13. The Word That Doesn't Mean What I Thought It Did
The second thing I notice is that there’s more than one Portal inside this room. In fact, it’d be more accurate to say that the room is full of them. It’s a veritable Portal warehouse.
This discovery immediately piques my curiosity. Assuming all of these Portals ‘work’, I have to also guess they all lead to different locations, which would make this room some kind of Portal ‘hub’ rather than a warehouse. Is this like… this world’s version of an international airport?
It goes without saying that Leto doesn’t find the sheer number and density of Portals in this room even remotely noteworthy. She’s in a hurry to leave the room and beckons for me to follow. For now, I’ve no choice but to put a pin in all my questions and let my First Local guide me.
Of course, the questions just keep piling on, along with the strange sights that assault my Earthling senses.
The room leads out into a massive circular atrium. The walls here reach high into the open sky, and their entire circumference is lined with tall, ornamented windows as well as panoramic murals in a style that I’d probably call ‘Art Nouveau’ at a wild guess and without knowing what that even means.
Whatever the style should actually be called, the paintings are very ‘people-centric’. By this, I mean they all depict humanoid figures with fancy attires and solemn expressions that stand from floor to sky. And let me tell you, I could stand here looking at these all day if I had the chance.
Just at a glance, there’s this dour and self-serious Elf Guy in a multi-layered robe holding a huge book in his hand—which I’d guess is a catalyst like Leto’s. There’s a woman with an impressive pair of horns on her head, decked out in shining armor, with a halberd in one hand and an intricately designed shield in the other. There’s even someone that fits the traditional concept of a Dwarf: stocky, muscular, thickly bearded, and—holy shit, is that a rifle in his hand?
There’s more, of course, but on this occasion, I don’t get the time to take it all in. Suffice to say that my gut impression is this place looks like one of those big ol’ Catholic churches you see in Europe except, like, super fantasied out. Yeah. Let’s go with that.
As I try to keep pace with Leto, I see that the whole base floor is lined with more rooms that look exactly like the one we just walked out of. I catch enough glimpses of some of them to confirm that, yes, the other rooms also appear to be full of Portals. Thus, my airport analogy grows more fitting by the second.
The open sky above tells me it’s daytime here, just like it was back in Kanata the moment I’d stepped foot in the forest Portal. Not sure if there are any time zone differences, but in any case, it’s still business hours, and the ‘airport’ is busy with activity. People of all shapes, sizes, outfits, and—uh—fantasy races file in and out of the Portal rooms, going about their days with purposeful strides (or slides, in the case of some of them).
To no one’s surprise, I soon discover that Leto Iriden is just as popular in a urban setting as she was in a rural one.
Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, Beastkin, Tieflings (?), and even Mushroom People (!) go out of their way to greet my Elf Crush as she passes through their midst. Many of them even full-on bow, with arm across chest and knees slightly bent. These people are either super polite or simping even harder than me!
Leto, despite her hurry and fatigue from the preceding journey, answer each greeting with gracious smiles and cheery pleasantries. I do note that she doesn’t return her colleagues’ bows, and who can blame her? It’d be exhausting AF if you had to bow back to every simp that stopped you on your way home. Probably exhausting enough as is, being the popular girl that’s the center of everyone’s attention…
In my shameful bout of jealousy and low self-esteem, I barely notice that the locals are also showering me with naked curiosity. What I do notice, though, is a familiar word that filters into my consciousness. Malika. There it is again, on the lips of nearly everyone that stops to chat with Leto.
I wonder, then. Why is it that everyone and their grandma knows Leto Iriden as ‘Malika’, yet no one else seems to lay claim to the same title? Could it be like a third name… or an epithet that’s unique only to her?
I wonder, but not for long, because the next step is to ascend this enormous staircase that rises from the center of the atrium and feeds into the building proper via a stories-tall doorway. So, we’re leaving the airport behind and exploring the rest of this castle.
Except there’s not much exploring to do, what with my First Local leading me at an increasingly brisk pace. But I’ll try to jot down my first impressions real quick.
You guys ever been inside the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg? This place is sort of like that, with bold colors everywhere framed by trimmings and fixtures of white and gold. Florid, opulent, yet somehow held together by a kind of rustic understatement. Not unlike the language they speak here, if I put it that way.
I do see fantastical details here and there that set this place apart from anywhere on Planet Earth. The paintings, of course, continue to depict people who are decidedly not human. The, uh, technology here is also something else: sconces that glow with ‘floating’ flames, ‘mirrors’ with this amorphous look to them that reminds me of the Portal screens, and even some areas with bluish ‘floor lighting’ that look suspiciously futuristic.
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Yes. There’s something funky going on here that’s far removed from the traditional-at-first-glance fantasy trappings. Something for me to dive into once I’ve got the time and the requisite language skills.
My pretense at Isekai archaeology notwithstanding, I let my First Local lead me further into the eclectic beauty of my First Castle. We pass through palatial hallways and another open-air area that looks to be a private garden of sorts, before we slip through a rather simple wooden door that’s tucked behind a row of rosebushes.
My instinctive thought is that we’ve just used some kind of ‘secret passage’. The door takes us into a dimly lit and noticeably musty area. Some kind of cellar or storage? Or…
… A library. As my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, I see the room for what it is. Walls lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, packed with all manner of tomes and scrolls with indecipherable (to me) scripts.
Very demure. Very mindful. Nothing fantasy about this place, unless you count foreign languages as fantasy.
The crowd had been thinning long before we’d reached this place, but by now, it’s well and truly just me and Leto. The narrow breadth of the room and the claustrophobic arrangement of the furniture give me the impression that this is someone’s private study rather than a public library.
Could it be… that Leto’s led me straight into her room? And on that note, is she important enough to have her own room inside a castle? I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if she is…
What I am surprised by, is that we’re not alone. Leto walks further into the room and turns a corner around one of the bookshelves, up a brief staircase and onto an lofted area that sits halfway between the floor and the ceiling. And it’s here that I first meet Old Man Who’s Clearly an Important Dude.
The dude behind a desk cluttered with books and scrolls is another Elf, with a tall, powerful build that’s apparent even in a sitting position. Unlike the Elves I met in Kanata, he’s got this impressive handlebar mustache—you know, the kind you might see on a civil war general or an old-timey boxer. He’s dressed in a heavy-looking robe with floral embroidery and gold trims that only adds to his gravitas.
And you know what else adds to his gravitas? The freaking crown on his graying head, that’s what.
I think I’ve just walked into the king’s private study. And don’t forget, at this point, I’m still lugging the STSG on my shoulder. Which, combined with my dumbfounded expression, probably makes me look like the world’s most clueless bodyguard.
The king looks up from his readings and does a kind of double—nay—triple take. His face first lights up at the sight of Leto, then flicks over to me and my sword with a look of mild surprise, before shifting back to his fellow Elf with a warm yet dignified smile.
I stand back in a corner of the room and try to find the most non-threatening way to hold my sword as the two Elves embrace and give each other pecks on the cheeks. I’m so shook from being in the presence of actual royalty that it doesn’t quite register with me the casual and familial nature of the gesture that passes between my First Local and the king of her realm.
It does, however, slowly dawn on me, as Leto and her king engage in a hushed conversation full of smiles, chuckles, and a few meaningful glances thrown my way. The gears start turning and the pieces start falling into place.
Let me guess. You’re probably sat there thinking, well, duh, you’ve been hinting at it for several chapters now!
Okay, I get it, I’m a helpless idiot on top of being a hopeless simp, but just see it from my point of view, alright? I wake up in a strange world, my first local guide is a pretty Elf Girl who knows some healing magic, and the first thing we do is go Dragon-slaying together. By the time I get to the village and start seeing how other people treat her, the notion that Elf Girl is an Elf Mage adventurer is already firmly entrenched, you feel me?
I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know? She didn’t tell me! (Actually, she told me many times and in no uncertain terms.)
Before long, I’m dragged out of my stupor of delayed realization, as the king and his Elf Family Member turn to me for introductions. And even though I’m an IT guy and he’s the king, Leto is such a gracious host that she starts with me.
“Malik-Paten, aloàs Mars Carver. Reliken Mars Carver.”
“Hi,” I say weakly, along with an awkward wave of the hand. And I immediately can’t believe myself. Did I just say ‘hi’ to an Elven king?
“Mars,” Leto goes on, unperturbed. The earnest expression and heartfelt tone with which she calls my name is enough to melt my simp heart anew, even though this is clearly neither the time nor the place. In fact, that time and place may well never come to pass. Then she turns those same earnest eyes onto the old man beside her as she finishes the introductions.
“Aloàs Daelor Iriden. Maliken Daelor.”
Right on cue, King Daelor bows his head slightly (Stop it! I haven’t even bowed!) and says something that sounds a lot more sophisticated than ‘hi’. I want to respond, but at this point, it’s all I can do not to melt from the embarrassment—to crumble from the sheer folly of my choice in an Isekai crush.
Malikor. Kingdom. Maliken. King. It then follows that Malika means—?