Ark Rodan's relationship with House Gradius went back a long way.
The Rodan name had long held a special significance within the Zebuldia Empire.
Though they held no noble title, the treatment they received from aristocrats was even more special than what was afforded to nobility and great merchant guilds alike.
An exceptional Hunter was, by definition, an extraordinarily powerful warrior.
The greatest military force in the Zebuldia Empire was not the Knights but the Treasure Hunters, and among those, Ark stood at the very top. Being from a distinguished family that had once served the Empire meant there was no shortage of people eager to curry favor with him.
House Gradius, as a family that placed great importance on martial prowess, maintained particularly close ties with the Rodans compared to other houses.
They had requested his guidance with the sword on several occasions, and he had visited their estate numerous times as a result.
If one were to describe the head of House Gradius from Ark's perspective in a single word—it would be: warrior.
A warrior who never dropped his stern demeanor toward anyone, regardless of who they were. A man of exceptional swordsmanship who had further refined the already formidable knights under the Gradius banner, spreading his martial reputation even wider.
He had a tendency to focus perhaps too heavily on military matters, and his political acumen was nothing extraordinary—though calling him a fool would be going too far.
He could be inflexible, but since that same rigidity carried over into his personal life as well, he commanded a certain measure of respect from those around him.
And his daughter, Eclair Gradius, had inherited that temperament in full measure.
Her unusually solemn manner of speaking for her age, her refusal to back down even when dealing with adults—those were all part of it. Ark knew that while she was courteous to him, a friend of her father's, she was rather cold toward her own companions.
Looking back now, he realized that even in their previous conversations, Eclair had seemed dissatisfied that Ark was content being second-in-command rather than the Clan Master—though technically he wasn't second-in-command, that was how others perceived him.
For all her maturity beyond her years, Eclair was still very much a child—and perhaps it was only to be expected that she would harbor competitive feelings toward Thousand Transformations.
Seated in the reception room of the Gradius estate, Ark listened as the head of the household—Van Gradius, who was also Eclair's father—recounted everything that had transpired. Only then did he regret not having chosen his words more carefully.
Isabella, seated beside him, narrowed her eyes and muttered under her breath.
"I thought so when he was being sarcastic, but seriously, that's way too much…"
"Sounds like he was testing her or something…"
Yu shrank back, agreeing with the sentiment.
The scheme Thousand Transformations had devised, as Lord Gradius explained it, was extremely sophisticated—far too elaborate to be something you'd spring on a girl who had just turned ten.
If Eclair had been motivated by it, it could have been laughed off as a learning experience. But the fact that she had been bedridden for days afterward made it seem like nothing more than cruel overkill.
For Ark, however, the situation was extremely difficult to navigate.
Eclair's reason for competing over the Treasure Weapon was entirely in character.
She had tried to obtain the most powerful Treasure Weapon to push Ark—the "second-in-command"—into the top position.
Of course, Ark had no memory of ever asking her to do anything of the sort, but saying so outright would be terribly unsportsmanlike.
"It is an honor for me to be thought of so highly by Lady Eclair. However—"
"He played with fire, and paid for it. She picked the wrong opponent… I only hope this becomes fuel for her growth…"
Van Gradius spoke with a grimace, but his voice lacked its usual force.
For all his sternness, he was still a father. He must have been deeply worried about his daughter, locked away in her room.
The expressions of the knights standing guard behind him were equally clouded.
Having been deliberately conceding the win had indeed dealt a heavy blow to Eclair's pride.
But the real problem was that Eclair's actions had been entirely pointless from the very start.
Let's say Eclair had defeated Thousand Transformations handily and obtained the Treasure Weapon. Let's say Ark had gratefully accepted it. And let's say that Treasure Weapon had displayed overwhelming power.
Even so, that would not mean Ark had surpassed Cry.
In terms of combat ability, Ark was in no way inferior to Cry. The gap between them was not one of raw power, but of something else entirely—and being gifted a somewhat more powerful Treasure Weapon changed nothing.
What would that already dejected little swordswoman think if she knew?
If words alone could fix things, he would say them. But she was not the type to be so easily placated.
He silently cursed Thousand Transformations for dumping him into this complicated mess.
The target was a child. For all that Hunters cared about face, there had to have been a more delicate way to handle this.
The scheme's meticulous reading of interpersonal dynamics and personality was, to anyone who knew the usual Cry, almost unbelievably thorough.
And what was truly terrifying was that even now, the purpose behind it remained unclear.
Cry was not the type to move in order to owe favors to nobles. And as an unabashed Treasure Weapon collector, it seemed unlikely he would back down from a Treasure Weapon auction without reason.
Ark stood deep in thought with a serious expression, and Count Gradius, for once, looked apologetic.
"In any case, Eclair has been sulking since her defeat. But if you, of all people, came all this way to see her, she will surely come out of her room. Eclair thinks highly of you. I hate to ask, but would you speak with her? I did think it was wrong to summon you without telling Eclair anything—but your arriving here of your own accord is something of a blessing."
"………………Gladly."
He absolutely could not say that Cry had sent him. After agonizing over it, Ark offered only that one word.
Isabella and the others wore expressions that defied easy description.
The target was a ten-year-old girl. No matter how invincible Ark Rodan was, he could not read the delicate movements of her heart.
What had Cry sent him here for? To comfort Eclair? Had he actually reflected on going too far?
Ark recalled Cry's demeanor in the lounge, but his expression had revealed nothing of his true intentions.
As expected of a man renowned for his divine schemes and devilish stratagems—his poker face was first-rate. Ark would have preferred he express himself in a different area.
Either way, this was far outside Ark's expertise, and frankly a bit too heavy a burden. In this situation, facing a powerful Phantom or Monster would have been far easier.
"Still, raising children is a difficult thing… I never imagined a single defeat would drive her into hiding."
"…The young lady is strong-willed. She will surely recover."
Montour, standing behind the Count, spoke with a firm, encouraging tone as the Earl leaned forward with a somewhat weary sigh.
What should he even say to her? If the Treasure Weapon in question was thrust upon him, how should he decline? Or perhaps, instead of trying to console her directly, simply drawing his sword and letting her spar might lift her spirits.
It was then that a small scream pierced through the ears of Ark, who had been seriously running simulations in his head.
"What happened!?"
"Ark-san, exit to the left!"
Bennetta, the Thief whose senses were particularly acute, rose to her feet and pointed toward the entrance.
This was a noble's estate. The security was quite tight. Especially since Lord Gradius, who harbored a fierce competitive spirit toward Treasure Hunters, had employed guards who could give any Hunter a run for their money.
The scream had come from a man. But it was no mere yelp of a minor accident.
"I'm going ahead!"
Before Montour could issue orders to the guards, Ark was already dashing forward.
He threw open the door and sprinted down the wide, carpeted hallway alongside his companions. The flat, carpeted floor was far easier to traverse than the Treasure Halls they usually explored.
He ran past the housemaids, who had frozen in place—presumably they had heard the same scream.
The scream was not a single cry. A second time, a third—followed by the sound of shattering glass.
"Why do I have to hear screams coming from Lord Gradius's estate!?"
"Maybe Riz broke in as a burglar."
"If Riz—came—she wouldn't—scream—like that!"
Isabella and the others ran alongside him, voicing their complaints in voices that themselves sounded like screams.
So it really hadn't been about consoling the depressed Eclair after all!
He had braced himself for something to happen, but actually experiencing it felt like living through a nightmare. Of course, it wasn't his first time.
Van Gradius was in the reception room. He didn't know what was happening, but Eclair's safety took priority.
He had let his guard down because nothing had been going on—he'd thought they had made it in time.
No—this was where it started. He had weapons. He still had magic power, and he had potions.
He was fully prepared. Even if a dragon attacked, he could drive it off without issue.
Suddenly, Bennetta, who had been leading the way, came to a stop.
At the corner of the hallway ahead, a guard wearing armor bearing the Gradius crest hurtled into the wall with tremendous force.
The guard collapsed to the floor. The armor protecting his vitals was crumpled, and he lay motionless.
In an instant, Ark predicted the attacker's method.
The guard was completely unconscious, but there were no visible wounds. Had he been simply blown away by brute force?
The guard was a grown man in full armor, but even someone other than Ark—a seasoned Hunter—could have done the same thing if they really wanted to.
But normally, such an outcome would never occur. It was far too inefficient.
Even if the opponent only had a bludgeoning weapon, a horizontal sweep would be far more efficient than crushing someone from above. And with no cutting wounds to speak of— Behind Ark, Yu the Priest reported in a small voice.
"He's still… alive."
"…Right."
Given the size of the estate, there had to be limits to the scale of whatever was involved.
From the blind spot around the corner, there was no sense of an especially large presence.
Rebellion? Assassination? Or had a Thief come to steal something Eclair had dropped? Various possibilities flashed through his mind, but starting trouble in the Count's mansion was far too conspicuous.
Isabella drew her short staff. Almel readied his sword. They were the Holy Spirit's Children—they had cut their teeth navigating the unpredictable Treasure Halls and had no openings.
Montour should have been calling for reinforcements. The longer they waited, the more soldiers would gather.
But if the enemy's target was Lady Eclair, there was not a moment to spare.
He muttered a single-word incantation and channeled lightning into his left hand. The crackle of purple electricity. A small light, but one with the power to fell a full-grown man—the signature technique of Ark Rodan.
A small figure emerged from around the corner.
The sight of it froze the expressions of Isabella and the others, who had been in combat stance.
"U-uu… don't—ignore me. Don't—look at me like that. Don't fear me, don't envy me—when you're weaker. Weaker than me—even weaker—aaaaah!!!"
Her once-pristine white dress was disheveled, and at her hip hung a small sword her father had bought her for her birthday. Her golden hair, usually neatly arranged, was a tangled mess. She was barefoot, her center of gravity swaying unsteadily—she looked as though she could collapse at any moment.
Isabella took a step back, her face pale. Yu clamped a hand over her mouth. Bennetta's cheeks twitched as she leaned forward.
It was the girl Ark had come to visit. But now, her appearance was utterly transformed from what he remembered.
Her entire face was covered in pink flesh.
Bloodshot blue eyes peered through hollowed-out sockets, dilated pupils aimed directly at Ark. The flesh plastered across her features squirmed and writhed, and the longer you stared, the more inexplicable the wrongness became.
To call it monstrous was almost too mild—it still retained too much of Eclair's features. Which was precisely what made it so horrifying.
From that small body, Ark sensed a terribly distorted power. A warped, massive presence—different from the Eclair he knew.
Eclair Gradius was certainly talented, but only in ways appropriate for her age. She lacked the physique, the technique, and the Mana Material to defeat a properly employed guard. Or at least, she shouldn't have had any.
Looking at her now, Ark did not rage, did not call out to her. He simply spat his words.
"So that's how it is… wearing a mask, are we. The sword is unnecessary—so that's your approach… This is… unexpected."
"Uuuuu… aaah… a…… Ark… d……o…?"
Eclair called out Ark's name in a voice like someone trapped in the throes of a nightmare.