Editing MaruMA:Volume17:Chapter 5

===Chapter 5===


If the living quarters aboveground is paradise, then this is hell.

	“...No, probably not... it’s nowhere near as scary as hell.”

	This place is very dimly-lit, and it’s damp and cold, but there aren’t skeletons in the corners of the room, and it doesn’t smell like blood.

	However, if I walk three steps straight ahead I would either bump into a metal door or walls, and if I stretch my arms to my sides, my fingertips will touch the walls too. Someone with claustrophobia might not be able to stand such a rigid environment. To me, though, rather than the cramped space, it’s easier to deal with the darkness.

	“It’s okay, I can still see.”

	Although I’m surrounded with naked, paintless stone walls, there isn’t an echo when I speak due to the uneven surfaces. I take in a deep breath of slightly mouldy air, and say again to myself,

	“I can see.”

	Something white vaguely floats into my dim vision—it’s my own palm. No problem, my eyes can still see.

	Although there is light, it’s just the vestiges shining in from a small window in the metal door. That small window should be meant for watching convicts, and it’s only about the size of a CD box, plus it’s locked from the outside. Using that little bit of light from the corridors leaking through the slits, I reconfirm my palm.

	Even if my eyes have gotten used to the darkness, I still can’t observe my surroundings.

	In this square stone room, forget a double-decker bed, there isn’t even a toilet or a sink. After taking a few steps and stretching out my fingertips, I realize there’s a ditch fifteen centimetres wide along the wall opposite the door.

	Don’t tell me that’s the toilet!?

	Once more: “Even so—” This place isn’t hell.

	When I visited world heritage sites or cities before, I did see that the prisons in Middle Age Europe are all like this. Isn’t this just like political prisoners being held in such tiny rooms, or there being dungeons holding prisoners in the castle basements?

	In other words, right now I’m just in a proper prison, and not hell.

	As for the place I’ve been unluckily pulled into coming, this is the solitary confinement for rioting prisoners. It’s meant to punish convicts, and so forbids any contact with other people in the cells.

	And so I stand in this dark and cramp room for about two hours.

	Even though this situation makes me rather uneasy, I can still retain my sanity amidst this uneasiness.

	Back then, I nearly lost my mind.

	Back then, it was completely pitch black, and I was lonely, dying of thirst, and had just lost my most important companion. As compared to that, right now my uneasiness level is only at level 1, at the most the degree of being trapped in the broom cupboard at elementary school.

	Perhaps it’s because I was remembering that even more terrifying time, but my body is shaking slightly. Or perhaps it’s not that my memory is resurfacing, but that I just simply feel cold.

	My left thigh hurts a little, all I feel when I touch it is heat, but there isn’t a sticky feeling. Maybe I was kicked in the confusion, but it shouldn’t be bleeding and I don’t think the bones are broken. After a day of serious swelling, it will probably turn into a bruise.

	Other than that, there aren’t any serious injuries. At the most, my right arm got abrased when I was protecting that child.

	On the other hand, I wonder how Gwendal is? When my arms were grabbed and I was taken away, he just stood there, dazed, and didn’t protest. It’s rare for a warrior like him to react like that. When I was about to be taken away, I saw him pressing the back of his head, maybe he hit it.

	After that my eyes were blindfolded, so I don’t know what happened to him next. I’m really worried about his bleeding forehead, I just hope he’s fine.

	As I stand there staring at the metal door before me, suddenly I notice the light coming in through the slits. Although I can’t determine what it’s like in the room, and I have no idea what’s happening outside, since there’s light outside, it’s still clearer than the space I’m in.

	The small window closed from outside can’t be opened from inside. I try to push it with all my strength, but I can only widen the slit by five centimeters. My head keeps rubbing the metal door, until it  feels like my hair is getting charred, and I finally manage to look out with one eye.

	My blurred vision sees a grey stone floor, and I can’t decipher anything more than that.

	The slit of five centimeters can’t tell me how wide the corridor is, or whether there are similar jail cells opposite me.

	“Gwendal?”

	As soon as I say that name, I’m overcome by a desire to hear his voice. No matter what, I want to make sure he’s safe. Although I don’t dare to hope for a reply, I still put my face to the slit and call his name,

	“Gwendal, are you nearby? Gwendal!”

	But the response isn’t his deep melodious voice, but a higher, hoarse male voice,

	“You’re annoying.”

	Taken aback, I quickly jump away from the metal door. The cold sensation instantly leaves my stomach and chest.

	“Wh-who are you!? Where is that voice coming from!?”

	“I was just gonna ask who you are.”

	The man’s voice is not coming from the slit in the small window, but the opposite direction completely. From what I remember, there should only be a stone wall there, and the ditch dug out along the wall.

	“You over the opposite there, that ditch is connected. And like you imagined, it’s the toilet, though I use it. Either way we get let out twice a day, and it’s better to use the toilet outside. That’s why I always do that.”

	Perhaps he hasn’t spoken for too long. Not only is his voice hoarse, he even coughs drily a couple times.

	“It’s perfectly suitable to be used to speak to your neighbours.”

	“I see, are you in solitary confinement too?”

	“What do you think? Don’t yell me you think this is a special prison cell, the one and only one, built out of rock? Your voice sounds pretty young, what on earth are you thinking? When you were suddenly brought to the basement where I was the only one staying, I was wondering why you kept quiet for so long, but now you’re yelling a woman’s name. Judging from a name like Gwendal, that person you’re looking for should be a woman, right? Is she your girlfriend?”

	Thinking I don’t have the time to discuss gossipy matters right now, I return to the door and continue,

	“It’s none of your business, stay out! Gwendal, hey--! If you hear me, give me a reply, Lord von Voltaire!”

	But as soon as that person hears Gwendal’s full name, his tone changes drastically. Not only is he surprised, there’s also confusion and fear in that voice,

	“Are you Lord von Voltaire’s close subordinate!?”

	“Close subordinate... not really.”

	“So you’re just a foot soldier? Is His Excellency Gwendal here!? But I don’t get it, why would someone as great as him end up in a nest for criminals like this?”

	He automatically decided that I’m one of Gwendal’s soldiers. But it would be really weird to correct him with “No no no, I’m his boss”, and it wouldn’t make too much of a difference to just let the misunderstanding stand, so I don’t explain any further. Besides, even if I say I’m Gwendal’s boss, no one would believe me, would they?

	Speaking of which, who is this man? I would never imagine that having been suddenly taken to solitary confinement underground would lead me to meeting someone who knows Gwendal. And that person changed his careless tone as soon as he heard Gwendal’s name.

	Could it be that even in a land this far away, I could still meet one of Lord von Voltaire’s worshippers?

	“Please tell me, why would His Excellency be here? Could it be that he was tricked by those Darco people?”

	“Ah—Uh—About that—” 

	How troublesome. This person seems to be a diehard fan who would change his tone as soon as he even hears Gwendal’s name. Faced with the man possibly sitting politely behind that wall, there’s no way I can say we were arrested for stealing a stone the size of a sour plum.

	The warrior general he worshipped actually did such a thing as petty theft! He would surely be devastated beyond belief.

	And thinking about it carefully, the person making a fuss about it until now isn’t Gwendal, but me.

	“...Ah—uh—When we were sailing near Darco, it seems we accidentally encroached on their naval borders and were arrested...”

	“You say His Excellency encroached on the borders?”

	“Not Lord von Voltaire, but Gwendal... His Excellency’s companion, the ship steerer. Although it’s ‘faring in the fair sea, seafaring, only to see fair regretting’... I’m not telling a cold joke.”

	“That’s such a shame.”

	It seems I managed to persuade the man. Although I feel a bit bad, the thing is I didn’t lie. The fact that Gwendal’s companion was arrested for encroaching on foreign seas is true—Mr Chevalier is indeed our companion.

	“Speaking of which, who are you? Since you know Gwendal... Since you know His Excellency’s name, does that mean you are a mazoku? Were you his subordinate?”

	There isn’t any response from the other side of the stone wall, and I don’t get a reply for almost twenty seconds. I want to put my mouth to the connected ditch and yell “Hey~~” at him, but hold on a sec, even if it hasn’t been used in a while, it’s still a flowing water-type of toilet.

	Just as I’m thinking, ‘Even if I swing my fists at the wall, I’ll only making a whacking sound’, my neighbour finally speaks,

	“No, I wasn’t his subordinate. I am an enemy of the mazoku.”

	“You are an enemy? But as an enemy, you’re still Gwen—His Excellency Gwendal, Lord von Voltaire’s fan? I know, although you say you’re an enemy, you’re a highly logical person. In that case, that’s really impressive.”

	According to the information I’ve obtained these past two weeks, this ‘Who Is It Summoning Hell 1-Chome, Ah, Errand-Running 3-Chome Prison’ is the port city on the water, Darco’s ‘convict melting pot’ for collecting prisoners from all over the world. This man who I know nothing of other than his voice, surely he must have been sent here from some faraway human country as well?

	“Is that so? Then are you from Shimaron or some other country? The war is already over now, even if you were our enemy in the past, you still truly respect Gwen... His Excellency Gwendal, right? In that case, for his sake, please tell me, did you witness the moment I was thrown in here? Did you see Gwen sent to another room? Or was I the only one brought in here!? Speaking of which, what is this place? In terms of the entire prison, which side is this!?”

	“Hey, wait a sec, Hold on a moment, I haven’t talked to another person in a long time.”

	I hear my neighbour coughing across the ditch, as though his throat isn’t feeling all that good after being forced to work suddenly.

	“Firstly, these are the detention cells for ‘Who Is It Summoning Hell 1-Chome, Ah, Errand-Running 3-Chome Prison’. It’s a single-person room for inmates like you who caused trouble, or those who can’t adapt to prison life. It’s in the second basement floor, and if you’re asking me relative to the entire building, I’d say it’s on the west wing.”

	I see, second basement of the west wing.

	“There were practically no noises at all when you were brought in. Because your room is just as inconvenient as mine, I could only see your feet as you walked through the small slit in the window. I also heard the sound of the metal gate closing, and then the words the guards said on their way back to their stations. Apparently they said you were brought in here temporarily for trying to use violence on the visitors’ children.”

	“Violence against children!?”

	That’s a bit too exaggerated, isn’t it? I just wanted to get that child away from the scene, my actions were nothing like using violence. Even if they wanted to frame me, they should have found a more logical excuse.

	“I didn’t do anything like that!”

	“I figured, more or less. Either way, they’re purposely looking for trouble. Because no matter what the reason, guards just want to bully inmates. But just a while before that, I did hear the sound of something being dragged, and a door being closed not far in the distance. Someone might have been brought in here before you.”

	“That person could have been Lord von Voltaire!”

	“Since I only heard the sounds, I can’t be a hundred percent sure. Plus, the rooms in here are in a row, and there’s nothing opposite the corridor except walls. If His Excellency is being confined here, he should be next door...”

	I don’t finish listening to his sentence, running instead for the wall opposite. Of course, there isn’t any space for me to sprint, I just took a couple of steps towards that side.

	“Gwendal! Are you there? Hey~~ Are you there!? Gwen!”

	I hammer my fists on the prison walls, but all I hear is the sound of fists meeting stone. Even so, I keep on hammering, keep on yelling Gwendal’s name.

	“Calm down, it’s not that side! I meant my side, my neighbour!”

	I only stop when I hear Mr Neighbour’s anxious voice coming through the ditch.

	“Then help me yell, please help me call him.”

	“What’s the matter? Why are you so desperate to find him? Your voice sounds very young, and I know you’re panicked because you’re in a bind, but how can you fight in the war like this?”

	“What do you think? Because unlike you, I never fought in a war!”

	The moment the words left my mouth, I realized with a jolt that I had misspoken.

	No one likes fighting in wars. Even the man living next to me had no choice but to go to war on someone else’s orders. Even if he volunteered, he probably still had to fight for the sake of protecting those important people. Right? But by saying that, it sounds like I’m attacking him personally, and worse, it sounds like I’m being conceited for living happily in a peaceful time, so I put the blame on him.

	As expected, the other side of the wall falls silent.

	After the voice vanishes, I feel even more scared. Add that to the similar experience I encountered before, and the fear escalates. Right now I can see the light through the small window, so I don’t have to worry about vision problems. But when I’m alone in a cold and dark place, I can’t help but wonder how long my sanity can hold out.

	“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

	“...It’s okay.”

	“It’s because I was too worried about His Excellency Gwendal, so I didn’t think through what I said, I’m really very sorry.”

	“No, it’s really okay. What you said is true, I’m only here because I fought in the war. It’s okay, don’t think too much about it. That’s why, it’s meaningless even if you desperately yell out His Excellency’s name now. Since you were so loud about it just now, if he was conscious and in the same row of jail cells, he would have heard you a long time ago. Even then, he hasn’t reacted until now...”

	Gwendal’s image from right before I was blindfolded appears in my mind.

	His temple was bleeding. Not only that, he was feeling dazed after being hit on the back of his head by someone. Back then he pressed the back of his head, and extremely uncharacteristically gave up without a fight. That’s not like the regular him at all.

	Could it be...

	“I understand.”

	If he was unable to respond due to a grievous injury...

	If he lost consciousness due to his injury, and just fainted in a cramp, dark, and damp place like this—

	“What should I do?”

	I swore, that I would never put anyone else in the same situation.

	My fist leans on the cold and rough stone walls, unable to move.. My knees feel weak, and it’s a challenge to even stay standing. My vision is swaying, even though I can barely see anything as it is. Am I dizzy? Or is the world spinning?

	I hear a voice from the distance, but it’s not a physical distance. It’s coming from inside me, from the deepest depths of my brain, a voice I don’t need to listen.

	What is it saying?

	If you’re worried about the tragedies of war, take the soushu and...

	“Hey!”

	I hear the sound of clanging metal. Someone’s voice is disturbing me. Even if I raise my head now, all I see in front of me is stone walls. There isn’t anyone I can talk to in this room. If that voice isn’t a hallucination, where on earth is it coming from?

	The only thing keeping me sane now isn’t the sound coming from deep within my brain. But I do hear the sound of metal clanging.

	“Hey, buck up! Young man!”

	The same metallic sound is coming from next door. It sounds like someone kicking the door. That loud sound repeats itself twice, thrice. It’s building up my courage, to know there’s someone alive near me.

	“If you lose your mind in a place like this, you’re done for! Although you might get release like that, you should buck up if you still want to go outside!”

	“I-I’m fine.”

	Since I changed the angle of my neck so suddenly, it kind of hurts.

“I was just feeling uneasy, and worrying about what to do if Gwen’s injuries were really bad. Don’t worry, I should be fine.”

	“Although I can’t tell if His Excellency is really grievously injured, what I do know is that if you haven’t gotten a response yet, it doesn’t matter how much you yell, right? For all you know, he’s not next door.”

	“...Or he might even be asleep.”

	“That’s right.”

	I lean on the wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the ground, then I close my eyes lightly and heave a heavy sigh. Although the sigh can’t possibly reach the other side of the stone wall, the man still says as though he can hear me,

	“In life, it’s best not to overthink everything.”

	“What do you mean by that?”

	“Aren’t you worried about His Excellency’s safety?”

	Although I’m not happy about how that man seems to have read my mind, he is right about that.

	Because I was thinking, ‘What if the same thing happens again? Just like how I nearly lost Josak that time, what if another important companion is lost because of me? What should I do then?’ The questions instantly threw me in a loop.

	“I don’t want to experience that again, I hate the feeling of losing comrades.”

	“You’re saying strange things.”

	Although my back is leaning against the wall, his voice isn’t being transmitted through the stones, coming instead from the hole in the ditch. Even so, his voice seems to pierce through the walls and into my body.

	“Why are you talking about losing comrades, when you’ve never been to war? Why do you talk like a soldier?”

	“Even if it’s not during a war, stuff like nearly losing someone still happens.”

	“That’s true.”

	My neighbours chuckles once softly, and then asks as though it just occurred to him, “How old are you?”

	“Me? I’m sixteen.”

	“Sixteen?”

	It seems I’ve shocked him. That’s troubling, but there’s no way I’d lie just because of that.

	“A sixteen-year-old mazoku is just a child, right? But even so, you can stay by His Excellency Gwendal’s side? That must mean you’re quite talented. When my brother was sixteen, he wasn’t even strong enough to draw a bow.”

	“You know quite a bit about that.”

	This man just said he isn’t a mazoku, but his brother’s condition sounds just like a mazoku’s. It’s really rare to see a sixteen-year-old human that can’t draw a bow. After all, most Japanese high school students these days join activities like judo or kendo, and even the archery club is getting very popular.

	“Your brother is a mazoku, but you’re a human? Is something like that possible?”

	Silence falls again behind the wall. I plaster my palm to the stone wall,

	“Hey, if you’re a mazoku, just tell me honestly! If you really are mazoku, I have to take you back!”

	“...Take me back? Back where?”

	“Your hometown, Shin Makoku. Although I don’t know how you ended up in an underground prison like this, but you want to go home too, right? Anyone would.”

	“No.”

	There’s no way I can see him shaking his head, and I can’t hear it either. There’s no way I can see this man, and what sort of expression he’s wearing as he rejects my suggestion.

	“I want to stay here. Someone like me, is very suited to this Darco.”

	But I know, he made that decision out a long period of despair. He only decided that after spending a long time with his own troubles in a place like this, didn’t he?

	“I have no right to call myself a mazoku.”

	“Why!? Ah~~ Could it be that? Like how Adalbert gave up his identity as a mazoku out of hatred?”

	“It’s not a reason like that.”

	“Then why! Listen carefully, you, the truth is I, we didn’t escape because we wanted to clear our names... because running away like that would cause the people of the world to think that we mazoku are that sort. Although we carry the name of criminals, we came into this prison innocent of any crime. But that’s not our only motive, we came in here because we thought there was a chance that there are other mazoku like us, who ended up here because they were framed. After hearing about the ‘black-haired’, I thought that the only people who would consider black hair not unlucky would be mazoku, so I figured that there might be some mazoku in the cult. If there was, we’d save him for sure. If you are mazoku...”

	“I have no intention of leaving Darco!”

	Once again, after so many times I lost count, I ask him, “Why?”

	He’s a man whose name I don’t even know, who I just met a few hours ago. No, not just that, we haven’t even met face-to-face, so I have no idea how to guess his thought process. Is there truly someone who would want to stay in an underground prison where the sun doesn’t shine? If so, then why? Because he committed a crime?

	The man just painfully states his conclusion, and not his reason.

	“I’m only suited to staying here. Only Darco, where are the sinners gather, is a place suitable for me. Just like that Box, I have nowhere else to go.”

	“Then why! Why do you think that you’re like that Box, and can only stay in a place like this? For what reason... Box?”

	Attracted by one of the words he just said, I grip the sleeves on my uniform tightly. All I can see in my mind is the old wooden box I had glimpsed a few times in the past. But when I shake my head lightly, that image disappears immediately. It can’t be, right?

	“That woman said it before, and the truth is just as she said. Darco is a gathering place for those unlucky things with uncountable sins. Only this city on the water, isolated from the rest of the world, is suitable for villains like us.”

	How could one of the four Boxes be here, in this unrelated, faraway land? At the same time, I don’t want to bother thinking about it, how many unlucky boxes could there be in this world?

	“You said, a ‘Box’?”

	That’s right, I can’t guess what the other person is thinking. Although it’s a topic I don’t like, and one I don’t want to bring up, I have no choice but to go ahead with it,

	“What is that unlucky box? What does the box have to do with you?”

	“It has nothing to do with me, I just heard it randomly appeared here one day.”

	“If possible... could you please tell me the reason why you want to stay here, and why do you thinking you’re a lot like that box?”

	“Other than that woman, I never thought there would be anyone else who wanted to hear about that sort of thing.”

	Who on earth is that woman?

	“I don’t understand what you’re saying at all. Please tell me, could you? But are you willing to tell me about that box, about you and that woman? Or are you only willing to tell your secret to some as worthy of respect as Lord von Voltaire?”

	Just then I finally hear something other than our voices and him kicking the door. It’s the sound of sturdy heels beating rhythmically against the stone floor, as though someone is approaching this way.

	“Time’s up, young man. Let’s continue this conversation, face-to-face, outside.”

	I thought the topic of conversation would stop right there, but the neighbour doesn’t do that. He chose to continue the topic face-to-face, and not through a stone wall, through a ditch meant for peeing.

	“I did say we would get let out twice a day, the schedule is fixed. We have to undergo treatment so we can turn over a new life as soon as possible and leave solitary confinement, and you have no choice but to accept it. Take my advice, and just go with it.”

	“I never accepted anything like that.”

	“But you can get all sorts of information, and it’s been a long time since I showed my face too.”

	Just then the footsteps stop outside the door, and the small window that was closed from the outside opens upwards. A uniformed guard says in a monotonous voice,

	“Sweet Prawn Group Number 4780, do you wan to come out?”

	I meaninglessly pat off the dust on my clothes. Of course I do.



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