Sapiens Must Die (3)
"Fifteen hundred years ago."
"You're starting from all the way back then? Do you want to work me to death and be remembered as the emperor's assassin?"
The emperor tapped the mountain of documents with a massive claw. The word choice had come dangerously close to a genuine slip of the tongue. When the courtiers bustling about like ants froze in terror at the word assassin, the emperor puffed out his mane and hastily backpedaled.
"It was a joke. Just a figure of speech. A joke, I say! Clemonde! Go! Work!"
Orcus pulled his hood lower and looked up at the emperor's face, which loomed high above him. The enormous ram's head carried a weight of exhaustion that suggested it might topple at any moment. The Humanity Sect and the Federation had been founded to protect human dignity. In a way, it was a vicious paradox that their supreme ruler was not human. Yet no one seriously raised the issue anymore. Over the ninety years of his reign, he had transformed from a long-lived being under suspicion into something like a father to all. It was the very dream of every human ruler. But for the emperor himself, it was nothing but misfortune.
Scratching his horns with a lion's paw, the emperor muttered, "Orcus. I'm old. It's been over a century since I last played the role of royal guard monster. Oh, damn it all. I should never have accepted the position of adopted son to the previous emperor. I could have been living comfortably in some paradise meadow, whether it was a park in Baylard or anywhere else—"
"A mere one hundred and fifty years old? You're still in your prime," the sphinx said, letting out a storm-like sigh. Of course, he did so while firmly pressing down on his own pile of documents. Unfortunately, this sent a stack of parchment flying from the hands of a passing, unlucky diplomat. The younger ministers let out cries of despair.
As Orcus glanced at them with pity, the emperor tapped the desk with his claw to regain his attention. "I'm not looking for comforting words. I want you to finish quickly. The core only."
Orcus nodded. Then he condensed the story as much as possible.
"Fifteen hundred years ago."
The emperor clutched his face with two thick forepaws and groaned.
"The great lake of Moriphyre was not originally a lake. In its place stood a beautiful mountain."
"Are you telling me that a massive lake spanning twenty thousand square kilometers was once a mountain? I may not know much about geology, but—"
"I don't know whether it's geologically possible either. The thief might have known. Though I doubt he needed any help from geology when he ripped it out by the roots and ran off with it."
The emperor wrinkled his nose. "Ripped it out and ran? With a piece of terrain?"
"Yes. He ripped it out and ran. Thanks to that, the mountain became a pit overnight."
The emperor glanced around. The tent-like office was extremely noisy. Orcus was deliberately murmuring in a very low voice—so low that only the emperor, whose hearing was sharper than any human's, could catch it. The hood concealed even the movement of his lips.
"Moriphyre. 'The Dead Lost Forest.' That is what we called it after we were massacred and scattered. Its original name was Angilphyre. It was once home to the wood elves who worshipped trees."
"We," the emperor repeated with a groan, rising to stretch his massive body. "Then your age..."
"I was no longer young even then."
The emperor no longer urged him to shorten the tale. Orcus compressed the fifteen-hundred-year-old secret as tightly as he could, speaking in a voice so faint it was nearly a whisper.
"Among the ancient humans, there were mages."
They were not the magitech engineers who treated magic as an object of analysis, nor the modern mages who were little more than intermediaries—begging and bargaining with natural forces to borrow power. These were true mages, born with mana in their hearts, who could freely wield the elements of the universe using only their own strength.
"Impossible. No such humans exist."
"You are correct. It would be more accurate to say they once existed."
Blessed with abilities far superior to most of their fellow humans, they naturally rose to become rulers. As chieftains, warlords, kings. They were the pillars and guides for weak humanity that possessed no special traits, living myths for a race without divine protection. Endless admiration and worship followed them. Yet they were not satisfied.
"They stood upon the shoulders of all people and looked around, searching for what they lacked."
The emperor's expression suggested he understood. "What did they miss? A vacation?"
"How nice it would be if every ruler in the world were as innocent as you."
At Orcus's quiet laugh, the emperor twisted his furry face.
"They reached a terrible conclusion. They would kill the elves and steal eternity."
The mages who killed the elves and even assassinated their god sealed divine blessings within their inborn mana. As a result, humanity became a target for many races. When their own kind demanded an explanation, the mages quickly offered one: they would use that power in service to humanity.
"And then they broke that promise. They ripped up the terrain, flew into the sky, and fled. To a paradise of their own."
"How much of that story is metaphor?"
"Every word is the unvarnished truth. To humanity, starving for divine protection, the claim that they would 'steal divine power and use it in your service' must have sounded quite plausible. Especially since 'Uru,' who had nearly died from failing to fully digest the gods he swallowed, somehow survived long enough to devour the gods of several other races as well."
Orcus asked if there was any blank paper. The emperor handed him a draft of an unfinished imperial edict. On the half-crumpled sheet were all manner of curses the emperor had written himself about two monarchs who had forced him to move in person for ridiculous reasons.
"He swore with that very mouth to protect all of humanity. And then he broke it."
Orcus quickly sketched an object with the pen. A cylinder. Or rather, a bottle. And inside it, a severed tongue.
"So I came down to steal the covenant they failed to keep."
"What is this?"
"The tongue of one who made himself a god. He stole his homeland and fled, so I pursued him. He failed to keep his oath, so I cut it out."
At Orcus's next words, the emperor glanced around once more.
"And through this object, I created the Humanity Sect."
The sphinx swallowed hard. In the same low voice, he muttered, "I'll ask one more time. How much of that story is metaphor?"
"It must be difficult to accept. Of course, the power of the Humanity Sect does not come entirely from this pathetic liar's tongue. Nevertheless, I wish to call in this debt from humanity now."
A claw snatched the paper from Orcus's hand and immediately crumpled it before tossing it into the brazier. Fortunately, none of the courtiers paid any attention to the sight. The emperor silently praised the past decisions that had saddled them with endless administrative pressure. For once, the monster called bureaucracy seemed to be his staunch ally.
"Damn it. If it's neither a joke nor a metaphor, you should have said it in a private setting. Why bring up such sensitive matters in a crowded place—"
The emperor shook his head and cut himself off. It seemed better to hear the request quickly and end the conversation.
"And what is this debt?"
"My son. My son who was taken by those thieves."
When the emperor sensed the rage rising in Orcus's voice from behind the mask, he recoiled in shock. It was something he had never seen before, even in all their previous meetings outside of official capacity.
"Yes. You wanted only the main point, correct? The celestial nation built by the mages who robbed the gods has taken my son."
"Nathan Maia? The Lion Wing Knight? He was kidnapped?"
"The Peres family you are currently worried about has followed them. That is why I borrowed the strength of the remaining Lion Wing Knights without explanation. You must have already received reports. An unidentified floating vessel was captured. The dwarves of Mikreheim are currently detaining both the ship and its passengers. Their identity is under investigation. I will tell you. They call themselves Eleim. 'The blessed children of the gods.'"
The emperor had indeed heard such a report. The exhaustion vanished completely from his heavily burdened face.
"I know it is an unreasonable request. No matter how accomplished a knight may be, asking you to risk a conflict that could lead to war for the sake of a single soldier is absurd."
Orcus clenched the hands he had placed on the emperor's desk. The royal guards tried to warn him upon seeing those fists, but the emperor silenced them with a look.
"Pressuring them could become a fight that humanity cannot afford. We are already stretched thin by the war against the Abyss. Expanding the battlefield from two dimensions to three would be a cruel demand. Still, as a pathetic father, I ask you this. Please lend me your strength to save my son."
"Didn't I tell you to give me only the main point? Are you insulting me?"
The sphinx's eyes sparkled with renewed vigor. It was typical of a race that loved difficult problems.
"Simply asking me to save a friend's son would have been enough."
Orcus leaned back in his chair as if relieved and lowered his head deeply. Yet the eyes behind the mask neither smiled with joy nor filled with tears of gratitude. Orcus's eyes simply stared at the floor like inanimate objects.
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Someone roughly yanked off the black hood. Light stabbed into her eyelids, and Annai let out a shrill scream.
"Kyaa? Kyaa, huh. The fact that your scream is so clear tells me your condition isn't too bad yet."
She had never been so glad to hear the celestial tongue. Annai, former captain and current prisoner, felt a deep sense of relief. She thought her kin from the heavens had come to rescue her.
That relief vanished the moment her vision recovered a few seconds later.
The place Annai had been brought to was a small room walled with stone on all sides. Inside were a flickering torch, Annai herself kneeling, and—
"These gentlemen said they wanted to ask you some questions, Master."
The savage surface-dwellers who had attacked the ship, with former maid Melia acting as their interpreter. A tall male and female Sapiens, and one short, hairy figure whose face was hidden in shadow.
All sorts of horrific imaginings flashed through Annai's mind. The customs of surface-dwellers she had learned about in school were nothing but terrifying. Cannibalism, human sacrifice, and especially the horrific tales of toying with captured creatures, torturing and slaughtering them.
"Release me, you barbaric creatures! In the name of our heavenly gods, all unclean things—"
When Till and Quena drew their daggers, Annai squeezed her eyes shut, prepared for the end. She had no intention of begging. At the very least, she wanted to die while preserving the dignity of a celestial ruling class.
"—Damn it, damn it! Mom, I'm sorry—! I loved you, Melia—!"
But what the Lion Wing Knights cut was not Annai's windpipe, but the rope binding her hands behind her back. When the knights offered her a warm cup, Annai was considerably flustered. The aroma rising from it was one she knew well.
"Surface-dwellers... have coffee?"
Interpreter Melia, who had dramatically gasped, relayed the words to the knights almost verbatim. Till was impressed for the second time.
"The prisoner... is talking back?"
"Tell her that if she cooperates willingly, we will provide corresponding conveniences, and that offering her this cup of coffee is the beginning of that. Ignore what that bastard says. Till, shut up for the next fifteen minutes. We have work to do."
When Quena snapped at him, Till narrowed his eyes. "The dwarf lord is in no position to stop me from doing anything. The civilian rescued yesterday is the interpreter. At least I can speak a bit of Eleim. So why are you here, Quena?"
"Because I'm the only one in our knight order who properly learned prisoner interrogation techniques."
"Where? From the parents of the kids you beat up when you were young? Did you gain enlightenment from hearing them ask why you hit their children?"
"I learned it at university, you idiot. You're the one who can only say 'hello' in their language, so why are you here?"
"You've been so on edge lately that I was worried you might beat the prisoner in private."
It was hardly something Till—who had tried to smash an Eleim's head—should be saying. When Quena trembled with rage, Till whistled innocently.
"That's fine too. If necessary, cut off his fingers and toes and rip out his ribs."
The only person sitting on a chair in the room growled, his beard quivering. The startled Lion Wing Knights looked down at the space below their chests.
"Your Majesty. But this is an unofficial interrogation we're conducting secretly among ourselves before the Heresy Inquisitors arrive—"
"The First Mountain King will take responsibility for the aftermath. Do you think your world can ignore my voice?"
The wrinkles carved into the stone-like face twisted. The king who had followed along to observe the interrogation had apparently come with the intention of encouraging it.
The two Lion Wing Knights stared blankly at each other.
"Nathan's lucky. How long has he been in society, and he already has so many adults looking out for him."
"Of course, benefiting from that is only possible if he's still alive."
Through Melia, the Lion Wing Knights asked about Nathan and Aspen's well-being. They also made it clear that if she refused to answer, there would be no restraint.
"Nathan? Nathan Maia?"
The Eleim's startled expression as she pronounced Nathan's name made Till and Quena brighten. If she had been given time to make excuses, Annai would have added as earnestly as possible that it had been a slip of the tongue born of fear. That her mind had been in no state for proper judgment.
"That venomous bastard whom the entire heavens curses to die, yet who stubbornly refuses to die?"
But in the end, Annai dug her own grave with her tongue.
"Oh, heavenly gods. Did all of this happen because of that lightning-struck bastard?"
When Melia hesitated to translate, the dwarf king pressed her fiercely. The three who heard Annai's phrasing reached the same conclusion regarding the appropriate level of the interrogation.
The dwarf king rose from his chair and tilted the backrest. The seat cushion promptly transformed into an anvil.
"Now, tell us what you did to our beloved successor. One, two—"
"The mountain's benefactor who saved my lovely daughters from the goblins' schemes, my friend—what did you just call him?"
When all ten fingers of her bound arms were placed between the anvil and the dagger, Annai screamed that she was going to die.
'Heavenly gods, I was wrong! I shouldn't have bought that thing from that bastard Kada just because I liked it—!'