[138] The Time-Space Maze (2)
But the leader wasn't an easy opponent either.
"We came to meet the natives. Happy now?"
"That could count as an answer, but you still need to explain. This is a breach of contract. If you keep doing this, I won't ask any more questions."
The leader winced. He'd been busy goading Shirone and had closed the sale far too early.
A sharp-eyed female mage added, "We don't know anything beyond that either. We really just came to meet the natives."
"I see."
Shirone glanced at his companions and nodded. If they also didn't know what lay under the surface, then at least the immediate risk of walking into a deliberate trap was gone.
Thinking it was a decent deal, Shirone produced another gold coin.
"Why did you come to meet the natives? Here's one gold."
The archer licked his lips in conflicted hesitation. Truthfully, admitting it was a little shameful.
"To get Roop. It's sold in markets, but here you can buy it in bulk much cheaper. I'm planning to sell it to fund our adventuring start-up. So—does that answer you?"
Shirone froze for a moment. A Roop trafficking spot with no connection to ruins' secrets?
But the mercenaries themselves had come with only fragmentary leads, so it was too soon to jump to conclusions.
'What is going on? This isn't what I expected. A place selling drugs? No—ordinary people call it a drug, but to the natives it's a ritual tool. It's sacred. Which means…'
Finishing his thought, Shirone asked, "Is this passage connected to the natives' autonomous district by any chance?"
"What? How did you—ah!"
The archer grimaced when he realized he'd answered without taking the coin.
Shirone rummaged in his pocket and produced a gold coin. He'd asked in a rush, but he had no intention of trickery.
"Here—one gold. Sorry for asking so soon."
The archer stared at the offered hand.
A gold wasn't easy money, but for a mercenary with some experience it wasn't enough to make him tremble.
"Tch. Fine. It was my mistake."
"It wasn't a mistake. That's the contract."
"I know! I'm just too proud to accept it. Damn, I can't believe I made that slip. I'm not that good yet."
"Then let's call the last question your service."
Shirone dropped the coin in without hesitation. Needlessly refusing to take it would be a waste—and not the behavior of a decent student.
The archer felt a sting of resentment. For some time now he had the odd feeling he'd been bossed around by a kid no bigger than an acorn.
"Fine. I'll ask you one back. How did you figure it out? That info's classified."
"Roop is sacred to the natives. And if selling it brings such huge profits, they wouldn't be careless about it. You'd need permission from someone with authority among the natives, and a place where such a person exists would, of course, be an autonomous district."
The archer had no reply. What he'd pieced together after nights of Roop research and digging through information markets was summed up in Shirone's few words.
"Tch. Clever little head you've got. Any more questions?"
"No. None. Let's go down and check."
The archer gave a wry smile. He guessed why Shirone wasn't asking more—probably because no one could tell him anything beyond what they'd already said.
Shirone's party descended for twenty minutes. The staircase spiraled, and yet it still led astonishingly deep.
At the bottom, a single corridor stretched ahead. Two natives stood beside an iron door ten meters away.
Unlike the natives outside, these men had bare torsos and bare feet beneath their pants. Tattoos branched up from their navels to their faces, and even from a distance they looked fearsome.
Shirone thought this couldn't be the autonomous district itself. At the very least, it would take several kilometers to reach the jungle of Mount Toa.
The mercenaries were visibly tense. The archer who acted as interpreter moved closer to the leader.
After a few whispered phrases in the Kergo tongue, a native pressed a switch.
Iron wheels turned and the door slid open to the sides.
"Wow…"
Shirone's eyes lit up as if he'd fallen into another world.
It was an octagonal chamber carved from stone. Across the entrance another iron door was visible, guarded by three men.
In the center lay a flattened octagonal altar matching the room's shape, and above each of the eight edges floated spheres roughly thirty centimeters in diameter.
Shirone stirred a memory—he'd definitely seen those spheres somewhere before.
"Huh, what's that?"
The archer looked at Shirone in puzzlement. Before coming here, the archer had no idea what would be inside, so it was unlikely anything would look familiar.
"So? You know what that is?"
"That's… definitely Miro's—"
The leader curled his lip in a sneer. "Hah, who are you to act like you know? What, did that make you think of a pair of balls down there?"
The leader had disliked Shirone since the tavern. He loathed men who puffed themselves up in front of women while lacking the courage to fight. He hated them because no woman ever had reason to puff herself up around him.
"Miro? Did you just say Miro?"
The native guarding the entrance asked. Even Shirone, who didn't know the language, could catch the name Miro.
Curious, the archer magnanimously interpreted, "He asked if you know Miro."
"Yes. I met her once."
Shirone answered, and the native's expression twisted. The tattoos contorted, making his face look like a creature from legend.
"Met her? That cannot be. That's a lie."
"No, it's true. I really did meet her."
The native fell into deep thought. After a moment he relaxed and returned a relieved expression.
"I judge nothing. Only the eyes of the angels shall watch over you."
With those words the iron door closed, leaving an unintelligible message behind. Shirone turned away, accepting it—this was only the start, after all.
As the mercenaries moved to the center, another native approached from the opposite iron door.
Two of the three seemed to be gatekeepers; the approaching man appeared to have a different role.
The color of his tattoos made it clear. Ordinary Kergo people bore red tattoos, but this man's markings were white.
"This is the Chamber of Achievement and Sacrifice. The angel's eight eyes will judge you. To enter Kergo you must pass Miro's Time-Space."
Hearing the name Miro, Shirone's head snapped around. The archer, however, shut his mouth and refused to translate further.
"Miro? You just said Miro, right? What did he say?"
"Hey, don't get the wrong idea. I'm not your translator—why should I explain everything?"
"You're going to tell our companions anyway. Hurry up and say it."
"No. From now on, let's not meddle with one another. We have our own business here too."
The white-tattooed man folded his arms and stared at them. He could see from Shirone's gestures that he wanted an interpretation.
"Is there anyone among you who knows the ancient tongue?"
"Ah—I know a little."
"Then translate. Opportunities are equal for all. The angel's eyes watch everything within Miro's Time-Space."
"Why should I? They're not part of our party. I don't know what they mean by 'judge,' but separate them from us."
"No. Once you enter the Chamber of Achievement and Sacrifice, you are one. Will you achieve, or will you be sacrificed? That is your only choice."
"Damn it! What rotten luck. What am I supposed to do with a bunch of rookies like them?"
As the conversation dragged, the mage pressed, "What exactly is he saying? Hurry and tell us."
Reluctantly, the archer relayed what he'd heard. The white-tattooed man nodded and added more.
"Heirs of warriors, step upon the judgment altar and display your prowess on one of the eight spheres. The language of the gods will answer. If a red light flares, you fail. If a white light flares, you pass."
Shirone kept firing questions as if he'd hired the archer as his personal interpreter.
"Is there a limit on attempts? For example, can one person try repeatedly?"
"You can try until your strength is gone. Once a passer is found, everyone may enter Kergo. If no one passes, you must return. This is Miro's will and the Kergo people's duty."
"You said 'achievement and sacrifice.' Then what does 'sacrifice' mean?"
"One person's blood lets one person pass."
"You mean they have to die?"
"Yes."
Hearing that, Shirone fell into thought. They could attempt as many times as they wanted, and if even one person succeeded, everyone could pass.
But if no one passed, they'd have to get through by sacrificing comrades—one life per person.
'Something's wrong. Is it worth committing such brutality just to reach Kergo? Killing comrades for Roop doesn't make sense. There must be something more important in Kergo. So even these mercenaries didn't know the real secret hidden down here.'
Shirone signaled for the archer to continue translating. The information he'd gathered so far had been useful, and the archer agreed without grumbling.
"Are there restrictions on the sacrifice? For example, bringing someone from outside, or using a corpse that's already dead?"
"No. The moment you enter this room you become one. The door will not open until everyone has agreed. So such questions are meaningless."