Summoning Japan to Alagaësia

by sijodtovtkhbhgfvbvnvn

Japan is transferred to the world of Alagaësia just before the start of Eragon. Loosely based on the same premise as Nihonkoku Shoukan.

11. Conversations among Barbarians

Minor and mostly irrelevant revisions happen to older chapters from time to time. Three worth mentioning are:

• In chapter 7, a small mention about international law has been added. Specifically, the foreign ministry officials warn the prospective members that the expedition to Alagaësia is a violation of international law (UN Charter, Article 2, et al.) so they are all aware of the consequences of the expedition.

• In an earlier version of chapter 9, Jeod muses that it is improper for unmarried people to sleep in the same bed. This has been changed to account for the fact that, according to certain historical sources, it wasn't uncommon for strangers to sleep in the same bed in pre-early modern Europe.

• Earlier versions of this fic had several Japanese people shrugging. This has been changed to account for differences in body gestures between the West and Japan (a sloppy oversight).

Feel free to add suggestions on future plot developments, and whether there should be additional Dragon Riders.

---

Conversations among Barbarians

Jeod's hopes were swiftly dashed. Day by day, the foreigners would stop by the bathhouse so they could continue gambling with their health. After the first few days, and when Jeod had determined that they could find their way to one of the city's nexus of contagions and back on their own, Jeod stopped accompanying them altogether. He would probably go there one more time before winter arrived, to properly wash himself and enjoy the warmth of the waters for the last time before the coming spring, but that was how far he would take his self-indulgences.

The coming winter. He had promised Helen he would endeavor harder to recoup the losses from his business misfortunes, so that he could again provide her with the comfortable life she was used to. That had been the outcome of their heavy but necessary conversation to sort out some of the issues in their relationship. And in the months before winter was the seasonal trading period when trade activity would spike for a manner of goods, such as a variety of harvest items, seeds, poultry—for their eggs—, preserved foods, salt and other food preservatives, ale and beer, wool, firewood and fuels, candles, oil and fats, and more. Jeod resolved himself to take advantage of the ample business opportunities this seasonal trading period would provide, and hopefully, just hopefully, their financial situation would start turning around.

And they themselves would have to start stocking up on many of those items, for winter was harsh and not for the ill-prepared, even in a good harvest year. While Teirm had mild winter seasons, one could still not grow things during this time of year. Ominously, the harvest so far this year had been rather poor and at the current rate Jeod feared that, in Teirm, at least a few hundred more than usual would not make it into the next summer. The Empire's punishing taxes were not helping either.

He continued to ruminate on their financial situation until he finally arrived home to his mansion. He tried to sneak past the entrance hall…

"Where have you been?"

Jeod nonchalantly turned to face the direction Helen was standing by the door to one of the hallways, answering casually: "Just a routine trip to a chandlery, Helen. We have been burning more candles than usu—"

Helen interrupted him by snatching his pack from his hand, opening it to examine what was inside, and Jeod stopped himself from wincing inwardly.

With a sullen expression, she finally said: "Those aren't beeswax candles. Are you so destitute that you can no longer afford to buy even such cheap commodities?"

"The shop happened to be offering generous discounts today only for tallow candles," Jeod said, then regretted his wordings, for they only served to drive home Helen's point. "Helen, dear, tallow candles are little different from beeswax—"

"Tallow candles are for… for peasants!"

"No, they are not," Jeod quickly hurried to say. "Peasants burn rushlights, or nothing at all. Many people of the higher classes burn tallow candles, they are no worse than beeswax."

Helen huffed. "I know very well that it's because you can no longer afford beeswax candles." Then she turned around to walk away.

Feeling slightly ashamed, Jeod started walking up the stairs to the study. In truth, him having to buy the much cheaper tallow candles filled his soul with disgrace, but he had to put up a face before Helen. He had to honor his promise, but how, gods how? His business was falling, another ship had disappeared, and there was nothing he—

"Greetings again, Jeod."

Putting aside his anxious thoughts, Jeod looked to the two foreigners who occupied the study. Every day the two would be taught in the common language, as well as such that pertained to the Empire, including its customs, culture, and other particulars. Jeod, Helen, and even Rolf offered their time in this pursuit. Even Helen's initial reluctance had thawed as the foreigners had proven to be remarkably well-mannered, probably moreso than most wealthy businessmen Jeod had had the fortune or misfortune of hosting. That was not to say that cultural misunderstandings did not occur, but it had never resulted in any serious breach of decorum, by Imperial or Surdan standards.

From what he had heard, the same was largely true for all the foreigners currently staying in Teirm. To the surprise of even himself, the foreigners—or Nihonjin as Tsubasa had explained that they were called—had caused almost no trouble in the city in the more than one fortnight that they had been here. No rowdy or unruly behavior, or other forms of lawlessness. The dwellers of Teirm were used to vagrant acts and ruffianism from sailors across the Empire, and had therefore expected these "barbarians" from barbarian peripheries to be far worse. Yet these fears had not materialized, even though these barbarians were surely scrutinized and judged far more harshly than sailors from the Empire, and any unsavory behavior on their part would have been blown out of proportion.

"Likewise, Marie, Tsubasa," answered Jeod as he deposited the candles and took a seat, offering them to do the same. "Now, I don't have anything else planned for the rest of the day, so would the two of you like to continue practising the common language by conversing? And some reading lessons in between?"

Jeod had been deeply impressed by their aptitude in absorbing the common language, especially Marie's. Tsubasa also appeared to be more skilled at it than the average human, even though his rather withdrawn nature gave him fewer opportunities to practise speaking it. This was all the more remarkable as they were learning the common language entirely from scratch, without the aid of any dictionary or anyone to translate words for them. Jeod himself had taken many years to attain an adequate proficiency in the ancient language, and that had been with proper instruction from others already familiar with it, as well as various books and scrolls to explain vocabulary and grammatical rules.

Yet what had surprised him the most had been their request to learn the letters as well, a skill considered redundant and therefore not practised by most people in Alagaësia. It had quickly become obvious to Jeod that they already possessed the skill of reading in their own language, as they had seemed familiar with many general aspects of writing and reading.

"Yes Jeod. We want practise numbers. Big numbers," said Marie, nodding as she spoke. Was nodding while speaking a common gesture among the Nihonjin?

Tsubasa did not say anything, but seemed to listen in on their discussion intently.

"Numbers?" asked Jeod. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, didn't we already go through all the numbers from one to nine? As well as ten to a hundred, and thousand? You simply add the numbers one to nineteen to hundred, and all those numbers to thousand." In fact, they had even practised writing these numbers just a few days ago.

"Yes! We know. Want to learn big numbers. Ten, hundred, thousand, and…?"

"Ten thousand," answered Jeod, somewhat bemused. It was uncommon for people to be interested in numbers of such large sizes, especially women who rarely concerned themselves with numbers at all. Truthfully he had been more than a little surprised by Marie's interest in learning numbers in the first place. He had heard from merchants who had dealt with these Nihonjin—both men and women—that they all seemed to have a knack for numbers. They also seemed to know their own age; when asked, neither Marie nor Tsubasa had given a number that had ended with a five or zero, which was a common practise among people who did not keep track of how old they were and therefore gave an approximate, rounded number. Other merchants who had inquired about the age of various Nihonjin had the same story to tell; they seemed almost all aware of their own age. To Jeod, who was used to the rule that almost half of the people he met did not keep track of their exact age, this was yet another of the many salient tendencies about the foreigners.

"Ten thousand," repeated Marie. "Twenty thousand? Hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand?" Jeod nodded to all queries, becoming increasingly confused by the ridiculously high numbers.

"Thousand thousand?"

Jeod blinked. "No, that's... a million." But why would you want to know such a large number? he wanted to ask. Most commoners had never heard of the number "million". Few people had need of such a large number in their lives.

To Jeod's utter astonishment, it did not end there.

"Million, two million... ten million, hundred million?" Marie counted. Jeod could do nothing but nod dumbstruck.

"Thousand million?"

"I..." Jeod began. "I don't know." He might have stumbled upon the name of such a number during his scholarly activities, but if so it had been long forgotten.

Tsubasa chose then to point to a piece of paper on the desk table. "Write million?" he asked in an accented tone.

So Jeod wrote down both the word for million as well as the actual numerals (he had to check several times to get the latter right). As always he could not help but marvel at the smoothness of the paper.

It was at times like these when he wished he could just properly communicate with them, to ask them about their lands, society and history. Oh, he had tried, but everytime the language barrier had frustrated his attempts. Yet every passing day he garnered something about them that reminded him just how different their culture was from that of the Empire. Even the differences in body gestures had led to occasional misunderstandings. And ingenious as they were in picking up the common language, it would still take years for them to achieve the level of fluency needed for Jeod to truly communicate with them.

If they were staying for that long.

"Do many people in your country know of the number million?" Jeod asked, curious. "Here, most people do not." He doubted things were different in Nihon, and that the foreigners that had arrived here were simply an exceptionally learned bunch.

"Sorry?"

Jeod repeated his question with even simpler words.

"Yes," answered Marie. What?!

"You mean to say," Jeod started slowly, "that many people, even commoners, perhaps even a few peasants, know the number million, or thousand thousand?"

It was Tsubasa who answered: "Ninety... ninety-nine people know. If hundred people. I think."

"I'm sorry, what do you mean?" wondered Jeod. That ninety-nine people knew of the number million?

"If are hundred people," Marie started, "ninety-nine know number million. If are thousand, nine-hundred ninety know number million."

"Do you mean... no," Jeod breathed. "That's impossible!"

Tsubasa shrugged. "Okay, don't believe."

Marie said something quietly to Tsubasa. To Jeod, she said, "I understand, Jeod. Believe... is hard."

Jeod struggled to process what they had said. Then he asked a question that had been on his mind for a while: "If there are a hundred people, how many could read and write? Here, maybe at most ten out of a hundred could, and fewer among peasants. Is it the same in Nihon?"

"Nihon, ninety-nine," Tsubasa answered.

A quiet filled the study. Then Jeod forced a laugh. "You have a good sense of humor, young man," he remarked.

"Thank you," replied Tsubasa.

Before Jeod could say anything more, they were interrupted by Rolf, who placed a large silver tray with three cups of tea. The foreigner's tea, which had become a highly coveted commodity among some commoners, ever since the foreigners had donated a few samples to a few of Teirm's taverns for commoners to try. The gentry and nobility, of course, had refused to have anything to do with the "barbarian concoction". A few merchants had even tried to sneak into their red ship to "borrow" more samples, but had been eluded by the ship not being docked at port. At the times that it was docked, it was under the watchful eye of the foreigners, who refused anyone entry except themselves.

They took their offered cups of teas, with Jeod noting once again how the foreigner's hands seemed to lack in calluses.

As they sipped on their teas, Tsubasa said, "Question, Jeod."

"Go on," Jeod responded.

Tsubasa seemed to struggle for the words. "Read head, people can?" he finally asked. To clarify, Marie said, "People can read inside head?"

Jeod hesitated. This was a sensitive subject, as the Empire was suspicious of people who were too knowledgeable on the mind arts, and tried to restrict such information. The fact that the Nihonjin knew so little about mind reading suggested to him that the same was true in their home lands.

Sensing his hesitation, Tsubasa fished for several silvery coins in his pockets and placed them on the desk. "Trade?" he offered.

Jeod faltered. It was very much unlike him to be swayed like that, but his ailing business and financial situation had provided him a sense of desperation.

Tsubasa continued: "Have more." He pointed to the coins. "Are yellow." He pointed out the window, at the direction of the city harbor.

"Are yellow?"

"We have yellow coins," Marie filled in.

"You mean to say that you have gold coins?!" Jeod exclaimed.

"Don't know," answered Tsubasa.

Jeod sighed. "You don't have to offer me that," he said. "I'll tell you what I know about mind reading, but you both need to understand that the Empire does not like people knowing about it. Don't tell people what I told you, okay?" he tried to keep it simple, hoping they would understand.

Marie seemed surprised by this, and Tsubasa as well once she had translated for him. They both nodded. Jeod then said, "Only a very few people possess the ability to read minds. Usually, such people are also magicians." He still remembered when Marie and Tsubasa had pressed him for answers on magic and magicians (it had taken Jeod many minutes to understand the topic of their inquiries), just days after they had first arrived. They seemingly had had a hard time believing anything Jeod told them, and the language barrier back then had made the entire questioning session a deep struggle for everyone. Jeod was still not sure how much of what he had said had been successfully communicated, even as he had limited his responses due to the sensitive nature of the topic.

Marie's eyes widened at the information and Tsubasa seemed introspective. "Magician read us?" Tsubasa asked. The atmosphere turned tense.

"I asked a few people about it," Jeod said. "To their knowledge, the court magician under Lord Risthart tried to examine the minds of a few of you, but he could only read thoughts composed of words… you know, the words you think in your head. Because you speak another language, he was unable to understand anything he got from any of you."

"Can only read words inside head?"

"Well… more skilled mind readers could achieve more than that. They would be able to see what you see, hear what you hear… even read your memories—rest assured," Jeod quickly asserted, "that I don't think any such people have tried to access your minds. Such people are very rare indeed and probably no one currently living in Teirm possesses such abilities. They are concentrated in the largest and most important cities of the Empire, such as Urû'baen, Dras-Leona, and Gil'ead."

The two Nihonjin seemed to relax somewhat at those words. Then Marie asked: "Mind readers can decide what I do? If tell my minds, jump! I jump?"

"Yes," said Jeod reluctantly, after he had comprehended the question. "Those who can read minds also possess the ability to dominate it."

Marie's expression turned uncharacteristically grave. "Can we stop people? Stop read our minds?"

"There are a few ways. The most common one for those without magical powers is to focus on one thought to the exclusion of everything else." And Jeod spent some time explaining the basics of mind defense. Because of the language difficulties, it took a while.

After he was done, he could not resist asking: "This information is very sensitive in your country as well, I take it? That is, your country doesn't want people knowing about the basics of mind reading."

But Marie shook her head. "In Nihon are no mind readers."

Jeod raised an eyebrow. "Surely that can't be? Any magician also has the ability to read minds. I mean no offense, but perhaps your magicians are keeping this fact a secret from you?"

"In Nihon are no magicians."

Jeod opened and closed his mouth. "I…" he started saying. He was not sure what to say. It was true that many people in the Empire, mainly peasants, did not believe in the existence of magic. But it had been obvious to Jeod for long that Marie and Tsubasa were no mere peasants.

Come to think of it, it was not just these two. He remembered the shocked reactions expressed by the Nihonjin at Risthart's citadel. And there were more than a hundred of these Nihonjin who could exchange information with each other. What was the likelihood that not a single one of them were aware of the existence of magicians in Nihon? Not even Galbatorix could curb the spread of such information.

"There… there are no magicians in Nihon?"

"Yes, Jeod. No magicians. No magic."

A country without magicians. Jeod tried to imagine that. Such a country… had to be poor. It was accepted by many scholars that the higher the prevalence of magic users, the more prosperous and civilized a society became. Hence, elves were more prosperous and civilized than humans and dwarves, and the order of Dragon Riders stood above them all. Jeod contemplated sending this unprecedented information to Ajihad, but decided against it. Ajihad would not concern himself with a small island country whose inhabitants did not even know about the existence of magic. Common sense would dictate that such a country was too marginal to play any role in Alagaësian conflicts, even if it wanted to.

Then again, Nihon and common sense did not go that well together, in Jeod's experience.

"Jeod?"

Jeod blinked, returning to the present. "Sorry, I was in deep thought about something. There is something I've been meaning to ask: who is your king or queen?"

"What?" asked Tsubasa. Marie tilted her head, another gesture he noticed a lot with her.

"The highest person in a country. The one who rules and decides in a country, the one who everyone has to listen to, the leader. A king is male, and a queen female. They are also called monarchs. Their rule is passed on to their children." Or to kingkillers. "The king of the Empire is… Galbatorix," Jeod forced himself to say. "The king of Surda is Orrin. Who is your king or queen?"

They both seemed to hesitate. "Naruhito king," Tsubasa finally said.

Jeod repeated the name a few times until he got the pronunciation reasonably well. "Is Naruhito a good monarch?" he then asked. He wanted to know if this Naruhito was just as tyrannical as Galbatorix. Since they were official members of an expedition sent by their country, and therefore had to represent their monarch, the two Nihonjin before him would have to praise their king in response to his question, but perhaps he would be able to make out signs of inauthenticity in their tones and expressions.

To his utter surprise, Tsubasa shrugged and Marie said, "Sorry, I don't know."

"... I don't understand," Jeod said, more to himself than to the other two. "Won't you get punished for not praising him?" At their confused looks, he said in a low voice, "If I were to say 'I don't like Galbatorix' and people heard of it, I would be punished. They would throw me in the dungeons or cut off my head," he made a motion of cutting off his head. Then he added: "To praise is to say only good things about something or someone. I would have to praise my king or be punished. Is it not the same in Nihon?"

Marie looked slightly dismayed by his decapitation example, but said, "No, is not. I can say 'Naruhito, I don't like.' No punish. Or 'no king Naruhito'. Is fine."

"Even if you say it in Nihon, in front of guards?" Jeod blurted out. Even in Surda or in Tronjheim, such an act was worthy of serious punishment. Surely it would be no different in Nihon...

Tsubasa said: "If say, 'don't like Naruhito king', front of Naruhito. Is fine."

---

In the dingy tavern of the Green Chestnut, several workmen sat huddled by a corner table, unloading a shared exhaustion and frustration that came with a particularly hard day of labor.

"—barbarians are taking seats from us at taverns!" one of the fellows grumbled. "How dare they!"

"Aye, Halvar. They be taking our inns as well," another one grunted, bits of food flying out of his mouth onto the table. "And the innkeepers be traitors, how they keep giving them rooms."

"They care so much about the coins they let the barbarians rob us! Rob us dry!"

"Everything but the harlots," another man who looked more refined than the rest, remarked. "See, I was at the whorehouse yesterevening. Harlot tells me, with tears of relief, they have never received a barbarian sojourner, or any other whorehouses either. They pray things will not change. 'Tis a bit surprising, no? The barbarian, after all, is known for its wanton ways and uninhibited carnal desires."

"Mayhap not the whorehouses, but have you heard how they always go to the bathhouse," said Halvar, before spitting at a corner. "Revolting is what it is!"

"If they continue to stay, soon they will sicken half of Teirm—"

"All of it, you mean."

"I hear they have been fraternizing with the healers at the almshouses. It's true, the barbarian relishes in seeing us sick and deprived!

One of them sneezed into the table, before saying, "I saw one of them barbarians the other day. Heard their garbled tongue. Very scrawny for barbarians, they are. And they wore those clothes, those fine clothes. How dare them barbarians wear clothes not for barbarians. They stole it from us, I swear!"

"They think they are something, that they are actually worthy of talking to us Imperials, because of those clothes. And they don't allow us aboard their savage ship. Bah! We ought to not grace them with our presence, barbarians are too beneath us, but still we do!"

"We should take their lands to show them their place, and to show the barbarian the might of civilization," Halvar said. "Long live the king!"

"—their ship doesn't look half bad…"

"—ye mean stolen ship—"

"By the way, just what was their savage land called again?"

"Japan," another man said with disgust.

Right then Gareth, the bartender, chose to appear at their table, asking if they wanted more beer.

"Oi, Gareth! What say you about the barbarian sullying our Empire?"

Gareth hesitated. "A few of them have showed up here," he admitted. "Their manners have not been… inappropriate."

"You traitor, Gareth!"

---

Reiwa 2 September 4

Tsubasa looked out at the gray sea before him, breathing in the stale smell of salt and dead phytoplankton. Around him the many dock workers went about their business, some sending him suspicious, even scornful glances. Rarely, a few would spit in his direction. Tsubasa tried to ignore those as he continued to stare, perhaps too intently, at the flat horizon and the few ships that sailed in and out of the docks.

In terms of establishing amicable relations with the locals of the city, he was more and more of the opinion that the whole thing had been a failure. Not that he or the others working for the foreign ministry were too surprised by that. Back on Earth, Japan had always been less well-liked than most other developed countries, with international newspapers tending to frame the country as deviant and plagued with social and cultural issues unique to Japan, using sweeping, simplistic generalizations often not backed by data to generate one-sided, almost caricatural coverage, and somehow always managing to attribute all that to Japan's ostensibly dysfunctional society and culture. This in contrast to the coverage of other developed countries which tended to be more nuanced and balanced, data-dependent, less tending toward simplistic generalizations and attributions, and just less critical in general. And even when not critical, it seemed that Japan was often framed as different, a global other, in international discourses.

Because of this, them being perceived as completely foreign by the local populace was rather easy to get used to, if only a more amplified version of what they would have experienced in America and Europe. Even Japan's status in international affairs as an outsider country had not changed, only been entrenched. Still, Tsubasa found himself wondering what had warranted the level of resentment toward them by some in the city, especially with them trying their utmost to be on their best behavior. Could it be because of their violation of the country's territorial integrity?

Glancing at the sky, where he figured the sun was behind a fluffy cloud, he tried to gauge the time of day, as the only clocks in their possession were on the lower decks of the red seal ship. Precise time had ceased to have meaning since their arrival in the city of Teerm, in the country of Rikesens on the subcontinent of Ala-Gaysia (at least that was the agreed on Latin alphabet transcriptions by their division of linguists).

It was time for lunch at their host's house, the main meal of the day in this city. Truthfully, he had gotten tired of much of the food offered in the city after a month here. While he recognized that the meals served at their host's house were of considerably higher quality than in most of Teerm—owing to their host's great wealth—the food was still somewhat bland and the ingredients very repetitive, and he found it lacking in subtlety—both in taste and presentation—, and rarely was there any taste of umami in the food. The meats were also much too overcooked and well-done to his modern Japanese palette, and the concept of raw foods seemed nonexistent. Even fruits were cooked. To Tsubasa, it seemed that the MREs at their ship were almost as palatable as the food served to the wealthy here. Well, at least the produce was almost always fresh in the latter case. Too bad that had not stopped him, and many other Japanese delegation members, from experiencing at least one bout of traveler's diarrhea.

Walking through the gates that lead deeper into the city, he tried to ignore the foul odors of open sewage that always assaulted him. With the poor state of hygiene and sanitation that pervaded the city, the risk of contracting diseases were constantly on the minds of the Japanese expedition. They were lucky as it was that Teerm did not seem to contain any kind of novel, communicable, virulent disease to which their immune systems had no prior exposure to. A reckless gamble by the foreign ministry, some were saying. And their kimonos and yukatas were not particularly good protection against any infections, nor their lack of face masks.

Because of this concern, the epidemiologists, microbiologists, virologists, and general physicians that were part of the expedition had quickly busied themselves with collecting data on the state of disease burden in the city, while also conducting metagenomic surveys. This had included visiting and offering to volunteer in the local medical facilities, which, in their words, seemed reminiscent of the almshouses of the pre-industrial Western world. It seemed to Tsubasa and others that their volunteer work had caused a great deal of controversy among the locals, although they could not be sure because of the language barriers. At least the preliminary findings seemed encouraging; apparently the burden of disease here was remarkably similar to that in pre-industrial Eurasia. Indeed, diseases such as smallpox, measles, tuberculosis, and leprosy seemed rampant, most of which their expedition had either been vaccinated against or had appropriate antibiotics treatment available at their ship.

The locals were not quite as lucky, Tsubasa thought, as he passed by a middle-aged man apparently afflicted with leprosy, dressed in tattered rags that would be little help against the coming winter exposure. The ragged, bony-looking man was sitting at the edge of the cobblestoned street, covered in grime as many people here were, and looking lethargic and despondent. He probably did not have much time left, as he was very much emaciated and avoided by people like the… leper

Tsubasa turned his gaze away, trying to forget about the sight. Even if he were to offer a coin, it was not as if anyone would let the man close enough to sell him things. Since Tsubasa's time here, he had already seen one person collapse and die on the streets from medical complications, and wished to delay seeing the reenactment for as long as possible.

Tsubasa tried to soak in the architectural details of the city to tune out all the visible manifestations of human suffering. The first time he had set his eyes on the city, he had hardly believed his eyes; a genuinely pre-industrial city and society had stood before him. Even now, he found the idea hard to get used to. The experience was surreal, as if he had stepped back in time, to a society untouched by the disrupting forces of modernization.

The houses were timber-framed and looked like something straight out of the European middle ages. The closest modern equivalents from Earth in terms of architectural appearance that Tsubasa could think of were parts of the Grande Île in Strasbourg, and Colmar, and Rothenburg ob der Tauber. All very quaint and aesthetically appealing. The European-looking populace fit right in with their linen and woollen tunics, colorful voluminous robes, doublets and hoses, gowns, kirtles, rags (a signifier of relative material deprivation, he supposed) and other periodically appropriate clothing. Or at least what seemed befitting to a Japanese person from Earth. He supposed even their aversion to cleanliness might be historically appropriate.

The similarities to Earth were so stark, in everything from the topography, to the identical flora and living organisms, and the humans and their earth-like city and society, that this planet could best be described as a parallel earth. Yet the similarities also served to accentuate the differences…

Finally he arrived at their host's house. The man, Jeod, was cleaner than most people here, and did not reek as terribly of sweat. He also had a more well-kept appearance, and looked healthier. Many people in this city looked either malnourished, or pallid, or had wrinkled or sagging skin, or dull or jaundiced eyes, or like they were suffering from scurvy or some other disease that blemished their appearance. But Jeod was wealthy, and wealth seemed to have a very strong correlation with health in this city, based on Tsubasa's heuristic technique of walking around the cobblestone streets.

Jeod greeted him with words whose meaning he still did not fully understand, and Tsubasa answered back with words whose meaning he still was not entirely sure about, yet he knew those were the appropriate words to use in this context. This was one of the main challenges of learning a new language without the use of translation, of textbooks, or of instructors who could already speak both their languages. They were completely in the dark as to the meaning of any spoken words, and even those that they picked up they were unsure of their exact meaning and their Japanese translation. It had also quickly become apparent to Tsubasa that the local language in Teerm was more Indo-European than Turkic or Austronesian, thus his linguistic field of study had proven mostly useless. The same was true of body gestures, which appeared to be strangely similar to those in the West. He himself had aptly picked up the gesture of shrugging, one which he now employed rather frequently in his interactions with Jeod.

Once in the dining room some ten minutes later, he was greeted by Marie-senpai (she had insisted on a first-name basis with everyone in the expedition), and they, along with Jeod and the sour-looking woman in the household whose relationship with Jeod Tsubasa was still not sure about, all sat at the dark wooden table. The main dish for this lunch was venison cooked in wine and accompanying onions and leeks, along with the usual staple white bread and cheese. Tsubasa thought the ratio of meat to vegetables somewhat lopsided, especially compared to taverns and inns which tended to serve more vegetables. In fact, based on the observations of other Japanese people, the more upmarket taverns were less likely to serve vegetables, and in smaller portions. Perhaps the rich here shunned vegetables as food for plebeians, or whatever were the lower social classes here?

The drinks—usually alcoholic—which used to be always served hot, were now offered to him and Marie at room temperature, though from the taste he could tell it had been heated in advance and then allowed to cool. It was probably for the best, if only for hygienic reasons.

Picking up his metal knife and spoon he dug in. Usually the hands were also used for eating, but he could not stomach doing that while here. It was not that he was unused to such customs, especially as some Japanese dishes too were finger foods.

It was because of the lack of toilet paper (their stocks at the ship had only lasted a couple of weeks). As such, he had to make do with using his hands for cleaning his buttocks. And then washing them. Without soap, and with no running tap water, meaning the water itself turned filthy as he washed his hands in it in the basin, undoing some of his efforts.

Not that they did not have soap and other sanitizers on their ship, but it was rationed for the myopic and hyperopic members, who needed it to clean their contact lenses, and for medical and scientific uses. And though it had never been openly acknowledged, Tsubasa suspected that the organizers had miscalculated the amount of soap during the provisioning. Probably whatever accounting software the foreign ministry were using had glitched out, or maybe the operating system itself. The current transition within the foreign ministry from Windows and Mac and all other non-Japanese software systems to often rushedly designed Japanese ones was a miserable ordeal for everyone involved. But it had to be done, the bureaucrats insisted, because of licensing issues...

Tsubasa sighed to himself, trying to be cognizant of the opportunity he had been given. Here he sat, in the home of a person from another world. Most members of the expedition envied him and Marie, as they were of the few ones who had the opportunity to live in the same house as locals, and study their language and culture up close. For this, Tsubasa was grateful to Jeod, though he found those sentiments hard to communicate (and probably would still have even if they were speaking in Japanese). He did regularly offer payments to Jeod in silver coins, something the latter man had initially rejected but increasingly grown receptive to.

He listened to Marie and Jeod chat about this and that, though it seemed to him that Jeod would sometimes try to shift the topic of discussion to Japan, or specifically to their "king" Naruhito, and questions about his "rule". Jeod's curiosity about Naruhito had apparently been piqued ever since Tsubasa had mentioned him almost two weeks ago. Hopeless as Tsubasa was in the local language, he let Marie handle the discussion. After all, she was the one who was one of Japan's most gifted polyglots, with doctoral degrees in English philology and German ethnolinguistics, as well as her extracurricular interests in various North Germanic languages. The fact that the local language seemed to have marked similarities with older North Germanic languages (Rikesens, as she had pointed out, meant "kingdom" or "empire" in older Scandinavian languages) made her even more suited to the task.

After a relatively quick exchange that Tsubasa was unable to follow, Marie turned to him. "I tried to ask Jeod about the different languages spoken in Rikesens. Maybe I misunderstood him completely, but I think he says that everyone in Rikesens speaks the same language."

"Really?" said Tsubasa, genuinely surprised. "The linguistic diversity should be greater than that, over such large geographic distances and with pre-industrial communications."

"Yeah, I'm surprised as well. Maybe I misunderstood and he was talking about the lingua franca. I will try asking again, okay, Tsubasa-kun?"

And Marie launched into another discussion with Jeod, speaking too quickly for Tsubasa to keep up, but still slower than a local. Marie seemed surprised by some of Jeod's answers, and she frowned slightly as she again turned to Tsubasa. "I think Jeod says that all humans in Ala-Gaysia speak the same language, but the elves, dwarves, and Urgals each speak different languages. Or maybe I'm just messing up the translation."

Tsubasa thought on the answer. "It would make sense if these different… species were completely isolated from each other." He was not sure if they were actually species, but found no better term to use.

"It does seem a bit convenient. But if… oh, I'm so curious about these languages that other species speak! Maybe the sounds they produce are completely different from those of humans, resulting in entirely different phonology than what we are used to? What do you think, Tsubasa-kun?"

"Maybe… I don't know. Are there any elves or dwarves in Rikesens? If not, that would imply low levels of interspecies exposure, raising the possibility of completely isolated languages."

"I'll ask Jeod," said Marie.

After several minutes of discussions with Jeod, she said to Tsubasa: "Jeod doesn't seem to think there are any elves or dwarves in Rikesens. He said they have their own countries. He wasn't sure about the Urgals. And if I'm not mistaken, he said that the elves and the dwarves each have one and only one country."

"Country borders completely delineated along species lines," muttered Tsubasa. "That's… nation and species would be constantly conflated with each other. Imagine the role of... species identity in international relations in this world."

"I agree with you," said Marie. "But remember, this is just what Jeod said, and his words could be reflected by a human world view… what I'm trying to say is, maybe human biases cause us to ignore heterogeneities in different species and lump them all together. Basically the outgroup homogeneity effect. If so, maybe the elves do have several countries, but the humans here lump them all together, see them all as the same. Like how some people see Africa as one country or a homogenous place."

Tsubasa stared at the goblet of wine in front of him. "Do elves and dwarves actually exist endogenously?" he asked slowly. "Or are these groupings only human concepts?"

Marie looked at him quizzically for a moment. "You mean… that those groupings are human concepts? And those being grouped don't identify with them?"

"The same way the Europeans created the groupings 'Asian' and 'African'," explained Tsubasa. "The peoples in these groupings originally weren't aware that they were being grouped in the first place, and certainly didn't identify with such exogenous concepts. Certainly us Japanese weren't aware of the concept of Asia until the 1860s, when we were introduced to the concept by the West. As long as 'elves' and 'dwarves' don't conform to the scientific definition of species, it's possible that they are only arbitrary human-centric constructs, and the… ones being grouped don't identify with, or are aware of, these groupings; just like how Western groupings that encompass us are incongruous with how we view ourselves. All our sources on social and political divisions here are so far colored by a human, or Rikesens conception of the world. It also begs the question whether Ala-Gaysia should actually be considered to exist as a subcontinent, or just a Rikesens arbitrary division of a larger continent.

In short, maybe 'elves' or 'dwarves' actually constitute many groups that have nothing in common, and no common identity?"

Tsubasa stopped himself, wondering if he had elaborated for too long. He was not used to speaking so many words at once. Or at all, really.

But Marie seemed to consider his words seriously. "That's a very interesting thought, Tsubasa-kun." she finally said. "We should mention your idea to the others and encourage them to include it in our next report to Kasumigaseki. But I'm not sure what else to call them until we manage to get more information."

"The mistake might be in perceiving these groupings to exist in the first place," answered Tsubasa.

"Oh, Tsubasa-kun, you are destroying the hopes of all fantasy fans back home," joked Marie.

Tsubasa shrugged and took another sip of the wine, which, like all alcoholic drinks here, tasted rather terrible. Or maybe the standards for what constituted a "good" drink was very different here, compared to developed countries on Earth. He saw Jeod looking at them with a curious expression, and considered asking the man what he thought of them speaking privately in their own language, but gave up when he could not think of the appropriate words to phrase such a question.

"... more… your language," Tsubasa was able to catch Jeod saying to him, or at least he thought so. Tsubasa was not sure what to make of it, and responded to Jeod: "Soon," or at least that was what he thought the word meant.

"He wants to know more about our language, I think he said," Marie clarified.

"He's actually interested in Japanese? How unusual." Back on Earth, Japanese was an unpopular language choice for language learners. Despite Japan being the second largest developed economy, it was by far the least studied language among those spoken in the G7.

"Well, he does have a fairly large collection of books in a city where most are illiterate, so I suppose he might be a scholar, or their equivalent of a scholar," remarked Marie. "Lately he has been so curious about our country's governance model, though understandably approaching the topic from a rather different frame of reference. Do you think I should tell him about our prime minister, and that Japan's government does not revolve around the emperor?"

"And confuse him once our entire government and ministers resign because of the nuclear bombs scandal?" questioned Tsubasa.

"You are right, now is not the best time. But I do feel bad about indirectly misleading him. I'll tell him more once the constitutional crisis settles, and we have become more fluent in their language." They still did not have a name for the language.

"It's your choice… Marie-senpai." Having finished his meal, he rose from his seat and thanked Jeod for the food with what he thought were the appropriate words. Then he fetched for his Kate-bukuro, a bag from the Sengoku period, and made to leave. On his way out of the dinner room, his gaze flicked to the parchment map at an outer desk table, then to the outlines of mountains...

"Oh, are you going to the ship?" asked Marie. "If so, I'll come with you."

"Oh… yeah," mustered Tsubasa.

And so they started walking their way through the rows of timber-framed houses to where the docks were. Quite a few paused to give them a glance, although Tsubasa felt like the attention they gained had lessened somewhat. Perhaps the locals were becoming somewhat used to their presence?

"Don't you think they are rather tall?" Marie suddenly asked. "I think the average male height before the industrial revolution was around 160 cm. But the men here must be closer to 170. They are as tall as people in Japan."

"I think 160 cm was the global average," said Tsubasa. "But people in Europe, or northern Europe, were a lot taller than those elsewhere, even before the industrial revolution. And people in that region were actually a lot shorter just before the industrial revolution than several hundred years before that, I think. So 170 cm is not unheard of, historically on Earth."

They passed through the gates into the docks and walked the plankings onto the red seal ship. The entry to the ship was constantly watched by a trio of Japanese officers to make sure no locals would be able to board, except at night when the ship sailed out a few hundred meters. All to comply with the New World Technology Outflow Prevention Act, as there were a lot of devices, tools, and machines aboard that contained "sensitive" technologies.

They climbed the stairs to the lower deck, where the entire base of operations for their expedition was located. A clock on the wall indicated the time was about a quarter past one, but the time displayed was the Japan Standard Time (which technically did not exist anymore, but was still used for convenience), and they were currently in a different time zone where the time was more than one hour ahead. Numerous electronic equipment were present, including a few laptops which had been installed with various academic and scientific resources, and were connected to certain radiotelegraphy networks for communication with various ministries and agencies, as well as getting access to news from back home. The ship's battery storage power station served as a main source of electricity.

"Ah, Tsubasa-san, Marie-san. Welcome back," said Katsuo, the director-general of their expedition.

"Buchou." Tsubasa gave a small bow. He then took a seat at the half-occupied conference table, observing and listening to the various discussions, tasks, and other works performed by various divisions of the expedition.

"... number of protesters are rising in Nagoya and Kobe, joining the demands made by their counterparts in Tokyo and Osaka," announced the battery operated radio. "And in another blow to Takahashi, a poll just released today by the NHK shows that public approval for Takahashi's Cabinet has plummeted to 37 percent, from 68 percent a month ago. According to the poll, 85 percent of respondents think the cabinet has handled the nuclear bombs scandal poorly. 74 percent support the Supreme Court's judicial review of the cabinet..."

Tsubasa glanced at the more than a dozen linguists, now joined by Marie, who were busying themselves with transcribing and transliterating words they had come across into the Latin alphabet, kana, and even Cyrillic, while debating the meanings of various words. Last Tsubasa had checked, their compiled lexicon had contained more than two thousand "words", though a few were likely duplicates or different grammatical forms of the same word. A few other linguists were reviewing and comparing notes on what they had gathered about the grammatical structure of the local language.

"... really reminds me of Old Norse, or some Scandinavian language before the early modern period," someone remarked. "Regrettably, I know almost nothing about these languages."

"As far as I know, no one in Japan is really familiar with these languages," someone else replied. "And all internet resources on Old Norse or old Scandinavian languages were hosted outside Japan, so those are forever gone. Still, the fact they speak a language with such similarities to some languages on Earth is more than we could have hoped for."

"Also rather uncanny," someone remarked.

At that point someone took a seat beside Tsubasa. The man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, then promptly started addressing him: "You are Tsubasa-san, correct? The one who lives with locals?"

"Yes."

"And what's your surname?"

Tsubasa did not answer him.

"Very well," conceded the man. "I'm Kazuhiro from the economic history and political science division, and my research focus is on quantitative economic history. How about you?" It was left unsaid that Kazuhiro had not provided his surname either.

"Austronesian linguistics," said Tsubasa. Kazuhiro waited for him to elaborate, which he did not.

"Ah, I see," Kazuhiro finally said. "Anyway, are the beds or mattresses out there as bad as at the inns?"

"... A bit rough," admitted Tsubasa. "Not as soft and smooth as back home."

"Even though your hosts are comparatively very wealthy, huh. Well, that's still much better than what I and many others have experienced. Usually the inns arrange for several strangers to sleep in the same bed or mattress, but since most locals don't want anything to do with us, we often get our own rooms so long as we pay extra—by the way," Kazuhiro leaned closer, "your hosts did not try get you to sleep together with Marie-san, eh?"

"No," said Tsubasa, averting his gaze. He suddenly found an impulse to twiddle with his fingers under the table, which he did.

"I can't decide whether you are lucky or unlucky," said an amused Kazuhiro. "Anyway, those mattresses… are a real pain! Linen sheets, and I believe the mattresses are filled with grass. Sometimes wool, if you are lucky. Better just sleep on the ship."

"I suppose."

"But I'm curious about your stay at… what are their names?"

"Jeod-san and Helen-san," replied Tsubasa.

"Now those sound like European names to me," pondered Kazuhiro. "Any interesting manufactures in their home? I want anything that can help us gauge their level of technological advancement."

Instead of deliberating, Tsubasa gave an answer that had been on his mind for a while: "Jeod-san has a rapier."

"A what?!" Kazuhiro's eyes widened. "But that's… 16th century European technology! And apparently they don't even have paper and gunpowder, advances that occurred in Europe several centuries earlier."

Tsubasa shrugged, by now rather used to this new body gesture. "So?" he asked. "Their plate armor is also from the 16th century."

"Yes, Maximilian armor, I know," said Kazuhiro. He sighed. "This is odd."

"So you are still trying to prove this is medieval Europe, Kazuhiro-san?"

Both Tsubasa and Kazuhiro turned to the new voice, which turned out to be another man standing not too far from them.

"The similarities to late-medieval Europe are striking," defended Kazuhiro.

"Only superficially," retorted the man. "Again, this country is by definition not medieval because 'medieval' in this context is a historical stage that is specific to the European historical timeline. It is not a universal periodization model and doesn't make sense when applied to non-European societies. Why, then, should we apply a historical period that is specific to the European chronology when analyzing this alien world? I don't see you drawing parallels to Chinese or Indian historical stages, say the Song Dynasty or the Delhi Sultanate, even though they too are pre-early modern societies like medieval Europe. The historical timeline here is distinct, not European, which is why, as you have noted, they have armor technology comparable to the European Renaissance, but no papermaking technology. The mix of technology and chronology of technological and scientific advancements here will differ from any particular European time period, just like it would from China and India of the past. So we should stop expecting this country to be a certain way just because that's how medieval Europe was, because having preconceived ideas like that will cause us to overlook things and make incorrect assumptions."

"I understand your point, Ryogi-san," said Kazuhiro, "but in my opinion the similarities between this country and medieval Europe are not merely superficial. They exist on the most fundamental level of what makes a pre-industrial society."

"Which is?"

"Agriculture," Kazuhiro said dramatically. "In societies that have undergone the Neolithic Revolution but not yet the first industrial revolution, agriculture makes up almost the entire share of economic and labor activity, usually above eighty percent, except for a few states in early modern Europe where the share was lower. Considering this, one can say that much of pre-industrial society therefore revolves around agriculture. Economic structures, divisions of labor, social institutions, hierarchy structures, state structures, social indicators such as population density and urbanization, and so on, are to large extents affected by a society's underlying agricultural structure. Before the first industrial revolution, with rare exceptions, agriculture was the foundation of society."

"I think I know where you are going with your deterministic talk," admitted Ryogi. "But go on."

"Before the early modern period, Europe had a unique way of organizing agriculture that wasn't observed anywhere else. They combined crop farming and livestock farming, and notably, the staple crops were wheat, not rice or maize. Numerous other pre-early modern societies had one or the other, but never both - at least not on that scale. Except for here, in Ala-Gaysia. Like late-medieval Europe, agriculture here is mixed between crop and livestock, and the staple crop also appears to be wheat. And so, like medieval Europe, population density here is lower than in China or India or Japan at comparable time periods, and many social institutions appear to be similar. Given that we have established the foundational role of agriculture on pre-industrial societies as a whole, it follows that late-medieval Europe and Ala-Gaysia, with their shared agricultural structure, would be similar on a fundamental level!" Kazuhiro finished, taking a breath.

"There are potatoes here," Tsubasa deadpanned.

Kazuhiro blinked, at a loss for words "... what?," he murmured. He seemed utterly lost, his earlier confidence gone. "I… why didn't anyone tell me? And it wasn't mentioned in any reports… because everyone's attention and focus has been on the issue of magic and mind control, I guess."

"You should have eaten out at the local restaurants, or taverns, more often, Kazuhiro-san," said Ryogi. "Then you wouldn't have spent so much time developing your far-fetched theory, only to have it dismantled by the potato. And about the population density, the evidence is growing that they are quite far below their Malthusian limits. Although… I'll admit that a few of your points have merits. Agriculture does play a large role in how societies developed, historically. Still, an overly simplistic and reductionist theory. No offense, Kazuhiro-san." And Ryogi walked away.

"But why is not the potato served everywhere, if the only competing crop is wheat?" Kazuhiro said quietly. "Unless I was unlucky to miss it…" He sighed. "I suppose I haven't been eating out as much as I should," he said to Tsubasa. "It's just that… the food here is somewhat bad. And some locals don't appreciate us being there."

"Yeah," said Tsubasa. "I've seen it too," he felt himself saying without intending to. He knew he should not, but somehow another person confessing to being bothered by the negative sentiments of some locals made him feel better about himself. And Kazuhiro looked like a confident person, not like himself. So maybe it was okay for Tsubasa to also feel slightly bothered?

Just slightly.

"And also because I don't want to have people messing inside my head." Kazuhiro shook his head. "I still find that hard to believe. I hope Tokyo hurries up and finishes the development of those psychic jammers. Hopefully they will be ready by the time of our first resupply at sea, in eight weeks."

Psychic jammers. Ever since the incident with the sea monster, the Ministry of Defense had been trying to develop countermeasures, specifically devices that could interfere with the particular electromagnetic spectrum that induced mind reading and mind control, much like how radar jamming interfered with certain radio waves. Such devices would be able to jam the relevant electromagnetic waves within a certain range when activated, thereby protecting people within that area from mind reading and mind control. Their development had very recently been significantly accelerated, now that the government was aware of the possibility of mind readers and mind controllers among humans. However…

"I'm surprised this expedition hasn't been withdrawn," voiced Tsubasa.

"It probably would have been, if not for the nuclear bombs scandal," said Kazuhiro. "The cabinet is too busy falling apart to really care about anything else, I think. And given how heavily scrutinized they are right now in the media, if they were to withdraw this expedition, there would be questions, and Takahashi would have no choice but to admit the existence of magic and human mind controllers, even though that is still classified information.

But you are right, this is insanely risky. It takes only one person, and so many secrets about Japan would be leaked. They could be inside our heads now, and we probably wouldn't know."

They were quiet for a while. Tsubasa was trying to think of something to respond with when Marie appeared at their table. "Hello, Tsubasa-san, Kazuhiro-san."

"Marie-senpai," Tsubasa acknowledged, while Kazuhiro also returned the greeting.

"JAXA just released a tentative year-round temperature estimate of Teerm, month by month," said Marie. She made a face. "By October it will be too cold for us to bathe regularly. Then from November to March there will be no chances for us to at all. On the bright side, winter should not be that bad, as this city has tentatively been classified as Cfb on Köppen."

"What a pain," muttered Kazuhiro. "Even now I can only change my clothes twice a week at most."

"The locals don't seem to mind," Tsubasa noted.

"That's because they believe bathing to be dangerous," explained Kazuhiro. "At least that's what our volunteers at the almshouses have told me. That the locals, including their physicians, think bathing spreads disease."

Marie's eyes went wide. "Really?" she asked. "Was that belief a thing in the past, on Earth?"

"In parts of Europe, yes. But… not during the medieval period." Kazuhiro reluctantly admitted, probably aware he was undermining his earlier theory. "In fact bathing was relatively common in that period. Fear of bathing in Europe started with the European Renaissance, and continued well into the 19th century. Largely because of a theory of disease transmission called 'miasma theory', which held that diseases spread by foul smells called 'miasma' and that bathing led to the opening of skin pores, allowing miasma to seep through. Many also believed that having a layer of dirt further protected you from the miasma. It wasn't until this theory was displaced by modern germ theory that bathing came to be seen as a healthy practise there. Europeans can be quite odd."

Marie looked slightly disturbed by the explanation. "We should try to tell them that bathing is safe, and good for their health," said Marie.

Tsubasa shrugged. "If we do that, the bathhouse will start to suffer from under capacity, and we won't be able to bathe."

Marie glared at him while Kazuhiro snickered. "Good one," he said. "Besides, it's not like they would believe you, even if you could articulate that in their language. I mean, our diplomatic division still hasn't been able to convey our regrets at the territorial violations into their waters and their lands, which is our main diplomatic objective. Nevermind talks about compensation! And have you heard about the Chongryon association?"

"Yes," said Marie. "Have you, Tsubasa-san?" she asked when he did not respond.

"No," he said a bit quietly.

"They are saying that Japan should be expelled from the UN because of our 'blatant violation' of Article 2 of the Charter, and are trying to build coalitions with other embassies. We did break international law, so I guess it makes sense." Marie sighed. "I didn't think this expedition would be so controversial."

"The North Koreans are just trying to make a fuss, like always," said Kazuhiro. "Good luck taking your case to the International Court of Justice. I for one am glad that they are no longer our dear neighbors. It's ironic that we are starting nuclear weapons development just when we no longer need them."

Tsubasa resisted shifting uneasily. Marie too seemed a little bothered by Kazuhiro's bluntness at such controversial topics, for she quickly redirected the topic: "Weren't you part of the mission that entered the castle, Kazuhiro-san?"

"Yes, I was an attaché whose job was to gather data on material conditions, and to help provide historical contexts to our officers. Even before we had entered the castle, we could smell the smoke. Just why do they light torches indoors? It's like a bad movie."

"That must have been hard on you all," said Marie sympathetically.

"The castle itself was a disappointment," continued Kazuhiro. "The interior was mainly hunks of gray rock, and nothing like the ones from medieval France and England, which tend to be colorful and lavishly decorated. The hallways also completely lacked windows and arches for some reason, making it dark inside—but even then torches make absolutely no sense. Very different from European castle design, I'll have to admit," he admitted.

"Ah, okay," said Marie. "But I think we shouldn't judge their aesthetics standards too hard, just because it's different from ours."

"Yeah, yeah," said Kazuhiro. "The music was fascinating though, what I imagine 15th century compositions from Western Europe to be like. And the food… contained no potatoes." He grimaced.

Tsubasa's mouth twitched slightly, while Marie appeared confused.

"Anyway, we couldn't speak a smack of their language back then, and so couldn't express our regrets at our violation of their territorial sovereignty, or offer compensation," Kazuhiro said. "After a few days, we were dismissed from the castle, because we had no more gifts to offer, or that's how our diplomats understood it. And now we aren't allowed into the castle gates or the surrounding keep, so the success of our diplomatic objective is in doubt. Well, maybe Westphalian principles don't mean much to them. As some are saying, states in this world could be operating under entirely different systems of international relations, as was the case before the early modern period... Still, we have failed to establish any sort of permanent diplomatic relations whatsoever, and it seems our diplomats aren't even being recognized as diplomats," finished Kazuhiro.

"Yeah, that's really unfortunate," said Marie. "We violated their sovereign rights, and can't even apologize for it."

"I wonder if we will ever reach an international understanding on where to draw the international date line in our lifetime?" Kazuhiro lamented. "Unless it is drawn on the longitudes between us and Ala-Gaysia, we can't seriously call ourselves the Origin of the Sun. The very name of our country will be a misnomer."

"Why did you phrase our country's name to them in Indo-European languages?" Tsubasa suddenly asked.

"Hey, I wasn't the one who did it!" protested Kazuhiro. He continued: "Some of the diplomats are senior, and insist on following protocol to the letter. And the protocol has long been that the English name of our country should be used in international situations, when not speaking in our language or the language of the other party, and our senior diplomats of course followed that literally."

"..."

"Oh, poor Jeod, he must be so confused. Should we tell him to start calling our country by its English name?"

"... No, Marie-senpai."

---

Reiwa 2 September 9

"You can't just resign!"

Minato sighed resignedly. "Why not?"

Nakano looked like he wanted to tear his hair out. He continued to stand in Minato's office, refusing to take the offered seat. "There is no one else!" he exclaimed.

Nakano paused, taking a breath. Their gazes met, and underneath Nakano's severe expression Minato saw the deep exhaustion, the product of the taxing trials their cabinet officials had all been through the past month. Well, except for the Minister of State for the Tokyo Olympic and Paralympic Games, who was enjoying early retirement.

Minato knew that his decision was unpopular with the other cabinet ministers, especially Nakano. Were they upset that he was forcing the decision onto them? While it was left unsaid, they were all expected to follow him by resigning en masse. Such was the tradition.

"Japan should not have survived," Nakano suddenly said. "Our country should not have been able to pull through this earth-shattering event. But it did. Because of you, Minato."

Minato, who had been prepared for various arguments, had nothing to say.

"Who was it that immediately came up with the idea to circumvent the entire legislative apparatus by just making up a deal with the Bank of Japan, having them take over public funding for the overseas projects and everything else that was expedient? And who decided to stop enforcing eighty percent of regulatory and bureaucratic procedures in many areas, and told the corporate sector to do the same, actually allowing the overseas projects to take place at all?

"Can you imagine," continued Nakano, "if Japan was still governed by the Abe Cabinet? Or any other cabinet filled with senior LDP officials? How would they have dealt with 2020?"

Minato saw the image playing out in his head, of Abe-shushou sitting in meetings with the other cabinet ministers and senior officials, all indecisive and confused and with no protocols…

"You already know how it would have gone," said Nakano. "They would have deliberated for a month, and maybe at the end of that they might have introduced their first half-baked measures if we were lucky, or maybe they would have just been able to decide to set up a committee for deciding which measures to consider to implement. All the while, Japan would have slowly collapsed around them."

"It's not that bad," Minato tried to protest. "And in any case, the worst of the transfer crisis is already over. We just have to follow the currently established protocols."

"Which you set up!" retorted Nakano.

Minato shook his head. "Not relevant," he said. With finality, he announced: "I have just presided over the largest incident of political oversight and negligence in the history of Japanese democracy. I am responsible for a violation of the constitution of the highest order. I will take the responsibility required of me and hand over the cabinet to those more deserving of it."

An impassive expression came over Nakano's face. After a moment of tense silence, he said: "You don't understand the meaning of responsibility, Takahashi-san." Then he bowed and left the office.

Nakano's last words continued to echo in Minato's head. He had always been closer to Nakano than to the other cabinet ministers. Nakano was the closest he had to a confidante in the Kantei.

Minato rose from his chair. He needed to get out.

---

The rhythmic clickety clack was accompanied by small jolts as the train wheels passed through the rail joints. With his wider face mask covering more than half of his face, Minato seemed to have been able to avoid the detection of the few other passengers aboard the train car, late as it was on this weekend and with the local authorities having recommended people to stay at home to stem the pandemic. It was probably for the best, with how he had become perhaps the most disgraced face in Japan, because of his failings.

As the train stopped at the next in a series of stations, Minato decided to step off on a whim. He had no particular destination in mind, except to be away from the Kantei.

Passing through the dense and illuminated neighborhoods and districts of Toshima, it occurred to him how cut-off he had become from normal people, especially of late. He governed the country, but would seldom make time to observe at large the people under his governance. How were they coping with the transfer? With the pandemic? Those very events had caused him to be even more holed up in his residence, even as it had become more pertinent to observe the experiences of the common people.

He may not remain prime minister for much longer, but he still felt the need to make up for his inadequacies. And maybe he was a little hungry.

So he entered a local izakaya.

He was greeted by the customary "irasshaimase" and advised—by signs—to the hand sanitizers. Indeed, the signs listed various "recommendations" to observe; such as keeping to the two meter rule; sitting next to each other rather than opposite from; wearing masks; and to avoid talking and not talk loudly in order to minimize droplet transmission. Except for a few other anti-pandemic measures, the locale looked like a typical izakaya.

Looking at the menu sign, he saw that the prices on many items had skyrocketed, as a result of supply shortages. Hopefully that would resolve itself soon, as commodity imports from Shin Minami started to ramp up. As he took a seat that faced opposite to the bar, he overheard a few conversations:

"—really want to visit Teerm at some point, it's like the fairy tales. And I heard there's a real sense of community there unlike here, or like here in the past."

"With our government's pace, we'll probably have a visa travel agreement already by 2100. Can't wait!"

"Aren't you a little optimistic, Itsuki? Passports need to be registered by the International Civil Aviation Organization, in Canada. No passports, no visa travel. In other words, it will never happen!"

"Ugh... By the way, you guys heard about that northeastern island?"

"Yeah, they said on the news that the buildings were as large as… what's the largest building on Earth?"

"I think it's the Boeing Everett Factory."

"Right. The buildings and ruins are as large as that, but probably taller."

"What the heck?! That large? That's unbelievable!"

"And that's not the only strange thing about that island. There are speculations that the white outlines… are skeletal remains."

?! Everyone was deathly quiet for a moment, even the chefs who had stopped dead in their cooking.

"Just where did you hear that, Kumiko-san?" someone asked quietly.

"Just one hour ago, on Yomiuri's website," answered Kumiko. "It wasn't on the front page."

"Kami," someone said. "It's Godzilla!"

"It's just speculation. No way that's a living organism - or was. Organisms don't grow that large."

"Really? They said the same about the sea monster, and about Godzilla in Shin Godzilla."

"Also, why would the buildings be that large. And why is it all abandoned?" wondered Kumiko.

"Monuments like the pyramids?"

"Beats me," someone else said. "This world is so strange. First sea monsters and psychic attacks and city-sized whirlpools, then dwarves and elves and minotaurs, and now abandoned ruins the size of Boeing Everett. And the remains of Godzilla! Next they'll be announcing the existence of magic."

If only you knew, Minato thought.

Then a waitress approached his table. "What would y—T-Takashi-shushou!" she stammered.

Suddenly everyone stopped whatever they were conversing about and turned their eyes on him.

"Good evening," said Minato to the locale. Then he turned to the nervous waitress and ordered some yakitori and salted cabbage, along with edamame.

For a while, nothing could be heard but the sound of cooking. Minato found himself wondering if he was really that intimidating. Perhaps he could say something to ease—

"I did not know that… shushou liked salted cabbage."

Minato glanced at the middle-aged man who had spoken to him. "I do," answered Minato, with a small smile that would not pass through his face mask. "I eat a lot of tsukemono. And please, just Takahashi-san is enough."

Then the woman Kumiko asked: "Takahashi-san, I was wondering about the island of…"

"Vroengard," someone else interjected.

"Vroengard," Kumiko continued. "Are those white outlines there really skeletal remains?"

"The satellite images are quite low resolution, so it's hard to tell. But rest assured," Minato added, "it isn't Godzilla"—a few chuckled—"If those are remains, it is not of a bipedal organism. The morphologies do not match that."

"Will you be sending an expedition there?" someone asked.

Minato hesitated. "We have already been pushing the boundaries of the international law treaties that we have signed, and expeditions such as the one to Ala-Gaysia are technically direct violations of those laws, which I'm sure everyone knows at this point. That said, it is for my successor to decide."

"Successor?" Kumiko asked bemused. "But the next election isn't until two years."

"Wait!" someone exclaimed. "You aren't going to resign, are you, Takahashi-san?"

Has our cabinet really been that nontransparent in communicating our intentions? Minato asked himself. "Of course I will resign," clarified Minato.

"What?!

"No!"

Surprised by the objections, Minato continued: "Because of my negligence, our country has found itself in an unprecedented post-war constitutional crisis, and I must therefore take responsibility—"

"But we will freeze to death!" someone uttered.

So unexpected was the remark, that Minato stopped himself short.

The man called Itsuki chimed in: "My parents live in a building with poor insulation. We know that the energy situation is still very poor, and that this winter will be the coldest in more than one hundred years because of less CO2 or whatever. If you resign, they might actually freeze to death, and not just my parents."

"Because all prospective candidates want to completely abolish nuclear power," explained Kumiko. "This… scandal has turned the discourse against all sorts of nuclear issues. It's all conflated with nuclear weapons."

Minato wanted to assure them that it would not come to that, that any incoming officials would be pragmatic enough to realize the non-viability of such a drastic move…

But would they, really? Ever since the nuclear bombs scandal, the opposition members and many from his own party had flirted with unrealistic policy positions, and a complete and immediate ban on nuclear power had been one of the most oft-mentioned proposals.

At that moment, he realized he no longer had a confident grasp of the unfolding political climate and political developments. After all, the transfer itself had upended traditional modes of politics and governance. His own cabinet had embraced an unorthodox style of governance. How could he confidently predict any successor to act within the confines of traditional political norms, and not do something drastic and inadvisable? He could not.

"Takahashi-san?"

Despite him having said that the worst of the transfer crisis was behind them, the thought seemed increasingly hollow, even to himself. And with how easy his doubts on this had fallen into place, and how little resistance they met, he knew that deep down, he had known this all along. He had known about the potential risks of his resignation, and chosen to suppress those, in order to be able to go through with the resignation with his conscience intact.

Maybe one option was for only him to resign, and for the rest of his cabinet to remain? But that was such a lose-lose compromise. There were no advantages to such—

"I'm sorry, Takahashi-san, but could I offer my views?"

Minato stopped his introspection. "Yes, what's your name?"

"Shunsuke, Takahashi-san."

"And what's your views on this, Shunsuke-san?"

"I think I speak for many of us," he began a little nervously, but his resolve seemed to strengthen with the encouraging looks he received, "when I say that we are more concerned with the immediate impacts on our lives, than abstract legal principles. Perhaps you did, or rather your minister, did violate the constitution… but how's that important when we can barely make it through this winter? You politicians care so much about bureaucracy and all that we find hard to relate to, while we wonder what you will actually do to help us voters." Several others voiced their agreements.

"Also," said Itsuki, "those nuclear weapons aren't technically weapons, right? They are meant to be tools of the JAXA to intercept asteroids. If they aren't weapons, the constitution hasn't been violated."

Of course Minato had considered that, but he was still busy contemplating Shunsuke's commentary to give a better response than "perhaps".

Perhaps...

Then one of his food orders arrived, and he found himself staring at the pieces of skewered meat. Would his successor be able to ensure the continuing supply of foodstuff? Much hinged on the supply system, including the regulatory framework, and the carefully calibrated rationing regime, that his cabinet had set up in place. These delicate systems would be so easy to disrupt with ill-thought-out policy measures. Was it really responsible of him to place the well-being of his fellow citizens at such risks?

As if to spell out his uncertainties, Kumiko said: "Will the food still be there after you've resigned, Takahashi-san? It seemed like a miracle that your government managed to solve that in the first place."

"I… it will," Minato struggled to say.

"But how can you what will happen after you resign—"

"I won't," Minato blurted out before he could stop himself. He saw their eyes widen at his statement.

Well, it was too late to back down now, so he might as well double down. "I won't resign," he said, slowly coming around to his own words. "If by the next general elections of Reiwa 4 you decide to vote us out, so be it, but until then, I will do my best to remain in office."

---

The 2nd day of the 12th month, 7999 A.C.

Jeod sat by the table, forcing himself to look at the two foreigners even though he would prefer to look elsewhere. A strained atmosphere hung in the air.

"I'm sorry," said Jeod. "The attacks are wrong and should not have happened." He wished he could have used more expressive language, but what sense was that if they did not understand?

To his surprise, Marie merely smiled and said: "Is okay. Sometimes happens. Is not your fault, Jeod."

So they felt no ill will towards him, despite what his compatriots were doing?

"Will be more careful," Marie continued. "We, Nihonjin will not leave our rooms in evening. Or our ship. It's fine."

In the last month, there had been several spate of violent attacks toward the Nihonjin. The latest one had been rather grievous: Scores of drunken men had shouted at the Nihonjin, demanding that they praise the king and acknowledge the superiority of the Empire to their barbarian periphery, and then engaged in a one-sided altercation of kicks and punches. By the time the drunkards had left, the four Nihonjin could barely still walk, and one had to be carried back to their ship. It had happened late in the evening.

At least this was the version of the story he had heard from other merchants.

Violent incidents such as these were of course common occurrences in Teirm—as in other cities—, and most everyday people were attacked, or ruckuses happened.

But apart from the fact that these foreigners had never acted in an unruly way, never caused any trouble in Teirm, these people were, to his knowledge, emissaries and envoys. And envoys ought to be bestowed certain courtesies! Yet no one else seemed to share his views. They had all swallowed Galbatorix's narrative of the Empire and Surda as the only centers of human civilization, and everything else as beneath them, unworthy of acknowledgement, and deserving of ridicule and disdain.

But Jeod did see them as envoys, and the incidents as serious slights toward their country by the people of the Empire, and Jeod was an Imperial himself. He was burning with shame. If Marie and Tsubasa started to begrudge him, that was well within their rights.

Which made Marie's response all the more perplexing. The fact that they were so easy to accept these sorts of attacks… maybe Nihon was a country where such acts of violence were so common, no one raised an eyebrow at them? He had heard that island societies could be rather lawless.

Or maybe they were just exceptionally lenient and forgiving. That certainly did not contradict his own impressions of them.

He heard Tsubasa mumbling something to Marie, who answered back. He heard her say Tsubasa's name, accompanied by another word that sounded like "kuhn", which she always added to the name, it seemed. And on the rare occasion that Tsubasa uttered her name, it too was unremittingly followed by another, specific word. Were those honorifics? If so, it seemed similar to what the elves practised.

Then Tsubasa asked: "How many dead attacks? In Teirm in one year?" Over the past three months, the young man's command over the common language had truly grown. Of course, he was still leagues behind Marie, who advanced at a mind-boggling pace.

"Dead attacks?" repeated Jeod. "Do you mean attacks on the dead, like desecration?

"Desecration is?"

Jeod tried to explain the grave matter, but Marie quickly shook her head. "No," she said. "Attack person… until dead," she clarified, grimacing.

"You mean attacks that… you mean murders?" Jeod said in realization.

"What are murders?"

Jeod spent half a minute explaining the macabre act, using a combination of words and body expressions.

"Yes, murders," Marie confirmed once he was done. "Tsubasa is asking, how many happen? In Teirm every year?"

"In one year… I'd say maybe ten murders occur in one year, or perhaps slightly more than that," answered Jeod.

Both their eyes widened slightly at his response. But why? Teirm was an average city in terms of safety. But maybe not from their perspective, Jeod realized. Being an island, they would not have a city close in size to Teirm, if they had one at all. "There is a city in Nihon, right?" asked Jeod. Perhaps "town" would have been a better word to use, if they had known the word. Islands did not ordinarily have actual cities, but one town or two they might have.

Marie nodded in response to his question. Perhaps she had interpreted his question as including towns?

"What's the name of that city?" pressed Jeod, eager for a chance to learn more about their country. These past three months he had mostly refrained from asking more questions about them, instead focusing on teaching them the common language. It would make his questioning sessions much easier in the long run. Marie had informed him that they would be staying for at least a year, so he would have plenty of time.

For some reason, Marie seemed to ponder on the question. "Dow-kio," she finally responded. "King Naruhito is in Dow-Kio."

"Since you asked about Teirm, may I ask about your city as well? How many murders are there in Dow-Kio, every year?" Jeod reluctantly asked. It was a discourteous question, and could easily be taken as an insult. Besides, most people would not know the answer to such a question, as such knowledge was recondite, and reserved only for scholars and administrators. But the two Nihonjin had always been open-minded to any questions he had had, and never seemed to take offense. And they had always seemed very knowledgeable about things that should be considered recondite…

It was Tsubasa who answered: "Ten, maybe."

That many?! He did not know exactly how many people lived in this Dow-Kio, but based on what he knew of other islands such as Beirland, it was probably in the mid thousands at best. Yet as many murders occurred there as in all of Teirm, a city five times its size. No wonder the Nihonjin were surprised at his answer. Teirm must appear remarkably safe from their viewpoint.

Yet something gnawed at the back of his mind. He had formed a certain impression of the Nihonjin and their country, and many subsequent new things that he had learned about them and their country, while surprising, did not clash with his impression. Except for the latest finding about Nihon.

The latest finding was counterintuitive.

"What is word, for country attack other country?" asked Tsubasa.

"War, or conflict," replied Jeod. "When that happens, the two countries are in a state of war. The opposite to war is peace. The Empire is presently in a conflict… with the Varden," Jeod managed to say. Hoping to shift the subject, for these were sensitive affairs, he redirected the question: "Is Nihon at war or at peace at the present?" Perhaps they were fighting a war with another kingdom for territory over the island, or maybe even an internal uprising? Maybe that explained the high occurrences of violence in Dow-Kio?

"Nihon is at peace," responded Marie. Before Jeod could say anything, she continued: "Nihon can't war. Because of… not allowed," she finished, seeming to struggle for the right words.

And so was Jeod. "What…" he said, speechless. Not allowed? He could not comprehend the purport of those words. Perhaps she had meant to say that Nihon was too weak to fight any war? Being a small island country, it—

Rolf entered the dining room. "Master Jeod," he said, "afternoon approaches quickly."

"Thank you for the reminder, Rolf," Jeod answered. He had almost forgotten; time passed by so quickly when he talked with them. He rose from his seat. "Dear guests, I have an errand to run. I will see you later. And once again, I apologize for the behavior of my compatriots." He bowed, gathered his coat, and left the house.

The chill of the winter air greeted him as he stepped outside. Little more than a fortnight remained until the winter solstice. Too cold to bathe, which seemed to bother Marie and Tsubasa. Slowly the two had been starting to accumulate the typical human odors, though even now, two months past without any baths, they only barely smelled of anything. They still insisted on having their garments washed twice a week, even doing it themselves. Some of their antics he doubted he would ever understand.

He walked out of the gates of the city, trying to appear inconspicuous, as he headed toward the agreed point of rendezvous with the other Eyes. He had requested scrolls and books from the other Eyes on the subject of lands beyond Alagaësia. He hoped something fruitful would come out of it, as his efforts to acquire these texts had come at quite some risk. Then again, what more did he have to lose? He had already lost his livelihood.

Every ship he sent was invariably lost. Just a week ago, pressured by Helen and desperate, he had sent the last one he owned on a large trade expedition. Perhaps it was folly, but at least such a gamble had the slightest chance of reaping a financial gain; having ships permanently docked at port would incur nothing but expenses.

But then he thought about the men aboard, and he felt tainted, sick with himself. They were well aware of the risks and his record with previous ships, but he should not have allowed himself to gamble with the lives of other human beings. But arguments with Helen and her demands left him impetuous and confused, causing him to commit to things that, in hindsight, he regretted.

He trudged through the turf and heather and up and down a range of hills that would block the view of the city, and saw three dark horses carrying three large enclosed wagons, made of wood, in the distance. As he passed by a large rock on the other side, he made out the Eyes by the person's robes, who was standing not two hundred feet from where Jeod was, with someone else behind him.

The tip of a sword was protruding from the person's chest.

Jeod stopped cold. He stared at the sight, of the man hanging lifelessly in the air, the sword through his body holding him there, and of the red substance dripping down onto the grass. The grass below was starting to turn red…

And Jeod finally comprehended the significance of what he was seeing. His hands rushed to his scabbard…

... Only to realize he had not brought his rapier.

Before Jeod could decide to run, the sword was plucked out and the body fell in a heap on the ground. And behind was a man. A tall, thin man with a deathly pale face, and eyes and hair a terrible shade of red. Jeod did not dare to breathe.

Maroon eyes met his. "Greetings," the Shade said.

Well, it did not matter then that he had not brought his rapier. Trying to fend of a Shade made as much sense as trying to fend of a dragon.

Alongside the rising dread, a sickening feeling filled him. They were but two miles from Teirm. If the Shade decided to attack it, was there anything that could stop its advance, and the death and destruction that followed in its wake? The high walls would prove no obstruction. Would the nigh three hundred guards, scattered as they were across the city, supported by a court magician? Would Helen—

"It is considered ill-manners to rebuff a greeting from a person of higher station," said the smooth voice. The nightmare drew closer, walking uphill in steps too quickly for a human. Terrified, Jeod backstepped, losing his balance in the process, and he fell on his buttocks on the sloping hill. Within a dozen seconds, the Shade had stopped less than two yards from Jeod.

Too close.

The Shade smiled a mirthless smile. "Tell me, human, do you like cats?" asked the nightmare.

Jeod did not answer.

The Shade's lips curled downwards. "How insolent," he said. "You are from Teirm, are you not?" Jeod flinched at the question. He had hoped, fervently hoped, that the Shade would not attack the city so long as he was not reminded of its existence.

"Humans," the Shade said mockingly. "So easy to read that one does not even need to access their minds." He gestured toward the horses, who were fearlessly approaching the Shade from behind. "Losna," he uttered, the words reverberating through the air. Suddenly Jeod heard creaking noises coming from the wagons.

"For your insolence, your city will be the first to enjoy my new… project." the Shade stated. "Consider yourself distinguished. I had not planned to test this for a great many months to come, and neither was this the city I had in mind. But thanks to you, I have changed my mind."

The Shade turned his back on Jeod, who was still sitting on the ground, and started walking away. Meanwhile, the doors of the wagons slowly unfolded, revealing a black mass. A foul odor hit Jeod, engulfing his sense of smell, and he gagged.

The black mass moved outwards, filling the verdant ground that lay before the wagons. As Jeod's vision fully turned onto it, and away from the departing figure of the Shade, he saw that the mass was manifold, and that they had heads, legs, and tails.

The mass was a mountain of rats.

Black as charcoal, and their hissing, squeaking noises drowning out everything else, they moved like a black wave toward the city of Teirm.