The Empire

Let us turn the clock back a little, to the Sacred Reinhardt Empire, far from Lunéville.

The Empire's Third Prince, Bernart Vel Reia, knelt before the throne and made his report to Emperor Horace.

Though they were direct kin by blood, the audience had been called without warning, and an eerie atmosphere shrouded the throne room.

"Tris has been murdered."

A tremor ran through the room.

It didn't take long for the murmurs to swell into an uproar.

In the midst of it all, the Emperor sat with eyes wide and mind blank. As the strength drained from his body, he caught himself against the armrest of his throne, just barely holding himself upright.

"There is… no mistake?"

"… No, Your Majesty."

Bernart confirmed it with a grave expression, and the Emperor covered his face with his hand.

"… His body. The circumstances! What is going on!? Why Tris!!"

The Emperor's voice and presence grew steadily sharper, and the imperial family and the assembled lords flinched under its weight. Yet there was one among them whose bearing did not waver.

"Heeey～? What's wrong, everybody～? You all look so scary～?"

That carefree, cackling figure made everyone around him knit their brows.

His features were beautiful, clearly inheriting much of his blood from the First Empress, who had been hailed as the most beautiful woman in the Empire.

And yet, while he looked to be about the same age as Bernart, his utter disregard for the gravity of the situation was like that of a small child.

"… Even one once called a genius unrivaled in history, reduced to such a state, is no more than a fool…"

The First Prince, Alphonse, behaved without a trace of his former brilliance.

The words muttered at a volume no one else could catch carried less mockery than they did deep disappointment.

The Emperor only sent his eldest son a pained look, doing nothing else to address him. After taking that in with a single glance, Bernart let out a sigh so small no one noticed and turned back around.

"… Someone. Take my brother to his chambers."

Just before he turned to face the Emperor again, Bernart's eyes slid sideways to the man he'd called his "brother," and the corner of his mouth curled up by the slightest fraction.

But that, too, had vanished by the time he came face to face with the Emperor. By then, Alphonse was already wholly absorbed in clinging to the woman who had come for him like a child, nuzzling his cheek against hers.

"According to the report, the Mercenary Guild had marked Tris as a target for purge, and Guild members responding to that mark inflicted excessive violence upon him…"

He continued his words to the throne room rocked with unease.

"Tris's body was carried off by the Guild—"

"Tell the Mercenary Guild and the Guild Association. We demand Tris's immediate return."

Bernart looked up at the voice that cut him off, and unconsciously held his breath.

The same was true for those around him.

If anything, those who had viewed the Emperor as a moderate felt an unnatural pressure radiating from him.

The man before them could not be reconciled with the present Emperor, who'd been derided as an opportunist.

"The culprits will be punished by our hand. Demand custody of them."

"But, whether or not they will obey…"

"It is an imperial decree."

With a single stroke, the Emperor cut down the voice of a moderate lord, one of those who had always endorsed his previous stance.

The Emperor rose and looked down upon his retainers.

His eyes were dark, yet within them, the flames of a seething hatred wavered.

"If they refuse, we shall force them to obey by strength of arms. If you would be true vassals who have sworn fealty to our bloodline, then fulfill your duty. Sharpen your blades!"

As one, the lords, retainers, and knights prostrated themselves and declared their obedience to his will.

The Emperor swept his gaze over them once, then turned his eyes outside the great window without changing his expression.

"If they would refuse, then let them know our pain with their very bodies…!!"

Soon after, the Emperor's demand was sent to the Guild Association and the Mercenary Guild. The Guild Association rejected it as contrary to the facts. In retaliation, the Empire declared an advance against the Guild Association and all organizations harboring it.

 

*

 

The Sacred Reinhardt Empire.

In ages when many gods still existed and contended for supremacy, two gods descended upon the cursed land where natural disasters such as volcanic eruptions and storms ran rampant alongside countless monsters.

When the male god Lyle, wielder of the jet-black sword, brought forth his power, the disasters fell silent. When the female goddess Hardia, wielder of the silver sword, brought forth her power, the monsters froze like statues.

The two gods, having thus pacified the continent, in time begat a single divine child, and entrusted to him each of their swords.

That divine child was none other than the founder of the Sacred Reinhardt Empire, the later Arthur Reia.

That was the summary of the myth handed down within the Empire.

However, much of it was outright falsehood.

The truth was that the two gods had simply found it tedious to fight the other deities, fled the conflicts through clever use of their respective powers, and spent that whole time only making love to each other.

Beyond that, when his consort goddess was bedded by the Beast God, the male god flew into a rage, went mad, and killed both the goddess and the Beast God. Still in his unbroken frenzy, he impregnated a common human's wife and was at last killed by her husband. That was the ending.

(Myths are really just sordid, tawdry stories, aren't they?)

If anything, the husband who had slain the rampaging god should have been praised as a hero who had killed a god with a common human's body. That was what Ilya thought.

That said, the unfortunate wife's child did become the founder of the Empire, so the title "child of a god" was the truth.

And because they had inherited that male god's elements, every Emperor down the line bore divine elements.

The swords said to have been entrusted to the divine child were divine tools forged from the male god's and goddess's elements respectively. The jet-black divine sword Lyle, called "Sound-Devourer," disrupted attribute elements and forcibly suppressed magic and the like. The silver divine sword Hardia, called "Time-Severer," produced the inverse of [Rydefall] (which Ilya had used before), slowing the surrounding flow of time.

The Emperor, who could wield these two divine swords, was a pillar of the people's hearts, and at the same time the very source of their arrogant attitude, exemplified by their common-human-supremacist creed.

 

*

 

The day before Torsti was to be transferred to the branch.

While handling reception duties, Ilya spotted Charon running past outside the window.

Charon then dashed straight into the branch, walked right up to the counter, and put on his usual smile.

"Hey, Ilya-chan, is Frank around?"

"Yes. In his office."

"Thanks."

Charon, normally so breezy, was hiding a sense of urgency behind his usual smile.

Picking up on the strangeness of it, the staff watched in silence as Charon climbed the stairs.

Several minutes after Charon had hurried in, he came back down from the office and told Ilya that Frank wanted her in his private chambers.

Ilya thought it odd that she'd been called to the private chambers rather than the office or reception room, but decided there was no need for caution. She left Elizah, who had been on serving duty, in charge of customers and headed to his rooms.

"Excuse me."

"Ilya, I'm sorry to do this suddenly, but we're heading to Hector-san's place now. Come with me."

"… Understood."

Sensing from his flustered manner that they were in a hurry, she put off asking for the details.

While helping him get ready, fetching his coat and so on, Frank regained some of his composure and gave her a quick summary.

"Reinhardt has declared war on its neighboring nations."

"A declaration of war?"

She straightened his crooked tie as she asked. As soon as she let go, Frank nodded.

"At first they apparently demanded that we hand over the Mercenary Guild's Guild Master and the Guild members who carried out the purge, but the Guild's going to refuse of course… So they made it public that the Emperor's own son had been killed by a beastkin Guild member, and they've been using that to whip up the citizens' mood."

"Haaa…"

What flashed through her mind was the time when monsters had been released into the arena.

Even back when she had used [Detection] and inadvertently perceived all sorts of information from across the world, the Empire had been searching for a means to invade other nations. This current incident was a gift from the heavens… if she assumed Torsti's actions had been tied to common-human supremacism, the saying about "asking for water and getting wine" might apply.

That was Ilya's conjecture.

The fact that divine tools, relics of the gods, can be wielded only by common humans is proof that common humans are closest to the gods, and are the most superior beings. Therefore, common humans are the ones meant to rule the world.

This was the claim of the common-human supremacists.

If these were the kind of people who would push their claims even at the cost of harming others, she could believe they were exactly that simple-minded.

That said, while she'd expected something to happen, she hadn't anticipated that a prince's own self-inflicted misfortune would become the spark to ignite a war.

(… Is rushing forward without thought for the trouble they cause others a national trait, I wonder?)

Bearing in mind the truth of their myth, she couldn't help but think so.

"Remember those common-human-supremacist dealers Claude caught before? It's not out of the question that the ideologues will all rise up at once."

"Indeed…"

If they were planning anything, they were almost certainly in contact with each other.

She could investigate that with [Detection], but she wasn't confident she could weed out every last pest.

As her gaze wandered in hesitation, Ilya finally noticed that the door to the private chambers was ajar.

And through the gap, she met a pair of blue eyes peeking in to spy on them.

Frank, noticing Ilya's gaze, looked toward the door as well. Receiving two pairs of eyes at once, those blue eyes vanished behind the door.

""… …""

Ilya and Frank exchanged a wordless look.

The moment he stepped back a pace, Ilya headed for the door.

When she opened it, there stood a single child, body twitching with surprise and frozen on the spot.

Fine, brilliantly shining long golden hair. Clear blue eyes that called to mind a cloudless sky. Skin pale as snow, and features so finely arranged that the figure was almost doll-like. But the fluttering long lashes and faintly flushed cheeks dispelled that impression.

It looked about one or two years old by appearance, and an infant of that age standing about all alone, completely naked, was in itself abnormal. But that wasn't why Ilya couldn't hide her shock.

"… Haku."

"!"

The moment the name was called, the frightened expression vanished in an instant.

A radiant smile bloomed across the child's face, and Haku launched herself into Ilya's arms.

The way Haku gripped her clothes tight and wouldn't let go was a reaction born of anxiety. Haku had been bewildered and shocked at having undergone tenge, her transfiguration.

The fear of not knowing whether Ilya would recognize her, on top of the fear of not knowing whether her current form would be accepted: that uncertainty was only natural for so young a heart.

"You managed your tenge properly. Congratulations, Haku."

"Tenge…?"

"It's when the dragon god's child changes from a dragon's form into a human form. It's nothing strange."

When a dragon takes human form, the term tenge, written with the same characters as the ordinary tenka used for "transformation," marks it apart as a special kind of change.

Ilya knelt down to lower her gaze, looked straight into Haku's eyes, and stroked her head.

Though still soft, white scales already lined Haku's throat, and her ears were ever so slightly pointed at the tips.

Above all, [God's Eyes] still displayed Haku as "child of the dragon god," so there was no way Ilya could have missed it.

"Did I become weird…?"

"No."

"You won't… start hating me…?"

"Of course not."

When she pulled the tearful Haku into a hug, she felt small arms hug her back with all their strength.

"Mama…!"

Hold on just a moment, please.

It goes without saying that Ilya's expression froze on her face.

 

*

 

After meeting with Haku in her tenge form, Ilya contacted Dragon God Jean.

Bothersome as the conversation was, there was something she absolutely had to ask.

[To think you'd be the one to call me. I'm so happy.]

"I'm not in the mood for chit-chat. Please just answer what I ask."

"I'd like you to tell me how a dragon god produces a child… an offshoot of themselves."

[Ah… So it's about Haku, is it? About time for the horns to grow in, isn't it?]

"Forget the horns, she's gone through tenge."

Through the piercing, she heard the sound of Jean's breath catching.

So Haku really was growing faster than usual.

Now certain of her perception, Ilya regained a sliver of her composure.

[I see… And the resemblance is to you, I take it?]

I'd like you to apply that quickness on the rest of your perception too, you know.

She thought it but didn't say it aloud.

[When we dragon gods produce a pure child, we first create a core within our body. You know this much, yes?]

"Yes."

The fetus's core was composed primarily of dragon elements.

In that period, the parent's own dragon elements (Jean's, in this case) grew thin, and that weakened state was what a demon had targeted.

[And right at that time, I was wounded, and you healed me. No… that wasn't healing. It was practically resurrection.]

"… So it was then."

During the treatment, when there was a shortage of elements to compensate for the losses, the fetus's elements could be drawn upon. Mindful of that, Ilya had used her own blood to supplement the dragon elements and divine elements.

That, according to Jean, was what had triggered the formation of a second core inside her body.

(… Which means Haku's stats grew that much because of the elements she got from me…?)

A child who had inherited cheats.

Just thinking of the implications gave Ilya a headache.

[I'm so glad. Haku really is, beyond doubt, your child and mine.]

Branding Jean's words as nauseating, she ended the call early and headed for the office where Haku was waiting.

"Ah, ma— Ilya!"

The moment the door opened, Haku spotted Ilya and toddled over to her on unsteady legs.

After mulling over the implications inside and out, she had decided "Mama" was a step too far and had Haku call her by name. As to how she tried this and that, struggling desperately to do so without crushing Haku with the heartless words "I am not your mother," that goes without saying.

Ilya picked Haku up, stroked her head, and lowered her own in thanks to Desiree and the others.

"Thank you all for watching Haku."

"Not at all. Haku-chan was such a good kid that there was nothing for us to do."

When Desiree stroked Haku's head, Haku smiled bashfully.

Incidentally, the clothes were of the kind a town child would wear, generated by Ilya. At this stage, it was still impossible to tell whether Haku leaned more toward girl or boy, so she'd just gone with something neutral.

"Were you like this when you were small, Ilya?"

"Eh? Well, all elves are sort of like this…"

To Ria's question (she'd already finished getting ready to head home), Ilya could only manage a vague answer. She was perfectly aware she was off the mark.

Haku wasn't an elf, after all.

But to answer truthfully would risk revealing that Haku was the dragon god's child.

Accounting for that, Ilya tried to glide around the question. But…

"But Haku's a dragon, right? Why does she look so much like Ilya?"

Cynthia didn't read between the lines for her.

It couldn't be helped.

Ilya resolved herself.

Rather than dodging it halfheartedly, she'd dodge it with her whole heart.

"When a high-ranking creature has very high mana, they can take on human form. It's called tenge."

"Oh wow! Haku, you must have such amazing mana then! Amazing～!"

"Ehehe…"

Without really understanding, Haku basked in Cynthia's praise and giggled bashfully.

To think Dragon God Jean had once been through a phase like this, she found it strangely moving. But that thought was short-lived. The moment she remembered how clingy Jean was with family, she decided this might just be how it went.

While Ilya was thinking such things, the branch staff had at some point begun comparing Haku to her.

"Maybe you should try being a little more honest sometimes too, Ilya."

So said Darren.

Says the man too shy to even face Elizah.

Ilya leveled her gaze at him with half-lidded eyes, while Haku, missing the meaning of it all, cocked her head in puzzlement.

"Ilya cries sometimes, but she always smiles, you know?"

"""Eh… …!?"""

"H-Hey, Haku…"

Haku had taken "being honest" as a sign of laughter and tried to defend her, and everyone froze in place.

Caught off guard, Ilya couldn't manage a smooth denial, and her stumble must have only made Haku's words sound more credible.

"Ilya, did something happen!?"

"Did Frank-san do something to you?"

"You can always talk to me～"

"Want me to cover your shift?"

"I'll rub your shoulders…"

She was buried under an avalanche of concern.

What does Claude take Frank for? And also, why shoulders?

There were quite a few spots she wanted to poke at, but she could tell everyone was saying it in earnest, and it was all she could do to keep the joy from showing on her face.

"It's all right. It's fine, really. If anything comes up, I promise I'll say so. Nothing's happened."

While she was trying to talk them all down, Haku, the cause of it all, watched on with a cheerful smile, looking like she was having the time of her life.

 

*

 

So much for the declaration of war.

The day after Lunéville passed in cheerful harmony thanks to Haku.

Torsti's condition had stabilized, and the decision was made to transfer him to the branch.

Ilya had rearranged a private room to receive him and was waiting for him to be brought in when she heard a knock at the door.

Earlier than the scheduled transfer time, however.

"Yes, please come in."

"Pardon me."

The one who appeared was not the transport team, but the Apostle.

"Has something come up?"

"No. The arena medical staff are handling the transfer with utmost care, so there are no issues."

Then what?

She declined to interrupt and merely urged him to continue. The Apostle's expression remained a mild smile, but his gaze sharpened.

"This conflict at hand. What, if I may ask, do you intend to do?"

"Nothing in particular."

At Ilya's immediate answer, the Apostle's smile vanished.

That said, the emotion within it wasn't displeasure; it was closer to being taken aback.

He composed himself swiftly and asked his next question.

"May I ask why?"

It was very difficult to explain one's own thinking accurately to another.

But since he had deliberately chosen to ask under these circumstances, there was meaning in it. So Ilya decided to answer him.

"I've decided I won't involve myself in conflicts between people if I can help it."

That was, next to her self-imposed rule of "I will not kill anything else," her second most important precept.

That said, it wasn't a geas that demanded her life or some other price for being broken; it was simply a rule to guide her actions.

Quarrels that broke the laws and rules of society… brawling at the branch, customer complaints, and the like sometimes had to be addressed as part of her work at the branch.

"Just a rule" could be said and dismissed easily enough, but there was a clear line drawn around whether it was a situation an ordinary individual would step into.

And in this case, the line had clearly been crossed.

"… Are you condoning conflict, then?"

"It's not quite a matter of condoning or denouncing… I think conflict between people is the act of striving to build a better environment. So shutting it down outright wouldn't be good for anyone."

"Even if that means the weak are oppressed…?"

As his questions piled up, the Apostle's gaze and tone grew increasingly probing.

What kind of words or reactions he was hoping for, Ilya didn't know. But the conclusion that "I cannot be anyone but myself" wouldn't change, and so she had no intention of giving anything but honest answers.

"In the history I know, there were no people who remained the weak forever. There were no people who remained the victors forever either… In whatever form, I don't want to distort history."

"Distorting history, is it."

Whether he didn't understand, or simply didn't grasp her framing of it, the Apostle repeated her words as if to confirm them.

Ilya nodded and continued.

"It would be easy for me to step in and stop the war. But that's just suppressing it by force, and it solves nothing. The moment a deterrent like me is gone, the rebound from holding it down for so long could turn it into something far worse."

A cheat ability was overwhelming enough to change the future that ought to have unfolded naturally.

Even when that wasn't the user's will. Even when it went against the user's will.

I am, in this world, something that should not exist. A mere counterfeit.

The image of the young girl, branded into her mind, who had laughed while throwing those facts in her face.

She kept her urge to claw at her chest from showing on the outside, and only thought, intensely:

I never want to make the same mistake again.

"… And so I have no intention of involving myself personally in this affair either."

When Ilya finished her words, the Apostle put a hand to his chin as though deep in thought, and looked away.

After remaining like that for a while, he eventually returned to his usual gentle smile.

"I understand your thinking, Goddess-sama."

"I am honored by your understanding."

Although they were both showing smiles to each other, the heavy air filling the room showed no sign of lifting.

Ignoring the atmosphere, Ilya decided to take this as a good opportunity to ask the Apostle a question in turn.

"Forgive me for asking, but is the matter of the Empire unrelated to the Evil Gods?"

"Yes. I have checked, but no Evil God is involved in this affair."

The Apostle confirmed without changing expression, and even offered the information freely.

Then, on to the next question.

"In that case, the abnormally low number of subjugation commissions from the Empire in recent years… is that the work of the world trees?"

"Yes."

If there were no monsters, primary industry wouldn't be disrupted by anything other than changes in nature itself, and they could conserve their forces while building national strength.

In the end, then, it had all gone according to the Apostle's design.

"I understand. Thank you very much."

She thanked him with a smile that concealed her real feelings, and the Apostle took the gesture purely at face value and bowed his head.

"In the midst of your busy work, I am most grateful for your time. I shall return to the church."

"Not at all. My apologies for keeping you here for such tedious matters."

After confirming that they had wrapped up the conversation with that chilly exchange, the Apostle headed for the door.

His hand on the doorknob, just before he opened it, the Apostle paused.

"This is just my own opinion, but…"

He turned back around.

"That 'history that is yet to unfold'… doesn't it, fundamentally, also include your actions?"

"…"

"On that premise, the distortions you say you'd cause are no longer distortions at all… That is how 'we' see it."

Having said what he wanted to say, the Apostle bowed and left the room.

(Calling that "your own opinion" when you're so clearly not just yourself, that's something.)

The one she'd want to respond to was gone, leaving her with no outlet, and the Apostle's words lingered endlessly in her mind.

What if her own actions truly were part of history?

The events she had laughed about with others, the events that had made her want to die from grief, the events that had brought her tears of joy, the events that had driven her to lose herself in rage… if every one of them had been set in stone, destined to unfold…

Then her own will had no meaning.

"… That's a bit unpleasant."

Her self-deprecating murmur reached no one's ears and scattered into the air.

 

*

 

Two days after Torsti was transferred.

The head of the Guild Association's Rondéville headquarters arrived in Lunéville. Together with several mages he'd brought along, they used simultaneous casting of healing magic to forcibly accelerate Torsti's recovery.

It was a brute-force solution to the problem they'd been warned about beforehand: that his recovery was unusually slow. Yet even so, the young man's healing rate was clearly sluggish, and everyone present was stunned.

Still, they managed to restore him enough to regain consciousness, and the moment Torsti stirred, the magic was halted.

"You're awake?"

"Where am I…?"

Torsti moved his eyes around, and once he'd grasped his situation, he shut them again.

(Waking up surrounded by burly warriors, anyone would want to close their eyes.)

Setting aside Ilya's deliberately carefree thoughts, things proceeded.

"… Do you understand what doing this means?"

"Yes, I do… No. 'I've been made to understand' would be more accurate."

"What…!?"

Reacting to the headquarters chief's words, Torsti reflexively tried to sit up and grimaced in pain.

In response, the chief let out a small sigh that almost sounded relieved.

The chief's visit also had the purpose of letting Torsti grasp his current situation. For that, his slow healing was convenient.

"Torsti-san… No. Tris Dil Reia-sama."

"Wha—!?"

"Your father has demanded that we hand over both the Mercenary Guild's Guild Master and the perpetrators, claiming that beastkin acting on the Mercenary Guild's commission carried out unjust violence against you and killed you."

"Hand over" was just a pretext.

It was plainly a demand for custody so that they could exact revenge, and naturally the Guild had no choice but to refuse.

"As a result of the Guild refusing, your father… His Majesty the Emperor of the Sacred Reinhardt Empire has declared war on the Mercenary Guild and all organizations harboring it."

"That's absurd! N-No, I… I know nothing of this!"

"That goes without saying. You were merely being used."

Torsti covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide, body trembling as if in fear.

To have been declared dead by one's own father, and to learn that it was only a pretext for war: the depth of his despair was only natural.

Everyone in the room, on the receiving end of that declaration of war, must have grasped that to some extent. Each face turned toward Torsti wore an expression that, while not exactly pity, was complex and at least free of mockery.

"Orbwight, currently at war with the Empire, has petitioned us at Rondéville to take you into custody and hand you over."

"… You mean for me to go straight into the Empire?"

"If you were to be killed, an early resolution of the war would be very difficult."

At the chief's blunt phrasing, Torsti raised his head once. But it only dropped again immediately.

The hand that had been covering his mouth dropped, baring an expression that had gone completely pale.

His left hand, now lowered, clutched the bracelet on his right wrist, as if trying to suppress the trembling.

When someone insisted on being the victim without waiting for the facts to be verified and drew his sword, would that person readily sheathe the blade they had so casually raised?

The answer was no.

Given how quickly they'd acted, anyone would conclude that the Empire had been hunting for a motive.

And now that they'd finally found one, they'd found their just cause.

If they let it slip away now, they themselves would become the perpetrators, or even criminals.

In that case, they had only to take steps to make sure it didn't slip away. Take measures to keep the truth from coming out.

Assassinate him. Imprison him so he could never appear in public.

Once that happened, there was no putting the sword away. There was no path left but to kill or be killed.

Furthermore, this was not a problem between individuals but between nations, and the threads were tangled in complex ways.

The immediate problem was that, with the Empire and Orbwight on the verge of clashing, the chance of hostile nations other than the Empire invading Orbwight was rising.

War called more war, and the flames spread.

To stop that, the Guild wanted an early resolution to the situation.

Hence this briefing, and this "protection" by the name of detention.

Of course, the Guild's claim to the right of life and death so that it could hold the initiative wasn't purely an act of justice either.

"We will spare no effort in escorting you to Orbwight. We ask for your cooperation."

Do as we say.

To the deferential words delivered in a tone that brooked no refusal, Torsti could not even muster a reply.

What welled up in Ilya's chest was nostalgia.

She knew it was inappropriate, but the memory of when she'd realized her own parents had abandoned her came back to her, and the thought ran through her mind.

"… I will visit again tomorrow. Manacles will be foregone, but please indulge us in placing guards. With that, I'll take my leave."

The chief stood and bowed, and Frank, Ilya, and everyone except the "guards" (who were actually monitors) left the room.

Given the depth of his dejection, it was no wonder. Torsti did not even glance their way as they departed.

After the chief returned to his lodgings and the other Guild members were dismissed, Ilya brought tea to the office where Frank had retreated and called to him.

"Excuse me, do you have a moment?"

"Hm, what is it?"

Frank's response when she asked was just like usual.

He was easy enough to make proposals to, but he was certainly carrying stress from being saddled with a troublesome affair, and she couldn't help feeling some hesitation.

"There's one thing I'd like your permission for."

Sensing her slight hesitation, Frank nodded magnanimously.

 

*

 

The Empire's Second Prince, Tris Dil Reia, lay at the bottom of his despair.

His resolve.

The will he had inherited.

The words entrusted to him.

The actions he had piled up.

Faced with the fact that all of it had been rendered meaningless, he had lost even the will to move.

For what purpose.

The answer to that question had crumbled away from the very premise.

A man who had lost his footing had nowhere to stand. That meant he had also lost the pillar that supported his very will to live.

There was no longer any meaning to being alive.

Even after concluding that, he could find no will to do anything.

If he just rotted away as he was, so be it.

That was what he thought, in earnest.

"I've brought your meal."

The voice of a young woman reached his ears, but he didn't even comprehend the words. They simply scattered into the air of the room.

A folding table was set up so he could eat while sitting on the bed, and the meal was arranged on it.

Even as the motions registered at the corner of his vision, his thoughts went no further than "something is moving."

"Shall I feed you?"

The words would have ordinarily earned at the very least a glare of revulsion from him, but no emotion stirred at all.

More than that, he didn't even register the meaning of them.

Seeing his state, the young woman closed her eyes once instead of sighing, opened them again, and turned around.

"My apologies, but could you give us a moment alone with Torsti-san?"

"… Ha? H-Huh, eh!? No, but…"

"The branch manager has given his permission. Please don't worry."

On Torsti's behalf, the young woman entreated the guard-cum-monitor, whose mind had flown off somewhere at her earlier remark, and the two of them were left alone.

In ordinary circumstances, this was a situation he would have been on guard against first thing, but even if Torsti had been able to grasp the present situation, he would have concluded there was no longer a body left worth protecting.

Confirming the setting was prepared, the young woman drew a single breath and opened her mouth.

"Eat properly."

"… Huh?"

A commanding tone.

In his state of acutely registering the situation, the fact that someone knew his identity had been seared into his mind. Precisely because of that, being commanded despite the fact that someone knew he was a prince surprised him, and Torsti reacted to the woman's words.

Whether he reacted or not, she had intended to force the food down his throat if necessary. So this could be called a fortunate start.

Or so the young woman looking down at Torsti (Ilya) judged.

Unlike her own situation when she'd been depressed, his case had many lives at stake.

She felt sorry for him as she imagined what was on his mind, but the fact remained that neither he nor those around him had time for him to languish slowly.

"Even just to get to Orbwight, you'll need to recover your strength, won't you?"

"…"

No reaction.

Then it was time for the next hand.

"You were abandoned, weren't you."

"…!"

Torsti's body twitched ever so slightly.

She briefly lifted her barrier and turned [Spirit Sight] on him, and what she saw was a small surge of anger directed at her.

Certain that she'd won the gamble at this point, Ilya wasted no time pressing the attack.

She made her voice deliberately bright, callously cheery, like a person giving encouragement.

"They used you, so you might as well use Orbwight yourself! In fact, you should drag your father down off his throne! Tell the world he's a monster who tried to kill his own son just to start a war!"

If this trick succeeded, she'd be putting Orbwight in great debt, and there was a high chance he'd become a puppet government.

She knew that perfectly well, but for now she dared not touch on it.

"What's there to hesitate about? You were planning to live as Torsti from the start, weren't you? So…"

"Shut up!!"

The shout came at the same moment as the tray on the table was swept off. The containers, hurled into the air, scattered their contents over Ilya as they slammed into her.

She'd seen it all coming and could have dodged.

But she hadn't.

The room was soundproofed, so there was no fear of being overheard from outside. The barrier protecting her made the impact and the heat of the porridge irrelevant, but she did not skimp on her acting.

"O-Ow, hot! W-What are you doing!? I was just trying to encourage you!!"

"Don't open your mouth again…!"

Body twisted with pain and disgust, Torsti raised his voice.

"Encourage… you call that encouraging!? This idiot spouting nothing but baseless nonsense, you must be joking…!"

"W-What do you mean baseless! Your own father abandoned you and used you besides!"

"Don't say it!!"

With nothing left to throw, Torsti slammed his fist into the bed in raw fury.

The springs absorbed the impact strangely, leaving him without satisfaction, and his unspent anger turned on Ilya.

"What would a flattering little wench like you know!? Of my… of my mother's regret!?"

"M-Mother…!? What are you talking about…!?"

"She was killed!! By those other women!! By that vile Empress and her concubines!!"

"W-What does that have to do with anything?"

His clenched fist and clenched teeth ground audibly together.

"The imperial family is the lineage of the gods… When I was not chosen by the divine swords, I lost my right of succession… My mother took her own life. Driven by the shame of having failed the Emperor's expectations…!? Then why did my mother's body bear wounds!? My mother, who had told me to strive for the people and for father! My mother, who had encouraged me, telling me I could become a fine emperor!! Those women toyed with her, and killed her!!"

After pouring out his words in a rush, the recoil left Torsti panting, his shoulders heaving.

As his breathing settled, his heart settled with it, and Torsti hung his head once more as he resumed speaking.

"… It wasn't just my succession rights. Out of fear that I might plot rebellion, my brothers manipulated things to strip me of my military commission, and even closed off the path of supporting the country as a mere vassal…"

The hand he'd clenched into a fist opened, and Torsti looked down at palms too calloused for an imperial prince.

A strength he hadn't possessed as a mere imperial prince. And yet, a strength that couldn't even protect himself, let alone anyone else.

Even so, he couldn't help but cling to it.

"Only one path was left to me… If I built up military achievements, I could show my father and those vile women that I was worth more than they thought… I wanted to prove that my mother had not been wrong…"

"… So that's why you were so impatient."

At Ilya's words, Torsti let out a hollow laugh as he touched the bracelet.

"I thought that if I grew strong enough, I might be chosen by the divine swords over my brothers… But to think they wanted me dead… I never imagined."

The Torsti who said that was utterly exhausted. But unlike a moment ago, his gaze was clearly focused even in his dejection.

As far as Ilya's plans were concerned, having him pour out his inner thoughts to this point was more than enough.

But Torsti had rallied beyond her expectations.

It really did speak to growing up in a castle teeming with monsters in human skin.

Without spending too long admiring it, she decided to move to the next stage.

She'd gotten more out of this than she had hoped, so there was no reason not to make use of it.

"Allow me to correct you on two points."

"… What?"

The eyes Torsti turned on her were dubious.

He couldn't trust her after the impression she'd left a moment ago, but there were facts he had to know. He had the right to know them.

That was Ilya's judgment, but his suspicious gaze also held bewilderment at the abrupt shift in her attitude.

"For the first point. There is no possibility you will be chosen by the divine swords."

"… How would the likes of you know!"

His refusal to believe was as she'd expected.

That was exactly why she played her trump card.

"You might not believe my words, but what if the words came from the dragon god, or the demon god?"

"… What?"

"The Empire's two divine swords, 'Lyle' and 'Hardia,' are a special kind of weapon called divine tools. They embody god-like power not through magic but through the weapon itself, and only a very limited few can wield them… Am I wrong?"

Of course Torsti did not deny it.

"The condition for their activation is that someone bearing divine elements wields the weapon. The reason the imperial family of Reinhardt could wield the divine swords across generations is that they were descendants of a god, with that lineage flowing unbroken… That's the Empire's claim, but the fact that divine tools can only be wielded by those bearing divine elements is borne out by histories the world over, so people everywhere know it. The Empire and the common-human supremacists exploit this with their assertion that 'common humans are closest to the gods.'"

Here was the heart of it.

"Their claim itself is false because the dragon god and the demon god can also wield divine tools, but even among their kin, those without divine elements cannot wield them. So it's a fact that only those born with divine elements can use them."

As if she'd heard it from the two gods directly, but of course she'd done no such investigation and held no such conversation.

What mattered was presenting grounds plausible enough to be believed.

And those grounds had apparently been convincing enough.

"Then… I…"

"Unfortunately, you do not possess divine elements."

"… I see."

Either he was already at the very bottom of his despair with no further to fall, or he had anticipated it. Either way, he showed no agitation, and accepted reality.

But for Ilya, that fact was nothing more than a stepping stone.

"As for the second correction, the part about His Majesty wishing for your death is wrong."

"… Why do you say that?"

"Because of that bracelet."

Drawn by her words, Torsti looked at the bracelet on his right wrist.

The bracelet he had been touching as though to settle his heart: its effects could be known in detail through [God's Eyes].

Before telling him that, Ilya asked him as a starting point.

"May I ask who gave it to you?"

"… … … … From my father, at my birth, my mother told me…"

Such a thing was very expensive to begin with, and the people who could obtain one were limited. Even so, Ilya was relieved (without showing it) that her guess had been correct.

It also spared them the detour of "how did this come to end up in Torsti's hands."

Ilya retraced her line of reasoning in her head, and offered him a suggestion.

"Could you please take it off, just once?"

"… Why?"

There was a thorn of wariness in his voice.

I know it's important to you, but you don't have to be this on edge about it.

The thought lasted only an instant. Ilya then noticed one possibility.

"Were you told never to take it off?"

"!"

A clearly stricken reaction.

While Torsti was rattled, Ilya decided to settle it before he could regain his composure.

"If you take it off just once, I think you'll believe me."

"… … … … …"

Having had his thoughts read aloud, the credibility of her words had risen. Torsti hesitated, hesitated, and at last reached for the bracelet.

It had been magically locked so it couldn't come off accidentally, but as he murmured an incantation, there was a click, and the bracelet split into two.

In that instant, Torsti's body made a "creak" of a sound.

"Gh, gah…!?"

His expression contorted in agony as he curled in on himself, Torsti went rigid.

A pain as if his very body were being torn apart consumed him. He couldn't even cry out, let alone move, and cold sweat poured from his pale brow.

Ilya undid her barrier, cut the skin of her arm, and poured her blood into the now-empty glass that had toppled over.

She turned Torsti's face upward and brought the glass to his mouth.

"Don't panic. It's all right. Drink slowly."

At first Torsti gagged and visibly recoiled, but as relief from the agony and a sudden dependency took hold, he soon tipped the glass back of his own accord.

After draining the glass dry, Torsti remained vacant for a while, before gradually realizing what he had done and beginning to tremble.

"What… was that…! What did I just do…!"

"Please calm down. First let me heal your wounds, so please close your eyes."

She properly chanted and cast [Heal], and his wounds fully recovered.

He himself was astonished at the speed of his recovery, but it was only possible because the bracelet was off. In his current state, anyone could have healed him normally.

That said, removing the bracelet brought its own problems, so it wasn't a simple matter.

In any case, there was no need to keep the bracelet off any longer.

"That should do it. Now, the bracelet…"

"… Yeah."

Torsti put the bracelet back on, then grimaced as he wiped the stain on the bed and the blood from around his mouth.

The revulsion of having drunk another's blood mingled with the pleasure that remained within him. The anxiety of not knowing how to reconcile the two ate at him.

There were some people who would choose death of their own accord at this stage, but in his case, he should be fine. Ilya was inwardly relieved.

"… You're going to explain… yes?"

"Of course."

It wasn't the contemptuous look from when he'd been venting, but his gaze still had thorns in it. Ilya nodded.

"What just happened was an act to replenish 'what it means to be a human being.'"

"… Be a human…? What are you saying…?"

In her previous world, just saying "human genetic information" would more or less cover it, and the explanation would be easy. But the circumstances were different in this world, and explaining it in a way someone without certain knowledge could grasp was hard.

"The information about 'what shape a human takes' is what makes up our bodies as humans. Your body is starting to forget the human form, and what just happened replenished it by taking in a piece of a human body."

"Forget my body…?"

Torsti looked at his palms, stained with Ilya's blood.

"What am I…?"

"What flows in you is not divine elements, but demon elements."

Demon elements removed the ceiling on bodily stats, granting prodigious physical abilities.

But their nature was that of "a kind of bug that had slipped outside the management system," and the specialization toward physical stats was only a byproduct.

The pure demon elements of Ilya, the demon god, and his kin Gabriel were "bugs that had been specially recognized," and they had the property of canceling out the flaws caused by demon elements, so they suffered no defects themselves. But those who were born as mutations with demon elements were genuine bugs, and to varying degrees would carry problems like his.

The standard demerit of demon elements (inducing panic and madness in surrounding life) would, in the case of mutations, affect not the surroundings but the person themselves, causing them to go berserk.

To suppress these effects, mutations had to take in the information of normal humans.

Borrowing an example from Earth's culture, the interpretation would be that "vampires and human-devouring oni would feed on blood and human bodies to replenish information in order to maintain their own shape and existence."

Of course, oni with no sense of self would have already gone berserk long ago and would simply be eating humans on instinct alone.

"So I wasn't a child of the gods… I was a child of demons…"

So murmuring, Torsti let out a dry laugh.

He looked as if he thought everything fell into place, but Ilya's explanation was not yet done.

"It was precisely because they judged it so, that they gave you that bracelet."

"This… bracelet…?"

"Yes."

Given what had just happened, Torsti had no choice but to acknowledge it even without her insistence.

The bracelet-shaped sacred artifact he wore was called the Reincarnation Circlet.

Its effect: "when struck by a curse such as an instant-death spell, it takes the blow and breaks in your place." In other words, it "took the separation of the soul on your behalf," which can be rephrased as "the donning of a proxy soul."

But it didn't only have benefits. In exchange for preventing contracts and lethal curses, it also took in recovery and support magic as proxy effects, so once he was wounded, it was difficult to heal him fully.

That was the true identity of what had been thought of as his slow-healing constitution.

On the other hand, he had also been receiving a byproduct from that "proxy soul": the supplementation of the bug.

Through the proxy soul, the information of a human body was being provided to him, and he had been successfully suppressing the defects caused by the bug.

"The Emperor doesn't wish for your death."

"…!"

The memory of having been abandoned awakened the fear of being betrayed again, and he refused to let himself hope.

But because Ilya had spoken the words aloud, because he had heard them, hope had been born in his heart.

Once hope is born, one cannot help but move forward.

That hope might lure him on, then dash him down into even deeper despair.

Even so, Ilya wanted to say it.

She wanted to tell him.

"Please think about the meaning of the fact that the bracelet was never taken from you. Not when you were passed over by the divine swords, nor when you left the country."

You are different from the me who was abandoned with full knowledge that I would die.

She wanted him to understand that.

She wanted him to realize it.

"Was I… was I, perhaps, not abandoned after all…?"

To Torsti's murmur as he looked down at his palms, Ilya did not answer.

"Was I… allowed to live…?"

Ilya did not answer.

Receiving no reaction when he had expected one, Torsti looked at Ilya.

His gaze was still wary, yet imploring. Ilya met it with the same smile she wore at reception, one that neither affirmed nor denied.

She could have given him an answer here.

But if he lived supported by an answer someone else had given him, he would end up clinging to that answer, and the moment something happened, he would use it as a way out.

It might be cruel. But thinking about what lay ahead, Torsti had to stand on his own.

Not to be recognized by someone else, but to be able to recognize himself.

"I think you should do what you want to do, Torsti-san."

"… I see."

Perhaps he gave up on getting anything more from Ilya. Torsti lowered his gaze and fell silent.

His profile was hard. But the sense of doom that had been there a moment ago was gone, replaced by the strength of will to keep struggling even as he agonized. Ilya could feel it.

The silence stretched on.

She'd braced herself for several hours, but contrary to her expectation, he moved after little more than a dozen minutes.

The hand that had hung loosely open slowly closed.

After that, Torsti looked up and stared at the air for a while with strong eyes.

Then, abruptly, he turned his whole body toward Ilya and bowed his head so deeply that his forehead nearly touched the bed.

"I did something terrible to you… I am truly sorry."

When Torsti raised his head slightly, his gaze was on the food and containers scattered across the floor.

Accepting his apology, Ilya put on a smile.

"I will not forgive you."

"…!"

Perhaps her response had been unexpected, because Torsti's expression froze.

How many people's hard work went into a single bowl of porridge? Considering that, it was only natural.

It was Ilya who had made him angry, and intentionally at that. So she'd already been prepared to take his anger directed at her, but lashing out at the food was unacceptable.

She gathered the scattered containers and food onto the tray. Collection complete.

"As your punishment, you will eat what I bring next, without leaving a single bite, no matter how much you dislike it."

"! Yes. Of course."

Now that there was no need to mind his stomach, the menu would be liver-and-chive stir-fry, a seafood rice bowl with sea urchin and shrimp, oyster chowder, and plain yogurt.

Partly because of the season, seafood in landlocked Lunéville was on the pricey side.

(Fufu. I'll fix him so he never thinks of wasting food again.)

Even while considering such black-hearted things, the fact that she made sure to choose a menu rich in nourishment made Ilya devoted to the matter of food (or, in another sense, a tsundere about it).

When she stepped out of the room, the monitor took one look at her and froze.

It was only then that Ilya finally noticed the state of her own clothes.

(… I'd better change before the food's ready.)

Sniffing her clothes to check whether the smell had soaked in, she hurried off to the kitchen.

 

*

 

When she brought the meal in for real, Torsti devoured it with surprising delight.

He commented that it was the best food he'd ever had, better even than what he'd eaten at the castle, and Ilya decided to pass that along to the kitchen staff for their morale.

Finishing his meal with refined table manners, Torsti turned to face Ilya.

"… I'll go. I'll meet with my father and ask him directly about his true intentions… I want to stop the Empire's reckless act, even at the cost of my life."

"I pray from the bottom of my heart for your safety and success."

"Thank you… Though I am a little afraid."

The wry smile he showed as he said it lacked any sense of doom.

"I don't know if this will be of any comfort, but there's one thing I should tell you."

"?"

"If you take that bracelet off, your physical abilities will rise, and you can ignore the effects of the divine tools, the divine swords."

"I-Is that so…!?"

Ilya nodded.

The effects of divine tools manifested by rewriting the world's information itself; they didn't produce the actual phenomenon as a phenomenon.

For example, a magic spell that produces lightning actually uses fire and wind elements to generate the lightning itself. But the lightning produced by a divine tool only "creates the perception that lightning has occurred," and only when something enters "the area where information has been rewritten to look like lightning" is the target's information rewritten to "having received lightning."

For most people, the result of either is the same phenomenon. But it changes when the one on the receiving end has demon elements, something that has dropped outside the "management of information."

Because they are not recognized as targets whose information can be rewritten, the divine tool's effect doesn't take hold. To put it in the example earlier, his information would not be rewritten to "having received lightning," and so he would not be in a state of having been struck by lightning.

This was also why, in the mutual countering of this world, "demons overcome gods."

"That said, phenomena caused by the divine swords are another matter. For example, if Hardia stops a cut-out section of floor and you then release the effect, you will of course take damage from falling. When escaping, or when fighting with the bracelet off, please be very careful to assess such things."

"R-Right."

Perhaps Ilya's words weren't sinking in for him; Torsti's response was uncertain.

The Torsti who had been thinking about how he could use the fact that he didn't need to fear the divine swords now spotted a downside, and knit his brow.

"If I take the bracelet off, will I need to drink blood again…?"

"If you keep it off continuously, yes. But the recent replenishment should last for a while."

After all, it was one hundred percent pure, S-class demon element.

"And one more thing I should correct. The replenishment doesn't need to be blood."

"I-It doesn't? Then why did you…?"

"The biggest reason is that blood is the most efficient form of replenishment… but there's also the fact that, among a human's body and bodily fluids, it's the one with the least resistance to taking in."

For a moment Torsti looked as if he didn't understand what she meant, but when the implication clicked, his face went red.

Even though he was a citizen of the Empire, he showed no prejudice against non-common humans, and his reaction at a place where he ought to feel disgust was that.

(Torsti-san is a little off, isn't he.)

His reaction and her own thoughts aside.

When it came to replenishment, the amount, quality, and frequency varied with the rank of the demon elements one possessed.

In his case, with a rank of C (quite high among mutations) and a rebound from not having replenished until now, both his body and his sense of self had begun to collapse all at once.

That's why, without high-rank blood from someone like Ilya or the demon god, he would have ended up going berserk or simply falling apart.

That was also the catch in the earlier mention of removing the bracelet for healing.

He could die before healing finished, or he could go berserk and attack whoever was treating him, so she couldn't have left it to Sophia.

"With this much replenishment, you should be fine even with the bracelet off for a year. But even with the bracelet on, bleeding or wounds will shorten that, so please be careful."

"… Got it. I'll keep it in mind."

"My apologies for the long talk. Please take care of yourself."

"… … Yeah."

The strange pause bothered her, but his departure was tomorrow. So that he could get proper rest, Ilya picked up the tray and left the room right away.

Frank, who had been about to step onto the stairs to the second floor, spotted Ilya and headed down to her. There was something oddly awkward about his expression.

"… How did it go?"

Frank had been informed in advance that Ilya would be lighting a fire under Torsti.

He must have been worried since Torsti was such an important figure.

That was Ilya's first thought. But his expression was the usual one of worry for someone close to him (in this case, worry for her), and Ilya felt something warm settle in her chest.

"W-What's wrong?"

"Ah, nothing."

Apparently her cheeks had softened without her noticing it, and Frank somehow looked flustered at the sight, which made her loosen up even more.

"Everything's fine. It seems he's decided of his own will to head to the Empire."

"… I see."

Frank breathed a small sigh of relief, then turned his eyes toward the private room.

His gaze had something tender, sympathetic in it… and yet Ilya sensed a distance in it, as if he were looking past Torsti at someone else entirely.

When Frank caught her gaze, he let out a wry smile.

"… I hope he, too, can find his place."

Who the "too" referred to, Ilya did not know.

Even so, the warmth she had felt in her chest just a moment before.

Even if he came to accept himself, that wasn't something one could obtain alone. Not as an obligation or responsibility, but a place one truly wanted to protect, where one truly wanted to be. She hoped he could find that place.

"… Yes."

So thinking, Ilya nodded to Frank's words.

 

*

 

The next day.

Ilya was at the west gate seeing the escort off with Frank when she saw Torsti running over to her.

"Ilya-san."

"Ah, yes."

That he had called her by name for the first time, that he had memorized it at all, caught Ilya by surprise.

After seeing her startled face and giving a wry, sheepish smile, Torsti straightened his face and bowed deeply.

"It is thanks to you that I can stand on my own two feet now. Please allow me to thank you again."

"I didn't do anything. The one who thought through it, who decided, was you, Torsti-san. I'm the one who said too much yesterday, please forgive me."

At Ilya's words, Torsti raised his face and slowly shook his head.

"… You went so far as to act in order to rouse me to action. Even if this isn't something you want to dredge up, I cannot simply let it go without saying anything."

He was so stubborn in his sense of duty that, if going against it would mean compromising his pride, he would set his own dignity aside to give proper thanks.

A samurai-like person, Ilya thought. Granted, she was undeniably biased about samurai to begin with.

"Maybe it wasn't an act?"

"That can't be—"

"Either way, it was something I did for my own sake."

Cutting off Torsti's attempt to disagree, Ilya stated it firmly.

For her own sake, doing what she wanted to do. The result. That was undeniably Ilya's truth, and because of that, having it taken in a flattering light made her feel guilty.

"So you don't need to thank me, and I have no particular feelings about it either."

"… I see."

So saying, Torsti showed a faintly sad expression.

It returned quickly to a serious one. He glanced at Frank once, then his eyes returned to Ilya.

"I'll be off."

"Yes. Take care."

And so Torsti, surrounded by Guild members who served as both escort and watch, set out from Lunéville.

The Guild's plan, given the risk that taking him straight to Orbwight would worsen the war, was to stage an attack midway, take him into the neutral nation of Windia Chieftain Federation, and prove the prince's well-being from a more impartial position.

The reason the chief hadn't explained this when speaking with Torsti the day before was that they hadn't known how he, having grasped his situation, would judge it or act. And in addition, if he had remained in the state he'd been in the day before, they intended to use him as no more than a tool, a piece below pawn in ending the war.

But when he met with them again, Torsti had declared he would act to stop the Empire. Frank vouched for his words, and the chief decided to share the plan with him so he could cooperate, and Torsti agreed to it.

The reason he had agreed was that he understood it was nearly impossible for him to reach the Empire by himself.

That said, even with entry into the third country and escorts along the way both arranged through the Guild, that protection only lasted until they reached the Empire.

No matter what choices and resolves Torsti made, the road to the Empire was inevitably dangerous.

(I hope he gets at least as far as a chance to speak with the Emperor.)

As Ilya watched Torsti's back, she felt Frank's gaze on her and turned toward him.

What is it?

When she asked with her eyes, he just shook his head as if to say nothing and brushed it off.

"Let's head back."

"Yes."

Following Frank as he turned on his heel, Ilya set off back to the branch.

 

*

 

She felt bad for Torsti, but with him gone, Lunéville's usual atmosphere had finally returned.

The staff and the Guild members who came to the branch were still concerned about the Empire, but perhaps because of the geographical and economic distance, there was no real sense of tension. It was almost as if it were someone else's problem.

That said, Ilya had chosen this town precisely because she'd judged it free of conflict like war, so in a sense it was going according to her plans.

And so Ilya spent her days handling her usual duties.

Then, one such day.

"Good fortune to you."

"Right! Let's go, you lot!"

Seeing off the group filing out of the branch, she bowed to greet the next person in line to register a commission.

"Thank you for waiting. Next, the one who's been…"

"Yo."

Raising one hand, the figure greeted her like a friend she had seen just yesterday, and Ilya momentarily doubted her eyes.

"Long time no see, Ojou."

"Orion-san…?"

Short, bright red hair, ears shaped like ovals, and snow-white horns above his ears: a bull beastkin, Orion.

He was one of those rare mutations even rarer than usual, a non-common-human possessor of divine elements, and thanks to that boon, his early-twenties appearance hadn't changed a bit since the last time she'd seen him.

What made Ilya, who knew all this, so surprised was not how he looked, but the fact that he was right in front of her at all.

"It's been a long time. What brings you here?"

"Hahah. Came to see you, of course. What else?"

Orion's grin was just as it had been before, completely unchanged.

His words had stirred the air around them, but he didn't seem to mind a bit. That part was also unchanged, and Ilya felt unbidden nostalgia.

"I'm glad to see you, but… is this all right?"

"Hahah, of course it's all right. You worry too much."

"W-Wait, please stop!"

He ruffled her hair vigorously, and being on the receiving end of that after so long was utterly not welcome.

"Geez… I'm working, so could you wait just a little longer?"

"Hahah. All right, all right. You're as inflexibly proper as ever, this old man's happy."

"H-Hey, you—! … Honestly!"

Waving his hand limply, Orion left the branch.

He hadn't said where he was going, and he hadn't asked when her break was. What was he planning?

(Going at his own pace in the bad sense is so very Orion-san for a divine-element holder.)

Thinking such things with exasperation as she combed her hair back into place with her fingers, she noticed that Cynthia was wearing a peculiar expression.

"Ilya, who was that?"

"Ah, um, his name is Orion-san…"

She tried to say more, but had a fresh realization.

What was he, to her?

(The lover of someone very important to me?)

Thinking about it that way made her a bit shy, and her face softened without her noticing.

Despite the fact that she was talking about a man, Ilya's expression had softened.

The men who'd been eavesdropping widened their eyes, and Cynthia's eyes lit up.

"… Like… your parent's sister's husband, maybe?"

"Eh?"

Ilya couldn't immediately parse Cynthia's words, and so didn't answer right away.

Her parent's sister's husband. So, an uncle by marriage, in essence?

Then, thinking it over, she realized the obvious: an elf and a bull beastkin, of course there's no blood relation.

"No. That's not it."

"R-Right. Even for your parent's sister's husband he'd be too young. Hmm…"

If pressed for the direct relationship or backstory, the answer would inevitably be evasive.

Cynthia threw herself into solving it like a riddle, and watching her, Ilya and Rachelle exchanged wry smiles.

The two of them knew Cynthia got that absorbed only over other people's romantic stories.

It was perfectly obvious what Cynthia was thinking.

"He may look young, but he's over sixty."

"Eh? … Eeeh!?"

"No way…"

Murmurs of surprise rose from Cynthia, Rachelle, and others around them.

She wouldn't speak of his divine elements (that was personal information), but as he himself had said, "an uncle figure in the family" was probably the closest description, age-wise.

But explaining beyond that would mean getting into a heavy, complicated story.

She had no intention of digging up painful memories just to explain, and she didn't want to put her coworkers in a difficult mood.

While she was wondering what to do, Haku, having woken from a nap, came running over.

Hugging her and rubbing her face against her to wipe away sleepiness, Haku stopped abruptly and looked up at her.

"There's a smell that resembles Ilya's…"

"Eh?"

"Ilya's papa?"

The similar smell was probably the divine elements.

While straightening Haku's mussed-up hair, Ilya answered.

"Not my papa. But the lover of the person who became my mama."

The words came out far more easily than she'd expected, and settled softly inside her, leaving something warm behind.

I might be more okay with it than I thought.

That she could think so seemed to lay bare her own shallowness, and Ilya gave a wry smile and stroked the soft hair of the Haku still clinging to her.

 

*

 

Atop the walls surrounding Lunéville ran wide passages for people and supplies to move along, with several watchtowers for sentry duty set up along the way.

On one of those watchtowers, Orion was seated at his ease, gazing down at Lunéville.

"… It's a nice town."

"Yes."

"You've grown into a fine woman, haven't you～?"

"As fine as Anna-san?"

"That's still a ways off."

After laughing for a while at their well-worn joke, Orion finally turned his eyes to Ilya, noticed Haku at her side, and blinked.

"… Hahah. So even Ojou's old enough to have a kid, huh."

"This child is the dragon god's child."

"… Doesn't she look an awful lot like you though?"

Orion stroked Haku's head, and at the slightly displeased expression Haku showed at his touch, his eyes softened with nostalgia.

"When she's this little, it reminds me of you the first time we met."

"I wasn't this small."

Elves grew faster in body than other races, so it would have been only a bit younger than now.

While stroking Haku's hair that had been mussed up again, Ilya turned to face Orion and decided to ask him the reason for his visit, the real point of it.

"Has something happened?"

"Hahah. You worry as much as ever."

"For you to leave the forest? Of course I'd worry."

Orion stood, and turned his gaze not toward the town but in another direction.

She knew that direction led to the forest where the person dear to both of them slept.

After a while, Orion turned to face Ilya, his expression serious, and gave a concise summary of the situation.

"You know that right now, the bastards from the Empire are invading Orbwight, right?"

"Yes."

"As a side effect, internal strife has broken out in Piskroza too."

The Queendom of Piskroza was a small nation near Orbwight.

Their hereditary royal family were bull beastkin like Orion, with generally calm temperaments, but having repeatedly lost out to Orbwight's diplomatic pressure, the royal family's authority had been waning.

The Empire's hand was visible behind the scenes, stirring up common humans and rebellious factions within Piskroza to undermine its support for Orbwight.

"… Now, what happens to those guys, I don't care about. But the bastards, they had the gall to start meddling with the forest."

"Wha—…!"

Ilya was speechless.

In the forest of Piskroza, there was a forbidden place that even the nation itself could not touch.

Once you entered, you couldn't come back out. Monsters more powerful than ordinary beasts roamed within, and at its heart dwelled a Demon God who ruled them.

That Demon God was a disguised Ilya, and the whole thing was a stage performance to plant fear in people's hearts.

Any human who entered without permission through the barrier had their five senses deranged, and summoned animals defended the home from monsters and intruders.

It had all been done in pursuit of peace of mind, safety, tranquility.

"Don't know if it's for raw materials or to secure transport routes, but they've started trying to clear the forest. I've sorted them out for now, but I figured I'd come hear your opinion."

"… My opinion, is it?"

Choking down the boiling rage threatening to overflow, she asked what he meant.

"Yeah. The only one she acknowledged as family was you, after all."

"… Anna-san acknowledged you too, Orion-san."

"Hahah. I know that, geez."

Cutting her off, Orion put on a hearty smile.

There was no jealousy in it, no regret either. Ilya thought how enviable it was to have a bond like the two of them had had.

"Even so, you're the one Anna gave the Schultz name to. The right to decide what happens with her grave is yours."

"… Yes."

Rights came hand in hand with responsibilities.

A truth she'd long since accepted, a fact that had once been thrust upon her.

"… Please, let me think about it a little."

"Got it. Take your time, is what I'd like to say. Hahah."

"It's all right. I'll have my answer by tomorrow."

"… Take your time."

After that, she found Orion an inn, and Ilya returned to the branch.

When her reception and kitchen duties were done, she returned to her own room and tried to organize her thoughts.

 

*

 

Anna Schultz was someone like a mother to Ilya.

Abandoned by family and the friends of her own kind in this world, Ilya had convinced herself there was nothing in this world she could trust.

She had forced herself to believe the world was at fault.

Wanting to erase her loneliness and grief, she'd turned forced anger outward on those around her.

She understood now that the company she'd worked for in her past life had simply not wanted to let go of an obedient piece of livestock, but before she realized it, she'd thought "the reason I wasn't thrown away even when I made mistakes is because I worked hard for the company."

And then her family, who had supported her all along, passed away without her being able to do anything for them, and she'd regretted not having done more.

It was probably because such thoughts piled on top of her original personality.

I'll do what I can for the family that gives me love.

Since I was born with cheats this time, I'll protect everyone in the village.

When Ilya had first come to this world, that was how she'd been thinking. Unconsciously, as though it were only natural.

Even when she'd been aware of it, she'd glibly assumed her cheats would make things go even better than in her past life, and put her thinking on hold.

But it hadn't gone well, and she'd been abandoned.

So, when she'd realized she'd been abandoned, she'd decided to live this life for herself.

She'd decided to live selfishly.

But she understood now that it wasn't selfishness; it was simply self-destructive abandon.

The one who had guided Ilya to think things through carefully, so that she could come to understand all this, was Anna.

She was strict to the point of being a nag, terrifying when angry, but truly kind underneath.

When Ilya tried to recall her words, all that came up first were the times she'd been scolded. But when she closed her eyes and pictured Anna's face, the first thing that floated up was a warm smile. That was the kind of person she was.

Anna had wandered into this world decades before Ilya was born here, but the air didn't agree with her. Because of her constitution, she could only live in Piskroza's forest, where the atmosphere was similar to Earth's. She passed away not long after meeting Ilya.

Even though she'd wandered in, Anna had come to like this world and life in the forest, so they'd left her home as it was and built her grave nearby.

The one keeping watch over her grave was Anna's lover, Orion.

Anna had reined him in when he'd been running wild in Piskroza, and as he'd started picking fights with the "cheeky woman," it hadn't taken long for him to fall for her. So Ilya had been told.

You should be able to do better. Don't use me as an excuse.

She'd pushed him away with words like that, but in the end the two of them hadn't been able to part.

By the way, at that point Orion had said:

If there's 100,000 people who only see me as a tool with a use, I'll protect the one person who sees me as a human even if I'm useless. I'm not asking for anything in return anyway.

And refused to leave.

After that, the two of them stopped speaking to each other for a while, but Ilya thought it was very them that they were arguing again by dinner the next day.

More gorgeous girls would be lining up if he went back to his country, instead of being stuck with an old lady like me… What a fool.

Anna, who'd muttered those words to Ilya, let out an exasperated sigh, and worn a very gentle expression.

That was why Ilya was certain. Even though Anna had said "I don't want to be tied down" and they had never married, there was a connection between the two of them that ran far deeper than names or formalities.

And that Orion had entrusted the decision about the grave to Ilya.

To move the grave meant letting go of that house and that forest.

In Orion's heart, he had concluded that the memories within his chest mattered more than the ones in physical form.

If so, the one who had distanced herself from the forest had no place to put in any complaints.

"Yeah, no, but…"

Even knowing that, she couldn't decide.

She didn't want to break it.

There was a part of herself that wanted to keep it that way forever, and Ilya let the words slip out unconsciously.

A grave, or holding on to the memory of the deceased: in the end, those things were for the satisfaction of the living.

If Anna learned about it, she'd say it wasn't something to cling to at the cost of troubling others.

But that wasn't a question of "what Ilya herself wanted to do."

From the time she parted with Anna up to today, Ilya had lived by thinking about what she herself wanted.

I don't want to disregard Orion-san's resolve.

I don't want to betray Anna-san.

But more than that, she didn't want to make the wrong choice here.

After much thought, Ilya reached a decision.

 

*

 

"Please, take this with you."

"Hm?"

The next morning, on the same watchtower as the day before, Ilya held out a spear to Orion.

"It should be able to help you protect the forest… But if you find yourself thinking of killing with it, please let it go."

"… Hahah. Got it… Hm?"

When he took the spear with its slender cones extending from both sides of the shaft, Orion felt a strange power pass into him through his hand.

That said, he only knew that something called a divine tool existed at all; he couldn't tell anything more than that the spear he had been handed was "a weapon you could feel something special from."

"That is called the Divine Spear Vishva. If you throw it and pierce a target, lightning falls upon it. If you drive it into the ground, it creates a 'fence of lightning' around it, a region of inviolability."

"A divine spear… oi oi."

"Yes. It's a divine tool."

"And I can use it…?"

It was common knowledge that divine tools, as the Empire had built its claim around, were not weapons anyone could use.

In addition, from the legends of divine tools and the people who'd used them across various regions, there was a sort of generally accepted theory that "no one but common humans can use divine tools." Naturally, Orion had no reason to think he could either.

"Yes, you can."

"… … … …"

Orion stared at Vishva, thinking.

Seeing his expression, Ilya said:

"With that, you may not even need to clear the forest."

"! … Hahah. Read me like a book."

After a startled look, Orion accepted it immediately and laughed.

Just like Ilya, he had been agonizing.

Which to prioritize: the memories, or the present situation. What he himself most wanted to protect.

When Orion had explained the situation to her, he had deliberately not said who was trying to clear the forest.

It was someone he wanted to defend, "if you set aside his feelings about Anna." He must have decided that saying so would only complicate her judgment.

That was Ilya's deduction.

Was the forest worth protecting, even at the cost of abandoning someone he wanted to defend?

After thinking it through, Orion had accepted letting the forest go.

Believing that doing so would honor Anna's trust in him.

(I don't want to let that forest go.)

But for someone to be sacrificed to that wish felt wrong.

That sacrifice would be the same whether it was Orion or Anna, and it would include the person Orion was thinking of, too.

Orion had someone he wanted to protect.

Anna would say she didn't need to be clung to.

On top of that, what Ilya herself wanted, what she hoped for, would be…

A future where everyone could smile.

If she pushed her will through over theirs, she didn't think she would be able to smile. But if everyone else were smiling, she felt she could smile too.

So she would respect their wills, so they could have a future where they could smile.

Even if it didn't go well in the end, she wanted to help make it so. So that they could keep their smiles. So that she herself could keep hers.

That was "the thing she wanted to do."

"Use that, and do the thing you want to do."

"… Hahah."

Orion laughed.

He turned his eyes once toward the direction of the forest, and a very gentle smile crossed his face.

"You're starting to resemble her. Anna."

"Not at all. I'm just being selfish."

No matter how she dressed it up, in the end she was just using others for her own sake.

She did what she wanted to do, getting by through clever shortcuts. She lived that way, and Ilya understood it about herself. So much that she even disliked herself for it.

"But… it makes me happy to hear that."

Because it felt like the time she'd spent with Anna was still alive inside her.

 

*

 

The Empire's army, swift to prepare and deploy, secured the defensive points the moment war broke out and seized two Orbwight strongholds.

Third Prince Bernart was appointed the Empire's Commander-in-Chief on the strength of his achievements, and was directing the organization of reports and the consequent changes to strategy from a room within the castle.

After issuing the latest orders and reaching a pause in his work, he leaned back into his chair.

Looking up at the ceiling, he felt a laugh nearly slip out. He covered his face with his hand to suppress it.

I never imagined it would go this well.

That was Bernart's unvarnished truth.

In the beginning, all he had wanted was an opportunity to build up a record of achievements.

He was the son of the Third Empress, and despite being a Third Prince, his rank in the line of succession was fifth. His older sister, the imperial princess, ranked higher in the formal order, but in practical succession terms ranked lower, so she was no obstacle. The hindrances were the Fourth and Sixth Princes, both moderates like the Emperor. To wrest the position of next Emperor from them, he needed concrete achievements, no matter what.

That was his own desire, and also the desire of his mother, the Third Empress.

For that reason, he'd been willing to use any means necessary, using everything at his disposal to get this far.

The First Prince, who held the highest succession rank, had been ambushed during a past inspection. The wounds from the torture he'd suffered had healed, but the scars on his heart ran deep, and he'd regressed into infancy.

Even the prodigy whom everyone had taken for granted as the next Emperor now spent his days playing with his favorite mistress.

It wasn't Bernart who'd sent the assassins, and he could never thank the hawkish elder enough for taking out the most troublesome man.

That elder was now Bernart's own puppet. The Fifth Prince, third in succession, had been easily ensnared by the woman through a stratagem devised after observing the First Prince, and his fall from grace was already arranged. The Second Prince, Tris, had no talent for wielding divine swords, so he held no succession right (a non-issue), but he had triggered this for them.

Now that he was certain the path he had walked was about to bear fruit, it was harder to suppress the urge to revel than to give in to it.

"… Your Highness."

A voice came from nowhere, and Bernart's brows knit as if his concentration had been broken.

When he turned back, a man had appeared from nowhere and was kneeling, head bowed.

"What is it."

"I have come to report on the periodic intelligence."

"Speak."

"As you wish. The target has been confirmed to be in Rondéville, on the central continent. Apparently alive."

"Kill him. Do not let him return alive under any circumstance."

The short order and the knock at the door arrived almost simultaneously.

The instant Bernart's eyes moved to the door, the man who'd been there a moment ago was gone without a trace.

"Bernart, it's me."

"Ah, please come in."

His attitude flipping to soft, he went to the door and admitted the source of the voice.

Standing beyond the door was a youthful-looking woman.

Her bearing was elegant, and her hair color and the line of her nose closely resembled Bernart's.

"Mother, what brings you here today?"

"Oh my, does a mother need a reason to come see her beloved son's face?"

"True enough."

To outside eyes, the two of them laughing together would have looked like a loving mother and son.

But, "I'd love to say that's all there was to it," the woman said.

"How are things?"

"Going well, I would say."

"Is that so. Excellent."

She returned a smile once, then her eyes narrowed, cold and sharp.

What floated through her mind were images of those whose body parts and builds differed from common humans.

"… Those vile monstrosities should all just perish."

At the words spat out as if expelling filth, Bernart let out a wry smile.

"Even monsters can have their uses as slaves, Mother."

"I know that. But to treat such repulsive beings as equal humans… I could only think His Majesty had lost his mind."

She walked on, and outside the window were preparations for the reinforcement units' departure.

The woman hid her mouth behind an open fan, and behind it she wore a deep smile.

"It seems His Majesty has come to his senses."

"Indeed. And you are the one who helped him open his eyes."

The two of them laughed.

Believing in the glory shining at the end of the blood-stained path.

After escorting his mother to the entrance of the rear palace as a change of pace, Bernart, on his way back to his office, ran into a single woman.

A revealing outfit, a voluptuous body that flaunted its allure without restraint.

The pure white dress suited her beauty well, but to anyone who knew her inner self, the mismatch was glaring.

"My, if it isn't Prince Bernart. I hope the day finds you well."

Bernart sent a contemptuous gaze at the figure bowing politely, but his eyes were indeed drawn to her emphasized cleavage.

When she lifted her face and their gazes met, the woman gave a coquettish smile to the Bernart who looked away.

"If Your Highness wishes, I am happy any time…?"

"Silence. Lowborn woman."

This woman bore no noble blood, nor had she any skills that brought benefit to the imperial family.

The reason she could set foot in the castle was solely that she was a favorite of the First Prince.

Whoever she might be, the crime of lèse-majesté still applied. Unwilling to get caught up in his outbursts, the First Prince, mentally regressed as he was, had become a temperamental sore spot.

She was the one who could soothe him, and the one he himself refused to release. The Emperor reluctantly granted her residence at the palace.

Of course, considering the possibility she might be an assassin, surveillance had not been neglected.

In truth, that surveillance was itself an assassin Bernart had sent in, doubling as a watcher on the First Prince, because he was wary of the slightest chance that the prince was faking.

"Oh my, what a shame."

Posing alluringly and stepping aside, the woman glanced after Bernart with a sidelong look as he resumed walking.

When he paused to look back, the woman was walking on, scattering charm to every man she passed.

From the surveillance reports and from those who had bedded her, no hidden depth had ever turned up.

Wanting jewelry and clothing was a perfectly reasonable desire for a woman; her physical appetites were chalked up to her low birth. There was nothing in her of the schemer hoping to climb into the imperial family.

It had been over ten years since the surveillance and investigation began. Could anyone truly sustain a performance for that long without slipping once?

(Pursuing this further is a waste.)

He'd reassign the men he'd had on her to finishing off Tris.

So concluding, Bernart resumed his steps toward his office.

Without realizing he was walking the path that led to ruin.

 

*

 

The woman, Isabella, gave the guards in front of the door a charmed smile and slipped between them as she opened the door.

It was the First Prince's private room.

It was a place she shouldn't have been able to enter without permission, but the guards never reproached her, and only followed her sultry body with their eyes until the door closed, swallowing dry.

How many times she'd come up between the guards in conversation, no one bothered to count anymore.

Most of it was crude, but no one had actually acted on it.

No matter how lowly her birth, the fact remained that she enjoyed the favor of a member of the imperial family.

Letting out a sigh after the figure that had vanished beyond the door, the guards returned to their tedious duty.

The only ones who visited the First Prince's room, removed from any public duty and spending his days at play, were Isabella and the maids who looked after him.

By now they had all gotten used to the rotation, and were grown weary of these unchanging days.

If only they'd been assigned to a different post, they could at least be putting their strength to use for the country.

Such grumbles exchanged in low murmurs were already a part of their routine.

In the midst of it, one of them suddenly noticed.

"… Natalie-chan's late today."

"Yeah, you're right."

One of the maids who always came at a set time hadn't come that day.

She was a girl who, by the standards of palace maids, was uncommonly friendly, and the guards felt a small pang of loneliness.

 

*

 

One afternoon.

A taut atmosphere wrapped the hall of the Lunéville branch.

Pew, pew, pew.

Each step let out a deflating little squeak, and every time the glasses on the tray wobbled, cries of "ah!" and "oh!" that sounded like little shrieks rose from the watching crowd.

Under the eyes of the people in the hall, the small body finally reached her destination, and reached out her hand with trembling care.

"Thank you, for waiting."

"Thank you."

The instant the female customer took the glass, the hall erupted in a roar of cheers loud enough to shake the place.

Through the cheers, the small server tottering back came up to Ilya with a beaming smile.

"You did great. Good job, good job."

"Ehehe."

Patted on the head, the toddler dressed as a server, Haku, broadened her already-soft smile, and the customers watching slackened their faces still further with helpless adoration.

"Here, your reward for trying so hard!"

"Yaaay!"

Both hands raised at the parfait Ria offered, Haku accepted it. Ilya seated her at a counter spot.

Haku, having undergone tenge into an infant's body, still wasn't used to the human shape, and her motions were unsteady.

Even now she was eating the parfait, but her mouth was an absolute mess.

"Haku, mmm."

"Mm-uh? Nn～"

Watching Haku imitate her and close her mouth, Ilya wiped around her lips.

"You're a mama～"

"Ilya's a mama."

When Rachelle and Elizah took up the chant, Ilya turned half-lidded eyes on them, and the two, sensing they were in a losing position, quickly changed the subject.

"Yeah no, kids really are cute, huh!"

"Yeah, truly!"

"They're so cute, makes me want to take them home!"

"There, there, isn't yours coming soon, Rachelle～?"

Riding on the flustered atmosphere of the two, Ria threw in a teasing remark.

It was very old-man-ish of her.

But before anyone could call her out for it, the air abruptly shifted.

"D-Don't be ridiculous!? I-I really… you idiot!!"

Rachelle, red-faced and panicked.

"Cute."

"What an adorable thing she is."

(Wait, could it be… already? No, surely not… but cute.)

The whole staff was lovingly teasing her with smirking grins.

"Pa～feh sweeeet."

In Lunéville, peaceful time flowed on today as well.

 

*

 

The escorted Torsti had reached the Windia Chieftain Federation, and after several rounds of discussion, was waiting for the time to depart.

Security was strict in this country, where the chieftains of every race gathered. They had been attacked several times on the way there, but the moment they set foot in this country, the attacks ceased.

It could simply mean the other side was considering different methods, or that the nation's soldiers were stopping things before they happened.

Torsti understood his own position, but he was frustrated by his inability to do anything in the current state, and he poured that frustration into practice.

"… Right."

After running through his basics and checking the state of his body, Torsti nodded, satisfied that he was back in his normal condition.

"Looking lively, young one."

The casual voice that called out to him belonged to a young man who, despite the address, looked to be Torsti's own age, or only slightly older.

His physical features clearly marked him as a bull beastkin, but Torsti had no prejudice that fixated on that.

When his expression conveyed what is it?, the beastkin gave a "hahah" of a laugh.

"Nah, just thought, if you've got energy to spare, how about a spar?"

"…"

A glance behind the youth at the Windia soldiers showed no sign of movement, and feeling no hostile intent from him either, Torsti ruled out the possibility of an assassin.

"Sure."

So he agreed in short order.

A wooden sword for Torsti, a wooden spear for the beastkin.

While Torsti was hesitating because of the simple disadvantage in reach, the beastkin charged in without a moment's hesitation.

He just barely dodged the increased speed of the thrust.

But closing the distance wasn't possible; another thrust followed at once.

He swept aside the successive thrusts with his sword, and the moment the opponent's stance was broken, he closed the distance at once.

With the distance closed, the tide of battle shifted to Torsti.

Or so it had seemed.

"Gh…!"

A knee strike aimed at his stomach.

He'd just managed to throw on the brakes, but not enough to fully kill the impact. When Torsti winced and bent over from the pain, he sensed pressure from above and closed his eyes. The decisive factor in his defeat had been the fixed notion that a spear was weak at close range, and the resulting carelessness.

"… I yield."

"Well, right after recovery, that's about how it goes."

Even to the beastkin's eye, there was a stiffness to Torsti's movements.

It was a kind of intuition gained from real combat.

And like calm judgment, it was a crucial factor that decided one's life.

"… Who are you?"

"Me?"

When Torsti took the hand the man offered and pulled himself up, the beastkin gave a hearty smile.

"I'm the younger brother of the Queen of Piskroza, Orion Riara Piskroze. Various things happened and I've been added to your guard. Pleased to meet you."

Soon after, the group set out for the country bordering Reinhardt, Balampaks.

"Exchange conditions, you say?"

"Yeah. The bigwigs in our country are weak-fisted. The countries that're trying to fight Reinhardt told us that if we couldn't send reinforcements, we'd at least better hand over logistics and material support, and let them use our territory for marching and transport."

The result was the development of the previously untouched forest, but Orion had stopped that.

Thanks to the intel he'd picked up in Lunéville, he'd realized the gap in stance between Orbwight and its neighbors, the Guilds aligned with them, and the rest of the Guilds.

Even if they didn't demand troops at first, the chance of being dragged in once things escalated was high. Above all, he couldn't see the countries trying to ride Reinhardt's declaration of war for their own ends keeping up the pressure on Piskroza only to that point.

So Orion used his position to make contact with a high official of Orbwight.

He learned that Torsti was still alive. He also heard a complaint that, while being escorted, they'd come under attack, and the planned handover had been thrown off track.

There, he saw through the fact that the attack had been staged.

The timing of the attack was too convenient. More than that, he didn't believe an escort group setting out from Lunéville, where Ilya was, could be attacked that easily.

Whatever she might say with her mouth, he knew very well that it was both a strength and a weakness of hers that she couldn't easily abandon someone once she'd been involved with them.

"And since there's a chance the war itself ends quickly, I asked them to set a timeframe and just stall the other countries' demands until then."

"And in exchange, you join the escort?"

Orion nodded to Torsti.

"It's the royalty making the move. Lean on that as the pretext, and the countries shouting 'self-defense' and 'justice' won't be able to push too hard, right?"

"That, certainly…"

"Piskroza is a queendom, a society of women. My life doesn't have all that much value, so it's a gamble we can take."

To the wry smiles exchanged by the two, the others traveling with them gave strained smiles of their own.

"It's a different world…"

"Different in subject and in circumstance."

When they noticed, the area around Torsti and the others, who were chatting like nothing was happening, was littered with the corpses of attackers.

To the muttered words, no one could rebut.

A figure came running up to them.

Recognizing them, Orion called out.

"How was it?"

"No new information. Same as before, hired bandits."

"Yeah, figured…"

Given the coordination and behavior, the report was as predicted.

Even so, having it confirmed was a positive.

The leaders of the unit gathered to discuss any changes to their route from here.

While the value placed on the individual allowed for flexible responses, speed inevitably suffered. A scene typical of the Guilds, thought Torsti.

"They're aiming to wear us down."

"Yeah. The other side just has to keep us out of the country in the end… Hahah. A solid strategy of doing all the things we don't want them doing."

"This is no laughing matter."

Orion grinned: my bad, my bad.

Maintain the status quo.

While that was the majority view, Orion announced as if just remembering:

"A forced march's also an option."

"No, given the road ahead, that's not realistic."

"That'd be playing right into their hands."

Then Orion gave a fearless grin.

"Then how about we get them before they get us?"

 

*

 

After staying one night, the group declared:

"All right, off we go!"

At those words, they split into four groups and dispersed.

Get them before they get us.

Just as the words suggested, the plan was to launch surprise raids with small numbers.

It was an unconventional move, but it was also a gamble.

(Foolish.)

The man who'd been waiting for his prey to tire and weaken without ever attacking himself summoned his comrades with a whistle inaudible to ordinary people.

These were not like the thugs they'd been siccing on them so far; they were skilled enough not to be spotted by amateurs.

After confirming everyone was assembled, the assassins struck at their target group.

"Gh…!?"

But they were stopped by a wall that abruptly appeared.

The numbness coursing through their bodies, unlike a simple impact, made the assassins think of lightning magic, yet no one had chanted or invoked a spell. Ahead of them, all they could see was a single man driving a spear-like weapon into the ground.

"Hahah. I'd figured you'd be watching us, but if it's this easy, you must be slow."

Outwitted.

Before they could regret the misstep of rushing their attack, the escort that had been waiting moved to surround them and brought them down with their weapons.

Even with the bonus effect from the Divine Spear Vishva, which Ilya had given Orion, restricting their movements, the escorts had subdued the assassins so easily that they all had complicated looks on their faces.

Frankly speaking, they were worried it was a trap.

"Well, a good start beats the alternative."

"… Yes."

After successfully taking down the first wave of assassins, the group headed to the domain of Duke Pal, who had become Torsti's guardian after his de facto disinheritance and had cooperated with his Guild registration.

There they celebrated a brief reunion, but stayed only as long as necessary, knowing prolonged contact would cause problems later. They would enter the country at different times, blend in among the crowds, and meet up again within the Empire.

While weathering the assassins that kept popping up, they pressed on toward the Empire for several days.

After reaching the border town with the Empire, they met with a certain person at their inn.

"This is Lacua Cross-san, who'll be helping us with entry."

"Pleased to meet you all."

When Torsti shook the offered hand, the entire group's expressions were stiff.

It was wartime, so border control was particularly strict, which was understandable.

Sensing their unease, the man called Lacua gave a soft smile.

"Please don't worry. The story is that everyone here is a refugee whose position has become precarious due to the outbreak of the war."

"I see…"

But that was a disguise anyone could think of.

Would it really work that well?

The group's anxieties weren't entirely dispelled, but the man's smile remained steady.

"All I can say is, please trust me. Intelligence work, infiltration, and disguise are our specialty. We've blended well with the people of this town, in fact."

"… All right. We'll trust you."

There was no other route, so they'd just have to trust him.

Reading their stiffness, the man let his smile soften wryly.

"Ah, that reminds me. Your Highness, you came from Lunéville, didn't you?"

"That's, right… what about it?"

Was it some kind of clue?

When Torsti tilted his head, the man waved his hand with a wry smile to deny it.

"No, I just wanted to hear how that town's doing."

"How it's doing?"

"Yes."

The man nodded.

"The truth is, I lived there a little while ago. Though unlike now, my role then was that of someone everyone hated."

He smiled, embarrassed and a bit awkward.

 

*

 

The next day.

Having found common ground in shared topics, by the time they were ready to depart, the group's tension had eased somewhat.

If anything, the soldiers guarding the border read their state as "uneasy refugees fleeing their home," and even offered them words of encouragement.

Above all, the soldiers showed no doubt at all toward Lacua's words, as if to prove what he'd said the day before, which was striking.

"… Still, this feels weird."

The one muttering was Orion.

He and the other beastkin had used disguise magic to pose as common humans.

To have something be there and not there.

Before Orion, who couldn't quite shake the strangeness of it, had time to acclimate, they arrived at Lacua Cross's residence, their first base of operations in the Empire.

The first to greet them was a woman with an intelligent air, introduced as his wife.

And in the dining hall they were ushered into was another woman, with a gentle smile.

"…!"

For a reason different from the others, who'd been struck by the woman's looks, Torsti's eyes widened.

"It seems you remember me… Everyone, welcome to our humble abode. Due to circumstances, the master cannot be here to meet you. I am Isabella, here in his place."

After bowing to them all, she turned her gaze back to Torsti and gave him a soft smile.

Seeing the way the two looked at each other, one of the escorts asked, unable to help himself:

"… Are you acquainted?"

"Y-Yes."

While a name could be lied about endlessly, given her physical features, there was no mistaking it… Probably.

But her lady-like bearing and refined air were utterly different from those of the woman he'd last seen in the castle a few years ago.

If the woman he'd seen in the castle, the very image of the kind of woman he'd despised, had been an act, then who was the "master" she spoke of? The person who had placed her with his brother?

While Torsti was caught up in his confusion, the group seated themselves around the table and stared intently at the map spread out on its center.

A map was a top-secret item of vital military importance for any country.

Simple maps were widespread among the general public, but no one outside a country's highest levels could obtain one this comprehensive.

Yet here it was, right in front of him.

It was proof that the man Isabella served was at the heart of the country.

And once Duke Pal, having entered the country at a different time, arrived, Isabella presented a sheet of paper for everyone to see.

"This is the directory."

"Directory?"

She returned a smile to Torsti's voice, and answered:

"It's a directory of the lords opposed to the current war. We'll visit them directly and quietly spread word of Your Highness's survival."

"You're going to visit them directly?"

"Yes. When the time comes to enter the castle, the more people who can vouch for Your Highness's existence, the better."

While everyone there acknowledged the value of taking the risk, a crucial problem emerged.

"But how do we get into the castle? Just using Your Highness's name from the start would be sniffed out as a trap. Even approaching as someone introduced by a lord, the hardliners (especially the Third Prince) would surely not allow it."

"That has already been solved."

The one who spoke was Lacua, and the Duke wore a puzzled expression.

Reading the question from his face, Lacua smiled.

If the Third Prince's interference was the concern, then someone who couldn't be stopped from speaking should be the one to lend a hand.

"That's exactly why we had Your Highness visit Windia."

"Windia, I see."

In a Chieftain Federation where the leaders of every race gathered, the chieftain of the common humans naturally had a seat at the table.

No matter how loathsome they found other races, when faced with the envoy of the common humans' chieftain, even the Empire would have a hard time ignoring it.

"Then, after that…"

"Yes. The other side will be wary of contact with the antiwar faction. Setting foot in any of the towns held by lords on the directory, we'll certainly be spotted by assassins. From there, Your Highness will be targeted more aggressively than ever. They'll be desperate."

"That is anticipated."

So saying, Torsti lowered his eyes and bowed his head.

The sound of indrawn breaths. The sound of bodies shifting in surprise.

Even so, he had to say it.

"… It pains me to ask all of you to share that resolve. But for the war started by my own failings, for an early end, please lend me your strength."

A brief silence.

"Sorry to say, though."

The one who broke it was the only beastkin among them, Orion.

"I'm not here out of sympathy or chivalry. I'm here because our interests aligned."

"To be honest, the Guild is the same. We're using you as much as anything else."

What Torsti saw when he looked up was their resolute smiles.

"I'll guard you with everything I've got so my interests don't suffer. So you do everything you can to be a benefit to me. What more do you want?"

"At least we, the Guild Association, would want nothing more. After all, this is our greatest interest."

Their words, their expressions.

On the receiving end, Torsti also laughed.

"I swear to give it everything I have. Use me to the full."

Their wills united here, and discussion of their next steps intensified.

Once those, too, had concluded safely and they dispersed to get what rest they could, Torsti called out to the person about to leave the conference room.

"Isabella-san."

"Oh my, Your Highness. What is it?"

The look of surprise she showed felt the same as the one he'd seen back in the castle, and Torsti knit his brow.

But it wasn't disgust at her old attitude; it came from a sense of self-reproach for his own immaturity.

"… I couldn't even see through your act, and said terrible things to you. I'm sorry."

"… You have changed, haven't you."

Isabella smiled gently, and turned her body to face him fully.

"I accept your apology. But I do not forgive you."

"!"

"The way you put it makes it sound like you wouldn't apologize if it wasn't an act, you know? I know everyone serving the castle is highborn, but even when dealing with lower folk, learning a bit of artifice would do you well."

She voiced her admonishment with a smile, and Torsti, instead of bristling, agreed: "That's true."

"You're right… I had prejudices about women. I see that now."

He looked abashed, but the smile on his face had something a bit gentle in it. Isabella let out a soft chuckle.

"Have you met a wonderful woman?"

No reply came, but his expression so clearly said how did you know that no other reply was needed.

It was clear that the only thing that could change a man's perception of women was a woman herself. But there was no fun in telling him that, so Isabella thought for a moment and continued.

"I understand. In all times and all places, there have been examples of an enlightened ruler turned inept ruler, or a tyrant turned enlightened ruler, by a woman's influence. The influence women have is great."

"I-Is that so… You must be a good influence on my brother, then."

The unexpected counter made Isabella blink, and then she immediately put on the same alluring smile she'd worn before.

"I wonder? My demeanor just now might have been an act too, you know?"

Watching Torsti gape, Isabella seemed satisfied. She gave a single bow and left.

Watching her leave without giving him an answer, Torsti overlapped her image with that of a certain receptionist and let out a hollow wry smile.

"… I really had only thought I understood. Including about myself."

About women. And about himself.

Now wasn't the time to dwell on it, he shook his head, left the room, and turned in early for the sake of what lay ahead.

 

*

 

Alchemy aside, for Ilya, who also had the [Sewing] skill, tailoring clothes was no difficult task.

That Haku liked nothing better than the branch's female staff uniforms was probably because she was happy to match with Ilya.

Her appearance was like a miniature Ilya.

In fact, she was more charming than the original, and her pleasantly childlike nature had made her the branch's mascot in short order.

But…

"Katie, let go."

"Don't wanna. Taking 'em home."

"Katie?"

"… Hmph."

There were some staff on whom she was having a bad influence.

Freed from Katie, Haku, who had been about to dash over to Ilya, paused.

While the room watched with interest, Haku returned to Katie and patted her head as if to console her.

Cute. An angel. My sweet angel. I'll never give her away as a bride.

In Japan, every onlooker would be muttering exactly that.

Watching Haku walk away, Katie looked like a parent bird tearfully seeing her chick off into the world, or so the saying might go.

But it was just lunch.

When Haku finished a lunch arranged like a child's plate, Rachelle set down a glass.

The glass was filled with a bright green liquid, with tiny bubbles fizzing inside it.

Seeing melon soda up close for the first time, Haku's eyes lit up. Gripping the glass carefully in both small hands so as not to drop it, she brought it to her lips.

While Haku's cheeks softened at the sweetness, she looked up at Rachelle with eyes containing a tiny hint of surprise.

"It tingles."

"Right!?"

Rachelle hugged her, overcome by her pure reaction.

No one chided her, but there were envious looks.

"Madam, perhaps you really are starting to want a child?"

"Yes, milady. Surely a darling red-haired one."

Ria and Cynthia were among them.

She'd surely turn bright red and give them a delightfully cute reaction.

But the two's expectations were betrayed.

"Ueheheheee…"

By a slack-faced grin: a doubly disappointing result.

Had Haku's overwhelming cuteness sent Rachelle on a trip?

No, they decided.

Rachelle's hands were no longer holding Haku. They were both pressed to her own cheeks, her gaze drifting upward and looking at something not here, somewhere else entirely.

""… Kuh…!!""

The two sensed their defeat.

That slack, blissful expression was not one a young woman should be making.

But, in this moment, in the midst of bliss, the gazes of others were beyond the woman's notice.

""So this is the victor…!!""

Looking away as if from something too bright to bear, the two of them said:

"All right, no more goofing off. Back to work."

""Yes ma'am.""

"Ueheheheee…"

Leaving Rachelle, who still hadn't returned to reality, they got back to their duties.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing at all."

Removing her dexterously placed hands from Haku's ears and eyes, Ilya stroked her soft golden hair.

(Honestly…)

If they kept giving Haku weird ideas, she wouldn't be able to keep up.

Ilya's troubles never ended, but today as well, Lunéville was at peace.

 

*

 

The crash of thunder rang across the desert.

Fire elements hotter than flame transformed the sand's earth elements, producing glass-like stones.

Heedless of such phenomena, a figure darted through broken battle lines, grimacing at the smell of burning flesh.

His speed was like lightning itself.

Without even being able to catch sight of him, vital points were struck, bodies were sliced, and corpses piled up amid sprays of blood.

Above the confused soldiers, light gathered.

It then poured down in a column, mass-producing pillars of melted men whose armor had dissolved into them.

"That was close, Jill!"

"… The one stupid enough to be under my spell is the one in the wrong."

The young man who'd appeared abruptly didn't startle the woman, who only glared at him half-lidded.

"Move. Pest extermination's not just here, you know."

"Kahaha! Honestly, common humans are nothing more than noisy useless bugs!"

So saying, the youth turned his gaze on the Empire's soldiers as they pressed in.

The youth's name was Giles.

A cat beastkin with leg strength outstanding even among beastkin, he could combine wind and earth magic to run the battlefield at speeds beyond his physical limits. From that, he had earned the alias Giles of the Divine Speed.

The woman's name, on the other hand, was Jill.

She bore no wings on her arms, but as an owl birdkin gifted with intellect, she had earned the alias Jill of the Great Destruction, so named because her exceptional mana let her magic exceed common sense in both range and power.

Giles scouting and sowing confusion.

Jill annihilating.

The reason they had joined this fight against the Empire's invasion wasn't only the synergy of their abilities.

Aversion. Contempt. Toward common humans.

Hatred. Vengeance. Toward common humans.

The will to kill without hesitation was the engine that let them stand against ten thousand soldiers.

"Common humans, a superior race!? Don't get cocky, you trash!!"

He'd already discarded his blood-soaked sword, and now hunted prey with a blade looted from a corpse.

"Hm?"

When he paused his magic for a breath, there was someone stirring beside him.

The soldier crawled, hand stretched out as if begging for help, and Giles brought his sword down.

"Pathetic. Like a bug, really. Does Common-Humans-sama have no pride as a human?"

The cackling youth was met by a tearful, terrified gaze from the soldier at his feet.

"Spare me, just my life…! In my hometown there's my wife and my daughter—"

"Not interested in a bug's life story."

He drove the sword into the soldier's throat, and Giles, who had picked up a new blade, grimaced as a wave of hot wind hit him.

When he looked over, he saw the magic of the other Guild members and common-human soldiers being snuffed out by an enormous fireball.

"Yo, yo, she's really going at it."

When the fireball scattered and the area's troops were wiped out, Jill turned her gaze in search of new prey.

"… Found you."

Which spell to kill them with this time.

She licked her dry lips as she pondered.

Let me make them suffer as much as possible first. Let me hurt them as much as possible first. Let me terrify them as much as possible first. Let me make them regret as much as possible first.

Eyes glittering, she wove her incantation.

The Empire's soldiers were caught in melted sand and sank as they struggled.

"Die. Die. Die. Die. Die."

Watching the scene with an entranced smile, what slipped from her lips was a chant like a curse.

About seven days since the war began.

She had crossed through several battlefields, but her heart's thirst showed no sign of being slaked. Jill kept searching for her next prey.

Then her eyes caught a strange sight.

It was people parting as if making way.

Through the corridor that formed, a figure approached.

A billowing cape, armor untouched by fatigue. The horse he rode carried itself with dignity, and from the rider Jill felt a strange aura.

"… What the hell? Who's that?"

Of course, Giles had spotted the same scene.

A stuck-up looking one. A commander, then.

So judged, the young man dashed.

Dashed only to take his head.

That was his intent.

Even running through the parting crowd, no one could react.

A sadistic grin on his face, Giles brought his sword down at the mounted man's neck.

(Wha—!?)

What he felt right after was not the sensation of cutting flesh, but the dull impact of metal striking metal.

Then he was shocked to see the man on the horse glaring down at him.

"… So it's you. The one they call Giles of the Divine Speed."

"My, what an honor, getting my name remembered by Common-Humans-sama."

He had no intention of trading words. He'd only lured him into a moment of inattention to strike during the opening.

Circling around behind the mounted man in the blink of an eye, Giles raised his sword.

"Huh?"

He could see his own body, frozen in mid-swing.

Blood spurted from the head-separated body, then crumbled.

"Speed was your pride, was it. Then begone, swift one."

Without even understanding the meaning of those words, Giles of the Divine Speed died.

The Empire's soldiers stirred up.

Above their heads, countless boulders appeared.

In time they would rain down, becoming earthen spears that pierced the ground.

That was the intent.

When the mounted man swung the sword in his left hand, all the boulders returned to nothingness simultaneously.

"Wha, why…"

Pouring everything she had into her mana, she invoked spell after spell.

"Why…!"

She invoked spells with every drop of knowledge she possessed.

"Why!!"

Every one of them dissipated without taking effect, and at last the man stood before Jill, looking down at her.

"You are Jill of the Great Destruction?"

"… That's right."

She replied.

Glaring at the man as if to kill him with her eyes, despite her trembling body.

"That's right! I am Jill of the Great Destruction! The great mage who'll erase you common humans from this world!!"

"Such resolve is admirable."

She drew a dagger from inside her cape and ran.

"But too small to bear such boasts."

The dagger she thrust forward never reached the man; his sword pierced her chest instead.

Even with blood spilling from her mouth and tears stained red, Jill tried to press on, but the man swept her body aside.

Lying on the sand, her body wouldn't move, and only a transparent sky filled Jill's field of vision.

The view gradually blurred. The cheers in the distance sounded like the patter of rain.

(I don't like the rain…)

A wry smile crossed Jill's face. On the arm she stretched toward the sky were jade-green feathers she should have lost long ago.

(The sky… gets hard… to fly in…)

Among the unreachable past and the fading consciousness, Jill of the Great Destruction breathed her last.

The being who'd swept away with such ease the terror that had ruled the battlefield filled the soldiers with awe.

Hardia, which turned even Divine Speed into a wayside stone.

Lyle, which dispelled magic and reduced mages to dolls.

"That, that's a divine sword…!"

"Truly the power of a god!"

"""Long live His Majesty the Emperor!! Glory to the Empire!!"""

The soldiers' shouts grew loud enough to shake the desert. Even though the situation overall was still in their favor, the anti-Empire coalition was swept up in the atmosphere and began to retreat.

The Emperor himself had personally subjugated the coalition's strongest combatants.

The news raised the morale of the Empire's army, while the fear of becoming the next of those two, both stronger than oneself, sapped the coalition's will.

As a result, the coalition's casualties grew, allowing the Empire's army to advance.

But the coalition wasn't merely sitting on its hands.

It used its numerical advantage to launch attacks from multiple directions. By taking advantage of the Empire's momentum and deliberately staging repeated retreats, it stretched the front lines.

With wide front lines spread out across multiple fronts, they avoided having their strength nullified by the divine swords, and by attacking from multiple sides at once, they made coordination harder for the Empire's army.

Showing a stance that did not press all the way through, they made the Empire think "if we turn our backs, we'll be routed," keeping them from retreating and forcing the war into a stalemate.

War or not, a country did not stop moving.

The retainers alone could not handle all matters of state, and the Emperor was forced to return to the castle.

Taking a brief rest in between, he took up official and political duties.

And among these duties was an audience with an envoy sent from Windia.

 

*

 

The audience with the envoy sent from the Windia Chieftain Federation had been planned for some time, and the dispatch's purpose, relating to the declaration of war, was clearly stated in the letter.

If they wanted a retraction, it would be rejected.

If it was about Tris's return, all the more so.

But, since the Empire had built its banner on the existence of common humans as a race, the words of someone claiming to represent the common humans couldn't simply be torn up.

Resenting such a clever maneuver, the Emperor sat upon his throne and waited for the envoy to arrive.

"The Windia delegation, entering!"

A voice rang through the audience chamber, and the great doors, several times the height of a person, began to open slowly.

Beyond them, several figures were prostrated in deep bows.

"Welcome. Raise your heads, step forward."

When the Chancellor's voice reached them and the delegation lifted their faces, the Emperor's eyes widened.

The Emperor could not possibly mistake the figure stepping forward with measured, certain strides.

"…"

He stood, started to say something, but no voice came.

Some were shaken by the Emperor's state, while others, like the Emperor, expressed their shock at seeing one of the people in the delegation.

The most striking among them was the Third Prince.

He took half a step back and quietly summoned a shadow.

In the meantime, the delegation arrived at the designated place, knelt on one knee, and bowed.

"For this audience granted, we are deeply honored."

Normally, conversation was only to be exchanged after the Emperor's permission, but no one in the room had the composure to chide them for it.

"… Tris."

That was all the Emperor could manage to say.

The one addressed raised his face.

"Yes… Your Majesty."

So he affirmed.

Why. How.

In the murmurs between those words came voices of joy.

This is bad.

Sensing instinctively the disadvantage of the situation, Third Prince Bernart shouted before he could suppress himself.

"He's an impostor!"

Eyes converged on the Third Prince.

He'd taken half a step back under the pressure, but he had no choice left but to commit.

"Why would an Imperial Prince of the Empire be calling himself a Windia envoy! Your Majesty! This is Windia's doing! It's a vile trap to drain our will to fight!"

With the war in stalemate and an atmosphere of "let it end" born of fatigue spreading inside the castle, the words held some persuasive power.

It must have been because he understood that.

"… So he says."

The Emperor's words held hesitation.

"If this were a matter of disguise or other such magic, the divine sword Sound-Devourer would easily strip it away."

That voice came from an entirely different direction.

Eyes turned toward the source, and what they found was the section where the imperial family was gathered.

The audience chamber was wrapped in a second wave of shock at the person there.

"Oh? Is it so unusual for me to speak? Setting aside the content, I do recall having interjected any number of times."

The person putting on an amused smile was none other than the First Prince.

His gaze was sharp, and the air around him held no trace of the childlike innocence from before. Rather, there was a presence to him that could put others on edge.

In the stir that filled the chamber, First Prince Alphonse took one step forward.

"Your Majesty. I, too, as his older brother, am overjoyed at our youngest brother's return. Please verify whether this man is an impostor or not."

"Even without magic, there are means to mimic a face! Would you suggest such a risky thing to His Majesty! Are you not the impostor!?"

To the Third Prince's words, even more agitation spread.

But Alphonse himself shook his shoulders and laughed.

"Kuk… ahaha!"

Feeling as if he was being mocked by someone he had looked down upon, Bernart's blood rose to his head.

"What's so funny!!"

"Then I shall ask! If I were an impostor, why would I announce myself in a place like this!"

"That's…! Gh…!"

He couldn't answer.

To be planted as a spy within the imperial family.

To plot the assassination of the imperial family.

No matter what scenarios you considered, in the case that he was an impostor, drawing attention to himself was nothing but a disadvantage.

Moreover, especially when it would clearly arouse suspicion by behaving completely differently from before.

"There must be some reason you'd deny me, deny Tris, even when it means putting forward possibilities that condemn yourself, no?"

"Wh-what nonsense. I, only for His Majesty's…"

"You mean your own safety. Isabella!!"

"Yes, Your Highness."

In time with that voice, what appeared at the great door was a bound man and Isabella holding the cord.

While they drew nearer, the Emperor spoke to the First Prince.

His voice could not conceal its disturbance.

"Al… Alphonse. So all your conduct until now has been an act?"

"Yes. Even with my life under threat, deceiving Your Majesty as I have… I apologize most sincerely from the bottom of my heart."

The Emperor unconsciously sank back into the throne and pressed his hand to his temple from his knee.

"For you to announce yourself, may I take it that the danger has passed."

"Yes. Just as I was, Tris, who had also been targeted, has returned, and I wish to bring all things to light."

"… You have my permission."

Receiving the Emperor's consent, Alphonse nodded once, then turned his gaze on Bernart.

Seeing him flinch at the sharpness, Alphonse lightly curled the corner of his mouth.

"With that, then. Let us hear, then, of your crimes. Through your own shadow."

"… I would appreciate if you'd stop with the strange accusations, Brother."

"They're not accusations. Isabella?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

In stark contrast to her former demeanor, her dignified bow drew varied reactions from those who saw it: captivation, disgust, hidden fear.

Paying no mind to any of those reactions, Alphonse gave her a signal, and Isabella nodded once and addressed the bound man.

"Tell us your name and your work."

"… My name is Toli. I command the shadows entrusted with espionage, intelligence gathering, assassinations, and…"

"What is this farce!!"

The one who shouted to cut off the toneless voice was not the Third Prince, but one of the nobles.

"What do you mean by farce, Lord Bes?"

"You know full well! Such testimony, you can manufacture it in any quantity…"

"Lord Bes. Are you implying that the witness I have prepared is telling lies?"

Pierced by the words like an arrow shot straight through him, the man could find no second words. Alphonse returned a smile.

"That doubt is reasonable. In that case, let us prove Isabella's power on your own person!"

In response to his voice, Isabella stepped toward Bes.

"Wh-what are you going to do…!"

"Simple. She specializes in mental-interference magic. Illusions, audio hallucinations, even forced confessions are possible."

"Wha—"

Forced confessions.

As that word brought a chill, white hands stretched toward Bes's temples.

When Isabella ran her fingers as if stroking, Bes's body went slack, his eyes turned vacant, the life drained from them.

His appearance was just like the bound witness Toli's.

"Now, Lord Bes, tell us. Who ordered you to heckle?"

"I—"

"Let's call this jest off here, Brother."

At the voice that cut in before the man could finish opening his mouth, Alphonse curtly commanded "stand by" and turned around.

There was no trace of agitation in his expression, and the cool look that said I expected this struck against the nerves of the voice's owner, the Third Prince.

"Oh? A jest?"

"Yes. You said that woman's power was mental manipulation. So is it not also easy to make anyone spit out whatever words you please?"

"Indeed, indeed."

Bernart could not hide his displeasure at his brother's blatant show of admiration, and knit his brows.

"… What's so funny."

"Ha. Nothing strange about it. Then I'll give you the chance to verify for yourself whether those words of yours hold."

What absurdity.

Bernart curled the corner of his mouth with no shortage of contempt.

"… Hmph. You intend to use the spell on me?"

"Hardly. How would that dispel suspicion?"

His brother's smile faded, the air taut once more, and Alphonse spoke with the same cool expression.

"The method is simple."

"What…?"

"Try asking it questions yourself."

The Third Prince mentally clicked his tongue.

If they were puppeteering the answers, then he should ask something completely unrelated.

But if the spell really did force genuine confessions, that would prove it. Then his angle backfires.

More importantly, he'd kept up this deception for over a decade. It wouldn't be strange if there were a mage like that at his brother's side. Lamenting that he'd dismissed the possibility was less surprising than the fact that the two of them had waited, scorned and reviled for over ten years, just to watch their moment.

But that wasn't the issue now. What he had to think about was "how to get through this situation without taking a risk."

As if reading his thoughts, Alphonse spoke again.

"Make sure to consider the possibility of a true confession too. Ideally, an inconvenient answer for me that I couldn't possibly know already. Pull that out of him, and you win… However."

He cut his words there, and the smile vanished.

"If you can't, then take it that every debt you've built up will come due, all at once."

The words had nothing of the affection of family in them.

The arrogance born of having things go too well. The fury at being looked down on by someone he'd despised.

It only agitated him more, and obstructed even simple reasoning.

A killing-blow question. That alone filled his head.

"Gh, … damn it…!"

"Ha."

In the end, even the simple game of cat and mouse he had been managing fell out of his mind.

"You don't deny it. Practically a confession in itself."

"Wha—!"

"Enough."

Disappointment and humiliation.

The princes' tense staring match was scattered by the Emperor's voice.

Everyone had wished for this disordered scene to settle.

That was why they all looked dismayed at the Emperor's strangely composed bearing.

"… Enough, Alphonse. The you from before would have moved only after gathering every piece of evidence. Am I wrong?"

"You're quite correct."

To the affirmation given as if it were nothing, the Emperor let out a small sigh.

What was there was disappointment in himself, one who no longer had the right to even regret.

"… What a wretched, witless turn of events."

"F-Father!"

"Will you continue to expose your shame, Bernart."

This is bad, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad.

What he had been building up, what had been almost within reach.

Refusing to let it slip, the Third Prince worked his mind frantically.

And realized.

This person is so soft on those of his own blood that he started a war over it.

That was where he had to strike.

"I, I am, as an imperial prince!!"

"You raise the sanctity of blood, and yet you treat the bonds of blood as worthless…! And you, who deceived and humiliated your own kin, dare to speak of family!!"

It's not me, it's not my fault.

It's not my doing.

Even as he was swallowed by the Emperor's fury, Bernart clung to hope and raised his voice.

It would all be over like this.

I'm a man meant to sit at the top. I'm not someone who ends here.

If I can just get through this, there's still a chance.

"P-Please wait! I, I was only following my mother's words—"

"I see. Then take that mother you place above all else, take up the name of the House of Feluche, and serve your full life sentence under hard labor."

"A—"

Disinheritance.

That meant, for him, losing the very reason for his existence.

In a stupor, the former Third Prince collapsed onto both knees. Not a single person stepped near him.

The Emperor too sank back into the throne as if the strength had drained from him.

His eldest's act and its cause. His second son's folly and atrocity.

"I understood nothing, did I… To call this the descendants of gods… laughable."

"Your Majesty…"

And then, the son before him.

His mother had looked indistinguishable from a common human, but had carried a slight strain of beastkin blood.

He had been relieved that the child born was a common human, but that relief had been brief. When his peculiar constitution was discovered, after running everywhere trying various things, when he had finally found the bracelet that could suppress it, he had truly been at peace.

When his mother had passed away, leaving him with no other defenders, the Emperor had grieved at having to send him far from the castle, and he could never forget the look in his son's eyes at that time, a gaze full of sorrow.

Was he crying? Was he lonely?

Not just during the brief rests, but even during his duties, he had thought of him more times than he could count.

"Tris… I had thought you were still such a child… You have grown so much."

"… Father."

Torsti swallowed the words that almost came out, lowered his eyes once, and raised his face again.

He had been protected.

Even as he realized he had grown enough to understand that, he was struck by his own immaturity in not noticing it sooner. And he felt his father's tenderness sink into his chest.

That was exactly why he thought:

I want to surpass this person.

He was no longer just a child being protected. He couldn't allow himself to be.

Not to be accepted by this person or anyone else, but so that he himself, he alone, could accept himself.

"… Father. I had thought that only the power of gods, only the divine swords, were everything. I clung to whether one could wield the divine swords rather than to bonds of blood, and I lost my way."

"Tris…"

"And through this disorder, I learned that it was the same for you, Father, and for Brother… and for this country as well."

In the stir at the meaning of those words, the Emperor raised a hand to silence them.

"We were bound up in the divine swords, in the very name of god. The power of the gods is not absolute. The gods' power alone is not everything we are."

It was a phrase that shook the very banner of the Empire.

Even the words of a prince called a failure for being unable to wield the divine swords had begun to make it waver.

That was precisely why, to change it, now was the only chance.

"Father… No, Your Majesty. I, Tris Dil Reia, hereby request a duel with Your Majesty."

"Tris…!?"

Unable to read his intent, Alphonse spoke up.

His agitation spread through the audience chamber. Amid the rising murmurs, only the Emperor kept his gaze fixed on Torsti's eyes.

"State your reason."

"To prove that we can stand without the aid of the divine swords."

"And the meaning of that?"

"For the Empire. And for myself."

The Emperor stood.

"I accept."

"Your Majesty!?"

"Be still. It's all right."

To the Chancellor who couldn't help his protest, to the nobles, the Emperor offered a smile.

It was the kind he'd worn before the declaration of war.

And then,

"… In a duel, no mercy."

Stepping out into the center of the throne room, gripping the two divine swords, his bearing was overflowing with vigor.

There was no rage from a lost family member there.

Because of that, only pure fighting spirit overflowed, a sharp, splitting cry of resolve.

"That is my desire."

Feeling clammy sweat down his back, Torsti put his hand on his arm.

And took off the bracelet.

"!"

The only one who understood the meaning of that was the Emperor.

But even his knowledge was only "without the bracelet, his body would break down."

Precisely because it was only that, he couldn't grasp why the bracelet had been removed when there was no apparent change after it had been, nor why he would remove it when no change occurred.

In any case, as a nominal envoy, Torsti had no weapon.

"Someone, a sword."

"Then I shall."

The one who stepped forward was Alphonse.

He walked over to Torsti and handed over the sword at his waist.

"What stratagem you have I don't know, but unlike our other foolish brother, I have no taste for letting capable people go to waste."

"Brother…"

"Don't do something stupid like dying by mistake. You're the one who won the wager with me. After all the trouble of getting you sent far away by riding along with the idiots, it'd lose all meaning."

Are you already thinking about what comes next?

To the whispered words and the back walking away, Torsti gave a wry smile and watched him go.

Maybe that was the way a ruler ought to be. More than that, he understood from those last words that, while playing the fool, his brother had also been protecting him just like his father. Though for his older brother, it was less protection than testing.

He really did have far too many things he lacked.

After his brief wry smile, gripping the hilt of the sword in his hand, Torsti once more faced the Emperor.

"… Here I come!"

The Emperor swung the silver sword.

The moment those watching realized what was happening, the high-pitched ring of metal striking metal rang through the audience chamber.

The Emperor's sword sweeping down, and Torsti's sword cutting up from below crossed.

Those watching widened their eyes at the sight.

So did the Emperor.

The silver divine sword Hardia.

When willed, it cut off the flow of time, and the wielder could act, leaving the surrounding time behind.

Even the speed of Giles, called Divine Speed, was nothing more than a slowly moving jester once Hardia was invoked.

But just now, the clash.

The Emperor had clearly seen Torsti, moving at a speed indistinguishable from his own, blocking that sword.

"…"

Some kind of magic?

So inferring, the Emperor willed the jet-black sword, and on top of that invoked Hardia once more.

Whatever the magic was, severing the change at its source would prevent it from taking shape.

By the authority of the divine sword Lyle, he sealed off magic, and left time behind.

"!!"

The strike he made was again blocked.

And when the Emperor felt the sharpness of Torsti's eyes before him, the pressure around him swelling, he leapt back in a single bound.

The strike that split the paper-thin distance sent a chill running down the Emperor's back.

And then he thought.

(… Those last two exchanges… did he take them on purpose?)

What had made him feel that was the expression a moment ago.

It seemed as if Torsti had read his own agitation and then acted accordingly.

But this wasn't conceit.

Given the words from earlier that "the power of gods is not absolute," it could be said he had proved that the divine swords' power didn't get through.

(… In that case.)

The Emperor smiled.

If this was a duel to drive that conviction home, then there was no point in running from it.

He would wield the gods' power as fully as he could.

"Then prove it!!"

What he had now was not chills, but exhilaration.

And the pride of an Emperor with a long history at his back, and the hopes of a father who wanted his son to surpass it.

"Of course!"

The two dashed at each other together.

In speed, Torsti was superior.

But what came into his vision was a slight movement of the Emperor's lips.

Chant. The moment he realized it…

"— Flashlight!"

"Ngh—!?"

He flinched at the burst of light, his vision stolen.

The Emperor, who had closed his eyes the instant the burst came, swung the jet-black sword and dispelled the spell.

Right before him stood Torsti, still unable to recover.

"Is that all you've got!"

The slash bore down.

But the expectations were betrayed once more.

Torsti, with his physical abilities raised, had heightened hearing as well.

What reached him was the faint sound of cutting air.

"!!"

"Tch…!"

By swinging his sword at that sound, Torsti, in the nick of time, blocked the slash.

With his returning sight, he knocked the blade aside and pulled back.

The prejudice that the divine sword's wielder was on the receiving end of magic… the side that nullified it.

That mistaken assumption had been struck.

A formidable opponent.

He felt self-loathing at having grown complacent because he'd sealed the divine swords, but at the same time, he was glad it was so, and gave a wry smile.

There were no words at the next start.

Torsti, superior in physical ability, against the Emperor, superior in combat technique woven from real and feinted magic.

Everyone was watching with bated breath.

Everyone had thought it would be settled quickly.

But the result was as it was.

The divine swords' effects themselves had no meaning. If anything, had this been any wielder other than the opportunist Emperor who didn't rely on the divine swords, that wielder would have clung to the divine swords' power, failed to adapt, and likely lost.

That fact was making them all start to think.

The divine swords were, indeed, not absolute.

The truth they had been faintly sensing once the war had ground into stalemate, here, they came to believe.

They couldn't help but believe.

But that meant losing the pillar they had been leaning on.

Without realizing it, fear surfaced among them. Some wished for the Emperor's victory out of dread; others, out of curiosity, wished to see what lay beyond.

That said, the former were in overwhelming majority.

No matter what they wished or refused, the result came at last.

The one to move was Torsti.

A strike sharp enough to seem to cleave iron, against which the Emperor, whose nerves had been whittled time and again, raised his sword to receive it.

An attack aiming at that very moment.

"— Flame Lance!"

"!!"

Right after the start. Or right after the Emperor's surprise flash. At either of those moments, the spell could have been predicted.

But Torsti hadn't used a single piece of magic up to now.

There was no reason to use magic that would be nullified.

That perception was overwritten in the Emperor's mind, and Torsti confirmed it through the Emperor's earlier action of trying to take the strike with his sword.

No matter how divine a sword was, magic couldn't be blocked with a sword itself.

"Uoh!"

The Emperor willed Hardia to alter the flow of time, and as the spear of flame seemed to stop, swung Lyle.

The flame spear dispersed.

"Thank you for using the divine swords."

The strike from Torsti, who had appeared behind him, batted Lyle, thrust out as it was, out of his grip.

He could have dodged the spell. Considering the follow-up, he should have chosen that.

But not doing so, not being able to, was probably because he had been relying on the divine swords.

(How ironic.)

He had decided to use the divine swords to the fullest, and even in the moment of crisis he had used them unconsciously.

Had been made to use them.

"Haahh!"

Hardia, swung in response, was struck aside, and a hollow note rang through the audience chamber.

From the onlookers' eyes, right after Torsti released Flame Lance, the Emperor lost both divine swords from his hands and had a sword pointed at him. That's all they saw.

The process was unclear, but the result was plain.

Silence returned to the audience chamber.

"… You win. Tris."

Only the Emperor's voice quietly struck their ears.

Torsti lowered his sword.

In the racing pounding of his heart, he felt the aftertaste of the duel.

The Emperor, smiling cheerfully as if some weight had fallen from him, placed his hand on Torsti's shoulder as if to commend him.

"Hah."

That laugh was far too quiet.

That was exactly why no one noticed.

"The Emperor's throne is mine!!"

And Bernart's stubbornness-driven spell could not be stopped by anyone.

No matter how superior one's physical abilities, they didn't surpass magic, which was superior in speed.

The Emperor tried to use the divine swords, but the swords were far from his hand, in the grip of one of the delegation, and he ground his teeth.

Even if he threw them, he wouldn't make it in time. That was exactly why Bernart had seen his chance.

(At least…)

At least Father.

Torsti, who had been keeping the oncoming bolt of lightning in his sight, felt his body move in a way he hadn't intended.

His father, growing further away, had his hand thrust toward him.

Will I be protected again.

In the end, I can't change after all.

Within the strangely slowed flow of time, Torsti heard…

"Yo-up."

A voice with a strangely casual lack of tension.

"… Huh?"

The dazed voice came from the former Third Prince.

But everyone present must have shared his feelings.

"… Hahah. Well, sometimes things work out."

Lyle was in the hand of a single beastkin.

It was Orion, whose disguise magic had broken when he activated the divine sword.

The dumbfounded moment didn't last long; the knights caught Bernart, who tried to flee.

"Wh-why… why…!"

To the man unable to believe it, the agony in his face mixed with confusion, Orion laughed.

"My daughter… ah, no, an acquaintance of mine said it seems I have the power to use divine tools too. I was wondering how I might prove it, but it worked out."

"L-Lies!! Such a thing, … a mere beastkin, a mere monster!!"

"Wanna try once more?"

When Orion, his smile turning malicious, pointed his sword at him, the former Third Prince, his fear reaching its limit, began to laugh as if he'd snapped.

Orion's idea had been that demonstrating it again before his eyes would be more believable, but that didn't seem possible now.

"… Well, that's how it is."

Orion approached the Emperor with a smile and held out the sword's hilt.

His words were sparse, but everyone present understood what he was trying to say.

The divine swords, the divine tools, were not a common-human privilege.

"You are…?"

"My introduction is overdue. I am the younger brother of the Queen of Piskroza, Orion Riara Piskroze. I came as Prince Tris's guard."

Bowed, smile gone, the words from his mouth caused a stir.

That royalty would serve as a mere bodyguard was unthinkable.

"Why would Piskroza royalty be a guard…?"

"Because that was necessary to grant my wish."

Orion nodded once, then smiled again.

"To regain the tranquility in which the heart could rest. That was what I wanted to take back."

"… … … I see. That stands to reason."

Taking the sword, the Emperor looked around.

"Inspector of Punishment!"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

"Interrogate the traitor who bared his fangs at the Emperor, and bring every detail of his crimes to light."

"At once!"

He nodded to the prostrating figure, then called for the Diplomatic Officer in charge of foreign negotiations and emissaries.

"Convey to every nation the disinheritance of the Third Prince, the publication of his crimes, and our intent to punish him."

"Understood."

"… Things will be busy ahead. Thank you for your service."

"Your Majesty's words are too gracious. This body is for the Empire."

He gave a deep, deep bow, and the Emperor nodded once and called Alphonse's name.

The First Prince approached and knelt, and the Emperor held out the sword he had taken.

"I bestow the throne upon you."

"… Yes."

"That said, I do not intend to push the responsibility for this affair onto you. But that comes after this is cleaned up."

"As you wish."

To the answer that bordered on insolent politeness, the Emperor smiled.

"You'll be working for the duties you neglected, all this while."

"That's… very well. Understood."

There had certainly been some of using his "foolish self" as a way to play around as well.

Seeing through it, Alphonse wore a wry smile and accepted.

And then the Emperor's gaze turned to Torsti.

"… I will be calling upon you to work as well. Any objection?"

"None."

That was why he had come back.

To the strong gaze that brought him peace, the Emperor looked around again.

"… From here, we will be scorned. Blades will be turned against us. Hands we extend will be slapped away… I will not tell you to endure. This is the price for the folly we, the imperial family, have committed."

Someone was crying.

Someone was clenching their hands tight as if to bear it.

Even so, no one looked away from the Emperor.

And to them, the Emperor said:

"But even so, I ask for your strength. Not for us imperial family, but to keep this country, Reinhardt, alive… Not with the gods' power, but with your power."

No one spoke aloud, but a strange sense of unity could be felt, and Orion and the other outsiders sensed it too.

After this, a ceasefire was concluded. The two armies, stalled in stalemate, withdrew.

Both Empire and Coalition suffered many casualties.

By executing the Third Prince, the one who could be called the very instigator of the war, they earned some leniency, but the Empire was left bearing massive reparations and the loss of many rights and interests.

Thus the upheaval that began with the Empire's declaration of war was brought to an end.