On the Road

Less than a few months after Torsti had departed, the war between the Sacred Reinhardt Empire and its surrounding nations came to an end.

Ilya had caught wind of the situation here and there through rumor, but as always, Lunéville offered no detailed accounts, and the mood around town was hard to square with the idea that a war had been going on at all.

Stepping into the branch and seeing the lively hall just the same as ever, Torsti gave a wry smile.

"Nothing's changed here, has it."

The young man standing in front of her was dressed exactly the way he had been the last time she'd seen him set out on his travels, without a single piece of imperial regalia on him. There were no signs of injuries or anything else out of the ordinary, so anyone who didn't know the circumstances might well believe him if he claimed he'd just come straight back.

That said, looking at him now, his bearing was more dignified than before, and the fragile, transient air of danger he'd carried was completely gone.

"I've returned."

"Eh? Ah, yes. I'm glad to see you safe."

Perhaps her unmoved, business-mode response struck him as funny; Torsti let the faintest of smiles slip out.

"I'd like to talk… if you have a moment."

He hadn't said so in so many words, but from his manner Ilya gathered that he meant somewhere other than across the counter, where they stood now. In other words, the two of them alone.

But her instincts, honed by every experience up to this point, were ringing warning bells: if you go, this is going to turn into a headache.

Even so, since he hadn't actually spelled out what the conversation was about, she could hardly refuse on a hunch alone.

"There's a little time before my break, so why not rest somewhere in the meantime?"

"No, I think I'll walk around town a bit."

After hearing how much time was left until her break, Torsti bought some juice and sandwiches he could carry with him and left the branch.

Once he was gone, the gazes of those who had apparently been eavesdropping converged on Ilya. The most blatant of all was Cynthia, right next to her.

"… You're about to be confessed to."

Of all people, it had to be her who'd overheard. Oblivious to Ilya's inner turmoil, Cynthia muttered her pronouncement with an utterly smug face.

"He had a totally different vibe from when he was here before, didn't he."

"It's the power of love."

"Love!?"

"It's love!"

"Love!"

Even Elizah, who normally reined Cynthia in, joined in, and the two ran their mouths to their hearts' content.

"… Listen, both of you know who he is, right? Say anything weird and scary people will come haul you off, you know?"

""Eeeeh～""

"No 'eeeeh～.'"

It seemed they'd just wanted an excuse to blow off steam; the two grumbled for a moment longer, then quickly returned to their duties.

(That person seems to have his own trauma when it comes to women, so it shouldn't turn into anything troublesome, right?)

Telling herself as much, Ilya headed for the private room where Torsti was waiting once her break began.

She brewed tea for Torsti once he had taken his seat, then asked what he'd come to discuss. After wetting his throat with the tea, he fixed his gaze straight on her and told her,

"I want you to come with me, to Reinhardt."

"… Haa?"

Given only the conclusion of his request, there was no way she could give an answer. At her reaction, Torsti gave an awkward wry smile and let his back fall against the chair.

"… Sorry. I got ahead of myself."

"No. You said the Empire… has something happened?"

"No, well… how do I put this."

His gaze wandered awkwardly through the air, and he picked up the cup again. As he drank, he seemed to put his feelings in order, then slowly continued.

"The war may be over, but the Empire, which unilaterally declared it, is going to be in an unfavorable position for some time to come."

"… Yes, I would think so."

"I want to do what I can for the Empire, in my own way. After speaking with my father… I came to feel that this was something I wanted to do for my own sake, not for anyone else's."

"With His Imperial Majesty, you mean."

Yes, Torsti answered, breaking into a smile.

"… The truth is, I hadn't intended to challenge him to a duel back then."

"I heard you fought a match."

"Yes. While I was exchanging words with my father, I… no, I realized, felt it instinctively, that I had to surpass him. Not to be acknowledged by someone else, but to acknowledge myself with my own hand. That's what I thought."

As he said it, Torsti lowered his gaze and touched his bracelet. Through Charon's report, Ilya already knew that he'd fought in his oni state.

"The divine swords are not everything. The power of the gods is not all there is. I told my father as much, but proving it through force alone leaves me only halfway there. The road is steep, but I mean to make the Empire one that can stand without relying on the divine swords."

Torsti raised his gaze and looked at Ilya.

"Stay at my side. Support me."

(… So Cynthia was right after all… huh.)

A confession.

If she chose to read it generously, the fact that he had never carried himself as a member of the imperial family meant that this was the will of Torsti as an individual, not of Tris Dil Reia. That he didn't lord his authority over anyone was something she could appreciate, but that was a separate matter from this.

That said, whether her reading of it as a confession was her own self-flattery or whether it was actually a recruitment offer, her answer was already decided.

"I can't accept. I'm sorry."

"… I see. A shame."

In contrast to his words, Torsti wore a calm smile.

(So it was self-flattery on my part!? … is, is humiliating! I-isitisitisit possible I let getting called "Goddess-sama" and the like go to my head!? Gyaaaaaa!! New black history piling onnnn…!!)

Oblivious to the death-throes scream rising up inside Ilya behind her veneer of calm, Torsti continued in the same manner as before.

"I'm a little relieved."

"… Eh?"

What did you just say?

To Ilya's questioning reply, Torsti mixed something bitter into his smile.

"If you were beside me, just that might be enough to satisfy me."

"Haa…"

Torsti drained the now-cool tea and stood up.

"With this, I can move forward without lingering regrets. Thank you for indulging my selfishness."

"… No. If you ever find yourself in trouble, please say so. I'll lend whatever aid I can."

It wasn't a social nicety; it came from her heart.

But Torsti slowly shook his head.

"Apparently I'm not big enough a man to come crawling back to see the woman who turned down my courtship."

So that earlier line had been courtship.

(Thank goodness… or rather, not so good… maybe…)

In any case, delivered as it was with such a calm expression, that self-deprecation rang hollow. Settling on as much, Ilya regained her inner composure.

"That's a little disappointing."

"Stop that. My resolve will waver."

Laughing together at that, exchanging parting words, Torsti left the branch.

With this, the matter of the Empire was, truly and completely, settled.

Back at the counter, Ilya let out a sigh of relief, only to spot a single boy come barreling in with momentum enough to shatter the whole atmosphere.

At his waist, a single demon-sword wrapped round and round in seal-cursing cloth.

The boy… Tristan closed on Ilya with the force of someone about to grab hold of her.

"Ilya-dono! I heard from Selge-dono!! Please, please, me as well!!"

"Tristan, calm down."

"Your aid!! I beg you!!"

Before Ilya could even slap him, Tristan was struck hard on the back of the head and crumpled to the floor.

The one who appeared behind him was a boy carrying a sheathed Holy Sword on his shoulder.

"… My bad. Tongue slipped."

So Selge apologized.

Since their bout in the arena, Selge and Tristan had become close friends and rivals, the kind who spurred each other on.

"I beg you～!!"

Selge grabbed Tristan by the collar and dragged him out of the branch on his back. Those who knew the fearsome air the two had carried in the arena stood stunned at the sight; the next moment, the hall was filled with laughter.

Ilya watched it all from across the counter.

Not long after, a male guild member who'd come in held out a bag of materials, a commission slip, and a registration card.

"Ilya-san, please process the completion and assessment!"

"Yes. Certainly."

I want money. I want information. I want strength.

Everyone who visits the branch has their reason.

The branch can become a starting point, but it never becomes the origin.

Every living person walks their own road. That is precisely why the branch is no more than a single waypoint along the way to their destination; each and every person is the protagonist, and the branch is no more than one event within their story.

"… Alright! Now I can buy a new sword! See you later, Ilya-san!"

"Yes."

And once they have accomplished their purpose, they all leave the branch behind.

That is why the last task of receptionists like her is to see them off.

Some call it lonely, but knowing that her involvement doesn't end things, that she can confirm the story of that person goes on, gives her some small measure of peace.

"We look forward to your next visit."

Hiding such feelings, Ilya kept seeing their backs off from across the counter.

Today, tomorrow, and on into the future.