In a Sweet and Gentle Dream

-puppets onstage-

1. Father and Daughter

Almaria Duffner didn’t know her mother’s face.

Even by the time she’d become fully aware of her surroundings, the only family was her father.

And she didn’t know her father very well, either.

He was almost never home. During the day, he worked exchanging money, and he spent the nights with his lover.

Sometimes, he would return to the apartment to check on his daughter, silently confirming that she was still alive. When he did return, he would take the opportunity to leave on the table the smallest amount of money possible that she could survive on. That was essentially all the communication that ever passed between them.

And so, the little girl lived by herself.

She grew up without depending on anyone, without being able to depend on anyone.

It happened one day when she was seven.

Her father, who had dirtied his hands with some sort of crime, was stabbed by his accomplice.

And of course, the girl was chased out of the apartment.

Without any other relatives, the girl was sent to a public institution run by the city of Gomag—or she was supposed to be. Instead, there, an old man (probably) who had apparently investigated her father’s crimes spoke up. He said it must have been fate that he happened to be there at the time and asked for permission to bring her to his orphanage.

Neither the guards nor the bureaucrats there had any reason to oppose his idea. And of course, the girl herself lacked the emotional energy to voice her opinion, as she could barely keep up with the sudden changes of the environment around her.

The old man took her to an aged wooden building.

Starting today, this is your home, he told her. But Almaria ignored him.

And these guys here, they’re your family—she let those words go in one ear and out the other, too. To her, home was that small apartment room, and family was her father, whose face she barely ever saw. She couldn’t understand these new entities that would be taking their place.

One boy seemed to have noticed the two of them and rushed over.

When the old man saw who it was, he announced to the boy, We have a new family member today.

The boy peered at the girl.

Gee, don’t you look thrilled.

The girl cast a glance at him, then immediately looked away. She was not in the state of mind to talk to anyone at the time, much less to children who were rude to people they just met.

Hey, c’mon, how old are you?

She ignored him.

Eh, I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m the big kid around here anyway.

She ignored him.

Listen, now that you’re here, we’re family. Since I’m the big kid here, that makes me the big brother. I’ll even give you special permission to call me bro.

She ignored him.

Man, you’re not cute at all.

After a little while, the boy gave up interacting with the girl and went off somewhere to sulk. The girl spared a single glance at his back, then dropped her gaze to her feet.

Leave me alone, she thought.

She didn’t need a family. Even if one was suddenly thrust upon her, she wouldn’t know how to deal with them. If they simply left her alone, she could live how she pleased.

She saw the old man shrug in defeat.

And then, that night.

A sudden change in environment. A never-ending state of tension. Underdeveloped physical and mental resilience.

As a matter of course, the girl fell ill.

She developed a high fever and became bedridden.

Her head felt heavy, every breath was grueling, and pain racked her chest.

In her hazy consciousness, Almaria wondered if this was the end for her.

She knew logically that she was being a bit overly pessimistic. But the careless thought that she would probably be okay even if she did actually die bubbled up in her mind. Now that she thought about it, she never really had the strong desire to live in the first place. It wouldn’t be terrible for a life that held so little meaning to end here.

Then something cool rested on her forehead.

Her mind still fuzzy, she didn’t realize it was a wet towel. All she thought was that it felt a little nice. Just a little.

Hmph.

Here you are, makin’ me do all this, and you’re not even cute.

She couldn’t quite hear the insult, either.

Whoever said it frequently changed the towels as they helped relieve her fever. The water in the bucket eventually became lukewarm, and he even went out to draw new water from the well in the darkness of night.

As he did all that, the girl’s consciousness regained a slight bit of clarity.

She was faintly aware that someone was by her side.

Oh crap, it’s late.

She thought she heard this someone say something in surprise.

This is bad. If I don’t go to bed now, I won’t be able to get up in the morning.

The person stood. She didn’t exactly hear what they were mumbling to themselves about, but she could tell they were going to leave.

Her hand moved on its own.

Her fingers weakly pinched the person’s sleeve.

“ad”

Her mouth moved on its own, too.

“on’t goDa”

She pleaded—in such a small, quivering voice that even she couldn’t hear what she said.

The someone trying to leave was perplexed.

After a moment of hesitation, they sat back down.

Don’t worry.

Your dad is here. And he’s not going anywhere.

She saw through his lie right away.

Almaria’s real father was dead. Even when he was alive, he barely spoke to his daughter, much less fuss over her with gentle words.

And yet, the girl clung to the lie.

She searched for her “dad’s” hand and desperately gripped it with all she had. She wanted someone to stay by her side, so she leaned on whoever was there with her whole heart and soul. She searched for true warmth from a fake father.

And sure enough, his warm hand tenderly squeezed the girl’s hand back.

“D…ad…”

Yeah?

She called for him, and he responded.

I’m happy, she thought.

Someone was with her when she wanted them to be. She even had the twisted thought that perhaps if that was enough to make her happy, then there was nothing happier in the entire world.

Later, this was how the boy in question talked about the night.

He said it wasn’t too unusual a sight here at the orphanage. Losing parents and undergoing a sudden change in living arrangements were the main factors that caused their new family members to fall ill. He said he’d seen that happen to the kids countless times.

In fact, it was pretty normal for kids to call out for their moms and dads when that happened.

Everyone there had lost all the family they ever knew before coming to a place full of strangers. Of course they’d be unhappy. It was unreasonable to think they could just power through it all. So at night, when they’re drained both physically and emotionally, the words slip from their mouths. It wasn’t unusual at all. It was a path that everyone at this orphanage had walked before.

So she needn’t think of it as something embarrassing or shameful. He told her he would forget all about it and that she should, too… The boy waved his hand lightly as he said all that stuff.

“…No.”

Almaria rejected his goodwill with such certainty that it even surprised herself.

He was so warm, you see. He had been so reassuring. So kind. She didn’t want to pretend like such a precious memory of hers never happened for the stupid reason that it was expected, that it happened all the time.

“I would hate to forget all that…Dad.”

The boy scrunched up his face.

Seriously, if you’re going to call me anything, it’d better be Big Bro, ’cause I don’t wanna be anyone’s dad at this age—the boy sheepishly started to ramble on. He certainly didn’t exude any dignity or presence that would warrant anyone calling him “Father” at the moment, but—

“But, Willem, you don’t strike me as a big brother at all.”

Yeah, so then, doesn’t that mean I’m even less like a dad?!

“That’s different.”

It’s the same! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of treating me like your parent?

“Well, that’s…”

After a moment of thought, she said:

“A secret.”

Like a spoiled child, she closed one eye and stuck out her tongue.

She opened her eyes.

She passed the time gazing blankly in the darkness at the ceiling before her.

She could hear the faint sounds of birds coming from beyond the window. Dawn is breaking soon, she thought.

“Mm…”

She felt like she had just been in a long dream.

She also got the sense that she hadn’t totally woken up from it yet.

It hadn’t been a bad dream… Or it hadn’t felt like one. At the very least, it was different from the nightmare that she suffered from when she was little.

Her head was heavy. She couldn’t think well.

She quickly sat up in bed, lightly shook her head, and slipped on her slippers. Still in a dreamy state of mind, she left her room. The tattered wooden floorboards creaked beneath her steps as she walked down the hall.

Then…

“Oh—”

She saw him in the room.

There was familiar black hair and serene features. His tall and lanky body seemed too big for the worn sofa he lay on.

“…Dad?”

At that moment, her consciousness snapped into clarity, like the dawn parting the morning mist.

She remembered who she was, why she’d come to this room, and what it was she had to do next.

“No, wait.”

She doubled back to the hallway, her slippers pit-pattering against the floor.

Morning at the orphanage was busy. There was lots she had to do. She wanted to open all the windows before the sun rose, and she had to get preparations for breakfast ready before the little ones woke up. And since one of the family was home unexpectedly, she wanted to make breakfast just a little fancier than usual.

Today would probably be the first busy day in a long time.

“You should at least send word before you come home, you stupid father figure.”

He would wake up soon enough. Then the first words out of his mouth would be a complaint that he was hungry.

It was always that way. She doubted if he was actually hungry, but her dad would always ask for food after coming home. It was like he was trying to make up for the days he was away all at once.

“All right. I suppose we’ll get this started.”

She chuckled softly and pulled out her favorite apron.

2. The Foreigners

Willem knew he couldn’t fight anymore.

He would die if he forced himself onto a battlefield. He was full and ready for that.

He had accepted all these facts in a positive manner. The girls would head to battle. He would send them off from a safe place—he was okay with that, too.

And yet.

When a Beast attacked the airship Plantaginesta, naturally, he chose to fight. He chose to leave Chtholly as she slept, set his venenum aflame, and concentrate on nothing but pummeling his enemies.

Rhantolk, whom he had met on the battlefield, characterized his actions as “trying to commit suicide with Chtholly as the excuse.” And that was probably the most accurate way to describe him at that time.

As Willem killed his enemies, he was killing himself.

He held on tightly to his decision to keep the girls safe even as he gave up on everything else.

He used the battlefield for his self-centered wish. He squashed his own resolution of being the one to wait for the girls to come home.

He did what he could. He also did things he shouldn’t have been able to do.

For the first time in a long time, he set his venenum ablaze at full strength. His blood churned, and he heard his flesh burning right in his ear. If fighting would kill him anyway, then there was no point in holding back. And if he wouldn’t be able to fight anymore, then it didn’t matter how hard or painful it was. He would run wilder than he had ever before.

His wish should have come true.

Willem Kmetsch, second enchantments officer of the Winged Guard and manager of the faerie warehouse, should have lost his life in the intense battle.

The birds were singing. It was a nice morning.

“Yawn… Hah.”

Willem sat on the roof of the orphanage and bit back his yawn.

With his eyes watering slightly, he examined his surroundings.

Before him was a familiar townscape, as he always remembered it.

The greenery he could see in the distance was the Adams’ shared farmland. Sitting stoutly just in front of that was the chapel. The colorful brick roofs scattered about the area were all cheap apartments, and the red flag waving in the wind at the very edge of the residential cluster was the sign of the Adventurers Guild. Even farther away, past the irrigation canal, was the Gomag city center.

Smoke rose from several chimneys.

The people living in this world were getting ready for breakfast.

Right. These people were getting ready to live through the day.

Of course, none of this could be real.

The land, along with the race of the emnetwiht who thrived on it, had been destroyed long ago.

The history books said it had taken place over five hundred years ago. The invaders, the Beasts, appeared right in the middle of the emnetwiht empire, just by the royal castle.

These beings were incredibly strong, their numbers were great, and they were fast. These invaders were too quick for any military in history to do anything about them, and they tore into the world. In a few scant days, several of the major city-states established by the empire had vanished.

It wasn’t only the emnetwiht who disappeared. Everything on the earth was indiscriminately swallowed up: grass; trees; animals; bugs; any races that were hostile toward them, like the elves. Everything—as though just existing was a sin in and of itself—was devoured.

The real surface was now nothing more than a dried-up wasteland occupied mostly by gray sandstorms.

The very few who survived followed the Great Sage’s lead and escaped to the floating islands in the heavens. There, they established a meager society already in decline. And of course, the races that didn’t survive never even had that option.

“Damn it.”

Willem cursed quietly under his breath so no one could hear.

The emnetwiht are gone. My hometown doesn’t exist anymore. He told himself this over and over again. The scenery before him was like a diary—just something for him to recall memories of days gone by, to let him wallow in nostalgia.

This wasn’t where he was supposed to return to. His home was far above in the sky.

“It’s so big.”

A murmur.

He could hear Nephren sitting right beside him, murmuring in the official language of the Regule Aire island cluster.

“What island is this?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you look like you know.”

She said it in a way that made it strangely hard for him to either confirm or deny.

“…This is the Imperial city of Gomag, and beneath us is the Foreigner Memorial Orphanage. How thaaankful we are to have an orphanage established and supposedly operated by the great eighteenth Legal Brave, Nils D. Foreigner.”

Nephren, who rarely ever showed expression, seemed somewhat quizzical.

“Operated by a Brave? I’ve never heard of that before… By Imperial, do you mean Island No. 6?”

“There’re no Braves in Regule Aire, y’know. We’re on the surface.”

Nephren’s expression grew even more confused. It was sort of amusing.

“You know both Braves and the surface don’t exist anymore, right?”

“That’s the problem. The land was destroyed five hundred years ago.” Willem checked around them as he answered. “But this is, without a doubt, the scenery of my hometown just as I remember it.”

Nephren followed his gaze.

“…This is the surface from long ago?”

“Yep.”

“So that means there’s no land underneath this?”

“Of course not.”

It wasn’t much of a question, but he understood what she meant.

Nephren was a modern kid, born and raised on Regule Aire. And so, the idea that what she saw before her could exist only on an island of limited space was common sense imprinted in her mind. A short walk would bring her to the edge, and peering down, she would be able to see the gray expanse of the surface below. That sense was embedded into her.

Even if she understood it logically as fact, an endless fertile land was beyond her imagination.

“That mountain looks really far away, though.”

She pointed off into the distance.

“Yeah, it is. From here to there’s about the same distance as Island No. 68 from end to end.”

“And the ground keeps going beyond that?”

“Yeah. There’s a pretty big town about a two day’s cart ride out. And past that…” The map of the Empire spread out in his mind. “…is mostly farmland for a while, and then on the other side of the river is a big forest that eventually leads into a mountain range… That’s about where our war zone with the elves starts.”

“…I feel a little sick.”

“Yeah, I know. It happens when you think about something that goes against all logic.”

“But the surface was destroyed.”

“Yep.”

“Then what kind of trick is this?”

“It’s…probably…”

As he answered, Willem checked his chest. He could see the piece of metal hanging from a string around his neck was faintly glowing with the light of venenum.

It was a talisman with the power of language comprehension. It activated with the slightest bit of venenum from the wearer and conveyed others’ intentions via the medium of words.

It was an extremely handy little thing, but it had its drawbacks.

Understanding language didn’t always bring about good outcomes. There were “attacks,” like lies and abuse, that first had meaning through being transmitted. So understanding every language meant that these “attacks” hit hard. Since it indiscriminately allowed all outside messages to pass through while the talisman was active, resistance to spirit-interference attacks dropped dramatically. It hadn’t been a problem living on Regule Aire, so he had totally forgotten about it.

The talisman was ignoring Willem’s will and acting in this manner.

“…A dream, maybe.”

She trained a sharp, cool gaze on him.

“Wait, not like that. Of course, it’s not just a regular dream; I mean we might be under the influence of an attack with that kind of ability.”

Willem was once active as a Quasi Brave all across the globe, and he had fought a demon like that.

Demons were a spirit race that evolved specifically to drag virtuous emnetwiht into depravity. They had plenty of tricks to entice their targets to abandon their self-control or convictions. One of their tricks was a type of spiritual attack that used a dreamworld.

“It’s a specially made dreamworld that’s a reflection of the target’s memories, designed to be infinitely similar when compared to what they perceive as reality. The only goal is to make the target be completely comfortable living in this world. Be careful—the second you give up on the will to get outta here, that means they win.”

“Then this dream is exactly like the surface from long ago.”

“It probably thinks this scenery is enough to beat me.”

It was actually a very effective attack. Just by sitting and looking around, Willem worried his heart might melt from nostalgia and longing… But as long as he was conscious of it, he could resist. He could steel himself and keep himself from giving in to the temptation.

“A dreamworld…”

Nephren murmured, cautiously reaching up to pinch her own cheek.

Her soft-looking skin stretched out far.

“Ouch. Is this really a dream?”

He could see her eyes watering slightly.

“Its selling point is a dream you can’t wake up from, so it’s not gonna break that easily.”

“Then what would happen if we sat here and did nothing?”

“Our enemy’s goal is to convince us to live at ease in this world. So it’ll play with the world and reach out to us.”

“Play with it?”

“It’s the creator of this world, right? Apart from meddling with us directly, it can do whatever it wants using the memories as base material. There were demons who specialized in this kinda temptation. They had plenty of ways of doing stuff. Aeshma cause everyone to die one by one, but bufas demons will come attack you directly, while ammon demons try to get you with loads of gold and treasures and stuff. And I fought with a succubus once…”

Succubi were the kind of demon who tried to drag emnetwiht into depravity by forcibly granting sexual wishes. So when Willem had been trapped in that dream, the world was filled with those kinds of temptations.

It was hard to explain that in detail to a little girl.

(I couldn’t look Lillia or Emissa directly in the eye for a while after that…)

“Well, forget about that one.”

“What kind of dream did the succubus show you?”

Nephren tilted her head. Please don’t be curious about this.

“We will forget about that one.”

He forcibly changed the subject.

“I don’t know what the enemy is, but I’m pretty positive that I’m the target.”

It was hard to imagine that Nephren here…was a fake, a part of the dream. She was too out of place for the past-surface setting. He was pretty positive that she was the real thing but had somehow gotten mixed up in this whole ordeal.

“So as long as I hold on to the desire to get out of here, it’ll make adjustments to the world to break me. That’ll be our chance. That’s when we’ll track down the enemy’s true form and move to counterattack.”

“Do we have to counterattack?”

“Of course we do. If we just sit like this forever, we’ll never get out.”

“Do we have to get out?”

………………

“If we get out, both you and I will die immediately.”

She was probably right.

Their spirits had been caught in the instant before their death in the real world and were now in this dream. It was a distinct possibility that their bodies in reality were now nothing more than corpses.

Or maybe all the time they spent in the dreamworld would be nothing more than a fraction of a second in the real world. In that case, it was possible that escaping would return them to bodies just barely alive. But even then, he could easily imagine that they’d still reach the same end just a few seconds later.

“We have nowhere to return to.”

“…That’s not the problem, okay?” Willem protested, as though trying to convince himself. “Don’t get weird ideas in your head. Once you lose the will to get out, you’ll end up living in this dream forever. I might be the enemy’s target, but that doesn’t mean you’re safe, okay?”

“…Okay.”

Nephren nodded and fell silent.

He wondered what was up.

She had always been an otherworldly girl, whose strange actions and words stood out—but the sense of unease he felt about her now was different than usual. Her expression was as vacant as it always was, but he could just barely make out the emotions lurking beneath.

Nephren was hesitant about something.

Come ooon, Daaaaaad!

Someone called to him in the Imperial language from below.

It felt like something had gripped his chest the moment he heard that voice.

He leaned forward to look down, and Almaria…something that looked like Almaria stood in the doorway, waving at him.

His heart felt like it was going to be ripped to pieces.

Almaria. Her face, her voice— How much had he wept when he lost her? How much pain had he gone through to give up on her? Even if he never got over her, how much had he been saved simply by managing to soothe the pain? As though negating all the hardships Willem went through the past two years, there she was now. He could hear her voice.

Why are you up there?! Breakfast’s ready!

“What is she saying?”

Nephren could only understand Regule Aire’s common language.

“Breakfast. For now, we’ll think about what comes next after we eat.”

“…Okay.”

Nephren nodded.

“Don’t worry— Al’s a good cook. She’s practically on par with Nygglatho…”

After he said that much, he quietly added, “Except when it comes to meat.” A troll’s understanding and attachment to meat was beyond emnetwiht comprehension. Though Almaria was good, she was no match for…whatever that was. Actually, he’d prefer if she didn’t win regardless.

“That’s not really what I’m worried about.”

“Hmm? Then what is it?”

He asked casually, but Nephren didn’t answer. She silently kindled her venenum, sprouted phantasmal white-gray wings from her back, and dropped down from the roof.

Faerie wings weren’t physical objects and totally disregarded the laws of physics, though those two things weren’t necessarily related. Nephren glided without flapping them once, landed on the ground, and her wings vanished.

He could hear Almaria cry out in shock. Of course she would. Regular people who weren’t Braves or Adventurers or Chevaliers weren’t used to the sight of girls coming down from the sky.

Hoo boy.

As he scratched the back of his head, Willem, too, put a slight spark to his venenum.

With a short bang, he leaped into the air. His enhanced leg strength catapulted him skyward with vigor that far surpassed what was possible for a regular person.

He adjusted his position slightly in midair and landed on the ground right next to Nephren.

The shape of the soles of his shoes was imprinted deep into the ground. Dust curled up around him.

“Willem…?!”

“I’m fine.”

Nephren was looking at him, worried, but he stopped her and checked himself.

He didn’t feel any pain.

He hopped a few times in place. No problems there. The venenum Willem Kmetsch activated was moving properly throughout his entire body, like it was supposed to be.

Huh. It seemed like the powers they had in the real world, minus the physical damage to their bodies, had been imported right into the dreamworld. Without the injury to his body, he could once again make use of the powers he had cultivated as a Quasi Brave and the battle techniques he thought he would never be able to use again.

“Oh, to pick up where we left off?”

“Yeah?”

“What happens in the dreams with the succubus demon?”

“…Forget about that.”

There was a building on the outskirts of the city of Gomag.

Its official name was the Imperial Gomag City Foreigner Memorial Orphanage. How grateful we all are that the great eighteenth Legal Brave, Nils D. Foreigner, privately funded and founded this orphanage… And the only thing great about it was its name and history—everything else, not so much.

In one word, it was shabby. In two words, it was really shabby.

The building, a fairly large one at two stories tall, was made from aged wood. The walls and roof were mostly patchwork, as though repeatedly assembled by amateur hands. Since it was a remodel of an elementary school that was originally going to be demolished, its history was on par with the stone buildings everywhere else. It was an incredibly unreliable building, one that might end up blown away in a big storm, foundation and all.

And that was the private orphanage.

At the moment, twenty-one children lived there. All given up by useless adults, they were still alive, full of vigor and energy.

Willem Kmetsch lived at this orphanage.

Actually, he had barely been back the past five years. What with training to become a Brave and the missions he went on after becoming a Quasi Brave, he didn’t really have the time. And yet, as always, he considered himself a resident of the orphanage.

Most of the children who had come to the orphanage only recently caught sight of the unfamiliar older man and were clearly scared of him. But when Willem gave them his toothy grin, their caution vanished. It was only times like this that his undignified looks really helped.

And the responses from the older kids who already knew Willem (most were around ten years old) were pretty easy to read, too—

“Hey, Dad, you’re home!”

“Come on—teach me how to use a sword! You promised you were gonna teach me last time, remember?!”

“Where were you fighting this time? Didja smash a bunch of elves in the face?”

They crowded around him, all pestering him at once.

“Hey, guys, how’ve ya been?!”

He hugged, pinched cheeks, and ruffled hair for each and every one of them, boys and girls alike.

The children were yelping and hollering in delight.

“Come now, everyone, and Dad, too— Don’t do that while we’re about to eat. It’s bad manners!”

Almaria scolded them, and they all sat down properly in their chairs. They began to eat.

Sour-sweet dressing drizzled over a bitter salad—the combination of flavors he had almost forgotten made his stomach ache.

Everything he wanted to protect…

The home he wanted to return to…

The people he wanted to see again…

The voices he wanted to hear once more…

The reason why he kept clumsily swinging his sword…

He wouldn’t say it was all here. But almost everything he had once lost—and the pain he had suffered through for that and lamented as he gave up on it all—was, without question, here, in this place. It had taken the form of a gaggle of children and was right in front of him.

And yet, they weren’t real. And for his heart to waver over them would be, in the end, nothing but betrayal to the real Almaria…to the real children who died 527 years ago.

He felt like he was going to cry, just by talking to them. He wanted to hug them all.

A thought suddenly came to him. What would happen if he didn’t hold back on this impulse? How would she respond if he suddenly embraced his daughter?

—Hey, come on! The children are watching!

At first, she would probably complain. But she wouldn’t resist. And then—

—Sheesh. You’re such an embarrassment, Dad.

—You may look big on the outside, but you’re still a kid on the inside.

That’s how she would accept it.

With a roll of the eyes but a kind voice, she would hug him back.

He could imagine it easily. And that made him sad.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“All those faces you make always creep me out.”

Hey, that’s mean. You actually hurt my feelings.

“You always come home real suddenly, don’t you?”

There was a hint of displeasure in Almaria’s voice, her statement reproachful.

“The old man’s the same. I know that’s probably what Brave work is like, but don’t you think enough’s enough?”

She was grumbling as she spoke, but her expression was bright and her steps light.

Willem knew well that many parts of his daughter’s personality weren’t totally honest. That’s why he couldn’t take her complaints at face value.

He readjusted himself in his chair and looked to her again out of the corner of his eye.

She seemed a little smaller than he remembered— No, she was definitely a size smaller. Why was that?

He found his answer right away. He held back his urge to laugh.

In reality, it had been an unbelievable five hundred years, so he almost forgot, but Willem Kmetsch had been sixteen on the last night he met with Almaria. After that, he spent almost two years living on Regule Aire. He had gotten taller during that time.

He had undergone two years’ worth of change over 527 years. Physically, his body matured from that of a sixteen-year-old to an eighteen-year-old. But Almaria hadn’t changed at all. And the difference was now presenting itself as a sense of unease.

It was also how he could clearly tell she wasn’t real.

“…Hey. Is there something weird about me today?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

“How you ask stuff like that.”

Right. He couldn’t argue with that.

“Also, I guess you look like Falco when he’s about to cry after a bad dream—and how restless you seem even though you’re here.”

…Right. Is that it?

His thought process cooled slightly.

Almaria had just looked just a bit smaller to Willem. So in reverse, he should look considerably older to Almaria. The real one would have absolutely noticed and pointed it out.

The fact that didn’t happen meant this girl was for sure a fake.

“Hey, Dad?” One of the girls tugged lightly at his sleeve. “Who’s that?”

Nephren didn’t understand the emnetwiht language. But still, when someone looked at her, she responded. She lifted her gaze and tilted her head lightly. “What?”

“You were just fighting in the north, right, Dad? Is that where she’s from?”

“Oh, uh…” He gave it a bit of thought but couldn’t think of a reason that really made sense, so he just responded, “Yeah, you could say that.”

“What is it?”

“They’re asking about you. I can’t answer them honestly, so I’m hoping they’ll eat up the lie.”

“…Okay.”

Nephren nodded and resumed munching on her food.

“Her hair is so pretty. It’s like silver but different.”

“Yeah… Guess you’re right.”

Among the faeries, most of whom had outlandish hair colors, Nephren’s hair was a relatively normal color. And so, while it did seem a little unusual to them, she wouldn’t be found out as “not normal.”

“And so what’s her deal?” Almaria asked as she brought over another bowl of salad for seconds. “At first, I thought maybe she was supposed to stay with us, since you brought her over all of a sudden, but…she was just flying, wasn’t she?”

“Uh…”

The orphanage operated with the support of the city of Gomag, but the kids who’d been taken in weren’t limited to residents of the city. There were quite the number of abandoned children who the director, who was Willem’s master as well as the one the children called “old man,” picked up from battlegrounds here and there.

“Nah, of course not. Guess you could call her my junior.”

“Your junior,” Almaria repeated dubiously. “Of what?”

“What else? Of Quasi Braves.”

“She’s a Brave?!”

“But she’s smaller’n me!”

“Seriously?!”

The boys’ savage gazes all pointed toward Nephren at once.

Nephren was startled, and she flinched.

She was raised in the faerie warehouse, after all, where there were only women. The men closest to her were basically just the lizardfolk in the guard. It was the first time in her life having a bunch of boys of a similar race all look at her.

“Hey, let’s play a game! A game!”

“What, no fair! Me first, me first!”

They roughly grabbed on to both of her arms and dragged her down the hall.

“I don’t really understand, but it’s like I’m surrounded by Collons.”

Her murmur in the Regule Aire common language drifted further out of earshot. He was a little impressed—that was a good analogy.

“Hey, you’re supposed to say thanks for your food when you’re finished eating!”

Almaria’s scolding echoed down the hallway. Several of the boys replied back with an energetic “Thanks for th’ food!”

“Gosh, their manners are sooo bad.” Almaria huffed, puffing her cheeks. “She’s so small, though… Does that mean she can wield those huge swords you showed me last time, Dad?”

“Underneath it all, she’s way more qualified to be a Brave than I am.” After saying that much, he suddenly recalled something and continued. “…Oh yeah. And she might look small, but I think she’s pretty close in age to you, Al.”

“Wow, that’s a surprise. I was thinking she’s about Nanette’s age.”

Sitting at the corner of the table, Nanette, who had just turned ten, nodded in agreement.

That made sense, though. Nephren was on the small side, after all. But Willem quietly decided to himself that he would keep this conversation a secret from her.

…a…d…

“…Hmm?”

Suddenly, he felt like he heard a voice coming from somewhere else.

“Did someone say something just now?”

“Huh? I just said the girl looks like she’s about Nanette’s age.”

“Yeah, not that one, after that. It sounded like a voice from far…”

“I thought she was the same age as me, too!” Nanette said, energetically waving her hand to get them to look at her. That probably was different from the voice he just heard as well.

…Well, whatever.

…It was probably just my imagination.

(Damn, this is bad. I’m starting to let my guard down.)

He couldn’t stay vigilant like he thought he could. This dream was more dangerous than he imagined. Reminding himself that they were in the belly of a mysterious enemy, Willem pulled himself together.

3. The Quasi Brave Came Home

Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

Nothing particularly unusual occurred during that period. At the very least, Willem didn’t see a hint of any straightforward issues, like the orphanage being suddenly struck by a bloody tragedy or the kids starting to shout hateful insults at him.

Almaria ran about the house with energy as usual.

“I’m hooome.”

Welcome back! Oh gosh, you’re covered in mud—let me get a towel.

“Big sis, I gotta pee!”

Okay, all right, just hold on, I’ll be right there.

“I’m hungry! I want a snack!”

You just had lunch! You need to wait.

Back and forth, up and down, here and there, she ran, ran, ran.

Willem, sitting in the front yard with an iron nail between his teeth, watched her vacantly from afar.

“Well… At least she’s doing all right,” he murmured, swinging his hammer. There was a dull thud.

“What are you doing?”

He lifted his head at the voice, and Nephren was standing right beside him.

“Exactly what you think I’m doing. I’m repairing the broken fence.”

“No. You were looking at Almaria. You were smiling.”

“I was fondly watching over her.”

“Mm-hmm.”

With an expression that was hard to tell if she believed him or not, Nephren sat just behind Willem’s back. She leaned on him and opened a book she must have borrowed from somewhere in the orphanage.

“Hey. I can’t work like this.”

“Don’t move,” she commanded.

What the hell? That was how he felt as he lowered the hand that held the hammer.

“…You’ve gotten a pretty good grasp on the language.”

“I studied the surface letters with Rhan once. I already knew a little grammar and some words. So I just listen a lot. And I speak a lot.”

“That’s usually a big pain, though.”

Willem recalled the troubles he went through to learn the island common language and smiled wryly.

And listening aside, he really wondered if Nephren was putting her “speak a lot” into practice.

“You can just use common when you talk to me, you know.”

“No.”

To make a point, he made his offer in island common, but she readily refused.

“The trick to learning a new language is using it as much as you can. It’s possible to forget everything right away if you draw back to a familiar language.”

“Man, you’re earnest.” He sighed. “You probably could’ve figured it out much faster if you just used this language comprehension talisman. It won’t come off me for some reason, though.”

“You can take it off, but I don’t want it. Convenience is the enemy of growth.”

“Man, you’re really earnest.”

Before him was the fence he was working on. In his right hand was the hammer, in his left, a nail. On his back was Nephren’s warmth. His eyes wandered up to the sky, and he answered absently.

“No need to get so eager about learning it, y’know. Once we leave this world, you won’t ever use the language again anyway.”

“But I can use it until then, no?” Nephren said as she flipped the page. “You said we will wait until the enemy starts to play with the world and arrange it. Meaning I should have plenty of time to use it.”

He had indeed said that. But at the time, he hadn’t thought that they would be waiting for such a long span of time. He thought it’d be only a half a day or so.

“And there are something that bother me.”

“…That bothers you?”

Her grammar was a little off, but he understood what she was getting at. He went to turn around to ask, but it seemed like she would fall over if he did, so he stayed in place.

He couldn’t see Nephren’s expression.

“If this is your dream, then things you don’t know shouldn’t be in here.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

He heard another page flip.

“Did you know that as of the year of the Empire…1030, of the twelve tribes that belong to the West Ga…Garma…Garmando Sands Federation, a number include survivors of the royal family?”

“Uh… Huh? What?”

It was so sudden, he found himself slightly confused.

He knew what the West Garmando Sands Federation was, of course. It represented the sandy plain that took up almost the entire western half of the arid Garmando region and the representative councils of the people who lived there. They developed a unique magic system that was very deep and intricate, especially their presence-manipulation-type spells, that all the magic schools of the entire Empire put together couldn’t match.

But conversely, that was as much as Willem knew. He had no recollection of ever learning about its history or their forms of government.

“If my reading is correct, then it’s here in this book.”

“…Seriously?”

Just as Willem explained earlier, dreams created by talents were formed by reflecting the memories of the target. Basically, if the target didn’t know something, it would never show up in that world.

“Of course, I have no idea what sort of place this West Garmando is. That means this book has information that both you and I don’t know.”

“For real… Hey, ow!” he unconsciously murmured in island common, and she pinched his butt. Ouch.

“No common.”

“Fiiine. Anyway, uhhh… What does this mean?”

“Arrangement? From the enemy who made this world?”

That’s what that would mean, huh?

But he had no idea what purpose that would serve. How would they be attacked spiritually by reading a book and gaining some knowledge they didn’t know previously? Wait, was there any point in changing things in places they wouldn’t even have noticed if Nephren hadn’t started reading in the first place?

“…Don’t worry about it for now, I guess.”

Thinking any more wouldn’t get them any answers. That was the conclusion he came to.

“Is that okay?”

“We shouldn’t start fumbling around trying to solve mysteries with such little information. The more theories and assumptions we have, the harder it’ll be for us to see the answer. Let’s not read too much into anything just yet, not until we find easier hints.”

“Okay.”

Nephren left it at that and silently began to concentrate on her reading.

“…I can’t keep working if you stay there, you know.”

She readily ignored his quietly muttered complaint.

There were plenty of places within the Empire that were known for their marvelous scenery.

Like the snowflake streets in the capital’s first district.

Like Negatés Grand Memorial Cathedral.

Like the hot springs of Fistirus.

Though they had been destroyed in the fires of war, the Obsidian Tower and the Twin Cemeteries and the like were all once counted among the beauties of the Empire. Bards all sung praises of the Empire as “the Land’s Treasury of Art” and earned generous offerings of money from superpatriotic subjects.

But of course, it wasn’t as though the entire Empire was overflowing with sophisticated beauty. No matter how much the big metropolises advanced, the countryside would always be the countryside.

In short, that’s the sort of place Gomag was.

It was a bit removed from the large trade route that connected the Empire’s north and south, wasn’t home to any famous buildings, nor did it have any specific renowned specialty. So neither tourists nor up-and-coming merchants ever dropped by. Since it was quite far from the border, there was also no fear of war.

Every day brought the same familiar faces, the same conversations, the same routines.

Rain suddenly started to pour.

Willem and Nephren hurriedly dashed into a nearby café.

“Sheesh… That was sudden.”

Willem peeked out the window and watched the torrential downpour.

The clouds of spray from the heavy rain prevented him from seeing too far, but even with the limited visibility, he could still spot a few people rushing about. Though the wind wasn’t that strong, it blew the droplets sideways, so an umbrella wouldn’t be much use.

“Guess we gotta kill time until it lets up… Hey, can we order?” He called for a server after glancing briefly over the menu on the clay tablet. “I’ll have a coffee, and…sure, a plate of fried potatoes. And she’ll have…” He glanced at Nephren. “You want orange juice?”

“I will have coffee, too, and the three-jam scones, please.”

She completely ignored his question in island common.

“Don’t go easy on me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He shrugged. Well, she didn’t pinch his butt this time, so all was well.

“…I know this is obvious, but I only see featureless here.”

“It was the same at the faerie warehouse, though, right?”

“Normally, I don’t have the chance to see this many adults and males.”

Right. Most featureless races were physically inferior, so he’d heard that not too many joined the Winged Guard. For Nephren, who usually only ever saw the residents of Island No. 68 and members of the Guard, this place was a little like a zoo.

“And? How was your harvest? Find any interesting books?”

“I don’t know that until I start reading. I picked books at random regardless of genre, so I am not expecting much,” Nephren replied, holding a paper bag filled with books to her chest. Just before the rain started, they had been browsing a nearby bookstore.

Unlike the past, when each individual book had to be written by hand, large-scale printing presses were the norm, and books were much easier to get. And the street the two were on now was just behind the single university in Gomag. Since plenty of students were always coming and going through here, there was a plethora of places selling books, from magnificent shops to street stalls. And of course, the types of books being sold were diverse.

He thought he could see a slight glimmer in Nephren’s eyes. Though she probably wasn’t entirely comfortable with the Imperial language yet, she seemed pretty happy to be able to read books she’d never heard of.

They had gone shopping to investigate the unnaturalness of this world. Basically, by comparing and contrasting books with information neither of them knew, they might be able to get a read on what the creator of this world was plotting.

But even if they couldn’t achieve their main objective, the shopping trip hadn’t been a total waste of time, since Nephren was happy about it. Willem thought about that as he made sure she didn’t notice his wry smile.

Then he glanced around them.

The tables had been mostly full even before it started raining, but with the poor weather persisting, most of the customers were staying put. And because of that, it was rather lively in the café. Though it seemed obvious, most of the customers were university students. And among them, it felt like both he and Nephren—one who didn’t look like a well-learned person and one too young to start on the path of academia to begin with—stood out somewhat.

—What would Chtholly say about this situation?

He knew. She’d probably lower her eyes and bashfully ask, “Does it look like we’re lovers on a date?” Then he would respond, “Nah, a brother-sister outing.” And she would delightfully scold him with “Don’t treat me like a child!”

He could imagine it so easily.

And the image of it tore at his chest.

“Willem?”

“It’s nothing.”

The painful feelings must have made themselves known on his face. As Nephren peered at him worryingly with her usual expression, he looked away from her, brushing it off.

“Did you find anything strange?”

“Hmm? …Oh, that.”

This world was a dream—a little pocket garden that imitated a person’s memories, arbitrarily arranged by the world’s creator. The problem they were facing was beyond that, though.

“I dunno. I don’t even know whose memories this world is based off.”

The scenery was all very familiar to Willem. That’s why he thought this was his own dream at first. But it couldn’t involve anything he didn’t know if that were the case.

He looked around him, taking in the wintertime Gomag.

The shades of moss on the cobblestones. The small cracks in the brick walls. The graffiti on the plaster.

“—Whoever’s dream this is, they know Gomag way better than I do, read way more books, and know the orphanage just as well as I do. I can’t even imagine who it might be.”

“Mm.”

“We were the only ones there on the surface, so I really doubt anyone else ended up victims along with us. I can’t tell what’s happening at all as of now.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Nephren’s noncommittal response didn’t sound particularly upset.

“‘Mm-hmm’…? You’ve been pretty unresponsive.”

“I’m not that interested.”

So this was just a matter of interest for her? Even though they wouldn’t be able to get back to the real world if they didn’t solve this problem?

“This world isn’t so terrible. I want to stay a little longer.”

“This is a fake world, filled with fake emnetwiht. Nothing’s real here. We could stay forever, and it’d all be empty.”

“Willem, are you really saying that to me?”

He faltered.

Leprechauns were the embodiment of false life. They impersonated emnetwiht in order to trick the Carillon. There was nothing real about them.

Though there was nothing real about them, they still existed.

Indeed. Second Officer Willem Kmetsch could never ignore that fact. He wanted to cherish them and gave up on being responsible for them in name only. Which meant—

“Almaria and everyone are here. I am here, too.”

All the characters in this dream were false life.

They were imaginary beings, impersonating people who existed in the real world in order to fool the ones ensnared in it.

There was nothing different from the faeries at the warehouse.

“The other world and this world. You can pick your favorite, Willem.”

“…Damn it,” he muttered quietly to himself so she couldn’t hear. “You’re pretty mean for someone who’ll coddle me at the drop of a hat.”

The rain wasn’t letting up.

When the coffee they ordered came, Nephren took out a book from among her stash and immediately engrossed herself in reading. Willem, who didn’t have a good method for passing the time, let his gaze wander outside the window and immersed himself in the sound of the raindrops.

He never used to handle boredom well.

Or rather, he could never stand wasting time.

That was because Willem had a goal. And it was much too ambitious, something he could never reach with a sane amount of effort. So he put in an insane amount of effort. He spent every single moment of free time bettering himself.

In the end, his ludicrous efforts led to half-baked results that seemed to bear fruit but at the same time didn’t. He learned countless sword techniques, countless martial techniques, countless skills related to the battlefield, and he became quite strong. His vast store of knowledge and experience directly correlated to reliability in battle. Several of his companions described his way of fighting as “doing everything a person possibly can,” and he also felt like he’d truly reached a stage very close to that.

But still.

Willem’s goal was to become a Legal Brave.

That was, in essence, to “accomplish the impossible.” No matter how infinitely close Willem got to the peak of emnetwiht ability, he would never reach a point that allowed him to go beyond what mortals were capable of.

There was no point in any of his training or studies.

At least, no matter how much he trained or studied, he would never reach his goal.

Even after learning and accepting this, Willem still couldn’t stop training and tempering himself. He wasn’t exactly sure why, either. It might’ve been for backward reasons—that he didn’t want to have put all he’d done to waste.

Of course, he wondered if all his effort really was for nothing. If he’d just given up on a dream that would never come true and used his time like a normal teenage boy would, he might’ve lived a more accommodating life.

He might’ve even learned how to treat girls better.

…He could’ve made the girl who told him she loved him happy.

“Willem?!”

A man’s voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

Willem turned around, and a silver-haired young man was beaming brightly at him. He looked like he had just dashed in from the rain, as he was soaked from head to toe.

“It is you, Willem. It’s been ages! When’d you come back to Gomag?”

Nephren, who’d just started reading one of her new books, lifted her gaze slightly, as though to ask if she knew him. “Yeah,” Willem responded lightly. It was true he knew the man, at least.

“…Just the other day.”

“Oh, that’s a girl I haven’t seen before. A new member of the orphanage?”

“Yeah, guess you could say that.”

The young man approached the table uninvited and sat down without permission. He smiled to the reading girl.

“Hello. I’m Theodore Brickroad, an old friend of Willem’s here. All my good friends call me Ted, though, so you should remember me by that.”

Nephren’s gaze didn’t even leave the page she was on. She totally ignored him.

Willem thought he saw a few beads of sweat appear on Ted’s forehead.

“You look well, Ted.”

“Oh yes, I’m doing great! My level’s gone up a lot, too!”

“Level…” He thought for a moment. “Oh yeah. You’re an Adventurer now, right?”

What were Adventurers?

The word originally referred to people who put themselves in danger as a trade.

Danger and adventure were synonymous, and to adventure for a living meant to be in danger for a living. They cast themselves into battle against monstrous races, trekked to investigate mazes, and risked their lives to subdue dragons.

They heedlessly thrust themselves into danger that no normal person could touch, in pursuit of harvesting the vast sums of money on offer because of the danger.

“You haven’t heard?!”

“Well, it’s my first time back in Gomag in a while, and I don’t really care what you’re up to.”

“Even if you’re lying, please act like you know! Honesty might be a virtue, but it’s not as if virtuous people live forever!”

Ha-ha-ha, he sure is pushing it.

“And? What’s your level now?”

Levels were numbers roughly assigned to indicate an individual’s degree of training and fighting abilities, mostly used among the Adventurers. The higher the number, the more mature they were in battle, and the lower the number, the more inexperienced.

Regular civilians who had never seen a battle were around level 2 or 3. An experienced soldier was about 10, give or take. For someone who spends their entire life on the battlefield and dies on it, the number reached would be just below 30. Thereabouts was the typical upper limits attainable by mankind. To pass that threshold would be to step outside the standard emnetwiht framework.

“Eight.”

Well. That was pretty average for a common adventurer. No, that was probably closer to the upper ends when taking his age into account. It was something he could say with pride.

“…Oh yeah, I heard your level is insanely high, Willem, that it’s way beyond the typical thirty wall and stuff like that.”

“Oh, uh… Guess so.”

Willem wasn’t an Adventurer, of course. But he often fought alongside them, so he’d had his level measured a few times.

The last time he had it done, he was told it was 69.

Everyone there with him had been more exasperated by the absurdity of it all than shocked.

“That’s incredible. Oh, then do you train using secret methods passed down from the Church to only Braves?”

“No, not really.” He sipped his coffee lightly. “And they’re just numbers anyway. You really want to hear them that badly?”

Levels were one way to measure strength. In other words, it was nothing but a way to measure strength.

There were plenty of people who had low numbers but were incredibly useful in real battle, and even more troublingly, there were far more where the opposite was true. For Willem, levels weren’t something that anyone should really pay much mind.

“Of course I do. For us Adventurers, the number of our level is the number of our earnings. You can’t gain any information about monsters with a great reward without a high enough level.”

That made sense. So that’s how the Guild prevented meaningless deaths of its members. It was strange that there were Adventurers who weren’t allowed near danger, though.

“Well, if you just want to bump your number up, then that’s not too hard. It’ll go up on its own if you just force your way through tough situations.”

“They’re called tough situations because they’re hard, you know.”

What a cheeky thing to say back to me.

“…It’s not exactly a trick, but I do know a way that’ll shoot your numbers right up.”

“Really?!”

Ted leaned forward.

“The closest one to here is… Yeah, so there’s a master swordsman somewhere west of the Ceramic City of Alvarie who recruits students from all over, so go there and ask to take part in the trial of the ultimate secret technique.”

“A finishing move right off the bat, is it? Sounds like some sort of cheating.”

“Once you start the trial, you either master the technique and come home, or you die. They announce that it’s either one or the other.”

“…Die?” There was a hint of doubt in Ted’s voice.

“The technique’s a compound skill that mixes psychic skills and physical ones. It was a move that could kill your opponent by ripping their guts to shreds even through armor. People with the sense for it first get a grasp on it after they’ve been cornered, right when they’re moments away from death. People without it die without ever being able to do anything.”

“…Er?” A tinge of unease crept into his voice.

“That’s why the trial itself throws you straight into battle with a sub-dragon to defeat it.”

“That would kill me. That would kill me in a second.”

“Oh, and yeah, even though it’s a sub-class of dragons, it’s still a dragon. It’s superstrong, its scales are tough, and the weapons regular people use barely put a scratch on it. What you’re supposed to do to survive is somehow open your eyes to the final technique and knock the thing out. But I never could.”

“…What?” Ted’s eyes widened. “Oh, did you use some kind of trick, then?”

“Guess you could call it that. Since I couldn’t use the technique, I just beat it physically, head-on.”

“………I’m sorry?”

“Like I said, weapons regular people use hardly affect it. But that doesn’t mean they can’t hurt it at all. I used skills I’d learned before here and there, trying to find something that might be a little more effective, but after about a week, the dragon just collapsed on its own after taking a bunch of chip damage.”

“………Oh.”

“It doesn’t matter what it is—if you force your way through tough situations, your level will go up. I think it went up, like, ten or so for me at the time. That master guy had no idea what to make of it.”

“…Of course he wouldn’t.”

Ted sounded tired for some reason.

And afterward, when his master and Lillia heard the story, they burst out laughing. They pointed at him and said, “Guys without the sense really have it tough, huh?” A real rude bunch, those two.

“If you can plow through every predicament you can land yourself in, then the number of your nominal level and the number of training houses you’re banned from will just keep going up. You could use spells and stuff instead, but it’s hard to get a reaction from that, since anyone can use a spell if they learn it. If you can safely endure all that, then your level will go up two or three times, easy.” He grinned. “I’ll write as many introduction letters as you want if you wanna give it a shot.”

“No, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to pass. I’d prefer to live a steady life.”

Hey, man, you’re the one who chose to work as an Adventurer!

“And what are you gonna do after steadily raising your level?” The question suddenly came to him.

“Well, you know.” Ted’s face flushed for some reason, and he scratched his cheek. “I need to grow up to be independent, otherwise, I won’t be able to go and ask for Allie’s hand in marriage.”

“All righty, then. I’ll go ahead and tell you about a test that’ll put your level right up to 50, so get your last will and testament ready.”

“I’m sorry! I won’t do it! I promise! Please don’t do this!”

He deftly moved the legs of the chair with a loud clatter and pulled away from Willem.

“Please stop,” the server scolded. Maybe he should just—

Bzzt.

There was a sharp sensation on the back of his neck.

“…Willem?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’ll be back.”

He stood, rubbing the nape of his neck with his palm.

Nephren wordlessly looked up.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah. Gonna see someone else I haven’t seen in a while… Ted, sorry, but keep an eye on her. Take her back to the orphanage for me.”

That was all Willem said before he left.

“Huh? Uh, er, Willem?”

Willem ignored the bewildered voice behind him.

The rain continued to fall, but right now, he couldn’t let that bother him.

—Suddenly, he remembered something from the past.

It happened a little over 527 years ago.

Several days earlier, it had been decided that seven warriors, with Lillia in the lead, would head to battle the Visitor Elq Hrqstn.

“I’m not a huge fan of big swords, you know,” Lillia said.

At the most, the blade should be about as long as her arm. It should be light enough for her to swing it around with one hand. Basically, she preferred longswords meant for fighting against other people. She could pour all the lessons she learned from her parents, her old teacher, her master (the latter two were apparently different) into that kind of weapon.

The Carillon were great swords meant for killing things that were beings far beyond the emnetwiht. They were platform shoes meant to forcefully boost the weak emnetwiht race to reach heights they couldn’t normally, even using all their natural strength. That’s why she didn’t like them very much.

He understood what she wanted to say.

He understood, but he didn’t think that was something the Legal Brave herself should say as the one who was chosen to be the current wielder of the most ancient holy blade Seniorious.

There were so many people in the world who wished to be chosen by a powerful Carillon but weren’t, who longed to wield great power but couldn’t. For someone who had all that to make light of her own power was the same as making enemies of all those people. She would be stabbed one day if she declared that publicly. Actually, he wanted to stab her. She’d better watch her step.

“…So you challenged her to a practice match and got beaten to a pulp.”

Willem responded with a low groan to Navrutri’s tired statement.

From Shimmering Rod to Bear’s Paw; from the Fox’s Tail to Needle Jab; from Nightingale Sweep to Capricious Drum—all the techniques he so humbly learned from Hilgram were easily seen through and countered by the chosen Brave’s superior ability, Insight (which apparently had some exaggerated name like Eyes of the Abyss). Willem had even tried throwing in a Haze Step and a North-Star Track that he learned from Navrutri, but there it was pointless.

The wall of talent and skill that separated him from a Legal Brave was impossibly tall and thick.

“You’ve got the whole wrong idea, Will,” Navrutri said, acting with an exaggerated sigh. “We men could never win against women in the first place. Try as we may, we’ll never be any match. All we can do is beg for their love.”

“I was an idiot to ask for real advice from you,” Willem moaned.

“No, this is a real and serious talk. I guess you could call this a talk about the difference in sword quality.” Navrutri waved his finger lightly, as though tracing the glint of the blade. “Your sword is what we would call a blade for battle. You wield it to chip away at your enemy’s strength, deal them a great amount of damage, and destroy them. In extreme terms, it divides everything before it into two categories: things that can be killed and things that can’t, doing things in a way that rejects any other information.”

“So it’s no good?”

“I’d say it’s standard for a fighter. No one’s gonna find fault with that.” He shrugged. “But it’s not like you want to either deny Lil or make her surrender. Your sword isn’t meant to be wielded against an opponent like that at all.”

“…Well, I’d wanna make her surrender to me at least once in my life if I could.”

“That’s one dream that could never come true for men. I’m rooting for you, though. From a safe distance behind the scenes,” he said profoundly.

“So if my sword’s meant for fighting, then what the hell’s Lillia’s for?”

“Hmm. Her sword is just like Mr. Nils’s. Either her honest nature makes them look similar, or maybe their personalities are just very similar.”

Nils D. Foreigner. He was Lillia’s master, the man who was also Willem’s “damn teacher.”

“It’s a greedy style of swordsmanship that’s characteristic of someone hesitant… Of someone who desperately, desperately doesn’t want to hurt anyone but has no choice but to—the typical blade of a coward.”

Willem came to a place between two roads and stopped.

Before he knew it, a silver blade pushed against the back of his neck. Red blood oozed out faintly, was quickly washed away by the rain, and disappeared.

“Yo,” Willem casually called out to the person behind him. “Inviting me out here intending to kill me is pretty old-fashioned, don’cha think? It’s not like you’re a stranger or anything. Can’t you just use your words if you need something?”

“…It’s because things might get a little too complicated for other people to hear.”

Before he knew it, a man in a waterproof robe stood behind Willem.

He responded with a dry voice.

“There are things I want to ask you before we rekindle our friendship. I’d be happy if you answered me honestly, Will.”

“If that’s all you want, then come at me from the front. You know I’m shit at hiding things, right?”

“First question.” He totally ignored his banter. “Why are you here?”

“…That’s a weird question. You know Gomag’s my hometown, right? Now that I’ve said that, it’s way weirder to see you here.”

“It sounds like the meaning of my question didn’t get through to you.”

The knife pressed ever so slightly harder on his neck.

“Why have you, who should’ve died with Ebon Candle the day of the battle, suddenly appeared in this town now?”

“…What?”

For a moment, Willem couldn’t understand what he’d been asked. Then, the second after he understood the man’s words, he realized his mistake.

Up until that very moment, he’d forgotten to think about something very important.

This was a dreamworld. Keeping that premise in mind, he hadn’t checked to see when “now” was for this world.

(I just assumed that any sense of time in the dreamworld was decided haphazardly…)

Willem understood several things immediately from this brief exchange.

The first was that this world was set after their team had gone off to battle the Visitors…and, somehow, before it was destroyed by the Seventeen Beasts.

Next was the fact that the Willem Kmetsch of this world apparently never came home—he had probably been turned to stone on the battlefield.

And lastly, it was becoming more and more certain that this world wasn’t simply based off Willem’s memories. There was information written in books that he didn’t personally know, and the people in this dream were experiencing a time that Willem never did.

(What on earth is going on…?)

The time he spent thinking about that was probably nothing more than a few seconds. The man behind him must’ve taken the pause as some sort of answer, as he withdrew the blade from Willem’s neck.

“…You sure you can let me go? I haven’t answered you yet.”

“I wasn’t considering this a threat in the first place. The person who decides to use this toy of a blade against the strongest Quasi Brave would be pretty incompetent.”

“Strongest, huh?” Willem smiled wryly. “You’re making me uncomfortable calling me that, Navrutri.”

Slowly, he turned around.

The man pulled back his waterproof hood, revealing red hair like burning flames and the unshaven face of a man of about thirty.

Navrutri Teigozak.

He was one of the Quasi Braves recognized by the Church of Exalted Light, hailing from a tribe in West Garmando. His weapon of choice was a curved blade traditional to the tribes, but when he stood before the strongest of enemies, he unsheathed his pure and beloved Carillon, Lapidemsibilus.

“Don’t flatter me too much. We’re both still Quasi Braves, but you’re my senior and more skilled than I am. You can even wield higher-ranked Carillon than I can.”

Navrutri smiled slightly at the praise.

“The scary part about you is that you don’t say it out of humility or self-effacement but because you mean it.”

Willem also smiled slightly in return.

“You’re a nuisance because you don’t say that out of flattery or ridicule but because you mean it.”

A brief silence. Only the violent sound of the rain hitting the cobblestones filled the space around them.

“…I know I should’ve died alongside that black skull. I don’t remember anything after that. By the time I realized it, I was in Gomag. That was in the morning, three days ago.”

Willem answered the original question.

If he talked about everything honestly, then he would have to go as far as to convince Navrutri that the world itself was a fake. He decided that was much too difficult, so he lied and hid anything he didn’t think they could discuss.

“I want to know what happened. And that’s not all.” Willem hurriedly ran his fingers through his soaked hair. “What happened in the battle, in the end? I see people haven’t been annihilated yet, so we must’ve beat the Visitors, and now I know you made it back alive. But what about the others?”

Navrutri didn’t answer.

“And more importantly, why are you threatening a friend of yours with malice and knives and stuff? Explain to me what on earth is going on.”

“The True World.”

He heard the man quietly murmur the phrase.

It was the name of an organization, one that sounded a little too over-the-top, like it was meant to embarrass the listener.

“You remember, right? They were up to something, trying to overthrow the Imperial Capital. Their remnants are trying to carry on with their previous plans.”

—Oh, right.

So that’s why the phrase would turn up.

Now that he thought about it, it was obvious. This was a dream that was a copy of the surface from the past, and since the defeat of the Visitors had already happened, then the next event to occur was none other than the appearance of the Seventeen Beasts. Then, a few days after that, towns would be swallowed up, countries demolished, and the emnetwiht race itself would disappear from the earth.

Then it made sense that the True World, the ones who birthed the Beasts, were now engaged in some secret activities.

This was a world that would soon end by their hand.

(I kinda feel like a prophet.)

It felt strange knowing the established future. His feelings of omnipotence and helplessness swirled together in a ruddy, marbled pattern. Between pleasure and unpleasantness, his mood leaned much further toward the latter.

Willem hid his unease beneath his serious look and asked, “So how is this and that related?”

“There are Braves and ex-Braves in secret communications with the True World.”

“—What?”

That was something he certainly didn’t know. He hadn’t even imagined that ever happening.

“You’re kidding— Wait, you wouldn’t be on the move if this was unconfirmed information. This is serious. And since you’re not hiding it, that means you decided it’s okay that the Quasi Braves start doubting one another. So you’re prioritizing putting everyone on guard and blunting their movements rather than trying to identify the true identity of the rebels.”

“Insightful as always,” Navrutri said wryly. “You’d be much more popular with the ladies if you used that insight to understand their hearts.”

Oh, shut up.

Willem never really felt desire to be popular whenever Navrutri, who bragged he had as many lovers as ports in the world, said things like that, but he also really hated how convincing it sounded coming from him.

“Judging by your response, I’m going to say that your relationship with the True World is more in the clear.” Navrutri spread out both his hands, and the knife he had been gripping in his right had already disappeared, like a magic trick. “But still, it’s not like we talked openly about everything. You said you don’t remember anything until this morning—and I don’t think I can just accept that at face value.”

…This guy is keen, as always.

And not only that, he was definitely using that keen insight with women’s hearts. Willem was jealous. Boy, was he jealous.

“Okay, Will. I’ll withhold my doubts about you for now. I’ll at least deal with you on the assumption that you’re not guilty. Try not to do anything to stand out until things’ve calmed down some,” Navrutri stated arbitrarily, turning his back to him.

“You don’t need me to help?”

“My job right now is to doubt my companions. I can’t trust my back to those I can’t say for sure are totally innocent,” he said, his back turned carelessly to Willem. The way he said it was clunky and hard to understand, either because he didn’t word it well or he just had a roundabout way of saying it. “…And I’ll answer just one more thing for you. Out of all of us who fought against the Visitors that day, the only ones who survived were Lillia and me. It’s only just now that you’ve been added to that list.”

“I…see…”

The outcome was exactly what he’d heard from the Great Sage, Suowong. And so, while he wasn’t surprised, hearing it again put him in low spirits.

“The only ones we recovered bodies for were Suowong and Emissa. Suowong’s body had some complicated thaumaturgy cast on it or something, so he hasn’t been able to have a funeral. He’s resting in the basement chapel of the Church.”

Hey, what’re you doing, Great Sage? Now’s not nap time. Maybe the thaumaturgy he’d concocted for his resurrection or revival or whatever wasn’t starting up right.

“That’s all I can tell you. We’ll continue our chat over a drink after everything’s over,” Navrutri said lightly, beginning to walk off.

“Hey, Navrutri?” The words spilled from Willem’s mouth. “You’ve been, uh… You been okay?”

His receding figure stopped briefly.

“Fortunately, thanks.”

Navrutri answered without turning back and disappeared into the misty rain.

Rain continued to fall.

Willem looked up to the sky.

Though this world was supposed to be nothing more than a dream, the drops on his skin felt terribly cold.

His loud sneeze echoed throughout the street.

4. The Girl with Crimson Hair

A large painting hung on the wall of a small church.

It depicted a barren wasteland with the earth exposed. About ten men and women, their faces obscured, stood huddled close together upon it.

“—The Gods arrived from a distant sea of stars and stood on the wastes.”

The girl was looking up at the painting.

Her hair was a bright crimson, like an energetically dancing flame. She had the height and build of a child in her mid-teens. But her face as she gazed up at the painting was cherubic, like a baby.

“They felt pity for the land and how barren it was, so they divided their own souls into tiny shards and granted them to the Beasts who crept about the land. The Beasts, now with a fragment of soul within them, gained intelligence and began to walk the earth on two legs. That was the beginning of what would become people—”

One of the elderly priests in charge of this church finished his story and stood beside the girl.

“—You are quite enthralled by it, aren’t you, young lady? I imagine you’re interested in the legend of the Visitors?”

“Yeah.” The girl nodded slightly. “Because I never met my parents before.”

The priest murmured in quiet admiration. The Church’s teaching that the Visitors were the ones who created the emnetwiht race wasn’t widely accepted. So someone so faithful as to call the Visitors her parents is rather unusual, he thought.

“There’s no need to despair. Our emnetwiht souls were originally given to us by the Gods. As long as we are here, the souls of our distant ancestors, the Visitors, will always be with us.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” The girl’s hair wavered slightly, and she smiled sadly. “The souls given by the Visitors were finite. And yet, people multiplied far too much. The fragments were stretched infinitely thin and started to lose their meaning. Am I wrong?”

The priest furrowed his brow. What the girl said mentioned lines of thought that rejected the Church’s teachings. He felt like he should reprimand her for that, but there was something else that bothered him…

“Why are you using past tense?”

“Though this may be the present for you, for me, this is the distant past.”

She wasn’t joking. She wasn’t playing dumb. Her expression was characteristic of someone who had given up everything—completely transparent and empty. It didn’t suit the young girl’s face at all.

“Who are…?”

Just as he was about to ask who she was, the girl suddenly made a sound of surprise and looked up.

“I’m sorry—I have to go now. Carmy is calling me.”

She spun around on her heel. The hems of her traveling clothes swayed lightly.

“Good-bye, sir. I really like that picture.”

“P-please wait…a…”

The priest thought he heard a faint footstep, and the girl vanished before his eyes.

He slowly pulled back the hand that had reached for the girl’s shoulder, and he stared into his palm.

“…Hmm…?”

His memory quickly clouded over.

Someone was definitely here just now. He talked with them. He was certain that happened, but he could barely remember what they looked like, their voice, or what they talked about. It felt like he’d been tricked by a faerie on a terribly misty night.

“What was—?”

He murmured his question, but no one was there to answer him.

He turned his gaze to the painting hanging on the wall. The images of the Visitors trapped in the canvas, of course, would say nothing to him… But for a brief moment, the priest thought he saw clearly sad smiles on their obscured faces.