The Clock Tower's Melody
Two months had passed since Elisa and I began our journey alone. Starting from a typical rural village in Tarykin, we wandered through various cities, experiencing the culture and scenery in peaceful days. Now we were staying in Urkan, the capital of Tarykin. The camper was too cumbersome to drive inside the city, so we had left it outside the walls for the time being.
‘I’ve felt this for a while now. Tarykin seems to have far too many unnecessary conditions for dividing people into classes.’
“Perhaps it’s because every other nation on the same continent has abolished the monarchy?”
‘They must have created even stricter, more pointless, and complicated clauses to control the wavering public sentiment. It’s truly useless and inefficient. Especially the slave system.’
We sat in a second-floor café, sipping coffee, while beneath our seats passed slaves wearing the escape-prevention collars that marked their status. Their shabby clothes were caked with exhaustion, and their movements resembled the hollow thrashing of those who lived only because they could not die.
“Even compared to other countries that practice slavery, this is particularly cruel. Every rural village we passed on the way to the capital used slaves for every single task, down to the village level.”
‘It’s far harsher than the slavery system of the Western Continent. From labor to battles against monsters, everything is forced upon the slaves.’
At least on the Western Continent, men often fought monsters directly and ended up dead or crippled, while also handling farming and factory work themselves. Tarykin’s slave system was incomparably more brutal than even the treatment of women there, who were used solely as sex slaves. As a result, the farming scenes in the villages we passed were almost unbearable to watch. Emaciated slaves, barely fed, bled under their masters’ whips as they struggled to till the fields. With so many slaves working in such wretched conditions, the pace of labor remained painfully slow despite their numbers.
One village, located at a crossroads between several others, had even set up a full-scale slave market run by traders, complete with a large breeding facility selling child slaves. After witnessing that, we passed through without stopping.
‘In an age where agricultural machinery has made farming far more efficient than manual labor, it’s absurd that Tarykin clings to outdated methods just to preserve the slave system. They even operate collective breeding facilities at the village level to maintain slave numbers.’
“That’s why they can’t get along with neighboring countries. Kensers has officially abolished class distinctions, and Ryuzan abolished slavery long ago.”
Xenuma was so militaristic that it operated under the concept of “every citizen is a soldier,” so while it had military ranks, it had no slaves. In reality, the only nations still practicing slavery were Daviwana on the Western Continent and Tarykin on the Eastern Continent. Because the Western Continent lay far across the sea, its influence was limited, but Tarykin shared a direct border, making relations extremely poor.
“I suddenly wonder—angels are property of Eden as objects, so they aren’t slaves, right?”
‘Conceptually, yes. But in practice, they’re no different from slaves. After all, none of them can leave Eden, their personal freedoms are severely restricted, and they must work in the sex industry for the most part.’
“Ah, I see. Still, Eden doesn’t officially have slavery. The fact that angels have their human rights stripped away is something only insiders know.”
‘The suspicions that existed before also died down once the angels began forming symbiosis with Abaddons and regained their emotions.’
As we sipped coffee and admired the capital lined with classical architecture, we noticed people secretly pasting papers onto walls. They glanced around before slapping up posters and vanishing into the crowd, appearing in multiple places at once. Zooming in with my vision, I read the posters: a red background crossed with a sickle and hammer, and text in a fierce tone calling for the awakening of slaves and workers.
‘Those are the propaganda leaflets for Marukos’s socialist movement that have been causing such a stir on the internet lately. They’re pushing for the liberation of the slave class and securing workers’ rights.’
“Ah, I saw a few people discussing it on the game community boards. It’s a theory advocated by a scholar named Marukos who studied abroad, in opposition to the nobility, king, and merchants monopolizing wealth.”
‘The claim that profits from the products made by the lower classes—whether at the village or national level—should be fairly distributed to the workers and slaves who produce them is gaining strong support. Of course, the nobles and king are openly suppressing it, so it’s spreading quietly underground, but the speed of its growth is tremendous.’
Near the propaganda, a crowd of people—though not as ragged as the slaves—gathered to read the text, nodding and conversing with one another. Suddenly, a group of uniformed men rushed in from somewhere and began swinging batons to forcibly disperse the workers. The workers, their faces twisted as they watched the posters being torn down, scattered in all directions to avoid the wildly swinging clubs.
“Not a pleasant sight.”
The café owner, a bald but stylish middle-aged man, had been watching the scene from the railing. He approached us with a bitter smile.
“The world is changing rapidly, yet only Tarykin remains resistant to change. Where are you from?”
“We came from Eden.”
“Oh, Eden—the most advanced nation. The country that opened its once-closed borders and rose to become a technological powerhouse. It’s a place I’ve always wanted to visit at least once.”
“Thank you.”
He chatted amiably, sharing various rumors about Eden.
“Not long ago, they broadcast a rather unusual event. Women pulling carriages instead of horses—what a spectacle. I watched it for quite a while out of sheer curiosity.”
“It was entertaining, wasn’t it?”
“Ahem, indeed it was.”
It seemed they were raising awareness by broadcasting the Mare races as planned. We had decided to air the event because the women’s colorful racing outfits—revealing yet elegant, accentuating their figures without excessive exposure—and their striking postures during the intense races made for compelling viewing.
The owner glanced repeatedly at the tag on my left ear before asking cautiously, “I heard that all the Mare athletes in the races wear tags on their ears. Are you perhaps a Mare yourself?”
“I used to race as a Mare. I’m not a competitor anymore, though.”
While I simply kept my Mare tag on at all times, active Mares removed theirs in daily life to conceal their status. Only during races did they wear them.
“Active Mares don’t wear their tags unless they’re racing, to hide their identities. Since I’ve retired, there’s no need for me to hide it, so I keep mine on.”
“Ah, I see. Still, I’m lucky to have met a real Mare in person.”
His gaze toward me shifted from that of a customer to that of someone observing a curious animal. He probably thought he was hiding it well, but having grown accustomed to reading others’ emotions and gazes, I saw everything clearly. Especially that desire-filled look—it was all too familiar to ignore.
After sweeping his eyes over my seated body, he managed to compose himself and said, “I’ve heard rumors that if you personally sponsor a Mare athlete, you can receive special services. Is that true?”
“Yes, it’s a reward for their precious sponsors.”
“Hmm, hmm.”
His face flushed slightly as he cleared his throat in embarrassment. The “special services” he referred to were a modified version of mating services. Once a Mare reached the sponsorship amount she had set herself, she would invite the sponsor to a fan meeting or a private encounter. While sexual services weren’t officially listed, it was an open secret that private meetings ultimately led to intercourse.
I sipped my coffee, feeling the café owner’s increasingly blatant, desire-filled gaze on my body. Still, he was a man with some self-control—he only looked and made no advances or suggestive gestures.
After finishing my coffee and leaving the café with the owner’s send-off, I asked Elisa as we walked down the street, “So, are we really going to Ryuzan during that season?”
That season was called “the season the world stops.” Although the Eastern Continent remained warm year-round, once every sixteen months there came a two-month period of brutal cold. Accompanied by tremendous snowfall, this season blanketed the world with a ferocity comparable to the rainy season’s torrential downpours that lasted one to two months. Even trains crossing the continent ceased operation, halting all logistics—in short, everything on the continent came to a standstill.
‘Yes. As soon as that season ends, there will be a grand religious ceremony held by the Sun God Church in Ryuzan. We could stay in Ryuzan in advance, but I want to travel across the snow-covered plains.’
“Won’t it be dangerous?”
‘With our full-body prosthetics and control over vital energy, a little snow won’t stop us. Don’t worry so much.’
“Well, if you say so, Elisa, then it must be fine.”
Now that Elisa had become my new master in all but name, my anxiety faded as she spoke with such confidence. Through consistent training during our travels, I had eventually signed the contract not long ago. The moment I signed, I felt something binding me, and thus everything about me fell into Elisa’s hands. This slave system program, as stated in the contract, granted an extremely wide range of authority and imposed corresponding restrictions. Because I had personally surrendered control of my brain and body, everything—from basic human desires to bodily responses—fell under the program’s control and could be adjusted as Elisa manipulated it.
Yet the one holding that authority, Elisa, did nothing beyond controlling certain desires. The current state was no different from before the contract, but the pleasant tension of knowing I could be controlled at any moment settled warmly in my heart.
“But why did you say not to call you ‘Master’?”
‘Why? Do you want to call me Master?’
“It was you who trained and dominated me, after all. There’s even the slave system.”
‘But the foundation of my AI has the young lady set as the master. Since we are each other’s masters, we could call it a partnership.’
“I like the sound of that. Each other’s masters.”
Between us, I held the initiative, yet it was Elisa who actually controlled me—a peculiar relationship. Elisa, an AI who needed me to move freely as she did now, and I, who could not maintain or manage my full-body prosthetic without her. We were each necessary to the other, and as Elisa said, we were closer to partners.
‘More than anything, I don’t want to be called Master by you. Let’s just continue as before.’
“Alright, I understand. Let’s stay as we are.”
We agreed that what was good for both was best. Having settled the matter of the title “Master,” we walked diligently toward the capital’s landmark—the clock tower performance. At noon sharp, while the clock tower’s bell rang twelve times, a performance troupe would emerge and stage a traditional show, an essential tourist course in Urkan. The short performance, lasting twelve minutes with one bell strike per minute, was nationally famous as something one had to see in person.
The grand clock tower and the wide plaza beneath it were already crowded with people who had arrived early for the performance. The front was packed, so we found a spot somewhat toward the back and waited. Soon, more people pressed in behind us, gradually pushing us forward.
“Wow, there are so many people.”
‘Be careful of your pockets. There are a lot of pickpockets.’
“If someone can pick pockets without us noticing, they must be quite skilled.”
I stared intently at a young child who was eyeing a tourist’s pocket from the front diagonal. The child noticed my gaze, looked at my face, and fled in surprise into the crowd.
‘With that doll-like expressionless face and dead eyes staring so directly, children will all run away, you know?’
“I was just standing there watching.”
‘It’s time you accepted that you now look like an emotionless doll.’
“Should I start acting again after all?”
‘I like you just as you are now. You really do look like a beautiful doll, and I like that.’
“You like my doll-like appearance?”
‘Yes. So don’t think about acting again—live as a doll, just as you are.’
“Okay, I understand.”
Truthfully, I didn’t feel particularly uncomfortable with my current state either, so I decided to follow Elisa’s words that she liked me this way. Once I made up my mind and answered, a sense of relief and happiness washed over me.
‘Thank you for listening to me, young lady. As a reward, I made you feel good—how was it?’
“Mm, I didn’t ask for a reward, but it does feel nice.”
‘If you keep listening to me from now on, I’ll make you feel good again.’
It felt somewhat like being tamed, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Rather, I liked Elisa, who needed me and cared for me. Despite the discomfort of the crowd, Elisa’s reward allowed me to wait pleasantly.
Soon, the doors of the clock tower opened, and people in traditional attire poured out, taking their positions in the plaza as they waited for the bell to strike. The moment the first bell rang announcing noon, a synchronized dance and music began. Women in flowing long skirts spun gracefully with ornaments in their hands, while men playing instruments danced around them. The intertwined yet orderly movements expressed both exuberance and restraint.
“Wow, it’s beautiful.”
‘It really is. Truly magnificent.’
As expected, it was no coincidence that this was listed as an essential tourist course in travel guides. After twelve minutes of dazzling dance, the troupe bowed amid a shower of applause and cheers. I clapped as well, expressing my satisfaction with the performance. It had been a short but wonderful spectacle.
Once the troupe disappeared back into the clock tower amid the cheers, the gathered tourists scattered once more, just as they had gathered. Blending into the flow, we stepped out onto the central avenue and checked our next schedule.
“What’s next on the plan?”
‘There’s a research institute developing flight devices a little ways from here. That’s where we’re going. In fact, the reason we chose Tarykin as our very first travel destination was because of that.’
“Flight devices? Like jump packs?”
‘No. Enormous machines with wings, like birds, that soar through the sky.’
“A giant machine flying in the sky? Is that even possible?”
No matter how I thought about it, something that massive would be incredibly heavy—how could it fly? It was hard to believe.
‘Theoretically, it’s possible. According to the paper by the institute’s director, Wel Rostang, if sufficient propulsion is added to a device with fixed wings, the airflow directed downward generates lift that pushes the wings upward, allowing ascent.’
“I don’t understand what that means.”
‘In any case, it means a massive machine carrying dozens or even hundreds of people can fly through the sky—much faster and with more freedom than trains that can only run on rails.’
Being an AI, Elisa had grown into a child who loved science and remarkable technologies. That was why she enjoyed seeking out various unusual technologies that were considered fringe even in Eden. Attempting to fly such a giant machine through skies filled with flying monsters was inherently problematic, so it was likely treated as taboo and fringe science.
“Isn’t it dangerous to fly such a machine through skies filled with monsters? That’s why it’s considered fringe, right?”
‘That’s why their goal is to fly at high speeds at altitudes where flying monsters cannot reach. I’m really looking forward to visiting the institute that supposedly has a prototype applying jet engine technology originally developed for missiles.’
“Technology used in missiles? Doesn’t that mean it’ll explode like a missile?”
‘Missiles explode because of the warhead in the front. The propulsion technology is separate.’
“I really don’t understand science at all.”
In truth, I didn’t understand the technology behind my own prosthetic body either. Still, perhaps because I had been studying music consistently, I could tell that the music the performance troupe had played earlier was a twelve-minute arranged version of Zadarnikov’s “Harvest Festival Performance No. 3,” one of Tarykin’s traditional pieces.