Masumi braced herself, wondering where he intended to drag her, but to her surprise the destination was close.
In less than three minutes they pushed through the tall grass, and a huge tent loomed before them. Two men dressed much like the knight stood at the entrance, as though guarding it.
They stared at Masumi, eyes widening.
“Lord Aisel—was it her?”
One of the soldiers asked, unable to hide his shock.
“Aye. A spy from Reitea… most likely.”
The man answered without lowering Masumi from his shoulder.
Surname or given name, she didn’t know which, but he was called Aisel. From the honorific and the reverence in their tone, his rank seemed high. And now that she looked more closely with that in mind, the difference in their equipment was obvious. One wore worn, grimy armor. The other wore armor that gleamed with a polished sheen.
At Aisel’s reply, the soldier’s face clouded at once.
“So it is… Is it because the Martial Music Gathering draws near?”
“I’ll make her talk. Slowly. By any means necessary.”
At the low murmur, Masumi’s body went rigid.
Perhaps noticing, Aisel’s arm tightened around her waist. It felt like a wordless declaration: I won’t let you go. And if she struggled carelessly, she had the distinct impression he could crush the breath out of her.
The soldier, still grim-faced, bowed and ended the exchange. Aisel merely said, “The rest is yours,” and stepped into the tent.
Who’s waiting inside? What’s going to happen to me?
Her dread, however, was met with a baffling anticlimax.
Inside the tent—about the size of an eight-mat room—there was no one. No chairs, no desk, nothing. Only empty space. If anything stood out, it was the rug on the floor, patterned with intricate circular designs.
Further in, she could see another slit in the hanging cloth.
So there was another room beyond. This felt like a waiting room of sorts—the antechamber to whatever lay deeper inside.
Masumi expected Aisel to go straight on, but he stopped midway.
And set her down.
Seated on the rug, Masumi found herself positioned precisely at the center of the design, at the heart of the circle.
Aisel stepped back, placing himself outside it. As she frowned at the incomprehensible behavior, he raised his right hand straight up into the air, as though pressing his palm against an invisible pillar.
“One more time,” he said, holding his hand aloft. “You understand the meaning of that law-circle. Confess your purpose here and now, and I’ll settle for nothing more than forcibly returning you to Reitea—just like the other spies.”
“Law-circle? Forcibly returned—?”
“Still playing innocent? Fine. Then your body will answer for you.”
Before she could ask even the most basic questions—what the circle was, what Reitea meant, where she even was—Aisel murmured something under his breath.
And in the next instant—
“…Huh?!”
A scene she’d never seen before made a cry burst out of her.
It was… beautiful, if one had to put a word to it. Almost fantastical.
As though responding to Aisel’s words, the circular pattern in the rug suddenly began to glow. The motifs along the ring flashed like lightning racing over the ground. Then the outer edge emitted a pale blue-white light from below, so that Masumi looked as though she were trapped inside a column of radiance.
At first she was captivated by the glow, but then she remembered—and hurriedly looked beyond the circle.
Their eyes met.
Aisel’s, now even harsher than before.
So this is what it feels like to be murdered by a glare.
But no matter how fiercely he stared, nothing happened to Masumi. The circle’s light intensified, but she, standing at its center, didn’t glow even a fraction.
Which was only natural.
She wasn’t a squid or a firefly.
If she were reborn, perhaps, but she wasn’t quite there yet, and it felt far too soon to start demanding luminescence from herself.
Panicking over her inability to glow for reasons that were frankly ridiculous, Masumi could do nothing but dart her eyes around. Her hands and feet were bound. There was no clever trick she could pull off in this state.
Then, as suddenly as it had flared, the light faded away.
With the barrier of radiance gone, she could see Aisel clearly. His mouth was set in a hard line, his hands clenched into fists.
“…It seems you’re under a remarkably strong protection.”
The mutter sounded like a verdict—one that left no room for argument.
Aisel stepped into the circle. His silence was violent. Masumi instinctively tried to scoot back, but she hardly moved before a powerful arm scooped her up again and slung her over his shoulder as before.
He strode toward the inner chamber.
Reaching the slit in the hanging cloth, he said, “Excuse me,” and pulled it aside without pause.
＊ ＊ ＊ ＊
“Lord Ark. We have apprehended a suspicious person.”
Aisel used formal speech now—completely unlike his tone at the tent entrance. As he spoke, he set Masumi down.
Up, down, up, down. She was being handled far too briskly. I’m not luggage, she wanted to protest, but she could feel in her bones that this was not a situation in which protests would be welcomed.
Every time she was moved, the rope bit into her wrists. Her ankles throbbed at steady intervals—perhaps she’d twisted them when she fell. Being bound there only made it worse. Her back, too, still ached—its worst moment had passed, but it hadn’t stopped creaking in complaint.
No one told her it would still hurt after death.
So much for paradise.
It was the second time she’d thought it today, but truly, it deserved repeating. If a miracle happened and she somehow came back to life, she would look someone dead in the eye and say, Stop training so earnestly for the Pure Land.
To whom?
To someone, surely.
Clinging to that absurd vow as she grimaced at her aches, Masumi saw movement in the back of the tent.
“A suspicious person? You mean a spy.”
The voice that answered was lower than Aisel’s, smooth with a certain luster. When Masumi lifted her face, she saw a man dressed not in armor, but in a deep navy uniform—closer to military attire than anything else she knew.
There was a desk and chair inside, sparse but functional, and he had been seated there reading a document. His uniform was unbuttoned from the collar to the chest, making it impossible to call his appearance properly put-together. If anything, he had strayed into the realm of careless.
Yet his body, like Aisel’s, looked well trained. His broad shoulders and solid waist left no doubt.
He didn’t seem much older than Aisel either. The difference was his black hair, and his long, narrow eyes—also black. That alone gave him a sharp, blade-like impression, but he wore glasses that softened it slightly.
They were simple glasses.
Oval lenses, slender silver temples. With his right hand he removed them slowly, then turned fully toward them. The man called Ark looked at Masumi first.
Then Aisel.
Then back to Masumi—before he rose.
“I’d say you did well, but this is… quite the strange thing that slipped inside.”
He tilted his head, deeply perplexed.
“That is why I called her suspicious. She slipped through the law-circle for revealing one’s identity.”
“…I see. And that’s why you look like that.”
“In truth, her body seems weak enough that she cannot escape my restraints. However, she carries a box of unknown nature, and given the circle’s lack of reaction, it is highly likely she is a concealed caster.”
“Hmm.”
Ark folded his arms, appearing to think.
“What should we do?” Aisel asked.
If permitted, I’ll make her talk, his tone all but said. The menace threaded through his words made Masumi’s face tighten.
Given that she’d been labeled suspicious from the start, she doubted she would be treated as a guest. The fact she’d been carried like a wine barrel—she would set that aside for now.
The most likely outcome was a cell.
Whether the afterlife even had “tomorrow” was debatable, but she would set that aside too.
From Aisel’s unyielding voice, she could practically see a second outcome bundled with the first: something very much like torture.
You’ve got to be kidding.
She’d barely had time to accept that she’d “ascended” by mistake before being dragged here, and now, without understanding anything, she was about to be subjected to even more pain as a bonus round?
Absolutely not.
Yet her fingertips trembled. And though she wanted to beg them to stop, her throat was dry, her voice refusing to emerge.
“I could leave it to you,” Ark said, “but if she’s a concealed caster, it won’t be simple.”
“It will take effort, but I cannot burden you at this time, Lord Ark.”
“The Captain of the Royal Guard is as earnest as ever.”
“Since the start of this month, the number of spies has risen sharply. With the Martial Music Gathering near, it should be taken as an open challenge from Reitea. If I cannot deal with ten or a hundred spies, I have no right to call myself Captain of the Royal Guard.”
“Earnest indeed.”
The black-haired man sighed as though weary. The blond one remained grim.
To Masumi, listening from the side, the conversation was dangerously casual. It seemed the political situation in this “underworld” was unstable—yet the way they spoke of dealing with people by the dozens, by the hundreds, as if it were routine… was this a war era?
Then again, if these men had died in medieval Europe, perhaps her impression wasn’t wrong.
Ark flicked his gaze toward Masumi.
If Aisel addressed him with honorifics and formal speech, Ark’s standing must be even higher. And yet his movements were oddly careless, full of openings.
Not dignified so much as… casual. Common. Rough around the edges.
Judging by posture alone, Aisel looked far more aristocratic.
Unaware of Masumi’s rude assessment, the two continued as though she weren’t there.
“She slipped through the law-circle, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s faster if I examine her.”
“But—”
“Everything reported today has been dull. I was just thinking I needed someone to amuse me.”
A sudden gleam.
In an instant, his black eyes took on the feral sharpness of a predator.
“Amuse you,” Aisel said flatly. “You mean devour her.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Do I have to?”
Aisel looked at Masumi with unmistakable pity.
Hey—what is that look? The pitying gaze for a doomed sacrificial lamb?
It was a loaded stare, heavy with concern. The suspicion he’d held earlier had vanished as if it had never existed.
He looked as though he were thinking, A cell would have been kinder.
Aisel exhaled like a man resigned, then turned back to Ark.
“Tomorrow is the investiture ceremony and the reception of the new knights. I ask that you be punctual.”
“Yeah.”
“Then I will take my leave.”
With a rigid bow, Aisel exited at once.
Masumi couldn’t help following him with her eyes. He didn’t look back even once.
＊ ＊ ＊ ＊
Left alone with Ark, silence settled.
Or rather, Masumi couldn’t tear her gaze away from the slit in the curtain where Aisel had disappeared.
She had a lot she wanted to say.
To begin with, if he’d gone so far as to threaten her with a sword and drag her here, how could he simply toss her aside? If he’d been so eager to interrogate her, why withdraw so easily? If he was going to hand her off, didn’t that mean he didn’t even need to bring her himself?
As she simmered, a shadow fell over her from behind.
She turned.
Ark was right there.
“Well then,” he said, and with one hand pulled a chair toward him and sat. He crossed his long legs—obviously long even at a glance—and propped his chin on his hand as though pondering.
“There should have been guards. Where did you enter from?”
It was a question she couldn’t answer from the start. That’s what I’d like to know, she nearly snapped, and a crease formed between her brows. If she gave some nonsensical answer and he glared at her like Aisel had, she would be finished.
Yet Ark didn’t seem to mind her lack of reply and continued lightly.
“If you meant to slit my throat, choosing me suggests you’re confident in your skill.”
He sounded almost amused. Almost relaxed.
With Aisel, every word had felt like it might earn her an execution. With Ark, at least it seemed possible to speak. And staying silent didn’t seem like it would improve anything.
Releasing a fraction of her tension, Masumi spoke.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about… I don’t even know where this is, or who you are.”
“You don’t know? Is that a ruse to make me drop my guard?”
“Make you drop your guard? Me? For what purpose?”
“You’re well trained. Or you’re truly under concealment.”
He muttered something about a name being a key.
To be honest, Masumi had no idea what they were even discussing. A law-circle, casters, concealment—none of it meant anything to her.
When confronted with something utterly unfamiliar, it seemed humans couldn’t immediately produce the perfect words.
While she fumbled to figure out what to ask and how, Ark pressed on.
“Do you know my name?”
“I just told you I don’t!”
“It’s Ark.”
“Ark? That’s your name?”
“…Yes. Formally, Arkrestav=Albaarse=Kanova.”
“That’s… long.”
“Hm. So that’s not it.” Ark tilted his head again. “If you’re playing dumb, you’re a remarkable actress. Or… is it an exceptionally powerful spell?”
He looked thoughtful.
“Enduring the law-circle without changing expression is impressive. Any ordinary caster would have fainted. So you’ve finally decided to take this seriously, have you? If only you’d direct that passion toward the Martial Music Gathering itself.”
“Hey. What are you even talking about?”
From the start, he’d accused her of confidence, of pretending, of being trained—and none of it made any sense. She could feel, dimly, that this was becoming a case of mistaken identity, but when the very premise of the conversation was missing, she couldn’t simply accuse him of making things up.
And there was one thing that made it even harder to object cleanly.
She did have some confidence in one thing.
The violin.
Which only made it more awkward to insist she had no “skills” at all.
She glanced down. There was a small rug beneath her, marked with the same sort of circular design as the one in the antechamber. It didn’t glow, and it was smaller—just large enough for one person to sit.
The pattern was complex, but otherwise unremarkable.
As Masumi decided to stay quiet and watch where this was going, Ark casually said something outrageous.
“You’re a spy from Reitea, aren’t you. Your job is to eliminate me before the next Martial Music Gathering. Of course, you won’t simply say ‘Yes, that’s right.’”
The sheer incomprehensibility struck Masumi speechless.
She couldn’t even manage a “Huh?” or a “What?” And perhaps taking her stunned silence as agreement, he continued from his chair, unruffled.
“I’ll warn you now—seduction won’t work on me. If you’re prepared to face me head-on, I’ll oblige. What’ll it be? Sword or spell. I’ll even let you choose.”
“I don’t even know what’s going on, but—first of all, I have no intention or reason to seduce you. Second, I don’t have the resolve to ‘face you’ from the front or the side or the back. Third, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be fighting you about. And fourth, I have no idea what you mean by swords or spells.”
“…When you sound this stupid, it makes me question whether you’re truly a competent spy.”
“That’s why I said I’m not a spy! And stop looking at me like I’m some pitiful creature you’ve already decided is hopeless!”
Her words came out rougher than she meant.
Being mistaken for a spy was bad enough, but “you sound stupid” was entirely unnecessary.
Perhaps because she’d snapped at him with such force, Ark slowly uncrossed his legs.
And stood.
