[646] Into the World (1)
Zaive Kingdom.
A kingdom within the Seven Holy Crusader Kingdoms, where citizens held considerable sway and the social atmosphere was liberal—especially popular with students studying abroad.
Dalia Nane was one such exchange student.
He had entered the School of Magic at age four and, by seventeen, become the world's second-ranked graduate.
An achievement scarcely believable to ordinary people.
But if you looked into Nane's daily life, you'd smile wryly at how uneventful and smooth it all had been.
"Nane, have you made your decision?"
The headmaster of the Zaive Royal School of Magic, who had come to see the student who had made history in the kingdom, asked him directly.
"No. I haven't decided yet."
The headmaster's eyes widened at the unexpected answer.
"After the graduation ceremony today, in three hours your name will be posted with the Red Line Personnel Management Department. If you intend to take the Ivory Tower test, you'll need to file a refusal to be posted."
"Then I'll think about it until then."
The headmaster forced a pitying smile.
'He's so good-natured. Even without saying it, he must want to give something back to the Zaive Kingdom that raised him.'
Always polite, always moral.
There hadn't even been a whisper of him arguing with someone or scowling.
'Only a genius could manage that.'
To have lived untouched by life's roughness meant Nane's talent transcended those grooves. Even though he'd climbed to the top in record time, honestly, it was doubtful he'd used even one percent of his ability.
"Do what's right for you. Entering the Ivory Tower and making a name for yourself would be an honor for Zaive as well."
Hearing the same words repeated, Nane answered curtly.
"I can't be bothered to decide."
The headmaster flinched at the unfamiliar brusqueness, but it wasn't enough to dent the student's reputation.
'Well, it is the Ivory Tower.'
Even geniuses would be sensitive about that.
But contrary to the headmaster's assumptions, Nane really didn't care what came next.
Entering the Zaive Magic Association, taking the Ivory Tower test, even dying on the spot.
'Alright, now I will—'
As Nane walked away and fell into thought, the headmaster's eyelids froze as if immobile.
Birds in the sky seemed taxidermied; planets stopped spinning; the stars that orbited the sun stopped moving.
The entire universe hit the brakes.
'What must be done?'
With no limits on phenomena, it wasn't a crime that his chain of thought transcended time.
In that cosmic concentration, Nane rolled an infinitely faceted die toward the end of his deliberation.
He had exhausted every degree, without any standard of likes or dislikes.
And when the die finally stopped spinning, he realized the only thing left to him.
'I've decided.'
As Nane receded down the corridor, the headmaster watched his back with gentle eyes and wished him luck.
'Choose something that makes you happy.'
By Red Line regulations, Zaive Royal School of Magic produced twenty graduates. When it came time for the school song, the chorus began in perfect unison.
"We become the light of the world as one."
At the emotional climax that brought some to tears, Nane stepped forward slowly and took off his uniform.
'What is he doing? Some event we don't know about?'
The graduates looked on in confusion, but since Nane was the focus they continued the song anyway…
"Nane! What are you doing right now!"
An unprecedented incident in Zaive's history unfolded.
Nane stripped off his jacket, trousers—even his underwear—then leapt onto the stage and burst into loud laughter.
"Kyahahahaha!"
"Eeeeeek!"
The girls covered their faces, but because it was the beloved Nane many peered through their fingers.
'So what happens now?'
Nane wanted to know only one thing.
Having mastered every degree, he had reached an eccentric realm that questioned "simply being different."
By endlessly repeating difference, he pursued a journey to define Nane as a unique singularity in the universe.
"Eat this!"
To the bewildered orchestra, Nane spun his hips and a stream of urine arced in a circle.
"Aaah! He must be insane!"
People fled in panic, yet watching him spin at the center gave them a strange chill.
'How can he do that?'
Being in a natural state meant absolute composure—no tension, no excitement—perfect equanimity.
"Nane! Stop this! What on earth are you doing all of a sudden!"
'What if he doesn't stop? What will happen?'
As the powerful spray continued, teachers hurriedly covered their faces and the lower-class students began to cry.
To break completely out of conceptual categories required an even deeper contemplation of difference.
Perhaps an infinite number.
Having cast a flight spell, Nane looked down at the humans, then turned his gaze beyond the horizon and flew away.
"What should we do, headmaster? He's heading for the city!"
Should they report it?
The hesitation came from the fact that Nane was, after all, the greatest student in Zaive's history.
"Contact the guard! If he's in that state, we don't know what he might do in the city!"
"Yes, sir!"
When Nane reached the city, he landed lightly in the middle of the busiest market.
"Eeeek!"
Panic was natural; merchants, assuming a pervert, grabbed clubs and advanced.
"What are you doing? Trying to ruin business?"
He had no interest in repeating what he'd already done, so he didn't urinate again, but the merchants' hearts sank.
His pupils were not normal.
'He's not a pervert.'
Though slight in build, pure madness and an absolute uncertainty about the future inspired terror.
'What is the basis of difference…?'
Nane's actions had no reason.
They were an eccentricity clearly distinguishable from ordinary degrees, and he began by taking in the lowest-level differences first.
'Start with form.'
Having decided that, Nane headed for the city's famed progressive institution: a tattoo parlor.
"Welcome—! Eeeek!"
Whether the female clerks screamed at the sight of a naked man or not, Nane stood before the full-length mirror.
"Carve graffiti on my body."
One hour later.
Sixty constabulary troops surrounded the shop while the captain shouted.
"Release the hostages! Drag this out and you'll only make things worse for yourself!"
Inside, the staff couldn't stop working on Nane's body despite the shouts.
He ordered them to ink every design in the catalog, and even crude curses were etched to the bone.
'Ugh, that must hurt.'
With magical tools the process was quick, but blood flowed freely.
Nane merely watched his reflection in the mirror with nonchalance.
'Is my form unique now?'
Or did it still converge on some concept?
'Let's do a bit more.'
Nane grabbed a jar of piercings and, one by one, drove them into his ears.
Crack. Crunch.
As he pierced raw flesh—thirteen in all—the employees burst into tears.
'A state that can only be called Nane.'
"Ah!"
When he twisted suddenly and a tattoo line went awry, he didn't care; he opened every dye bottle on the counter and poured them over his head.
"No! The dye is poisonous—!"
Dousing a body full of wounds in neon chemicals burned like fire.
"Kukukuku! Kikikiki!"
The exaggerated laugh that had amused him moments earlier now sounded wrong; he cocked his head and then exploded into another mad fit of laughter.
"Kyahahaha! Kyahahaha!"
When the work was finally done and he teetered on the edge of losing his mind, the staff knelt and begged.
"It's finished. Please leave now."
"No—there's one more thing."
Nane stuck out his tongue and pointed. Two of the five workers rolled their eyes back and fainted.
"Hieeeeeee! Hieeeeeee!"
The horrid cries from inside put the constabulary on edge.
"What on earth are they doing in there? Captain, can't we just storm in?"
"He's a graduate of a School of Magic. Try to subdue him rashly and the hostages won't survive."
If there were fatalities, the Citizens' Assembly would demand hearings.
"Hieee! Hie! Hieee!"
The woman tattooing a greatsword onto Nane's tongue was pale and swollen from crying.
'This is hell.'
She would probably retire from tattooing—but she would be remembered forever as the one who had given Nane's magic its singularity.
"A sword."
Nane committed the image of the greatsword tattooed on his tongue to memory, then turned and left the shop.
"Arrest him! Now!"
Skima masters from Security Team 1 launched themselves, stamped the ground and flew in, spears flashing.
'Combat.'
Nane thought.
Time froze like a photograph; soldiers hung at different heights, suspended in space.
His concentration, far beyond human bounds, rose to terrifying levels.
'Wind Sword.'
The mana efficiency—so superior it defied comparison—surged through the compulsion of the sword.
A blade of white light birthed on his palm blurred and then shredded the surroundings in an instant.
"Urrgh!"
Steel armor on Security Team 1 took dozens of scratches; Teams 2 and 3 rushed in.
"Grab him! Don't let him escape!"
Sixty personnel blocked all routes, but that was a mistake born of misreading Nane.
What needed to be stopped was not his body but his thought.
'Ah, I see.'
The world stopped again, and from the realm of difference Nane dismantled countless concepts.
'Flame Sword. Frost Sword. Lightning Sword. Earth Sword.'
Each bore a different attribute.
'Rough Sword. Gentle Sword. Ugly Sword. Cruel Sword.'
Even with the same attribute, the sensation changed.
'Unpredictable Sword. The Sword that Predicts. The Sword that Breaks That Prediction. The Sword that Predicts Again.'
Even with the same feeling, the temperament differed.
'Dismantle every instant.'
Concepts shattered into a thousand or more; the spectrum of swords they emitted did not overlap at all.
"This is insane…!"
Before the constabulary captain could call a retreat, countless blades fanned out in all directions.
It felt like everything exploding at the birth of the universe.
Three minutes later, when the faculty of the Royal School of Magic arrived, the area around Nane's location lay scorched and ruined.
"He finally did it."
Only two hours after Nane disappeared did people realize he'd done it simply because he wanted a "different" kind of fight—and astonishingly, there were no fatalities.
Nane stripped a fallen civilian of their clothes and put them on.
There was no reason.
If the concept of wearing clothes once again bound him to a category, he would strip them off immediately.
The headmaster, furious at his brazen theft, shook his fists and shouted.
"Nane! What on earth is this! You had a bright future guaranteed! Are you trying to tarnish your family's honor?"
'Family honor…'
Am I a concept bound by blood?
'No, that's not it.'
Nane dismantled the surname Dalia.
He covered one eye with a finger, then stuck out the tongue—tattooed with a greatsword—toward the headmaster.
"Hieeeeeeee."
One who dismantles all the truths of this world.
Psychedelic Nane.