Sprouts in the Wasteland
Melchior had a nightmare.
In the dream, he had inherited the throne and sat upon it, gazing out over the world. What awaited the newly crowned Melchior was nothing but wasteland.
That it was a dream was plain enough. The wasteland belonged to a future two hundred years from now — a sight Melchior could never possibly see. An empty, barren plain, and the only strange thing about it was that Melchior stood there alone. Even so, he counted it a nightmare.
Perhaps because his own ascension might truly bring about such a future.
He tried to leave the throne, but his legs would not obey. Stuck fast to the seat, he watched a familiar figure appear before his eyes.
A woman with white hair. She sat slumped in the wasteland, her pink eyes full of despair, looking at him as though she might die at any moment.
Melchior could not say a word.
Suddenly the woman rose. Steadying herself, she approached with quiet sobs and pressed down on his throat. His neck felt as if it would burst; he could not breathe. Escape never even crossed his mind. The woman's strength snapped Melchior's neck.
He screamed.
"Your Highness?"
Biopia, the scribe sitting beside Melchior's desk, looked at him in alarm.
Melchior touched his own neck, then closed his eyes and calmed his startled heart. Where he sat was not a throne but a worn chair in the outpost operations tent.
"I dozed off," Melchior said.
"Did you have a nightmare?" Biopia asked.
"Yes. A very desolate one."
So saying, he rose from the chair. He gently pushed open the tent flap and looked up at the sky. Stars glittered in the pitch-black night.
Biopia, who had been quietly watching his back, spoke.
"Shall I make you some coffee?"
"That would be nice."
Until Biopia returned with the coffee, Melchior stood there with his arms crossed. She came back from the mess tent and handed him a cup with warm steam rising from it.
"Here you are."
"Mm."
Melchior gave a slight nod of thanks and carefully took the cup. Biopia did not go back inside the tent either; she stood beside him and sipped her coffee.
"Biopia, don't the stars look a little different tonight?"
"...Hmm, do they? I can't really tell."
"Hmm..."
Melchior absently touched the corner of his mouth. Biopia nudged him with her elbow and asked,
"What kind of dream did you have?"
"A dream, a dream..."
"They say it's better not to swallow a bad dream but to speak it aloud — that way the dream-eater will drive it away for you."
"Tapiris is more dangerous than any nightmare."
Tapiris, the beast that fed on dreams, was one of the supreme-class monsters.
Biopia laughed softly and replied,
"It's just a saying. So, what was the dream? Tell me."
"In the dream, I became king."
"That doesn't sound like a nightmare. More like the people's nightmare."
Melchior only laughed, then reached out and grabbed Biopia's head.
"Ah—aaagh!"
And he squeezed, as if to crush it. Biopia raised her hands and slapped at his arm. Only then did he let her go.
"I've been thinking — with you, corporal punishment seems more effective than verbal scolding."
"I'm not a child. Why are you doing this to me?"
"Doesn't it wake you right up?"
"If it's because of the pain, then yes. Just keep talking."
Biopia grumbled. Melchior laughed out loud and sipped his coffee.
"I did become king, but what lay before me was wasteland."
A cold wasteland. An empty land with no smiles of the people, no one from the royal family.
"You're quite worried about it."
"I'm still agonizing over which choice is the right one. As you said, becoming king might not be so bad, but..."
Melchior touched his neck.
"Alice appeared."
Biopia's expression hardened.
"That woman strangled me. No — she snapped my neck. Of course it was all just a story inside my dream, but... it felt as if she were telling me not to become king."
"It was just a dream in the end, wasn't it?"
"I don't know how she herself would think of it."
Biopia shook her head.
"Hunter Alice would never be that kind of person."
"Well, even you can see that. I think so too. That woman is a quiet person. That's why I can never quite figure her out, but I know she's not the type to do something like that."
Melchior fell silent for a moment.
"But the fall of a nation is directly tied to the failure of its leader. So the her in my dream must have resented me. Because that's how I think of it myself. Even now, I find myself doubting whether I have the qualifications of a king."
"Your Highness..."
Melchior walked slowly forward. Leaving footprints on the wasteland, he turned back to look at Biopia.
"A supernatural being. A dragon that crosses time. If we kill that creature, we can bring every story to a close. But can we truly win? Our descendants already failed — can we, living in this world now, defeat that thing?"
Biopia clenched her fist quietly, then nodded.
"You never know until you try. Who can say? Someday, sprouts might grow in the wasteland again."
Melchior met Biopia's eyes.
"Your Highness! Lady Scribe!"
Just then, a familiar hunter with a bob cut came running. It was Noah. She ran up gasping, planted her hands on her knees in front of them, and caught her breath.
Melchior approached her and asked,
"Are you all right? There's cold water inside — would you like a glass?"
Noah shook her head.
"No, I'm fine. Hah..."
Having steadied her breathing, Noah straightened up and met Melchior's gaze.
"So, what is it?"
"Th-there's grass growing in the wasteland. No — it didn't grow slowly. It just appeared out of nowhere..."
Noah's explanation was a little jumbled. She wanted to describe what she had seen, but could not find the right words for it.
Melchior decided it would be better to see for himself than hear it from someone else, so he snapped his fingers and cut her off.
"I'll go look myself. Where is it?"
"...I-I'll guide you."
"Wait — the night is cool. Let me grab a coat from inside."
Biopia caught hold of Melchior.
"I'll go in."
"I'm just fetching coats. Wait here."
So saying, Melchior brought out both Biopia's coat and his own. Biopia bowed her head as she took the coat. Noah accompanied the two of them, now warmly dressed, back the way she had come.
"So, new sprouts have come up?"
"Yes, that's right. But they're not ordinary..."
A short while later, Melchior faced the anomaly Noah had described.
In the middle of the wasteland, grass and turf really were growing in an awkward patch. It felt as if someone had cut soil from somewhere else and pasted it there alone. Hunters and soldiers stood around it, murmuring together as they looked at the ground.
Melchior thought anew that the sight was truly peculiar. The hunters and soldiers of Angolo had defeated Disastro together and shared life and death; their relationship was especially good. He had heard Lacrima was a complete mess because of the friction between hunters and soldiers.
Melchior thought of General Gero and smiled bitterly.
"Your Highness, you've arrived!"
"Ah, His Highness is here!"
Everyone bowed their heads in greeting to Melchior. He waved a hand roughly in acknowledgment.
Standing before the grass, Melchior bent his knees and examined the ground. The texture of the wasteland sand and the soil beneath the grass were completely different. He ran his hand over the damp clod of earth, then gently rubbed his fingers to shake the dirt free.
Melchior asked the hunters,
"Is it only here?"
"Not just this place. These patches are being discovered all over right now."
At the hunter's answer, Melchior nodded.
"As far as I know, before this land became wasteland, it was originally grassland. It must have felt just like this. This is not an anomaly. The wasteland soil is bone-dry, but the earth under this grass holds moisture."
"...Then..."
"Time seems to be returning. Back to our time, that is."
Everyone's faces brightened at Melchior's words.
Noah asked,
"Then... is the wasteland disappearing?"
"If my thinking is correct, yes. This outpost has served its purpose. If this is ordinary grassland rather than wasteland, there will be nothing more to explore."
Noah's eyes went wide. In other words, they could now leave Angolo and go see Alice.
Melchior looked around at everyone once and raised his eyebrows.
"We have explored many things here and obtained a great deal of information. Most of it concerns the people of the future, but that alone is sufficient, I believe."
"Then...!"
Melchior smiled and straightened his back.
"We will observe the progress for the remaining time, and if no further measures are needed, let us return to our families' arms along with the vanishing of the wasteland."
The people cheered. At last the wretched business of Angolo was ending. It was a situation in which no one could help but smile.
Biopia and Melchior slipped away from among them. Biopia said quietly to Melchior,
"Everyone seems happy."
Melchior shrugged.
"We don't know what might happen yet, so it's still too early to celebrate."
"Still, we'll probably go back. All the dangerous monsters are dead."
"That's true enough."
What remained was why this land was returning. If other places besides the wasteland were changing as well, they could compare the conditions and infer the reason.
"So the sprouts really did come up after all."
"You were right. It feels a little different, though."
It was not that sprouts were growing — it was simply returning to how it once was. If they could go even further from here and change the ruined future... The wasteland would vanish, and they could return once more to a brilliant Cartadia.
Even if the kingdom's future seemed predetermined, it could surely change. You never know until you try. Then Alice, too, would be able to smile with peace of mind.
"So, Scribe — what do you plan to do once we return?"
"First, I think I'll report to the royal chef about Your Highness's picky eating and the number of candies you've eaten so far."
"Alas, woe is me. So you weren't just writing monster-themed romance novels beside me all this time."
"...How did you know?"
"There is nothing I do not know."
Biopia swallowed hard. Then she pouted her lips again and said,
"H-however, Your Highness knows how terrifying the royal chef is. You're going to have to treat me very well."
Melchior stared straight at Biopia.
"Yes, you've worked hard too, Scribe. You've always suffered beside me, covering for my shortcomings. And without knowing that heart of yours, I..."
"That's right. You should understand the heart of this elite scribe who has suffered at your side."
Then Melchior reached out. Biopia squeezed her eyes shut.
Whatever she had been expecting, Melchior grabbed her head again. And he pressed down hard with force.
"Now understand my heart as well."
"Ah—aaagh!! M-my skull is going to crack!"
Melchior let out a sigh.