It happened at a café in the Royal Capital.
I had intended to spend my holiday relaxing, but I ended up following Clara as she headed out.
I tagged along with her to buy books, and after touring the bookstores of the Royal Capital in search of titles Clara hadn't yet read, it was already midday.
As usual, Clara had gotten so absorbed in her books that she forgot about food, so I ended up treating her to lunch with a wry smile.
Once we'd finished eating and I was sipping tea, the book in my hands was one of the ones Clara had purchased.
The title read "The Miracle of Remurant," and it described the war in which the Third Generation had made House Walt's name known throughout the nation.
I read through it—.
(Nope.)
That was my underwhelming impression.
In the Miracle of Banseim, the Third Generation—Slei Wolt—held the rank of baronet.
In the book, he was offering counsel to the king.
During this era, Banseim had defeated the nation of Remurant and greatly expanded its territory.
It had been waging wars against neighboring countries, but lacked a decisive blow.
It kept racking up small victories, steadily expanding its territory through unglamorous wins.
However, the Kingdom of Remurant was a great power, and even Banseim was struggling.
The Third Generation became famous because he had sacrificed himself for victory in a battle they couldn't afford to lose—but—.
"Your Majesty! We must not split our forces here! If the enemy breaks through at a single point, we'll be outnumbered! The main camp will be exposed!"
The king replied.
"I know, Slei. But if we don't crush them here, Banseim's future will remain shut. Against an enemy that has come to wage war on us, we have to win big here or we'll be ground down. Taking a bold gamble is the only path forward!"
Third Generation.
"Your Majesty... I understand. I, Slei Wolt, shall follow you to the very end."
And so Banseim's army, which had split its forces despite having the numerical advantage in an attempt to encircle the enemy, found its main camp endangered when the enemy broke through at a single point.
Third Generation.
"Your Majesty, please flee!"
The King.
"How could I do such a thing! Take my sword! Stand and fight with me here!"
Third Generation...
"What are you saying! Your Majesty is essential to Banseim's future. Leave everything to this Slei. I will buy you time to retreat, I swear it."
With those words, Third Generation led all the soldiers he had brought in a desperate charge, buying time for Banseim to regroup, encircle the enemy once more, and claim victory.
The King, having slain the enemy's commander-in-chief.
"This victory... would never have been won without Slei. He is Banseim's most righteous general!"
That is what is written in the account — but.
When Third Generation saw this account through me, he spoke in a low voice.
"...What is this? This is the worst. Who the hell wrote this fabricated nonsense as if it were fact? Are they an idiot?"
He was thoroughly irritated.
Clara was watching me after I finished reading the book.
"So? From House Walt's perspective, is that book factual?"
When she asked, Third Generation spoke.
"Lyle, tell Clara this is way too much. Actually, if this is Banseim's official account, I should be allowed to punch that incompetent fool."
Fifth Generation spoke.
"Isn't there something off about it? Setting aside the dialogue, it's a fact that he bought time during the retreat and contributed to the victory, right?"
Third Generation shouted.
"Not at all! I'll never forgive that bastard! I was the one who took down the enemy's commander-in-chief!"
Fourth Generation spoke.
"Huh, that's the first I've heard of that..."
Third Generation continued.
"That incompetent fool!!"
(It's rare to see Third Generation in such a foul mood.)
I gave Clara my honest opinion.
"The contents are, well, rather far from the actual facts."
"Is that so? Then I'd be grateful if you could tell me the facts as passed down through House Walt. Most of the books contain the same content."
At Clara's words, Third Generation perked up eagerly.
"Tell her, Lyle! Now's the time to speak the truth!"
(No, I don't know anything beyond what the book says either!)
I rolled the Jewel between my fingertips to show my refusal, and Third Generation—
"Why not!!"
He looked extremely displeased.
"I don't really know the details either. I'd need some time to try and remember, I think."
As I said with a wry smile, Clara nodded.
"There may be knowledge that only descendants know, and some of it might be inaccurate too. I'm looking forward to it."
Clara, looking genuinely delighted, picked up a book from the table.
She seemed intent on reading through every last one of the many books stacked there, right here in the tearoom.
I turned to a server.
"Excuse me. Two more cups of tea, please."
It felt wrong to order nothing, so I went ahead and got us something to drink.
(Well, this isn't bad. More worthwhile than yesterday's gambling, at least.)
With that thought, I borrowed one of Clara's books and settled into reading as well.
Nighttime.
The one who forcibly dragged me into the Jewel while I was trying to sleep was the Third Generation, still clearly unhappy about what had happened earlier.
I said:
"You really don't have to go this far."
Then—
'No way! I absolutely refuse to have people think I died for his sake! I'm going to show you the truth right now, and Laiel, you make sure you remember every bit of it!'
The Third Generation, normally so mild-mannered, was visibly irritated. It must have really bothered him.
The Fourth Generation, also present inside the Jewel, seemed somewhat exasperated.
'Well, I guess it's fine if it puts his mind at ease. I'd rather not watch, though.'
The Fourth Generation appeared to have complicated feelings about the whole thing.
After all, the one who had elevated them to a baronage and provided all manner of assistance was His Majesty — the very person the Third Generation couldn't stand.
Led by the Third Generation, the Fourth Generation and I entered his room.
House Walt, having become a baronetcy, had expanded considerably compared to the Second Generation's time.
The furniture and decorations were more opulent as well, though there weren't that many of them — perhaps because the Third Generation hadn't bothered much.
The Fourth Generation spoke.
"How nostalgic."
The Third Generation, with a hint of irritation:
"I know you keep saying 'you were elevated in rank and received His Majesty's help' or whatever, but a baronetcy was practically more profitable anyway. We had quite a bit of freedom too. Becoming a baron means looking after everyone around you — it's nothing but a pain in the neck!"
The Third Generation didn't seem at all happy about House Walt becoming a barony.
Walking through the mansion, servants went about their work with smiles on their faces.
I—
"Back during the First Generation — well, and the Second too, I suppose… it's not so much that they were servants. They felt more like family."
Then the Third Generation said:
"We'd take in widows and orphaned children from the village and have them work at the mansion. I've always hated formality, and as long as they behaved themselves when guests came around, that was good enough."
The Fourth Generation said:
"During my time, only those who'd received proper training were allowed in the mansion… Actually, now that you mention it, I did get scolded a few times."
Leaving the mansion and stepping outside, the town came into view.
The market was open, brimming with energy.
The efforts of the First and Second Generations had borne fruit here.
As I walked through the town, the surrounding scenery shifted into a battlefield.
The Third Generation was issuing commands from horseback.
"Hold the enemy in place right here! There's no need to win. Keep them pinned down and don't let them send reinforcements!"
He issued orders looking thoroughly unmotivated, and clad in full battle gear—it was, you could say, very much the Third Generation.
The townsfolk that the Second Generation had trained fought in accordance with the Third Generation's commands.
The knights surrounding the Third Generation were all elites as well.
Watching it all unfold, the Third Generation walked along and spoke to us.
"Once that incompetent ascended the throne, he went around picking fights with every neighboring country. The claim that we were invaded was a lie. Banseim was reasonably large, so even when they made moves, it only ever amounted to petty skirmishes between the border lords."
And just like that, the scene shifted to a war council inside a grand tent.
The king, a man with short, unruly red hair, sat in a large chair during the war council with a defiant look on his face.
The Third Generation glared at the young man as he spoke.
"...This incompetent fool, once he took the throne, kept launching wars for reasons like wanting to leave his name in history. He'd say things like 'just plunder for your reward, divide up the conquered lands'... That was the kind of man he was."
The king declared.
"Here we claim a great victory and devour Remurant—who once called me a brute! We've won countless battles, but this will be the greatest fight of all!"
It was a war with both sides mustering armies in the tens of thousands.
At the war council, the Third Generation stood at the side of the baron who had been managing the region at that time.
The king spoke.
"Divide the army into five. When the enemy thinks our main camp is undermanned and charges in, surround and crush them! Win a great victory here, wear down the enemy's forces, and Remurant will be ours for the taking! The rewards are yours to demand!"
Hearing this, the assembled nobles wore a variety of expressions.
Some shouted with joy.
Others showed nothing at all.
And some looked displeased.
The Third Generation explained it to us.
'Pulling soldiers from your territory and sending them to fight means soldiers die. Those are your own subjects. Too many is a problem, but when wars keep going on everywhere, there's a shortage of manpower. I myself saw off dozens of soldiers to their deaths.'
The Third Generation, who had arranged nearly a hundred soldiers, seemed to have been a vassal.
The Baron appeared to rely on him and was asking for his opinion.
'Slei, do you think we can win?'
'...They're getting carried away. If the enemy punches through a single point and goes straight for the main camp, it's over. On top of that, with continuous warfare, the soldiers' training level is low. Some lords can't even properly equip their forces.'
Hearing the Third Generation's assessment that failure was likely, the Baron spoke.
'Your Majesty. Leaving the main camp too lightly guarded is dangerous. If something were to happen to you, Banseim would be...'
The King laughed.
'Hahaha, against that lot? Do you think we'll lose, Baron?'
As those words drew the attention of everyone around him, the Baron replied weakly.
'No, nothing of the sort.'
When the battle began, the main camp descended into chaos.
A blood-soaked messenger arrived at the main camp, and——
'Th-the enemy is heading straight for the main camp even while surrounded...'
'Th-that's impossible!'
The King rose from his ornate chair and questioned the messenger again and again.
'They're charging straight ahead even though they're surrounded! Why?! According to my calculations, the enemy should have lost the will to fight...'
Confusion spread throughout the camp, and voices called for an immediate retreat.
But then debate broke out over whether the enemy had already reached their doorstep.
The most terrifying thing on any battlefield is a fighting retreat.
Chase down the fleeing enemy and attack.
Soldiers and knights who show their backs and offer no resistance are easily struck down.
And then the Third Generation let out a sigh and stepped forward before the king.
"Hey."
"W-what do you want?!"
"Slei Wolt of the baronet house... More importantly, hurry up and give your orders. This whole mess happened because of your mistake, you know."
How rude to the king!
Not many nobles thought so.
And the others around them were directing accusatory gazes at the king as well.
"Y-you lot—do you know who I—"
As the king forced those words out, the Third Generation lunged and struck him.
(Oh, I quietly used a Skill.)
Sent flying by a blow boosted with the First Generation's Skill, the king was in tears. He slumped against his ornate chair, clutching his cheek.
The Third Generation of that time went on.
"Who knows? Who swore loyalty to you? The loyalty I swore was to that chair you're sitting in—to the king who holds authority. I don't recall ever swearing loyalty to you personally. Besides, there are plenty of people who could take your place."
The nobles had drawn their swords.
When the king let out a "Hgh!", the nobles supporting him also drew their swords. But they were the minority.
The Third Generation held up a hand to stop them.
"House Walt will serve as the rearguard. Well, we only have a few dozen men, but we'll buy you some time. Baron, I'm counting on you for the rest."
And so, the baron nodded.
"I understand."
And with that, the Third Generation spoke, looking down at the king.
"The only reason anyone follows you is because of the authority you inherited. If Remurant defeats us, Banseim will be ravaged as-is… Listen, I'm not risking my life for you. I'm risking it for my own domain. Do you understand that much, you incompetent king?"
With those words, the Third Generation left the tent.
As the tent's interior turned gray, I spoke.
"…Honestly, I'm surprised House Walt wasn't wiped out."
The Fourth Generation shared the same sentiment.
"Exactly. And what's more, House Walt was actually treated well, wasn't it?"
The Third Generation said, sounding bored.
"It was because of the threats, obviously. Besides, if anything had happened to my domain, I imagine the Landed Nobility would have pushed back… And after having his confidence crushed right here, this king became easier for both the Landed Nobility and the Court Nobility to handle. Also, once we defeated Remurant, there was no longer any need for us to go on the offensive. Swapping out the king would have been a hassle too. Surviving without a suspicious death was probably just good fortune, wasn't it?"
It seemed that Banseim at the time had concluded they needed to seize control before the other side could restore its national strength.
The Third Generation spoke.
"There's no such thing as justice. But just think about how many people died for this man's self-satisfaction? Oh, and while I'm at it—"
Chuckling softly, the Third Generation explained.
"Using Skills to implant hypnotic suggestions in people's minds, anyone who tried to lay a hand on House Walt would be plagued by nightmares!"
This guy was terrible.
I thought as much, but the people around him were so awful that I didn't even know what to say.
The Third Generation's expression turned serious.
"It had already reached its limit, you see. The ones with any drive were the Royal Palace nobles—the ones who wanted to acquire territory and become Landed Nobility. And those very people had been exploiting us Landed Nobility, calling it our duty or whatever excuse they could find."
The king's sudden death had been highly likely, the Third Generation said with a dark smile.
Thinking about it, perhaps the king of that era survived thanks to the Third Generation punching him into shape.
The scene shifted, and the surroundings reflected the Walt family's camp.
The Third Generation spoke in his usual manner.
"I'm charging headfirst into the attacking enemy. Anyone who wants to die, step up."
Nobody thought anyone would join on the basis of such words, but one middle-aged soldier stepped forward.
I had seen that man's face before.
"Was he the subject who'd been complaining to the Second Generation?"
The middle-aged man spoke to the Third Generation.
"...I've been a trouble to the previous generation. I don't think this could ever repay the debt, but please allow me to accompany the young master."
The Third Generation spoke.
"You never did stop calling me 'young master,' did you? Well, fine... If we lose here, Banseim will be put on the defensive and carved up from all sides. Given all the havoc we've wreaked, we'll be plundered, and the women and children—who knows what'll happen to them."
Then, another person stepped forward.
It was a young knight.
"I—I want to go too!"
The Third Generation, with a smile on his face, punched that knight into the air.
"Sorry, but no! Young ones are out. Anyone younger than me will have to keep fighting after this. Newlyweds are out too. You need to be single or have kids who can fend for themselves... because you'll die if you join."
Then the soldiers stepped forward.
All of them were in their late thirties to mid-forties.
There were nearly forty of them.
"Alright, then let's go. Leave the rest to you."
The Third Generation mounted his horse with a casual air and had the soldiers doing the charge take the weapons from the younger soldiers. Once they were equipped, he spurred his horse forward without hesitation.
The image turned gray and time froze.
The Fourth Generation spoke.
"...This is pretty horrible, isn't it."
The Third Generation answered.
"It is. That's why I hate that incompetent fool. I never wanted to die on some battlefield—I wanted to go home alive. But if we lose here, we're the ones who get ravaged. From the enemy's perspective, we're the terrible ones. Cause all sorts of havoc and carnage, then turn around and say, 'We don't want to lose'—what a joke."
The Third Generation gazed up at the gray sky as he spoke.
"War really is the absolute worst."