"…Hm?"
Sensing a strange presence, the man—Bairan Osmond—tilted his head.
"What is it, sir?"
"Something slipped in here…"
He strode toward the potted plant where he had felt movement, but found nothing.
A fly, perched on a leaf, buzzed and flew away.
"Just a bug."
Click. With a casual gesture, Bairan crushed the fly.
"I should engrave a pest-repelling ward here."
"Too many magic circles would draw suspicion."
"I know."
That was why he had only inscribed a soundproofing circle.
After all, for an ordinary mercenary commander's mansion to be covered in enchantments would be as good as announcing his guilt.
And given how many people came and went due to his profession, he had to be extra careful.
"Anyway, continue. You said the Academy brought students here?"
"Yes. And among them is Aint Armian."
"Aint Armian…?"
His eyes widened.
"That cursed bloodline has come here?"
Bang! Bairan slammed the table. Papers, an inkwell, and the golden ashtray engraved with stars clattered to the floor.
"This is an opportunity…!"
"An opportunity, sir?"
"A chance not only to devour Aint Armian, but to swallow the very future of the Empire whole!"
Bairan's roar shook the office walls.
"If I strike him down, I will receive greater favor than ever!"
"Is it possible?"
"I will make it possible! Send word to His Excellency for reinforcements! Even if we lose everything, we will slaughter every last one of those Academy brats! Especially that cursed Armian!"
"But His Excellency commanded us to remain quiet until the time was ripe…"
Crunch.
"Ghhk…!"
A rough hand clamped around the steward's throat, lifting him thirty centimeters off the ground. His face turned pale as he struggled.
"I told you to send the letter to His Excellency."
Bang! He flung the steward to the floor.
"Cough—! But even Duke Comentus and Andromalius failed…"
"Comentus was caught unprepared, ambushed mid-scheme. He never faced him properly."
In truth, Comentus hadn't been a particularly strong fiend. Comparing him to Bairan was almost an insult.
"And Andromalius wasn't properly summoned. That cursed brat disrupted the plan, and he was forced into a hasty summoning."
The Andromalius that appeared had been a firefly compared to the full moon of his infernal self.
"But I am different!"
He wasn't Andromalius's equal, but unlike him, Bairan wasn't alone.
"We have monsters. We can summon more, and let them kill."
A legion of monsters.
Bairan had gained the right to partially open a gate to Hell by offering sacrifices.
It was under his command, by His Excellency's order, that the demonic beasts had appeared—shaking Altriarch and the continent alike.
"And above all, those children will march into the battlefield willingly!"
In that chaos, that slaughter, who could say what might happen?
"This is a chance. Miss it, and both I and His Excellency will regret it for eternity…!"
But if he succeeded, his future would burn bright with the flames of Hell.
"…Understood."
The steward could do nothing but submit.
Bairan hastily scrawled a letter.
[To the Great One…]
Though his movements were frantic, the script and wording were reverent and composed.
"Where are those Academy brats now?"
"At the lord's castle. Tonight, they'll dine with the steward, then depart for the bulwark at dawn with the knights."
"Tomorrow, then. The question is how long they'll stay."
"I've learned they're scheduled for two weeks at the bulwark."
"Two weeks, hm?"
Tight. But not impossible if he pushed.
Sealing the letter, Bairan stood.
"I'll head to the desert at once. You deliver this to His Excellency."
"Now, sir? Shouldn't you await His Excellency's permission—"
"What did you just say?"
"Two weeks, sir…"
"If we wait for His Excellency's reply, it will be too late. To waste this once-in-a-lifetime chance to kill that cursed brat would be madness!"
"But we lack sacrifices to summon more beasts!"
"I'll handle that myself!"
He growled low and stormed out, already planning to rally his mercenaries and head into the desert.
"…I must deliver this quickly."
Clutching the letter, the steward hurried away.
And a short while later—
'Looks like they're gone.'
Pop.
From behind the potted tree, the little golem poked its head out.
A golem is not a living being.
If it fully shuts down, it becomes nothing more than a lump of rock.
Wooden had halted all functions, burying itself in the pot's soil. Once Bairan returned to his desk, it peeked out again.
Its black body with streaks of white blended seamlessly with the dark and pale pebbles—a perfect camouflage.
Thus Wooden—and through it, Fernan—had heard everything.
"..."
Fernan opened his eyes in his room, having seen Bairan's office through Wooden.
'From the conversation, it's clear—they can summon monsters.'
Which meant the true cause behind the chaos was them.
He had thought they were only after the Bell of Pasa. But they were far bigger players than expected.
'Unbelievable.'
The fiend that had driven Altriarch into crisis was hiding right here, in Artc.
Feeding like a parasite off Altriarch's wealth as a mercenary.
To think the shadow beneath the lamp could be this dark. If it had been Pellenberg instead…
"…Tearing him limb from limb would be too kind."
Fernan's eyes glimmered with a deep, lethal intent.
"In the end, they're coming for us."
He didn't need to do anything drastic.
As long as Aint bore the name Armian, to them he was irresistible prey.
Who would end up devouring whom was another matter entirely.
'If they'll come regardless, then I only need to keep powerful allies constantly at Aint's side, so long as he doesn't stray from the bulwark.'
But then again…
Was that enough?
'Isn't that too lenient for such vermin, who've toyed with mankind for so long?'
If he could shatter their confident schemes and make them suffer greater losses, wouldn't that be even better?
'In the end, what matters most in this affair is giving Aint the stage to fight Bairan Osmond.'
As long as that could be achieved, it didn't matter if things diverged slightly from the prophecy. There was no need to worry about Aint gaining experience.
The man seemed fairly strong. Strong enough, in fact, to be a worthy opponent for Aint as he was now—the one who had already defeated Andromalius.
Tap, tap—
At that moment, something patted his cheek. Wooden had returned from its distant mission.
– Kung-kung!
The little golem pointed first at Fernan's hand, then at its own head.
When Fernan stroked its head, the red pupils inside its helmet curved into crescent moons.
"Yeah, good work. Thanks to you, I gained a lot. You did well."
– Kwooong, kung?
"I was about to tell you anyway. Looks like I'll be able to keep my promise."
Mana gathered at Fernan's fingertips, flowing into Wooden, who eagerly absorbed it.
Its arms flailed wildly at the dense mana.
Spirits loved the mana of their contractor. By sharing experiences, resonating, and receiving mana, they grew stronger.
For Wooden, Fernan's mana was the sweetest reward imaginable. To Luina, it would have been the equivalent of chocolate.
Anyway.
'He said he needed sacrifices to summon more monsters.'
So where would those sacrifices come from?
The answer was obvious.
Life. Whether animal, plant, or most likely… human.
And as far as Fernan knew, the place nearby where the largest number of humans could be obtained easily wasn't the Empire's capital or the Kingdom of Alphrosen.
"The desert."
The harsh Taklakan Desert, home to nomadic desert tribes.
Humans born strong, a people obsessed with strength.
'If they've survived even in this chaos, they're tough indeed.'
After being summoned, the monster army had split into two—one striking Alphrosen and the Empire hard, the other scattering throughout the desert.
'Which means the surviving tribes…'
Knock, knock—
At that moment—
"Fernan. Come out. It's time for dinner."
"I'll be right there."
It was Luina.
Glancing out the window, he saw the sky burning with sunset. Time to meet the castellan.
The dining hall of the lord's castle was spacious, but not ostentatious.
Functional, rather than lavish.
It wasn't bad, but it stood in stark contrast to Pellenberg's belief in the necessity of some display of wealth and extravagance.
"Welcome to Altriarch. I ask your understanding that His Excellency cannot personally greet you, due to the situation with the monsters."
The steward was a man in his forties, carrying a solid air of authority. He was from House Zaber, a vassal of Altriarch.
"You've already been more than generous. I am Professor Grad Ksant."
"Harke Zaber."
"Rosalia Bienderk."
After brief introductions with the professors, he also exchanged names with the students.
"Please, take your seats. The lord's chefs are unmatched."
Before long, course after course of fine dishes was laid upon the long table.
"As you've already been told, tomorrow at dawn you will depart with the knights for the bulwark."
"I've never been to Altriarch before. About how long will it take?"
"On horseback, roughly two days."
Most of the conversation flowed between the steward and Professor Grad.
"How is the situation at the bulwark?"
"After the first great wave, it has stabilized somewhat. When a thousand monsters attacked at once, there was danger, but His Excellency and the Countess took the field themselves, and since then the bulwark has held firm."
"That's fortunate."
"Still, the attacks are more frequent than before the monsters began appearing. It will be a messy affair."
"I hate to say it, but that's precisely the sort of thing we've come to experience, so it's fine."
Two hours later, the meal drew to an end.
"Ah, you may even get to see beyond the bulwark."
"Beyond the bulwark?"
"Seeing the steady increase of monsters, His Excellency suspects a rift to Hell may have formed. Plans are being made to march out and eliminate it."
The steward's gaze flickered briefly toward Aint.
Fernan caught it immediately: he had revealed that on purpose.
'He's wondering if Aint Armian might have a way to find the rift.'
As the sworn enemy of demons, the Armian name inspired that kind of hope. Likely, when they reached the front, Aint would be summoned first to meet the Margrave.
'Unacceptable.'
Regardless of whether Aint truly had a way, the one who took the lead had to be Fernan—not Aint.
That way, he could reap the benefits while passing the fame to Aint.
When the dinner ended and people began leaving their seats, Fernan discreetly slipped a sealed letter to the steward.
"What is this?"
"Something I'd like you to deliver personally to His Excellency. It's a proposal from me."
"A proposal? From Student Fernan, or Fernan Pellenberg?"
"The latter."
The steward's expression grew serious.
"May I read it first?"
"I would prefer it. I want you to understand its importance."
Carefully unfolding the note, the steward's eyes went wide.
"Among the issues you mentioned earlier, I believe I can resolve one."
His gaze trembled between the note and Fernan, unable to hide his disbelief.
"…This is…"
"It's the truth."
The note contained only two short lines:
[I wish to strike a deal with His Excellency.
I know the fiends' next plan here in Artc.]
Just two lines—yet enough to turn Altriarch's world upside down.