by Mamare Touno
Several of the conference participants nodded. “Black Sword” Isaac was one of them.
“That said, there are few actions that go overboard, and we’ll need to deter them to some extent. For one, I’d say we really should ban PKs in low-level zones. There’s no point in bullying our companions who are level fifty or under, is there? They don’t have all that much property anyway, which means that hunting them is simply killing for pleasure. We can decide on the specific places later, but I think we should ban PKs in the low-level zones near Akiba.”
There were no comments here, either.
This was only natural: No guild as large as the ones that had been invited to the conference would assiduously PK as an organization. Most of the guilds that player killed were oppressive midsized groups.
“Next, the issue of human rights. Let’s guarantee the right to liberty. In our current environment, where death isn’t absolutely final, kidnapping and confinement are arguably more serious crimes than they were in the real world. The decision of whether to join or leave a guild should be left to the individual in question. We should ban and institute penalties for threats and talent hoarding that ignores the will of the affected player. I shouldn’t even have to say this, but forcing a member of the opposite sex into sexual activity will carry the maximum penalty.”
“Well, yeah, sure…”
“I guess we’d have to include those, huh?”
The atmosphere in the venue was beginning to shade toward agreement. In the first place, it wasn’t as if the participants had thought there were no problems. The issues had struck everyone present as detestable, and they’d thought they should probably be gotten rid of.
That said, although the act of fighting in a noncombat zone was subject to an automatic penalty, in this world’s system, there were no such automatic penalties for other violent acts, confinement, or threats. They’d also assumed that penalties that were not automatic—in which someone shouldered the responsibility of monitoring things, handed down decisions for each individual case, and occasionally meted out punishment—would take so much time and effort that implementing them would be impossible.
However, with the card Shiroe held—the ability to freeze players’ savings—things became much simpler. If a player was causing trouble of some sort, the Round Table Council could investigate and suspend the player’s use of the guild center. Problematic players would find it difficult to live in Akiba and, in practical terms, would probably be forced to relocate to another town.
To most of the participants, Shiroe’s proposal seemed quite reasonable.
The invention of the steam engine and the production guilds’ declaration of support for the Round Table Council had startled them, but once they’d heard the explanation, they found they agreed with a lot of it.
Shiroe had presented specific measures because he wanted participants to decide whether they agreed or disagreed with the establishment of the Round Table Council after they’d heard the content of the proposal.
Having done so, even if not all present approved of the proposal wholeheartedly, they did seem generally satisfied with it. The atmosphere of the conference itself seemed to be gradually shifting to a discussion of what should be done after the Round Table Council was established.
“In closing, these human rights issues should be applied to the People of the Earth, as well as to Adventurers.”
A few of the participants began to open their mouths. A quick-witted listener could probably have foreseen this development from the mention of the slave trading in Susukino.
However, what Shiroe began to talk about was something else entirely.
“I don’t know yet what the results of this conference will be. At present, I’m not sure whether or not you’ll approve the outline I’ve presented and establish the Round Table Council. However, there is one thing I want you to recognize, and I think it’s high time you did. We are in another world, and somewhere, this world is warped in a very strange way. It’s true that it’s influenced by Elder Tales. However, as you can tell from the Chef discovery I mentioned earlier, this isn’t simply the world of the game. It’s another world, one with more sophisticated physical laws. Has anyone here really talked to the People of the Earth?”
“But they’re NPCs,” said someone’s attendant.
“They aren’t non-player characters. They’re people with their own individual personalities. They have their own worries and dreams and ethics and lives, and they’re living them. They call themselves the People of the Earth… At least, in contrast to their term for us, the Adventurers. Let me make this clear: They are the natural residents of this world, and we are parasites. The town of Akiba has always been an Adventurer town, so there are comparatively few People of the Earth here, but in terms of the world as a whole, they must outnumber us by far. Adventurers and People of the Earth have different roles with regard to this world, but if things keep on like this, we won’t be able to build proper relationships.”
“Relationships…?”
They could agree with part of what Shiroe had said—it did make sense, now that they thought about it—but even so, it tended to rely too heavily on logic. “In Elder Tales, which has become a different world, they are citizens of the world, not non-player characters.” Stated plainly like that, even if it didn’t completely go without saying, it wasn’t something entirely incomprehensible. However, for the majority of the players, emotionally, it still didn’t register.
“Uhm… I have a little bit to add to that.”
In the midst of that bewilderment, Marielle timidly spoke up.
Possibly she got nervous every time she spoke in front of these dignitaries: She faltered, but even then, she maintained her natural cheerfulness and spoke clearly.
“So, Snack Shop Crescent Moon is real popular, and that’s a fact. But listen, the players—the Adventurers, I mean—weren’t the only ones who came and bought from us. The People of the Earth came, too. In other words… I dunno how to say it. I don’t really get it myself yet, but… They want to eat stuff that tastes good, too.”
This time, the conference room went so quiet one could have heard a pin drop.
The shock that had struck the participants seemed to have crumbled the very ground they stood on.
To many of the players, the NPCs had been nothing more than non-player characters. The Briganteers of Susukino might have gone too far, but even the completely ordinary, well-intentioned players assembled here had seen them as a type of talking vending machine. At the very least, in Elder Tales, that hadn’t been wrong. When this was a game, that was what they had been.
However, for that very reason, to players with as much experience in Elder Tales as the ones who’d gathered in the conference room, Marielle’s report felt like an attack that destroyed something fundamental.
“I’m not saying we should give up on returning to our old world. I don’t even want to say it… But let’s admit that this is another world. It’s been nearly two months since we were sent here. We’ve been ‘demanding guests’ for long enough. You’re free to think that the People of the Earth don’t have feelings, but as a matter of fact, they do. As in the official Elder Tales scenario, we seem to be Adventurers, a type of privileged class. That makes us something like mercenaries, with special abilities that allow us to attack monster strongholds. However, the vast majority of people in this world are People of the Earth. Let me repeat myself for clarity’s sake: Without the People of the Earth, we can’t live in this world. They provide all sorts of services, including the bank. However, the People of the Earth could probably survive without us. If we keep living like this, doing just as we please every day, unable to govern ourselves, we will do irreparable damage.”
When Shiroe finished speaking, he sat down in his chair heavily, without waiting for a response. He was tired, but he felt good.
Even after Shiroe had delivered his entire proposal, the conference room was silent.
No one moved. It w
as as if they’d all become statues. What Shiroe had said had been that strange and that shocking. Most of the conference participants had thought they’d been pulled into the world of Elder Tales. They’d felt as if the world of the game had become real.
Even now, they couldn’t exactly deny that.
However, the facts Shiroe had set before them today—the method of creating articles without using the item creation menu, for example, and the idea that the People of the Earth had actual personalities and were the main force in the world—had been more than enough to take what knowledge of the world they’d managed to scrape together over the past two months and smash it to smithereens.
“—Are you suggesting that there’s a possibility of war with the People of the Earth, Shiroe?”
Krusty’s quiet question was delivered in the tones of a fair-skinned philosopher.
“I understand that it’s something for the Round Table Council to consider, not for me to think about now,” Shiroe tossed off irresponsibly.
The die had been cast. Shiroe had played every card he had. He’d disclosed all the information he held. He’d shown them the world he wanted in a shape that was easy to understand.
Shiroe had begun this war out of self-indulgence, but he’d only wanted to win; he hadn’t wanted to make anybody lose. He’d wanted to win a victory, not steal it.
Although he didn’t intend to sound trite, if possible, he’d wanted them all to reach that goal together. “All” meaning all the people of Akiba.
Even so, if an overwhelming number of people still don’t understand, after hearing all that… We may have a war on our hands.
When Shiroe glanced to the side, his eyes met Marielle’s.
Marielle’s face was slightly troubled, but she still wore the same artless sunflower smile. Henrietta, who stood behind her, shrugged. Her expression seemed to say, “Do as you please.”
Time passed. It felt like a very long time and also like the space of a few breaths. Everyone in the conference room sat in total silence. The first player to open his mouth was “Berserker” Krusty, leader of D.D.D., Akiba’s largest combat guild.
In a calm voice that held no tension, he spoke to the assembly.
“D.D.D. approves the establishment of the Round Table Council as a body to govern Akiba and intends to participate.”
The next words came from Soujirou, who sounded quietly entertained.
“The West Wind Brigade also approves. I haven’t seen you dominate like that in a long time, Mr. Shiro… I really do wish you’d joined my guild.”
“Well, we can’t bust up Akiba. The Knights of the Black Sword are in.”
“Honesty approves as well. Let’s work to better relations with the People of the Earth.”
“Black Sword” Isaac and Ains, the guild master of Honesty, gave their answers, too.
“As I said earlier, our three production guilds support Shiroe and the Round Table Council. We hope the decisions made there will be fruitful ones.”
Roderick and Calasin nodded their agreement to Michitaka’s words. They had already inferred several possibilities from Shiroe’s report and had instructed their guild members to run various experiments.
After that, the declarations of approval came one after another, as if carried along by a swift current. Grandale and RADIO Market, smaller guilds, expressed their intent to participate as organizers of the former small- and midsized guild alliance.
Marielle, who had apparently been pushing herself very hard, slumped facedown onto the conference table with the smile still on her face, as if she had no energy left. Smiling wryly, Shiroe slowly unclenched his hands, which were slippery with sweat, under the conference table, so that Marielle wouldn’t notice.
On that day, the town of Akiba witnessed the birth of the Round Table Council.
4
“Commander Marielle! The cupboard is all packed, ma’am!”
“None of that ‘commander’ business, ’kay? I really can’t take it.”
There were people working busily, and people numbering packages, and people dithering around with no idea what to do.
A week had passed since the assembly that had resulted in the Round Table Council, and the Crescent Moon League guildhall was buzzing with noisy activity.
“You’re the guild master, Commander Marielle, so please sit there, ma’am!”
“Nope. No can do! We’re a small outfit, and as I keep tellin’ you, the guild master doesn’t get treated like a big shot around here!”
“Mari. You’re scatterbrained, and you are in the way. Sit in the corner and have some tea or something, please.”
Henrietta scolded Marielle, who was arguing with the newbies. At her words, Marielle teared up a bit and, with a clearly dejected “What am I, useless?” removed herself to a corner of the office.
The Crescent Moon was right in the middle of a move.
The entire guild membership was bustling around, cleaning and packing up the furnishings that were originally theirs. As she looked around at her companions, whose number had grown, Marielle was lost in thought.
The day the Round Table Council had been established was also the day Hamelin had fallen. In the same building where Marielle and the others had been meeting, Shouryuu and Serara of the Crescent Moon League and Akatsuki and the other members of Log Horizon had safely taken Hamelin’s escaped newbie members into protective custody.
Very few people were aware that while he’d been conducting the proceedings of that complicated conference as its initiator and chairman, Shiroe had also been quietly directing the operation to destroy Hamelin.
Even Marielle might not have noticed if she hadn’t been told about it beforehand.
With their names added to the blacklist of people barred from entering the guild center, the members of Hamelin hadn’t even been able to follow the escaping newbies.
From what they’d heard, Akatsuki had tracked down the names of all the members of Hamelin beforehand. Apparently, Akatsuki’s absence during Snack Shop Crescent Moon’s creation and operation wasn’t because she was avoiding being used as Henrietta’s dress-up doll.
Having been evacuated to the guild center, the newbies had promptly completed the procedures to leave their guild under Shouryuu’s supervision. Approximately thirty-five low-level players had been kept under what practically amounted to house arrest by Hamelin. They were a sorry sight, dingy with sweat and grime.
Just about the time Serara and volunteers from the Crescent Moon League were getting food and fresh clothes ready for the newbies, the members of Hamelin finally realized what was going on.
Since they were unable to enter the guild center and the guild center was the only zone that their guildhall was linked to, the members of Hamelin were prisoners in their own building.
Of course, as Shiroe had predicted earlier, there were ways to escape. One was Call of Home. This was a spell that transported players who were registered in Akiba back to Akiba. Ordinarily, it was used to return from distant field or dungeon zones. However, there were no rules against using it from within a town or building. Using Call of Home would return them to the entrance of Akiba.
Another way was to end one’s own life in the zone. In that case, a player would lose some experience points as a penalty, but they would resurrect in the temple. Since the temple was in the center of Akiba, this equaled a move by default.
By the time the members of Hamelin discovered these methods and used them, the sun had set. The council’s course of action had been established, and the discussion of the laws that would be implemented had entered its final stages.
The situation had already progressed to the point where Hamelin couldn’t do a thing about it. On top of that, although they’d escaped their guildhall-turned-prison, they would never be able to enter the guild center again.
The outcome of the game had been decided several moves earlier.
Something unexpected had happened as well.
Marielle and the others
had planned to introduce the rescued newbies to new guilds or support them until they were independent, whichever they preferred; they’d already reported their intentions to the Round Table Council and had the topic placed on the agenda.
In fact, every guild that attended the conference had volunteered to accept newbies and take responsibility for supporting them.
However, on closer examination, only sixteen of the thirty-five low-level newbies wanted to enter the assembled guilds. The remaining nineteen all wanted to join the Crescent Moon League.
According to Serara, Shouryuu had been a bit too visibly “gallant” while conducting the rescue. He’d come off as such a reliable leader that he’d increased the number of players who wanted to join the League.
In Henrietta’s words, it was “a type of imprinting, like showing a toy ‘mother’ to chicks,” and it was something even Marielle hadn’t seen coming, either.
That said, the Crescent Moon League was already a solid part of the Round Table Council. The council had already declared its intent to provide support, so they couldn’t toss them out on their ears like unwanted kittens. In any case, the League was a homey kind of guild that was able to accept both midlevel and low-level companions with open arms. Knowing that the other members were happy about it, Marielle decided to accept the newbies.
With that, the Crescent Moon League’s headquarters developed several disadvantages.
Now that the guild’s membership had nearly doubled in size, its current guildhall was cramped.
There was no rule that said guild members had to sleep in the guildhall, and no matter which guild they were part of, players could rent rooms at inns as individuals. Rooms could be rented by the night or reserved for a month or a year, and many Adventurers had their own private spaces.
However, for low-level players, even that expense was hard on the wallet. The members of the Crescent Moon League got along well with one another, and many of them did sleep at the guildhall.