Chapter 608: Kyoonkai (3)
Editor: Tseirp
“The Twelfth Prince…”
“Prince, there sure are a lot of them, huh.”
Hearing that the first performance was by the Twelfth Prince, Ryo was surprised and Abel was impressed by the number of princes.
“Our kingdom doesn’t have many royals, does it?”
“Yeah, it’s few. Even compared with Darwei, it’s nowhere close, and among the Central Countries it’s still relatively small.”
“What does that mean for our national security?”
“You mean that with fewer royals there’s a higher chance the royal line could be wiped out if their lives are targeted, and that would be a serious problem?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
Ryo nodded vigorously.If there are no longer any proper objects of loyalty to pledge to, the kingdom itself will wobble.
Simply having a large royal family is enough to make the state resilient.
Look at the Tokugawa shogunate.
One factor that allowed the shogunate to last for over two hundred and sixty years was surely the many descendants of Tokugawa Ieyasu—especially his children.
Ieyasu had eleven sons and five daughters…
When the seventh shogun, Tokugawa Ietsugu, died in 1716 at only six years old, the shogunate line might have ended; yet the shogunate continued by taking shoguns from the three branch houses (Gosanke) founded by Ieyasu’s sons.
That continued for another 150 years.
After that seventh Ietsugu, the eighth shogun who came from the Kii Tokugawa house—the famously rambunctious Yoshimune—took over.
All of it thanks to the founder Tokugawa Ieyasu having had many children…
“Abel, the Knightley Kingdom must increase its royal family!”
“I agree, but… I feel like I’ve heard something like that from Marquis Heinlein before.”
“Ooh! As expected of the Prime Minister.”
Ryo had a very high opinion of Prime Minister Marquis Heinlein.
“However, it’s not easy to increase the royal family…”
“True. In that case, there’s no choice—we should begin research into extraordinary methods.”
“Extraordinary methods? What do you mean by that?”
Ryo put his hand to his chin in a heavy, exaggerated manner and nodded repeatedly as he spoke.
Abel looked at him with a rather skeptical expression.
Given his past experiences… that reaction was understandable.
“We should make clones of Abel and stock them!”
“What’s… a clone?”
The words of Mad Scientist Ryo were difficult for Abel.
“A person with the same genes as Abel… we’ll create people who look exactly like Abel, and if Abel dies, we’ll have one replace him. Because they’re identical down to genes, everyone won’t be confused and will accept them.”
“…Is that even possible? And what even is that?”
“It’s not possible yet, so we must research it. I think a field derived from alchemy might conceivably produce such a thing. Let’s investigate when we return to the Central Countries.”
“You said ‘a person exactly like me’?”
“Yes, yes. Exactly the same as Abel at the genetic level… genes are like the core of Abel, and from that they’d be identical.”
“Sounds… dangerous. Vetoed.”
“Down with royal tyranny!”
Thus, the mad research that strayed from the path of humanity was banned in the kingdom.
“Then I’ll go underground to continue my research…”
Ryo’s defeated, evil-doctor-like mumble reached Abel’s ears, but Abel just shook his head slightly and ignored it…
“Abel, did you notice?”
“Yeah—the Fifth Prince still isn’t here, right?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean…”
Abel frowned at Ryo’s denial.
Prince Ryun, the Sixth Prince, had been elevated to imperial prince, which meant he had leapfrogged over the Fifth Prince…how did the Fifth Prince feel about that? Or is he simply not present?
This had to be a matter of concern between the two.
From what they could see, there were ten princes present.
The former First Prince, the previous Crown Prince, was already gone.
And there were princes up to the Twelfth Prince.
So one person was missing… it was reasonable to conclude the Fifth Prince was not present.
That was Abel’s thought, but Ryo’s observation was different.
“The items on the trays have shifted to dessert-like… more snack-like things.”
“Ah… now that you mention it, true.”
In the first part, most of the fare had been more substantial, rice-and-meal-type dishes.
Of course, because these were trays, they didn’t carry large portions.
Servants tended to be present: when a plate was emptied, another dish would be brought and placed on the tray.
And often it was a different dish each time.
From what they could see, the high-ranking princes and ministers only nibbled at them, but the two were different.
With no pressing matters, they both enjoyed the music and the food.
Each time a plate was emptied, another dish was set down.
Naturally, this made them want to see how many types were prepared.
Both of them were adventurers who liked to explore mysteries!
However!
It would be bad to eat so much that they couldn’t move.
As Abel said… they had to stay aware that they were always being watched.
They were not anonymous people.
The famous Duke Rondo and his bodyguard swordsman.
So, coordinating more closely than usual with their stomachs, they explored the variety of dishes…
“In the end, in the first part we only managed to sample up to the twelfth plate.”
“Given that none were the same, they must have prepared quite a lot.”
“The dishes we couldn’t eat…”
“The staff who worked will eat them later, right?”
“It’s good if it doesn’t become food waste.”
Both Abel and Ryo were enjoying the Kyoonkai.
Maybe in a slightly different way from other attendees…
The second part of the concert began with the Twelfth Prince and continued through to the Seventh Prince.
Prince Ryun, the Sixth Prince, had been raised to imperial prince and had just married a principal consort, so he went last this time.
That should mean it was the Fifth Prince’s turn next, but…
“Ah—Prince Bin, the Fourth Prince, is preparing.”
“So the Fifth Prince really isn’t present.”
Ryo and Abel confirmed and nodded when they saw Prince Bin step onto the stage.
Whether the Fifth Prince had died or was simply unable to attend, they couldn’t tell…
“I’ll judge for myself how much Prince Bin has it in for us.”
“…Why the superior attitude?”
Abel shook his head slightly at Ryo’s remark.
Prince Bin stood alone on stage, holding a flute.
The first breath…
“Mmm…”
Unbidden, an appreciative sound slipped from Ryo’s mouth.
Even Ryo, who had said he’d judge him, had to admit the clear, pure tone.
With no other instruments to accompany it, the flute stood out all the more.
A beautiful, undulating sound that somehow painted a picture with its tone.
It was like a small boat lit by moonlight, with a single person playing a flute upon it…
After a while, however, the mood of the piece changed.
Rough, as if to blow everything away.
Some might even hear thunder…
A small boat tossed about by towering waves.
The moonlight that had seemed to protect it was gone.
Waves crashing down on the small boat…
At the instant everyone pictured that hopeless scene…
The storm ended.
The small boat was once more bathed in moonlight… and that was the end of the piece.
“Whoa!”
“As expected of Prince Bin!”
“The best flute in Darwei!”
Thunderous applause.
“Well… I must admit it was quite a performance.”
“You could just say that it was amazing.”
Ryo, for some reason pouting, nevertheless conceded the excellence of the performance, and Abel praised it frankly.
Even these two admitted it had been superb.
“He may be Prince Ryun’s rival, but I’ll admit he’s good at the flute.”
“Not just good—that was downright amazing.”
“But the Third Prince who performs after him will have a hard time, won’t he?”
“And Third Prince Churei is the sort who leans toward martial skill rather than the arts, right? I wonder what he’ll do.”
Ryo and Abel whispered this to each other while watching the stage.
Not center stage, but off to the side, an instrument had been placed.
“That’s the ‘koto’ Ryo mentioned, isn’t it?”
“Yes. More precisely, I suppose it’s called a guqin. The seven-string one.”
Ryo knew of it and had seen it in movies back on Earth, but he didn’t know the detailed playing techniques.
The guqin had been used several times in the first part, and because Ryo muttered ‘koto’ then, Abel remembered it.
But it’s different from the Japanese koto.
The big difference is that the koto’s bridges aren’t there.
Yes—those little bridges that support the strings from below.
However, an even bigger question remained:
Why was it placed at the edge of the stage instead of the center?
That question was answered at once.
“A woman has sat down in front of the guqin.”
But she did not seem about to play right away.
She appeared to be waiting for something.
“Ah—Prince Churei has come up on stage. He’s come up, but…”
“He’s holding a sword.”
“Could it be that it’s not a performance but… a sword dance?”
As if answering Abel, Prince Churei began to dance in the center of the stage, sword in hand.
The guqin began to accompany him.
At first, the guqin matched the sword dance.
But it didn’t end there.
Rather, the guqin began to take the lead over the sword dance.
The performer was watching Prince Churei’s sword dance closely.
Having confirmed it, she then began to lead.
“Is the guqin overpowering the sword dance?”
The words slipped from Abel’s mouth.
But the sword dance did not yield.
It increased its tempo, sharpened its edges, and took on a wildness in return.
“The sword dance isn’t losing either.”
“Are they fighting—the sword and the guqin?”
Neither Ryo nor Abel stopped murmuring, and neither took their eyes off the sword dance.
And their ears did not leave the guqin.
They collided, they sparked off one another, and yet each elevated the other…
The energy of sword and guqin climbed to its peak…
Shh.
Swoosh.
A razor-sharp strike and a single resounding stroke.
With that, the duel between sword and guqin came to an end.
“As expected of Prince Churei and Her Highness the Consort.”
“Every year, the prince’s sword dance is different!”
“This is precisely what makes the Kyoonkai what it is!”
Voices like that rose along with the applause.
“Prince Churei does a sword dance every year, doesn’t he?”
“To raise martial skill to the level of art—that’s quite something.”
“Watching it makes me feel like I’m watching Abel’s sword practice.”
“He’s been swinging a sword every day since he was little. In other words, that prince…”
“Saying he ‘leans toward martial skill’ isn’t an exaggeration.”
Abel and Ryo both wield the sword.
So they understood.
Prince Churei’s sword, even in a sword dance, was not mere show.
Its essence was a sword meant to cut people, not merely to display.
And he had elevated that into art.
With single-minded devotion, one must throw oneself into the sword to reach that level…
“The one playing the guqin was the consort, apparently.”
“They seemed like they were fighting each other…”
“The consort must be a woman of strong core.”
“Like Sera?”
“Also like Rihya in some ways.”
Abel and Ryo nodded repeatedly.
Those who waited on the two of them were solid, resolute people.
“That was an impressive set of performances.”
“As expected from the princes.”
Both of them were impressed.
At their refusal to slack off even a little.
“They’re in front of the Emperor, after all. They can’t afford to slack off.”
“Well, yes, that’s true…”
Ryo pretended to push up his glasses and pointed out, with the air of a prosecutor, and Abel resignedly accepted the jab.
“Now I’m curious to see how the top contender in the crown prince race, Second Prince Kouri, will perform.”
“Odd way to put it, but I’m interested too.”
“With flute, sword dance, and guqin done… will he come out with a straight-on violin assault?”
“What’s a ‘straight-on violin assault’?”
Ryo’s unique expressions were sometimes hard even for Abel to understand.
In fact, more often than not, he couldn’t quite get them…
While they exchanged such remarks, people appeared on stage.
“A lot of them, aren’t there?”
“About ten? And look at the princes’ seats.”
“Ah… Prince Kouri is still sitting in his seat!”
That’s right—Prince Kouri, who should be the star, didn’t step on stage; he sat smiling faintly and watched.
“That boy in the middle hasn’t turned ten yet, right?”
“He must be Prince Kouri’s son.”
He could still be called a child.
You could see he was nervous even from a distance.
Nevertheless, he stood center stage holding a violin.
Around him were violas, cellos, and even a double bass.
“A string quartet… no, there are about ten of them.”
“Looks interesting.”
This performance took on a different flavor from those before.
Technically, the boy still had room to improve.
But considering he’s not even ten, his skill was more than sufficient.
He had been nervous before starting, but once he began to play…
“He’s playing with such poise.”
“Incredible—he must have been trained hard.”
Ryo and Abel exchanged impressions.
Unlike the earlier presentations by Prince Bin and Prince Churei, the audience now seemed less transfixed in rapt attention and more like they were cheering him on, urging him to do his best.
And when he finished without a mistake until the end…
“Whoa!”
“As expected of Shon-sama!”
“Marvelous!”
A storm of cheers and applause.
They weren’t enchanted by the music itself so much as moved by his earnest effort.
“This might be why Prince Kouri is said to be calculating!”
“Well, that may be so… but he worked hard, so that’s fine, isn’t it?”
Abel forced a smile at Ryo’s remark.
“No, the idea was to lower the tension here for a bit… to loosen the nerves, and then bring out the big finale with Princess Shio Fen and Mifa. No matter what, they’ll stand out. In that way, he must have bought favor with Prince Ryun’s camp.”
“I see. It could be a calculated move. Prince Kouri, being the frontrunner in the succession, can afford that kind of strategy.”
Neither Ryo nor Abel was being cynical; they simply observed.
While they talked, the stage was rearranged.
“Is that the guqin from earlier?”
“No, it’s different. It has bridges… a zheng? A guzheng? There are many strings.”
“I see. I count about twenty.”
Ryo answered, and Abel, with his keen eyes, counted the strings.
Its appearance was closer to the Japanese koto than the earlier guqin.
Because the strings were raised by bridges.
A single guzheng stood at the center.
Four more were placed behind it.
After a moment, six women ascended the stage.
Princess Shio Fen took the central guzheng.
Her attendants took the four behind.
And beside Princess Shio Fen, only one stood holding a violin—Mifa.
“Yes, she doesn’t seem overly nervous.”
“That level of tension is probably just right to bring out their best.”
Both Ryo and Abel sensed that the princess and her party were approaching with just the right nervous energy.
Too much tension is bad.
Too little tension is bad.
That applies to instruments and people alike.
It began with a single stroke from Princess Shio Fen.
Four guzhengs supported that.
They painted in the listeners’ minds the gentle sunlight of spring.
And then, gently—truly gently—the violin entered.
Before long, Princess Shio Fen’s guzheng and Mifa’s violin intertwined.
The performance projected an image of a row of cherry trees in Ryo’s mind.
Cherry blossoms in full bloom lining both banks of a river.
Beautiful.
And fleeting.
Blooming proudly under the spring sun.
Then, after a key change, the scene shifted to cherry trees under the moon.
Enchanting.
Like falling snow.
Pale blossoms bathing in the moonlight.
From there, the tone suddenly became fierce!
Guzhengs and violin tangled violently, each elevating the other, both breaking through…
A flurry of cherry blossoms spun across the mind.
The wind that blew became a raging storm of spring.
The cherry blossoms began to shine on their own, riding the storm and racing everywhere.
Not a terrifying storm, but a storm that delivered light to every place.
The guzhengs and violin, having heightened each other, wove the main melody and the countermelody together, alternating and swapping, captivating the entire audience…
They reached a peak and then ended.
In the perfect silence, the small sound of catching breaths was audible.
Princess Shio Fen and Mifa.
Clap-clap…
Clap-clap-clap-clap…
“Wonderful…”
“I never expected it to be this moving…”
Almost everyone rose to their feet, some with tears, praising the performance.
“Princess Fen’s guzheng was marvelous.”
“Her attendant Mifa’s violin… I’d heard it was amazing, but this exceeded my imagination.”
Praises from the families of the other princes reached Ryo and Abel.
“It was splendid!”
“Yeah, a magnificent performance.”
Thus, all the performances at the Kyoonkai had concluded… or so it seemed.
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