The Partran Festival (2)
It was the day after Joy and I had toured the territory together that I came face to face with the Duke and Duchess of Partran.
The two of them had arrived at breakfast before anyone else, and they looked worn out, as if they'd come straight off a shift of work until that very morning.
What kind of urgent business could people of the Duke and Duchess's standing have to scramble through, I wondered. I was curious, but I couldn't bring myself to ask.
Hello there.
"Good morning to you, Careless Duke. Frail Duchess."
Because before I could ask anything, a problem had appeared that I had to solve first.
The Duke of Partran — a man who had once knocked a servant flat unconscious with nothing but a furrowed brow — and the Duchess, who looked like she'd be perfectly cast as the villainess in a morning soap opera, both stiffened slightly the moment my greeting landed.
Either way, these two were the very people whose faces alone had built House Partran's fearsome reputation.
Thanks to the Arln family, I'd grown fairly used to intimidating visages, but these two were on an entirely different level.
I was breaking out in a cold sweat and they hadn't even said a word.
When all you see of someone is through a monitor, there's a limit to how scary a face can look. I honestly thought the game text was exaggerating.
Well. I was wrong.
There wasn't a single ounce of exaggeration in the game's descriptions. Just those two murmuring quietly to each other would have been enough to complete a whole cinematic scene all on its own.
What genre, you ask? Crime thriller, or horror. Something in that vein, anyway.
"Pwahahahaha!"
The silence, brief as it was, had felt like an eternity — until it shattered under the Duke's booming laughter.
It really wouldn't have been strange if that line had been followed by a sudden shift to a dead-serious face and the words I'll kill that woman, but the Duke was not that kind of man.
"How long has it been since a child spoke to us so boldly?"
"Quite. As Joy described, they're remarkably spirited, aren't they?"
Those two only looked like that. In truth, they were good people.
They loved each other, doted on their family, and worked to steer their territory toward a better future. People who seemed to have the words "noblesse oblige" tattooed straight onto their souls.
Naturally, I assumed they'd take my rudeness in good stride too.
Then why did I chicken out, you ask?
You know how when you watch a horror movie, even if you know the ghost is about to jump out, you still scream when it does? It's like that.
Even knowing better, standing in front of those faces made my knees buckle on instinct.
Plus, there was the nagging little worry of what if they turned out different from the game.
"Enjoy your time here, and stay safe."
Having survived the greatest crisis of my stay in Partran Territory, I headed out to the streets with Joy.
"I can't wait. This time, for sure, I'm going to become the Slayer of the Festival."
As you can tell from that word leaving her mouth, this wasn't just some simple quest.
It was, rather, a tradition handed down in Partran Territory.
The Slayer of the Festival is a title awarded to whoever racks up the most victories across the festival stalls of the Partran family's celebration.
Status, gender, age — none of it matters. Every single participant competes, and only the one who claims the best result there can be called the Slayer of the Festival.
Joy taking it this seriously should tell you — that title is no lightweight trinket.
Among the people entering this festival, an enormous number of them are dead set on taking me down.
And the stall operators are just as serious.
Which is to say, they are busily preparing to absolutely obliterate every challenger who comes along. Doesn't matter who it is.
"Why is the trajectory warping? It was definitely straight just now—"
"My condolences, Lady Partran."
"...Could I not try just one more time?"
"You know very well that you cannot."
At the stall keeper's iron tone, Joy's shoulders sagged.
Each stall grants you one chance, and one chance only.
Not even the Duke's own daughter could bend that rule.
As Joy stepped aside, my turn arrived.
The stall keeper stiffened slightly at the sight of my face, but didn't say a word about it.
Instead, he pressed into my hand a staff imbued with magic.
The staff was built for play. Stuffed inside it was a very weak Magic Missile, and all I had to do was use it to hit the sign posts far at the other end of the stall.
That probably sounds easy. But there's one part of this I haven't explained yet.
The targets I had to hit with the Magic Missile moved along bizarre, unfathomable trajectories no pattern could predict.
As I said before — the stall keepers take this contest seriously too.
What does that mean? It means that outside of eating and sleeping hours, these people spend every waking moment designing and practicing trajectories designed to be impossible to hit.
"Twenty sign posts. Twenty spells stored within the staff. Hit them all, and victory is yours."
Staff in hand, one truth hit me instantly: there was no winning this contest with my own two hands.
Because I can barely do magic. So rather than posturing pointlessly, I used the Bracelet of Play.
At once, my body began moving on its own, unfolding the optimal sequence of movements.
"As expected of the Arln lady! Such deep mastery of magic as well!"
"Truly remarkable. To dismantle trajectories we spent ages agonizing over so effortlessly..."
The Bracelet of Play is, to put it bluntly, an item built purely for entertainment.
Its effect is this: it allows you to win up to four minigames per day.
No preconditions, no requirements. If it counts as a minigame, you win it — four guaranteed victories a day.
Said like that, it sounds like an absolutely broken cheat item, but there's one glaring catch.
Presumably to prevent abuse, the definition of "minigame" was restricted to an almost absurd degree — usable only on minigames that occur during quests, that sort of thing.
Its use cases were incredibly narrow, but even so, among the hardcore min-maxers it was treated as practically essential gear.
Minigames are only fun and fresh at the beginning; give it time and they turn into tedious chores.
And the Bracelet of Play worked just as well in reality as it did in the game.
Once I confirmed every last target had shattered and littered the ground, I handed the drained staff back to the stall keeper.
A beat later, applause rang out.
The one who started it was Joy.
"Truly amazing, Lady Arln. Even I, an actual mage, couldn't win at these stalls."
As she clapped in genuine admiration, the people around us began to join in, one by one.
Whatever my reputation might be, when a Duke's daughter is applauding right beside you, how is anyone else going to miss that cue?
And so, having received not mere compliments but something dangerously close to a cheer, I managed an awkward smile.
Uh.
Hmm.
So, uh.
Being praised does feel nice and all, but.
I never expected anything like this, so the surprise hits before the joy does.
It's like suddenly being shoved onto a stage in front of an audience.
Unable to bear their cheering, I grabbed Joy and hastily beat a retreat from the spot.
After that, Joy and I kept traveling from stall to stall, pitting ourselves against them.
We didn't win every time.
My body hadn't fully recovered yet, so I committed boneheaded blunders just like Joy. And even though those games were pure contests of luck, the Dice God occasionally glanced elsewhere, and I lost because of it.
But in the vast majority of cases, the Dice God watched over me, and by around lunchtime I had racked up five victories.
Now I just needed to win twice more on my own.
Do that, and the remaining three would be covered automatically by the Bracelet of Play.
Heh heh. See that?! You pathetic Chief God!
No matter how much you crank up the difficulty and try to screw me over, it's all useless before a veteran like me!
If you haven't figured out how you're going to buff my reputation after this, then figure it out starting now!
And just so we're clear — don't even think about sliding me the standard quest reward and calling it a day.
You tortured me with the difficulty, so you scale up the reward to match. Got it?
Already celebrating my guaranteed victory in my head, I was lounging in smug confidence when I spotted the crowd ahead splitting apart to a rising murmur, and I tilted my head.
What the — there's someone else who can use a crowd-splitting aura besides me?
Halfway through a step, I turned my head toward the source of the murmur and found one familiar face, one face I had sworn I would never meet again — and the heavily armed soldiers escorting them both.
"Brother. A moment. Please, wait just a moment."
One of them was Arthur Soladin.
The Third Prince of the Kingdom, and one of the very few people at Soul Academy who thought well of me.
"So this is where you were, little brother."
The other was René Soladin.
The First Prince of the Kingdom. The man who served as the final boss of Soul Academy's kingdom route.
And at the same time, the man whom past-Lucy had once called a gloomy fucking nobody of a loner prince. A man who could never, under any circumstances, think well of me.
Why in the world is that guy here?! Why is he even in this story?! Why is that guy even showing up here?!
According to the game's story, he shuts himself away in the capital and never comes out!
What variable is this now?! What threw the story off the rails from the game?! Was it Benedict?! Did Benedict pump courage into that hikikomori?!
Even as I spiraled into full panic mode, the two of them kept advancing toward us.
The crowd parting was only natural.
Two claimants to the current Kingdom's throne had appeared in public — who in their right mind would dare fail to show respect?
Anyone with functioning sanity would bow their head unprompted.
And that's exactly the point of this little observation —
I think I might be the one who's insane.
Semi-forcibly insane, maybe?
"Lady Arln?! What on earth are you doing?!"
Joy, who had been dutifully bowing at the sight of the two princes, gaped in horror at my ramrod-straight, defiantly unbowed head.
I know. I look like a lunatic.
But what do you want me to do?! The Mesugaki Skill does not permit bowing!
Believe me, if it were up to me I'd show proper courtesy too! I'd get down on my knees and apologize and beg forgiveness for my past sins!
But what can I do?! The Mesugaki Skill won't listen!
I tried desperately, but the will of the Mesugaki Skill was stronger than mine.
Until the First Prince and Arthur stood before me, I kept my chin held high.
"We are honored by Your Highnesses, First Prince and Third Prince."
"Yes. It has been some time, Lady Partran. It gladdens me to see you've grown into someone worthy of the ducal name. With talents such as yours, House Partran will flourish for generations to come."
Having finished his perfunctory pleasantries toward Joy, the First Prince turned his gaze toward me.
His eyes.
Eyes so black they seemed to drink in the very light around them, painted past the point of mere darkness —
Were fixed precisely on me.
In that instant, I was certain.
It wasn't Benedict.
Luring the hikikomori First Prince out here was not his doing.
The First Prince had come to this place for one reason, and one reason only: to meet me.
Don't ask me how I know. I'm not Karia — I can't read people through their actions.
But one thing was crystal clear.
There wasn't a single bright intention anywhere in that visit.
What kind of good intentions could a man possibly carry, walking out to meet the person who called him a fucking nobody of a loner prince?
"Do you intend to ignore me?"
I'd kept my mouth shut, figuring that opening it would only detonate a bomb, but the First Prince would not tolerate silence.
What do I do?! What do I do here?! Is there any way to break through this situation?!
I racked my brain desperately and even threw the question at Halbae, but no answer came.
As long as the First Prince stood in front of me, there was no escape from this situation.
This was checkmate, pure and simple.
We are honored by Your Highnesses, the First Prince and the Third Prince!
"We are honored by Your Highness, the Gloomy Loner Prince, and Your Highness, the Pitiable Prince."
Wow. Still — at least I dropped the "fucking nobody" from "gloomy fucking nobody loner prince."
That's progress by leaps and bounds.
At this level, surely the others would let it slide with a gracious laugh?
I thought that and glanced around — but the reactions of the people were uniformly glacial.
Hmm. Too much after all, huh?
Figured as much.
...Haaaah.
Fuck.
This is so screwed.