In the Zebuldia Empire, which boasted countless Treasure Halls, the position of Treasure Hunters held great prestige.
Hunters who had ventured through monstrous realms and absorbed ample Mana Material could rival an entire knight order on their own. Given that Zebuldia's national culture naturally favored strength, it was not uncommon for high-level Hunters bearing epithets to receive invitations from the upper echelons of the nobility.
House Rodan was one of Zebuldia's most long-standing Treasure Hunter dynasties.
Its origins traced back to Solis Rodan—a Treasure Hunter who had slain an alien god that had appeared at a Level 10 Treasure Hall near the present-day Imperial Capital, the Star Temple, reducing everything within a thousand miles to ash.
The Emperor of the time, wishing to honor the conquest of the Star Temple—which the Empire had been powerless to overcome even with the full force of its national power—considered granting a noble title to Solis, who was merely a Treasure Hunter. But Solis declined, calling himself nothing more than an adventurer.
The Emperor praised that humble bearing as a model for all Hunters and bestowed upon Rodan the title of "Hero." From that day forward, only the Rodan bloodline was permitted to bear the name of Hero within the Empire.
Ark Rodan was a descendant of that very lineage, having been raised and educated from childhood to become a first-rate Hunter.
Solis Rodan had been a versatile hero with no weak points. Each generation of the Rodan bloodline inherited exceptional talent across every field, and Ark was no exception.
He had conquered Treasure Halls that would leave ordinary Hunters trembling, earned himself an epithet, and now, despite his youth, his name was even mentioned among the candidates for the strongest Hunter in the Empire.
The Rodan bloodline took pride not in authority but in martial prowess. Before long, Ark had come to be called by the same name once bestowed upon his ancestor: the "Hero."
The name Rodan was special within the Empire. From the moment he had begun his career as a Hunter, it had attracted considerable attention.
This was not the first time he had received an invitation from a noble.
Keeping distance from political power was one of House Rodan's founding precepts. However, if a Treasure Hunter wished to operate smoothly, it was impossible to sever all ties with the Empire's upper class.
Ark and his party, the Holy Spirit's Children, had been recognized for their conquest of the White Marble Garden and had traveled all the way to the Sandline Marquisate, far from the Imperial Capital.
"So this is the famous Sky Flower, is it? What a magnificent sight..."
A middle-aged man draped in a composed crimson coat gazed at a bouquet of strange flowers with translucent petals arranged in a vase and let out a sigh of admiration.
He was Neham Sandline, the head of House Sandline and the host who had summoned Ark and his party this time around.
He was one of the high-ranking nobles who had been granted vast territories in the western reaches of the Zebuldia Empire, and due to his past connection—having commissioned the clearing of a Treasure Hall within his domain—he had maintained a particularly close relationship with Ark's group.
Among Zebuldia's nobility, there were quite a few who harbored deep jealousy toward favored Hunters.
Compared to such people, Marquis Sandline was by no means difficult to deal with. Yet regarding Hunters who conquered monstrous realms—and conversely, the Rodan family who had once saved the Empire—he seemed to harbor an almost irrepressible sense of admiration, to the point that he would summon Ark at every opportunity, much to his guest's exasperation.
The flowers with their glass-like, colorless petals were products of a Treasure Hall.
They were as transparent as fine glasswork yet possessed the texture of ordinary blossoms, their delicate forms more beautiful than any artisan could ever craft.
"They're constructs made from Mana Material. Not Treasure Weapons either. In the outside world, they wouldn't maintain their shape for long."
These flowers grew in profusion at the deepest reaches of the White Marble Garden. Despite their mystical appearance, the "Sky Flower" possessed no special power whatsoever—to high-level Hunters like Ark's party, they were trivial keepsakes.
The reason he had plucked a few and brought them back was simply as a memento of having reached the innermost depths of the Treasure Hall, not for any particular purpose.
That said, there was no question that the White Marble Garden was not a Treasure Hall an ordinary Hunter could clear.
The "Sky Flower," which could only maintain its form temporarily while the Mana Material had not yet fully dissipated into the atmosphere, served as proof to the nobility that one had connections with outstanding Treasure Hunters.
Items found inside Treasure Halls could not maintain their form in the outside world, with few exceptions.
The "Sky Flower"—so celebrated and coveted out here—was nothing more than a fleeting illusion. When the time came, not a single fragment would remain.
Ark recalled how, at one point, the Clan House lounge had been overflowing with these flowers, and a quiet smile escaped him inwardly without showing on his face.
To Ark's words, the Marquis offered no reply, simply resting his chin on his hand and narrowing his eyes.
"So fragile. And yet, that is precisely what makes them beautiful. Ah, to see a garden where such flowers bloom in full splendor—I should very much like to visit one before I die."
...That would be difficult indeed, Ark thought without saying it aloud.
The White Marble Garden was no place for anyone other than Hunters to set foot. The thick, fog-like pollen would corrode the bodies of any who entered, and Phantoms adapted to that environment lay hidden among the countless blooming flowers, lying in wait to prey upon intruders.
The flat terrain was the one blessing, but even escorting a knight order of several hundred strong would make a successful traversal impossible. It was simply a different domain entirely.
"For instance, what if you were to escort me, Ark? If you, the strongest in the Imperial Capital, were to accompany me—"
"Your Excellency. That is no place for someone of your noble standing to enter. Of course, the Phantoms can be defeated—but the environment is not one an ordinary human can adapt to. Even we had a rather difficult time of it this time."
The Marquis let out a frustrated grunt at Ark's immediate refusal, but he had no intention of pressing the matter. He understood his own position.
In Zebuldia, there were occasional incidents where reckless nobles would lead private troops into Treasure Hall and meet with disaster.
Exploring with dead weight in tow was vastly more difficult than going it alone, and doubly so if the person being guarded was the objective. While it was a decent opportunity for Hunters to build connections with nobles, in most cases the person needing rescue was already dead.
So the Marquis shook his head broadly, as if changing the subject entirely.
He wore a deep, somehow endearing smile. But his eyes alone were astonishingly sharp.
"So then, Ark. Have you given any thought to that offer?"
"..."
Ark had been scouted by Marquis Sandline on multiple occasions to become his exclusive Treasure Hunter.
In the Zebuldia Empire, Treasure Hunters were the ultimate trump card. No matter how many high-level Treasure Halls existed, they were meaningless without Hunters who had the strength to bring back treasure.
For that reason, nobles across every territory were fiercely competing to recruit skilled Hunters. Ark and his party were especially sought after.
An exclusive was, in essence, a noble-retainer Hunter. These were Hunters who accepted a set compensation in exchange for taking on their patron's requests as a top priority.
Freedom would be reduced, but for a Hunter, it was by no means a bad deal.
Being a noble's exclusive was a form of status for a Hunter.
There were material benefits to be had. Through connections, one might gain access to superior party members. One might even gain entry to Treasure Halls that were otherwise restricted.
Being able to earn a steady income without having to continually clear dangerous Treasure Halls was another significant draw.
Most of all, being a noble's exclusive ranked near the very top in terms of what the Explorer's Guild valued most: "trust."
It was the seal of approval from Zebuldia's ruling class. The mere fact of becoming exclusive could even raise one's Level.
But Ark smiled gently and shook his head.
"It is an honor, but..."
"Hmm... Rodan does not serve the nobility, then? Solis certainly left behind a troublesome set of precepts."
"There are still things we must accomplish. Please forgive us."
The first Rodan had been a figure worthy of the title of hero, but he had apparently clashed with the power structure on numerous occasions over petty disputes.
In every era, there were things that raw strength alone could not resolve. And those precepts were probably one of the reasons the Rodan bloodline had endured so long without dying out.
But Ark's reason for refusing to serve the nobility went beyond that alone.
Ark had not yet attained what he was seeking.
Among the nobility, there were those like Marquis Sandline who insisted that Ark was the strongest Hunter in the Imperial Capital—far from a few.
There was undoubtedly some favoritism involved, but it was by no means inaccurate.
Even a Hunter would lose their strength with age. Even the strongest Hunter could not remain the strongest forever. Ark, still in his mid-twenties, had tremendous potential.
Among Hunters, the title of strongest was—contested by two.
Marquis Sandline spoke with a stern expression, naming the one whose fame had spread like wildfire in recent years.
"'Thousand Transformations,' was it?"
"..."
"Mourning Specter. I've heard the name well. Both their heroic reputation and their infamy. To think that the day would come when a Hunter threatening the Rodan name would appear—"
It had come completely out of nowhere. There had been no rival.
Every Hunter who came to the Imperial Capital had earned fame in their own right. Yet among them all, Ark had stood out.
Of course, in terms of sheer strength alone, there were a few who surpassed Ark. But those were people he could eventually catch up to.
Until now, Ark had only looked upward. That had been enough.
Who could have imagined that someone who could rival Ark Rodan—the bearer of the strongest bloodline, raised in the finest environment with the greatest effort—would appear among his own generation?
Marquis Sandline had said "threatening the Rodan name." That was incorrect.
There was no such word as "threaten" in the Rodan dictionary.
If an equal talent emerged, he would face them head-on, openly and honestly, with everything he had. If anything, that was preferable to running alone forever.
And so Ark recalled that young man's face and spoke with an expression as though he were crushing a bitter bug.
"However, Your Excellency. He is... 'Thousand Transformations' is utterly and completely devoid of motivation."
"Oh my...!?"
The Marquis wore an indescribable expression at the rare, deflated tone of Ark's voice.
§ § § It was a ghastly sight to behold. He could not even bring himself to care about the hard surface of the Stone Golem he was using as a chair.
Citry pressed her fingers to the throat of the female Mage who had collapsed without so much as a twitch, sighed, and cast a troubled glance toward him.
A sour stench that could curl one's nose hair.
The lounge was in ruins. At every table, Mages lay sprawled as if dead drunk despite not a drop of alcohol having been consumed, while Stone Golems cleaned up vomit with rags.
He knew Citry well. She was intelligent, earnest, and above all, cautious.
And just as she had predicted at the outset, the eight Mages had been unable to fully charge his Treasure Weapons.
Citry's training was far harsher than any words could convey.
These Mages, who had spent long years as Hunters, had likely never experienced Mana Depletion so consecutively in such a short span. And Citry's specially brewed potions had sapped whatever remaining willpower they had.
"...Hmm. I'm in a bit of a bind. It seems they don't even have the energy to charge any more mana. Ah, of course, they're alive, just as I promised. They have pulses. Their consciousness simply won't come back no matter what."
"Mm-hmm... yeah."
"Mana recovery is proceeding normally. These are potions that have been tested many times over in our own party, so there's no cause for concern. Their maximum mana capacity has also increased considerably. It's just that their consciousness won't—"
"Hey, hey, are you alright!? Stay with me!!"
A male Hunter who had been holding his breath, watching the trial unfold with horror, shoved past the shrugging Citry and shook his unresponsive companion's shoulders violently.
The scene looked as though he could not believe a comrade had died during a Treasure Hall expedition and was clinging to the corpse.
His heart ached. He felt like throwing up.
"It appears they can't charge Treasure Weapons without being conscious. Their training was insufficient. I'm sorry, but this is as far as we go."
Citry said this without so much as a change in expression, even surveying the carnage.
Of the prepared Mana Recovery Potions, only a single bottle had been consumed. In fact, it was impressive that eight people had managed to use only one.
The charging of the Treasure Weapons was nowhere near complete. The Barrier Ring had not even been charged to halfway.
The reason for this was that, aside from Fubyl, only two of the Mages had possessed enough mana to charge the Barrier Ring in the first place.
The other five had been put to work charging other Treasure Weapons, so it hadn't been entirely wasted. But looking at this situation, it was clear he should have secured a backup charging method in advance for when Lucia was away for extended periods.
"? Did something happen? I'm not... lying, you know."
A brown-haired Hunter lifted the frothing comrade into his arms and glared at Citry. She blinked several times at the look, then tilted her head in puzzlement.
Citry meant no harm. She certainly had no intention of burning out the Mages. She had always been that kind of person.
"I'm truly sorry. I never expected things to turn out like this... but everyone agreed to it voluntarily, and their mana has increased considerably, so I'm declaring this a 'success.'"
Her voice was gentle, yet it carried an unyielding firmness that left no room for rebuttal.
Citry looked around at the other members, who were shooting her murderous glares, and wore an apologetic expression.
After all, this training (or what passed for it) could not have been carried out without the participants' consent.
When Fubyl had collapsed, the other Mages had been on the verge of backing out.
It was Citry who had gone to each one individually, telling them it was for their growth, for the party's sake, that the hard part was only now, that they wouldn't die—and she had cajoled them into it with every persuasion at her disposal.
But in the end, it was each individual who had steeled their resolve.
Well, being spoken to like that in front of everyone, being told it was for the sake of their comrades, would make it hard to refuse in that social position—but he would set that aside.
A Hunter's actions were their own responsibility. No one who witnessed Citry's conduct would speak ill of her, no matter what they thought privately.
And if the individual had declared they were doing it for the party, outsiders had no right to stop them.
In the end, it was a sad truth, but there was a reason why Citry continued to be called the "Worst of the Worst" no matter how much time passed.
"H-how could you be so cruel...! And for that matter, are those potions really just Mana Recovery Potions!? I've never heard of mana fully recovering from just a few drops!"
The trembling voice of the protesting member caused Citry to lower the corners of her eyes, looking hurt.
That expression, which triggered an almost paternal urge to protect her—a look completely at odds with that of a perpetrator—threw the member, who moments ago had been staring at her as though she were his parents' murderer, into visible turmoil.
Her delicate frame, invisible to a Hunter's eye, and that quivering voice—even for him, who had known her for so long, it made him feel a pang of guilt.
"How awful... To doubt my potions. I simply used slightly rarer ingredients and adjusted the dilution ratio, but they are perfectly legitimate Mana Recovery Potions. They're extremely expensive, but... you're welcome to have them examined in a lab."
A Wood Golem retrieved a single potion from a wooden crate. Citry gave the bottle—smaller than what Hunters typically carried—a light shake and placed it before the group.
The dark, almost black liquid was so blatantly obvious in appearance that it反而 looked less like a poison.
"To be frank about why your mana fully recovered... it's because all of your mana reserves were quite low. With Lucia, a single bottle wouldn't be enough to recover. Well, I suppose Mana Recovery Potions that are lower-grade do taste better, so next time I'll prepare something a bit more palatable. If there is a next time, that is."
As the Mages—still unconscious—were each taken in by their respective parties, Citry narrowed her eyes.
Perhaps... it was merely a hunch, but perhaps she was disappointed that these Mages showed no sign of recovery even after being given time.
"You could grow so much stronger so easily, yet you couldn't even endure it four times..."
There was no trace of her usual gentleness in Citry's voice.
Certainly, the method sounded simple when described.
But for Hunters who fought Phantoms on the front lines to completely lose consciousness was no small matter. And it had been all eight of them. The pain must have been beyond imagination.
Looking at those victims of the mana charging, more than pity, what welled up first was frustration.
Lucia had shown the earliest hints of her magical talent. Among the six founding members of their party, the Mourning Specter, she was probably the most gifted.
That was why—completely unintentionally—looking at this current disaster, he realized that Lucia too had perhaps struggled a great deal in ways he could not see.
When he had first arrived in the Imperial Capital, the only Treasure Weapon he had owned was a single, trivial item that barely boosted stamina—requiring only a minuscule amount of mana.
His Treasure Weapons had been Lucia's responsibility from the very beginning to the present day. Despite his collection growing ever larger, Lucia had never once complained about it. Not once.
Remembering Lucia's curt tone, a cold sweat broke out on his brow.
She had seemed so cold lately. He had chalked it up to a late rebellious phase, but perhaps this was the reason.
The rate of growth in his Treasure Weapon collection recently had been far from normal. Now that he no longer participated in Treasure Hall expeditions, all he did was hunt for Treasure Weapons and browse sweet shops—so it stood to reason.
"...Could I have... done something wrong to Lucia?"
"Klye. Lucia is not so weak that she would buckle under a trial."
Citry turned around and answered immediately with a smile. She didn't even remember having assigned the trials, apparently.
He decided that when Lucia returned, he would find a way to smooth things over and apologize.
Nobody said a word. Perhaps they felt they had no right to protest at this point, or perhaps it was because Citry was his closest friend.
But even without speaking, their feelings were clear from those stern looks.
The one who should have been blamed was him—the one who had come asking for his Treasure Weapons to be charged. He had pushed the short straw onto Citry.
One of the members—who had been watching over the unconscious Fubyl—opened his mouth to speak.
Citry cut him off, her voice tinged with exasperation.
"What's with those scary faces... Improvement is a Hunter's bread and butter, isn't it? Lucia undertook the same trial on her own and didn't utter a single complaint. In fact, you should be thanking Klye—for showing you your own weakness."
Arrogant words. He wished she would not add fuel to the fire.
At the sheer audacity of her statement, the assembled members were struck speechless. Citry smiled sheepishly at their stunned expressions, raising her index finger to her lips.
"It's not about talent. The fact that Lucia's Level and Klye's Level are just slightly higher than yours is because the trials we've overcome—the sweat, the blood, the tears we've shed—are just a little more than yours. Surely you don't intend to complain about a trial that a Hunter far younger than any of you has already surpassed?"
...She was as eloquent as ever. The countless stares directed at her and the intense emotions behind them—she was completely unmoved by all of it.
More than exasperation, admiration came first. Even Tinno was wide-eyed, hanging on her every word.
At the weight of her words, the Hunter who had been about to speak moments ago fell silent. After being told as much as that, there was no rebuttal to be had.
The irony was that he—the highest-Level Hunter in this clan—had shed not a single drop of sweat, blood, or tears.
But no one outside the Mourning Specter knew that.
A Stone Golem hugged the wooden crate, gathered the cleaning supplies, and carried them out of the lounge.
Citry took his arm, and together they looked back at the members, whose expressions were now a mixture of solemnity and something harder.
"Oh. I don't think this will happen, but if there are any issues after they regain consciousness, please let me know. I will honor my promise. I will deal with it in good faith and with full effort."