—Around the time Lyle and the others achieved their miraculous victory in Zayin.
Two knights dispatched from Rolfis had come to visit Damian in Aramsass.
Damian Balle, who received the letter of introduction from Lyle, was known as a genius among the Seven Worthies of the academic city. He was a bit loose a few screws in his head, but that was precisely what made him one of the Seven Worthies.
Every generation of the Seven Worthies consisted of brilliant but somewhat problematic individuals. Damian was one such eccentric, conducting research in pursuit of ideals like "creating the perfect woman."
In his laboratory, maids with the same face and dressed in identical uniforms were cleaning and preparing tea for the two knights.
Damian sat on a sofa, received the letter, then picked up a small black board.
"This is for you," he said.
The maid—an Automaton—took it and slipped the black board into her pocket. Then, her red eyes began to flicker.
"...There is data left by sisters trapped in the Dungeon. The damage is severe, making complete analysis impossible. Master, it seems that useless Monica somehow touched upon the secrets of the Dungeon in Baim."
Hearing this, the two knights looked surprised. But Damian, sipping his tea, said:
"Is that so? I'm not interested anymore, though. It has nothing to do with my research. Still, that's troublesome."
The knights, astonished and somewhat exasperated, pressed Damian for clarification.
"Um, troublesome? Are you saying you can't give us the technology for the Porter?"
Damian removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"I'll teach you. It's outdated technology to me. If you provide funding to the academy, I'm sure they'll happily and thoroughly explain it. Though, the foundations were actually laid by Lyle. It would have been faster to learn from him directly."
The two knights exchanged glances, looking troubled. They hadn't even considered that Lyle might have been the one to develop it.
"So, that's what's troublesome about it?"
Damian put his glasses back on and grinned.
"It's just that Ceres, Lyle's sister, will be coming here to Aramsass soon. What a real problem. It is, isn't it?... The one she's after is definitely me."
What Lyle had written about in his letter was the threat of Ceres. He'd noted to keep an eye out, but there was nothing Damian could do about it.
And so, Damian stood up.
"Well, they've probably got all the materials we need over at Baim, right? Besides, the academy's been giving off a nasty vibe lately. Now that I think about it, it started after the academy's key personnel were called out to Central. Ahahaha, Lyle was right about that."
Laughing out loud, Damian turned to the two knights.
"Right, let's bolt. Number One, Number Two, Number Three—load up the materials and we're heading to Baim. These two will be our escorts."
The maids each lightly lifted their skirts and gave a curtsy.
"Very well, Master. This way we can also fulfill Monica's request."
Damian tilted his head.
"A request? Did someone commission us?"
The maid referred to as Number One spoke.
"The design of humanoid combat Golems, and the development of Golems utilizing Automaton cores. Our compensation will be an ancient technology—that is, one of our Options. That idiot said to cooperate because he'd give us a duplicate Option. We'll beat him senseless with our perfectly coordinated teamwork."
Damian rested a hand on his chin.
"As expected of Lyle. Sounds like something interesting is going on. Very well, then—we'll have Lyle take care of us. Alright, let's get ready to depart right away."
The moment Damian said that, the maids began bustling about the research lab.
"This goes into the large-scale Porter for transport—"
"It's time to show them our power, isn't it?"
"Hmm, we'll handle the basic Golem design. Master, we'd like you to develop a device for integrating the core—"
The two knights who had come all the way to Aramsass could only stare in disbelief at Damian, who had decided to simply run away without hesitation.
—East Side Baim Guild.
There stood a pair draped in robes.
One of them had light blue hair visible from beneath the hood.
The small, slender girl was Alette Belgi—a seventeen-year-old who had drifted from Banseim to Darion, Aramsass, Central, and now Baim.
Standing protectively between her and the flow of people was a tall young man. He carried a spear wrapped in cloth, and a sword hung at his waist.
His physique and weapons marked him as a fighter at a glance, and those nearby gave them a wide berth.
His name was Maxim Danhel—a twenty-seven-year-old former retainer knight who had come all the way to Baim to protect Alette, the lord's daughter.
The pair stood before the Eastern Branch guild, surveying their surroundings.
Alette watched the adventurers with her green eyes. When she failed to find the person she was looking for among them, she let out a sigh.
"As I thought, it's no use. There are simply too many people in Baim."
To the discouraged Alette, Maxim offered a smile.
"We've only just arrived. You can't give up already, Lady Alette."
At that, Alette turned a smile toward Maxim and nodded. Maxim's face reddened; he scratched his cheek with a fingertip and averted his gaze.
"You're right. He is definitely here, after all. I must find him no matter what... Lyle Walt, the former prodigy of House Walt."
Alette's eyes narrowed.
Maxim adjusted the headband on his forehead slightly. His long brown hair was swept back and held in place by the headband, and his red eyes scanned their surroundings.
"Darion, Aramsass, Central... he's never short of being the talk of the town. He may well be famous here too."
As Maxim spoke and glanced around, Alette had her hand to her chin, looking down thoughtfully.
"I hope so. He annihilated a bandit group in Darion, conquered the fortieth underground floor of Aramsass with the smallest party on record, and fought his own sister in Central... I really do hope he's a good person."
But Maxim shook his head.
"There were plenty of strange rumors about him, that's true. Then again, you could also say he fled here to Baim. What do you expect from a man like that, my lady?"
Alette gazed up at the sky. Her hood slipped back, revealing her light blue hair.
"I don't understand."
"You don't understand, do you... Well, I'll see you to the end regardless."
Exasperated as Maxim was, Adele continued.
"My family went mad the moment they met Ceres. They were supposed to go to Central to lodge a complaint, but when they came back, they wanted to join the rebellion. They're clearly insane. I thought it would be dangerous to meet with her directly. So I came all the way to Baim, searching for clues..."
Adele turned her face toward Maxim.
"The knight who was your friend was cut down too. A man who was one of Banseim's finest, and he didn't stand a chance. It's like something straight out of a fairy tale from three hundred years ago."
Declaring it a fairy tale, Adele sighed in front of the Eastern Branch and started walking. Matching her small steps, Maxim began walking alongside her.
"I'm sorry, Maxim, but let's become adventurers here in Baim. We'll search for information on Lyle Walt here."
For a knight, becoming an adventurer in Banseim meant falling from grace. But Maxim simply smiled.
"If that is what my lady wishes."
With those words, he smiled gently—
"What the hell... 'The Condemning Holy Knight' or whatever?!"
Inside a temple in the capital of Zayin, I sat in the room I'd been given and slammed both fists onto the desk over and over.
I'd slain the Knight Commander, and it seemed like the war was on the verge of reaching a turning point. That's how it should have been, anyway—until Eva came running into my room, all smiles.
Eva, who was a Bard, had come to share with me the stories being told about me throughout the capital.
"'The Blue Holy Knight,' 'The Holy Knight of Love,' even 'The Guardian of Miracles.' Oh, and there are two versions with Selma and Aura as the heroine. A scandalous love affair with a big age gap! Huge hit with middle-aged women! And in Aura's case, it's the classic tale so it's just naturally popular. I mean, she led a war starting with just a hundred soldiers and crushed an army of twenty thousand!"
Watching Eva flashing a V-sign and absolutely delighted, I buried my face in both hands. And then, the next person to walk in was Clara.
"Lyle, there's actually something I'd like to ask you about."
"What is it?"
When I turned to Clara with an exhausted expression, she picked up a memo from the desk.
The feelings you had when you decided to reclaim Zayin, and how you snapped your fingers during the negotiations at Rolfis like you already knew the messenger was coming... It all sounds way too much like fiction, so I'd like to hear more details. Also, please explain your reasoning for abandoning the captured fortress and deciding to march on the capital.
Clara's eyes sparkled as she listened intently to my account.
But Eva—
"Wait! What do you mean, 'sounds like fiction'! Those are perfectly valid reasons! You rose up to save the suffering saint and the people of Rolfis! Why are you trying to twist the facts just because they sound dubious!"
Pressing in close, Eva backed Clara into a corner. Clara pushed her glasses up with her finger, making them glint. Slightly terrifying.
"I'm keeping records for posterity! If I don't write down the details properly, you'll embellish it until it becomes an entirely different story!"
"That's not what happened! It's fine to have a hero who acts without ulterior motives! An idiot who can't do cost-benefit analysis is perfectly fine! That's what a hero is!"
"No, it isn't. Absolutely not!"
I extended my right hand, hesitating over whether to intervene in their argument, when I heard the uproarious laughter of the Successive Heads coming from the Jewel.
The Third Generation was already delighted upon hearing my epithet.
'The Condemning Holy Knight! Now that's cool!'
The Fourth Generation chimed in.
'The Blue Holy Knight and the Holy Knight of Love... So it really is a holy-knight-only policy. Congrats, Lyle... Now you're a celebrity with an epithet. Jobs are going to be pouring in from now on!'
He was overjoyed at the prospect of future earnings.
The Fifth Generation said:
'It's better than the idiot sons before him and the burdened Lyle, right? But "Condemnation" huh... Why is it that the more dignified an epithet sounds, the worse it actually works?'
The Seventh Generation, struggling to hold back his laughter:
'Wh-what's wrong with it... Pfft! Though "Guardian of Miracles" is a bit much. It's not miracles—it's the result of accumulated effort. Well, it's amusing, so I'll accept it.'
(Are these guys enjoying this? Some things never change!)
Even as frustration simmered inside me, I let out a sigh and dropped into a chair. That's when I noticed Eva and Clara were both looking at me.
"W-well?"
Eva's expression was dead serious.
"Hey, Lyle… which epithet do you like best? I want to tell our kind to spread that one as the main one. If there are too many, it gets confusing."
Clara too.
"Consistency is important, Lyle. You've got 'Blue Holy Knight,' 'Holy Knight of Condemnation,' 'Holy Knight of Love,' 'Guardian of Miracles'… and then there's 'Holy Knight of the Saintess' as well. That one comes up in stories themed around love and romance at the end. The opponents in those are Selma and Aura."
Looking at the two of them, I shouted.
"Rejected! I don't like any of them! Come up with an epithet I'm actually satisfied with, and then I'll use it!"
That was when a voice came from inside the Jewel.
'You're an idiot, Lyle… these things get decided by what other people call you. While you still can, pick a safe one and stick with it.'
(Safe? Not a single one of them is safe!)
Watching Eva and Clara argue over which of my epithets was best, I buried my face in my hands.
——In the temple of Zayin.
There stood the statue of the final goddess — the seventh goddess. The one gazing up at the goddess sculpted from the believers' own whimsical image was Novem.
Beside her, Shannon was helping out, while Miranda, Aria, and Monica were handling other tasks.
May had gone to deliver a letter to Rolfis, so Shannon was the only one free to assist Novem.
Priestesses had also been dispatched to clean, since this was an important place.
"…Why am I the one cleaning? They used me as bait, then shoved me into a cell and left me there, and now I'm doing temple chores… Even if I protested this shoddy treatment, I don't think anyone would listen."
Shannon grumbled as she wiped down a long bench with a rag. She wanted to point out that Novem's hand had stopped moving, but Novem had already finished her work, so there was nothing to say.
When Shannon saw Novem gazing up at the goddess's statue, she was a little surprised. There was no comparison to the time with Lyle, but there was the faintest fluctuation in her mana.
Which was unusual for Novem, who normally showed no fluctuation at all.
Although Shannon's eyes couldn't see, she possessed a special Skill that allowed her to perceive mana. Because of this, Shannon could act as though she could see.
(It seems like she's angry? No, more like she's sad...)
Watching Novem like that, Shannon saw her lips move.
"We are... and the gods... why do people..."
Hearing that voice trail off in fragments, Shannon felt a chill and resumed her work. Then Novem spoke to her.
She had somehow already crouched down beside her, matching Shannon's eye level.
"Shannon."
"Y-yes!"
Shannon's flustered voice drew the gazes of the shrine maidens around them. But the shrine maidens assumed she was about to be scolded again and went back to their work.
Novem was smiling. As always, there was no fluctuation in her mana. None at all — almost suspiciously so.
"Once we finish this, it'll be lunchtime, so let's hang in there until then."
"…Yeah."
Shannon could only nod.
(She didn't notice? Thank goodness.)
Just as she thought that, Novem added one more thing.
"Oh, and forget what I said earlier. Those were meaningless words."
Stung by that warning, Shannon nodded again and again and again.
—The royal castle of Rolfis.
May was in a room meeting with Alette and Lombolt.
When she handed over the letter she'd been carrying, Lombolt brought a hand to his mouth in surprise. Alette, growing curious, asked for an explanation.
"Chancellor, what's the situation at Zayin?"
Lombolt wiped the sweat from his brow and handed the letter to Alette. When Alette took it and read its contents, her eyes went wide.
"They took back Zayin with... with only a hundred people? Did they really pull it off?"
Alette kept glancing back and forth between the letter and May, and May spoke.
"That's what I've been telling you. Lyle took Zayin back. So I went to confirm whether you'd honor your promise and move accordingly."
May, seemingly uninterested, was munching away at the snacks on the table.
Lombolt said:
"...Are we going to wipe out Selva? Right now, we could force together the allied nations we'd promised. There's no need to go so far as complete annihilation."
At those words, May popped the last snack into her mouth and swallowed.
"That was always the plan, wasn't it? Besides, Selva started this. And if I'm not mistaken, it was Selva's people who attacked Lyle, right? So keep your promise."
May spoke like a child, but Alette pressed on:
"Do you even understand what it means to wipe someone out..."
May simply tilted her head.
"The boss just changes, right?"
May was a Kirin, and her way of thinking could hardly be called human. She considered war to be nothing more than a territorial squabble.
And Lyle's opinion was that of Fredericks, the Fifth Generation.
May owed Fredericks a debt of gratitude for saving her life.
"If you don't move, Lyle might act alone. But if that happens, I have no idea what comes next."
He could take down Selva even by himself — that was how the words landed on the two of them. And in truth, Lyle had defeated Zayin with only a small force.
That capability was what terrified Lombolt.
"I'll put it to the council. I can't give you an immediate answer."
May stood up and headed straight for the window. Despite the room being high up in the royal castle, she leaned out the window without a care in the world and looked back at them.
Then, just before she left—.
"Well then, I'll go let Lyle know we're in a meeting."
With that, she dashed out.
The two of them watched May's retreating figure and thought that no matter how many times they saw it, they would never understand her—.
Meanwhile, Monica, who was cleaning, surveyed the situation around her.
The destruction caused by magic, and the soiled floors.
It had been several days since she'd begun tidying it all up, and Monica—
"Why do I have to work this hard when I can't even take care of Chicken? I haven't been able to look after Chicken lately. It's so demoralizing."
Even when she cleaned without any enthusiasm, she was still a high-performance maid-type Automaton.
The area around her steadily grew cleaner.
"But I tried so hard. I really gave it my all this time..."
Monica looked thoroughly disgruntled, apparently very disappointed that she couldn't stay by Lyle's side. Just then, Aura was walking down the hallway.
Surrounded by shrine maidens, she was escorting Crate, the Vice Commander of the Holy Knights.
"Hey, Monica. Another nice day today, isn't it?"
Crate, wearing an overly enthusiastic smile that practically radiated pure happiness, greeted Monica. One of the shrine maidens then corrected him.
"Vice Commander, you must not stop to exchange greetings while we're moving. The others are clearing the way to let the Saintess pass."
"Is that so? What a pain."
At that, Aura let out a sigh and waved her hand in dismissal.
"No more of that starting now. I'm going to tear everything down and rebuild it anyway, so we're making new rules. Write up the things you'll need later or something."
Aura giving orders to the priestess might have had a questionable tone, but she looked every bit the Saintess. Her outfit, too, was one Monika had made—one that showed off the lines of her body.
Behind her stood Remis, in handcuffs.
"Oh my, are we leaving already?"
Aura nodded.
"That's right. In Zayin, you're officially dead, and you're being exiled abroad. I'll let you take a reasonable amount of assets."
Aura hadn't been able to kill Remis, and Selma was the same. The Saintess was decoration. Both Aura and Selma, who knew that, couldn't bring themselves to be cruel.
But she couldn't be left in Zayin, either.
The opposition had already been crushed, but that didn't guarantee Remis wouldn't stage another revolt. So exile it was.
"How kind of you. Well, I suppose you can't kill the Chicken either, since you're so gentle with women. ...If only you'd be gentle with me alone."
Aura watched Monika speak her true feelings with a look of exasperation. Then one of the priestesses spoke up.
"To say such things about Lord Lyle, the Knight Commander... How disrespectful to the Holy Knight of Love!"
At that, Monika perked up with delight.
"Oh my, I'd love to hear more about that. The Chicken is the Holy Knight of Love? Is that just like him, or is it completely out of left field... Do tell me everything?"
Leaving Monika to corner the priestess with her questions, Aura started walking.
"Come on, let's go."
Then Remis spoke.
"I will absolutely make you regret this. I hated Rolfis too for killing my father, but now it's different... You're the one I hate most."
To Remis's words, Aura responded with an unperturbed expression.
"Okay."
That was all it took to end it――
――Inside the Jewel.
The Third Generation gazed up at the three weapons floating above the round table.
One was a greatsword.
Another was a bow.
The last was a halberd.
He reached out toward the silver weapons, but the Third Generation could not touch them—as though they knew who their master was.
The Fourth Generation looked at the chairs arranged around the round table.
"The number has gone down, hasn't it?"
The Fifth Generation hung his head.
"Yeah."
The Seventh Generation looked at the door set into the wall of the circular chamber. The entrance to the memory rooms now numbered only five.
"There are only five doors too. Quite the reduction… Hmm?"
Five… .
The Third Generation rose from his chair and looked at the newly appeared door. The chair in front of it belonged to Lyle.
"After all this time… well, it's been about a year now, hasn't it? Can't say it's surprising that he's finally come out."
Once Lyle's memory room was born, silence fell over the inside of the Jewel.
And then the Third Generation spoke.
"…Shall we take a peek?"
The Fourth Generation stood up, pushing his glasses up with one finger.
"Are you curious? Can't be helped, I suppose."
The Fifth Generation stood up as well.
"Oh, don't pretend you're not interested too."
The Seventh Generation, being closest to the door, was naturally the first to reach it.
"Then, pardon me."
And so the Third Generation—
"Ah, that's cheating!"
As the Third Generation cut ahead, the Seventh Generation flung open the door and immediately shut it again. When the Fifth Generation approached, wondering what was going on, the Seventh Generation shook their head.
"I was told it would be tiring, but it wasn't here, was it…"
The Fourth Generation walked up to the door.
"What are you doing? Honestly… See, there's nothing— huh? Why? Why?!"
The Fourth Generation, who had opened the door with a grin, immediately slammed it shut, breathing heavily. And then, muttering under their breath.
"That's impossible. Why? And besides, this is Lyle's memory room. They shouldn't have ever met."
The Fifth Generation, growing curious as well, opened the door. Then they slowly closed it and tilted their head.
"That's strange. It wasn't my room, though…"
The Third Generation couldn't understand. So they opened the door themselves.
Before them stretched a scene from the mansion where the Third Generation had once lived.
"…Huh?"
And a boy, noticing that the door had opened, was waving at the Third Generation.
"Slay, tonight it's Grandma's stew. It's a little thick, but don't complain and just drink it. If you say it tastes bad, Grandma's going to be upset."
Seeing the small boy's smile, the Third Generation slammed the door shut.
The Third Generation's breathing grew ragged.
"...Why... Brother Dewey, why...? This isn't my memory room. And I don't have that kind of memory... I shouldn't have it."
Standing there was Dewey — the Third Generation's older brother, a boy who had died.
As if truly alive, he moved before the Third Generation's eyes. This was no recording playing out predetermined actions within a memory.
The panicked Third Generation stepped back and looked frantically at every door.
The Third Generation, the Fourth Generation, the Fifth Generation, the Seventh Generation... the four of them stood dumbfounded before Lyle Walt's memory room —.