Dreams and Memories, Voice. (5)
“B-bullshit, you fucking bastard—!”
A curse she’d never uttered aloud in her life roared out like a lion’s bellow.
The entire house shook violently, and Ifrin stomped the floor in fury.
“You son of a—!”
Iron Neck seized the back of her neck.
“Stay still.”
“Let go! Let me go!”
Ifrin flailed like a fish dragged onto dry land, but Iron Neck restrained her calmly.
“It’s your dream. If you shake, it’s your loss.”
“...No it’s not!”
“Think back on everything you’ve learned. How long do you plan to stay immature?”
“...”
Those words sounded just like Deculein’s. Thanks to them, Ifrin calmed a bit and glared at Dikailen.
The bastard was smiling.
—...Child. You’ll understand someday. Your fate was sealed the moment you were conceived...
At that moment, the metal shards Iron Neck had scattered resonated. They blocked the exchange between the air and the medium—severing sound transmission.
“...”
Dikailen’s lips moved, but no voice came through.
Ifrin looked up at Iron Neck, then back at Dikailen.
—...
Soon, Dikailen shook his head. But Ifrin read his lips.
‘In this world, you’re all alone. Trust no one.’
Dikailen vanished.
...The mansion’s room fell into profound silence.
Ifrin slumped onto the bed, panting heavily.
“What the hell was that psycho...”
Ifrin scowled fiercely. Pig-dog-shit-jellyfish-skeleton-brat—she ground her teeth muttering the insults, then looked up at Iron Neck.
“He can’t even spout bullshit that makes sense. Right?”
Iron Neck gazed down at her. His expressionless face offered no reply.
“...Right? What kind of dad hates his own kid.”
“...”
“Pfft. As if anyone’d fall for that.”
“...”
Iron Neck remained silent.
“Jeez. It’s so ridiculous...”
Ifrin’s snicker faded into a stiff expression.
She turned to Iron Neck.
“...But you.”
He, in Deculein’s form, had kept his mouth shut from the start.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
Ifrin didn’t know why.
No—she suspected, but pushed the thought away.
“...”
Iron Neck resembled Deculein. He carried Deculein’s memories and never lied.
He’d choose silence first.
“You...”
Ifrin stared blankly at Iron Neck. A flicker of emotion stirred in his cold eyes.
Pity.
“Why...?”
Snap—!
Iron Neck snapped his fingers.
The room contracted in an instant, and Ifrin awoke from the dream.
“Ugh!”
She bolted upright. Blinked hard. Looked around.
Something was off.
“...!”
She couldn’t see.
As if the whole world had blacked out. Or like she’d gone blind...
“Ah, I can’t see!”
“Ugh!”
A weird grunt came from over there. I turned toward it.
“...”
Ifrin, who’d been drooling asleep face-down, finally stirred. A paper was stuck to her cheek from the saliva.
A work document titled [Recor Dak Supply Investigation].
She whipped her head around in that state, then jolted—! Her whole body shuddered. And she yelled.
“Ah, I can’t see!”
“...”
“...No way, that bastard!”
Whoever that was.
I shook my head, and Ifrin flailed her arms wildly in the air.
“I can’t see, I can’t—why can’t I see—!!”
What a pathetic tantrum. She seemed to be turning into more of an idiot by the day.
“My eyes... I can’t...”
I used Telekinesis to peel the paper off her face.
“...”
Flutter—flutter—flutter—
“...”
The paper drifted to the floor, and Ifrin blankly followed its fall.
“...”
Finally grasping the situation, she turned to me.
“...Ah.”
Sizzle—steam rose from the top of her head, her face turning beet red.
“S-sorry, sorry! I dozed off for a sec and lost my mind...”
I floated a sheet of paper toward her. The moment she saw it via Telekinesis, Ifrin flinched.
“It’s a written apology. Explain the full circumstances.”
“...Yes.”
I picked up my fountain pen again. But progress on the letter stalled.
This dispatch to the Imperial Palace needed a formal tone, as it would reach the Emperor and her ministers. Writing something utterly unacademic was proving difficult.
The books I’d read in this world skewed heavily toward academia, humanities, and magic over literature.
“Hm...”
That said, Earth had a famously renowned declaration of war. A masterpiece worth referencing—the archetype of such missives from a legendary figure.
Zhuge Liang’s record, starting with “Your subject Liang humbly submits—” that anyone into history games has read at least once.
“...”
I closed my eyes and traced the lingering sentences in my mind with Understanding.
Drawing on his mindset while drafting it—though Ifrin’s side-glances were annoying—I inscribed my own version onto the blank page...
...Lately, the Imperial Palace’s grand hall buzzed with meetings. Several times a day, fierce debates raged whether Sophien attended or not.
The topic: the beasts’ uprising.
Reports of monsters swarming not just the continental frontiers like the north and west, but even the central mountains and forests, were deeply alarming.
“Rohalak is fully fortified, but the north is the problem, Your Majesty.”
One minister spoke. Sophien gazed down at them from her throne.
“Recor Dak’s scouts report the beasts’ numbers rival the infinite sands.”
The northern reports stunned the palace.
The scouts described Mieolji’s landscape. Herds of monsters in dense formation. Easily tens of millions by sight.
Sophien said,
“Deculein’s prediction was correct.”
“...Yes. For now.”
All in the hall bowed briefly. The ministers who’d mocked him, calling him a false prophet, couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
“You always add qualifiers. ‘For now’? You idiots.”
Sophien propped her chin crookedly, berating them.
““‘We beg your pardon...’””
“I don’t want to hear that either! Always ‘beg pardon, beg pardon.’ Don’t screw up to begin with. So, what do you think? Should we reinforce the north?”
Sophien asked. The ministers eyed each other warily. They had opinions, but feared her scrutiny.
“...If Professor Deculein’s prediction holds.”
Old minister Romelock stepped forward.
“Blocking that colossal horde in the north is unrealistic.”
“Then?”
Sophien countered. Romelock continued steadily.
“Professor Deculein clings to Recor Dak dreaming of the chairmanship, but summoning him and repelling the beasts from a safer spot seems wisest.”
“You mean abandon the north?”
“...For now, it’s the most efficient. And only half. The key chokepoint is the Gettel Gate, linking north to center.”
It was reasonable.
If this was the most threatening monster wave in nearly 30 years—no, imperial history—ceding half the north served the national interest.
The north wasn’t hugely profitable anyway; losing half wouldn’t hurt much.
“Gettel Gate is a natural fortress for large battles and sieges. We could engage the beasts in full force there—”
Knock knock—
A knock echoed in the hall. Sophien and all ministers turned to the door.
“What is this?”
Who dared interrupt a state council? Romelock bellowed.
“Who goes there!”
—A letter from the north, Recor Dak, Your Majesty.
“...Recor Dak?”
The ministers froze. They glanced at Sophien. Expressionless, she said,
“Enter.”
—Your benevolence humbles us.
Creeeak...
Beyond the solemnly opening doors, an adventurer trudged in, clutching a scroll in one hand.
Romelock, frowning, demanded,
“Who sent it?”
“From ‘Deculein von Grahan Yukline.’ A direct report from Recor Dak.”
Romelock scoffed.
“Hah, what?”
Sophien crossed one leg, nodding lazily in a delinquent pose.
“Worthy of a field report. Come, read it.”
“Yes.”
The adventurer knelt first, then unrolled the scroll.
“Ahem.”
A throat-clearing under countless gazes.
Soon, a booming recitation filled the hall.
Your predecessor ascended without fully realizing his noble aspirations and banners, while Your Majesty, at such a tender age, graciously shouldered the sacred duties. This subject has ever wished only to be of service to Your Majesty.
The efforts to keep this subject from sloth stemmed from a single word of Your Majesty’s, to repay that undeserved imperial grace. Surely the knights and ministers of the court feel the same, ever striving to aid Your Majesty...
This subject was once merely a tower professor, treading no special path, obsessed solely with personal achievements—a selfish egoist. Yet Your Majesty appointed me court mage, trusted my petty utterances, and soothed my foolish slips with laughter. Moved, I resolved to spare not my body in service.
Thus, divining from scattered facts and figures across the continent, this subject offered a prediction to aid Your Majesty, however meager. I hoped my fleeting thought proved wrong, but heaven is indifferent—a cold, fierce wind soon sweeps the land.
Yet this subject shall not stand idle as internal foes and external threats bring calamity to the Empire.
Thus, now is the hour for throne and subjects to unite, with resolute will and impartial rewards and punishments. When winter’s gales howl, the palace scholars and warriors shall surely be Your Majesty’s strength.
This subject has ever sought to aid Your Majesty, who has ever trusted this subject. Duty compels repayment of that trust.
Your Majesty, the north has borne its burdens alone thus far, but I remain here to manifest Your will. Amid this trial of winter, even should countless beasts eye our borders, your subject Deculein shall never show his back. I shall embody Your Majesty’s intent...
Your Majesty is the beacon of Empire and continent, a hero surpassing any predecessor in qualities.
This unworthy subject trusts Your Majesty and shall remain through this winter.
May Your sacred body remain hale, ever in peace, and may You find happiness.
Sophien listened curtly.
The ministers felt awkward. Some were even moved. Deculein’s words defended the ministers Sophien scorned.
—...Had there been such a time? Sophien mulled it over, dredging up old memories.
The ministers bowed solemnly at those words.
Deculein’s missive continued in the style of a loyal vassal—worrying for the continent from the harsh north, urging ministers, praising imperial grace.
—...Your Majesty. The north has handled its affairs, but I shall stay and manifest Your will. Amid this trial...
Sophien leaned back in her throne.
Her tense body relaxed, a tiny sigh escaping.
—May Your sacred body remain hale... and may You find happiness.
The long declaration ended. The adventurer, focused only on recitation, set down the scroll and bowed.
“...”
Silence gripped the hall.
The final line lingered in Sophien’s chest.
—May You find happiness.
Why this fixation on my happiness? Does he get scraps if I’m happy?
But more irritatingly.
“...A man who writes letters this well.”
Why send me just one curt line?
“Bring the letter here.”
Sophien clicked her tongue. The adventurer offered the scroll most deferentially.
She unrolled it, reading silently. Soundlessly imbibing the professor’s heart.
At last, the Emperor’s verdict.
“...This missive shall be preserved.”
She tucked the scroll into her bosom. With her chin, she pointed at Romelock.
“Romelock, continue.”
“...”
Romelock—who’d advocated abandoning the north before the letter arrived—went mute as a honeyed fool.
Recor Dak, in the heart of the snowy forest: the antique Yukline Manor.
“Nothing to be done if Dikailen keeps appearing in your dreams...”
I entered Ifrin’s room but paused.
Pink plastered everywhere.
“...Ah. This. It’s not like I decorated on purpose... Why’d you barge in suddenly...?”
Ifrin panicked. She Telekinesis-ed a rabbit doll off the bed.
I shook my head.
“Anyway. Today, we enter via the Voice.”
“...Ah, yes.”
Ifrin nodded sluggishly, clutching her pillow tight.
“Sleep first. We’ll meet when the time comes.”
“Ah, yes... Whatever...”
Ifrin lay in her bed hesitantly. I sat in the rocking chair by the fireplace and opened a book.
“Professor, we really just sleep like this?”
I nodded silently and read.
“...Just sleep?”
I glared.
“Ask again and—”
“Ah, no, I won’t, I won’t.”
“...”
Ifrin finally shut up. I resumed reading.
Wondering idly how the palace dispatch fared—I’d sent it hoping for reinforcements.
“Hey, Professor.”
Ifrin spoke.
“My... my d—!”
I Telekinesis-sealed her mouth.
“Mmph—mmph!”
“Sleep.”
“...Fne!”
Ifrin glared, shaking her head. She flipped over, pulling the covers up.
Now she’ll sleep, I thought.
“Snooore—snooore—SNOOOORE———”
Ifrin was out in three seconds.
“...”
An absurd talent, but convenient.
I approached, placing a hand on her forehead.
“...Tch.”
Skin on skin felt off. Gloves would negate it, though.
Forcing my eyes shut, I channeled mana.
The spell: harmony series—Dream Contact.
With this, we’d enter the Voice’s world together...