After defeating the elite of the Zayin Holy Knights, we set about building graves for them.
It was Selma who suggested we couldn't just leave them as they were. After all, they were Zayin knights — people from the same country.
When the Sixth Generation heard that, they said:
"Whatever the reason, leaving them here means evidence remains. Let's burn them and bury them. Oh, and make sure to retrieve all their equipment."
Arms, supplies, horses — we gathered everything up and gave them a proper burial. So that any fellow Holy Knights who came to investigate afterward wouldn't gain any useful information. And at the same time, to win Selma's good impression.
After all, before we returned to Baim, I had to earn their trust. It would be unreliable against Ceres, but even so, I didn't have the luxury of being picky about my methods right now.
I needed Zayin's power.
After we buried them properly and the former saint Selma offered her prayers, she came to thank me.
"Having fought for your lives and cooperated to this extent, I'm grateful. I imagine you're not entirely satisfied, so I'd like to increase the payment."
She was being considerate of our feelings as well. But I shook my head.
"That's kind of you. But the original amount is fine. That's the contract, and please think of this as my personal service."
"I appreciate it. I've heard that many adventurers are rather rough, but it seems there are those who are quite admirable."
Standing beside Selma, Gastone — who had been watching with a worried expression — also bowed his head to me.
I answered with a smile and looked up at the sky.
We'd been attacked, and with all the cleanup afterward, it was beginning to get dark.
"We'll be camping here tonight. If we're quick, it should be about two more days to Baim? Let's rest now and prepare for tomorrow."
Inwardly, I was thinking:
(Close the distance in two days, earn their trust, then reveal the plan to reclaim Zayin and get them to back it with a noble cause... That's a pretty high bar.)
I wanted to grumble, but it was the suggestion of the Successive Heads. To gain power, there was no better plan, so I decided to go through with it.
But it didn't seem like something I was suited for.
(Hah... will this actually work?)
Watching Selma thank Gastone, I felt a pang in my chest.
Inside the Jewel.
The Sixth Generation's memory chamber.
When everyone else had fallen asleep, I was consulting with the Sixth Generation — while trading blows with a halberd in hand.
I swept the halberd sideways in a flash, but the Sixth Generation deflected it lightly and launched a rapid succession of thrusts at me.
"Oh? And so what? You feel bad about deceiving them?"
I dodged the thrusts, regained my footing, reset my stance, and steadied my breathing.
"Y-yes. Not so much deceiving as... feeling reluctant about using them."
The Sixth Generation slung the halberd over one shoulder, studied my face, and touched his chin with his left hand.
"Can't quite accept it? Well, I suppose that's only natural, emotionally speaking."
I released my stance as well, and the halberd I'd been gripping vanished from my right hand. The Sixth Generation drove his own halberd into the ground and sat down right there.
I sat down too.
"Lyle, your field of vision is narrow. Broaden your perspective."
"Field of vision? I'd appreciate it if you didn't make jokes about the Second Generation's Skill letting you perceive everything in all directions."
The Sixth Generation bared his teeth in a grin, then spoke to me.
"That's not the kind of vision I mean. Think about how your actions will ripple into the future. What the consequences of moving will be... and what happens if you do nothing at all."
The Sixth Generation gave me a brief explanation. Ceres wasn't the only reason. He was telling me why Zayin couldn't be left alone any longer.
"There are fundamental problems with the way it's governed, and the surrounding nations have been exploiting that. Zayin itself has exploited it too, no doubt — but if things continue as they are, ruin is all that awaits. It's been three hundred years since Centrus, the unified nation of the continent, collapsed... and high time that everyone stopped huddling in their little corners and bickering endlessly."
It was true what he said, but I still had my doubts about whether I was the right person to do this.
It felt like I was using Ceres as an excuse, and I hated that.
(Am I wrong about this? Is it okay to drag Zayin and Rolfis into this for my sake?)
When I said nothing, the Sixth Generation must have sensed the hesitation inside me. He rose to his feet and changed the scenery around us. This was inside the Sixth Generation's memory.
A place where the Sixth Generation could freely alter the surrounding landscape.
"Don't agonize over it. Then, let me show you one example."
The scene shifted to the urban center of the Bice fief, ruled by House Walt.
It was smaller than when I'd been driven from my family home, but the traces of it remained.
I stood up as well, and saw a young delinquent being punched out of a small tavern.
The one who'd been sent flying was the Sixth Generation in his younger days — his long red hair simply swept back, nothing more.
His eyes were sharper than they were now, and there was something thorny about him.
"Um, what is this?"
"...This is a memory from when I was a runaway."
And so, the young Sixth Generation — Feinz — staggered to his feet and roared his fury at the top of his lungs.
"Are you kidding me?! You want me to bow my head to that piece of trash? I'd rather die first!"
The man who emerged from the tavern was a towering brute — bald-headed with a magnificent jaw beard. His shirt strained against his muscles, and he looked formidable at first glance.
In truth, he'd clearly seen real combat; his arms and arms and face were covered in scars.
"...Kid, I don't care how much booze you drink on tab. You can raise hell all you want. You can even take a swing at me. But I won't tolerate you spouting off against that man — against Lord Fredericks."
Feinz, his collar seized by the massive man, glared back and spat on the ground.
I watched this scene unfold.
"……You were the tavern owner?"
The Sixth Generation scratched his head and nodded, looking a little embarrassed as he explained.
"That's right. He'd been drinking on a tab. I heard later that the Fifth Generation told one of his men to settle it for him. That's what they told me when I went to pay off the remaining tab."
The Sixth Generation spoke with a wistful look, watching the fight between the big man and Feinz. The big man sent Feinz flying with a punch, but Feinz had been trained too, so he hurled the big man right back.
Residents gathered around, and when they saw Feinz—
"That man's son, huh."
"When the parent's exceptional, the kid turning out worthless is the classic story."
"Is House Walt going to be all right?"
Looking at the reactions of the crowd, they seemed to favor the Fifth Generation. He was famously a womanizer, but it appeared the people of the territory had genuinely adored him.
When Feinz mounted the big man and started pounding him, the bystanders moved to intervene, and the scenery turned grey as time came to a halt.
The Sixth Generation spoke to me.
"To me, to my younger brother, to our sisters — he was the worst father. We resented his indifferent attitude, the way he showed neither affection nor interest. But the people of the territory loved him. Why do you think that is?"
I answered simply.
"Because a lord's family problems have nothing to do with governing the domain? Well, no — there's the matter of the heir and other issues, but…"
At that, the Sixth Generation showed me another scene.
There, a ragged and battered Feinz was being called out to by an elderly couple. It was nighttime outside, and winter — even Feinz seemed to be shivering from the cold.
"You'll catch cold out here. Our home isn't much, but please, come inside."
Feinz, who must have realized he would freeze to death at this rate, accepted their kindness and stepped into the elderly couple's house.
Inside, he was warmly welcomed. Hot water was prepared for him, and the meal was generous. It must have been everything the old couple could offer.
Feinz ate the meal and fell asleep in the bed.
The Sixth Generation watched her with an expression that was a mix of nostalgia and embarrassment.
"I was nothing but a failure from the start. Lyle, I was... a hopeless no-good bastard. I ran away from home, raised hell, and kept having to be rescued over and over again."
Hearing those words, I couldn't say anything.
I'd always thought he was a little delinquent, but he really had been one. Just as I was thinking it was surprising he was ever allowed back home, the conversation with the elderly couple began.
It was when Feinz was eating breakfast.
"...Why did you bother saving someone like me?"
Such a bratty attitude was no way to treat the people who'd saved your life. And yet, the elderly couple looked happy.
"Well, this way we can finally repay the debt we owe Lord Fredrics."
"He was so kind to us, you see."
Feinz looked displeased.
"That bastard of a father of mine?"
The elderly couple spoke to Feinz.
"Yes. Our village was burned down, and he made sure those of us who survived could keep living."
"He rushed to our aid. And yet, we said terrible things to him... We've regretted it ever since."
Feinz looked slightly taken aback, but his attitude quickly turned nasty again.
"That was his damn job, wasn't it! It's that useless father of mine who's to blame for not getting there in time! You're all being fooled!"
Even so, the elderly couple smiled at his words.
"I suppose so. But he was kind. It was painful to watch, how kind he was."
When the memory's image cut off, I was standing in the estate's garden.
"The scenery changed again, didn't it?"
Then the Sixth Generation sighed.
"I can't let you see any more of my embarrassing moments! Next up is my memory of when I came back. Well, this one's embarrassing too, but..."
Soldiers stood in front of the estate, looking troubled. confronted with the tattered Finez, they were hesitating over whether to let him inside.
When the front door of the estate opened, the Fifth Generation—Fredericks—walked out. At his side was Finez's mother.
Finez's mother rushed forward and slapped her son across the face as hard as she could.
"Thwack!"
Even as Finez's upper body lurched sideways, she followed up with a slap from her other hand. Watching this, I thought to myself.
(Wait, she seems so gentle, but she's absurdly strong!)
"You idiot boy! You run away from home and come back looking like this? Do you have any idea how worried we've been?!"
Watching the woman sob as she continued slapping him, I was taken aback. After all, Finez was only getting more battered by the second.
Fredericks, too, seemed somewhat taken aback.
Finez's cheeks were red and swollen from being slapped over and over. He was starting to look pathetic.
"...Mom's slaps, you know. They didn't just hurt my heart—they rattled my skull and bones too. In every sense of the word... they were incredibly painful."
The large-framed Finez cowered under his mother's glare.
Watching this, Fredericks spoke with an exasperated look.
"Hah... go take a bath and change your clothes. Eat something, get some sleep, then come see me. If you can make up for all the time you wasted by leaving, I'll acknowledge you as my successor."
With that, he turned and headed back inside the estate, where the soldier-guards offered their shoulders to the swaying Finez and helped carry him in.
Still crying, Finez's mother followed her son inside.
"...So you were forgiven?"
"Yeah, I was forgiven. Well, my brother had plenty of complaints and made his share of snide remarks too. The hardest part was when Mireia asked me, 'Have you cooled your head?' Being lectured like that... that really stung."
The Sixth Generation seemed to be a sis-con.
He cleared his throat dramatically and addressed me.
"Well, what I'm trying to say is this—something you think is good might look bad to others, and something you think is bad might look like a good thing to others. But part of it is that I just wanted to show you, too."
The Sixth Generation showed me his embarrassing memories, and then grew bashful about it.
Then, in a mutter directed at me:
"All I've ever done is fail. In the end, I was a worse person than my old man."
In the morning, before setting out, Gastone and Selma brought a single girl before me.
Her name was Aura.
They said she was a saint candidate—the one Gastone and the others had recommended as the next saint.
Her long brown hair was wavy, the kind that looked like it could curl into drills with just a little more effort. Her modest figure, unlike Selma's, didn't compete for attention, tucked away inside the plain, dark uniform of a shrine maiden.
She was completely flat.
When they brought her before me, Clara stood up and headed toward Porter's carriage bed with Eva and May.
"I'm going to check on Aria."
"Got it."
As the three of them moved away, Selma spoke.
"I think we've made things awkward. But I'm glad it worked out."
Then Gastone explained the situation to me.
"Lyle, we're heading to Baim in order to get Aura here—our saint candidate—somewhere safe. You understood back in Zayin that our lives are in danger, I trust. So I have a request, relying on your ability. Could you protect Aura for us?"
"Protect her?"
I looked at the girl called Aura as I said this. But when she met my gaze, she quickly looked away.
Selma spoke up in warning.
"Aura, that's rude."
However, Aura merely—
"I'll pass. He may have saved my life, but that was simply part of the job he was paid for. Besides, I cannot trust this adventurer. And once we reach Baim, I intend to go my own way. The saint, the temple, and Zayin have nothing more to do with me."
Watching Aura turn and walk back, a voice came from within the Jewel—the Fourth Generation's.
"What a shame, our saint candidate isn't exactly eager. At this rate, even if we convince her, she won't lead from the front. If only Lyle-san could work some magic on her~"
I let the latter half of that remark pass and looked at Gastone.
He had a guilty expression, so I asked him to explain.
"Setting aside Aura's escort for now—what about the two of you, and the rest of your people?"
Selma lowered her gaze and placed a hand over her chest as she answered.
"We are involved parties. Sooner or later, another group of pursuers will be sent after us. I'll be honest—I didn't truly expect them to come at us with lethal intent like that. I was naive."
Gastone as well.
"I know we're causing you trouble. But Aura is no saint—we simply propped her up as one. At the very least, we want her to walk a different path in life and find happiness."
From inside the Jewel, the Sixth Generation's voice rang out.
"That's wrong. The moment you propped her up, you became involved parties. There's no clean line anymore. They will definitely come after you."
Gastone and Selma—deep down, they were probably kind people. But perhaps there were things that kindness alone couldn't protect.
(...Is that really not enough to protect them?)
Thinking this, I spoke.
"Do the two of you intend to die?"
Selma shook her head. But her expression looked clouded, if only slightly.
"I have no intention of dying. However, as a former Saintess, I am a burden wherever I go. So I was thinking of going somewhere far away. Gastone and the others feel the same."
I straightened my posture before the two of them. Then I spoke with a serious expression.
"Are you running away? I hate to say it, but as things stand, Eva will continue to be targeted for her life. Wouldn't Eva be more of a threat to them than Selma, who is a former Saintess?"
"Th-that's..."
Gastone looked troubled. Perhaps he was exhausted, or maybe his thinking had grown sluggish. He seemed cornered — pushed to his limits mentally as well.
The Third Generation spoke in a carefree tone.
"Oh my, Lyle has gotten enthusiastic. Is it thanks to the Sixth Generation's persuasion? What did you say to him?"
The Sixth Generation replied simply.
"I just talked to him. About the old days."
I looked at the two people before me.
"If things continue like this, won't Zayin suffer terribly too? If Rolfis is the one being attacked, countless innocent civilians could end up dying."
Selma hung her head, her expression bitter with frustration.
"I know. But there's nothing more we can do. The position of Saintess — however forcibly it was done — has been formally handed over. And Gastone has already been pushed out of the position of High Priest..."
Gastone spoke to me. His thin, small hands were clenched into fists.
"It's not as though we're throwing things away because we want to! We simply can't do anything anymore. We no longer have the power to hold back the Holy Knights or the other High Priests!"
I stood tall before the two of them. Then I told myself.
*(No, I can do it. If anyone can, I can.)*
Pressing my right hand to my chest, I stood before them with confidence and declared:
"No — it can be done. The two of you, of course, but also Eva — with the power of a Saintess candidate, we can take Zayin back."
Selma looked up, her face filled with surprise.
"R-retrieve it? Lyle Walt, what are you talking about? Zayin has been officially inherited by the current Saintess—"
"Isn't that exactly what caused the problem? An unnecessary war has broken out, and Saintess candidates and yourselves are being targeted for murder. Am I wrong?"
That was Gastone speaking.
"Th-that is certainly true, but what exactly do you mean by retrieve it? ...Even if we were to stand against an entire nation, we don't have nearly enough people for that."
I grinned and spoke to the two of them.
"Won't you place your bet on me? Leave it to me, Lyle Walt. It would mean gambling with our lives, but I think that's far more meaningful than simply waiting around to be killed."
Selma took a step back, looking at me. Then she stared at me with suspicion and asked:
"...What's your objective? Are you planning to use us to climb the ranks? I thought you were a kind man, but it seems I misjudged you."
It seemed she had become distrustful.
Then the Fourth Generation offered me advice.
'Lyle, be honest here. But hold back just a little. That's right, make her misunderstand on purpose. Hey, it's her fault for misunderstanding anyway. Got it? Repeat after me—'
As I pictured the Fourth Generation's devious face, I did exactly as he said.
"What I want is you."
I followed the Fourth Generation's words and said it, but after the words left my mouth, Selma turned beet red and started panicking. She was flustered, looking back and forth between Gastone's face and mine.
"Wh-wh-wh-what are you saying?!"
Only after it had left my own mouth did I realize—
(Wait, whaaaat!! What does that mean?! I made her misunderstand in the exact worst way possible!)
While I was panicking too, the Fourth Generation spoke:
'Don't panic! Right now, get her to misunderstand, and once she nods and has no way out, then properly correct it! She's the enemy of women, but it's a necessary tactic for the current Lyle!'
The Fifth Generation was also completely floored.
'He's her own father, but what a piece of work. If Mom were here, she'd be absolutely tearing into him.'
The Seventh Generation too.
'What a terrible thing to say. I can see Lyle getting stabbed in the back. All right, Lyle... you should apologize here. This kind of misunderstanding is unacceptable.'
The Sixth Generation as well.
'Lyle, correct this immediately. Got it? This is bad. I messed up the same way once.'
The Third Generation spoke.
'Fourth Generation... Marks, let's have a talk later, shall we? Lyle, this is serious, so make sure to explain properly.'
The Fourth Generation spoke up.
'Huh? Wait a second! I mean, at this point, what's one or two more people? Besides, if it's Lyle, he can somehow—'
The voice cut off midway. So I made a deliberate show of clearing my throat.
"I, I seem to have caused a misunderstanding. What I actually want is for Zayin, which you've all been governing so steadily, to remain under your control. If this gets left as-is, it'll be a huge disadvantage for me as an adventurer."
Selma, her face bright red, nodded several times while taking deep breathes.
"R-r-right! B-but, adventurers can make money as long as there's a battlefield, can't they?"
Selma stumbled over her words. Gastone and I both pretended not to notice and let it slide.
I went on to explain my circumstances.
"The Guild I belong to is quite troublesome, you see. I suppose I should explain the details, but whenever there's a war, the quota of quests I need to complete goes up. That puts me in a tough spot, which is why I'd like the countries in this region to settle down. There are other reasons on my end as well, but having Zayin remain in its current state is a problem. From what I hear, the wars are likely to keep going."
Perhaps from all the panic, Selma had lost the ability to think clearly.
She looked at me and nodded as if trying to convince herself. Or rather, it didn't seem like much of what I'd said was actually sinking in.
Gastone was the same. He looked bewildered and didn't interject into the conversation.
"Well, I can explain my circumstances while we travel. Let's calm down a bit for now, shall we? We can talk about this during our next break."
Selma's face was still red.
"Yes, that would be best. Otherwise, we won't be able to have a proper conversation..."
Gastone too.
"Th-then we'll come again when we take our next break."
With that, they retreated as if fleeing.
I'd worked up a strange sweat, and as I wiped it away with my hand, I felt eyes on me from behind Porter. When I turned around, Aria was peering at me from the back of the cart, her face pale.
And the others were also peeking at me from behind Porter's shadow.
"Hk!"
I recoiled in fear. Even though I hadn't done anything wrong, why did I feel so guilty... It's the Fourth Generation's fault!