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Log Horizon - Volume 8 - Chapter 5.5




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She kept strumming the strings intently. 
She yelled enough to make her throat hoarse. 
She didn’t care whether she was for real or a fake. Isuzu was singing all the songs she knew. 
She ran and ran, racing down the street. Right now, she was turning into eighth notes and bursting in the crimson evening sunlight. An arched quadruplet, a stroked long-tone chord. Isuzu’s footsteps were a snare, and her heart was a bass drum. 
Isuzu sang, letting her Bard Style–reinforced endurance do the heavy lifting. The repertoire she played became rainbow-colored melodies that filled the air. 
Dirge of the Captured Lion!! 
The torrent of a rippling scale froze a group of Nightshade Servants as if they were mechanical dolls who’d run out of oil. Isuzu didn’t even glance at them: She knew her partner would slip in to fill the empty solo part. 
“Orb of Lava!” 
The violent riff wasn’t melodious; it was more like a drum solo. By the time she’d transitioned through an interlude and into the song’s C section, the Nightshade Servants were already turning iridescent. 
She made eye contact with People of the Earth who were peeking out of a cellar like wild rabbit siblings. 
The two of them were huddled close together, and they looked as if they were about to cry. 
The town had been pulled into this battle, and there was no place for them to run. Their mouths hung half-open, wretchedly, seeming more stunned than angry or despairing. One of the Odysseia Knights fell on the road, turning iridescent right in front of them. 
Just now, the world had probably collapsed in front of those siblings. The hope that would have saved them had fallen. 
Isuzu slammed a melody into the scene. 
I can’t do anything, but I’ll sing. 
She raised her voice. 
She sang at an impossible volume, stinging her throat. But she didn’t think about backing off. 
I’m looking. I do see you. 
She spun those feelings into a phrase. 
There really wasn’t a thing Isuzu could do. She could play her lute and scream, and that was all. 
Evading the Nightshade Servants’ spells, Isuzu nodded to the pair. The brother and sister ran away like rabbits. Feeling relieved, she sang a song at their backs. 
Songs were trivial things. No matter how recklessly Isuzu raged, there was no guarantee that she’d be able to save those siblings. It was a fact that, in terms of the whole town, there had been lots of casualties. Even if Isuzu sang, she couldn’t change that. She liked John Lennon, but she thought the idea of world peace through music was ridiculous. 
The music that had saved Isuzu, the famous songs by great performers, probably couldn’t do anything that big. 
That awareness was endlessly bitter, and it wounded Isuzu with a weight that was completely different from when she’d poked fun at it in a peacetime world. Even Isuzu’s father’s guitar couldn’t save the world. Not even the songs of Japan’s King of Rock Kiyoshiro could do that, and Isuzu herself certainly couldn’t. 
But that was only natural. 
Even Isuzu, an ordinary high school girl, knew this. 
However, she’d never thought about why they raised their fists in the air. She’d thought it might just be some sort of fad. 
Now she felt as if she understood it a little. 
It was a bluff, a show of bravado. They raised their fists because if they didn’t, they felt as if they’d lose heart. When they played, it was so they could scream, I’m right here! They sang to tell people, It’s okay; I see you. Songs were fleeting exchanges: I know you. I know what you’re feeling. It’s all getting through to me. 
So what if you lost? 
So what if you couldn’t be saved? 
If you got discouraged over stuff like that, you wouldn’t need songs in the first place. 
In order to stand and fight again, songs were necessary. 
Throughout Isuzu’s life, music had held her close. 
At times when nobody understood her, it felt as though music did. On lonely nights when she was all by herself, the ballads she heard from her music pod had seemed as if they were about her. When she was happy, old rock numbers took her for drives down endless coastal highways. 
Even as she was surrounded by a host of songs, Isuzu hadn’t really understood singers. 
Now she did. She was sure they’d been trying to tell her, at the top of their lungs, I know how you feel. I’m feeling the same way right now, as I sing. Don’t let ’em get you down. You can do it! After all, there wasn’t much else they could do. Isuzu’s songs were powerless, but her spear was just about as helpless. She knew it wouldn’t save this world. 
Still, she didn’t stop. 
After all, she’d started running because she was picking a fight with the gods. 
Enveloped by Rundelhaus’s magic, she raced through the streets with winged shoes. 
She was running to her companions, who were waiting for her help. To Touya, who’d raised his fist against unfairness and been sent flying by it. Leaping onto a glacier-like spell that Rundelhaus had cast, the two of them ran. 
Even now, she couldn’t say she had any special talent. 
When she sang with all her might, her voice wasn’t transparent enough. Her fingertips only chased after the melody, and sometimes they stumbled. She was fully aware of it. For that reason, she couldn’t say she planned to become a pro. The mere thought of making music for a living scared her so much her knees went weak. 
Still, Isuzu was sure she’d never forget this moment as long as she lived. 
She wouldn’t forget this evening, when she’d worked up reckless courage and started to sing. 
She couldn’t say she was going to be an artist, but she could guarantee that she’d love music her entire life. That was the best she could do, and in fact, it was enough. 
With an explosion that sounded as if the heavens were roaring in anger, lightning ran across the sky. Rundelhaus erased a layered magic circle with a wave of his arm and ran up beside Isuzu. The young man couldn’t possibly know about her secret resolution, but his profile warmed her heart. 
Rundelhaus had said from the very beginning that he wanted to become an Adventurer, that he wanted to be like the Adventurers. He hadn’t meant the class, but the way they’d lived. Even if the occupation of Adventurer really wasn’t worth the cost, he probably wouldn’t care one bit. This blond guy, who’d chosen to live a certain way to fight injustice, had always known the answer Isuzu had finally managed to reach. 
…No. Rudy pulled me closer to it. 
She remembered her father’s faint, mocking smile, the words he’d seemed to use to inspire her in a roundabout way. 
Now that she thought about it, those words hadn’t been directed at her alone. They’d been a promise a musician—one who’d harbored bitterness and regret, but had still resolved to spend his whole life making a living with music—had made to himself. 
It was just like Dad said. I didn’t have talent. Worrying about whether or not I had talent meant it wasn’t rock at all. 
A little laugh bubbled up inside her. 
“Isuzuuu!!” 
Their group had grown. Nodding to Serara, who’d come running up to them with a pure white wolf, she swung the head of her lute around. She heard the sounds of combat rising all over: weary sword strikes and attack spells chanted as if they’d lost sight of the way home. Even so, dyed by the fading light, the town was beautiful. 
“Mademoiselle Serara!” 
“Thank you!” 
Serara stumbled clumsily two or three times. Even so, as Rundelhaus’s flight spell levitated her heels and she hopped up and down with an earnest expression, she laughed a little to hide her embarrassment. Isuzu felt warmth building inside her. 
“It’s all right! I checked all the buildings from this point west with Wolfie’s nose. We’ve evacuated all the People of the Earth.” 
Isuzu, who was still playing, wanted to shout for joy, but she put her feelings into the song instead. 
Suddenly, light filled the sky. 
The glow belonged to a spell they’d never seen before, and as the three of them stared in its direction, they immediately understood. 
They’d heard the loud yell across the party chat, and they launched themselves into a run. Roe2 and Minori—and probably Touya—were under that light. 
Isuzu understood Touya’s pain: There’s no way in hell this world is the real thing. Touya had heard that heartrending scream; Isuzu and the others had heard it as well, over the party chat. The voice had been excruciatingly sad, as though even the one who’d screamed it had been hurt by it. 

That sorrow was Isuzu’s enemy. 
Defeating it was her challenge to the gods. 
She might not have a shot at winning, but she wouldn’t give up without a fight. Touya was out there, beneath that light. 
“Mister, get back!” 
“Shut up! Don’t get in the way. This is the Odysseia Knights’ fight.” 
“I’m not backing down! Echo Rebound! I’m not gonna give up on you, mister!” 
“You’re just a kid! What do you know, anyway?!” 
She heard Touya’s scream. It was coming closer. The sound of that voice relieved Isuzu, and she and Rundelhaus exchanged nods. 
“It’s okay now.” 
“Right!” 
“Touya hasn’t lost!” 
“Right.” 
He was probably all torn up. He probably hadn’t managed to persuade the Odysseia Knights, either. 
Still, Touya hadn’t stayed crouched in the rubble! He’d stood up, latched on again, and was fighting alongside the Knights. 
As Serara had said, that meant he hadn’t lost at all. Let’s go save him right away, Isuzu thought. Perfect! Bring it on. 
“Touya! Don’t slip up until I get there! Rundelhaus Code, Adventurer, is coming to your aid!!” 
At Rundelhaus’s shout, Isuzu smiled a little. 
His energy had skyrocketed the moment he’d heard Touya’s voice. Like lightning, he’d switched over to his aggressive self. The mature-looking young man who worried about Isuzu was generally cute, but as he was now, Rundelhaus was strikingly manly. If she let go of his leash, he was sure to sprint all the way to the horizon. 
I’m just the same, Isuzu thought. Like him, she wanted to run flat out: Just a bit farther, just a little longer, and they’d be there. 
“Knock it off or I’ll turn you into Onslaught fodder.” 
“Hey, go right ahead! I’m still not backing down.” 
When they turned the corner, there was the river, red with blood. The silhouettes of several wyverns were impaled on a collapsed bridge that had gone up in flames. Fighting with the glare at their backs were a group of Nightshade Servants, who’d grown more powerful and ominous, the Odysseia Knights, and Touya. 
“This is where we die. Don’t block the path to the underworld!!” 
Fire blazed up inside Isuzu. 
The scream “Don’t even give me that!” energized her legs, giving them wings. 
Her eyes filled with tears and her vision blurred, but it wasn’t from sadness. 
This world, where she’d played her lute in the midst of torrential cheers— 
This world, where she’d gone on a long journey with friends she loved— 
This world, where she’d met Rundelhaus— 
—was not a “path to the underworld.” 
For that reason, right now, Isuzu sang the forty-third song. 
Some parts of it are pretty uncool, but… 
Even so, it was the first song she’d ever written. 
It was meant to tell them I understand, and she’d filled it with the message I’m cheering for you. Even if no one else acknowledged this world, Isuzu would bless it, all on her own. She’d scatter the forty-third song, the one the gods hadn’t made, and the seeds of many, many other songs all over the world. 
As her friends plunged into the fray, she saw Minori in the lead. She’d gotten to Touya a step ahead of the rest and had protected him. Roe2 was beside her, her white cape-mantle flapping; she looked like a large bird. She glanced back over her shoulder and nodded. Rundelhaus, Serara, and Minori all exchanged looks with Isuzu. 
“I’ll protect you.” 
“I’m not letting you protect me, Rudy.” 
That brief exchange was enough to fill Isuzu’s heart to the brim with courage. Her energy meter was at 100 percent. The intro she strummed loudly was the best sound she’d produced that day. The bright red sky seemed to be hurrying her on, as well as giving its blessing to eternity. 
Isuzu pushed out the first word like a prayer. 
As if it were skipping over the surface of the water, the lute sparkled, and every time it danced, rainbow-colored notes encouraged the world. Right now, Isuzu was cheering for every Adventurer on the battlefield and for the People of the Earth. 
Ocean wind and asphalt / Once we’re past the hill road 
The next town will be in view / The gig’s sure to shine tonight, too 
A little bag, filled to bursting / So much magic 
You wave your hand, and so / Come on, we’re starting 
I won’t forget that shine / Sowing all the rainbow’s colors 
My ambition / Is turning into musical notes 
I won’t forget that shine / This song’s a promise 
My lute was timid / But it’s something else today 
In the end, Isuzu hadn’t been able to write a stirring fight song. 
She hadn’t been able to write a song that would save all the sorrows of every Person of the Earth, either. 
No matter how she’d searched, crying all the while, the only important things she’d found lying around inside her were personal ones, the sort ordinary high school girls had. 
And so Isuzu had written a song of beginnings. 
She wasn’t anybody yet, but even so, she’d written a song she could start singing with pride. 
She’d created this clumsy first song with the intent that, if someone was beginning something because they wanted to, no matter what type of person they were or what world they lived in, she would absolutely join them and loudly cheer them on. 
Isuzu’s new song, unlikely to save anything, cast a spell on the world. 

The song, which spread in widening rings, gave its first cry with Theldesia’s approval. Magic had been born. Everywhere, small rocks about the size of eggs rose into the air and began darting around like squirrels. They formed an impromptu defense, hurling themselves against all attacks on the battlefield and attempting to turn aside spells. 
It really was a trivial song. A song that only little rocks danced to. 
It was doubtful whether the song would add even a tiny bit to the combat situation, but Isuzu didn’t give up on it. 
She struggled precisely because she was limited. 
Her heart blazed precisely because she was impatient. 
The despair that it might not reach anyone now was also the blessing that, someday, it might reach somebody. Isuzu thought she might be a weakling for needing reasoning like that, but it was possible to walk all the way to the ends of the earth on just one hope. That was “little rock.” 
Right now, Isuzu was music, “the forty-three.” The world was hers. 
She splashed bright lemon-yellow notes all across the madder red sky. No matter who this melody reached, it was fine. She wanted it to crumble and scatter, raining down like stardust, over People of the Earth who raged helplessly, and over the Odysseia Knights who were crying for their home like children. 
Come to think of it, the rainbow light that rose into the air like bubbles when they died was the same as the rainbow colors of the scale. 
The realization startled her. 
When the sun set, the rainbow-colored light broke off. After that, it simply drifted upward, toward the moon. 
 



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