Unexpected Bet (2)
Independent quests usually refer to "quests dedicated to specific characters." Not every named character possesses one, but those deemed important each carry at least one or more.
Among them, the independent quest of Sophien, the most pivotal figure in the world's lore, had never appeared in any scenario.
"I shall grant your wish."
I gazed at Sophien. Those words were declaration enough.
"Your Majesty. Even so, a wish is—"
"Hmph."
Sophien scoffed at Kreto's remonstration and raised a finger.
"However."
Her pale, slender index finger pointed straight at me. She seemed to have taken my earlier provocation quite to heart; an aura rippled from her fingertip.
Sophien asked,
"And if you lose? What then will you offer?"
I pondered briefly.
Whether ten days of training would suffice to defeat Sophien, or fall short, remained unknown. Only clashing blades—or stones—would reveal the truth.
Yet if this was Sophien's independent quest, I could not evade the challenge.
"There is nothing to offer."
"What did you say?"
Sophien furrowed her brow.
"After spouting such arrogance, you seek to claim victory without stake—"
"As a subject of the Empire, I have sworn eternal loyalty to Your Majesty. Should Your Majesty desire anything from me, I stand ready to yield it at any moment. My sole wish resides ever in Your Majesty's heart."
"……."
Sophien fell silent. She worked her lips wordlessly before thrusting her face close to mine.
As if probing my emotions and sincerity—but not a speck of falsehood tainted me now.
It stemmed from the natural outpouring of this personality.
Deculein's unique "sense of chosen superiority" meant devout belief in the class system: scorning and despising lesser bloodlines, yet offering boundless respect and reverence to the supremely noble.
Thus, my devotion to Sophien was utterly genuine.
Designed as such.
"……Very well."
Tsk—Sophien clicked her tongue and leaned back against the chair. She roughly flipped open the Go bowl's lid.
"Let us test your mettle, then. Deculein, black or white? Choose."
"I shall take white."
I fetched the white stones. Kreto watched us both with rapt fascination.
"Very well."
Sophien placed the black stones before her and rustled out a handful.
"The match begins."
Clack—
Sophien's stone fell. Her opening: star point, upper right corner.
Clack—
Mine: star point, upper left. Hers: small eye point, lower left.
"Hmph."
Sophien snorted. Kreto, notebook already in hand, began recording the game notation.
Plip— plip— plip—
The stones embroidered the board like raindrops on wood, and the early game flowed without particular incident…….
"Gahhhhh—!"
Ifrin and Sylvia sprinted like madwomen, a massive earthquake thundering in their wake.
Boom—! Boom—! Boom—! Boom—!
A tiger. Its muscle-bound paws unleashed terrifying blasts with every stride.
The majesty and mana radiating from this tiger—the first Ifrin had ever beheld—explained why "tiger calamity" echoed across the continent, why its infamy loomed so vast, why legends and folktales teemed with tigers…….
"Aaaahhh—!"
A lifetime flashed before Ifrin's screaming eyes like a shooting star across the night sky.
In that instant, someone smacked her forehead smartly.
"Shut up, idiot."
It was Sylvia.
She had conjured a wall behind them, likely to block the tiger—but with one swipe of its paw, it shredded like paper in a crash—
"Uwaaaah—! That crazy orange monster—!"
"Quiet."
Yet the wall was mere feint.
The tiger pulverized the debris, shards flying everywhere, briefly blinding it. Sylvia seized the gap, erasing the ground beneath its next step.
The pavement vanished clean as if rubbed away by an eraser. Anyone would predict the tiger plummeting into the void below.
Grrrrowl—!
But the tiger trod the air. Front paws clawing emptiness, hind legs kicking off nothing, it soared upward like a geyser.
BOOM—!
A shockwave accompanied the roar. Glancing back, Ifrin nearly lost her mind.
The tiger was literally trampling space itself in pursuit…….
"This way."
Yet Sylvia held her own in this contest of wits. Ignoring not the tiger's power, she had anticipated this—and erased the ground beneath their own feet.
Boom—!
As they plummeted, the tiger's hind paw grazed their scalps by a hair's breadth.
"Follow."
The tiger smashed the ceiling in hot pursuit, but Sylvia calmly carved a path.
She scattered footprints, scents, mana in every direction to confuse it—deployed decoy dolls, wove countless walls into a labyrinth—but restrained from traps that might enrage it.
Provoking the beast would invite disaster.
"Hah… hah……."
"Whew."
Thus, the pair barely escaped. Ifrin and Sylvia heaved ragged breaths.
"Whoa… whoa… my heart…… Oh right."
Pickled like kimchi after a mere fifteen-minute flight, Ifrin belatedly pointed at Sylvia's state.
Her fingers, savagely mangled.
"Sylvia, your hand……."
"……."
Sylvia silently twirled her mana brush. A new finger drew itself over the bloody stump.
She flexed it open and shut a few times, then nodded.
Ifrin's eyes bulged.
"Does that last forever?"
"A finger is part of my body. Recovery outpaces mana drain, so yes—eternally."
"Still, it must've hurt like hell. You okay?"
Sylvia offered no reply.
Ifrin gauged her mood before murmuring,
"……Where are we, anyway?"
"Voice."
"Voice?"
"A world accessed through voices."
"Ah! Demons?!"
She recalled Rohakan's tales: a demonic realm where random souls entered via voices at unpredictable times.
Ifrin pressed,
"Then that tiger?"
"It entered via someone's voice too."
"……Ah, right."
Beast roars counted as voices, broadly speaking.
"Oh yeah."
A sudden thought struck; Ifrin rummaged in her pocket.
Clink— two copper coins tumbled into her palm. Yeopjeon from Rohakan earlier.
"Where'd you get those?"
Sylvia eyed them with uncharacteristic surprise.
"Old man Rohakan gave 'em. What are they?"
"Currency here."
"……Oh. Here—one's yours."
Ifrin handed one over. Sylvia accepted without demur.
"What do we use 'em for?"
"Follow."
Sylvia pocketed hers and rose, leading Ifrin onward.
They traversed a corridor with a ceiling sign:
[Non-Combat Zone]
They passed a few people en route, ignoring greetings, but Ifrin warned them: "Watch out for the tiger."
"Here."
[Shop]
A bustling marketplace sprawled ahead, like a plaza or auction ground. Sylvia wove through the throng, towing Ifrin.
At last: the Soul Shop.
[Soul Shop]
"Copper coins buy stuff like this."
The shop peddled bizarre wares: Mana Elixirs, Potions of Maturity, Charms of Allure, Voodoo Dolls, and more…….
But Sylvia's gaze fixed on one stall:
Voices of the Dead
"……."
Ifrin glanced at her expression before asking,
"Hey."
Sylvia turned, face blank.
"What."
"That thing. Is it true the Professor……."
…killed your mom?
She wanted to revisit that scene, but the words died. Ifrin bowed her head silently. Sylvia glanced sidelong.
"Forgot it."
"……Huh?"
"Mom's voice."
"……Oh."
"I want to hear it. Might remember then."
Her flat tone evoked some empathy.
No—empathy was luxury. Ifrin had her father's video and voice letters to cling to for years.
"……Yeah. I get it."
Ifrin placed a hand on Sylvia's shoulder. Sylvia flung it off and glared through narrowed eyes.
"Ahem. Sorry."
Ifrin coughed awkwardly, eyes fluttering shut then open—and—
"Found something neat? See—this stone's embedded with a 'magic cipher.'"
—Drent declared.
"……Huh?"
Sudden shift. Ifrin blinked around blankly.
Sylvia was gone; she stood in the tower's special floor, not Voice.
"Look."
Drent thrust his notebook forward.
"Lemme explain."
"……."
One copper coin in her hand.
One—not two—meant no dream.
"Hey, Ifrin. Look, damn it?"
Ifrin.
Ifrin smirked up at Drent. A cross-shaped vein throbbed at her temple.
"Don't call me that, you shit. Know what chased me? Saw a tiger—a tiger!"
"……What're you on about? I went first, no need for curses……."
"Wasn't cursing. Just said don't call me that, shit."
"Same diff—"
"No Ifrin. Hate that shit."
"……Yeah. Sorry."
Sophien scanned Deculein up and down.
His Go posture evoked a crane's nobility; every stone placement brimmed with elegance and poise. In the island seas, they called Go "immortal's pastime"—no different from illustrations of eastern masters.
"……."
His skill was no trifle either.
Opening layout, fuseki maneuvers. Tactics employed, unique style.
Truly honed in mere ten days?
Achieved such prowess alone in just ten days?
Clack—
Moreover, his skill evolved mid-game. Past move 98 into midgame, his style diverged from the opening—more fluid, natural.
An uncanny growth rate. Victory was possible, of course.
Yet……
Truly ten days?
Merely ten?
Clack—
Sophien tensed before Deculein's board.
Not fear of defeat, but for the first time, a "talent gap" stirred within her.
Never had she witnessed superior gifts in magic, swordsmanship, scholarship. Superlative mages, swordsmen, scholars existed—but Sophien knew no ceiling.
However.
Clack—
For the first time in centuries, Sophien felt an emotion.
Perhaps, in Go alone…….
This one might surpass me…….
Clack—
Sophien deliberately exposed a flaw linking her strong right side to the center.
A honey trap, bolt-from-blue brilliance.
Plain blunder, ripe for devouring—but stepping in meant encirclement.
She sank into her chair, awaiting his move.
"……."
And Deculein fell right in, as induced.
"Hmm……."
White stone placed; Sophien leaned back. A faint smile curved her lips.
Clack—
Oblivious to the trap, Deculein gnawed relentlessly at the bait. Sophien yielded flesh feintingly until, in one snap, she captured him.
It was over.
Deculein's whites lay inert.
No—no room to maneuver.
"Is it done?"
Sophien asked gravely.
The pondering man, plip—placed defeat's stone at the board's corner.
Such calm concession.
"Oh!"
Kreto glanced between us. Novice though he was, Sophien's reaction told him: Deculein had fought valiantly.
"……Learned in ten days, and already this level."
Black's 153-move resignation victory.
Sophien won, yet joy eluded her. Deculein's pre-game arrogance proved well-founded confidence.
"Two months, and it might be worth watching."
"Is that so."
Deculein replied evenly. Sophien's brow twitched faintly.
"Begone now. You had cause to defy Us, so no punishment."
"What of a five-game match?"
Kreto interjected. Sophien and Deculein turned to him in unison.
Sophien echoed,
"Five-game?"
"Yes. One game feels unsatisfying for both Your Majesty and the Professor. Best of five, clean. I'd love to learn Go watching Your Majesty and Professor Deculein's matches."
Tok— tok— Sophien tapped the board. Deculein silently studied the strewn blacks and whites.
Observing, Sophien asked,
"……What say you, Deculein? In five games, can you best Us?"
Deculein raised his eyes. Azure gaze, phosphorescence striking like lightning.
He declared,
"Yes. Lose once more, learn—and win the next three straight."
"……."
Sophien relished his audacity. For the first time, she sensed possible defeat.
Yet she was no coward to shun challenge.
"Very well. But if you lose, stake your neck."
Sophien smiled; Deculein nodded calmly.
En route by carriage, Kreto beside me queried,
"……Aha. So this move was the fatal error?"
I nodded.
Kreto indicated move 143—Sophien's trap. Absent from my data. But "learned," so never again.
"Oh…… You're a genius at brainwork. Admirable."
Mm— mm— Kreto hummed approval, then shuddered abruptly. He schooled his features cautiously.
"But, Professor."
"Yes."
"May I ask one thing?"
"Of course. Anything."
Kreto ahem-ed.
Swallowing dryly, glancing out the window, eyeing the driver's back…….
Why such fuss?
He even cast Silence before asking,
"Do you…… admire Her Majesty?"
No great matter. I answered naturally.
"Naturally. I revere her always."
"No, not that. Every imperial subject does. I mean……."
Kreto drew a deep breath.
"Romantically."
"……."
I was momentarily speechless.
Worse followed.
"……Like betrothal. Heard you're prepping divorce papers."
"……."
"……."
We stared wordlessly.
"……."
"……."
Silence stretched; Kreto's face flushed crimson, tomato-like.
Before embarrassment erupted, I spoke.
"Absurd."
"Ha, haha. Of course?"
"Yes. But why the sudden query?"
"……Mm. Her Majesty bade me ask. If you admire her…… it'd be an issue."
Utterly baffling. I shook my head blankly.
"Her Majesty misunderstands slightly. Not a shred of such feeling."
"Ah. Good."
Then.
Meow—!
A cat cried from somewhere.