CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Chosen Ones

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An awkward silence passed between them while the three people eyed each other.

The naked, slanted-eyed man looked older than either of his captors. He was a head shorter than Atlan’s seventh prince. Slim, but not physically fit like Bram was, with skin a shade darker than Bram’s bronze complexion. Scruffy dark hair framed a round face whose sharp features reminded the prince of the native-born people of the Hilltop Kingdom of Yamadai, the northernmost kingdom of the Imperium.

Bram had many questions for their guest, though it wasn’t the prince who broke the awkward silence between them.

“Y-Yōkai!” the slanted-eyed man pointed a quivering finger at Rowan who sat cross-legged in the air. “Yōkai!”

Bram didn’t know this alien word, but the fear apparent in their guest’s face gave him an inkling of its meaning.

“Be at ease, friend,” he urged.

The prince placed himself between the slanted-eyed man and the trickster he seemed so frightened of as if he could see something other than the maiden she appeared to be.

Bram raised his palms forward, which he hoped was a universal symbol of peace. “We’re not your enemies.”

“Yō—”

Confusion flitted across the slanted-eyed man’s face.

“—B-Bishōnen?!”

There was a slight redness in his tan-skinned cheeks, and he calmed down for just a moment. But once he saw Rowan looking at him from behind Bram’s shoulder, he was back to his hysterics.

“Y-Yōkai!”

“Enough,” Rowan hissed.

The wind howled, and then she was suddenly standing before him as if conjured by the very air. Her invasion of his personal space triggered him further. Only, before he could peel away, Rowan’s hand shot out, her fingers latching onto the slanted-eyed man’s brow.

“‘Tis time for us to speak like civilized folk,” she insisted.

“Rowan,” Bram stepped forward, “wait—”

Too late.

A spark of crimson flashed around Rowan’s fingers to spread out onto the slanted-eyed man’s brow like lightning racing across his flesh. He screamed, his eyes rolling inward, and then he crumpled to the floor.

“What have you done?” Bram asked as he unclasped his cloak and placed it over the unconscious man’s naked body.

“I gave him the Gift of Tongues,” Rowan answered.

One of Bram’s eyebrows twitched upward. “He’ll be able to understand us?”

“As if he’d been speaking ‘Gaul’ his whole life,” she replied.

“So, you can just give someone an enchantment…” Bram’s face turned contemplative. “Is this something you can weave into the summoning ritual from the beginning?”

“‘Tis possible,” Rowan answered after a while, “with the help of the Loom…assuming it can be implanted into an otherworlder’s soul at the moment of their arrival.”

“We should try it with the next otherworlder,” Bram insisted. As an afterthought, he asked, “Should I prepare my lute for when he wakes up?”

“I doubt it could hurt… Only,” she warily eyed the unconscious man, “he’s not exactly the calm sort. Who knows what madness a song could induce in him.”

In his head, Bram recalled a vision he’d once had of the other world, one of the few he’d had of their music. It had been a dark vision of a quartet of bards with wild, wiry hair and faces painted white. Their vestments were steel and leather with spikes jutting out of their shoulders. They looked like the sun temple's art depictions of demons from the seven hells, and their song, which was loud and raucous and full of curses, seemed like a tale about a ‘Great Evil’, or the summoning of one. Their audience was no different; adorned like their bards and just as raucous. They often bashed their heads and chests against each other as if they were under demonic possession while they listened to that wild tune, which, to a young Bram, had been the sound of a demon's shrieks.

“Right,” he conceded.

A young Bram had considered this a nightmare so overwhelming he’d woken from it with his back coated in sweat.

“But there’s nothing wrong with a little madness,” he argued.

While the older Bram recalled this strange dream with fondness. Indeed, these wild bards had been his inspiration for the Gentleman Caller; his music, and his disguise.

“You’re right,” Rowan flashed Bram an impish smile, “there’s nothing wrong with a little madness.”

Seconds ticked by while they waited for him to wake, but the slanted-eyed man remained unmoving. His chest rose and fell in erratic intervals, so at least they knew he was still alive even though he was comatose on the ground.

Bram sighed. “There’s been too much waiting in this stage of the undertaking.”

“Now you sound like a prince,” Rowan giggled. Then, in a softer tone, she added, “Patience. It takes time for the seeds we plant to bloom.”

It wasn’t long after these words spilled from her lips when the slanted-eyed man sat up suddenly. He was wide-eyed and screaming. Only, this time, both his captors could understand his words.

“M-Monster!”

He wrapped Bram’s cloak around himself as if its fabric could protect his naked flesh from his captors’ gazes.

“I believe he’s referring to you,” Bram guessed.

“He’s quite rude,” Rowan replied.

More confusion flitted across the slanted-eyed man’s face.

Bram couldn’t help sympathizing with him. After all, the two beings who’d abducted him from his world were now speaking in a language he could understand.

Nervously, the slanted-eyed man glanced up. “Beauty and…the beast…?”

“I don’t believe I’m the beast in this scenario,” Bram said confidently.

Though in his mind, the prince couldn’t understand how anyone could look upon his collaborator and think of her as anything but lovely. Rowan’s wiles had enchanted everyone they’ve met since their first meeting…Bram included.

Rowan’s smile twitched. “Everyone’s entitled to their own preferences, I suppose…”

The slanted-eyed man seemed to understand what she meant and vehemently shook his head.

“I-I don’t swing that way,” he protested. “I just…”

Both captors raised an eyebrow, prompting the slanted-eyed man to explain further.

“In my culture, a woman with a perfect face like yours”—his gaze drifted nervously toward Rowan—“is never human. You are either an incarnation of a goddess or…”

“A beast veiled in man’s perception of beauty?” Bram supplied.

Rowan elbowed him on the shoulder.

The slanted-eyed man blushed but said nothing else.

“You’re right…I’m not human,” Rowan revealed. “Though there’s no need to be frightened of me unless you’re a god of Aarde or one of their fanatical followers.”

The slanted-eyed man frowned. “A-Aarde…?”

“‘Tis a world that is twisted, broken at the whim of those who lord over it.” Rowan’s voice was filled with condemnation. “It needs…correction. ‘Tis why we’ve summoned you here.”

Bram frowned.

As a prince of the Atlan Imperium, he had technically lived a life of opulence. Indeed, if it wasn’t for his lack of talent with sorcery, Bram wouldn’t know the meaning of struggle and strife. But perhaps because of his body’s ill-fated condition and the misfortunes of the past few days, the prince couldn’t disagree with Rowan’s assessment of a broken world. On a lesser scale, the Imperium had a society that needed alteration.

“Ee~~eh, you summoned me?”

The slanted-eyed man’s voice drew Bram out of his musings.

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Rowan nodded. “We need your talents, Hajime.”

Hajime’s eyes widened slightly at hearing his name on her lips. “You know me?”

“Of course.” Rowan’s face turned contemplative. “Hajime Hideo Miyamoto, lead game designer for a prestigious gaming studio, lauded by your peers and patrons as a pioneer in…”

Bram noticed the soft glow of her crimson irises. They were a telltale sign of magic at work. He assumed this meant Rowan was reading Hajime’s mind or something equally invasive but in so subtle a manner that the otherworlder didn’t notice.

“…virtual reality role-playing games,” she finished.

“Sugoi,” Hajime whispered.

Bram noticed that even the ‘Gift of Tongues’ couldn’t completely dissolve a person’s mannerisms.

“As I’ve said, we require your expertise.” Rowan offered Hajime a slender hand. “Will you help us change the world?”

Bram watched the confusion wash away from Hajime’s expression, although the otherworlder’s fingers shook slightly when he accepted Rowan’s hand.

Once Hajime was back on his feet, introductions were given, with the otherworlder seemingly amazed by the people he was meeting for the first time. He even bowed his head once he learned Bram was a royal.

“There’s no need for that,” Bram insisted.

“O-Okay, but I don’t know how I can help… I only know how to make games…I’m not a yūsha,” Hajime admitted.

His brow furrowed.

“…A hero,” he translated.

“Though we do need heroes,” Bram conceded, “the task we have for you is more vital…”

A long conversation ensued where they explained their great undertaking to this otherworlder. By the end, the trio were seated in a circle by a corner of the chamber where the sunstone’s light flared brightest. A flask of hot elderberry tea with three wooden cups, and plates of cheese, dried jerky, and fruit lay between them. These were among the equipment Bram had packed for their climb, which included the loose shirt and trousers he’d given Hajime.

“More tea?” Bram asked.

He noticed that the otherworlder was thoroughly enjoying the sweet taste of elderberry.

Hajime respectfully offered his cup forward. “Hai.”

Bram poured him tea while asking, “Do you have any questions?”

“Thank you.” With his cup filled, Hajime took it back. “And yes… To clarify, I’m not trapped on…Aarde?”

Rowan shook her head. “So long as your body remains intact in your world, your soul will return to it.”

“And you’ll be able to go home to…Japan,” Bram reiterated. “This is the empire you’re from?”

Hajime nodded. “But it’s not like yours.”

“How so?” Bram asked.

“We have an emperor,” Hajime took a sip of his tea, “but elected officials govern our country.”

“Elected officials,” Bram repeated, his brow furrowing. “Your emperor shares power with…commoners?”

“The emperor is a symbol of Japan. He does not govern. That’s the job of our ministers,” Hajime replied. Then added, “I live in New York, which is part of America, a country without nobles…technically.”

“Fascinating,” Bram whispered.

There seemed to be many differences between the two worlds apart from the direction of their technology.

“And there’s truly no magic on…Earth?” Rowan asked.

“Magic is fantasy,” Hajime replied.

He gazed at the summoning circle that had plucked his soul from his world, with his eyes drifting over to the monstrous corpse lying a few feet away.

“All this is fantasy to me…” Hajime pressed a finger on the cheek of the meat suit his soul wore. “Things we read about in books and manga…”

“Or watch in…cinema?” Bram supplied.

“Hai.”

“If magic wasn’t used to build your glass towers,” one of Rowan’s eyebrows tilted upward, “then what method did your people employ to become an advanced society?”

“Um,” Hajime scratched the stubble on his newly made chin, “we have science…and with science, we develop technology.”

Hajime explained how his people studied the physical and natural world through observation and experimentation. Up to this, science seemed very much like sorcery. But where science tested theories against the evidence through experimentation and then conceived new knowledge and machinery from their discoveries, sorcery used the magical energies prevailing in Aarde’s nature to bypass the evidence and create a magical solution that would satisfy the caster’s will. At least that’s how Bram remembered it when he’d first been taught about the sorcerous arts.

Rowan echoed this belief when she began explaining sorcery to Hajime.

“The sorcery of Aarde is older than even the beginning of man’s civilization.” She drew her hands together as if in prayer. “‘Tis the practice of harnessing the magical energy inside of us and all around us to express our desire to reshape reality.”

As her hands separated, she drew a circle with her fingers, and the air of the chamber had become so dense with magical energy born from the recent summoning that a shape formed of red sparks appeared floating between her and Hajime. It was a large spiral of rotational symmetry.

“Sugoi…” Hajime whispered.

“We use sorcery to cast spells”—Rowan moved her hands in a clockwise motion to create a second spiral emanating from the same center as the first spiral but positioned below and to the right of it—“that manifest objects, harness elemental power, alter our bodily constitutions, or build ungodly wonders.”

Rowan moved her hands in a counterclockwise direction, creating a third spiral that began from the same common center as the other two, but positioned on the opposite side of the second spiral.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7alACZP.png]

The prince recognized the icon the trickster had formed in the air. It was a triskelion, a powerful symbol of sorcery that signified the profound concept of life, death, and rebirth.

“There are, of course, some forms of sorcery that cannot be weaved into being without a design to draw inspiration from.” Rowan’s gaze drifted toward Bram. “Sorcery born exclusively to those rare beings whose fates flow in opposition to the will of the world.”

Realizing her intention, Bram cut his palm with the chipped edge of his sword’s broken blade so that a line of blood would leak out of the wound.

“For the blood is the life,” he whispered.

He pressed his bloody palm to the heart of the triskelion. As a result, the floating symbol began to shake violently, with sparks flying off it.

“This is how we make magic”—Rowan slapped her palm against the floating triskelion right on the opposite side of where Bram’s hand touched it, causing even more sparks to fly off the glowing symbol—“to change the world!”

Those same fiery sparks spread out toward Hajime, enveloping him in their warm embrace while being absorbed into his skin.

“W-What is—”

‘Ping!’

Then they all saw the ghostly blue window that appeared before the otherworlder.

Welcome, Hajime.

Hajime’s eyes widened with surprise. “Ee~~eh?!”

You have been invited to take part in the great undertaking. Will you join?

A smaller window appeared on top of the first.

[YES] [NO]

At that moment, all nervousness vanished from Hajime’s expression.

[YES]

CONGRATULATIONS! You are the first [Traveler] to join the Loom of Ill Fates!

“Arienai…”

Please wait while the system measures your current capabilities.

While Hajime’s jaw dropped from seeing his status window coming to life, Bram leaned in to whisper into Rowan’s ear. “How did you do it?”

“I established a connection between the Loom and Hajime’s soul using the information in your blood and a triskelion’s symbolic power to become a bridge between the earthly and celestial realms,” Rowan explained.

Bram had heard of this rare form of magic before. To represent a caster’s desired outcome through the creation of a telesmatic force. This was the sorcerous art of Sigilry.

“Just so I understand what’s happened here — you translated a triskelion’s meaning of connection with the infinite to forge a magical connection between Hajime and the system, weaving its sorcery into the fabric of his soul,” he deduced.

“There is great power in symbols, My Prince. Never forget this,” Rowan lectured.

“I won’t,” Bram grinned, adding, “and you’re bloody brilliant.”

‘Ping!’

A new notification appeared in front of Bram.

ALERT! The Loom has expanded by one user. Acquiring more users for the system will help to grow the capabilities of [Administrator Lv.1] and may lead you to a breakthrough.

Finally, an explanation of how he could grow his job’s talents.

“We may need to simplify the process of bestowing the Loom onto others,” Bram thought aloud.

Meeting every single otherworlder they summon and then gifting them the Loom through this ceremony seemed inefficient to him.

“We can combine the gifting of the Loom with the summoning ritual and the signing of the contract.” Rowan’s face turned contemplative. “Though this will require adding a triskelion and transference ceremony into the formula of my summoning circle.”

“Is there a disadvantage to this?”

“There’s a delicate balance in formulating magic circles. Too many conditions may create undesired variables during the process of summoning.”

“Too many cooks spoil the broth then.”

“You need not worry. With a bit of experimentation, I’ll manage.”

“It’s like being in a game,” Hajime announced.

The otherworlder was grinning from ear to ear as his gaze drifted away from his status screen to home in on Bram and Rowan.

“Like I’m a chosen one!”

His cheeks flared immediately afterward as if he was embarrassed by what he said out loud.

“You are a chosen one.” Seeing Hajime’s excitement, Bram couldn’t help but feel hopeful. “Do you think other Earthers will be interested in our great undertaking too?”

“Many dream of something like this happening… We call it being isekai’d — to become protagonists in another world!” Hajime explained.

“And that’s what we want your people to be!” Bram couldn’t help but be infected by Hajime’s passion. “Still, to protect your people’s minds from the harsh realities of another world, they must view their time on Aarde as if it weren’t real.”

“You want to trick them into thinking they’re playing a game,” Hajime repeated Bram’s earlier pitch.

“It would be a far more enjoyable experience than the truth.” Bram offered Hajime his hand. “We would like your help in making this happen.”

“I…” Hajime’s gaze drifted to the floating blue window between him and Bram. “Yes. I will help.”

He shook Bram’s hand, and the bargain between them was sealed.

As if as an afterthought, Bram added, “Given the circumstances, I should warn you, our great undertaking has a bit of a deadline.”

“Rushed deadlines is a way of life in the gaming industry,” Hajime grinned, though, after a second of thinking, he couldn’t help asking, “But how long do we have?”

Bram’s brow creased. “Less than nine months…on the eve of the Mid-Winter Solstice.”

“Then, Bram-sama, Rowan-sama, we’re going to need help,” Hajime insisted.

“We agree,” Rowan answered. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone, would you?”

“If we’re building the greatest game ever built…” In his mind, Hajime recalled a few familiar faces. “…I know who to call.”