“Once, there was a glorious kingdom established among the heavens.”
In the central square of Belobog, a bard stood serenely in front of the Eternal Winter Monument, playing and singing in a calm, lilting voice.
“From that kingdom came a crowned heir, tasked with seeking out the Genesis Pearl from the Kingdom of Darkness.”
The bard’s androgynous features, gentle voice, and verdant clothing gave an immediate impression: This is what a bard should look like.
“The first crowned heir began her journey of seeking the pearl.”
A crowd had gathered, listening intently to the story he wove. Among them were members of the Golden Theatre, and even its most celebrated actress, the renowned Tamila, who stood raptly among the listeners.
“But she was deceived, and the memory of her noble origins faded.”
As his harp’s melody shifted from light to foreboding, the listeners couldn’t help but furrow their brows, feeling the weight of his words. Yet, as in every hero’s tale, a turning point loomed.
“She now believed that she was the queen of the Kingdom of Darkness.”
The young bard strummed his instrument again, speaking as if he were a witness to the events he recounted.
“But take heart, a second crowned heir had already taken up the path where the first had stumbled.”
His voice held an enchanting quality, conjuring an image of a young prince, crowned but still green.
“This is the story of your journey, of your tale to be told.”
—
Until the music faded.
The applause that followed was thunderous.
Though the tale of the second heir remained unfinished, leaving some curiosity in the air, no one heckled him for it. And the bard, surrounded by the crowd, let go of his previous solemn expression and flashed a playful, roguish grin.
With a flourish, he doffed his hat like a street performer, boldly beginning to “request donations.”
Never underestimate this skill.
Plenty of people out there would watch without paying, some even staying to ramble on at length.
Now to elegantly and politely secure payment? That’s an art.
Of course, there’s something even more pressing—
Without money, you go hungry.
He, or rather, Venti, knew this all too well.
When he first arrived here, he didn’t have the popularity he did now. He didn’t know where he could perform or even manage the chaos of memories in his head, which felt like a tangled ball of yarn clawed apart by a cat.
Thankfully, in every memory he held, there was a saying, “Since you’ve come, take it as it comes.”
This approach seemed embedded deep within him, helping him overcome initial discomfort and quickly tapping into his natural talents.
With his Skyward Harp always at his side, he managed to scrape by, singing for his meals and sipping small sips of wine when he could.
But of course, his aspirations stretched beyond just that.
As he sifted through his memories, Venti gradually pieced together his current situation.
He was on the planet Jarilo-VI, more precisely… in the last bastion of human survival, Belobog.
Depositing his earnings into his hat, he pressed it back on his head, carefree, as if he had no worry about the coins slipping out.
Politely declining a warm invitation from a lady at the theater house, Venti, as light as the wind, danced through the crowd.
He had another show to attend, and he couldn’t afford to be late!
He zigzagged through the throng, pausing here and there, even lingering by the toy shops that fascinated children. After picking up a few snacks, he reluctantly left, casually glancing back.
Once he’d shaken off the Silvermane Guards shadowing him, Venti slipped down a small, unremarkable alleyway behind the Goethe Grand Hotel.
Counting three bricks down from the top and two to the left beside a row of trash cans, he gave three gentle knocks.
The bricks shifted inward, revealing a narrow slit just big enough to peek through.
“Ahem—ahem! Good friend, good friend! Tell me, where’s Mr. Magic Puss hiding?”
He asked in a friendly, almost eager tone, like a young wizard visiting Diagon Alley for the first time.
To an ordinary observer, this scene would seem ridiculous. But the next moment, his answer came.
“My dear buddy, Magic Puss is right here!”
A man poked his head out from under a garbage lid, his mischievous eyes and roguish grin leaving no doubt he was up to no good.
“Eh? Why are you over there? Whoa! The smell you’re giving off is intense!”
The moment Venti’s gaze met his, he was hit by a pungent odor, and he took a quick step back, grimacing.
Hearing his reaction, the blue-haired man finally sniffed his collar, giving an awkward smile.
“Ah, yeah, well, it’s been a rough day. When I was making a deal, I bumped into the Guards. They chased me for ages, and I had to improvise. Pardon me!”
Once Venti’s nose adjusted a bit, he shook his head and replied with a touch of exasperation.
“So, you really do have a special talent for this shady business, don’t you?”
“Hehe, business is business—no shame in it.”
Sampo clambered out of the trash can and pulled out a comb from who-knows-where, slicking his bangs back with a touch of flair. He spritzed himself with cologne from some dubious source, flashing a smile.
“Unlike you, dear Venti, I’m not blessed with a natural talent for singing. Sure, I’ve got the basics down, but to get popular like a band, I’d have to work at it for years.”
With a wink, he added, “Hey, by the way, I have a little money-making idea. How about forming a new band with Miss Cila? We could call it kessoku band!”
“Trendy, fun, bound to be a hit. And, as the brains behind the idea, all I’d need is a small cut of the ticket sales. What do you say? Genius, right?”
“Heh. Should I call you persistent, or say you’ve got a thief’s ambition?”
Venti chuckled, watching him with amusement.
“If you were somewhere where your talents could really flourish, maybe you’d be able to assess the value of the whole planet.”
“Nah, just joking around. At my age, making a decent living is as much as I hope for.”
Sampo waved it off, sensing Venti’s “polite refusal” in his tone, and didn’t press the matter.
Instead, he set about moving the trash cans he’d been hiding behind, revealing a section of rusted metal sheeting which he pried open with a few twists.
Venti looked on, curious.
“Hmm, we’re not taking the same route as last time?”
“There might be monsters from the Fragmentum along the last route. I’ll need a few days to re-evaluate it.”
Sampo wore a troubled expression but didn’t elaborate further.
With a few more pulls and grunts, he yanked away the rusted sheet and clambered down into a hidden passage. The narrow entrance fit Venti perfectly, though it was a tight squeeze for Sampo.
As they descended, the fresh, open air faded, replaced by the thick scent of rust and machine oil.
They walked along some massive piping, glancing down occasionally at pools of leaking georoot sap. In the distance, heavy machinery rumbled, filling the silence with a dull roar.
Though the path was dim and claustrophobic, Sampo and Venti, both of whom were far from taciturn, quickly filled the air with chatter, making the atmosphere feel more like a casual outing.
“Listen, I’m not nagging, but with your looks and your talent, Venti, you’re probably just a registration away from becoming a Belobog citizen. So, why keep slipping down to the Underworld?”
Sampo asked, shaking his head like an exasperated older brother.
In response, Venti gave a sly smile and answered playfully.
“Ah, but there’s still a world of people down here, waiting for me to sing of the changing seasons, to celebrate the beauty of all things!”
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