Night, 8:08.
Gilan had long since noticed something strange about this world: even though it was midsummer, the days were still short. By four in the afternoon, the light would gradually fade, and night would fall.
At this hour, it was already the dead of night.
In Black City, residents of the poor districts might have gone to bed early, exhausted by a day of hard work, as if simply staying alive took everything they had. But the wealthy districts were still brightly lit. Though the upper classes lacked alcohol and art to enliven their evenings, they still had the nightlife of various clubs to entertain them.
Apartment 13, Third District, Horst.
On the fourth-floor attic of the Record Society's secret headquarters, two men were sparring, apparently working off the dinner they'd eaten two hours earlier.
Thud! Crack!
Mr. Oystercatcher, wearing a sleeveless shirt and thick leather gloves, was sweating profusely as he launched an attack on the blond young man in front of him.
One punch, then another. His heavy blows couldn't even brush his opponent's clothes. Every now and then, he found an "opening," only for the other man to casually bat his fist aside with a palm.
Not one punch landed cleanly.
The two seemed to be on entirely different levels.
As Gilan fended off Mr. Oystercatcher's attacks, his gaze casually swept over the surroundings.
The attic was quite spacious. The floor and walls had been reinforced, painted, and soundproofed, and Mr. Stork had converted it into a training room... Several wooden dummies reinforced with iron stood against the eastern wall, their surfaces wrapped in several layers of cotton-stuffed leather.
Mr. Stork must be passionate about combat techniques. No wonder he's so formidable.
Gilan marveled.
After exploring together in the Black Lake movie, he'd already realized that Mr. Stork was the strongest member of the Assembly, with exceptional skill in both marksmanship and staff fighting.
Whoosh!
Mr. Oystercatcher threw another straight punch, aimed at Gilan's face.
Let's end this. He's nowhere near my level.
Gilan shook his head to himself.
He reached out with one hand and, with a sharp, precise movement, caught Mr. Oystercatcher by the wrist. Then, as the other man stared in shock, Gilan lifted him clean off the ground and slammed him down behind himself with an over-the-shoulder throw.
Thud!!
"Ah!" Mr. Oystercatcher landed hard on his backside and cried out in pain. "I'm done, I'm done!"
Gilan smiled politely and held out a hand.
Panting heavily, Mr. Oystercatcher took his hand and let himself be pulled up. He rubbed his sore backside over and over, then exclaimed in surprise,
"Mr. Snowy Owl, you're incredibly strong... I knew you'd once defeated Detective Granny, but sparring with you in person made me realize you're far stronger than an Instructor-level fighter. The pressure you put on me is almost as much as Mr. Stork's."
"Is Mr. Stork that strong?" Gilan asked curiously.
Mr. Oystercatcher walked over to a one-legged table, picked up a cup of black tea, and took a sip. Wiping away his sweat with a towel, he nodded at Gilan.
"He's very strong," Mr. Oystercatcher said firmly.
As he spoke, he pointed to a weapon rack beside the dummies. Several slender wooden staffs, each about the diameter of a coin, rested on it. Every staff was marked with an image of a stork spreading its wings.
"Mr. Stork is an Emblem-level staff fighter. That's a mark of honor above Instructor level! He's one of the few top fighters in the entire Great Forest Region!"
"'Instructor,' 'Emblem'..."
Gilan murmured the two terms. He'd been curious about how fighters were ranked, so he asked Mr. Oystercatcher. The latter didn't hold back his opinions, and with his talkative nature, he was happy to explain:
"These are titles recognized by the Bremen Empire. You know... back in the Middle Ages, between the fifth and seventeenth centuries of the Dawn Era, the world was shrouded in darkness and war. The nobles and knights of the time walked through that troubled age with swords at their sides."
"But now we live in a civilized age. You can't stroll around the streets with a sword anymore, or the patrol officers will take you to the police station."
Mr. Oystercatcher laughed.
"So these days, upper-class gentlemen carry canes—'civilized staffs'—to replace swords as symbols of their status. Of course, they're also weapons for self-defense."
"So staff fighting has become the skill most coveted by the Empire's upper classes. If a gentleman carries a cane but can't use it, people in his circle will mock him as a 'Pigley.'"
The "Pigley" Mr. Oystercatcher mentioned was a kind of spotted pig. The word implied someone who was all show and no substance, much like "a monkey dressed in fine clothes" or "an ugly woman aping a beauty" on Earth.
"Besides staff fighting, skills like unarmed combat, archery, and horsemanship are also among the nobles' favorite sports and pastimes. They've been traditions for hundreds, even thousands of years... Just look at how popular the Fengdeng Horse Racing Festival and the Daffodil Fighting Tournament are in Black City these days."
Mr. Oystercatcher sipped his black tea and spoke at length.
Gilan listened, gaining a deeper understanding of this other world.
No wonder there are so many combat clubs in the wealthy districts, and Miss Sparrow is so skilled at archery.
He thought to himself.
Then Gilan heard Mr. Oystercatcher continue,
"The Bremen Empire also has a ranking system for people who excel at these skills. I'm only an Apprentice-level fighter, the most basic rank, but I'm confident I can pass the military's assessment and earn Instructor certification within ten years."
As he spoke, a confident smile spread across his face.
"Above Instructor is the Emblem level, like Mr. Stork's. Fighters at that rank are one in ten thousand. They could easily defeat more than ten grown men attacking them at once, then walk away without a scratch... The Empire allows these elite fighters to design their own emblem to display their unique status."
"Of course, the highest honor is Master level!" Mr. Oystercatcher said, his eyes full of longing. "Even across the entire Bremen Empire, you'd be hard-pressed to find a few Masters. I've only ever seen a handful of reports about them in the newspapers."
"They say they've mastered the art of combat to an unfathomable degree. Even in the capital, Muse City, they'd receive the respect and courtesy they deserve in the upper-class circles."
Gilan listened quietly, feeling his blood stir with excitement.
Apprentice, Instructor, Emblem, and Master... Where would my strength place me now?
He wondered.
When he'd fought Detective Granny, she'd mistaken him for an Instructor-level fighter. But Gilan was no longer the same as before; he'd entered the second, "Yellow Bile," stage of the White Cross Body-Forging Technique.
Even he couldn't estimate what level he was at now.
Should I find a time to spar with Mr. Stork?
The thought occurred to Gilan, but he quickly dismissed it.
He'd only just joined the Record Society, and Mr. Stork and Miss Sparrow knew his background. If his strength improved by leaps and bounds again after just a few days, they might grow suspicious and cause unnecessary trouble.
No rush. Mr. Stork has scheduled the next Movie Day for the day after tomorrow, and it'll be another Black Lake reel. If we split up, I'll have plenty of chances to test my strength...