Chapter 36: The War, A Game (3)
The connoisseurs said.
That it was fitting to call it the Mirror War.
Because it was a war fought between those who resembled each other.
The previous emperor had been a conquering monarch. He had called himself the son of the Mother God ‘Ivensina’, and that was why he had wished for his corpse to be enshrined in a cathedral.
It was a demand that could not be fulfilled. The previous emperor's body was nothing more than a means to secure legitimacy. The princes had begun to eye their father's corpse to claim it.
After the previous emperor's sudden death,
The 1st Prince sought to follow his father's will. For he considered his father's words to be right, regardless of the reason.
The 2nd Prince intercepted the body that was being carried. Under the pretext that the previous emperor's body should be preserved through a spell and displayed before the public so that they could mourn at any time.
The 3rd Prince questioned. Though our father was a great man, who would bother to look at a mere corpse?
Everyone will. The 4th Prince had answered so. So, my brothers, and my younger brothers. Our father passed away without having decided on a successor. That must be why. You are all trying to get something out of carrying a corpse on your backs. For the one who buries his father with his own hands will be the true son.
Let's be fair.
Let's give up on the previous emperor's corpse.
Let's entrust our father's funeral to His Holiness the Pope.
For she is, in name, the first empress of the empire.
‘Yes, you certainly said that.’
The 2nd Prince, Cherkio Numeros, wore a smile.
‘The 4th Prince, Luine, my wicked younger brother.’
The end of the Mirror War, the top floor of the Netvear fortress.
The outside of the impregnable fortress was in an uproar. It seemed as if iron was clashing, the ground was being scorched, and cannonballs were tearing through the night sky. Even so, it was a matter unrelated to Cherkio. For a strict barrier was protecting Cherkio's office.
“Listen.”
Cherkio said, filling his wine glass.
“The subjects say that we brothers resemble each other.”
The scent of wine was vaguely scattered.
“Even though our paternal line is the same, our mothers are all different. Especially the woman who gave birth to Luine, I killed her with my own hands……”
What do you think, Father?
Cherkio asked, letting out a sour breath.
Before Cherkio's eyes, there was a glass coffin.
Enshrined between fresh flower petals was the corpse of the previous emperor. The body of his father, which had become the starting point of the Mirror War. Cherkio tilted his wine glass towards the pale, restored face of the previous emperor.
Hudeudeuk, and.
A reddish-black stain spread on the glass coffin, and,
“How about it.”
Cherkio looked back and asked a question.
“Would you like a drink as well.”
Kureung──!
Was it the sound of a cannon, a thunderclap, or the roar of a fortress wall collapsing?
A man stood amidst the vague noise.
He looked more like a boy than a young man. A clear bloodstain was on his ashen silver hair. His blackish-blue eyes were unfocused and sharp, and the heavy armor of a Holy Knight that covered his body was clumsy, unbefitting his age.
“I'll pass.”
And so, the man, Abel Argento, opened his mouth.
“I do not drink.”
“You don't drink?”
Cherkio shrugged his shoulders. He took a step towards Abel with a gait wet with drunkenness. His vision, which kept swaying. Cherkio's head, which had reached before Abel's eyes, tilted this way and that.
“How truly pitiful. Is it not a waste of half of one's life. One who cannot get drunk will not even have the leisure to dream.”
“As you say.”
Abel replied in an indifferent tone.
“I do not dream.”
“Is thaaat so?”
A smile spread across Cherkio's lips.
It was difficult to even control his swaying body. Cherkio, collapsing towards a chair. The wine glass rolled on the wooden floor, and the wine splashed, scribbled across Abel's cheek.
“Yes, yes, yes……. So you don't dream.”
Cherkio propped his chin on his hand.
“But did you not come here to kill me? The death of the 2nd Prince, Cherkio Numeros……, you must have dreamed of plunging a sword into my body. This must be the moment right before that dream comes true.”
“No.”
Abel drew his beloved sword.
It was a modest movement. It was closer to the gesture of picking up a worn-out broom than gripping a sword.
“There is no need to dream of something that is achievable.”
Your Highness, you will die today.
Abel recited, with a languid breath.
“Alright. Let's say that's so.”
Clap, and.
Cherkio clapped his hands.
“This body will die today. Whether I'm stabbed by a sword or take poison, I'll die anyway. So what about it. I am not a commander who turns a blind eye to defeat. I didn't know Luine would do so well. To think he would make the Papacy his own.”
So, sit down.
Cherkio said, gesturing at Abel with his chin.
“I permit it, Holy Knight. You may sit across from me. How about we have a little chat. It's been a while since I've been in confinement, so I was lonely.”
Cherkio's index finger tilted towards Abel.
A silver-haired Holy Knight. Every aspect of that man was strange. Even with a brain steeped in wine, he could be sure. People like that are Sword Saints. Or they become Sword Saints. By what means on earth did he reach this place? The Netvear fortress is the pillar of the east, and the barrier of the sages must be surrounding the top floor.
“How about we have a chat while playing a game.”
Cherkio fumbled on the table.
He had to buy time. Hoping that there was a subordinate who had detected the damage to the barrier.
“I have many things I want to ask you. About the adventure stories you experienced while reaching this place, and about the pride you have as a Holy Knight. I really liked those stories. At least until I was young.”
A wine bottle stained with breath, a basket containing soggy bread, and a map of the Holy Numeros Empire with the inferiority of the 2nd Prince's army clearly marked.
Cherkio began to clear the things on the table. The wine bottle broke and the basket tumbled. Finally, as the map of the empire was torn to shreds and scattered, Abel tilted his head.
There was a game board.
On the table, with a serene appearance.
“I am curious, Holy Knight.”
A mischievous smile spread across Cherkio's lips.
“Do you like the story of the Hero?”
.
Abel scanned the phrase engraved on the game board. A game based on the life of a Hero? Thinking so, he narrowed his eyes. He couldn't understand anything. The rules that made up the game, the tokens that symbolized the heroes, and the dice that determined the progress of events and the aspect of battle. Everything just looked colorless.
“I, you see, Holy Knight. I once wanted to become a Hero. It was the dream of a budding brat. I wanted to face the Demon King with the Holy Sword in hand. For none other than the subjects.”
What use are rules in subjugating the Demon King,
“It must sound like nonsense to you. That I, Cherkio Numeros, dreamed of being a Hero. But it's true. Even I, who am called the slaughterer of the imperial family, a public enemy of the subjects, and a man who has swallowed the fangs of a demon, dreamed of the peace of Epezeria in my childhood.”
Why are the faces of the heroes engraved on the tokens so pure.
“Are you not curious, Holy Knight.”
And the dice.
“For what reason I have fallen so hideously.”
There is no world where everything is decided by dice.
“If you win the game, I will tell you.”
A tetrahedron, a cube, an octahedron, and a ten-sided die for the tens place. Various dice were rippling in Cherkio's hand. Though uncertainty was contained in all the dice, they were ultimately kind because the numbers could be counted. Since probability was nothing more than a lawlessness that could be guessed at.
“How about it. Will you accept my proposal?”
That was why Cherkio had placed a bet.
He had offered a bribe of sorts to Abel.
“This body will answer. In the midst of war, information is more valuable than gold bars. Cherkio Numeros, how many subjects did he bury? What kind of forbidden spell did he mobilize, and where are the prisoners of war detained? And for what reason did this body……”
──Chwarak!
At that moment, the empty air was cut.
Cherkio's breath was also bisected.
His lips, which had been chattering all along, choked. He tried to inhale with all his might, but only foamy blood poured out, not an exhale. His body, losing its strength and tilting. Cherkio watched with the gaze of his severed head.
In his fading consciousness,
Cherkio's eyes tilted towards Abel.
Abel silently extended his arm. The Hero tokens scattered on the table. He picked up one of them and looked at it quietly, then threw it towards the finish line of the game board.
A token, clinking and shaking.
Abel whispered to Cherkio.
“……I have won, Your Highness.”
* * *
“……I have won, Teacher.”
At Monika's declaration, Abel nodded his head.
The Black Swan Building of Cia-Harphe Academy. Monika looked at her token, which had reached the finish line.
Late at night, Abel and Monika were playing <BRAVE QUEST>. The game board scattered on the table was bustling. Was it because she had won five times in a row? For Monika, she couldn't feel even a slight sense of pleasure. Rather, a yawn welled up.
“You're terribly bad at this.”
Eut, and.
Monika said, stretching.
“Didn't you tell me last time? That you've played this game before.”
“I did.”
At Monika's question, Abel answered indifferently.
“You were lying, weren't you? You haven't even memorized all the rules yet.”
“It was not a lie. I even won back then.”
“No way. Was your opponent a squirrel or a rabbit or something.”
Abel's skill was terrible.
While the ‘Hero Who Upheld Eternity’ that Monika had chosen had finished subjugating the Demon King, the ‘Hero of the First Step’ that Abel had chosen had not even left the royal palace. The royal palace was the point where the ‘Hero of the First Step’ began his adventure. The scenario would begin by receiving a mission from the king there…….
“Just give up on persuading the king.”
Monika picked up a die.
A twenty-sided die. To persuade the king, one had to roll this. Success only on the highest number. The rest were failures. Abel had not succeeded even once. He had just been rolling the dice all along.
“You can tell just by looking. The probability is too low. The king declares war on the neighboring country, and the scenario for the ‘Hero of the First Step’ is to be chosen by the Holy Sword in the midst of the turmoil.”
It's almost impossible to violate that.
It means there's no use trying to persuade him to stop the war.
Monika muttered so.
The heroes each had their own traits.
In the case of the ‘Hero Who Upheld Eternity’, he received a bonus to his martial power check at the start. His health was also high, so he wouldn't die easily. But his persuasion function was sealed. The unfavorable condition of having to fight an all-out battle with every enemy was attached.
The ‘Hero of the First Step’ was the opposite. In exchange for having lower stats than the other heroes, he could use his persuasion function several times. Normally, if persuasion failures accumulate, the function is sealed, and the opponent turns into an enemy. Only the ‘Hero of the First Step’ was an exception.
“Are you going to play more? You must be tired.”
“Let's play one more game.”
“If you say so.”
Monika shrugged her shoulders. She moved busily to clean up the game board.
“……How did you get rid of them?”
In the midst of that, Monika opened her mouth.
“The warships that had surrounded CIAR.”
“I cut them.”
“Is that all? I fainted so I didn't see, but I heard they turned into debris in an instant.”
“I cut them using Aura.”
“……I see.”
This person is on a different level.
Monika thought so. There were dozens of warships. The military force that must have been on board them was in the hundreds. Abel had slaughtered all of them in a fleeting moment. It was to the point of being creepy, to just be impressed by his strength.
To think a person like that is my teacher.
Monika calculated the probability. The probability of becoming the disciple of a Sword Saint with only one arm. It must be absurdly low. Even lower than the probability of persuading the king with a twenty-sided die.
“Thank you, Teacher Abel.”
So she had no choice but to be grateful.
Like a believer praising the main gods, moved by a miracle.
No, it's not like I blindly believe in anyone, but…….
“When Vice President Theresia gave Dante-sunbae his expulsion notice……, I was so angry my head was about to explode. But to think it was a decision made with a purpose. What a relief. I don't know what kind of place Krisaor Academy is, but……, thank you for saving Dante-sunbae.”
“I was not the one who saved Dante.”
Abel reached out his hand.
He silently helped Monika, who was cleaning up the game board.
“I only saved CIAR. The one who saved Dante was you, Monika.”
Abel knew well.
The higher the realm one reached, the wider the area one dealt with, the clearer the limits became. It becomes impossible to save those who belong to a low, and narrow place. Instead of not being able to save one person, you just save a hundred people. To count the lives of all people as numbers.
As if playing a game, at some point.
“Dante's sword was a cursed artifact. A weapon refined with the core of a monster. Your judgment that it had to be removed, and your strategy to end it in one blow after binding it, were excellent. It was all accomplished with your own strength. I did nothing.”
“……Were you watching?”
“I was watching from a very distant place.”
It was like that from the start.
Even if one was a great general who had saved a country, they couldn't protect a single soldier. They would just count the lives of the lost subordinates and argue whether it was a lot or a little. If there was someone who could save a soldier who was standing before death, it would be nothing more than another soldier who was standing in the same position.
“How was it, Monika.”
For Monika, she couldn't know.
What kind of thoughts Abel harbored.
“The experience of saving someone, it must have been unfamiliar to you. How did it feel.”
She was just facing the question her teacher had given her.
“……I'm not sure.”
Monika looked back at the great sword leaning against the wall.
She had never imagined the day would come when she would swing something like that. She also didn't know she would come to save someone. Thinking so, she scratched her cheek.
“I'm not sure, but……, I don't think it was bad.”
“That's a relief.”
I'll give you a present for that.
Abel said, stroking the empty air.
A round subspace opened. To Monika, it just seemed like a mere pocket dimension. Abel took out a neatly wrapped gift bundle from within. He placed it on the table and hesitated, then,
“……I hope you like it.”
He whispered in a low tone.
“A present……”
Monika tilted her head.
A prosthetic arm made from the remnants of a monster. A great sword refined with pure silver. I've received so much, what more could he give me? Is it an explosive this time? Or armor? With a vague thought, she took off the wrapping paper.
“……This is.”
Monika's eyes widened, and,
“Hero──?”
A sharp voice echoed.
Monika lifted the Hero doll high. An unbearable smile spread. It's cool. It's beautiful. Monika hugged the doll, which was modeled after a hero.
‘Wait a minute.’
I think I'm too happy?
Thinking so, Monika cleared her throat. This is not good for my image. But the golden yarn that made up the Hero's hair was soft, the glass beads that were his eyes were captivating, and the warmth woven from the sturdy cotton was colorful.
“Well……”
Monika desperately suppressed her smile.
“It's not bad. I'll take it.”
“Good.”
After replying simply, Abel looked down at the game board.
It was time to resume <BRAVE QUEST>. The token that Abel chose was, this time as well, the ‘Hero of the First Step’. He had chosen only the token of this hero all along. Picking up the token with the hero with a delicate appearance engraved on it, Abel opened his mouth.
“……Monika Lohengrin. I have given you a sword, and a prosthetic arm to support the sword, but still, I wish for your residence to be age-appropriate.”
To have a favorite doll,
To be engrossed in decorating the wallpaper and flooring,
It's fine even if it's not practical. Even if it's useless, I hope your space is filled with beautiful, mysterious, and delightful decorations.
Abel whispered so.
“So I will give you presents often.”
“……Ah.”
Monika looked around the interior of her dormitory.
Was he concerned? It is certainly stark.
Thinking so, she stood up from her seat. A living room like the base of a survivalist. An old Hero doll was leaning against the wall. Monika placed the new doll and the old doll side by side. Then she recalled Abel's residence. A round table, a chair, a wardrobe. A place made up of just that. What kind of life has my teacher lived? Thinking so, she looked at Abel.
“Are you……, going to try persuading again?”
She couldn't ask about her teacher's life.
Monika just asked about the game.
“Because it's a game.”
Abel replied, moving the hero token.
“You must have learned from what happened today.”
The ‘Hero of the First Step’ entered the royal palace.
On one side of the game board, an illustration of an angry king was engraved.
“A war is not something that can be prevented with persuasion. That's why it's interesting. To think everything can be solved just by persuading the king. To me, it feels like a gamble worth taking a failure. It's not like the world will be destroyed if I lose the game.”
It's just a little frustrating.
Abel muttered so.
“Were you frustrated? Because you kept losing to me……”
“That's right.”
Abel narrowed his eyes.
“I want to bring you down a peg. Don't get arrogant just because you've won a few games.”
“……No, were you really frustrated?”
“I hate losing.”
Abel picked up a twenty-sided die.
It was the moment to activate the persuasion function.
“No, if you want to win, don't persuade……”
“Persuasion is the most peaceful solution.”
The die shook in Abel's hand.
“If the event that occurred in the game were real, and I had to stop the king no matter what……, I would have killed him without hesitation.”
Is that so.
Monika placed her hands on her hips.
Teacher Abel doesn't want to beat me, but wants to win against the rules of the game? A faint sigh escaped Monika's lips. Since he's never tried persuasion in reality, he's obsessed with persuasion in the game. In a way, it was a rational reason.
And so, the die that soared.
It rolled on the game board and stopped.
“……It's done.”
The number engraved on the stopped die was 20.
A faint smile took root on Abel's lips.
“N, no way!”
Monika ran towards the game board.
The shaking flooring. The two hero dolls were stacked on top of each other,
‘I see.’
Abel picked up a scenario card and examined it.
A golden piece of paper that could only be viewed after persuading the king. He read the phrase engraved on its surface.
‘If I had repeated the persuasion, I might have gotten something like this.’
A huge amount of gold coins. An increase in stats. Efficient equipment. On the scenario card, the reward that the ‘Hero of the First Step’ would receive was written.
It was meaningless to Abel. Since it was nothing more than a game. What Abel paid attention to was the narrative. The story written below the illustration of the crying king. A past misfortune. A twisted obsession. Repentance due to the hero's persuasion. The king's life was woven into a condensed sentence.
‘So that's why he wanted to start a war.’
Persuasion was a process of understanding each other.
Abel fathomed the king's feelings. He sympathized with his misfortune and forgave his obsession. And so, he affirmed his repentance. It was all possible because it was a game. The ‘Hero of the First Step’ finished his turn, and Monika began to move the ‘Hero Who Upheld Eternity’.
Abel could not win until the very end.
But he was enjoying himself as if he had won.
* * *
『──I, the God of War ‘Clausewitz’, look upon the world,』
『And you shall be properly armed.』
That night, Abel's journal was updated.
『 Missions Given to ‘The Mother God's Left Hand’ 』
─ Negotiation with the Five Spirit Kings
─ Purification of the Demon Realm
The disasters faced by ‘The Mother God's Left Hand’ were listed, and,
─ Suppression of the Mirror War
One of the disasters disappeared.
Even so, it was for a moment. What came after the disaster ended was not peace. Just a silence that tolerated rest. ‘The Mother God's Left Hand’ were those who maintained such a silence.
And so, another disaster was engraved in the journal.
─ The Execution of the God Forged from Lies