"Sorry about that. Liliz is the type who, once she gets like that, won't listen to anyone no matter what you say…"
I apologized as I headed back upstairs.
Liliz is my childhood friend. She'll pick fights with anyone without a second thought about the consequences, but the only people whose words she actually listens to are the original members of the Mourning Specter.
That said, she only *listens*—and *sort of* considers what they say. It's not like anyone can just order her around.
The Clan House has training grounds spanning multiple floors, each with different facilities.
The one Liliz has claimed for herself is set up for Thieves. It has everything from melee combat training to throwing targets, traps to treasure chests—a full suite of thief skills to practice, and it can't be replaced.
It's not really meant for a single person, but once she's like that, there's no moving her.
For today, I'd just have to give up or find her another training ground.
Sven grimaced and groaned at my apology.
"Man, what a pain. The Master's been a pushover since way back, but this is ridiculous."
"No, I was going to stop her—"
"Nah, no need to say anything. I get it, I get it. Tino getting stronger isn't a bad deal for us either."
He nodded to himself, clearly not understanding at all.
…Well, whatever. If he was willing to tolerate Liliz's antics, I wasn't about to say anything more.
The rest of Sven's companions exchanged glances and nodded along. I wish Liliz would learn some of that teamwork.
Skilled Hunters tend to be pretty crazy people. Sven's group is weird compared to normal folks, but next to Liliz's crew, they look like the picture of reason. Somebody, please help me.
A roar like a scream echoed from the training ground I'd left behind, but I pretended I hadn't heard it.
Ugh… I just want to forget everything and eat ice cream.
§ "The northern highway's been封锁—blocked?"
When Sven dropped that little bit of information during what was supposed to be small talk, my eyes went wide.
The Imperial Capital is also the Empire's trading hub. Roads extend north, south, east, and west toward major cities and Treasure Halls, and even shutting down a single one is no small matter.
I'd heard about the Phantoms from the White Wolf's Den attacking a merchant caravan, but that alone wouldn't be enough to trigger a road closure.
"Yeah, apparently multiple Phantoms have been spotted. They're still investigating the details, but… the knights they sent to check on things got a few of their guys killed."
Sven shrugged with a complicated expression.
Phantoms basically stick to the interior of Treasure Halls. A single encounter outside might be chalked up to coincidence, but two or three in quick succession? That's not coincidence anymore—something's going on.
Come to think of it, the White Wolf's Den had been acting weird too…
I had no idea what was causing any of this, and it's not like I'd be leaving the safe capital, so it didn't really affect me. But these highways—cleared of monsters and kept safe—were the Empire's arteries. The whole reason so many merchants gathered here was that the roads were secure.
There was a good chance we'd get a request to help deal with it.
Maybe that's what Gaark's summons was about too?
I tilted my head slightly, then gave up thinking about it and sighed.
No use worrying about it. I had a trump card. And I wasn't talking about the useless Liliz who'd stormed back home without her companions.
Ark Rodan was exactly the man for situations like this.
Ark had the people's trust. He had strength. He was smart, well-known, and an excellent commander.
And above all, he was a good person. His Party members, while a step below their leader Ark, were plenty capable in their own right.
A man who could serve as both a field commander and a front-line warrior—truly a two-for-one deal.
Hunters from the Beginning Footprint generally had huge egos, but there was no one who wouldn't listen to Ark's words (aside from my own Party members, of course).
If you gave him command and left him to it, everything would work out. And if it *didn't* work out even with that, well, there was nothing more you could do.
Come back soon… I need to stall until Ark gets here, no matter what.
Whenever he left the capital for an extended period, he always gave advance notice. This time he hadn't, so he shouldn't be gone long.
While I was spacing out, Sven's ugly face twisted into a grin, and he clapped me hard on the shoulder.
"Master's as carefree as ever, huh?"
I just smiled without saying anything.
It's completely someone else's problem, after all.
Not to brag, but my self-preservation skills were pretty impressive.
Well, calling it self-preservation was generous—more like a passing-the-buck skill. That's how I'd always done things, and that's how I'd keep doing things. It was all I could do. Someone, please kick me out somewhere before anything fatal happens.
"I don't know what's going on, but we might get a request too. I was gonna adjust our lineup for that, but… eh, I'll do it tomorrow."
I'm truly sorry for the trouble my people cause.
But there wasn't any irritation in Sven's expression. He'd been around since we first came to the capital, so he was used to Liliz's rampages.
Well, the Black Gold Cross was famous for their balanced composition and solid playstyle—they'd even slain a Dragon-type monster. For them, dealing with a stray Phantom or two would be easy without any prep. At least the Wolf Knights I'd seen in the Treasure Hall recently wouldn't be a problem.
And that gave me an idea.
If I sent the Black Gold crew to Gaark, wouldn't all the pressure shift over to him?
Gaark wouldn't complain about a Level 6 Party. Unlike me, Sven wouldn't balk at hunting Phantoms—perfect.
Today, I'm… on top of my game.
I looked over Sven and the rest of the Black Gold Cross members, then said with a smile: "If you've got time, why not take on a quest? And while you're at it, let Gaark know I was too busy to come."
§ Klye Andrich waltzed off with a carefree, untroubled stride.
Sven watched his retreating figure with a distant look. Then Henrik Hefner—the young man who served as the Black Gold Cross's Healer, who'd been silent until now—spoke up in an exasperated tone.
"As always… I honestly can't tell what he's thinking. He's so… light."
"Well, yeah… he's not a bad guy, though…"
Sven scratched his cheek awkwardly and managed a wry smile.
The Black Gold Cross was one of the founding Parties of the Beginning Footprint. Compared to the Holy Spirit's Children or the Mourning Specter, their average age was a bit higher, but they were still one of the promising young Parties carrying this golden generation.
They were a rare Party where every member had the ability to heal wounds. They lacked flashy achievements, but their balanced composition and steady approach had earned them recognition and a growing reputation.
Unfortunately, there just happened to be two monstrously talented Parties in the same generation, which kept them from standing out. Still, they were regarded as a Party that could have reached the top in any other era, and they enjoyed deep trust from both the Explorer's Guild and other Parties.
Even if he was the Clan Master, he belonged to a different Party. They should have been equals.
Being used as errand boys didn't feel great. Hunters valued their pride, after all.
"…Shouldn't we have refused? Actually, what does that guy even do all day?"
There was a mix of exasperation and dissatisfaction in those words.
Henrik knew the Mourning Specter's track record.
Their approach to clearing Treasure Halls was the polar opposite of the Black Gold Cross's methodical step-by-step progress—it was reckless to the point of being suicidal, blazing a path of glory by trading their lives for it.
Henrik couldn't understand it, but he respected it. There was no one who didn't feel a shudder at that name.
But their leader was a different story entirely. Henrik had never once seen the Thousand Transformations set foot in a Treasure Hall. In fact, he'd barely seen him outside the Clan House at all.
The rookie who had only recently joined looked troubled, and Sven, the Party's leader, said in a placating tone: "It's fine… we've got time anyway. Might as well owe him a favor."
The answer came from their leader, who normally carried himself with an unshakable composure, and Henrik furrowed his brow.
"The other members are out on exploration and the leader's the only one staying behind? Won't the others be unhappy about that?"
"Klye's been like that from the start. Henrik, you just joined, so you probably don't know. The Party's always worked this way, and so has the whole Clan."
The words were light, but they carried an undercurrent that brooked no further questioning.
Henrik sensed that sharp edge and clamped his mouth shut. He had complaints, but publicly badmouthing his own Clan Master wouldn't look good.
"If Sven says so, then… fine, I guess…"
He couldn't get a read on the man. That was the simplest way to put it, though it sounded odd. He just couldn't understand.
The title. The Level 8 rank. The fact that he was Master of a large Clan. And that he led the famed Mourning Specter. You wouldn't believe it unless someone told you, and even now, knowing the truth, it was hard to accept.
A Hunter's eye for people was crucial.
What determined a person's power was the amount of Mana Material they'd accumulated, and that didn't always show on the surface. This was a world where a large, fierce-looking man could lose to a small girl in raw power.
Henrik prided himself on looking past appearances to read someone's true character, but no matter how hard he looked, Klye Andrich just didn't come across as a top-tier Hunter. He lacked all sense of dignity.
"For starters, the fact that he's the only one who can keep Liliz and Louk from picking fights with everybody—that alone makes him indispensable."
At those words, Henrik closed his eyes and recalled what had happened in the training ground earlier.
That blazing aura. The killing intent—or something that looked just like it—that should never have been unleashed in a town. That blood-chilling voice, which had been terrifying enough through a closed door to make his breath stop.
The problem child of the Mourning Specter. He knew the name Peerless Shadow. Even among Level 6 certified Hunters, those with titles were rare.
Still… the fact that Klye could stand in the same space as that and hold his own—his courage alone deserved recognition.
"He didn't exactly stop her, though…"
Not all of Henrik's grievances were resolved, but his expression softened somewhat. Sven saw this and nodded with satisfaction.
"And besides, this might be hard for you to understand yet, but that man is definitely… a monster. Ark Rodan—the Hero's descendant, the one everyone said was the strongest—he's the only person Ark ever admitted defeat to. Liliz and Louk obey him without question. When you're in the same Clan it's easy to forget, but…"
Sven narrowed his eyes as he spoke. Henrik held his breath.
"I'm not saying you have to follow every order, but… don't judge by appearances and let your guard down. Don't take his words at face value. Read between the lines. That's always been his way. Got it?"
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Despite his casual tone, the leader's gaze was razor-sharp. Henrik bit his lip and answered in a loud voice, cutting through his own hesitation.
He'd been careless. He'd known the man was a Level 8 Hunter, but his eyes had clearly not been looking at Klye as someone far above his own rank.
Even though Klye hadn't been hiding his position at all… This should have been impossible.
And if that was because the Thousand Transformations had deliberately manipulated his perception—that thought sent a chill down his spine.
Sven smiled, as if to reassure Henrik, who had gone pale.
"Don't make that face. You didn't cause any problems. And besides… the Mourning Specter has Anthem. As long as that guy's around, Klye can't get away with anything too crazy."
At that name, Henrik's expression finally relaxed.
Every member of the Black Gold Cross devoted themselves to a sacred god and wielded the power of healing.
There was no Healing Technician working in the capital who didn't know the name Anthem Smart.
Even though they were in the same Clan, top-tier Hunters were always busy.
True to form, Anthem rarely appeared in public, but his reputation preceded him.
The Mourning Specter's notorious name gave them plenty of bad press, but there was never a bad word said about Anthem.
They called him the Mourning Specter's conscience.
A man who wielded power focused on protection and healing—not just for his Party members, but anyone who asked for help. Strict but brimming with compassion.
Henrik didn't know how much of that was true, but the stories never stopped—about how he'd healed the illness of a powerful noble and been offered a knighthood, about how the Emperor's personal knight order had tried to recruit him.
He was an exceptional Hunter in his own right, and the fact that every member of the Mourning Specter could continue their brutal explorations and still come back in one piece was thanks to him.
"…One of the capital's foremost Guardian Knights—the 'Unchanging and Unwavering,' is that it?"
"A man who tolerates no injustice. His rigidity is a flaw, but you can count on him. Even Liliz and Louk seem to respect him. …Alright, enough chatter. Let's head to the Explorer's Guild. I want to know the situation on the highways too."
Henrik still looked like he had more to ask, but Sven cut the conversation short.
By that point, the dissatisfaction that had clouded the newcomer's expression had vanished entirely.
Now, even if something like this happened again, he wouldn't make the mistake of judging someone by their cover.
The Mourning Specter's composition was unconventional, true—and Sven hadn't accepted that from the start either. Their members were one thing, but the leader really did look like an ordinary person.
Watching Henrik regain his composure, Sven found himself remembering the day he'd helped create the Beginning Footprint.