustion, the only thing he’d accomplish would be the loss of his ability to concentrate. He figured he could keep going after a quick rest. He would close his eyes, just until the clock chimed again. …The smell of coffee tickled his nose. The sound of a cup being placed onto the desk rang in his ears. It was a gift, he thought. He remembered he’d left the door open. “Oh, thanks—” Just as he was going to say Nygglatho’s name, he saw who was standing there. Wavy, light-gray hair. Charcoal eyes that felt distant and were hard to tell where they were looking. “—Nephren?” “Ren is fine.” “Oh, okay. Thanks, Ren.” He looked at the desk again; right next to the coffee sat a simple sandwich on a plate. Willem was truly thankful. “I haven’t done anything to warrant your thanks.” Her distant gaze scanned the room. “I just came to see because I was curious. What are you doing?” “Hmm, just trying to find something.” “Here?” “Yes, here. Treasure chests are always hiding in the deepest part of underground labyrinths. You’ve gotta be ready for some hardship if you want to find anything of value.” “…Mm.” He took a sip of the coffee. “It’s sweet.” There was a huge amount of sugar in it, almost to the point of giving the coffee a syrupy texture. “I thought you might be tired. You don’t like sweet things?” “Nah, I like it.” He drained the whole cup. Nephren’s eyes wavered in slight surprise. Then he stuffed the sandwich into his mouth. Roasted dovelet, slightly wilted lettuce on dried bread. There might’ve been a bit too much mustard on it, but it was just the thing he needed to replenish his tired body. “Phew.” Willem breathed. His body was the capricious sort and eating even a tiny bit of food immediately revived some strength. “So.” Nephren placed both hands on the desk, assuming a pressing pose with her expressionless face, and she questioned him. “What are you looking for so late?” “Uhh… Well, I guess there’s no need to hide it. Your mission records.” “Mm?” She tilted her head. “Why?” “I’m an outsider, a fake officer, on top of being out of time. There’s too much I don’t know. I could also ask Nygglatho, but she’s not from the Guard, which means I won’t necessarily learn anything useful from her perspective. So it’d be best if I check the Guard’s data with my own eyes.” “From the perspective of a fake officer?” “Through the lens of my old experiences, I guess you could say.” “…Mm?” Her head tilted in the other direction. “Don’t think too much about it. Everyone has a past.” “Okay.” She nodded obediently. “Is there anything you want me to do?” “Would that be okay? In that case, see if you can find documents detailing the frequency of Timere’s appearances, the mission timing and deployment of all troops over the past ten years, as well as records detailing decisive losses. Also, if you can, records of attempts to repair and adjust the Cari…dug weapons. Anything that talks about what they were aiming for or what they did, plus the results. That would be ideal.” “That’s very specific.” “I’ll take care of all the detailed checks. All you need to do is find and pick out things that look like they might be related.” “Understood.” Now that he’d fortified himself with food, the work started anew. Willem rolled up his sleeves. A moment later, Nephren followed his lead and did the same. Facing the ocean of overflowing paper, the two sailors began to row. Dawn broke. The two sailors were shipwrecked spectacularly in the endless paper seas. Morning came. Chtholly Nota Seniorious woke the same time she always did. Sluggishly pulling herself out of bed, she soon realized that she wasn’t in her own room, grasped that this was the infirmary, thought about why she might be in a place like this, and tried to recall what had happened the night before. She remembered. Her brain boiled over in a flash. “Wh—?! Wha-wha-wha-wha—?” She had been inebriated by her fever. She had been weak. She had lost all proper judgment. Under normal circumstances, there was no way she would have said or done any of those things. She could think of several excuses. Even all of those combined could not overrule the reality of what had happened. “If I were to die in five days, would you be nicer to me?” “Wh-wh-what on earth was I saying?!” She dove backward straight into the bed she’d just climbed out of. She rolled, flipped, kicked, and generally went wild. The bed creaked loudly under her, but that wasn’t something that bothered her right now. “…Like, if I asked you to kiss me, would you?” “Gyaaaaaahh!!” She hugged the pillow, squeezing it with all her might. She punched it. Then it flew into the wall with a mighty throw. Why did I say that? I can’t think of a reason why. Well, I certainly don’t hate him and definitely appreciate him, and I’m aware that I rather like him, but really, that’s something totally different, plus liking someone as a person and liking someone as a member of the opposite sex are two completely different things, which by no means should be mixed up at all, but that makes it almost look like I’ve been crushing on him for a while, and the fever made me confess my love to him, and aghhhhhh, okay, I’m not going to think about that anymore. There was one more thing. Chtholly’s memory was fuzzy after a certain point, but she felt like things had gotten intense. He’d definitely said it was to relieve her fever— “Chtholly!! Are you okay?!” “Yawha?!” There was a sudden voice, and flustered, she hid her face in the blankets. “Ohh, she’s fine.” “U-um. Yesterday, I heard you came back really tired, so I wanted to see if you’re doing okay. Do you want to eat anything?” Judging by the voices and the presences, she had two visitors. “Collon…and Lakhesh…?” She slowly peeked out from under the blanket, confirming who was there. No doubt. She could only see two very bright shades of pink and peach. “Hmm? Your face is red.” Pink-haired Collon peered at her. “R-really? Isn’t that just your imagination?” Chtholly looked away. “But it looks like you’re all right physically. Whenever you and the others come back from fighting, you always seem to be in so much pain. I’m glad you’re okay today.” That was peach-haired Lakhesh. “—Huh?” Now that she mentioned it, her body felt oddly light. Last night, she had definitely worked her venenum to the point of passing out. In the past, the morning after days she did that, she had always been bothered by heavy fatigue. She got out from bed and hopped gingerly in place. Rather than fatigued, her body felt incredibly good. She had recovered as if magic had been cast on her. “You’re right. I feel so spry.” “Spirit and guts!” That…probably wasn’t it. “Did you not notice?” “Uh, well…” She wondered why this was. Maybe it was the result of that odd massage—the details of which she would try not to remember, since her head still felt like it was about to explode. “…Oh, right. Do you know where he is?” “He?” Lakhesh stumbled for a second. “If you mean Mr. Willem, then the last time I saw him, he was in the material room.” “The material room… You mean the paper storage?” What did he have to do there? Just as she said, it was a place where they just tossed bundles of paper. At the very least, it wasn’t somewhere useful for looking up documents. As no one ever went near it, faeries often used it to hide when skipping out on cleaning duty. “He was with Nephren.” “…Huh?” “Collon!” Lakhesh raised her voice critically, but Collon paid no mind. “They were sleeping on the sofa together,” she continued. She shouldn’t have. “…Uh-huh.” Chtholly tilted her head. “Sure. Okay.” “U-um, Miss Chtholly?” “I just remembered I have to do something, so I’m going out for a bit. Thanks for checking in on me, and as you can see, I’m fine so don’t worry.” “Um, yes, of course, but”—Lakhesh slowly looked up at her with wide eyes—“be gentle with them, okay?” “What do you mean?” Chtholly smiled and left the infirmary. They were lucky to have excavated a sofa as they worked. Willem had plopped down onto it, and a woozy Nephren lay her head on his lap. “…Well, at least we got something usable out of this,” he murmured softly to himself so as not to wake his partner. He held a small stack of paper in his hand. It wasn’t as much as he’d hoped to find, and there were many unexpected things mixed in, but he managed to excavate a sizable portion of the information he was searching for. He picked out one paper from among the sheaf. He glanced over an account describing the existence of faeries. Faeries took many forms. There were blurred will-o’-the-wisps that led people lost in the forests astray. Then came the children with wings, halos of light glowing around them. And finally, little people, who only came up to a person’s knee. Faeries were all elusive beings, loved trickery, had the ability to use several forms of mysterious “magic,” resided in forests as well as their own kingdoms…and in most cases, they took an interest in emnetwiht and were always poking their noses in emnetwiht business.