That night, I'd wandered out into the hallway, sat down in a chair, and fallen asleep—only to wake up in an unfamiliar room, face-to-face with my ancestors.
How had I ended up in this situation? I couldn't even begin to understand.
"Well, anyway..."
In the center of the room stood a large, round table, and we were all seated around it. The chairs were enormous—their backs rose high above my head. They suited the upscale décor of the room, but the whole thing felt unreal. Blue, round orbs were embedded as decorations throughout every surface.
At the center of the table sat a single glowing blue orb.
"You're the one who raised him wrong!"
"That's not me! For starters, the Walt family line follows the male heirs, and Lyle was already officially designated as the successor! This is absolutely not my fault! If I'd been there, I would've knocked my own son senseless!"
A man dressed in barbarian-style garb and my grandfather were arguing and grappling with each other. At first glance, the barbarian-styled man seemed to have the upper hand, but everyone else's reaction was lukewarm at best. Leaving the two of them alone, the conversation returned to me.
A man dressed like a hunter asked me to repeat my earlier explanation.
"Let's leave those two bickering and carry on, shall we? So—Lyle was supposed to become the Ninth Generation head, but he lost to his younger sister and was stripped of his succession rights and kicked out of the house. That alone is already a pretty big problem, but let's let it slide for now."
Just as the discussion was about to move on, the barbarian-styled man—the First Generation, Basil Walt, who had led the pioneer expedition as the founder of the provincial noble House Walt—cut in.
"That's not acceptable! The next in line loses to a younger girl? What a joke!"
"You barbarian! What right do you have to talk about my grandson like that!"
My grandfather punched the First Generation away, but the atmosphere around the room remained cold.
Without missing a beat, the hunter-like man—the Second Generation, Crassel Walt—brushed the matter aside.
"That's not the issue here. Both of you, sit down. ...Well, normally, our stance would be to never let a woman inherit the headship. At least—I'm competent enough that I wouldn't hand the position to a woman, and I never taught anyone to do so, either."
The Third Generation, seated beside him—Slei Wolt—agreed with the Second Generation's opinion. He wore the kind of clothes a minor noble might sport and carried a somewhat frivolous air.
"That's right. I became head myself, and my son Marks had a daughter but was still the head, after all."
Slei, the Third Generation, was the first member of the Walt family to die in battle. Yet the reputation I'd heard about him was that of a loyal general who'd successfully held the rear guard during the king's retreat. They said he'd held off an army of ten thousand single-handedly.
But the person before me gave off none of those impressions whatsoever.
"You died before you could even take over, didn't you! Do you have any idea how much I suffered because of that!"
This one was also dressed in noble attire. But like the Second Generation, he radiated a hardworking aura.
The Fourth Generation—Marks Walt—had been the head when House Walt was elevated to a barony.
And the Fifth Generation let out a sigh.
The Fifth Generation—Frederick Walt—was the greatest womanizer in the Walt family's history. On top of his wife, he apparently kept four concubines.
But contrary to that reputation, he didn't come across as frivolous at all.
"Haaah, everyone has their struggles. I had my fair share of troubles too, you know."
At that, the wild-looking Sixth Generation with red hair nodded. The Sixth Generation—Feinz Walt—was a man who'd resorted to dirty tactics to elevate House Walt to a county.
My father used to complain that the Sixth Generation's reputation was dragging the family name down.
"Indeed. But making a daughter the head because of a sword duel... Brode, you really didn't mess up his education, did you?"
The Seventh Generation—Brode Walt—was my grandfather.
"My son was exceptional even from a parent's perspective. Besides, as far as I can recall, Lyle was the designated heir, and Ceres was being raised purely as a daughter of House Walt..."
Here I was, with my ancestors sitting right before me, arguing amongst themselves in front of my face. Even that much was hard to wrap my head around.
The Second Generation listened to my story and reached a conclusion.
"Honestly speaking... that's impossible, isn't it?"
His blunt, casual tone drew agreement from everyone around him.
"Exactly."
"Right."
"That idiot son of mine... I'm gonna knock him out cold."
Then the conversation circled back to me. This time, it was the Fourth Generation—the one wearing glasses and radiating the same hardworking aura as the Second Generation—who addressed me.
"That's what I'm curious about. Even if Lyle lost, we don't know what his actual ability was. Was this girl Ceres really that gifted?"
When asked about Ceres, I looked down. I didn't want to think about it, but I supposed I had to explain.
(If I'm going to explain anyway, might as well get it over with here.)
So I explained everything about Ceres.
She was my younger sister by two years, and she could do anything. Not only that, but she'd mastered in a matter of hours what had taken me hundreds of hours to learn—
And most importantly—
"My sister is perfect. Academically, yes, but beyond that, her presence—how should I put it..."
"Her presence? And what do you mean 'perfect'? Having a woman as head of house is a significant disadvantage! Was there something to offset that?"
The First Generation, sitting cross-legged atop the table in his barbarian garb, latched onto my words.
"...Everyone was drawn to her. Our parents paid attention to me at first, too. But around the time she turned ten, something shifted in her presence—and after that, the atmosphere in the mansion gradually began revolving around Ceres."
Once I'd said that much, the First Generation fell silent, lost in thought.
Then the Fourth Generation took charge of the conversation.
"So in other words, everyone acknowledged that she had more talent than Lyle? How about it, Seventh Generation Brode?"
My grandfather tilted his head.
"Well, she was my granddaughter, so of course I doted on her, but if you're asking whether it went that far... No, I'm afraid that's simply impossible."
My grandfather denied it. I agreed with him. When grandfather had been alive, the atmosphere inside the mansion had been perfectly normal.
I'd never had any particular falling-out with my sister, either.
Then the Fifth Generation spoke up.
"Her demeanor started changing around seven or eight, you say? Then it's possible a Skill manifested. It wouldn't be unusual for one to appear at that age."
But the Third Generation disagreed.
"I'm not so sure. Even when a Skill manifests, the person often doesn't notice. And even after that, the earliest they can actually use it is around ten years old. That would make the timeline pretty tight. Lyle himself has a manifested Skill but doesn't even realize it yet."
Skills—they were one of the blessings bestowed upon the people of this world by the gods, separate from magic.
The principle was one Skill per person, and humans had honed those Skills and fought with them throughout history.
That said, it was possible to replicate them through technology. After all, the orb I'd received had been used by successive heads to store their Skills—
(Wait a second. I first heard that voice when I was staying at Zell's cabin, didn't I? And it started coming through clearly... from the moment I received the orb.)
When I looked up from my thoughts, the Third Generation remarked as if I'd finally caught on. He then told me that a Skill had manifested within me.
"It hasn't fully taken shape yet, but the orb reacted and saved your Skill. That's why we—the ones recorded in the orb—were able to respond."
Surprised by the Third Generation's unexpected knowledgeability, I asked him to clarify.
"Um, what exactly is my Skill?"
"I'm not sure about that. But the blue orbs manifest Support-type Skills, so yours is probably a Support-type."
Skills were broadly divided into three categories.
The Frontline-type, which focused on close combat. These were said to be manifested by red orbs.
Yellow orbs gave rise to what were called Rearguard-type Skills.
Blue orbs were Support-type.
These three categories of Skills had once been partly predetermined by the color of the orb.
House Walt had historically manifested Support-type Skills because they'd possessed a blue orb.
"...So does that mean mine is a Support-type too?"
"You don't seem too happy about it. But back in my day, Support-type Skills were quite popular."
The Third Generation saw my disgruntled expression and commented.
In the current era, Rearguard-type Skills were favored, as people prized high firepower.
But—
"In my day, it was Frontline and Support that were in vogue. Rearguard-type Skills were the ones nobody wanted."
When Grandfather said that, the Second Generation tilted his head in puzzlement.
"In my time, it was Support that nobody wanted. Does it change with the era?"
At that, the Fourth Generation steered the conversation back on track.
"In any case, the possibility that Ceres manifested some Skill and that caused House Walt to make the wrong call is extremely low. Which means Lyle truly didn't have the qualities to be head."
At those words, I had nothing to say. I'd tried my best, but giving it your all doesn't mean you're suited to lead.
If they said I lacked the talent to head House Walt as a county, then so be it.
But—
"Still, it doesn't add up. Looking at how he talks, he's not that terrible. He already has dependable retainers around him, and even if Lyle is lacking, a boy would normally still be chosen as head over a girl. Even if a girl named Ceres was brimming with talent, making her head would come with far too many downsides."
The Fifth Generation calmly explained that making a girl the head was disadvantageous. In truth, there were some houses with female heads.
But the main reasons were proxy leadership or family customs. It wasn't unheard of for a matriarchal house to appoint a male head, but the reverse was almost unheard of.
After all, when war broke out, the head might have to take the field.
There were very few houses willing to put a woman in that position. Not zero, but certainly a minority.
"Brode, what about the retainers? Are there any who might have propped up Ceres as a figurehead to seize control?"
At the Sixth Generation's question, Grandfather considered.
"I can't say there are none, but the retainers are of a different social class. Marriage to seize the house would be a stretch. The most prestigious among them is House Foxes, a baronial house, but they've never pulled anything like that..."
Then the Second Generation reacted.
"Huh? House Foxes are retainers? Huh?! Whaaaat?!"
And the First Generation, who'd been lost in thought, shot to his feet in a panic.
"Foxes—you mean THAT House Foxes!? The ones from the neighboring territory!? That's the old man's family!"
"The old man"? I had no idea what he was talking about.
House Foxes had always been retainers of House Walt, holding the position of sub-vassals. They held a baronetcy but were essentially given lands within the Walt family's own territory.
The Fourth Generation was also flustered.
But the Fifth Generation—
"What about it? They were granted surrounding lands when the family was elevated in rank. House Foxes had been reluctant to relocate, so our family gave them territory in a way that made them retainers. It was the natural course of events."
But the Second Generation exploded.
"Don't you joke around! You have no idea how much those brothers helped us! If it weren't for House Foxes being in the neighboring territory, we wouldn't even be here right now!"
The Second Generation emphatically stressed just how much they'd been helped, and the Fourth Generation, shocked, turned to the Fifth Generation.
"What do you mean? I told you, didn't I? They helped us tremendously, so we should value the relationship!"
To this, the Fifth Generation answered flatly.
"Yes, so I told Feinz to handle the elevation procedures as well. You did, didn't you?"
When the Fifth Generation checked with the Sixth Generation, the Sixth Generation nodded.
"Well, yes, I did."
Listening to this exchange, I thought to myself:
(This is getting incredibly complicated. And... my hearing is starting to fade...)
Then a voice spoke—one from someone who wasn't in this room.
"Master Lyle?"
"Master Lyle, it's over now."
"Huh... yeah."
When I came to, I realized I'd been sleeping in a rattling chair. I must have been exhausted—I'd been completely out.
Novem stood there, her hair freshly washed and dried.
"You must have been tired. I've washed your undergarments in hot water and hung them to dry. They should be dry by tomorrow."
"Ah, sorry about that."
When I stood up, my legs wobbled. Novem supported me and led me back to my room.
(Was everything just a dream?)
As I was thinking that, I heard the First Generation's voice.
"Wait a moment... what's that girl's last name? Something about her felt... somehow familiar."
Then my grandfather's voice came through.
"She's grown quite a bit—she's the second daughter of House Foxes. I never imagined she'd become Lyle's fiancée. After all, their social standings are worlds apart."
"Whaaaaaaat?!"
The First Generation let out a scream. It was incredibly loud, but it didn't seem to reach Novem's ears.
"...It wasn't a dream."
When I muttered that, Novem tilted her head.
"What's wrong, Master Lyle?"
But more than anything, I was exhausted—even more so than before. Walking felt like a chore. I hadn't realized just how worn out I was.
After Novem led me to my bed, I lay down and fell asleep immediately. The last thing I heard was Novem's gentle voice.
When I lay down, she draped a blanket over me.
"Goodnight, Master Lyle."