No Game No Life - Volume 7 - Chapter Pr

THEORETICAL START 

Imagine you’re online, playing an FPS. 
You’re standing on a vista where you can see out onto a carefully designed stage, far off into the distance. Atop a low hill, overlooking all the chaos of gunfire: such an elegant sight. You can’t help saying to yourself, “Aha, some human garbage,” as you find in your hands—a sniper rifle. Those of you unfamiliar with firearms and their usage need not worry. A sniper rifle is exactly what it says it is—a rifle for sniping. If you were to look up snipe in the dictionary, you would see that it means “to shoot precisely from a distance,” whereas a gun used in an assault would be defined as an “assault rifle.” No matter how you spin it, a sniper rifle can only be a gun used to shoot precisely from a distance. Yes, a gun just for you, to snipe with abandon at the masses below— 
Now! We’ve cleared that up, so slowly sink into position and ready your gun! 
And now! Try shooting off the heads of the twenty or thirty suckers you see through your scope! 
As soon as you’re done, you are sure to be greeted by roar of thunderous applause!! 
fu pussy sniper 
punk-ass n00b 
And so on and so forth… 
A dreamlike chorus of diverse voices singing together in hot, passionate rage. 
—What just happened? You used a sniper rifle to snipe, and they got mad at you—end of story. 
You don’t get it? You think it’s absurd? 
As it so happens, that is exactly what he thought back then as a pure and innocent boy. WTF…he wondered as he collapsed dramatically on his keyboard and wept. 
However, as much as it pains me to say it, there is nothing absurd about this story. It is simply the story of one who defied convention—and for that was naturally rebuked. 
All games have conventions: the best techniques that have been established, in theory, according to the game’s rules and specifications. In their respective games, these are tantamount to inviolable precepts of courtesy—and yet. 
Should one carelessly defy them and rashly fly in their face, what would happen? The answer…is this. 
That boy who once wept at that passionate, raging chorus—by now he was a young man. Today, as ever, running around the game with a gun in hand…he thought to himself. 
Indeed, to lie in wait and snipe people (called “turtling”) is an effective tactic. But if everyone thought that way and used that tactic—there would be no game. It was like how endlessly passing the ball among teammates was not against the rules of soccer. It was like how endlessly swirling pieces around to provoke the opponent was not against the rules of chess. But in a multiplayer game, there was an unspoken agreement: If you defy convention, you’re going to piss people off. 
If everyone did as they pleased, the result would be inevitable… There had to be such conventions. Should one casually defy them, isn’t it only natural that one would be cursed out, even flamed—?! Manners, grace: These are essential to human beings. Say no to shooting corpses. 
…Blah, blah, blah, whatever. 
Perhaps if he had been raised properly, he might have agreed with them—these conventions. However, the young man had instead been hopelessly raised into the kind of deadbeat, shut-in gamer you wouldn’t want to be seen with anywhere. 
—Then why did they even include sniper rifles? He spat, gun in hand, wildly scattering claymores and sentry guns as per usual. Amidst the slander from other players, he skipped from base to base and carried on turtling and sniping with a smile on his face. He didn’t really give a shit for the conventions of n00bs who claimed that this killed the game. 
A convention, by definition, is a move used by the weak to confound the strong—a strategy, and moreover—! 
—At that moment, one überindividual came at him with a knife, having broken through his traps and sniper fire… 
…Uhhh, what was I just saying? Yeah, that’s right! Convention! It exists only to be blown away to smithereens! Just like this — The young man looked at the person who had taken him out in one kill and burst out laughing before sending out a message: 
d00d that was s1ck 
 
All games have conventions: the best techniques that have been established, in theory, according to the game’s rules and specifications. In their respective games, these are tantamount to inviolable precepts of courtesy—and yet. 
Should one carelessly defy them and rashly fly in their face, what would happen? The answer…is this. 
Over sixty years ago—on a remote hill in what would come to be called the Eastern Union. A small, golden fox girl looked up at the heavens with a wilted gaze and thought. The scarlet moon set as if on a stage, the sky wreathed in night—at its edge, the giant chess piece that pierced the heavens and cast its shadow over the earth, visible from any point on the planet. It was said that the God who resided at its peak had, over six thousand years ago, set forth the Ten Covenants—and declared: 
The world has changed. 
But the girl, her golden eyes clouded over, thought to herself. 
You lying scallywag. 
The Great War had concluded, war had ceased to be, and rights were assured to all. They would never again have to live in fear of violence nor suffer any longer. 
That was a lie. 
It was a lie, all of it, the whole thing was a damn lie—! If war has ceased to be, then why are we still fighting each other?! If rights have been assured to all, then why is everything being taken from us?! If we no longer have to live in fear of violence nor suffer any longer—then why—? 
—Why am I…so hurt, so afraid of violence, and suffering so much pain? 
The girl clothed in bloodstained rags shed tears as if begging for an answer. 
They formed herds based on the shapes of their tails or ears, on whether they had horns, on the color of their fur, and sneered at each other. Even if Werebeasts were exploited by another race, if it was a different tribe, they’d gloat, Serves you right. With this “theory” in place, Werebeasts had been playing games among themselves already for over six thousand years. 
This is wrong, she said. Werebeasts shouldn’t fight each other; they should help each other. The very young—and therefore wise—girl tried to speak out against the accepted “theory” with this kind of sensitivity in mind. 
Weak pieces are to be seen and not heard, she had been told, their petty hostility trampling over her. 
And so the girl, atop that nameless hill, robbed even of the power of life and death, lying drenched in blood…with the hazy remnants of her consciousness, stared at the giant chess piece—and finally understood. 
The Ten Covenants said: Without permission, you shall not take, you shall not rape, you shall not kill. But there was no mention of protecting the weak, much less even allowing weakness. Swindle them, deceive them, threaten them—use any means necessary; once they are forced to consent, strike them, swindle them, violate them, kill them—that’s all there is to it. The strong live, and the weak die. The winners take all, and the losers lose all. Right or wrong, the loser is not even granted the right to speak. If you don’t like it—stop being a pawn and become a player. Expend your wiles and cunning, seize the ability to do with others’ rights as you please—become a ruler, in other words. 
Yes, these rules majestically held aloft by that so-called One True God rewarded one’s hands not for joining hands with others—but for striking them. It rewarded one’s force not for shielding the weak—but for stomping them. This, indeed, was the “theory”—perfect play meant attempting as much mutual domination as possible. With these rules, it went without saying—had the world changed? Nothing had changed… There was merely a new formality before they murdered and robbed each other. Having finally grasped this reality, the girl simply—laughed. 
A “convention,” by definition, was something used by the weak to confound the strong—a strategy. Which existed only—to be blown to smithereens. Even this vile and nauseating theory of fate is no exception. In that case, the girl silenced her body screaming in pain and stood. 
I’ll blow those “conventions” to smithereens myself. 
I’ll build a “game-breaker”—overturn their accursed conventions. If my game-breaker itself exists only to be broken— that’s fine . I’ll break their conventions any number of times, have mine broken to infinity, until the very end. 
It’s bound to be there. 
A “convention” that rewarded one’s hands not for striking—but for joining with others. 
A “convention” that rewarded one’s force not for stomping—but for shielding the weak. 
A “convention” that rewarded everyone not for just being pawns under the control of others, but for being players of their own. 
I’m sure to find it—no, I’ll definitely find it— 
And so, that day, that moment. 
Those “conventions” that brought her down, that she discarded—the girl glared at those who had put them in place and made her decision. If to carelessly defy convention was to fail—then I’ll cunningly defy it . I’ll swindle, deceive, threaten, act more underhandedly, adopt even baser tactics, be all the more cunning in every single way! 
I’ll pull it off by any means necessary. Something even that arrogant fraud of a God who boasted of changing the world couldn’t do. 
We’ll change the world—with our own hands. Yes—a preposterous dream lay in her heart, such as those only allowed to children. Now, back then, on that nameless hill, beneath that nameless shrine, the nameless golden fox girl sneered that she’d use everything permitted by the rules, just as the one atop that giant chess piece wished. And she embarked on a move that would overturn every single convention—or, in other words— 
An unprecedented ruse. 
And so there arose a storm—one that uprooted over 6,200 years of civil feuds. An irresistable storm that blew away all rage and hatred, grudges, and fetters. It even snatched away any room for struggle from those who tirelessly fought among themselves—and dissipated. 
A new nation was born. 
A nation that embodied a corner of her old dreams—her preposterous ideals. In a mere half-century, it came to be recognized far and wide as one of the world’s greatest countries—the Eastern Union. 
…The young golden fox was gone. Now she was called the Shrine Maiden, an entity feared by every Werebeast. And the ruse she had contrived in her younger days was now— 
“All righhht—now, are you ready for the game to begin, you troublesome god?” 
Where once the nameless golden fox had lain, on that nameless hill, at that nameless shrine, was now in Kannagari, capital of the Eastern Union—that spot was called by the name of the Shrine. Before the eyes of everyone who gathered there, the ruse they called a god—whirled forth pure and massive force… 
 
I have heard your claims. It remaineth for you to prove them—however. 
But it was not the Shrine Maiden herself who moved her lips to form words. It was the source of the force storm, which reached beyond the Shrine, no, beyond Kannagari—beyond even the sea, reached to encompass not only the Eastern Union, but even Elkia: the ruse the Shrine Maiden had taken into her body in her young days—the ether. Through the body of the Shrine Maiden, now but a puppet, the one who controlled this will spoke. 
O mortals who await all but certain death, I struggle to grasp your eagerness to die sooner. 
The Shrine Maiden, housing in her body an Old Deus, saw through clouded consciousness the figures lined up. The seven shadows eager to die—according to the god whom they challenged to a game. 
“Roll call!! Number one, Sora, virgin, eighteen! I shall present you with the awesome answer that I am eager to live!” 
The young raven-haired man, Sora, shouted, jauntily curving his mouth into a smile. With a hand raised to his face as if the divine maelstrom before him were just an annoying breeze, he laughed and continued. 
“I get to play with a god, man! I’d fail as a gamer if I missed this chance.” 
“…Number two…Shiro, eleven… We don’t…have time…to wait…this time…” 
His little sister, Shiro, her long, white hair disheveled, took her turn with half-closed eyes, as if she’d given up. 
“Wh-whaaat?! N-number three, Stephanie Dola. I don’t want to die. I am firmly opposed—” 
“Number four, Jibril, the humble slave of Lord Sora and Lord Shiro. I am heartbroken to the point of tears that you would overlook me as the only immortal among us—so I command you to make amends. ?” 
While their dear frame of sensibility, the Immanity girl Steph, shrieked piteously with tears, the Flügel girl Jibril interrupted her with an ominous smile to order a god. 
“Number fiiive, Plum ?… Renowned for my lack of presence, I will stay out of this and leave it to you guys…” 
Next to answer was the Dhampir girl—correction, boy—Plum, his pretty, troubled face plastered with a smile parched by resignation. Followed by— 
“…? N-number six, please? Izuna—hnghh.” 
The flustered Werebeast girl, Izuna Hatsuse, tried to follow up, but her head was pressed down by the aging Werebeast man, Ino Hatsuse, who knelt beside her. 
“Please put your mind at ease, O Holy Shrine Maiden.” 
Lowering his head, not to the Old Deus but to the sealed Shrine Maiden, he said: 
“While this bunch seems by no means worthy of trust, I therefore ask that you leave this to us.” 
“Uh, w-we’ll totally kick that stuck-up god’s a— We’ll beat them, please!” 
Izuna mimicked her grandfather’s penchant for smoothing things over, though her will to fight was still clearly present. 
These seven. Devoid of dignity and remote from reliability. Each with their own bulky luggage, all different in age, race, and sex. Stepping up recklessly to challenge the god, they were fools you couldn’t help but love. To overturn the conventions of absolute truth built on the rules of the One True God. 
Not as prayers, but as players. 
Feeling a sense of affection from this truth, the Shrine Maiden formed a smirk upon her consciousness. But at the same time she thought—she would yet not understand. 
Then swear ye. With your words etch your deaths into this foolish game. 
As the Old Deus pressed them calmly to declare the oath that would lead them to their doom, however— 
“Oh, before that, one thing.” 
Sora spoke up in a nonchalant manner that was quite out of place, interrupting the group raising their hands to swear at the start of the game, and asked: 
“Pardon me, but you still haven’t told us your name, have you?” 
How is that of any concern to such baseless creatures as yourselves? 
“Huh? Isn’t it, like, the very minimum of manners to at least learn someone’s name before you pwn them?” 
The atmosphere creaked from the shock. Everyone—even the Flügel Jibril—winced at the god’s displeasure. The Shrine Maiden couldn’t hold back her laughter. It had already been over half a century since she had taken the ether into her body. In that time, had she ever shown displeasure so openly—much less— 
“…Uh, wai— Did I say something especially bad?” 
—at the casual banter of a puny Immanity, one who lacked any innate sense of self-awareness? 
“…Brother, it’s…fine…you didn’t say…anything special.” 
“R-right?! I mean, it’s not like I—” 
Shiro signaled a thumbs-up to the flabbergasted Sora. 
“…You just…piss people off…just by…breathing.” 
“I-indeed, my master is wise! To make the god explode—what a revelation—!!” 
“This is proof that even a god wants your ass kicked… Now, that takes talent.” 
“Why don’t we forget about playing the game and just trash-talk the god to death? Sounds like something you could do, King Sora.” 
“…Sora, you’re so badass, please…” 
“You damn monkey… Do you have some kind of disease that kills you if you act serious for even a second…?” 
In her clouded consciousness, the Shrine Maiden secretly smiled at the rowdy group. At the same time, her thoughts threatened to cut out at any moment—but she saw, her sight aligned with that of the god who began building the board, not even waiting for the oath: the Shrine—the skyscrapers of the capital spread out around it, and then the cities of the islands of the Eastern Union… Looking down at the country she had spent her life building, she thought: 
Back then, the nameless golden fox girl had dreamed of that nation she’d built, endlessly breaking one convention after the other—and ever seeking the next. 
But that child was no longer within her. The girl who had ended up an adult, the Shrine Maiden, had one day…realized. 
The breaking of convention…had a clear end. A game that had been thoroughly studied would end just like a game of tic-tac-toe in that the first to move would always win. No matter how a piece might struggle, it could never fly off the board. 
Players and prayers. This world, however far you went, was a board on which players played with prayers as their pieces. That was the one convention—that could never be changed. The ruse the girl created in her youth had proved it. And yet, the Shrine Maiden who resigned herself to this in disillusionment— 
—looked down and once again became aware of the Shrine Garden, where she saw a sight that had never appeared even in the dreams of the girl she was back then. Immanity, Flügel, Dhampir, Werebeast—in times of yore, they had killed each other with arms yet today hated and fought one another through games. But now representatives of these races, different in power, in life span, even in manner of existence, were coming together and laughing. Not only that, but though their intents might differ, their goal was the same—together in the mad folly of challenging an Old Deus, in peace… 
“—All right, are you really good and ready?” 
Whether from rage or from concentrating on the cosmic act of creation, the god had momentarily loosened control over the Shrine Maiden’s body, and a question emerged from her mouth. 
“Will you take my error, take the mistake I committed back then—and correct it?” 
The Shrine Maiden slowly raised her hand into the air. When she lightly turned over her pale arm, on her palm rested a shining pawn. It was unmistakably a Race Piece—the Werebeast Piece. Correct the mistake I made that day—pay the tab I’ve piled up since then. Until I’m able to do that, I have no right to smile cheerfully with them. But if I could do that, then this time— 
“If you do so…the Eastern Union—the Werebeast will walk with you.” 
Still in turmoil and anguish, the Shrine Maiden made this declaration, and yet… 
“Hmm…quite frankly, I don’t know what kind of mistake you made that’s got you so serious.” 
That man suspected of a malady that would prove fatal if he ever became earnest added pompously: 
“If you’re looking for something to correct, why don’t you start with your mistake of getting serious with us?!” 
Sora, who was challenging the very Old Deus who amounted to all creation, shouted a “serious rebuke.” The siblings, ignorant of the Shrine Maiden’s anxiety and turmoil—or perhaps well aware of it?—said, with their eyes gleaming in anticipation: 
“We’re so lucky! We’ve been blessed with the chance to play against a god with these d00ds!” 
“…And…when we play…we play, to win… Therefore…” 
“Of course! Yeah, totally, naturally, and inevitably! We’re gonna get the Eastern Union and the Old Deus and every damn thing that comes with!! That’s it, no more or less—simple, right?” 
Their faces were full of childlike emotion as if to say, Gee, grown-ups sure do make things complicated. Something no longer reflected in the Shrine Maiden’s eyes was without a doubt alive in theirs. 
“Let’s skip all the boring stuff. This world we’re in—it’s a game, right?” 
Their two pairs of eyes shone with intense determination—but merely in sheer glee. 
“All you’re doing is competing to see who can be the biggest self-important asshat, right?” 
“…If that’s, so…there’s no…way…we’re gonna…lose…” 
“If we’re playing for the title of biggest asshat, I see no reason we should lose to gods.” 
The game was that simple. Players and pieces, just challenging and being challenged—only reflecting on things later. Players and prayers, just deciding what they wanted to be. 
If a thoroughly studied game ended just like a game of tic-tac-toe did, where the first to move would always win, then it was time to start the game to determine who would move first. With a single, clear, logical weapon, they cast away the Shrine Maiden’s crafty despair. Watching the excitement grow among everyone gathered there, praising an end that would never end— 
“…I hate to admit it…but perhaps I’m getting long in the tooth…” 
—The Shrine Maiden joked and suddenly thought, That “simple world” so clearly reflected in Sora’s and Shiro’s eyes—that which I was unable to see in my youth. Perhaps back then I couldn’t see that world, one that only children are allowed to see? What if, just as these two said, the world really was that simple? 
And what if everyone else was making it complicated—? 
“?All right, go ahead.” 
Her words flew out of her mouth with a grin, and the god-challenging fools each formed their own smiles in turn. The game they had hoped for, anticipated, so plain and simple; the game that would decide who was the greatest of asshats— 
“Come?let the game begin—!!” 
The Shrine Maiden tossed up the Werebeast Piece while Sora shouted with glee. The piece sailed higher and higher above their heads—thrown as if to reach the Old Deus whirling in the distant heavens. Everyone once more raised their arms as if to stab open the narrow garden— 
 Aschente ?! 
What echoed was a clamor of the oath to begin a game that was absolutely binding under the Ten Covenants, the signal that they would submit to the rules set by the lying “One True God” who boasted that the world had changed. In that instant, the writhing, built-up divine force burst. Her consciousness tossed idly by the raging power that surged like a tsunami, the Shrine Maiden thought: 

* * * 
Nothing in the world has changed. 
That’s how she felt as a young girl. In that case, I’ll change things myself, she had hoped. This was her dream. The Shrine Maiden immersed herself in that dream once more, having grown older and eventually awakening from that youthful reverie. 
When they were able to beat it—this game, the Old Deus, her—and prove it: then the world would change again. And when that time came…yes, she would accept it: that the words of he who had bestowed the Covenants long, long ago at the end of the Great War were no lie. 
The world could change and be changed—and surely it had—!! 
So. 
…’Tis not time for apologies yet…Mr. “One True God”… 
Were you just a liar, or was I just daft? When the answer comes, I’ll be ready to apologize—just a little. 
After cutting into you as a liar so many times…sure, I’ll drop a “My bad!” and even stick my tongue out— 
Leaving behind this hope and sarcasm, the Shrine Maiden’s consciousness was washed beyond the light. 
 
The entire world witnessed this phenomenon. The force originating from an island floating in the sea in the Far East was a “re-creation.” Accomplished in the blink of an eye, strangely, it was even witnessed from the other side of the planet, as if the warped globe could not but let its cry be known to all of heaven and earth. 
The dark of night was shattered, and the light of day was pierced. The brazen, absurd, outrageous phenomenon rocked the very planet. The force turned to a wave, and the wave into matter, and from it emerged defined concepts. Upon this microcosm of the opening of the cosmos, this reproduction of the creation, the earth arose in the sky. The land appearing above folded and twisted until it formed a single spiral. Spinning like a whirlpool, ascending like a pagoda, reaching to the very moon—a corridor of heaven. 
Even if one did not understand what was going on, it was enough to make one tremble by instinct. 
For those unfortunate souls who did understand, reason forced shivering to their knees. 
What entity could, against all logic, perform such a miracle? The question was etched into their blood, their beings, their souls, still unfaded after eternity—their memory. They were told by the vestiges of that which had once created the heavens and shattered the earth, defined all things—their memory. Therefore, that day, all those who witnessed this phenomenon—could do nothing but pray, Oh…God… 
 
Meanwhile. At the end of the earth, at the peak of a giant chess piece, the One True God who reigned over all the world—Tet— 
“Choo! Achoo, sniffle… This isn’t my doing. I’m just being talked about a lot.” 
He was holding a trash can full of tissues while blowing his reddened nose…acting out a scene unnecessary for his divine personage: a runny nose—and complaints. 
“…After calling me a liar so many times, now they’re ruining my reputation. Come on!” 
You’re gonna make me cry. Tet flapped his legs discontentedly and gazed upon it—the new land created in the sky, the heavenly continent stretching over such a scale as to cover the land from the Eastern Union through Elkia. It was a vast game board assembled for a time by an Old Deus, but— 
“—Ha-ha! ? This might be a bit unexpected. You really like to make things flashy, don’cha?” 
Yes, even for an Old Deus, this was an excessive show of power, Tet muttered—no. 
“—Question. Be this outcome thy artifice, holder of the Suniaster?” 
A voice echoing from the void called out. To speak to the One True God was extremely difficult even with the power of an Old Deus— 
“I’m not on anyone’s side—how many times do I have to tell you…achoo!” 
But please answer when I speak to you! Tet compelled brazenly, yet with a casual smile, as he threw another tissue into the bin. 
“—False. It is thou who hast called them from another world. Reveal thou thy meaning in entering the fray.” 
If this was a game in which the Old Dei struggled for the Race Pieces to win the right to challenge the One True God, then what meaning could there be in the One True God himself joining the battle?—the voice asked, but Tet smirked. 
There was no deceit. If he had to name it, all he had was hope— 
“Why don’t we say it means I wanna see you guys’ howling faces since you’re the ones ruining my game with that misunderstanding?” 
Contrary to his childish answer, Tet’s barefaced true motivation—was hope, but the voice of the Old Deus resounding from the void only continued placidly. 
“—If such a convergence be, it should be known of the Suniaster.” 
“…Can’t you put it in easier terms…like ‘You wanna see my face, see the future’?” 
Chuckling at this, Tet raised a hand aloft. 
“I don’t mean to brag, but unlike you guys—I have good taste.” 
Floating in his hand was the evidence of the One True God. 
“At least I have a no-spoilers policy, y’know?” 
The Suniaster. The conceptual device that granted absolute rule—the vessel of omnipotence. All the power existing in the universe barely amounted to a drop that had slipped from this vessel. To Tet, who held free reign over it, neither time nor metaphysical causes held sway by now. Creation and destruction, the past and the future, observation and determination… All lay in his hands. It would be simple for him to see the future in which the faces of the Old Dei howled—or even to create it, but— 
“Where’s the fun in cheating like that? Does any good come of seeing the future?” 
Though not to the same extent as Tet, who possessed the Suniaster, an Old Deus should have been capable of seeing some way into the future, Tet chuckled sarcastically— 
“—I only look at the past.” 
With this mumble, he erased the trash can and produced a book and a quill. The book, bound and scribed by the God…was still filled with mostly white pages. 
“That’s what makes it exciting—filling in the result of the game.” 
And so lay the future anticipated by the God who refused omniscience. An account of a myth even the God knew not—a tale that did not yet exist. 
…… 
At the silence elicited purely of that intent to read to the end, Tet let slip a chuckle. There was no way she would take his words seriously. 
Her ether, her quintessence would never allow it. 
“—Are such trifles thy reason for summoning me?” 
“Uh…yeah. Teasing and provoking you was just a bonus! But here’s the real reason—” 
With a titter, Tet pointed to a blank page. 
“Even the Suniaster doesn’t know your name, so can you tell me? ’Cause I need to write it—” 
—As Tet smiled, seemingly unaware that even his real reason was trolling (perhaps because he’d refused omniscience)— 
Pft. The line dropped, leaving an unpleasant crack of air. 
“…Oh man…she ragequit… You kind of fail as a gamer, you know?” 
Tet sighed and slid his quill along his pages. 
Some think the world is simple, easily understood by a child. 
Some think the world is complex, eternally denying meaning. 
Some think the world has not changed and never will change. 
And some think the world keeps changing and is about to change. 
Past and present, humans, machines, beasts—and gods…all wondered which, in the end, was true, or could it be…? Tet lowered his face and—as if to give the answer to everything, as if to plead to the facts that all doubted that they weren’t lies—pondered alone. 
That day long, long ago, the world really did change. With the Suniaster in hand, the god of games—I really did change it. Heaven and earth to a game board, laws to rules…I really did change it. But though I might change heaven and earth, there are things that won’t change, things I mustn’t change. I can’t change the players of the game; them I mustn’t change. Just as their will, the old myth, took life in me, in the Suniaster—and changed the world. These players, too, must want to change. 
“You’ll change it, right?! You’ll overturn everything and come here, right?!” 
Their will, the new myth, would now change everything, down to the players. Undoubtedly—with methods intrusive, troublesome, uncalled-for, they’d drag around everything, like the worst little brats—cornering everyone—to the point where they would have no choice but to change. 
That would be when, at last, the game…would truly begin. Waiting for that moment when he’d surely be able to write that the most fun game since the creation had finally begun—past tense—Tet sat down cross-legged. 
“…And I can’t wait to call you by your name next time I see you.” 
The only one in the world who knew she who warped the world before their eyes—the ether residing in the Shrine Maiden. 
“To see you make such a face…as the very one who created that thoughtful machine—” 
…But he swallowed his next words…and forced a smile. He peered deep into the giant game board, built by rocking heaven and earth, and gazed intently so as not to miss a single move of those ascending to a new myth. 
If you’re gonna watch a game, you always oughta cheer. It’s great to root for your favorite players, but there’s something to be said for an unexpected upset. Who should I cheer for?—wondered the One True God, but presently, he lifted his face, and as if to embody the essence of the world he had created with his hands— 
“Go everyone! ? I’m cheering for pretty much all of you…ah-ha-ha! ?” 
—he tossed out an extremely lazy and convenient cry of support. 
 
 Awaken. 
At this word piercing his slumber, Sora awoke. As he peeled his body off the ground, his eyes wandered, still not quite back from the land of dreams. 
…Heh. Sora smiled. His ability to assess a situation was rather impressive, if he did say so himself. With a single, languid glance around, he’d uncovered the secrets behind two issues. Having even ranked their importance and priority, Sora considered them in sequence, his head cool as could be. 
Issue One was a grave and pressing matter, a fluctuation in the Official Best Girl Ranking maintained in his head of a membership over three hundred strong. In other words, within the field of his swimming vision—was a girl as cute as all get-out. Floating in space, sitting on an inkpot about her own height, resting her chin in her hands, lounged a very young girl. Clad in elegant vestments reminiscent of the Far East, different in style from that of the Eastern Union—she held a well-worn brush in her hand. Countless scrolls unfurled behind her like wings or veils, her steel-colored eyes coldly looking down at—no. Her eyes, devoid of interest in anything, as if artificial, only emptily traced someplace that was not here. Her countenance was that of a doll—yet divine—and stole Sora’s eyes half by force. 
For Sora, who had seen his fill of beauties, this was truly a grave and pressing matter. 
…The hell was the damn virgin on about? You would be right to scold him thusly—but!! Of the ladies he had met since coming to this world of Disboard, every single one was peerless. A princess who would be well-advised to not stand next to a pop idol lest the latter be sentenced to public execution, an angel who would sink a supermodel into a devastating inferiority complex, an animal-eared little girl who would awaken one’s Loli complex, leading straight down the road to incarceration—one after another, each in this vein. And all the while, the young man was still updating his history of not having a girlfriend! But after becoming uselessly accustomed to being around women, if nothing else, Sora, by now, was not one to be flustered by a mere beauty. 
There was a time when I thought that way, too, Sora grumbled. He started sorting the girl before him up the panel’s ranks to the point where she began approaching the seat under the perennial favorite, Shiro, when he noticed that this touched on the next question, and he decided to think about that one for now. Not that Issue Two was too much of a problem. It practically sorted itself if uttered aloud—specifically: 
“…Uh…? Where am I? Who’s this girl? What am I doing here?” 
The point being—that he had no memory to answer this. 
………… 
Sora gnashed his teeth in the realization that he had misjudged the priority of the problems. You got it backward—! This is what any normal person would think about first!! The hell are you talking about, “ability to assess a situation”? Look at this?how can you put her at number two on the chart if you don’t know her name??! 
“……Mm…Brother…? …Where…are we…?” 
Sora sank in despair as he reflected skyward and was called by the sleepy-eyed mutter of that top-ranked girl: Shiro. 
—Hmm, he mumbled, looking around once more. The rest, likewise sprawled on the ground unconscious, came to one by one: Jibril, Steph, Plum, Izuna, and Ino. But as they all in unison surveyed their setting with faces befuddled, Sora revised his understanding. It seemed that Issue Two would not be solved no matter whom he asked. For no one had any recollection. However… 
“—Mmm… Well, I don’t get it, but it should be fine.” 
Sora laughed it off. It still was no big problem. He took Shiro’s hand, stood, and gazed upon the provisional number two before him. 
He might not know who she was, but what she was was clear. When he’d first met Jibril, he’d felt an inorganic mortal terror as if confronting a heavy-caliber cannon. But the thing drifting before him—didn’t even elicit that. Sora supposed this must be how people feel when faced with a tornado or a tidal wave. No despair or mortal terror. Only dazed defeat. A presence permitting not so much as an inkling of defiance. Embodied by single breath of the world, the answer was obvious. 
This was a god. She stood at the peak of the sixteen seeds, a revelation of the cosmos, Ixseed Rank One—Old Deus. 
But that makes things simple, Sora expounded grandly. 
“Where are we? In a game!! What are we doing? Playing a game!! The end!” 
Where were they? In a place they’d known—yes, had known. The Garden of the Shrine of the Eastern Union—but now within it stood seven simple doors. And, looking up, one saw floating over their heads a giant mass of land that seemed to be trying to blot out the sky. 
—Okay: Memory of beginning a game like this? Absent. Memory of leaving Elkia to challenge an Old Deus? Present. Then perhaps memory deprivation was a condition of the game with the Old Deus—but in any case, it’s fine. 
“I—I by no means slight your ability, Masters, but the fear I feel now I have never—” 
“…Your ability to stay calm before an Old Deus is impressiiive… Where can I buy a heart like thaaat?” 
Ambiguous cries rained down on Sora as he frolicked like a child in a typhoon—but he chuckled. An entity that transcended despair and fear, outstripping the limits of human understanding—! Whoa, that was deep…! 
But Sora, with his human understanding, basically—didn’t feel anything. What should a modern Earthling do when faced with a natural disaster such as a tornado or tidal wave? Take a photo with his phone and spread it all over the Internet, of course. Sora crawled to get his low-angle shot of the provisional number two, presumed to be a goddess or something—yet the girl, having spoken not a word so far, only swept along her brush with eyes that reflected nothing. And coolly, emotionlessly, inorganically, she announced as mere confirmation: 
“The first condition of the start of the game: collection of the challengers’ memories of the last twenty-four hours—confirmed.” 
At these words that affirmed their assumptions, Sora and Shiro alone, together, grinned. It was just that they’d challenged that god—that being floating in the sky at which even Jibril blanched, that off-the-charts entity, that Old Deus—to a game. The buy-in having been their memories of the last twenty-four hours, here they were. Sora’s heart beat fast in anticipation at this most satisfactory opponent, but— 
“The second: collection of the life of my host—known as the Shrine Maiden—confirmed. I deem that the conditions to start the game have been satisfied.” 
—her next words stopped him short. 
“—Whaaat…?! Th-the Holy Shrine Maiiiden—?!” 
Noticing a figure sprawled across unvarnished wooden stairs previously obscured by the overwhelming presence of the Old Deus floating above it, Ino let out a cry and bounded forward as if to smash the earth behind him, followed by Izuna. Lifting together the limp, motionless Shrine Maiden, they spoke to her, but… 
With the senses of Werebeasts, they must have known before running to her. If she’d had breath in her body, if she’d had a pulse, they would have long since noticed. What it meant was just what the Old Deus had said—her life had been collected. 
Unmistakably, these were the Shrine Maiden’s…remains. 
What is this? Ino and Izuna trembled as Sora struggled to smooth out his thoughts. 
Calm down. Memories aside, using the Shrine Maiden’s life as a buy-in? There was no way they’d accept such a condition…either the Shrine Maiden herself had willed it—or— 
“Now…it shall be considered that the game for which ye have wished—has begun, whereupon I shall reveal the rules.” 
Exhibiting no interest in the quaking party—no, for nothing in this world—with eyes emanating strictly a cold, inorganic glint, the girl calmly spoke—no— 

01:  The seven are granted ten DICE that apportion their TIME OF SUBSTANCE . 
02:  The die-bearer may advance a number of spaces equal to the result of a roll of all the dice he beareth. 
03:  The result of the roll of the dice shall be determined randomly, whereafter ONE of the dice used shall be lost. 
04:  TRAVEL IN COMPANY must first be declared, whereupon the company may advance according to the roll of one representative. 
05:  A company of more than two shall, of the dice used, lose a number of dice equal to the NUMBER OF MEMBERS OF THE COMPANY MULTIPLIED BY THE NUMBER OF FOLLOWERS IN IT . 
06:  Each player hath the right to create fifty TASKS at the start of the game. 
07:  A die-bearer who landeth upon a space with a TASK may be forced to carry out any instructions. 
08:  The die-bearer may not move from the space until either he hath fulfilled the TASK or seventy-two hours hath passed. 
09:  A die-bearer who fulfilleth a TASK may seize one die from he who hath assigned it, but he who fulfilleth it not shall have his die seized. 
10:  Each TASK shall be transcribed upon a sign, and these signs shall be placed upon the spaces of the board in random order. 
11:  A T ASK may change the environment of its space according to its content. 
12:  However, TASKS of the following kinds are INVALID : 
12a:  TASKS that specify a party to whom they shall exclusively apply 
12b:  TASKS that can only be fulfilled by the assigner or cannot be fulfilled by any player 
12c:  TASKS that instruct the die-bearer to advance a number of spaces that conformeth not to his roll 
12d:  TASKS written in a tongue other than that of Immanity 
13:  The die-bearer who first reacheth the goal shall be the VICTOR , whereupon the game shall end. 
14:  The Old Deus shall be bound to fulfill the demands of the VICTOR to the full extent of her authority and power. 
15:  In the event that all players have lost their dice or perished, the game shall be deemed IMPOSSIBLE TO CONTINUE , and the game shall end. 
16:  If the game is IMPOSSIBLE TO CONTINUE , the Old Deus hath the right to collect all possessed by all participants except the foremost. 
00a:  The game board is a simulation of reality, but all events that should transpire there, including death, are real. 
00b:  —Among the die-bearers is one traitor whose memory hath not been collected. 

—more accurately, haphazardly imparted the so-called rules—directly into the brains of all present, willy-nilly, including Sora. 
What is this? 
Seriously, what the hell…is this—?! 
“…Stop being lazy and explain it out loud… A sloth like you calls herself a god?” 
Though he was talking smack, Sora couldn’t hide his anxiety. Not just Sora, but all those who instantly grasped the rules imparted, without exception, looked at one another’s expressions, racked by confusion and doubt, by panic—and at one another’s chests. Yes, their chests, in front of each of which ten white cubes had, at some point, appeared. 
It seemed that, just as the Old Deus had described, this was like…a game of sugoroku. With the spiraling land above their heads as the board, they would roll these dice to advance. Each time they rolled their dice, they would lose one, and the first to the goal would win. So it went. 
But then— 
—The hell? Isn’t this— 
—one of those games where the players kill each other—?! 
“…Words, essentially, are a form of creation.” 
But whether or not she knew—or cared—what Sora was thinking, the floating girl answered Sora’s bravado with the same implacable, cold gaze, her eyes disinterested and mechanical, as if looking down at a pebble rolled at her feet. But she went on: 
“Know that the words of a god are beyond the base likes of yourselves.” 
Her stare fixed certainly on Sora and Shiro, as if to look through them, to something—someone—beyond. 
“??” 
Flickering in those eyes for an instant, Sora…recognized something. A recollection unbefitting a transcendent race—unbetting the Old Deus, and yet— 
“Know, too, the weight of thy own words, and if thou hast the wit…” 
—it vanished in a moment. The girl pointed the brush in her hand at the heavens: 
“…I shall wait at the end. Vainly spend thy mortal life and crawl—up to me.” 
Upon finishing this pronouncement, the girl vanished with the corpse of the Shrine Maiden. Like a dream, as if she’d never existed…just like that…leaving Sora and the rest of the seven with just seven doors, and— 
—silence. Confusion, suspicion, perhaps rancor, unrest…all of these coalesced where the players were left. Between questioning glances this way and that, Sora bit his nails and interrogated himself once more. 
What is this…?! 
“……Brother.” 
Shiro called from behind him, but Sora had no space to answer. Dripping with sweat, he examined the rules over and over and over… Certainly, they included a lot of points that seemed strange, but this whole scenario was what was strange—! 
“…Brother… Hey…Brother, I’m calling you…” 
This game made it theoretically impossible to reach the goal without taking others’ pieces. If each person could write on 50 spaces, then there were 350 spaces in total plus the goal. But if you lost dice every time you rolled, even if you just rolled sixes, you could advance only 324 spaces. In fact, they were in a prisoner’s dilemma. The only way out was to take dice from each other. No, they couldn’t reach the goal without taking a tenth of their lives from each other. 
Which meant this whole thing was—! 
“…………Brother, if you keep, ignoring me…if you don’t, answer…then—” 
This was supposed to be a game against the Old Deus, so why? How did the Old Deus get to be the game master while the players ended up killing one another—? 
“…The panties…are going down…and the skirt’s, going up…” 
“WWWUUUT?! HEY OKAY HERE I AM YOUR BROTHER I’M ANSWERING!!” 
Responding to an emergency that took precedence over all manner of crises (namely, protecting his sister’s maidenhood), Sora shut down all other thought processes and turned with enough force to create a shock wave— 
“?Huh?” 
—only to discover Shiro had pulled down Steph’s panties. As Steph’s skirt fell under the influence of gravity—in that miraculous, intervening instant—Sora, without a moment’s hesitation, pressed the X button in his brain. 
Visual data saved to memory ftw. 
“Wh—whhhaaaaaa…?! Wh-wh—wh—where in heaven’s name did that come frooom?” 
Ignoring Steph, who wailed a moment too late and hurriedly attempted to hold down her skirt and right her underclothes, the sister who had granted Sora a momentary glimpse of the Peach Blossom Spring informed him matter-of-factly: 
“…I didn’t say…mine…” 
“…Ohhh, that’s right. You really pulled one over on your brother. Ah-ha-ha, youuu little…!” 
Forgetting everything else in his elation, Sora bathed in needlelike looks from all directions, but even so… 
Mashing the Remember command in his brain, the young man put the vision of the Peach Blossom Spring on loop, apparently too absorbed in his unprecedented deep contemplation to notice his companions’ disdain. 
“Steph… I see you have at last given up concealing your exhibitionistic tendencies? Worry not. It bothers me not in the slightest!” 
“Huhhhh?! Sh-she just snuck up on me and pulled them down!” 
“There is no need to conceal your heart! The Ten Covenants provide that if you do not allow and consent to such actions, at least unconsciously, your panties can never be plundered… Therefore, we can conclude that this was your wi—” 
As Sora spoke Buddha-like, giving bloom to countless lotus flowers and ultimately starting to make seals with his hands— 

—whup, he stopped. 
…Wait. 
Wait-wait-wait-wait!! …Wait a second. 
“……Why are you here, Steph?” 
“You do this to me and then ask ‘Why are you here’? It’s safe to call this abuse by now, isn’t it?!” 
Ignoring this teary accusation, Sora assessed each pair of eyes on him in order. Shiro, Jibril, Izuna, Ino—and Plum…… 
. 
“…Brother, calm yet…?” 
“…Uhh…Shiro. Could it be that your brother—was slow on the uptake?” 
Sora denigrated himself with a smirk, which Shiro met with a confident smile. To Sora, worried he’d fallen behind in his role of sussing out the game, Shiro said: 
“…I don’t know…what’s going on…either…but…” 
Her brother had no reason to doubt his gifts. 
“…if you’re just…like always…we’ll be…fine…” 
Feeling Shiro’s hand gripping his as she spoke, Sora reflected earnestly. 
He knew he was dumb. In fact, he prided himself on it. He possessed a certain pomp and dignity in his unrivaled tomfoolery. Considering this, even taking the situation into account—why the hell was he getting all worked up—? 
Why so serious? 
Grinning at the circumstances he’d finally digested, Sora turned back to Steph. 
“Uh… I guess I shouldn’t even ask, but do you understand the rul—?” 
“No, I most certainly do not! My mistake!” 
Still leery, Steph held down her skirt as she snapped. There was that old, reliable worthlessness, but now finding that comforting, Sora continued with a smile. 
“Basically, it’s sugoroku. We roll dice to advance up there, toward the goal.” 
“Mm-hmm.” 
“And here, the dice. When you roll them, you lose one.” 
“Yes, yes.” 
Sora grasped one of the white cubes floating near his chest…one of the blank dice. Presumably, when rolled, the pips would appear randomly. 
“So these dice? They’re your age—in other words, your life.” 
“?Come again?” 
Though Steph froze, Sora went on with his usual frivolousness. 
“When they run out, you die. Rest in peace, ascend to the heavens, leave this world, pass to the great beyond—yeah. You good so far?” 
“…Uh, pardon? I do not find any part of this ‘good’! What, we could die?!” 
The rules spoke of their “time of substance.” To be precise, they’d presumably vanish. So to sum up, this was a game in which they staked their life spans, but that would be problematic with players without such limitations, like Jibril. Structured this way, though, if their “time of substance”—that is, their age—hit zero, the results were predictable. 
“And it’s impossible to reach the finish with just ten dice, so you have to collect more.” 
There were 351 spaces to the goal. But the farthest they could go with what they had was 324. It wasn’t enough. 
“So you use the Tasks to take each other’s dice. Got it now?” 
Effectively, this game was about… 
“You have to steal your opponents’ lives—indirectly kill one another to win.” 
In response to Sora’s summary, everyone’s darting, questioning eyes sharpened. This was a game against the Old Deus—and yet. The only way to win was to whack the other players… 
“That’s…not funny! How could we ever accept that?!” 
“Right? Nobody wants to diiie. I don’t wanna diiie. So—here’s what we’ll do.” 
Despite Steph’s outburst now that she’d finally digested things, Sora kept smiling. 
“We’ll all turn in our Tasks blank, and one person’s gonna get nine dice each from everyone else.” 
There was no rule prohibiting the transfer of dice. Which meant— 
“Then we’ll have one bearer with sixty-four dice, and wha-bam! That allows up to three hundred and eighty-four in a single roll. We might even make it in one move! No one will run out, and no one will diiie… You can fall in love with me, you know!” 
“?F-for the first time, I’m seriously almost ready to really fall in love with you…” 
Though Steph, in pitiful shortsightedness, evidenced sincere emotion… 
“H-however, Master…if we do not identify the ‘traitor,’ is that not…?” 
Indeed, surely her master could not have overlooked this. The point Jibril hesitantly raised was surely the root of this paranoia that had been afflicting them all. 
00b: 
—Among the die-bearers is one traitor whose memory hath not been collected. 

The game had commenced under the express condition of erasure of the players’ memories. This could only mean that there was something only the traitor knew. And, insofar as no one was volunteering said information…the intent was clear: a trick to deceive everyone and make off with the victory—a literal betrayal. Who should be given all the dice? —No, that wasn’t even it. From the jump, how could they have agreed to use the Shrine Maiden’s life as their buy-in? Whatever it was the traitor who’d hooked them into this situation remembered quite likely had bearing even on the conditions for victory…! 
Sora, too, had slipped off on this wild tangent briefly, but— 
“Uh, about that. It’s kinda irrelevant.” 
Sora’s cheery dismissal was met with wary frowns not just from Jibril but also from Ino, Izuna, Plum—yes, even Shiro—yet Sora chuckled nonetheless. 
All right, so there’s a traitor. It’s that tired scenario where if only people would work together they could win, but they won’t, huh? They all get paranoid, trying to dig up who the traitor is, destroying their connections to one another—and everything goes to hell. Is she waiting for us to play into her hackneyed theory, the way that “game of liars” gets all heavy? If so, Sora really hated to break this to her. Back in gear, the young man sneered. That was the last thing that was going to happen here. Given the group they’d collected, that theory—would fall before anything else. Not to mention, Sora had lived this entire life this way, so he scoffed. Screw your premise. Who’s the traitor? 
Who really gives a shit? 
“To hell with it. Let’s just say—I’m the traitor!” 
With a very chipper grin, Sora roughly upended it all. 
…… 
……A silence deeper than the ocean. A stupefied, wary, doubtful silence that Sora interpreted as dissatisfaction. 
“Wha—? Out of everybody we’ve got here, and you think I wouldn’t betray you?! A-all right, I’ll prove it…” 
Gimme a second while I think of something. The brazenly self-professed traitor hurriedly cooked up some bullshit. 
“Okay, when we’re talking about a traitor, we’re talking about somebody who played everybody else to come out on top, right?” 
He took a breath and went down the line of them, pointing at each in turn. 
“Then, first, Izuna’s clean. There’s no way she could ever beat Shiro and me at deception and chicanery.” 
Boink. Izuna’s ears twitched as her eyes grew rounder. 
“And Gramps is clean ’cause it’s not like he has the balls to put the Shrine Maiden’s life on the line to get ahead of us.” 
Crk. Ino’s glasses cracked as the blood vessels in his face bulged. 
“And Plum is clean ’cause he’s not gonna take that kinda risk after we already pwned the shit out of him.” 
Fff. Plum’s eyes narrowed sharply as his mouth twisted into a thin line. 
“And Jibril’s clean ’cause Shiro and me would just have to tell her ‘Fess up,’ and she would. Plus, it’s not like she would even thiiink of presuming to get ahead of me, her dear, dear, master, righhht?” 
Hhh. Jibril’s eyes widened and then warped into a leer. 
“And you—out of the question, out of the picture, not even worth considering! QED!!” 
“Hello?! Wasn’t your treatment of me uniquely dismissive?!” 
“And lastly, Shiro and I are two in one. How ’bout that? Convinced yet?” 
“……Oh…” 
As if realizing what he was doing, Shiro, too, dropped a faint smile. Yes…this was a game. There were countless things of which they could be sure with no regard whatsoever to the presence or absence of memory. For instance: Sora, virgin, eighteen. He, of all people—would never play a game straight. In this world where everything was determined by games, this world Tet had gone on and on about with splashy effects, claiming it was the utopia they’d dreamed of… These two were much better suited to all the heavy shit that came with a game for liars. Yes, this was the time to say it— 
What’s wrong with being a pussy sniper? 
“So with that! We have resolved the contradiction of players killing each other in a game where the Old Deus is supposed to be our opponent! We have proven that this is a cooperative game—one we can win if we trust each other! So rest easy as you turn in your Tasks blank and surrender your dice to little old me— Oh, let me put that more politely.” 
Leaving off with his wild gesticulations and adopting a smile that would beguile a god, he asked in a dulcet tone: 
“Help me win. Gimme all your dice, bitches—as a token of trust. ?” 
On the heels of Sora’s request, each of the players repaired to their individual rooms beyond the doors to fill in their Tasks. And when they returned, Sora smiled breezily. This game was so simple. Who cared who the traitor was? 
With this team of all teams, he knew. 
He could be sure in his heart of hearts that they’d all betray him, right?