A Lucky Day
Clutching his head as if it might crack open from the hangover, Shiron boarded the airship bound for Rihnn.
He had drunk far too much at yesterday's farewell party. One might ask what business a clergyman had with alcohol, but the theology students of the Order of the Blessed Water that Shiron belonged to had never shown the slightest hesitation when it came to drinking. So it was hardly strange that liquor had flowed freely at the farewell gathering held after the graduation ceremony.
"I'm dying."
Shiron collapsed into the seat matching the zone on his ticket and let out a long sigh.
Lucerne → Rihnn
Platform: A16 | Departure: May 12
Arrival: May 15
IlIIlIIIllIIlIIIlIlI
It was not even a neighboring country. The journey from Lucerne, perched at the far edge of the continent, all the way to the Rihnn Empire stretched on and on. Three full days stuck quietly aboard an airship in an age without smartphones or television—the mere thought drew another sigh from him of its own accord.
Yet looked at another way, it was only three days. Time that would slip by quickly enough if he just found something to read. Shiron reached into his coat and pulled out reading material.
VIVLE
"...Wrong one."
Thanks to the hangover he had fished out something strange by mistake. He stared blankly at the scripture that had come to hand by chance.
The book he had lived with for the past three years—the mere sight of which was enough to make him nauseous—bore a title that once again reminded him exactly who the game's creator had been.
As far as he knew, the only person who ever spelled Bible as VIVLE was Yura.
—Hey. You spelled it wrong.
—Huh? Where?
—Bible. It's Bible, not VIVLE.
—Ah...
—Fix it before the teacher smacks you.
—...Thanks.
—Seriously, our homeroom teacher is a total psycho. Who takes a switch to a kid over a little spelling mistake?
It was only an elementary-school memory, but even Yura had not been good at everything from the start. Right—up through elementary school, he had been better than her at everything except fighting. She had been the one learning from him.
That annoying girl who happened to live nearby and showed up every day with homework or whatever else, then even managed to score free meals at his house...
I'm gonna throw up.
He had drifted off into idle thoughts for a moment.
Shiron shook his head and stuffed the scripture back into his coat. Then he pulled out the unread letters still waiting there.
"Reading letters again?"
"A bunch of them piled up that I never got around to."
Shiron answered as he accepted a drink from Seira. At present she was posing as a nun, accompanying him in the duties of a junior priest.
Seira eyed the thick stack of letters and gave a small shudder.
She had watched him read letters many times before, yet every time she saw the mountain of envelopes that always accumulated beside him, goosebumps rose along her arms. She simply could not get used to it.
For five straight years, without missing a single one...
Long-distance mail arrived at best once a month. Choosing such a cumbersome frequency meant the girl who had built that mountain of letters had some design of her own.
"That... Siriel girl who sends them? The silver-haired one? Sweet-looking face, pure... eyes."
"That's her."
Shiron smiled faintly and opened the first envelope. The fragrance that bloomed the instant he broke the seal made him draw a deep breath without thinking.
Perfume.
A letter written in spring.
From the scent alone he could guess when Siriel had composed it.
The perfume she sprinkled on her letters changed with the seasons.
Spring brought a soft floral note; summer a bright citrus-fruit brightness. Autumn and winter carried the heavy fragrance of wood and smoke...
Spring had begun last month, and sure enough the letter smelled of flowers.
Unlike Shiron, who was enjoying the scent, Seira shifted her hips one seat farther away.
It was not that the perfume was too strong. She had simply caught the intent behind the fragrance clinging to the paper.
1. A device to keep herself constantly in the mind of a distant older brother.
2. A warning device announcing that the man already had an owner and others should keep their distance.
One of the two. Or perhaps both.
Either way, it was pure vixenry.
Seira watched Shiron with complicated feelings.
Reading the backlog of letters proved a welcome breath of fresh air on the tedious journey.
Shiron broke the seal on one of the few remaining envelopes.
To my dear brother whom I miss.
Oppa, are you well? I hope you've been taking care of your health. Winter is already over and spring has come. While I was preparing to enter the Academy this past winter, they told me I had to have my uniform custom-made. Every student wearing the exact same clothes—what a strange rule. It's not as if we're soldiers or officers of the constabulary. Still, the design is rather pretty, so I'm not too upset. I wanted to show you how I look in my school uniform before anyone else, and I'm truly disappointed I can't. I miss you so much today, Oppa. I'll end here.
It's only been a week since I entered the Academy, and already I have so many things I want to tell you. Oppa, something really funny happened! Lucia said she wants to be a library committee member. Lucia has a surprisingly quirky side, doesn't she? I knew she liked books, but I never expected her to volunteer for such a troublesome post. Oh, and Lucia still reads Kylie's fairy tales—did you know that? I miss you so much today, Oppa. I'll end here.
"...Finished them all."
Shiron wiped his forehead with his sleeve and sighed. Reading Siriel's letters was sometimes enjoyable, yet she wrote in such exhaustive detail that they could be exhausting. And she never once omitted the closing words about how much she missed him, which only piled guilt onto a Shiron who still could not return to Rihnn.
Of course, Siriel had not always sent such heavy letters.
Shiron drew out a letter yellowed by the five years that had passed.
This is the first letter I've ever sent, so it might feel awkward—please bear with me a little, Oppa. It's only been a month since you left and I already miss you so much. What should I do?
Siriel's very first letter had possessed a simple, plain quality. Unlike now, the handwriting was a little crooked and awkward turns of grammar appeared here and there.
Watching a child grow this way made him feel like a parent despite having no blood tie at all.
And Lucia...
Shiron looked at the letters Lucia had sent.
I can shoot sword-energy now and cut rocks even from a distance. Are you training hard?
I'm looking forward to the Academy. A place where you learn and compete with kids your own age—doesn't just imagining it get you excited?
Viktor is the student council president here. Why is a prince wasting his time in a place like this? It's weird. Even if it's an important period for building connections with the talents who will one day lead the Empire, spending it on petty chores like that... I'm starting to worry about the Empire's future.
The Academy turned out to be a complete mess. Brats who still have milk on their lips form packs and fight for power, and the so-called seniors gather the lowerclassmen and put them through hazing. It's really strange. And the teachers just sit there and do nothing. Are these people even educators? Siriel hasn't said a word and seems to be adapting fine—am I the weird one? I don't know, Shiron.
Lucia's letters were generally like that. Even though Siriel and Lucia had grown up looking at the same things, their perspectives differed so sharply that comparing them was half the fun.
True to her frank nature, Lucia's letters readily revealed her worries about the situations she faced, while Siriel carefully selected only the contents that would spare him unnecessary concern—her consideration practically radiated from the page.
Still, the fact that Lucia followed Siriel into the Academy was unexpected.
Was it lingering regret over unfinished studies? He had thought she would set out to chase the traces of the comrades who had already left... One thing was certain: the letters Lucia sent brimmed with longing and anticipation for learning.
"..."
Shiron looked at Seira, who was nodding off. Hesitation stirred about the plan he had once made to introduce Lucia to her after the coming-of-age ceremony.
Poor kid.
He tucked the letters, bound with string, back into his coat and gazed out the window.
Hoooooooonk———
The airship's horn blared, signaling their arrival in Rihnn.
"Hey. Wake up."
Shiron tapped Seira's shoulder to rouse her.
"What... are we there?"
"Yeah. So snap out of it. We've got a world to save."
Shiron absently fingered the Holy Sword inside his coat.
A bright spring day with sunlight pouring down.
At the airship platform, coachmen lined up and jostled for position, each hoping to claim passengers even a moment sooner.
Chamberlain, perched on his carriage and yawning luxuriously, was one of them.
He watched the gangway extending down from the airship and straightened his rumpled clothes.
It was already past noon; these would be his first fares of the day. Plenty of time had passed for him to have taken dozens of passengers already, yet the lords and ladies who rode airships possessed the means to pay the expensive fares, and if he played his cards right he could pocket a tip equal to a week's wages for an ordinary coachman.
As if on cue, a young priest accompanied by a nun approached Chamberlain's carriage. Just as expected of people who traveled by airship, not a single detail about them was shabby; they carried themselves with neatness and quiet dignity.
Walking all the way past the carriages in front to reach mine... Today's a lucky day.
But his good fortune did not stop there. While Chamberlain wore his friendliest smile and personally opened the carriage door, two gold coins found their way into his breast pocket.
The young priest had tipped him before they even reached their destination.
What kind of windfall is this?
He had never expected a generous tip from a priest—a man whose calling was purity and abstinence—rather than some noble lord. He had never dreamed such luck would find him. Chamberlain forced the corners of his mouth not to stretch into a vulgar grin and spoke in a carefully restrained voice.
"...Where shall I take you?"
Shiron answered the coachman with a grave face.
"To the red-light district."