Beyond the mirror stood a strange man.
Though it seemed like the stuff of an adolescent dream, that was the undeniable truth. When Feodor peered into the mirror, someone quite unlike himself was looking back at his face as well.
Black hair, black eyes. Featureless. A face without ambition. Tall, wearing a black military uniform. He wanted to say that it was just an unknown face, but it was not. A few days ago, to his astonishment, Feodor had seen it once in the depths of the Pickle Barrel. Inside the box with the tag “Dead Black Agate,” which he’d opened thinking it was Chanteur’s corpse.
Feodor had watched the man’s frozen corpse rest as if he were asleep.
“―Who…what are you?”
Nursing his headache, Feodor thrust his fist at the mirror. Similarly, the man in the mirror thrust his fist right back.
“Who…what are you?” the man in the mirror replied belatedly.
“I’m the one asking you that.”
“I’m the one asking you that.”
“Answer my question!”
“Answer my question!”
There was no end to it. Again and again, the image in the mirror parroted Feodor’s words as though he was continuously speaking into an empty vase. Whatever he spoke was distorted and echoed back at him after a slight delay.
He cut his gaze from the mirror. Repeating such meaningless things wasn’t helping; far from it, it only made his headache worse.
―I’m beat.
It had to be a hallucination. He figured it was when he peeked into the box labeled “Dead Black Agate,” at the very moment those eyes met his, that he had been cursed. Or, perhaps, his imp eyes… Feodor may not have understood the details himself, but he feared it was their powerful hypnotic effect that had run amok and acted on his own psyche. He had no idea what the real reason was, but he was too tired to collect his thoughts and get to the bottom of the mystery.
In a rather short span of time, Feodor felt that he’d become quite the useless piece of junk.
Once, there had been a bright future ahead of him. A former fourth officer, he’d excelled at both pen and sword, but now he was somehow starting to experience bouts of terminal delirium, and he’d even become a wanted man to boot. All in all, it was pathetically laughable.
However, as an imp—as a member of the race which wallowed in wickedness and depravity, Feodor supposed it was his just deserts.
“Phew.”
He took out a pair of non-prescription glasses and put them on. Glancing back towards the mirror, he saw his own familiar reflection. Somehow, the hallucination of that black-haired man only appeared when he looked at the mirror with his naked eye. It was only a makeshift solution, but he was grateful that there was one at all. From now on, he resolved to wear his glasses as much as possible.
Feodor looked outside the window, hoping to take his mind off of it. The massive airship wings came into his view, with almost half of the moss-colored paint on their surface flaking off. An emergency lifesaving kite was shaking and wobbling dangerously; perhaps it hadn’t been fastened securely. And beyond that—
A white sea of clouds, covering the lower half of his vision. And the wide-open sky dying the remaining half blue.
“…”
And here he was, in a private guest room of an airship owned by Spessartine Trading. Though it was a large airship mainly used for transporting goods, it still had to maintain a certain speed. Nevertheless, the view from his window was as changeless as a painting—all he could see were the three colors of blue, white and moss green. He grew tired of it in no time.
That said, looking around the room, there was nothing particularly interesting in it either. It had simply been renovated from a small storage area; besides the sleeper sofa he was sitting on, there was enough room for a small clothes rack, a hippo ornament, a wall clock and the mirror from earlier.
He glanced at the clock; there still was some time until arrival. Tracing the path of a small bird flying away from the window with his eyes, he recalled the events of a few days ago.
That night, Feodor and Lakhesh had escaped from the Winged Guard and beaten back the pursuing Tiat. When he had indicated that he wished to travel to another floating island, the look on Giggir’s face was unforgettable.
“I’m grateful for your assistance. And I’d like to apologize for my miserable appearance. Under these circumstances, I was hoping you could lend me a hand…no, hoof.”
“What are you going to do?” Giggir had asked. “Don’t you still have unfinished business here?”
“Of course. There’s a whole mountain of things I want to do. But there’s only so much I can accomplish right now, and I’ve got my hands full with all the things I have to do.”
All of Feodor’s muscles were screaming in pain, and a dull ache no inferior to that throbbed at the back of his eyes. It took all he had to keep his voice steady as he went on: “I’ve already obtained enough information here. The Winged Guard’s primary anti-Beast weapons are being held on another island. While it’s regrettable that I’ve lost my position there, the timing isn’t so bad. In any case, if I had remained in the Winged Guard, I couldn’t do what I’ve got to do right now.”
Giggir looked straight into Feodor’s eyes, and Feodor stared right back. He did not mask his expression; nor did he think it was necessary. At present, the only things he needed Giggir to know were that he was completely serious and believed in his chances.
“We don’t want to start a war with our own hands. We just want to take the Winged Guard’s monopolized military might, as well as their knowledge about the Beasts, and release it to the rest of the world. It will not do for us to stay fixated on the weapons themselves. What we need right now is to plant a foothold in the facilities that manufacture and manage them.”
Gulping down a lump of saliva, Feodor continued: “That’s why there’s one person we must seek out: Dr. Margomedari Brompton. He has studied engineering, medicine, linguistics and the occult―”
“…That sounds rather dubious.”
Naturally, he had been doubtful. Giggir Mozag was a merchant. And merchants were by nature those who chased after tangible benefits, and would never be led by the nose with insubstantial pipe dreams.
“Let me cut to the chase then. What can Spessartine Trading expect to gain from this?”
“There are many who seek knowledge about the Beasts. I’d love nothing more than to spread it far and wide, but unfortunately, we can’t just do that. After all, the value of any item is determined only by the amount one is willing to pay for it. Information that is obtained without price or effort lacks credibility, you see. Which is why…”
“Oho.” Giggir’s ugly, pig-like face became even more unsightly and twisted. “I see. In other words, we lead them to believe the information has value. For that purpose, we must demand suitably exorbitant prices from the various parties involved.”
“That’s an awful way to put it.” Feodor smirked lightly. Giggir’s choice of words was definitely rather scandalous, but his assessment was right on the nose.
“And so I presume we need this individual for the transaction?”
“Y-yeah…”
“Fine. It seems like a worthwhile deal. So long as I’ve determined that a profit can be made, the Spessartines shall spare no effort to assist you in your endeavor.”
“Thank you.”
Giggir Mozag was an orc. Orcs were said to value familial ties. With their brief lifespans, orcs developed a distinct culture and held a unique view on life and death. Hence, their communities tended to be quite insular, so much so that it often caused friction with the many other races.
That was also why they would never betray someone who they’ve acknowledged as an equal and a collaborator. But that didn’t mean they’d indulge Feodor forever. He’d already revealed his bottomless shame to this man once, and had taken out a huge loan of goodwill besides. Thereafter, he would have to continue proving himself fit to be Giggir’s equal.
Is this really alright?
There was a gaping hole in Giggir’s reasoning. What was the connection between obtaining knowledge about the Beasts and Doctor Margomedari? What exactly was Feodor trying to achieve with Giggir’s cooperation, and how exactly would Feodor generate a profit for him? The orc hadn’t probed him about those issues.
It was impossible that Giggir had simply forgotten about it, because he’d never been such a careless man. Hence, Feodor reasoned, it had to be intentional.
I’ll impose on his kindness for now.
Feodor could find no words to express his gratitude for Giggir’s tacit generosity, so he silently cast his eyes downwards.
“You…” After his discussion with Giggir, he’d still felt a tinge of apprehension when the time came to confirm Lakhesh’s intentions. “You’re…willing to help me out?”
“I can’t very well leave you, can I?” the girl replied. “There’s nowhere I wish to go, and nothing I wish to do, so I’ll follow my heart’s desire and stay by your side. I will support whatever you plan on doing, even if you tell me not to.”
Said the girl who had no memory of her past and smiled―like a young child longing for her parents’ love. …No, don’t look at me like that. Once again, Feodor felt a familiar stab of guilt.
In the first place, the girl once known as Lakhesh Nyx Seniorious did not exist anymore. Instead, the shattered remains of Lakhesh’s personality had miraculously fused with the similarly fragmented soul of another, creating an unstable and flawed mosaic.
Besides, it was not natural for the girl to pine after Feodor. It was the result of his imp eyes’ powers spiraling out of control, when he had merely attempted to cast them on her. That was why her behavior had been so far removed from someone with a properly functioning mind.
They had never even shared a transactional relationship, let alone one with love or friendship involved.
“After all, you’re my dearest friend.”
Please stop saying things like that. Don’t use such gaudy words to adorn our bogus relationship. Feodor smiled vaguely, suppressing the urge he felt to scream those thoughts out.
Feodor had accepted Giggir’s generosity. He had manipulated Lakhesh’s feelings. With nothing of his own, he could only reverse his fortunes by shamelessly borrowing the strength of others.
It seemed the painkillers had worn off. The sharp pain in Feodor’s thigh broke him out of his recollections and brought his consciousness back to the airship.
“Ow, owowowowow…”
He had received the wound some time ago, upon falling into Lyell’s depths and having his leg impaled by a metal strut. It had been treated after that, and it should’ve healed perfectly if he’d stayed still for another ten days or so…but after throwing himself into an excessively fierce fight, the wound had completely re-opened. Like an unwelcome guest, the aches across his body flooded right back.
Despite all that, though, he had risen to the rank of fourth officer before. The combat training he had accrued was more than sufficient to tide him through, and he took pride in his greater-than- average resistance to pain. That being said, pain still hurt, and he hated it.
A knock came from the door.
“I wonder if he’s sleeping?” Without waiting for an answer, the knob turned and the door was pushed open.
“Oh, so you’re awake.” An orange-haired girl suddenly appeared from the shadows. Upon seeing Feodor standing beside the window, she seemed rather dismayed.
“Why do you sound so disappointed?”
“Because I am. If you were asleep, I could’ve done whatever I wanted, right?”
“What the hell were you going to do to me?”
“…Are you really gonna make a girl say those things?”
“Seriously, what were you going to do to me!?”
The girl giggled nonchalantly. “I’m joking. As if I’d do anything to make you hate me.”
“Sure you would…” Grumbling, Feodor frowned slightly as waves of pain assaulted him. He tried his best not to show it, but he couldn’t hide it completely.
“Oh, c’mon, quit pushing yourself. See, I’ve brought some painkillers.”
“…Thanks.”
“Anyhow, why are you up? If you’re injured, you ought to be sleeping. Can’t you see that you’re as white as a ghost?”
“Ahaha…” Feodor found it hard to say that he had been trying not to look in the mirror, so he just laughed awkwardly.
“Now, get back to bed. I’ll look after you.”
“No, I’d prefer it if you didn’t. I’ve still got some pride of my own, so there’s no way I’m gonna look weak in front of a girl.”
“No can do.”
The next moment, Lakhesh’s pale arms reached out and Feodor felt himself floating. Lifting him up, she carried him to the bed as if he weighed nothing more than a light box of goods.
“Lakhesh!?”
“I can’t stand watching your pathetic display of bravado. You need to work on your act a bit more if you’re trying to look cool.”
Feodor was an imp, and imps were never benevolent creatures to begin with. They were masters of their craft, and loved nothing more than to conspire, lie, and corrupt other races. If he dug back into their ancestry, they were even said to be descended from those evil emnetwihts who once lived on the surface. The authenticity of this belief was unverified, but it only went to show how much the other races loathed them.
It was common knowledge in Regule Aire that nothing good would ever come from associating with imps, and neither their words nor their expressions could be trusted. That was how it ought to be. So, it followed that it shouldn’t have been too difficult for Feodor to put on a convincing act.
“Now, be good and lie down. Or must I force you down myself?”
“I’ll sleep.”
Feodor meekly obeyed, with both his pride as a man and as an imp shattered into pieces. He lay down and let Lakhesh cover him with a blanket. When Lakhesh offered to sing him a lullaby, he chased her out of the room. Finally, he closed his eyes.
“…Haahh.”
There was still some time before they arrived at their destination.
In other words, before long, the ship would arrive at a certain place. A place where, five years ago, a series of events now known as the Elpis Incident occurred. Events that had directly caused the destruction of Feodor’s birthplace, the Elpis Collective.
The trigger that started Elpis’ fall had been an assault on a certain city by the Piercing One, Beast Number Two, Aurora, as well as the First Beast Who Laments for the Moon. Despite the severe damage to its townscape, it was the first and only city that had successfully repelled a Beast attack.
“I’ve always wanted to visit, but I never expected I’d go there like this…”
Slowly but surely, they approached the city of Collina di Luce.