Preface 2: Third Prince Bastian

While the Belgarian Empire’s territory stretched all the way to the north-western seaboard, across the coast, across the channel, there lay an independent island nation. This island was the Kingdom—or rather, Queendom—of High Britannia.

Its environment was harsh; its northern regions were covered in frozen soil, where only potatoes and carrots would grow, and meadows were few and far between. But their abundant iron reserves allowed trade to flourish with various countries across the sea. While holding its own unique traditions in high regard, High Britannia was assertive in bringing in customs and technologies from far-off lands, and managed to precede neighboring regions in successfully implementing both the steam engine and the rifle.

High Britannia, in the eastern capital of Applewood—in a corner of that town, surrounded by trees, stood a school remodeled from an old castle. It was St. Edward’s Private Academy, recognized as one of the most prestigious schools across the land and largely attended by the sons and daughters of nobility. It taught pupils from the ages of twelve to sixteen, all of whom were required to live in the on-campus dormitories.

The third prince of the Belgarian Empire, Heinrich Trois Bastian de Belgaria, had enrolled here at the start of that year. Not wanting any special treatment, he had purposefully concealed his identity, now going by the name “Bastian de Madeleine.”

Incidentally, it was not rare for nobles to name their sons after the princes in the hope of sharing some of their good fortune. For this reason, Bastian had become a rather common name for Belgarian nobles ages fifteen and below.

It happened sixteen days before Marie Quatre’s army engaged the Grand Duchy of Varden, when the Empire was ablaze with celebration over the day it was founded—

The bell tower rang in St. Edward’s Private Academy. The professors dressed as clergy disappeared from the classroom, and Bastian’s classmates began to pack away at their own pace. A good portion of them would soon head off to attend after-school club activities.

Bastian wasn’t a member of any clubs, and as per usual, planned to return straight to his dorm. It was then that the Britannian noble boys started to mess with him. The freckled, big-nosed Dick Ayrton swaggered over, his two lackeys trailing closely behind him.

“Hey! Bastian! I hear your country’s out invading again!”

“Huh...? What country might you be referring to?”

“The hell are you on about? I mean Belgaria, no duh!”

“Oh, right.”

Yeah, that one ain’t my country, it’s my old man’s. That was what Bastian wanted to say, but doing so would reveal that he was a prince. His foreign exchange student façade was surprisingly tiresome.

Boss Brat and his tag-alongs would mock him relentlessly whenever rumors spread of something happening in Belgaria. It wasn’t that they had any interest in such matters, they just enjoyed having someone to criticize. Bastian knew the more he took them seriously, the more time would be wasted; he continued to pack away his belongings, wanting to leave as soon as possible.

“I’m not finished talking yet, Galian!” Dick prodded him in the shoulder.

That was what Dick and his lackeys would call the people of Belgaria. The official name, of course, being “Belgarian.” Even if “Garian” were to be accepted as an abbreviation, the purposeful mispronunciation was a slight insult, though not enough for Bastian to actually care.

“Sorry, I might not look it, but I’m pretty busy here.”

“Hm? What’s this? You’re too good to talk to me? Bloody Galian invader!”

“I’m not the one who’s doing the invading, am I?”

“Hmph, it’s still your country!”

Oh, in that case, I’d like to see you shoulder all the sins of High Britannia. But Bastian knew saying that would get him nowhere; this boy had a habit of twisting logic in every which way so that he could proclaim himself the unquestionable voice of reason. What’s more, whenever Bastian tried to leave a conversation, Dick would proudly declare he had won the argument.

“I’ve made my decision to not talk about politics.”

“Hah! You Galians really are wimps. You lot only care about music and dance. How lamentable, you can’t even manage to discuss something serious.”

“Hey man, I agree, it’s lamentable.”

Bastian had come here to escape the power struggle in the Empire, so the last thing he wanted was to get involved in politics in any way, shape, or form. Not that he had any particular interest in song or dance, either.

The two lackeys chimed in, trying to back Boss Brat up.

“He can’t help it, Dick. You’ve got a father in Parliament; such a cultured individual shouldn’t compare himself to a measly Galian. You’re cut from a completely different cloth.”

“Yeah, that’s right, Dick! We’ve entered the era of guns, and yet they say the Galians still fight using lances.”

Dick snorted. “Good grief, talk about being behind the times. But that’s what happens when a nation neglects politics.”

“Hya hya hya!” they chortled.

No matter the country, those scorning voices were always the same. Bastian clenched his fist, then touched the thin, silver ring around his right middle finger. It represented a promise he had made to his grandfather.

“One fight, and you’re coming right back home.”

Back in Belgaria, the elderly emperor, Liam Fernandi de Belgaria, had made it seem as though he was finally ready to abdicate the throne; this only intensified the already ruthless struggle for power.

The most likely successor is probably Second Prince Latrielle. At least, that was how Bastian saw it. Latrielle’s only real rival, First Prince Auguste, was sickly and confined to his villa. When Bastian had visited to say his goodbyes before leaving for High Britannia, they had exchanged but a few words while the first prince lay in his bed.

Chances are he’s going to croak before the emperor...

Bastian was not the only one who failed to predict what would really come to pass. While the country celebrated the anniversary of its founding, a certain tactician dragged Latrielle’s name through the mud, had Auguste renounce his right to the throne, and threw the prince’s younger sister, Princess Argentina, into the running. But whatever the case, Bastian was keen on staying far away from these factional disputes. That kind of authority didn’t appeal to him in the slightest.

Shoulder the lives of millions? You’ve got to be kidding me.

And so, he chose to run away. Upon hearing his wishes, his grandfather on his mother’s side supported him studying abroad. Surely, no matter how low the possibility that Bastian would actually take the throne, the man would have wanted to raise him as a candidate to be emperor. But his dear grandfather had surrendered those desires to support Bastian’s wishes. Bastian could remember his words clearly.

“Say again? You want to leave the country!? Well, thank God for that! Ah, no, I mean— What a shame that is! But, if you’re going to cause trouble, it might as well be in another... Oh, I see, I see. I was sure you had it in you to become emperor, but if you so insist... While it pains my heart, I shall honor your wishes!”

There were some questionable parts here and there, but that didn’t change the fact he had let him study abroad. That was why Bastian had to honor his promise.

“...Don’t fight... Don’t reveal your identity... And don’t butt into foreign politics and religion...” he muttered under his breath.

“Oi! What are you whispering about, creep!?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a magic spell.”

“Really? Hey, what’s that?”

Dick snatched a rather plain-looking book from the pile of items Bastian was putting away. It had a black cover and gold hemming, and there was no title or author written on it. For a moment, Bastian felt as though he was going to snap. He frantically placed his left hand over his right, trying to contain himself.

“Whoa there... G-Give it back, will you?”

But Bastian’s request fell on deaf ears. Dick grinned, looking as though he had just found a new, interesting toy.

“Hah! Now this is suspicious! You reckon it’s full of Galian secrets? Looks like some investigation is in order.”

“Wait, that— That’s just a journal.”

“That so? Then you shouldn’t mind me opening it up and seeing for myself.”

Bastian grit his teeth. How tasteless can you be?

He could feel his right fist inching forward, when the slender ring on his middle finger caught his eye. He had made a promise. He needed to calm down. He needed to make level-headed decisions.

“...If I bury them ten feet under, what evidence would there be that I ever got into a fight?”

Should I...? Yeah, let’s do it!

“Hya hya hya!” Dick let out another unseemly laugh, and was just about to open the book when—

“Oh, quit it, you simpletons!”

A clear female voice caught everyone’s attention like a harsh slap to the face. Her tone came across as harsh, but not rude. Then, a small hand reached in from the side and liberated the black book from the villain’s hands moments before it could be opened.

Dick and his cohorts froze for a second, completely dumbfounded, then bared their fangs.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Archibald!?”

“That should be my line, you fool among fools who surrounds himself with just as foolish fools. Forcefully plundering someone’s possessions shows a lack of grace, decency, and above all, humanity. Your actions are those of a senseless beast. Aren’t you ashamed to be alive?”

The girl who was now rambling on and on was one of Bastian’s classmates. She was sixteen years old, the same age as Bastian, and her name was Elize Archibald. Her blond hair grew down to her knees, and she had facial features that would make her look quite endearing—well, if she ever smiled, that was. She had stern inner workings that shamelessly made their way to the surface, as evident through her ever-furrowed eyebrows and the cold look in her eyes, which had led to her being teased as a loose cannon—someone who was always prone to explode.

She was upstanding in character, accomplished in both literary and military arts, and attractive enough to warrant a second glance. The only thing about her that could be described as “lacking” was her chest. Indeed, Elize’s bosom was so nonexistent that, at first glance, one might assume she was wearing some strange variation of the boys’ uniform. The only real giveaway was the standard-issue ribbon on the front—a desperate plea to assert her gender.

“Well? Can any of you honestly say that your continued existence is of any benefit to the world at large?”

Dick was taken aback. “Urk... Did you really have to go that far!?”

“You’ve done so much that, yes, I really had to go that far. You still can’t comprehend that? Good grief, there really is no salvation for foolishness. And to think, you don’t even realize the simple fact that you’re a fool.”

“Look, Archibald—my dad’s a member of Parliament, you know! Don’t forget we’re a marquis house.”

“Your father may be a splendid politician, but he is evidently completely incompetent as an educator. To think he’s failed to instill in his son even the most basic form of common decency over the course of sixteen years.”

“S-Say that again!”

“If you don’t want to hear it, then you should work your hardest not to soil your family name. Please, refrain from doing anything embarrassing.”

“Kuh... You... You wench!”

Dick raised his fist. While Bastian had been frozen in place by Elize’s vigorous verbal assault, he reflexively clenched his hand as well. The ring on his middle finger let off a grating sound.

Elize didn’t falter. “What are you doing now? Do you really want the word ‘suspended’ or ‘expelled’ to be carved into your otherwise wholly unremarkable school record? There really is no end to your foolishness. I will not stop you, intentionally so. If an expulsion will leave you huddled in a room at daddy’s house, clutching your knees to your head, muttering to yourself until you finally realize that the world does not revolve around you, I will gladly allow my face to be bent a little out of shape.”

“...Not on my watch,” muttered Bastian. Had Dick really thrown a punch, Bastian would have sent him swimming through the air until he eventually had a face-first encounter with a wall. But, as luck would have it, one of the tag-alongs tugged on Boss Brat’s sleeve.

“Hey, Dick, let’s just go. Leave the Galian and the loose cannon behind. We’ll have loads more fun fishing or something.”

“Y-Yeah... Tsk... Consider yourselves lucky; I’ll let you off today!”

“How broad-minded of you,” complimented one lackey.

“You’re way too important for this,” added the other.

And with that, Boss Brat left the classroom, his two underlings in tow.

✧ ✧ ✧

Bastian exited the school building and began walking down the path that led to the dorms, which was dotted by other students who were heading to the same destination. To either side of the path stood the remains of old brick walls, crumbled by the ravages of war. Apparently, a civil war had been fought here a hundred years ago.

Walking beside Bastian was Elize, the girl who had confronted Dick.

“You really saved me back there, Elize.”

“Oh, it was nothing.”

The book she had rescued for Bastian was now firmly in his right hand.

“My future masterpiece was quite nearly condemned to darkness by those idiots.”

“So it really isn’t a journal.”

“Why would I ever keep a journal? This is the story I’m writing!”

He opened the book and waved it about. It was filled with line upon line of handwritten prose.

“Your handwriting is appalling.”

“Wha—!? Who cares about that! It’ll be in typeface when it’s eventually published.”

Printing had developed to a point where it used countless typeface blocks made of metal. Each one had a particular raised, mirrored letter on its surface. These blocks would be lined up on a board in accordance with the manuscript, coated in ink, then pressed against paper. They were essentially rearrangeable ink stamps, also known as movable-type printing.

“Then you should hope the technicians at the print shop are also skilled cryptographers. Also, you somehow misspelled ‘stupid’ here. It’s spelled S-T-U-P-I-D, not S-T-U-P-E-D. Is it written like that because the speaker is supposed to be stupid? Did you do it on purpose?”

“O-Of course it was on purpose!”

“‘Darkness, death, evil, night’... Is there a particular reason it starts out with a literal list of dark words?”

“Why of course! The greatest masterpiece needs the coolest beginning. Though I don’t expect an amateur to comprehend the sheer badassery of what I’ve done here.”

“...If you’re going to pretend this is literature, you should at least avoid pointlessly repeating the same word in consecutive sentences. It looks unprofessional.”

“Eh? Are you being serious!?”

Bastian hadn’t even been aware that was a rule. He looked back at his own work, this time closely scrutinizing it.

“But you would do well to finish it regardless. Whether it’s a masterpiece or an abject failure, it can’t be called a story unless it’s completed,” she said, just as Bastian was starting to think he should start over from scratch.

“Y-Yeah... Got it. I’ll finish the story. Hey, could you... read it when I’m done?”

“Are you sure you want me to? I’m not good at sugarcoating things.”

“No, just give it to me straight. I’d prefer it that way.”

“I see. Quite the masochist, aren’t you? I understand.”

Elize silently moved away a few paces to distance herself from Bastian, prompting him to wildly shake his head.

“Wrong! Totally wrong, I tell ya! ...I-I mean, yeah... It’s harsh to hear you tear apart the story I wrote and all... but I’m the man who’s going to write the greatest work in the whole world. I’m sure I’ll be able to make it even better with your input.”

“Weirdo.”

“Hah... Look who’s talking.”

Elize was surely a weirdo too. As an exchange student from Belgaria, Bastian was having a hard time fitting in, but this girl was one person he could speak to on equal terms.

“Hm... Understood. I’m sure doing so will bring me a considerable amount of pain, but now that I’ve told you to finish your story, I must take responsibility; I shall read it to the very end.”

“Great, that’s a promise!”

“I swear it. Even if it rots my eyes out.”

“It ain’t that terrible! It’ll make you cry though, I guarantee it! For I’m the man who’ll one day write the greatest book in history.”

“You sure dream big.”

“Fufufu... It’ll be my masterpiece! My book’ll be stocked in every library in the world. It’ll be so well known that people will just automatically assume everyone has read it.”

“The only books with a reputation like that are the holy texts.”

“Then surpassing the Bible will be my first objective.”

“That’s step one...?”

Elize looked over at Bastian, her eyes fixed on him. Was there something on his face? He tried rubbing his cheek.

All of a sudden, Elize swallowed her breath.

“Oh my God! Bastian!”

“What, have you finally realized the magnificence of my masterpiece?”

“Don’t be foolish! Bull, coming this way!”

“Mn?”

From time to time, runaway bulls from the surrounding farms would make their way onto the academy grounds. That must have been what was happening now; there was no other explanation for the massive black and red bull that was barreling down the brick wall-enclosed path, kicking up a cloud of smoke as it charged forward. A cattle handler was giving chase, but it didn’t look like he would be catching it any time soon.

The students on their way to the dorm cried out as they scampered over the walls.

“Let’s get out of here, Bastian!”

“Ah, but... the cattle handler looks like he’s in a pickle. Not to mention, you’re too short to make it over the wall. Stand back a bit.”

“What are you talking about!? Do you want to be impaled!?”

“Meh. A bull that size is easy enough.”

“A-Are you a fool!?”

“Just leave it to me.”

The mass of black and red came closer and closer, obscuring the scenery behind in a cloud of sand.

“...Actually, looking at it up close... it’s a lot bigger than I thought.”

“You are a genuine fool!”

“What are you saying? I’m the man who’ll write the best book in the world!”

In an attempt to knock down the human obstacle standing in its path, the bull picked up speed and ran straight at Bastian, its sharp horns encroaching on his chest.

And... now!

Bastian grabbed a horn in each hand. Under normal circumstances, a human trying to match the overwhelming strength of a bull would be torn through like a scrap of paper. His feet carved out the ground beneath him; so too did the hooves of the great bovine. Even on the off chance that their strength was evenly matched, two leather boots didn’t stand a chance against four iron hooves—or at least, they shouldn’t have.

“Settle down and go home! You’ve got all the grass you can eat back there, what else do you need!?”

Bastian clenched his hands hard, raising an uncanny grating sound. The bull let out an anguished cry as Bastian forced its horns down.

“Hrrah!”

The bull’s forehooves gave out, followed by a tremendous rumble.

“...No way,” muttered Elize, her face ghastly pale from the spectacle.

The bovine’s chin had been slammed onto the ground, forcing it to prostrate itself like a tamed dog. A bull several times stronger than a human had been taken down using brute force.

“Eeesh... I cut that way too close. My palms are aching.”

“Wait... Bastian, are you hurt anywhere!?”

“Nah. The fingers that will write the greatest book in history are all fine, don’t you worry.”

“...I’m shocked. I saw it with my own eyes and yet even I can’t bring myself to believe it.”

“It was that impressive? Wow, you’re making me blush.”

“You really are incorrigible.”

The handler raced over and offered an earnest apology. “Sorry about that, sir! Real sorry! You two all right!?”

Elize nodded. “We’re fine.”

“Thank the Lord! I’d be in real hot water if one of you noble lads or lasses ended up injured. My bull got stung by a bee, ya see; stirred him right up. Guess we’re real lucky he decided to stop, else he coulda hit someone.”

“I suppose that is the most rational assumption to make,” Elize sighed. The students who were watching from nearby also seemed to believe that the bull had stopped of its own accord, and as Bastian made no effort to correct them, this was very quickly accepted as the truth.

The cattle handler tugged at the rope attached to the sullen black and red bull, leading it back down the path. Bastian watched them for a moment, when he suddenly realized—

“Aah!?”

It must have happened during their tussle; there was now a firm, hoof-shaped imprint on the cover of Bastian’s black book. He looked like he was going to cry.

“Waah... My future masterpiece...”

“U-Um, Bastian?”

“Yeah? If you’re going to ask for my autograph then sorry, my signature’s still a work in progress!”

“...Hah... Forget it.”

“What were you gonna say?”

“Just that you’re more foolish than even the most foolish fools.”

“Did you seriously have to repeat it three times!? Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough today? First I was picked on in the classroom, then a cow trampled on my book, and now you’re saying I’m a triple fool...”

“I suppose that’s enough then... Fufu.”

Elize glanced at the boy walking beside her, a rose tint coloring her cheeks.

The next morning, Elize Archibald vanished from St. Edward’s Private Academy without so much as a goodbye.