Brotherly Love (2)
My master once asked me a question, back in the day.
"Ping, do you know what a Daoist must avoid above all else?"
I answered without a moment's hesitation, giving the one answer I truly feared.
"Dying before I could become an immortal?"
A brief look of sorrow crossed my master's face.
"That too. But what a Daoist must keep farthest away from is other Daoists."
"Why is that?"
"Because Daoists know nothing of looking out for anyone but themselves. Look at them—swearing they'll live forever on their own, shoving every 'good for the body' thing they can find down their throats. So when you meet another Daoist someday, keep your eyes wide open. He will surely covet what is yours."
"But you don't covet my things, Master."
"That's because you keep your eyes wide open, don't you?"
A wrinkled hand patted my head.
"Still, no need to worry too much. Those who treasure their own lives are, by nature, cowards."
"Are you a coward too, Master?"
"What good would it do to tell you? Haha."
After a good laugh, my master said,
"From today, I shall teach you the arts used only by cowards. Ways to win a fight without ever stepping onto the field yourself."
And that was how I came to learn the Puppet Arts—guileishu, the art of creating puppet soldiers.
The Puppet Arts proved useful in many ways. Apparently I was a coward too, because I found commanding from the back far more agreeable than clashing bodies in the front.
The only time I'd ever stepped in personally was with that flower thief.
At any rate, I resolved to use the Puppet Arts to build myself a sturdy bodyguard who would watch over me day and night.
Formations could only ever play a supporting role. Once a formation trapped an enemy, I needed an attacker to finish the job.
That was when my eyes fell on the armor sitting in the corner of the room. It looked far too sturdy to be mere decoration, and it wrapped the whole body without a single gap—so completely that a person could be standing inside it and no one would ever know.
"Lily."
I tugged at the hem of the dress Lily was knitting.
"Yes, young master."
"What's that?"
"Pardon? You mean the armor?"
"Yeah."
She smiled, wearing the expression of someone who found a boy's interests entirely predictable.
"Among your ancestors, young master, there was a fine knight named Ivan Esterzy. That armor was something Sir Ivan treasured dearly."
"Is it a decoration?"
She beamed at me, apparently impressed that I had used such a difficult word.
"It is no mere decoration. It has been meticulously maintained all these years, so if you grow into a valiant knight someday, young master, you may even get to wear it yourself."
If it wasn't a decoration, then it could be put to use.
The fact that it was an ancestor's keepsake gave me slight pause—but if I didn't put it to use, I might not have a "someday" to speak of at all.
Making the armor move was the easy part.
The crux was how much power I could infuse into it. I would have loved to pour in as much as possible, but the me of right now had no Daoist energy to spare.
If I'd had that kind of power, I'd have reduced that preposterous bastard to a lump of charcoal on the spot.
But there was a way. As it happened, I knew exactly one person overflowing with power he couldn't contain.
"Bishop Colin?"
"Yeah."
Alarm was written all over Lily's face. She clearly hadn't expected me to ask for that noisy old man again.
"Are you feeling unwell somewhere, young master?"
I shook my head vigorously.
"I'm terribly sorry, but Bishop Colin is busy managing his diocese, so he can only come when you're ill."
"Call him! Call him!"
The finest thing about having a baby's body was that tantrums were unconditionally tolerated. I'd gotten quite good at throwing myself down these days—I was starting to suspect I really was regressing.
"What should we do?"
The maids exchanged troubled glances.
"...Send a request to the palace for an audience with the Bishop."
Lily said, as if steeling herself.
"Perhaps the young master simply wishes to meet the Bishop in person. There aren't many adults around him that he can rely on, after all."
About an hour later, a white-haired old man appeared at a brisk pace. The moment he entered the room, he swung his head around and asked,
"They say the young prince wished to see this old man—is it true?"
"Yes. He called Your Grace's name any number of times."
"Hoho, well now."
The old man burst into hearty laughter. I'd thought I was being a bit unreasonable, but he was so delighted it embarrassed me.
But the real contest was only beginning. I clung to his priestly robes and shouted my trump card.
"Colin, pray for me!"
He turned to Lily with a puzzled look.
"Didn't you say there was nothing ailing him?"
"Yes. He is in perfect health. It seems the young master simply regards his time with Your Grace as a kind of game."
"Hm... well then, what harm is there in it? For the young prince's sake, I could offer prayers any number of times."
Just as the old man clasped his hands together to pray, I pointed at the armor standing in the corner.
"Do it on that!"
"On that? Whatever could possibly be over there?"
"That's my friend!"
"Y-young prince...!"
Confusion flickered across Lily's face. But the old man took it in good humor.
"Oh dear, it seems the young prince's knight was wounded in valiant battle. Very well. I shall offer a prayer to Lord Solitas on his behalf."
He cleared his throat once, then boomed:
"Parent of Metals, Solitas! I beseech you by your steadfastness, your firmness, your immutability, your wisdom like bedrock, and your untarnished mercy!"
His voice was as unchanging as ever.
His stamina, too.
That day, Colin poured out his arts for four hours straight, swearing he'd save me. His body brimmed with an energy of a completely different quality from mine.
Brilliant white light rained down upon the armor. The inscriptions I had carved into its interior began charging with the external energy. When I squealed and clapped my hands, the old man, thoroughly worked up, raised his voice even higher.
"Ooooh, blessed be!"
"We got played."
Rex said.
"No, we didn't."
Torin countered.
"I'm telling you, we got played."
Rex waved his fishing rod as if to show it off, but Torin didn't so much as flinch.
"The line's slack. If we'd hooked a Gold Fish, the line would've been far tauter."
The two fell silent for a while. After a long stretch, Rex spoke up abruptly.
"We shouldn't have taken that job."
"Say that one more time and it'll be the eightieth time, Rex."
Torin chided him instantly.
"What was the little brat's name again? Iden? Iden Esterzy?"
"Right. Iden Esterzy."
Torin answered in a flat tone. A gull shrieked and swept past overhead.
"I was suspicious from the start. Fifty thousand barts just for disposing of a brat still on his mother's milk? He's a duke's son, sure, but that sum made no sense."
"If you were suspicious from the start, you should've said something."
"I was going to. If it weren't for the loan."
The two grumbled as they began packing up their fishing gear.
In truth, what Rex had cast into the sea wasn't a fishing rod but his spear. Until they'd been stranded on this island, he'd never dreamed he'd be using his weapon as fishing tackle.
The bucket Torin kept his fish in was a helmet. The helmet that had saved his life any number of times had been reduced to a reeking, fish-slimed basket.
They hadn't given up everything from the start, of course. Six months ago, when they had infiltrated the detached palace to assassinate the duke's third son, they'd been brimming with confidence.
But when they finally reached Iden's chambers, what greeted the two men was an endless, boundless sea.
They returned to their makeshift shelter and sat around a campfire. Rex blew on the kindling until it caught, while Torin skewered the day's catch on branches and hung them up to roast.
"Hey, Torin."
Rex said as he dried his damp body.
"I've been thinking it over, and we're trapped inside one hell of a powerful illusion spell right now."
"Probably."
"And illusion magic works on the mind, in the end."
"So?"
"So I heard that if you do something that normally doesn't work on the mind—something the usual you would never do—the shock might break you out of the illusion."
"Have you already forgotten? There's nothing we haven't tried together. We built a sandcastle ten stories tall, we starved for five days, we walked the whole island backwards—"
"None of it was enough, apparently. Novel, sure, but not shocking."
"Then what do you want to try this time?"
"...Something I swore I would never, ever do."
Rex reached out and gripped the fishing rod. Torin's face twisted. Slowly, Torin dragged his fish-stinking helmet toward himself.
"Rex, calm down."
"I've never been calmer, Torin."
"No, you're not right in the head. You've been stuck here too long—you've lost your mind."
"That's exactly the problem. That we've been here too long."
Rex leveled the spear shaft at Torin. Torin heaved a deep sigh and pulled the helmet on. A sea worm wriggled its way down through his hair.
"Hey, don't do something you'll seriously regret."
"I'd rather try something and regret it. I'm going to regret it either way."
Rex said, lowering his voice. Torin extended his right hand and took a sparring stance. Fierce killing intent locked around the two men.
That was when it happened. The ground suddenly began to shake as if an earthquake had struck. They lost their balance and crashed to the floor. In an instant, everything before their eyes was sucked into a fist-sized point—then spat back out as a familiar scene.
Cold stone floor.
Ivy vines creeping in through the window, and above them, countless stars suspended in the dark.
It was exactly as it had been half a year ago. This was the precise spot from which they had been pulled into the island.
But there was one thing in the scene that had changed. A colossal suit of armor stood tall, blocking the passageway. From the rim of its helmet, a crimson glow flickered like torchlight.
And perched on the armor's shoulder, like a ghost, sat a white-haired child, looking down at them.
Iden Esterzy.
Their target, without a doubt. Yet they could not so much as twitch a finger.
Six months of imprisonment, a living, breathing giant of armor,
and the demon's spawn who commanded it all.
The boundary between reality and unreality was collapsing before their eyes.
"Torin, when in the hell does this cursed illusion end?"
"How should I know!"
THUD.
The armor slammed its massive halberd into the floor. Flagstones split in two and leapt into the air, and Rex and Torin felt their hearts stop with terror.
The contract no longer mattered. They threw down spear and sword, spun on their heels, and bolted as fast as their legs could carry them.