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Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Guardian's Melancholy | Part 5/7
In the end, their party did not spend the night at an inn.
This was because they had not been granted a license to carry weapons into the town. And not even Shannon felt confident that he could fight that SpecOps combat technician unarmed.
"Camping out again?"
Even as she complained along these lines and made a disgusted face, Pacifica briskly arranged their bed rolls.
Stopping the coach just outside the town, Shannon and his sisters had decided to camp out. In the event that they had to deal with an assassin, it would be easier to stay on guard here in the outskirts, as opposed to within the welter of stimuli1 in the town. For that matter, if that SpecOps combat technician were to stifle his presence in earnest, they might not know him until he stood right before their eyes.
"There, all done."
"Dinner will be ready in just a bit," came Raquel's voice, drifting over from the other side of the coach.
For just a moment, Shannon's expression was doubtful . . . but he said nothing.
One time out of three, Raquel's attempts at cooking ended in catastrophe. However, this was not because she possessed a poor sense of seasoning. If only she were to build the fire in the usual way and then cook in the usual way, it was well within her abilities to produce absolutely superb cuisine--there was no doubt about that.
The problem was the urge she felt to use magic on those meals that she had put so much effort into preparing. And military-grade magic, at that.
"I wonder . . . if it'll turn out all right."
"No idea," Shannon said indifferently, taking his katana in hand. Seeming to remember something, he continued, ". . . well, you did deploy Ásgarð. I doubt you can afford to throw around any unnecessary magic. Anyway . . . I'm going to take a look around."
Shannon walked off calmly.
For the time being, Raquel had deployed the Ásgarð alert barrier2 spell. It had a duration of approximately one day. It would continue to operate even while Raquel slept, so if anyone were to draw near, she would know about it.
Even so, Shannon had made up his mind to patrol the surrounding area whenever they camped out, just to be on the safe side. After all, when it comes to human endeavors . . . there are no absolutes.
Incidentally, Ásgarð is primarily cast by groups of three or more practitioners working together, yet Raquel handled it easily on her own. Unlike Shannon, Raquel possessed a genius talent for sorcery, which she seemed to have inherited from their mother, a former court sorcerer.
Well, no.
That phrasing is not quite accurate.
To be perfectly honest . . . Shannon had studied sorcery as well.
In his case, magical power had not been the problem. Quite the contrary, he had been told that he was even stronger than his elder sister.
Incidentally . . . that which is generally called "magical power" is not actually a power at all. Because magic is not a matter of releasing any sort of force in the first place. It is nothing more than drawing out spiritual barriers that interfere with the laws of this world, which usually remain hidden . . . what mages call the Operation System3 .
By way of comparison, if you were to plunge your hand into a river's flow, you would alter that flow by just a tiny bit. This is not to say that you would have brought forth water from nothing, or created the flow itself.
Be that as it may . . .
Magical power more accurately refers to the capacity of one's consciousness to amplify the casting rituals that form the basis of magic. To cast complex or powerful spells, or else to cast multiple spells at the same time, requires a consciousness of equivalent capacity.
However, that this is fundamentally not something that can be increased through training is an established theory among mages. In reality, it is not entirely certain just what determines one's mental capacity--whether it is inherited or entirely a matter of chance, or perhaps decided by some as yet unknown factor. For now, the only thing that has been established is the means of measurement.
If one insists on labeling mental capacity a "talent," then Shannon possessed remarkable talent.
However . . . he lacked the ability to control it.
He lacked a feel for directing, at will, the activation and progression of the amplification of a casting ritual within his own consciousness.
In other words, he did not know how to make best use of the enormous potential of his mental capacity . . . To use the vernacular, he lacked the technical skill to give his magical power the form of magic and manifest it in the outside world.
He had already understood that by the time he turned four.
For one thing, at three, Raquel was already able to cast spells, having learned by following the example of their mother, Carol.
For this reason, Yuuma had trained him as a swordsman.
"Anyway . . ."
The chill night air was soothing. After roaming the area around their campsite for a while . . . he came to a sudden stop.
". . . what are you doing out here?"
All he had to do was turn around, and there was Pacifica.
Her expression had a touch of bewilderment to it. It was as though she did not really know what she wanted to do, herself.
"Nothing, really . . ."
She started to say something more . . . then held her tongue. It seemed that she had something she wanted to say, but could not quite bring herself to say it. This was unusual for Pacifica, who usually shouted things the moment they came to mind, without pausing to consider their meaning.
"Just kind of killing time, I guess . . . but . . ."
Shannon kept quiet and waited.
After a moment's hesitation, she finally murmured, "I was wondering . . . if maybe I shouldn't have been born, after all . . ."
Her tone was indifferent, as plain as though she were talking about tomorrow's weather . . . which only made it all the more pitiable. Pacifica joined her hands behind her head and looked up at the night sky.
Shannon did not venture to say anything. Pacifica was probably long past wanting a denial from him, anyway.
"If I died, everyone would be just fine with it, right?"
Without answering, Shannon started walking. Pacifica fell into stride beside him.
"The one who's trying to kill me is the king . . . my real tousan, right?" Pacifica murmured, sighing.
It was not that she had done anything . . . For this girl, simply living was said to be a sin. She was a girl whose very existence could not be forgiven.
Looking hard at his little sister's profile, Shannon searched for the right words. He knew it was useless--no matter what he said--but he felt that if he did not put his thoughts into words, he would lose his way, himself.
". . . couldn't it all be a misunderstanding?"
"A misunderstanding?"
"Even priests are only human . . . They make mistakes. Or those other people could have misheard what they said. Who knows, maybe even God makes mistakes."
"Oh . . . Yeah, maybe."
Pacifica gave a frail laugh. It was obvious that she did not believe her elder brother's words.
His words had not reached her heart. No one can enter the heart of another. It is just not possible for humans to understand each other from the depths of their hearts.
And you cannot believe in someone without mutual understanding. Doubts will always linger. Misunderstandings will not vanish. Even when standing side-by-side--as these two were--an absolutely insurmountable wall exists between one person and another. Trust is just an illusion. Because even flesh-and-blood parents kill their own children.
However . . .
"Hey . . . Oniichan," Pacifica said, in a voice that seemed to ask Shannon to baby her (a rare thing for her to do). "Do you believe in me?"
Pacifica circled around Shannon--who had come to a stop--and peered into his eyes.
Shannon could see his own weary expression reflected in her blue eyes, which were lit by a prayerful earnestness.
"Believe in what about you? Regarding what?"
Shannon's listless questions could, in a sense, be considered cruel.
"Anything's fine. Even just one thing . . . Even if everyone else in the whole world said you were wrong, would you still believe in me?"
". . . that's a difficult question."
Shannon sighed.
To believe in someone is a sweetly beautiful thing . . . but at times, it can also become a mere justification for self-righteousness, causing you to avert your eyes from reality.
Like those who believed in what others had taught them to call "justice" . . . and came to kill a young girl, without ever questioning their own actions.
Or like that hired killer, who continued to protect his daughter even after she had become a corpse.
"I dunno . . . maybe that's asking too much," Shannon answered frankly.
It would have been easier to tell her, "I believe in you," but pretty, empty words would have been meaningless at this point.
"Oh . . ." Pacifica gave him a small smile. "Thanks. I feel better now."
"Better?"
Raising his brows, Shannon looked at his little sister's face. She wore a radiant expression, as though she had just experienced some kind of breakthrough.
"Because you were honest with me, Oniichan . . . If you just wanted to trick me or something, make me easier to handle, wouldn't telling me you believed in me have been more convenient?"
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) The text has kehai (気配), which I translate here as "presence," in reference to Chris, and as "signs," in reference to Raquel. 気配 can refer to the general atmosphere of a place or event, a hint or a trace, a scent, or the subtle indications of the physical presence, genuine nature, intention, etc., of a particular person. Back
2) The text has keikaiyou no kekkai (警戒用の結界). Back
3) In other words, the OS. Back
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Guardian's Melancholy | Part 5/7
In the end, their party did not spend the night at an inn.
This was because they had not been granted a license to carry weapons into the town. And not even Shannon felt confident that he could fight that SpecOps combat technician unarmed.
"Camping out again?"
Even as she complained along these lines and made a disgusted face, Pacifica briskly arranged their bed rolls.
Stopping the coach just outside the town, Shannon and his sisters had decided to camp out. In the event that they had to deal with an assassin, it would be easier to stay on guard here in the outskirts, as opposed to within the welter of stimuli1 in the town. For that matter, if that SpecOps combat technician were to stifle his presence in earnest, they might not know him until he stood right before their eyes.
"There, all done."
"Dinner will be ready in just a bit," came Raquel's voice, drifting over from the other side of the coach.
For just a moment, Shannon's expression was doubtful . . . but he said nothing.
One time out of three, Raquel's attempts at cooking ended in catastrophe. However, this was not because she possessed a poor sense of seasoning. If only she were to build the fire in the usual way and then cook in the usual way, it was well within her abilities to produce absolutely superb cuisine--there was no doubt about that.
The problem was the urge she felt to use magic on those meals that she had put so much effort into preparing. And military-grade magic, at that.
"I wonder . . . if it'll turn out all right."
"No idea," Shannon said indifferently, taking his katana in hand. Seeming to remember something, he continued, ". . . well, you did deploy Ásgarð. I doubt you can afford to throw around any unnecessary magic. Anyway . . . I'm going to take a look around."
Shannon walked off calmly.
For the time being, Raquel had deployed the Ásgarð alert barrier2 spell. It had a duration of approximately one day. It would continue to operate even while Raquel slept, so if anyone were to draw near, she would know about it.
Even so, Shannon had made up his mind to patrol the surrounding area whenever they camped out, just to be on the safe side. After all, when it comes to human endeavors . . . there are no absolutes.
Incidentally, Ásgarð is primarily cast by groups of three or more practitioners working together, yet Raquel handled it easily on her own. Unlike Shannon, Raquel possessed a genius talent for sorcery, which she seemed to have inherited from their mother, a former court sorcerer.
Well, no.
That phrasing is not quite accurate.
To be perfectly honest . . . Shannon had studied sorcery as well.
In his case, magical power had not been the problem. Quite the contrary, he had been told that he was even stronger than his elder sister.
Incidentally . . . that which is generally called "magical power" is not actually a power at all. Because magic is not a matter of releasing any sort of force in the first place. It is nothing more than drawing out spiritual barriers that interfere with the laws of this world, which usually remain hidden . . . what mages call the Operation System3 .
By way of comparison, if you were to plunge your hand into a river's flow, you would alter that flow by just a tiny bit. This is not to say that you would have brought forth water from nothing, or created the flow itself.
Be that as it may . . .
Magical power more accurately refers to the capacity of one's consciousness to amplify the casting rituals that form the basis of magic. To cast complex or powerful spells, or else to cast multiple spells at the same time, requires a consciousness of equivalent capacity.
However, that this is fundamentally not something that can be increased through training is an established theory among mages. In reality, it is not entirely certain just what determines one's mental capacity--whether it is inherited or entirely a matter of chance, or perhaps decided by some as yet unknown factor. For now, the only thing that has been established is the means of measurement.
If one insists on labeling mental capacity a "talent," then Shannon possessed remarkable talent.
However . . . he lacked the ability to control it.
He lacked a feel for directing, at will, the activation and progression of the amplification of a casting ritual within his own consciousness.
In other words, he did not know how to make best use of the enormous potential of his mental capacity . . . To use the vernacular, he lacked the technical skill to give his magical power the form of magic and manifest it in the outside world.
He had already understood that by the time he turned four.
For one thing, at three, Raquel was already able to cast spells, having learned by following the example of their mother, Carol.
For this reason, Yuuma had trained him as a swordsman.
"Anyway . . ."
The chill night air was soothing. After roaming the area around their campsite for a while . . . he came to a sudden stop.
". . . what are you doing out here?"
All he had to do was turn around, and there was Pacifica.
Her expression had a touch of bewilderment to it. It was as though she did not really know what she wanted to do, herself.
"Nothing, really . . ."
She started to say something more . . . then held her tongue. It seemed that she had something she wanted to say, but could not quite bring herself to say it. This was unusual for Pacifica, who usually shouted things the moment they came to mind, without pausing to consider their meaning.
"Just kind of killing time, I guess . . . but . . ."
Shannon kept quiet and waited.
After a moment's hesitation, she finally murmured, "I was wondering . . . if maybe I shouldn't have been born, after all . . ."
Her tone was indifferent, as plain as though she were talking about tomorrow's weather . . . which only made it all the more pitiable. Pacifica joined her hands behind her head and looked up at the night sky.
Shannon did not venture to say anything. Pacifica was probably long past wanting a denial from him, anyway.
"If I died, everyone would be just fine with it, right?"
Without answering, Shannon started walking. Pacifica fell into stride beside him.
"The one who's trying to kill me is the king . . . my real tousan, right?" Pacifica murmured, sighing.
It was not that she had done anything . . . For this girl, simply living was said to be a sin. She was a girl whose very existence could not be forgiven.
Looking hard at his little sister's profile, Shannon searched for the right words. He knew it was useless--no matter what he said--but he felt that if he did not put his thoughts into words, he would lose his way, himself.
". . . couldn't it all be a misunderstanding?"
"A misunderstanding?"
"Even priests are only human . . . They make mistakes. Or those other people could have misheard what they said. Who knows, maybe even God makes mistakes."
"Oh . . . Yeah, maybe."
Pacifica gave a frail laugh. It was obvious that she did not believe her elder brother's words.
His words had not reached her heart. No one can enter the heart of another. It is just not possible for humans to understand each other from the depths of their hearts.
And you cannot believe in someone without mutual understanding. Doubts will always linger. Misunderstandings will not vanish. Even when standing side-by-side--as these two were--an absolutely insurmountable wall exists between one person and another. Trust is just an illusion. Because even flesh-and-blood parents kill their own children.
However . . .
"Hey . . . Oniichan," Pacifica said, in a voice that seemed to ask Shannon to baby her (a rare thing for her to do). "Do you believe in me?"
Pacifica circled around Shannon--who had come to a stop--and peered into his eyes.
Shannon could see his own weary expression reflected in her blue eyes, which were lit by a prayerful earnestness.
"Believe in what about you? Regarding what?"
Shannon's listless questions could, in a sense, be considered cruel.
"Anything's fine. Even just one thing . . . Even if everyone else in the whole world said you were wrong, would you still believe in me?"
". . . that's a difficult question."
Shannon sighed.
To believe in someone is a sweetly beautiful thing . . . but at times, it can also become a mere justification for self-righteousness, causing you to avert your eyes from reality.
Like those who believed in what others had taught them to call "justice" . . . and came to kill a young girl, without ever questioning their own actions.
Or like that hired killer, who continued to protect his daughter even after she had become a corpse.
"I dunno . . . maybe that's asking too much," Shannon answered frankly.
It would have been easier to tell her, "I believe in you," but pretty, empty words would have been meaningless at this point.
"Oh . . ." Pacifica gave him a small smile. "Thanks. I feel better now."
"Better?"
Raising his brows, Shannon looked at his little sister's face. She wore a radiant expression, as though she had just experienced some kind of breakthrough.
"Because you were honest with me, Oniichan . . . If you just wanted to trick me or something, make me easier to handle, wouldn't telling me you believed in me have been more convenient?"
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) The text has kehai (気配), which I translate here as "presence," in reference to Chris, and as "signs," in reference to Raquel. 気配 can refer to the general atmosphere of a place or event, a hint or a trace, a scent, or the subtle indications of the physical presence, genuine nature, intention, etc., of a particular person. Back
2) The text has keikaiyou no kekkai (警戒用の結界). Back
3) In other words, the OS. Back
