Sword Art Online - Volume 19 - Chapter 2

2 
The vast space on the fiftieth floor of Central Cathedral, known as the Great Hall of Ghostly Light, was now the meeting space of the Human Unification Council. 
In the center of the floor, where there had once been nothing but polished marble stone, there was now a mammoth round table carved from an ancient platinum oak, surrounded by twenty chairs. 
Seated in one of them, his shoulders hunched with mortification, was Kirito. A large man stood over him, bellowing in a voice like thunder. 
“Now, Swordsman Delegate, I’m going to let you hear it for good this time!!” 
“……Yes, sir.” 
“I will not be destroying anything this time—you swore upon your swords! I presume you haven’t forgotten saying that!!” 
“………No, sir.” 
The greatest swordsman in the entire human realm was being scolded like a student, and playing the role of teacher was a knight wearing a suit of deep-red bronze armor. His face was stern and imposing, and his short hair and sharp eyes were the color of flames. That was Deusolbert Synthesis Seven, one of the most senior Integrity Knights. 
“If Lady Asuna had not made use of her godly power, the ninety-fifth floor of the cathedral would be completely burned out at this moment! I don’t care if it is uninhabited now—think of how the people of the city would lament if the historic, symbolic white tower became known as the Charred Tower! It seems to me that you are utterly unaware of the status you possess! Leave the finer issues of developing arts and tools to the arts masters and blacksmiths who make it their calling!” 
Another knight, sitting a slight distance away at the table, cut off Deusolbert’s lecture before it went on forever. “That’s enough for now, Deusolbert. Look at the swordsman delegate—he’s as wilted as a slug-bug in the sun.” 
Her luscious voice, containing more than a hint of mirth, accompanied armor polished to a mirrorlike shine and flowing black hair that hung down her back. A longsword with a platinum hilt rested on her left hip, and cradled in her right arm was a baby with a shade of dark-blue hair that was rare in the human realm. 
“But, Commander…” 
“It wouldn’t do to scold the delegate so much that he runs away from home again. We’ve got the meeting with the Dark Territory next month, after all.” 
The smiling woman, as beautiful and graceful as a flower, was the commander of the Integrity Knights, Fanatio Synthesis Two. She was the second commander in the knighthood’s history and possessed the greatest swordsmanship in the world, but you wouldn’t know it from the way she gently cradled the sleeping infant. 
Fanatio looked over to the deflated young man, a smile glowing on her face, and said, “So you’ll have to behave yourself for a little while, boy.” 
Kirito looked up, wearing a big, awkward grimace. “It’s much scarier when you call me ‘boy’ rather than ‘delegate.’” 
“Ha-ha. Wouldn’t you say that your fear is an admission of guilt coming from within?” Fanatio said, side-eyeing Asuna the subdelegate, who stood nearby with her arms folded. Asuna was smiling, but her eyes were not; in fact, they seemed to be twitching. 

 

Fanatio then looked to Ronie, who stood beside a pillar not far from the table. For some reason, Fanatio’s smile seemed a bit impish. But the mischievous look quickly vanished, and she patted Kirito on the shoulder. 
“The important thing is that there was no real damage once again, so I suppose we can leave your scolding at that. Instead, I will merely insist that you spend the rest of the day until dinnertime tending to your office work.” 
“……All right,” Kirito murmured in resignation. Fanatio grabbed his shoulders while he was still seated and pushed him toward the table before beckoning toward Ronie. The girl rushed over to receive the baby. 
“Would you mind watching Berche for a bit, Ronie? Lately, whenever I let him play by himself, he winds up destroying things.” 
“Y-yes, I’d be happy to!” Ronie said, holding out her arms. The knight commander then handed her the sleeping baby. The apprentice was stunned by the sudden increase in weight. As a knight in training, Ronie could easily swing a standard-issue two-mel greatsword with a single hand, but the weight of a child was something else entirely. 
She gingerly rebalanced her arms, eliciting a sleepy murmur from the one-year-old boy, though it wasn’t quite enough to wake him up. She bowed briefly to Fanatio and returned to the pillar. Tsukigake greeted her there, extending its snout to sniff curiously at the baby. 
At the round table, Kirito, Asuna, Fanatio, and Deusolbert were joined by the leader of the sacred artificers brigade—the group that had previously been known as priests or monks—and other senior cathedral officials seated here and there as the meeting came to order. 
“Let’s start with the reopening of the southern cave in the End Mountains, as reported on earlier…” 
“Digging out the cave should be possible, but the bigger problem will be constructing a road that runs through the dense jungles of the south…” 
This wasn’t a formal council meeting, so as an apprentice, Ronie wasn’t required to be present. Her partner, Tiese, for instance, was in the great library studying the sacred arts formulas she found so difficult. 
But there was something Ronie wanted to ask Kirito about in secret. She wanted to know the truth about a fleeting mental image she’d captured while watching the flight test earlier that morning. And if you took your eye off Kirito for even a moment, he would disappear to some other location in the cathedral or the shopping district of Centoria—or even fly himself to some other city or town in the realm—so she needed to catch him when the meeting was over, before he could vanish. 
During Incarnation training, they sometimes forced the trainees to balance atop a narrow metal pillar on one foot for hours at a time, so resting against a pillar and waiting for the meeting to end was no issue at all. Her dragon was better behaved than Tiese’s, so, at the very least, she didn’t have to worry that it would attempt to sharpen its teeth on the stone out of boredom. 
As she stood there, listening to the lively debate at the table, there came an adorable sneeze from the baby in her arms. He didn’t wake up, but she worried that he might be cold, so she walked over to the window, where the rays of Solus peeked in. His dark-blue hair sparkled in the sunlight, and the sight of those innocent chubby cheeks caused Ronie’s breath to catch in her throat. 
A baby…, she thought, grinning. 
Her mind traveled back to last month, when she’d returned home to the north side of the capital. Those memories were not nearly so enjoyable. 
The Arabel family had originally been a sixth-ranked noble house under the old peerage system. 
They hadn’t led a wealthy, extravagant life. They hadn’t owned their own estate like the higher nobles, and their only income had been the salary of her father’s job as a platoon leader of the Imperial Guard and a small noble allowance. It had been far from the vast sums of tax money that first-and second-ranked nobles had received every month without working, and it hadn’t even measured up to the income of the successful merchants who did business in the central district of Centoria. 
Still, she had an enjoyable time, living with her bright and fastidious mother, stern but gentle father, and her scamp of a little brother. 
The one thing that wore on her spirits was the parties that her father’s fourth-ranked family threw every now and then. He was the fourth son, and though Ronie’s grandfather passed away when she was just a baby, the first son, who became the patriarch—Ronie’s uncle—held an attitude that he and his family were proud nobles and were above it all. Ronie’s fanciful aunt wore an expression of unbridled disgust whenever social custom required her to compliment Ronie’s mother on her old, faded dress, and the daughter often threw a fit and sulked when it came time to go to another party. 
But after the quashing of the Rebellion of the Four Empires, the peerage system was revolutionized. All the estates were released, and nobles were no longer separated into ranks. The noble allowances remained for a short while afterward, but they weren’t enough to live on, so all nobles were forced to find employment in the newly re-formed human army. 
For the great noble houses, this was nothing short of a profound transformation, but from Ronie’s point of view, it was simply putting them back in the place where they belonged. The time when a person’s family name earned them fancy titles like general or strategist was over. Only those who were recognized for their actual skill, intelligence, and experience were placed in positions of importance. 
In other words, at present, all the noble families were on the same level. 
But there were a few minor exceptions to this rule. And out of all the noble families in Centoria, they happened to be the families of Ronie Arabel and Tiese Schtrinen, the two people chosen to be apprentice Integrity Knights. 
Last month, Ronie had gone back home for the first time since being made an apprentice. Her parents and brother were doing well, especially her brother, who was now a student at the North Centoria Imperial Swordcraft Academy. He was excited to see her and tried to swing her sword (he couldn’t even draw it from its sheath) and challenge her at arm wrestling (he couldn’t push her wrist half a cen) and so on. Her father wanted to ask all about life at the cathedral, and her mother’s cooking was as delicious as ever. It was a wonderful evening… 
But the next day, her three uncles and their families barged in, and to her surprise, they brought many gifts: 
Marriage proposals for Ronie, that was. 
The Integrity Knights, of which Ronie would one day be a full-fledged member, were the protectors of the Axiom Church under the old regime and were the objects of overwhelming fear and reverence for the entire population. That situation had not changed much now that the Church had been revamped into the Human Unification Council. If anything, the fact that many Integrity Knights had lost their lives in the War of the Underworld only made them more heroic in the public eye. 
If they could marry one of those knights into their family, their rank and income would increase exponentially, her uncles and aunts seemed to think. Families with sons of appropriate age offered them as prizes. If there were no sons, heirs of close relatives would be offered instead. The number of personal-identification papers they had gathered to present to her for the purpose of making their offerings look better was impressive indeed. 
“Apprentice knight or not, a woman’s most important duty is the bearing and raising of children. Even the commander of the Integrity Knights gave birth to a baby boy! So there can’t be any law that says you can’t do the same, my girl. Look here, I recommend my son.” “No, mine is better!” “But you haven’t seen our boy yet…” 
Long ago, Kirito had let Ronie and Tiese in on a secret. The pontifex who had ruled the old Axiom Church had found the most skilled individuals in swordsmanship and sacred arts from all over the country and molded them into Integrity Knights. In reality, that meant performing a forbidden process called the Synthesis Ritual, which removed all their old memories and implanted a false one. According to this false memory, they were not human beings, but knights summoned to the mortal plane from the celestial realm. 
It was a dreadful, terrible thing to do—but in the presence of her aunts and uncles, Ronie couldn’t help but begrudgingly admit the logical brilliance of how it had set up the operation of the knighthood. 
She resisted the urge to perform the sacred art of creating a smoke screen and running away and, instead, explained to her relatives that an Integrity Knight in the family would not bring greater noble holdings or estates. But they refused to believe her, to the point that they accused her of living in the lap of luxury within the cathedral, at which point her father flew into a rage and drove them out of the house. 
But although she thanked her father, she couldn’t shake the thought. 
He always said that she should be with the man she wanted to marry, but surely he must be dying to have grandchildren already. And more important than that, her parents had to be worried sick about her being in the Integrity Knighthood. If war hadn’t broken out, Ronie would have graduated from Swordcraft Academy, taken on the second or third son of some other noble family as a husband, and continued the Arabel family name. 
So it was clear that they hoped she would get married and start a family sooner rather than later. And for her part, she wanted to make that come true so they’d know that her future was secure. 
But after she left and returned to Central Cathedral, Ronie found herself silently apologizing to them over and over. 
I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry, Mother. I’m pretty sure—quite sure, in fact—that I’ll never be married or have children in my life. 
Because I’ll never be with the one I truly love. 
Ronie was broken out of her reminiscence when little Berche woke up and started to stir in her arms. In a panic, she awkwardly tried to lull him, but the baby showed no signs of calming down any time soon. 
“It’s all right. There, there. Who’s a good boy?” she cooed as the baby’s face got redder and redder. Just as it scrunched up, and Berche prepared to burst into tears, a hand reached out and grabbed the baby by his clothes. 
“It’s going to take more than that, trust me,” said his mother, Commander Fanatio. Her benevolent smile and beautiful features were framed by flowing black hair. 
“Here we go! Look, you’re flying!” she said, tossing little Berche into the air. It looked as easy as a flick of the wrist, but this was the strongest of the Integrity Knights, after all. 
The infant flipped and spun higher and higher toward the soaring ceiling of the Great Hall of Ghostly Light. 
“Wha—? Fana…L-look out…!!” yelped Ronie, freezing awkwardly. The boy’s upward momentum petered out just before his head touched the map of the celestial realm on the ceiling, and he began to fall straight down. When he plopped back into his mother’s arms, he immediately giggled and cackled with excitement. 
“I can’t imagine how I’m going to deal with him. Thank you for looking after him, Ronie. I’ll have to ask you for help again in the future,” Fanatio said, favoring her with a smile and heading for the exit. Deusolbert and the other leaders followed her; the meeting had adjourned. 
“Seems like part of the problem is how she’s raising him…,” muttered a voice in the background. Ronie turned to see Kirito, his expression a mixture of exasperation and fear. Next to him, Asuna was making an awkward face as well. 
“W-well, one day he’s going to be a knight and ride on a dragon, s-so…it’s probably good for him to get used to heights at a young age.” 
“Between Sheyta’s baby and him, the future’s going to be a real disast…um, a real delight,” Kirito went on, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips. “And now that my work is done for the day, I’ll go check on Unit Two…” 
“Wh-what?! You’ve already got another one?!” 
“Yeah, and this one’s amazing. Between the heat-element engine and thrusters, there’s a wind-element compressor, which makes it possible to engage in turbo—” 
“Maybe instead of focusing on power, Kirito, you should do something about its safety!” 
Ronie just barely had the willpower to thrust herself between the Black Swordsman and his divine partner, who spoke in the unfamiliar sacred tongue considerably more than the average person. “Um, ex…excuse me, Kirito…” 
“Yeah?” 
“Um, I wanted to talk…Ah, well, I wanted to ask you something, actually…” 
Kirito’s black eyes blinked at her, but he quickly favored her with a friendly grin. “Yeah, of course. I suppose we can have an early teatime. What about you, Asuna?” 
He looked over at the swordswoman subdelegate, who was murmuring to herself. “Well, I’d like to join you, but I’m supposed to be attending a lecture on sacred arts at the Great Library after this.” 
“Ah, I see. Well, the second scribe is intimidating, I’ll admit. Better not be late,” Kirito said with a visible shiver. 
“Only to students performing poorly, perhaps.” Asuna smiled. She took a step back and turned to Ronie. “Well, I’ll see you at dinner, then. Ronie, make sure that Kirito doesn’t fill up on sweets.” 
“I…I will!” she said, bowing, as Kirito grumbled about being treated like a child. Asuna waved and turned to stride away, leaving a rainbow-tinged afterimage behind her. Kirito watched her go through the large doors to the south, then looked back at Ronie. 
“So…I guess we could go up to the eightieth floor or so. I sure could go for some snowplum cake right about now…” 
“I’ll have the kitchen staff prepare some for you.” 
“Get me two…no, three slices! I’ll see you up there!” Kirito said without giving Ronie any time to interject, and he raced through the north door to the levitation shaft. 
She reached out to stroke the neck of Tsukigake, who was finally nodding off to sleep, and murmured, “I should probably just bring the whole cake…” 
In the kitchen on the tenth floor, Ronie took an entire cake with sugar-frosted snowplums on top—much to the disapproving stare of the chef—put it in a basket with a portable teakettle, and headed for the eightieth floor of the cathedral. 
When she stepped on the elevating platform, it rose on its own. It had once been operated by a person, but now that it was automatic, that girl had been relieved of duty. From what Ronie had heard, she had taken on a new career in the arsenal in recognition of her excellent skill with wind arts. 
Like its informal name of Cloudtop Garden suggested, the eightieth floor of Central Cathedral was covered in flowers, despite being indoors. Atop a small and gentle hill in the center of the spacious meadow covered in silver frostlilies stood the swordsman delegate, dressed in black. 
Kirito had his hand against the young osmanthus tree planted in the middle of the hilltop. As Ronie approached, he turned and grinned at her. 
“Hi. Thanks.” 
“This is one of the duties of a page, after all.” She giggled and spread out a cloth. Then she took plates out of the basket, as well as the large, pre-sliced cake, much to Kirito’s childlike delight. She plated slices for herself, Tsukigake, and Kirito; poured out two cups of tea; and told him to dig in. 
“Thanks, this looks great!” Kirito said, beginning to eat quickly, as though he were in a competition with the dragon. Ronie felt a warmth spreading through her chest as she watched him go. 
When she had opportunities to be alone with Kirito these days, she felt both a sense of bliss and a deep longing for her wish to come true. If only there were a sacred art of time-freezing…If only she could live within this moment for all eternity… 
But of course, no sacred arts command could control the flow of time. It never moved backward and never stopped, but continued flowing toward the future at the same steady rate. 
It was because of time’s eternal flux that the world had survived its greatest peril and arrived at the peace it now enjoyed. Someday, Ronie would be made a full-fledged Integrity Knight and soar across the skies on the back of a grown-up Tsukigake. Part of her looked forward to that, of course. But she couldn’t stop herself from wishing, Please, Time, just stop. 
“…nie. Ronie?” 
Kirito’s voice startled her out of her gentle reverie. 

“Oh, s-sorry! Did you want more?” 
“No. I mean, yes…but that wasn’t what I was saying.” Kirito held out his empty plate to her. “Weren’t you going to ask me something?” 
“Ah…” 
At last, she remembered why she was here in the first place. “I’m sorry!” Ronie stammered. “That’s right…Um, it was about that steel dragon you created…the dragoncraft.” 
Kirito took a big bite out of the second slice of cake she offered him and nodded. “Uh-huh.” 
“Um, well, I was thinking…er, actually, I was worried that…” She looked left and right before continuing in hushed tones, “You might be planning to use that dragoncraft…to fly over the Wall at the End—?” 
Kirito suddenly let out a muffled gurgle, thumped at his chest with one hand, and scrabbled in the empty air with the other. Ronie hastily handed him his cup of tea, which he downed all at once before exhaling. 
The black-haired young man smiled the same way he had when she’d first met him—like a mischievous young boy who knew exactly what he was getting himself into. 
“I should have figured that my page would know me that well. I can’t hide anything from you.” 
“What? Th-then it’s true?” 
“Yeah, pretty much,” he admitted, scratching at his cheek as though it were no big deal. Ronie stared at him in disbelief. 
The Wall at the End of the World. That was the common name for the barrier that spanned the perimeter around both the human realm and the dark realm—the Underworld as a whole. Its height seemed to be endless, in fact. 
From Centoria, it simply blended into the blue of the sky, hiding its existence from the residents, but Ronie had seen it with her own eyes just one time. It was when she had joined Kirito on a visit to the mountain goblins’ domain in the far north of the Dark Territory. It had taken her breath away when she’d noticed the faded, distant cliff over the horizon. 
According to the goblins, the wall was made not of earth but of some ultra-hard mineral. They had difficulty even chiseling a tiny hole in it, much less carving caves or stairs into its surface. In three hundred years of history, every last foolhardy attempt to scale it had ended in death. 
The giants and ogres had similar tales about the wall, making it clear that there was a common understanding shared by the peoples of the Dark Territory: The wall was completely impassable and literally represented the end of the world. 
Or so we thought. 
“So, um, well,” Ronie stammered, trying to regain her footing. She had an inkling of what his intentions were, but she didn’t expect him to admit it so easily. She took a sip of tea to steady herself. “Um…So does that mean you’ve already tested whether you can cross the wall with your flying arts?” 
“Yep,” Kirito said, but he soon shook his head. “I tried it and gave up. Couldn’t even get over it with wings made of Incarnation, much less flight with wind elements. Seems like getting to a certain fixed height increases gravity to a nearly unlimited level…” 
He leaned back against the osmanthus tree, arms folded, muttering more to himself than to her. 
“…But when I threw a knife straight up from that theoretical elevation limit, it went much, much higher. Meaning that the limit doesn’t completely block all objects. I think it selectively blocks humanoids. Growing wings doesn’t change my unit ID, after all…So the only option I have is to gamble that by completely sealing myself inside a movable shell, the system itself will recognize the shell as a nonliving object, allowing me to pass…” 
At this point, Ronie was completely lost. She raised a hand. “Um, are you saying that you can’t cross the wall in your own body, but if you ride that metal dragon, you might be able to get over it?” 
“Huh…?” Kirito looked up at last, blinking repeatedly. “Ah, sorry. Right, yes, that’s correct. The truth is, I’ve already tried flying paper or leather airplanes—er, dragons—with sacred arts and Incarnation. But it didn’t work…If I’m moving them myself, it seems to treat them like clothes or armor. The dragon has to be able to fly on its own. But if it’s going to withstand the temperature of heat elements, it needs to be made of metal, and it needs power to be able to push all that weight, which means more heat elements, and it’s just a vicious cycle, you see…” 
“Wow…that all sounds very complicated…,” Ronie murmured, falling into the same swamp of thought that was plaguing Kirito before she came back to her senses. “Oh, I mean, not that! I wanted to ask you about something else…” 
“Hmm? What?” 
“Why do you need to go over the wall? I was your page for a long time, so I understand your instinct to want to overcome any obstacle you’re faced with…but I feel as though there are…more important things to focus on now…” 
She started off strong but soon realized that it was beginning to sound like a lecture, and she felt ashamed. Kirito clapped her on the shoulder. 
“Thanks, Ronie. I feel bad for making you worry all the time,” he said with a smile, which caused her heart to skip a beat. She quickly suppressed her emotions. Kirito didn’t seem to recognize the effect he had on her, though. He put his hands behind his head and looked up into the sky. 
“…But the truth is, I happen to think that getting over that wall is actually the highest priority in all of the Underworld right now.” 
“Um…what does that mean?” 
“…Listen, don’t tell anyone else. Not even Tiese or Fanatio.” 
She was surprised by his sudden demand but agreed all the same. The real shock was what Kirito said next, however. 
“At this rate, there’s going to be another war.” 
“……!! N-no, that can’t be…! We finally reached an era of peace…” 
Kirito shook his head, his expression stern. “I’m afraid that’s not going to last very long…The Eastern Gate collapsed, trading began between the two worlds, and tourists have come in great numbers from the Dark Territory. For now, they are enjoying sights and foods that are rare and exotic to them. But eventually, they won’t be able to help but notice the definitive difference between the two worlds.” 
“Difference…?” 
“Yes. The human realm is far too rich in resources, and the dark realm is far too poor. You saw that red sky and the dark-black charcoal…The land around Obsidia was the only place that was reasonably lush, but the demi-humans have no claim to that place—it’s run by humans. Slowly but surely, unrest will build among the goblins, orcs, and giants. Asuna and I tried to do what we could to make their lands more fertile, but nothing worked. The spatial resources…the sacred power just isn’t there.” 
She listened to him, not speaking a word. Yes, the sight of the barren land of the Dark Territory is seared into my mind. But until this moment, I always just assumed that was the way it was meant to be. I never entertained the idea of actually doing something about it. 
“Kirito…I…,” she murmured. 
He looked at her with those deep-black eyes and smiled gently. “I’m sorry—I’m not criticizing you. Nobody can help it; that’s just how the Underworld was built to begin with. It was designed for war to happen between the starved dark realm and the rich human realm. War did break out, and many lives were lost. All we managed to do was avoid the worst possible ending. So for the sake of those who did die, we have to make sure that history doesn’t repeat itself.” 
“B-but, what should we…?” 
“There’s only one answer. The demi-humans need land they can be proud of—something more than the distant wastes that humans drove them to. They need real countries of their own, where they don’t have to be the ‘nonhumans.’” 
“Real…countries.” 
She’d been having trouble following anything Kirito was saying in this conversation, but that phrase was the one thing she understood instinctively. 
The territory of the mountain goblins was the only demi-human land that Ronie had seen for herself. Their country was in the hilly region far to the northeast of where the Eastern Gate had once stood. No wheat grew from their ground, and no fish swam in their rivers. It was literally a barren wasteland. 
Their previous two generations of chieftains, Hagashi and Kosogi, had both died in the war, and they had only just gotten a new leader, so the tribe was stagnant and slow to recover. In the old days when power was law, the giants, orcs, or maybe even the flatland goblins would have wiped them out by now. 
When Ronie had accompanied Kirito on the trip to their land, the sight of the enfeebled and abandoned on crude straw mats as well as starving children whimpering in the dirt had left her speechless. The large stock of supplies they’d brought from the human realm helped avoid an utter collapse, but it was no more than a short-term solution to a long-term crisis. The soil there simply wasn’t capable of supporting the multiplying population of goblins. 
But before this point, Ronie had never given it a second thought. If anything, she’d tried to forget about it. She’d tried to forget the sight of goblin children snatching from her hands the hard-baked bread renowned for its long-lasting texture and certainly not its flavor. The enthusiasm with which they had wolfed it down was enough to make the simple bread seem like a feast fit for a king. 
Supplies were still being sent out regularly from the human realm, as far as she was aware. She’d told herself that this was enough, and she’d turned a blind eye to the fact that she’d lived a life of comfort and luxury as a human noble, even if she was a lower one. 
But when Kirito had mentioned “real countries,” Ronie couldn’t help but face the hard truth. That wasteland was no country at all—it wasn’t even true territory. That was a land of exile. It was a place of punishment, not of habitation. 
“……Kirito…I……I…” 
Ronie hung her head. Her fork clanked onto the plate bearing her half-eaten cake. Nobles have a duty far greater than the privileges they are granted. They must fight at all times for the sake of the powerless. In the sacred tongue, this is called “noblesse oblige.” 
Two years ago, when she was an ignorant primary trainee at the academy, it was Kirito who had taught her this. 
And somehow, I let myself forget…In fact, I never thought of the goblins as fellow humans to begin with. I pitied their plight, but a part of me thought it was just their fate in life to suffer this way… 
A tear welled up and dripped from her eye onto the white plate. Tsukigake trilled with concern, and a hand reached over and rubbed Ronie’s head. 
“I’m sorry, Ronie. I knew that talking about this might might upset you,” Kirito murmured softly. “But…you don’t have to be so hard on yourself. We’re able to send supplies to the dark realm because we reined in the extravagance of the emperors and nobles, and we rebuilt the human realm really quickly. Neither of those things would have happened without your hard work. So the truth is, you’ve been doing your part to help them already.” 
“Do you…really think that?” 
“I do. I’ve been to the mountain goblins’ land since then, and the children you gave bread to still remembered you.” 
More tears trickled down her cheeks, for a slightly different reason this time. He reached out with a simple handkerchief to wipe them away. She had to fight the urge to leap into his arms, bury her face against his chest, and weep. Instead, she let her head hang until the tears stopped, then lifted her face and smiled. 
“…Thank you. I’m fine now…I’m sorry for crying in the middle of our conversation.” 
“I knew you were a crybaby since your first year at the academy, Ronie,” Kirito reassured her with a grin. She made a face and glared at him, but there was another round of painful needling deep in her heart that she had to endure. 
She swallowed more tea and blinked the remaining tears away. “Um…I think I understand your thoughts on the matter now. The goblins and orcs need beautiful, fertile lands just like in the human realm. If there’s no place like that in the Underworld, we’ll have to go beyond the End of the World. And the first step to doing that is getting past the wall with that dragoncraft… Is that correct?” 
“You got it…But I bet that the real hard part comes after crossing the wall…,” Kirito admitted, bobbing his head. 
“But,” she asked hesitantly, “is there really another side beyond the wall? What if it simply continues forever and ever…?” 
“I’ve considered that. But the thing is…if that wall really is the end of this world, I don’t think there’s any need for it to be a wall at all. It would simply be an impenetrable address…Something like a void.” 
“A void…Like some invisible space that can’t be traversed?” 
“That’s right. But the Wall at the End of the World is an actual, physical wall—an extremely tall and tough one, that’s all. What if the reason for that is to keep the residents of the world from facing some phenomenon they’re not prepared to understand…? It’s possible that the end of the world will no longer be the end once you’ve gotten there…Though it all depends on how much spare power and space the Main Visualizer has, of course…” 
Ronie frowned. He was going off on one of his impossible tangents again. Kirito realized it, too, and scratched his head apologetically. 
“Sorry, when I’m talking with you, I seem to have a habit of just saying whatever’s in my head. Let’s see…How about this? The fact is, there’s no end to the world.” 
“No…end…?” 
Again, it was an unfamiliar concept to Ronie. She’d been born and raised in North Centoria, so the first “end of the world” she’d known was the Everlasting Walls that split the Centoria into four wedge-shaped segments. But then she’d learned that the Norlangarth Empire extended far to the north beyond those walls. Specifically, that it, along with the three other empires of similar shape, composed the entirety of the human realm, which took the form of a circle. 
It wasn’t until she started at the youth training academy at age eight that she was taught about the frightening Dark Territory that existed in the space beyond the End Mountains, which surrounded the circular realm. But her teacher did not tell her any specifics about the dark realm—looking back, she doubted the teacher even knew—so it wasn’t until she enlisted in the Human Guardian Army with Tiese and headed for the Eastern Gate that she learned of the infinite Wall at the End of the World surrounding the Dark Territory. 
In other words, the world as Ronie knew it always had an end. And whenever she surpassed that boundary, there was another one beyond it. Despite this cycle of revelation, she always believed that one of them truly would be the complete and utter end of what existed. 
“So…you’re saying…beyond the Wall at the End of the World, there’ll be more land, like the human and dark realms…with meadows and forests and deserts, continuing forever?” she asked uncertainly. 
“Mmm,” Kirito hummed. “How do I explain this…? Ah. Come over here.” 
He stood up and extended a hand toward her. Flustered, she grabbed it; he pulled her upright, then guided her over to one of the narrow windows around the edge of the Cloudtop Garden. 
“There. Look at that.” 
His black-sleeved arm was pointing into the darkening blue of the eastern sky, where a pale-white half circle was rising—Lunaria. Ronie and Tsukigake looked up at the large body that was the source of the little dragon’s name, Moon Run. Then Kirito said something that seemed extremely obvious. 
“It sure is round, isn’t it?” 
“Y…yes. It’s round,” she agreed, wondering what his point was. 
“That moon isn’t a flat circle in the sky. It’s a spherical body. That’s why it gets bigger and smaller, as only the parts lit by Solus’s rays are visible.” He then asked uncertainly, “That’s something you learn in school in Centoria…right?” 
She smiled awkwardly and nodded. “Of course. At the youth training academy, we are taught that it is the golden jewel that is the throne of Lunaria in the celestial realm…” 
“Ah. Well, um…the truth is, I’ve got a fairly strong hypothesis that this world, including the human realm and the dark realm, is actually part of a sphere, just like that one.” 
“Wh-what?! A sphere?!” shouted Ronie. Her feet suddenly felt unsteady, and she had to focus on her balance. Tsukigake snorted lightly, as if mocking Kirito’s hypothesis. 
Over the next five minutes, he taught her about the concept of a spherical world—he called it a planet. It wasn’t something she found easy to accept, but there was one thing that she did believe: 
The ninety-fifth floor of Central Cathedral, the Morning Star Lookout, was entirely open to the sky at its edges. If you stood at the edge and looked out upon the land, you could indeed see a gentle curve along the horizon. 
If the world really was in the shape of a sphere, it would only be natural for the skyline to look that way—perhaps—but she couldn’t quite put it all together in her mind. She stared at the moon in the sky. 
Suddenly, words she’d never consciously thought escaped her lips. 
“If this world is the same type of sphere as the moon…then does that mean the moon has meadows and forests and towns with people living in them, too?” 
“Huh…?” 
Kirito hadn’t been expecting that question, either. The black-haired swordsman blinked theatrically, but his eyes softened quickly after that. 
“…Yes, you might be right. Depending on the distance to the moon, it might be not just a small satellite but another planet of an equivalent size…But we’ll find that out once we go there,” he said, so casually that Ronie didn’t find it that surprising at first. If anything, it seemed inevitable to her now that he would say something like that. 
So Ronie just smiled, leaned a single cen closer to Kirito, and whispered, “When you do, I will accompany you. As your page.” 
“I’d better build a nice, big dragoncraft, then.” 
For some time after that, two humans and one dragon silently gazed upon the half circle floating in the distant sky.