It was a memory of the Seventh Generation, my grandfather, and my father Maisel — the Eighth Generation.
The Eighth Generation, Grandma Xenoa's child, had been remarkably gifted. Broad chose not to wield his father's halberd, instead picking up a gun to fight in his own style. That decision stemmed from not wanting to be compared to his father, the Sixth Generation.
In the House Walt mansion closest to my own memory, Broad addressed Maisel.
"Guns are great, Maisel. All you do is pull the trigger and you can hit enemies from far away. Besides, unlike bows, their power has been improving lately—"
The one who tilted his head at Broad's enthusiastic pitch about guns was young Maisel.
"Are they really? On top of the limited ammunition, resupplying is terribly expensive. And they're easy to block, too. They might work against soldiers, but against knights, I think they'd be rather ineffective. In that case, you'd be better off with a crossbow."
"...Huh?"
Broad had bought the gun specifically for Maisel, but after hearing all that, he clearly couldn't very well hand over the gift. He had it hidden behind his back and was wearing a troubled expression.
Broad gave an awkward smile, then started gesturing with one hand.
"R-Really? Well, the designs are quite nice these days too. You could at least have one—"
Maisel probably hadn't turned ten yet. At that age, he was remarkably composed, looking up at his father Broad.
"No, thank you. I've already chosen a weapon that suits me. After consulting with my martial arts instructor, I decided on a saber. As someone skilled in magic, I already have more than enough means to attack from a distance."
I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy as I glanced toward the Seventh Generation standing beside me. In the memory, Broad's shoulders had slumped too.
"...I-Is that so? Well then, I hope you get a fine saber."
"Oh, I've already placed the commission. It will cost a fair bit, but Mother said it's better to get a slightly nicer one since it'll last longer."
I looked at the Seventh Generation. Unlike before, his gaze was difficult to read — hard to put into words.
The Seventh Generation covered his face with one hand.
"Y-Yes. He was truly exceptional. I don't think Maisel was looking down on me... No, I want to believe that. He was perfectly polite, after all. But as his grandfather, I suppose I wished he'd be a bit more dependent on me, or maybe not quite so impressive... There were all sorts of thoughts running through my mind."
The Seventh Generation had spent his youth tormented by whether he was worthy of being head of the household. He'd tried to spare his son from that same ordeal — and had swung spectacularly wide of the mark.
I saw my father as a young man.
"Now that I think about it, that makes sense. Father is descended from Septem's bloodline too."
The Seventh Generation let out a sigh. He was probably wishing Maisel had a bit more charm. Being too exceptional might have only added more pressure for the Seventh Generation.
"I know it's a luxury problem, of sorts. But even without me teaching him various things, Maisel studied well on his own. His tutor praised him too. Well, it seems he didn't inherit Septem's memories, though."
My father was exceptional. I thought I understood that, but I couldn't quite recall what kind of person he had been.
And then, as the scenery around me changed, Broad was sitting on his bed in his room, shoulders slumped. In his hands, he held a box containing the gun he had intended to give as a gift.
The one looking at Broad with exasperation was—
"Grandmother Xenoa."
She was the Seventh Generation's wife, and the one who had passed Septem's bloodline into House Walt. Grandmother Xenoa stood there in a red dress, staring at Broad with exasperation.
"What's with that long face? The head of House Walt, looking so pathetic."
"W-Well, you say that, but I just got back from Central. I was away from the territory a bit too long this time. So I thought Maisel must have felt lonely too."
He had prepared the gift with that in mind, but to think Maisel would refuse it—no, it was more that he genuinely didn't seem to want it. Even Broad couldn't bring himself to hand it over.
Grandmother Xenoa spoke.
"You should have just given it to him right away. Then you wouldn't have overthought it and ended up unable to hand it over. Besides, this is what happens when you spend all your time in Central. Maisel doesn't dislike you—he just admires you too much. After all, you became one of His Majesty's advisors."
Her tone turned slightly bitter at the mention of His Majesty. Grandmother Xenoa clearly had her own complicated history with the Banseim royal family.
Broad, still with his shoulders drooping,
"Is that so? He admires me, does he? Then I'll have to try harder."
"You! Stop it already. Swearing loyalty to that royal family—If House Walt had cooperated with my family instead, you would have had a proper position by now."
Looking up at Grandmother Xenoa, who had started on this tangent, Broad said.
"...Well, we hadn't met back then, had we? Besides, I'm already in over my head with my current position. Honestly, I'm hoping that by the time Maisel's children or grandchildren come along, they might become a marquis or duke."
Broad always put on a bold front in public, but inwardly, he felt worn out. Grandmother Xenoa spoke up.
"Have more ambition! If you were serious, Banseim would already be in House Walt's hands by now! In fact, by the time Maisel or Maisel's children came along, we could have reunified the entire continent!"
Broad was smiling.
"Xenoa, honestly... I have no interest in that kind of thing! As long as you're by my side, that's all I need."
It was a wonderfully warm smile. But having someone tell you they had no interest in reunifying the continent while wearing such a smile was too much — Grandmother Xenoa started screaming.
"It's my birth family's dream! How could you not... When you think of House Walt, isn't it the strongest in all of Banseim?! Have more confidence! I want to kick that villainous Banseim off the throne, but you go and take a position as an advisor instead!!"
The Seventh Generation had his chin resting in his hand, watching the scene with a soft expression, looking at Grandmother Xenoa with fond nostalgia.
Then he said one thing.
"If Xenoa had been around, Laiel would have gone wild with joy the moment he heard she was aiming to reunify the continent. Actually, she's still adorable even now."
Grandmother Xenoa, still screaming, was a woman who perfectly embodied House Walt's family motto. Her appearance was well-put-together, and she was certainly beautiful. But calling a screaming woman "adorable"? If any of my harem members started screaming, I'd be focused on one thing only — getting as far away from that spot as possible.
Full speed. I'd be running for my life.
At that moment, the Seventh Generation's smile turned a little sad.
"Well, no — if she'd been around, Laiel would have ended up fighting Maisel. That, I suppose, would have been unacceptable."
As I thought — he was still worried about the idea of me fighting my father. So I spoke to the Seventh Generation.
"Seventh Generation. No — Grandfather—"
When I opened my eyes, the inside of the Porter's cargo hold was dark.
The slight chill in the air was probably because Monica had woken up before me and opened the Porter's window to let in some fresh air. It had grown suddenly cold, and I could feel the frigid air brushing against the outside of my blanket.
Feeling like the warmth on the inside had been stolen away, I sat up — and spotted Clara huddled under her blanket, shivering from the cold.
I thought she looked adorable.
"Oh my, you're already awake? Stealing my job of waking up my Chicken and then showing up with that sleepy face — I won't allow it. Now, lie back down. I'll snuggle up next to you, and we'll start from the part where you wake up and are surprised to see your Chicken!"
"What's with that annoying way of waking me up? Something normal would be fine. Every single one of you... at least learn a little from Damian's Automaton."
Monica then turned toward me, flicking one of her twin tails back and striking a pose with her hand on her hip. It was irritatingly elegant.
"You're being deceived. If they think that's normal, they're sorely mistaken. Just like the other inferior copies, you have no idea how awful they can be. I'm the only one who serves the Chicken with such wholehearted sincerity."
"That's definitely not true."
While having this pointless morning chat with Monica, I felt tears welling up and wiped them with the back of my left hand.
"You haven't even yawned, and you're crying?"
I nodded at the question.
"Yeah. ...I'm crying."
――Under Maisel, who was marching, a subordinate approached on horseback.
He was a messenger, likely bearing some important news. Maisel signaled him to come closer and listened to the report.
"What is it?"
Maintaining his posture on horseback without any haste, Maisel awaited the subordinate's report.
"Sir! The scouting party has spotted a bandit army near the border. Their numbers are seventy thousand. They outnumber us. They are already in a defensive position, and the terrain makes it difficult to outflank them."
Upon hearing the report, Maisel nodded.
"So they've come out instead of staying holed up. Well, I suppose the lord had some idea after all. But to challenge us to open battle... It seems driving them out was the right choice."
Riding beside Maisel was Bayle. He wore armor but had removed his helmet.
"Maisel, sir. Do you intend to fight them head-on?"
Without changing his expression, Maisel replied:
"If we can't outflank them, then the main force will proceed as planned. It's easier than letting them fortify themselves."
However, it was only the main force that couldn't outflank. A small detachment could. Maisel informed the knight-messenger of this.
"Send a guerrilla detachment to circle around. The enemy may be on guard, but if they let their attention slip, a surprise attack should be possible. Draw from House Walt's elite and—"
"—Might I entrust that task to this Gerard, Maisel?"
The one who interrupted Maisel's words was the baron. Bail shot a look of displeasure at the elderly man—Gerard Foxes. The man with long, graying hair and a beard was the current head of House Foxes.
Maisel raised a hand to silence Bail, who looked like he wanted to say something.
"Well, this is unusual, Lord Gerard. As far as I can recall, this is the first time you've volunteered for anything of the sort. Something on your mind?"
Unable to hold back any longer, Bail cut in despite Maisel's gesture.
"Maisel, sir, that man's daughter serves under Lyle. He may be trying to deceive us."
Technically, Bail was a vassal of House Walt. Gerard, meanwhile, was a baron—a lord who stood as a direct retainer of the Banseim Kingdom. Of the two, Gerard held the higher standing. But Gerard couldn't have cared less about that.
This was precisely why people called him House Walt's dog: Gerard treated Maisel as though he were his own liege. Normally, such an attitude would have been deeply disrespectful toward the Banseim Kingdom.
"That is precisely why. My daughter Novem possesses magical talent that is nothing short of innate among our bloodline. It would be best if someone from House Foxes were to handle her."
Maisel turned his gaze forward and was silent for a moment before answering.
"...We don't know where Novem is. We don't even know if she's on the battlefield. The moment she's found, I'll have you dispatched."
"Understood."
Gerard bowed his head and accepted Maisel's orders, while Bail looked on with visible discontent. Maisel offered the scowling man a faint smile.
"There's no need for such hostility. She's a magical talent recognized by House Foxes herself—she's certainly a threat. But that being the case, it's a shame he got engaged to her, isn't it? Lord Gerard, if you can take her alive, do so. There's no absolute need to kill her."
Maisel was probably trying to be considerate in his own way, but Gerard pushed back.
"No, there's no need for such concern. If I am to fight my daughter—Novem—I will not hold back. I would advise you to assume I intend to kill her."
The surrounding knights were somewhat taken aback, but Maisel spoke on their behalf to Gerard.
"That far, is it? Still, for a woman of such talent to follow along behind him like that... I bear some responsibility for having recognized the engagement. The moment she's found, I'll have you report directly to me."
A daughter whom her own father regarded with considerable wariness.
And the clash of the two armies was fast approaching.