“Your Majesty!” the man says.

He has long, thick gray hair, lilac-colored eyes, and a body that’s nine times the size of his head at its full height.

Since I’m unable to climb off the horse by myself, I’m left hanging onto its behind, at a loss for a reply. How should I answer someone who calls me Your Majesty? And an ultra-beautiful 30s-something man in his prime at that!

It’s not due to a lack of vocabulary or to the fact that my CPU is cycling particularly slowly that I can’t accurately describe his beauty. The surroundings of an average senior high student just don’t usually contain such beauty, to say nothing of someone like the man standing in front of me, who isn’t even Japanese.

After half a day of a grueling ride clinging to Lord Weller’s back—my first time on horseback—we have finally arrived at a village with wooden buildings, smaller than the one from earlier. It has around fifteen houses, and looks more like a neighborhood association than a village. One after another, armed soldiers return from all directions to the forest entrance a small distance away. Terrifyingly, each of the parties comes with its own “flying!model skeleton.” Maybe they’re this theme park’s mascot characters? If so, it’s in extremely bad taste—wait, no, it’s a novel concept.

We cut across the center of the village and came to a largish (four rooms or so) house some ways away from the soldiers. As we reached the area in front of it, the door burst open, and he came flying out.

I give up trying to speak as soon as I see his face. It’s that beautiful: I mean, really beautiful, super-beautiful, ultra fully beaut—um, beautiful. I can’t say that it’s a noble face that exudes sagacity or anything. He’s a beautiful person who looks really intelligent! Though there’s a rather vapid expression on his face.

Even his voice is beautiful—a resonant baritone. That Adalbert from earlier was pretty handsome too, but this person is so perfect that he would make girls swoon on sight. And it’s not just girls in their late twenties who would faint—mature and old...no, all ladies would.

“Conrart, hurry and give His Majesty a hand...”

“Yes, yes. Your Majesty, if you lean this way, yes, please climb down slowly—that’s it, steady now.”

Lord Weller’s first name appears to be Conrart. Finally liberated from the horse, my feet reach level ground. I still feel like I’m swaying up and down.

“Oh, Your Majesty, I am so glad you’re safe! I, von Kleist, have been anxiously awaiting the day that I would at last be able to meet you,” he says dramatically, and drops to the ground on one knee. I take a startled step back and hiss in pain as the sudden movement aggravates the ache in my buttocks. The beautiful person’s face changes color.

“Your Majesty, are you injured anywhere?! Conrart! You were with him, weren’t you?”

“Your butt hurts, doesn’t it, Your Majesty. Since this is your first time on horseback. Right?” he asks, and I’m bewildered by his grin. But the beautiful person, who’s apparently called von Kleist, doesn’t leave it at that.

novel volume 1 chapter 2 insert]]

“The first time?! Is training in horseback riding no longer a part of the elementary curriculum? Why did the ShinouShinou (眞王)

Race: Mazoku

Lit.: "True King"; the founder and first king of Shinma Kingdom who defeated the Soushu. The Mazoku do not speak his name without necessity. Yuuri thinks that he looks just like Wolfram, except that he has bright blue eyes and the bearing of a "self-important big-shot born to be the Maou." choose such a world for...”

“This is not the place for that, Günter. Von Grantz got there before us.”

“Adalbert! Your Majesty, did they do anything to you?!”

“...They threw rocks and came at me with hoes and spades, but...”

“How terrible! Those humans...but, Your Majesty, how is it that you can speak...”

He probably wants to ask how I can understand them. I wave my right hand limply and try not to smile.

“Well, but everyone speaks Japanese so well. It’s too modest of you to worry about whether or not I understand you. I’m surprised at how fluent everyone is. It’s amazing—bravo, viva the actors’ soul. How long have you been in Japan? What country are you from?”

Günter (name) von Kleist (surname) looks dubious.

“I come from...this country.”

“You were born in Japan?!”

That’s when Lord Weller says something totally shocking.

“Your Majesty, this is not Japan.”

“Oh—there, see? I knew you couldn’t have been born in Japan. Because this is...uh.”

Huh?

This isn’t Japan?

Did he just say that this isn’t Japan?

“Then why is everyone speaking Japanese?”

“We’re not.”

That’s when I first take a good look at Lord Weller. He appears to be about nineteen or twenty, and his clothes, unlike that of the villagers, are primarily functional. His khaki-colored belt and leather boots—maybe influenced by TV or movies—look like they’re part of some country’s military uniform.

He has rather short dark brown hair and light brown eyes with scattered flecks of silver. There are traces of an old scar across his eyebrows, as well as evidence of old injuries on his fingers and the backs of his hands. He places those hands on my shoulders and gazes deliberately down at me.

“This is not Japan, Yuuri. This isn’t even the world in which you were born and raised.”

As he’s informing me of that unbelievable fact, I’m thinking in the back of my mind—aaah, I understand this person. If I were to tell someone about him, I would definitely be able to do it pretty well.

Lord Conrart Weller would be the type of person who would strike an unconsciously heroic pose in the center court at Wimbledon and receive a standing ovation from the audience. But not because of his face. Compared to Günter and Adalbert, he’s rather plain; if he were a Hollywood actor, he’d probably be just one among many in supporting roles. But his expression belongs to someone for whom life is the culmination of having lived every moment until this one: not as a beloved of God or an artist’s construct, but rather one who has lived his life his own way.

That’s what he’s like, Conrad. I think that’s how I would describe him to someone.

“Conrad...I mean, um, Conrart...”

“Hmm? Oh, since you’re used to hearing English, Conrad is probably easier for you to pronounce. I have some friends who call me that, too.”

“Have I met you somewhere before?”

Conrad thinks for a moment, then shakes his head.

“No.”

The beautiful senior with the long gray hair and lilac eyes forces his way in between us.

“In any case, Your Majesty, this is not the place to talk. Please excuse the shabbiness and step inside,” Günter says disparagingly of this house which isn’t even his, and pushes me inside. I involuntarily turn, and glimpse what are probably the inhabitants of this village peering at us through the cloudy windows of their modest timber homes.

 

I’m still wearing my moist school uniform, so I’m grateful for the warmth of the room and the fire in the wood-stove. Just a few hours earlier I was in Japan in May, but where am I now? And what month is it?! The light of the setting sun shines through the dirty windows, but I don’t even know anymore if they’re facing east or west.

If I were at home in Japan with these half-damp clothes on after being immersed in the park toilet, I would’ve stepped into the bath immediately.

I take off the disgustingly moist jacket and spread it out near the fire. That act arouses deep emotion in Günter.

“Your Majesty, do you wear black every day? It’s magnificent, it suits you wonderfully! Only the king and his close relations wear black on a daily basis. That noble black hair, those black eyes—you are without question our Majesty!”

“...But this is just my school uniform...and besides, most Japanese are born with black hair and eyes...”

Though everyone’s skin changes color as they grow older. The dark-tanned Matsuzaki ShigeruMatsuzaki Shigeru (松崎しげる) 1949

Also known as: birth—Matsuzaki Shigeyuki (松崎茂幸), popular nickname—Matsu (マツ)

A singer and actor based in Tokyo. look was popular until just recently. As for me, my hair’s finally grown out a bit after being on the baseball team until mid-third year of junior high. I was thinking about cutting it once summer vacation comes around.

“School uniform? So that jacket is called a school uniform? I see, it must be made by highly-skilled craftsmen especially for Your Majesty.”

Actually, they’re mass-produced in factories and customarily worn by junior and senior high school boys all over Japan. And besides, since I’ll be wearing this jacket for three years, it’s still a bit big for my current size.

“Your Majesty, you may find it a bit cold, but it’s already spring in this country,” Conrad says, and takes up position next to the door. Maybe he’s been assigned watch-duty—with his sword at his side, he folds his arms and leans his head back against the wall. His eyes slowly slide shut.

As a last resort I shift my chair as close to the fire as I can. There’s a table of the kind of rough rustic workmanship that you would only see in a folk craft shop in the mountain recesses. Instead of the usual electric light that should be hanging from the ceiling, there’s a flickering lamp of the mountain-hut variety.

“...You even created the season!—such attention to detail! What an elaborate attraction this is...”

“This is not an attraction,” Conrad, still with his eyes closed, corrects me.

“But how am I supposed to believe it if you just tell me out of the blue like that! Here’s what I’m guessing—one: that this is a really expensive and elaborate theme park attraction; two: that it’s one of those candid camera shows you keep seeing on TV; three: that I’m dreaming—it must be one of those. There, choose one. I’m hoping for number three.”

Conrad makes no response, but Günter in front of me looks a little worried. He turns to me, muttering terms unfamiliar to him.

“Tea-bee...candid camera...? Please wait a moment, Your Majesty, I’ll explain everything to you. So please calm down and stop quizzing me on the vocabulary of your other world?” Günter takes a seat across from me.

“Okay, I’m calm. Even if you tell me that you’re my mother, I’ll just clap my hands, laugh, and tell you an American joke.”

Günter flings his hands up in defeat. Then he leans forward passionately and begins to speak.

“Then allow me to explain. Your Majesty, your soul should have been born here in this world eighteen years ago. However, because of the chaos following the war of that time, or perhaps because he felt the presence of someone of ill will in our midst targeting you, the Shinou judged that your soul should be sent to another world. Accordingly, we transported your sublime, still-unborn soul to Earth according to the Shinou’s instructions. So Your Majesty was born from your current honorable father and mother, and have grown up in that world. But though you should have become an adult in safety in that other world, recent circumstances have dictated that you be called back...”

“Wait a minute, all this polite speech is making my head hurt. Can you talk a bit more directly?”

“Please do not request something so impossible. Your Majesty is Your Majesty, and we are your vassals.”

“What’s with all this Your Majesty Your Majesty Your Majesty? My name is Yuuri—Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Furi. Well, that’s what I’ve called myself for a while now. So the story goes like this: I should actually have been born in this world, but for some reason I was born and raised in another world. But because you need me now, you summoned me here from Japan. Have I got it all?”

“Marvelous, that’s exactly correct. I am awed by your wisdom.”

To my despair, Günter nods deeply with heartfelt delight.

It’s Narnia—I mean—right, so it’s a familiar story. Actually, it’s one of those old plotlines that’re so overused in movies as well as anime and manga. Granted, there’s a difference in quality between fiction novels and juvenile literature, but it’s been recycled umpteen times. There’s no originality to it at all. Although people are rarely actually pulled into them. And it’s even more exceedingly rare for someone to get to them from a public lavatory.

“So, I traveled through a tunnel connecting to this world from a toilet hole and fell onto that mountain road?”

“That is correct. By our calculations, we should have been able to summon you into our kingdom—into the capital, in fact. However, perhaps we put too much power into it, and you landed on the outskirts of our borders, within the village of the humans. I am very sorry, Your Majesty. I’m very glad that of those we placed along the border to provide against a contingency, Conrart reached you in time. We are now within our own territory, so there is no need for further worry. Please be at ease.”

“Be at ease? But you guys aren’t exactly comfortable either, are you? Am I really the person you’re looking for? If you look at the population density of Japan, there’s a possibility that you’ve got the wrong person, isn’t there? My appearance and brains are both average, and I don’t have any weird birthmarks—”

I don’t have any special birthmarks that can be used as proof in this situation. If forced, I can only say that I have a faint scar on my left elbow from when I was a kid.

“But um, Günter...san, this burn-like scar on my left elbow was from rubbing against man-made turf while I was playing baseball. I wasn’t born with anything that looks like the ‘mark of the king’.”

My intellectual act starts to break down. To say it nicely, I’m like an actor answering questions about reports of a love affair. To put it baldly, I’m like a pet owner talking about his cat.

“No, I felt strongly that I could not be mistaken about you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, Your Majesty. That sublime, pure-black hair, those clear, unclouded dark eyes, that lovely color with which you were endowed from birth—and what’s more, I cannot think that anyone but you would be clad in jet-black clothing.”

Guh, he said lovely. That word should be used for someone like you, shouldn’t it?

“And besides, you are proficient in our language, which makes it all the more obvious that it is no mistake. What Adalbert did to you...I deeply regret, but...he drew out the language stored deep within Your Majesty’s soul. Without exception, all souls have a store of memories from the ‘lives’ they have lived. Of course, ordinarily the door to those memories is shut, and they are able to use only the knowledge they have learned in their new ‘life’. But that man wrenched open the door and forcibly extracted a portion of the sealed memories. What savage, foul, unprincipled human magic!”

I nod timidly in response to that angry explanation.

“...Though I have heard that it can be pretty useful.”

“That’s outrageous! I’m glad that he was skillful enough to call out only the portion for language, but think of what would have happened if he had revived unnecessary memories! No one wants to know the travels of their own soul.”

Though there seem to be a lot of people in Japan who would like to know. From his position to one side of the door, Conrad adds calmly, “But if you think about it, it’s because of what he did that we’re able to speak to His Majesty like this now. There’s no use bursting a vein over what’s already done, Lord von Kleist.”

“...But I have already prepared the textbooks and rulers to teach His Majesty High MazokuMazoku (魔族)

Lit.: "demon clan" or "demon tribe", the people of Shinma Kingdom. They are much more long-lived than humans, and their actually age is usually five times that of their physical appearance....”

His tone is full of heartfelt regret, but I’m rather uneasy about the intended use of those rulers. I have no problem if they’re for underlining text, of course.

“In any case, the fact that you understand the language of this land is proof that Your Majesty’s soul comes from this world. My confidence has become conviction.”

“Günter-san...I think I’ve heard that somewhere...”

I guess they somehow quite firmly believe that I’m their ‘Majesty’.

But in this type of scenario, a hero or savior or prince or princess who is the protagonist of the story usually resolves the world’s problems and gives the story a happy ending. Even one renowned best-selling author has said that people don’t like stories without happy endings.

“All right, I think it’s a bit much to expect me to believe all of this, but how about we just leave it at that for now? So let’s get this over with. What mission did you summon me here for? Should I go save some princess? Or slay a fire-breathing monster?”

“Fire-breathing monster? You mean dragon?! Certainly not! That species has been hunted to the edge of extinction by humans, and we are desperately trying to protect them.”

So dragons are at the top of the endangered species list in this world.

From the wooden door comes the sound of several diffident knocks. Conrad carefully opens it a slight crack, sword in hand. Standing there are some children around ten years of age, looking up at him with wide grins.

“Hey you!”

“Conrad! Teach us to throw—we can’t get the ball to go straight at all!”

“Teach us to hit it, too! And then we need to know how to end the game.”

Their parents are too afraid of the soldiers to venture outside, but that doesn’t seem to be the case for these children. And for them, Conrad isn’t Lord Weller or Your Excellency, but simply an older playmate.

“All of you, the sun’s going down, and it’s going to be pitch dark soon. We won’t be able to see anything in a little while.”

“You can still see.”

“It’s still fine!”

He looks worriedly over at me, then bows and leaves the room.

“...He must be a great person if the children like him so much.”

“Yes, he is perhaps the best commander in the kingdom. Of all my pupils, he was my pride.”

“So you’re a teacher, um, von Kleist-san?”

"Please do call me Günter. Yes, of course, I am a teacher, and serve as an advisor and assistant to Your Majesty the King.

“If you’re a teacher, then can you tell me in simple terms? Günter, what I am supposed to do here in this world? What sort of evil enemy do I need to defeat before I can go home to SaitamaSaitama-ken (埼玉県)

A prefecture located in the Kantou Region of Japan on the main island of Honshuu which borders Tokyo. It was formerly part of the ancient province of Musashi, which was the largest province in the Kantou and also produced much of the food that fed the region. Its capital is the city of Saitama.

The prefecture is part of the Greater Tokyo Area, and a large number of its residents commute to Tokyo each day from Saitama's cities, which can be described as suburbs of Tokyo.?”

“Humans.”

The firewood in the stove splits apart with a crack.

“...Humans...so...that’s...which one...?”

“Not which one, Your Majesty. We must annihilate all the humans who are hostile towards our country and burn their countries to cinders. In order to do so, we need a leader—we need Your Majesty’s powers as our ruler.”

Annihilate humans and burn them to cinders?

Annihilate humans?!

I kick the chair away in my hurry to get away—and failing, land on the floor on my backside. Günter panics and rushes over.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?”

“Woah, wait a minute! Are you saying that we need to kill humans, Günter-san?! Then you’ll have to kill me too! I mean, however you look at it, I’m just an ordinary human being—no, wait, and you guys, your faces look a bit different, but...you’re humans too, aren’t you?”

“However you look at it, Your Majesty is one of us, one of the Demon Clan, the Mazoku. Even more so, for you are he who must be honored for bearing the noble black! None but the king of the Mazoku or those chosen to be close to him who are born carrying the black. And what’s more, both your eyes and hair are black—you are the living bearer of the twin black...”

I have a feeling that there’s a sentence in there that I didn’t catch.

“The same what as you?”

“Mazoku, the Demon Tribe.”

No way.

“...So, what am I supposed to be ruler of?”

“You are His Majesty the Maou, King of the Demons.”

“Maou.”

Dad, Dad, look, there’s a ‘Honyara’ over there, I’m scared!"

An Achoo!Great ‘Honyara’. ¹

Originally the Great ‘Honyara’ of YokohamaYokohama-shi (横浜市)

The City of Yokohama is the capital of Kanagawa Prefecture and the second-largest city in Japan after Tokyo. It is also a major port and commercial hub and historically one of the first cities to be opened to foreigners during the rule of the Tokugawa Shogunate..

Huh, wait, I somehow feel like the Great ‘Honyara’ of Hama is not the right answer.

What is this ‘Honyara’ supposed to be, anyway?

Probably the terrible boss of the demons, the one who hunts down and curses and kills human beings?

So then, so what am I supposed to be ruler of again?

“Get ahold of yourself, your Majesty, please calm down! Retain your sanity! You are the one who has become our hope, His Majesty the Twenty-Seventh Maou!”

Oh boy, he really is calling me the Maou. But twenty-seven is a good number, right? 27 is...

My shoulders are seized and shaken back and forth. My consciousness is taking a flight from reality due to the excessive shock. Because this person here is telling me that I have to become a demon and beat humans to a pulp. That’s totally impossible, I could never do something like that—why isn’t my enemy a slimy evil sorcerer or a devilish dragon or the great demon king or something?—oh wait, I’m supposed to be the demon king, so does that mean I’m on the enemy side in this world?! So then I’m going to be the final boss defeated by the hero or savior in the last dungeon?! Dammit, if that’s the way it’s going to be, then I’ll take the hero on with all I’ve got so he won’t be able to finish the game without pressing reset at least two or three times! He’s not going to get past me without being at level 99 if it kills me...oy, it’s not going to be if it kills me—if I’m the last boss, I’m really going to die! My brain cells are going off at their in-a-pinch machine-gun firing rate—I’m panicking at the enemy’s magical attack here!

Aaah, no way, someone tell me it’s all a lie!

“It’s not a lie, Your Majesty! You truly are the Maou. Congratulations, you are the Maou starting today!”

Congratulations for what?!

 

Outside, the sky is already half-purple, the remaining half orange.

Only the unsteady, wavering light of lamp-flames escape from the windows of the village houses. From among them come the sounds of frolicking children and dimly, the movement of their smiling faces.

“Your Majesty?”

“Woah! Can you please stop calling me ‘Your Majesty’?”

Conrad is leaning against a wall, arms folded. Three steps away is a square piece of wood, and beside it a child of about ten. He’s holding a club poised in his hands—they’re apparently playing a game somewhere between cricket and baseball; the bat’s handle is wrapped with cloth, but is strangely thick, and there are two outfielders behind the pitcher but no catcher at all.

“I don’t know much about the rules of cricket, but who comes up after someone hits?”

“That’s difficult in a village with only five children.”

So there’s one more in the outfield. He or she is only a shadow in the twilight.

The pitcher throws something that looks like a ball, but the batter swings dramatically at empty air. The ball rolls to the wall, and Conrad picks it up and throws it back. These are the advanced conditions they’re playing under.

“Three strikes and you’re out, Howell; switch with first base.”

“So you’re playing baseball?”

But why is there baseball in this world of sword and magic...? The child in outfield is running towards us.

“Wait, wait! If this is baseball, then why isn’t there a catcher? You can take that position, can’t you?”

“It’d be unfair for an adult to join in.”

“No, no, that’s not the problem. So let’s see—you playing outfielder, what’s your name?”

“Brandon.”

He’s right at the age when his voice is changing, and it’s scratchy and hoarse.

“Then, Brandon, you be the catcher. See, you squat here and catch the ball when it comes. Oh, but you guys don’t have a mitt?—what, and no gloves either?!”

“Your Majesty...I mean, Lord Yuuri, this is a village founded by refugees from across the border. So they’re not exactly stocked in sports equipment.”

The boy shakes off my hand and looks fearfully up at me.

“‘Your Majesty’? Conrad, why are you calling him Your Majesty? Who is he?! The scary person that Mom and the others were talking about?”

“Brandon! This is the one who has become the king of our country. Far from being a scary person, he is the gentle person who will protect your village.”

Stop telling him something I haven’t even thought about.

“King?!”

But the five gathered here...four boys and a girl, kneel where they’re standing and cover their faces. There’s even a kid who’s pressing his head against the ground. It’s not gesture of great respect.

“Oh please, Your Majesty! Please don’t cut off our heads! Please don’t burn down our houses!”

“Howell, none of you have done anything bad, so His Majesty would never do anything like that. Here, Emma, get up now.”

“But my dad, because the King...”

The little girl, who appears to be recalling some painful memory, starts to cry. The doors of several houses open, and the mother of each child shouts his or her name. The children all dash off towards their homes.

I pick up the ball lying at my feet. With this light and that pitcher, there would probably be no need for either a mask or a mitt. The ball is a soft round leather bag stuffed with straw and sewed together. Even the person throwing it wouldn’t be able to gauge his speed.

“When I was their age, I played baseball until dark, too. And at night I would watch games on TV—I didn’t have any time to do homework at all.”

“Children are the same in this world as well.”

I step on the piece of wood serving as home plate.

“Hey, Conrad.”

“Yes.”

“Is it true that I’m the king? The great demon king—the great Maou—that would silence even crying children?”

“It’s true. Though I don’t know about the great part, Your Majesty is genuinely the twenty-seventh ruler of the Kingdom of Shinma.”

“Then I’ll chop off people’s heads too?”

“Not at all! This should be called a village of refugees. It’s true that one winter six years ago, all the men of the village were executed in an oppressive act due to a religious misunderstanding. The women and children came to the border seeking asylum, and we lent them this land mostly without taxation on the condition that the agricultural fields would not spread further. They rejected the foolish king of the human kingdom who killed their men and burned down their houses. Although...” Conrad presses his lips together and looks down, chagrinned. “...I hope that you will remember that not all humans are like that. Here, Your Majesty, let’s go in. When it gets dark the temperature drops pretty sharply. I’ll get lectured by Günter again.”

Stars begin to appear. The moon is still low in the sky. The light coming through the window is dim and forlorn.

Nothing else illuminates the night. No neon lights or vending machines or computers or street lights.

What kind of place have I found myself in?

“...What kind of a trap have I gotten myself into?”

“But this is your world.”

Conrad smiles as he shuts the door. In this twilight devoid of any other major light sources, even the light of the lamp within the room looks like a horizontal search beam.

“Welcome home, Your Majesty.”

To this place where your soul should have been born.

 

Oh, what a difference in the food!

The so-called food that I’m given is leather that even a dog would have a hard time sinking his teeth into, bread so dry you could pound a nail with it even at room temperature, and dried fruits that are somewhat easier on the teeth to lick than chew.

“These are so dry because they’re military rations,” Günter insists stubbornly, and, face to face with him, I silently practice the policy of chewing thirty times per mouthful. I’m starving, but I can’t gulp down the dried meat without first chewing it thoroughly.

Conrad, the military Numero Uno who’s so beloved by the children, seems to have been invited to dinner by the family of Brandon or Howell or Emma or one of the children whose names I don’t know.

“I want to go too—!”

“You must not. The people of this village are humans. If you eat the things made by humans and your body is harmed, what would we do then?”

“I told you, I’m human, so I should be fine!”

“No! How can you say for sure that no one among them is hatching some nefarious scheme? I, Günter, cannot allow Your Majesty to do that which would put you in danger.”

And, oh, what a difference in the beds!

Of course, I believed that I would be sleeping in the best bedroom in this house lent to us by the people of the village. I mean, they’re saying that I’m the Maou, so they should at least let my exhausted body luxuriate in a soft and fluffy futon. Though from what I’ve seen of this world so far, a bed would be more likely than a futon. In any case, Günter replies to my question quite matter-of-factly.

“Why? Hey wait, why am I in a sleeping bag while the soldier that just went into the bedroom gets a fluffy bed? Look, am I really the king or not? And anyway, was this sleeping bag even properly dried in the sun?”

“What would happen if a rebel targeting Your Majesty broke into the bedroom? That soldier earlier is substituting himself in your place. Here an attack cannot come from the window, and this room, with Conrart guarding the door, is secure.”

“Your Majesty, you’ll be riding all day tomorrow, so please take your ease tonight and shore up your strength.”

Telling me to sleep well is great and all, but I’m shut into a dusty, narrow closet that doesn’t even have a window, with a brownish cotton-padded sorry excuse for an outdoor sleeping bag spread out for me... The floor is hard, and the camping-use sleeping bag is definitely tough-guy style. To make matters worse, this is my first time sleeping surrounded by Foreign-Manufactured Handsome Guys. Ah, this is what you’d called sleeping sandwiched. The kings in kingmaker games are guaranteed more freedom than this, aren’t they?

And the next day, oh, what a difference in modes of transportation!

Five chestnuts, all seemingly full of energy, are led out in front of me as I stand there sleep-deprived. Their vigorous breaths are white in the perfectly clear golden morning air.

“Horses again?!”

Wearing my abused soaked-and-redried school uniform, I reach a timid hand out towards one gigantic animal. I quickly withdraw at its threatening whinny.

“But you’re Mazoku, aren’t you? Can’t you use magic or something?”

“Magic...you mean sorcery—MajutsuMajutsu (魔術)

Lit. "black magic", "sorcery": the magic of the Mazoku, which is primarily used in combat.?”

“Yeah, yeah, magic. So isn’t there something that’ll get us to the capital or the castle without having to gallop on horses at reckless speeds? We could use magic to zoom! fly there instead!”

Like the Go Anywhere Door or the Bamboo Copter, ² something convenient like that.

Günter force-clears his throat and says, “Your Majesty, Majutsu is not so omnipotent.”

“Eeeeh? But in the TV shows I’ve seen, the witch or wizard can totally disregard science and just wave a wand to make anything they want happen.”

“I do not know what kind of play or drama a TV is, but it is very much exaggerated. Majutsu is useful almost exclusively in combat, or only in such extremely important cases as, say, summoning Your Majesty.”

So TV is different from reality? I grumble just a bit.

“So to put it simply, energy conservation,” Conrad says as he’s nuzzled by a horse’s muzzle. “But then again, that’s not very convincing coming from me, since I have no magical abilities of my own. Now, Your Majesty, will you ride with Günter or me? The riding experience that we asked about yesterday...”

“I’ve been on a merry-go-round a few times.”

“I see, a merry-go-round. In that case we probably wouldn’t be able to make it to the capital even in three days, so please ride behind me. It’ll be harder on them, but if we take care to switch—well, we should be fine.”

“My behind hasn’t even stopped hurting from yesterday...hey, how do you know about merry-go-rounds?”

“Well then, please prepare yourself. Your front will probably hurt today, too.”

The soldiers in the lead salute them and set out one by one. Looking up, I can see the modded model skeletons in the skies above them just like yesterday. Of course there is one above us too. I guess it really is a mascot character? What should I call it? ’Lil Flying Bones? Mr. Calcium?

“How about Kohy? Heeeey, Kohy, thanks for the lift yesterday! Though I wonder if it’s the same one from yesterday? I can’t really tell them apart.”

I quite capriciously decide on a name for it, then quietly wave. Its jaw clatters, and it flaps its wings repeatedly with great vigour in a horribly grotesque way. I unthinkingly ask my tutor, “Woah, it’s mad! Hey, is it mad at me?”

“No, it’s simply overcome that Your Majesty is speaking to it. They have no perception of ‘individuals’, so speaking to one is like speaking to all. The KotsuhizokuKotsuhizoku (骨飛族)

Lit.: "flying skeleton tribe"; Yuuri describes them as skeletons with wings that look like bamboo frames glued with oiled paper.

The Kotsuhizoku, who have no perception of 'individuals', are loyal to the Mazoku. They are able to communicate simple concepts to each other across large distances, which make them useful as sentries and scouts. can transmit simple concepts to each other even when they’re apart, so they’re invaluable for guarding and scouting.”

There’re some difficult terms in there that I don’t really understand, but I guess the basic idea is ‘all for one and one for all’.

“Now then, Your Majesty, we should be heading out as well.”

Conrad takes up the reins in his right hand and holds out his left to pull me up. The villagers stay out of sight—still frightened, maybe. But the door of a single house opens a slit, and a blond head peeks out.

“Awwww!” I shout towards him. “What a waste! If they’d just practice with a heavier, harder ball, they could get a lot better! The bat should be smoother too, with a narrower handle so it’s easier to grip, and...”

Of course they have to have a catcher, right?

“In baseball, you have to have a catcher!”

I see the blond grabbed by his mother, and the door shut hastily.

“I visit this village from time to time...” He pulls me up in one smooth motion. “They’ve had some painful experiences, but they’re taking it in stride and living their lives.”

“Yeah.”

Though I can’t even imagine having my father killed and my house burned down.

Günter looks displeased, but pretends otherwise and nudges his horse forward.

So begins my first day in Hell.

 

According to my brave little analog G-Shock, which continues to carve time into little pieces, we run for six hours without stopping from that morning, and switch horses twice at relay points. After the third relay point, we come to a much larger settlement than the previous one, and the entire troupe tie our horses to the fence outside when Günter signals for a break.

“You seem quite tired, Your Majesty. Everything that you’ve been muttering for the past while has been incomprehensible.”

Since Conrad has been continually encouraging the horse to keep to a run, even I remember its name now. I tumble off the Siberian hazel filly called Nocanty, begging dazedly, “Help me.”

“Of course. Once we’ve completed the second half of this trip, I’ll be at your command.”

“No, I meant right now.”

“Then for the time being, why don’t we replenish your calorie count? In other words, lunch.”

Even though I’m now standing on level ground, I feel as if I’m riding in a boat. To make matters worse, it’s supposedly only the second month of spring, but the sunlight is enough to make me yearn for my refrigerator.

“I don’t have any appetite at all. The nights are cold, the days are hot, and my throat is clogged with dust—oh!”

Presented with the object of my desire, I instinctively reach out for it, then stop in confusion.

It’s a misshapen glass bowl that looks like something an amateur glass-blower might make on his first day in class. It’s filled to the brim with water that frosts and condensates on the outside of the glass. It’s just what I want right now.

“...Ice water...”

“Your Majesty!”

Günter comes over on the double. He’s probably going to tell me not to eat or drink anything given to me by a human again. But the girl holding the bowl reverently, who’s around ten years old, has violet hair and eyes. She looks like a human in every other way, but...

“You’re Mazoku, aren’t you?”

The girl nods. “Yes, Your Majesty. We would be happy to give you our last drop if it would help you in some way.”

That’s fine, isn’t it? Since she’s Mazoku and I’m king of the Mazoku. I touch the bowl. It’s as cold as it looks, almost painfully so. The tutor says, “Your Majesty, please wa...”

The bowl disappears from my hands; when I look up, Conrad, standing next to me, has already brought it up to his mouth. He takes a single mouthful, then returns it to me, briefly murmuring only, “Leave a little bit.”

I return the bowl with only a tiny bit of water remaining, and the girl, looking delighted, bows deeply and runs off. The coldness spreads in an instant from my throat to my chest, and for a moment I stagger at the pain from the type of brain freeze you’d get right after eating shaved ice. My head clears, and the greenery around me suddenly seems more vivid.

“...Guess I was really thirsty. Like being dehydrated during Club in midsummer.”

“That little girl will certainly be proud for the rest of her life that she was able to give Your Majesty some water,” he says with a good-natured smile. But I know this scene from historical dramas. He just tested that water for poison. For my sake, he tasted it for poison.

My tutor approaches with a shocked look on his face.

“Your Majesty, I tell you this again and again, but please do not consume anything other than what we bring you.”

“But this village is completely Mazoku, isn’t it? The people who live here—see, Günter?—there’re so many people here with your unusual beauty.”

“Even so...”

Conrad lifts the saddle from Nocanty and offers her water just like you would to another person. “It didn’t have any strange flavors, and I asked him to leave the last mouthful to avoid anything that might be undissolved at the bottom. His Majesty is not a dullard—he just wanted his first cup to be cold. Now he’ll be able to tolerate anything, from water from the water bag to transportable food.”

“Conrart, you back the commoners too much.”

“And so?” Conrad returns calmly. “If we do not back the people of this country, then who will? Ah, of course...”

Nocanty chews his hair. Happily, lovingly...

“I would not only lend His Majesty my shoulders, but I’d give my hands, heart, and life for him.”

“...I don’t need your heart or life or anything like that.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Then lend me your Majutsu. I’m already in a state of emergency, right now, so send me zoom flying with your Majutsu. I can’t take riding a horse any more—I’m sick of riding.”

“Majutsu for me is...well. I did tell you that I have no magical powers, right? But for Majutsu-related matters, Günter who is the highest practitioner in the kingdom, can be of assistance to you.”

His brows knit. Kyaaah, Anxious!Günter is super-cool too!

“Your Majesty’s magical powers are several times my own. In any case, the generations of Maou have had powers that would instill fear in even the gods.”

“Wait, wait. I’m a human, so I don’t have Majutsu or spiritual ability or ESP or anything like that.”

“Your. Majesty. You. Are. MAZOKU!”

“But I‘ve never been able to see ghosts or win the lottery or see through girls’ swimsuits—or even get the planchette to move on a ouija board...”

Confession. When we tried the ouija board after school in fourth grade, I moved the planchette myself. Nozawa, who was doing it with me, was so scared that he started crying, and I couldn’t make myself tell him that it’d been me. Günter, who must have jumped to the wrong conclusion, smiles in admiration.

“I imagine that must be an advanced ritual in the other world? Due to my ignorance, I do not know if it has any connection to Majutsu, but...it’s quite all right, Your Majesty. Magical power is intrinsic to the soul. Even if you cannot use it now, over time everything in this world will align themselves to your will.”

“I don’t really think that’ll happen, but—”

Conrad, who apparently doesn’t have even a sliver of magic, slowly strokes the muzzle of his beloved horse.

“I’ve never felt the lack of magic to be an inconvenience. Well, let’s leave that question for the long term. For now, it would be rather awkward if Your Majesty cannot ride a horse on your own.”

“Me, on my own?!”

Nocanty’s head swings violently, and both the remaining water and the water dripping from her nose fly in all directions. Me, ride this?!

“No, of course we wouldn’t have you galloping on your first try. Just for your entry into the capital would be fine. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your people, right? They are looking for a noble, strong-willed king, so of course it would be better for you to ride on your own and enter the castle in majesty.”

“Uwahah...on her??”

“Nooo. We have a special lady prepared especially for Your Majesty—a beloved daughter I helped delivered, and put much effort into training. A pure black horse who matches Your Majesty perfectly.”

There goes my dream of being the king on his white horse.