"Respected Lady Kal'tsit, do you truly intend to leave Ursus?"
"…Since when did the blades of Ursus claim a will of their own?"
"This is not my personal judgment, my Lady. The Empire has granted you pardon—you are not to be held accountable for the death of Grand Duke Vanya. The Grand Duke had been restless in recent years, and although you slew him without the Empire's sanction, in light of your abilities and past service, your noble title remains recognized."
Kal'tsit gave a dry laugh.
"Heh… Tell me, is that truly the will of the Empire… or merely the will of Duke Kashchey?"
"Duke Kashchey is the very embodiment of the Ursus will. His judgment is the Empire's best course."
"I recall… you were supposed to be the Emperor's Blade, not Kashchey's. If Kashchey is the incarnation of Ursus's will, then tell me—what does the Emperor himself mean to you now?"
"..."
"Of course. It was Kashchey who freed you from the corruption of the Demonic Fragments, who allowed you to walk again under the sun. That you lean toward him is… understandable."
"…The current Emperor is simply not yet mature enough. He requires the guidance of Duke Kashchey."
"And how mature must he be? More seasoned than Kashchey himself?"
"…All is for the Empire."
"The way you twist your words is almost laughable. Enough of this pointless debate. Tell me—what if I insist on leaving?"
The creature coiled within Kal'tsit's spine stirred restlessly.
She did not need to kill the Emperor's Blade. Merely injuring them would suffice.
Once wounded, the Demonic Fragments within them would attempt to break free.
Even if Kashchey had devised a method to dampen the corruption of the demons, the fragments were not wholly neutralized. Their taint remained potent.
So long as the Emperor's Blade believed they could not capture her unscathed, they would have no choice but to let her go.
Yet, to her surprise, the ten members of the Emperor's Blade merely nodded once, then vanished into the black mist—leaving Kal'tsit standing alone at the manor gates.
"…That Eternal Duke of Ursus… just what is he thinking?"
---
"Grand Duke Vanya? That greedy little child… Well, it fits. When I visited his household in his youth, he snatched away his siblings' toys without hesitation. I suppose it was inevitable he would inherit the title—and rise even higher. But in the end, he too paid the price for his greed."
"My Lord Kashchey, I fail to understand why you permitted the culprit to walk free…! Of course, I do not question your decision, my Lord—I only beg you to enlighten a dull servant like myself."
"There is no need to tremble so. The fact that you dare to voice your doubts pleases me… No one's life can be filled with decisions that are all correct. Your questions, at times, help me perceive my own oversights."
"Every decision Lord Kashchey makes is correct! All of them stand the test of time!"
"Heh…"
Kashchey paid no heed to the sycophant's flattery.
Nor did he grant the snake-scaled subordinate an answer.
There were truths that could be spoken, and truths that could not.
And regarding that noblewoman—without a doubt, this was one of the latter.
I have no confidence in confronting a monster who has lived for uncounted centuries.
Kashchey knew far too little about Kal'tsit.
An elder even more ancient than himself—who could possibly know how many hidden cards she held?
Perhaps her apparent weakness was nothing but a façade, just as he often donned a feeble disguise when fishing for prey.
To make an enemy of such an unknown, unfathomable being over something so trivial… would be sheer folly.
Kashchey valued his life far too much for that.
---
W had been recuperating aboard Rhodes Island for some time now.
Lately, there had been a furtive mercenary who, under a dozen flimsy excuses, repeatedly tried to get close to Theresa.
At first, Babel's members grew tense, suspecting the man was an assassin sent by Theresis.
But Theresa herself reassured them—such a thing was impossible.
And since Theresa's gift for judging people had always proven reliable, Babel let their fears subside.
---
"W, are you seriously planning to stay here? This place isn't exactly welcoming to a lunatic with a love for explosions."
Ines sneered.
"And Kazdel isn't exactly welcoming to you either, is it?"
W shot back instantly.
Hoederer sighed, helpless as ever, watching the two quarrel.
Sometimes I really can't tell if the two of them are friends… or enemies.
W and a handful of Sarkaz mercenaries wished to join Babel, while Hoederer, Ines, and most of the others chose to remain mercenaries.
Not everyone wanted to chain their fate entirely to Theresa's vessel.
The strongman, however, made a different choice. He abandoned the mercenary's path altogether, resolved instead to head for Columbia—using the money he had saved over the years to begin a new life.
"My mother… after that recent attack, she quarreled with my father," the strongman explained.
"She's worried for me. Says mercenary work is too dangerous, not worth it. She wants me to leave Kazdel and find a new line of work."
"(Kazdelian curse)! Back then you said you admired me for being a strong, dashing mercenary—that's why you married me! Now you change your tune? Sarkaz are supposed to be free!"
"(Kazdelian curse)! So you want my son dead, is that it? What kind of father says that?"
"I… I… You damn woman—"
"Dad, Mom, stop fighting. I've made up my mind. I'll go to Columbia, find a new job. Please, just stop arguing…"
The mercenaries watched, shivering as the strongman played out a three-way family quarrel all by himself—his face, strangely enough, glowing now and then with genuine happiness.
Even after spending so much time with him, they still could not accustom themselves to this bizarre reality.
"You really do have such a… close family," Theresa said at last, smiling gently as she approached.
"Your Highness."
At once, the strongman bowed—three different voices, one after another, addressing her.
So strange…
Theresa waved lightly, still smiling.
"I'd prefer you call me Chairwoman. Tell me—if you don't mind sharing—how exactly did your parents come to dwell within you? Of course, if it touches upon a secret of yours, you're free to decline."
The mercenary band had never told Babel about the strongman's condition. Nor had Babel pressed to know.
After all, he had already chosen to leave Kazdel behind; there was no need to dig deeper.
The strongman hesitated… but in the end, he told Theresa of the deal he had struck with Satan.
That Mr. Satan… doesn't seem so bad, does he?
So thought Theresa, after hearing his account—and W's eager embellishments at his side.