The stronghold positioned south of Baim for dungeon subjugation had come to be known as South Baim.
The small town, said to have been founded by those expelled from Baim, had already sprung to life in less than a month.
And no wonder — merchants had flooded in by the dozen. At least three ships sat anchored in the port, with vessels coming and going on a regular basis.
The artisans and associates the merchants had brought along caused the town's population to skyrocket practically overnight.
In this bustling South Baim, I was standing in the warehouse with Monica and Clara — the three of us looking over Porter.
Porter had grown ragged from years of constant use, and Monica was set to carry out repairs since we would be traveling — but.
"Porter… you've become magnificent."
— Pressing both hands to my mouth, I stared at Porter.
The cylindrical head still had those two clipped eyes. That part hadn't changed. But the body had been dramatically improved. An imposing figure of iron — that was the majestic Porter standing before me.
Inside the Jewel, the successive heads were also somewhat moved.
"Porter's one of us, isn't he? Looks like he's really made something of himself."
"I'm starting to feel a weird attachment to this lump of iron."
"This weighty presence. Refined beyond what it was before, yet fused with excess and romance into a body of indescribable charm… Porter, you're the greatest."
The Seventh Generation was right. This Porter… was a size larger than before. Monica must have been inspired after seeing Damian's large-type Porter.
The biggest highlight was the pair of arms folded against the ceiling.
The parts used were armor resembling the giant's plate that a monster once wore in Aramsass — painstakingly crafted and fitted.
Monica declared with supreme confidence.
"There's no need to be surprised by something like this. I — Monica — am nothing like those three units in Professor Damian's lab. Not in the same league! Not at all! Porter, show them your true form! …Clara, just as we discussed."
Monica struck her pose, but Clara showed no reaction, so Monica stole glances at her while urging her along.
Clara silently nodded and raised her staff.
Porter began to move slowly, its front section rising gradually until it formed a torso.
Arms unfolded from its back, and its legs were now supported by eight tires and a vehicle body.
"Whoaaa!"
When I got excited, Monica looked at me and got excited too.
"It's amazing, right?! Monica's not like those other junkers! We're on a completely different level from those junkers who get all happy just because they got a version upgrade or a little tune-up! Did you see that, you Chicken?!"
Monica threw both hands toward the ceiling and screamed, as if shouting from the depths of her soul.
From inside the Jewel, the Successive Heads were also—
*Incredible. That's incredible, Porter.*
*You really gave it your all, huh…*
*What a form. This ruggedness… isn't it perfect?*
However, there was one person offering a dissenting opinion — Mireia. Having joined partway through, Mireia had no attachment to Porter. Beyond that, she was the one who had called its head useless. She offered just one remark:
*…Is this kind of function really necessary? I don't think it is. And more importantly, what about storage? If you tack on weird features but neglect the ones that actually make travel comfortable, that seems like a poor trade-off.*
Mireia's comment showed she just didn't get it, but it was undeniably a valid point.
"…Monica, I understand that Porter has been reborn. But how does it compare to before? In terms of space, comfort, that sort of thing?"
Monica extended her index finger and wagged it side to side.
"You Chicken. Don't underestimate this Monica. We did sacrifice a little space, but I had the craftsmen work their hardest."
Clara muttered to Monica:
"Or, one could say you worked them to the bone. Every time Miss Monica approaches with that smile of hers, the dwarves and gnomes all turn and run."
I glanced at Monica.
"What did you do?"
Monica shrugged and shook her head in an exasperated sort of way.
"They're craftsmen, you know. They shine the brightest when you give them impossible orders — that's when they really try to find a way. If anything, you should be thanking me. This Monica taught them all sorts of techniques! For the future of South Baim, no... for the Chicken!"
I went around to the back of Porter and opened the rear door.
"Is it a bit narrower than before? Well, with the sofa — or rather, the benches — on both sides, maybe it just looks that way."
Porter, the hunk of iron... our party's reliable and important companion for transporting people and supplies, had been reborn.
When I returned to where Monica and the others were, Clara was reverting Porter back to its original form.
Clara tilted her head.
"The weight has increased quite a bit. And yet, somehow the mana consumed when operating it feels lower. There's also something... off about the way it handles?"
Monica approached Porter and opened up the front section to show us.
Inside, three peridot gems I had once found in the Dungeon had been embedded. Strange contraptions were installed around them.
"Hey, my gems—"
"—That's right! These are Porter's power source! With these, Porter will be able to move even more powerfully! They're the very heart of Porter! Three gems for comfortable operation!"
Monica kept glancing my way, and I wanted to believe she felt at least a little guilty.
Then I reached out and touched Porter, murmuring softly.
"Porter... I'm happy for you."
Clara turned to me.
"If Lail-sir is fine with it, then I suppose it's fine. But seriously — are you just going to let the unauthorized use of the gems slide? You neglected your duty to report to the party, Monica."
At Clara's words, Monica swept aside one of her twin-tails and declared:
"Those belong to the Chicken. And I belong to the Chicken. What belongs to the Chicken belongs to me. Everything I have belongs to the Chicken! So there's no problem at all!"
When I saw that I wasn't going to get angry, she went and said something outrageous, so I bonked Monica on the back of the head.
"Of course you can't. You should've told us beforehand that you were going to use them."
"Oww… but everyone's been so busy lately, and whenever you came back you'd collapse right into bed, so Monica was being considerate!"
She was right. We had been busy.
It wasn't just about South Baim — we needed to take action for what lay ahead. Porter's improvements were part of that effort.
Eva had been negotiating with an elf clan that had come to visit South Baim.
The meeting took place on South Baim's main boulevard, where a makeshift stage had been set up for bards and traveling performers.
Amid the heavy foot traffic, Eva was placing a commission with the troupe — the clan.
"So, these are the songs and tales we'd like you to spread. Rumors are fine — as long as they circulate. In return, I'll cover your venue fees in South Baim. I'll give you a discount."
For the troupe, cheap venue fees were a godsend. The elven clan leader — who looked no older than a young man — stroked his chin and replied.
"It's a request from the daughter of the Nihil clan. I'll see what we can do. On another note, there are a few things I'd like to know. I'd like detailed information about the Redant Fortress — or rather, the stronghold. There's a song going around about the heroes who drove back the army of Monsters. It only just reached Baim, and we know absolutely nothing about it."
Eva heard him out.
"Where did it come from? It wasn't from Zayin or Rolfis, was it? Galleria? Rusworth? No, I don't think so… Cartafus probably not either…"
The elven clan leader let out a sigh.
"It came from Banseim. We fled from there. Things are dire right now."
Eva nodded toward the clan leader and asked with a grave expression.
"Banseim, I see. I'll trade you information on Banseim — that works. I used to be in Banseim myself, but has it really gotten that bad?"
The clan leader looked up at the sky.
"I wouldn't call it a war — it's more like a rampage. It's the first time I've ever seen a legion that doesn't fear death. Ever since Banseim's next queen seized power, everything has felt wrong. It might just go down in history — for all the wrong reasons."
Eva knew how abnormal Ceres was. Unless you saw it up close… hearing about it secondhand, she was just "the cruel next queen of Banseim" — and that was where it ended.
That was how things were in Baim. Even when information about Ceres trickled in, people treated it as nothing unusual. Or they simply chalked it up to "just another cruel woman" and moved on.
Somewhere deep down, Baim had probably convinced itself it was someone else's problem. Eva listened to the clan leader's account of what was happening in Banseim.
"It felt like the kingdom was inching toward collapse with each passing day. Every able-bodied man had been drafted for war. In the villages and even the cities, women, children, and the elderly were all that remained. Refugees were flooding in, bandits were multiplying. We were attacked more than once ourselves."
Hearing that people would throw away their food to flee, and that others would fight over scraps, Eva thought the situation sounded truly dire.
"Hey — are there no nobles rebelling against the royal family? Landed nobles, even?"
The clan leader shook his head at Eva's question.
"Not anymore — well, there were. Past tense. A great many landed lords were crushed. Central's armies had a hand in it, but so did House Walt. It goes to show that Banseim's claim to be the strongest isn't just for show."
House Walt, Raeliel's family, had helped crush the kingdom's landed nobility and rebel factions. For Eva, that felt bitterly ironic.
— May was counting the new food stalls that had sprung up in South Baim.
"Whoa! Three new ones today! That one looks like sweets, doesn't it? And that one smells like meat. Ahh… three more fresh additions to the grazing course."
With a blissful expression, May gazed at the stalls, happily contemplating what to eat today.
"Yesterday was fried food, so today it should be meat… though I can't exactly give up on sweets either. But I don't have the war chest to eat everything I want. …How tragic."
May, who spent money on practically nothing but food, had been receiving cash from Novem specifically to eat her way through the food stalls.
She had no intention of managing the money herself — and honestly, she thought that was just fine. As a result, she ended up getting an allowance from Novem practically every day.
"Right then, first things first — juice to wet the whistle. Let's go with something refreshing and citrusy."
Just as the petite May was about to head toward the stalls, she stopped in her tracks and turned around.
Standing there was a tall woman with messy long black hair, wearing a coat that wasn't yet suited for the season.
"If you're going to cause a scene, do it somewhere else. This is one of my favorite spots."
It was Marina.
Marina hurled a paper bag she'd been holding toward May. May caught it, noticed the bag was warm, and her eyes lit up at the sight of meat skewered inside.
Enduring the drool that was about to spill out.
"W-what are you up to?"
She asked, glancing back and forth between Marina and the bag.
"What? It's been a while since I went that wild. This is my way of saying thanks since I had fun. Also, I want to meet your leader. That person did some pretty underhanded things, you know. It's gotten hard for me to stay in Baim too."
May could tell from Marina's demeanor that she was lying. She pulled a skewer from the bag, brought it to her mouth, and bit into the meat.
"So this is the introduction fee? Fine, I'll consider us even with this."
"You're a lifesaver. I blew all my savings — the money I'd been stashing away by making up excuses after each failure — so I'm flat broke right now."
That, at least, didn't seem to be a lie.
May bit into the meat on the skewer, eating heartily as she watched Marina.
"So? What's your real reason here? Someone like you wouldn't have trouble getting accepted by any guild."
Marina smiled.
"You call me 'big sister' even though I've been alive longer than you? You sure know how to navigate the world, little lady."
May knew that given her appearance, treating Marina like a young girl would come across as odd. It was something she'd learned in order to blend in and live among humans.
Still, the fact remained that from an outsider's perspective, it was strange.
When May kept eating in silence, Marina said "I surrender" and started talking.
"I don't care about how you let only the Eastern Branch people escape and left us isolated. But... I'm interested in the leader who commands you, little lady. That boy is strong too, right?"
Lail had caught Marina's attention.
Inside the Jewel.
In Lail's memory room, a youthful version of Lail — Rael — sat silently in the room Lail had once spent time in.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, chin propped in his hands.
Even though he had the appearance of a boy, there was a certain gravitas about him.
"...I'll need the Fifth Generation to stay a while. I want Lail to know the Fifth Generation. I don't know what he'll feel when he does, but before that..."
Rael looked up at the ceiling.
"You've been neglecting me way too long just because you don't want to see your true self, Lail. This form is your form. It's still the form of your younger self."
Lail's room inside the Jewel had become a room that showed him something he didn't want to see. The Jewel had interfered. It was a room that had been created as a result of Ceres's interference with it.
And the figure of young Rael was, in fact, the true form of Lail himself as he was now.
Lail, who had been born when Rael was sealed away, possessed a large body, but his heart was still that of a small child.
He had grown under the watchful eyes of the Successive Heads and had become stronger mentally as well, but he was still an unstable existence.
If Rael's memories returned, he could easily lose his balance. Who am I? It was obvious that he would be burdened by such worries.
"Lail, face me. I understand that you're frightened on a deep level. But even so... the only way forward for you is to erase me."
Rael spoke with an expression that belied his childlike appearance, his voice tinged with sorrow—