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Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Scrapped Princess's Casket | Part 1/10
"Hmmm."
At home, in the garden, Pacifica was troubled.
It was all well and good that she had come home from school, but both Shannon and Raquel were distinctly absent. She could not even begin to guess where they had gone. It was beyond Pacifica's imagination to interpret any of the signs as indicating that Shannon and Raquel had suddenly run off to sneak into Count Franchi's estate.
"If I just wait here at home, then there won't be any point in having come back early. Hmmm."
Acting before thinking was a bad habit of Pacifica's. In most cases, though, there was a part of her that she had to force into action so that she wouldn't get bogged down in over-thinking every aspect.
"Desert Eagle. Do you know where Shannon-nii and Raquel-nee went?"
She tried asking questions like this to the hen who just happened to pass by in front of her eyes. A chicken, of course, had no answer to give, and she merely gave Pacifica an extremely dirty look.
"Eurg. What's with that attitude? You're awfully conceited for a bird who can't fly. If you've got a problem with me, you should just go off and try to hatch your babies."
"Keh."
With this one sound--as though she were laughing through her nose--Desert Eagle walked steadily away.
"Guh. One of these days, I'm going to fry you up and eat you with gusto . . . That's what I should have said. Anyway . . . for the time being, maybe I should try wandering around for a bit?"
Having settled on this rather unconstructive plan, Pacifica set off from the house.
"Pacifica-chan."
As Pacifica was locking the back door, someone called out from behind her. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw a middle-aged man of middling height and build, and he wore a troubled expression on his face as he walked up to her.
"Oh, Wesson-san."
Pacifica knew him by sight. He was Mutia's father, and a carpenter who lived in the town.
His name was Dan Wesson. He would sometimes bring his equipment to Casull's for repairs, so Pacifica had become acquainted with him.
"Is something wrong? Your voice sounds a little strange?"
"Ah, I've caught a bit of a cold," Wesson said, lightly clearing his throat.
"That must be hard. You have to take care of yourself."
"There's a great deal I'd like to do to that end, but I've got all kinds of work piling up. But you know . . . you guys are the ones who've fallen on hard times lately."
"It's already over and done with, so . . ."
Pacifica shook her head. Her father's death had certainly left a big scar, but she couldn't just drag that weight around forever.
"Is that right? You really are something. Well, while we're on the subject . . . what are you going to do about the shop?"
"I think Shannon-nii is going to take over, but . . . our father handled the inventory and such all on his own, and we haven't put the shop in order yet, so . . ."
"Is that right . . . Well, it puts me in a bit of a spot. I had this tool I'd requested some minor repairs on. Something came up all of a sudden, and I need it now. I'd like to get it back if I could--I don't mind if the repairs are only partway done."
"I'm sorry, I don't really know much about what goes on in the shop . . . and right now, both Shannon-nii and Raquel-nee are out. I'm actually looking for them myself."
"Ah, speaking of Shannon-kun, I happened to see him on my way over here. He looked like he was in a hurry, so I didn't say anything to him."
"You saw him . . . Where?"
"He seemed to be walking north up Richardson1 Street."
Richardson Street. Nowadays, it was a road with relatively little pedestrian traffic. It had originally been one of the main roads leading up to the Franchi family's old castle, but once the current count had moved into his present residence, the road had promptly fallen into disuse.
"I wonder what he'd be doing in a place like that . . . Was Raquel-nee with him?"
"Well, I just happened to glimpse him at a distance and all. I have a feeling I may have seen her, but you know."
"I . . . see. Hmmm."
"Want to go have a look?" the middle-aged man said quite sociably.
"All right. It'll probably be better than waiting here and doing nothing."
"Right then, let's get to it."
With a smile, Wesson set off walking.
There were hired killers in the town.
If they adhered strictly to the principles of assassination, they probably wouldn't go so far as to practice their trade in a school. They would be too much in the public eye, and it was a place in which outsiders are far too conspicuous.
Their employers--in other words, the Royal Palace--had progressed under a veil of secrecy whenever the Scrapped Princess was concerned, and they must have had a reason for doing so. That being the case, it would be best to target her on her way home from school.
Having come to this conclusion, Shannon and Raquel went to pick Pacifica up, only to learn that she had gone home early.
"She said she wasn't feeling well," the teacher said, distrustfully scrutinizing Shannon's and Raquel's appearances.
As if by way of apology, the two of them had donned cloaks, but that didn't hide the fact that underneath, they were outfitted in combat gear. Shannon's cuir bouilli armor stood out in particular--though, granted, not quite to the degree that full plate armor might have done. On top of that, the fact that he was carrying a longsword in his hand caused them to brim over with menace. If the teacher had not already been acquainted with them, it was possible that they would have been mistaken for kidnappers or robbers.
"Went home . . . When?"
The teacher withdrew, as if recoiling from Shannon--who had asked this question with such intensity that he seemed on the verge of seizing her--and considered for a moment before answering.
"Could it have been before noon? I don't think it was all that long ago."
"Is that so, thanks, sorry to have bothered you!"
As Shannon and Raquel rushed out, the teacher called after them as though she had suddenly remembered something.
"Come to think of it, Casull-san--recently, I've been telling Pacifica-san that she needs to make sure to keep up in her arithmetic studies, but I think she should hear it from her family as well."
"Ah, certainly. Thank you, we'll be sure to tell her . . ."
"No leisurely conversations!"
Raquel had dutifully stopped in her tracks to reply, so Shannon grabbed her by the collar and dragged her from the school building.
". . . I wonder whether something happened."
The teacher tipped her head to one side as she mused about this . . . but she soon returned to herself and once again became preoccupied with wondering how she might reconcile with her husband, and all thoughts of the Casull siblings vanished from her mind.
"What would Shannon-nii be doing in a place like this?"
Muttering, Pacifica looked up at the abandoned castle.
It was quite old, and according to the stories she had heard, nearly 600 years had passed since its construction. Originally the culmination of tenacity, it retained the dignified majesty of a place that had endured years of exposure to the elements, but a chaos of vines crept here and there as they pleased, moss crammed itself into the cracks in the stone walls, and weeds spread so thickly over the ground from the gate to the building that they left no space through which to force one's way.
It was a perfect ruin. Buildings too have what may be called a "presence," and that is the smell of life that comes from the people living within. When that is lost . . . when the humans who are meant to be protected within its womb abandon it and leave, the building loses its raison d'être along with its presence. To put it another way . . . at that time, the building dies.
"I don't think he would have anything to do here," Wesson said from behind her.
Sensing a note of derision in Wesson's tone, Pacifica looked back over her shoulder.
That familiar carpenter, he was smiling. It was a contemptuous . . . and hateful smile.
"Wesson-san?"
"The one with something to do is not Shannon, but I. Further, it's not that I have business here, but that I have business with you."
"You can't be--!"
She understood in an instant.
Just like Shannon, Pacifica had not fully believed what she was told about her origins.
Until now, she had lived for fourteen years as the daughter of ordinary people. Being told at this point that she was a princess, there was no reason to expect that she would take it to heart. Beyond that, it was surely unreasonable to expect a fourteen-year-old girl to accept that her life was being targeted by hired killers.
However . . .
"You're quite adorable, Princess. Is it that you don't know to distrust others, or was my performance just that good . . . Either way, you're so adorable. There's nothing more adorable than an idiot. Best of all, you kindly danced in the palm of my hand, just as I thought you would."
Wesson's form wavered.
The carpenter's face and figure became a distortion in the surrounding landscape, then melted into it, and finally the form of a slightly larger, corpulent man came rising up from behind this.
The illusory magic Útgarðar has this use as well.
"You're . . .!"
"Shall I introduce myself once more? I go by the alias 'Big Noise.' I am the Eliminator . . . well, to use the vernacular, the hitman . . . who killed your foster father."
". . . !"
Pacifica, who had gone quite pale, took a step back.
It was not a conscious movement. After all, there was nothing at her back but the abandoned castle, standing in deserted silence.
"You . . . you killed . . ."
"Well, we lost seven people to your oyaji-san. Fair is fair, wouldn't you say? They were expendable, gathered together by money, but still."
The man gave her a clumsy wink. Surely he meant for this to be a smart gesture, but it did not suit him in the slightest.
"You are, you see, the Scrapped Princess. Did you know? There are many people for whom your continued existence is an inconvenience. Therefore, you'll have to die."
"For a . . ." Pacifica cried out as she endured wave after wave of chills. "For a . . . self-serving reason like that! I hate that--"
"Unfortunately, whether people live or die is not a matter of the individual's will. If we speak of not wanting to die, then surely my slain comrades and your oyaji did not want to die."
". . ."
"But as long as you live, people will die, you know. That's because your very existence is a sin."
Feeling as though the ground beneath her feet were crumbling away, Pacifica staggered.
"Will your niisan be next? Or your neesan?
"Or perhaps your friend? Who will it be, I wonder?"
As long as she lived, people would die.
Her existence was death.
Was her father's death her fault?
Was it possible that even Mutia and her other friends . . . that Shannon and Raquel would die too?
It was too terrifying to imagine.
. . . I didn't do anything. I didn't even do anything. Why did it turn out like this?
Or else.
A hateful thought overshadowed her mind.
Should I . . . never have been born?
"That's right," Big Noise said, sneering, as though he had read Pacifica's innermost thoughts. "You should never have been born. There is no place in this world that will take you in. Because when all is said and done, you are the Scrapped Princess, determined by the Oracle of St. Grendel to be the evil that will destroy the world."
". . ."
Pacifica bit her lip and bore the sting of these words.
She had never had to think deliberately about it before. She had merely let herself feel at ease by not thinking about it. Because Shannon and Raquel had treated her the same as always.
As far as Pacifica was concerned, her father, mother, brother, and sister were reality itself. Because they accepted her, Pacifica had been able to live. First and foremost, she thought of herself as their daughter, their little sister . . . even if she didn't share their blood.
However.
Her mother had passed, and her father had passed. More than that, her father's death had been her fault. And now it seemed that even her brother and sister were in danger.
The ground was crumbling beneath her feet.
The very foundation for the person called Pacifica Casull was crumbling. On top of that, if she were to lose her brother and sister, she would be left with nothing. She would probably even lose sight of who she was.
"You can no longer go on living as Pacifica Casull. You are an abandoned child who was not allowed a name, not permitted to live, no more and no less . . . And so I shall take care of everything for you." Big Noise's voice was rather gentle. "Your raison d'être as the Scrapped Princess. Your capacity as the Scrapped Princess. And then your casket as the Scrapped Princess. You need no longer worry over who you are."
That was . . . She understood that it was an absurd thing to say, yet . . . it could also be a tempting offer.
"Nothing says that you have to die immediately. There is some value in making use of your nature as the Scrapped Princess. It would also let you take revenge on the Royal Family, who abandoned you. That doesn't sound so bad now, does it?" Big Noise said brazenly.
Pacifica took another step back.
It was tempting. She thought it was a tempting proposition. To one who had been shunned by the world, whose past and present were both overwhelmed by the gloom of despair, it may have been as debased as a narcotic, but it was a difficult proposal to refuse.
However . . .
"I don't want to . . . I don't."
It would have amounted to an absolute betrayal of the Pacifica Casull who had lived for these past fourteen years.
All the love that her parents, her brother, and her sister had poured into her, the memories of the days they had spent together--they all would have come to nothing.
Well, at this point, that may have been inevitable, but . . . she hated to admit that to herself. She had a feeling that she must not make that resolution, must not accept it.
"Is that so," Big Noise said as though he regretted it . . . regretted it from the bottom of his heart. "Then I suppose there's no helping it. Everything would have gone so much more smoothly if you had cooperated on your own, but . . . You must permit me to use a mind-control spell. And a stroooooong one that can never broken, at that."
There are many varieties of spells within the mind-control class, but among those that permanently bind the mind of their victim, none is activated within the caster. Instead, all are imprinted directly into the victim's consciousness.
Of course, if you use this forceful sort of magic against a person who by nature has no talent as a mage, and who has not undergone training to resist magic that tears at one's consciousness, and furthermore, if you cast a resident2 spell that permanently takes possession of a portion of the victim's consciousness . . . it will melt into the person's own consciousness and become impossible to remove. At worst, her sense of self will most likely break down, disabling her and rendering her a mere marionette, able to act only as ordered.
"Now then . . ."
The killer held out his hand.
It invited the girl to the dark world.
"No--!"
She began to run, intending to make a wide berth around the fat killer. If she could somehow make it back to the town . . .
". . . O Staff of Flame, show your power here."
There was an explosion, and a blaze rushed up before Pacifica's eyes. The impact easily sent the girl's body whirling up into the air.
"Kyau--!"
It seemed likely that, having anticipated that Pacifica would try to escape, he had begun chanting the incantation in advance.
Because she was caught by the thickly overgrown grass in the window, most of the shock was absorbed, but even so, in the instant Pacifica was dashed against the ground, the pain was so great that she could not breathe.
"My goodness! Just where is it you're going?"
Big Noise walked up calmly.
The deliberate indolence of his gait was that of a sadist who hunts while making sport of his wounded prey.
"You don't have a place to go home to anymore. You're all alone. No one will protect you. No one will take you in. The entire world is your enemy. The person called Pacifica Casull didn't originally exist. The only one who existed was the nameless Scrapped Princess. Well now, it's such a forlorn story, isn't it? Ahahahahahaha!"
"That's . . . not . . . true . . ." Pacifica protested, gasping. "That's just . . . not true . . ."
The girl rose unsteadily to her feet, then turned her back on the approaching killer and broke into a run. From a bystander's point of view, there was not much difference between her pace and walking, and . . .
"Hahahahaha! That's a dead end, you know? Are you an idiot? Ahahahaha!"
She was right before the killer's eyes, and she knew he meant to drive her into a corner, but she had no other options. More than anything, staying there and listening to the killer's nonsense was unbearable agony.
"It's not true . . . !"
All she could do was run from that ear-grating laughter . . . Dragging her pain-cramped body along, Pacifica fled into the weedy, abandoned castle.
In the midst of a light slumber, he remembered.
His dear, dear daughter, Linthia. His only family. He remembered the days when she still had her health.
She had his flaxen hair. She had his wife's blue eyes. Her tendency to fall quickly into a sulk was a pain, but when she smiled, she was a radiantly lovely child. Even accounting for parental bias, he thought that she was quite pretty.
However, she was a child plagued by misfortune.
Her mother died before she had even turned one year old. She had been a beautiful but cruel woman. She had taken advantage of his frequent absences to carry on an extended affair with a man six years her junior, and then one day, without leaving so much as a note, she had walked out of the house, leaving the still-infant Linthia behind.
In a rage, it took him no more than a week to track down his wife and her paramour and carve them both up.
Ever since then . . . he told his daughter that her mother had died of illness, and he poured all the love he had into raising her. Even if the entire world were to turn against her, as long as it was to protect his daughter, he could fight them all without batting an eye.
However.
Not even he had the means to fight against disease.
She was only five. She had been born into this world a mere five years ago.
With just that, his daughter was condemned to death by disease. It was as good as incurable. It had not been caused by exposure to any germs, but rather, it was the manifestation of a congenital condition . . . that was what the diagnostician had said.
It seemed she had inherited those factors from her father. Whether the disease would be expressed or not seemed to vary from person to person, but . . . whatever the reason, the cause was rooted within her body itself, and so there was nothing that could be done.
Is this my sin? Punishment? Without a doubt, I'm a murderer. I'll gladly resign myself to divine retribution. But what sin has my daughter committed? Why does Linthia have to be punished? Answer me, I don't care if you're a god or a demon, anyone is fine, so give me an answer!
The only way was to use magic to transfer her personality into an entirely different, healthy human body.
However, the only successful attempts at this procedure had all been performed in the distant past, and on top of that, it was a black art, strictly prohibited in every country on the continent. And above all, it meant offering up a girl Linthia's age as a sacrifice, to act as Linthia's new body.
But even so, he had no other option.
If, after being betrayed by the woman he loved and trusted, he were to be betrayed again by the Fates, and made to lose his daughter . . . He could not possibly be expected to withstand such a reality.
I'll protect her. Whatever it takes . . . even if I'm called a demon, even if it sends me to hell, I'll save my daughter. I'll be damned if I stand aside and do nothing!
He opened his eyes.
Before his eyes was one of the rooms of the former Count Franchi's castle, which they were using as a base.
Linthia was beside him. He no longer had a home. He had sold it so he could put the money to use. Ever since then, he had been living like this--bringing his daughter along with him as he wandered from place to place to work.
But soon. Soon he would have saved up enough money to hire the underworld, first-class mages he needed. With that done, he would be finished with this life. And Linthia would smile again. He was sure her adorable voice would call his name.
"Linthia."
Even if he called her, she would not answer. Cruel silence was the only reply. But he was resigned to that by now. If it would save his precious daughter, he would accept absolutely anything.
He had decided that.
"Linthia."
Today, once again, his voice--futilely calling out to his daughter--faded into the empty air. As though bound by chains, he obstinately called out to her again and again.
But no answer returned.
It never returned.
"Damn that wandering, idiot girl--where the hell did she get to?" Shannon shouted as he struck the door.
Pacifica was nowhere to be found in the house. The neighbors said they had seen her leaving with a middle-aged man, but they didn't know where she had gone.
"Raquel, could Explorer--"
"Whatever the circumstances, it's impossible for just one person to use wide-area exploratory magic . . ."
Raquel had already tried what she could with her investigation-class spells. However, she was not able to sense Pacifica's presence within the range of her exploratory abilities.
Aside from the central focusing mage, wide-area exploratory magic requires other mages who are in charge of amplifying the magic of the first. Raquel had enough magic power--strictly speaking, the capacity for conscious manipulation of magic--to rival that of three ordinary mages, but even so, it was impossible for just one person to search this vast municipality.
"Even if I helped?"
"Investigation-class magic is a delicate operation, so it'd be impossible for you, Shannon. Anyway, it's not like we're even sure yet that Pacifica has been kidnapped--"
"Don't say that so calmly! Aren't you worried?"
". . . you think I'm not desperate to find her?"
At her rather sad-sounding voice, Shannon bit his tongue.
". . . sorry."
"Shannon . . . could it be that you're worrying about what the count told us?"
"No, I'm not, that's not it . . ." Shannon said, beating his fist against the wall.
It wasn't true. He was not hesitating. He would protect his little sister. That was obvious. There was no reason for him to hesitate. Whatever anyone else might say, whether they were related by blood or not, Pacifica was his little sister. Did he need a reason to protect her?
Still . . .
"Excuse me."
A voice suddenly flowed into the Casull home.
A woman came calmly in through the back door that they had left open. The moment they saw her, Shannon and Raquel fell into defensive stances.
"I didn't come here to stir up trouble this time," Finebel said in a deadpan tone. "I have a delivery."
What Finebel took from her breast pocket was a single piece of paper.
It was an itemized bill. The wall and sofa they had destroyed were recorded on the list.
Seeing that, a vein popped up on Shannon's forehead.
". . . you know, we're busy right now. If you talk too much bullshit, I'm gonna want to knock you out."
"You're dangerous, aren't you? Well then, I shall withdraw while I still have not been hit."
Finebel left the bill on top of a nearby shelf, and with that, she made a right about-face and headed out through the back door.
As though in defiance of that receding figure, her voice alone came drifting back.
"Ah, that's right. I forgot that I had a message for you. It seems that for some reason, people have recently been coming and going at the old Franchi castle, and so our steward has set up a surveillance barrier . . . and he apparently received a response just now. There are three intruders. And it seems that one of those intruders is a girl in her mid-teens."
". . . !"
"I have relayed the message."
Shannon rushed outside after Finebel and noticed something leaning against the outer wall of the house.
It was a single-strike sword . . . No, that wasn't right.
It was a katana. Strictly speaking, it was large sword called a "tachi."
An official document was tied to the scabbard by a cord--it read, "Note of Return of Material Evidence." The end of the document bore Count Franchi's seal.
"Oyaji's . . . ?"
It was the weapon that Yuuma Casull had most likely gripped until he was on the verge of death . . . No, he had probably grasped it all the more tightly after he died.
The weapon he had so deftly wielded in the defense of his daughter.
Taking it in hand, Shannon spat, "If you're gonna give it back, be up-front about it, you contrary bastard."
"If he were told that by you, Shannon, that would be the end," Raquel's said, chuckling wryly.
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) H & R 1871, LLC (Harrington & Richardson) is a manufacturer of firearms under the Harrington & Richardson and New England Firearms trademarks. Back
2) "常駐型," literally "Terminate and Stay Resident," in keeping with the "Dustvin is a giant supercomputer" theme. Back
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Scrapped Princess's Casket | Part 1/10
"Hmmm."
At home, in the garden, Pacifica was troubled.
It was all well and good that she had come home from school, but both Shannon and Raquel were distinctly absent. She could not even begin to guess where they had gone. It was beyond Pacifica's imagination to interpret any of the signs as indicating that Shannon and Raquel had suddenly run off to sneak into Count Franchi's estate.
"If I just wait here at home, then there won't be any point in having come back early. Hmmm."
Acting before thinking was a bad habit of Pacifica's. In most cases, though, there was a part of her that she had to force into action so that she wouldn't get bogged down in over-thinking every aspect.
"Desert Eagle. Do you know where Shannon-nii and Raquel-nee went?"
She tried asking questions like this to the hen who just happened to pass by in front of her eyes. A chicken, of course, had no answer to give, and she merely gave Pacifica an extremely dirty look.
"Eurg. What's with that attitude? You're awfully conceited for a bird who can't fly. If you've got a problem with me, you should just go off and try to hatch your babies."
"Keh."
With this one sound--as though she were laughing through her nose--Desert Eagle walked steadily away.
"Guh. One of these days, I'm going to fry you up and eat you with gusto . . . That's what I should have said. Anyway . . . for the time being, maybe I should try wandering around for a bit?"
Having settled on this rather unconstructive plan, Pacifica set off from the house.
"Pacifica-chan."
As Pacifica was locking the back door, someone called out from behind her. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw a middle-aged man of middling height and build, and he wore a troubled expression on his face as he walked up to her.
"Oh, Wesson-san."
Pacifica knew him by sight. He was Mutia's father, and a carpenter who lived in the town.
His name was Dan Wesson. He would sometimes bring his equipment to Casull's for repairs, so Pacifica had become acquainted with him.
"Is something wrong? Your voice sounds a little strange?"
"Ah, I've caught a bit of a cold," Wesson said, lightly clearing his throat.
"That must be hard. You have to take care of yourself."
"There's a great deal I'd like to do to that end, but I've got all kinds of work piling up. But you know . . . you guys are the ones who've fallen on hard times lately."
"It's already over and done with, so . . ."
Pacifica shook her head. Her father's death had certainly left a big scar, but she couldn't just drag that weight around forever.
"Is that right? You really are something. Well, while we're on the subject . . . what are you going to do about the shop?"
"I think Shannon-nii is going to take over, but . . . our father handled the inventory and such all on his own, and we haven't put the shop in order yet, so . . ."
"Is that right . . . Well, it puts me in a bit of a spot. I had this tool I'd requested some minor repairs on. Something came up all of a sudden, and I need it now. I'd like to get it back if I could--I don't mind if the repairs are only partway done."
"I'm sorry, I don't really know much about what goes on in the shop . . . and right now, both Shannon-nii and Raquel-nee are out. I'm actually looking for them myself."
"Ah, speaking of Shannon-kun, I happened to see him on my way over here. He looked like he was in a hurry, so I didn't say anything to him."
"You saw him . . . Where?"
"He seemed to be walking north up Richardson1 Street."
Richardson Street. Nowadays, it was a road with relatively little pedestrian traffic. It had originally been one of the main roads leading up to the Franchi family's old castle, but once the current count had moved into his present residence, the road had promptly fallen into disuse.
"I wonder what he'd be doing in a place like that . . . Was Raquel-nee with him?"
"Well, I just happened to glimpse him at a distance and all. I have a feeling I may have seen her, but you know."
"I . . . see. Hmmm."
"Want to go have a look?" the middle-aged man said quite sociably.
"All right. It'll probably be better than waiting here and doing nothing."
"Right then, let's get to it."
With a smile, Wesson set off walking.
There were hired killers in the town.
If they adhered strictly to the principles of assassination, they probably wouldn't go so far as to practice their trade in a school. They would be too much in the public eye, and it was a place in which outsiders are far too conspicuous.
Their employers--in other words, the Royal Palace--had progressed under a veil of secrecy whenever the Scrapped Princess was concerned, and they must have had a reason for doing so. That being the case, it would be best to target her on her way home from school.
Having come to this conclusion, Shannon and Raquel went to pick Pacifica up, only to learn that she had gone home early.
"She said she wasn't feeling well," the teacher said, distrustfully scrutinizing Shannon's and Raquel's appearances.
As if by way of apology, the two of them had donned cloaks, but that didn't hide the fact that underneath, they were outfitted in combat gear. Shannon's cuir bouilli armor stood out in particular--though, granted, not quite to the degree that full plate armor might have done. On top of that, the fact that he was carrying a longsword in his hand caused them to brim over with menace. If the teacher had not already been acquainted with them, it was possible that they would have been mistaken for kidnappers or robbers.
"Went home . . . When?"
The teacher withdrew, as if recoiling from Shannon--who had asked this question with such intensity that he seemed on the verge of seizing her--and considered for a moment before answering.
"Could it have been before noon? I don't think it was all that long ago."
"Is that so, thanks, sorry to have bothered you!"
As Shannon and Raquel rushed out, the teacher called after them as though she had suddenly remembered something.
"Come to think of it, Casull-san--recently, I've been telling Pacifica-san that she needs to make sure to keep up in her arithmetic studies, but I think she should hear it from her family as well."
"Ah, certainly. Thank you, we'll be sure to tell her . . ."
"No leisurely conversations!"
Raquel had dutifully stopped in her tracks to reply, so Shannon grabbed her by the collar and dragged her from the school building.
". . . I wonder whether something happened."
The teacher tipped her head to one side as she mused about this . . . but she soon returned to herself and once again became preoccupied with wondering how she might reconcile with her husband, and all thoughts of the Casull siblings vanished from her mind.
"What would Shannon-nii be doing in a place like this?"
Muttering, Pacifica looked up at the abandoned castle.
It was quite old, and according to the stories she had heard, nearly 600 years had passed since its construction. Originally the culmination of tenacity, it retained the dignified majesty of a place that had endured years of exposure to the elements, but a chaos of vines crept here and there as they pleased, moss crammed itself into the cracks in the stone walls, and weeds spread so thickly over the ground from the gate to the building that they left no space through which to force one's way.
It was a perfect ruin. Buildings too have what may be called a "presence," and that is the smell of life that comes from the people living within. When that is lost . . . when the humans who are meant to be protected within its womb abandon it and leave, the building loses its raison d'être along with its presence. To put it another way . . . at that time, the building dies.
"I don't think he would have anything to do here," Wesson said from behind her.
Sensing a note of derision in Wesson's tone, Pacifica looked back over her shoulder.
That familiar carpenter, he was smiling. It was a contemptuous . . . and hateful smile.
"Wesson-san?"
"The one with something to do is not Shannon, but I. Further, it's not that I have business here, but that I have business with you."
"You can't be--!"
She understood in an instant.
Just like Shannon, Pacifica had not fully believed what she was told about her origins.
Until now, she had lived for fourteen years as the daughter of ordinary people. Being told at this point that she was a princess, there was no reason to expect that she would take it to heart. Beyond that, it was surely unreasonable to expect a fourteen-year-old girl to accept that her life was being targeted by hired killers.
However . . .
"You're quite adorable, Princess. Is it that you don't know to distrust others, or was my performance just that good . . . Either way, you're so adorable. There's nothing more adorable than an idiot. Best of all, you kindly danced in the palm of my hand, just as I thought you would."
Wesson's form wavered.
The carpenter's face and figure became a distortion in the surrounding landscape, then melted into it, and finally the form of a slightly larger, corpulent man came rising up from behind this.
The illusory magic Útgarðar has this use as well.
"You're . . .!"
"Shall I introduce myself once more? I go by the alias 'Big Noise.' I am the Eliminator . . . well, to use the vernacular, the hitman . . . who killed your foster father."
". . . !"
Pacifica, who had gone quite pale, took a step back.
It was not a conscious movement. After all, there was nothing at her back but the abandoned castle, standing in deserted silence.
"You . . . you killed . . ."
"Well, we lost seven people to your oyaji-san. Fair is fair, wouldn't you say? They were expendable, gathered together by money, but still."
The man gave her a clumsy wink. Surely he meant for this to be a smart gesture, but it did not suit him in the slightest.
"You are, you see, the Scrapped Princess. Did you know? There are many people for whom your continued existence is an inconvenience. Therefore, you'll have to die."
"For a . . ." Pacifica cried out as she endured wave after wave of chills. "For a . . . self-serving reason like that! I hate that--"
"Unfortunately, whether people live or die is not a matter of the individual's will. If we speak of not wanting to die, then surely my slain comrades and your oyaji did not want to die."
". . ."
"But as long as you live, people will die, you know. That's because your very existence is a sin."
Feeling as though the ground beneath her feet were crumbling away, Pacifica staggered.
"Will your niisan be next? Or your neesan?
"Or perhaps your friend? Who will it be, I wonder?"
As long as she lived, people would die.
Her existence was death.
Was her father's death her fault?
Was it possible that even Mutia and her other friends . . . that Shannon and Raquel would die too?
It was too terrifying to imagine.
. . . I didn't do anything. I didn't even do anything. Why did it turn out like this?
Or else.
A hateful thought overshadowed her mind.
Should I . . . never have been born?
"That's right," Big Noise said, sneering, as though he had read Pacifica's innermost thoughts. "You should never have been born. There is no place in this world that will take you in. Because when all is said and done, you are the Scrapped Princess, determined by the Oracle of St. Grendel to be the evil that will destroy the world."
". . ."
Pacifica bit her lip and bore the sting of these words.
She had never had to think deliberately about it before. She had merely let herself feel at ease by not thinking about it. Because Shannon and Raquel had treated her the same as always.
As far as Pacifica was concerned, her father, mother, brother, and sister were reality itself. Because they accepted her, Pacifica had been able to live. First and foremost, she thought of herself as their daughter, their little sister . . . even if she didn't share their blood.
However.
Her mother had passed, and her father had passed. More than that, her father's death had been her fault. And now it seemed that even her brother and sister were in danger.
The ground was crumbling beneath her feet.
The very foundation for the person called Pacifica Casull was crumbling. On top of that, if she were to lose her brother and sister, she would be left with nothing. She would probably even lose sight of who she was.
"You can no longer go on living as Pacifica Casull. You are an abandoned child who was not allowed a name, not permitted to live, no more and no less . . . And so I shall take care of everything for you." Big Noise's voice was rather gentle. "Your raison d'être as the Scrapped Princess. Your capacity as the Scrapped Princess. And then your casket as the Scrapped Princess. You need no longer worry over who you are."
That was . . . She understood that it was an absurd thing to say, yet . . . it could also be a tempting offer.
"Nothing says that you have to die immediately. There is some value in making use of your nature as the Scrapped Princess. It would also let you take revenge on the Royal Family, who abandoned you. That doesn't sound so bad now, does it?" Big Noise said brazenly.
Pacifica took another step back.
It was tempting. She thought it was a tempting proposition. To one who had been shunned by the world, whose past and present were both overwhelmed by the gloom of despair, it may have been as debased as a narcotic, but it was a difficult proposal to refuse.
However . . .
"I don't want to . . . I don't."
It would have amounted to an absolute betrayal of the Pacifica Casull who had lived for these past fourteen years.
All the love that her parents, her brother, and her sister had poured into her, the memories of the days they had spent together--they all would have come to nothing.
Well, at this point, that may have been inevitable, but . . . she hated to admit that to herself. She had a feeling that she must not make that resolution, must not accept it.
"Is that so," Big Noise said as though he regretted it . . . regretted it from the bottom of his heart. "Then I suppose there's no helping it. Everything would have gone so much more smoothly if you had cooperated on your own, but . . . You must permit me to use a mind-control spell. And a stroooooong one that can never broken, at that."
There are many varieties of spells within the mind-control class, but among those that permanently bind the mind of their victim, none is activated within the caster. Instead, all are imprinted directly into the victim's consciousness.
Of course, if you use this forceful sort of magic against a person who by nature has no talent as a mage, and who has not undergone training to resist magic that tears at one's consciousness, and furthermore, if you cast a resident2 spell that permanently takes possession of a portion of the victim's consciousness . . . it will melt into the person's own consciousness and become impossible to remove. At worst, her sense of self will most likely break down, disabling her and rendering her a mere marionette, able to act only as ordered.
"Now then . . ."
The killer held out his hand.
It invited the girl to the dark world.
"No--!"
She began to run, intending to make a wide berth around the fat killer. If she could somehow make it back to the town . . .
". . . O Staff of Flame, show your power here."
There was an explosion, and a blaze rushed up before Pacifica's eyes. The impact easily sent the girl's body whirling up into the air.
"Kyau--!"
It seemed likely that, having anticipated that Pacifica would try to escape, he had begun chanting the incantation in advance.
Because she was caught by the thickly overgrown grass in the window, most of the shock was absorbed, but even so, in the instant Pacifica was dashed against the ground, the pain was so great that she could not breathe.
"My goodness! Just where is it you're going?"
Big Noise walked up calmly.
The deliberate indolence of his gait was that of a sadist who hunts while making sport of his wounded prey.
"You don't have a place to go home to anymore. You're all alone. No one will protect you. No one will take you in. The entire world is your enemy. The person called Pacifica Casull didn't originally exist. The only one who existed was the nameless Scrapped Princess. Well now, it's such a forlorn story, isn't it? Ahahahahahaha!"
"That's . . . not . . . true . . ." Pacifica protested, gasping. "That's just . . . not true . . ."
The girl rose unsteadily to her feet, then turned her back on the approaching killer and broke into a run. From a bystander's point of view, there was not much difference between her pace and walking, and . . .
"Hahahahaha! That's a dead end, you know? Are you an idiot? Ahahahaha!"
She was right before the killer's eyes, and she knew he meant to drive her into a corner, but she had no other options. More than anything, staying there and listening to the killer's nonsense was unbearable agony.
"It's not true . . . !"
All she could do was run from that ear-grating laughter . . . Dragging her pain-cramped body along, Pacifica fled into the weedy, abandoned castle.
In the midst of a light slumber, he remembered.
His dear, dear daughter, Linthia. His only family. He remembered the days when she still had her health.
She had his flaxen hair. She had his wife's blue eyes. Her tendency to fall quickly into a sulk was a pain, but when she smiled, she was a radiantly lovely child. Even accounting for parental bias, he thought that she was quite pretty.
However, she was a child plagued by misfortune.
Her mother died before she had even turned one year old. She had been a beautiful but cruel woman. She had taken advantage of his frequent absences to carry on an extended affair with a man six years her junior, and then one day, without leaving so much as a note, she had walked out of the house, leaving the still-infant Linthia behind.
In a rage, it took him no more than a week to track down his wife and her paramour and carve them both up.
Ever since then . . . he told his daughter that her mother had died of illness, and he poured all the love he had into raising her. Even if the entire world were to turn against her, as long as it was to protect his daughter, he could fight them all without batting an eye.
However.
Not even he had the means to fight against disease.
She was only five. She had been born into this world a mere five years ago.
With just that, his daughter was condemned to death by disease. It was as good as incurable. It had not been caused by exposure to any germs, but rather, it was the manifestation of a congenital condition . . . that was what the diagnostician had said.
It seemed she had inherited those factors from her father. Whether the disease would be expressed or not seemed to vary from person to person, but . . . whatever the reason, the cause was rooted within her body itself, and so there was nothing that could be done.
Is this my sin? Punishment? Without a doubt, I'm a murderer. I'll gladly resign myself to divine retribution. But what sin has my daughter committed? Why does Linthia have to be punished? Answer me, I don't care if you're a god or a demon, anyone is fine, so give me an answer!
The only way was to use magic to transfer her personality into an entirely different, healthy human body.
However, the only successful attempts at this procedure had all been performed in the distant past, and on top of that, it was a black art, strictly prohibited in every country on the continent. And above all, it meant offering up a girl Linthia's age as a sacrifice, to act as Linthia's new body.
But even so, he had no other option.
If, after being betrayed by the woman he loved and trusted, he were to be betrayed again by the Fates, and made to lose his daughter . . . He could not possibly be expected to withstand such a reality.
I'll protect her. Whatever it takes . . . even if I'm called a demon, even if it sends me to hell, I'll save my daughter. I'll be damned if I stand aside and do nothing!
He opened his eyes.
Before his eyes was one of the rooms of the former Count Franchi's castle, which they were using as a base.
Linthia was beside him. He no longer had a home. He had sold it so he could put the money to use. Ever since then, he had been living like this--bringing his daughter along with him as he wandered from place to place to work.
But soon. Soon he would have saved up enough money to hire the underworld, first-class mages he needed. With that done, he would be finished with this life. And Linthia would smile again. He was sure her adorable voice would call his name.
"Linthia."
Even if he called her, she would not answer. Cruel silence was the only reply. But he was resigned to that by now. If it would save his precious daughter, he would accept absolutely anything.
He had decided that.
"Linthia."
Today, once again, his voice--futilely calling out to his daughter--faded into the empty air. As though bound by chains, he obstinately called out to her again and again.
But no answer returned.
It never returned.
"Damn that wandering, idiot girl--where the hell did she get to?" Shannon shouted as he struck the door.
Pacifica was nowhere to be found in the house. The neighbors said they had seen her leaving with a middle-aged man, but they didn't know where she had gone.
"Raquel, could Explorer--"
"Whatever the circumstances, it's impossible for just one person to use wide-area exploratory magic . . ."
Raquel had already tried what she could with her investigation-class spells. However, she was not able to sense Pacifica's presence within the range of her exploratory abilities.
Aside from the central focusing mage, wide-area exploratory magic requires other mages who are in charge of amplifying the magic of the first. Raquel had enough magic power--strictly speaking, the capacity for conscious manipulation of magic--to rival that of three ordinary mages, but even so, it was impossible for just one person to search this vast municipality.
"Even if I helped?"
"Investigation-class magic is a delicate operation, so it'd be impossible for you, Shannon. Anyway, it's not like we're even sure yet that Pacifica has been kidnapped--"
"Don't say that so calmly! Aren't you worried?"
". . . you think I'm not desperate to find her?"
At her rather sad-sounding voice, Shannon bit his tongue.
". . . sorry."
"Shannon . . . could it be that you're worrying about what the count told us?"
"No, I'm not, that's not it . . ." Shannon said, beating his fist against the wall.
It wasn't true. He was not hesitating. He would protect his little sister. That was obvious. There was no reason for him to hesitate. Whatever anyone else might say, whether they were related by blood or not, Pacifica was his little sister. Did he need a reason to protect her?
Still . . .
"Excuse me."
A voice suddenly flowed into the Casull home.
A woman came calmly in through the back door that they had left open. The moment they saw her, Shannon and Raquel fell into defensive stances.
"I didn't come here to stir up trouble this time," Finebel said in a deadpan tone. "I have a delivery."
What Finebel took from her breast pocket was a single piece of paper.
It was an itemized bill. The wall and sofa they had destroyed were recorded on the list.
Seeing that, a vein popped up on Shannon's forehead.
". . . you know, we're busy right now. If you talk too much bullshit, I'm gonna want to knock you out."
"You're dangerous, aren't you? Well then, I shall withdraw while I still have not been hit."
Finebel left the bill on top of a nearby shelf, and with that, she made a right about-face and headed out through the back door.
As though in defiance of that receding figure, her voice alone came drifting back.
"Ah, that's right. I forgot that I had a message for you. It seems that for some reason, people have recently been coming and going at the old Franchi castle, and so our steward has set up a surveillance barrier . . . and he apparently received a response just now. There are three intruders. And it seems that one of those intruders is a girl in her mid-teens."
". . . !"
"I have relayed the message."
Shannon rushed outside after Finebel and noticed something leaning against the outer wall of the house.
It was a single-strike sword . . . No, that wasn't right.
It was a katana. Strictly speaking, it was large sword called a "tachi."
An official document was tied to the scabbard by a cord--it read, "Note of Return of Material Evidence." The end of the document bore Count Franchi's seal.
"Oyaji's . . . ?"
It was the weapon that Yuuma Casull had most likely gripped until he was on the verge of death . . . No, he had probably grasped it all the more tightly after he died.
The weapon he had so deftly wielded in the defense of his daughter.
Taking it in hand, Shannon spat, "If you're gonna give it back, be up-front about it, you contrary bastard."
"If he were told that by you, Shannon, that would be the end," Raquel's said, chuckling wryly.
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Notes:
1) H & R 1871, LLC (Harrington & Richardson) is a manufacturer of firearms under the Harrington & Richardson and New England Firearms trademarks. Back
2) "常駐型," literally "Terminate and Stay Resident," in keeping with the "Dustvin is a giant supercomputer" theme. Back
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Date: 2010-07-06 08:13 am (UTC)So much that couldn't be fitted into the anime...
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Date: 2010-07-07 04:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 05:00 am (UTC)