The Gold of the Kunie

by Mamare Touno

  6

  Beyond the door was a garden that overflowed with dazzling light.

  A gear that was easily ten times as tall as Shiroe turned slowly. Wheels that were made of bare framework meshed intricately, interlocking with flywheels and lifts, controlling an immense cycle.

  The purpose of this huge space was clear at a glance.

  Down a channel that was like something out of Escher’s trick drawings flowed an impossible amount of gold coins.

  The gears, pistons, and flywheels were an immense mechanism for controlling all that gold.

  A gallery of white stone wound its way through the giant machine. A brook flowed in the gallery; it was bursting with greenery, and a riot of flowers bloomed. Shiroe advanced, sometimes crossing small arched bridges or passing ponds which held heavy layers of sunken gold coins.

  This garden was the vortex of gold he’d predicted.

  There was a noise like a vast number of bells ringing, and he looked in its direction. A huge, iron, box-shaped vessel the size of a bus tipped and leaned, following the motions of complex chains. When it tilted, the countless gold coins inside it spilled onto a round sorting table underneath it. The sound of bells was made by those hundreds of thousands—no, those millions of coins.

  The only word for the sight was marvel.

  The channel, which resembled a stairway, moved mechanically. If Shiroe took a single hemp sack of coins from it, he’d probably double his assets. He tried to visualize just how much gold might be in this garden, then realized it couldn’t be done and sighed.

  The amount of gold coins here was vast beyond imagining.

  Even so, the single contract he’d brought along didn’t seem insignificant to him.

  If he compared the two, it was probably trivial. Up until last year, Shiroe might have gotten discouraged. However, things were different now. When Shiroe had come down the Abyssal Shaft to the very deepest part of the Depths of Palm, he’d been prepared.

  “—Welcome. I am not glad to see you, but I suppose I must say it.”

  The individual who was waiting for Shiroe, there in the avant-garde garden that jutted out of the enormous lake of gold, looked like Kinjo. Shiroe narrowed his eyes, examining him in detail, but he wasn’t able to spot any differences. He’d been waiting here for Shiroe, with an angel fashioned from crystal at his back.

  The angel was Ur of the Ninth Garden, the final raid boss that guarded Abyssal Shaft. Its height was only about four meters, which meant it was small compared to the previous enemies, but its fighting power was by no means inferior. In short, although it would be one thing if all the members of Silver Sword attacked it, if Shiroe fought it by himself, it would simply be suicide.

  Or, no, even if all the members had made it here, the team would have been exhausted by their series of battles, and they might not have been able to win. However, ignoring that threat, Shiroe gazed at the young man in front of him.

  The color of his collar badge is different, but that’s about it… I really can’t tell them apart.

  This Kinjo looked like the Kinjo from the snowbound cabin, and he also looked like the Kinjo who’d greeted him at that party in Akiba. He looked like the Kinjo who was in charge of managing the bank services in Susukino as well.

  Kinjo was probably that sort of person. The Kunie clan must also be that sort of clan.

  Shiroe guessed that the roots of the Kunie clan must have been People of the Earth who had been bank employees and their supervisors, who had had dedicated uniforms and dedicated models, back in the days of Elder Tales. He saw fear and wariness in those eyes, and pride.

  Well, of course he’s scared. Even if he’s got Ur of the Ninth Garden with him, an Adventurer has invaded… It looked like a hopeless fight to us, but it must have seemed just as hopeless to him.

  Shiroe tried to imagine it.

  A squad of more than twenty undying members who simply would not give up, surging into your headquarters.

  Once there, they mounted a zombie attack. Even if you wiped them out, they got back up, conquering little by little. Nothing could be scarier. Both the fear and the wariness were only natural. It was probably pride that kept him standing in the way, even now. That pride was the will to protect the People of the Earth and Yamato.

  The Kunie clan had adhered to the words of their progenitor and guarded Yamato for a long, long time.

  Shiroe, who had been from modern Japan, couldn’t begin to fathom their unity and loyalty.

  “I came to speak with you, Kinjo.”

  “Since you’ve made it this far, it is our duty to hear what you have to say.”

  “……”

  At Kinjo’s hard voice, Shiroe froze up.

  He’d seen it coming. This was his punishment for having harbored doubts and created unnecessary friction. Shiroe had shut Kinjo into a shell of hostility. For that very reason, the young man in white told himself, remorsefully, he had a duty to give him a thorough explanation.

  “Is it all right to assume that this stream of gold coins is what I thought it was?”

  “…Yes, that is correct. In accordance with our agreement, we will disclose it to you. All the gold coins in Yamato are produced here and return here. A supremely ancient technology that even we are unable to understand or control circulates the gold. From this vast torrent, coins are distributed to dungeons and monsters. This mechanism is the secret that lies in the darkness of Yamato. It is something unspeakable that the Kunie clan has kept secret for centuries.”

  At those words, Shiroe noticed something else.

  To ordinary People of the Earth and the nobles of the League of Free Cities, the fact that the Kunie clan had managed this mechanism might seem like a betrayal. They might think they’d been providing funds to goblins and orcs.

  Shiroe, who knew the Elder Tales game, didn’t think this. He understood that it was just a system, and that it wasn’t good or bad. However, the People of the Earth had fought against the demihumans for a very long time, and he wasn’t sure what they’d think. If this fact were to be revealed, a movement to expel the Kunie clan might break out all across Yamato. It might even develop into riots or a massacre.

  Kinjo’s wariness was only natural. Shiroe hadn’t given it enough thought.

  “Neither I nor the others have any intention of revealing the truth of this zone or its existence to anyone else.”

  Even as he wondered uneasily how persuasive his words would be, Shiroe spoke to him.

  “—As you have reached this place, in accordance with our progenitor’s rules, you may take the gold with you.”

  However, the things that were going on in Shiroe’s heart didn’t seem to have gotten through to Kinjo. In a voice that was as hard and wary as ever, he delivered a practiced-sounding statement.

  “In the course of our long history, a portion of our progenitor’s writings have been lost. Even we no longer know whether you will be able to take one thousand gold coins from this place, or one hundred million. However, the tradition is to communicate our progenitor’s words to you.”

  Kinjo gazed at Shiroe with eyes that seemed to blaze like flames.

  No one was swinging a sword, but this was a clash that might surpass, and would certainly not be less than, the battles he’d come through before.

  Feeling that gaze with his entire body, Shiroe forced a swallow, although his mouth was dry as dust. It made him aware of his own weakness. He’d managed to behave so nonchalantly during the Round Table Council affair, but now the strength was draining out of his knees, and it felt as if he might sit down right where he was.

  However, he remembered William’s profile as he’d howled. Akatsuki’s worried expression as she looked up at him. Naotsugu’s consideration as he joked around, trying to make him smile. Nyanta, who watched over him attentively; Minori and Touya, who trusted him; Isuzu and Rundelhaus.

  What he felt now wasn’t weakness.

  I want them to win, Tetora had murmured.

  When yo
u wished for victory for someone else’s sake, and you thought of the pain of having failed, you wanted the best so much it hurt. Shiroe the solo player, who’d been able to be irresponsible because it was just him, no longer existed. Shiroe hungered for results more than anyone else. He wasn’t able to understand others’ feelings well, and this was the only way he could pay them back.

  “‘The gold of the Kunie is treasure that brings both fortune and misfortune. Great wealth lies not in wealth. Beware the beast in thy care. It shall destroy the world.’”

  Kinjo’s words sank into Shiroe. Several interpretations spread like ripples, then grew quiet.

  The poem could have been taken as a sinister prophecy, but Shiroe saw it as a benediction.

  Deep in his heart, he felt warmth and a gladness that he’d come here.

  Shiroe and Kinjo spent long moments surrounded by the distant, ringing sound of countless bells.

  Slowly, Shiroe took a single contract from his Magic Bag. Then he ripped it in two. Before Kinjo’s wide eyes, the torn contract turned into softly shining flames, then flew away like a flock of butterflies.

  Then, from empty space, gold appeared.

  “What’s—”

  “A contract was just established and fulfilled. The Round Table Council does not seek wealth.”

  As Shiroe spoke to Kinjo, he was smiling faintly.

  It was the continuation of what he’d really wanted to say, the talk that had failed at the snowy lodge.

  “We don’t even need the rights to the guild center. I think we have enough power to live peacefully in Akiba at this point. I’m grateful to the system that gave us that opportunity, but it’s time for it to end. The conclusion we reached is that even if more trouble occurs, we should resolve it using different methods. —By being established, then torn up, this Contract Technique is complete.”

  Kinjo seemed bewildered, unable to grasp his meaning. Shiroe puffed out his chest.

  He was proud of the fact that the Round Table Council had been able to agree to this, that it wasn’t just something he himself wanted.

  “We transfer all rights to the town of Akiba, including the guild halls, Temple and commercial center, to the Yamato server itself. In addition, by destroying the contract, I have made the transfer permanent.”

  There had been a lot of difficult behind-the-scenes negotiations and long discussions on the way to this point.

  Some had held the opinion that cancelling rights they’d purchased was sheer foolishness.

  However, after reconciling various merits and demerits, they’d arrived here. The purchase of zones that could be bought and were linked directly to sanction functions could only be described as the seeds of discord.

  In the first place, zone purchases themselves yielded no profit. Since there was a possibility that someone would buy them someday and would push disadvantages onto them—in other words, that they would be attacked—not buying them wasn’t an option. As a result, the Round Table Council had used nearly all of its budget and loans from the major guilds to purchase the Temple, the commercial facilities, and Akiba’s aboveground urban zone.

  However, now the maintenance fees had become a problem.

  It had been one thing when it was just the guild center, but the cost of the Round Table Council’s real estate assets—which included the town of Akiba—had swelled to over ten million gold coins per month in maintenance fees alone. This was a big financial burden.

  There was an assumption that they would be attacked, and the burden came about as a result of defending against it. That was the structure. A faction centered around Shiroe and Henrietta had explored various possibilities in an attempt to reduce that burden, and had gone through many debates. This expedition had been the result of it all.

  “This is… Then you say this money is the cost from when those were purchased?”

  “Yes. ‘All gold is produced here and returns here,’ correct? Since the contract has been fulfilled, the funds used for purchase returned to the ground at my feet, in exchange for the written contract. Just as I expected.”

  “Did you come here to explain that, Master Shiroe?”

  “In a way, yes.”

  “In that case, the matter of financing—what of that?”

  Shiroe’s glasses had slipped slightly, and he pushed them back into place with a fingertip.

  “That’s the main issue. We would like to purchase all the aboveground zones in Yamato: forests, mountains, lakes, adjoining marine areas, et cetera. Then, as I’ve just done, we would like to immediately destroy the contracts for all of our purchases and transfer them. As I’ve demonstrated, if we return the ownership rights for the purchased zones to Yamato, the money used for the purchases is returned… The land of Yamato should return to Yamato’s hands.”

  Kinjo clenched his fists so hard they were white. He seemed to be desperately controlling his agitation.

  “We can’t process all the building-sized zones, and for now, we think they should be fine as they are. However, at the very least, we would like to fix all field zones so that they can never be owned. Besides… The People of the Earth can’t purchase zones.”

  This was a thorn that had been piercing Shiroe’s heart for a long time.

  “This situation is abnormal. The Round Table Council doesn’t want to become the spark that starts a war. We aren’t denying the act of owning territory. However, we think contracts between people should be enough. We don’t need the zone purchase system now… And so please lend the Council the necessary funds. Loan us money to return to this stream, so that we can get by without destroying ourselves.”

  7

  The ground was rough rock that stank of sulfur.

  Thinking that only an idiot would lie down in a place like this, William lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. When he turned his head to the side, he saw charred arrowheads and rags dyed strange colors on the ground. It might have been somebody’s equipment. It was in wretched condition.

  He was so tired his whole body felt puffy with heat, and even that small movement seemed to be too much trouble. The great cavern was eerily silent, and the sounds of hissing steam and dripping water echoed loudly.

  The present—which was smelly, hot, painful, listless, and disgustingly dull—was a moment of supreme bliss. William knew the liquid flowing down both sides of his nose wasn’t blood, but he didn’t even think about wiping it away. He’d pulled his bow so much that his arms had gone on strike, and anyway, the companions who were lying on the ground here and there were probably crying, too.

  They’d won.

  They’d gone through massive amounts of resources, and some comrades had been rendered unable to fight. At times, it had been a cycle of resurrection spells and bouts of unconsciousness. When Demiquas had come back, covered in blood from head to toe and pursued by shadow warriors, a premonition of defeat had crossed his mind. However, the fact that they’d already defeated Ibra Habra of the Third Garden had paid off. At that point, the Second party had plunged into a delayed battle in the passage, and they’d wrenched a high-wire victory out of the coarse melee.

  He couldn’t do a thing anymore. If black-armored Ruseato had appeared in this great hall now, William knew he’d be beaten with no trouble at all, as easily as an infant. The members were all torn up. They were covered in mud and dirty water, burned with ice and flame, completely exhausted—and they also shone.

  Sitting up slowly, William looked around the cavern and laughed.

  His laughter was quiet, but before long, it rang out cheerfully.

  They’d won.

  How awesome is that? he thought.

  He was too happy for words. The earlier frustration and self-reproach and unease and even the despair were all being washed away.

  “Awesome, that was great!” he yelled in exhilaration. William thought his lack of vocabulary was a bit sad, but that only lasted a moment as well.

  “That was totally awesome! My friends are awesome, they’re a
ll completely awesome!!”

  Federico, who was lying down, was waving at him.

  Dinclon had stuck one of his hands into a puddle and was cooling it off. His bangs were all limp and floppy; it wrecked his handsome face.

  Odiso was lying facedown, moving a thin rod like a bus guide’s flag. A small Alraune abruptly appeared and, after getting scared and dithering a bit, dragged a canteen of water out of Odiso’s belongings and passed it around to everyone.

  Only a few of the members could move, and even then, shifting positions and sagging limply seemed to be about all they could do. Put without exaggeration, Silver Sword was currently just short of annihilation.

  Still, even if they’d been nearly wiped out, a win was a win.

  Yeah. Seriously awesome.

  All William could do was repeat awesome, awesome in his heart, over and over, as if it were the only word he knew. His comrades seemed to sparkle, dazzlingly bright, to the point where it stung his eyes and he couldn’t look straight at them. He was absolutely positive it wasn’t because he was tearing up.

  “We won.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We won.”

  “We actually won, huh?”

  Small mutters and responses like these were being repeated around the vast space.

  On hearing them, William was so happy he could have burst. He was bad at talking, but his companions’ murmurs sounded like they didn’t know any other words, either. The thought that there wasn’t much difference between them entertained him.

  “Hey, guild master.”

  “What?”

  William responded to Federico’s hoarse voice. Federico sat up, moving like a semi-invalid. “That. That over there,” he said, pointing at a mountain of treasure with his chin. It was the fortunes left by the fiery serpent Ibra Habra and Tartaulga the frost giant. A mountain of gold coins, jewels, and other items that could be traded for cash, several dozen material items, and “phantasmal items”—fantasy-class weapons and defensive gear. Since they’d defeated two bosses, there was quite a lot of it.