—
That is to say, beyond its meaning as an official title in the Volachia Empire—the meaning that led Vincent Volachia to first place trust in one of their number,
The coercive force imposed upon those who become Star Readers and receive their fates is immense.
It possesses the power to intervene in one's life to such a degree that it can grant a mere male prostitute the influence to enter and exit the palace and voice opinions to the Emperor, make one forget the love for a daughter that a frail mother gave birth to at the cost of her life, and cause one to nonchalantly relinquish a purpose they had spent their entire life pursuing—one they had even contemplated dying for.
Most Star Readers find their lives twisted by the fate they receive, forced to change their entire way of living. And they don't even consider it tragic.
No matter how abnormal or pitiful it may appear to those around them, that is simply how it is.
Among all the Star Readers,
The fate he received had always overlapped with the grand ambition he himself had been pursuing, and so while it may not have affected him personally, those around him never perceived his way of life as having been twisted at all.
How he reconciled the two—the grand ambition he held for himself and the fate bestowed upon him—and established his current convictions has already been discussed, so I will omit repeating it here.
What must be discussed now is the fact that Cecilus Segmunt, born into this world as the end result of the fate Rowan Segmunt received, is also a Star Reader—and, —Among Star Readers, Cecilus Segmunt is the sole reality that lies beyond bounds.
△▼△▼△▼△ With the wind whistling past him, billowing the hem of his hakama, Cecilus shields his forehead with a hand-made visor as he surveys the distant scenery.
The plan Al had proposed: the five vertices of the star-shaped walls surrounding the Imperial Capital, and the operation to capture them.
To draw in reinforcements from outside, they needed to punch holes in the undead's ironclad defenses. From Cecilus's perspective, more stage-worthy actors and more audiences to witness his exploits were more than welcome.
If he was told this was also foreshadowing for an exciting development down the line, he had no objection to diligently performing unglamorous work.
"That said! Do keep in mind that I'm only doing this because proper rewards have been promised for later!"
Whether in theater or in war, there is always the right person for the right role.
No matter where you go in this world, it's all a stage—Cecilus could go on at length about his philosophy here, but suffice it to say that people have aptitudes and inaptitudes, and Cecilus, when it comes to detailed work and steady accumulation, is frankly miscast beyond belief.
Placing a spotlight-stealing star actor under the guise of a stagehand and having them do menial labor is, from a stage production standpoint, putting the cart catastrophically before the horse.
"I imagine the audience members agree with me on that point, yes?"
Tilting his head skyward, Cecilus addresses an unseen counterpart.
Naturally, under ordinary circumstances, doing something like this would never yield a response from an overcast sky to the person on the ground. —That is, under ordinary circumstances.
But Cecilus is not ordinary. He is the star actor of this world.
—A voice returns to him alone, one that others cannot hear. A voice from the audience.
It was a loud whisper, it was a gravity-defying levity, it was a divinity that knew nothing of propriety, and it spoke to Cecilus.
And that voice— '■■■■' '■●■●■●■' '——■■' '●●●●●!!' '■■■■●●■■' '●●■■■●●' '■■!!' '●●●■■■' '■■■●■●●■■●●' '●●■■●■●●■■■——' '●●……■' '●■●■●■●■' With an excessive torrent of energy and volume, it rained down upon Cecilus.
It was the audience's passionate response to the stage banter of their star actor—no, that wasn't quite right. These were not answers prepared for Cecilus's words in this moment.
These were voices that poured down upon Cecilus for every single thing he did, every action he took.
For Cecilus, these were sounds he had been hearing ever since he became aware of the world, sounds that tried to force him to do this or do that with every word and every gesture, and— "Haha, what a wonderfully exciting day it is! I understand, I understand completely. After all, I am one who will captivate everyone down to the last gesture without rest! Expect nonstop developments where you won't be able to take your eyes off me for even a second!"
To Cecilus, who wouldn't lend an ear to a single word of it all, these were the passionate cheers of his fans.
—As stated above, Cecilus Segmunt is a Star Reader.
And a Star Reader—most of them, that is—even Rowan Segmunt, who stood in such an exceptional position, had his way of life twisted in order to fulfill the fate he received.
Fate possessed that level of coercive force, and the lives of Star Readers were dominated by it.
With the sole exception of Cecilus Segmunt, the one Star Reader who existed beyond bounds.
"Thank you, thank you, for your wonderful cheering! I still have absolutely no idea what you're saying and no intention of listening, but rest assured! I will always defy expectations! I will always deliver on your anticipations! That is the very way of life of a star actor, after all!"
"—Hey, you stupid bastard. Quit making so much noise. If we get found, it'll be a huge pain in the ass."
"Oopsie."
Cecilus, who as usual received only the audience's enthusiasm and let the rest wash over him, spun around at the voice of the bearded dog-man—Groovy—who approached from behind.
Groovy's guarded, watchful eyes as he stood with his hands on his hips—Cecilus found them utterly captivating.
This beast-man warrior, of roughly the same height as himself, Groovy was a truly fine specimen.
First of all, he had charm and flair in his appearance. His skill was also among the top five of the various people Cecilus had observed since leaving the island. His martial prowess couldn't be measured by raw sword power alone—there was the anticipation that he fought in interesting ways.
"My only complaint might be his somewhat lacking manner of speech! When you keep spewing foul language, your dignity drops! And once it drops, even a man of considerable skill won't carry the presence he deserves. If you're going to walk the path of swords with me—crossing blades back and forth—I'd like my opponent to have a certain level of class!"
"You stupid bastard, quit spouting stupid nonsense! First of all, who the hell wants to cross swords with you? That Chisha bastard doing stupid unnecessary things..."
"Oh my, I thought I heard a name just now. Your dismissive reply is concerning enough, but what connection does this person have to me?"
"If you've shrunken and forgotten, it's still got nothing to do with you. —The one who shrunk you was that stupid big-headed Chisha."
Hearing Groovy's response, Cecilus went "Hm hmm hmm," rumbling in his throat.
He'd been told repeatedly about being shrunk, but as always, it didn't quite click for Cecilus. Shrunk or not, Cecilus as he was right here, right now—this was everything.
Of course, he couldn't deny the plausibility of Rowan having aged during their time apart, or that the epithet "Blue Lightning"—which was supposed to shake the world in the future—had already become widely known.
"That Chisha person supposedly shrunk me, huh? That's really hard to believe."
"Huh? You gonna say something stupid like people can't shrink?"
"No, no, that's not it at all. People have limitless imaginations, and what they envision can be realized. That's one of the fair aspects of why I like this world-as-a-stage, so something like a person shrinking is entirely within the realm of possibility. What I find hard to believe is actually quite simple and clear. —Who could possibly exploit a gap in me?"
"———"
At Cecilus's question, hands clasped behind his head, Groovy wore a solemn expression.
Even that furrowed-brow look on his snout had an endearing quality—you'd want one such as Groovy for lively comic relief on every stage—but even he seemed to feel the sting of Cecilus's question.
Cecilus himself did not think of himself as invincible or immortal.
If his heart were gouged out, or if this slender neck were severed, or if more than half the blood flowing through his body were to spill out, he would lose his life. People die.
But setting that aside, who would be capable of carrying out such an act?
On that single point, even Groovy should be able to recognize the contradiction in his thinking. No matter who the opponent was, no one could possibly shrink Cecilus— "—Did that Chisha bastard rack his brain, or did you let your stupid guard down?"
"Ehhh!? You still say that after looking at me!?"
"Yep. I absolutely do."
"You say that like it's obvious! Ahaha, I hate to admit it, but you got me there!"
Cecilus clapped his hands and laughed at Groovy's remark, then shook his head—no, no, wait.
He wanted to cover his face in dismay at that evaluation. Here he was, with Cecilus's own abilities laid bare, and even a powerhouse like Groovy couldn't fully shed that suspicion.
"As expected, big me is no great me at all! I must never become the sort of person who invites such evaluations and such views from those around me! Just watch me ten years from now!"
"Who the hell's got ten years to watch you grow up? Stop with the crap and get back to your old size already!"
"Well, you can tell me to get back all you like, but I don't really want to... Besides, Groovy, do you even know how to reverse it?"
"How the hell would I know? The Chisha bastard who set it up would know, wouldn't he? This kind of shinobi trick always has time or condition-based restrictions. If it's Chisha, it's probably condition-based."
"Ohhh, so this Chisha person was a shinobi? An acquaintance or friend or relative of that energetic old man, perhaps?"
"No idea. And Chisha isn't a shinobi. His methods are shinobi-like... Ugh, what a pain in the ass."
Groovy scratched his head noisily, muttering as though he knew everything.
Cecilus concluded that Groovy did indeed seem to know quite a lot about various things, but what he needed more than Chisha's true identity was to clear the conditions he'd set up.
If he asked about that, Groovy would probably get angry and say "How the hell would I know?"
"So what do you think the conditions for me to return to normal are?"
"How the hell would I know!?"
"C'mon~"
Cecilus bounced with excitement, exactly as expected, and Groovy let out a grumpy "Hah?"
And just as the two were talking— "Sorry to interrupt your fun little chat between friends, but can you put the playtime on hold for a sec?"
"Oh my, Al."
The source of that exasperated, fatigue-laced voice—it was Al, who had arrived at the rooftop where Cecilus and the others were standing.
He appeared from the top-floor staircase, stamped his feet on the steps—thud thud—and said: "Seriously though. When you say you're gonna look around from up here and then hop up to the rooftop, it's a real pain for those of us who have to use the stairs. You too, Groovy."
"My bad. I got dragged along by this stupid bastard's nonsense."
Groovy, brow furrowed, offered a straightforward apology to Al, who had been kept waiting below.
During their three-person patrol, Cecilus had mentioned being curious about what was on the other side of the street and climbed up for a look, but he'd ended up getting caught up in conversation.
Anyway— "Now, now, Al, don't be so angry. Look at Groovy here, his ears are drooping with remorse. Surely you're starting to feel forgiving?"
"I ain't buying that whole 'going my way' character of yours anymore. That's not the point—did you learn anything from your little look-around?"
"Let's see. —As I expected, positions three and four, and by extension five, have pretty solid defenses. If you consider the direction the bosses retreated in, I'd say it's a natural countermeasure."
"Those three spots..."
With his one remaining hand, Al touched the metal fittings on his helmet, deep in thought over Cecilus's reply.
The numbers Cecilus had mentioned were the names for the vertices of the star-shaped walls surrounding the Imperial Capital.
With the sparkling castle at the northernmost point, the city's entrances were designated: the southernmost vertex was number one, southeast was number two, southwest was number three, followed by northeast as number four and northwest as number five.
The three points on the northern and western sides respectively had defenses that could be called ironclad—conversely, the other two points could be considered targets—but— "An obvious gap stinks to high heaven."
"Groovy, can your nose actually smell something like that kind of trickery?"
"It's not that damn weird! It's just a judgment call as a 'general'! You should stop using 'I got shrunk' as an excuse and—...ah, never mind, it's pointless."
"What's that supposed to mean? It's annoying when you trail off like that."
"The point is, this stupid bastard wasn't doing 'general's work even before he got shrunk."
Hearing Groovy's bitter words, Cecilus and Al both went "Ahh" in understanding.
For Cecilus, it didn't come across as an insult—just a simple fact. Even if Cecilus had truly shrunk as a result of carelessness, he couldn't imagine his pre-shrunken self had ever led anyone or stayed by anyone's side.
So he had no particular objection to Groovy's assessment.
"But I can agree that it is rather too obvious. And if that's the case, well... this is unexpected, but could Al actually be more of a schemer than I thought?"
"...What do you mean?"
"Well, positions one and two look easy to take but are probably traps—and you sent Father and his friend there as a pair. That's the work of a schemer."
"———"
Cecilus brought up the two who weren't present—Rowan and Heinkel, who were on a separate mission—and smiled at Al, the one who had proposed the team assignments.
Facing that smile of Cecilus's, Al quietly held his breath and fell silent.
Currently, Cecilus and the others had split their five-member group into teams of three and two, each conducting operations to capture the five vertices.
And it was Al who had instructed Rowan and Heinkel to take on the southern and southeastern vertices—numbers one and two. His reasoning was transparent.
"When a loss won't hurt and the fighting strength is expendable, you use them as pawns to draw the enemy's attention. You may be too modest to say so, Al, but you're a schemer through and through!"
"...Got a problem with how I'm using your old man?"
"Not at all? Five people piling into one spot and scrambling for the spotlight—that would be far less desirable both from a theatrical and a tactical standpoint. Having two separate teams is actually quite sensible! And not to speak ill of my own father, but expecting him to cooperate with others is a waste of effort!"
"Can't argue with that, coming from you."
Cooperation was simply a congenital defect of the Segmunt bloodline—there was nothing to be done about it.
In any case, Al had racked his brains to use their limited forces effectively. It was easy to imagine what role was being demanded of them, whether it came from actual tactical thinking or battle instinct.
"We can't afford the luxury of taking them one at a time. If those two—Red Middle-Age and Blue Middle-Age—can't figure out that they're pawns, then all I can do is have them do the job properly."
"Right. We can't cause one big commotion at a single location and have all the enemy's numbers converge there."
"That's why we're splitting up the attack... Although, I have to say, I'm a little surprised. You and Heinkel seemed like such close friends."
"I ain't a hero. I know how to set priorities."
There was something self-deprecating in those words, and Cecilus felt it was less about how Heinkel was being used, and more about how Al himself was being used.
That response didn't particularly change his impression of Al— "—I see. You're different from the boss, then."
"———"
Almost involuntarily, Cecilus had spoken his thoughts aloud, and Al turned toward him.
Al's expression was hidden behind the iron helmet, but the sharpness of his gaze, the heat, and the weight of what lay behind it were sometimes more eloquent than words or facial color at revealing what lived in another's heart.
"Well, sometimes things are just like that, even if the present isn't necessarily so."
"...I'm not sure what you're getting at, but fine. I am different from my brother."
"Hm? The fact that you're different is only natural and shouldn't matter, right? I think you're more formidable than the boss, personally."
For some reason there had been a nuance of inferiority in Al's words, so Cecilus tilted his head in puzzlement.
Strong and weak, clean and dirty, liked and disliked—they were all like the waxing and waning of the same moon. While there was value in the joy and sorrow they brought, they didn't carry enough weight to tip the scales of one's life.
Right or wrong wasn't absolute either.
"The boss fights desperately in the mud, but still chooses methods that are beautiful and stage-worthy. You, on the other hand, are different. You fight desperately in the mud and will also take methods that are ugly enough to make everyone turn away. There's no superiority or inferiority. That's the difference between you and the boss."
"———"
"Oh, setting aside superiority and difference, if we're talking about how one wants to be, that's a separate matter entirely. How you want to appear in others' eyes is up to each individual... Defecation is inherently unseemly, but I aspire to make even defecation beautiful to witness!"
"I was almost starting to reevaluate you there...!"
"Sorry, Groovy's catchphrases have been stuck in my head."
Be that as it may, the erratic leaps in conversation may have been influenced by Groovy, but the statements themselves held no lies.
Even in deeds so unsightly that others would turn their faces away, a star actor must add enough reason to hold the audience's gaze—that was Cecilus's core conviction.
"So? Are we done with this stupid pointless chatter? Life advice is stupid garbage. Once we're done here, I'll hold a nice little reflection session over your graves."
"...Even I'd remember that much after hearing it all."
"Right?"
Al's shoulders slumped at Groovy's unrelenting barrage of insults, while Cecilus laughed.
They'd gone off on all sorts of tangents about who was suited to what, but Cecilus had no objection to Al's strategy, and he didn't mind if Rowan and Heinkel had a hard time as planned.
The only thing Cecilus himself might consider a potential flaw in Al's plan was— "That incredibly selfish father of mine—will he actually do as Al says?"
The reason Cecilus, in his usual fashion, didn't voice this thought was equally unusual: he had completely given up on his father Rowan's temperament.
Rowan didn't do what he didn't want to do, and he absolutely did what he wanted to do.
This was a trait Cecilus had inherited, but Cecilus and Rowan were different. This was the same as what he'd discussed earlier with Al regarding Schwartz, the boss.
It wasn't a matter of good or bad. It was a matter of how you lived and how you died.
"So, Iron Helmet, where are you thinking of attacking from?"
"—I want to avoid position three, where that sniper was stationed earlier. So, the northern side—position four or five... If the condition is even a slight possibility of lighter defense, then position four, the northeast."
"Awww! I wanted a rematch!"
"Don't say stupid crap when we can't afford it! Do you even know who you're dealing with—"
"Fine, fine, I get it."
Cecilus was shouted down by Groovy and retracted his opinion with a pout. At Cecilus's reaction, Groovy, who had been raising his fist, blinked in surprise.
"What is it?" Cecilus asked, and Groovy lowered his raised arm.
"You actually listen when told to. You're more of a pain before you got shrunk than after."
"Oh my, I don't think I'm being praised."
"Shut up! Time's not on our side. Let's go."
Jutting his chin, Groovy turned toward the fourth vertex. Cecilus said "Yess~" and moved to follow, when the instigator Al called out: "You sure?"
"I answered because you asked, but you guys know the Imperial Capital better than I do. Well, you do, at least."
"I ain't agreeing to stupid suggestions either. No complaints about your strategy. ...I don't want to deal with that Balroy bastard either."
"...Former comrades?"
"That, and he's stupid strong. If you're gonna make someone fight him, it'd be Mogro. He'd never lose."
Strong—that was Groovy's definitive assessment of the sniper's power.
Cecilus had encountered this opponent multiple times in the Imperial Capital, and yet he still hadn't even gotten a proper visual on them. There was no doubt they were strong. Had his earlier agreement been a mistake after all? Would it be too late to throw a tantrum now and ask for a change in strategy? They wouldn't agree, would they.
"Let's move quickly. Our objective isn't to maintain the breach we opened, so there's no point in delaying."
"Watch out. This stupid bastard's planning to finish up fast and go hunting for Balroy."
"...I'd love nothing more than the main event after all this."
"To put yourself above the headliner—what arrogance!"
Cecilus shouted indignantly as Al shook his head slowly in resignation.
△▼△▼△▼△ The route to the fourth vertex was surprisingly smooth.
It wasn't that they didn't encounter undead searching for survivors along the way. But whether they were the type who would block the path and had to be eliminated, or merely passing extras, either way— Would there really be an actor who'd grant spotlight time to a bit-part player, purely for the sake of liveliness on stage?
"After all, the audience's interest is finite. I'm not saying there aren't supporting actors who elevate the overall quality of the stage with a great performance, but whether they're needed is another question entirely... That said—"
Cecilus furrowed his brow as he enjoyed the uneventful journey.
He was all for cutting out unnecessary effort, and he certainly didn't think that spending time and energy mowing down foot soldiers was a desirable performance.
The thing was, the current sight of Cecilus and the others was rather unsightly.
Specifically, Cecilus was piggybacked on Al's back, while Groovy clung to Al's front—the two of them forming a sandwich around Al.
The reason for this was simple: without it, Cecilus and Groovy would be visible beyond the edges of the cloak draped over Al's head.
"But it looks so uncool! This isn't my image at all, Groovy!"
"Shut it! I can hide our presence, but I can't vanish our sound or smell! If the surrounding undead notice us and close in, it'll be a huge pain!"
"You two are way too loud...! And stop wiggling, I'm gonna fall...!"
Cecilus grumbled as he rocked Al's shoulders, earning a scolding from the two cloaked figures.
This leather cloak Groovy had prepared was quite the impressive item. Apparently, when worn, it drew no attention from those nearby—quite the remarkable piece. Rowan, Heinkel, and Groovy had used these leather cloaks to infiltrate the Imperial Capital without being detected by the enemy.
In truth, while they had been choosing paths that avoided people, the fact that the three had never once been spotted by the undead was largely thanks to the cloaks' effects.
"Even with our different builds, this is suffocating enough—I can't imagine how Father and the others managed to get inside with three of them in one. Also, where on earth did you get such a ridiculous-looking cloak?"
"I didn't buy it. I made it. You've probably forgotten because you're such a stupid bastard, but your 'Evil Blade' was also something I melted down and reforged into a sword."
"Ohhh, 'Evil Blade'! What a cool name! I'd love to see it, learn about it, worship it!"
"That's your stupid sword I'm talking about!"
Groovy performed the remarkable feat of yelling at the top of his lungs in a whisper.
Setting aside the shrunk-or-not debate, listening to Groovy recount stories about Cecilus that Cecilus himself didn't know was quite fascinating. Especially the story about the sword—his absolute favorite topic.
"But reforging it into a sword—that's interesting. Are you a swordsmith, Groovy? Being a 'general' and a smith—quite the busy schedule."
"I ain't a swordsmith specifically. I forge swords, weave clothing, tinker with magic tools."
"So this mysterious cloak is also some kind of magic tool?"
"No. It's just regular werewolf skin."
At Groovy's response, Cecilus went "Ooh" in admiration, while Al's shoulders trembled as though he'd been startled. Cecilus examined the leather cloak's appearance with great interest.
"Werewolves—that's quite rare. I know they exist, but I've never actually seen one."
"They're hard to find to begin with. Kind of like earth dragons or the Holy Kingdom's Urghaa people—the divine blessing covers their entire species. If you skin one alive, the blessing remains in the hide. It's a handy way to make use of those bastards who are good at ambushes."
"The 'Blessing of Cloud Cover,' is it...?"
"Hah? That's an old-fashioned name if I've ever heard one. Most people call it the 'Blessing of Deception'... though werewolf talk isn't exactly common knowledge."
Al murmured something under his breath, and Groovy, having overheard it, showed off that bit of knowledge.
In the Empire, werewolves were despised, and it traced back to ancient, ancient stories. Though, since those stories were based on historical fact, they were deeply linked to reality.
Cecilus himself didn't harbor any particular animosity toward werewolves or wolf-folk, but— "To be saved by this werewolf-skin cloak... considering how werewolves are treated in the Empire, it's quite the ironic situation, isn't it? Ironic to the skin of it."
"———"
"Eh? Did you just ignore me? You're ignoring me, aren't you? I thought that was rather a clever pun—"
Just as Cecilus touched on the subject of the leather cloak, and both Al and Groovy gave him a cold response—that was when Cecilus realized it wasn't actually that at all.
'——■■■■■■' It wasn't because the usual clamor from outside the ring had returned.
It was because Cecilus felt the entire body of Al—to whom he was clinging tightly—go rigid, and the reason for that tension slid into Cecilus as well.
Whether shrunk or not, something seized the thin depths of Cecilus's chest.
—Grey thorns had begun swirling in a vortex around Cecilus's heart.
"Could it be... are you two getting this as well?"
"...Yeah. Hey, Groovy. With this cloak, we shouldn't have been found..."
"You bastards...! What the hell kind of trick is this...!"
Apparently in the same situation as Cecilus, Al and especially Groovy were in a state of considerable agitation—his unraveling, his rage, was intense.
Was it because they'd seen through his prized cloak's effect? —No, that didn't add up.
If the opponent had pinpointed their location, they wouldn't simply leave three people in a sandwich formation unattended for this long. Of course, the thorns could also be interpreted as a warning.
"Doesn't feel like it. What's your read?"
"—Indiscriminate area-of-effect attack. Who the hell is doing this!? Blasting out this insane curse arts on a whim...!"
Groovy's throat trembled with fury as he cursed the unseen master of the thorns and their incomprehensible methods.
In that instant, the thorns at the three of them' chests slowly began to squirm, their razor-sharp barbs slipping past their defenses, ready to unleash the full power of their curse.
And then— "As expected, the world simply refuses to acknowledge that I'm skulking about in the shadows. Very well—come then, new hardship! Let's overcome it with a spectacular flourish!"
That was the exuberant cry of the laughing outlier, issued just before the crushing agony of having one's heart squeezed tight would strike.