In the room I'd been brought to by the Third Generation, I was viewing memories.
I was able to learn why the normally carefree Third Generation had been so active on the battlefield.
Leading fewer than fifty soldiers in a charge, the Third Generation was using a Skill.
Surrounding them were thousands of soldiers, following alongside the Third Generation—or rather, trailing after a conspicuously dressed knight.
The Third Generation's group had blended into that crowd.
"This is..."
While I was watching the scene, the Fourth Generation was looking at the ground.
*"You even created shadows?"*
The Third Generation puffed out his chest proudly.
*"That's right. This is my Skill... its final form, [Dream]. It shows illusions so realistic you'd think they were real. Its killing power is... nonexistent, I think?"*
Seeing the Third Generation say that, I swallowed hard.
"...I read in a book before that you could make someone holding nothing but a bar of iron feel burned if you blindfolded them and convinced them it was red-hot."
The Third Generation nodded.
*"Well, that's an extreme example. In practice, it doesn't always work. Besides..."*
The Remurant soldiers fighting were starting to realize the illusions.
*"Hey, these guys are illusions!"*
*"There's someone nearby using a Skill!"*
*"Where are the wounded?! Where are the Skill users?!"*
The enemy knights and soldiers began to reorganize as soon as they realized the illusions.
Spotting the enemy commander amid this, the Third Generation drew his sword.
Leaping from horseback, he brought his sword crashing down.
The Third Generation, standing beside me, explained the scene.
*"I'd inherited the First Generation's Skill, the Second Generation's Skill... all of them. Through oral tradition—writing them down felt too dangerous. But that ended up working against me. The opponent was strong. One strike from me wasn't going to be enough."*
The Third Generation slashed in, and the commander tumbled from his horse with a scream.
*"Underhanded tricks! You cowards of Banseim!"*
*"I won't deny it, but I still can't lose!"*
Cutting through the elite soldiers swarming around him, the Third Generation fought the commander.
He created illusions of himself all around and used them to keep his opponent off-balance.
I looked around and noticed something strange.
"The Remurant soldiers are..."
The Third Generation said.
*"They're fighting among themselves, aren't they? That's also thanks to my Skill's [Control]."*
The Fourth Generation pressed his hand to his face.
*"That's truly vicious."*
The Third Generation murmured that he'd had no choice.
*"If I hadn't used it, we would have lost. I didn't want to, but... the battlefield was close to my territory. If the enemy had charged through with their momentum, everything would have been trampled."*
That was what Banseim had been doing at the time.
*(So much for fighting for justice—that was a lie.)*
I was feeling a weight of helplessness when the situation around me shifted.
Allies were being cut down, one after another.
They'd been outnumbered from the start. And now the Third Generation, pushed to his limit, could no longer create illusions.
Then, as the enemy commander's battle axe came crashing down, the Third Generation's right arm went soaring through the air.
But—
"Wait, an illusion?"
The Third Generation said with a serious expression.
*"There's that use for it too."*
And the Third Generation's sword plunged deep into the enemy commander's chest.
The hostility of everyone around converged on the Third Generation.
His mana spent, the Third Generation swayed on his feet.
At this rate, he would simply be cut down.
With their commander fallen, the Remurant army began to falter.
It was then that—
*"Young master!"*
Several blood-soaked soldiers rode up to the Third Generation on horseback. They forced him onto a horse.
*"Please, go!"*
*"...Ah."*
The Third Generation, his expression hollow, used his last strength to create illusions that confused the enemy. Magic rained down on the illusions, arrows pierced through them.
And the soldiers who let the Third Generation escape—
"Why... when the Second Generation..."
—died smiling.
The Third Generation said.
*"Lyle, they didn't die for me. They died for the territory I governed, for their own homes. Personally, he may have had his own reasons, but saving me was also in the territory's interest."*
Thinking him cold for saying that, I watched as the Banseim forces that had been surrounding them now encircled the Remurant army.
The Third Generation, witnessing this, clenched his fists. Tight. Hard.
He still hadn't made peace with it.
*(So that's why he hated it so much...)*
From the front as well, the reformed main camp charged with cavalry at its center.
Magic struck the Remurant soldiers, throwing their formations into chaos so they could barely move.
Surrounded, the Remurant army suffered devastating losses.
Then the scene changed, and we were at House Walt's camp.
Time had passed since the battle.
The Third Generation lay on his side, battered and torn from arrows and magic.
Nobles and the king filed into the tent, thanking the Third Generation, who could barely respond.
The Third Generation looked at himself.
*"You'd want to rest, wouldn't you? Honestly..."*
He sounded exasperated.
The Fourth Generation was watching the tent's entrance.
Then, as the Third Generation's final moments drew near—
*"Father!"*
The Fourth Generation, still a teenager, burst into the tent.
*"...Marks... I'm sorry. I'm truly... sorry... take this..."*
The Third Generation held out a blue jewel. The Fourth Generation, gasping for breath, received it and gripped it tightly through his tears. Then the Third Generation stopped moving.
As the surrounding scenery faded to grey, the Third Generation spoke.
*"I didn't die for that boy. I executed the best strategy for winning the war by sacrificing others to protect my own territory. I knew no one else could do it. I was the only one who could pull off a surprise attack like that."*
The Fourth Generation seemed to want to say something to the joking Third Generation.
The Third Generation said.
*"Well, that's the end of my story. You understand it's not a tale of noble heroics, right? And what I wanted to protect was... ah, never mind. You understand well enough."*
With that, we returned to the round-tabled room.
Only the Fourth Generation and I remained.
The Third Generation had apparently sequestered himself in a room.
The Fourth Generation removed his glasses and wiped them.
*"...Lyle, while we're at it, you'll watch my memories too."*
I couldn't refuse.
"Yes."
Entering the Fourth Generation's room, I saw a scene of the young Fourth Generation receiving reports that the Third Generation and his group were in danger.
A mud-covered, staggering knight was recounting how the Third Generation had charged into the enemy.
The knight who spoke through tears was a young man the Third Generation had struck.
*"Lord Slei charged into the enemy camp... the difference in numbers was hopeless... I'm sorry! I'm truly sorry!"*
The one who dismissed the crying knight was a woman in her thirties.
The Third Generation's wife, presumably.
*"Let him rest. That man is truly... Marks, prepare yourself. Depending on how the battle goes, the enemy could come here as well."*
*"M-Mother?"*
Unable to grasp the situation, the Fourth Generation stood dumbfounded.
*"That can't be true. Dad always came back. He'd complain about working enough for a lifetime and tell me to take over... every time..."*
Just then, the next messenger arrived.
The knight dashed into the manor and removed his armor.
*"House Banseim has won! While Lord Slei held off the enemy and bought time, our forces reorganized!"*
The Third Generation's wife asked.
*"What about him?"*
The knight replied.
*"He came back, but his injuries are severe... he told me only to inform you."*
Then the Fourth Generation's wife said.
*"Marks, take your retinue and go to him at once."*
The Fourth Generation did as he was told, surrounded by attendants as preparations began.
The scene shifted. The Fourth Generation was on horseback, riding alongside several knights.
Seeing the young Fourth Generation showing urgency—
*"This was when my Skill manifested. I just wanted to get there quickly. I wanted to see Father. That feeling triggered my Skill."*
Arriving earlier than expected, the Fourth Generation rushed to the Third Generation's side.
Once the scene finished, the Fourth Generation changed the surroundings.
We were on an endless road.
*"The battlefield was nearby. What a nuisance. It was foolish to feel grateful to the one responsible."*
"Um, excuse me..."
The Fourth Generation straightened his glasses with his index finger. They glinted.
*"Shall I teach you the next Skill? I think you've mastered enough by now, Lyle."*
"Y-yes!"
I was going to be taught Skills by the Fourth Generation.
It wasn't a difficult explanation.
*"Well, after the speed increase, it's simply about reducing the opponent's speed."*
As he said this, he demonstrated the Skill.
Immediately, my legs felt impossibly heavy.
As if I were moving through water—no, the resistance was even greater.
*"Skill: [UpDown]. Speed increases and decreases are entirely at your will. Slow the enemy, speed yourselves up. It's simple, but the difference it creates is enormous."*
It lacked the flashiness of the Third Generation's abilities, but the Skill was still formidable.
If used in combination with the Second Generation's Skill in group combat, it would grant an overwhelming advantage.
"That's amazing."
*"...Not quite on the Third Generation's level, though."*
Then I asked what I'd been wanting to ask.
"Um, about the Third Generation's oral transmission of Skills and so on..."
*"Oh, I'd heard what kinds of Skills there were, but the Third Generation passed away before he could tell me... So the applications of the First, Second, and Third Generations' Skills were never passed down to House Walt. But they were effective. After that, we didn't struggle as much."*
Thinking about it, being taught Skills like this was a blessing.
Skills that should have been lost were revived, and I'd learned the memories of that time.
It all started at that moment.
When I'd heard that voice at Zell's house.
Once the Fourth Generation finished explaining how to use the Skill, he said to me.
*"Lyle, I want you to reclaim the territory. I have sentimental attachment to it."*
"...That's..."
Seeing me struggling to respond, the Fourth Generation continued.
*"That's fine for now. The Third Generation seems to want to leave it to your discretion. The Fifth Generation probably feels the same. But the Sixth and Seventh Generations, along with me, want you to inherit the territory."*
I was, after all, someone who'd been cast out.
Thinking this, the Fourth Generation said.
*"Still, I think you'll understand some things when you see the Third Generation's memories too. You're free to do as you wish, but learn to protect what matters."*
"...Yes."
The Fourth Generation smiled.
*"Good. Well, with Novem and the others, it'll be a lot to handle."*
"That's not my choice! ...Ah, never mind."
Seeing me sulk, the Fourth Generation laughed.
I started laughing too.
Morning.
Waking up, I felt a light weariness.
Remembering the memories of the Third and Fourth Generations I'd seen the night before forced me to reflect whether I liked it or not.
It hadn't been a heroic tale of battle.
The Third Generation had manifested his Skill to protect what he wanted to protect, and the Fourth Generation had manifested his to make it to his father's final moments.
Sitting up and stretching, I looked outside.
The morning sun was blinding. I got out of bed and opened the window.
Central was bustling, filled with various voices and sounds of daily life.
"So, what should I do today?"
I was preparing for the trip to Baim, but there were no particular issues.
I was gathering information, but nothing especially dangerous had come up.
What concerned me was Central, the Royal Capital.
According to Miranda and Shannon, something felt off compared to before.
I couldn't tell, but the two who lived there must have been sensing something.
*(Aria hasn't said anything in particular, come to think of it... Wasn't she supposed to go shopping today?)*
Remembering that Aria was going shopping, I thought I might get ready and go help her.
Novem was sorting luggage, and Clara was off to the bookstores again.
Monica was working in the rented warehouse, having moved in there for Porter's modification.
*"I should check on her too."*
Worried about whether she'd gone berserk, I smiled.
*(Something to protect, huh...)*
—Near the Royal Capital, along the highway.
There, House Walt's soldiers were distributing food to a ragged group.
They were providing rations for the band of stragglers who had followed behind them.
The reason for their ragged state was a monster attack that had claimed many lives.
There were numerous wounded, and many had lost most of their belongings.
Some looked pale—merchants and the like.
Walking among this group was Ceres, wearing a fluffy white coat.
With a warm smile to match her outfit, she waved to those around her.
*"Thank you so much for your help."*
*"She's like a goddess."*
*"We're truly grateful."*
The people around her expressed their thanks, noting she'd gone out of her way to come to them.
Ceres was in high spirits.
Behind her walked a knight even more cheerful than she.
It was Alfred.
At his waist was a short sword—a reward from Ceres.
Ceres thought.
*(They don't even know who orchestrated the attack, and they're thanking me... How amusing. I feel wonderful after doing something good.)*
Being thanked, being adored—Ceres was in high spirits.
She'd asked her parents to have monsters attack the group that had been following her.
And when House Walt's knights and soldiers defeated the monsters, she was thanked for it.
Ceres restrained herself from laughing outright as she stroked the hilt of the rapier at her waist.
No—what she stroked was the yellow jewel set into it.
As she beamed with delight, Alfred spoke to her.
*"Lady Ceres, it's time."*
*"Already?"*
Ceres tilted her head slightly, and a sound like people swallowing could be heard around her.
When Alfred directed a murderous gaze at those nearby, Ceres laughed.
*"No, Alfred. From now on, Banseim's people are my people as well."*
Returning to a serious expression, Alfred said.
*"As expected of the magnanimous Lady Ceres. Now then, the two of them are waiting."*
Ceres sighed slightly.
*"Honestly. Father and Mother are so troublesome."*
Alfred said.
*"It's an important time. Besides, we're all looking forward to seeing you shine in the Royal Capital, Lady Ceres."*
Ceres stroked the yellow jewel and smiled.
*"That's right. After all... the day Banseim becomes mine is coming."*