Inside a linked carriage heading to Central, the royal capital.
With my eyes closed, drifting off to sleep, my consciousness was drawn into the blue Jewel hanging around my neck.
The circular room contained a round table with chairs arranged around it.
In only one spot, a large silver greatsword floated above the table.
"Um... even if you summon me, I still..."
There before me were the faces of the successive heads of the family, all looking at me with exasperation.
They sat in their chairs watching me, but only the Second Generation stood.
The one dressed like a hunter was, within the Jewel, the embodiment of the successive heads' Skills and memories.
Following the First Generation, the founder of House Walt who was of the Landed Nobility, the one who became the Second Generation—Crassel Walt—spoke to me.
"I've got a job for you again today. Come to my room."
He said it curtly, and whether out of irritation or not, the Second Generation headed straight for the door behind his chair.
Behind the successive heads were rooms—places where their individual memories could be replayed.
The Third Generation looked at me and told me to hurry up.
"Go on, then. Honestly..."
Leaving the exasperated successive heads behind, I headed for the door the Second Generation had entered.
(No, but... there's nothing I can do about it, right?)
There was only one reason for their exasperation.
It was because I had failed to acquire his Skill.
The Second Generation's memories.
Unlike the First Generation's time, these were memories of unending strife.
Not killings, mind you.
It was squabbles among villagers, and resentment toward the Second Generation as their lord.
"The previous lord was better, wasn't he? He had real muscle on him!"
"That man took the initiative and did everything himself."
"Why did the heir turn out like this?!"
As the Second Generation walked along the farm road, I trailed behind him.
Around us, villagers deliberately raised their voices so we could hear.
The Second Generation, who had only just inherited the domain, wasn't doing farmwork—he was driving wooden stakes into the ground with his subordinates.
Watching the scene, I said, "It was the same before, but this sight is..."
The Second Generation was in a foul mood, but he answered.
"I'd just taken over. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. I was trying to straighten out the fields that were a complete mess."
When the First Generation had been lord...
The village within House Walt's territory had been chaotic—both the fields and the layout of houses. It felt like things had simply been expanded haphazardly.
And so, once the Second Generation became head, everything was reorganized to be easier to manage.
The villagers who witnessed this, however, seemed to hold resentment toward the Second Generation.
"And he's that man's son..."
A villager muttered that under his breath as he passed by the young Second Generation at work.
The young Second Generation gritted his teeth.
He looked frustrated.
The Second Generation explained the situation to me at that time.
"What the villagers expected from the succession was someone to mediate their fights. Whose field is this? Who dammed up the water? There were a lot of pointless disputes. The First Generation used to put up with all of that. That man... my old man was strong."
Compared to the First Generation, the Second Generation felt like someone you could actually talk to.
The First Generation, Basil Walt, wore beast fur as a coat in a barbarian style. His arms were thick, he carried a greatsword, and it seemed no one in the village dared defy him.
"He was strong, took the initiative with everything... but for all that, my old man was loved by the villagers."
But once the succession happened, all the frustrations that had been bottled up erupted at once.
He mediated disputes, handed down judgments on whose land was whose... but every ruling left the villagers dissatisfied.
The generation that remembered the First Generation wouldn't accept him, and the Second Generation struggled to win over the younger generation.
Leaving the village and stepping outside, the Second Generation turned back to me.
"All right, shall we begin... Can you do the second stage of my Skill, 'All'?"
"Cover a wider area than before and activate the Skill on multiple targets simultaneously, right?"
The defining feature of the Second Generation's Skill was that it was purely supportive.
Once you learned the secondary applications, the benefits were even greater.
The second stage gathered all nearby allies to one spot and activated the Skill on them at once.
In other words, rather than fiddling with the Skill bit by bit, you could use it on the whole group in a single activation.
"The range of recognition expands, but not as much as the Fifth Generation's Skill. It's suited for close-range detection, though."
As he spoke, I directed my gaze toward an enemy I had sensed through the Skill.
There, I could see the form of a rabbit with horns—
"Shh!"
—I saw it, but the Second Generation had already loosed an arrow in an instant.
As his hunter's style indicated, the weapon the Second Generation carried was a bow.
He apparently loathed monsters—especially horned rabbits—and whenever he spotted one, he frequently ended up in arguments with the Fifth Generation.
For the First through Third Generations, who did farmwork, horned rabbits were vermin.
Having fields ravaged meant a reduced harvest.
"That was almost like a reflex. Or rather, we're inside a memory, aren't we?" I said. "Wouldn't it be possible to control the monster appearances?"
The Second Generation replied with visible irritation.
"When I see those things, I get furious. The memory is burned too deeply into me... so, this happens."
While he was saying that, another horned rabbit appeared and the Second Generation shot it dead.
His archery was incredible.
I could use a bow as well, but I didn't have anything close to his skill.
Once the Second Generation put his bow away, he looked at me and said, "Now then, let's talk about the third stage that you keep failing on—'Select.'"
Select—the third stage of the Second Generation's Skill, which allowed you to activate it on allies even when they were scattered all over your range.
What made it truly powerful was its ability to distinguish between enemies and allies, activating the Skill only on targets you chose.
In other words, precision targeting was possible.
On a chaotic battlefield where friend and foe mingled, if you could leverage this Skill's secondary effect, it would give you an overwhelming advantage.
With a wide-area magical downpour, you could strike only the enemies.
It was an incredibly powerful Skill, and yet...
"No, the thing is..."
I focused on activating the Skill, but there was no response.
The Second Generation shouted, "Why can't you do it?! It's impossible! You've mastered even the Third Generation's Mind and you can't use my Skill? That's completely impossible!"
If you were to assign acquisition difficulty ratings, the First and Second Generations' Skills through the third stage would require less effort than most others.
And yet, I kept failing to activate this one.
"No, I do get a response. It's just that right before it triggers, it fails, or something like that."
"That doesn't make sense! You've activated every Skill perfectly on the first try until now, and you can't do it here?!"
Facing the dejected Second Generation, I realized with a start that some part of me actually felt relieved.
The linked carriage rattled and swayed. I opened my eyes and looked out the window.
Even just riding in a vehicle was exhausting.
Most of the other passengers around me were asleep, just like I had been.
Outside the window, I could see mercenaries or adventurers on horseback serving as our escort.
Because we were heading to Central, the capital, there were plenty of passengers.
There were no empty seats, and even though it cost a small fortune in silver coins, many people wanted to ride—because of the monsters and bandits out there.
This linked carriage came with an escort, arranged lodgings at every village stop, and though the price was steep, it still drew plenty of passengers.
A safe journey was worth that much.
I had only come to appreciate that recently.
Looking to my side, I saw Monica—the girl with golden twin-tails in a maid outfit—not Poyopoyo, but Monica, knitting.
Seeing that, I thought, (So it's already that season.)
It had been feeling chilly, and the cold was growing harsher by the day.
It had been over half a year since I left House Walt, my family home.
Winter was right around the corner.
At first, Monica had drawn curious stares, but after a few days of travel, people got used to her, and no one paid the maid outfit any mind anymore.
All you'd see now was the surprise of newly boarded passengers when we stopped at a village or town.
Monica, you see, was not human.
She was an Automaton created by an ancient civilization, brought back to life by a genius of the academic city Aramsass—a member of the Seven Worthies, no less.
She was the crystallization of ancient technology, and by her own account, a so-called Special Model.
Monica noticed my gaze.
"What is it, Chicken? Don't tell me you're getting aroused just looking at cute little me? Honestly... getting hot and bothered in a place like this."
As Monica started to undress, I smacked her hard.
She was a machine—could she break? I wondered. But judging from her manner of speaking, she was already broken.
"Why are you always like that? More importantly, what are you making?"
Looking at her knitting, Monica said, "Isn't it obvious? A 'heavy scarf' filled with all sorts of my feelings. When I think about just how much emotion is packed into it, I can't help but feel the weight of love and the weight of responsibility. Aah, what a heavy scarf."
"I see. That sounds like hard work."
I said it as though it were someone else's problem, and Monica started trembling.
"No, please don't say it like it's none of your business. If I don't tell you who's giving it to whom, you won't understand? You really are a heartless Chicken."
When I showed no interest, Monica muttered under her breath, "...I'll add a heavy sweater and heavy gloves too."
Saying that, she began knitting the scarf at an incredible speed.
A child nearby who had been watching intently tried to wake their sleeping parent.
"Stop it, idiot."
I told Monica to be mindful of the people around us, then looked up at the ceiling.
Traveling did take several days, which was safe but also inconvenient.
I looked at the blue Jewel hanging from my neck.
The Jewel resting in my palm was adorned with silver-gleaming metal and fashioned into a necklace.
Inside it were seven of my ancestors' Skills committed to memory.
Including the Skill I had manifested myself, I now possessed eight Skills in total.
A person was only supposed to have one Skill.
Because of this and other factors, the ability to use multiple Skills existed only through the Jewel I carried, or through items called Mana Tools that granted similar access.
They were often weapons or armor, and now Mana Tools—which were easier to handle than the Jewel, which could interfere with other Skills—had become more common.
Some combinations of Skills produced powerful synergies when paired together, and though the prices were exorbitant, plenty of adventurers and nobles sought them out.
(The Fourth Generation's Skill for boosting movement speed would be useless here anyway.)
I could have increased my movement speed with a Skill, but the linked carriage operated on a schedule.
Even if I arrived early, there was no point using the Skill since departure would proceed on time regardless.
(The number of Skills I can use is increasing, and that's probably a good thing, but...)
With that thought, I closed my eyes again.
Upon arriving in the royal capital of Central, our group passed through the gate, navigated the bustling crowds, and made our way to an inn.
This was my third time in Central, so I didn't get lost.
Besides, this time we had both Miranda and Shannon, who had grown up here.
Miranda had light green hair worn in soft waves that reached just past her shoulders.
She had an almost cat-like air about her, but despite that, she was a proper young lady.
Her family home was House Cerclie, a viscount house of the Court Nobility.
Her younger sister Shannon was a girl with light purple hair and yellow eyes.
Shannon was the youngest among us, but up until now she had been playing the part of a delicate, blind girl—a facade that hid a surprisingly cunning personality.
"Hey, someone carry my bags! Lyle, you carry them. You're a guy, aren't you?"
I turned to Shannon and said, "You can say that with a straight face while looking at me with both arms full? Besides, you already have Monica carrying your stuff."
The ones with huge loads in both hands were me and Monica.
With my luggage and Monica carrying bags for Miranda, Clara, and Shannon, we drew plenty of stares.
I was also holding bags for Novem and Aria.
"It's actually pretty heavy, you know."
Shannon said that cutely, holding up not a leather satchel but a small shoulder bag meant for carrying personal items.
"Save your sleep-talking for when you're actually asleep. Come back when you've become a proper lady."
I shot that back dismissively, ignoring the string of insults Shannon hurled at me as I headed toward the inn.
The one who smacked the noisy Shannon on the back of the head was Miranda.
She was the eldest among us, though even she was only seventeen.
"Shannon, carry your own bags. You should be grateful that Monica is carrying them for you at all."
At these words, Monica puffed out her chest while still holding the luggage.
Her large chest bounced.
"Carrying all your luggage is annoying, but doing it while also handling important Chicken's bags makes it worth it. You should be more grateful."
Monica treated me differently from everyone else—her mouth was terrible, but when it came to work, she was thoroughly reliable.
Watching all this was a girl with dark blue hair, red eyes, and glasses—Clara.
"I've been to Central a few times, but there are so many people. Compared to Aramsass, it's more functional, I suppose..."
In my opinion, Central actually felt cramped.
Compared to Aramsass, which was like a labyrinth, it was somewhat better, at least.
Novem, with her chestnut-brown hair in a side ponytail and purple eyes, looked at me and asked, "Should we stay at the same inn we stayed at before, Lyle-sama?"
Novem Foxes—my former fiancée, and the beautiful girl who had followed me after I was cast out of my family home.
There had been a time when I thought that as long as I had Novem, nothing else mattered. But before I knew it, I was leading around a whole group of women.
Aria, the tomboyish girl with red hair, spoke up. "We have the money, so let's stay somewhere a bit more spacious. Last time, cramming three people into a two-person room was miserable."
The last time we came, a two-person room had held one man and two women.
Still, the fewer expenses the better.
After all, Central was an expensive place.
"I agree with private rooms, but with this many people, we can't exactly stay at the fanciest place."
Aria said, "You made that much money, so spare me the complaints."
Having earned a small fortune in Aramsass, I was better off financially than before.
By adventurer standards, I was probably in the successful category.
From inside the Jewel, the Fourth Generation—the one sensitive to money matters—spoke up.
The Fourth Generation, recognizable by his glasses, was a strict man when it came to finances.
'That's not money you earned! I was the one giving Lyle instructions... If things had gone properly, we could have sold the porter know-how for a much higher price...'
When I created golems to serve as porters inside the dungeon, I sold that know-how to the academy in Aramsass.
The sum was, by personal standards, quite satisfactory.
But the Fourth Generation was far from satisfied.
(There are other ways to make money, you know.)
Thinking that, I recalled that my ancestors had given me some rather odd looks at the time.
As Aria pressed me, Miranda called out to us.
"It's late today, but once tomorrow comes, I'll introduce you to a place where we can stay for a while. I'm sure Lyle already understands."
Hearing this, I remembered.
"The Cerclie family estate? I mean, I'd be grateful if we could stay, but are you sure it's really all right?"
Both Miranda and Shannon were officially no longer living at House Cerclie.
On paper, they had gone to the academic city to study, but in reality, they had merely been given an opportunity to learn in preparation for independence.
Worrying about whether it was safe to return—that was something I could relate to, having been cast out of my own family.
Miranda smiled and said, "It'll be fine. I've already received Father's permission, and I told him we'd be arriving as a group of seven."
That smile of hers carried just a hint of mischief, but I decided to simply nod.
"Understood. Then tomorrow, let's head to the Cerclie estate."
At that, Miranda said, "It'll be fun, won't it?"
Fun? What exactly? Unable to figure out what she meant, I heard the Sixth Generation call out to me.
'...Well, you know. From a parent's perspective, this is basically the "please give me your daughter" kind of scene.'
The Seventh Generation agreed.
'Indeed. If my daughter brought home an adventurer, I'd probably end up shooting him...'
The Seventh Generation, who said terrifying things, happened to be my grandfather.
Due to various events in the past, he despised both adventurers and the organization known as the Guild.
He didn't seem at all supportive of the fact that I was an adventurer.
I thought to myself, (With this many girls around, I'm sure I won't be misunderstood or anything.)
Heavy bags in hand, I trudged toward the inn with such naïve thoughts in mind.