Ch.201013 Investigation Record – World of Sword and Magic (4)

I first need to get up and take the elevator to the first floor of the hotel for some coffee. A troll with bluish-green skin was scratching his cheek in San Francisco’s warm weather.

Since we were the only two in the elevator this morning, the troll hunched over, cleared his throat a couple of times, and asked me:

“Do you happen to know where a lizardman shop is around here? I came to San Francisco for the Coronation Anniversary, but it’s hotter than I expected and I can already feel something forming on my skin. Excessive regeneration already.”

Trolls were a species that couldn’t live in hot places. Despite his uncomfortable voice, I could only shake my head, but fortunately when the elevator reached the first floor, someone was there who could direct him to a lizardman shop selling magically preserved cold water pouches.

Mr. Moin, who had driven me here yesterday and left, was somehow waiting for me on the first floor, knowing exactly when I’d wake up.

“Good morning, Mr. Moin! I know it’s a bit much to ask this early, but could I just request one thing…”

He tapped his large ears—characteristic of his goblin body—and handed the troll who had come down in the elevator with me a napkin with directions drawn on it.

It seemed dragons had their own specialties too. I found it pleasant to know that he might be able to empathize with my uncomfortable hypersensitivity that non-elven races couldn’t understand.

“Looks like you’re extremely sensitive too, Mr. Moin… Sometimes I hate being born an elf.”

I giggled and tapped my ear tips. Elves had sensitive senses. Always sensitive. So sensitive that rose scents could give me headaches and I could hear insects crawling on the ceiling.

He smiled back comfortably. Similar abilities among different species tended to create similar experiences.

“An elf would understand this suffering. When I sleep in my lair it’s manageable, but whenever I have to stay in the city for work, the sound of things crawling on walls and ceilings… it’s terrible. Oh, if you visit again, I’ll invite you to my lair next time. It’s a sea cave, quiet except for the sound of waves.”

Despite being a dragon who could use soundproofing magic as easily as breathing, he was someone who sought peaceful places. For a dragon, a peaceful place to sleep was a lair made in a sea cave, and for a person, it was this San Francisco. Our conversation continued naturally.

“But how did you figure out I’d be up this early? Does this city have some kind of magical ley lines I should know about?”

I said this knowing it was a joke, but he didn’t laugh. He simply answered calmly.

“Well, if you came to cover the Coronation Anniversary but went straight to sleep upon arrival, I figured you’d be up early the next morning. And your purpose for getting up would be to check if the hotel’s first-floor cafe was open.”

Though Draig had described him as a tour guide, it seemed they had brought someone quite expert in dealing with people.

Dragons were generally experts. Just committing to invest a hundredth of their life to learn something meant they could focus on a single field for ten years.

At least now I was saying “ah, then perhaps…” a bit less. He probably had some idea why I came to see the coronation ceremony, but someone like him would surely wait until I could find the answers I wanted on my own. It was both a grateful and frustrating silence.

After having an elven coffee instead of breakfast, I headed out to the streets of San Francisco. The streets themselves weren’t much different from New York’s. If anything, they felt a little less metropolitan.

But the festival atmosphere was certainly there. Even the hotel cafe worker had mentioned that they wouldn’t charge for a cup of coffee with the Coronation Anniversary coming soon, and the streets were already sparkling for the celebration coming tomorrow.

I walked around taking street photos until proper morning came, and as dawn gave way to full morning, people in unfamiliar attire began appearing on the streets one by one.

They were soldiers. Wearing military uniforms. No, not ordinary uniforms. Not new ones like Michael wore, but old ones that looked like they were from the Gold Rush era.

Moreover, despite being military uniforms that should be neat, they were covered with flashy decorations, making it easy to tell they weren’t actual soldiers. They looked exactly like Emperor outfits.

I figured I could ask about this. I turned briefly to look at Mr. Moin, who had been quietly following behind me, and he spoke with an amused voice.

“It’s how short-lived races show respect. By imitation. These people are eager to explain the Emperor’s achievements to tourists. Listen to them for a bit.”

“The Emperor’s achievements…”

One of the humans wearing a reproduction of an old military uniform turned around at the sound of our voices. With somewhat exaggerated movements, he took off his hat, bowed, and placed his hand on his chest in greeting. Only then did he speak.

“Glory to the people, glory to the Emperor we serve, glory to the God who anointed him! You’re full of learning enthusiasm! As for the achievements of His Imperial Majesty of the San Francisco Empire… well, he didn’t do anything at all.”

“He didn’t do… anything?”

At my puzzled response, he began rattling off words like a machine gun. He knew exactly what to say and why he needed to say it.

“The taxes that torment us every season are collected by the IRS, not His Imperial Majesty. Has he ever thrown anyone in prison or started a war to gain even an inch of land? And despite being directly crowned Emperor by the God-President and given immortality, he still occasionally rides by on a bicycle or walks with his dogs, doing little else.”

So the very fact that he didn’t do anything monarchical had become his achievement. He seemed to be a leader with dignity who touched nothing but dignity itself.

I had originally thought that good cities exist because good people live in them, but this was another way to look at it… Just then, a voice came from behind me.

It was a very ordinary voice. No different from someone passing by and adding a comment or two to noisy street conversations, but the manner of speech was far from ordinary.

“Has the Imperial We truly done so little?”

The young man speaking to me waved his hand as if to say “of course not.” He maintained his manners but didn’t seem particularly uncomfortable.

“Starting with a big impact like this works well, Your Majesty. Look how interested this person is now! Once I tell the story about how you stopped the earthquake of 1906, they’ll be completely won over.”

Wait, so the person behind me is… I slowly turned around. A human about 6 feet tall with a well-groomed beard stood there, wearing the same old military uniform as these people.

He held two dog leashes, and when he stopped, two rather large dogs sat right next to his legs. Despite not being one to be at a loss for words lately, I found myself speechless.

After about five seconds of just moving my lips silently, the other person greeted me first. He was not one to bow his head. Standing straight with excessive confidence, he said:

“It seems you never thought someone of the Imperial Our stature would walk the streets like a commoner. We shall note this disrespect to the Imperial House. Nevertheless, We are the Emperor of the San Francisco Empire and Protector of Mexico. You may call Us Your Imperial Majesty. Calling Us Norton I would also be disrespectful to the Imperial House!”

He spoke with a majestic voice, and everyone bowed their heads once in respect, but that was the extent of it. People respected him but weren’t intimidated by him.

The young man who had been explaining to me about him said leisurely:

“There was some controversy on coronation day about whether it should be Norton I or Joshua I. They even held a public vote on whether monarchs should be named by their surname or given name.”

His words were probably meant to help me find my voice, but they only made me twice as speechless. Still, I knew what to do in situations like this. I just needed to work through my questions step by step.

“So… Your Imperial Majesty is a constitutional monarch… right?”

The young man now naturally took a step back, as if wanting to watch the encounter between an outsider who had only heard rumors of the San Francisco Empire and the Emperor. The Emperor thundered:

“No! We are a most absolute and autocratic monarch. Our imperial authority was directly bestowed by God Himself.”

“But… I just heard there was a public vote? About Your Imperial Majesty’s name?!”

“Well, We provide vision rather than interfering in every little matter. We support democracy, the voting system, and the Mayor of San Francisco. Is that a problem?”

This approach usually worked, but now it wasn’t resolving anything—instead, my questions were only multiplying. I spoke with an incredulous voice:

“There’s a separate Mayor in the San Francisco Empire?!”

At this moment, I very clearly, truly and distinctly decided to regret having thought of this Emperor as merely some kind of unusual mayor. I regretted it. Had regretted it. Committed it perfectly to memory.

His Imperial Majesty nodded as if stating the obvious. No, it was obvious. Yes, that’s right. It was obvious.

“Of course. There are things an Emperor cannot do but a Mayor can. There are things an Emperor must not do but a Mayor must do. Then why not have both separately?”

His voice was clear. Just like this city. It carried the confidence characteristic of someone who knows exactly where to go, how to get there, and why they should go there.

That’s why my curiosity was piqued. Though I was bewildered, I asked with genuine interest:

“Then what does an Emperor do?”

He thundered again. And quite naturally, he read my intention. He even returned an expression I had never used with anyone except Mr. Draig.

“To think you would try to steal the fire that created San Francisco’s eternal flame! What insolence! Nevertheless, We shall forget that insolence, just as We personally pardoned Prometheus.”

Of course, Prometheus wasn’t under the Emperor’s jurisdiction but rather the Greek Justice Department’s. He probably hadn’t even been released yet. That place was home to vindictive, arrogant, unpleasant, and all-too-human gods.

“Still, if you seek to achieve Our works elsewhere, you should rightfully be told. An Emperor provides guidance. Giving direction rather than the path itself is the Emperor’s duty. However, if that is all, then that is all. An Emperor must also acknowledge. Acknowledge that while there is no empire, there are countless individuals seeking someone to lead them. Is that not so?”

He spoke as if defending the very word “leader.” I couldn’t tell if this was remarkable foresight or simply an obsession with minor details of words.

“Um, that… actually sounds not bad when I hear it? But then, being a constitutional monarch…”

“How dare you wound Our authority! We are an absolute monarch with absolute power! All authority and power in this land belongs to Us. What We have given to the Mayor, what We have placed in the voting system, are merely distributed from Our hands. How ignorant for a journalist not to know this. In whose hands but Ours would you place such a dangerous thing?”

He was someone who believed he could hold all dangerous things in his own hands. Yet somehow, I began to believe that this person really could do just that.

“What made Us Emperor was first revelation and second support. Since the time when this San Francisco Empire was San Francisco City, everyone chanted Our name. They liked Us. They approved of Us. And they were right! But what if they had praised someone unworthy! If they had simply crowned a human butcher as Emperor just because they liked and approved of him…”

He wore a genuinely worried expression. Not worry about losing imperial power. It was concern for his imperial subjects whom he had both denied and affirmed in the name of Emperor.

The first thing that came to mind was the dwarves. If they give their votes to someone who shouts what they want to believe, what they need to believe—that they were stabbed in the back—terrible things might happen.

Is that why His Imperial Majesty calls himself an absolute monarch? Does he want to declare that he is safekeeping all power and authority himself?

If so, among all the people I’d thought I couldn’t communicate with, he might be the first one I could respect.

He was a contradictory person. Humble yet grand. The least autocratic autocrat. An immortal mortal. Someone who took only the good parts from everything and placed them side by side. He was a contradiction, but not an unpleasant one. So I asked what I most wanted to know:

“I’m from New York. Well, not originally, but I came from there. I came to interview Your Imperial Majesty. I want to know how to create a place like the San Francisco Empire without someone like Your Imperial Majesty!”

He didn’t call me irreverent. After pondering deeply, he muttered something to himself and nodded.

“We cannot be everywhere… Very well, We shall forget calling you ignorant too. An excellent question. The answer is simple. Identify problems and solve them. That is all We have done here.”

Since I still couldn’t understand such a broad framework, I continued asking. I hadn’t come to hear such grand-scale ideas.

“I’d like to hear something more specific. For example… about problems with the mafia. In New York, the mafia walks around with their heads held high.”

He spoke without even considering it. I still didn’t quite understand.

“Gather about fifteen wizards skilled in destructive magic and have them fight. Make about five experts in barrier magic, and divide the remaining ten equally between specialists in direct-fire magic and arc-throwing magic, and you can win.”

“No, not that kind of method, something more realistic…”

At my response, His Imperial Majesty thundered again. I could guess why.

“Is magic not realistic? Are we not living in a world of swords and magic! Magic is a realistic method. When all methods are gone, even praying to the God-President is a realistic method. A child with insight like yours should surely be able to see reality more broadly, so why do you see it so narrowly? Release your free thoughts at once!”

It felt like being hit with an iron club. No, something even stronger than an iron club. It felt like getting punched by Michael.

It was absurd that I would say such things when I myself had told my father that nothing but reality was realistic, and when I had been reporting on the Industrial Spirit and Sol Invictus.

Once again, the secret was in the Cowboy’s last words. Words I hadn’t recalled for a while. That was the flame I was trying to steal. But that wasn’t all I discovered.

I was looking at someone who directly confronted what they feared most. Someone who made themselves a vessel, a tool named Emperor, to contain power and prevent poison from overflowing.

It was a fresh shock and familiar words and emotions. I received a piece of contradiction from this contradictory man. A piece that was contradictory in that there was nothing contradictory about it at all.