—Over in House Walt's camp, Maisel was delivering a speech.
"We number fifty thousand. Our enemy stands at seventy thousand. In terms of raw military strength, they possess nearly twice our forces. But so what!"
Raising his right arm, Maisel roared from the hastily erected platform.
"They're nothing but a rabble. And all they have is a mere two-fold advantage. The training and experience we have built up are unmatched on the entire continent! Crush that mob of weaklings, and slaughter every last fool foolish enough to take the field against us in open battle!"
The knights and soldiers roared their approval at Maisel's speech. It wasn't just that Maisel possessed that kind of charisma — above all, it was his track record.
Maisel had achieved victory after victory, just like the successive heads of House Walt before him. From his first battle to the present day, he had never lost a single engagement. Losing a war — even once — meant suffering catastrophic losses.
Recovering from such a defeat was exceedingly difficult, and if you didn't keep winning, you would be destroyed. In that unforgiving environment, Maisel had continued to win, and the name of House Walt — along with the forces it had forged — burned with high morale.
"We will win this battle and return in triumph to Central! Earn your glory! Grasp honor in your hands! Gold! And status! House Walt, which has never stopped winning on the battlefield, will grant you all victory!"
Their opponent was Lyle, who had been raised within House Walt itself by the successive heads — but none of that mattered to Maisel and his troops.
What mattered was boosting morale. An army with low morale was fragile.
And Maisel understood full well that the enemy held the advantage in numbers and terrain. That was precisely why he was stoking their spirits with this speech.
"Come now, my heroes — enjoy the battlefield!"
Maisel spread both arms wide and bellowed, and tens of thousands of troops answered with a thunderous roar.
House Walt's army was drawing near.
Standing in a position to receive them, I was posted on a hastily built platform of my own. It was still early morning — the sun had not yet fully risen — and looking up at it was blinding.
Even so, when I glanced behind me, Eva was lightly raising her right hand and waving. She was letting me know that preparations were complete. Or perhaps she was just cheering me on.
I gripped the Jewel, and the Third Generation's voice sounded within my mind.
*"Well then — from here on out, I can't offer you any advice. I'd rather you not be thrown off by Maisel, so I'll stop using Skills here. Lyle... I hope I can hear your voice again next time. Of course, there are no guarantees on the battlefield, but the same goes for our enemy. Ideally, I would have liked to prepare more thoroughly, but... No, any more than this is just complaining. Now then, let's get that morale up. A speech is important, you know."*
I released the Jewel and spread both arms wide — opened them as though holding a great platter — and behind me, Eva supported me with the Skill[OmniMind Language].
The Skill carried her voice straight to its audience. It suited Eva well as a Bard, but she never liked relying on Skills, so she rarely used it. Right now, though, it was a lifesaver for me.
Even a clumsy speech could reach my allies, as long as the voice carried.
"…The strongest army in Banseim is closing in on us. The enemy numbers fifty thousand — veterans who have fought their way through countless battles."
I started by painting a grim picture, stoking their anxiety. Then I clenched my right hand into a fist. With my left, I swept it sideways, palm open, drawing a broad arc from inside out.
"But the same is true of us. We've kept on winning. Many of you have joined us from other forces. I know the soldiers of Baim are anxious too. But don't worry — go ask any of our allies in the Four-Nation Alliance just how many battles I've won! I've overturned odds of more than ten to one!"
It was no empty boast. Back in Zayin, I had rallied a hundred and seized the initiative. After that came a running fight, but in the end we won and took Zayin back.
"I have never lost! I have won every battle I've fought! There are those here who can attest to that. And you soldiers of Banseim — you've fought alongside me and seen it for yourselves. I am strong. We are strong! We've faced enemies twice our number and kept winning!"
I had always avoided fighting under unfavorable conditions, but I always came out on top in the end, so that hardly mattered. You could say I shattered the enemy with a smaller force every time. Not once had I faced an opponent who outnumbered me.
"This time, our numbers are greater than the enemy's. On top of that, the terrain favors us. Granted, the enemy is elite… but it doesn't matter! Even if the strongest house in Banseim — House Walt — is on the other side, we will be the ones to win! If everyone does what needs to be done, victory is ours! This battle is not that difficult!"
In short, I kept the speech to something along the lines of "We can win, but don't let your guard down." It wouldn't do to let them become complacent. But it wouldn't do to make them think they'd lose, either. So I struck a balance — victory was possible, but only by a narrow margin — instilling just enough urgency.
This was something the Seventh Generation had taught me.
"With your efforts, make the Goddess of Victory turn our way! Then the title of the continent's strongest will be ours! Win, and take everything!"
I heard the roar of cheers. And then I remembered the Seventh Generation's words.
—Inside the Jewel.
It was during my journey through the memories of the Seventh Generation.
It was a journey where I came to know the life of Broad — and, for Lyle, his father Maisel.
Maisel, young and brimming with talent, must have been a dazzling presence even in Broad's eyes. Broad himself was by no means lacking in ability. And yet, when measured against Maisel, he always fell short.
Broad — perhaps it was precisely because he was the Seventh Generation that he tormented himself so.
Had he been the First Generation, he wouldn't have given it a second thought.
Had he been the Second Generation, he would have simply accepted it.
The Third Generation would have been delighted.
The Fourth Generation would have accepted it, too.
The Fifth Generation might have quickly passed the torch.
The Sixth Generation would have... surely bragged about it.
But Maisel's father was Broad. A small crack existed between the two of them. Maisel, who had talent but didn't think deeply, couldn't understand that rift.
In the manor's garden, Broad was talking with Maisel.
'Maisel, I've gathered firearms, but this has proven quite difficult. Even to operate them as a unit, I need to entrust them to trustworthy people. They have power, but operating them requires knowledge we've never needed before —'
Broad's accumulated experience. He was trying to pass it on to Maisel. Looking carefully, you could also see the figure of a young Zell.
Rael saw Zell's figure and murmured.
"...Grandpa Zell."
The Seventh Generation watched Rael as he said that.
'Zell was in charge of one of the units I equipped with firearms. He handled guns the same way I did. When we went hunting, I often brought Zell along.'
The Seventh Generation's nostalgic gaze fell upon Maisel, who had a saber at his waist. However, his expression was truly puzzled.
He tilted his head.
'Father, why are you so fixated on firearms? With our family's scale, we can't field that many firearm units. They're expensive, and we need to place capable people in them. If that's the case, it would be more efficient to assemble a well-equipped cavalry.'
He spoke with genuine puzzlement. Broad cleared his throat toward Maisel.
'Indeed, they're a unit with many problems. However, when properly operated, they demonstrate tremendous power. I believe this unit will become a key asset in the future. Especially — when lines of fire intersect — wait, Maisel!'
Broad hurriedly reached out, but Maisel had already turned his back and was walking away.
'I have no need for them. Besides, how many years will it take before firearms become practical?'
Broad scrambled after him.
"W-Well... it'll take time, but if we make them into Mana Tools, we can at least gradually build up the numbers."
"Converting them to Mana Tools would cost even more. The maintenance fees would be astronomical. Even if I leave them behind in my generation, it'll be small-scale at best. There are certainly some bright spots, but the impact on everything else is far too great."
The Seventh Generation let out a sigh. Then he turned to explain to Lyle.
"...I had a complex about supplementing my strength with guns. Indeed, against any knight of even slight renown, firing several bullets would have no effect. The Skills I manifested — Box and Warp — were necessary to compensate for that shortcoming. I was genuinely happy when those Skills appeared."
Lyle looked toward his father, Maisel.
"...If I hadn't been more aware, I probably would've ended up the same way. When I first fought Aria, everyone got on my case about it."
"Hahaha, so you were. Indeed, you've become easier to get along with since then. Well, it's not as though Maisel is wrong. In truth, even during the time after I died and Lyle was still alive, it's hard to say it was ever put to practical use. Besides—"
Lyle and the Seventh Generation's gazes both turned to Maisel. Maisel retorted with exasperation.
"Father, my Skill is an Anti-Skill. That means Mana Tools are pointless. There's no need to fixate on guns or anything like that."
Watching Maisel walk away, Broad wore a complicated expression.
At the main camp.
I climbed the watchtower and gazed into the distance. Coming toward us as we waited, I could see the army of Banseim — with House Walt's banner at its center.
By the time they came within spotting range, they had already formed into a proper formation and were slowly closing in.
Beside me, Monica watched the approaching force.
"That's a formation that prioritizes offensive power. They intend to break through before we can surround them. Or rather, it seems they're aiming straight for the main camp."
We held the numerical advantage. In theory, surrounding and crushing them would suffice. But against House Walt's breakthrough power, that would be foolish.
The mobile watchtower was carefully constructed and sturdy. I spoke to Monica.
"Our link has been severed."
The moment the army came into view, it felt as though a thin haze had descended. I sensed a disturbance in the flow of mana, and then my line to Monica was severed. It felt similar to the sensation of forcibly using a Mana Tool.
Monica was making a deliberate show of wiping away tears with her fingertip.
"Cutting my link with that Chicken… But we're still connected in our hearts, so it's fine, right?"
She kept glancing at me with those expectant eyes, and when I said nothing, Monica asked me over and over, "We're connected in our hearts, so it's fine, right? Right?" On top of that, her eyes were gradually brimming with tears.
"Yeah. We're connected. So keep a proper watch for me, will you? You can't exactly move around much this time."
Monica perked up happily, her twin tails bouncing Poyopoyo.
"Good grief! What a hopeless Chicken you are! Very well. This Monica will show you how useful she can be even on watch duty. I'll prove that it's this Monica who serves the Chicken more faithfully than anyone else!"
She was so fired up that I gave her a halfhearted "Do your best" before leaping down from the watchtower. She headed off toward the command tent while issuing orders to those around her.
"Is Baldoa on standby? Don't let him out until we're fully prepared. The opening will be a flashy exchange of magic. Show them we haven't been broken and make them wary. Hurry the mages along."
As I spoke, the messengers scattered outward.
Novem walked toward me, leading a Valkyrie squad. Clara stood on the roof of the Porter, gazing into the distance. The rest of the group weren't present.
"Lord Lyle, I'd like to join the front lines as well. My father and brother should be here. If that's the case, the only ones who can face them properly—"
I looked at Novem and waved my hand dismissively.
"I know. But still… I really don't like that attitude of yours — acting so calm about fighting your family."
Novem's eyes widened slightly, and then she broke into laughter. It was a cute little giggle.
"That same applies to you as well, Lord Lyle. But if it makes you uncomfortable, shall I try to look a little more sorrowful?"
"It'd seem fake, so don't bother. Well, in my case it can't be helped, but still. In yours, you ended up here because you followed me, right? Couldn't you try to talk them out of it?"
I'd asked several times whether there was any way to bring House Foxes over to our side, but Novem just shook her head every time.
"My father would never betray Lord Maisel. That would be just as likely as me betraying Lord Lyle. So it will have to be settled on the battlefield. That said, was it really all right to assign so many Valkyries to me?"
Novem turned and looked at the Valkyrie squad as she spoke. I scratched my head.
"I can't exactly go out there myself. Well, I was going to say 'because you're precious to me'… oh, here we come."
I looked toward the enemy lines — light was bearing down on us.
We deployed the Magic Shield, wrapping the sky in a pale yellow as the magic struck it head-on. An explosion followed, then smoke — part of the Magic Shield had been destroyed. Fortunately, there were no casualties on our side.
The critical sections were heavily fortified. We were careful with our deployments to make efficient use of the limited, precious knights and mages we had.
"Then, I'll be heading out."
"...Be careful."
"You'd have it harder than me, Lord Laiel."
With that, Novem began to move.
Looking up at the sky, I could see magic being launched from our side toward the enemy lines. Just like us, they had Magic Shields deployed, blocking every spell. It might seem like a pointless exchange, but the other side was probing to see if we were getting flustered by such tactics.
My father, Maisel, was disrupting the use of Skills. More or less, at a military scale, there were bound to be people with special Skills. If you relied on such people, things could spiral into chaos in an instant, or so I'd heard.
"Thanks to the Seventh Generation, we can handle this without our formation breaking. Now then, Father... the real fun starts from here."
As I glared at the enemy lines with those words, a second wave of magic was launched from the enemy camp.
At Maisel's headquarters, confirming that the enemy hadn't broken, the gathered commanders looked surprised.
Bail, watching the opponent's movements, spoke.
"They're holding steady. Intelligence gave the impression of a Skill-specialized army, but they show no signs of crumbling."
Maisel had been smiling as he watched the magic launched from Laiel's camp get blocked by his own forces.
"If they broke this easily, it wouldn't be any fun."
Normally, most armies relied on some kind of Skill. There were plenty of people who had Skills for long-range communication, distant scouting, and the like. When you mobilized an army of ten thousand, there were bound to be people with various Skills.
For that reason, in the early stages when Maisel activated his Anti-Skill, quite a few armies had collapsed. An army that didn't was one that had solid fundamentals.
"I don't intend to drag this out. Close the distance as we are. Push forward."
The entire army began advancing to close the gap.
Laiel's camp was in a defensive posture, having set up barricades with wood and other materials. Since they couldn't move, the distance between us slowly but surely shrank.
There was a flashy exchange of magic flying back and forth, but in truth, the battle was beginning in the plainest way possible——.