Coming-of-Age Ceremony (1)
The air stung like needles against the skin. With it rose a swelling competitive fire. The room was thick with demonic energy so foul it made the nose burn.
A dining hall was no place to let one's guard down and simply eat. Getting through a meal without choking on it was already a stroke of luck — though to Yuma, the source of that demonic miasma, it hardly mattered either way.
"What are you all standing around for?"
Yuma gestured toward the three people frozen stiff as stone.
"This meal I went to the trouble of preparing will go cold. Please, take your seats."
"...Very well."
Glenn nodded and pulled out the chair across from Shiron. But once everyone had sat down in turn, the arrangement felt strangely off.
Not only was Shiron far away — Lucia and Siriel were seated at a considerable distance as well. With Shiron at the far end of the broad rectangular table, Glenn had had little choice, but like this, they might as well have been treating him as an outsider.
Not that Glenn could simply sit beside Shiron, either.
Glenn was the head of the Prien family, the elder, and Shiron's father. Sitting next to his own son like some lackey was something Glenn's pride and dignity would never permit. Whether or not he consciously thought it, some instinctive part of him ordered him to take the seat across from Shiron.
What is this awkward seating arrangement?
Shiron was thinking much the same thing. He had simply sat where Yuma directed him, and somehow it had ended up looking as though he were deliberately keeping his distance.
That was not what he wanted, so Shiron beckoned to Yuma, who stood waiting behind him.
"Yuma."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Isn't this table a bit too large? We are family, after all — and it's been a long time."
Yuma bowed her head and reached out into empty air.
She stretched both hands forward and clenched her fists as if seizing something.
Whoosh — whoosh —
A handspan. A single step.
Three steps. The table narrowed.
Yet none of the dishes or food upon it so much as shifted out of place. Yuma's magic was so refined that the word perfect scarcely did it justice.
"Much better."
Shiron smiled with satisfaction and looked at Glenn. Red hair, golden eyes. Aside from those two features, their faces were so alike they could have been mirrors of each other.
Shiron did not greet him first. He held his tongue, waiting to see how Glenn would play it.
Their gazes locked in the air between them for a long moment.
Then Glenn smiled and spoke with warmth.
"It's been a while, my son."
"Yes. So it has."
Instead of bowing his head, Shiron answered with a smile in his eyes.
Glenn Prien. A human man in his early-to-mid forties. Head of the Prien family.
And a man whose head was somehow not quite right...
That had been the sum total of Shiron's impression, pieced together from the fragmentary information available before the possession.
Those seated around the table ate in complete silence. No conversation passed between them; only the clink of utensils echoed through the spacious room. They had exchanged greetings, yet the atmosphere remained stubbornly awkward.
I'm going to suffocate just from eating.
Shiron swallowed a half-cut piece of meat in one gulp.
Even Hugo, who looked taciturn and imposing, had always been the first to strike up conversation with one topic or another. This man Glenn, for all his carefree wanderer's appearance, was even quieter than Hugo.
Well, he only stopped by briefly in the middle of hunting Apostles. Can't really blame him.
Siriel thought Glenn a strikingly handsome middle-aged man, but the first thing Shiron noticed was the shadow hanging beneath his eyes.
Like every head of the Prien family before him, Glenn Prien was pouring his life into the slaughter of Apostles.
They don't even die unless you use a Holy Sword.
In Reincarnation Sword God, Apostles were depicted as beings that could only be killed by a Holy Sword.
To make the player feel special for having been chosen, by investing the Hero with that symbolic weight. Or as a metaphor for the contradiction that no matter how desperately one wished to save the world, it was impossible without being the chosen one...
Back when Shiron had played the game, he had skimmed past such passages as idle flavor text.
Now that the game had become reality, they only felt like the developers' sadistic design.
Shiron pitied Glenn.
A hell where you could strive yourself to death and never feel a shred of accomplishment. Glenn Prien was a man living in hell.
Just as Kyle once had, long ago.
That aside... doesn't anyone have questions?
Shiron rolled his eyes sideways toward Lucia. She had been picking at her food for some time, as if she found the whole situation unwelcome.
Given who she truly was, Lucia should have had no end of questions for Glenn, head of the Prien family. Contrary to expectation, she focused solely on working her utensils.
Strange. Before they had gone to Lucerne, she used to grind her teeth whenever Glenn's name came up — and now that she was face-to-face with him, not a single word.
Siriel too, for that matter.
Unable to stand it any longer, Shiron wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"...What does the Coming-of-Age Ceremony entail?"
Shiron chose his words with care.
The one subject of shared interest among the four at the table was the Coming-of-Age Ceremony soon to be held. He had a rough idea of what it involved, but he wanted to break the awkward atmosphere first.
"The Coming-of-Age Ceremony, you say."
Glenn answered after swirling his wine. Color rose in his face, as though he had been waiting for the question.
Ahem — he cleared his throat and composed himself.
"Well... the purpose of the Coming-of-Age Ceremony is to confirm whether one has become a warrior capable of carrying a person's full share of the burden."
"...A warrior?"
Lucia lifted her head.
"That's right. It may seem a bit abrupt, but the Prien family is an exceedingly old-fashioned house. We've been around for a full five hundred years, so the language we use is rather crude as well."
Lucia's head dipped in a slight nod.
"For five hundred years, the content of the ceremony has never changed. Cross the Macal Mountains, reach the Demon Realm, and survive. The details have shifted slightly from time to time, but surviving the terrible magic beasts that attack without rest, day or night — that has always been the same. Procuring water and food from the land itself goes without saying, of course."
So that's why Encia told me to pack preserved rations...
Shiron thought of the playful maid.
Encia had been telling him outright to cheat. Then again, if he used his storage ability, even Yuma — who would be overseeing the trial — would have no way of knowing he was breaking the rules.
"However..."
Glenn stroked his unkempt chin a few times.
"I hear most of you have been living at my brother's estate rather than at Dawn Castle."
"...Is that a problem?"
"It can be."
Glenn's answer to Siriel's question was firm. Shiron regarded him with mild curiosity.
"I ask this only to be sure. I trust it isn't because soft city living has left your spirits frail or anything of that sort."
"...It isn't."
"Good to hear."
Living at Dawn Castle, where bitter cold and demonic energy poured in from every direction, naturally built resistance to the miasma.
But they've all grown up well.
Glenn looked over his grown children with a pleased smile.
Lucia, who carried the destiny of one day ascending to divinity. And Siriel — she bore little resemblance to her uncle, yet she already possessed strength that did not fall short of Lucia's.
And Shiron...
Thankfully, he hasn't died.
A smile flickered across Glenn's face and vanished.
Did the prophecy miss again this time?
His eyes narrowed as he looked at Shiron.
...Divinity.
"Because one is meant to learn how to survive in the Demon Realm while living at Dawn Castle."
Glenn blinked a few times and continued.
Lucia listened intently.
The Demon Realm was certainly no place for people to live.
She had never been there herself, but every region called the Demon Realm boasted an environment that was unhinged in one way or another.
Lands as dry as deserts where a single mouthful of water was hard to come by were the baseline. There were places ringed entirely by volcanoes, and mad expanses where lightning struck year-round.
The Demon Realm was land designed to kill humans.
I'll be fine. But...
Lucia sipped her wine and glanced sidelong at Shiron.
Siriel is one thing — but will Shiron be all right?
Listening to Glenn with stony stillness, Shiron looked a touch more mature than usual. Even at Glenn's talk of going into the Demon Realm, his composure did not waver.
A high-bridged nose, a clean jawline, eyes that held intelligence. Dark pupils of unknowable depth. He looked more handsome than usual. Looking at that face, how could anyone picture the boy who had once abandoned Lucia and run away?
...Am I drunk?
Lucia pinched her thigh and shifted her gaze back to Glenn.
"Then when does the Coming-of-Age Ceremony begin? I would be fine starting tomorrow."
"Don't be so hasty. The content of this ceremony is entirely different from any that have been held before."
Glenn smiled warmly at Lucia's eager attitude. The meal was winding down; no one was reaching for their plates any longer. Glenn looked past Shiron.
"Yuma."
"Yes."
A large sheet of paper was already in Yuma's hands. The waiting maids cleared the table in an instant, and Yuma spread the paper across it.
A rough line cutting across the center of the paper caught the eye.
"The white line is the Macal Mountains. And here is Dawn Castle."
A pillar of light rose from the map and marked a single point. Glenn's magic.
The pillar moved slowly across the map, as though tracing a path toward the correct answer — until Glenn's magic came to a stop.
Beyond the white mountain range. At the very edge of the map.
"In one week."
A faintly heated breath left Glenn's lips.
"An Apostle will appear here."
"..."
Glenn said nothing more.
The third floor of Dawn Castle.
It had been a long time since they had left Dawn Castle empty, yet the bath Shiron preferred never went without proper care.
Shiron sank into the tub and lifted his head.
"How is Father?"
"Do you want me to be honest, Young Master?"
The one-horned woman worked up a lather in her hands as she spoke.
"It may be that the time for change has finally come."
"...Isn't it too early?"
"Do you remember, Young Master? The day of the succession ceremony."
— There won't be a next time. This farce ends here.
The image of a mere ten-year-old child making that brazen declaration. Yuma recalled a past that was not so distant.
Yuma laid her hands on Shiron's shoulders where they rose above the water. Soft hands without calluses traced wantonly over bare skin.
"Only five Priens remain. And only three of them will take the Coming-of-Age Ceremony. There were times in the past when there were twenty — even fifty. The Demon Realm is far too vast for one man to cover alone."
"That's true."
"I cannot see the future, but I know very well what a human looks like on the verge of death."
Yuma's hands moved from his shoulders to his neck, then to his ears.
She kneaded the rim and lobe of his ear in slow circles, then let out a soft laugh.
"The lord's skill is as sharp as ever, but he is deeply exhausted. You must demonstrate your ability quickly in the Coming-of-Age Ceremony and prepare for the next generation."
You must kill an Apostle and show that there is an end.
Yuma swallowed those final words.
It was not that she doubted the authenticity of the Holy Sword Shiron had shown her. Her heart was simply unsettled.
Afraid that even a Holy Sword might fail to kill an Apostle when it took the head.
Afraid that even with a true Holy Sword, they might never manage to reach an Apostle at all.
Yuma trusted Shiron — yet centuries of repeated failure kept dragging ugly thoughts to the surface.
But then—
"Is the blacksmith still there?"
"...Pardon?"
"Once I've killed the Apostle, I'll need to go collect a sword."
The shadow of worry did not linger long. A face that entertained no thought of failure. At the sight of her Young Master's radiant expression, the corners of Yuma's mouth slowly rose.
"...Atmos and Dolby. Which of them?"
"Both."
Yes, those were the names.
Atmos the giant.
Dolby the fairy.
Yuma thought of the forge's masters beyond the mountain range.