What the Eyes Believe
People believe what they see, and anyone who understands that finds it a simple thing to deceive them.
An ignorant people is easier still. Successes are set out in the open; failures are hidden away. The slightest grooming is enough. They catch fire easily, and they believe just as easily.
Now and then, though, something arises that cannot be hidden. A long breath slipped from Glen's mouth. He stood at the window and let his gaze fall.
Below him, a man somewhat shorter than the men of the Tyrone Kingdom was swinging a sword, and not well. His blade work would have shamed a boy of ten; he only jabbed at empty air. The woman beside him was worse. Nearly a month had passed since she first took up a sword, and she still could not even find a proper stance.
His brow drew tight of its own accord. Those two were mages. They had no need of swords, and he had told them so more than once. It was they who had insisted anyway.
They never meant to learn in the first place.
There had been a day when the pair put on helmets and armor. Once they actually wore the things, they found them too heavy. They managed a few steps and stripped them off again at once. Swords and armor had simply looked impressive to them.
The reports said they sometimes grumbled that reality was not what they had imagined, then dressed themselves up to look the part and admired the result in a mirror. No grit. No will. Utterly useless.
Even if they had been eager, there would have been little to show for it. A sword must be handled from childhood. An adult who takes it up late does not easily become a master. Worse, the pair were slow to learn in every respect—slow to learn the language, slow to take etiquette into their bodies, slow even at the most important thing of all, the handling of magic.
A sigh escaped him before he knew it. The only way those two surpassed ordinary people was in the sheer strength of their power. Strength alone, though, could accomplish nothing. Power meant something only when it could be wielded. Power that could not be wielded was nothing but a disaster.
A person's mouth cannot be stopped. They were being as careful as they could, wrapping the truth in as much packaging as they could manage, but sooner or later the people would see those two as they truly were. It would be better if something came of them before that day. Looking at them now, there was no hope of it.
"You must not linger here too long, Your Highness."
An attendant called his attention back.
Glen left the window after watching the woman hero whisper something to her guard knight and laugh. Through the glass came the man's voice, sharp with anger at the sight of her.
This world was neither a play nor a painting. Go hungry, and the belly aches; take a wound, and blood comes. Heroes were no different. They too could fall ill or be hurt, and when they grew old their strength would fail. Anyone with a mind takes the measure of their own position and makes plans. They work toward something a little better, watch their surroundings with care, judge who might be of use to them, and seek cooperation or intimacy. In any case, they do something.
Those two would not. They responded only to pleasure and praise when it was handed to them. They looked like innocent children who had grown in body and in nothing else.
If only they had been somewhat better people.
Had they been, both Glen and his father the king would have approached them meaning to put them to real use. A vulgar idiot with nothing but strength can be used as nothing more than a common horse. You give them a lover, coin, and a title that only sounds fine, work them until they get a child, and that is the end of it.
Heroes, at last, and what a waste.
But were those two truly heroes? At first he had been certain. Now doubt had taken root.
The Tyrone Kingdom had never performed a Hero Summoning. One day the two of them had simply appeared in the chamber where the summoning circle was drawn. There had been no rite, and still everyone had assumed they were heroes, a gift the gods had sent for Tyrone in the midst of war. Their looks, the place they had appeared—there had been no room for doubt.
We should have handled them with more care.
According to legend and the records handed down, a hero can wield many kinds of power. Those two possessed only one. There was no sign of any other power trying to emerge. They clearly held tremendous strength, and yet they felt like half of something.
It was too late to say so. His father the king and the head of the temple had both come to sense that something was wrong, and still no one spoke first. Word that those two were heroes had already spread through the whole country. The rumor had flown as far as other kingdoms. It was the king, and Glen himself, who had fanned it through their spies.
Glen let out a light breath and quickened his steps. The thought of meeting his father weighed on him past bearing, but putting it off would not make the matter go away.
When he had crossed the long corridor and reached the office, the door opened before he had to stop. Proof that his father had been waiting. The weight in his chest sank deeper. It felt as if an unseen hand had reached up from the floor to drag at him. He forced his unwilling feet inside, and his father, who had been standing with his face to the window, turned.
"You have come. You are late."
"Forgive me."
"It is nothing."
His father crossed to a nearby chair, sat, and indicated the seat opposite with his eyes. Glen took it, a little tense.
"How are the heroes?"
"...Still no further power has shown itself."
"Any sign they might make a Rudolph?"
His father would already know the answer. Glen lowered his eyes a little.
"No. Today, again, it was only two magical beasts that died."
"What if they are neither heroes nor Santa's contractors...."
The king broke off and shut his mouth. He glared at the ceiling. After a moment lost in thought, he asked again.
"Is it certain those two met Santa?"
"Yes. That much is certain. I was told they met him when they were very young."
"And it is true they made wishes of him?"
"Yes, Father. They said they wished several times. There is no doubt Santa answered. They stated clearly that they had received gifts."
"Both of them?"
"Yes."
"Then why...."
His father sighed deeply. Even if they were not heroes, it would have been good had they been Santa's contractors. Better, even. But however many magical beasts were brought to them at great trouble, they could not make a Rudolph.
"Father."
When Glen hesitated and spoke, the king looked at him.
"Magical beasts have become difficult to obtain within the kingdom. Seek them too openly and rumors will spread. Seek them in secret, and there are simply too few."
That was the greatest problem at present. They still did not know whether the heroes could make Rudolphs, and they could not give up too early. A magical beast, though, was the hardest quarry to take alive. There were few of them to begin with. Obtaining them without a rumor spreading had become impossible.
His father nodded lightly.
"Yes. I suppose so."
He beckoned the chief attendant. When the man drew near, the king spoke low.
"Contact the merchant of the Wind Kingdom and have him obtain magical beasts. A request to the Santa Guild of the Simoni Kingdom should do it. Their magical-beast hunters are famous for their skill."
Simoni was at war with their own kingdom. Glen stared at his father, the sense knocked clean out of his face.
"But Father, that country is our enemy. We are at war with them."
His father grinned.
"Glen. Do you know that this long war has left our treasury in difficulty?"
"Of course."
"Then where do you suppose the money comes from to buy weapons and feed the soldiers?"
Glen had no answer.
"Plunder."
"What?"
"Our kingdom has been thieving in a number of other countries. It is time you knew."
Good God. The story was so absurd that a foolish look must have crossed his face. His father chuckled.
"When we plunder, there is a trading house in the Wind Kingdom that disguises the goods and sees them across the border. A capable man. Leave it to him and he will hide our hand and obtain the beasts, so do not worry overmuch."
"...Yes. I understand."
"Later the chief attendant will arrange for you to meet him. Watch his methods closely."
"Yes."
That was the end of the talk. The aftertaste lingered. To think the king had been permitting plunder in other countries....
It can't be.
A ruler deceiving the eyes of his people was a thing that could happen. No—it was only natural. Politics was not a matter of remaining clean. He had known that. But plunder? Revulsion rose in him.
Glen hid the feeling, bowed his head in silence, and left the office. He walked the corridor armored in the blank face he had worn for years.
"Your Highness."
A voice from behind stopped him. He turned, and the attendant lowered his brows a little and spoke quietly.
"You keep wiping your lips."
He realized he had been rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. Glen closed his fist.
"I thought something had gotten on them."
The attendant bowed his head and said nothing.
Glen walked on with his fist clenched tight, so the hand would not rise again. Through a window came the heroes' sharp voices. They seemed to be fighting. He realized he was rubbing his lips once more.
Human beings are quick to adapt. He had come to this guild only a handful of times, and already it felt as if he had been walking through the door for years.
The moment he stepped inside, the adventurers seated in the chairs to the right turned as one toward Juhwan. The sight of them, and the men sitting there, felt much the same as before. Surely they were not all idlers. Why, then, did it seem that the very same faces were sitting in the very same places?
Lizzie tilted her head, puzzled.
"Juhwan, what's wrong?"
He told her it was nothing. She caught Dorothy's hand and brushed past him, smiling.
"Come on, let's go in. Red Sword will be waiting."
The first time they had come, Lizzie and Dorothy had been stiff as boards. This time they walked in without a moment's hesitation, sure of their steps. Lizzie's back was straight as she went, and she looked composed. She felt like a true adventurer.
Living beside her every day, he had not thought she had changed so much. Seen all at once like this, he understood how different she was from the woman he had first met. If he let himself believe that meeting him had changed her, she became dear and lovely all over again. He felt like a gardener who had tended a flower with obsessive care until it bloomed.
Red Sword had taken a corner table. For some reason, only the air around them was different from before. He was still wondering what had changed when it came to him. Unlike last time, the men nearby were not baiting them with rough words or laughing in their faces.
Something happened.
He drew closer with that thought, and saw blood on the table where Red Sword sat. Red drops had gathered over round gouges that looked like the marks of nails.
Chatterbox, the guild clerk, launched into them.
"Now listen, you lot. Don't imagine that even you can walk away from this. Damage guild property and you pay for it. That is only proper. Do you have any idea what our supplies already cost, with violent people smashing them every time they come through? That is why the tables and chairs in this guild are extraordinarily sturdy. We bought the expensive ones. Do you know why? Because hot-blooded adventurers like you break them every time. Fine. This one didn't actually break, so I can let it pass, but see that the gouges and the blood are cleaned until no trace remains. Sandpaper ought to take the marks out. And wipe the blood properly."
So it had not been a word after all. Red Sword's faces had gone pale.
Lizzie leaned in and whispered to ask what had happened. Marie answered in a small voice.
"The man who always picks fights made another filthy joke and got in the way, so Karin drove a nail into the table. She only meant to scare him. Somehow she stabbed him between the fingers."
No. If you meant to scare him, you should have gone at him meaning to kill.
An adventurer who had been sitting quietly in the corner spoke up.
"Good. That bastard had it coming. Just the times I've seen, he's latched onto them filthy hundreds of times."
Karin looked at him. He grinned.
"You need that much nerve if you're going to make a living as an adventurer. Next time he gets filthy, don't go for the hand. Blow his balls off."
The men around them roared with laughter, and the air loosened a little. One of them, seated near Red Sword, hunched his shoulders.
"Damn it. Messing with them and copping a feel on the sly was about the only fun I had in coming here."
"You lunatic! That's why you can't get past Rank 5. Think about getting stronger."
"Damn it, you're the same. What are you talking about?"
The men laughed again. This time, though, they were not sending Red Sword those old sticky looks. It was only dirty talk among men.
Chatterbox clapped his palms together and raised his voice.
"Take that garbage to a tavern. This is a sacred guild."
Laughter burst from the adventurers on every side.
"Are you insane!"
"Sacred my ass."
"Is that a joke?"
Juhwan's gaze shifted, and he found Lizzie and Red Sword watching the laughing men with their faces drawn tight. Even so, they looked like figures inside a single painting. They no longer seemed set apart from everyone else, the way they once had.
Little by little, he hoped they might melt into this world. Even if it began with small things, if they changed a little at a time, perhaps that day would come.