A Cause for Concern (4)
In the game Soul Academy, the Archipelago had been a kind of bonus content.
The fourteen dungeons scattered across its islands had nothing whatsoever to do with the main story, and yet each one boasted superb quality all on its own. Players who had cleared every dungeon the main campaign had to offer and were left hungry for more came flocking here in search of fresh challenges.
That was how good they were. Some people even said the developers could have quietly shelved the whole thing, blown it up to a larger scale, and sold it as DLC.
Back then, I'd actually argued with those people. If the main game looks this good, imagine how insane the DLC is going to be. It didn't take long for me to realize what an idiot I'd been.
Who could have guessed the DLC would never come for years?
How was I supposed to know the Soul Academy dev team was burning its final flame at that very moment? They'd made a fortune off the base game, so obviously I assumed they'd reinvest it!
How was past-me supposed to know that not a single word would come until even the kid who posted daily updates on the Soul Academy boards went silent for good?
At the time, every wild rumor under the sun circulated — the CEO ran off with the money, the staff staged a mass walkout over brutal crunch, the office building burned down. But now that I'm actually standing in the world of that game, all of it takes on a rather ominous meaning.
Because it was never an ordinary game. And if it wasn't, then whoever made it was never an ordinary person, either.
Maybe they're someone who exists in this very world. If I ever meet the developer, I'm absolutely going to demand an answer.
Why didn't you release the DLC? While I was devouring every scrap of content and churning out my own to fill the void, why couldn't you push a single update?
"Do you have a moment, Lady Aln?"
If I lock the devs in a room, feed them nothing but dumplings, and force them to develop, I could play a brand-new game, couldn't I— I was deep in that fantasy when I spotted Isabel Artea walking toward me through the sea breeze, and I shrugged.
As the name suggests, the Archipelago is a place unreachable by land. On top of that, the soil itself carries some strange magical resistance, making teleportation spells all but useless there.
Unless you were an archmage on the level of Duke Patran, you couldn't even dream of setting foot here by any other means. To reach the Archipelago, one absolutely had to take a ship.
There were countless routes, but the one I'd chosen was a sailing ship belonging to House Artea.
Why? Because there wasn't a single other vessel I could board.
Starting with the infamous young lady of House Aln, then the daughter of Duke Patran, His Highness the Third Prince of the kingdom, and even the Count's daughter of House Kent — where exactly were you going to find someone willing to take all of us on?
The moment something went wrong and there was an accident, not only the captain's own neck but the lives of his entire family would be on the line. Who in their right mind would volunteer for that?
Of course, people hoping to curry favor with our little group would sing a different tune, but we had no use for small fry like that.
And so, after filtering out one candidate after another, Isabel was the only option left standing. The moment I mentioned I'd bless the voyage, she'd launch a ship for me without hesitation. I was certain of it.
"I wished to ask for your blessing before we set sail, my lady. If it is no imposition, please."
A blessing for this ship...
"You want me to bless this rust-bucket that could sink at any moment? Sounds like a pointless waste of effort, but sure, I can manage that."
Perhaps because I'd been offering prayers to the pathetic Chief God every single day, I no longer felt any resistance to requests like this.
Standing at the bow beneath the expectant eyes of the crew, I clasped my hands together and closed my eyes. At once, divinity welled up from within me and spread naturally into the air around us.
O great Chief God.
"O lame-ass Chief God, biggest loser in the heavens, probably has voyeurism too."
The instant the first words left my mouth, a murmur rippled past my ears, but I let it wash over me with a smile.
Trying to excuse myself would be pointless anyway — the Mesugaki skill would only deepen the misunderstanding. By the time the prayer was over, they'd know on their own that the blessing had worked. What was the use of explanations?
I pray that peace may rest upon the road we travel today.
"Please keep these cowards aboard this gaudy excuse for a ship from pissing themselves. Please don't let these scrub sailors put this ancient wreck in danger."
...Oh. Maybe I should have just gone to the captain's cabin and prayed where no one could see me. As the murmuring around me swelled louder, I paused for a moment, let out a long breath, and pressed on with the prayer.
Hoping, desperately, that by the time it ended, the mood might have changed.
The voyage to the Archipelago that Lucy Aln had proposed was set to depart the very day after she returned to the household.
There had been nothing to prepare. Beyond what the party had brought with them, everything else was already in hand — Lucy had arranged it all in advance.
Having slept more than three hours for the first time in nearly two weeks, they rose that morning and followed Lucy toward Artea Territory.
Right up until that point, Arthur had never imagined Lucy had ties to House Artea. The coastal territory overflowed with skilled sailors, so he'd simply assumed she'd hired a suitable ship there.
Which was why Arthur was genuinely stunned when Isabel Artea came out in person to welcome Lucy.
The reverence with which the woman treated her made it impossible to dismiss as a mere acquaintance.
What on earth happened to make the head of House Artea grovel before Lucy Aln?
As he watched Isabel defer to her, Arthur discreetly turned his gaze to the side. Joy, who knew the intricacies of aristocratic power struggles better than anyone, might know something.
"Uh. Uh? Umm?"
One look at Joy, who seemed to have forgotten human speech entirely, and Arthur shook his head. If even she didn't know, then something big must have happened recently.
Not that it was bad news, mind. If Isabel Artea was personally lending them her ship, the journey to the Archipelago would be a comfortable one.
Once they arrived, they'd be following Lucy Aln through the depths of two medium dungeons a day — until then, any chance to rest was welcome.
And so, aboard House Artea's sailing ship, Arthur watched with fond eyes as Frey wandered around inspecting everything — apparently her first time on a boat — before turning his head aside.
Where he found Joy in the process of actively dying.
"You get seasick?"
"...Yes. Extremely badly."
"That's a problem. Once we reach the Archipelago, there won't be a moment's rest."
"Does Her Ladyship truly intend to clear every dungeon within a week?"
"Joy. You know better than anyone. Lucy Aln doesn't say impossible things out loud."
"That's true..."
Two dungeons a day was probably a compromise decided out of consideration for us. Lucy Aln's common sense diverged rather wildly from everyone else's.
Even thinking this, Arthur said nothing to her. He had a feeling that if she learned the truth — that she'd crawled out of one hell only to tumble straight into another — she really would burst into tears.
Arthur was about to tell her to go lie down in her cabin before the seasickness got worse when a warmth drifting over from the deck made him stop mid-sentence and turn.
This energy... it's like what I felt when the Saintess bestowed her blessing.
But different. Warmer, softer somehow. As if ensnared by something, he rose from his seat — and the other two rose and followed right behind him.
What greeted them on deck was a crew who had forgotten they were supposed to be handling the post-departure work, standing frozen as they stared blankly at the bow.
People who, rather than scolding their subordinates, had joined them in gazing.
At the head of House Artea, kneeling at the bow, tears streaming down her face.
And at Lucy Aln, receiving every single one of those stares without so much as a tremor as she carried her prayer onward.
"...Ha."
Looking up at her, Arthur let out a hollow laugh. It wasn't that he had nothing to say. He had far, far too much — so much he couldn't condense it into a single word.
The gentle divinity spreading outward around her. A posture strong yet humble. An expression that could entrance even the Apostle of the Art Sect. Those small, ceaselessly moving lips, and the spring-breeze voice flowing from them.
"May the trash gathered here keep from soiling themselves while also managing to preserve their miserable lives."
And then that tone, which didn't match the awe-inspiring scene in the slightest.
Shaken loose from his trance, Arthur looked up at Lucy Aln with a crooked smile. If it weren't for that damned mouth of hers, she could have succeeded the Saintess and become the very face of the Church.
Just as that thought tugged the corner of his mouth into a wry slant, Lucy Aln fell silent.
At once, the divinity that had suffused the entire vessel seeped into the ship's every seam and plank, carrying warmth with it. The blessing Lucy Aln had delivered had settled into the ship itself.
To think such a blasphemous prayer could produce a proper effect. The great Chief God must be merciful indeed, to embrace even an insolent brat like her.
Or perhaps He simply preferred blasphemy. Arthur was snickering at the thought — he'd face a flood of condemnation if he ever said it aloud — when a memory surfaced unbidden: the countless strangeness he'd sensed from Lucy Aln in the past. And he froze.
What if. What if. Just suppose. What if the words spilling from Lucy Aln's mouth had nothing to do with her own will?
What if the Chief God knows her — and grants His power despite her irreverence precisely because of it?
The notion had come to him out of nowhere, absurd on its face, but Arthur found he couldn't stop turning it over.
If that mouth of hers ran independent of her temper, so many things suddenly made sense.
The way she spoke with insolent flippancy no matter who stood before her. The way her behavior was childish and mischievous despite carrying herself with the noble bearing befitting her divinity.
All the other strange exploits Lucy Aln had staged could be explained away by that one word: compulsion.
Having grasped this, Arthur stared blankly at Lucy as she stood surrounded by the head of House Artea and the sailors, receiving their endless thanks.
"A moment."
Startled by the voice from behind him, he whipped his head around. He hadn't sensed the man's approach at all.
The hellish training of the Aln Knight Order had sharpened his senses to a razor's edge, and even that hadn't been enough to catch it.
"Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness."
The man who addressed him had a fierce, weathered face. His body was so burly that no one would ever mistake him for anything but a sailor — yet the voice that came from his mouth was low and impeccably courteous.
While Arthur struggled to reconcile the jarring contradiction and choose his words, the man bowed politely and continued.
"Please do not speak of what you just realized. Not yet. Her Ladyship has not yet reached the point where she can have someone who understands."
"...What?"
"It will not take long. Bear with it until this voyage is over, I beg you."
"What kind of nonse—"
Arthur tried to demand what nonsense he was spouting, but his words never reached the sailor. The man's strength left him, and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
When the sailor awoke some time later, Arthur pressed him hard for answers — but the man genuinely knew nothing. He didn't even know that Lucy Aln had blessed the ship.
As the vessel bearing Lucy Aln's blessing sailed on toward the Archipelago, Arthur sat in the swaying cabin, grinding his lips between his teeth.
Somehow I have a feeling our days on these islands are not going to be easy ones.