“What is he doing here?”

Lord Gwendal von Voltaire, standing by at the kingdom’s southern border, regards me with blatant displeasure when I show up with his two half-brothers. Long gray hair so dark it approaches black, blue eyes filled with such deep ill humor that no woman, however beautiful, can assuage them: he looks more Maou-like than anyone, and even his voice is a deep bass that comes from the vicinity of his hips.

I’m so glad I’m not one of his younger brothers. If I had an older brother like him, I’d run away from home. On that point Wolfram has all my respect: he adores his brother.

“I believe he wanted to explain to you that Suvellera’s prisoner is a fake in person,” Conrad says brightly, coming over to help as my foot catches in the saddle and I flail at my horse’s abdomen.

“Explain?”

“Th-th-th-that’s right! Even if you probably would’ve let them execute my doppelgänger thinking he’s the real thing! Well, sorry, but I’m right here, and I’m not gonna let them execute him either! So let’s get to Konanshou ¹ or Cabrera or wherever it is. We’re gonna retrieve both my doppelgänger and the Magic Flute!”

“...Conrart.”

“Yes?”

Right eyebrow slightly raised, he turns to his brother the esteemed military man. “Take them home.”

“‘Them?’ Why do I have to go?!” his other brother the cute spoiled idiotic Pooh demands indignantly at being tossed into the mix. He probably just doesn’t want to be labeled a ‘wimp’ like me.

Conrad, ever my ally, leads in with an “I’m sorry, but...” and follows with: “I am acting under His Majesty’s orders.”

When he says stuff like that, without a hint of hesitation or doubt, I feel like all my supposed importance is a illusion. I’m just a baseball brat, the ten-thousand-year bench-warmer, the guy who’s about the become the newest Prior 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.—not some great man.

“...Do whatever you want, then.”

Gwendal steers his horse towards the river which marks the border, the rest of our company following behind us at a respectful distance. I have the honor of riding with a bunch of uber-pretty boys. I look up at the sky. We’re all dressed in off-white Lawrence of Arabia robes to shield us from the midsummer sun. Though the journey is a short one, we’ll be riding through sand dunes, and we came prepared to face the heat.

“What would happen if you collapsed from heatstroke?!” my overprotective tutor weeps, clutching at my right hand. As usual, he’s trying to dissuade me. The transcendent beauty seems on the verge of wailing.

“And the heat is the least of it. Conanxia was fighting a civil war until just a few years ago, and even now the gap between the rich and the poor is causing restlessness among the people. I have heard that public order is in disarray. It has also suffered a record-setting drought for the past two years, and people are squabbling over provisions. I beg you not to go with them. I have no doubt Gwendal will conclude the affair of the Magic Flute satisfactorily...so please stay and come to the summer lake resort with me.”

I can’t help but be distracted by the mucus dripping from his finely-sculptured nose...but I can’t set out unless I convince him. So I launch into platitudes like “even though you know what kind of people your neighbors are, you still have to find a starting point for interacting with them” and “understanding lies at the foundation of diplomacy, and personal experience is the fastest way to understanding,” all of which move Günter to a storm of admiration.

“How splendid, Your Majesty!”

And he’s mine. I’ve figured out how to spin Lord von Kleist.

 
I override all protests to make my way to the border. As usual, I’ve dyed my hair and put on contacts to hide my black hair and eyes. A river divides 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). from Conanxia. It’s nearly dry from the record heat, its riverbed cracked and exposed. It’s easily a kilometer across, and as grand as the Yellow River or the Nile. I don’t think my hometown’s Tone River can quite compare.

“It would look pretty spectacular if it had water, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. I heard that lots of Human corpses were washed ashore during their civil war. It was a huge predicament for them because they didn’t want to enter our territory to claim them. They had to deal with the force of the current, too.”

“...That...wasn’t quite what I meant by ‘spectacular’.’”

A simple log fence with a company of soldiers several times our number marks the river-crossing. Having heavy security at the border is pretty normal, but why can’t they be a little more friendly? 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. have never invaded Suvellera, after all. Their spears are all pointed straight at us. For some reason, the soldiers in the back row are making a slicing motion under their out-thrust chins.

“As if anyone does ‘AIIN’ anymore...” Wolfram huffs. “They’re slandering us. They’re terrified of Mazoku, but they think they’re all high and mighty as soon as there’s a crowd of ’em. Humans are so lame.”

“Um...sorry.”

“You’re not Human—get it into your head already! You’re Mazoku!”

Sorry about that too. Now I’m triply sorry, even.
 

Located in the south of Shinma Kingdom, the Karbelnikoff region is a resort destination known for its white sand beaches and arid wind. Quite a few Mazoku from the sun-starved, short-summered north are in residence. The agriculture of its neighbor Conanxia on the other side of the river seems to have been hard-hit by drought, but obviously sunny days are a boon to a place boasting of tourism as its chief industry.

Yet here, at the heart of the Maou’s villa, is a man as wilted as any plant in the heat: Lord Günter von Kleist.

“...He’s left me...”

The silky shine has deserted the silver hair straggling down his back, and his violet eyes are clouded and vacant. The stubble on his cheeks gives him a haggard, worn, and tragic air.

He stares dazedly at the sea and sky beyond the open window with his chin buried in the clothes spread out on the desk in front of him.

“Why has Your Majesty left me behind? ...Do you detest me so?”

“Probably,” someone answers his private muttered words. His head jerks up.

Though not tall, her body is graced with all the right curves—and she’s in a swimsuit?! No, it’s actually a micro-mini sundress. Her waist-length golden ringlets have been tied back, coquettishly and generously exposing her naked nape to the summer air. If one is able to disregard her flagrant sexual allure, her innocently smiling lips, white skin, emerald green eyes, and long eyelashes are a perfect match for those of her youngest son. No one, looking at this young mother, would put her age past thirty, but in actuality she is older than Kin-san and Gin-san.

This is the mother of the three unlike Mazoku brothers, Her Former Majesty the Prior Maou, Lady Cäcilie von Spitzweg. She’s not just sexy enough to be a queen or dressed like a queen—she is a queen.

“Y-Your Prior Majesty! What sensational attire.”

“Ah, but I had heard His Majesty was here. If I had known you were alone, Günter, I would not have shown such a daring amount of thigh.”

“P-p-please desist from attempting to seduce His Majesty, Lady Cäli!”

“Aww, but Günter. Were you not smelling His Majesty’s clothes just now?”

“We-well, that is...”

She picks up the T-shirt with the strange symbols written on it—symbols widely used on Earth—out of his arms.

“What does it smell like? You have no right to monopolize, Günter. I want to try it too... My...”

Lady Cäli brings the wet cotton to her nose. Her expression grows unreadably complicated.

“...Is this His Majesty’s scent? Rather surprising from someone so adorable, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That’s absurd! It is very much how a young man should smell...well...when he’s been at the beach...”

What they’re probably smelling is not Yuuri’s scent, but Bandou-kunBandou-kun (バンドウくん)

A dolphin Yuuri meets at Sea World, one of whom was shaking his hand when Yuuri is tugged into the pool on his third trip to Shinma Kingdom. The other is Eiji-kun. Together, the dolphins' names become Bandou Eiji, a Japanese TV entertainer. the dolphin’s.
 

“Riding together:”
much too hot given any
meaning of the words.

Even haiku poems don’t help with the sweltering heat. The sixteen-year-old and eighty-two-year-old young...well, more-or-less youngsters are glued together atop a narrow horse underneath a brilliant midsummer sun, so of course getting hot is natural. Not to mention, this isn’t an air-conditioned room, but the middle of the desert with our goal nowhere in sight. I try to put as much space as possible between my front and my fellow passenger’s back to let some wind in. Though calling the air flowing from the hot sands ‘wind’ is something of an hyperbole.

“You’ll fall off if you don’t keep close to me.”

“But it’s hot!”

Wolfram seems rather pleased with this state of affairs. If he were a girl, I’d be very happy to be his partner ahorse. I’d wrap my arms around her to hold the reins and say gentlemanly things like “please be careful.” Sadly, a pretty boy who’s even cuter than a girl is sitting in the front seat.

There are twenty of us crossing beneath the desert moon—strike that, desert noon. There are no camels here, so we’re riding Human horses. The AIINing guards at the border told us that livestock coming into the country have to be quarantined for at least twenty days. Raised as I am in modern Japan, I thought it pretty sensible, but according to one of Wolfram’s subordinates, it’s ridiculous even if you’re expecting them to be unreasonable. Anyway, that meant that our Mazoku warhorses (which from my minimal knowledge have two hearts) had to be turned back, and we ended up buying some local horses at the Conanxia border. Too bad they don’t have rental cars here—but then again, I don’t have a license anyway.

Apparently this endless ochre land isn’t actually big enough to be called a desert. As someone who was born in Boston, raised in SaitamaSaitama-ken (埼玉県)

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

The prefecture is part of the Greater Tokyo Area, and a large number of its residents commute to Tokyo each day from Saitama's cities, which can be described as suburbs of Tokyo., and who has never lived in TottoriTottori-shi (鳥取市)

Tottori is the capital city of Tottori Prefecture in the Chuugoku region of Japan. It is best known for its sand dunes, which are a popular tourist attraction., I really don’t know enough to differentiate between sand dunes and desert. Though I can tell between artificial and natural lawns. If only it were cooler.

Gwendal, forging ever forward, sways in the heat shimmer like seaweed. Conrad, behind him, turns at my complaint:

“Why aren’t you guys hot?”

“Training, perhaps?” he answers, calm, composed, and nonchalant. He’s barely even sweating. Now that I think about it, everyone here is a trained soldier except for me. Anyone who can truthfully write ‘soldier’ in the business occupation field is probably used to being beaten up by demon sergeants and undergoing rigorous training every day. Like the Japanese Self-Defense Force, they must roam through hill and dale, go lake-diving, and make snow sculptures for the snow festival. They probably train by leaping over fast-growing saplings—or was that the ninjas? Anyway, I guess I’m the only one melting in this heat.

Then I start hallucinating.

“Heeeeey looooook, there’s something raising its arms in a cheer in the middle of the desert—isn’t it cute?”

“What? I don’t see anything.”

The face of a familiar animal peers from a hole in the sand around ten meters away. Why is it in a place like this?—it’s a rare endangered species!

The soldier trotting immediately in front of us disappears with his chestnut. Next, the gray bearing me and Wolfram loses its balance and starts to sink.

“Woah, what?!”

“It’s a sand bear!”

Sand bear?!

Everyone in front of us abruptly disappears into the sand, and we’re starting to get sucked in as well. The world turns the color of yellow dirt. A hoof and two arms appear in my peripheral vision. The slow, inexorable, inescapable giant antlion larva pit is swallowing us whole, and we’re swirling to the center of the bowl.

“Wh-what’s going on?! What’s happening?!” I try to ask, but sand fills my mouth. I reach out to grab hold of Wolfram’s clothes, but my arms and feet and face are all entombed within the hot sand. I can’t breathe. Did he say sand bear?! What kind of animal is that?! What kind of sound does it make? The giant two-tone sand-bear still has its arms hazily raised in cheering pose at the center of the whirlpool. It’s camouflaged in beige and brown, but it’s obviously not a sand bear...

“Isn’t that a panda?!”

A panda in the desert’s new summer colors. Where’s the bamboo?

As I’m getting my fill of the ‘immersed in an hourglass’ feeling, someone grips my arms hard.

“Conra...”

My infallible protector is below me, his shoulders supporting my legs. I look up to see Gwendal standing at the very edge of the hole. His is the grip from which I’m dangling. The other soldiers and Wolfram have all been swallowed by the yellow sand, and I can’t see anything of them but a hoof and someone’s fingers. Everything has disappeared into the whirlpool, spiraling down and down.

What just happened?! Did I just blindly walk into a place where such dangers await?!

“How could this have...wait, Wolfram! He fell in before me! Is everyone dead? Is Wolf dead?!”

“If he was unlucky.”

“It’s all right, all he had to do was hold his breath until he found the tunnel. Here, Your Majesty, climb up! Hurry!”

“But I have to go and help! I don’t know if Wolfram can beat a bear that big!”

I mean, it was a giant panda. I make for the collapsing sand, but Gwendal refuses to let go of me.

“And what could you do for him?”

“Yeah, but—yeah, but! I can’t just leave him! He’s your brother, isn’t he? You gotta go help him, you should’ve grabbed him instead of me! Come on, Conrad, you can beat that bear to a pulp, can’t you? You’re like a master fencer! You should be able to beat the underboss, right?!” I plead as Gwendal drags me up. Though he’s moving carefully to keep his feet from getting sucked in, Conrad doesn’t meet my eyes.

“That’s likely true, but my first priority at the moment is to get Your Majesty to safety.”

“Don’t talk like that! Forget about me...”

“I can’t do that!” Lord Weller’s silver-flecked hazel eyes meet mine for a split-second. They immediately dart back to the center of the whirlpool, and he bites his lip. His scarred eyebrow is slightly drawn, and his voice is filled with seldom-heard agony when he insists, “Your Majesty comes first. That goes for everyone here. Wolfram is an adult and a soldier, and he should be able to take care of himself.”

“But I...!”

There’s no trace left of anyone dragged into the antlion larva’s pit. No one’s going to die in there unless their luck is bad? Really? My chest hurts when I think of the boy with the golden hair and emerald green eyes he inherited from his mother being attacked by some horrible monster in that hole. Saving those soldiers takes precedence over my safety. When you weigh those twenty lives against mine, there’s no question which way the scales tip. It doesn’t matter if I’m the Maou; none of those lives should be sacrificed for mine.

“But I don’t want you to be...someone who stands aside while your brother is dying...”

“...Come on, you have to get out of here. I don’t know how long this ground can hold.”

“You told me, didn’t you—” To prepare myself for my next words, I move to surer ground. I can feel the sand firming beneath my heels. “You said that you were under my command.”

“That’s...”

“You said that you’d follow my signal. So this is my command: go save Wolf! I’m good here—I have someone strong at my back, so don’t worry about me!”

Taken aback, Conrad looks between us as if seeking confirmation. He says to his ever-cool older brother, “Take care of His Majesty.”

“Of course.”

Gwendal is behind me, so I can’t see his expression, but I can almost hear the sigh of relief from their brief exchange. The feeling of having made the right choice wells up inside me.

The second son slides down the treacherous slope to save his youngest brother and his company.

“Do you know how to find that thing’s tunnel?!”

“This is the third time I’ve encountered a sand bear! We’ll meet in Suvellera’s capital!”

I’ve made the right choice...I’m pretty sure.