Walking a Tightrope
The main street of the imperial capital, Rihnn.
The high-end restaurant known as the Fairies' Feast.
It was far too late for lunch, yet the dining room still thronged with guests. Like every establishment that draped itself in the word "luxury," the people who came here never worried about money. What they lacked was only space, time, and amusement.
And so—
"Order whatever you want. As much as you like."
"…Are you certain that is all right?"
The menu trembled faintly in Berta's hands. Her eyes went round; her throat went dry.
Two thousand one hundred shillings.
That was the price of the first item listed at the top of the page. And it was by no means the most expensive dish; beneath it stretched an entire parade of still costlier offerings.
"Then… this. I'll have this."
Berta pointed to a single line with her index finger.
Salad of raison chicory accompanied by white chandaz.
One hundred seventy shillings.
Shiron read the words she indicated and frowned. He could not even begin to picture what the dish might be.
Chicory is chicory, but chandaz… what the hell is that?
Having lived mostly on food whose ingredients were blunt and obvious—meat if it was meat, vegetables if they were vegetables—Shiron could read every letter on the menu and still understand none of it.
I came because they said it was the most expensive place in the city, and I can't make heads or tails of a single thing.
Ding—
He pressed the call bell. A woman in a crisp suit and bow tie approached with elegant steps.
"Are you ready to order, sir?"
"Yeah. From here… to here. Bring all of it."
Shiron drew his finger from the first item on the menu straight down to the last. The waitress stepped closer and bowed her head, half-convinced the young master before her was joking.
"…Would you mind repeating that?"
"From here to here… no. Bring every single dish on the menu."
"…Understood."
She bowed again, collected the menu, and withdrew.
"Um, teacher? Are you truly all right with this? The prices look… rather extreme…"
"I've got money. Stop fretting about nothing. Consider it a special treat—I'm letting you eat here too."
No way I'm going to look like a country bumpkin by asking what any of this actually is.
A short while later the dishes began to arrive one after another until the table was buried. The original two-person setting could not hold them all; only after an extra table had been shoved alongside could the full order finally fit.
Such a brazen display of wealth naturally drew every eye in the room. The quiet clink of cutlery and the low murmur of conversation gave way to a rising buzz of whispers.
"Just whose son is that?"
"Tch. Nouveau riche, pure and simple."
"As if the rest of us order only what we can afford because we're broke."
Shiron's companions could hardly fail to hear the remarks. Ophelia and Encia, standing guard, snickered under their breath; Berta, who knew none of the context, turned scarlet.
"Th-then… I'll dig in."
She fanned her burning face with one hand, then cut the food into neat, refined bites and carried them to her mouth.
After she had sampled several of the dishes, Shiron spoke.
"Hey. Mind if I ask you something?"
"Yes?"
"Did you actually submit that report properly? What's going on that I haven't heard a single word since?"
"Kehk—!"
The sudden shift to work made Berta choke. She clamped a hand over her mouth just in time; mercifully none of the food in front of her was ruined. She twisted away, sweating freely, and pounded her chest.
"Cough— cough—"
"Yah… what the hell are you doing? That's disgusting. Ophelia, give her back a couple of thumps."
"Yes."
At Shiron's order Ophelia patted the pitiful woman's back. Only after gulping a glass of cold water and expelling a ragged breath could Berta manage a scrambled reply.
"I-I'm so sorry. What did you just say?"
"The report."
"The report? Yes, I submitted it. Of course I did. Yes."
"Hmm… then why the panic? You look like you just heard something you weren't supposed to."
Shiron propped his chin on one hand and regarded her steadily. He had merely brought up work over a meal; her reaction was absurdly theatrical.
"Anyway, if the report really went up, there should have been some kind of response on this end. Yet no one has come looking. Boring."
"…"
"Is it really as simple as them sending someone just because they were curious what a Prien succession ceremony looks like? I don't buy that, at least."
"…Yes. That does seem unlikely."
"Ha."
Shiron curled his lip. The woman standing before him could not even meet his eyes.
He tore a bite from a perfectly roasted rack of lamb. Blood rushed to his head; thoughts spun in circles.
"If that were true they wouldn't have sent a proper investigation team—just one single person. Doesn't that feel off to you?"
"…It does."
"You too."
"…"
"Exactly how high up the chain did that report go, that you can't even speak straight to me?"
He took a mouthful of wine, then exhaled a breath laced with alcohol. His mood had soured, and his manner roughened with it. There was nothing left to probe.
Berta's tone, her bearing—everything about her was screaming that she stood on shaky ground. Shiron said exactly what he was thinking.
"So who is it? Someone high enough that you have to hide it even from me? Makes me feel pretty damn low, knowing I rank second to them."
"W-wait a moment!"
Berta shot to her feet so fast she nearly overturned her chair. She barely kept her voice from cracking.
"I didn't betray you! Please don't kill me!"
The nightmare she had once dreamed flashed before her eyes—the scene of a demon's hand punching through her abdomen. The memory drove her into pure panic.
The sudden commotion drew every gaze in the restaurant. Berta swept the room once and felt a chill crawl up her spine. Soft lighting glinted in a hundred pairs of eyes; any second now she imagined the demon standing behind her would plunge its hand into her heart. She wanted to run.
"What?"
Yet Shiron's face showed no anger at all. If anything, his eyes were wide with pure bewilderment, as though asking what on earth she thought she was doing.
Unwanted attention made his own cheeks heat. He glanced around once, then spoke quietly to the woman in front of him.
"…Hey. Sit down. You're embarrassing us. What the hell are you even doing right now?"
"…Huh? You're not going to kill me?"
"What kind of nonsense is that? Why would I kill you? Keep spouting garbage and I won't buy you dinner anymore."
Just then a waiter approached with measured steps. The severe-looking man adjusted his glasses with one hand.
"Sir, if you would kindly lower your voices a little. You're disturbing the other guests."
"I-I'm terribly sorry."
Berta buried her flushed face against the tabletop.
Shiron regarded her with open pity, then spoke again.
"Is this all our relationship amounts to?"
"…I'm sorry."
"You act rashly and you've got a few screws loose, but I know you're a fundamentally decent person."
Superintendent Berta had always been that sort of woman. In the original story she never fled; she stayed inside the collapsing building, holding the enemy until the rubble crushed her.
"So just tell me. Whoever it is that even you can't speak of to my face—I need to hear the name."
"…"
Berta clenched and unclenched her fists, hesitated, then squeezed her eyes shut. The weight was far too heavy for a mere salaried officer to carry alone. The moment she decided to speak, her heart felt lighter.
She expelled another ragged breath and opened her mouth with newfound ease.
"It was the—"
"Hold on."
Shiron cut her off mid-sentence. Encia, standing behind him, had pressed hard on his shoulder.
Someone's been watching us the whole time.
Shiron drew out a black card whose signature had not yet fully dried.
"Let's change locations."
Shiron summoned a carriage and headed for the mansion—not the annex, but the deepest chamber of the main house: Hugo's study.
Hugo had left the room empty for a long stretch of time, so Shiron produced the spare key he had obtained from the man earlier. The study was layered with anti-eavesdropping magic; here one could say whatever one wished without fear of interference.
Once the door was locked tight, Shiron dropped onto the study sofa. Berta sat opposite him; Encia and Ophelia stood side by side behind them.
"…It was the Third Prince."
"Figures. The quality of the tail was way too high."
"A t-tail?!"
"Yeah."
Shiron took his eyes off Berta and glanced at Encia, who had first given the warning signal.
"I only noticed it late myself. Right around the time this woman shot to her feet. From then on the gaze just wouldn't leave me alone."
"I'm sorry. I should have sensed it sooner."
Ophelia looked downcast as she apologized.
"No. The other side was simply too good."
Encia and Ophelia—guardians of Dawn Castle—were not omnipotent, unfortunately. Encia specialized in offense, Ophelia in defense; together they formed a perfect combination for protection. Expecting them to excel at detection or tracking was asking the wrong thing. They could spot amateurs easily enough, but if a true expert in concealment—or someone with related skills—set their mind to it, of course they would remain invisible.
Someone that strong isn't someone the Third Prince should be able to command…
Shiron ransacked his memory.
Named figures currently in the capital who could slip past Encia and Ophelia—both of whom handled the late-game regions.
[Hugo Prien]
[Captain of the Royal Guard, Zad]
[Court Mage Arak]
Setting aside Hugo, who stood behind Shiron himself, neither of the other two would move on the Third Prince's orders.
An imperial decree, then? But the present Emperor has no interest in the Third Prince…
Who else was there? He continued to dig through his mind. Dozens, hundreds of game characters rose and vanished in succession.
He dismissed the possibility of an Apostle of the Evil God. If it had been an Apostle, Encia and Ophelia would never have failed to feel hostility.
Someone who could deliberately suppress hostility, who could be in the capital ten years before the original story's timeline, and who could freely roam the entire continent…
And then a single name surfaced.
[The Forgotten Mage, Seira]
"Seira."
The moment Shiron spoke her name, the world around them turned pure white.