On the walls surrounding Baim, soldiers stood and loosed arrows.
However, faced with Banseim's forces deployed across the entire perimeter except for the port, they were unable to mount any coordinated attacks despite having bows and guns at their disposal.
In the magical exchange, Baim appeared to have the upper hand. The most talented mages among the adventurers were unleashing their prized spells one after another. Banseim, meanwhile, was content to simply endure — only occasionally retaliating with magic of their own.
If things kept up like this, could they blow Banseim away with magic? Baim's morale had recovered, if only slightly.
The leader of a large adventurer party commanding on the front lines was fighting boldly at a point where Banseim's assault was at its fiercest.
"Show those Banseim bastards! The Monsters we deal with on a daily basis are scarier than them!"
He wasn't wrong. But it was a statement that forgot who was truly the most frightening of all.
While the party's members unleashed spell after spell and volley after volley of arrows, the Banseim side endured. Deploying Magic Shields and barely managing to withstand the onslaught — or so it appeared.
Meanwhile, at Banseim's main headquarters for the Baim invasion —
There, the generals had gathered, holding a conference while feeling the concussions and vibrations of magical explosions through the ground.
Not a single one of them was frightened by Baim's fierce onslaught. If anything, they looked relaxed.
The supreme commander spoke.
"Well now, Baim's people are putting up a spirited fight, but we simply need to stay the course. All we have to do is wait, and they'll exhaust themselves."
One of the generals spoke up.
"We've prepared ships for an assault from the sea. They were seized from villages along the coast, so it'll take some time to get used to handling them."
The supreme commander nodded.
"Make sure they're thoroughly trained first. Better to take our time than rush and fail. Besides, all we need to do is keep the pressure on with our overwhelming numbers. Eventually, watching us remain unshaken, Baim's people will break — the only question is when..."
The Knight Commander reported on the surrounding situation.
"Baim should have gathered a considerable number of refugees from the surrounding villages and towns. They may have secured enough food, but do they truly have enough to feed that many people... And they've never experienced a war of this scale. They might be more fragile than we'd expect."
Baim had grown prosperous by intervening in wars using mercenaries, but they had never found themselves in the position of actually fighting a war. There was no leader among them who had experienced a conflict of this scale, and Banseim knew full well that Baim still hadn't come up with any effective countermeasure.
No — they could practically feel it.
"They should have just paid a retired general-class commander for advice. I don't understand why Baim wouldn't resort to such a measure."
The one who answered the Supreme Commander's words was a young general.
"Perhaps they underestimated us? Even if they've intervened in wars in the surrounding area, most of those were small-scale. From what I've heard about their response to the villages that were raided, they seem to place far too much trust in the adventurers' abilities. They probably think each one of them can take on a thousand."
Adventurers who fought against Monsters — Baim's people had greatly misunderstood their true capabilities. The same went for the merchants who ran the show in Baim.
One of the generals was laughing.
"Take on a thousand, you say? I used to idolize that notion when I was a child. But reality isn't so kind. There are no incompetent commanders here who would burden their entire strategy on someone with that kind of power — that much should be obvious, Supreme Commander."
Relying on a single powerful warrior meant, in reverse, that the entire formation could crumble easily if that one person was lost.
If adventurers represented Baim's "powerful warriors," then all they had to do was wait for the adventurers' spirits to break. The Supreme Commander smiled slightly.
"Very well. Then let's make a wager, gentlemen — will Baim's resolve crumble first, or will the operation we've prepared bear fruit first?"
The generals of Banseim erupted in laughter.
Late at night.
I retreated a little further back, lay down, and gripped the Jewel tightly. I ate a meal, lightly wiped down my body, then settled into my bed and closed my eyes. I had made preparations in advance. May should have been ready as well. I could feel my consciousness beginning to shift into the Jewel, and the next moment I opened my eyes, I was inside the Round Table chamber within the Jewel.
Waiting for me, seated at the Round Table, was the Fifth Generation. His expression was serious.
"You're here. Come quickly. I'll teach you my Skills and give you the weapon suited for this place that you need. Take my snake-fang sword with you. End this miserable battle as fast as you can."
The Fifth Generation's Skill was a map — an ability to grasp the surrounding geography. I had once given some thought, in my own way, to why he had obtained such a Skill.
The First Generation had enhancement-type Skills. The Second Generation possessed a Skill for using abilities on others. The Third Generation was mental-type. The Fourth Generation was movement-type. And the Fifth Generation had acquired terrain awareness.
I believed the reason the Fifth Generation needed that particular Skill came down to the circumstances of his era. During his time, the Walt family's territory was plagued by bandits breaking in and causing havoc. Compared to the Sixth Generation's Skill for detecting enemy presences, the Fifth Generation had needed to rely on terrain awareness to plan defenses and predict enemy routes of infiltration.
As the Fifth Generation descended from the Round Table to head toward his own room, the Third and Seventh Generations watched him go from their seats. When the Fifth Generation glanced toward them, both gave a nod.
However, Mireia had a dissatisfied expression as she sat in the Fifth Generation's chair. No, she probably understood. She didn't seem to mind that she couldn't give a proper send-off either, given the current situation. Then, she stood up.
The Fifth Generation watched Mireia.
"Mireia... Don't try to stop me."
"I won't stop you. But won't you be lonely on your own?"
At that, the Fifth Generation shrugged.
"I won't be alone. There's someone waiting in my room ahead of me."
Mireia shook her head, saying something like "You really are hopeless, you know." As Mireia and I headed toward the Fifth Generation's room together, we heard the Seventh Generation's voice.
"...Aunt."
At the worried look in the Seventh Generation's gaze, Mireia turned back with a smile.
"Don't worry, I won't intrude anymore. And Brode... you haven't changed in that regard. It brings back old memories."
What had she remembered? That was something only Mireia and the Seventh Generation would ever know. And then, we passed through the door of the Fifth Generation's memory and entered the room.
A battlefield blanketed by grey clouds, threatening to open up into rain at any moment.
No, the battle was already over. Corpses lay scattered about, and the bodies of soldiers believed to be from House Walt were being handled with care. On the other hand, the well-equipped self-proclaimed bandits suspected to be enemies, when found fallen, might only be playing dead, so the soldiers of House Walt were prodding them with spears to make sure.
That said, there were many corpses torn to shreds in the surrounding area, and some made me curious about what had killed them. The Fifth Generation looked over at Fredrix, who was seated in a chair on the battlefield, gazing down at the bandits.
The living bandits had been stripped of their equipment and bound with rope. They were brought before Fredrix, heads bowed.
"...Fifth Generation, are these people really bandits?"
The Fifth Generation was smiling faintly.
"Self-proclaimed ones. In reality, they were from one of House Walt's affiliated families and a bunch of scoundrels from the neighboring territory. They were connected and raided my land. They only call themselves bandits when it comes time to pillage. Well, that's why I say a lord's no different from a bandit, right? Back on the battlefield, those Banseim guys were looting too, weren't they? That goes on everywhere. Nothing unusual about it."
When I made a displeased face, both the Fifth Generation and Mireia laughed. They didn't look like they were mocking me — they looked happy. The Fifth Generation nodded.
"That's good. Those feelings matter. I forgot them, though."
Father
The scene around them began to move. One of the bandits dragged forward was a lackey of a noble who had once mocked Frederics. He had grown into a young man by now, but he was hauled before Frederics as a bandit and kicked around by the surrounding soldiers.
"Y-You! Don't think you'll get away with treating me like this! I may have lost here, but when I return to my family home —"
I tilted my head.
"Family home? You were planning to go back?"
As I stared in disbelief, Mireia explained.
"Back then, there were mutual arrangements between the surrounding lords. By the time we grew up, those had disappeared, though. Depending on the situation, they could be taken to Central and serve as witnesses when requesting arbitration from the royal family. No — I suppose evidence, rather."
"It disappeared? The reason it stopped was —"
The Fifth Generation spoke in a flat voice.
"Because I thoroughly destroyed those kinds of rules. A local custom, you could say. You'd find versions elsewhere too, but it was basically a gentleman's understanding. Between noblemen, they'd call it. These guys treated the whole thing like a game."
I felt revulsion looking at the bound young man that surfaced in the Fifth Generation's memories. Mireia must have read my emotions, because she nodded.
"...The bandits are to be executed under House Walt's rules. Behead them all. Hang the corpses as a warning."
Soldiers wielding large axes stepped forward before the bandits. Then the young man started babbling something incomprehensible.
"W-Wait, stop! I won't bend to such threats! If you do this, it'll start a war with House Walt!"
The retainer lord who had pillaged alongside the young man was the same. His expression shifted from cocky to panicked.
"Please, stop! If you do this, something truly irreversible will... I-I swear I will absolutely never do anything like this again!"
What an ugly sight. Not even laughable. But the Fifth Generation was smiling a little.
"Terrible, isn't it? That was how things were back then. They were convinced the local rules were absolute, so they did things like this without shouldering any risk. There were various contributing factors, but the main one was that there were no foreign enemies at the time. Even when there were, it was just minor skirmishes. The Third Generation had threatened warmongering fools too much, and things swung to the extreme opposite. Basically, these guys had nothing to do. They could have just quietly developed their territories and been done with it."
Frederics, who had been sitting in his chair, rose and drew the sword at his waist. There was something resembling a trigger on the hilt. Lines ran along the blade, revealing a unique sword — a serpentine blade.
"Can't hear you. All I see here are bandits. That's all there is to see. I'll put your heads on display right here. And one more thing — I'm crushing your family. If you've got a complaint, your son can go crying to Central about it. 'My father, who behaved like a bandit, was killed by his liege lord!' That's what he can say!"
Frederics used the serpentine sword. When he swung it sideways, the blade moved like a living creature, shearing the heads off the vassal knight and his soldiers. Heads flew through the air in rapid succession — the serpentine sword, stained red with blood, flexed like a whip back toward the Fifth Generation, then reformed into the shape of a sword.
The bodies of the bound bandits around them collapsed to the ground, spurting blood. The young man who witnessed this scene began to panic.
"W-Wait!! You won't get any ransom! I'm worth at least several hundred gold coins in ransom—"
The young man screamed and writhed desperately, trying to escape despite being bound. His own soldiers could see him like this. Frederics, holding the blood-red serpentine sword, stepped on the young man's back and pinned him to the ground. He pressed the blade against the youth's neck.
"That's not necessary. How much money do you think it takes to prepare a single village?"
"Th-Then I'll rebuild this village! I'll put it back the way it was! It's a small village — there wasn't much to it, but my family will pay for the reconstruction! Don't get angry over one tiny village! Or... or are you angry about what happened in the past? Then I'll apologize! I'll make a formal apology! So just put that sword down!"
A single small village — several hundred gold coins couldn't possibly be covered by annual tax revenue. People would increase on their own, and they'd clear land for independence without being told. That was apparently what a village meant to the young man. House Walt saw things differently.
Frederics spoke.
"I see. So you're the one who's going to restore this village."
"Y-You understand? Then..."
"That's right. Restore it exactly as it was. From the burned buildings to the tools, bring back every villager you killed. If you do that, there's no need for a ransom. I have no interest in what happened in the past. I'll send you right back to your beloved family right away. Now — go ahead and try!"
The young man's mouth hung open, opening and closing wordlessly.
"D-Don't screw with me! There's no way I could do something like that—"
The young man's head soared through the air. The face of Frederics — young, and sworn to vengeance — was terribly harsh. Frederics stepped away from the young man and wiped the blood from his blade. Then, as if completely uninterested:
"Kill them all. Leave the bodies on display. Impale them so their families will notice. If they come to attack, slaughter every last one."
He was utterly matter-of-fact about it. He was more concerned with checking his weapon for damage than with the people being killed — probably because he was more worried about whether the serpentine sword had broken. When the axe-wielding soldiers advanced toward the bandit knight and his soldiers, screams filled the air.
Mireia was a bit exasperated.
"Father really was merciless back then, wasn't he?"
The Fifth Generation said softly:
"...There was no other method he could think of. Or perhaps he simply didn't want to think of one."
In the footage, a group was approaching Fredericks. Villagers.
“...Lord Fredericks.”
In their hands, each of them held weapons that the bandits had possessed. The elderly, women, children—with eyes filled with hatred, they beseeched Fredericks.
“Please, let us kill you.”
Hearing those words, Fredericks addressed the soldier who was beheading prisoners with an axe.
“That should be enough. Leave the rest for these people. Also, hang up all the corpses. When you kill, think about what comes after.”
The villagers nodded and approached the soldiers with their weapons. The soldiers’ voices echoed. They were so unpleasant to hear that it made one want to grimace.
I didn’t understand why the Fifth Generation had shown me such a scene. The Fifth Generation, too, had his arms crossed.
“...If this were how it should be, I wouldn’t have allowed such a thing. I’m reflecting on it. But back then, when I swore vengeance, I truly believed it was absolutely the right thing to do.”
I turned to the Fifth Generation.
“You were wrong?”
“Well, I don’t know how to verify that. I was thanked. I saw villagers who regretted it. I don’t know which was correct. But I can say this much, Lyle. Don’t become like me. You can have the desire for revenge. But don’t take revenge like I did. The regret lingered more strongly for me. Because the sense of relief only lasted a little while.”
Then, the scene shifted. It was the Walt family mansion.
As if urged by those around him, Fredericks was heading toward a room.
“Lord Fredericks, please hurry!”
“It’s a healthy boy!”
“Come on, quickly!”
“Oh, please stop dawdling!”
“Y-Yes, I understand. I understand, so…”
There were women with swollen bellies among them. They were the Fifth Generation’s concubines, and around them, retainers were also attending to the pregnant women.
"'Please don't run! I'm begging you, don't run! Someone, please tell everyone that from Fredericks too! If you collapse and get hurt, that would be terrible! The wives and the young master won't run away!'"
Just as Fredericks was thinking that there must be a retainer like Baldoa somewhere, he was pushed into the room by one of his concubines.
Inside, there was a newborn baby. It was crying energetically, and the woman who was his wife was holding it with a beaming smile on her face.
"'Dear, it's a healthy boy.'"
The woman seemed overjoyed that the baby had been born safely, her eyes glistening with tears. Fredericks, too, couldn't help but smile when he looked at the baby.
"'S-So? Good job. Y-You did well—!'"
He reached out, and just as he was about to touch the baby, Fredericks pulled his hand back and stared at his own palm. The Fifth Generation had told me how he felt at this moment.
"'...I didn't want to touch this child with hands stained with blood. I thought even Fynes would be soiled. I deeply regretted it at that time. The people I killed, of course, had families of their own. To the families of those I'd slain, I was the target of revenge. I don't know why... but when I thought about that, I nearly broke down. It's the most obvious thing in the world, and yet I had every reason to do what I did, so why did it feel that way...'"
Fredericks was weeping.
"'Dear?'"
"'...You did well. Rest easy now. I'll send word to your parents' home as well. Let me thank them too. I... I have to go now.'"
Wiping away his tears, Fredericks left the room.
Inside the Jewel. The Fifth Generation's memory room.
There, the reason the Fifth Generation had been unable to be honest with his child became clear. The memory room displayed a scene imbued with the Fifth Generation's strongest emotions—the animal stables, shown as vivid images.
The Fifth Generation turned to face me.
"'Well, that's about all I can teach you. It's a bit late now, and part of me wishes I hadn't shown you this, but... you seem like you'll be fine.'"
"Fifth Generation."
Just then, from the Kirin enclosure at the very back of the stables, a fully grown Kirin emerged. It approached the Fifth Generation at a quick pace and nuzzled its face against him.
"Fredericks!"
"'May, huh. I put you through a lot too, didn't I?'"
"That's not true. I had fun too. Because I got to meet Fredericks again."
Mireia watched the Fifth Generation with a somewhat complicated expression on her face. The Fifth Generation turned to look at me and smiled.
'My last Skill —[Map Model]. To put it simply, it lets you shift the viewpoint of a map from being centered on yourself to any position you like. There are range limitations, but it's quite handy. You can find people who are hiding. And you can also find places where someone could hide.'
It was while fighting bandits and mercenaries, and while being attacked from all sides, that the Fifth Generation must have wished for this Skill. Still, the Fifth Generation let out a small sigh.
'Well, the real deal this time is this one. Here.'
What he handed over to me was a silver folding sword. But what set it apart from the others was that it felt as though it were alive — as though it were hungry.
'I wonder if that's my fault. This thing is seriously dangerous. It's different even from the First Generation's greatsword. Feinz's halberd is pretty well-behaved. The Second Generation's bow does its job reliably. Dad's short sword is... well, very much like Dad. But this one is purely specialized in killing. It doesn't have the same kind of strength as the First Generation's. It'd be effective in group battles, I suppose.'
The Fifth Generation looked at the folding sword with a complicated gaze. The silver folding sword had no gimmicks. Lines ran along the blade, and when gripped, it glowed blue. Blue lines of light spread through the sword like veins, conveying its hunger to me.
The ominous-looking folding sword somehow resembled the cursed blades that appear in stories.
'...Lael, you should make good use of this. It'll come in handy in various ways going forward. But don't let yourself become obsessed with killing.'
May said to the Fifth Generation.
"It'll be all right. Lael has me and everyone else."
Mireia smiled as well.
"That's right. The current Lael is not alone, after all. Father kept everyone at arm's length."
The Fifth Generation scratched his head and looked down.
'...Even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn't turn back. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd built this cabin. Maybe I was just exhausted. I caused a lot of trouble for everyone — and for you too, Mireia.'
Mireia pinched the fabric of her skirt between her fingertips, lifted it slightly, and gave a graceful curtsy.
"Simply hearing Father's apology made it worth becoming your guide. And also, Lael."
Mireia turned toward me with a smile and held out her hand. I reached out as well, and Mireia was holding a blue Jewel.
Septem.
Lael.
And Mireia—.
"This is the third—"
When I looked up, Mireia was smiling as she pulled me into an embrace. She wrapped her arms around my back and whispered in my ear.
"A lot of plans got derailed along the way. You caused quite a bit of trouble too, Lael. But maybe this turned out for the better. As the guide of the Jewel, I shall acknowledge you as Lael. Receive your final Skill."
As the Jewel was drawn into my body, words surfaced in my mind. A haze clouded them, though, and I couldn't make them out clearly. All I understood was that my third Skill was something incredibly unique. A one-time-use Skill—one that came at the cost of the Jewel losing its power.
"Mireia, could it be—"
Mireia kissed me on the forehead. She pulled back, and when I met her face to face, her eyes were glistening with tears.
"Lael, take care of Miranda and Shannon for me. Miranda is weaker in some ways than you might think. Shannon, on the other hand, is stronger in some ways. Make sure they don't go down the wrong path… don't let them end up like me. Hold the reins tight. And every once in a while, let them lean on you."
The Fifth Generation, too, scratched at his cheek with a finger as he looked at May.
"Sorry. This is where I leave you too. There's more I want to say, but… I've got just one favor to ask."
May looked back at the Fifth Generation.
"What is it?"
"Take care of Lael. He's a descendant too good for the likes of me. He was unreliable at first, but now he's stronger than I ever was. He's our—my—pride and joy."
My hand tightened around the hilt of the serpent blade. Tears welled up in my eyes.
"You could have said that sooner. You always wait until moments like this—of course I'm going to cry. I was going to see you off with a smile, you know…"
Mireia gently wiped my tears away with her finger.
"It's all right to cry once in a while. It's fine to show weakness. Not to the others, but to Miranda and Shannon—and to Novem and the rest. You'd be surprised how happy it makes them. Oh, and this is a gift from me."
With that, Mireia touched the silver serpent blade. I felt something flow into it, but I couldn't take my eyes off Mireia's smile. I thought she resembled Miranda, but there were traces of Shannon in her too. No—it was the other way around. It was Miranda and Shannon who carried Mireia's resemblance.
I smiled at Mireia's words.
"I'll remember that. It is a precious woman's opinion, after all."
"Good. If you can still joke, then you should be fine. Also, the Jewel is growing in power. Lael, you must learn to wield it properly. I'm certain you have the strength to do just that."
Mireia's words almost sounded like a warning to be careful with the Jewel. I nodded and carved her words into my heart.
May looked toward the Fifth Generation.
"...Fredericks, I make this promise. I'll watch over Lael. On behalf of you and the others, too. Besides, I don't dislike Lael."
The Fifth Generation was smiling. Then, rather than heading deeper into the cabin, he began walking toward the entrance. Mireia fell into step beside him.
"Father, I'll accompany you. And this is the last request of your youngest daughter."
"W-What is it?"
Mireia extended her hand toward the Fifth Generation, who was slightly intimidated by her.
"Could you hold my hand?"
The Fifth Generation tilted his head and offered his hand. Mireia took it, and the Fifth Generation began to walk. As they made their way toward the cabin's entrance, Mireia's form transformed into that of a young girl. And in a slightly more childish voice—
"This was my dream. To be able to do this."
The Fifth Generation looked awkward. And happy.
"I wish I could have granted it while I was alive. I'm sorry... to all of you."
The Fifth Generation shifted his gaze from the young Mireia to the space before him. Curious, I started walking toward the outside too.
When May and I reached the entrance, there were five women ahead—and around them, children in their younger forms were waiting. The animals were there too, waiting for the Fifth Generation. Everyone was smiling.
"Fifth Generation!"
"Fredericks!"
The Fifth Generation responded without turning back, simply raising his hand in a wave.
"Fools. I can't turn around right now. It wouldn't be very impressive to see a crybaby like me with tears running down his face. Stay strong... all of you."
The Round Table Chamber.
I reached out, and there I saw it — the serpent sword hovering over the Round Table, right where the Fifth Generation used to sit.
May wasn't here. She must have returned her consciousness from the Jewel back into her own body. And the floating serpent sword looked slightly different from when the Fifth Generation had handed it to me. Only slightly — a trace of that ominous quality still lingered, but the shape had truly changed, if only a little.
Waiting for my return was the Seventh Generation.
Sitting in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling.
"It's an old story. The first woman I admired was my aunt — Mireia. Maybe that's why. Maybe that's the reason I picked up a gun."
"Seventh Generation, I —"
The Seventh Generation rose to his feet and started heading back to his room.
"Lael, you were acknowledged by the Fifth Generation, and by my aunt as well. As for me… whether I was acknowledged in the end… I'm not sure."
Once the Seventh Generation was gone, I was left alone in the Round Table Chamber.
"…Fifth Generation. Mireia. Thank you."
I murmured the words, then wiped my tears with my sleeve. Every time a new weapon appeared in the Jewel's Round Table Chamber, the ranks of the Successive Heads grew thinner. Every time I grew stronger, I grew lonelier.
The Fifth Generation had seemed cold at first, but I came to understand what kind of person he really was. He was clumsy. Nothing like the image I'd heard about. And he had tried so hard.
And Mireia — well, a lot had happened, but for me, who had so few memories of my mother, she was like one. She was loud, always bickering and tussling with the Seventh Generation, and sometimes even managed to shock the other Successive Heads.
Now that they were gone, a wave of loneliness surged through me.
"Really… why is this happening? Why can't I stop crying, even though I always thought she was so annoying…"
It had been rough at the beginning. I'd been cursed at. Mocked. And yet, now that they were all gone, I felt nothing but loneliness. I let my eyes drift over the silver weapons floating before me, and finally settled on the serpent sword. When I reached out, it extended its hilt toward my hand.
When I gripped it, the hunger inside me subsided more than before. Maybe that was Mireia's doing.
"Lend me your strength. Right now, I need the power you hold."
I felt a pulse from the serpent sword, like a heartbeat, and shifted my consciousness back from the Jewel into reality.