Chapter 142 - The Academy’s Weapon Replicator

43. Community Service (3)

The next day, I continued working as a lifeguard. Quitting halfway through would only make me more suspicious.

Personally, I felt more comfortable doing this than pretending to have fun at the beach. Even if I were allowed to enjoy myself, in my current condition, I would just spend the entire day sleeping in bed. Though I wasn't sure Elodie or Aten would stand by and let me.

'Am I becoming more like Frondier without even realizing it?'

That was a chilling thought.

Anyway, there was surprisingly little to do as a lifeguard. That was especially true with Constel students playing here. They had already been trained to handle emergencies, so they resolved things themselves without any need for me to intervene. As a result, most of my annoyances had nothing whatsoever to do with my actual duties.

Whenever I walked along the shore, some woman would inevitably approach and ask, "Hey, when does your shift end?"

Or hold out her Sagephone and say, "You have a phone, right? Put your number in."

Or try to strike up a connection after seeing the photo of me circulated for Indus. "Oh, you're that boy from the Wizerview! I thought you looked familiar."

Of course, I politely sent every one of them on her way, but even that took mental effort, which was tiring. Outside Constel, Frondier was quite popular. I'd sensed as much when I visited Elodie's estate, but this time I was really feeling it. Well, since this wasn't actually my face or body, it was hard to decide whether I should be pleased.

"Working hard?"

Someone approached me then. It was Saibel.

Apparently reassured to see that I'd made it to Kropol, Saibel had gone straight back to the lodgings to change. Her bikini was a little daring, but it suited her.

"There's nothing to work hard at."

"Oh, you're pretending everything's a bother again!"

"..."

She said it as though every time I'd acted bothered until now had been a performance. There had been a little of that, admittedly, but this time I really was bothered.

"Anyway, it's good to see you looking all right."

"Looking all right?"

"Ever since you went off on your own in Teibeon, I made up my mind. No matter what happens, I'm going to keep an eye on you so you can't do anything crazy."

Unfortunately, by the time she said that, I'd already done something crazy before coming here. Suppressing a twinge of guilt, I asked,

"And what are you going to do, watching me?"

"Stop you from pushing yourself too hard again. Keep you from getting hurt."

Saibel giggled as she looked at me. Her smile seemed sincere. To my eyes, at least.

"..."

Still, I was struggling with how to treat her.

Even if the smile she gave me was completely genuine. Even if Saibel, so adept at wrapping men around her finger, truly meant the kindness and goodwill she showed me.

... Saibel was a villain.

Not once in the game had she ever stopped being a villain. She was a tremendous hurdle, an obstacle that served only to make the game harder, a mire that trapped players and held them back.

Of course, the Saibel before me now was more different than ever from the one I knew. The fact that my very presence as a character had drastically altered the course of the game probably had something to do with that.

When a truly crucial, difficult moment arrived, Saibel would abandon everything and run. The tears of betrayal shed by players who'd placed their hopes in her could fill a stream.

But now I found myself wondering the opposite. When hardship and adversity came, even if Saibel didn't run away, could I trust her to watch my back? Even if, just this once, the Saibel who had betrayed players at every turn in the game didn't betray me, could I believe in that one exception?

"Don't worry."

I gave her a faint smile.

The smile Saibel gave me was beautiful, just as hers always were. Yet the more brightly her beauty shone, the more I found myself thinking of a rose's thorns.

* * *

Obsidian. The greatest prison on the continent, a facility that inspired both fear and reassurance in the public. An unexpected commotion had broken out within its walls.

The guards were fretting outside a solitary cell. Its occupant was required to remain confined there until the end of his sentence. Since that sentence was life, he would, in other words, rot in there until he died.

Even in Obsidian, which teemed with vicious criminals, such treatment was exceedingly rare. That spoke to just how troublesome its occupant was. True to form, he had managed to cause trouble even while locked in solitary.

"... There's no doubt."

One guard checked the display he was holding again.

"The magic device has finished taking its readings, too. His vital functions have stopped."

At that, another guard opened the cell's narrow viewing window and peered inside. The man was sitting there in his familiar, insolent pose. His head was merely bowed; he looked ready to stand up at any moment and pick a fight with the guard.

"... You're saying he's dead?"

The guard could hardly believe it.

Plenty of people died in solitary. Once confined, they spent most of their lives in darkness with only a single point of light. Perfect soundproofing shut out all outside noise, leaving silence. Except for the brief moments when meals were delivered, the space had neither light nor sound. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

And the man inside had this cell reserved until the day he died. That was more than enough to kill someone, but...

"... Renzo died just like that?"

That was the problem. The man inside wasn't some nobody. He was Renzo, the Freeloader of Chaos. The strongest villain, said to rival the continent's Zodiacs. He had killed himself in solitary. It was hard to believe.

"... Then we need to open the door."

"..."

"..."

If Renzo was truly dead, what lay inside was nothing more than a corpse. They needed to empty the cell and dispose of the body. Yet not one guard stepped forward.

"Wh-what are you scared of? The guy in there is dead!"

"Scared? Usually it's the one who brings it up who says that."

"Even if he's alive, he's wearing restraints. There's no problem!"

"Alive? He's dead, remember? Ha ha."

"Oh, right. Hahahaha."

A brief burst of hollow laughter followed.

Renzo was dead. The display on the magic device monitoring his vital signs clearly said so. But if the device was wrong, and he was still alive... Even restrained, Renzo was strong without Aura. Besides, they would eventually have to remove his restraints to dispose of the body. What if he attacked them then?

Someone had to open the door, but no one readily volunteered. It was truly a case of belling the cat.

"What are you all doing?"

A voice broke through their hesitation. A woman with waist-length purple hair approached, her low-heeled shoes clicking against the floor.

"W-Warden."

"I heard Renzo croaked?"

She opened the viewing slot and checked inside. With a single thoughtful hum, she opened the door.

CREAK

"Warden Esther. It's dangerous."

"Are you idiots? Now you're scared of a dead man? And you call yourselves Obsidian guards?"

The guards fell silent, unable to offer a word in reply.

Esther was Obsidian's youngest female guard. Being a woman wasn't particularly unusual; there were plenty of female guards among those present. What made her career remarkable was her age—she was younger than the other guards. Her skill and character had played a large part in that, but above all, her ability was ideally suited to a prison like Obsidian.

Esther entered the cell and approached Renzo, who sat on the floor. She put a hand to his neck. Her eyes narrowed.

"He's dead."

She took a small flashlight from her inner coat pocket, small enough to fit in her palm. Pulling up Renzo's left eyelid with her thumb, she switched it on and shone it into his eye.

"Dead."

Next, she checked for a pulse at his neck, chest, and wrist.

"He's dead. Definitely."

Esther brushed herself off and stood, casting a glance at the guards behind her.

"After all those checks, does anyone still think he's alive?"

"..."

The guards kept their mouths shut.

"Clear him out. Clean the cell and dispose of the body."

"Yes, ma'am!"

As Esther left the cell, the guards filed in as though taking her place. She watched them for a moment, then sighed and walked away.

'Renzo took his own life.'

The truth was, she too found his death difficult to believe. She had made a show of performing all those checks to demonstrate to the guards that he was dead, but she had wanted to know for herself as well. Still, she had confirmed it with her own hands. Renzo was dead.

'I thought that cell would be occupied for decades to come.'

She had thought Renzo would never die. Even in a solitary cell that drove everyone else mad, she had expected him to remain perfectly at ease, wearing that sinister grin.

'Was he only human in the end?'

To think the man who had made the continent tremble in fear had met such a hollow end.

Esther returned to her office and searched through her documents. She opened the file containing all of Renzo's records.

'A hedonist... If he finds something “fun,” he simply does it. As such, Renzo has neither absolute enemies nor absolute allies. Since there's no telling when he'll cause trouble, it's easier to consider him an enemy.'

Most of the information came from Constel and the Imperial Palace. Renzo had intruded on Constel's practical exam and been apprehended by the professional Eden Hamerlot.

'This part is rather vaguely written.'

It clearly stated that Eden had apprehended Renzo. But when Renzo was imprisoned in Obsidian, he was missing an arm. Had Eden blown off his right arm, too? It was a natural question, and the obvious assumption, yet that single sentence was nowhere to be found.

Taking the right arm of someone as formidable as Renzo was already a major achievement. There was no reason to deny it, nor should there have been any need to hide the record. And yet, for some reason, Eden Hamerlot himself kept avoiding inquiries.

'... Constel, then.'

A wealth of information about Renzo had surfaced after his intrusion into Constel. The details about his hedonism and his way of life had come from there as well.

'Renzo committed suicide because he couldn't endure the suffering of solitary confinement. At first glance, that seems a natural conclusion.'

But if that wasn't the truth—if Renzo had some aim beyond his own death—it certainly wouldn't hurt to investigate properly.

"Let's visit Constel first."

Even assuming Eden had been the one to subdue Renzo, someone else must have realized that “fun” was the guiding principle of his life. If Eden had known that, he would have made it public long ago. So there must have been someone else who understood exactly what kind of man Renzo was.

Esther stood before a full-length mirror that showed her from head to toe. Her eyes flashed briefly. Then, instead of following her movements, the woman reflected in the mirror stepped through it and out into the room.

The mirror-reversed figure, otherwise identical to Esther, spoke.

"Raise your right hand."

Esther raised her right hand at the mirror Esther's request. Her reflection nodded.

"I see. In this world, that side is the right. Are you the original?"

"I should be. Probably."

With that, Esther turned away. The double who emerged from her mirror always asked similar questions.

But Esther herself had never perceived left and right in reverse. Nor had she ever trained to adjust to it. Therefore, she was the original. Put another way, that flimsy reasoning was the entire basis for her current belief that she was the original.

"I'll be out for a while."

Esther left the office. She could entrust the minor tasks to her double. After all, it would produce results exactly as good as her own.