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No Game No Life - Volume 5 - Chapter 3




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CHAPTER 3 
REVIEW 
……I blew it. 
Why hadn’t she seen it coming—? Steph, accompanying Izuna out of the castle and into the surrounding town to purchase the ingredients to fulfill her promise of a scrumptious fish feast, ground her teeth at her carelessness. Fear, hateful glances, whispered threats—all of them poured down like rain on Izuna, who walked beside her. The Werebeast’s senses had to notice. 
“Commonwealth” or no, it cannot be so easy for people to accept another race, can it? But… 
Intellectually, Steph understood. Indeed, Izuna—Werebeast—was an invader to Elkia, a subjugator. But that came from the Ten Covenants. The reason that Immanity was so taxed and tried was simply that they had lost in games. Were they to hold a grudge for a result based on mutual agreement? Was that not unjustified—? 
“…Stuch, why don’t you hate me, please?” 
“Huh—?” 
“…We took your continent, please. Obviously you should hate me, please. Because of me, they called your grampy a fool, please. Why don’t you hate me, please?” 
As Izuna stared at her, Steph tightened her grip on the young girl’s hand. What carelessness—Steph stewed over her own lack of insight. Izuna was too clever. She’d played Sora and Shiro for the continental domain—carrying the responsibility for the futures of Immanity and Werebeast. 
—It wasn’t as if, in Steph’s grandfather’s study, Izuna hadn’t read anything. She knew how her actions had affected Immanity. She’d long since grasped how she was perceived, accepting it for what it was. Only one failed to realize— 
Again, it is only me… 
Thinking back, when Steph had woken up—that is, after Izuna had learned Immanity—Izuna had draped a coat over Steph, a clear change in attitude. Why hadn’t she realized the reason—? Steph fretted but shook her head as the young girl’s eyes anxiously hovered on her. She’d been asked—so she had to answer. As they walked through town hand in hand, Izuna must have felt so much animosity. Didn’t Steph herself hate Izuna…? This nagging concern had to be wiped clean. 
Yes…I suppose. From an ordinary perspective… 
Perhaps it did make sense that, if she resented the nobles who disparaged the grandfather she revered, she should also curse the Eastern Union that had brought this fate—but Steph didn’t know. She didn’t know why—but that was wrong. She was sure that was wrong . Ff —Steph’s expression relaxed, softening. 
“Why? I do not know!” 
“…Stuch, are you a dumbass, please?” 
“Heh-heh, perhaps I am. But—I believe that it is wrong .” 
Steph peered into Izuna’s round eyes. 
—The black-haired girl, younger than Shiro, distinguished by her large ears and tail. With the weight of the world’s third-largest country on her back, she’d traded blows with “  ” on even footing—a ball of possibility. Clever, earnest, innocent, discerning, with resolve and wisdom. Looking at this girl—Steph gave a carefree smile. 
“After all, Miss Izuna, you are a good girl and adorable.” 
Basically, that is how it is , she thought. 
“I like you, Miss Izuna. So I will give you partial treatment.” 
Izuna’s eyes bulged. A beat later, she shook out her coat and looked away blankly. Hiding her face from Steph, she whispered weakly: 
“…Stuch, you are such a dumbass, please.” 
—Even as she said this, Izuna slightly increased the pressure of her hand in Steph’s. Steph chuckled to herself at Izuna’s transparent attitude and started forward again. But then— 
“Heyyy, it’s Izunaaa!” 
The two turned toward the cry. Several figures charged toward them, making their way through the crowd. They were young children. 
“Wh-what’s this—?” 
While Steph stood dumbfounded, the children surrounded the two young women, and the newly assembled mob started making an awful racket. 
“It’s Izuna! Whoaaa, it’s the real thing!” 
“Heyyy, Izunaaa, let’s playyy. You’re super-good, right?” 
“You guys are dumb. Super-dumb. Call her Madam, bighead.” 
“…The hell is with you assholes, please?” 
Overcome by the energy of the excited children, Izuna couldn’t help but respond. Steph started thinking about how to come between them. Looking closer at the boisterous juveniles, though… 
…she noticed their animal ears and tails—Werebeast children. Steph addressed them in a flurry. 
“What are you children doing?” 
“We’re playing! Togevver!” 
One of the children—a girl with round ears like a raccoon dog’s—answered with a babyish lisp. 
“You’re all…friends? Even the Werebeast children?” 
“Sure we aaare.” 
The young round-eared girl seemed confused by Steph’s dazed interrogation. Beside her, an Immanity boy raised his voice gleefully. 
“—We all became friends playing games!” 
—At these concise, simple words, Steph felt a swell of emotion that seemed to pound from deep in her heart. Meanwhile, the children gathered around Izuna romped on. 
“Come on, let’s playyy. I’m sooo gonna beat youuu!” 
“I’m hungry as hell, please. Buying fish, please. So goddamn busy, please.” 
To the children grabbing at her clothes and pleading, Izuna cast a sour look— 
“…I’ll kick your ass next time, please.” 
—and then, subtly, the corners of her mouth turned upward into a grin. At these words, a particularly cheeky-looking boy stuck out his fist and cheered. 
“All righhht! Remember you promised, Izuna! You can’t back out now!” 
“I told you, call her Madam, dumb-butts! —Madam, I am so sorry.” 
And so, just as they had appeared, the children departed in a tempest, waving their hands. 
—Though the commotion had passed, Steph’s heart pounded all the harder. That emotion was still there, like embers. 
“Hee-hee… Something like this must serve as your answer, surely…” 
…At some point, the feeling that poured into them from all around became one of bewilderment. Maybe it was still a little too soon. But it wouldn’t be too long. By the time those children grew to be adults…surely. It would have to become a funny story that once the races were at odds— Holding this hope, Steph smiled. 
“We got to play with one another— I’m sure it’s more fun that way.” 
“…Stuch, you’re not a dumbass after all, please. I think you’re actually goddamn smart, please.” 
Hearing Izuna’s offhand remark, Steph seemed struck as if in the presence of a god. 
“Ohhh, Miss Izunaaa! You alone will not say I am stupiiid!” 
“…But you look like a dumbass, please.” 
Izuna smirked a bit as Steph clung to her, weeping for joy. 
—The world would change. It was changing. It kept changing. If you felt it wasn’t changing, all that meant— was you weren’t looking — 
 
—The world was rewritten. 
“Whoaaa, what the hellll?!” 
Sora and Shiro, dancing through the night sky, were suddenly assaulted by a roar and a gale, shouting as they found themselves in a tailspin. But more than them—more than anyone else—Plum screeched at the manifestation of a violent whirlwind. 
“Wh-what is thiiis?! So many spirits—even Flügel shouldn’t be able to do thiiis?!” 
A force so powerful that Plum’s terrified quivering could be felt even through her scarf disguise. A force that, if viewed directly, would rob most any magic-user of sanity—incomparable, heaven-shaking—conquered the world by brute force, bent it to its will, rewrote its scenery willy-nilly…no, painted over it. 
“…Uhh, Plum, is this really that bad?” 
Sora’s offhand question— It’s true we never prohibited stage switching, isn’t it? —was answered with a shriek. 
“Bad—?! Th-this could only be an Old Deus, or, if not—” 
Plum trailed off in midsentence, suddenly remembering where they were flying. 
—Ixseed Rank Two , Phantasma—Avant Heim… 
“…Don’t get it. We cannot grasp it.” 
—Azril was static in midair. Her face now devoid of that perfect—all too perfect—angelic smile. This was not that illusion of death one experienced when confronted by Flügel…no. Sora let fall a drop of cold sweat and smirked. With that sort of overwhelming power— illusion was impossible . A force that defied perception and imagination. Sora and Shiro got goose bumps that set their skin on fire. Azril—or something that looked like her—continued slowly. 
“Jibril—we cannot grasp with what sort of fancies they have ensnared you.” 
A hollow voice, absent the slightest feeling. 
“—Therefore, ye shall present them to us directly.” 
Sora and Shiro were awestruck at this thing that addressed them as the scenery finally stabilized. A cracked sky stained the color of blood; dust billowing up to the stratosphere. Earth scorched beyond the horizon. The heavens were smashed, the earth was rubble, the sea was dry—dead. Innumerable fragments of shattered rock drifted around the siblings—the ruins of what had once been land. The Flügel still in the game hovered like ominous battleships in some deformed aerial fleet— 
“What…what is this shit?” 
Though Sora had recovered enough wherewithal to speak, neither Shiro nor Plum could respond. Only the Flügel flitting through the air seemed to acknowledge his question, wincing at that acrid sight with which they were traumatically familiar. 
—Six thousand years ago—that is, toward the end of the Great War. Artosh, lord and creator of the Flügel, rolled up all their Heavenly Smites and unleashed them as a single strike of his own. A force brought down to obliterate the land, the sky, the very planet—in other words, a Godly Smite. This was the aftermath of that single blow. Framed by the twilight of the world behind her, Azril continued. 
“—Erst, we fought, and we failed.” 
In the distant background—an enormous, ominous shadow rose up. Most likely the former visage of the land itself—the Great War form of Avant Heim. A landmass like a whale drifting through the firmament—an air fortress built not of cubes but countless artillery batteries and blue, murderous eyes. 
“—Our lord unleashed his greatest strike—yet it was returned, whereupon we were annihilated, and our lord was slain.” 
—What was it that changed Jibril? 
“Wherefore did we fail? Wherefore did we lose our lord? Wherefore did we still live? Wherefore—” 
—What made us find a reason to live? Plum desperately clung to the last shreds of her sanity as the pure manifestation of violence before them demanded— 
“Wherefore shall a weapon without a master live on? The answer—” 
““—‘Artillery’—”” 
Suddenly, a flash lanced Azril’s chest. A brilliant instant of illumination lit up the twilight, and a few moments later, the roar of an explosion shook the atmosphere. 
“…Whng?” 
Oblivious to Plum’s foolish interjection— 
“T—L—D—R! Finish the intro dialogue in twenty words or make it skippable!” 
“…Never underestimate…the impatience…of the shmup freak…” 
Sora’s and Shiro’s faces contorted in disgust— At some point, they’d lit upon a crag and formed a Word—and now an iron barrel protruded from their hands. Plum didn’t know…hell, she’d never even seen one. Flame gushed from the 155mm howitzer the siblings had expended four syllables to materialize. Leaving sound behind, the projectile pierced Azril, and the fifteen pounds of Composition B explosive it carried detonated. An eight-thousand-meter-per-second blast blew Azril away, leaving only smoke— 
“—Whaaat? What are you doiiiiing?!” Plum screamed, apparently having finally got a grip on the situation, and she gaped at Sora and Shiro. 
“Skipping the cutscene.” 
“…Pretentious asshole…lame…” 
“D-d-d-do you know who that waaas?! That was—” 
“Yeah, she’s Azril—and Avant Heim is the Phantasma, right?” 
“…Uh, what?” 
Sighing— good grief —Sora shook his head and said: 
“Azril was the only Flügel with a horn on her head. I figured it must be something like that—but, yeah, so she’s the agent plenipotentiary of Avant Heim the Phantasma or something. Well, not that I know the details.” 
“…Basically…Azril equals Phantasma…too…” 
The two, who had digested the situation far faster than Plum, elucidated with dull disinterest. 
“…Jibril said Avant Heim the Phantasma is an independent world, right?” 
Sora recalled the explanation they’d been given upon their arrival. 
“So the scenery changed, and that meant the world was rewritten. But, since Avant Heim is independent , it seems unlikely that the outside world could be rewritten to this degree. Which means—things changed within Avant Heim. But, in that case, we’d have to be on Avant Heim, and instead Avant Heim is in front of us—which means it’s a fantasy .” 
—Proof. If she’d been real, they wouldn’t have been able to harm her because of the Ten Covenants. 
“…Now…Plum…here’s, the question…” 
Sora’s and Shiro’s giddy expressions, as if tickled to their cores, utterly baffled Plum as they went on. 
“A large-scale stage switch, a fortress before our eyes that’s like, ‘Hello, I am the ultimate weapon.’ And some long-ass story sequence like you’d get right before the final boss—and how much time do we have until the one-hour limit for the game is up?” 
“…Nine minutes, forty-four seconds.” 
“What does it all add up to? We’re waiting for your answer!” 
—A tough question for Plum, who lacked knowledge of Sora and Shiro’s old world. But: having seen everything they’d face, her brow fraught with despair, Plum, by chance—got it right. 
“…The end, I suppoose?” 
“What? I totally didn’t think you’d get that.” 
Facing the massive “capture spell hell” woven of violent magic and launched from Avant Heim, Sora and Shiro once more squeezed their joined hands tightly and smiled. 
“In short, this is the final stage —we’re almost to the ending.” 
“…The climax… Awesome art direction…!” 
They kicked off the ground and flapped their wings. Leaving behind the boom of their “acceleration,” beaming, they flew into the hell storm. 
“How can you laugh at thiiiii-eeeeee!!” 
Bolting. Weaving through infinite beams, a curtain of fire launched by Avant Heim. 
—The shots were incalculable, but they lacked finesse of the Flügel capture beams to home in on and retrieve a target. It was just a blanket of fire hammering away infinite rounds and speed— Ha. 
“Shiro, you got the pattern figured out?” 
“…Pretty much… You?” 
“Come on, you know? I don’t figure—I like to dodge on pure adrenaline!” 
Another flap. With hair-trigger speed, Shiro matched Sora’s toss of her wing. They soared headlong into the maelstrom as if dancing. Whistling, at their leisure— 
“This is a yawn compared to True Hibachi Custom. Can we really count on Jibril?” 
“…With a last boss like…this, we can’t… The goons were…way…tougher.” 
Already defying Plum’s comprehension with their actions, slipping gracefully through the curtain, Sora and Shiro improbably took their eyes off the barrage to check their wrists. 
“—Forty-six syllables total.” 
“…We’ve collected forty…” 
“We’ve used up twenty-three, so—” 
“…We’ve got, seventeen…” 
The syllables of light circling Sora’s arm— 
— dis , nekt , min , dih , ih , ah , this , mahyz , with — 
The syllables of light circling Shiro’s arm— 
— kuh , skyool , pit , nuh , kree , ouhr , kamp , strik , ohn — 
They had more than enough ammo. But —Sora noted— 
“Hmmm, cher , rey , ri , gohr , shuns , nuh … There are still six left.” 
“…But our trumps …are in our hands.” 
Whereupon Shiro mumbled, No problem, we’re good . 
“—Didn’t I tell you? I know the Word I wanna pound into that bitch. I’m short three syllables .” 
“…Look, at this… How do you expect to…grab them…?” 
Flying around in this torrent of light was already sufficient to utterly addle Plum. Taking on the Flügel on top of that was too much, even for Sora and Shiro. 
“……Damn it, Shiro. Sorry, but I’m gonna use a trump .” 
“……Brother, how many do you, need?” 
“Thirteen.” 
Atypically, Shiro’s eyes grew wide, and she searched her brother’s face. 
“Thirteen. That’s how many I need. And we’re short three.” 
But Sora’s expression—was endless sincerity itself. 
—Thirteen syllables for one Word? The trump Sora spoke of—was surely a Word that could overcome any crisis. But then they could only use it once—it should really be a last resort— 
“Mm, got it…” 
If her brother said they needed it, that meant they needed it, no matter the risk. Shiro nodded. If she couldn’t grasp the meaning behind it, her brother was right—that’s all it came down to—! 
—The siblings joined hands. From Sora’s left wrist and Shiro’s right—across their interlocked arms—three syllables dropped. And—reordering them—Sora formed a Word. He swung out his arm grandly, and then— 
“—‘Disconnect’—!!” 
He slashed his arm in a grand horizontal arc—and in that moment, an invisible blade cleaved through the fusillade, through space, and even through the center of Avant Heim. 
—The rule was that it would materialize one’s mental image: a Word. What one could imagine, depending on the placement of syllables—this could be adapted to any situation: attack, defense, or a combination thereof…a trump . Not to mention the importance and versatility of prefixes or suffixes, common sense in word games. The result of that all-powerful Word on which they had sacrificed this trump—Sora’s vision. 
—Everything before them, like a bad joke—was cleft in twain. The space, the scenery, the sliced stage : Avant Heim itself was severed—the artillery, too, was cut off. 
— And then? Plum wondered dubiously, whereupon Sora and Shiro— slowed down . 
“—What?!” 
Plum gasped in astonishment. Amidst the crumbling scenery, the Flügel advanced through the split curtain. 
“…Brother…they’re coming.” 
“…Eighteen—more than I thought. Syllables?” 
“…Six…all there…but…!” 
—Right, the question was how they’d collect them. Now that they’d used “ disconnect ,” they had fourteen syllables, and according to Sora, there were thirteen final syllables he had reserved . He’d also said he needed three of the six uncollected. Even if they succeeded in collecting the syllables, the ones they could use would only increase by three. 
“—All right, time for our big, climactic gamble. Let’s do it, Shiro!” 
They swung around to prepare for engagement. As the Flügel bore down, they beat—well, they’d meant to beat their wings…but… 
“—Wh-what?” 
Plum stammered. And honestly, Sora and Shiro felt quite the same. The onrushing Flügel facing Sora and Shiro—stopped. Reverently. Yes, just like Jibril, one of the Flügel bowed. 
“These syllables. You need them, don’t you?” 
…In time with her question, the Flügel put her hand to the ri on her chest. As if taking her lead, the other five syllable-bearers also laid their own bare. Sora and Shiro, bewildered, failed to fathom the meaning behind this, but the Flügel just smiled gently. 
“We’ve already seen all we wanted —” 
“As for the handshakes and dates and cuddle-cuddle…well, I can’t say I don’t care!” 
“But we are quite happy just to have been able to play with you!” 
“—So, if you would, please.” 
And then, with the words of the last— 
“ Please take care of Sister Azril , our soon-to-be— lords and saviors .” 
—Finally. Sora and Shiro got it— the trap Jibril had planted in the game. Feeling as if they might burst out belly laughing, the siblings reached for their tribute. 
“…Ha-ha, Jibril’s got her thing on now, too, hasn’t she?!” 
“…Jibril, for great…justice…!” 
Clowning, Sora and Shiro touched the final six syllables. 
“…Uh, umm, what’s this abouuut?” 
To Plum, the only one who didn’t get it, a Flügel responded with a smile: 
“Have you forgotten, worm? We, after all—” 
“—Are Flügel, under the command of Sister Azril, but before that—” 
“— We are fans of King Sora and Queen Shiro , you know?” 
And so, smiling—mostly at the casual dis that cut down poor Plum behind them—Sora and Shiro chuckled to themselves and once more beat their wings and picked up speed. Toward the severed Avant Heim—and to Azril, who surely waited inside. 
 
“…It seems some of them have understood… With this, do you still insist that I alone am special ?” Jibril chided with a snigger. 
Azril’s expression—was nonexistent. But under that mask, she twisted in torment. 
—What was this? What was the meaning of this? It made no sense. Glaring at the image projected in space, Azril kept thinking. Two Immanities navigating all obstacles in the midst of a crumbling Avant Heim with divine precision. Their heading was straight—at her. As if they knew her location—! No, they did ! By severing away the facade, they’d uncovered the scenery of old, and they’d figured Jibril and Azril would still be in the same place —no, they’d concluded it! 
—In the face of this, Azril experienced a painful flashback. That’s right, back then, this was how Artosh was killed. Everything was broken, everything was exposed, everything was woven through—and her lord was slain. 
Wherefore we failed. Wherefore we survived! Wherefore we live?! 
 …… 
“Wauuuhhhngyaaaaaaieeeeeeghyaaaahh!!” 
“Plum! S—T—F—UUUUUU!!” 
In the collapsing Avant Heim, they dashed past countless obstructions at speeds exceeding sound. One little mistake, and they’d be dead—and at the pair, who piloted this catastrophe with deranged velocity, Plum shrieked: 
“Aaaaaah!! Are you two all right in the head?!” 
“We are so sick of that line by now! Shiro!! ” 
Before their eyes, the scenery crumbling, countless cubes collapsed. The path was blocked. They couldn’t turn—a head-on collision. 
“Eeeeeeeeeeek!” 
Ignoring the hysterical Plum, Shiro calmly wove a Word: 
“—‘Miniscule’…” 
 Seventeen syllables left. With a touch of one of the cubes in front of them, the Word activated. The cube shrank, leaving a gap, but not of a size they could squeeze through… 
Promptly, Sora pointed at the hole and shouted the Word he’d spun: 
“—‘Decamp!!’” 
 Fifteen syllables left. Through the needlelike gap, it was as if they had simply stolen past the obstacle , and they flew on. As Plum’s jaw dropped at their unbelievable adaptability, Sora suddenly asked: 
“Plum, can you bare your fangs for a sec?” 
“I caaan’t! I don’t want to ’cos I’ve got a bad feeliiing!!” 
“Oh, really? That’s too bad—I was thinking I’d give you some bloo—” 
“Please excuse meee! King Sora, I’ll press my fangs to your shoulder. I believe you should be able to feel theeem!!” 
“—‘Gore’ for the win.” 
 Fourteen syllables left. The blood that stained his finger without a scratch soaked into Plum’s fang. Plum, having succeeded in sucking blood without biting, was elated— 
“Mgahhh, what eez thiiis?! This dense richness and creaaamy smoothness, this silky, soulful umami that races through my body! I can only compare it to the tears of a sea turtle laying eggs on the night of the full moon! ? ” 
“You feel better?” Sora chuckled, as Plum regaled them with her incomprehensible fine dining review. 
“Yeeess! I feel sooo much betterrr! I feel as if now I could do anythiiing!” 
Plum—pardon, their scarf—conjured a mass of blooming flowers that soared through the air. But, at this trumpet of joy, Sora and Shiro grinned wickedly. 
“…Wellll, it’s nice to hear that. In that case—” 
“…Let’s…see you, do anything…” 
“……Of course… I knew it would be like this. I swear…” 
 
Six thousand years ago, Artosh had been slain. Faced with this reality they could never believe but had no choice but to accept, the Flügel had stood for six thousand years. The sword created by Artosh to exterminate gods—to eradicate other races. They had been the sword born for Artosh, to place him on the throne as the One True God. But, before the slain remains of their Lord, now no more, the matchless sword had lost its purpose. A question they had never had to consider when they had been wielded freely by the weight of command now presented itself. 
— What to do now? 
The race created by Artosh, the heralds had lost their way, and their conclusion—was to stop thinking. Whoever started it, one by one, they concentrated the totality of their power—and stabbed themselves. They were tools created to seize the throne of the One True God, and once he who would take the throne was gone, the tools were no longer needed. Faced with her sisters one after another impaling themselves, Azril—the first of them all—suddenly told a lie. No, strictly speaking, it was not a lie. But, unable to bear the sight of her sisters’ suicides, the light gone from their eyes, Azril told them: 
— Our lord’s mission is not complete. 
If, by some chance, improbable though it be, if thy lord should fail, be destroyed as a god of war by some unknown force…on thy lord’s behalf, thou shalt unearth the cause. That remains our final mission from our lord , she told them. 
—A mission assigned to Azril alone—a command. But she played it off as an order given to all Flügel and went further. 
—When they had fulfilled their duty. When they had completed the last mission granted them by their lord. 
—She would make the judgment as to when they were done, if they would deign to entrust it to her, she said. 
…It was only stalling for time, just an expedient solution. But, even so—the Flügel began seeking out the truth behind the “unknown” that had felled their lord. As the war ended, they collected all kinds of information. As if to transform all that was unknown in the world to that which was known. And time passed, until soon it had been six thousand years—and yet the Answer had not been found. If anyone could find it, it could only be Jibril, Azril believed. The words left by their lord. The final one. The special one. 
But. 
—I’m just…tired of this… 
 
Sora and Shiro arrived at the hall where they expected to find Azril and Jibril. 
…It was dark. Sora forged a Word and activated it. 
“‘Ray!’” 
—Thirteen syllables left. Perfect. Now, if they just slammed in that Word they were going for, they’d have beaten the game with all the syllables and achievements. 
“But now we’ve got no more Words to use… Sorry ’bout that, Shiro.” 
“…If you think, it’s necessary…I believe, in you.” 
As this line reminded him of the blessings of being a big brother—a “light” illuminated the floor. 
“—For six thousand years have we sought. And yet we have not found the Answer.” 
On the glowing floor, an empty throne. Azril stood before it, and— 
“Who the hell is we ? I see quite a few guys other than you who have a clue.” 
—as he spoke, Sora saw Jibril next to her big sister, her eyes closed. Her expression was a mixture of faith and conviction, as well as— hope for what would happen next, a quality entirely absent from Azril . 
“This vain world, this fruitless life searching for a nonexistent Answer, has grown tiresome,” bemoaned Azril—and the Phantasma inside her, Avant Heim. Their true feelings as living beings—no, as a puppet and a fantasy . 
“—If the Answer found by Jibril matches the lie we told…” 
A beat. With despairing eyes deeper than hell, she focused on Sora and Shiro. 
“…then we shall conclude that the reason for failure was but absurdity—and we shall end all of Flügel.” 
“That would be a problem.” 
“…Jibril’s…our…d00d.” 
But, as the two breezily blew off this threat, Sora dove into thought: Hmm. 
“I see. So you dipshits have been cramming your heads with books like tools to find some stupid ‘Answer.’ To be honest, I can’t sympathize or identify whatsoever. But can I say one thing?” 
And then, just as he had when first rejecting Azril’s proposal— 
—as if sizing up some deeply disinteresting tool : 
“…You, have you ever once thought up something and written it yourself —?” 
“ ? ?!” 
Azril’s eyes went wide. Beside her, Jibril, whose gaze was downcast, clutched a book she called holy writ, one that had even garnered fans within Avant Heim. Written in her own hand—her observation journal of Sora and Shiro—the tale of a future yet unfinished… 
“But yeah, I get it. So we were saying, if Shiro and I won, we’d get help gathering books, and if we lost, we’d be giving autographs. But you two had some bet like that going behind the scenes. We’re gonna have to give Jibril a good talking-to later about betting her life without asking us, but—” 
—Sora gripped Shiro’s hand hard again and unfolded his wing— 
“Do you seriously not get why Jibril went along with that bet?” 
“—She must have been certain that you fools would present us with a convincing Ans—” 
“See? You’re stupid! You are so goddamn stupid!! A stupid bitch like you thinks she can act like a big sister?!” 
His face descending into pure, unadulterated rage, Sora screamed: 
“—She was betting on you! On her ‘ big sister ’! Betting her life on her faith that you would understand !!” 
… 
…… 
Sora and Shiro tensed their feet—and wove their final Word. 
“You don’t even get that, and you want her to call you ‘big sister’!!” 
“…Don’t make us laugh… In your…dreams!” 
Simultaneously—they kicked off and leaped. 
—Fast. A dash employing the Word of acceleration. Sora and Shiro approached at obscene speed. But to Azril, who held within her the power of Avant Heim—they appeared motionless. 
“…I see, Jibs bet her life because she believed in me…” 
Even this was beyond her. She couldn’t even get the point—so. 
“—All right. It’s time I end it all…” 
Azril, too, kicked off and flew. In the hall barely a few hundred meters wide, for the two bodies moving at supersonic speeds to collide, it would take less than an instant. 
—Nor was there any doubt as to the outcome. Azril would reach out, grab them, and it would be done. She hadn’t found the Answer after all, but some had . If that was so… it was enough . It was time to wrap it up— As far as she was concerned , these six thousand years—had had no meaning at all— 
“Eeyauuuugh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t kill me, pleaaase!” 
… 
“—Huh?” 
A wail emanated from Azril’s hands, which she’d closed with her eyes slightly averted. She’d thought she’d snared Sora and Shiro…but then what was this screaming in her grasp—? Uh, what, um… 
…Hm? Did I ever hear this girl’s name? 
—It was some anonymous Dhampir girl. 
— Magic of illusion… A moment too late, she got it. The Dhampirs’ magic of illusion—exerted to its fullest—was capable of befuddling even Elves and Flügel. And if they’d just ingested powerful soul—blood—perhaps they could even deceive Old Dei…? But in that case, what about Sora and Shiro? Their wings—the accelerated Sora and Shiro…where’d they—?! 
—As she was lost in high-speed contemplation—something whizzed by Azril at a frightening velocity. It was as if time had stopped. To Azril, everything seemed to be in slow motion. Without Plum—without the scarf— without their wings, left only with their human selves . At inhuman speed. Sora’s fist, cocked back, tagged Azril’s shoulder! 
“—‘Epitomize this creature with our own restrictions’—” 
 No syllables left. Azril’s eyes were opened. Not by the Word pounded into her. The two in high-speed flight—they’d shed their wings. Had the Dhampir cast a spell of illusion?! 
“No rule that you can’t use magic—amirite?” 
A momentary encounter. A voice she couldn’t possibly have heard— Looking back, Sora had definitely said it. But no— At that speed, as mere humans, without wings…they’d hit the ground and die in a— All this doubt and confusion was put to rest with the words that rang through Azril’s ears: 
“—Sixty minutes exactly… Game…over.” 
 No clock or anything. Shiro just read off the timer she’d counted down in her head . A transported Jibril softly…reverently, received her two lords. 
…To Azril, it all felt so far removed, the Word worked on her. “Restrictions.” The entirety of the power of Avant Heim contained within Azril was restricted. The massive power that had been rewriting space was released, and the hall around them, the scenery itself, caved in as if broken to pieces. In the center of it all, Azril went limp and stared blankly, as if to say she still couldn’t believe it. There was no need to think back. Indeed, this was the same feeling she’d experienced when her lord Artosh was slain— Unmistakably, it was fear. 
…It was beyond comprehension. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand it. There were too many things she didn’t understand. It was scary. It was frightening. What was it that they understood that allowed them to walk this delicate tightrope? No matter how much knowledge you stuffed in, no matter how far ahead you planned your strategy…even if you did everything you could, at the bitter end lay the unknown—a darkness enshrouded by indeterminate variables. Amidst all this uncertainty…how? How—could they stride out onto that single, tenuous string so free of hesitation? Bearing witness to a series of events beyond all reckoning, Azril, falling, felt her consciousness drop away— 
 
—In a dream, Azril relived her memories of her lord, Artosh. 
The havoc of war, continuing endlessly, served only to fuel Artosh, god of war. An Old Deus to whom hatred, malevolence, hostility, and blood were daily bread—Artosh, lord of chaos. By this point, the fragments of his eighteen wings—the Flügel (Wings). And his messenger, Avant Heim. One god, one phantasm, and one race. This small army—was overpowering the world. The throne of the One True God belonged to Artosh—by now, no one could doubt this. This was their lord, and yet he had spoken of the possibility of defeat—just once. 
“I may be defeated.” 
—You jest. 
“I am strong.” 
—Of course, Lord. 
“By now, there is none with power superior to mine.” 
—Of course, Lord. 
“Therefore, there are things beyond my ken.” 
—Things you do not understand, Lord? 
“By that which is beyond my ken, by that which the weak alone understand, by that which is unknown to me for my strength, I may be defeated.” 
—…… 
“Therefore—I shall create a being with the imperfection that, to one so mighty as me, can never be kenned.” 
—Imperfection, Lord? 
“Can imperfection serve as perfection—can it serve transcending paradox? I know not.” 
—…… 
“However, should I succeed or should I fail—this must be the cause.” 
—…… 
“Thou who art one of my eighteen wings, the first of all, Azril.” 
—…Yes, Lord. 
“At such time as I have been vanquished and banished from this world, thou, in the guise of the defeated, shalt take the measure of this in my stead, that I may rest in peace.” 
—Azril didn’t know what it was that her lord saw. But the expression on her lord’s face as he suggested the possibility of defeat was not fear but merely, like that of a god of war—a wish for an unknown enemy to appear… and the drive to vanquish even that unknown —just a vicious, but terribly amused, smile. 
“Now I shall create a unit outside the series… I name her—” 
And then her lord, Artosh, created what soon would become that by which he would be remembered—the Irregular Number, the Final Number…the imperfect one. The one who might look to the horizon that, in the end, even her lord could not grasp or see beyond. He called her by name. 
 Jibril… 
 
“…Elder. Are you awake at last?” 
—Her entire body was leaden. That was Azril’s first impression as she woke. Her wings wouldn’t move; her body wouldn’t rise— No. To begin with, her body didn’t know what it meant to rise, she realized. How did you move this body? Like licking space…wasn’t it? The ground—since when was it so strong, fettering her body like this? Lifting her head that felt like a weight, Azril peered up at the shadows looming over her. Gazing down at her, Jibril—and the two Immanities, Sora and Shiro. Ixseed Rank Bottom. The weakest race looked down on her and spoke. 
“So you’re all ‘I pwnz j00’ on the strength of your cheats, and then you say the game is broken ’cos you game-over once. WTF?” 
Shiro grinned as Sora laughed— But unable to grasp the meaning of his words— 
“Give it another try from the beginning as a pawn . If you do that and still think it’s broken…” 
“…We’ll play you…all…you want.” 
—Azril nevertheless understood that the Word pounded into her had constrained her power to the level of Immanity . She cast her eyes down and chuckled at the siblings, who smiled as they explained it to her. 
—So that’s how it was. She couldn’t fly. She couldn’t use magic. She couldn’t even see spirits. Distance and weight, concepts of which she had never before been conscious, tied her body down. She rolled onto her back, worked her restricted hand, and reached up toward the sky. 
—It was so high. So high, so broad. The force that held her body to the ground felt as if it had created an insurmountable wall between the earth and sky. To think she could fly out there was now beyond her imagination. Even if she were told she could fly, she wouldn’t even feel like it. She didn’t have the nerve. Meanwhile, those who had supposedly played with her, smiling and dancing through that sky though possessed of the same abilities—the two Immanities asked: 
“…How’s the ground taste…not bad…right?” 

“After all, you don’t really want to fly again until you crash once.” 
Having soared through those heavens with alacrity, yet saying crashing wasn’t bad… 
“—Come on, when you fall, you gotta jump back up . Next round’s coming, right? ” 
Extending his hand with a smile—yes. As if to say, Just as we’ve done . 
—At last, everything came together within Azril, and a grin spilled out. Late. Ridiculously late. Given that, she couldn’t complain if they called her stupid, but Azril took his hand. 
“…Elder, you are too hardheaded.” 
Watching with cool, yet gentle eyes as Azril stood, Jibril greeted her. The one by whom Artosh was remembered—the imperfect one. The Irregular Number, and the Final Number. Imperfection. What it meant—was the quest to be perfect. Because one was imperfect, one reached for the unknown, for the future, for hope—reached to grasp them. 
—The reason Jibril had insisted on hunting alone at last— 
“Jibs, you’re too softheaded…” 
Without even being ordered, wiping out an Elven metropolis and coming back with a grin and an armload of books. Having been told she lacked the specs, going off to slay a higher race single-handedly, and returning on the brink of death. Abandoning the Council and fleeing her homeland, then coming back with new masters— Truly, she was unquestionably imperfect and—for that reason—had become stronger than anyone. 
“…I get it. Just reading books isn’t enough to teach you anything…” 
Understanding was never a matter of just memorizing facts to increase one’s knowledge. It was something that came from doing, from bashing oneself, until it finally soaked into the bones. What neither Artosh nor Azril had ever been able to grasp was the “unknown.” What it was—was “possibility,” surely: the ability to make the impossible possible. Something that, as the strong, as ones who never failed, the ones who never lost—was beyond their ability to conceptualize. And yet— 
“ Living in the guise of the defeated already made me imperfect… I was just…scared.” 
It was only Jibril who had started to sense it before they tasted defeat. 
—With their failure, the Flügel, and Avant Heim as well, had reached imperfection. So then…with their pissing and whining , it was no wonder they’d be forsaken, because of Flügel’s—including Azril’s—inability to do anything but collect knowledge. Only Jibril went freely where her curiosity led her to create knowledge and to leave behind what she had gained. Despite her overwhelming strength, she still aimed higher—embracing her adoration for the unknown. 
—There was only one thing that could mean. 
“Nya-ha, nya-ha-ha-ha…it’s so daft . Now that I see, it’s so awfully daft.” 
Lowering her face, Azril could only laugh now—prompting Jibril to inquire: 
“I take it that now you understand?” 
“…Yes, I get it—that there was never anything to understand .” 
—How could one help but laugh? To think that the answer for which they’d searched for six thousand years was— There is no answer … 
“The unknown can never become the known, for the known thereafter becomes the unknown . There is no end. Yesterday’s wisdom is today’s folly.” 
Having never lost before, ever since that first defeat, Azril had feared it through and through—the unknown. The more she tried to understand it, the further it receded. 
“Therefore, we shall not memorize, but learn—we shall enjoy even the risks that come with change.” 
And so—she could only approach it . Stepping out boldly— 
“It was our inability to do this that lost us the War. Elder Azril, when I lost to my masters, knelt before them, and vowed to serve them, Artosh’s final mission—had been fulfilled.” 
Her eyes still downcast—Azril whispered: 
“…Lord Artosh…have I, too, finally fulfilled your last request?” 
— Can I finally stop lying? Wiping the tears that trailed down her cheeks, Azril looked humbly to the faraway heavens. She possessed such an ability, one she’d never known —but perhaps, with this, he could rest in peace. 
Sora broke the moment, studying her face like a peeper. 
“…Hmm, I don’t really get it, but you are capable of looking cute after all, huh?” 
At last. For the first time, he smiled as he addressed Azril. 
“…Can I ask you four questions, Immanities—? No, I mean Sora and Shiro.” 
—Indeed, there was no answer. She had come all the way back to the start—in which case, there was something she needed to check. 
“You guys…what do you live for?” 
“Shiro.” 
“…Brother.” 
“What would you do if one of you died?” 
“When we die, it’ll be together, so that’s irrelevant.” 
“…What he said.” 
“You guys…what were you born for?” 
“Dunno.” 
“…Yeah.” 
“We don’t have time to think about that shit. Unlike you ladies, our life is short.” 
“…We’re so, busy…!” 
—All instantaneous answers. Sora with a smile, Shiro dead serious. But—they weren’t her answers—they could only be used for reference. So, finally—Azril asked: 
“Can I…be Jibs?” 
“Nope. You can only be yourself.” 
An instant answer. Of course. Azril had known, but clouded a bit, which prompted Sora to ask— 
“Well, but so what?” 
Like a cloudless — (…yes, true to his name…) 
“Right now, you look cute. I like you the way you are now.” 
— sky , he beamed. 
… 
…Nya-ha-ha. 
“After searching for thousands of years, I get ‘Go back to the start.’ Living forever is tiring.” 
Yes. Those they came up with themselves…their very own—answers. She would search for herself and, like Jibril, find her own meaning. 
—As long as I know…that I can…that’s enough… 
Azril mumbled tiredly, but then she heard Jibril apologizing to Sora. 
“…Master. To have wagered my life without consulting you and still to have relied on your power to the very end…I truly cannot—” 
“Ohh, about that, Jibril.” 
Scratching his head as if it was hard to say, Sora told her: 
“This chick hasn’t got the right to command all the Flügel to kill themselves—you know?” 
“ ? Pardon?” 
Leaving the flabbergasted Jibril in the dust, Azril smirked. 
“Oops. Did you figure it out?” 
Sticking out her tongue mischievously, she gave a Nya-nya . 
“ Forbidding you from killing yourself without permission —doesn’t mean I can command you to kill yourself! Hmmmmm, it’s amazing no one figured it out in these six thousand years, a lie like that, nya-ha-ha-ha!” 
Shiro pounded in one more nail on top of this— 
“…Even, if it were the case…Jibril…belongs to us…so…” 
 Having involved her masters, even preparing for death—Jibril’s shoulders began to quake. But, sighing, Sora told her: 
“—But Azril could do it herself , sure.” 
At his sharp tone, Jibril gasped, and Azril stopped smiling. 
“From the beginning, she was only putting herself on the table. She was probably planning to kill herself no matter what. I mean, what kind of sister would ask her own little sister to die? Jibril, isn’t she the big sister you believed in? ” 
The response? Silence followed by a sigh, affirming Sora’s words more eloquently than anything else could have. Given that there was an Answer, and that the Flügel were capable of reaching it, even if Azril were to return the ability to commit suicide her sisters had entrusted to her, by now they probably wouldn’t do it. Even if there was no answer, if, like Jibril, they could all find a reason not to die, there was no reason to expect that they’d kill themselves. 
—At which point, Azril, who had lived so that they wouldn’t die , would have seen her role end. 
“…Sora, have a lot of people gotten mad at you for overstepping boundaries?” 
“Ohh, yeah, they have. But the rule of this game is that no one may die. So—” 
—A resounding whap . 
“Let’s play.” 
Sora clapped his hands and grinned. 
“I mean, it sucks to dump your progress and hit ‘New Game,’ right?” 
—So, yes, let’s play. 
“Then it’s simple. All you gotta do is play a different game .” 
—A game that’s sure to be fun, fun, fun. 
“This world—we’re gonna make it way, way more fun for you.” 
—A game we’ll never get tired of. 
“You think we can do it— Come on, whatcha gonna bet on?” 
… 
 …… 
“Nya-ha… Nya-ha-ha-ha, nya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!” 
From her heart, for the first time in six thousand years—no, perhaps ever—she laughed spontaneously. Maybe as a consequence of having her physical performance constrained by Immanities—she laughed so hard, her stomach hurt. She laughed so hard, her eyes were getting teary, and Azril lifted her face and— 
—deliberately put her arms around Sora and kissed him. 
“Mmph?!” 
“…?!” 
“Wha—? Ma-Master?! E-Elder Azril!!” 
…After several full seconds of tongue kissing, Azril moved away. 
“Nya-ha-haa, there’s no such thing as a game where you bet on both sides winning. ? ” 
““… ? ”” 
Blowing off the gazes of the befuddled Sora and the two who glared as if to bore a lethal hole through her, Azril said: 
“You big kids …I’m really glad you invited me to have fun with you, right when I wanted to kill myself. But still—I’m not like Jibs. I’m not worthy of being by your side— yet .” 
She waved, and turned…and walked, feeling the gravity that restricted her body. She got her little sister worrying about her; she got Immanities worrying about her; she got consoled; she even got forbidden to kill herself. After all that—she couldn’t depend on them anymore. She chuckled to herself. 
“—But whatever. I’ll bet that you can. Until then—I’ll give Jibs’s faith a try, the faith in my possibilities she gave me. So, I hope you’ll give me a little time.” 
 
“…Brother…you got her to kiss you .” 
“Hey, hold on, she just friggin’ did it. You got eyes?” 
“Master, with all due respect, the Ten Covenants make violation of rights impossible. Therefore, the fact that Elder Azril was able to lock lips with you can only mean that you permitted it, consciously or not.” 
“Wait, wait, wait—what kind of man would I be if I turned down a babe like that, even unconsciously!” 
“…Brother, you’ll take…anyone female…” 
“You quite remind me of Mr. Ino.” 
“Hey, wait… I mean, look, I’m obviously the victim here! Come on, guys!” 
Cracking a smirk at the din behind her as she walked away, Azril muttered: 
“…By the way, Jibsy—” 
“…It’s finally Jibsy, is it? After you treated my masters so abominably, after you lied to us for thousands of years—my mild graces are beginning to reach their limit. But what is it, Elder Azril?” 
Jibril shifted to big sister’s side at Azril’s call, remarking in ill humor. Azril dropped a question she’d thought of herself aloud: 
“Jibsy, how do you think Immanity was able to survive the Great War?” 
“……Well.” 
A long-standing question. A question that had tormented Jibril with special intensity recently. The standing theory was that they had been so weak that no one paid them heed, and they just happened to survive. But since meeting Sora and Shiro, Jibril had begun to sense something amiss. Could it just have happened that, as of the end of the war, the entire continent of Lucia was the territory of Immanity ? Immanity—whence their power? Azril thought of it herself and expounded. 
“ To lose and lose till one will lose no more —shall we suppose that is Immanity?” 
—Taking defeat and failure as a given and learning every time, not fearing the unknown, but throwing themselves into it with glee. The most imperfect race, which for that very reason thirsted more than any to be perfect—if they supposed that… Azril chuckled. Why had they survived—? No. 
“…Why did we never watch out for such a race in the War ?” 
—Jibril gasped. Not just her two lords…but the old king who had laid bare the game of the Eastern Union, and Chlammy, who had collaborated with the Elves, had, together, shown her the possibilities of the race, enough to inspire awe and dread, by now intimately familiar to her. A race of people sometimes mad, giving themselves over to death itself—and yet who invariably made it through to the next round . 
“ A race that learns without end —I wonder why we never noticed such a threat?” 
It meant that, no matter how frail they might be, if they kept it up forever, inevitably—at some point—they would become an inescapable threat. Had they realized the nature of such a race during the War, what would they have done? There was no need to think about it—they’d be too dangerous. They’d be wiped out on the spot. 
“…And yet records of Immanity—are nonexistent . Wonder why?” 
Yes, records of Immanity during the Great War were completely nonexistent — unnaturally so . 
“Nya-ha-ha-ha, well, this is just something I thought of. Could it be—” 
Azril looked at Sora and Shiro— 
“—they tricked us into moving all the front lines away from Lucia ?” 
Yes, that sounded just like something they would do— 
“And we never were able to figure out what those Ex Machinas who slew Lord Artosh were doing toward the end of the War, so—” 
Smiling with all but her eyes, Azril conjectured: 
“—what if Immanity led them —?” 
What if—the death of Artosh, which sparked the end of the Great War— 
—had been planned—? 
“Awwww! Maybe I’m just overthinking it? Nya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” 
And then Azril walked off, leaving the stunned Jibril behind. 
—Even though she’d thought she’d strode a good distance away, she found that she hadn’t gotten anywhere. That Jibril had not witnessed her grand exit but stood calmly beside her was so funny. 
“Jibsy, I’m gonna take that kid’s suggestion and live with this body for a while—and also…” 
—She smiled. 
“…at the next assembly—I’m gonna propose that Avant Heim join the Commonwealth of Elkia.” 
“…I must say I still doubt it will pass.” 
It would be a dream for her as well, Jibril thought to herself. But Azril plied her with a huge, slimy smirk. 
“We’ll observe and learn from Elkia. We’ll be a ‘member in name only’…so that everyone can find the Answer we found—fulfill Lord Artosh’s final mission—how’s that for a pretext? Nya-ha. ? ” 
Her expression implied that it wasn’t for nothing she’d managed to fool them for six thousand years. 
“…I must say that does sound difficult to refuse…” 
To begin with, Avant Heim was a force without allegiance. It had no territory or resources. Even if they obtained formal membership, it didn’t mean they’d have to help; they could simply involve themselves in the things they wanted to. And if the Alipotentiary herself said it was for Artosh—the Flügel would have no reason to refuse. 
…If Azril possessed that kind of mental dexterity, then why— Jibril sighed. 
“Flügel, including me, can’t recognize these kids as the new lords until we all see for ourselves—that their potential is worthy of our faith. You know this, right?” 
“Yes. Everyone should be aware of that. I shall continue my missionary efforts, so there is no cause for concern.” 
Jibril displayed her holy journal and dismissed it as a simple matter of building the fan base—ahem, faith. At this, Azril chuckled and looked back at her. 
“…For now, can you personally take care of them for me, Jibsy?” 
These two were a ball of the unknown. By now, Azril understood what made them so appealing. But at the same time—they were too risky. Smirking to herself that she couldn’t have them dying before a conclusion was reached: 
“May I ask this of you not as the Alipotentiary—but as a friend ?” 
—Jibril fell back into her usual demeanor. 
“It goes without saying that I intend to protect my masters with my life—so I refuse.” 
“ ? I see…nya-ha-ha…” 
Implying that they weren’t friends —well, of course. After all she’d done, how could she presume to—? 
“But if you take too long, you will miss the highlights— elder sister .” 
—Jibril grinned as she slipped in that “sister.” 
… 
“Don’t, worry…little sister, I’ll—be coming to get you, real soon.” 
Nya-ha-ha-ha-ha. Smiling to hold back the tears, she trotted off. After all, she’d managed to change herself in a single hour. It shouldn’t take too long— Taking her leave, she stopped in her tracks, turned—and sighed. Waved. 
“Hey, everybody, will someone piggyback me? And I wanna convene an assembly real quick! I need a road to my house, at least… It would be nice if someone could lay out a road for me, nya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” 
She strolled home, her power still sealed. Being unable to do things like fly was somehow refreshing. Filled with frivolous thoughts like this, she chuckled to herself, finding every little thing amusing. With her feet on the ground, her gaze level with theirs, her speed no greater than an ant’s march, she drank in the world. 
—After living for twenty-six thousand years—it wasn’t so bad to try something new. 
 …… 
—Will you accept them as your new lords? 
“I’m not the one to decide that. Av’n’, you should think about it yourself, too.” 
—…A perplexing proposal, but deemed worthy of trial. 
“Well, to be honest, I do think maybe submitting to them for a bit would be all right.” 
—For their potential? 

 

At this question, Azril flapped her flightless wings through the air and replied: 
“Because it would be fun ! Nya-ha-ha-ha!” 
—Excitement filled her heart just thinking about what kind of game they could play next— 
 
—Meanwhile. Elkia Royal Castle, the study of the previous king. Next to Izuna, who busied herself laying waste to a seafood spread of royal proportions, Steph skimmed a book. 
Glancing at Izuna, who was devouring the food she’d prepared with true gusto, she remarked, “…Miss Izuna, you really are quite the eater.” 
It was so heartwarming—but then, when she remembered that Izuna’s grandfather’s life was on the line, she started to wonder. Izuna was desperate, too. She’d been trying, giving it her all— But, strangely—Steph could detect in her bearing no panic, no agitation, no unease. 
“Ah, this is difficult to say…but, Miss Izuna, are you not worried about Mr. Ino?” 
Grinding to a sharp halt—a fish still in her mouth—Izuna answered flatly: 
“Hell no, please. Why would I be worried, please?” 
“…Why would you…? I mean…” 
“Sora and Shiro said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll save him,’ please.” 
—Izuna laid it out without a speck of doubt and resumed her meal. With a sigh, Steph returned her attention to the book in her hands and grumbled. A little question had been bothering her for a while— 
“How is it that you and the Shrine Maiden are able to trust those liars so much?” 
It was true that they always came through in the end somehow. But the path was always too steeped in lies and fraud. How could they trust—? Steph ruminated, but Izuna came back at her with a glare. 
“…Sora and Shiro aren’t liars, please.” 
“Miss Izuna, though you have learned to read the Immanity tongue, it appears you are not yet fully proficient.” 
If those two weren’t liars, then what were? Steph chuckled. 
“They don’t smell like liars—like those damn liars who smell like ‘Got you, bitch.’ —I hate that smell, please.” 
 . 
Steph was at a loss for words. Izuna remembered that day when Sora said he’d save her grandfather. Sora’s scent that she’d picked up at the beach— it had put her at ease . She gave Steph a little smile. 
“Sora and Shiro smell good, please. Those assholes fool people, lead them on, tease them, please. But— they never lie , please—that’s why I like them, please.” 
—Schooled by a girl of one-digit age, Steph took a breath. It was absurd, and yet it explained things—a strange comprehension flickered through her brain. Sora—that born fraud who breathed lies. How was it that even so, at times—he reminded her of her grandfather? When she thought about it, it was obvious. If he was so good at lying, then why carry himself in such a way as to always be suspected a liar? 
—Why wouldn’t he— pretend to be a good person —? 
Steph noticed Izuna studying her coolly. 
“…Stuch, you smell good, too, please. But sometimes you smell like a liar, please.” 
“H-huhh?! Wh-when did I ever lie to you?!” 
“When you talk about Sora, you smell like a damn liar, please. I don’t like you like that, please.” 
“Th-that’s because Sora forced me to fall in love with him! Isn’t it natural I would resist?!” 
Hurt by the implication that Izuna disliked her, Steph argued with a lump in her throat, but Izuna dismissed her with a complicated expression. 
“More of your shit, please… But you usually smell good, so I’ll give you a pass, please.” 
This said, she went back to stuffing her face with fish, leaving Steph with her thoughts. 
—All right, let’s suppose, for the sake of argument—not that there could very well be an argument—that Sora isn’t a liar. But even so— 
“That doesn’t justify him co-opting my feelings with the Covenants. It’s complete nonsense!” 
As Steph clutched her head in her outburst, a book caught her eye. On a shelf some distance away—a book with an ancient binding. 
“… The Treasure of the Prideful Princess … A children’s tale?” 
A title written in Immanity—that sounded as if it belonged in a nursery. When she opened the cover, this is what was written: 
— This is a fairy tale passed down among the Dwarves — 
“A translation? The translator—isn’t my grandfather, it would appear. What is this book doing…?” 
Steph, mumbling, turned the page and gasped. This is what was written there. 
—This is a fairy tale from far in the past. Farther than the sea— 
 …… 
And beneath, in a familiar hand—that is, the hand of her grandfather—was a note. 
—We surmise that the sleeping queen of the sea read this tale before her slumber. 
—Like the princess in the tale, the queen was loved by all and possessed all. 
—And thus…she desired what she knew not . 
—Having everything, she craved the one thing that eluded her: a love beyond her reach — 
“Eurekaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” 
Izuna started as Steph sprang from her chair with a cry. 
 
Avant Heim—a relatively large cube in the central district. This was Jibril’s former dwelling, now a storeroom. She must have moved all her books and valuables to the library in Elkia, for it didn’t have the feel of a living space. As might be expected of Flügel, who required no sleep, there was no bed, and there were no windows, either. The sealed room, lined with her collection of nonbook treasures, felt surprisingly comfortable to shadow-dwellers like Sora, Shiro, and Plum. As long as they were mindful of certain warnings she gave them— Oh Master, you had better not touch those. You will probably, no, certainly die . Spoils from the Great War, masses of skulls, and so on, but— 
“…This is weird…” 
In the center of the room rested the books which the nigh–one hundred Flügel had collected for them as sworn by the Covenants. Buried in the pile of books, dark with fatigue, Sora complained bemusedly. Shiro, on his lap, was writing something, then crossed it out angrily, groaning. 
“…Masters, why do you not take a respite?” 
Recognizing that the siblings were frustrated with their lack of progress, Jibril chided them softly. 
—Immediately following the game, the two had dived straight into the books collected for their information. Recording her gospel, Jibril suddenly realized it had been about five days since her masters had slept—before Plum arrived. With this in mind, she urged them, but Sora scratched his head, seemingly oblivious to her. 
“How is it there are nineteen accounts—and they’re all the same on the condition to wake her ?!” 
“Noooo…don’t tell me it was all a…waaaaste…?” 
The encounter at the end of the game. The rite to deceive even Azril, who had absorbed the power of a Phantasma. Plum, exhausted from her efforts, lay sprawled on the floor, squeaking pitifully with what remained of her breath. To think she’d done all that, and it was meaningless—her expression lost all hope, but Sora pushed forward. 
“The problem goes deeper than that… I’ll sum up, okay?” 
With a sigh, he turned to Plum. 
“Siren’s queen is their agent plenipotentiary. The queen bet all of her rights and then went to sleep. But for Siren, if someone wakes her up, that person would get their Race Piece, and that would be fatal—so they covered up the condition to wake the queen.” 
“Y-yes… That’s right…” 
“The ultimate way to cover something up is if no one knows . So they didn’t tell you how you wake her up, either.” 
—But. 
“When the current queen went to sleep, she wasn’t queen yet. Siren must have tried everything they could to wake her—but that would mean someone knew once , but the current accounts have been falsified .” 
You following me? Sora asked, and Plum nodded. 
“Eight hundred years ago, there were guys who tried to beat the queen’s game. We can see nineteen of them from just the records we’ve dug up in Avant Heim, covering five different races, and we can see the words that were supposedly used. If we compare them, we should be able to trace them back to the condition to wake her— or so I thought .” 
Shiro moaned, Nghhhh , and collapsed into Sora’s lap—brain fried. They’d checked the verbiage in the languages of five races, even verified the manner of the words’ interpretation—but. 
“‘ Whosoever wakes the queen will win the queen’s love and everything she has’ —that’s all we can get.” 
Whoever wakes the queen—i.e., she didn’t have to fall in love. Wins everything—i.e., you got all the rights. Those two things had been nailed down, but that was worthless by now. The real thing was—Sora griped— 
“Why don’t they say how you wake her—? Is that really the part they’d leave out? ” 
Before the previous queen had passed, someone getting all the rights wouldn’t have impinged on the race’s survival. They should have announced the victory condition to get someone to hurry up and beat it already. But then, if no such thing was recorded… 
“……Worst-case scenario…” 
“—Huh?” 
At Shiro’s dire assessment, Plum sorrowfully sought clarification. 
“…No one…ever, knew…how…” 
“…Could be that even the queen herself didn’t spell out the victory conditions clearly when she made the game—for example…” 
After a deeeep sigh, Sora wrung it out: 
“…‘Please me. Except I don’t know what will please me…’—or something like that.” 
—Plum’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell. Frankly, Sora felt like doing the same. If this was true, it would explain why no one had been able to wake her, why Plum hadn’t been able to figure out how you wake her, why a spell that would make her fall in love unconditionally worked but still didn’t wake her, and also— how Siren had been able to cover it up completely —everything. If no one knew from the beginning, then there was nothing to cover up. And then they’d have to attack the problem from the standpoint of “What did the queen want when she slept?”— They were back to square one. 
“Ahh, shit, what’s wrong with this bitch?!” 
Oozing distress, Sora ranted and flopped onto the floor. Shiro also went GG, audibly snoring on Sora’s lap, and Plum—passed out. The scene looked as if it would hang perfectly in an art museum under the title Despair . 
“…Well, why don’t I tell you a story for a change of pace.” 
Jibril lightly snapped her fingers, and the walls and ceiling of her house went clear as glass. As he lay sprawled on the floor, Sora saw the night unfold above him—no, that wasn’t it. They floated at the edge of the stratosphere—the border between the planet and space. So it was space. This realization was accompanied by a soothing reverberation like the cry of a whale. 
“…What was…?” 
“It is he— ’Twas was the voice of the Avant Heim the Phantasma.” 
Now that she mentioned it—Sora remembered seeing a landmass like a giant whale during the game with Azril. 
…The fact that he was riding on its back right now was so fantastic that it was easy to forget. 
“He was once a messenger of my former lord, the Old Deus Artosh.” 
Jibril continued with a faraway look in her eyes. 
“Artosh fell at the end of the Great War—but he has yet to accept this. He drifts in search of Artosh, and, when he feels the presence of an Old Deus, he approaches.” 
Jibril cast her gaze up—to the vermilion moon floating in the sky. 
“Out there are the Elementals, Lunamana, and the Old Deus who created them.” 
—The giant red moon Sora had seen any number of times, either larger or closer than the moon of his old world. It was still hard to imagine that an Ixseed dwelled there. 
“When the red moon is visible, Avant Heim raises his altitude at the presence of the Old Deus. However—” 
With a complicated, somewhat sad smile, Jibril confessed: 
“—Avant Heim cannot reach it .” 
“…Can’t reach it?” 
“Avant Heim is not flying through the sky, but circling the planet—swimming along the currents of spirits invisible to Immanity. He cannot swim in space, which lacks these—and so.” 
Sora unconsciously followed Jibril’s gaze—and was speechless. 
—He’d never looked at the Milky Way with his own eyes. But a river of stars that gave the images he’d seen on the Internet a run for their money floated in the emptiness. The light flowed as if to outshine the red moon. 
“He looks up at the red moon…and weeps.” 
The torrent of light flowed like an aurora, flickering faintly. Again, the whalelike moan he’d heard before. This time, it sounded—terribly lonesome. 
“…So Phantasmas have feelings?” 
—Ixseed Rank Two, Phantasma. Considering that they were listed among the Ixseeds, and that Azril had said we , it made perfect sense, Sora realized. But still, it was strange to think that this landmass drifting through the sky had feelings. And then— fwoop , it hit him, and he griped in disgust. 
“…So even Avant Heim understands romantic love and I don’t…” 
“Pardon? Why do you suppose he understands it?” 
“He feels a sense of romance about Artosh and loves him as his master—so he understands both romance and love, right?” 
“…………” 
—Then Jibril seemed to latch onto something and asked: 
“Master, is there anyone you would be lost without?” 
“Shiro.” 
“And is there anyone you love—?” 
“Shiro—ohh, so just because you understand romance and love, it’s not the same thing as romantic love.” 
Love took different forms for each—man, this concept was a total pain in the ass. If the queen’s wish when she went to sleep really did have something to do with romantic love, he was shit out of luck—Sora capitulated, but Jibril was thinking of something else. 
“…I wonder if that is really how it is.” 
When Artosh was slain, Jibril, like the rest of the Flügel, felt loss. After that, the Flügel gathered knowledge. Searching for something without knowing what: a meaning in life, a justification for existence, a reason not to die—an answer that could never be—but Jibril found it. The answer that there was no universal answer, yet she herself could—want to exist . 
“…? What’s up, Jibril?” 
It was not knowledge, but the unknown before her that made her cock her head with doubt. What if—? 
“M-Master, please excuse my impertinence, but may I ask a favor of you?” 
“Uh, what?” 
“Could you say, ‘You’re useless, Jibril. I’m done with you’?” 
“—…Umm, let me just point out, I have no idea what you’re getting at here.” 
“Please. Ask nothing—humor me, if you would.” 
As Jibril pressed her forehead deeply to the floor, Sora reluctantly did as she asked. 
“—‘You’re useless, Jibril. I’m done with you.’ —That good?” 
 . 
“M-M—M-M-M—Master!!” 
“—Y—y-y-y-y-y-yes?!” 
A shift brought her face close enough to touch his, and Sora shrieked. 
“Wh-why is it I feel much as I did the other day when you commanded me to lick the feet of that long-ear, or when I stole Lord Shiro from you in the FPS with the Eastern Union? A shuddering thrill—as if my very heart is being squeezed! Wh-wh-what is this unknown emotion?!” 
“Hell if I know! But, dude, don’t you have enough freaky character traits?!” 
As Jibril panted, blushed, and practically drooled, Sora cringed away. But having seemingly experienced some kind of deep epiphany—Jibril nodded and announced: 
“Master, for the first time in the 6,407 years since my birth—I have grasped the nature of romantic love.” 
“…What? Seriously?” 
“Yes. At last, I shall prove my worth to you, Master. —What, then, is love?” 
With this rhetorical question, Jibril knelt before Sora, hung her head, and launched into an explanation. 
“Master, you have ordered little Dora to love you by the Covenants, whereupon you have systematically subjected her to the humiliation of neglect. And yet Dora herself, in whom you have planted the emotion, testifies that this is romantic love! This unknown emotion that occurs when my lord, to whom I have devoted myself, tells me he is finished with me—this mixture of endearment, pain, assurance, and all sorts of other thrilling feelings— This is love—!!” 
“Jibril, calm down, you are getting way out of control in so many—” 
As Sora muttered, now unmistakably cringing— Wham!! Suddenly, Shiro bounded to her feet. 
“Whoagh?! Wh-what is it, Shiro? My heart almost jumped out of my chest!” 
Not appearing to give a crap as to Sora’s feelings on the matter: 
“… Unknown emotion … she doesn’t know it … she can’t reach it … she aspires to it … Azril couldn’t find it … Jibril found it … Steph feels it …unknown…yet to come…hope.” 
—Perhaps eavesdropping on the conversation while feigning sleep, Shiro ticked off a series of data points and furiously scrambled through the books. 
“…The queen, who enchants everyone —… The victory conditions, haven’t been ? falsified. ” 
Mumbling this, with a foomp she slammed closed the book she’d furiously extracted—and she declared: 
“…Brother…I figured out…the condition…to wake the queen.” 
—At this simple statement, Sora, Jibril, and even Plum jumped up and stared at Shiro, who looked somehow happy— No… 
“…Brother, even you…can misread …things.” 
Her smile clearly indicated utter ebullience contrasted with her usual disposition. 
“…Brother, Brooother, hee-hee… Brother, you screwed uuup …!” 
Her shoulders swayed, her feet flapped— She beamed as if gloating. Her meaning was undecipherable. Sora groaned, aghast— 
“Hey—wait. What—I misread things ? B-but reading people is my—” 
“…Right. Your…specialty…but this time…I win!” 
—As if giddy from the heart, Shiro boasted that, in this game , for the first time, she’d out-read her brother, and Sora felt dizzy. 
“N-no way… If I lose at reading people, logic, and strategy, what purpose do I…?” 
—“  ”—the two-in-one gamer who was the strongest humanity had to offer. If one of its brains could no longer read people— Ignoring Sora as he devolved into tears, Plum pressed insistently: 
“Wh-what do you mean?! How can we wake the queeen?!” 
Drinking in the hopes of all—and the perverse tears in Sora’s eyes— 
—Shiro spoke. 
 



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