Glen
After marching without rest for three days and nights, they arrived at the port city of Triin.
There was not so much as a glimpse of the sea, which made the name sound like nonsense at first—but the vessels that docked here had no need of the ocean. They were airships.
In this world, airships held a rather special meaning.
It was a world where incomplete communications and transport left administrative reach patchy and thin. The stretches between cities were little better than lawless wilds, and only the capital and a handful of major cities—places where police forces could actually be deployed—managed even the bare minimum of nighttime security. An airship that could travel free of the monsters crawling over the land and free of the hands of the wicked was a strategic asset of the highest order. Naturally, countless cities competed to host an airship berth.
Triin had been the first to be assigned a route. The Emperor had long kept an eye on the city as a bulwark against the monsters that crossed the Macal Mountains.
As they walked the streets and Berta explained how the inland regions had come to possess their sole port city, Shiron took in the scenery around them. Being a fair distance from the Demon Realm, the place had green vegetation instead of white snow, and a warm sun that tickled the face instead of a cold that cut to the bone.
And then, after walking for some time, they came upon a hill that rose so abruptly it felt almost absurd.
At its summit—
Hooooorn—
As if the sky itself were a sea, enormous airships blared their horns and flaunted their presence.
"Amazing… There are really ships floating in the sky."
It was only natural for someone seeing them for the first time to have their gaze stolen. Lucia's eyes sparkled as she looked up.
"Right? I knew you'd love it."
Siriel's pure delight at Lucia's awestruck reaction was plain on her face. Three days of nonstop riding with aching backsides had, it seemed, been worth it after all.
The sight of dozens of steel whales drifting aloft made it clear that the long years had not simply slipped away—civilization had advanced by offering up fallen history as sacrifice.
"…"
Shiron was staring upward just the same. He wore the same eyes he had when he first beheld the mystery of sword aura.
In his previous life he had ridden airplanes a few times, but this was his first time boarding an airship—a relic of a bygone age. And not some box dangling from a giant balloon, either: a phantom that unfurled sails and rode the currents of the sky. The sight set his heart pounding despite the exhaustion of the past few days' hard march.
But pounding heart or not, the subtle discordance drew a bitter little laugh from him.
No foundation. No foundation at all.
Shiron clicked his tongue in disappointment.
This was nothing like the shock he had felt upon seeing demons prowling an old castle.
No matter how I look at it, this is wrong. Airships in a fantasy setting? Even if it's a game with its own lore, life around Dawn Castle is only a little better than the Middle Ages…
Whether he sensed Shiron's feelings or not, Yohan smiled as he watched the children's shifting expressions.
"Impressive, aren't they?"
Yohan gazed up at the airships and continued.
"I hear they were under development at the Research Planning Bureau for a long time. They were completed a few years ago and can finally be shown like this. Thanks to them, travel time between Triin and the capital has been drastically reduced."
"For something finished only a few years ago, there are quite a lot of ships up there."
Shiron lowered his gaze from the sky and put the question to Yohan. Curiosity was best satisfied at once—that was simply his nature. Moments like this made wearing a child's appearance convenient.
"Haha. An unexpected question."
Yohan stroked his beard, looking faintly disappointed by Shiron's impish inquiry. He had prepared a simple briefing on flotation devices and ether engines, fully expecting to be asked how such enormous ships stayed aloft…
But a triumphant smile soon spread across his face. Yohan was ready for whatever Shiron might ask.
"In the grand scheme of things, it isn't a large number. The waiting queue has simply backed up, making it look like more than there are."
"A queue?"
"Yes. Only four departures a day. That's what they're waiting for. There are various other procedures and verification checks that must be completed before a ship can move, as well. All because of potential threats."
Yohan spoke with a kindly smile. A facility that granted access to the Emperor's capital with no additional screening made an attractive target for the unscrupulous. For that reason, the berthing district—as the place was called—was more heavily guarded than anywhere else.
And that was not all. The entire hill where the airships docked was wrapped in layer upon layer of rainbow-hued magical barriers.
"…Smugglers and stowaways are a problem, of course. But terrorists are by far the biggest headache."
Berta, neat in her uniform, added her explanation.
"That's why it's codified in law. A mage of at least seven stars must cast detection magic, and a mage of five stars or higher must ride along. Those are the regulations."
"Stricter than I expected. Looks like the people upstairs put real work into this."
Shiron felt the holes he had found so clumsy in the setting finally being patched. In a world where a single person could unleash attacks on the level of a ship's cannon—or worse—a complete lack of precautions would have been the stranger thing.
"Then what about them?"
With that, Shiron turned to look behind him.
"Is something the matter?"
Encia and Ophelia blinked back at him, each lugging a duffel bag bigger than her own body.
"Just wondering if you two will be all right. There's an inspection. I was thinking you might have to go separately."
"You need not worry about that."
Someone laid a hand on Shiron's shoulder. It was Hugo. He had briefly left the children with Yohan while he handled the knights' boarding procedures.
"A personal guarantee under my name will suffice. So you should go claim some good seats with a view for yourself and your siblings."
The place Hugo indicated with a glance was trembling almost as hard as the children's excited hearts.
However.
"Ugh… uh…"
"Are you okay?"
All that swelling expectation was betrayed in the most miserable way. Not even a few minutes after the airship lifted off, Lucia was sprawled flat on the deck. Airsickness.
"Want to try drinking this?"
Shiron held out a glass of lemonade to Lucia where she lay collapsed on the floor. He was worried about her, true—but he was also curious whether an item that cleared exhaustion status would work in a situation like this.
"Th-thanks."
Lucia accepted the cup with a wan face, but…
She immediately gagged and set it back down.
"Huh."
So it doesn't work.
"Ah…"
Perhaps because of the dejected look on Shiron's face, Lucia spoke to him and Siriel through half-lidded eyes.
"I'm… fine. G-go look around or something…"
"It's all right. How could I leave a friend who's suffering like this?"
Siriel kneaded Lucia's pale hand as she spoke. She felt the disappointment, but there was nothing for it. Seeing Lucia—who had been unable to hide her joy the moment the airship left the ground—looking like this was simply too pitiful.
"I'm fine too."
Shiron rubbed Lucia's other hand from the opposite side of Siriel.
"Sorry… Making you stay because of me…"
A smile spread across Lucia's pale face.
"No need to apologize. You're my precious little sister. How could I leave you behind?"
If anything, I should be thanking you.
Shiron nodded with a contented smile. An unexpected affection-boost event had dropped into his lap. He was not about to let a rare opportunity like this slip away.
The Demon Realm.
A strange place where day and night existed at once.
A land said to gift death to any who did not carry demonic energy, it stretched endlessly beyond the Macal Mountains that rose like a wall dividing the world in two.
That a single mountain range could change the scenery so completely might seem odd—but that was simply the nature of the Demon Realm.
In that place, a woman dressed wholly out of keeping with her surroundings walked across the wasteland.
A black dress. Crimson hair. And quite apart from those, vertically slit pupils and a horn rising from the left side of her head made it plain she was no ordinary human.
She was merely walking, yet within a radius of several hundred meters centered on her, not a soul dared show any sign of approaching.
Grrrk— krk—
"…"
Now and then, though, creatures either too stupid to know fear or simply too bold tried to bar Yuma's path.
A monstrosity large enough to crush the slender-looking woman in one hand drooled thickly from a grotesquely split maw.
It made no difference to her.
For hundreds of years she had crossed the mountains alone and reached the Demon Realm time and again. She had faced this countless times.
The solution was simple. Yuma clapped her hands before her chest.
Clap—
Shhhhhhhhh!!
Countless needles of ice crystallized in midair and drove downward. The monster that had blocked her path was pierced, pulverized, and ground to a paste beyond any recognition of form.
"…"
Magic, at its core, was the act of using mana to impose one's mental image upon reality. Incantations and chants served as mediums for rendering that image more precise—but for Yuma, who had refined her mana across centuries of life, such parlor tricks were unnecessary.
Before long, she reached her destination.
A campfire burning alone in the wilderness like a solitary island.
Beside it, a man lay counting the stars with the sky for a roof.
"My lord. It is I."
At the unexpected guest's presence, the man stirred and pushed himself upright.
"…The letter."
Glen already knew why Yuma had come.