"I think it would be wise to fight with Baim's merchants and the Guild to some extent, for the sake of the future."
Resting his elbows on the round table with a serious expression, the Third Generation hid his mouth behind both hands as he surveyed the faces seated around him.
Inside the Jewel. In the round table chamber, I and the successive heads were seated. The Fifth Generation was the only one who had taken a seat at the round table and loaned his chair to Mireia.
Everyone around wore serious expressions as they nodded, but I directed skeptical gazes at them.
"What's your real intention here?"
At that, the Third Generation started grinning like "Oh? You figured it out?" The Fourth Generation's glasses flashed, and his mouth twisted into a crescent.
"Baim is far too dangerous. No matter how exceptional a merchant's daughter she may be among Baim's finest, the fact that she can produce a hundred thousand gold coins at once is abnormal. So why not make her indebted to our side for the sake of the future? That way, it would also be easier to regulate Lyle in the future, wouldn't it?"
—In other words, these people naturally intended to cooperate with Baim. But they were also thinking of applying some kind of regulation or pressure down the line.
"We can't even tell if we'll win, and yet you'd go out of your way to make enemies like this?"
As I stared at them in disbelief, Mireia smiled gently.
"Oh, come now, it's perfectly fine, Lyle. Never underestimate merchants. If they put their minds to it, they can kneel before nobles while concealing a weapon in their clothes, always in a position where they could kill us at any moment."
The Seventh Generation shared Mireia's view.
"Not all merchants are like that, but rights and privileges too large to manage are better seized preemptively. Lyle, this is for your sake. No—for the sake of the continent's future as well."
The Fifth Generation gazed up at the ceiling.
"Don't underestimate merchants and the power of money. It would be a problem if they ended up pulling the strings of the continent from the shadows. Well, winning is a given. And now the time has come to decide where we aim to win."
Looking at the smiling Mireia, I thought to myself—
(I know she told me to call Vera's father "Father-in-Law," but that was just to rile me up, wasn't it... Every last one of these people is scheming.)
—But still, with Vera's support, I was once again at a stage where I could take action. For my next move, I would need to establish a clear position for the future.
"That would be deciding what kind of position I'll hold in the future, then."
The Seventh Generation nodded with a serious expression.
"Yes. It's not a matter of just winning. At least nine wives' lives are resting on your shoulders. And beyond that, there are those who've followed you. Becoming a hero by dying is absolutely unacceptable. We're only cooperating because you decided you'd fight and live. Throw away any foolish desire to be a hero."
The Third Generation leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the armrests while looking at me.
"Well, even if you win, getting killed as a member of House Walt wouldn't be fun either. Sure, Ceres is House Walt's sin. But we won't allow even Laiel to be killed. If it came to Laiel dying... to be honest, I'd be fine with a long era of chaos descending on the continent."
The Fourth Generation pushed his glasses up with a finger, straightened his posture, and sat up straight.
"Even if we win, things change depending on Laiel's position. What's the ideal way to win? Is it possible? And where do you aim for the future? To put it differently, does Laiel stand at the front and destroy Banseim? Or does someone else stand at the front to destroy Banseim—that's the difference."
Miss Mireia summarized it simply.
Giggling while covering her mouth with her hand.
"In short, it's about whether Laiel becomes king or not. Are you aiming for a position like prime minister? Or are you trying to reclaim House Walt's territory? Even if it's called king, the title changes depending on the method of governance."
Reclaim the territory that should have been inherited.
Or carve deeply into the heart of the nation.
Stand at the front yourself and become king.
The Fifth Generation looked at me with a serious expression.
"I can't tell you to decide now, but decide soon. Thanks to Vera, we can move much faster than expected. If you don't decide your future position, we can't determine how far to push against the Guild and the merchants."
The Third Generation clapped his hands. He clapped twice, and his smile seemed to instantly dispel the darkening atmosphere.
"Well, everything's still in the preparation stage for now. We can make plenty of corrections from here. Think it over. Oh, and I should goad Fidel's father-in-law, shouldn't I? His daughter seems to be his weakness."
The Fifth Generation responded to the Third Generation, who looked pleased.
"Daughters are sent off eventually. What could he possibly be thinking to dote on her that much?"
It was his usual dry observation. But Miss Mireia looked happy.
"Father is so clumsy, isn't he?"
That was what she said.
The next day, I returned to Baim.
Having come back from my trip, I collapsed into sleep as soon as I got home, utterly exhausted. But when I awoke, I was summoned by Miss Adele—.
"What is all this?"
In a room overflowing with mountains of documents, I yawned in front of Miss Adele, who looked like she was about to burst into tears.
It wasn't that my fatigue hadn't faded; rather, the intensely packed days I'd been living lately had finally caught up with me.
There was so much to think about, and returning meant even more busy days ahead, dealing with matters at the Trace Trading Company.
But then there was Miss Adele.
"These are the files for Zayin and Rolfis! Why on earth do they pile up like this? What did you do, Mr. Lyle?"
Behind her, Mr. Maxim was flustered and helpless. He was trying to comfort her, but no words seemed to come.
I pulled a single sheet from the pile of documents and examined its contents.
"...Why are these documents here? This has nothing to do with me."
Upon hearing that, the Fourth Generation offered me some advice.
*"Hmm. They've assessed your competence and are assigning you work, or perhaps they want to show off your connections... Well, given that this girl Adele works so diligently and perfectly, they probably just kept sending them over, one after another. Still, there's an awful lot of borderline paperwork here, isn't there?"*
Is that so? Thinking that, I turned to Miss Adele.
"Isn't it because you handle your work so diligently that they keep piling up? In the first place, this isn't my job, so you could have just sent them back."
At that, Miss Adele flopped down onto the floor.
"No way~!"
"M-Miss, please wait! I'll prepare some cake right away! Sweet cake! Cake!"
Mr. Maxim, shouting about her favorite treat, managed to stop her from crying. Miss Adele had tears welling in her eyes, but holding them back, she tried to complain to me—.
"Lyle! Is it true that you managed to secure the research funds?!"
—Damian burst into the room, throwing open the door with such force that the piles of documents went flying like leaves in the wind.
He wore a broad grin, with three Automata in tow.
"Oh, Master's got the smile of a little boy… I need to preserve this moment forever."
"Now we can purchase all the equipment we've been wanting, Master."
"Lyle-san, good job."
That third one calling me "Lyle-san" was mildly irritating, but I held it in. Fundamentally, like Monica, these girls had little interest in anyone besides Damian.
If you asked them, they'd do the work, but the effort they put in for Damian was on a completely different level.
Just then, Monica appeared at the doorway, carrying a tray in one hand bearing cake and drinks she'd prepared.
"Look at this bunch of mass-produced units, chattering away without doing a shred of work… You Chicken, you should count yourself lucky that you've won over Monica, a maid who actually gets things done. What a blessed man."
After setting the cake and drinks in front of Adele, Monica prepared a drink for me as well.
Adele, eyes brimming with tears, drove her fork into the cake with a fierce stab, then ate it looking thoroughly bitter.
"…It's delicious."
That's what she said. Maxim, watching Adele like that, wore a gentle smile. His cheeks were flushed — I felt like I'd just witnessed something I shouldn't have.
"A young lady eating cake is a lovely sight too."
Sipping my drink, I turned back to address Damian.
"So, Lyle. How much support did you manage to pull? You got at least fifty thousand out of them, right?"
To the eagerly bouncing Damian, I gave him the honest truth.
"It's not support from the Trading Company exactly, but I managed to get one hundred thousand personally. Put together a list of the equipment you want. And keep the budget capped at fifty thousand."
The plan to revive Monica's sister as a Golem.
That was one more reason I needed Damian to give it his all.
Maybe I should consult with Vera, see if there was a way to procure equipment at a lower cost. And I'd need her to introduce me to some skilled craftspeople, too.
Just then, the Automatons spoke up.
"Mr. Lael's such a cheapskate."
"Do you have any idea how long Master's been looking forward to buying equipment?"
"Cheapskate! Mr. Lael's a cheapskate!"
The three Automatons jeered at me in good fun. In response, Monica pulled out a pair of drills far more impressive than the ones she'd carried before and brandished them at the ready.
"Insulting the Chicken is unacceptable! Only I get to insult him!"
"...You're not supposed to insult me either."
Monica held her drills at the ready, their low hum reverberating as the bits spun, and stared down the three Automatons. The three of them had drawn their own weapons and taken fighting stances.
Damian, on the other hand—
"Fifty thousand, huh... Then I could get that and that... Oh, but without that apparatus, the research won't—"
He'd already started scribbling out a shopping list. And he was doing it on the back of whatever papers happened to be lying around.
Adele started to say something, then stopped. Perhaps she'd realized that anything said to Damian would be pointless.
Then, once the cake was finished and she was sipping her drink—
"Mr. Lael, may I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"You've done well this time. It seems like we've earned a respectable sum, so we won't have to worry about food, clothing, or shelter for a while. However, if we're serious about defeating Ceres, there's no getting around the financial problem. One hundred thousand gold coins is an astronomical amount for an individual. But when you look at it from the perspective of a nation..."
She was right. One hundred thousand gold coins wasn't enough when dealing with a nation. And when the nation in question was a giant like Banseim, the shortfall was even more glaring.
"I know. Fortunately, I've made a name for myself during our travels. The merchants should be even more eager to sign exclusive contracts with me now. I should be able to resolve the funding issue fairly quickly— ...No, wait, that won't work either."
It was Maxim, standing behind Adele.
"What do you mean, not enough? I heard you'd already made quite a name for yourselves in Baim? Wasn't it the Trident Sea Serpent? I'd think merchants would be falling over themselves to sign exclusive contracts with you."
They were.
They'd taken down a monster of that caliber. Their reputation had gone up, and the contract amounts would have skyrocketed.
But even so, it wasn't enough. And the plan of the Successive Heads—
"Well, the thing is... with merchants and the Guild, you have to make enemies of them first."
Adele, dumbfounded, dropped the cup she'd been holding. That was the signal, and Monica and the others, who'd been glaring at each other, sprang into action.
They briskly pulled out cleaning supplies and began tidying up the mountains of documents. And all four of them cooperated to clean the room.
"Oh, I'll handle that."
"Then I'll take care of this side."
"In that case, I'll do this one."
"Then Monica, the Special Model, will handle this."
(Aren't these guys actually on good terms?)
"...What are you talking about, Lyle?"
"No, just Lyle is fine. I'd prefer you call me by my first name."
I let out a sigh and began contemplating what lay ahead.
—The Trace Trading Company.
"That bastard! What the hell does he mean, making my Vera pay tribute?!"
Fidel, worked up into a frenzy, was shouting at the top of his lungs during the family breakfast.
Vera was eating her meal in her usual placid manner, while Gina had invited her boyfriend Roland to breakfast. Normally, Fidel would have tried to kick Roland out, but after hearing what Vera had to say, he had no time to worry about Roland.
Gina, seizing the opportunity, asked Roland for his thoughts on breakfast.
"So, how's breakfast today, Roland?"
"Ah, um... It's delicious, Lady Gina."
Hearing this, Vera took a bite of her bread and said:
"Just keep it simple. You call each other by your first names anyway, right?"
Roland managed a wry smile, sweating cold bullets. He was worried about Fidel. But Fidel's attention wasn't directed at Roland at all.
"Vera! Your father has no intention of approving that kind of guy! So what if he saved your life, earned the respect of the sailors, is a skilled adventurer, and a former noble — damn it all!!"
Fidel seemed to be torn on the part of him that wasn't the father, either.
After all, Laiel was an excellent match. Even if his reputation with women was poor, there were no reports of him treating them terribly. The merchant in him was probably whispering that tying the knot with the family by marrying off his daughter wouldn't be the worst outcome.
It was Fidel the father who was strongly opposed to all of it.
While eating, Vera spoke to Gina.
"What's this? You eat breakfast together with him every morning?"
Gina looked down slightly, blushing.
"Um... yes. I was hoping he'd be accepted by the family."
Vera thought to herself:
*(It feels like it might actually be counterproductive. But well, if he keeps showing up at the family table whether they like it or not, Father might eventually compromise.)*
Both Vera and Gina received frequent marriage proposals. That was only natural, being daughters of merchants ranked among the very best in Baim.
But Fidel had never let any of those suitors get close to the two of them.
It might seem overprotective, but Vera recognized that at the same time, it was a way of keeping potential partners on edge — driving up the perceived value of his daughters.
*(The father who's a merchant, and the father who's just... a father. Being a man's daughter really is something.)*
Vera watched Fidel as he brooded, oblivious to everything around him.
"Damn it all! Who was it?! The sailor who said no one would lay a finger on Vera — how did they convince the other sailors too?! That has to be some kind of Skill!"
Vera sighed in exasperation.
"I told you it wasn't, didn't I? Come on, just hurry up and eat already. You've got a busy day today, right? I'm busy too."
"S-Sorry. Do you have plans today?"
Once Fidel had calmed down somewhat, Vera spoke.
"Yeah. Lyle is coming over to the house."
At Vera's words, Fidel flew into a fury once more.