by Mamare Touno
“You’re such a hardhead, Machiavelli,” Isaac said. “We can just alternate power leveling and combat training, y’know. Nah, I’ll make sure there’s more training. They look like they’ll be a pain in the butt anyway.”
As he spoke, Isaac laughed shamelessly.
After hearing all that, even Shiroe thought there was no help for it. In the first place, he wasn’t completely against power leveling itself. Players who already had one high-level character often used growth methods like that when they made second or third characters.
Besides, this time around, Shiroe was staying in Akiba. Even though Maihama was only an hour away by griffin, Isaac would be the one in charge on the scene, and if Shiroe nitpicked his policies, the role-sharing wouldn’t work.
“That part’s meant for the public eye, so don’t go all out, please.”
“Yeah, leave it to me… Still, guard duty, huh?”
Looking as if he was thinking hard, Isaac scratched roughly at his head and fell silent for a while.
It was evening, after dinner.
Since this shared space was a sort of restaurant, business should have been booming right about now, but not even 10 percent of its capacity was in use.
That was only to be expected: This was a sort of staff cafeteria for Adventurers and People of the Earth who worked for the Round Table Council. Adventurers who participated in the Council and had large workloads also needed to manage their own guilds, and as a rule, they worked at their guilds’ headquarters. Shiroe, Michitaka, and Calasin were no exception.
As that was the case, the only people who had lined up documents and were eating here at this hour were those with special circumstances, like Shiroe and Isaac, or oddballs who did so much work that one wondered why they didn’t just move into the guild center. There certainly weren’t many of either type.
“Still no luck getting ahold of that idiot Krusty yet?”
“No. From what I hear, he isn’t responding to his friend list, either.”
“What’s he doing deserting his guild like that? It’s gonna break up on him.”
“It doesn’t look as if things will go that far, but…” Shiroe said.
It had been nearly three months since Krusty’s disappearance in the mountains of Ouu. Isaac had said break up—it certainly was enough time for a guild to collapse.
In general, guilds in MMORPGs were terribly fragile.
After all, in the Elder Tales game, guilds hadn’t been contractual relationships. They were simply people who “played together.” In a way, relationships with friends in cyberspace—where they weren’t affected by physical restrictions, such as living in the same neighborhood or being classmates at school—were purer than face-to-face friendships, but as a direct consequence, they were also more easily broken.
If a participant thought, I don’t want to be here anymore, there was almost no way to keep them there. Guilds such as Hamelin, which had blocked withdrawal procedures, were an exception to the rule.
And in most cases, the center of a guild was its leader.
The leader was the one who determined the guild’s course, and in many cases, they were also the one who set its emotional tone. When there was any sort of internal trouble or quarrel, it was the leader’s job to arbitrate. In order for a guild to carry on as an orchestrated group, “the leader” was a necessary device.
As a matter of fact, immediately following Krusty’s disappearance, D.D.D. had lost some members.
The idea of a leaderless organization had probably made them uneasy. They couldn’t be blamed for that.
However, despite the fact that this world had turned real and therefore guided mutual aid was necessary for survival, the number of members who’d withdrawn from the now-leaderless group hadn’t even reached fifty.
In three months, a guild which had lost its leader had seen only fifty withdrawals. That was already a quiet miracle, all on its own.
Shiroe had received that report from the Sorcerer Riezé. Her expression had been downcast, but when he’d praised her administrative skills, it certainly hadn’t been mere lip service intended to keep the Round Table Council running. Shiroe genuinely thought that it was an amazing guild.
“What? You worried, Machiavelli?”
“What about you, Isaac?”
“Like I’d actually worry. The guy’s a Berserker. He’s probably just messing around somewhere.”
“Well.”
Shiroe nodded, vaguely.
He wasn’t denying what Isaac had said.
Shiroe also thought that Krusty had been sent to another server, or possibly to a zone where telechats were restricted, through some sort of teleportation accident. Similar “events” had existed when Elder Tales had been a game. Of course, that was serious in and of itself, and there was a significant possibility that Berserker had gotten pulled into some sort of trouble.
However, as Isaac said, if he’d been asked to choose the one man from the people involved with the Round Table Council who was most likely to make it back alive if he got into unexpected trouble, he would probably have chosen Krusty. There was no sense in worrying about him.
“I bet he just shows up again one of these days,” said the guy Shiroe would have chosen as “second most likely.”
“It isn’t Krusty I’m worried about,” Shiroe confessed. “It’s D.D.D. and the Round Table Council.”
D.D.D. was quite the autonomous guild, and even without Krusty, it seemed to be running just fine. However, whether administrative processing would function smoothly and whether its members could keep themselves calm were entirely different issues. Even if only a few people had withdrawn, their anxiety was clear enough to see. The possibility that D.D.D. might collapse certainly wasn’t low enough to ignore.
It was also the biggest combat guild, and the most disciplined organization. For example, if it was a matter of being victorious in raids or combat quests, Akiba had a veritable galaxy of capable guilds. Isaac’s Knights of the Black Sword was one, and Soujirou’s West Wind Brigade could be relied upon as well.
However, if the scale of the battle grew larger and they found themselves in military action where they were required to make decisions regarding things beyond victory, no guilds could substitute for D.D.D. in terms of command and control experience.
Since that was the case, if that group collapsed or atrophied, neither the Round Table Council nor the town of Akiba would be able to escape the consequences.
Shiroe thought that the Round Table Council was a good organization of self-government, but he didn’t think it was perfect. If disharmony reared its head in the council of influential guilds, the system would probably prove to be unexpectedly fragile.
I hope Ains doesn’t stop…
Honesty’s Fairy Ring exploration was proceeding at a good pace. That said, not many people in Akiba were paying attention to it. This was because of the technological revolution that was unfolding in town. The reforms were slowly breaking down the index of Elder Tales levels that had become a part of life in Akiba. The time when having high levels led to wealth was on its way out.
The establishment of the Round Table Council and the ensuing technological revolution were changing the world. It was to the point where, if you had a new idea and the power to carry it out, riches were within your reach.
Even when it came to hunting, many Adventurers were leaving safety margins when they acted. For example, a level-90 Adventurer would go to level-85 hunting grounds. Of course they’d be able to earn money and property that way, but they wouldn’t level up. Some combat guilds continued to tackle a string of fierce challenges, but it was safe to say that they were the exception. Not raising their levels meant that they couldn’t hope for any great improvement in their combat abilities. In this world, that meant their disparities would be cemented in place.
Quite a few of Akiba’s residents were showing signs of irritation at the situation.
As someone who brought people together, Krusty was imp
ortant, and Shiroe had taken his disappearance seriously.
Just when he’d gotten through the difficulty of financial negotiations with the Kunie clan, he’d found himself with yet another headache. Shiroe felt like crying. The one bright spot was that Roderick, who’d been working in cooperation with Captain Nyanta, had performed a careful investigation regarding highly dangerous flavor text and had issued a statement calling for self-imposed control with certain items.
Even though he’d done this, it wasn’t a given that disasters involving cursed items would decrease.
Depending on their flavor text, even items that weren’t clearly marked as cursed could provoke tragedies. Since they were checking flavor text via human wave tactics, the list of dangerous items would probably be completed eventually, but there was no guarantee it would put an end to all trouble.
“Shiroe.”
“Well, well! Shiroe and Isaac. Are you through with your work? We bought food.”
The figures that appeared just then were Calasin and Minori, who was working part-time at the Production Guild Liaison Committee that Calasin ran. Calasin was the same as always, but Minori was in the everyday clothes she wore when she was spending time in town. She was dressed like a student on her way home from private lessons, and she was watching Shiroe as if in a good mood.
“Heya,” Isaac said. “You lot, huh? Go on, siddown.” He indicated the sofa with his chin. There was force in the gesture, and it could easily have scared people off, but Calasin said, “Sure, thanks,” and sat down amiably. While Shiroe was thinking that Calasin’s weapon was his friendliness, Minori came up beside him, dexterously tidied away the documents on the table, and set out the sandwiches and drinks they’d purchased.
“Shiroe, here. It’s ginger ale.”
“Thank you, Minori. There weren’t any problems at work?”
Minori shook her head. Calasin watched her with a shamefaced smile.
“Listen, Shiroe. This is pretty awkward, but do you think you could let Shopping District 8 have Minori? She’s got real talent; I’m not kidding.”
Shiroe didn’t know how to respond, but Isaac saved him. Cackling loudly, he thumped the other man hard on the shoulder and said, “Hey, Calasin. Hitting on middle school kids now, huh? What, you’re that starved for girls?”
In a panic, Calasin rushed to find an excuse: “That’s not it, Isaac, seriously. I was talking about work…”
Minori giggled. Apparently Calasin’s banter was routine for her.
Relieved, Shiroe took a swallow of his ginger ale and smiled. Akiba was bursting with beverages, and they were all homemade. The soda was flavored with ginger and honey, and it was very easy to drink.
He had a mountain of things to do, and the way ahead was perilous.
Shiroe’s ears were picking up on lots of unsettling news. The capture of Seventh Fall, where the Goblin King reigned, wasn’t over yet. To that end, the Round Table Council wanted the lower-level demographic that made its home in Akiba to raise its average level to at least 30.
However, Shiroe intended to piggyback another measure on that plan.
In order to make that happen, he needed to lay the groundwork now, and so he spoke to Isaac and Calasin about a further request for the People of the Earth knights’ training.
4
Riezé was swamped with work.
It wasn’t that Krusty’s disappearance had increased her regular duties with the training unit. But as unease had spread through the guild, the number of matters that needed slight adjustments had grown.
Messages were no longer transmitting smoothly, and so every one of them needed confirmation. The time that had to be spent on human relationships—giving advice, listening to worries, consoling others—had increased, too.
What took the greatest toll on her was that she didn’t know whether these duties were necessary or not.
Riezé had no idea what kind of work she would have to perform, and how far she would have to complete a task, in order for it to be “enough.” The underlying unease had driven her to an attempt to comprehend and monitor everything about the administration of D.D.D., and the vast amount of information had sent her flying with a single blow.
If she’d been able to give up then, all would have been well, but possibly due to her feelings of impatience, she’d worked herself very nearly to her limits and was causing trouble for the people around her.
She’d lost track of the priority order for things that had to be done, and she didn’t even know where she was going. Everything she did or made seemed to be a failure, and day after day, she felt as if she was only getting in the way of the administration.
Her sleep was shallow, and she often bolted upright in bed in the middle of the night.
Her sense of perspective about events had gone off, so even slight trouble seemed to be a huge problem that would impede the guild’s future, and she felt so frightened about that future that her teeth chattered.
Conversely, she’d sometimes underestimate matters that needed to be dealt with immediately, and the resulting damage had increased.
Even without the goodwill she felt toward Krusty, Riezé flattered herself that she’d watched him run his guild from as close a vantage point as possible. And it wasn’t just her—all the members of Drei Klauen had held posts like that.
However, once Krusty was gone, she was forced to realize that she understood nothing about guild administration or the division of labor, or even the reporting system.
The guild as a whole had an administration system that operated autonomously for each division, just as Krusty had promoted it, and this system was functioning incredibly well. If it had a flaw, it was that, during the month when Misa Takayama had been unable to act, D.D.D. had disintegrated in midair.
The fact that they’d made it through that shocking month was, without question, thanks to the organizational structure Krusty had created.
However, after the end of Snowfell, an invisible, metallic fatigue had seemed to gradually erode her. Not only that, but she still couldn’t see the end of that darkness.
The ones who’d redeemed those days had been Henrietta and the others.
“You’re looking pale again.”
“…Am I?”
Today, once again, Henrietta had practically kidnapped Riezé and brought her to the Crescent Moon League’s guild hall.
Ornamental plants had been placed here and there in the rather spacious dining hall, and the gaps between them were decorated with pictures and odd stuffed animals. It should have looked cluttered, but all the items were filled with the warmth peculiar to handmade things. The table was made from a simple beige wood that harmonized cheerfully with the orange-tinted lights.
It brought Riezé to recognize a homey warmth within the Crescent Moon League’s dining hall.
She’d been invited over for a late lunch.
They were eating a cream stew made by a Chef named Girof. Even though the end of February was near, the days were cold, and it was a welcome feast.
They spoke very little; the meal was a quiet one.
Henrietta said the members of the Crescent Moon League had already had their lunch. In any case, nearly half of them had packed box lunches and gone elsewhere.
Tranquil time flowed through the afternoon guild hall. She heard voices in quiet conversation somewhere, and the noises of cleanup work from the kitchen.
They were the sounds of this midsized guild’s everyday life, and they brought Riezé a sense of relief.
“Your eyes are looking grim, Riezé. Just like my liege’s.”
It was Akatsuki, the other guest, who’d spoken to her. The small, black-haired young woman was gazing at Riezé steadily with a slightly troubled expression. Now that she and Akatsuki were friends, Riezé understood this was a sign she wasn’t just troubled—she was worried.
“I’m all right. I certainly haven’t lost heart yet.”
“You mustn’t be too stubborn.”
Henriett
a, her face gentle, admonished Riezé. And yet she still had Akatsuki between her arms: She’d embraced her from behind.
“You’re twenty, aren’t you, Akatsuki?”
“Mm? Yes.”
“And Henrietta, you’re twenty-ei—”
“Ahem!”
Her probe was shut down, and Riezé let it drop without protest. The world held many things which shouldn’t be pursued too far.
“I am twenty.”
“Yes.”
Akatsuki looked put out, but Riezé felt as if she’d been rescued by her.
The girl suffered from the disparity between her actual age and her appearance, and she loathed looking young, but if you asked Riezé, it was a characteristic to be envied. After all, it did mean you looked youthful.
However, since Riezé was in high school herself, if she said that, she was likely to cause friction. Even she knew that much.
“You know, it’s curious, isn’t it?”
Having thought that far, Riezé was struck by an abrupt realization that startled her.
Akatsuki was twenty, and a university student. Henrietta said she’d been a career woman employed by a large corporation. Mikakage was studying to become a confectioner at a vocational school for cooks, Minori was in middle school, and Nazuna was a dental assistant.
“My age?” Akatsuki asked.
“No, I just thought, in the old world, I’m sure we’d never have become friends.”
“You could be right.”
Akatsuki responded quietly; she looked bewildered. It was funny to see her friend being fussed over by Henrietta, and for the first time in a very long while, Riezé smiled.
It had been so long since she’d felt her cheeks rise that way that it startled her. Apparently she’d been far tenser than she’d thought.
“No, that isn’t true! They say cute attracts cute, after all. No matter what happened, dear Akatsuki and I would have met!”