SML Ch 69

Chapter 69

“From here on, I’ll be the one asking questions instead of His Highness. You intend to have us carry out some task, don’t you?”

Reynald bent slightly forward, facing the doll at eye level. The doll, its expression seeming a touch more relaxed, gazed back up at him before raising its arms in a gesture of an X.

“Oh? So you mean you don’t intend to make us do anything?”

[O]

“A circle now. Then, it isn’t you commanding us…but rather your master?”

[X]

“So, neither you nor your master plans to order us to do anything? Then what, exactly, is the meaning of this whole ‘selection’? …Ah. Perhaps…”

[…….]

“Perhaps it means that, regardless of whether you order anything, certain events are destined to occur naturally within this domain—events into which the ‘selected’ will inevitably be drawn.”

The doll tilted its crescent eyes, shifting them in a way almost like a sly smile, then raised its arms: a circle. Reynald, however, grew more grave.

“Are these events wrought by you, or by your master? Or are they beyond anyone’s will, simply arising on their own? Answer circle for the first, X for the second.”

[X]

“So these events occur, not by design, but of themselves. Fine. Tell me, do they arise from problems internal to the domain, or from external threats?”

[…….]

“Too vague? Or is it both?”

[X]

“The latter, then. Very well, let us say that for now. Either way, if we leave such events unattended…would something bad come of it?”

[O]

“How bad? Would it merely cause headaches here within the domain? Or might it extend to affect territory beyond?”

[…….]

“No answer? Then let me rephrase: perhaps one or two such neglected events would not spread far, but if they accumulate—piled atop one another—could they eventually reach out to entangle the entire kingdom?”

[O]

“And how long would that take? A matter of months, or several years at the least?”

[…….]

“Too tricky to answer with a single O or X? Or some other reason?”

[X]

“So—it’s not that you don’t know the answer?”

[X]

The doll scrubbed furiously at a smudge on its face, its crescent eyes curled in something like mockery. Reynald, clicking his tongue softly, muttered that this was no ordinary opponent. Yet Serna thought much the same of Reynald himself—the way he steered the questioning so. To extract information through twenty-questions style exchanges, skill lay far more with the questioner.

Summing up what they had learned thus far: sooner or later—whether near or far in the future—certain defined events will occur, and it lies to the selected ones to resolve them. But when, and what magnitude, that remained unanswered.

If it truly desired cooperation, would it not show more sincerity? Serna clicked his tongue in frustration—just as a curiously carefree voice intruded.

“My lord.”

“Volant?”

“Seems you’re in the midst of something complicated, but maybe we ought to haul the thing out of the lye? If we boil it much longer, the cloth could rot. Time to rinse it several times in clean water instead!”

Even after watching all of this cryptic exchange, Volant’s face remained utterly calm. Serna, blinking, thought vaguely that this boy too was no ordinary breed of man. Growing up in so strange a domain, perhaps, had left him accepting of the uncanny without much fuss. For ill, it made him careless; for good, it made him extraordinarily adaptable.

Conveniently, Heide arrived just then, lugging a tub of fresh water. Together, Reynald and Volant fished the doll out with poles and lowered it into the tub. The doll at once began kicking and splashing, as though refreshed, while the murky mixture of lye, grime, and suds spread out around it.

“Bathing may feel good, but if you could continue answering my questions, I’d be grateful. Tell me—of the selected, supposing some of them…say, both princes here—can they leave this domain and travel to other lands, to the royal capital for instance?”

[O]

“And in so doing, there would be no harm to body or mind?”

[X]

Even while swimming about, the doll answered faithfully. Surprisingly compliant, thought Serna, quietly impressed. So—even if chosen, one was not shackled. They were free to depart this land if they so wished.

How fortunate. Imagine the mess if some binding curse had kept them from leaving. Serna felt almost relieved—almost.

But then—

“It is well that leaving brings no harm. But tell me this: if a selected one departs from this domain…will they in some way find themselves regretting it?”

The moment Reynald spoke, the doll froze mid-splash. Slowly, it raised its gaze, crescent eyes smiling mockingly upon him. Sensing ill omen, Serna instinctively stepped back—then the water exploded upward.

The contents of the tub surged high into the air, forming a tremendous circle in the sky—an answer too emphatic to mistake.

“…….”

Reynald, drenched from head to toe, did not even flinch. His expression was too grim for the others to dare laugh.

With a loud crash, the water cascaded down over the courtyard. Shaking itself dry, the doll floated up out of the tub. At that, Arun—who had sat silently until now—finally spoke.

“…Let me ask one thing. If we give our earnest best—will we be able to resolve all the events of the future? So that we need no longer agonize over this matter of.selection?”

[O]

The doll did not glance back. Raising its arms above its head, it traced a circle, then winged away. Its destination: the clothesline Heide had strung for drying laundry.

There, the doll went limp among the hanging garments, imitating them as if to say it was nothing more. Clear that it had had enough of answering questions, worn down at last. Yet, looking cleaner than before, it also seemed broadly satisfied with how matters had gone.

That same late night, in the royal capital of the Kingdom of Carbonel—

First Prince Meneta was summoned by the king.

Not to an audience hall, nor an official chamber, but to a secret salon barred to all save royalty or the king’s intimates. Not a single attendant stood watch. The prince himself knocked upon the door. From within, a low voice answered.

“Enter.”

Meneta stepped in. The king, despite late hour and his son’s presence, did not look at him. Instead, sunk into an ornate sofa like an imitation throne, he read from a magical message-scroll. Meneta guessed it was not his first reading—knowing his father’s temperament, he was likely rereading, rehearsing words until his son arrived.

Meneta approached, standing by the sofa opposite. No invitation to sit came. That meant only one of two things. Either there was no long discussion to be had, only terse command—or…

“Explain yourself, Meneta.”

Or—the king too would deliver his words standing.

Rising suddenly, the monarch seized his eldest by the collar before Meneta could react. Narrowing his eyes, Meneta met his father’s glare.

“You swore that man was a flawless choice, set above all other candidates. And now—look at the state of Reynald’s domain. You had better give me an answer more palatable than your sheer incompetence.”

Ah. That matter. Meneta could guess the scroll’s author. Likely one of his younger brothers. Last time they had written, it was to demand provisions for an extended stay; this time, perhaps, they had added news less to the king’s liking.

Unfazed, Meneta gave the reply he had long prepared.

“It was loyalty, Father. I sought that you wake yourself to the truth.”

“Hah.”

“You would be wise to command Arune and Serna’s return. Even with the golden mirror, there are too many variables.”

“Until their task is fulfilled, they set foot neither in the capital nor even past the city gates. Did I not order you to explain plainly? Why then do you wag your tongue in tangents, you wretched fool?”

“Reynald bears fault as well. Tell me—who bids a man bask in the love of the peasantry, rising ever higher, only to abandon us when in greatest demand? Now, with the red dragon’s slaying leaving monsters subdued, it may not show. But the moment any strong monster rises to fill that void, people will cry not for their king, but for Reynald first. Does that benefit the crown?”

If that man so craved retirement, then let him be bound to his domain. On that point, Meneta’s scheme had succeeded.

For despite Reynald’s own unworldly convictions, the king was a dunce in politics. To let such a man remain—the common-born knight-captain who surpassed every measure of power and virtue, who slew an ancient wyrm, who drew blind devotion—could never aid the royal house.

“Ha… Did I coddle you too much? You fancy that you can pit yourself against me, against your brothers, and come out unscathed?”

“……”

“Were it not for Reynald, you’d have been carrion at eighteen. Do you truly think your rise since then is utterly your own power?”

“Of course not. Had I not been born first, Arune would have surpassed me in strength, Serna in intellect. Yet that is precisely why there are roles only I can play.”

For instance, casting Reynald into a domain with cursed repute: overflowing with monsters, where once an earl stepped in, never did he step out again. Neither of his brothers could have contrived that.

“Do not waste my children’s lives, Father. That man will not return.”

“If he does not, neither will your brothers. No—a command to return might not matter at all. Serna, by his own admission, is intrigued. Said he wished to see what will unfold in that land.”

“Ah…”

If Serna admits curiosity, few can sway him. Perhaps Arune could, but judging from the king’s tone, the second prince too was complicit.

May they not meet misfortune, Meneta prayed inwardly—and at last the king released his collar with a sigh. Meneta stepped back, brushing his clothes.

“You’re right: the golden mirror isn’t enough. At minimum, a mage of the highest order is needed, else the variables will remain too many.”

“Are you serious?”

“Ask Sir Theo, not me. Whether he backs you or Reynald, we both know where our court mage’s loyalty lies.”

“Begone. I’ve no wish to see your face further,” the king snapped. Meneta spun at once, leaving the salon. Fair enough; he had no wish to see his father’s either.

Off to Theo the Archmage then. Though likely pointless—probably already departed, or packing in haste. There was no dissuading a man like him. Meneta resigned himself with a sigh, making his way to his chambers.

Throughout the walk, his mind replayed the final conversation he’d had with Reynald:

—Am I your collar and leash, my prince? Or a mere relic of the crown passed down generations? Perhaps I erred in ever letting you believe so. But I cannot preserve that belief forever.

—How can you say such words… Have I never been dear to you?

—What are you saying? For five-and-twenty years I have held you precious, my first prince.

—…….

—But know this: at last I too hold the right to choose my path. I wish for a life where I need not worry over your safety—so I ask only that you live long and well, free of my concern.

Remembering that cold declaration, in stark contrast to Reynald’s ever gentle voice, Meneta ground his teeth.

That man—who gave himself to all, but to none his heart—was the cause of so much wasted striving.