Roundtable. (2)
—There is little worth noting in a bard's song. No noteworthy facts, nothing at all. But one line at the end of a certain song nags at me: "the giant and the emperor." The lyrics, akin to a prophecy, state that the giant recognizes the emperor, and the emperor recognizes the giant. Reading those strange words, for some reason... I hope Sophien finds happiness.
Sophien flipped back to the page in the poetry collection. She found the passage immediately.
The emperor and the giant recognize each other—the human above all humans, and the giant unbound by worldly ties, wander in search of something that is nothing at all.
When light ignites in the dark world, an even darker light shall blanket the continent.
Only then will humanity know. They shall awaken as the giant did.
The endless wandering is but a knot, an end denied to the self. A stigmata left like a curse...
The lyrics, devoid of melody, seemed utterly idiotic.
The emperor closed the book. With a hardened expression, she picked up another volume.
Archaeology: Evidence of the Giants.
This text was laced with Deculein's various musings.
Sophien rested her chin on her hand and delved into his memories.
—The continent is vast. That must have held true for the giants as well. They possessed immense bodies and profound wisdom, but that alone was insufficient. Yet with time added to their gifts, they could behold all the world. They could traverse the continent, cross the seas, and reach the world's end. Upon arriving there, the giants lost the will to live.
Sophien suddenly lifted her gaze to the empty seat opposite her.
There, like a phantom, Deculein appeared. He sat upright, reading a book.
His thoughts flowed to her like a murmur.
—But humans could not. This world, so vast, was too much for the frail human frame to bear. It could not be contained in human eyes, nor traversed by human feet. Humans harbored the giants' desires, yet lacked their colossal legs and infinite time. They yearned to tread every inch of the earth but could not. They sought truth but could not attain it. They dreamed of becoming the mightiest beings but could not. In the end, humanity is "that which dies unfulfilled."
...Now I understand.
The commonality between the giants and myself.
"Hmph."
Sophien does not know what the distant future holds.
When time flows, aging advances, and the moment to return to nature arrives—will she repeat infinite regressions once more, or will that be her final end?
Until that last moment comes, she cannot know if it is truly the last, and even if it arrives, if it is not the end, then perhaps no end exists for her at all.
"..."
Humans always yearn for what they lack. If short on coin, they seek money; if alone, companionship; if scorned in prestige, honor.
Thus, an immortal human—strangely enough—will one day inevitably desire death.
The reason Deculein wishes for her happiness stems from that contradiction.
"Do you think that if a lifetime is filled with happiness, one would not crave death?"
Perhaps.
If this life were as happy as winter's embrace, she might not even entertain thoughts of dying.
But if an entire life were nothing but happiness, that would be madness. Clinically speaking, mania.
"Servant."
Sophien called to Rexil, standing at her side. Rexil bowed her head.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She gazed silently at the book's cover for a moment. After long contemplation, she spoke in a voice heavy with resolve.
"Can it be erased?"
"Yes, it is possible."
Rexil replied as if she had been waiting. Sophien closed her eyes briefly and nodded.
"Erase it."
"Yes."
Rexil placed her hand on the book again, and Deculein's thoughts vanished.
Sophien picked up the book once more. She opened it. No trace of Deculein's thoughts remained.
She read slowly.
The rustle of paper... the rustle...
In the library's silence, the rhythm of turning pages. Sophien absorbed countless sentences, sinking into quiet contemplation.
But suddenly, she lifted her face. With sunken eyes, she stared at the empty seat opposite.
"For some reason... I wish you were here."
The Roundtable conference. Ifrin and Allen sat in the gallery as Deculein's disciples. It was separated from the main chamber by glass.
"...The atmosphere feels off, doesn't it?"
"Totally."
Ifrin agreed with Allen. The setup was overwhelmingly intimidating.
Deculein, the "invited" guest, sat at the center of the chamber, while twenty-four faction leaders loomed over him from the circular dais.
—Monarch Deculein.
Then, the eldest mage spoke. Ifrin knew his name.
Zektane. Head of the destruction-aligned "Pagon" school.
Ifrin focused on the proceedings.
—You submitted an unproven paper to the Floating Island without a word to the Roundtable. Do you have anything to say about that?
The tone was sharply aggressive, but Deculein met Zektane's eyes squarely.
—What does it matter if the paper is unproven?
—...
Zektane's brow twitched. The other leaders reacted similarly. Even Ihelm.
Ifrin wasn't surprised. Ihelm had already hinted he would "play along."
—Has Yukline forgotten the Roundtable?
—There is nothing to forget or remember. I merely submitted my paper.
—...
Zektane was at a loss for words.
At that moment, a thought struck Ifrin. This meeting wouldn't drag on; one side would crack first.
—It seems we have no need for prepared documents. I never imagined Yukline would disdain the Roundtable so.
—Disdain...? Have you forgotten the sums Yukline has sponsored for the Roundtable?
Coughs erupted simultaneously. Most of the old mages cleared their throats—ahem—and glared at Deculein.
Zektane spoke again.
—Even if the Floating Island accepts your paper, it would not be wholly your achievement. Kaigan Luna. That dead man, your former assistant— you merely inherited his legacy.
Ifrin bit her lip.
Why was that damn old coot dragging her father's name into this? And using it to attack Deculein?
—Indeed.
Deculein replied. The elders smirked and shook their heads.
But then—
—However, that man's daughter will become my disciple.
—...Disciple?
Ifrin jolted in shock, and every face at the Roundtable twisted.
Allen turned to her. His narrowed gaze pierced her—zing.
"Uh, well. Um... Hey. Professor Allen's more like a partner? That kind of... relationship."
"...Hmph."
Allen turned away jealously, and Deculein's words continued.
—If a school is to be founded, that child—not I—will lead it.
—...Why?
Zektane pressed. Ifrin watched Deculein with a tense expression.
—She will provide the proof. It is decided.
—...
Zektane's wrinkles deepened. He clicked his tongue.
—Reasoning with you is futile. The Roundtable will not stand idly by.
A sneer curled Deculein's lips.
—Indeed. Nor shall I.
He met the gazes of all twenty-four without flinching, unyielding.
—But not all of you share the same opinion.
Rather, his solitary presence seemed to overwhelm the Roundtable. They masked their expressions, but they knew what he meant.
Deculein surveyed them with a deep smile.
—There is still time... so let us hear you out in detail.
It was that serpentine, wicked smile Ifrin hadn't seen in ages.
—How dare you! The invitation ends here! Begone from the Roundtable!
Frightened by that chilling retort—or perhaps terrified—
Zektane hurriedly expelled Deculein.
No sooner had I returned from the Roundtable than threatening letters arrived.
Most were from the Roundtable, but there were also ones suspected from the Altar or Altiegue, and even from "Rohakan."
Hey! Disciple. Glad to see you're doing well. Heard you stirred up the Roundtable? Those old fogeys needed a good thrashing someday—I didn't expect it from you. Wait, you are thrashing them, right? Don't get thrashed yourself. And you know what these coins enclosed are for? The world of Voices. It's not opening officially anytime soon, but keep 'em. This is transmission paper, so don't toss it. Let's chat sometimes. Kahahah!
"...So that's how it is. Honestly, don't you think it's time the Roundtable was reined in a bit?"
While reading the letters,
a middle-aged mage who had come to my office remarked. It was the former "Debrune," his robe hood pulled low. He seemed intent on aligning with my faction.
"Understood."
I nodded. Then I retrieved a golden toad from the drawer.
"Take it."
"Oh, no need for—"
"It serves as both ornament and magical artifact. It reacts to hostile mana and murderous intent—useful to carry."
"...Yes."
Thus persuaded, Debrune pocketed the toad without refusal. His speech had already shifted to formal.
"There must be mages who share our views. I shall approach them discreetly."
I nodded silently. Debrune bowed.
"Yes. Then. Farewell."
"Travel safely."
"Yes."
Debrune pressed his hood once more and departed. Ifrin entered as he left.
"...?"
Ifrin glanced at Debrune's retreating figure, then turned to me.
"What is it?"
"Oh. Here... I've compiled the paper up to the parts I understood."
She handed over a stack from her bosom. Three hundred pages total.
I skimmed it. No glaring errors at first glance.
"No major mistakes or leaps apparent."
"Th-thanks—"
"Have you prepared to depart?"
"...Pardon?"
Ifrin blinked her wide eyes. I set the paper down and fixed her with a stare.
"The day to head north approaches. Have you forgotten?"
Her mouth fell open.
"Oh right!"
"Prepare."
"Yes!"
Ifrin dashed out. Whatever she needed to do, she'd grown enough to handle it.
"The north..."
Enemies were multiplying, the story entering its midgame. The Altar's moves were predictable, but thorough preparation was essential.
"..."
I gazed out the office window.
Blue sky, white earth.
Winter's signs blanketed the land; bare trees and biting winds formed the stark landscape.
Winter.
That frigid season had finally arrived...
With the northern trip set for next week, Ifrin, Allen, and Drent threw themselves into packing. The trio scurried about together, gathering supplies.
"Emergency rations all packed... bedding too... What're you doing, Drent?"
Drent was fiddling with a stone in the market square. His hollow eyes stirred pity.
"Still messing with that rock?"
"Huh? Oh... Almost done, I think."
Deculein's stone test.
While Roserio, Ifrin, Ruina, Kreto, and others cleared it one by one, Drent still struggled.
"...Sigh. I gave the hint, so why can't I get it?"
True, Drent first hypothesized a "code" embedded in the stone.
"Whatever. It's not even a real test. Focus on the north."
"Huh? Not a test?"
"Nope. We misunderstood—it's just a performance eval."
"Oh... But it's still an evaluation..."
Drent deflated again, and Ifrin and Allen hurried on.
"Anyway! Armor next! We need leather inside too. You know how many monsters are up north?"
"Yes! Let's go!"
The three entered a shop with a "Weaponry" sign.
And...
Next week.
Wheeeeeeen—!
The horn blared wildly. On the platform, Ifrin and Allen watched the train barrel in, scattering wind.
"...Gulp."
The trip day had snuck up. Tension rose late in Ifrin as she swallowed. But seeing Deculein's calm face beside her soothed her instantly.
He looked utterly relaxed, as if headed to a resort.
"Professor. What'll we be doing up north~?"
Allen asked. Deculein replied simply.
"Exploration and investigation, first."
"Exploration?"
"Yes. The north borders untamed lands."
Though called the polar region, the true extreme lay farther north: the "Untamed Lands," also known as the "Deathlands"—a continent not for humans.
"Infer the Untamed Lands' nature through study, pursue magical discoveries from northern mana phenomena."
Deculein turned to Ifrin.
"If fortune smiles and we witness the aurora, you might experience a momentary breakthrough."
Aurora. The continent's—no, the magic world's—most famed mana phenomenon. Simply beholding it elevates a mage's realm by at least one rank.
Screeeeech—
The train halted with a grotesque screech. The conductor and stationmaster fawned over Deculein.
"An honor to serve you, Professor! An honor!"
Deculein said nothing, turning to Ifrin, Allen, and Drent—still toying with his stone.
"Board."
...In the imperial palace where flowers still bloomed amid winter. The mystical place of eternal spring and eternal winter felt subdued today.
"That one's flitting about everywhere lately? Roundtable last time, now the north."
The source of the gloom: Emperor Sophien.
She had heard Deculein departed north.
"Likely due to winter. Roundtable preparations, northern ones too. Much to ready."
Jolang bowed low in reply. Sophien scowled at the go board.
"Our promised five-game go match nears... Hmph. Not even a fly."
Jolang gauged her mood—agree or observe?
"What shall you do, Your Majesty? If Deculein misses the appointed day—"
"No matter."
"...Yes."
Good call to observe, Jolang thought.
"Begin northern patrol."
"...?"
Sophien's follow-up stunned him. He struggled to process.
But Jolang was no fool to question rashly.
"Why such surprise? Even the late emperor patrolled the north often."
Sophien sneered. Jolang bowed deeper.
"Indeed, Your Majesty. The late emperor visited northern domains yearly to urge winter's end—"
"Yes."
Sophien cut him off.
"Thus, I shall do the same."
"Your benevolence is boundless..."
Jolang bowed without retort. Sophien eyed his bent back.
"Prepare. One horse suffices. 'Twilight,' was it?"
The palace's stallion was extraordinary. Comparable to a tiger.
Bred from the continent's finest mare and stallion, only the supreme is raised for the emperor—treated as kin.
Thus, "it" learns arts from birth like a tiger, runs solely for the emperor, and literally flies through the air.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I shall prepare."
"Good. Dismissed."
"Your benevolence..."
As Jolang backed away, Sophien rose. Destination: the dressing room.
What to wear north. What garb to meet him in—or how to patrol.
"Hm."
Sophien pondered amid countless outfits.