Chapter 43

1. The Holy Book The king of the northern nation had a little toad. A luminous golden color, it was immortal and knew the history of everything. One day, the king asked the toad a question: “How can I expand my country?” The toad replied, “I am only familiar with the past. If that is enough for you, allow me to share my knowledge.” The toad sang. It spoke of the history of a lengthy war and revealed the fate of a royal whose identity had been hidden. It conveyed the anguish that the populace had endured and described the use of evil magic. The king danced. He instigated a war, manipulated the royal family, exploited his citizens, and employed forbidden magic. The country soon grew in size. The king rejoiced, and the toad sang. Its new song was about a new chapter in history. It told the story of the criminal king. When the king heard the song, he swallowed the little toad whole. Not long after, the king drowned suddenly in a lake. “How is it?” Erik had handed Shizuku a piece of paper with a lengthy English text written on it. Shizuku stared intently at the string of words. After reading it four times, she gripped the side of the paper, channeling her strength into her fingers. They were trembling more and more by the second. “Y-you’ve gotten better than me?!” Her dumbfounded cry echoed around the room, which wasn’t especially spacious. Erik, who’d translated the example sentences into English, asked another couple of questions. “Is it all correct? Did I make any mistakes?” “…It’s correct,” Shizuku responded, feeling utterly defeated. It had been nearly a year since Shizuku had found herself mysteriously transported from Japan to another world. She’d been looking for a way to get back but had yet to find any leads. And if that wasn’t bad enough, a strange sequence of events had led her to become embroiled in an international conflict. As a result, Shizuku had ended up spending nearly five months in the Great Nation of Kisk. She’d finally made it back to Farsas just a few days earlier. That said, it didn’t seem like much had changed in the magic kingdom of Farsas, which was regarded as the most powerful nation on the continent. If she had to pinpoint something, there had been a change in the seasons. The sweltering heat had been replaced by a gentler kind of warmth. Still, the lack of observable changes didn’t guarantee that things were still the same. More subtle changes may have taken place beneath the surface. The young man who’d been acting as Shizuku’s protector had somehow acquired English skills comparable to hers—for example. “I feel a strange sense of defeat…,” Shizuku said. “Why? I just did a little studying by myself.” “‘A little’…?” When it came to language skills, Erik was clearly a few steps ahead of Shizuku. She was so deflated that she could barely stop herself from collapsing onto the table. “But like, all I taught you was the grammar. How did you get so good at reading and writing? Vocabulary aside, your comprehension and composition skills are almost on par with mine. And I studied English for over six years in my old world.” “Maybe you weren’t studying the right way.” “Wow, you sure don’t mince words!” Shizuku had suspected the same, but she didn’t want to hear it out loud. Before ending up in this other world, she’d spent eighteen years being a diligent student. While she tended to score well on tests at school, she’d never been confident in her English abilities. Listening and speaking had always been her major weaknesses. The specialized English resources she’d been introduced to at university brought home how complex English really was. She often found herself unable to grasp the meaning of sentences even though she knew all the words—but just as she’d been reminded how challenging learning a foreign language was, she’d been brought here and this had happened. She looked up at Erik, green with envy. The man lifted the tip of his pen off the page. He still had his magical device attached to his ear—it was too much of a hassle to remove. “Once you grasp the basic structure of sentences, it’s just a matter of memorizing the exceptions to the rule. Of course, not knowing the vocabulary is an issue, but that can be solved as long as you have a dictionary.” “Easier said than done…,” Shizuku replied. She’d been studying her new world’s writing system while she was in Kisk, but Shizuku was nowhere near being able to read and write fluently. When she had to create documents, she would make a list of words using bullet points, then give verbal instructions to a scribe so they could write things down. Only Ortea and Faneet knew that she struggled with reading and writing because she was from another world, so she had no choice but to try and hide this fact from everyone else as she studied to improve. Her vocabulary had improved as a result of her efforts, but her writing skills hadn’t progressed much. Feeling as if she’d been left behind by Erik, Shizuku flung herself face down on the table. “There’s nothing left for me to teach you, is there?” “Sure there is. To be honest, I’m still at a loss when it comes to Japanese. Apart from sentence structure, it’s the Japanese writing system that really interests me. English was the easier language for me to tackle while you were away, so this is just as far I could get.” Erik, who specialized in the magic script, had displayed an interest in kanji for a while now. He had regularly practiced writing kanji, even before arriving in Farsas. “For now, I want you to teach me some more characters. I’ll correct your essays in exchange.” “Oh, that’d be great!” Shizuku hurriedly took her notebook out of her bag. In the language of Erik’s world, almost all parts of speech—including adjectives, nouns, and verbs—had set patterns of inflectional changes. When Shizuku had first learned this, she’d exclaimed, “This is way too much to memorize!” By now, though, she was totally used to it. Fortunately, there were no irregular changes in inflection. Each noun was assigned one of four declensions, and other parts of speech changed to match the noun they were connected to. As a result, the words of a sentence fit together with puzzle-like regularity—and as long as you knew the words, you could easily discern the connections between subjects and verbs, and adjectives and nouns. The language had an extremely orderly structure, which impressed Shizuku. The most convenient characteristic of this system was how easy it was to grasp what a pronoun referred to. In addition to the inflectional changes, the language also had a feature called “pronoun suffixes.” When a pronoun was referring to a single word in the sentence, it was given a number-based suffix to help you identify which word it pointed to. If a pronoun referred to multiple words, a plural suffix was added, and small triangular annotation marks were placed before and after the group of words that the pronoun was referring to. These triangles were also used to indicate relative clauses. Whenever Shizuku got the chance to take a look at the magic books Erik read, they appeared on every page. If the person—or people—a pronoun was referring to was not mentioned in the same sentence but had been declared earlier, a suffix indicating how many sentences prior it had been mentioned was used. If the antecedent hadn’t been mentioned, or when a pronoun referred to an ambiguous subject, a suffix was used to signal as much. Since the spoken language was automatically translated for Shizuku, it had been hard to tell at first, but the written language was very orderly. As far as Shizuku knew, understanding what pronouns were referring to had a major impact on how people interpreted a piece of writing back in her old world. This world’s grammar was very rational in comparison, which made writing more complicated but reading much easier. Still, Erik insisted that such meticulously grammatical writing was only used in texts handled by a certain educated class—and reading materials and literary works for common people didn’t abide by the rules as strictly. “These pronoun suffixes were originally made to be used in spell books. Misinterpreting a spell can lead to shocking mishaps, so that’s probably why they had to be so thorough about it. There were even more annotation marks in the writing system of Tuldarr… That was the ancient magic empire.” “That’s crazy. In my world, we analyze annotated editions of books.” “What? Like introductory books?” “Well, we have introductory books as well, but the annotated editions are actually research books.” Shizuku poured some freshly brewed tea into two cups, then opened a jar filled with sweets. “It started in ancient times. First, people would painstakingly dissect a text and write books where they expanded on their own theories. Eventually, those books themselves became philosophical texts. Then some new researchers would come along, read the original text and the interpretive editions, and write new annotated editions saying, ‘This person interpreted it like that, but I think this.’ And that cycle continued, with people trying to seek the truth for over a thousand years…” “Incredible. And that’s still done today?” “Yep. My professors do it, too.” As Shizuku smiled faintly, inhaling the steam from her tea, Erik let out a sigh of admiration. His deep-blue eyes slowly passed over her face. “I thought your world only valued old things because they were old.” “That’s not true. Well, a small fraction of people might think that way.” Analyzing other people’s analyses was only a small part of the field of so-called speculative research. However, the pursuit had stood the test of time and was still carried out in the present day. Maybe people were still enthusiastic about researching ancient texts because the themes they tackled were closely linked to human nature itself. Shizuku had been confronted with similar dilemmas, even in her new world. Her conversations with people such as Erik and King Lars of Farsas had given her a sense of just how omnipresent some of these themes were. “Are you going to carry out that kind of research when you go back?” Erik’s calm, pleasant voice reached Shizuku’s ears. On this occasion, however, his words didn’t sink in and evaporate but landed lightly atop her mind and stayed there. Shizuku gave him a vague smile. “Hmm… I’m not sure. I haven’t even submitted my summer break report.” “You’ve probably been expelled by now. That’s a shame.” “Come on, do you really have to be so blunt?!” Shizuku retorted. Hopefully, they’d just considered it a leave of absence. Shizuku, still just nineteen years old, pondered this as she gulped down the rest of her tea. After returning to Farsas, Shizuku had taken on a job creating language learning materials for children. This was similar to what she’d been doing in Kisk. Apparently, Lars and Queen Ortea of Kisk had decided on this role for her when they’d set the terms for her handover. The king of Farsas had given her a murderous glare when Shizuku told him that innate language skills didn’t exist in her world; however, when he learned that the materials she’d created were consistently effective, he’d decided to let her continue her work. “If I kill you, I’ll have three people laying into me,” he’d told her, before assigning Shizuku a laboratory and a team of underlings. “These are adorable. The children will love them.” In her office, Leuticia had picked up Shizuku’s sample cards and was leafing through them one by one, looking impressed. Their somewhat gaudy, primary-colored borders—red for animals, blue for food—were designed to sort the vocabulary into categories. After explaining how to use the cards, Shizuku ended by explaining her methodology. “I’ve used primary colors because they’re easier for infants to see—but as the children grow older, I plan to use softer colors and more realistic images.” “I see. I’ll leave those sorts of decisions to you,” Leuticia replied. For the time being, Shizuku reported directly to Leuticia, just as Erik did. After reviewing and signing the approval documents for the learning materials, Leuticia handed them back to Shizuku, her beautiful and serene face breaking into a smile. “Erik’s contract ends in two months. If your materials are finished by then, you’re free to do as you wish after that. You should talk to him about it.” “I will. Thank you so much.” “I’m sure he’ll insist on leaving Farsas, though… Oh yes, about that red book. We still haven’t tracked it down. I’m sorry about that.” The red book, thought to be one of the interlopers’ magical artifacts, contained secret historical knowledge and forbidden spells. Shizuku had even had Faneet try to look for it, but he’d failed as well. Its whereabouts were still unknown. It was rumored to be in the possession of a suspicious woman who traveled around between countries, never stopping. “There have been several sightings, the most recent of which was in Medial, the Great Nation in the north—but no one knows where she went after that.” “That’s okay,” Shizuku responded with a faint smile. “I’m sure we’ll find it eventually. Thank you.” “If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know—even if you’ve left the castle by then.” “Okay.” It had been around eleven and a half months since Shizuku came to this world. By the time Erik’s contract ended, it would have been more than a year. Shizuku almost fell into a daze, surprised at how much time had passed—before reaching the bittersweet conclusion that expelling her from college would be an understandable decision. Still, being expelled wouldn’t be that big a deal. If she wanted to pursue her studies further, she could get a part-time job, save up some cash, and take the entrance exam again. Compared to the journey she’d been on so far, that sounded like child’s play. For some bizarre reason, though, the scenario she was envisioning seemed unrealistic in a way. In fact, it felt like a fantasy. She cocked her head to one side, overcome by a vast sense of confusion. While Shizuku was on a break from work, she went back to her room, where a young demon girl was waiting. “Welcome back, Master!” “Hey, Mea!” When Shizuku had arrived back in Farsas, Mea—who didn’t tend to outwardly express her emotions—embraced Shizuku with a slightly tearful-looking smile. It made Shizuku feel like she’d been transported back in time, and she could vividly remember how full her heart had felt. Shizuku had apologized repeatedly to her, and that evening, she’d told Mea about every single thing that had happened over in Kisk. Mea clung to her every word with a look of earnest concentration that made Shizuku decide to never leave her side again. The demon girl, who seemed to have been doing some cleaning, showed Shizuku a paper package. “This was at the bottom of your bag, Master. Is it okay if I open it?” “Oh, I forgot about that!” The paper package was a light brown color. Naturally, Shizuku knew what was inside. She took the paper package out of Mea’s hand and pulled out a bundle of papers. “Damn… I meant to get someone to read this for me.” The thick stack of papers was a thesis about the children’s epidemic that a theologist from Kisk had submitted to Ortea. The theologist’s claim that “innate language did not used to be fixed” had stimulated Shizuku’s interest back in Kisk, so Niké had given it to her. Shizuku had been so busy she’d forgotten about it, however, and she figured that Niké, who’d promised to explain the theory to her, probably had as well. Shizuku crossed her arms as she looked at the thesis in front of her. “I’d love to know what this says… Can you read, Mea?” “My apologies, but I’m not very good with human writing.” “I’m not surprised. Maybe I should use a communication ring to ask Niké— Aaaaah!” Startled by Shizuku’s sudden scream, Mea backed away. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “No, it’s just… I wanted to wait a while before contacting him. Or rather, I don’t want to contact him.” “You don’t get along?” “I don’t know if I’d say that, but things are kind of complicated…” Shizuku couldn’t understand why Niké did what he did when they said goodbye. She couldn’t bring herself to feel angry or happy about it—just completely embarrassed. If his goal was to cause her emotional turmoil, he’d done a great job. Clenching her trembling fists, Shizuku started punching the air. “Aaaargh! I can’t stand it!” Mea observed her master’s strange behavior for a good five minutes before calmly saying, “What do you want to do with this, then?” “…I’ll…ask Erik.” Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Shizuku picked up the thesis. It was abnormally thick, so she felt bad about asking, but Erik was the only person she could think of who would read it for her. She put the thesis back into the paper package and decided to visit his laboratory. The castle of Farsas was not as convoluted as Kisk’s, but it was still quite large. Shizuku cut across the courtyard, heading for the wing where the research rooms were located. As she was about to climb over the shrubbery, however, she spotted a small figure on the lawn. Both the girl and the flashcards she was spreading out on the grass looked familiar to Shizuku. It was the little girl that she and Erik had encountered in the courtyard, and the vocabulary materials she was using were the ones that Shizuku had made. As soon as she saw Shizuku, she started beaming. Shizuku gave her a little wave. “Hello. Long time no see.” “Hello!” “You’re using my flashcards. Are you having fun?” “Yes.” The girl picked up a card to show to Shizuku. “Octopus!” she exclaimed. Sure enough, the card had a drawing of an octopus on it. Shizuku crouched down next to her and pointed to another card. “And this one?” “Cat!” “That’s right. Great job. How about this one?” “Deugo.” These prototype cards had been given to the children in the castle who were suffering from language impediments, and the girl’s set already looked well-worn. She must have already memorized all the words because she didn’t show any hesitation when she answered. Shizuku smiled softly, recalling the time she’d spent with Rio. Since their separation, Rio had been sending her a letter every month, and it seemed like she was doing well. The memory of Rio’s earnest smile soothed her, even in her busiest times. “I’ll be making some new materials soon. How does a picture book sound?” As soon as the little girl heard the words “picture book,” her eyes started sparkling with excitement. At that moment, however, an adult voice that Shizuku didn’t recognize called out from behind her. “You really do like kids, huh?” “What?” Shizuku turned around in surprise. There stood a young woman who appeared to be a court mage. The child who’d been crouching on the lawn stood up and ran over to her. “Lera! Play with me!” “Not now. Later.” The mage called Lera smiled at the child clinging to her legs. Shizuku hurriedly rose to her feet to greet her. “Um, nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you, too. You’re that researcher from Kisk, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” “I’m curious about what you’ve been told, but yes, that’s me.” The suggestion that she’d come from Kisk made Shizuku feel somewhat uncomfortable—but since she’d spent only a month in Farsas and over four months in Kisk, it was more accurate. Shizuku—who’d been brought back to Farsas as a “spoil of war”—forced an awkward smile. Lera smiled back, her lips a dark shade of red. “I heard that Kisk stopped experimenting on children to identify the cause of the illness. Is that true?” “Yes. Those experiments were rather cruel, so they were stopped. And they didn’t identify the cause in the end, so the research is now focusing on education.” “Oh? Is it a good idea to give up so easily, though? It’s still a disease, even if learning can alleviate the symptoms.” “Uh…” Shizuku was at a loss for words. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. So far, she had refused to view the epidemic as a disease, no matter what anyone else said. She was relieved the experiments in Kisk had been discontinued and that Ortea was supporting her efforts to create learning materials. This mage from Farsas, however, had a totally different opinion—an opinion that seemed like common sense to her. She was giving Shizuku a worried look. Shizuku knew the woman’s concern only stemmed from good intentions, which left her a little rattled. “I feel terrible for these kids—they have a defect in their souls. We need to find the cause as soon as possible… I’m also involved in researching the cause of this illness, but we haven’t really gotten anywhere. If we could find a clue, it would ease the burden on both the children and you.” Lera’s voice was full of pure compassion. Her sorrow over the disease, her concern for the children, and her desire to lessen Shizuku’s burden were clear to see. In this world, children born without language skills were considered “abnormal.” Shizuku had been told that before, but perhaps she hadn’t fully grasped its significance until now. For her, it was normal not to have innate language abilities. That said, curing the disease would be far less taxing than providing educational materials and teaching language from scratch—for both the kids and their parents. Education was only the second-best tactic for tackling this mysterious disease. The continent was vast. Not only that, but the epidemic was gradually spreading. If it was feasible, eliminating the cause would unquestionably help many more children. Lera took the little girl by the hand. “Let’s both do our best,” she said to Shizuku, before walking away. “A defect in the soul, huh?” muttered Shizuku hesitantly as she watched the woman leave. Erik had raised the idea that innate language skills weren’t reliant on the soul. If his hypothesis was correct, what else could be causing the illness? Up until now, Shizuku had believed that dispelling prejudice against the illness and using education to restore the children’s language skills was the best approach. Still, that might not be the solution that many people were hoping for. Having finally come to this realization, Shizuku let out a big sigh and shook her head, then left the courtyard without another word. Erik’s laboratory was more like a university research lab than a typical experimental lab. Three rectangular desks were positioned in the middle of the room, and all the walls were lined with bookshelves. The man sitting at one of the desks perusing books and documents looked up, having noticed Shizuku’s presence. “Oh, hey. What’s up?” “Sorry, but I have a favor to ask…” There was no one else in the room. Shizuku sat down in front of Erik and handed him the thesis she’d brought with her. “A paper by a follower of Aetea, huh? Interesting. ‘The Manifestation of Divine Power in Innate Language.’” “I tried reading it myself, but unsurprisingly, I couldn’t make head or tail of it.” “That’s okay. I’ll have a look.” Erik placed the thesis back into its paper wrapping. He didn’t seem daunted by its thickness at all. He placed it straight on top of the stack of books on his table. Shizuku brewed some tea and sat down opposite Erik, who said he was going to take a short break. “You mentioned before that an infection could explain the existence of innate language skills, right?” “Yeah. I still suspect that’s the case. People may get ‘infected’ by something from their parents or those around them after they’re born which gives them innate language abilities.” Spreading like cavity-causing bacteria, Shizuku thought to herself, but the comparison was too crude to voice out loud. She tossed a piece of candy into her cavity-free mouth. “Does that mean this epidemic is because children have developed antibodies against those kinds of infections?” “‘Antibodies’? You mean a resistance to them? I believe so, but we don’t have any proof yet. There’s no noticeable difference—physically or mentally—between the sick children and the healthy ones.” “Hmm. And yet for some reason, I’m able to understand your language.” Shizuku’s body had been examined thoroughly, but she didn’t seem to differ at all from the people belonging to this world. She thought hard about what distinguished those with language skills from those without. Remembering what Lera had said earlier, Shizuku let out a big sigh. “…I’m going to go jump rope for a bit to clear my mind.” “What’s that?” Erik asked, as Shizuku began to walk out of the room holding the rope she’d had tied around her waist. She held up the thin rope in her hand and showed it to him. “This? I cut a suitable length of rope and added handles to it.” “I can see that; I mean what are you going to do with it?” “Oh, I guess jump rope isn’t a thing in this world,” said Shizuku. “You swing it in both hands and jump over it. Don’t you have a children’s game like that?” “Not that I know of.” Now that she thought about it, Shizuku hadn’t seen any children playing jump rope during her travels. Perhaps it was a cultural difference. Shizuku mimicked jumping over the rope to show him how it was done. “It’s a great way to do aerobic exercise when you don’t have much space. If I run around the castle grounds, the king might spot me.” If Lars caught her running, he’d make her either speed up or do more laps. That’d just be annoying—it’d be impossible to train at her own pace. Shizuku had thought about setting traps on her running course, but the ordinary officers would end up getting ensnared, so that wasn’t an option, either. “I want to see how it works,” Erik said, so the two of them went to a corner of the training ground. “You jump like this. Watch.” Shizuku started jumping over the rope, maintaining a good rhythm. Erik looked impressed. The soldiers and officers on the training ground, meanwhile, were blatantly ignoring her. Initially, when Shizuku had started jumping rope there, they’d given her some bewildered stares—as if they were watching a bizarre circus act. Recently, though, they seemed to have gotten used to it. A few officers had even approached her, asking Shizuku to teach them how it was done, and some had apparently been spotted jumping rope in the training ground from time to time. Shizuku, who was starting to get slightly out of breath, paused for a moment. “With the ropes from my world, I could do the double under and the crisscross, but it’s harder with this one,” she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “Is this a form of physical labor in your world?” asked Erik earnestly. “No,” replied Shizuku. “It looks like a pretty intense full-body workout.” “That’s the point! It’s for building stamina!” “Do they convert the exercise into some sort of energy, then?” “No! Don’t make it sound like I’m cranking a pulley or something.” Shizuku liked the idea of being able to charge stuff by jumping rope, but it wasn’t intended for that sort of thing. She then took some time to explain that jump rope was both a leisure activity and a type of sport in her old world. Erik, who’d finally grasped what it was, watched as Shizuku resumed her exercise routine. “Then, it’s a cultural activity that’s ingrained in the people of your country from childhood?” “Yeah, that’s right. There are even a few nursery rhymes that go along with it. People would sing those songs and jump in while the rope was going.” “That sounds difficult. Is it really a children’s game?” Erik’s skepticism was understandable. Shizuku had used to play jump rope with her sisters in front of their house all the time. “Many schools have a sports competition called ‘long jump rope.’ Two people hold the ends of a much longer rope and swing it around. About thirty people line up inside the rope and jump in unison. If just one person gets caught in the rope, the swinging stops, so the pressure is intense. Incidentally, ‘long jump rope’ is used as a metaphor in Japan for any activity where one person’s failure can ultimately ruin an entire project—” “You’re sure that’s a leisure activity?” “Things that are supposed to be fun tend to transform into a form of grueling training once they’re integrated into the education system—and they usually combine them with some sort of moral lesson, too,” Shizuku concluded with a sense of irony, bundling up the rope and attaching it to her waist. The exercise had significantly lifted Shizuku’s gloomy mood. The pair moved to the shade at the edge of the training ground and, after borrowing a rope and jumping for a little while by himself, Erik sat down by Shizuku’s side. “So what’s up? Did something happen?” “Oh…” He must have asked that because of the way she was acting. Shizuku’s lips contorted as she struggled to force a smile. “Do you think it’d be better for this world if this language disorder was completely eradicated? Its symptoms are so common in my world that it’s odd to me, the way people here view it as an abnormality and something to pity.” “Ahh.” Shizuku hadn’t grown up in a world with innate language skills, so she didn’t see a problem if people didn’t have them. To her, this wasn’t a disease at all—just how things normally were. Yet if the disease was considered an object of pity in this world, her casual refusal to acknowledge it would just make her look like an arrogant outsider. Shizuku gazed at the sunny sky. She remembered how alienating it was to feel like an outsider—something she’d almost forgotten as of late. Meanwhile, the young man’s voice resonated through the air, sounding positive. “We need to understand the cause and the progression of the disease before we can say whether or not it needs to be eradicated. Are there people in your world who have difficulty speaking?” “Huh? Uhh… There are some people who have language development issues due to physical impediments, and if someone isn’t exposed to language while they’re growing up, they’ll have trouble with it. Most people end up being able to speak, though.” “Is there a possibility that, depending on the way it’s taught, some people may not acquire language skills?” “I…don’t think so. One of the books I brought talks a little about language acquisition in early childhood. It says that children naturally acquire language—specifically, gestures and facial expressions—by observing how adults associate words with objects and actions. That is why I think the sick children here would learn to speak more quickly if they were taught how—but even if they didn’t receive any education, they would eventually pick it up.” This was just speculation, but Shizuku thought she was probably right. When she’d been living with Rio, the young girl had picked up the words Shizuku frequently used even though they hadn’t been part of their study curriculum. Having heard Shizuku’s opinion, Erik nodded with a serious expression on his face. “I understand. I guess there’s no urgent need to eradicate the disease, then. As time goes on, being born without innate language skills may even become the norm.” “You’re right… Amazing!” “What is?” It was easy for Shizuku to accept that innate language was unnecessary, but for people in Erik’s world, it was a hard idea to come to terms with. Putting herself in their shoes, Shizuku could understand the shock of losing something that was considered innate. If, one day, people suddenly had to train themselves to feel emotions, stand, or walk, she’d be thrown for a loop, too. She’d felt uneasy about Lera’s response earlier, but that was normal for people in this world. Yet despite that fact, Erik had suggested that this might become the norm one day. He wasn’t merely viewing things with a philosophic eye; his calm perspective and open-mindedness left Shizuku in awe. “It’s amazing how you’re able to view things that way,” Shizuku said. “Don’t you see this disease as more of a problem?” “Well, we still don’t know what’s causing it. Besides, unlike other mages, I don’t think it has anything to do with the soul. If I’m able to prove that, their stance might become more flexible. But if this actually is a deficit of the soul, then it really will be a problem.” “Oh.” In order to demonstrate that the epidemic wasn’t related to the soul, they’d need to reveal that, despite being from another world and having a different soul from people here, Shizuku was still blessed with innate language abilities. There were reasons to be hesitant about saying something like that, however, with no assurance that people would believe it. The order to kill otherworldly individuals on sight had been passed down to Lars, yet he was reserving judgment on Shizuku, unaware of the very idea that multiple languages existed. The king believed that Shizuku’s language was the same one that they spoke in his world, just as Erik had previously assumed. If he realized that Shizuku’s native tongue was, in fact, different, he’d be sure to pursue her more aggressively. Ortea had handed Shizuku over to Lars following formal negotiations, and Shizuku had this act of diplomacy to thank for her safety—but she couldn’t get too comfortable. In fact, when Shizuku had explained that language wasn’t innate in her world, Lars had jumped down her throat, questioning whether she’d played a part in the outbreak of the disease. The young man who’d debated with Lars on Shizuku’s behalf continued to speak, seemingly unfazed. “We still don’t have a full understanding of the soul. Magic helps us comprehend it to a certain extent, but even then, our knowledge is only superficial.” “Whoa. Sounds difficult. The soul dissolves when someone’s body dies, right? Is there no way to capture it?” If they could capture a soul unattached to a body, it could propel forward research encompassing every aspect of the subject. At that moment, Shizuku wasn’t taking her usual people-focused approach. She was more interested in pursuing all of the possibilities available to her, a trait common in researchers. This suggestion brought a subtle smile to Erik’s face. “There is a way.” “There is?!” “But it involves a forbidden spell.” “Oh. So it’s not feasible…” There was no way they could cast a forbidden spell. Once Shizuku had retained her composure somewhat, Erik expanded on his answer. “Souls are incredibly powerful. Since time immemorial, many forbidden spells have used human souls as a source of power. There’s even one case where a forbidden spell destroyed an entire nation by absorbing the souls of its people and scattering them across the continent.” “Wow. Why bother converting souls into power, though? Isn’t magic power strong enough?” “There are a number of cases in which…” Erik suddenly trailed off, giving Shizuku a wide-eyed look. It was rare to see such an expression from him, and Shizuku tilted her head in bewilderment. “What’s wrong?” “…Something just came to me. It’s not exactly proof, but it might be a good reference. Let’s go back to the lab,” Erik said, calmly rising to his feet. Once he was back in the lab, he took several books from a shelf and began piling them up in his arms. Shizuku still didn’t know what was going on, but she rushed over to help, taking some of them before they tumbled onto the floor. With Shizuku carrying five and Erik seven, they took the books over to their seats. Erik immediately opened one and started scanning the table of contents. As he did so, Shizuku nervously asked him a question. “Uhh, what are we looking for?” “Past cases. They’re not exactly forbidden spells, but there are instances where mages have converted their own souls into power to compensate for their lack of magic. More than half of them died from losing their souls, but some did survive, though they suffered various medical conditions because of the parts of their souls they lost.” Shizuku gulped, realizing where this was going. “Among those conditions, were there any…language impediments?” “Not as far as I remember.” If language was inherently linked to the soul, losing the part of the soul that corresponded to it would have also resulted in the loss of language abilities. If there were no such cases, however, it could suggest that language was independent of the soul. Of course, some people might argue that this didn’t prove anything—that it was just a coincidence that no relevant examples existed. If things worked out, though, they could still challenge the common belief that language was linked to the soul. Shizuku smiled, feeling optimistic. Then she noticed something else. “All of those cases involve adults, don’t they? Couldn’t it be said that they were unaffected because they’d already acquired innate vocabulary?” “You could say that. But there is a very famous case of children missing parts of their souls.” “A famous case?” A hint of bitterness appeared across Erik’s otherwise blank face. Shizuku had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant story—and it turned out to be worse than she expected. The story dated back to the Dark Age, a period of constant war and upheaval. Many a nation rose and fell during this time of unceasing chaos. In the eastern part of the continent, mages were referred to as “devil fiends” and shunned as vile people with abnormal powers. Eventually, however, the persecuted mages started being used as tools of war. Capable of killing people using their powers alone, they became valuable assassins, and eastern nations began to corral them all. In those times, the intricacies of magic configurations were not well understood, and people believed the sole determinant of a mage’s superiority was the magnitude of their magical power. The amount of magical power someone has is fixed at birth. No matter how many mages a country gathered, they were no match for a single individual who possessed immense magical power. In order to make his country more powerful than its rivals, the king of one small nation performed an experiment—one so gruesome that it would go down in history. The goal of his experiment was to create children with artificially enhanced magical abilities. The king captured fifty women and had them impregnated by male mages. In the final month of their pregnancies, he gathered the women in a hall and cast a forbidden spell, offering up the women’s flesh and blood to enhance their children’s magical powers. In the end, this experiment proved both a success and a failure. The forbidden curse invoked enormous magical power, taking the lives of most of the mothers. However, the children who were born immediately afterward had parts missing from their souls—another price paid for the spell. Of the fifty children, nineteen died as soon as the experiment ended. Thirteen survived until the age of three, while four of them made it to the age of ten. At the age of fifteen, the fourteen children that remained used their powers to destroy the country that created them. These children, who were burdened by defective souls from the moment they were born, were all impaired in some way. Some were devoid of emotion, while others couldn’t form memories. The one thing they all had in common, however, was the astonishing magical power they possessed. “That experiment, which took place in Losten, led to the birth of the ‘Children of the Calamity.’ We don’t know much about the kids who died immediately after being born, but the medical conditions suffered by the other thirty-one were all documented in detail. Their symptoms varied, but there were no instances of any of them suffering from language impediments. They’re similar to what we saw in the other cases… What’s wrong?” “N-nothing,” replied Shizuku, her voice shaky. “It’s just such a horrific story… What a blatant disregard for human rights.” “At the time, mages in the east of the continent were treated more like weapons than people. There are lots of tales just like that.” Erik shrugged at Shizuku, who’d turned visibly pale. It was part of the continent’s dark history, and there was no changing the past. The world wouldn’t be the way it was today if not for both the reproachable and commendable things that had come before. Shizuku, meanwhile, was struggling to grasp what a soul really was. She couldn’t imagine what an incomplete soul would be like. Erik told Shizuku how the experiment had left one girl unable to cry because she didn’t know sorrow. That anecdote made Shizuku feel more helpless than angry. When Erik saw the grief on Shizuku’s face, he smiled awkwardly. “I’ll compile some information on other forbidden curse-induced impairments that relate to damaged souls. I’ll take a look at that thesis you brought with you, too.” “Oh, there’s no rush. Thanks.” Shizuku forced a smile as she said goodbye. With that, she left the laboratory. There was a warm breeze blowing in the courtyard. Shizuku looked up at the blue sky. The sky watched over the entire continent, yet it wasn’t connected to her old world, nor her past. No matter how hard she worked, how hard she struggled, she could only change the present and the future. The world was vast, yet not unlimited. As Shizuku contemplated her place in this world, she held out her small hands toward the bright white sun. Shizuku carefully wrote the words next to the illustrations, which were drawn in pale colors. The sentences Shizuku had prepared were simple, and after a week of drafting and revising her picture book, she was finally happy with it. She took another look at the rough draft in her notebook as she added short passages to every page, then waited patiently for the ink to dry. “Okay, there we go.” After reviewing the completed draft, Shizuku wrapped it in paper. Next, she handed it to the official she was sharing a lab with and asked to have it bound. It was only a prototype, but if the children reacted positively to it, the storybook would go into mass production. The same thing had happened with the educational flashcards she’d created before. Shizuku had never actually witnessed the production process, but she knew there were several ways of mass-producing written materials in her new world. They used letterpress printing for monochrome, text-only books, but different methods were used for picture books. If a small number were being produced, a scribe could hand-copy the illustrations, but it was time-consuming and costly to create something of such high quality. As such, the original work was usually given to artisans so they could make woodcut or lithograph prints based on the designs. When Shizuku first heard this, she asked if they ever used silk screen printing, but the official just looked bewildered. It didn’t seem like fabric-based printing was a thing—or at least, not in Farsas, anyway. To Shizuku, silk screen printing seemed easier than a planographic printing method like lithography, but maybe that was just a cultural difference. She gathered together the rough sketches of a golden toad she’d drawn and tucked them under her arm. “Okay, I’m going to get some lunch,” she announced. “All right. Take care,” the official replied. It was a little late to be having lunch, but as long as she met her work quota, Shizuku could be wherever she wanted whenever she wanted. Only researchers like Shizuku were allowed this flexibility—officials and officers adhered to strict schedules, arriving and leaving at the same time every day. According to Erik, there were two types of royal court mages: those who studied magic, attended lectures, and carried out miscellaneous tasks, and those who were confined to research labs. Erik and Harve, who was also a court mage, had once split their time between both roles, but lately they had been fully dedicated to research. As a result, their schedules were relatively liberal. Once Shizuku got back to her room, she took out the lunch Mea had prepared for her and sliced into the tender, slow-cooked pork. “Are you finished with work for now?” the demon girl asked. “Yeah. I finished one of my tasks, at least. I have more to do, though.” The root vegetable soup was extremely delicious. Shizuku put a potato infused with flavor on her spoon and stuffed it into her mouth. Mea, who was sharing the meal with her, smiled. “Make sure you take some time to rest. You’ve been staying up so late, Master.” “Huh? You think so? I thought I’d been going to bed early.” “Not at all. Study is important, but so is your health.” Shizuku didn’t think she’d been staying up late, but apparently Mea had. The young girl’s stern reminder brought a wry smile to Shizuku’s face. “Okay. I’ll be more careful.” Shizuku somberly bowed her head. Her assistant demon looked worried, but this expression was soon replaced by a coy smile after Shizuku swiftly complimented her cooking. “Are you going back to the research lab this afternoon, Master?” “Hmm, I need to go and meet with the king. I have to give him regular updates on my progress.” Shizuku’s direct superior was Leuticia, but she was also required to provide regular updates to King Lars. This was probably his way of reassuring himself that he wasn’t being too easy on her. His unchanged attitude still angered Shizuku, but she chose not to complain. She’d come to accept that was just the way things were. Mea handed Shizuku a cup of tea. “Apparently, there have been loads of demonic spirit sightings in the north recently. One of the royal family’s spirits mentioned it.” “Demonic spirits? That sounds like something out of a video game,” Shizuku said, giving Mea an unintentionally silly response. She still didn’t fully understand what demonic spirits were. Obviously, she knew that Mea was a kind of demon, but she didn’t seem demonic at all; the scariest thing Shizuku had encountered so far was a giant snake from a forbidden curse, not a “demonic spirit.” She couldn’t quite grasp the reality of what Mea was saying. Shizuku’s assistant demon, who was taking the form of a young girl, gave her carefree master a warning. “There are wards protecting the castle, so weak demons can’t get in, but you still need to be careful.” “Okay. Thank you.” Shizuku wanted to avoid coming face to face with anything scary, whatever form it took. As it turned out, Lars brought up a similar subject during their meeting that afternoon. “—Demonic spirits? What kind?” “Loads of different kinds. Some pretty crazy ones, for example.” “I have no idea what you mean by that,” remarked Shizuku, responding nonchalantly to the king’s vague explanation. She clutched the documents she’d finished telling him about to her chest. Although she’d put a lot of effort into preparing this report for him, it was over in five minutes. For some reason, Lars then suggested they “go for a run,” a proposal which Shizuku declined. In the end, they met halfway and ended up taking a walk outside instead. The sky was cloudy, but it was warm enough. Shizuku looked up at the leaves swaying in the wind. “I thought you enjoyed a good fight, Your Majesty. Don’t worry about leaving the castle.” “I left pretty recently, though.” “It’s fine—Princess Leuticia is here. I’ll get to enjoy a brief moment of peace as well.” “You look cheerful already. I haven’t even decided to go yet.” Without shifting his gaze, which was fixed straight ahead, Lars tried to pat Shizuku on the head, but she sensed it and stepped aside. According to the king, there had been an increasing number of demonic spirit sightings in the northern towns of Farsas. These spirits appeared at night and attacked people, but they weren’t especially strong, so the town’s guards were managing to deal with them by themselves. Still, the fact that they were showing up so frequently sparked speculation that they might have a nest or something similar in the area. Shizuku glanced at the longsword hanging at Lars’s waist. “A nuisance like this will be child’s play for Akashia, right?” Akashia, the royal sword of Farsas, was famed for being exceptionally powerful against magic and demons. The weapon had been passed down through generations of kings and had numerous legends surrounding it, including one where the king himself went out to hunt witches at the request of a foreign nation. It was hard to imagine someone like Lars bending to the demands of another country, but Shizuku was sure he’d stand on the front lines if there was internal strife in Farsas. A renowned swordsman, the king sounded more irritated than scared. “If I knew where their nest was, I’d head straight there. It just annoys me that we don’t know its location. It’d be easier to kill them if they came straight to me, just like you did.” “I didn’t come to Farsas to get killed by you, you know.” “Even if I wanted to send someone else in my place, the only ones able to use Akashia are me and that guy. Lettie doesn’t like holding it because it prevents her from using magic.” “Why are you pretending not to hear me? Don’t try to pass your job off to someone from another country.” By “that guy,” he was probably talking about the king of Rozsark, who’d recently made an appearance at Weisuz Fortress. He was apparently a direct descendant of the Farsasian royal line, although that information hadn’t been made public. The king of Rozsark didn’t seem to want to reveal his connection to Farsas, either, in part because of the infighting that had gone on among the direct descendants of Farsas up until their parents’ generation. After thinking these things through, Shizuku posed a question to Lars, who was walking a step ahead. “Does Akashia only work when it’s wielded by a direct descendant of Farsas?” “No. Anyone can bring out its power.” “Huh? Why does it have to be a direct descendant, then?” “Wanna find out?” The look in the king’s eyes wasn’t a benevolent one—not by any stretch of the imagination. Shizuku shook her head. “No, I’m fine actually. Just forget it.” “Okay, come over here.” “You really don’t listen, do you…?” Lars started walking toward a side gate of the castle, beckoning Shizuku to follow. The guards who were stationed there stood at attention and saluted. “Open the gate,” Lars demanded. The iron gate was large—although not as large as the castle’s main gate—and once it was open, the two of them went and stood on the stone bridge spanning the moat. “Now take this.” “Okay… Uh, are you sure?” Lars was offering Akashia to her. The sword was unsheathed and he was handing it to her by the hilt, but Shizuku was too overwhelmed to grab it. She was frozen in shock. “What’s wrong? Hurry up and take it,” the king commanded, sounding annoyed. “Easier said than done… I feel scared. Or nervous, rather.” The double-edged longsword was polished like a mirror. Despite all the blood it had shed over the years, it gleamed like a newly forged weapon. Shizuku swallowed hard, remembering when she’d faced the blade head-on. This time, its point wasn’t even directed at her, yet it still evoked a fear Shizuku couldn’t erase. Her body wouldn’t move, and she didn’t feel like herself anymore. She could feel her heart begin to pound, and the tightness in her chest made her gasp for breath. “Come on, take it. Hurry up,” Lars commanded once more. There was a hint of iciness in his voice. Bracing herself, Shizuku grasped the hilt of the longsword. The royal sword possessed mysterious powers. If someone who wasn’t a direct descendant of the royal family touched it, Shizuku imagined they might get an electric shock or some similar punishment. That thought fleetingly crossed her mind—but in reality, the only thing she felt from the sword was its hefty weight. It was heavier than she’d expected. In a panic, Shizuku lifted the tip, worried it was going to hit the stone paving below, and placed her left hand on the back of the blade to steady it. She let out a single sigh, then looked up at Lars. “I’m holding it.” “Good. Now try slicing through this barrier.” “Huh?!” Shizuku was astonished. Lars pointed at an empty area in front of the gate. “The castle wards are just here,” he said, but that didn’t tell Shizuku anything. She still had no idea where they were. Shizuku readied the hefty sword. Although she wasn’t wearing a blindfold, she felt as if she was about to take a swing at a piñata. “Your Majesty! The sword’s pretty heavy! It’s hard enough just holding it up!” “Is that right? Oh, then continue straight ahead.” “This way?” “A little more to the right. Yeah, that’s it. Okay, now strike.” Shizuku channeled all of her strength into her trembling arms. She somehow managed to lift the longsword up, then took a step forward and swung it back down, relying on its weight to help her. For a brief moment, she felt a strange sensation course through her body. Unsure what the feeling signified, she almost asked Lars about it—but before she got the chance, an agonizing pain ran up her palms. “Ahhh, hot!” Shizuku reflexively dropped the sword, but that was the least of her troubles. The pain was so severe it felt like she’d stuck her hands into raging flames, and she screamed in agony. “It burns! It burns! Oww!” Shizuku wanted to cool her hands down in running water, but there was nothing of the sort nearby. As her eyes welled with tears, Lars approached her from behind. “You wanna cool down?” Shizuku had a bad feeling about what was going to happen. She automatically turned around, feeling something akin to déjà vu. Before she had the chance to think, she grabbed the man’s outstretched hand with both of her own. The king’s eyes widened. “I’m not falling for that!” Shizuku yelled. The king tried to push her into the moat—so she yanked him by that very hand, putting all her body weight into it. And, just as expected, the two of them tumbled into the moat together. In Japanese, the phrase “a nice guy dripping with water” is frequently used to describe a good-natured, handsome guy. The man standing in front of Shizuku, however, was the total opposite of “good-natured,” regardless of how favorably she tried to look at him. Lars cast aside his soaking-wet jacket, picked up his sword, and resheathed it. Then he glanced back at Shizuku, who also looked like a drowned rat. “Nicely done. It’s been fifteen years since I fell into the moat.” “Someone pushed me in there five months ago, so it’s a more recent experience for me.” “You said your hands were burning, so I was just trying to help you cool down.” “And I thought you needed to cool your head,” responded Shizuku frankly. She stared at her hands. The skin had gone red, but it didn’t look like they were badly burned. “I thought it’d leave burns… What the heck were you trying to do to me?” “Isn’t it more helpful to experience something for yourself? If somebody who’s not directly descended from the royal family wields Akashia and comes into contact with magical power or a magic spell, heat is emitted from the handle and blade.” “You could have just told me that.” Why did she have to get hurt and soaked with water when an explanation would’ve sufficed? Lars, meanwhile, didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. He was busy getting the water out of his hair. “Anyway,” he said without a hint of apology, “that concludes our meeting for today. I’ll see you again in two weeks.” “There’s no way you’re getting me to go outside next time!” “That sounds pretty unhealthy.” “Gahhh! You can’t bully your underlings like this!” Shizuku’s heartfelt scream had no effect on Lars, who merely waved a hand dismissively as he walked away, eyes fixed ahead. His infuriatingly poised demeanor made Shizuku scowl. “Your Majesty… You were testing me, weren’t you?” Lars didn’t reply. He didn’t turn around, nor stop. Yet his silence only served to confirm Shizuku’s suspicions. Why had he made her experience something that he could have explained with words? He’d probably suspected that holding Akashia would prompt Shizuku to reveal her “true nature.” Shizuku picked up the parcel her documents were in, which she’d managed to toss onto the bridge. “Oh well. It’s not every day I get to even the score.” If she let something that insignificant anger her, she wouldn’t be able to cope with life in the castle. Besides, this time, it hadn’t been an obvious display of hostility nor an attempt to harm her. Maybe the king had started to trust her a little more, just like she’d grown a thicker skin. Aware that she was being overly optimistic, Shizuku tidied up her soaked belongings and jogged back to her room. The three weeks Shizuku had spent back in Farsas so far had been very different from her days in Kisk. She didn’t feel like she was under constant pressure anymore—but even so, the time seemed to be flying by. Shizuku was walking down a familiar long corridor, holding the prototype of her second picture book. Before arriving in this world, she hadn’t read many fantasy novels, so she didn’t know how stories about people traveling to other worlds typically ended. She had no idea if time in her old world was passing at the same speed, or if it had stopped entirely. Maybe decades had gone by, like in the Japanese folktale of Urashima Taro. “It takes seven years before they declare someone legally missing, right…? So I have six more years to go,” she murmured to herself. If time worked the same way in both worlds, it would almost be a year since she’d arrived. That wasn’t a short period of time by any means. Shizuku wondered if her family was still looking for her or if they’d already given up. Either way, she felt guilty. The days she’d spent living at home felt so distant, but every time she thought of her family, a dark cloud of anxiety seemed to descend over her. Recently, Shizuku’s past self—the one who’d struggled with sibling rivalry and finding her own identity—had begun to feel like a distant memory. Since entering university—and especially since coming to this new world—she’d been eager to become her ideal version of herself. In reality, however, navigating her hectic everyday life, she’d developed a new identity without even realizing it. When she thought about how nearly everyone she knew called her stubborn, a wry smile spread across her face. “I guess that’s the kind of person I’ve become, Umi,” Shizuku said, but there was no way that her words would reach her sister’s ears. Tinged with sentimentality, they drifted to the floor of the white corridor, and she walked over them with heavy steps. Shizuku might not know how to get back home, but she was still happy. She was more than blessed by her circumstances. “All right,” she said, forcing a smile as she stood in front of the laboratory she’d been heading toward. This room was for children with language impediments. She knocked on the door and stepped inside. It looked like a daycare center, with children playing on the soft mats that covered the floor, and toys and learning materials scattered around them. Lera had apparently gathered the kids together to speak to them and hear what they had to say. The moment she saw Shizuku, she stood up. “Hello. Is something the matter?” she asked. “I brought the prototype of my picture book.” Shizuku offered Lera the book, which was wrapped in paper, and the other woman took it from her with a smile. “Would you like some tea?” Shizuku didn’t really have a reason to decline, so she and Lera took a break while the children played right beside them. Holding her white mug in both hands, Shizuku looked around. She wanted to ask what kind of experiments they were conducting here, but even if she did, she didn’t know whether she’d understand the answer. She puzzled over whether to raise the subject while they made small talk, but in the end, it was Lera who mentioned it first. “We still haven’t achieved any notable results… And Erik… He’s an acquaintance of yours, yes? He proposed a new idea. He suggested that there might not be a link between souls and innate language skills. Since then, the opinions of my colleagues have become divided, which has made things a lot harder.” “Oh.” Two weeks had gone by since Shizuku had given Erik that thesis, and it seemed like he’d already shared his thoughts regarding the idea that the language impediment might be caused by a missing part of the soul. Lera gazed at the papers at the edge of the table with a slightly troubled look in her eyes. “If it’s unrelated to the soul, then what else could it be? Personally, I think that wild idea has only complicated the situation further.” “Erik’s right, though.” Innate language skills weren’t reliant on the soul. Shizuku knew that better than anyone. Her blunt rebuttal made Lera’s crimson lips part in surprise, but she quickly pasted a smile back on her face. “You’re not a mage, so perhaps you don’t truly understand. It’s likely just a coincidence that a deficit in the soul didn’t lead to language impediments in the cases Erik put forward.” “Perhaps, but if you support the possibility that the absence of language impairment symptoms is coincidental, you must also explore the possibility that souls and language are not connected. Both possibilities are impossible to prove conclusively.” Shizuku’s statement left Lera fumbling for words. She clearly hadn’t seen it coming. As Shizuku forced a smile, Lera awkwardly took a sip of her tea, then shifted her gaze away and changed the subject as she watched the children play. “Oh yes, I meant to tell you how fascinating your previous picture book was. It had a bit of a unique feel to it… How did you come up with the idea of an immortal toad?” “Oh, that one was based on a true story from Medial.” “Hm? Really?” The first picture book Shizuku had created was already in mass production. Shizuku smiled awkwardly as Lera reacted with shock. “I did change the ending a little, but it’s true. In reality, the king didn’t drive the toad away—he swallowed it. Later, during a garden party, he fell off a boat floating in the lake and drowned…but obviously, I couldn’t put that in a children’s book.” “You’ve…really done your research. Where did you learn about that incident?” “Where?” Shizuku found this an odd question to ask. She hadn’t heard that story in one specific place. It was just one of those things that she instinctively knew. Even so, the question made Shizuku feel vaguely uneasy, and she cocked her head to one side. Why do I know such a strange story? Something similar had happened numerous times before. Yet no matter how deep she tried to dig, she never found an answer. She couldn’t identify how she’d absorbed that knowledge—in the same way that people in Shizuku’s new world took language for granted. “…What’s wrong?” Lera’s voice brought Shizuku straight back to reality. How long had she been out of it? Her teacup was empty. Shizuku rose to her feet, flustered. “I-I’m sorry. I have to go.” “Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you. Thank you for the picture book.” Lera escorted Shizuku out into the corridor. As Shizuku bowed, Lera gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Umm… I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. I must be tired. My experiments aren’t yielding the results I was hoping for at all…” “I understand. Don’t worry. You have nothing to apologize for.” When Shizuku had been living with Rio, she’d often felt frustrated and anxious when things didn’t go as planned. In comparison, Lera’s behavior had been much more composed and mature. Shizuku felt like she was the one who’d overreacted, which she felt bad about. The mages involved in experimental research faced anguish that nobody else could understand—especially when they didn’t achieve the results they wanted. As Shizuku was leaving, Lera looked down, anxiety clear in her eyes. “To be honest with you, it doesn’t matter to me whether souls are the cause of it or not. I just want this disease to be eradicated as soon as possible… My sister is pregnant at the moment.” Having said that, Lera waved to Shizuku and returned to her experiments. Everybody had their own thoughts and desires. Sometimes, people’s feelings inevitably clashed, but they were all still determined to make progress. Feeling both unsettled and strangely relieved, Shizuku walked back the way she came. That night, however, she had a different kind of encounter. One that was far more chilling. The first part of the thesis that Erik received from Shizuku began with a mythological analysis—dissecting the meeting of the god Aetea and his future wife, Ludia. According to the story, the god visited a village deep in a huge forest, asking for help. All of the villagers ignored him—with one exception. Ludia, the woman who would later become his wife, was the only person to converse with him. Generally, people said that the tale of their marriage highlighted the importance of mutual understanding between married couples, to emphasize the sincerity and uniqueness of the god’s wife. This thesis, however, concluded that the villagers did not actually ignore the god—they had simply been unable to understand him. In the same way that Erik hadn’t been able to understand when Shizuku spoke English or German, the villagers found the god’s words incomprehensible. Only the young Ludia had had the patience to communicate with Aetea until they were able to understand each other. “Does that mean a common innate language had not yet been established in the era that this legend took place…?” Erik was back in his room contemplating what he’d read. This hypothesis partially aligned with a question that had been nagging at him for some time. There was a clear cutoff point in the written culture of the continent. For some reason, there were no written records from before a fixed time in history—roughly a hundred years before the beginning of the Dark Age. It wouldn’t be surprising if these ancient writings had simply been lost over time. That said, it was strange that there wasn’t even a record of any books or documents that might have existed. The continent was huge—and back then, it was far from unified. There had been many tiny, disjointed countries, yet for some reason, none of them had retained any written records. It was as if they’d all unanimously decided to leave nothing behind. Even small settlements that barely qualified as countries were devoid of any written records. From Erik’s perspective, there was only one possible explanation for this: They’d been deliberately disposed of. They hadn’t just disposed of a few risky documents, either, but every piece of writing on the continent. What could have motivated such a thing? Erik had considered this a possibility before, but he’d never been able to work out a reason behind it. As a result, he’d kept his theories to himself. The hypothesis presented in the thesis, however, gave him some extra context to chew on. “Did they dispose of the documents…to hide the fact that people spoke different languages?” If that were true, it would also explain why legends from the early days of the continent only existed in oral form. All books that had survived were written in the continent’s common language, and everything predating it had been expunged, allowing only oral legends to persist. As a result, people had understandably come to believe that all humans spoke the same innate language. If only one language was understood, nobody would ever suspect that there had originally been many different ones. “But then…” Erik ran his hand through his hair, a bitter expression on his face. If his hypothesis was correct, spreading the innate language throughout the world must have required extraordinary power. Not only had everybody started speaking the same innate language, but all traces of the original languages had been erased. This wasn’t a feat humans could accomplish, even by the most conservative of estimates. It was the kind of feat only a god could achieve, just as the thesis suggested. Erik pondered this extraordinary problem for a while. Then, after he’d collected himself once more, he reached for the next page of the thesis. At that moment, however, there was a knock at the door. It wasn’t nighttime exactly, but it was late enough for everyone to have finished their work and gone back to their rooms. “Yes?” Erik responded. A faint voice came from the other side of the door. “Erik, do you have a moment…?” “Oh, it’s you. What’s the matter?” When he unlocked the door, he saw a short woman standing in the dark corridor. “I—I have a favor to ask of you.” “What is it?” “Will you…keep me company for the night?” Her voice was shaking slightly. When Erik realized her narrow shoulders were also trembling, he scowled. He fell silent for a few seconds, then asked a straightforward question. “Why?” Farsas was warm all year round, but the nights could still get pretty chilly at certain times of the year. Shizuku had seemingly run over in just her nightclothes. She was trembling, but not because of the cold. The night reflected in her black eyes as she glanced up at Erik. “I—I don’t remember anything. I should have been asleep, but Mea said I was up and reading a book…” “Slow down. What’s the matter?” Shizuku wasn’t acting like her usual self at all. Erik took her shivering, outstretched hand and placed a hand on her shoulder, then led her into his room. He got her to put on his coat and offered her a chair. “Try to calm down. Did something happen?” He spoke slowly, as if he were talking to a child. His gentle, familiar voice seemed to help Shizuku regain some of her composure, and a more rational expression returned to her face. She didn’t know. She couldn’t tell when it had all started. Shizuku had only realized something was wrong after returning to Farsas. It had been three weeks since she’d started sharing her room with Mea. The young girl had warned her to stop staying up so late on several occasions, but Shizuku didn’t think she was. She was just pleased that Mea cared enough to caution her about it—so recently, she’d started going to bed right after taking a bath. That day, however, the topic of staying up late had come up again. It wasn’t unusual for Mea to worry about her master’s health, so Shizuku just smiled awkwardly. “I’ve been going to bed straight after my bath lately,” she reassured her. Mea, however, replied with an unexpected complaint. “But you always wake up again and read a book for hours.” “You don’t have any recollection of reading that book?” asked Erik, who’d now grasped the situation. Shizuku shook her head. “I don’t remember anything. I thought I was asleep the whole time… But Mea says that when she talks to me, I respond exactly like I normally would. She doesn’t understand what’s wrong either…” That was why Shizuku had come to Erik and asked him to stay with her. She hoped that he might know something about her sleepwalking-like behavior. Erik thought things over for a moment, unable to make a decision on the spot. Of course, Shizuku might just be sleepwalking. But if so, would she respond normally? Erik also considered the possibility that she was being targeted by psychological magic. He touched the earring hanging from his right ear. “Is Mea in your room?” “Yes. Before I left, I told her I was going to ask you for advice.” “Okay. Then I’ll join you in your room.” If Shizuku was doing things she couldn’t remember almost every night, it’d be quickest for him to see it in action. As Erik tidied up his desk and got to his feet, Shizuku looked visibly relieved. Erik patted her on the head. “Another thing. When you find yourself in a situation like this, you shouldn’t come here by yourself. Get Mea to come and fetch me. I don’t want you walking alone at night.” “But I don’t want Mea to walk around at night, either. I thought it’d be better to rush over quickly myself.” “Mea is stronger than you,” Erik asserted bluntly, apparently surprised as well. Did Shizuku view Mea as a little bird or a young girl just because she appeared that way? “I’m sorry,” Shizuku said, hanging her head despondently. When Erik walked Shizuku back to her room, Mea—who’d been waiting there, stumped—appeared visibly relieved. The assistant demon greeted Erik and served him some tea. Meanwhile, Shizuku, following Erik’s instructions, lay on her back on the bed. Mea bowed by her master’s bedside. “I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t realize…” “Don’t apologize. I seemed normal, so I can’t blame you.” Erik placed his hand on Shizuku’s forehead. “I’m going to put you to sleep. Are you ready?” “Go ahead.” Erik started chanting gently. Power flowed into Shizuku’s body. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she began to drift out of consciousness. Shizuku began to sleep, her breathing slow and regular. But about ten minutes after Erik had started drinking his tea, she woke up again, just as Mea had claimed. Shizuku combed her bangs back with her fingers. She gazed at the ceiling for a moment, then slowly sat up. That was when she noticed Erik and Mea were observing her every move. “Huh? What’s going on?” There was nothing unusual about her expression or tone. Mea looked flustered, unsure what to think. Erik, meanwhile, swallowed a mouthful of tea and went back to normal. “Nothing. I just came to hang out.” “Huh? You startled me.” “Sorry. I’m just reading a book, so carry on as normal.” He started leafing through an English-Japanese dictionary. Shizuku cocked her head to one side. She got down from the bed, put on her jacket, and took a book of her own out of the bookshelf. It was dark blue and had no writing on the cover. As far as Erik knew, it wasn’t one she’d brought from her world. Shizuku sat back down on her bed and opened the book. There was no bookmark in it, but she seemed to immediately know how far she’d read. Shizuku found her page, then glanced down at the text. Erik looked up from his dictionary and observed her intently. He could hear her turning the pages at regular intervals. She was reading the thick book without any difficulty, despite the fact that it wasn’t from her world. Sitting there with the book, Shizuku definitely didn’t look like anyone but herself. Erik watched her for a while, then tapped the table lightly with his fingers. “Shizuku.” “Yes?” “What are you reading?” “A history book.” “You can read it?” “Yeah.” Shizuku looked suspicious, as if she didn’t understand why he was asking this. Then she shut the book and tried to come over to Erik—but he stopped her with a hand. “Stay there… Where did you get it?” “Seilené gave it to me, back in Kisk. I think she brought it with her from Rozsark.” “Why did she give it to you?” “…I don’t know. She said she didn’t want Farsas getting its hands on it, so maybe that’s why.” “Farsas? What did she mean by that?” “…I don’t know.” Shizuku still seemed confused. It was as if some sort of strange creature had climbed inside her head and was rattling around in there. The look in her eyes was just as uneasy as it had been before she’d fallen asleep. “What does it say in that book? What part are you reading now?” “Right now, I’m reading about how the disgraced king of Farsas descended into madness sixty years ago.” “Does it say who killed Dysral?” “It just says he was killed by ‘it.’” That told Erik everything he needed to know. He let out a deep sigh. All contemporary official records stated that Dysral had been killed by his younger brother, Rodeus, but the truth written in the royal family’s sealed records was different. The one who’d killed the murderous, mad king was someone Erik had been curious about—an “unnamed direct descendant of the line of Farsas.” That man had likely wielded the cursed artifact made in this world, spoken of by Lars. Created to counter the cursed artifacts belonging to the interlopers, its powers defied established convention. This was a fact that only the royal family and Erik—who’d sorted the sealed records—were supposed to know. And yet, here was a book that revealed the truth. There was only one conclusion this could lead to: There was more than one book that contained the secrets of history. “That should have been obvious, now that I think about it…” The continent’s history spanned over a thousand years. There was too much to squeeze into just one volume, no matter how thick it was. The red book they were searching for wasn’t the only book of secrets—there were a number of them. Erik clicked his tongue, frustrated that he hadn’t considered this possibility before. This book was probably a cursed artifact—the very thing they’d been searching for all this time, hoping it would provide the key to help Shizuku return home. What kind of effect had it had on her? Her vacant eyes roamed about as she sat with the book propped up on her knees. “Erik, I’ve been feeling scared recently,” she said. “Scared? Why?” “I know things I’m not supposed to, and I don’t remember how I learned them. I can’t remember this book.” It didn’t look like Shizuku was suffering from a split personality. She seemed like her usual self—both now and when she’d come to Erik’s room. Hearing her speak about her fears, she didn’t seem to distinguish between the two versions of herself, either. Erik calmed his racing thoughts and asked her a question. “But you remember now?” “Yes, for now.” “Do you know where that book came from?” “It came from the floating city outside this world.” Erik gulped, having predicted this answer. This almost confirmed that the mysterious book was a cursed artifact made by the interlopers. “Is that book controlling you?” he asked, trying not to let his impatience show in his voice. “Is it controlling me…? No, I don’t think so. The book only exists to be read. Nobody wants it to control anybody.” “What’s its desired purpose, then?” “To record and preserve the history of this world,” she said with a deep sigh. For a moment, Shizuku looked like a weary old woman. That illusion dissipated as soon as she lifted her face and looked at him, though. She had the same lost look in her eyes as when they’d first met in that dark library. “Erik, I’m scared.” “I know.” Her outstretched arms were trembling. Erik stood up and wrapped his arms around her, gently patting her narrow back. How long has she been feeling scared? During the daytime, Shizuku had been suspicious of the knowledge she wasn’t supposed to possess, and at nighttime, she was being controlled by the mysterious book. She had been living this double life for a long time, and no one had noticed—not even Shizuku herself. She pressed her face against Erik like a weeping child. “Can I take this?” he whispered, stroking her head. For the time being, he needed to separate her from that book. It was undeniable that it was having some kind of effect on her—but when Shizuku heard his suggestion, she looked incredibly apprehensive. “But then you’ll be…” “It’s fine. I’m just going to take a look at it. If I ever feel like I’m in danger, I’ll keep my distance, but it’s better for you not to have it.” Shizuku’s eyes widened. They had probably never looked at each other this closely before. Erik looked deep into her eyes, trying to read something from them. As Shizuku gazed up at him, her brown-tinted black eyes looked like a melting pot of emotions, something that seemed like a mixture of anxiety, loss, fear, and sadness. Erik took the book from where it was pressed against her thigh and placed it at his feet. Shizuku tried to follow it with her eyes, but he blocked her view and lifted her onto the bed. He got her to lie down and placed his palm gently over her eyelids, just like he had when he put her under the sleeping spell. “Go on, get some proper rest. I’ll take care of everything else.” “Erik…” He crafted a spell far more potent than the previous one and channeled it into Shizuku. Her lips moved as she searched for the words to say. The few seconds before the spell took effect felt like an eternity. Time seemed to move so slowly as Shizuku tried to shake off whatever was pursuing her. Her throat moved, and a feeble whisper escaped her lips. Erik watched as Shizuku finally let go of her anxiety and fell into a deep sleep, an inescapable bitterness lingering within him. But that wasn’t everything. Shizuku had said one last thing before giving in to sleep: “There are three books.”