Chapter 1

Then why did you have to choose these Chinese characters?

I‘ve been teased so many times about my name since being on the ’disadvantageous’ side of two-against-one scuffles against some punk Yankees in junior high that I’ve gotten used to fending it off.

“Say something, Shibuya Yuuri!”

“Then is HarajukuHarajuku (原宿)

The district around Harajuku Station in the Ward of Shibuya in Tokyo, located between Shinjuku and Shibuya, known for its youth fashion. disadvantageous?!” ¹

I’ve heard that tired cliché fifty thousand times. Incidentally, that’s in fifteen years of existence.

Yup, my name’s Shibuya Yuuri. Not the characters for ‘fertile country’ or ‘gentle pear tree’ or ‘enduring lapis lazuli’, but Shibuya ‘Advantageous’. My brother, who’s five years older, is Shibuya Shouri. His name’s written with the characters for ‘victory’ and read ‘Shouri’ (it looks it might be read ‘Katsutoshi’, but it’s not).

As I was flying down the road on my bike, coming home from my new prefectural school, surrounded by the luxuriant new leaves of May—that’s when it happened.

I’ve always wanted to be like that person, so I joined the baseball club in junior-high, but there was someone else who became my aspiration too starting from senior-high, so I was talking about if I’d join the Kendo Club or something with a biking friend I’d just made. Five minutes after we went our separate ways, I was pedaling hard in great spirits when I came across a sight in the quiet park near my house that I couldn’t just let pass by.

Money-collection.

That’s what they call it, but in actuality they’re just goons in the age-old business of exhorting money. Today of all days, the whole lot of them—two goons and one victim—are from my sa-junior (the same junior-high?). Glasses-kun, cornered with his back to the rear restroom wall, is Murata Ken, who was in my class in my second and third years of junior-high.

Yeeeah, whatever, I’m on a bike, so if I just slip past them. I can zooooom on by—it’s not like Murata Ken knows who I am, anyway. We’re not friends or anything, and we’ve barely ever even said two words to each other. Well, sure, I act like an advocate of justice and stuff, but nobody’s looking at me hopefully or gratefully or anything...aaaaaaargh...

I slowly stop the bicycle.

Aaaaah, dammit...my eyes meet Murata Ken’s.

“...What’re you guys doing over there? Not committing some crime together, are you?”

And so I, Shibuya Yuuri, face off with two Yankees and get to hear for the around fifty-thousandth time: “Then is HarajukuHarajuku (原宿)

The district around Harajuku Station in the Ward of Shibuya in Tokyo, located between Shinjuku and Shibuya, known for its youth fashion. disadvantageous?!” Thanks to that middle class sense of justice I was born with, thanks to that sense of honor that says two against one is unfair.

“You‘ve probably got your wires crossed somewhere—we were just doing some ’money-collection’. Just lawfully collecting some of those notes from his wallet, ya know?”

Get a map and tell me where in the world that’s lawful.

The senior-high students, looking like they’ve lost all nationality in their navy-and-gray uniforms and matching blond hair and colored contacts, drive a kick into my stomach and shove me against a rough mortar wall.

“But because you had to go and stick your nose where it don’t belong, our little duck’s run off. Eeeh? You’re the son of a banker, so you gotta know how important customers are, don’tcha?!”

It’s true. Wait, what the heck! Murata Ken, who I was going to save, just turned his back on me and ran off at full speed. But anyhow, I’ve been told I’m cute, so. I look around for backup, but at 4:30 in the afternoon, no one’s around the park but elementary school kids.

“So why’d you come save him, anyway? You guys friends or something? Or are you secretly kissy-kissy with each other?”

“Shut up! I just like the name ‘Ken’. ‘Kin’ and ‘Ken’ are at the top of my favorite names list.”

The name of the teacher I secretly revere is ‘Kin’, and my favorite historical films actor is ‘Matsudaira KenMatsudaira Ken (松平健) 1953

Also known as: Suzuki Sueshichi (birth), Matsuken, Ken-sama (nicknames)

An actor and singer who is known for roles in historical TV dramas. He has acted in more than 20 TV dramas, including Zatoichi, Abarenbou Shogun, Kusa Moeru, and Genroku Ryoran and released more than 10 albums.’.

“Haaaah? Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Furi’s favorite names?”

They start snickering. I draw back fist and knee to pay them back in style, but Yankee A grabs hold of my hair and drags me into the dim restroom.

“Hey, wait...you bastards...! This is the women’s bathroom! The sign’s right there! Are you blind or what?”

“Oh, is that right? Huuuh, well, whatever. There’re more stalls in here anyway—we’ll need our privacy, won’t we?”

“That’s right, there’re more stalls. Secrets should be kept secret, right?” Yankee B chirps back, right in tune, and digs into my school bag for my wallet. The blue strap of my cell phone snaps, and the phone tumbles out. It hits the wall, and the ringtone sounds.

“...what is this ring, you ever heard it before?”

“Huh. Aaah, what the hell is this? I totally feel like I’ve heard it somewhere—argh, I can’t remember! It must be, you know, from TV. A historical drama or something?”

“What, there’re guys who use ringtones from historical dramas other than Mito KoumonMito Koumon (水戸黄門)

Mito Koumon is the longest-running and most famous historical drama series in Japan with over 1000 episodes, which began broadcasting on Aug. 4, 1969, and continues today. Its main character is based on Tokugawa Mitsukuni, the retired (goinkyo) daimyo of Mito, who is one of Tokugawa Ieyasu's grandsons. In the drama he wanders around Ibaraki disguised as Mitsuemon, a retired crêpe merchant from Echigo, with two samurai retainers, Sasaki Sukesaburou (Suke-san) and Atsumi Kakunoshin (Kaku-san), helping the oppressed.

Other regular characters include the food-loving commoner Hachibei, reformed thieves Kazaguruma no Yashichi and his wife Kasumi no Oshin, and ninjas Tsuge no Tobizaru and Kagerou Ogin of the Iga School. these days? And that strap, that’s from pro baseball, ain’t it? I don’t believe this, Shibuya Yuuri, what’s going on, Shibuya Yuuri?”

“Shut UP! Like you guys would know anything about the merits of baseball! Hey, stop that, you bastard...!”

Yankee B digs out the bills. A pair of Souseki-senseiNatsume Souseki (夏目漱石) 1867 - 1916

Also known as: Natsume Kinnosuke (夏目金之助)

A writer who was considered the foremost novelist of the Meiji Era in Japan. His picture appeared on the Japanese blue D series 1000-yen note, which was issued from 1984-2004.’s. ²

“Whaaaat the heeeell?! No way, you really a banker’s son or what?! Or is your old man a tight-fisted miser who don’t lend you any money?—thought you’d be carrying more, no-credit Shibuya-chan.”

“My dad’s job doesn’t have anything to do with me!”

Not that I’d tell them this, but most of my money’s in 500-yen coins. I keep getting change, but they’re mostly useless for vending machines, and they pile up in the blink of an eye.

“Daaaaamn, and here I thought we’d get the bank to pay for Murata, but his account credit limit’s at only two blue bills. 20,000’s the absolute minimum—20,000, ya hear?”

The grip on my hair suddenly tightens. There are three light-blue doors in the hijacked girls’ restroom. I’m dragged into the middle one, and a hard kick to my back sends me to my knees. In front of my eyes, rather unusual for a park’s restroom: a brand-name foreign-style sit-down toilet.

“Hey, you’re not going to...come on, guys, you’re not thugs from the 1990s, so...”

“For someone who passed the prefectural exams, it don’t look like your head’s working too well, so we gotta give you some references for the future, right?”

No way, they’re not really planning to shove my head into the toilet bowl or anything, are they? No matter how goon-like they were in junior-high, this is the twenty-first century! That sort of bullying is totally retro, right?!

“We’re gonna kill you if you mess with us. Next time it’ll be for real.”

As I feared, the enemy forces my head into the Western-style toilet. I guess retro is making a come-back.

I try to hold my head up, but I have about ten seconds to steel myself.

But what is a Western toilet, anyway! If I imagine it as a somewhat strange wash basin—the function is the same. My chin touches the water and I reflexively try to lift it, but the pressure against the back of my head doesn’t let up at all. I give up, take a deep breath, and brace myself.

Nobody’s ever been flushed down a modern toilet before—I mean, they’d make the Guiness Book of Records if they did. So in other words, if I just close my eyes and hold my breath for a few dozen seconds, no matter how hard I’m pushed or how hard the top of my head is pulled...huh?

Yankee A or Yankee B’s hand is still holding me down. But something else is trying to suck me in: a strong force from the center of the toilet’s black hole!

There’s no way, right?! Do brand-name toiletry have such hidden powers?! So the ultimate secret behind their awesome strength is that they have vacuum cleaners inside! I can’t hold on any longer, and as my head, shoulders, and back are sucked painfully inside, I, Shibuya Yuuri, let out a scream, while thinking:

Am I going to be the first in history?

The first guy in history to be flushed down a toilet—?!

 

Papaaa.

What is it, Yuuri?

Why do you only take me on the ‘Star Tours’ when we go to Disneyland?

Oh, do you not like the Star Tours, Yuuri?

No, I love it! But I‘ve ridden it so many times now that I remember everything the ’pilot droid’ says!

Yuuri, you’re amazing! So you’ve memorized all of the pilot droid’s lines? Then, Yuuri, let’s take the Star Tours ride one more time to see whether or not you’re right! When you’re all grown up it’ll definitely come in handy one day.

 

It’s certainly come in handy!

After all these years, I thank my dad for that while I hold onto my hazy vision as it begins to return. He probably couldn’t have predicted more than ten years ago that his son would be flushed down a toilet, but taking the Star Tours ride ten times in rapid succession at the Tokyo Disneyland has certainly turned out to be useful.

After being sucked into the swirling current, everything was the same as the scene I saw repeatedly as a kid. The droid’s shout, and then the warp. The grainy light of the stars stretch and distort into long glowing tails, then become stars again. My body also stretches and distorts, then...

...Or not.

I can’t really have been flushed down the toilet, can I? I mean, my body’s maturing quite normally, and I have the average physique of a first-year senior high school student.

I stretch out my arms and legs as far as I can, and lie spread-eagled on the dusty ground. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an unpaved road. There’s nothing but the cloudless blue sky above me. The atmosphere seems unfamiliar with concepts like pollution or depletion of the ozone layer; it’s pure and clean beneath a clear blue sky. When I tilt my head, I can see green on both sides of the road. On my left is a luxuriant forest, on my right a sloping meadow and somebody’s house. The house appears to be made of stone, and in the distance I can vaguely see some sort of animal. A goat?...or a sheep?

I’m probably here because I was with that lot, and I stopped moving after they thrust my face into the toilet bowl, and then they panicked and immediately scurried to abandon me somewhere where I wouldn’t be found.

So where is this, anyway? The scenery is like something that wouldn’t be found in modern Japan, and I mutter as I sit up, “...The Alps?”

From Heidi? Though I can’t figure out how I would’ve been transported here.

My moist school uniform clings disgustingly to my body. If I think about it carefully, the moisture probably came from that public lavatory...I need to stop thinking about it carefully. Water is water, just simple H₂O.

A young woman carrying a large basket comes walking down the road. The wicker basket hanging from her hands falls from both at the same time. Huge fruits—apples?—thump onto the road and start rolling down the hill.

“Excuse me...” I start to say, and gulp. The woman is staring at me. I stare back at her. What I’m thinking is—

She’s one of those people who dresses up in costumes (cosplayer for short).

What is with that skirt that’s so long that it drags on the ground? And that old-fashioned kercher tied beneath her chin? And those blue eyes and dark gold hair?...is she a foreigner?! Why is there a foreigner wearing Heidi of the Alps’ long apron climbing up the hill with a basket? And why has she started yelling with her basket lying where it fell at her feet, pointing at me?

“Ah, um, excuse me, I’m really sorry if I scared you. It’s just that I was abandoned here—I really have no intention of causing any harm or being violent or anything like that...”

Maybe her voice is substitute for a siren?—one after another, people fly out of fairy-tale stone houses and come rushing up the slope. There are men and women and children. But they’re all—

“...Uh, they’re all cosplayers?”

No, that’s not right, these people are certainly not modern Japanese. To begin with, all of them are foreigners. Speaking from a Japanese perspective, we can’t think of these people born with gold or brown hair, with blue eyes and split chins as anything but another race. An army of ten or more of them, carrying handy farming tools like spades and hoes and sickles, gather around us: the woman who’s still screaming, me with my legs about to give way.

“Wait a minute, really, please hold on! I was just dumped here! Uuuum, how do I say this plausibly, uuuuh...abandoned! I was just abandoned here! Oh!...Oh, I know! I get it now...yeah, I mean.”

My brain and tongue are going full steam ahead in my state of emergency. Houses and a group of foreign cosplayers that don’t look like they’re from Japan. Everything clicks in my head.

“This is a theme park, right?!”

That’s right. Foreign cosplayer group, foreign-style houses: this can’t be anything but one of the theme parks used so often in those two-hour suspense dramas.

“Hahah, right, that’s it, right? I’m so stupid for not realizing it earlier. I’ve been dumped in a theme park. But then where is this? From the looks of it, maybe the Russian Village in NiigataNiigata-ken (新潟県)

A prefecture in north-central Honshuu Island stretching along the Sea of Japan; its capital is Niigata City. The prefecture was combined from the ancient provinces of Echigo and Sado.? Although that’d mean that they went pretty far when they dumped me, huh?...Wa, OW, uh, what was that, Russian Village people—wait, why are you throwing rocks and stuff at—ouch!”

All the foreigners working at theme parks should have been informed of the stupidity of Japanese people. But then why are they throwing rocks at me as I’m frantically trying to explain? Even though I guess I got in without buying a ticket, preparing to use rocks and farm tools (also utilizable as dangerous weapons) against me is going a bit overboard, isn’t it?

“Ah, um, my wallet was taken earlier, so I came in without paying for a ticket, but I definitely will another day. Or if you let me make a local phone call...”

Local?

Warding myself against stones and mud with my hands, I turn my back towards a farmer who thrusts a spade that looks like a gigantic fork at me and wonder as I stare dumbfounded at a frightened baby who’s burst into tears,

How much longer is it going to remain light? Wasn’t it already past four in the afternoon when I started at it with those Yankees? I supposed it’s not unimaginable that I was unconscious for fifteen hours, but that no one found me, not even the theme park’s security personnel? And besides, my uniform is still completely soaked even though it’s May. What in the world happened to me?! My head is so full of question marks that it’s about to hit the ground from the weight. Even though they’re throwing rocks at me completely without reason, nobody’s coming to my aid.

I hear a powerful commanding voice and abruptly lift my head. Thankfully, the rocks stop.

“Who...” I start to ask, and choke as I see the man on the horse. His clothes are of the same design as the villagers, but from their sleek texture of obviously higher quality. The man climbs down from his high-strung horse and takes two steps towards me.

Football player—this guy’s definitely an American football player. He’s got the biceps and the chest. And the dazzling blond hair and turquoise-blue eyes, a prominent aquiline nose that’s a bit crooked to the left, and the slightly split chin which is the prototype of the classic macho Caucasian. If there were any Japanese girls around here who like foreigners, they’d be lining up to ask to take his picture, and the older ladies would be sticking rolls of money into his bikini pants—he’s that good-looking. His only defect are those gigantic triangular nostrils also peculiar to Caucasians.

I secretly decide to name him Denver Broncos, since that’s the only NFL team I know. He has a word or two with the villagers, and then kneels and peers at me.

“...Um...thanks so much for calming everyone down...”

A gigantic hand that matches his build firmly seizes my head.

He could probably do a 90-yard long pass with that grip. Or even a touchdown. But my frontal lobe (no way?) doesn’t get hurled; he doesn’t move for a few seconds, and his fingers tighten around my head.

“Ow...” I moan involuntarily in a small voice as pain assails me from five different points. But it’s probably the shock more than the pain, like the shock and dismay of stabling your own fingers by mistake coming before the pain. And the man lets go, while at the same time a sound pours into me. The path from my ears to my brain blazes with agony as if water is running through it.

Wind, trees, the cries of animals, the animal-like wails of a baby—and then words.

Suddenly everyone starts speaking in Japanese. What, so everyone knew Japanese after all? Well, yes, of course, coming to Japan on their own (though I guess they brought their families) to work with tourists, they would have needed to master everyday Japanese, right? Then why did they only talk in Russian (?) until now? Sheesh, tough customers, aren’t they? The handsome macho grins broadly.

“Well? Can you understand me now?”

“Aaah, I guess it really does feel kinda strange to hear fluent Japanese coming out of a foreigner.”

Now that we can communicate with each other, I feel the tension drain out of me a bit. For now, I need to figure out what the heck is going on. I ask in a pseudo-foreign accent to help them understand me more easily, “So you see, I don’t even know myself how I got tossed out here, so I have no idea where or what time...oh, right, I have a watch, so I know what time it is, but...uuuuum...excuusie-meee, where-ah I am? How I go home from here-ah?”

“What the?” Denver Broncos (or maybe American Football Guy) looks down at me, hands on his hips. “Here I was thinking you looked promising, but did we get a simple idiot for the MaouMaou (魔王)

Lit.: "demon king", the king of the Mazoku. The position is neither elected nor inherited, but filled by choice of the Shinou, the first Maou. this time?”

Idiot?

“...How can you call a sensitive young man an idiot the first time you meet him?”

My bad habit rears its head. I‘ve had it since elementary school: when my brain ceases to function, a red light starts flashing, and I start talking frantically. It must be that I’m trying to give myself time to think while I’m chattering away like mad—my fourth grade music teacher was quite impressed. She gave me the nickname ’Turkischer Marsch’. She was the only one to ever call me that.

“Well, sure, I’m enrolled in a medium-ranking prefectural school, and nobody’s jealous of my grades or anything. I mean, I am a returnee, after all—I lived in Boston for half a year after I was born. So what’s with this ‘idiot’ stuff all of a sudden? Come on, idiot? Despite how I look, my dad’s an elite banker, and my brother’s at Hitotsubashi after passing his exams on his first try.”

I’m boasting about my family to cover up for my own mediocrity.

“Incidentally, my mom graduated from FerrisFerris University (フェリス女学院大学)

A private women's university founded in 1870 and established as a university in 1965, located in Kanagawa Prefecture. Its motto is "for others".!”

“Fe...what? Is that some provincial aristocrat?” he responds, and I stop short. I guess bragging about academic history isn’t really globally effective.

“So...”

So theme park actors should stop calling their guests idiots. For those in service roles, customers are gods. I somehow climb to my feet to lecture on that point of Japanese-style management.

The people playing villagers shout astoundingly, “The 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. is standing up!”

“He’s clad in black a real Mazoku he’s gotten up hurry up and get the children inside!”

“Oh no oh no he’s going to burn down this town just like Kentenow twenty years ago!”

“Wait a minute this one’s still young and he’s unarmed look he’s got black hair and black eyes I hear that if you catch someone with the twin black you can get the power of immortality and one of the western dukedoms is offering a reward for one!”

“Yeah I heard that too that there is a head that can fetch a small island.”

“Be careful no matter how young he is he’s still Mazoku and he’ll be able to use majutsu.”

“Oh but this is Lord Adalbert Lord Adalbert is here Lord Adalbert please protect this village please use your godly powers to seal this Mazoku and keep us from harm!”

What in heck are these people saying?! I can’t even figure out where the punctuations go in their sentences; it sounds like Japanese, but my brain can’t parse it. I unconsciously check my right wrist again. My solid, ungainly G-Shock watch is still there. I don’t know if it’s actually working or not, but at least it’ll give me a bit of boost to my attack power? Wait a minute—attack? Wait, what the heck am I thinking here? But however I look at it, these people are hostile towards me, and I have the right to protect myself from anyone. This is a state of emergency—wait, no, it’s an urgent evacuation. Or is it legitimate self-defense? Complete panic mode!

The villagers set up their dangerous weapons and sidle towards me with a do-or-die look on their faces. The guy they call Adalbert doesn’t hold any farm tools or rocks. Instead, he’s wearing a long sword at his side. You could say he’s a guy with a high attack power.

“Hey hey, calm down, everyone. He doesn’t understand anything yet. If we use this chance to explain to him...”

I can hear some sort of rhythmic sound approaching from a distance behind me. The pounding, which grows louder very rapidly, throws everyone into confusion. The sound is familiar—like hoofs: several horses galloping along the ground, their mighty hoof beats like the earth rumbling.

“Yuuri!”

Someone calls my name, and I turn.

The knight on the white horse who’s come to save me...

“...Ske...!”

It’s quite understandable that seeing them, my impressions would end at “ske.” The three riders galloping towards me aren’t knights, and they aren’t riding white horses—and just a little above them in the sky, something utterly impossible is approaching. ‘Something’ there is flying towards me. Something which I’ve never seen or even imagined in my fifteen years and nine months of existence.

It’s a model skeleton, worn a light brown from age, with what looks like wings made from bamboo frames glued with oiled paper sprouting out of it. And yet it’s flapping those wings noisily, flying through the sky as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

So skeletons can fly if you attach wings to them?

Wonderful, wonderful, exquisitely done! I can’t see any of the wires or hover mechanisms or propellers they’re using to keep it afloat. I wonder how they made it.

“Get away from him, Adalbert!”

The three horses galloping towards us are liver chestnuts with black on their foreheads, and riding on them are men holding drawn swords who look like soldiers. ‘Liver chestnut’ is a JRANippon Chuuou Keiba Kai (日本中央競馬会)

Lit.: Japan Central Horse Racing Association
Also known as: Japan Racing Association, JRA

A public company founded in 1954 in Japan to manage horse racing, race courses, betting facilities, and horse-training facilities. term, so the residents probably wouldn’t understand it. I can’t see the face of the young man who appears to be the leader, but he commands the other two sternly, “Don’t use your swords against the inhabitants! They’re not soldiers!”

“But, Your Excellency!”

“Disperse the crowd!”

The three horses force their way through the crowd of people who are playing the part of villagers, neighing and rearing. I cover my mouth against the considerable cloud of dust and cough wretchedly, violently. Blue and orange sparks flash within the beige-colored cloud, followed by the heavy klunk of metal clashing against metal. The group runs around trying to escape in a chaos of screams and the rustle of grass.

Someone grasps my arms. The surrounding scene gradually recedes.

“Adalbert von Grantz! Why are you encroaching upon our borders?!”

“You’re the same as ever, Lord Weller, Mr. Hero-Among-Cowards!”

Oh, I get it. It’s like in one of those SengokuSengoku (戦国)

The "warring states" period, lasting from 1467 to 1615, in which the warlords of Japan battled each other for the rule of the country.-era battles, where etiquette says you have to announce you’re this-and-that and you’ve fought a hundred men and won a thousand battles before you fight? —That’s what I’m thinking, when my body is slowly lifted from the ground. On the slope where the dust has cleared away, the villagers, chased by the cavalry, are running for their homes, and the young man has leapt off his horse and crossed swords with Amer-Foot-Guy. As I’m thinking that the ground has gotten rather far away, I’m abruptly turned and carried away. My arms, which are bearing my full body weight, are ablaze with pain.

“Why am I flying...no way?!”

The elaborate model skeleton whose construction I can’t figure out is transporting me away with both of my arms in its grasp. It’s flying unsteadily forward with its brown oiled-paper-like wings beating laboriously. No matter how much I look at it, it still looks like a skeleton with wings attached. Even though I’m looking up at it from directly underneath, I can only see an expressionless jaw and cranium attached to the top of its spine, and its eye sockets are dark, hollow cavities.

“Um, er, I guess, thanks.”

Though I’ve been abducted, it’s putting so much effort into it that I thought I should at least say thanks. The wings of the aerial model skeleton are desperately beating to keep us afloat, and one false move would probably send us plunging to the ground. Adalbert glances at us in the midst of his sword fight with Lord Weller, the apparent leader of the soldiers, and calls out, “You come well-prepared, using 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. to carry him away!”

“They are loyal to us. They do not lose themselves over personal grudges.”

“And you, Lord Weller? Woah there.”

I crane my head as I’m being carried away and see the Mr. Universe called Adalbert narrowly leap back to avoid the sword point of Lord Weller, the leader of the soldiers.

“Don’t you think it’s a waste for your skills to be used by that lot?”

“Unfortunately, Adalbert—”

As usual, I can’t see anything of Lord Weller but his khaki back and dark brown head. But somehow, I know that for a moment he smiled.

“—my love isn’t as single-minded as yours.”

His subordinates, having driven all of the villagers off, gallop back, and the two disengage at the same time. Adalbert flies to his horse and yell to me, as I move to about a tree’s height:

“Be patient for a bit—I’ll come to save you soon!”

“Save me...?—I don’t even know if I’m being kidnapped by the good guys or the bad guys right now!”

Below me, the brown-haired leader stop his soldiers, who are about to chase after the enemy.

“Leave him!”

“He’s one man. He’s at a disadvantage right now, and we’ll probably be able to take him if we can catch up with him.”

Lord Weller (face still unknown), snaps an answer in reply. He’s so cool!

“Our top priority right now is to get His Majesty to safety!”

This His Majesty that they need to get to safety—could they be talk about super-kabuki me? I guess I’m now participating in the production of this ultra-elaborate attraction of this ultra-novel theme park in the role of His Majesty; I surreptitiously murmur, “...For now, could you maybe get me down from this ultra-well-made sky ride?”

Chapter 3

People bustle busily among lines of countless shops just beginning to come aglow. A gigantic door is opened for us by guards who stand quietly at attention as we pass.

Günter, riding next to me, proclaims, “Welcome home, Your Majesty. Indeed, to this city, the capital of this our kingdom which is yours, founded by the mighty 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." and the powerful, wise, and courageous 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. who—ah, it must not be forgotten are the origin of everything in the world—defeated the Creator and his army to their eternal glory...”

Is that supposed to be the national anthem?

“...you are very much welcome.”

—But no, it turns out to be the country’s name. “Just abbreviate it Shinma KingdomShinma Kingdom (眞魔国)

Lit. "True Demon Kingdom"; the kingdom of the Mazoku of which Yuuri is king, founded by the Shinou after he defeated the Soushu. Divided into the terrories under direct control of the Maou and those ruled by the Ten Aristocratic Houses. Its human-shaped population is about 50 million, but also has a great variety of other races, such as the Kotsuhizoku.

The name "Shinma Kingdom" is actually an abbreviation; its true name is "the kingdom founded by the great Shinou and the powerful, wise, and courageous Mazoku who—ah, it must not be forgotten are said to be the origin of everything in the world—defeated the Soushu and his army to their eternal glory" (偉大なる眞王とその民たる魔族に栄えあれああ世界の全ては我等魔族から始まったのだということを忘れてはならない創主たちをも打ち倒した力と叡知と勇気をもって魔族の繁栄は永遠なるものなり王国).,” Conrad tells me in a whisper. Right, I’ll just remember it that way.

My impressions upon entering the capital are easy to state: “A Huis Ten BoschHuis Ten Bosch (ハウステンボス)

A theme park located in Sasebo, Nagasaki Prefecture that features many Dutch old-style buildings as well as canals, windmills, and amusement rides. It opened in March 1992. on an entirely different scale.” The buildings and people all look like they’re from a foreign country. But I can no longer deny that this is not a theme park. No theme park this humongous or elaborate exists in Japan. And even if this were an overseas country, I don’t think anyone would have reason to use such fiendish methods to deceive one person.

At least, to deceive somebody who was just your average high school student until yesterday.

Starting today, you are the MaouMaou (魔王)

Lit.: "demon king", the king of the Mazoku. The position is neither elected nor inherited, but filled by choice of the Shinou, the first Maou..

If I’m not being deceived, then there’s only one explanation left: “I’m in a dream.”

“So until I wake up, I guess I have no choice but to go with them.”

Once you get on a boat, you can’t get off until it arrives at port; in baseball, most of the time the game isn’t over until you’ve played nine innings. Which means I’ll tag along until the END mark or goal is in sight.

“Did you say something? Now, Your Majesty, let us proceed. Conrart and I shall ride on either side of you.”

I got it, so let’s get going.

There are nine riding in front of us, the rest following behind; the entire company rides in three columns down the capital’s main street. The residents lining up on both sides of the street all bow deeply towards me.

“Ah, thanks. Ah, um. Er, cheese. Ah, you don’t have to be so polite.”

I conscientiously return their greetings, but the senior tutor looks utterly scandalized.

“Your Majesty...please stop bowing your head to the people. You need to be more dignified.”

“What are you talking about? Greetings are the foundation of interpersonal relationships. That’s a universal rule.”

This city looks more prosperous than the villages we’ve seen along the way.

At least the parts facing the main street.

I look down at the town from the back of the gracefully-pacing horse who’s now behaving almost like an honors student. You’d never imagine that it was the terrifying black demon horse which threw its master twice.

The fleet-footed horse prepared for the king is from a rare jet-black line, called blue-haired in Japan, ebony-haired in this country. It looks shorter and stouter than the racehorses I’ve seen in paddocks, and its legs are thicker. It seems to have all the deposition of a warhorse as well. They say that it’ll continue running with its master on its back even after its heart has stopped. The reason: it has two hearts. That’s pretty convenient.

I’ve named it “Ao” because it’s easy to remember. It’s like the “John” sup:“Tarou” (太郎) in Japanese of horse names, and it’s been popular in Japan for a long time. It appears a lot in historical dramas.

People’s hair and skin color are really unbelievably diverse here. Like I’ve been told, there’s no one with black hair. But gold hair, brown hair, silver, white, red, chestnut, orange (maybe it’s dyed?), purple (must be a popular dye), green (as if it contains chlorophyll)...green?!

“Hey hey hey hey hey, Günter!”

“Yes?”

“There’s a green person over there—it’s a s-s-s-space space space alien!”

“Ah, it’s one of the Healers. The color of their blood is somewhat unique, which makes their skin very pale, but they possess the special power to improve the healing of their patients. They immigrated here two thousands years ago because they were being persecuted by humans. And it’s thanks to them that we have such long lives.”

“Then, then, what about that person with purple hair? The little girl from before looked like that, too.”

“They are the People of the Lake Shore. There are many among them who are born with strong magical powers, and they act as teachers and guards here in the capital. As your Majesty has probably already noticed, I am also descended from the Lake Shore People.”

So that’s where the lilac eyes come from.

I breathe a sigh as I ride along.

“Horses with two hearts, living model skeletons that fly, people born with green and purple hair. All things you’d never see in Japan. We’re not going to have to deal with things even glitzier than this, are we? Like a girl with bunny ears, or a sexy black panther girl, or a three-eyed birdman?”

I’m starting to get flustered just imagining it all. Conrad, suppressing laughter, exchanges looks with the tutor. “There are an unbelievable number of races in this kingdom, and some that even Günter and I, who have lived long lives, and the scholars cannot confirm. For example, the human-shaped population is about fifty million, but we can’t even begin to count the population of 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., the Flying Skeletons Tribe and the Kotsuchizoku, the Land Skeletons Tribe, or the Aquatic and Rock Bird Tribes. And besides that, if you think about the spirits who dwell quietly in the forests and mountains, the Mazoku live everywhere: from the skies to the vast earth to the rivers and trees. Your Majesty, those who live by your will are scattered everywhere throughout this kingdom.”

A little girl with gold eyes who is evidently one of this number runs a little way alongside Ao with a bouquet of flowers. The pretty, freshly-opened flowers are a light pink with multi-layered petals. Günter takes it and turns it once in inspection, then reluctantly passes it to me.

“They’re ordinary decorative flowers, without either poison or thorns. That little girl probably wanted to give them to you rather than me.”

“That’s not true. You seem way more popular than me.”

This is the first time in my life I’ve gotten flowers from a girl, so I’m totally not as annoyed as I might sound.

We march forward without incident, and finally reach the ramparts of a real-life castle.

The gates open ponderously.

“...Woah.”

I definitely hear theme music flowing through my head right around then, along with narration by Ogata NaotoOgata Naoto (緒形直人) 1967

An actor from Kanagawa, Japan who has appeared in around 10 movie roles and 15 television roles, including narration for Tokyo Broadcasting System's ongoing documentary series, World Heritage from 1996-2001.. World Heritage, aaah World Heritage, World Heritage. A one-line ode to the magnificence of the castle.

The road paved with white stones continues straight into the distance, and overflowing aqueducts follow its course on both sides. The waterway splits into two branches towards the east and west of the city. Looking up at the front of the castle, I’m reminded of the European castles you read about in stories—not the German old fortress type, but the English large-scale symmetrical country manor type that bam! appears right in front of you. It’s impressive in both height and width, in full wide-screen glory. A rich green mountain guards its back, and the aqueducts pour out of hillside tunnels.

“...Um, you know, I don’t really know what to say right now.”

“You need say nothing; after all, this is the royal castle of the Maou, the ‘Blood Pledge Castle’.”

Blood Pledge? In Japanese history terms, that‘d mean something like the horrible vow ’one in life and death!’ that some organizations took—not a very gentle name. There’s probably a reason best left unheard for a beautiful, magnificent castle like this to have a name like that...but even though I tell him that I don’t want to hear it, the tutor launches into an explanation.

“When the Shinou chose this land to become the capital of his kingdom, he evidently promised the earth spirits that they would not be harmed. In gratitude and friendship, the earth spirits vowed that should this castle be occupied by any save the Maou, their blood would be taken in compensation for their crime. A pledge of blood—in other words, the Blood Pledge Castle will obey no one but His Majesty the Maou. It’s said to be the royal castle which is impregnable—no, which is flawless.”

“Phew, then I guess that means the castle and that king didn’t make a blood pact or anything.”

Conrad, looking inordinately pleased, nods down the center of the path. On either side, stretching out in front of us as far as the eye can see, is a line of soldiers standing at attention. They’ll almost certainly bow their heads to us as we pass, like a reverse stadium wave. The last time I saw people standing like this was the attack of welcoming bows when I passed through the grand opening of a store while taking a shortcut.

I can hear a tune coming from somewhere that sounds like a cross between Ravel and Elgar. It’s probably the national anthem.

“From the looks of this reception, Lord von Spitzweg has failed in his wheedling, hmm?”

Who the heck is the guy who owns such a jaw-breaking name? And why is it that everyone in this country has both ‘von’ and ‘Lord’ attached to their name? Is ‘von’ maybe like the Japanese ‘yama’, which is just in a lot of people’s family names—like Yamada-san and Yamamoto-san and Yamakawa-san? Or... Conrad, seeing my questioning expression, explains. As we finally step onto the grounds—yup, there’s the welcome to hell salute, just as I expected.

“This kingdom is divided into areas that lie directly under the Maou’s control and those that are territories of the Ten Aristocratic Houses who obey the Maou. ‘Von’ is attached to the surnames of those ten Houses. At one time, they styled themselves with ‘von’ added to the names of the land they governed, and over time it became the name of each House. Günter, for example, is from the noble House of the Lords von Kleist which governs the Kleist area. The addition of Lord or Lady denotes one who will go to the battlefield in an emergency. So basically both men and women of all the Aristocratic Houses have military ranks. Those who are prepared to fight are given that title when they reach adulthood.”

Hmm? I seem to remember that the macho I met in the beginning also had a ‘von’ in his name.

“Lord Stuffel von Spitzweg is the older brother of the previous Maou, a man who wanted to gain power by becoming the regent. The previous Maou...who has already resigned her position and is now Her Prior Majesty the ex-Maou—when she declared her intention to resign, we moved immediately to summon Your Majesty. But he may possibly have attempted to repeal her decision. Because if he can persuade Her Prior Majesty, he can protect his own position. But in any case, he seems to have failed.”

Eh? But Conrad’s name doesn’t...

“Now he must be contriving to get on Your Majesty’s good side by throwing a grand celebration in honor of the new king’s entrance into the castle.”

There’s an expression of something like hatred on the face of this good-natured Lord Weller for the first time, but it disappears in the time I transfer the bouquet to my right hand.

I don’t know whether it’s because he immediately suppresses it himself, or because Günter quickly adds, “We must no longer allow that man to do as he pleases. If nothing else, in this both Gwendal and Wolfram must certainly agree.”

“I hope so.”

There’s something going on. Anyone, no matter how slow, would have noticed. I lean forward. My right hand, still carrying the flowers, nears the seemingly-docile Ao’s ear.

“Um, so this Spitz something Spielberg person...”

How many Oscars has he won? I can’t finish what I’m about to say. Because suddenly the black demon bursts forwards as if it has a V8 engine attached to its behind going full throttle.

Even I, her rider, don’t know what caused the dire displeasure that prompted this wild run. What I do know is that escaping unscathed is out of the question if I’m thrown. Shouting incoherently as I cling desperately to the horse galloping full speed straight ahead, I reach the castle all alone in bizarre unceremonious abruptness.

The lines of soldiers preparing to salute probably don’t even recognize the black hurricane passing in front of them as their new king. I can hear advice trailing me.

“Your Majesty! The reins, the reins—!”

“Conrart! That horse must be insufficiently trained!”

Günter’s words are cut short as he kicks his horse into pursuit.

“I wouldn’t have thought that something like that could set her off so. I trained her quite thoroughly, but of course not on what to do if a horsefly flies from a flower into her ear. Yooour Maaaajesty! Pull on the reins and tighten your legs—!”

As for me, all that’s going through my head right about then are headlines about runaway trucks plunging into stores and customers and clerks covering their heads and running every which way. Ao skims over the uneven ground lightly and is rapidly approaching the front entrance of the castle. The soldiers lined up by the side of the road suddenly move into position to block our path, but Ao smoothly outruns them. At the center of the dumbfounded soldiers is a handsome middle-aged blond man.

She clears more obstacles, and the worst scenarios play out in my mind in the short time we’re airborne.

I fall from the horse and ask Conrad and Günter to take care of the rest with my last breath before my head falls with a thud to the ground. What rest?! Why with a thud?!

Ao suddenly rears just before the closed door barring the front entrance. I’m being thrown! —Panicking, I grab not only the reins but her jet-black mane and close my eyes in anticipation of the impact. But five seconds pass, and I feel no pain.

“...She stopped...”

And I fall as soon as I lower my guard. Unfortunately, this time there’s hard, cold, expensive marble beneath me. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s important to roll with the fall, I think vaguely, lying face-up where I fell.

Ooh, the ceiling is so high up. It’s almost like I’m lying on the floor of the hall of the National Science Museum.

Ao stamps several times and lowers her head down right next to mine. “Hey, what’re you doing down there?” she asks with her clear eyes, as if she’s clean forgotten what terrible things she was just guilty of. Her muzzle is covered with white foam.

Somebody’s feet are standing next to my shoulder. My gaze shifts slightly, and a face comes into focus from its lofty position. It must be a really outrageously tall person. But this man neither speaks nor lends me a hand. This is the first time I’ve seen such an overtly apathetic person since I came to this world. Maybe I really am dreaming that I’m the Maou and that I’m the master of this castle.

But if that’s true, then can’t it at least be more fun?

“Your Majesty—!”

I can hear Conrad and Günter’s voices. And the sound of hoofs striking against stone. The man seems to gain some sort of understanding from their shouts. From his great height he lets fall a few muttered words.

“...Your Majesty...this?”

This? What’s with this? But before I can object, the Love Theme from Godfather drifts into my head. Your theme song has now been decided. I get up without any help. In front of me, just as I predicted, is someone whose height I would never be able to attain no matter how many times I pass through the wheel of reincarnation.

And not just his height—I would never be able to attain his face either.

His longish hair, a thick gray which might almost be called black, is partially tied in the back. The pleasureless eyes scrutinizing me are a deep blue. His brows, set too close to those eyes, give him a generally displeased appearance, but my life experience is too short to tell me if it’s because he is displeased. But girls would probably fall right for that dour look.

Even though they keep calling me the Maou, both internally and externally I’m just a high school student who’s never been popular. At best my appearance and brains are both average. I’m not muscular, and I don’t have a deep, low voice. Worse, even while I was playing baseball, I was pretty much a bench warmer for three years.

His interest piqued, perhaps, he gazes at me with head tilted. His worry is becoming more and more apparent.

“Your Majesty, are you injured?!”

Conrad, who arrives first, nimbly alights from his horse and comes up to me. The handsome middle-aged man and his troupe (the one that tried to block us earlier), which he must have passed on the way, now comes galloping up as well. Günter also leaps down from his dappled gray, shouting something. Even I cannot believe that I’m at the center of such a huge group of people.

“Are you saying that this is the new Maou?!”

He even has a sonorant testy-sounding alto voice.

Even I am quite ready to admit defeat in the battle of physical form when faced with four such ultra-beauties. That long-leggedness is a racial trait and can’t be helped, and their height, shoulder-breadth, and weight are— Hey, when did I start caring this much about body builds? Probably from that day when the second pitcher said to me, “You’re too small of a target—I have a horrible time pitching to you.”

At least my physique is on par with his, but I’m utterly defeated as soon as I look up. This beauty!—what the heck! It’s enough to make him glow, as if he walks around with a halo on his head. Maybe it’s just because of his dazzling blond hair. He looks and sounds like an older boy from the Vienna Boys Choir. Transparent white skin, emerald green irises that remind me of the bottom of a lake, and he doesn’t even have a split chin. It’s an angel—though right then, an angry angel. But since he’s here, he must be one of the beautiful Mazoku instead.

“Gwendal...no—Elder Brother, are you going to welcome this human whose lineage we don’t even know, brought by the likes of him, as the new king?!”

Him—the girls-manga-style ultra-beautiful young man glares sharply at Conrad. I heard the name Gwendal earlier, but I’m also sure I heard something like Wolfgang or Wolfram. So the Godfather Love Theme guy must be Gwendal, and the Vienna Boys Choir OB is Wolfram?

“I’ll never be able to trust such a filthy humanoid. Judging from his appearance, he has neither intelligence nor dignity, and besides, to have tumbled down the highway in that area...”

“Wolfram!” It’s not Gwendal, whom he called his brother, but Günter who cuts him off. “What appalling—! If His Majesty were not so munificent, your life would be forfeit!”

Munificent? Is he talking about me? He must be thinking of somebody else.

“Please watch your mouth; even if you are the crown prince, I will not tolerate disrespect towards His Majesty. And stop speaking ill of Conrart as well; he is, after all, your older brother.”

Eh?

The relationship map between these people is jumbling me up just listening to them. The Godfather and the Vienna Boys Choir OB are brothers, and Conrad is Wolfram’s older brother, which means...

Gwendal, Conrart, Wolfram.

They’re three Mazoku brothers.

“...No way?! But, but you look nothing alike—!”

“Sorry about that,” Conrad says smiling as he walks across to me. His expression says that he’s already used to this. “All of us have different fathers. But, alike or not, we cannot deny the blood connection. Gwendal is my older brother, Wolfram my younger. Even though they would probably never personally admit to that.”

And you? I ask in my mind.

Conrad, how do you think of them?

But before I can ask that question, all attention focuses back on me at Günter’s next words: “You are in the presence of His Majesty.”

“Your New Royal Majesty!”

The handsome middle-aged man rushes over. Now that I’m used to beautiful forms, this man can’t even compare. Hmm, leeeet’s seee, he’s quite handsome for someone in his fifties, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. But in the depths of his eyes, behind a hidden door, lie cowardly schemes.

“I am Stuffel von Spitzweg, the brother of the previous king, now Her Prior Majesty, Lady Cäcilie von Spitzweg. I am serving in the position of Regent for the prosperity of this kingdom, and I am overjoyed at the safe arrival of Your Majesty.”

“Hey, you know, Lord von Spitzweg,” I say to him in a purposely casual tone, “who would you rather have as the Maou: me or your siblings?”

“Huh?!”

Moooron. Isn’t not replying immediately proof that you’d pick yourself?

“Ah, of course it would be Your New Royal Majesty! To have you become our new king during this propitious time is to the benefit of all our people. You are our savior, and you will pave the way to the new future of this kingdom. I have already heard of your great-souledness.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong person. I am not such a great-souled person.”

“What humbleness! That jet-black hair, those midnight eyes! You are the one who stands at the summit of the Mazoku.”

According to the standards of this country, black hair and eyes let me win over such handsome guys as you? So just by being an ordinary Japanese person, I can become heir to the throne of this country?

Ugh, that just sounds so fake.

I can’t really be the king if I can’t do anything to prove it.

“Where’s your proof?!” The blond angelic Wolfram demands with hostility as if he’s speaking my thoughts out loud. “Where’s your proof that he’s the real thing? I’ll never admit to this kid being the Maou until I see proof.”

“Kid?! Oh wait, I guess I’m bad at telling foreigners’ ages too, but. But! No matter how I look at it, you’re the same age as me! And if the average American high-schooler is more mature, then I may even be older than you!”

“How old are you?” The overbearing third son asks, arrogantly crossing his arms. Guess I won’t have to command him to stop being too polite.

“...Fifteen...I’ll be sixteen in two months...”

“Humph.”

“What’s with the ‘humph’? How old are you, then?! You’re not gonna tell me you’re an old man wearing a pretty boy’s wig, are you?”

“I’m eighty-two.”

“...Huh?”

Eighty-two? With youthful clear skin and a head full of hair?

“That’s totally impossible!”

You guys have more life experience than my granddad?!

 

My first bath in two days is in a room reserved for my private use.

The cream-tiled bathroom is the Maou’s private bath. The bathtub is as spacious as an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and hot water gurgles in streams from the mouths of five cows along one edge. I submerge myself comfortably into a corner of the first lane and ponder what’s happened to me as well as what the future will bring.

What are you going to do and what will become of you, Shibuya Yuuri?!

I‘ve been sucked down a Western-style toilet and expelled into a theme park-style other world, had rocks thrown at me by the residents, told that I’m the Maou, told that I have to kill the humans, forced to ride a horse that almost killed me, fawned over by everyone, brought to a castle with a scary name, called ’this’, told that I would not be recognized as the Maou, told that everyone’s real age is five times what they appear, and taken into the castle with the scary name.

It has two hundred fifty-two rooms on three floors (five floors in one section) with ceilings so impossibly high that even Godzilla would have a hard time hitting a ceiling serve.

Its stairs are breath-stealingly long, and there are more than one hundred ninety people working inside. The stables are modest, but there is a huge barracks with four thousand five hundred full-time soldiers. There are additional lodgings in other parts, now being used by Gwendal and Wolfram’s troops, brought from their own territories.

The room I’ve been given for now is as big as a basketball court, with a fire blazing in the fireplace and fabrics and furs strewn on the floor. On the white-coated stone wall is a picture like something I once saw when my mom took me to UenoUeno Kouen (上野公園)

Also Known as: Ueno Onshi Kouen (上野恩賜公園)

Ueno Park is a large public park located in Tokyo near Ueno Station. It is famous for its many museums, including the Tokyo National Museum, the Orient Museum, the National Science Museum, the Shitamachi Museum, the National Museum for Western Art and the Tokyo Metropolitan Fine Art Gallery. in elementary school. The remaining three sides have what look like national flags and tapestries. Surprisingly, there are also decorative plants in the nooks.

“No TVs, games, or MDs.”

What’s more, there’s no electricity, gas, or telephone.

“...The bed...is ultra-huge...”

The bed is humongous.

It’s lacking a canopy, but it’s so big that five junior high kids could sleep on it together no problem.

A handsome attendant wearing only a loincloth that barely covers his essential parts comes over with a gorgeous gilded bucket and proposes to wash my back. I turn him down flat. He just ticked off my inferiority complex.

I pour a light pink liquid into my hand from a nearby bottle. Oh, what a nice smell. This must be shampoo. I rub it in thoroughly, then pour water over myself from a bucket. There’s no conditioner! I’m a sports guy more than a manly man.

I thoroughly wash the rest of my body as well, and since this is the first real bath I’ve had in two days, I’m wavering between indulging in it more and getting out when—

“Oh my.”

From the entrance opposite to the one I used, a woman wearing only a bath towel appears. Not a girl: a woman. Is this supposed to be a mixed bath?! Wait, I’m sure Günter said that this is a private bath. So is she...some kind of free service for me? What kind of perverted service is this?! No, it’s probably just that I didn’t know because I’ve been a commoner until now, but kings and ministers and members of congress probably have them. But—wait wait wait—! Why of all things is she stretching out in the second lane in a pool this big?

This woman with golden ringlets reaching down to her hips, who’s way too sexy for my peace of mind, is submerged in the water up to her chest just one meter away from me. I can’t see very well because my eyes are hazy from the steam—or maybe from the mental strain and agitation—but she’s an absolute pheromone system. She’s a bombshell under the towel, and she’s even more beautiful as the heat flushes her cheeks and lips pink.

And she’s a ‘woman.’ Not a ‘girl’ my age.

“Ooooh my.”

“Ah, er, um, I-I-I-I wasn’t told that this is a mixed bath.”

“Oh no, it’s perfectly fine. This bath is for exclusive the use of the Maou. I only ended up here out of habit. Please don’t mind me, Your Majesty.”

“Urgh, ah, wait, no, don’t-don’t come any closer to me!”

“So you are His Majesty the new Maou, aren’t you? How unexpected it is to meet you here.”

Maybe because the blood is rushing to my head, heart, and lower body right about now, I’ve stopped being able to make any rational judgments. Oh no, this is bad! And since I’m a regular teenager going through puberty, the badness is ten times, twenty times worse!

“Look-look here, miss—I mean, lady. Isn’t it a violation of the rules to enter the bath without rinsing?! And coming in with a bath towel! Soaking in a public bath house with a towel is a serious breach of etiquette!”

My voices comes echoing back. I can’t say it like Mino MontaMinorikawa Norio (御法川 法男) 1944

Also known as: Mino Monta (みのもんた)

A Japanese television presenter who is host for the show Mino Monta no Asa Zuba! (みのもんたの朝ズバッ!), Japanese version of the quiz show Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, as well as his own afternoon TV program, Omoikkiri TV ("Full Throttle TV")..

“Oh my, I’m so sorry. It’s been such a long time since I’ve bathed with a gentleman,” she says, gazing at me as I stand there petrified. “Teehee...you’re sooo cute!”

That’s when I bolt with a shout that’s not quite a cry or a scream.

What do you mean I’m cute, Miss Sexy?—why were you in the king’s bath, Miss Pheromone?—and finally, who are you, Miss Sexy Queen?!

I dash off with only a towel wrapped around my waist, and when I fly into the room that I think they told me is mine, I’m greeted with yet another cute young girl, and I shout incoherently.

“What is the matter, Your Majesty?”

“What’s wrong, Your Majesty?”

The two self-proclaimed members of the Yuuri Faction murmur in low voices as they arrive at a gallop, their blank gazes taking in the young woman with arms full of glossy black cloth trembling in a corner and their new Majesty the Maou cowering behind the gigantic bed. My butt is hanging out.

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty!”

“...I like girls. I like girls, but if they’re asking to see me, I’d rather not—I mean, it’s not like I’m not that big or impressive or anything.”

Conrad sends the maid away and comes towards the bed. That’s when I finally calm down enough to sit up and adjust the sheet around my waist.

“Goodness, it’s too bad that your posterior is now all tucked away.”

“Is there no privacy in this world?!”

“Your Majesty, it’s natural for a king to have attendants and maids. If you’re surprised by every little thing...”

“But they don’t have to come into my bathroom or my bedroom, do they?! I mean, then where would you hide your porn in this world? If a beautiful nude woman tries to pick me up in the bath, where can I run to to get a breather?”

“A beautiful nude woman in the bathroom? Aaah...”

Conrad looks up at the ceiling as if to say ‘Oh my god!’

“...She’s gone and done it.”

“I thought it was some kind of service and would probably have made a request if I’d stayed any longer...well, I’m not much of a big-shot right now, so I only ran away and came back here.”

“That’s good, I’m thankful for Your Majesty’s good sense.”

“Oh, oooh, Your Mabezy, preaze puh zus on,” says the Tutor through a stuffed nose, holding a black piece of cloth. His eyes are swimming with tears.

“What happened to you all of a sudden? Allergies?”

“My-my abologeez! As I see you standing here after going through all the hardships of coming to a world with such different customs for the first time and enduring such an extreme change in your circumstances...it’s too courageous and sweet at the same time...aaah, I’m so sorry! What outrageous things I’m saying! I-I’m so flustered.”

“What’s wrong, Günter? This is not like you.”

“If you have allergies, you should go rinse your nose. It always makes my brother feel better.”

My fingers brush against Günter’s arm as I reach out for the clothes. He back-peddles with incredible speed until he hits the wall. His face is so red it looks like he has a fever. I pick up the topmost piece of glossy clothing—it seems to be some kind of underwear.

“Even the underpants are black and glossy and—”

—It’s a thong. One of those things you tie on both sides. I turn to Conrad, who looks as if all of this were quite natural.

“I’m a guy! Why am I supposed to wear a thong?!”

“Hm? That’s quite the fashionable underwear right now.”

“No way! Then is he is he is he wearing a thong too?! You’re telling me that he can have that sort of expression on his face while wearing a thong?! Don’t tell me that even you—”

“Oh, no, mine are more plebeian...”

“Buuufft.”

We turn at the same time to see Günter at the wall holding his nose. Maybe he really is suffering from allergies—I’d be sure of it if he sneezed. He looks glassy-eyed, too, and—how do I say this—he sounds like he’s suddenly become an Italian. And he’s so fantastically beautiful too that if I were a girl I’d probably totally fall for him.

“Please don’t embarrass me by talking like an uptight old woman, Your Majesty. To reject easily-removable underwear is the same as rejecting me when I knock on the door...ah...huh?! What was I just...!”

It feels like he’s about to present me with deep red roses at any moment, but after spazzing out for a moment he comes back to himself.

“M-my deebez abologies! For having such in-in-insolent thoughts!”

“That’s why I said if you clean your nose with a saline solution and drink some...insolent—eh? what?”

“I’ll go cool off my head!”

“Clean, I said, not cool!” I shout after him as he dashes out, but I don’t think he hears me. But for now my problem is this underwear I’m holding gingerly with my fingertips. There’s only a scrappy piece of cloth in the middle—I can’t think of it as anything but embarrassing.

“But I guess even Japanese people have traditional ‘sumo loinclothes’.”

“That’s quite true, Your Majesty. And perhaps you’ll even enjoy wearing it, and discover a new self.”

I don’t want to discover a new self.

“But I wonder what in the world got into Günter? There, after the underwear comes— Eh?”

Conrad leans close to me as he passes me piece after piece of clothing that look very like my school uniform.

“...Your Majesty, you smell quite nice.”

“Oh, it’s probably the shampoo. The pink stuff that was in the bathroom.”

Though I have no idea who left it there.

 

The Shinou’s banquet is nothing like those programs that show you useful tricks or the ones that teach guest former pro baseball superstars all about wine.

“It’s a special, high-class dinner for only His Majesty the new Maou and those in his inner circle.”

Somehow, even with cotton stuffed in his nose, Günter is in strangely high spirits as he leads the way with shoulders thrown back. His hair falls smoothly down his back. His clothes look like a priest’s garments: off-white full-length robes with beautiful gold-threaded embroidery down the front.

“Excuse my lateness.”

Conrad, who changed in great haste before hurrying back, catches up to us in a trot. He’ll definitely be hailed as the cosplay king this year looking like that. I’m not kidding.

The snow-white navy uniform he’s wearing would be the yearning of any American girl. Setting off on a Journey of Love and Youth—original title: An Officer and a Gentleman—starring Richard Gere. With that familiar theme song as background music, he could easily be called an all-American numero uno. Even without the hat.

“So I guess that’s a uniform, huh?”

Mountains spread out beyond the window, and I can see lights at their summits. It’s already dark around us, and those lights twinkle brighter than the stars.

“Please look there—those are the lights of the holy ground of the Mazoku, the Shinou Mausoleum. The great Shinou, who is the origin of everything for us, sleeps there.”

Even the Mazoku have a holy ground? I put the question aside and look at the flickering flames at the summit. I wonder if it’s something like a temple in Japan? From the viewpoint of modern Japanese Shibuya Yuuri, the Shinou is something like a god to these people. Since he has a tomb, he’s probably already left this world.

But because of the Shinou’s oracle or command or something, I was brought here.

“...Though I don’t know about being the king or anything.”

"Your Majesty, please take a look here as well—this hall also serves as a gallery, and the gallant forms of the generations of Maous are all painted here. Though the portraits of the previous Maou and the one before that are not yet completed.

Twenty portraits wider than my outstretched hands hang in the endless corridor. All of them were drawn with painful attention to realism and detail.

“It feels like the time I went to see the Barnes Collection in UenoUeno Kouen (上野公園)

Also Known as: Ueno Onshi Kouen (上野恩賜公園)

Ueno Park is a large public park located in Tokyo near Ueno Station. It is famous for its many museums, including the Tokyo National Museum, the Orient Museum, the National Science Museum, the Shitamachi Museum, the National Museum for Western Art and the Tokyo Metropolitan Fine Art Gallery. .”

"They are lined up on this side starting from the most recent. This is the Twenty-Fourth Maou, His Majesty Beltran von Radford. The people revered him as ‘the Lion King’.

“Lion king, huh? I guess every world has a nickname like that.”

“This is the Twenty-Third Maou, His Majesty Jeannot von Karbelnikoff, called the Stern. And this is the Twenty-Second Maou, His Majesty Ropelewski Arsenio, renowned as the Mighty Warrior King. This is the Twenty-First Maou, His Majesty Dwayne von Gyllenhaal the Belligerent, and before that, His Majesty Henstridge Davidson the Slaughterer, His Majesty Basilio von Rochefort the Cruel...”

“These nicknames are getting more and more dangerous, aren’t they? Aren’t there any with more easygoing names like The Oil Magnate or The Newspaper King or the Brand King?”

“Well...we don’t have oil or newspapers or brands...”

“The Fifteenth Maou, Her Majesty Grisela Trintignant Yaft the Beheader. The Fourteenth Maou, Her Majesty Brittany von Wincott the Blood-Spiller...”

The character traits of the Mazoku are surfacing.

Some are seated in chairs with hands on their dogs, others leaning against swords thrust into the ground. There are also pictures of Maous on horseback holding poles decorated with the freshly-severed heads of their defeated foes. There are perhaps three women in the lot, as well as kings who look no older than boys.

But though they differ in the color of their hair and eyes, over time their beauty is comparable, and as we go further back in time, they seem less and less human. Well, basically you’d say that they’re not human. Their garments are much fantastically richer in color than that of the modern Mazoku, and they’re drawn wearing cloaks and armor.

“In the old days they all looked like they were in a RPG, huh? Guess this wouldn’t be a sword and magic world otherwise. Your military uniforms look too modern. Oh, what about him?”

“That is the Seventh Maou, His Majesty Forgeas von Voltaire.”

“He looks just like the Godfather Love Theme guy from earlier!”

“God...you mean Gwendal? That is his ancestor.”

“Huh?! Then why isn’t he the next Maou? If his ancestor was the king, then wouldn’t the descendants succeed him as the king?”

Günter puts on his teacher face and says with head slightly tilted to one side, “Your Majesty, the position of Maou is not hereditary.”

“But it’s not elected either, right? It’s so hard to understand, I can’t stand it!”

“That’s understandable, since you were raised in another world. Well, but you’ll come to understand it—after a year you’ll be a very kingly Maou.”

“A year?! I’m going to live here for a year?!” I ask Conrad in return, and the Tutor looks at me with astonishment.

“Your Majesty is the king of this country, so it’s quite obvious that you’ll be spending the rest of your life here. A year would be nothing, would it?”

This is becoming a major disaster. If this continues, I’ll definitely end up having to repeat a grade. And doubly bad considering that this is May of my first year of senior high, when school has just started—it’s too early no matter how you look at it. I’ll just have to complete this mission that’s been given to me quickly and aim at reaching the goal in the shortest time possible.

“And here is he who united the Mazoku, defeated the Soushu, and founded the Kingdom of Shinma: our first king, His Majesty the Shinou. Glory to his exalted soul.”

“Huuuh, now he looks just like that kid. It must be one of his ancestors. So what’s his name?”

“We must not speak his name without necessity.”

“You won’t even tell me his name? Sheesh, how selfish is that.”

“Your Majesty!”

“But it’s because of him that I was brought here and sent away before that, right? My soul was sent flying off to another world just because of something said by some dead guy? But still you won’t even tell me his name—that’s what I’d call selfish.”

“I’ll tell you later, Your Majesty.”

There’s suppressed laughter in Conrad’s voice.

A golden-haired young man stands with a naked sword in one hand in the conspicuously large portrait, arranged front and center. He looks very like Wolfram. Except that his eyes are the bright blue of a lake surface on a clear day, and something about him seems different from the Mazoku that come after him. From my amateur impressions, he’s looks like a “self-important big-shot born to be the Maou.”

“...Who’s he?”

In this single painting, the Maou is not alone. The person standing a little behind him is clearly different from the kings in the other portraits. He’s dressed in very ordinary, functional clothes, and is wearing neither sword nor armor. From the suggestion of a faint smile at the corners of his lips, he doesn’t appear to be a retainer or servant.

“He looks rather oriental, doesn’t he?”

Günter’s proud explanation conveys his heartfelt reverence and affection even to someone completely unfamiliar with this person.

“He is the Great Sage of the Twin Black, the only person in this world who is of equivalent status to the Shinou. If he had not existed, we would have been destroyed in the battle against the Soushu, and would have become wanderers without land or country. Though this world would probably have been destroyed before then.”

“So then he’s an amazing person?”

“Quite so. And more beautiful than anyone!”

“Huuuh?!”

I guess their aesthetics are completely unfathomable to a Japanese person. However you look at it, this serene Oriental can only be called refined. Actually, he looks more intelligent than beautiful.

“He and Your Majesty bear a great resemblance to each other. When they ascertain it for themselves, the people will also certainly joyfully extol your nobility!”

The cotton shoots out of Lord von Kleist’s nose. Hey, hold on, your nose is bleeding—there’s blood coming out of your nose!

“I don’t look like him at all! I mean, how! How are we alike?!”

“Come, come, Your Majesty, look at the color of your hair, your eyes. You bear a striking resemblance to an amazing person, Your Majesty. Now that’s charisma!”

“I keep telling you that most Japanese people have black eyes and hair!”

Other than that, he doesn’t look anything like me or my family.

Damn you, Shinou, I curse him in my heart.

Thanks to you, a dead person, I’ve been sucked deeper and deeper into this. And if I get kept back a year, I’ll go lay waste to your mausoleum or whatever it is.

I didn’t know then that these curses would all rebound back on me.

Günter, enraptured by his own intoxicated oration, goes off on a romantic rant.

“The Shinou is the Darkness and the Great Sage is the Light. They pursue each other, yearn for each other, and bear each other’s colors in their own bodies: Darkness to Light, Light to Darkness!”

“Let’s leave him here—this is going to take a while.”

Conrad’s apparently used to this.

Chapter 5

I’m about to start bawling.

I can’t believe it, how could this happen? Slapping someone is proposing to them, picking up a knife is accepting a duel?! My common sense says that it’s red roses for a proposal and a glove for a duel! I’m now standing at the crossroads of life and death just because I didn’t know this world’s etiquette.

“Aaaaaaaaaaagh!”

The castle’s bed is so huge that I don’t fall off even though I’m rolling around. So huge that I feel lonely. For the first time in my fifteen years of existence I understand why girls sleep with stuffed animals.

“What do I do? How do I get out of this one?!”

I try to calm myself by thinking of worse pinches I’ve been in. Searching: more extreme crisis situations...no data found.

“I haven’t done anything as dangerous as this! This is not normal! This dueling thing!”

Calm down, calm down, calm down, calm down. How about I hurt myself before I’m beat up by the enemy?

An anguished Günter told me earlier with eyes and nose running that deciding the winner of a duel by the loser’s death went out of fashion hundreds of years ago. Duels nowadays are merely a matter of pride, and it’s very rare for someone to actually lose their life.

Yes, rare.

There are exceptions.

I unconsciously tuck the pillow behind my legs and groan loudly, “What am I gonna do?” As if in response, a knock comes from the thick door.

“Your Majesty.”

“What?”

Conrad enters carrying a pile of various things.

“Good, you’re not asleep yet. Your Majesty, what is that between your legs?”

“Huh? Oh, this, it kinda calmed me down—I couldn’t sleep at all.”

“Not surprisingly. I thought that that might be the case, which is why I brought these. Here, Your Majesty, let’s practice.”

“Practice?”

He’s brought a leather tray and a pole—the tray becomes a shield when I grip its back, and the pole a practice sword when I draw it from its scabbard.

“Hold the sword with your dominant arm—yes, this is a one-handed sword, so your left arm carries a light shield. Try swinging it. How does it feel? Please tell me if it’s too heavy. Though I did intentionally chose a shorter sword made for women.”

It’s a bit heavy to swing with one hand. The grip on this simple, dull silver weapon feels very much like something else that I’m more accustomed to holding.

“The hilt feels a lot like a bat, doesn’t it. But the weight is more like a pro wooden bat than a metal bat.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed. A bat, hmm? That’s probably true.”

It’s already been so long since I last played baseball. I haven’t even touched ball or bat or mask or mitt for a very long time.

“It really brings back memories, this grip. I guess it’ll be a year soon, huh?”

“Why did you quit?”

“Eh?”

“Baseball,” Conrad asks with his arms folded, a cheerful smile on his face. I drop the sword in my lap and fall back onto the bed.

Nostalgic memories. Memories that no longer make me mad, but still make my chest ache a little.

“...My temper exploded like it did earlier, and I hit the coach. I got kicked out immediately.”

“That’s the reason you quit the team, right? I’m not asking about the team, but about why you stopped playing baseball.”

“I stopped because...I wonder why? I can’t really explain it clearly myself, I guess.”

“Then maybe you haven’t stopped yet?”

“Huh?”

“I’m saying that maybe you’re not done yet?”

A round object appears in Conrad’s palm as if he were Santa Claus or a magician. Its leather is yellow with use, its red stitches worn.

“Woah, it’s a ball! Hey, what an awesome discovery! Baseball in this world is just like baseball in Japan!”

“Want to give it a try? To see if the feeling is the same or not?”

 

The courtyard is enclosed by buildings on all sides; soft light pours out of every window. There’s a moon in the sky, and brilliantly flaming torches illuminate a yellow semi-circle on the ground.

Sentries guarding critical positions serve as our only audience. But.

“It feels like a nighter.”

“Nighter? Aah, night game?”

“That term exists in this world too? Do you play baseball at night anywhere?”

“Not really. Well, actually, there are very few people who play baseball...truth to tell, the children and I are the only people who are interested in it...”

Conrad has brought his personal gloves. They’re normal gloves, not mitts. Well, you take what you can get, I murmur as I touch the outside with my index finger, and test-grip the hard brown leather. Though the model is somewhat outdated, it’s an almost-new baseman-use glove. My favorite is the Zett role model design, but this one isn’t a Mizuno or a Descente. Of course it’s not going to be a brand I recognize, since this isn’t even my world. Except that this familiar boomerang is...

“...Nike...no way.”

Conrad waves exaggeratedly from more than ten meters away.

“Your Majesty, here it comes!”

The ball lands solidly in the glove as I hold it up diagonally across my face. The sensation of leather smacking against leather is peculiar. The shock concentrated in the center of my palm seems to throb from there down to my elbow.

“Hard ball, huh?”

That’s what it is. But it’s electrifying; I’ve always played soft ball until now.

I shift the grip of my right hand on the ball, which is surprisingly smooth and difficult to hold onto. When I take a good look, I can see words written there in a script that is about to fade almost completely away. Of course I can’t read 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. writing, but it’s rather unexpectedly childish of him to write his name on the ball. I slowly pull my arm back and return the toss with a small snap. I over-estimate the distance, so it hits his glove with a good smack.

At night the temperature drops pretty dramatically, so even though it’s spring, I can see my breaths in white puffs. Like that one scene in Field of Dreams, I take a look at his expression as we conscientiously continue our warm-up to make sure he’s enjoying himself, and test the waters with, “Think I can try squatting?”

“Squatting?”

“Right, let’s see, take six more steps back. There, good. Now throw the ball at me from there.”

“That’s too far, Your Majesty!”

“It’s fine, I’m a senior high school student already! Come on, a straight pitch right down the center!”

I squat and dig my heels in. The ball that comes at me is a strong one-bounce, and I catch it at the level of my knees. The ball, thrown with truly terrible form, has considerable weight and speed.

“Who taught you to throw like that!”

I take a few running steps and toss the ball back, surprised by the careless positioning of his fingers.

“It gives you good speed, but from where and whom the heck did you learn that utter rubbish?”

“No one taught me. I just went to baseball games and felt it out for myself. I watched from so far away that I know nothing at all about things like grip or the finer points of throwing.”

“There’re games, but there’s also practice, right? That’s why there are coaches and students. Here, you hold the ball with three fingers like this, with your fingers on the horizontal seams.”

“I see...ah, can you put any power into throwing the ball when you’re holding it like this?”

“Of course—?! If you hold the ball that tightly, it’ll have a hard time leaving your hand, right? So where did you go to games? Does this country have stadiums, too? Do the people of this country go have beer at night games with the Giants for amusement on Friday nights?”

“The Giants are a Minor League, so I don’t know them very well...but Your Majesty, there is no baseball in this country. The games I went to weren’t here,” he replies vaguely as I tuck my glove under my arm and explain the grip to Conrad. Here, this is four-seam baseball, since the pitch is gripped across the seams, and you see four seams when the ball is thrown. I have more enthusiasm for teaching baseball than asking about the state of it in this country.

“Shift your weight for the windup? If you don’t, your pivot leg won’t be firmly planted. Focus your gaze on your target—don’t look away from my mitt. Now, your stride should be short, but it’ll be something you have to get a feel for yourself. Though your follow-through is oddly exaggerated...”

Explaining to him makes me feel rather happy. Shifting his fingers and shoulders along with my explanations calls to mind my own childhood, stirring a warm feeling in my chest.

“...Was it like this?”

“Hmm?”

“I was just wondering if it was like this. For the person teaching me. When I was about ten, there was this one-day baseball training camp held by professional players. I was a crybaby catcher, but because of my dad’s connections, or maybe because he won the lottery, I got to go.”

Especially since I wasn’t much to speak of either physically or mentally. I was an elementary school kid who was playing that position just because my dad chose it for me, and I was afraid of the fastballs and runners coming at me. I wore a mask, of course, but I was still afraid of things flying towards my face. I shamefully confessed everything to the slim professional catcher.

“I felt as if saying that I was scared meant that I had no aptitude for it. But he squatted me down and squatted down behind me, like this, sorta as if he were hugging me. Then he positioned my mitt and called to the pitcher.”

The pro pitcher, who was more than 5’9", lifted his leg high and threw the ball from his blue glove into the air with his long fingers. Thinking about it now, it was unquestionably a super-slow lob. But even after the brand-new pure-white soft ball dove into my mitt, I was still crouched there in place, forgetting even to blink.

“And my teacher asked me over my shoulder, ‘Where you scared?’ But I already...”

“Looks like you can already catch a pro ball. So are you still scared of the junior players?”

As I look at Conrad’s palm, I can recall the feel of the wind that day. There wasn’t yet a roof. The sun shone directly on my cap.

“...I can’t forget it, that sensation.”

“The warmth of your teacher?”

“Not warmth, that’s not it at all! And besides, I decided to make him my role model on my own, but I only got to talk to him that once, and I never even got his autograph!”

“But Your Majesty is...well, a fan of your teacher’s team.”

“Well, of course—?! The ringtone on my cell was the team song for a while, and I always watch their game broadcasts to the end, and I check for them on FM during the weekends, and I’m in their fan club and go to the stadium, too. It’s now the fourth year that I’ve been keeping a scrapbook of news on the team, and my videos keep increasing and increasing...so who are you a fan of? What’re the team names like here?”

Conrad folds his arms with a meaningful look.

“The Boston Red Sox.”

“Red Sox?! Woah, Major League! So players like Orellano, Wolcott, Clark, and Rhodes of Kintetsu!”

“Who is he? I don’t recognize the name.”

“He’s in the Pacific League...he’s a player in my world who started out with the Red Sox. What, so this world has the same baseball team names? Well, that’s true, there are actually Tigers and Giants in both Japan and America, Japanese-American baseball is so confusing, with the Cubs vs. the Giants, you can’t tell the nationalities at all...”

“Since the Giants are a National League.”

“Even the league names are the same? And place names like Boston...that can’t be right, can it?”

Now that I think about it, he’s a really odd guy. We’re too much on the same wavelength. With the ball in my hand, I take a long hard took at Conrad’s face. My grip unconsciously tightens so much that my index finger cramps.

“You understand everything that I can’t get across to Günter, don’t you? Like about merry-go-rounds and about my dad...and even the Red Sox...why is that? You said earlier that it isn’t in this country, right? Then where? Which country in this world, which human society likes baseball? Where is there a Boston Red Sox?”

That can’t.

“Where besides Massachusetts in America on Earth?!”

That can’t be possible.

Conrad lifts both hands, still wearing his glove, and shakes his head no.

“Nowhere. Nowhere besides Massachusetts in America on Earth.”

“Then, why—”

“Because I went there.”

“Went—where? You went where?”

“Because I went to Boston.”

To Boston?

“Not just Boston, all over. Washington, Staten Island, New Hampshire, Orlando, Quebec, Edinburgh, Wales, Dusseldorf, Cherbourg. I went to the world in which you were raised, carefully protecting Your Majesty’s soul all the while.”

A Traveler’s Guide to the Earth, the guest-from-another-world edition.

“Seventeen years ago, while protecting Your Majesty’s pure-white soul, which had been healed of all its wounds from its previous life, I went to the place where you were born, the United States of America. That’s where I learned about the joys of baseball, and after making sure the future MaouMaou (魔王)

Lit.: "demon king", the king of the Mazoku. The position is neither elected nor inherited, but filled by choice of the Shinou, the first Maou. was safely born, I came home. Your Majesty’s mother is such a dauntless woman that she was shouting at the taxi driver even as you were about to be born.”

“No way...so you were the person riding with her, who gave me my name?!”

“Though I never imagined that she would end up using it...”

Then my fifteen years of being teased about Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Furi is about twenty percent his fault? The remaining part is largely my parents’ fault, since they chose the Chinese characters.

“If that’s true, then I met you when I was in my mom’s stomach?”

“You could say that.”

Can this strange story really be true? This man, who doesn’t seem to have aged at all since meeting my mother fifteen years ago, who was destined to be the one to name me, is standing with a smile right in front of me. And he’s calling me Your Majesty.

“I’ve been waiting for fifteen years.”

He takes off his glove and tucks it under his arm, then envelops my hand, still holding the ball, with his.

“For the day when I would be able to meet Your Majesty face to face.”

My left brain is picking something like ‘thank you’ or ‘let me express my gratitude to you on behalf of my mother’ out of its orthodox conversation stock, but he’s standing in front of me with such a human expression on his face that my right brain wins the fight, and I can only say, “...Stop calling me Your Majesty, since you’re the guy who named me.”

“Yuuri.”

That’s right, since it’s the name you gave me! But even so, I have to continue in a falsetto to hide my embarrassment. Because it’s rather touching, and makes me uncharacteristically emotional.

“And stop talking like we’re brothers separated at birth! Since we pretty much only met yesterday! You probably knew my name, but I never heard anything except that you were riding together with my mother! Well, but if you’d had your name written on your luggage or something, my mom would probably have remembered! Here, like this.”

I thrust the ball in my hand at him.

“Like having a baseball with the owner’s name written on it.”

“...That’s not my name.”

What?

“I bought the gloves myself because I wanted to take them home with me, but I got the ball at the baseball stadium. I didn’t really ask for it, but one of the junior players on the visiting team said that he’d sign it and pretty much nabbed it out of my hand, then...”

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-what’s wrong with you?! You’re playing catch with me with a ball signed by one of the great Major League players?! Who-who signed it?!”

The script is so faded that I can’t make it out even though I now know that it’s English. What if it’s a god of the Majors?

“Oh, could he be more celebrated than Your Majesty?”

“Wh-wh-wh of course?! I was a bench-warmer for three years, and I’m too intimated to even try for KoushienKoushien (甲子園)

General name for the annual National High School Baseball Championship, played in August, and the annual National High School Baseball Invitational Tournament in March, both held at Hanshin Koushien Stadium, a baseball stadium built to host national high school baseball tournaments located in Nishinomiya, Hyougo Prefecture., and even that’s no match for the pros. ...So you said that baseball hasn’t spread much yet in this world, right?”

“Actually, the spread is just myself and the children.”

"So that means that right now I’m the best of the best top player? I’ll definitely be a starter in the game? Can I be called the IchirouSuzuki Ichirou (鈴木一朗) 1973

Also known as: Ichiro (イチロー)

An outfielder with the Seattle Mariners Major League Baseball team, born in Toyoyama, Nishikasugai, Aichi Prefecture, recognized as one of the best defensive outfielders in the game. He also has one of the best batting averages in the game. of Shinma KingdomShinma Kingdom (眞魔国)

Lit. "True Demon Kingdom"; the kingdom of the Mazoku of which Yuuri is king, founded by the Shinou after he defeated the Soushu. Divided into the terrories under direct control of the Maou and those ruled by the Ten Aristocratic Houses. Its human-shaped population is about 50 million, but also has a great variety of other races, such as the Kotsuhizoku.

The name "Shinma Kingdom" is actually an abbreviation; its true name is "the kingdom founded by the great Shinou and the powerful, wise, and courageous Mazoku who—ah, it must not be forgotten are said to be the origin of everything in the world—defeated the Soushu and his army to their eternal glory" (偉大なる眞王とその民たる魔族に栄えあれああ世界の全ては我等魔族から始まったのだということを忘れてはならない創主たちをも打ち倒した力と叡知と勇気をもって魔族の繁栄は永遠なるものなり王国).? Oh, but my position is catcher—argh, what do I do? How about the Next-Generation ItouItou Tsutomu (伊東勤) 1962

Catcher for the Saitama Seibu Lions from 1982 to 2003, widely considered one of the best defensive backstops in Japan. He is now a manager for the team., then?

“Most certainly—and in Your Majesty’s case, not only that, but player, coach, manager, referee, and owner. The owner of a state-managed team would have to be the king, wouldn’t it?”

“The king! If it’s the king, then the Maou would be okay, too, right?”

Conrad’s light brown eyes meet mine, and they narrow as he says, “I’m glad, Your Majesty, that you seem a bit more cheerful.”

I’m not cheerful, Conrad. But I feel like I’m about to have some ideas that haven’t quite made an appearance yet.

“Yeah, so since I’m king, how about I make baseball the national sport? We could build a Shibuya Yuuri Commemorative Stadium, and hold the first Shibuya Cup Championship Tournament!”

Something flashes across my mind.

Chapter 7

The clear sky suddenly grows overcast with black clouds concentrated directly above the courtyard. A heavy rain strikes so hard upon the pavement that it makes breathing difficult. In the reflection of their barely-opened eyes, Yuuri stands gazing at Wolfram.

“...Your Majesty?” Günter ventures timidly, but Yuuri doesn’t even turn to look at him.

His tone—even his voice—seems to belong to another person.

“You refuse to accept your defeat, flouting the rules and engaging in reckless behavior. In the end you involve an innocent girl—yet you covet a victory still.”

“Wh-what are you talking about? And what’s with that pretentious tone!”

“Is this what you call a true duel?! If that is the case, I cannot allow one such as you to continue unchecked! The spilling of blood is not my intention, but you leave me with no other choice—I will cut you down!”

“What?!”

Though he may have said ‘cut’, Yuuri’s weapon is not the sword.

“Judgment!”

Like Wolfram’s fire-beast, magic materializes from the tips of his fingers and takes the form of two fanged snakes of the same water-blue as the striking rain.

“How do I put this?—that, well, doesn’t look very kingly.”

“Putting that aside, whenever did His Majesty form a covenant with the elements of water? And controlling the particles without speaking even a word of command is next to impossible. How is he doing this without being taught anything at all...?”

As if he doesn’t hear the two members of the Yuuri Faction putting forth their unsolicited opinions, Gwendal murmurs softly, “So I see—this proves the soul is genuine?”

The flanks of the glistening, half-transparent snakes wriggling in midair hazily form the characters for ‘justice’. Complete incongruity. They unerringly coil around their 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. prey. Wolfram lets out an un-Wolfram-like scream and struggles to break free. Flame blazes from his fingertips again and again at his command, but is snuffed out by the heavy rain each time: evidence of the Water Sorcerer’s strength over the Fire Sorcerer. Victory and defeat of elemental avatars in battle is decided by the capacity and power of the summoner.

“Let me go, damn you! How are you suddenly... What the hell are you?!”

“What am I? Do you still not recognize my face?”

They’ve now completely entered historical-drama mode.

“Your egotism, which takes an innocent girl’s life, must absolutely not be forgiven.”

“Guh...!”

As the snakes (Justice No. 1 and No. 2) tighten their coils around Wolfram to carry out the punishment, a soldier shouts happily, “Ooooy! She’s come around, her life’s not in danger!”

In the man’s arms, the girl has regained consciousness. She opens her eyes, moans softly, and brings her hand up to her face.

“...Why...am I...”

Yuuri and Wolfram both look at them. Wolfram does not attempt to justify himself. Kill me if you’re going to kill me—humiliating as it is for him to be vanquished by this kid (who, sure, might be somewhat good-looking), he would rather go meet a soldier’s manly death than fall to his knees and beg for his life.

But the water snakes coiled around him up to his head suddenly vanish as if they’ve evaporated. He drops weakly to the ground. Yuuri, his radiant, inhuman eyes blazing, points at Wolfram and declares, “Wolfram or some-such, take care to reform yourself hereafter! Even those above have compassion.”

“Com...compassion?”

The self-proclaimed member of ‘those above’ crumbles into the muddy water with a loud splash.

Chapter 9

The village is burning.

Accompanied by ten soldiers on horseback, we sallied forth from the castle in the gray of pre-dawn without telling Günter. I’m sitting behind Wolfram, but his horse-riding is so wild that we covered a painful distance in just the first day. I’m getting pretty good at riding in tandem, so I’ve somehow made it through even the rough trip.

Wolf’s followers, ridiculously beautiful to a man, are soldiers from his private army. Right, I guess they must all be pure-blooded 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. with proper pedigrees.

I feel a gaze on me, and look up to see one of 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. following slightly behind us. I wonder why I feel him—it?—looking at me even though there’re only holes in the cranium where eyes should be?

“My elder brother’s already arrived, so everything should be resolved—he must be working on counter-measures. I don’t think it’ll be especially dangerous, but anyhow, since you’re a wimp, don’t go where I can’t keep an eye on you.”

“...Don’t call me a wimp...”

But when we arrive in the late afternoon, the village, the houses and fields are burning. The flames are so strong that they stain the cloudy sky a bloody scarlet. Soldiers are running around working to prevent the fire from spreading to the forest, and the villagers are gathered in a group a small distance away from the fence.

There are only women, children, and the elderly standing there, all of them frozen and speechless. A single elderly woman is wailing.

“You told me that everything would be resolved by now.”

“That’s strange, it should be...”

“But we can already see it right in front of us. Aaah, what should we do? Everything’s burning, I wonder if they’re all okay?”

The village is several dozen meters in front of us; we need to hurry and come out of the forest—just then.

“You’re completely ignorant of the ways of the world as usual, little princeling.”

An amused, familiar voice comes from behind us where only our soldiers should be.

“...American football macho?!”

Accompanied by only three horsemen is the Denver Broncos I met on the first day. If I remember correctly, his name is...

“Adalbert, right?”

“Huh, you’ve got a pretty good memory. When we first met I thought that you were just a simpleton.”

“Well, sorry for looking like a simpleton.”

I seem to be the only one interacting with him; when I turn around to take a look, all the beauteous soldiers are sitting unmoving on their horses as if they’ve been frozen there. Even Wolfram sitting stiffly in front of me is so still that he doesn’t even blink.

Adalbert slowly approaches us and speaks as he scrutinizes Wolfram’s profile.

“This is why you’re naive. Can you really protect the king with only ten horsemen? And all of them pure-blooded Mazoku who are easily caught by the HoujutsuHoujutsu (法術)

Lit. "ritual art": the magic of the humans, which among other things can be used to seal Majutsu. magic seal. This is when you have to choose that last soldier on whom magic has no effect.”

Which means that right now, everyone except for me has been put out of commission by this magic seal thingamajig?! I can’t believe it, the goal is right in front of us. It’s like a car that runs out of gas and stops dead on the road with the gas station in sight.

“Yo, we meet again, Your New MaouMaou (魔王)

Lit.: "demon king", the king of the Mazoku. The position is neither elected nor inherited, but filled by choice of the Shinou, the first Maou. Majesty.”

“Yeah, hi.”

I’m not sure whether or not he’s an enemy, so I give him a vague greeting for now. Though he seems hostile towards the Mazoku, I have to say he’s been rather kind to me. When we first met, he interceded for me with the villagers, and he taught me the language, too.

And besides, his full name is Adalbert von Grantz. Which really sounds Mazoku, doesn’t it?

“...Is it because of you that they can’t move?”

“Well, you might say so. Just a bit of magic-sealing Houjutsu I learned. Why are you riding behind him? How in the world did you tame the third princeling who only wags his tail for his mother and eldest brother?”

I don’t think he’s been tamed at all. But this man is an acquaintance of Conrad’s, and judging from what he just said, he knows Wolfram and Gwendal too. Then why is he hostile towards them? I pose the question.

“You’re actually Mazoku, aren’t you?”

Adalbert’s eyebrows rise, and he scowls as he answers curtly, “A long time ago.”

“Then why is your relationship with them and with Conrad so bad? Why do you purposely interfere?”

“Because I hate them.”

Hate?

“I hate the Mazoku to death. I am sick of their ways. That’s why I’m going to save you from their filthy hands. Now, pitiful sacrifice from another world, let’s hurry and leave this place.”

“Save...me...?”

“You were brought here without warning from another world and coerced into being the Maou, weren’t you? The Maou is the humans’ enemy. He is the fiend who corrupts and ruins this world. Someone like you, a young, innocent human, will be made out to be that villain. Atrocious, isn’t it? Don’t you think it’s a bit too much?”

He confirmed that I was a human when I first came to this world. I’m just your average first year senior high school student; I don’t carry the MaouMaou (魔王)

Lit.: "demon king", the king of the Mazoku. The position is neither elected nor inherited, but filled by choice of the Shinou, the first Maou.’s soul like Günter and Conrad and Lady Cäli are hoping. That’s what they keep telling me, but no one really believes it.

“They need a scapegoat, you see—a sacrifice to put on the throne. And for that they need a pure young man who doesn’t know anything, who cannot offer any resistance or defiance. You’ll be set up as the target for the hatred of all the humans who oppose the Mazoku—that’s the only reason they need you to be the Maou.”

“...I...”

Adalbert comes up beside us. His words echo twice, thrice in my ears.

“You’re a good person, a human. That’s why the magic seal has no effect on you. Isn’t that true?”

“...Yeah, I’m human...not Mazoku...not the Maou...”

“Don’t listen to him!” Wolfram forces out a shout, and my shoulders tremble.

“Ah, eh, y-you can talk?!”

“Don’t listen to anything he says! That man...!”

It’s not just my shoulders that are trembling; with my arms wrapped around his waist, I can feel his whole body quivering. He is still frozen in place, facing forward. Beads of sweat drip from the nape of his neck.

“That man...betrayed us...! He’s trying...to win you over...too!”

“Wolfram, if it hurts too much, don’t try to talk!”

“That’s enough, little princeling!”

The man who was just labeled a traitor draws his longsword in one smooth motion and points its tip at the throat of the Mazoku prince.

“Don’t force yourself. I suppose your power is a bit too high for me to control completely. If you relax your consciousness a little, you can have some fun like your subordinates.”

I twist my head to see. The unfocused gazes of the Mazoku cavalry that we brought with us are wandering giddily in midair as if they were drunk.

The proud Wolfram looks like he’s about to pop a vein.

Adalbert delivers the final blow.

“Look, the humans you hate so much are setting the Mazoku land ablaze. Wolfram, haven’t you always said: What can those humans do? It’s a mistake for those worms to strike back at the Mazoku. Haven’t you?”

“Humans?!”

I lean forward on the horse.

With just more one kick we could’ve left the forest. Through the gaps in the trees I can see a scene of despair and hatred. From the direction of the fire, an arrow-like shadow draws a trail against the sky as it comes flying. Someone is attacking someone else without engaging in close-quarters sword fighting.

A mother lies flat on the ground with her child in her arms. Soldiers rush over, low to the ground, and draw their bows to the limit in a counterattack.

This is war.

I can’t believe that it’s happening right before my eyes, and I mutter to myself over and over, “They’re at war, they’re fighting a real, honest-to-goodness war...”

A battle of this scope would probably be called a dispute rather than a war. But this is the first time in my life I’m seen the ‘scene’ with my own eyes, and I can’t think of it as anything but a war.

“...Where and where are...I mean, who’s fighting whom? Mazoku and humans?”

An old man sprinting for the cover of the trees goes flying, his back arched. He collapses in front of us. An arrow is sticking out of his waist. He’s not dead. Though he’s a distance away, our eyes meet.

“Why is he being shot at? He’s not a soldier...he’s not a soldier however you look at it. He’s one of the villagers, the people living here are refugees, aren’t they?”

Humans are transforming the Mazoku soil to fire.

But only human children and women and elders are making their living from this soil.

My voice trembles. With shock or horror or something similar.

“You, are you fighting humans like yourselves? Are human soldiers attacking this village where refugee children are just quietly living their lives?”

Wolfram spits bitterly at Adalbert: “This is your doing, isn’t it!”

“I merely gave them some suggestions.”

I lose my balance and totter precariously. The chestnut shifts slightly. I grab two fistfuls of its reddish mane.

Looking at the terrible scene, the man branded a traitor tells me, “One could say that this is a commandment to not turn your back on the teachings of God. Did you know? Last year they had a recording-setting bumper crop, and there was a tax increase in their country. This year they are being taxed the same amount, which means they don’t even have enough left to eat. They have only two choices: do they starve, or do they provision themselves? They came seeking my advice. So I told them. The village just next to theirs is on the land of the cursed Mazoku. They would not anger God if they take from those who live on the 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.’s land and till the 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.’s fields. He would turn a blind eye even to the grave crime of stealing from one’s neighbors.”

“But they’re all human, aren’t they?! The villagers are all human, just like the people attacking them!”

“No, not just like. The people of this village are humans who have sided with the Mazoku. Those who ally themselves with the Mazoku can no longer be thought of as one of us.”

I wearily slap my thigh, my hands clutched together so hard that my thumbs hurt.

“I don’t understand you!”

“You don’t have to understand. In any case, I came to take you away. You’re human, not Mazoku, right? You’re only a victim who was brought here from another world because your hair and eyes are both black. They’ll put you on the throne and make you their scapegoat. If you take the side of the Mazoku, you will no longer be one of us.”

Adalbert jumps off and lands on his horse’s left, maybe intending to give me a hand. Now that he’s off his horse, we may be able to put some distance between us. Wolfram murmurs in a low voice without turning, “Go.”

“Huh?”

“They apparently don’t intend to kill you. You’ll just cause more problems if you get hurt trying to resist uselessly. Do what he says for now.”

“But what about you and everybody...”

“Don’t worry about us.”

I swallow further protest. What would happen to them if I left them here?

Wolfram repeats in a low voice, “Hurry up and go, Yuuri!”

Adalbert slowly comes around from the opposite side and holds his hand out to me.

“That’s true, isn’t it, Wolfram. Even if you lose him here, all you’ll have to do is summon another kid to replace him. You’ll get a slap on the wrist from your brothers for letting the MaouMaou (魔王)

Lit.: "demon king", the king of the Mazoku. The position is neither elected nor inherited, but filled by choice of the Shinou, the first Maou.-presumptive escape from under your very nose, but that won’t matter as long as nothing happens to you. It’s a much smarter choice than risking your life to protect him.”

Wolfram only bites his lip and says something softly as I unclasp my arms. I’m not even sure if it’s with my ears that I hear the words.

“...I’ll come get you back, no matter what happens.”

In the space of my next heartbeat, I speedily take in all that I know and all that I feel, looking for guidance on what I should do. Looking for the best course of action for this moment right now, regardless of the consequences later.

Which of these choices can I take that I will not regret later?

“Don’t think I’m going to ride with you just because you’re giving me a hand.”

I jump down and land athletically on my feet, as if the pain of long hours on horseback has given me elasticity. I step up to a horse in the back, pretending to look for a good rider among Adalbert’s followers.

“I hate well-built machos like you. It arouses my inferiority complex. And I lose when it comes to looks, too.”

“Then who will you ride with? Or will you ride alone?”

“Alone? No way!”

At the last “way”, I slap the foot of a drunken subordinate as hard as I can. He doesn’t seem to wake up, but his spur hits the belly of his horse, and the dappled gray neighs and springs forward. It leads the other horses into a gallop. Those who stop, faltering, I kick into a dash.

Suddenly there’s the sound of hoof beats all around us, and the herd of ten-odd horses gallops swiftly in a chaos of enemies and allies towards the forest exit. Wolfram’s chestnut is caught up in the stampede, and only Adalbert and I are left behind.

“...Why did you do that?”

“Wolfram did choose the last person. You just didn’t notice that that person is me.”

Aah, unfortunately, now that I’ve turned into the last person, I notice that they never gave me any weapons I might use to protect myself.

“Yuuri, I told you that I want to rescue you from the Mazoku for your own sake. Why would you want to deliberately waste my good intentions, eh?”

“I’ve already decided to stay until the end. In this nightmarish attraction. But you’re not the one I want to stay with. I don’t need you on my team.”

Since he’s not part of my game plan, I’m giving him due notice that he’s dismissed from the team.

“Hey hey, that’s not true.”

Adalbert advances on me, swinging his gigantic two-handed sword.

“And here I was trying so hard not to frighten you. I should’ve just threatened you and broken one of your arms at the start and taken you captive.”

“M-my right arm is my throwing arm, so I hope you’ll spare that one.”

“The left one is fine, too. But the best way to finish this up quick and easy is...”

I guess my personnel selection was on the money where he’s concerned.

“...to just get rid of the Maou.”

“Eek!”

Even I think it’s a pitiful scream. But I’ve got no chance against that humongous longsword he’s brandishing when I’m totally lacking in swordsmanship experience. And his weapon is probably not a practice sword. Probably? It’s absolutely seen real fighting.

“W-weren’t you going to rescue me from the Mazoku?! It’s still not too late to do that, right? You don’t have to change your mind so suddenly! You don’t have to kill me, ’cause I can leave this world by walking out on my own feet!”

“You’ve decided to throw your lot in with the Mazoku, haven’t you? Which means you’re my enemy. If I allow the Mazoku to keep a Maou with real power, it’ll make my life that much harder!”

“But didn’t you tell me earlier that I’m just an average person, that they’re only giving me the position of the Maou because I happen to have black hair and eyes? You said that I’m just an ordinary human being summoned here from another world, a victim!”

The blade whistles with terrible weight as it changes direction.

“Did you really think 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." is one who would play around with something like this?”

“Then then then then it was a lie?! You were just making some random speech about me being an ordinary human being?!”

“I said it to see if I could win you over to my side, but...” Adalbert adjusts his alignment with perfect efficiency. “You’re the real thing, I’m sorry to say.”

I back into a dry tree trunk. There’s no escape behind me now. I can maybe dodge him once or twice, but I’ll still be in a futile situation. This is not the same as my duel with Wolfram; there’s a good chance of me getting wounded or killed, and the difference between our skill levels is exceptionally high.

The shadow of his upraised sword falls on my forehead. I close my eyes in resignation.

The air vibrates as if with the passage of a fastball, and I hear a dry sound like a dead tree branch being severed. Splintered fragments fall with dry rattles on my feet and arms where I’m crouched. A ball-shaped object rolls into my lap with a rustle, and I slowly open one eye.

“Ko...!”

The Kotsuhizoku who followed us all the way here was “broken” by Adalbert’s huge sword. He’s almost completely smashed into pieces like maybe he took a critical hit and had his spinal cord severed. His skull is lying in my lap, and his light-brown wings are convulsing.

He...protected me?

“Kohy, why did you...?”

“This is the first time I’ve seen such behavior from the Kotsuhizoku. It gave its own life to save its master? Feh, so I cut down some weird thing.”

“What do you mean, some weird thing?!”

Apologizing silently to Kohy, I stand with a part of him (probably a femur) clutched tightly in my hand. Of course I don’t think bone can stand against a sword. But if I wait for the next life with eyes closed, it’d make his death meaningless.

“What the hell do you know about Kohy?!”

Well, not that I know much, either.

No longer concealing his true nature, Adalbert gives a true villain’s laugh.

“You’re pitying something that doesn’t even have a will of its own? The Maou this time is truly a king of the masses, huh?”

“Shut up! I’m selling the king of the masses idea—I’m gonna promise to lower the consumption tax!”

As I position the bone...the weapon, a group of riders who probably wouldn’t be happy even with 3% approaches. They’re not princes on white steeds, but Lord Weller and Lord von Bielefelt’s troops.

 

“Unfortunately, since I’m vastly outnumbered and have only one horse, I can’t escape with you as hostage,” Adalbert concedes, and disappears before the reinforcements arrive. Conrad sends several of the troops under his command in pursuit and instructs them to ascertain Adalbert’s destination: Be sure not to approach him more than necessary, and don’t move against him even if you think you have a chance. It would put your lives in peril.

“Though he’ll probably throw them off.”

Then we exchange embraces that would put foreigner actors to shame. For some reason, Wolfram throws sand at us.

“Yuuri, thank goodness we arrived in time. I thought we might be too late this time.”

“I’m happy you got here, too! I finally get why guys hug each other like you see in movies.”

Because that’s how I feel. Conrad says gingerly as we—pak pak—slap each other’s backs, “By the way, what is that hard object hitting my back?”

“Aaah, this? It’s a bone.”

“A bone. Ah yes, I see, a bone. Um, Your Majesty, what were you planning to use that for?”

“Weeell, I thought I might use it as a club.”

He quickly draws back from me, forehead creasing.

“You weren’t planning to fight Adalbert with that, were you...?”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t just going to stand around and let him kill me.”

“Augh, Your Majesty, you do realize that this is totally different from your duel with Wolfram?! He and Wolf are on completely different levels!”

“Well, sorry for being on a different level!”

The third son dismounts from his chestnut and kicks the undergrowth unhappily. The effects of the magic seal seem to have been removed, but his face can’t be said to have a healthy color even generously.

“Are you all right, Wolfram?”

“Humph, I don’t need you to worry about me.”

“Then I won’t worry about you—”

“He’s suffering the consequences of his own actions, deciding on his own to bring the Maou to a place like this.”

The rebuke by his youthful older brother doesn’t evoke a particle of bashfulness from Wolfram. Since I was the one who asked him, I quickly change the subject.

“Anyway, how did you get here so fast?”

“I think we were much too slow. We were in the middle of battle near the border on the other side of the village when our party’s Kotsuhizoku heard the predicament of its fellow. I’ve mentioned that they have the unique ability to transmit intentions, so that they can communicate with each other across distances with the mind alone, right? So I left matters over there in Gwen’s hands and galloped back. We met Wolfram along the way...”

“That’s right! What do we do about Kohy?!”

I scrape together the fragments scattered around the tree’s roots and softly place the skull in the middle.

“Poor Kohy...you gave up your own life for mine...I’m so sorry, you probably have a wife and child too...”

Speaking of which, I’m not even sure if Kohy is male or female. But at least I can make a simple grave and bring him flowers on the anniversary of his death and during equinoctial week; sorry, but—I start digging in the grass with his own femur.

“Aaah, wait, Your Majesty, don’t bury it.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not going to just let Kohy lie out here to get bleached and weather-beaten!”

“We have a responsibility to put it back together. If you bury it, it won’t be able to fly anymore.”

“Huh?”

“Because if you reassemble the Kotsuhizoku properly, they’ll be able to fly like before.”

“H-he’s not dead?”

“There are really a great many things we do not understand about their existence.”

“Really? They’re really that much like plastic models? Then if you put a weird bone in a weird place, won’t you be creating a new life-form?”

“It’s all right, we have specialized experts.”

Pro modelers? But I’m glad. I’m just happy that he’s still alive.

When we finally leave the forest and return to the village, Conrad admonishes me to be careful repeatedly and in great detail before going off to deal with the enemy soldiers who were too slow in escaping: “We’re close to a resolution, but there are still pockets of resistance. So please do not go where I cannot see you. Because there have been those who’ve lost their lives to stray arrows.”

“S-stray arrows, huh?”

Speaking of which, I wonder what happened to that old man who got hit by the stray arrow-like object. Taking care not to leave Conrad’s field of vision, I head for the corner where the injured have been gathered.

The first-aid tent made from fire-repellant cloth looks like something out of an athletic meet. But the atmosphere beneath its roof is not so festive; there are more than twenty injured people stretched out directly on the grass. More and more people are carried inside as I stand there in dumbfounded surprise.

It doesn’t matter if they’re Mazoku or human or villagers. They’re screaming and moaning and crying.

A girl with pale skin hurries busily to and fro by herself—one of the Healers, as Günter called them. I guess that means she’s an orderly? It looks like both men and women alike go to the battlefield in this country. They’re strangely progressive on that point.

“If there’s anything I can do to help...”

The girl looks up and is taken aback at the sight of me. She appears to be around Wolfram’s age, but she’s almost certainly older than me.

“Oh no, Your Majesty! That would be unthinkable, I can manage here by myself.”

“But there’re more and more people being carried in.”

“Um, um, I’m so sorry that Your Majesty must see such an unsightly place. Please, Your Majesty, return to the army and command our troops.”

Shaking my head, I step into her territory.

“It’s not unsightly at all...everyone here is injured and in pain—and besides, I’m not really the type that can command an army.”

As yet another person is brought inside, the orderly seems to change her mind. She hands me a box that looks like a first-aid kit and points at a man near the entrance.

“I’m really sorry about this, but in that case, can I ask you to use this liquid to disinfect that patient’s wounds? They’re relatively minor. Please be sure to wear gloves. Cloth and pincers are over there. Um, Your Majesty, do you have any experience treating wounded soldiers...?”

“No, but I don’t think I’ll faint, at least.”

Since I have seen injuries caused by pitches and slides and spikes. Reassured, the female soldier heads over to examine a seriously-wounded patient. I sprinkle disinfectant boldly on the man with a gash in his thigh. This is nothing like a cut from a spike; you can see the pink color where the flesh is open.

“I was pretty unlucky, I guess, to be hit where I had no armor. But don’t worry, it’s a shallow cut. Look, you can’t see the bone or the muscle.”

My hands are shaking.

“Oh no, Your Majesty, that’s be a waste...”

“A waste? The medicine prevents it from rotting. Hey, wait, is this a salve?”

The girl nods at me. I coat a largish piece of gauze with yellow gel from the kit and wrap the wide bandage around the man’s thigh the way they taught everyone in Health and Physical Education or Boy Scouts as he continues to repeat that it’s a waste. Next! I psych myself up, and look for the ones with laceration and burn injuries.

They’re all relatively cheerful, but to somebody like me who’s never encountered more than scratches and bruises from club activities, this counts as a “field hospital.” After treating several patients with minor injuries, I turn to a man lying face-down on the ground.

There’s a slanting cut across his back, but thanks to the chain mail he’s wearing, the bleeding is comparatively light. He looks like a merchant attacked by a samurai to test out a new sword. Bright tawny hair falls to his dirty collar. He’s wearing a leather cord around his neck. The coin attached to it is lying at the back of his head. Maybe it’s a good-luck necklace or some country’s currency; I pick up the glittering 1 yen coin without thinking.

“Don’t touch it!”

“Eh, ah, I’m sorry! I wasn’t going to steal it or anything, I just thought it was pretty...”

“Don’t touch me! You’re going to kill me either way, aren’t you?! There’s no way a Mazoku would let a human live.”

“I...I’m not going to kill you or anything...”

He tries to get up and grimaces and moans with pain. I can’t understand any of the curses he hurls at me. He doesn’t look at me.

“Are you human?”

“Of course I am, dammit, don’t put me together with you Mazoku! Damn you, kill me now if you’re going to kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you! What, you’re an adult already, are you so afraid of having your wounds disinfected?”

“Disinfected? Don’t pretend to be good guys now, the Mazoku would never help humans! You cursed Mazoku kill humans, that’s why we’re returning the favor.”

I ignore him and pour the liquid onto his wound.

“I’m not gonna kill you, so shut up already, geez! And besides, the people living in this village are humans, aren’t they? If the Mazoku kill humans, then how come those people are alive! You’re the ones who came to destroy the peaceful lives they worked so hard to build!”

That’s right, they attacked a human village, turned their swords on humans. Shot arrows at them.

Though they’re all human.

The man twists his head, trying to look at me. I stand and look down at him.

“That village should be destroyed! The people there sold their souls to the 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.—it doesn’t matter if we steal from them; putting it to the torch is a matter of course! God forgives us, he lends us the power to punish the Mazoku!”

There’s a touch of hysteria in his voice, perhaps from the pain and loss of blood.

“God has chosen humans!”

“...And what kind of a god is that?”

A soldier next to him with a bandage around his forehead rises, swaying.

“...How dare you...say such things to His Majesty...”

Without even giving me the time to say “wait”, he seizes his sword and swings down at the shouting human’s neck.

“Don...!”

“Stop it!”

The blade whistles sharply through the air and thrusts into the soft earth. The man’s head is still attached to his body; luckily the sword was broken. The female orderly lifts the man’s chin and nimbly holds a wet cloth to his nose. The injured human goes limp, and his head drops with a soft thud to the grass.

“I’m sorry, but we have to put injured people to sleep if they get too excited.”

She smiles, not at all upset, as if she’s seen a lot of these kinds of quarrels.

“I’m very sorry if he offended you, but they are always skeptical. And you, please moderate your behavior as well. You are a patient in my ward. All of you are equal here, and I will not allow you to harm anyone! Oh, Your Majesty.”

She peers at me as I stand there overwhelmed, looking at the stone swaying at my throat.

“Did His Excellency Conrart give that to you?”

“Eh, ah, yeah.”

“Ah, I see.”

She nods slightly as if at a memory, and begins examining the next patient.

“It suits you, very much so.”

 

I totter over to where Conrad stands directing his troops. A soldier wearing a uniform burned in several spots comes to give a progress report on well-digging.

“All right, don’t try to go too near. Dig as extensively as possible, and put up a fence around the entire area.”

His subordinate runs off after sketching a brief salute. Wolfram, arms crossed, doesn’t look very serious at all.

“When Elder Brother returns, we should just have him swallow the village into the earth. That’ll put out the fire and leave the forest unharmed.”

“And what about the villagers’ homes and land? The fields they worked so hard to clear?”

“Humph, humans like them put it to the torch, so there’s nothing for it now but to abandon them.”

Humans like them.

Suddenly exhausted without reason, I sink wearily to the ground where I stand, my head between my knees.

“Your Majesty.”

Conrad drops to one knee and places a hand softly on my back.

“Why did they do something like this?...Because they needed food? I thought that some Mazoku like Wolfram and Gwendal who looked down on humans attacked the village out of hatred.”

Wolfram snorts as if to say that that’s a ridiculous idea.

“Why would we do something that pointless? This land has belonged to the Mazoku for a long time—setting fire to it would destroy the environment. And if the fire reaches the forest, the damage wouldn’t be reversible in just a year or two.”

Flames and black smoke rise from the houses. One by one, they eventually collapse into smoldering, heartbreaking ruins. The fields that glittered green and gold when I visited here just days before are now scorched black. The livestock have taken refuge within the forest.

“Why would humans do this to each other...?”

Conrad grasps my shoulders and pulls me forward to shield me from falling sparks.

“The hostility between you Mazoku and the humans is not a good thing, but it’s not like I can’t understand it. I mean, um, I can’t say this very well, but it’s like killer whales and dolphins not getting along...but the animosity is there because of the differences between you, right? At least I can understand that. But why would humans fight each other?”

The hysterical laughter of the man from earlier echoes in my head.

“It’d be like dolphins hurting each other, right?! Why doesn’t it anger God when people do something that pointless and cruel?”

He who stands between the Mazoku and humans says in a voice so low that I cannot read its tone: “Then—”

A voice weary from dispatching his soldiers, despairing. Wheat burnt to ash whirls into the air.

It falls in heaps on the grass, only to be scattered and sent dancing again by hoofs.

It happens again and again. Until it returns to earth for the last time.

“Then do humans never fight each other on the Earth Your Majesty comes from?”

“...Well...”

A rider approaches, illuminated by flames. He’s accompanied by only three of his followers, and he’s dragging a large cloth-lump behind him. He throws it down in front of us and turns his gaze towards the group of villagers.

“What...!”

The lumps of cloth are people, not rags. One is dressed in a soldier’s uniform. There are arrows sticking out of his shoulder and right foot, and blood flows from his forehead until even his eyes are scarlet. The other piece of luggage is a man who looks like a farmer. He’s mumbling in a low voice, face pale. He doesn’t have any obvious external injuries, but his arms and feet are bent at odd angles.

The bones are—

I narrowly swallow down bile at the thought of the pain he must be in.

“Everything is pretty much resolved. Though the majority escaped over the border.”

Gwendal’s expression barely changes even under such terrible circumstances. He’s as dour and graceful as ever, and bears no evidence of the battle other than the blood of others on his clothes. His eyebrows rise a little at the sight of his youngest brother and company; then he begins to speak of the state of the battle to his other brother, the acknowledged military man.

“This man admitted that Adalbert was the instigator. It’s no wonder they were so well-trained. A considerable number of former soldiers participated. One among them was apparently a fire-wizard. That’s why the force of the flames.”

“There’s no indication of it weakening at all. We received word from the Kotsuhizoku around noon that it will take a considerable amount of time yet before our own magic-users arrive. I’m not sure if we can hold out until then. No matter what, we must protect the forest.”

“Then they came not to assist us, but simply to gawk? Or...”

Realizing that I’m the one he called a gawker, I hang my head and bite my lip. Gwendal alights gracefully and commands a subordinate to lead his agitated horse away from the fire. He straightens and looks at me.

“How about you summon that magnificent water-MajutsuMajutsu (魔術)

Lit. "black magic", "sorcery": the magic of the Mazoku, which is primarily used in combat. you used last time to suppress the fires raging in the village?”

“What are you...”

Water MajutsuMajutsu (魔術)

Lit. "black magic", "sorcery": the magic of the Mazoku, which is primarily used in combat. I used last time? What does that mean? Uneasiness smolders inside my chest. Günter said something about water, too. And stuff about elements and covenants and avatar-forms.

Did I do something during that gap in my memory I haven’t taken responsibility for?

“Elder Brother, he apparently doesn’t remember,” Wolfram says briefly as if it were nothing important. “He was unconscious at the time, so it can only be called a lucky miracle. In other words, right now Yuuri is a greenie who can’t use either sword or Majutsu, or even ride a horse.”

“Miracle, me? What kind of amazing miracle did I perform?”

Conrad looks at me apologetically. I know something about that look—it’s the look my homeroom teacher gave me when she came to the student counseling office with me. You don’t have to look like that, since I’m the one who hit the baseball coach and was kicked out of the team. I don’t regret what I did at all. My mom, when she was called to the school, apologized to the coach and the dean of my year for the punch, then smiled and asked: So what did the coach do? Something unpleasant happened to make this boy angry enough to hit the coach, right? Ah, Yuu-chan’s always been like this. He may be a child, but it’s like he has a policy or some such odd thing, and when something breaches it, the blood goes to his head. And then, well, I guess he forgets himself and thinks only about protecting the word “justice”.

I think the teachers concluded that she brought me up that way.

If you’re to believe my mother, I’m acting according to my middle-class sense of justice.

Though right now I can’t seem to call up even a shred of it...

“If you’re not going to help, then at least don’t get in our way.”

The eldest son seems to never have seriously expected anything at all.

One woman well-advanced in years is pulled stiffly out of the group of villagers huddled together. Her cheeks are lined with loose strands of blonde hair and tears, and she cowers in front of the man whose beauty and position are lofty even among the Mazoku. A soldier hands her a sword and leads her towards the cringing enemy.

Gwendal tells her, “They burned your village. You can kill them, hang them, do as you like to them.”

“What?!”

He glares at me as if to say “You again?” But I can’t just leave this alone, me being me.

Until I got transferred to another world, this is what society taught me to do.

But this is who I am.

I clench my fists and stand between the woman and the wounded soldier to challenge the power at the head of the Mazoku alone.

“No, you can’t! I mean, he’s a prisoner of war, isn’t he?! There are rules about the treatment of prisoners. The Healer girl said earlier that all injured people are equal, too.”

“Conrart, do something about this loudmouth.”

“I’m not going away!”

I guess he’s a bit irritated; he says with a hand against his forehead, “That applies to the regular soldiers, but these are the ringleaders.”

“They should be treated in the same way even if they are the ringleaders, you can’t just sentence them to death! They should have proper lawyers and be given a trial to decide whether or not they’re guilty...”

I turn to the woman who can’t even lift her weapon and plead desperately, “Madam, you can’t listen to these insane people. No matter how important or great the other person is, there will be times when obeying him will be wrong and times when it’ll be wrong. Like not killing a prisoner out of hand—you learned as a part of your compulsory education, right? In junior-high History and Social Studies and stuff, they told you that it’s prohibited because it becomes lynching, right?”

“But I...don’t...”

“She never received any education. Because it would cause defiance and trouble for the nobility, the humans dislike giving their common people too much knowledge. The idea that they’re obligated to provide education is absurd.”

“There’s no compulsory education?!”

What happens to human rights in a sword-and-sorcery world?

I can’t say that it’s because of my pleading, but the woman only stands frozen, hesitating, so the lynching seems to have been prevented for now. I brush down my jacket and look around, trying to figure out what I can do. Like forming a fire-extinguishing squad around the village or organizing a bucket relay like I originally planned. But I don’t see water anywhere. Everyone is digging.

“Why not use water to put out the fire?” I ask Conrad casually.

“There is no well nearby. And magical fire cannot be extinguished by a small amount of water. It will burn the target set by the wizard who started it to nothing, so the conflagration will spread more slowly than ordinary fires, but it cannot be put out without a great deal of water. Gwendal’s expertise is earth-magic, so we thought of forming a barricade out of soil, but the effect underground would be too great, and the forest might be compromised...that’s why there’s nothing we can do right now but wait for someone who can manipulate water.”

Manipulate water. Is that something I did? In that totally blank gap in my memories?

Standing with his hands on his hips, Wolfram asks his brother excitedly, “Can we use this invasion of our land as the pretext for a declaration of war?”

“...Well, it can be one of the pretexts.”

Declarationofwar?

Declarationofwar, de-cla-ra-tion-of-war, declaration of war. These are words I’ve rarely heard in my day-to-day life of fifteen years, and I have to ruminate over them for a moment before I understand their meaning.

Declaration of war?

“Declaration of war?! As in, us commencing battle?! Tell me you’re joking!”

They ignore me.

“...Think a bit more about the big picture, Wolfram. None of the soldiers from the regular army were involved. If we use this raid as the main reason, they can get away with sacrificing a single village. What we need is certainty.”

“Then we just stand around biting our thumbs and watch them they do what they want to our borderlands?”

“You guys, listen to me!!”

They glance at me, but don’t look like they intend to take me seriously at all.

The blood is rushing to my brain at reckless speeds. If someone cut my veins now I’d lose it all. Even while I’m trying to stay calm and search for the right words, my throat is convulsing, and my voice ends up shaking.

“Don’t you guys know anything about a non-aggressive defensive policy?! It means that you only protect! It means that you never ever provoke battle! Modern-day Japan is built on pacifism, we’ve renounced war, and that’s written in the constitution, out-and-out! I was born Japanese and I grew up in Japan, so of course I’m against war! And not only am I against it, I’m strongly opposed!”

I point at Conrad, my voice rising, “You told me that people fight each other on Earth, too, right?! Yes, they do, of course Earth isn’t completely free of war. But when it happens, there’re always people trying their best to stop it! The majority of people in the world wish for peace!”

I begin to shout, half out of frustration. I’m not sure who’s more hot-tempered: Wolfram or me.

“What are you trying to say?! That you’ll just stand around watching until you’re certain we’re going to war?!”

“...Stop shouting.”

Gwendal scowls as if he’s trying to hold back a headache. But my nickname is the Turkischer Marsch.

“Why don’t you sit down and discuss it, talk to each other! The citizens of your country burned our fields. What will you do, how will you guarantee that it won’t happen again? We want to avoid war, so how will you deal with this problem within your own borders such that it’ll never happen again? So I’m saying that you need to discuss it to reach a resolution!”

“Stop shouting, Other-Worlder!”

“No, I’m not shouting, you’re the one shouting! I’m Japanese until I’m twenty, so even if I’m carrying the Maou’s soul, I’m a Japanese citizen until I’m an adult. I think Japan is superior to this country when it comes to peace, so I’m gonna talk even if you tell me to shut up! I’m against war, I’m against war, I’ll be against war my whole life, I’m against war even if you kill me!”

“Then why don’t we kill you for a bit and find out?!”

“No thanks!”

All right! I think to myself. Cool, even though Gwendal treats me like a little punk who pisses in the courtyard, I’ve gotten him wrapped up in my argument. Now that we’ve gotten to this point, I’m not backing off. Even if I have to put on the Maou act and threaten him a bit.

“You have no business barging into a conversation about this country when you have no intention of becoming king! My responsibility is to protect Shinma KingdomShinma Kingdom (眞魔国)

Lit. "True Demon Kingdom"; the kingdom of the Mazoku of which Yuuri is king, founded by the Shinou after he defeated the Soushu. Divided into the terrories under direct control of the Maou and those ruled by the Ten Aristocratic Houses. Its human-shaped population is about 50 million, but also has a great variety of other races, such as the Kotsuhizoku.

The name "Shinma Kingdom" is actually an abbreviation; its true name is "the kingdom founded by the great Shinou and the powerful, wise, and courageous Mazoku who—ah, it must not be forgotten are said to be the origin of everything in the world—defeated the Soushu and his army to their eternal glory" (偉大なる眞王とその民たる魔族に栄えあれああ世界の全ては我等魔族から始まったのだということを忘れてはならない創主たちをも打ち倒した力と叡知と勇気をもって魔族の繁栄は永遠なるものなり王国)., thinking of the national interest is my duty! Why don’t you go protect your own homeland with these exaggerated morals and half-hearted measures from this place you call Japan? We Mazoku have our own ways of doing things!”

“Then I’ll change them! I’ll change the Mazoku way of doing things, starting from square one!”

The air here is unpolluted, the earth here is unpoisoned, the forest here is untouched, this world is beautiful. But there’s something weird about it.

“You guys are beautiful and amazing, but your uber-bad personalities are a total problem! Like this discrimination of humans and your dangerous customs and this privileged class consciousness and liking war. That’s why being at peace with humans is so unthinkable to you! And humans even think that attacking other humans is fine if they’re living on Mazoku land! What kinda stupid reasoning is that?! Is there any religion so disturbing that it says God will lend you power even if you’re going to war?!”

“Your Majesty.”

Among the three brothers, only Conrad calls me Your Majesty. His eyes: yellow topaz with holes poked through them.

“They’re also absolutely wrong, but that’s why we can’t just let ourselves get carried along. We should at least do the right thing, going to war would be a mistake.”

Sorry Conrad, the Marsch can’t be stopped at its climax. I’m giddy from lack of oxygen. Who are we? Which group have I put myself in? Aren’t I supposed to be human?

“If the king says that we must not go to war, the people of the kingdom will obey, won’t they?” I ask, my voice going lower and lower.

“Your Majesty!”

Then I shout: “...I’ll become the Maou...!”

“Yuuri?!”

“I’ll become the king of Shinma Kingdom!”

If I don’t give the signal, the game will never start.

Behind us, the fire has spread to the fence. A woman’s scream covers a small explosion-like sound.

“What...”

I bend over, coughing violently just as I’m about to turn. The punch to my right ribcage blocks the oxygen from entering my lungs.

“Don’t move!”

My chin is forcefully held in a double headlock. Heavy metal presses against my throat and chest, and someone breathes right next to my ear.

The ringleader cowering on the ground a moment ago has stolen the weapon out of the woman’s hand. His blood-reddened eyes are glinting, and he pants wildly in excitement and pain. There are still arrows sticking out of his shoulder and foot.

“Nobody move, or I’ll slit his throat.”

I move my eyeballs as far as they can go, trying to see the man’s face.

“You, don’t try to resist!”

“All right...”

Heart of a mouse, that’s me.

“Or does the great Maou, His Majesty the lord of demon lords, hear anything underlings like us have to say?”

Someone clicks his tongue. Who was that?

The man says with a half-laugh as he pulls me along, “If you’re really the Maou, should this be so easy? And me a mere private?”

“...!...”

“Taken hostage and kidnapped somewhere? Why don’t you guys try a curse? It’ll probably kill me, but I’ll take him down with me! Don’t even think about betting on who’ll get it first, I’ve been a soldier for twenty years!”

A pain like fever runs across my neck, probably a shallow cut against my skin.

At a prudent distance from the Mazoku, the man demands a horse, water, and provisions.

“Since it looks like I’m gonna die anyway, what I wanna ask is, didn’t you say this kid here’s the Maou? Even though it looks like he can’t use a sword or magic—do MaouMaou (魔王)

Lit.: "demon king", the king of the Mazoku. The position is neither elected nor inherited, but filled by choice of the Shinou, the first Maou.s like this really exist?”

“Not...like...I can...help it....”

My throat hurts where the tip of the sword touches it, but my ribs hurt more. Tears leak out of my eyes every time I breathe.

“Well, whatever the case, he’s the only bearer of the Twin Black in this world. Even if he’s not the king, he’ll easily make my fortune. Did you know? There are people who’ll give you however much money you want for the Twin Black, because he who obtains the one with black hair and eyes holds the power of everlasting youth and everlasting life.”

I heard. Three, six days ago. I’ll spend the rest of my life as somebody’s miracle drug, with no control over even my own life or death—what kind of an absurd life would that be? I squeeze my eyes shut tight.

I’m sorry for yelling earlier—I’ll apologize, so please save me now. I plead as hard as I can with my eyes, but none of my allies raise a hand from where they stand surrounding us at a distance. They’re not doing anything but respiring.

A horse is tugged over and a small amount of water poured into its saddlebags.

Could this moment be my first and last chance? We can’t both mount at the same time, to say nothing of doing it with a sword in front of me. So maybe now is my only chance?

“Get on.”

The man circles the sword to my back. I guess he’s now positioned to run me through from behind. I can’t even tell him that I can’t get on the horse without help, and timidly lift my foot up to the stirrup.

In the moment my right foot is about to go over the saddle.

A small black shadow nimbly dashes towards us and pulls out the arrow extruding from the man’s foot.

The man croaks like a frog. His blade nicks tawny hide, and the cowardly dappled gray neighs loudly. It rears and throws off its ‘luggage’ before running off in terror.

“Ack...!”

I thought my body was floating in midair, but it’s actually already landed on hardness that’s not the ground. My bruised ribs ache, and I gasp painfully for oxygen.

“...Wh...!”

Something warm falls on my fingers as I clutch my chest.

It’s blood.

With the sun behind him, I can’t see anything of Conrad but his shadowed back. There’s another shadowy lump at his feet.

The man lies crumbled on the ground with fresh red blood flowing out of him, cut into two.

“...Is he dead?”

“Who knows.”

The voice comes from beneath me, and I hurriedly shift my rump to the grass. Gwendal brushes the mud and ashes off his clothes. Why was he lying under me? I don’t have the time to ask.

Because I spot the small forlorn form of my savior, who was probably knocked away by the dappled gray.

The flames are already bearing down on him, but the boy lying on his face doesn’t move a muscle despite the heat.

“...Hey...”

Blond hair sticking up out of his head, a well-built kid.

“Brandon.”

“Yuuri, it’s dangerous, I’ll—”

I shake off Conrad’s arm and stagger towards the flames. A child, people are going to be burned by this spiteful fire set by some unknown person, by this cowardly inextinguishable fire.

“Brandon!”

Gigantic flames leap at us from one side, but Conrad somehow mows them down.

“Brandon?!”

I turn the boy over and lift him to my lap. His eyes flicker open slightly, and his lips move. He’s alive!

“...Your Majesty...”

“You don’t have to call me your majesty.”

“...But you’re...going to be...the king...aren’t you...?”

“Brandon.”

I’ll protect this village, I’ll protect all of you—that’s what I promised. I promise.

Something falls drop by drop onto the child’s cheeks.

“I promise.”

“You’ll...teach me...how to throw...too...right?”

“I promise!”

As if timed to synchronize with my shout, thunder suddenly splits my ears.

A sweet, gentle, joyful murmur in the inner parts of my semicircular canals.

We would give you our last drop...

Rain strikes the ground.

A rare downpour.