Ishura - Volume 8 - Chapter 16

Chapter 16- Ideal

With noon on the day of the tenth match closing in, the Blue Beetle had a full house.

The bartender, Tika, who had way too much free time that morning, was now overwhelmed with serving the abruptly growing number of customers.

He even had his childhood friend Nane helping, hurriedly weaving around the tables and taking orders.

“Hey, Tika! The customer over here says their food still hasn’t come out yet! Hurry up and bring over some fried potato and sausage!”

“Whaaat? Didn’t I just bring that out?! The line order’s a total mess!”

There was a change to the scheduled tenth match. As such, everyone stopped making their way to the castle garden theater and had come all the way out to the old town.

“Okay then, buddy, how d’ya think Rosclay’s gonna beat Soujirou?!”

“Gotta be with Word Arts! Sure Soujirou’s probably a bit better with a sword, but Rosclay doesn’t even need to get within range, he can use Force Arts to make his sword…”

The customers’ conversations could be heard even from behind the counter.

“I’m not going to stand for a repeat of the fourth match, you hear me…?! I’ve thought for a while now that there’s gotta be some people on the Aureatia Assembly trying to set Lord Rosclay up!”

“Hee-hee-hee! On that point, Soujirou’s real suspicious ain’t he, hmmm? He’s a visitor from the Beyond after all. Way I see it, he’s gonna use some strange sleight of hand to interfere with Rosclay!”

Everyone was having these sorts of conversations.

If Rosclay the Absolute was going to fight Soujirou the Willow-Sword, what sort of method would Rosclay use to win? How was Soujirou going to struggle before he lost? Just what kind of brilliant martial spectacle would they be treated to?

…Everyone here believes in Rosclay, don’t they?

Iska believed in Rosclay, too.

She treasured him from the bottom of her heart.

However, maybe what he truly needed was those who didn’t believe him.

Anyone and everyone depended on Rosclay the Absolute, and wasn’t that why he was then forced to doubt himself?

…Rosclay.

The sickly Iska hadn’t been counted among the restaurant’s helpers.

If the match in the castle garden theater had been canceled, then Iska thought she might get the chance to see Rosclay fight for herself.

Since she hadn’t bought a ticket, Iska didn’t believe she had any right to, but in either case, all talk about spectator seats had completely evaporated.

Quietly passing through the middle of the raucous tavern, Iska went up the stairs to the surface.

Rosclay the Absolute had an ideal he needed to achieve.

He first became aware of it himself on the very first day he was asked about what would follow after the Sixways Exhibition, the royal games where hero candidates were pitted against each other.

“Any threat that exceeds the limits of mankind needs to be destroyed,” Jelky the Swift Ink explained in a corridor within the Aureatia Central Assembly Hall.

“Due to the calamitous True Demon King, we the minian races have grown far weaker. If an uncontrolled war breaks out, the kingdom will be dealt a hard blow that it will be impossible to recover from.”

“…I understand what you’re trying to say here.”

They continued to walk the corridor as if continuing on with some meaningless chit-chat.

The power that Jelky indicated wasn’t pointing to a simple violent strength.

Aureatia, the amalgamation of the three kingdoms, had a historically unprecedented number of enchanted swords and magic items, strong personnel who had survived the age of terror, and resources gathered together during the chaos of wartime.

Rosclay understood, too. They couldn’t label such power as the intrinsic strength of the nation.

The power of numbers. The people themselves were the cells that constituted the organism of a nation.

“You’re thinking that the people won’t be able to handle any further war and strife.”

The True Demon King had etched a persisting fear in the hearts of all the people.

The terror that drove those who confronted it insane and turned them toward destruction had weakened, but still definitely remained behind. Even now after the death of the demon king, this world continued to face in the direction of destruction.

“War and strife that involves the citizenry will breed a sudden outburst of madness. If that ever should happen, no means of intervention will be able to rectify it… The persecution of the Order proves it.”

“……”

The people continued to unconsciously search for a direction to point their hostility. The Order, a massive organization that was close at hand, was the first to fall victim to it.

The series of policies meant to cut down the Order, the largest social welfare organization, normally would have been nothing but detrimental, even to Aureatia. Though they understood this, the situation forced their hand.

Though they had formed a system to protect the Order and widely dispersed an accurate understanding of the situation to the people, they had been unable to quench the fires of animosity once spread.

As the next best option, they needed to position the Order to take the brunt of criticism so that no hostility was pointed at the Aureatia Assembly and to control the outbreak of madness. That was the reason why, despite severing ties with the Order and cutting off their funding, they established new institutions to take over the same functions the Order had previously performed.

“Just like the Order… Do you believe by pointing the people’s spears at the hero candidates in the royal games, we can regulate their hostility?”

“…That’s what I hope. This world was saved, but it wasn’t saved in the correct way. We need to make it known to the people just how mighty a presence felled the True Demon King. Right now, the power and authority of the Aureatia Assembly is tremendous—tremendous, and as a result, fragile. The Aureatian citizens fear us as well. Believing that this tremendous power could turn us into rulers who harm the populace…”

While they were diverting the spearhead of the people’s ire, the spearhead itself didn’t disappear.

Even assuming that this royal games concept Jelky spoke of was made into a reality, after the Order was annihilated and the hero candidates eradicated, it was bound to be the Aureatia Assembly to fall next.

“We need to dissolve the Twenty-Nine Officials before the inevitable destruction. We’ll create a symbol that properly gathers their awe and dread—the hero—and using that power, we’ll transfer over the sovereignty of Aureatia. Keep the sacrifices to the bare minimum, and reform the national framework. That is goal of this scheme.”

“…Are you including the monarchy in that reform?”

“Yes. I want to convert Aureatia into a republic. As long as there is someone who maintains enormous power and authority, the people’s insanity will eventually kill them. Thus, I believe it necessary to turn the people who control the country into popularly elected representatives with a term of office. The symbol of the hero will be used as the banner for this systematic shift.”

An altruistic plan.

If it became reality, Jelky would lose everything he had worked to accumulate.

Jelky the Swift Ink was trying to protect Aureatia, gambling all of his existence, even more than Rosclay.

“I intend to be completely unscrupulous about the means and deceive whomever necessary. In order to begin, I need a comrade to share my ideal. Someone who selflessly does the utmost for Aureatia, who earns admiration as a champion, with capabilities that outshine all others… Rosclay. I hope that you will work together with me.”

“…I…”

Rosclay lifted up his head and looked at Jelky. Deep into the man’s eyes, glinting sharply behind his glasses.

They contained none of the selfish calculations Rosclay had.

I should turn him down. There isn’t any guarantee that Jelky’s idea will work out smoothly.

The eyes believed in Rosclay, no matter what answer he gave to the proposal. At least Rosclay thought so.

Which is all the more reason why he couldn’t join in.

Rosclay’s hopeless self-preservation would hinder the virtue and nobility of it.

Should the plan hit a setback, he might sacrifice Jelky and escape all on his own.

He wouldn’t necessarily be able to fulfill the role Jelky desired of him exactly as he wanted.

It’s impossible for me… Impossible.

Thus, the thought was nothing more than a passing breeze, faintly caressing the back of his mind.

A vision suddenly came to his imagination.

A world of blood-soaked champions protecting people in the middle of surging threats.

A world where a single lone hero who had erased all such threats stood.

…There was a truth that everyone knew, but purposefully never spoke out loud.

This world was brutal.

The whims of a dragon or gigant could turn a built-up civilization into a vacant wasteland.

Goblins and wyverns attacked settlements, mocking, killing, and eating people, starting first with the weak.

The natural principles that allowed for non-minian beings to exist birthed creatures of slaughter, like constructs.

The Word Arts bestowed to all creatures with a heart and soul were used for violence because of that very heart and soul.

The Wordmaker summoned visitors. The visitors wielded their power to bring destruction to the world.

This creaking, warping world had, at last, broken down from the terror brought by the True Demon King.

However, everyone must have thought it before that, and simply never said it.

This world was insane and absurd.

Good fortune, wisdom, or even love, wasn’t supposed to be trampled over by something incomprehensible.

Even children on the frontier, far away from the Kingdom, who had never seen a visitor with their own eyes before, believed that somewhere there was the Beyond, a world that was impossible to prove existed.

Poems and plays passed on the battles of champions who existed long ago. Because people wanted champions.

Someone who was an actual person even as they slew threats that far surpassed the limits of mankind.

No one like that exists.

Rosclay had known that ever since he was child. He assumed everyone accepted this fact, and coming to terms with the world’s brutality was how one became an adult.

What about now, though?

Even supposing they didn’t exist—

“The hero…”

The word popped out of his mouth before anything about the Kingdom’s or the people’s future.

“Deciding on the sole hero, strongest of all… Hah-hah-hah-hah. The weaker they actually are, all the more convenient. That’s why you called me out, isn’t it?”

“…I will admit that you were the first person I thought of when it came to establishing this hero idol. However, I don’t intend on making you shoulder everything. We need to come up with an even better plan.”

“No. That’s the best option. I’ll take up the hero mantle.”

Nothing like it existed.

However, it was possible to present it that way.

Since the hearts of the people who wanted a hero were genuine.

Rosclay the Absolute smiled and answered.

“I’ve always aspired to be one.”

The minia who defeated Tiael the Crushing all on his own.

Rosclay the Absolute was set up to be the young champion taking over for Oslow the Indominable.

He understood that defending the Royal City, a job his ignorant young self had thought was a safe one, was a responsibility that required a great deal of labor and pain, with an even greater fear of death always assailing him.

The Demon King’s Army would attack several times, much more often than the citizens were informed about, and every time he killed these former minian races, Rosclay feared, and hoped the True Demon King wouldn’t arrive this time, either.

He had vomited countless times, unbeknownst to anyone else.

The more he understood the number of citizens he was protecting, the ghastlier his nightmares became.

Frequently, he would dedicate himself to training that would wreck his own body. If his comrade Antel, one of the select few who knew Rosclay’s circumstances, hadn’t stopped him, he may have ended up dead somewhere.

Did I really need to go this far?

The question came into his head, over and over, together with the taste of blood spreading inside his mouth.

…Why did I…

It was necessary. It was something he decided himself.

Even as he reasoned to himself each time the doubts would surface, the regular functions a person was equipped with would continue to shout at him.

Every time his body broke, he would undergo Life Arts treatment, accompanied by pain.

He always plastered a smile on his face, never showing the people his pain and exhaustion.

His mother had died from an infectious disease. He hadn’t been able to be there in her final moments.

He didn’t have anything to show for it.

He had to become a champion. It was something only Rosclay could do.

He continued to play the champion role, like the ones immortalized in the poems Narta had told.

In his bloodstained life, the moment he remembered with the most clarity was from when he was seventeen.

A slave-trader carriage was flipped on its side atop the stone pavement.

“Haah…haah…”

Rosclay’s breathing was ragged.

Even he didn’t understand how a seventeen-year-old youth had been able to make a carriage roll over.

He could only explain it as strength exhibited in a feverish delirium. All he understood was that he had brandished his sword in a way unbecoming of a champion.

Rosclay knew his right shoulder was dislocated. The slave-traders likely were far too terrified to move any further, but should they pick up on his wound, the chances they would move to counterattack were high.

He took a deep breath. To ensure they didn’t even figure out he was hiding his pain, he managed to bring his right hand along his sword, supported in his left hand, as if it was the correct form his stance was supposed to have.

“…Stay where you are and wait for your arrest. The Royal City will levy their judgment upon on you.”

He declared this with his champion’s smile.

Inwardly, he even wished he could cut them all down right then and there. The fact he was panicked enough to think so had bewildered him.

The cargo bed had been cut off from the rolled-over carriage. When he opened it up, the paupers that were set to be traded as slaves all looked at Rosclay at once.

“Everyone. There’s no need to worry anymore.”

Rosclay forcefully reined in his emotions and showed them a smile.

Blond hair that drew eyes to it, even in darkness, and a pair of red eyes.

His features were the one thing he had always been confident in.

“I shall protect you from everyone.”

“Th-thank you very much…”

“Rosclay the Absolute… You really go this far, even for poor people like us…”

“I-I’m…saved…?”

Everyone was all right.

Thank goodness.

The incident had been just a kidnapping of poor people. Rosclay was fighting against far more terrifying matters than something like this and saving a far greater number of people. Nevertheless, it was the first time he had felt this way from the heart.

He had been able to prevent an irrevocable sacrifice.

Among the paupers there was the figure of a young girl of only seven years old.

“You…you saved me?!”

He made out her face when the crowd cleared.

She was a young girl with chestnut hair. Her big, clever-looking eyes gazed at Rosclay.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Rosclay smiled, to stop himself from showing what he felt inside.

His fight, constantly saving faceless citizens, had threatened to crush his heart.

However, each and every one among them had someone else who held them dear.

Like this girl, who had been there among the inconsequential people he had saved that day.

“…Thank you very much. My name is Iska.”

“Is that so? What a wonderful name.”

Obviously, it had been a good name. Rosclay was the one who had given it to her.

He was certain that this name was the only proof remaining that the young boy had been there that day.

Like a child, he had wanted to take pride in being able to save her, in successfully becoming a champion.

Keeping that pride to himself, Rosclay smiled.

Rosclay the Absolute couldn’t let himself be a champion to one person only.

As long as someone was watching him, that was how he had to be.

The boy is… The self is… The man is…

“My name is Rosclay the Absolute.”

He opened his eyes.

The tenth match was the pivotal day when absolutely everything would change. He had needed this time to focus his mind.

Finally…we’ve made it this far. Surmounting the jaws of death many times up until this moment.

Fighting was beginning to break out all over. The fungi soldiers and Iriolde’s army flooding into the city might bring considerable damage to Aureatia. How capable they were to limit the sacrifices to the minimum would prove the justness of Rosclay and Jelky’s plan.

Aureatia’s power had slain Alus the Star Runner and Lucnoca the Winter. Both had been menaces capable of annihilating the Kingdom on their own.

Some number of the hero candidates died, while some others had been left seriously wounded. The true ringleader behind the anti-Aureatian opposition, Iriolde, was defeated, and Aureatia’s divided strength would be consolidated into one.

They had produced plenty of results. He had thought many times he wished it could end here.

It wouldn’t, though. Now that he started, the only choice was to keep fighting until the end.

He needed to use the vast superiority obtained from this operation to entice either Hiroto the Paradox or Morio the Sentinel to their side. He needed to eliminate the uncertain elements—the National Defense Research Institute, Kiyazuna the Axle, Obsidian Eyes. Then, deploying all that consolidated power together at once, he needed to neutralize Kia, Tu, and Mestelexil, the hero candidates that had been unexpectedly defeated out of the tournament.

Even then, it should be possible. Completely annihilating these threats that surpass the limits of mankind…with minian hands.

He wanted to accomplish what all the people wished for and what they had given up on.

A childish wish that he only became conscious of in adulthood.

Even then, in the depths of his heart, he had thought about it for a long time. If the dragon that killed Oslow hadn’t been there. If the poverty that tormented Iska didn’t exist. If the True Demon King had never been.

If an individual who could brandish power like the Kingdom’s had been there, they should have been able to vanquish it all.

Rosclay the Absolute hadn’t changed into a champion solely for the people, killing any and all traces of his self.

In truth, he hadn’t been considering the image of the Kingdom’s future, like Jelky.

By being used as a champion for the sake of the people, he was using the power of the Kingdom for his truest desire.

He suddenly imagined…

A world of blood-soaked champions protecting people in the middle of surging threats.

A world where a single lone hero who had erased all such threats stood.

Up until that day, Rosclay had been nothing but a normal young man. However, now at the end of a checkered destiny, if he was to hold in his hand the authority to choose which direction the world was going to head…

“Jelky. My ideal is—”

Which world was one he wished to leave behind for Iska?