Nihil

The Third Generation had vanished, and no more voices spoke from the Jewel.

From the Jewel embedded in the silver necklace hanging around my neck, it almost felt like I could hear someone's voice at any moment. While doing tedious paperwork, I had the nagging feeling the Fourth Generation would come tell me I was doing it wrong. The Third Generation might say it was boring. What about the First Generation, I wondered?

The Second Generation would probably look at me doing something so unremarkable and watch over me with an expression of understanding. The Fifth Generation would say nothing. The Sixth Generation would be on the verge of suggesting we go have fun, and the Seventh Generation would try to stop that—.

"I can't do this. I can't keep my focus."

I stopped my pen and looked up at the ceiling, then placed my left hand over my face. When I covered my eyes like that, I started to think that maybe they were still hiding somewhere, watching over me.

I sent my consciousness into the Jewel again and again.

But the result was always the same. In the Round Table hall, there was nothing but my chair and the door leading to the memory room. Nothing responded at all — only seven silver weapons floated there in silence.

Then, Valkyrie Number One, who had been standing by in the room, saw how I was doing and prepared tea for me.

When I drank it, the brewing was better than before.

"Tastes great."

Number One seemed pleased, though her expression didn't change. Recently, there had been another round of Valkyrie adjustments. The Valkyries had been alternating trips to Damian and old man Rataata's place. The first group still hadn't returned yet, and I was curious what changes would be made this time.

"Oh, that's great. Now we can toss that useless maid anytime we want."

"...Why do you two get along so badly?"

"Useless maid" probably meant Monica. She was busily running around these days.

It seemed she was sticking her nose into things beyond what she'd been asked to do, and complaints had been reaching Lianne.

Mostly letters from craftsmen who seemed to be losing their minds, saying things like, "The laughing Automaton is chasing meee!"

"Our Master is one person. If that's the case, then one exclusive maid is more than enough."

"Normally you'd have multiple, wouldn't you? If there's only one, isn't she more like a housekeeper?"

Number One was extremely harsh toward Monica — probably because the core she had originally been was like an older sister to Monica's.

Recently, we'd been receiving reports that each of them was beginning to develop their own personalities. I supposed Automatons came in all varieties.

To find myself interested at a time like this was surely because—

Having thought that far, I shook my head.

"Well then, let's wrap up the work. I've got plans today."

Number One watched me.

"Chatting with that fox, I see. You have terrible taste, Master."

"Do you have some grudge against Novem or something? Or why are you hostile to literally everyone around you?"

She brushed back her blonde twin tails—identical to Monica's—and planted her other hand on her hip as she addressed me. The resemblance to Monica was uncanny, except her chest was completely flat, and that was the only difference.

"I don't have a specific reason, but I'm feeling irritable on an Automaton level. My core is screaming at me to fight."

"...What do you mean 'on an Automaton level'? And don't go picking fights—it's dangerous. That's an order."

At the word "order," Number One recoiled. Her twin tails whipped wildly with the motion.

"Hey, what's wrong?!"

Number One slowly sat up, straightening her posture.

"That word—'order'—made my heart race. To put it simply, I got excited. If I could express it on my face, it would be like... my features going slack and drool dripping down."

"Don't react to everything I say! And stop wording things in such a misleading way! Also, you actually drool?!"

The performance specs were never the issue—the Automaton's personality was a colossal problem.

—Lianne's room.

The Number Thirty-Four who was always by her side wasn't there. The Valkyrie assigned to Lianne was currently undergoing adjustments at Damian's place.

In the meantime, no replacement Valkyrie was dispatched. There simply weren't enough hands to go around. And Lianne had accepted that.

There had also been talk from the Kingdom of Fonbeau of sending Lianne a lady-in-waiting. I didn't think Fonbeau would try to assassinate Lianne at this point, but Lianne refused the offer anyway.

Lianne rose from her chair and prepared the tea herself.

She had done this before—when she couldn't trust those around her, she handled everything on her own. So she was used to it.

"Having them here is a hassle, but not having them is a problem."

She stood and sipped her tea as she spoke, when the door to the room burst open with force. Lianne—who hadn't even knocked—stared at the intruder who'd barged in without warning, and spat out her tea.

"Pff— gahh!!"

Coughing and sputtering, Lianne looked up to see Number Thirty-Four wearing a smile. The Valkyrie who had always been expressionless had gained something new: a face full of expression.

"I heard all about it, Lianne! Something about you declaring you didn't need any maid but me—what a sweet thing to say! I rushed back alone because I was so happy. Oh, but don't get a big head. My one and only master is Lail. Well, I suppose you'd be second. No wait—when you factor in Hiyoko, maybe third?"

Lianne, having caught her breath, looked at Number Thirty-Four while wiping the corner of her mouth.

"Ugh, look what you made me spill."

"And whose fault do you think that is?! Anyway, your expressions are remarkably human now. Professor Damian really does fuss over the unnecessary details, doesn't he?"

At that, Number Thirty-Four wagged her index finger side to side and grinned.

"Not quite. We used the money we'd been saving up day by day to propose and carry out various improvements."

Lianne was stunned.

"Saved up? I shouldn't have paid you nearly enough for that kind of money."

Number Thirty-Four's lips curled into a dark smile as she gestured toward money with her right hand.

"The stalls we run in the North, the South, and Ruphence—some of them are actually shops that we operate. They're enormously popular. We even have plans to open branches across the Four-Nation Alliance."

Lianne erupted.

"What the hell have you been doing behind my back! If you're raking in that much, put some of it toward helping us over here! We're drowning over here!"

From Lianne's perspective—someone entrusted with the household's finances as well—she wished she had known about the Valkyries' surprising talents much sooner.

But Number Thirty-Four…

"I'm refusing because this is personal work during break time. If you really want to order me around, then get the master's permission first. I do want to help you, Lianne, but this is the one thing I won't budge on. Oh, and please ask him to order me firmly, will you?"

Lianne, whose head was beginning to ache, rubbed the inner corners of her eyes with her fingertips. That was when she noticed Number Thirty-Four's hair.

"...It's just loose today. You used to tie it at the ends before."

Number Thirty-Four glanced at her own hair.

"It broke during transit. I bought it with what little pocket money I had to add some individuality, so this is so disappointing... Well, I have plenty of gold coins now, but still."

Lianne felt a flash of irritation, but she untied the cord from her own hair. It was a sturdy, pink-dyed cord she'd used to tie her hair back while working.

"It's hard to tell us apart with this, so use this instead. It's something you won't find around here. It's durable, so it'll last a long time."

Number Thirty-Four took the cord.

"...D-Don't think you can win me over with something like that! B-But... I-I'll take it, I guess."

Number Thirty-Four suddenly let out a cute voice and started fidgeting, and Lianne tilted her head in confusion.

"...What are you trying to do? No—what are you trying to say?"

Number Thirty-Four looked bored.

"Tch. I had the perfect line prepared, hoping my expression would finally come through, and you don't get it at all."

With that, she slumped down, looking dejected——.

Night.

On the balcony of the Lufense royal castle, I had arranged to talk with Novem.

When I arrived, Novem was already there.

With it being summer, stepping outside felt refreshingly cool. I could see that Novem had placed ice in several spots to keep things comfortable.

I encouraged myself with a quiet voice in my heart to shake off my nerves, then approached Novem.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

Novem was smiling.

"No, I'm actually a little early."

I looked at Novem and wrestled with how to begin. But I felt I had to tell her, so I got straight to the point without preamble.

"The Successive Heads inside the Jewel—all of them are gone. No, they gave me their Skills and fulfilled their roles."

Novem's eyes widened slightly at my words.

Then, her expression turned regretful.

"I see. That's a pity. I would have liked to meet them, even just once."

She truly looked disappointed. Then, with a note of self-mockery:

"As expected, the past heads also found me unsettling, didn't they?"

To those words, I strongly denied it. More than trying to comfort Novem, I wanted to say the past heads hadn't met her because of that kind of feeling.

"No! It's not that they didn't meet. It's that none of them were *meant* to meet anyone... Besides, they all said to leave things to you."

Novem replied instantly.

"That's a lie. Since Lord Fredericks, House Foxes has served like retainers. Lady Fines and Lord Broad shouldn't have found that strange. They would have seen me as nothing more than the daughter of a vassal."

In the beginning, that was indeed what they thought. From the Fifth Generation onward, they saw Novem as the daughter of House Foxes. But from the First to the Fourth, it was different.

"When the First Generation learned about you, he was incredibly flustered. And everyone held back their laughter when I sold off your dowry goods to help me. They said I had to take responsibility."

At the nostalgic memory of Darion, Novem smiled slightly.

"Ah, that did happen. However, if you feel burdened financially, please stop, Laiel. I've received a decent reward, and I have enough money to buy dozens of dowry sets."

That wasn't what I meant. I was about to say so, but I felt a clear line had been drawn between Novem and me.

Novem was looking at "Laiel" as the head of House Walt. Not at me as an individual.

"I also have the memories of the past heads. They were all wonderful people. I wished, just once, I could have spoken with them."

Indeed, they were wonderful people.

"There were quite a few shy ones among them, too. And I misjudged the timing. After meeting Ceres, I actually held back because I thought people would suspect me instead. I remember them saying it was a mistake—that maybe they should have come clean from the start. But in the end, they never actually went to meet anyone."

The reason they could even encounter each other in the first place was that my second-stage Skills had manifested. Before that, they might have just been dismissed as delusional rambling.

That Novem was the reincarnation of an evil god? If she had known she was inheriting their memories, she might have handled things differently.

"Still, there were plenty of other less-than-stellar moments. You know that, don't you?"

At that, something shifted in Novem's reaction.

"That isn't true at all. They were all wonderful people. Maisel, too, was originally a very kind and powerful person—"

I felt a slight sense of unease. Novem's tone was growing firmer.

"Really? The First Generation was pretty rough, and the Second was too serious—well, plain, I guess? He seemed to worry about that himself. And the Third was scheming—"

Before I could finish, Novem took a step forward and looked up at my face. There was no small amount of anger visible in her eyes.

"Lord Basil cleared away a dangerous forest and managed nearly the surrounding territory all by himself—he was a magnificent person! Lady Crassell endured every hardship and persevered! Lord Slay was a noble soul who threw his life on the line and fought for everyone's sake! Even Lord Laiel will not tolerate insults!"

For some reason, Novem's opinion was correct. It was correct, yet I couldn't bring myself to accept it.

"No, but the Fourth Generation was a penny-pincher whose hobby was counting coins in a vault. The Fifth messed up family relations and sought comfort from animals. The Sixth was a delinquent who ran away from home. And the Seventh—Grandfather was a pervert?"

They certainly had their admirable qualities, but Novem wasn't seeing any of the other parts. Or rather, even with inherited memories, the past heads had probably never shown those sides of themselves. It was all too whitewashed, and that was why I couldn't accept it.

"Please take that back! Lord Marks truly worked himself to the bone to enrich the domain! Lord Fredericks did his best on his own in the most difficult circumstances! Lord Feinz did leave home, yes! But he gained far more experience and became a splendid head! And as for Lord Broad—he was such a fine man that even Banseim placed his trust in him! Please take it back! …Please, I'm begging you."

—And somehow, I understood why I couldn't accept it. I hated that Novem's words painted them in only one light and claimed to understand the whole picture.

Because that meant she wasn't seeing the other sides of the Successive Heads. She was refusing to accept their flaws, and that was exactly what I found disagreeable.

The First Generation was rough, yes. But he was the first person to acknowledge me. He was a pure soul.

The Second Generation was plain, yes. But he truly worried about everything—a serious person through and through.

The Third Generation was scheming. But he was also decisive and brave.

The Fourth Generation was a miser. That was because he had learned through hardship that ruling takes money.

The Fifth Generation made mistakes in his family relationships. But he was the person who hurt the most himself. He was a kind person.

The Sixth Generation was a delinquent. But he had the drive to act, and he was strong enough to lead everyone.

The Seventh Generation was -- a pervert. But he had lived strongly, even while being crushed under the weight of the Successive Heads' accomplishments.

"Aren't you just looking at the outside and never seeing what's inside? Is that what this is? Are flawed parts not allowed? There was never anyone perfect in House Walt!"

Novem grabbed both my arms. She gripped them hard, and the strength behind it was impossible to believe came from a woman's slender wrists.

"What do you mean by flawed parts? I acknowledge them! But to mock them that much -- why would you say it like that!"

"The flawed parts and the good parts -- I've seen them all. I've heard them all. I've been taught them all. That's why I respect all of it. The truth is, none of them actually liked fighting."

--That's what I want to believe.

"They were kind, and they had things they wanted to do. But the world around them was in such a state that they fought -- to protect!"

Novem looked at me.

"No one said they wanted a battle maniac. What I'm saying is how wonderful the members of House Walt were, struggling and never giving up no matter the situation--"

I grabbed Novem's hand.

"I did say I aim for peace. But I don't even really know what that looks like. Still, when I said it, they told me it was okay to aim for that."

Novem looked at my face with surprise. Then her expression turned sad.

She slowly pulled away from me and wiped her tears.

"...Is that so. Even so, I--"

I spoke to Novem.

"Hey, what about your own feelings? You're not the Novem who's a goddess or a demon god. You're not the Novem of the previous generation either. Can't you be clear about what you yourself actually feel?"

Novem slowly walked away from the balcony.

"Novem!"

"I'll take my leave today. It's early again tomorrow."

—Novem walked through the nighttime corridor without a single light.

"...I have to protect them. House Walt is what I sought—I have to protect Lord Laiel."

As she murmured those words, a massive flood of memories—or rather, records—came rushing back. The previous-generation Novem who had resolved to watch over House Walt. The break with Septem and the others that would come to be called the reason she was branded a demon god.

Among it all, Novem recalled the back of a certain woman.

The woman wore a white coat.

Her long hair was pink-blond, and both her hands were stuffed into the pockets of that coat.

"Novem, I'm not going to deny any of you. But you know, I'm not going to deny Septem and the others either. So put away anything dangerous."

Was I pointing a weapon at her? Novem couldn't recall the vague parts clearly.

Now it was mixed with noise, and she couldn't remember it perfectly. But the conversation replayed, and Novem recalled it.

"Septem believes that people are weak. He's convinced of it. But you and Octo—you think people are far stronger than they actually are."

"What kind of answer did I give at that time—"

The woman in the white coat looked right at Novem.

"Hey, I get that it stings when people call you a goddess or whatever. And you can't forgive Septem for trying to act out that role, right? But come on, we can't keep watching over people forever."

The woman's words prompted Novem—

"Shut up. Shut up!"

"I'm a failed experiment without any real power. I can't create anything the way you all can. In a world like this, I can just barely survive. My body falls apart faster than any of yours."

Even though she had given up, the woman was bright.

"I—I have to see this through to the end. I'm not in the wrong. It's Septem—Septem is the one who betrays us—"

The woman smiled.

"You know, I think I'd like to become one of the elves you created. I could only ever watch, and I don't want this failure to repeat, so I want to pass it on."

Failure. Yes, they had failed. Humanity had failed.

"That's exactly why we were born, isn't it?!!"

Novem screamed, tears streaming down her face as she whipped her side ponytail about and collapsed to the ground.

"It's too late for individuals now. I have to watch over them. I have to watch over everything until the very end—"

And then, the woman told Novem with a smile.

"Novem, I love songs. I love stories. Surely if I'm reborn... I'll sing."

Then, perhaps hearing the commotion, someone came running over.

"Novem, what's wrong? Did something happen? Are you crying?"

The one who was worried was Eva. Pink-blonde hair, and the pointed ears characteristic of an elf. And there was the shadow of a woman in a white coat about her.

"...Nihil, why are you here too?"

The figures of Eva and Nihil overlapped.

Novem collapsed in the corridor.

"Hey, Novem!"

Eva kept calling out to Novem—.