Having realized just how much I'd grown, and having been seen in my weakened state by Novem and Aria... and by my ancestors, I made my way to the meeting room inside the Jewel, just as I had promised the First Generation.
Unlike usual, the First Generation was standing in front of his own room.
And today, the Second Generation was sitting in a chair.
"This is unusual, Second Generation."
When I said that, the Second Generation gave a short reply.
"Yeah."
The First Generation was smiling.
Had the two of them been arguing again like always?
Wondering what had happened, I asked.
"Fighting again? What was it this time?"
The First Generation shook his head.
"We don't always fight, you know. We were just reminiscing about the old days and saying what needed to be said. Now then, let's go, Laiel. Oh, right."
The First Generation moved to open the door to his room, but called back to the Second Generation at the last moment.
"Take care of things from here on—"
"Klassel."
The Second Generation simply gave a lazy wave of his right hand. Finding this sort of exchange unusual, I thought to myself.
(They're always at each other's throats, yet that was a rare sight.)
As I pondered this, I stepped through the door alongside the First Generation, and an old cityscape spread out before us.
The cobblestones were crumbling in places.
The architecture looked outdated in every way. The Vice territory of House Walt seemed far more developed by comparison.
Even the people here walked about, going about their daily lives.
But then—
"Don't touch them?"
I tried to dodge someone heading straight toward me, and my shoulder passed through the wall.
But there was no sensation.
'This is, well, my memories—or rather, inside my recollections. There's a limit to what you can touch, and it's pointless no matter how much you talk to these people. Come on, let's just get moving.'
I followed the First Generation down the main street, which had a cluttered, bustling feel to it.
There was no doubt this was a place I had never seen before.
(Is this his old family home? No, that can't be right—since the First Generation said it's his memory, the scale is off. It feels busy and crowded, but it seems to be the size of a town or a small city?)
Given the scale of their territory, the family home during the First Generation's era shouldn't have developed this much.
Walking behind the First Generation, we gradually left the main street and entered a narrow alley.
There, buildings ranging from four to five stories tall lined up so closely they seemed to squeeze the sky out of sight, and the passages between them were tight.
There was no smell, but the streets were filthy.
"Where is this place?"
'Hm? Central, in the Royal Capital. About two hundred years ago, I'd guess?'
Hearing that, I was stunned.
"Two hundred years ago?!"
'Don't be so surprised. I was born around the fiftieth year of the Kingdom's calendar. It's been about three hundred years now, hasn't it? That kind of gap isn't exactly unusual.'
"Th-that's true, I suppose."
I'd never been to Central before, but as I walked along, I found myself wondering if this was what it was like.
Before long, we passed through the street and came upon a district where standalone houses lined up side by side.
"What's this place?"
'My family home. That way was just a shortcut, so I cut through.'
At those words, I—
(House Walt, the ones serving as robed nobles in the Royal Capital... I'd heard they had absolutely no connection to us anymore)
I'd been told they'd gone independent and cut all ties.
Of course, even if they were robed nobles, the Walt family was still just a count's house from the countryside—they couldn't exactly put on airs of kinship.
After all, House Walt held the rank of Knight Baron in the Royal Capital.
Even among nobility, they were at the very bottom, holding no official positions.
"What are we doing here? Or rather, is there something you want to show me?"
When I said that, the First Generation simply nodded in silence.
I followed his gaze.
There, I saw a young man peering at a red-haired woman—Aria—from a short distance away, carrying a large bundle.
He looked to be in his late teens.
'...That's me.'
"What?! No way!"
I think my surprise was entirely justified. After all, the First Generation in his younger days looked like a fine young man. His hair was neatly kept, and he had no beard.
He didn't have the wild tribal style that was the First Generation's trademark, either.
'It's not a lie! Every time I spotted Lady Alice looking like that, I made up my mind that someday I'd rise above being the third son of a Knight Baron's house and come to claim her hand!'
Apparently, he had a surprisingly pure side to him.
And so, the scene shifts.
There, the young First Generation was looking at a recruitment flyer for a pioneer corps pasted on a wall.
Then, the young First Generation shouts.
'This is it! If I do this, I can make something of myself and go claim Lady Alice's hand!'
The young First Generation dashes off, beaming with joy.
'That was when it happened. I bought the blue Jewel that was on clearance. The other ones were expensive, but this one had no popularity, so it was dirt cheap. Actually, back in my day, there were no Mana Tools to speak of, and when it came to Skills, buying a Jewel was pretty much all you could do. I found out later that it's useless if you don't store Skills in them, though.'
The reason he bought the Jewel was that it was unpopular and cheap—
As always, it was an absurd reason.
'Well, it's better than nothing, right? But honestly, I really wanted a red one.'
The young First Generation picks up the cheaply priced blue Jewel, his gaze lingering on the red and yellow ones whose prices were far beyond his reach.
The First Generation seems to regard that version of himself with bitter resentment.
'Maybe that was where I went wrong. Then again, I never had a choice. A robed noble with no position in a Knight Baron's house — I was nothing but a money-eating parasite living off a pension. I hated that family of mine, and I told myself that one day I'd strike out on my own and make something of myself. ...That's what I believed, anyway.'
When the scene shifts once more, several years seem to have passed.
In a tavern in Central, the young First Generation — now wilder than before — sits drinking while weeping.
"...What happened?"
'...I'd come back to Central temporarily. The village was starting to take shape, so I was thinking of proposing to Lady Alice.'
The result, as I already know, must have been—
Lady Alice, Aria's ancestor, married into House Lockwood.
'By that point, I genuinely hated everything about my life.'
"I have a feeling about that."
The young First Generation, drinking alcohol before her eyes, kept ordering more through his tears.
She heard him mutter that he'd used the betrothal money he'd brought as drink money, and she wanted to hold her head in her hands.
(You can't just do something like that out of the blue. You should bring it up first, lay some groundwork... or rather, the class difference is so massive you'd just get turned away at the gate.)
A love across class lines.
Without their fates intersecting by even a millimeter, the First Generation's first love came to an end.
And then the scene shifted entirely, opening onto a peaceful landscape. It was peaceful, but a fierce battle was being waged within it.
The young First Generation, dressed in barbarian style, was trading blows with similarly fur-clad barbarians.
"...What is this?"
"Hm? Oh, that's, uh, that thing. The territory of those who wouldn't bow to the kingdom overlapped with my domain. When that happens, you have to decide whose it is, right?"
"Well, even if you say it's normal to settle it with a fistfight like that... Ah, you won."
The young First Generation won the brawl, and when he let out a triumphant roar, the surrounding barbarians dropped to their knees.
The man he'd been fighting also knelt before the First Generation.
"Those were the days. Back then, I was sick of thinking — I was just doing my job."
Time moved on, and the First Generation, now a little older than before, was drinking and feasting outside.
He shouted there.
"The woman I take as my bride will be beautiful, healthy, and tough! And smart with nice skin! Nothing else interests me! This is the Walt family creed!"
In the heat of drink, he'd blurted out something outrageous.
The First Generation looked at his own image and let out a sigh.
"At this point, I was... I didn't want to get married anymore. I couldn't imagine there being a woman better than Lady Alice."
"You're really terrible, you know that? This is what made things so tough for the Successive Heads, isn't it?"
"...Do you think I meant what I said at a drinking party?"
That's what he said, but the villagers who had heard him at the feast seemed to take the remark seriously.
Whose daughter wouldn't meet the criteria?
My daughter is not very bright.
My sister isn't exactly sturdy.
They were seriously discussing things like that.
Among them, there was one man who looked reasonably put together. He was older than the First Generation, with his hand on his forehead and a troubled expression.
His clothes were finer than the other villagers', and he carried himself with a certain gravitas.
"Ah, this guy is the 'old man.' He has a fief nearby and taught me all sorts of things. In the end, he's the one who relied on the tradition and brought his wife along."
Speaking of the "old man," he was probably the head of House Foxes in this era.
Seeing this seemingly competent old man suffering because of the First Generation made me feel apologetic.
"So House Foxes has been helping since back then. House Walt must have been indebted to them quite a bit."
"He was a good man."
Despite my sarcastic remark, it was brushed aside, and I let out a sigh.
Then, as the scene changed, a slightly expanded village was engulfed in flames.
In the memory, the First Generation held a greatsword, facing the monster before him... a dragon subspecies with grey skin, powerful jaws, and large forelimbs.
The greatsword in his hand was at least as long as a person.
"That sword..."
I immediately recognized its resemblance to the sword that appeared when I gripped the Jewel.
"A huge Monster came to the village, y'know. Even gathering up all the men, it didn't look like we could handle it. So I stepped up."
The First Generation, wielding a greatsword, shouted the name of his Skill and charged straight into the fight against the Monster.
He swung the greatsword with brute force, slashing through and sending flying a beast more than twice his size.
That figure truly was the image of a lone hero.
"Full Burst... It's my trump card. Doubles or even quintuples your abilities."
"Wait, that much? It didn't go that far for me, I think? But boosting your abilities that much—there's no backlash or anything?"
"Huh? How should I know! Ignore the drawbacks. Ignore them!"
At that quintessentially First Generation opinion, I gave a wry smile.
"You stockpile mana day to day, and when you use it, all that stored energy becomes the trigger for the explosion. The more you've stockpiled, the more it boosts your abilities. For me, a month or so gets me two to three times over, but for you it'd probably be even faster."
The amount of mana the First Generation possessed and what I had were vastly different.
From the Fifth Generation onward, who had woven mage blood into that lineage, they became nobles who could truly wield magic.
As I watched, the First Generation severed the head of a dragon variant and claimed victory.
A child came running toward the triumphant First Generation.
—That was probably the Second Generation.
"...Maybe this was the moment. When this kid said 'Dad, you're awesome,' something changed in me. Until then, I'd never done a single thing that deserved to be called fatherly. Never been able to give my wife an easy life, either. So I decided I wanted to leave something behind for these kids."
The Second Generation as a child was a boy who idolized his father the warrior.
And once again, time moves forward.
The village had expanded even further, but my impression was—
"This is... This has to be some kind of joke."
"..."
The First Generation was silent.
The grown Second Generation was shouting at the memory of the First Generation working in the fields.
"Enough already! Expanding the fields like this, recklessly... it's causing fights among the villagers! Think a little!"
And then, as time shifted again from that scene, we were inside a mansion.
The mansion the First Generation lived in was far more modest than House Walt's current one, to the point of comparison being ridiculous.
As the First Generation picked up a hoe and headed outside, the Second Generation passed by him silently.
Neither looked at the other.
"...I was wrong, I guess. I wanted to leave something, anything, behind... but in the end, all that remained were problems with the territory."
The First Generation had suppressed the villagers' disputes over the haphazardly expanded fields with his own charisma and strength.
The one who worked harder than anyone was the lord, the First Generation—Basil Walt, the hero who had saved the village. No one dared to oppose him.
But those grievances seemed to be directed at the Second Generation.
"He wanted everyone to have a little more to eat, you know. So he cleared the forest and expanded the fields... and by the time I realized, all that was left were problems. No one complains to me. But that complaining... it all got directed at that guy, the Second Generation."
"First Generation..."
"Back in the day, he'd ignore it until the very end. But when he came here and started complaining to me like that... honestly, it made me happy. The only time we'd had a parent-child fight like that was when the Second Generation was still a brat."
The usual bickering between the First and Second Generation seemed, for the two of them, to have been better than what came before.
Both the First and Second Generations were simply inept at expressing themselves.
Then, the scene shifted back to the First Generation fighting the dragon variant.
"My era was a time when we were just recovering from the chaos, about to see life get better. Many villages had been crushed by the war, but we pushed ahead with development. But food was scarce, and it wasn't unusual to struggle even to eat."
I'd heard it was a harsh time.
My father, when he was still kind, had told me how House Walt had also gone through hard times in the pioneer village.
They also say that the First Generation, who led such a village, was truly great.
Regardless of the reason, he truly was a great person.
"Lyle, have you ever struggled to put food on the table?"
To be honest, no.
Even during the time I was kept at arm's length from my family, meals were still provided.
Even when I was cast out, Zell the gardener was there, and so was Novem—so I never went hungry.
(He's probably going to be angry about this.)
You could call it living in luxury, I suppose.
To the First Generation, who had known real hunger, seeing me—someone who never had to worry about starving even after being thrown out—probably wasn't a pleasant sight.
And yet, when I'd just mope around and whine like that, it was no wonder he wanted to yell at me.
"...No, I haven't. I've never gone hungry. I've experienced an empty stomach, but even then, I was still able to eat."
I braced myself for a reprimand, but when the First Generation turned around, he was smiling.
"Is that so? Then that's good. It means my descendant isn't going to struggle for food. Which means everything I've done wasn't in vain after all! That's the best thing I've heard in a long time!"
With a grin on his face, the First Generation said that and then thrust a great sword toward me—produced from who knows where.
It was that same gleaming silver blade from before—
The great sword that had cut down a red Orc in a single strike.
"I'll teach you my last Skill. Things were hectic when I had you use it before, so I need to do this properly. The Skill is called Full Burst. It releases all the mana you've been stockpiling at once, dramatically boosting your abilities. Now—fight that thing in front of you."
The First Generation pointed at the dragon-type monster.
It couldn't fly and only vaguely resembled a dragon, but a dragon was still a dragon.
It was a dangerous opponent.
"Huh? But I'm not storing up any mana."
When I said that, the First Generation placed his hand on my head. He ruffled it roughly, and then power overflowed from within.
"I was able to do it too. You'll be even better at it... Now go!"
So saying, the First Generation slapped my back with his palm.
Stumbling forward, the dragon in the memory — which had been standing still until moments ago — began to move. At some point, the First Generation within the memory had vanished.
"Seriously, it's always so sudden! At least think about the person being dragged around here!"
I dashed forward with the greatsword and swung it.
It was a greatsword that by all rights shouldn't have been swingable, but perhaps due to the effect of the skill, I swung it with ease.
(Being able to use a skill like this with no drawbacks — that's nothing short of unfair.)
As the dragon tried to crush me with its massive front leg, I stepped back and cast a spell.
"Fire Bullet!"
Fire bullets shot from my fingertips in rapid succession, each one incredibly powerful.
They exploded upon hitting the dragon, not only staggering its massive body but pushing it backward.
And then, I cast my second spell.
Part of it was to test its power. My abilities had been boosted by the skill — just how much destructive power could I produce?
"Lightning!"
Purple lightning struck the dragon, and the surroundings were instantly illuminated.
It was light from magic, but even I was surprised by the attack power exceeding what I was used to.
It was beyond my expectations.
"This... I'd better get used to handling it, or this could be bad."
The sheer destructive power was enough that I could have easily taken out my own allies. I broke into a cold sweat. Then I burst into a run and launched myself into the air.
The charred dragon swung its neck back and forth, searching for me.
But at that moment, I was right above its head—the very spot directly overhead.
I brought the greatsword down in a devastating slash, blowing the head clean off.
The finishing move was the same as the First Generation's.
Then, as the effect of the Skills wore off, the greatsword suddenly felt impossibly heavy and plunged into the ground. I gripped the hilt and leaned my weight against it.
"Guess it's... still too much for me."
As I said that, the First Generation walked over, looking at me with a grin.
*"As long as you can handle that much, there's no problem! You're my descendant, after all."*
I caught my breath, shifted my weight back off the blade, and hoisted the greatsword over my shoulder.
The First Generation raised his right hand.
Somehow I understood, and I raised my right hand in kind. I'd already set the greatsword in my left hand, driven into the ground.
Without a word, the First Generation and I slapped a powerful high five.
My hand went numb, but it felt great.
*"Laiel, you... have you decided on a goal?"*
Hearing those words, I recalled everything the First Generation and I had talked about up to now. When I didn't answer, he just smiled and murmured, "That's fine."
*"Decide what you want to do from here on out. You could strike out on your own somewhere. You could found a village and become a lord. You could make a name for yourself as an adventurer. Living quietly with Novem wouldn't be bad either. Personally, I'd want you to look after Aria too. And hey... you could even challenge Ceres."*
The moment he said I could challenge Ceres, it felt like someone had seized my chest in a vice.
Terror came flooding back.
The First Generation spoke in a tone that made it sound like he expected that of me.
"Then again, if there's someone who might actually be able to stop it, it could be you. Well, do as you please. Ask the others about what comes after."
"Huh?"
"My role is done. I've told you everything I needed to, and if it's you, I can trust you with what comes next. You're far more reliable than someone like me."
I couldn't understand what he was saying.
No — I just didn't want to accept it. That the First Generation would leave like this, right in front of me.
And so I reached out to stop him.
"Wait! I still need the First Generation's… Basil Walt's guidance! Help me out with your intuition, like you always do! The First Generation's instincts are incredibly reliable!"
My voice was on the verge of tears.
Even I didn't understand why I was about to cry.
"I don't have knowledge or technique anymore. Besides… the Second Generation's intuition was something else too. After all, he was my son. Oh, right — you're a descendant of his too, aren't you!"
He let out a hearty laugh, radiating the impression that he had absolutely nothing left to regret.
"In the end, we're nothing more than the memories left behind by Skills. The real person is dead. The Skill itself, sealed inside the Jewel… once everything has been passed on, this is what happens."
Once the knowledge was passed on, he would disappear. Vanish.
"You… already knew that?"
My voice was trembling.
The First Generation shook his head.
"No, not exactly. I just sort of sensed it. You can feel it too, can't you? The others seem to have an inkling as well. Ask them for the details."
I reached out my hand toward the First Generation, and he spoke.
"Your Skills are yours now. Use them however you like, Lail… and don't lose."
Don't lose to what?
I tried to hear what he said, but before a sound could leave my mouth, the entire scene around me shifted.
Back inside the Jewel, in the usual room, I was reaching out toward the spot where the First Generation's door had been until just moments ago.
The Second Generation, feet propped up on the table, called out to me.
"Don't cry. It's undignified."
"Huh?"
At his words, I touched my face. I was crying.
"I've passed it all on. My role here is finished."
"But—but you're still inside the Jewel, right? Then why does it have to be like this! If all you had to do was pass something on, a regular jewel would've worked! I don't understand why you'd go out of your way to appear, only to vanish!"
At my outburst, the Second Generation answered in his usual flat tone.
"…A jewel doesn't convey everything. If the recipient doesn't grasp all of a Skill, they can only ever use a fraction of it. We exist here to teach you Skills. To exist in this form. Did you know? Our memories end at the moment we last touched the Jewel. In other words, we only have memories up until we handed the Jewel to the next generation."
Hearing that, I was struck speechless.
The ancestors were here for the sole purpose of teaching me Skills. No—it would be more accurate to say the Skills took on the form of the ancestors.
"The fact that we could talk to you without any issues was strange in itself. The language we used is at least two hundred years old. You even said old books are hard to read, and yet we're having a perfectly normal conversation. Why do you think that is?"
I gave my answer to the Second Generation's question.
Because otherwise, it would have meant nothing.
The ancestors were adapting their words to match mine, all to convey the Skills to me. Different eras brought subtly different ways of speaking.
That much was obvious to anyone who looked at old books—the phrasing, the slang that once trended… language shifts over time, and yet here we were, conversing without a problem.
That was because the Jewel had something it wanted to tell me.
—Because that was the Jewel's role.
"You figured it out, didn't you? That's right. We exist solely to pass our Skills on to you. How to use them, and the most effective methods to do so—everything."
I realized the greatsword I had been gripping was no longer in my hands.
And the greatsword was floating where the First Generation had been sitting until just now.
The throne was gone, and so was the door... it hovered above the table, right where the First Generation had once been.
The silver greatsword had a blue Jewel embedded in its guard.
That greatsword was the proof that the First Generation had acknowledged me.
"Why... then why did you have to... If you were just passing something on, that would have been enough! Why did you have to get involved like this, only to end up with such sadness!"
At first, I hated it.
I even thought it was just nagging, nothing but a bother.
But... he taught me so many things.
He acknowledged me.
And yet――.
As I crumpled to the ground, the Second Generation spoke.
'We wanted to do that too, you know. But... he didn't just record our memories; he recorded our hearts. We can't just ignore that, can we? Besides, we were entrusted with you by the First Generation... by Basil Walt.'
He said we couldn't be left alone. I didn't know how to answer.
I felt pathetic.
Until the very end, I couldn't even tell the First Generation my goal. I parted ways with him, still feeling wretched.
"...Will I ever see you again?"
'...If your next wielder exists, it might be possible. Next time, you'll be on our side. But I don't know if we'll remember our current memories. There's little benefit to remembering, after all. All you need to do is teach them how to use it and the names of the Skills.'
In the end, I would never meet the First Generation again.
What was recorded in the Jewel was me through my Skills, but it wasn't the real me.
The Second Generation spoke.
"Being able to meet like this in the first place is a miracle. Our family inherited the blue Jewel, and you took up the mantle. Laiel, don't be sad... if anything, take pride in it. That man... my father acknowledged you. Hold your head high."
Hearing those words, I woke up in the real world.
"Lord Laiel, are you all right?"
"...Novem?"
I had been lying in bed, and Novem was leaning over me with a worried expression on her face.
We were supposed to be sleeping in separate rooms, yet Novem was here in my room.
"You seemed to be having a nightmare. No, well... it looked like you were crying, so I came to check on you."
I wiped my face and dried my tears.
Forcing a smile, I gave Novem a gentle grin.
"I'm fine. I had a sad dream, but I feel better now."
"A sad dream?"
Novem tilted her head and held out a towel she had dampened with water for me. I took it, wiped my face, and told myself.
(If I keep crying forever, the First Generation really will scold me. I've already been acknowledged by Basil Walt... by the progenitor of House Walt, a provincial noble family.)
Looking back on it now, he did have that barbarian style and could be overbearing at times.
But there was no doubt he was a dependable person.
And ironically, while he was the one who disliked me the most, he was also the first person to truly acknowledge me.
(I really was acknowledged by that man, wasn't I?)
"Shall I prepare something warm to drink?"
Novem still looked worried, so I decided to nod.
"Yeah. Let's have something to drink together."
"Yes."
As Novem moved to prepare, I called out to her.
"Novem... thank you."
She looked a little puzzled at first, but then gave me a warm smile and nodded.
"What's the occasion today, Lord Lyle?"
"No reason. I just felt like saying it. No deep meaning."
Getting out of bed, I headed to the kitchen with Novem.