Round Table. (1)
“Down! Down! Down!”
“Yeah, yeah!”
The airship's landing. The two who'd grown bored of gawking at the sky and started dozing off plastered themselves to the window again.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”
The airship slowly descended onto the runway, then jolted with a massive thud—! Ifrin and Allen bounced in their seats, and soon a flight attendant knocked.
—Professor Deculein. We have arrived.
I re-encrypted the Go board. As I stood, I called to Ifrin and Allen.
“Come.”
“Yes!”
“Yeees!”
The VVIP room door swung open to reveal the flight attendants and captain lined up in the corridor. I strode past them with practiced ease, while Ifrin and Allen trailed hesitantly behind.
“……Whoa.”
The moment they stepped off the airship, the vista filled their vision.
Allen gasped in awe. Ifrin gaped. The Round Table was that extraordinary a place.
“What the heck is all this…….”
The Round Table was, quite literally, a round table. A vast, disk-like expanse resembling a giant plate. Pink sunset hues from beyond the horizon dyed the world, and the glass floor brilliantly reflected the light source.
“Hey, Deculein.”
Someone called out then. A familiar face approached from the far end of the runway.
“Oh. Ifrin, you've come too.”
It was Ihelm. He waved cheerfully, as if delighted.
“Ugh, seriously. Because of you, even the Tower's calling me Ifrin now.”
Ifrin shot him a glare with her axe-like eyes. Ihelm smirked and shrugged.
“Good for you. Way better than plain old Ifrin.”
“What's wrong with Ifrin?”
“Told you. It's not a great name. Anyway.”
Ihelm turned back to me.
“Deculein. They've summoned you to the Round Table council chamber. Ifrin and your assistant follow me. You head that way.”
At that, Ifrin—no, Ifrin—and Allen tilted their heads. I told the pair,
“Do so. I shall go alone.”
“Ah. Yeees……”
“See you later~”
Snap—snap—Ihelm flicked his fingers.
“Follow me, you two chicks.”
“What'd you say? Who's a chick……”
The Glass of the Round Table
A quaint sign hung over the restaurant.
Inside, all pristine white, classical melodies drifted through the air, and the few occupied seats held famous wizards recognizable at a glance.
“Whoa…… Assistant Professor. Look at that guy. That's the head of the Jovel school.”
“Oh yeah! Traje the wizard, right?”
Ifrin and Allen ogled the notables as they sat. Thanks to Ihelm, a waiter approached in under three seconds.
“May I take your order, Count Rewind?”
“Ah, sure. First, the 33-year Fonds d'Or. And parma soup with Jerzol. Anything fresh in today?”
“Yes. Slehan and Roahawk—”
“Roahawk?!”
Ifrin's eyes bulged. Ihelm and the waiter paused to glance at her.
Ihelm resumed.
“Right. Got it. Roahawk steak it is.”
“Yes. Also, a specialty from the Bolang region……”
As Ihelm ordered, Ifrin stared out the window. She felt embarrassed for reacting to the Roahawk.
Is this some kinda reflex? Unconscious reflex or whatever……
“Mmm! So this is the Round Table~”
A glass island in the middle of the ocean somewhere on the continent. The Round Table's scenery never ceased to amaze, no matter how many times you saw it. Flat as a table all around, endlessly reflecting every light source.
“Weird place.”
Ihelm remarked after finishing the order. Ifrin quickly asked,
“Roahawk's on?”
“Yeah. The biggest one's coming.”
“……”
Nice. Ifrin clenched her hidden fist under the table. Not quite Pig's Blossom level, but Roahawk was still delicious.
“Anyway, as you can see, the Round Table's an artificial magical space. Restaurants, houses, bookstores—everything's here, but I hate coming often.”
“Why?”
“It's a hotbed of backstabbing. Get too successful, and the envy hits hard. Tons of damn old fogeys too.”
“Ah…… But why'd the Professor get invited so suddenly?”
“Yeah. It was outta nowhere.”
Ifrin asked. Allen nodded curiously too. Ihelm smirked faintly and sipped his tea.
“Because of Deculein's achievements.”
“……Huh?”
“How much do you know about the Round Table?”
“Just that it's where magic schools gather…… something like that?”
Knights had sects; wizards had schools. Officially, only three schools per magic lineage, and the Round Table was their gathering spot.
“Right. Twenty-four schools in total, and they're pretty exclusive. They despise new school creations.”
“Why? Wouldn't a new school be good?”
“……Simpleton.”
Ihelm shook his head.
“'Only' twenty-four. Only three per lineage, twenty-four total on this Round Table. Losers get booted.”
“……Ah!”
Ifrin and Allen finally got it.
Officially, only twenty-four schools could exist.
“So……”
“Yeah. That's why they called Deculein.”
Clink—Ihelm set down his teacup. He twisted his lips.
“On the Floating Island, at the Round Table. His paper's potential is slowly proving out. Oh, the Deculein-Luna paper?”
“……”
Ifrin shut her mouth. Ihelm continued nonchalantly.
“So now a bunch of schools are panicking. Which lineage his paper gets assigned to matters. When he'll be recognized as an elder matters. But most importantly…… why he published without telling them first.”
“What's that got to do with anything?”
“The Round Table's an old-boys' club. Being treated as a school head there? Huge value. If he'd tipped them off, they'd have milked him dry right up till expulsion. Why no time for internal debate? That's the gripe.”
“Ah……”
Easy to grasp. While Ifrin and Allen listened, the appetizers arrived. Jerzol parma soup.
Ifrin asked,
“So why didn't Professor Deculein tell the Round Table ahead?”
“You know his personality. Overconfidence or unbreakable pride.”
Ihelm smiled thinly. Then he muttered, laced with a sigh,
“He's out to shatter the Round Table's rigid order. Publishing without a single hostage to the whole place? That's a proper rebel revolution.”
Ifrin and Allen's eyes widened. Ihelm, amused by their reaction, lifted his spoon with a grin.
“You wouldn't know. But at our level—Deculein, me—every action, word, gesture drips with politics.”
“Mmm…… yeah.”
“This is basically a declaration of war. If he becomes an elder, it'll get fun. Never thought I'd say it, but he's reliable then. I hate this Round Table's damn geezers too.”
Then Ifrin caught the appetizer's aroma. She startled. Her nose felt like it was melting.
Ihelm smiled at her expression.
“Eat up. Enjoy now, but stay cautious. Storms'll hit Deculein soon enough……”
I arrived at the Round Table council's waiting room. No clue what the meeting was about, but a quest notification popped up right on cue.
Round Table's Checks
◆ Acquire qualifications for the 'Elder Ascension' quest
Seemed like the first step toward elder status. Like the chairmanship, 'elder' was a major achievement.
“That's Deculein, right?”
Someone called from across the waiting room.
The woman in robes, still phrasing everything as questions.
It was Karla. I regarded her.
“You've come here too.”
“I've read your paper well.”
“My thanks.”
Karla nodded and proffered something. A letter.
“From Rohakan, I presume.”
“……”
I tucked the letter away and asked,
“Is that all?”
“The Round Table folk seem quite angry. They might try to kill you.”
“Is that so.”
The Round Table wasn't a fine group. It hindered the main quest clear, really.
“No matter. I shall not die.”
“……”
Karla fell silent. She merely sat on the waiting room sofa and munched cookies from the table.
Watching her stuff them in like a hamster, I asked,
“Business concluded?”
“Seems so.”
Then the waiting room door burst open. A group of wizards stood beyond.
“Professor Deculein. Meeting time.”
The middle-aged leader, face stern, spoke. I rose and followed him.
Clack-clack—
Their steps hurried, but mine were measured. I had no intent to lose dignity scurrying like those short or stout ones.
Yet.
“No.”
The middle-aged wizard suddenly turned. Name was likely Debrun.
“Hurry up! What's with the dawdling?”
“……”
All the wizards halted. I met their stares steadily.
Silence thickened. It stretched long.
At length, I approached first and said,
“……Debrun.”
“What? Debrun?”
“Opening the door without courtesy, I can forgive. Nay, I shan't point it out and lose my own dignity. However.”
I walked slowly. My shoe heels ground the floor.
“If base vermin ignorant of their place crawl up without grace.”
Thud—thud—
Only one set of footsteps echoed down the hall, and the Round Table wizards began hiding their blatant hostility, one by one.
Frightened. How vermin-like.
“I shan't tolerate that far.”
I reached the middle-aged man and loomed over him. I forced his upturned eyes downward.
“Know your place. Strut so impudently further, and I may kill you.”
……Having finished meditating, Sophien settled calmly once more. At last, the peace named Sloth had arrived, soaking into comfortable contemplation.
Lying in bed, she gazed at the snow globe. Snow fell within the glass orb. Staring at that tiny shake, she pondered Kairon and the giants.
“……Giants.”
Ancients with near-infinite lifespans and god-like potential.
Yet no continental records explained their race's sudden extinction. Reduced to mere mythic verses recited by bards by campfires.
Tick-tock—tick-tock—
But Sophien had met a giant's eyes. Found a survivor of what she'd thought extinct.
His pupils held unfathomable depth. A soul that pierced the world's origins, the universe, all creation. He had surely touched truth…….
Tick-tock—tick-tock—
Giants and the snow globe. Deculein and Kairon.
Sophien sifted her memories. Recalled the curse granted her, the authority called Regression.
Tick-tock—tick-tock—
At length, a certain place surfaced in her mind.
The Imperial Palace Library. Where the continent's history slumbered. A forbidden ground she'd never once visited.
“Never dreamed I'd do this in my lifetime.”
Sophien rose from bed. She opened the dressing room door at once.
Within hung garments offered by continental nations and houses. She scanned them, settling on a hooded robe.
She left her chambers and descended underground.
Two knights guarded the dim library door. They recognized the emperor, eyes widening.
“……Your Majesty—”
“Silence.”
“……”
That was it. The knights said nothing more, and Sophien opened the library door.
Creeeak——
Beyond the widening gap, the first sight was the librarian. A short old man, sorting tomes along the shelves.
The palace's master had entered, yet he showed no notice.
Nay, he couldn't. Librarian Reksil was blind.
“Hey.”
Sophien called. The librarian groped with wrinkled hands and turned this way. He'd sensed her unusual tone and aura.
“……Your Majesty?”
“Indeed. Have you continental legends or myths, especially on giants?”
“Ah……”
Reksil bowed hastily.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I shall guide you.”
“Good.”
Sophien followed Reksil. The palace library's corridors stretched long. Filled solely with books, paper, wood.
As they walked, admiring countless tomes, a sudden curiosity arose.
“Librarian. Besides Us, who else visits this library?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Quite frequently of late.”
“Who. Do you admit outsiders so readily?”
Then the librarian halted before a bookshelf. Clearly packed with ancient volumes.
Sophien glanced up at them, then heard his reply.
“Count Yukline, Your Majesty.”
“……Count? Deculein?”
“Yes.”
Sophien let out a hollow chuckle at the answer.
“Can you tell what books he read?”
“Yes, of course, Your Majesty.”
The librarian reached out, and dozens of books floated over at once. Magic specialized for library management, no doubt.
“Moreover, I have records of his thoughts compiled.”
“His thoughts?”
“Yes.”
Sophien's eyes widened in surprise. Reksil fetched Deculein's read books and placed them on the library table.
“When lending books, I request permission for my magic. My magic obtains the thoughts of those who read them.”
“Obtains thoughts?”
“Yes. Requires the subject's consent—a mental agreement, not mere words—but the Professor granted it willingly.”
“……Good. Show Us.”
Deculein's thoughts. What he'd pondered while reading these.
Seemed intriguing enough.
“Any peculiarities?”
“A most courteous noble, Your Majesty.”
Reksil placed hands on the tomes. He copied Deculein's thoughts as read onto the pages.
This was why Reksil had served so long as palace librarian.
Needed true mental consent, but any 'thoughts conceived while reading' could be fully copied to paper.
Reksil himself was the palace library's sole, sure defense.
“Good. You may go.”
“Yes.”
As Reksil withdrew, Sophien picked the thinnest from the pile first: [The Bard's Giants], a poetry collection.
“Hm.”
Little of note. Just lyrics recorded like a songbook.
Thus, Deculein's copied thoughts held nothing special.
Whether he'd savored it or set it aside after a few pages.
“Nothing much……”
Yet on the final page of the bard's book.
Deculein's thoughts lay bare.
Several lines of mind, plainly exposed.
Sophien struggled slightly to comprehend the passage.
The bard's songs offer little reference. No notable facts, nothing. Yet one song's end, the verse 'The Giant and the Emperor,' nags at me. The giant recognizes the emperor, and the emperor the giant—a prophetic lyric near enough. Reading that strange verse, for some reason, I hope Sophien finds happiness…….
Sophien hoped for happiness.
The emperor's eyes fixed, nailed to that impudent single sentence.