[280] 2. The Trap of a Forced Choice (4)
Until now he had never judged someone by what they owned. The inertia of those eighteen years sounded an alarm of doubt.
Only then did his head clear.
This was the trap of a dilemma. No matter which choice you made, Zion would win.
The terrifying thing about dilemma logic is that it shuts down every possibility except the offered choices. Present something bad and something worse, nudge someone to pick the less awful one, and make them feel like they gained—when in truth they're dancing to the enemy's tune.
Shirone realized he had misunderstood Woorin.
No one hands out a coin for no reason. In other words, nobody comes to help someone who has already given up.
If you think Teraje's lot will spare you because you beg with a groveling look, you're wrong.
A palace is a den of predators. Show weakness and they'll strip you down to the bone.
That was what Woorin had been trying to say.
If you want to live, bark. Bare your teeth and snarl. Make them think you're dangerous so no one sees you as easy prey.
The moment you stop fighting, every predator in the palace will pounce.
"Huuuuuu—!"
Shirone finally exhaled.
He didn't know how long he'd held his breath, but air poured out as if everything inside him were being expelled. Even the cluttered thoughts in his head felt like they left with it.
With his mind clear, his target came into focus.
Shirone set his stance properly and readied a spell. The nobles only snorted.
If they thought Shirone had any sense, they expected him to unfold his skills quickly and flamboyantly.
Magic skill could be judged by experts; what they wanted to see was Shirone's will. No noble could be convinced by a lukewarm posture like that.
But Shirone didn't care.
He would become a predator.
With that thought, he concentrated—and a photon cannon erupted before him.
Shirone compressed photons relentlessly. The sphere of light trembled violently as it contracted and swelled.
Amy shivered at how much longer this casting of the photon cannon took than usual.
Even in the two-thousandth duel, when Shirone's mental strength had been nearly depleted, the system had almost crashed from the power. She couldn't imagine what would happen if the strongest photon cannon passed through Ataraxia.
'Not enough yet. This still isn't enough!'
Shirone kept compressing the light sphere.
From the start there had been no allies here. Teraje's gang, the Orkampf faction—everyone had been trying to use him.
'More... more!'
Tears welled up. Three days' worth of memories flooded him at once.
When he pictured his mother's fear, the photon cannon compressed violently until it could take no more photons, turning into a blinding white that could no longer contain light. The cannon, the size of a human head, shook so roughly it seemed about to fly off its pivot.
Amy shot to her feet. It was too extreme and the future was unpredictable—dangerous.
Before she could shout at Shirone, the photon cannon pierced Ataraxia. Having seen it before in the two-thousandth duel, she shut her eyes and twisted away.
Flash!
A vast tunnel of light opened before Shirone and swept everything in its path aside. Even the air.
A thunderous roar numbed people's eardrums; the intense light erased a blink of time.
For a while, everything went black.
When their eyes adjusted, the world they saw was completely different from a second earlier. Not only the inner wall of the colosseum but even the distant ridgeline had vanished. Particles had been pulverized into dust that drifted like a vast smoke above the ground.
As the wind blew the dust away, the mark of the photon cannon was revealed. A plain wide enough for dozens of wagons stretched to the horizon.
The nobles found themselves surrounded by high-ranking mages. Swordsmen guarded the perimeter around a mage who had erected a powerful localized barrier, their faces set in severity. If Shirone had shown the slightest sign of danger, they would have stormed the colosseum.
"What insolence! What are you doing right now?"
A fat noble slammed his chair and leapt up. The others were equally furious.
What if the spell had been aimed toward the stands?
If Shirone had swiveled the spell, the swordsmen would have cut him down—at least by the book. After all, they'd relaxed because they'd assumed a student was merely demonstrating a spell, hadn't they?
The fat noble showered Shirone with curses. Then, at a word from the wolfish noble beside him, he clamped his mouth shut and sat down.
That seat had already been approved by Orkampf. To defy them here would be to expose oneself.
"That bastard..."
Zion trembled with rage.
Not only had Shirone treated his offer like chewing gum, but the terrifying might of that magic had shattered his pride to pieces.
How could a human push a mountain aside?
No—if it were possible at all, it would be at the level of an archmage.
For an ordinary aspirant to wield such power showed how unfair the human world was.
Zion, who had refused equality with anyone until now, could not stand the jealousy.
Such overwhelming power should belong only to royalty. If a bastard with no power, wealth, or status were given that, what would become of the country?
"Your answer is clear, Shirone. We'll see about this!"
Zion shouted so everyone could hear and strode for the exit. A cluster of nobles followed.
They were likely Teraje's faction, but Shirone didn't care. He simply clung to his wavering consciousness after casting a full-power photon cannon.
This was the first time anyone had cast Ataraxia and not collapsed. It owed partly to his increased endurance, and partly to the ferocity of his resolve.
Shirone turned his head with a fierce look. Woorin still sat in her place. Her only reaction was to lift an eyebrow and curl one corner of her mouth into a faint, mocking smile.
She rose, whispered something to the cat, and left the colosseum without hesitation.
3. Midnight Ball (1)
Orkampf's steps were quicker than usual.
He was not a man given to excitement, but this time his emotions felt hard to control.
He pushed open the study door and only calmed after downing the water on his desk.
Ataraxia.
It was a truly catastrophic magic. Then again—why be surprised now?
What he had seen was the power of an archangel, the supreme commander of heaven. He'd heard there were seven other archangels of comparable might.
A sudden doubt gnawed at him.
Could the Valkyries alone handle that?
'Enough. Don't look too far ahead. In any case, this is good for me.'
If they could replicate Ataraxia, joining the Seongjeon—the Valkyries' highest national delegation—would not be a mere dream.
The world's twelve most powerful sovereigns.
Even if reaching the Tri-Empress tier that Empress Teraje occupied was unrealistic, the Seven Kings beneath it were within reach.
If that happened, Teraje would be forced to recognize Kazra's independence.
What would it feel like to control the world's economy, culture, society, life, knowledge, and art at will? Orkampf already found himself imagining it.
"Well?"
Arius appeared from a corner of the study when Orkampf asked.
Such an entrance might have irked a ruler, but Arius was idiosyncratically stubborn.
Today he was not his usual showy self. His face was flushed, like Orkampf's.
"It was certainly incredible. Ataraxia—an astonishing ability."
"That's not the question. Can we copy it?"
"Impossible."
Orkampf thought he'd misheard, but his ears were fine.
He tried to suppress the anger rising in him, but calm felt distant.
So far he had complied with every demand Arius made, even going along with demonstrations that drove a dagger into his own children's hearts.
"Why not? Is it the encapsulation again?"
"That's part of it. Even if you broke the encapsulation, it wouldn't help. Ataraxia is an ability beyond human concepts. In short, not even Shirone himself understands it."
"That's absurd. I watched Shirone cast Ataraxia with my own eyes. Are you saying Shirone isn't human?"
"In a sense, yes. Something non-human is housed in a human body. Shirone doesn't understand Ataraxia; he just does it. Think of it like breathing—you don't understand the mechanics to do it, it just happens."
Orkampf's pupils chilled.
"Say it straight. Convince me."
Sensing the killing intent, Arius finally dropped the smile.
"The most likely possibility is that Ataraxia is engraved deep in Shirone's unconscious—close to instinct. If so, it's not strange he can use the power without understanding it. You don't learn how to breathe to breathe."
"If it's instinct, can't we extract it from there?"
"Instinct is part of one's primordial consciousness—rooted at the genetic level. No matter how professional a tomb-raiser I am, diving that deep is impossible. To be precise, a dive is possible, but you'd be crushed by Shirone's unconscious."
Orkampf slammed his desk.
Arius had been saying nothing but "it can't be done." Now he claimed his life was too precious to dive.
"Do you think I hired you just to hear excuses? If we can't obtain Ataraxia—!"
"There is one method."
Orkampf's expression shifted as if he'd never heard it before.
After all, the Black Line's Seven Magic Swords wouldn't declare themselves helpless if they had no plan.
"I apologize for not mentioning it sooner. But this method may be harsh. Your Highness will need resolve."
"I have resolve. What is it?"
Arius glanced around, then leaned in to whisper. He usually didn't care if Eliza overheard, but this time he was cautious.
"Wh-what did you say?"
Orkampf's eyes widened in shock. Arius's gaze narrowed like a snake's.
He had smiled earlier; without the smile his face looked venomous.
"It's the only way."
Orkampf gripped the desk with trembling hands.
"T-that can't be. Do you know what that means?"
"Of course. But with this method, we can surely obtain Ataraxia."
Orkampf exhaled roughly.
To obtain Ataraxia. To possess an ability designated Triple S by the Valkyries.
Kazra's independence. The Seven Kings. A flood of visions swept his mind.
"But... do we really have to go that far?"
"Your Highness, I must stress: time is short. A quick decision is required."
Orkampf shook his head.
He needed time. Even if he carried out the plan, how would he handle the backlash that would follow? He needed countermeasures.
"Give me a little more time. Just a bit."
Arius's face contorted horribly. But when Orkampf looked up, Arius returned to an almost courtly smile as if nothing had happened.
"Of course time is necessary. Understood. Call me when you are certain."
Arius bowed and left the study.
Walking down the corridor, he leaned against an empty wall and spat curses.
"Tch. Stupid brat. Pathetic worm. What a coward."
Orkampf's reaction was understandable. He had brought home the bloodline he'd found after eighteen years only to subject him to humiliation and insult, and now he wanted to take even the most precious thing from him.
But a king's ruthlessness must have no limits. Having lines of "this is allowed" and "that is not" is the mark of narrowness.
If you start to hesitate, you gain nothing. Even if you follow the proposal later, pangs of conscience will scatter your mind. Such men will ruin everything in the end.
'What a disappointment, Orkampf. I thought you were a ruthless ruler, but you're no different from the commonplace nobles.'