—The Eastern Branch Guild.
There, a personnel reassignment notice for staff had been posted.
The dungeon that had appeared south of Baim had been designated a managed dungeon. The reason was that it yielded commonly used materials, and—being easy to clear—it provided materials unavailable in the dungeons managed by Baim.
On the personnel reassignment notice, only one staff member's name was listed. And they were accepting volunteers.
Marianne looked at her own name written there and was slightly taken aback.
From behind her, Tahnia called out.
"It's been a while, Marianne. Do you have a moment? …Please don't be on guard. I can't come after you anymore."
Marianne turned around, involuntarily tensing up, but Tahnia—who was laughing with a self-mocking air—gestured her toward an unused meeting room on the second floor.
When the two of them entered the meeting room, not even the morning preparations for a new recruit orientation had been set up.
Marianne looked at Tahnia and spoke.
"When you say you can't come after me anymore—"
Before she could finish, Tahnia crossed her arms and sat on the edge of the table.
"It's because of Laiel. In yesterday's notice from the Guild, he brought the face of a Sweeper that had been confiscated. He said something along the lines of how Marianne had been attacked, so he'd rescued her. If you try anything again, you'll get the same treatment in return."
When Laiel produced the face in front of the Guild executives, it wasn't just posturing. He had shown them that sending Sweepers would be futile.
And the conclusion the Guild had reached was to dispatch staff in order to establish a branch south of Baim. The name put forward for that posting was Marianne.
She was close to Laiel and the others, and the Guild loathed having her on the inside. Unable to discipline her, they decided to ship her off instead.
From Marianne's perspective, it had all been to help Erhard and the others. She had trained many parties over the years, but perhaps because she found them endearing, Erhard's group had been her favorite.
"I won't refuse going south. So—what do you want with me?"
Tahnia nodded and got down to business.
"None of the other branches have the resources to send adventurers south. The Northern Branch, which handles maritime trade, operates on a completely different set of rules. The Western Branch already lost one top-tier party to a total wipe, and the other decided to transfer south under Baim's name. It sounds like the Queen of Cartafus herself asked them to take on the southern assignment. They really will do it, you know."
The Southern Branch. Being specialized in mercenaries, it was incapable of dispatching adventurers. And most of the mercenary bands had already left Baim.
The only one left with minimal damage was the Eastern Branch.
"Erhard and his people will head south. They're too close to Lyle. ...Over there, I expect you'll be the one to run the Guild."
The dungeon wasn't large in scale. Even going forward, the management burden would be minimal, Tania told Marianne.
"Send two more staff members from the Guild. Hire the rest locally. Well, it's practically a banishment. Baim has no interest in the south. As for managing the Magic Stones and materials—the merchants will be relocating too, so work out the details with them."
Marianne heard this and felt a flicker of doubt. It was as if Baim itself were splitting apart.
Merchants centered around the Trace family. Guild staff alongside them... and adventurers. It was as though someone had cleanly carved out exactly the parts Baim needed from Baim itself... No way!
Marianne could feel it—a small Baim was about to be born in the south.
"Tania, could it be—"
Marianne tried to voice her unease to Tania. Tania spoke without changing her expression.
"You've been played. When we looked into it, quite a few craftsmen had emigrated through merchant channels as well. A little Baim has truly been completed. Lyle... I'd like to believe he didn't foresee all of this, but—"
Marianne didn't believe Lyle was acting on instinct either.
He had siphoned funds from Baim, and he had stripped away the sensible merchants, the craftsmen—and the adventurers and the Guild's know-how from Baim itself.
A sensation of being danced upon on someone's open palm—the two of them felt a chill of fear toward Lyle.
Rauno had come to the forward base for the dungeon purge south of Baim.
When conducting a dungeon purge, establishing a base was standard procedure. For Baim, a base of sufficient scale to form a small town was the baseline expectation.
Yet the precision of the organized districts gave the impression that the town had been planned there from the start.
With the small-framed Innis at his side, Rauno walked through the town, matching his pace to hers.
"A quiet place. When you hear 'dungeon purge forward base,' you'd expect more bustle—bards singing, prostitutes calling out to customers. Without a bit of chaos, there's no fun in it."
Walking through town, the smell of food drifted from the stalls, while from the taverns came the sound of adventurers who'd returned from the dungeon, drinking and carousing regardless of whether it was morning or afternoon.
Prostitutes calling out to passersby, adventurers leaning in with a leer—these were the typical sights. None of that existed here.
Innis, who was clutching Rauno's hand, spoke up.
"What was your hometown like?"
Rauno scratched his head with his right hand.
"...My old superior wasn't there. He'd retired, I think. It was back in the previous king's reign, not under the current queen. The people who remembered me had thinned out, too."
Having spent his career doing dirty work, Rauno had effectively been cast out of Kartafus. And he'd grown to hate what he did.
He possessed the Skill to infiltrate anywhere. So he was saddled with work unbecoming of a knight, and looked down upon by those around him.
The only reason he'd carried on was his oath of loyalty to the kingdom. But what the previous king had said to Rauno was—
"A disgrace to the knights of Kartafus."
—that.
"The current queen doesn't seem like the rigid type the previous king was... but still, I wonder."
Innis squeezed Rauno's hand tightly.
"You want to become a knight again, don't you, Rauno?"
Rauno gave a wry smile.
"Is that what it looks like? Well, if you say so, then I suppose it is. Maybe so. Maybe I do want to be recognized as a knight. I used to think I'd moved past those naive ideals, but..."
It was Innis who made Rauno realize that those naive ideals still lived inside him.
"So, Innis—did you gather the information?"
At the serious tone of Rauno's voice, Innis nodded.
"And? What did you find?"
Innis spoke in a low voice, meant for Rauno's ears alone.
"Lyle intends to make use of Baim. In the end, Lyle gets expelled and is treated as having lost in the public eye. However, he's already wedged himself into the Four-Nation Alliance, into Cartafus… into everything. I believe he engineered a clean escape from Baim."
"Escape from what? Ceres of Banseim?"
Innis shook his head.
"From various things. If he'd stayed in Baim as a hero, Lyle wouldn't have been able to move freely. Going forward, he needs to be unencumbered. He seemed to be against receiving full support from Baim. And the reason he split Baim in two was—"
At that moment, a voice called out to Rauno and Innis.
It was Novem, who had been shopping.
"Innis. And Rauno as well. So this is where you two have been."
Called from behind, Rauno answered in his usual nonchalant manner.
"Yeah, that's right. There's more money to be made on this side where I've got regulars. You'll make use of me again, right? I've been thinking of setting up an office—are there any vacant properties around here?"
They had come to the south because they were chasing Lyle. It wasn't to take on a client. It was because Innis had predicted that Baim would fall.
Novem raised her left hand to her mouth and let out a soft giggle.
"That's very helpful. I'll have something arranged right away. If you have any preferences, I'll send someone over—just let me know then. Well then."
As Novem moved to leave the two of them, Innis gripped Rauno's hand tightly. When Rauno looked at Innis, she was trembling just slightly.
"What's wrong?"
"…This may be a stretch, but I think Novem was watching us."
Innis was on her guard against Novem.
"Really? That kind of atmosphere wasn't—"
Innis spoke.
"That woman will do anything for Lyle's sake. That's the kind of person she is. And… she's frightening. When I look at her, it almost feels nostalgic… I'm sorry, forget I said that."
Rauno scratched his head and headed to the inn with Innis——.
——Meanwhile, Roland entered the developing port aboard a Trace family ship.
To meet Leold, the heir apparent of Galleria, who was directing operations there.
Upon being led to Leold's room in the finest building prepared at the port, Roland produced the document that had been unilaterally delivered to him.
Leold was indoors, so he was dressed casually in a shirt and trousers, working on paperwork.
When Roland arrived at the room, Leold had tea prepared so they could take a break.
When the servant brought the tea, Leold wrapped up his work to deal with Roland. But his attitude was rude.
Roland sensed he was being looked down upon, but began speaking politely nonetheless.
"I've come regarding the letter received by Baim. The Acting Sovereign Prince said the decision was yours to make and wouldn't discuss it further, so I decided to come directly. Please tell me—why did you unilaterally decide to sever the trade agreement with the Trace family? You haven't forgotten how much support we've provided, have you?"
Leold looked at Roland, raised the cup to his lips, and took a small sip of tea. Then he lowered the cup from his mouth and held it with both hands.
"…We are abiding by the terms of the contract. The contract we signed was with the Trace family in southern Baim, correct? The one with Lord Fidel as the representative merchant—not the Trace family that was seized. In other words, we do not recognize you."
Leold, who looked somewhat tired, had ink stains on his shirt sleeves, as if the paperwork had been ongoing. His hands were slightly dirty as well.
There were dark circles under his eyes.
"In Baim, it has been officially decided that I am the successor to the Trace family. Even if you say we've broken the contract, there's nothing I can say in response."
Leold replied flatly.
"Whether Baim recognized it or not… that's irrelevant. The Four-Nation Alliance intends to formally protest to Baim. My brother-in-law—no, Lord Lyle was expelled on almost fabricated charges by Baim, so they cannot be trusted. And more than that, you—someone who expelled a family member and seized the house—cannot be trusted either."
Roland stood up from the sofa and spoke with a shocked expression.
"Are you suggesting you can afford to make an enemy of Baim? I've heard the Four-Nation Alliance has formed and various cooperative relationships have been established, but even so, from Baim every year—"
"—Yes, we used to purchase goods annually. Mainly armaments, I suppose, and things like Magic Stones as well. But our situation is different now. Wars have decreased dramatically. What we need isn't armaments—it's things that enrich daily life. A certain amount of armaments is necessary, but we can produce those ourselves. Did you know? When you drove out several merchant houses, the craftsmen who lost their livelihoods ended up flowing into the Four-Nation Alliance as well. Lord Lyle asked us to welcome them warmly, and we obliged—fulfilling the wishes of Lord Lyle, our benefactor."
Roland lowered his head.
He wanted to regret that his actions had sullied the credibility of House Trace. But by the time Roland had learned of Gina's plan, there was no turning back.
And the notion that he could survive while being watched warily by Baim's merchant council—Roland, born and raised in Baim, simply could not imagine it.
"…So we won't be granted usage rights to the port?"
Leold spoke.
"That was never our intention. The Four-Nation Alliance will support Baim's south. Future trade will center there."
Roland responded to those words.
"It seems you're underestimating Baim's power. How many years do you think it will take for a small port town in the south to become functional? Can you manage without trading in the meantime?"
Leold spoke.
"The one underestimating things is you people. Baim is indeed one of the great cities of the continent. I'd say there's nothing you can't obtain in that city. But you should realize that by looking down on everyone around you, resentment has been piling up."
Roland met Leold's gaze and flinched ever so slightly. Having worked almost exclusively within Baim, he'd had precious few opportunities to venture abroad and work in other countries.
And now, faced for the first time with the kind of stares directed at outsiders, he couldn't catch his breath.
Leold quickly composed his expression and addressed Roland.
"Please go home. There's no reason for us to comply with Baim's decisions, nor do we intend to."
Roland left the room and agonized over what he could possibly explain at the next merchant council meeting. It was on the condition of handing over the port rights to Baim that Roland had been recognized as head of House Trace.
If that was taken away, there was no telling what people would say.
Roland decided he would hurry back and formulate a plan with Gina—
—In the territory that had become Baim's frontline base against the Four-Nation Alliance, Broa let out a sigh.
What had been sent from Banseim was, by any measure, a disturbing box. It almost certainly contained part of a merchant's body, and tucked inside was a letter declaring a declaration of war—to be delivered to Baim.
Upon reviewing the letter in his office, he found instructions to begin preparations for a Baim invasion.
His deputy knight looked at Broa and spoke.
"General, I understand your reluctance, but we cannot ignore the palace's orders."
Broa slumped back in his chair, holding the documents in one hand as he faced the earnest knight.
"It's impossible, simply impossible. An invasion of Baim... I don't think we'd lose, but imagine the amount of troops and supplies we'd need. We'd be attacking a major city, fortified with a troublesome fortress in the end! It would require a grand army of one hundred to two hundred thousand soldiers. For us to prepare that alone? It's utterly impossible. At this point, all we can do is plead for help."
Broa couldn't decide if the Baim merchants, who never returned alive, had met a good or bad end.
(Well, compared to having their minds taken and never coming back, perhaps it was a good outcome for this merchant. Better than staying hidden in Baim and betraying allies and family, at least.)
The merchant who had confidently gone to meet Ceres had returned in a drastically changed state. A once-plump body now fit into a box small enough to be carried in one hand.
The knight looked worried.
"If we ignore the order, we could face punishment."
Broa sighed.
"I know. But the fact is, we've allocated personnel to governing the surrounding areas, so we're short on manpower. Our only option is to explain the situation and ask for assistance."
The knight looked at Broa.
"Couldn't you take them down, General? You said before that there was no need to fear Baim all that much."
Hearing the knight's words, Broa corrected him.
"You need to remember the details more precisely. That makes it sound like I'm saying Baim is nothing at all."
"Isn't that the case?"
"No, it is not. That statement comes with the premise 'if we were to go to war.' Besides, Baim has no interest in expanding its territory, so they won't attack us first. Well, they might goad us into starting a war? And they're experts at infiltration through commercial ties, honey traps, and other underhanded methods. They're actually a stronger enemy in peacetime. But if it comes to a fight, we can definitely win."
As he said this, Broa showed the knight a document.
It was about a mercenary company he had hired to supplement his shortage of manpower. The knight looked at it, clearly not understanding.
"What is this?"
"...Originally, they were adventurers based in the Southern Branch of the Baim Guild. During Baim's defense, they reportedly handled the protection of key areas. They're large in scale and not of low quality. But you see, they are mercenaries."
If hired, they'd sign on with either side. And you could safely say they knew Baim inside and out. They knew just how much wealth Baim contained, and for them, it was a favorable place to fight.
"The City of Merchants and Adventurers... what a shame if it fell."
Broa said this, then prepared a letter addressed to the Royal Palace in the capital. It was a letter explaining the current situation and requesting reinforcements—.
Inside the Jewel.
Lyle came out of my memory room and was chatting with the successive heads.
"You know, I think stockings are just as nice as garters."
The Third Generation heard this and, with a perfectly straight face, looked back and forth between me and Lyle.
"I see... So Lyle was a leg man, was he? I'm more of a rear man myself, though."
I said to the Third Generation:
"Please don't talk about your own fetishes. Aren't you embarrassed?"
The Third Generation laughed.
"We're already dead, aren't we? Besides, this kind of thing is important. Knowing yourself is what matters. Nothing wrong with being a leg man."
"Don't label me as a leg man!"
When I shouted, the Seventh Generation came to my defense.
"Exactly! Based on Lyle's gazes so far, we've already concluded he's a bust man. He keeps stealing glances at chests, so there's no doubt. If you call that Lyle a leg man, even he'd get angry, Third Generation."
Only then did I realize they'd been observing my own perspective through the Jewel, and I collapsed to the ground in embarrassment.
Lyle paid me no mind.
"I do like Vera's chest, though—how it looks like there's nothing there but actually has just a little something. I want to rub my face against the thighs peeking out between her skirt and socks!"
"You really are the worst."
As I said that, the Fifth Generation watched me.
"Laiel, right now you look like you're just complaining at your own reflection in the mirror. Accept it. That matters too."
I didn't want to admit that this perverted brat was me. As I shook my head in denial, Mireia gently placed her hand on my shoulder.
Pointing her thumb upward.
"It'll be fine, Laiel. I had Miranda buy more than just garters. That girl has a lovely figure—just like me."
Before I could object, the Seventh Generation spoke up.
"Ha ha ha, well, the chest size doesn't quite match, though. Aunt's is rather modest—Ow!"
Mireia swiftly drew a single-shot pistol from within her billowing sleeve and shot the Seventh Generation.
Since we were inside the Jewel, it only stung a little. In reality, it would have been quite the shocking sight.
"Broa, did anyone ever teach you it's not okay to say such things to a woman? Good grief, you haven't changed a bit from the old days."
I was curious about the Seventh Generation's past, but I steered the conversation toward Baim to change the subject.
"More importantly, we've split Baim in two just as planned. Even if one falls, we'd still have a backup... but am I really going to set out on this journey just like that?"
The plan was for me to pass through the Four-Nation Alliance and Cartafus before entering Banseim—all before Banseim made its move—and from there, head for Fonbeau.
The Third Generation shrugged as she took a seat at the round table.
"Can't be helped. We absolutely need the strength of Fonbeau and its neighboring countries. If you bring letters from the Four-Nation Alliance and Cartafus, that'll add plenty of persuasive weight, so you'll be fine. Well, the real problem is that Fonbeau absolutely despises House Walt."
The Seventh Generation had recovered and was now clearing his throat, pointedly ignoring the Third Generation's gaze. The Kingdom of Fonbeau—a nation that had fought Banseim countless times and, on two occasions, suffered devastating defeats at the hands of House Walt, losing territory each time.
Now they held only about two-thirds of the territory they once possessed at their peak. House Walt was the one that had carved away that third.
What's more, the Seventh Generation had been deeply involved. When Fonbeau's invading forces were celebrating their victory, the Seventh Generation had beaten them black and blue and sent them packing—and taken their territory for good measure.
In the Kingdom of Fonbeau, the name House Walt was synonymous with nothing other than the enemy.
Amid all of this, the Fifth Generation rose from his chair.
He gazed at the silver weapons floating above the round table.
The First Generation's greatsword.
The Second Generation's bow.
The Fourth Generation's short sword.
The Sixth Generation's halberd.
Four luminous silver weapons floated in the air, and the Fifth Generation took a light deep breath before speaking.
"...Lael, before your journey, I'll teach you my final Skills. Map, Dimension. And the last one is [Real Map]. It lets you visualize the surrounding terrain in three dimensions, and it can even pick up on minute movements. It's a Skill that lets you shift your viewpoint to any place you want to see. Well, it'll be convenient for your travels, so it works out."
When the Fifth Generation said this with a determined expression, I felt a pang of sadness, thinking he too was finally entrusting his Skills to me.
He was someone who loved animals, yet had many children and was cold toward them—someone who had left a massive problem for House Walt.
He was nothing like the image I'd heard about, a man who seemed to lack any drive. He was small even by the standards of House Walt, and yet he was the man even the towering Sixth Generation could never defeat.
"...Understood. I'll move to the Fifth Generation's memory room."
With that, I stood up. The Third Generation looked down at the floor, and the Seventh Generation watched me and the Fifth Generation with a solemn expression. And yet—
"...Just what do you think you're doing, deciding things on your own? I'll have you know, as the guide, my authority inside the Jewel ranks higher than Father's. I won't let you just disappear like that."
When I turned around to face Mireia, Lael had his hands clasped behind his head as well.
"Exactly. I think you should tell Lael properly."
The Fifth Generation pointed at Mireia and the others.
"You two! What are you talking about! There's nothing left for me to tell Lael—"
At that, Mireia straightened her posture with a serious expression and turned to face the Fifth Generation.
"There is. There absolutely is, Father. What you've endured—Lael should know it. As someone who aims to become Emperor, it's a fact Lael must know... And, so that Lael can know you—Father—for who you truly are as the Fifth Generation, I will not permit the inheritance of your Skills."
The Fifth Generation's Skill inheritance was blocked by Mireia—