A Toast Among Giants
A low murmur filled the air.
She said the demerit points were at eight hundred, didn't she?
Shiron recalled the offhand remark Latera had made in passing.
Demerit points, Reputation, karma—the names varied a little, but in the end they all meant the same thing.
As Reputation steadily rises, the probability of encountering Apostles during field travel increases. Players may therefore organically leverage scenarios and NPC favorability to enjoy the game through a variety of approaches.
Unlike the traditional method of selecting a character or difficulty beforehand, Reincarnation Sword God had a strangely unintuitive approach in this regard.
What a godawful game design, he had thought at the time—but now that he knew the game’s creator, Shiron found himself nodding along as if it made perfect sense.
From the perspective of someone who’s actually been possessed into this world, you could even call it a good thing.
Being able to deliberately stack demerits so the Apostles would leave him alone was convenient enough. Looking at it from ten years before the original story, though, the system was maddeningly awkward.
Build connections? That was practically the same as grinding favorability. And because of that, he had been unable to network aggressively since childhood. Raise someone’s favor and you would meet Apostles; with this frail body of his, that meant dying.
Even so, a gathering of men who actually held real power on the continent made Shiron’s mouth water.
Am I supposed to just sit this out?
At first he had hesitated even to approach them, fretting that one wrong move might wake the Apostle still sealed inside that fog.
No. How am I supposed to just sit this out?
Shiron decided on selective focus.
Very few adults would bother listening carefully to a twelve-year-old brat. That was how Shiron saw it, at least. How many people would feel genuine fondness for a kid who barged in and started running his mouth?
Still, a few of them might at least remember my face—even if it doesn’t go as far as full favorability grinding.
While the young people were busy fighting, the elders of a certain age had turned the snacks Shiron had brought out into drinking fare and were deep into their cups. He had steeled himself for the effort, yet things were going so smoothly that a broad smile never left his face.
“Back when the rebels were stirring up trouble in the frontier zone, you know! Our line of retreat got cut and the whole unit was about to be wiped out. That’s what I’m saying.”
“So? What happened after that?”
“That’s when I challenged General Argon to a duel! In short, I used my head!”
Dexter Dras, commander of the Red Lion Knights, spoke with exaggerated gestures, his face already a little flushed.
“But then that bastard refused to come out and just dug in. Exactly like I planned!”
“As expected of Master Dexter!”
“Can’t we talk about something else for a change? Like how a gold vein got discovered in some mine or whatever…”
“Ah, of course we should cover that too. There’s still unexplored Demon Realm territory in the northwest of the imperial province of Hamir. That’s an undiscovered gold vein. It’s dangerous, sure, so there’s some risk involved—but for Master Dexter, even the monsters would fall in a single stroke, right?”
“…Is the information solid?”
Shiron was a possessor. Having ground Reincarnation Sword God until he was sick of it, he knew exactly which regions held the sweetest farming spots.
“Of course. Who do you think I heard this from? My own uncle… Ah. I really shouldn’t say that.”
“Ah… of course not!”
“Let’s talk about something else. I’ll pour you another cup, so please continue.”
Shiron, who had been feeding him perfect cues, noticed the man’s cup was empty and refilled it. Dexter’s mouth stretched almost to his ears at the sight of a boy who topped up the drinks without even needing a hint.
“See, the thing about knights is that face matters. Refusing a duel from a man who can already smell death is a real blow to your pride. Anyway, if Argon that bastard still had a pair hanging between his legs, how could he not come out for a duel?”
Dexter drained the cup in one gulp and bulged his eyes. The pleasant buzz, combined with Shiron’s perfectly timed reactions, had him thoroughly enjoying himself. Before long he was slashing empty air with the edge of his hand.
“In the duel—pow! Papapat! Hah! It only took five exchanges to take that son of a bitch’s head…! That’s how it went.”
“Kyaaah! You’re the complete man, Master! Absolutely magnificent!”
This old man is completely hammered.
Shiron clapped with exaggerated enthusiasm and gave him a smiling-eyed look.
“It’s a common enough story. On the central continent there’s a custom of staking the fate of the whole unit on a duel when you’re outnumbered.”
Igor Kairon, commander of the Western Border Guard, cut in while shooting a sidelong glance at the excited Dexter.
“But if you keep relying on cheap tricks instead of proper methods, you won’t last long. You never should have let the retreat get cut off in the first place.”
“That makes perfect sense!”
“If you’re going to stand in a position leading people, you should leave the body work to the subordinates to some extent, while the one above chooses the fork in the road… and takes responsibility for it.”
Igor gazed at the cup in his hand with half-lidded eyes.
“Just so nobody misunderstands and thinks I’m some coward who can’t take a duel… let me say this clearly. Once you command more than ten thousand men like me, you couldn’t use a trick like that even if you wanted to…”
“Oh my. Misunderstand? How could anyone possibly think that?”
This one’s even further gone.
Shiron tossed the emptied bottle behind him and pulled out a fresh one.
That made ninety-two bottles.
Considering one oak barrel yielded roughly seventy-five bottles of whiskey, he had already gone through an entire barrel’s worth. Someone might have thought it a waste—yet according to Encia, the cellars of Dawn Castle still held thousands of oak barrels, including those still aging. There was plenty left.
“By the way, kid. What did you say your name was again?”
“Oh, there’s really no need to remember it. I’m Shiron Prien, Master Dexter.”
“Master, my ass! Drop it! Just call me uncle!”
“H-huh… Is that really all right?”
“Just uncle! I like you, Shiron, so don’t worry about it!”
Dexter thumped Shiron’s back heartily and laughed with open gusto.
“My own boy’s just about your age, you know. That little shit’s hit some damn puberty or something—won’t even react when his old man invites him out hunting.”
“Ah… is that so.”
As Dexter heaved alcohol-laden sighs, Shiron sent him a look of carefully measured sympathy.
“Time will solve it soon enough, don’t you think? There’s no way he wouldn’t recognize such a splendid father—a father who wins every duel he fights. It’s just a phase that will pass.”
“Khahaha! Well, I shouldn’t say it myself, but my boy’s eyes really are full of knotholes, aren’t they?”
Dexter rubbed his strawberry-red nose and grinned. In contrast, for some reason, Shiron’s expression had darkened a little.
“…Even so, I really envy your son.”
“Hm?”
Dexter tilted his head at the sudden shift in the boy’s face. In response, Shiron dredged up sad thoughts and squeezed out tears.
“I… don’t even have parents to go hunting with.”
He lowered his head slightly. The lively atmosphere cooled at once, and every gaze focused on him.
“…Both parents passed?”
“Ah—no. That’s not it…”
“Then?”
Shiron rubbed his faintly stinging nose and spoke.
“My father’s extremely busy. My mother passed away… and, sniff, now that I think about it, I can’t even remember my father’s face.”
“…That’s a pity.”
Shiron pulled a handkerchief from his clothes and dabbed at the corners of his eyes. Then, as if shaking off the heavy mood, he continued in a lighter tone.
“Even so, I don’t really feel inconvenienced. In place of my busy father, Uncle Hugo took my siblings and me in. So I’m not all that sad. I just… felt a little regret that I never got to go out and do things with my father.”
Suddenly someone seized Shiron’s arm. He lifted his head and looked up at the face above him.
“Boy. You may call me big sister.”
“Pardon?”
It was a woman whose silver hair was elegantly tied back. What was her name again? Versaille? She never appeared in the game, but she was the head of a famous martial family, if he remembered right.
“Huh. With that age gap, she’s telling him to call her big sister.”
Dexter made an incredulous face with his flushed features.
“Kid, do you have any idea how old this person is? Her youngest child is around your father’s age.”
“…What do you mean? To my eyes she looks like a big sister.”
“Hey now. Why are we even talking about age here?”
“Margaret Versaille. Have some shame. Keep it up and you might just get yourself cut down by Sir Hugo.”
Igor looked back and forth between Margaret and Shiron with half-lidded eyes.
“Be careful, boy. One wrong step and that old hag will swallow you whole.”
“…Igor, quiet.”
Margaret’s face twisted as she glared at him. Igor paid no mind. The alcohol had paralyzed whatever sense normally filtered what he should and shouldn’t say, so his mouth kept moving.
“If you look at the Versaille family tree, elves pop up now and then. Outwardly she looks reasonably young, but inside she’s packed with a dantian that’s been aging for well over a hundred years. Not big sister—even being generous, she’s a great-grandmother.”
“Igor Kairon. Would you be satisfied if I told the story of how you shit and pissed yourself as a newly minted knight right here and now?”
“Let’s hear it. It would still be less embarrassing than forgetting your own age to dementia and acting shamelessly toward a child.”
“You little—!”
Margaret shot to her feet and reached for the sword at her waist. Igor, unconcerned, began drawing mana into his dantian.
“B-big sister. Please don’t. You too, Sir Igor.”
Shiron hurriedly rose and covered Margaret’s hand with both of his own.
At the moist gaze looking up at her, Margaret’s face flushed faintly and she cleared her throat.
Feeling she had shown an unseemly side, Margaret hastily tried to change the subject.
“In any case, I never knew Sir Hugo had that side to him.”
“Indeed. He never even joined drinking parties—always off killing magic beasts—so I half thought he was a golem wearing human skin…” “Same here.”
A man muttered from the corner.
“Before I knew Sir Hugo, who would have imagined that the family from the Hero stories actually still existed?”
What the hell is this nonsense?
Shiron whipped his head toward the source of the voice.