Walking alone across the plains, Lillian yawned, feeling the fatigue of constant travel finally catching up to him.
He had, after all, gone through a battle—not a major one, but not insignificant either. From it, he was able to better assess his current combat strength. Ordinary mabeasts posed almost no threat to him. Numbers didn't matter—unless they reached the thousands, they couldn't exhaust his stamina.
If he could eliminate them without injury, then defeating Rem in her "oni" state would also be possible. After all, she too ended up heavily wounded when facing overwhelming numbers. That said, Rem's combat ability was only average by this world's standards, and combat strength itself was difficult to quantify.
For example, Julius, the knight of Anastasia's camp, could easily overwhelm Subaru. Subaru, meanwhile, could fight the Archbishop of Sloth to some extent—because he could see the Unseen Hands. Julius could not. Without Subaru's help or a specific counter, Julius might even be killed instantly by Sloth.
Thus, gathering intelligence and preparing targeted strategies was the true path to victory. That was the approach Lillian was taking now. In the world of AOT, he could charge head-on without worry—but here, everything required caution.
Take the earlier incident in the mabeast forest: Lillian had a strong premonition that if Subaru and Rem had not appeared, Roswaal—watching from above—would have casually dropped a massive fireball. There might not have been any deep reasoning behind it. Perhaps it would have simply been to "eliminate an unstable factor." Lillian had no doubt Roswaal was capable of that.
This reinforced his sense of how dangerous this world truly was, and made him seriously consider whether he should temporarily align himself with a major power before making further plans.
As he was thinking this over, he suddenly spotted a group of ground dragons ahead, pulling loaded wagons. It looked like a merchant caravan.
He accelerated toward them. The drivers soon noticed him and came to a stop, all of them turning to look at him with curiosity.
"Hey there, young man, what are you doing out on the plains by yourself?" one of the merchants asked, his eyes constantly darting around as he spoke, clearly wary of bandits suddenly appearing to raid their goods.
"Traveling," Lillian replied.
As he spoke, he noticed among the group a young man with ash-gray hair, blue eyes, and a green hat. The youth was also looking at him with curiosity.
"From the way you're dressed, you're a mercenary, right?" the middle-aged merchant said kindly. "Heading to the Royal Capital as well? Why not travel with us? There are still bandits around these plains—running into them alone could be dangerous."
"That sounds fine. Thanks."
Lillian wasn't in any particular hurry anyway. Slowing down and traveling with the caravan posed no problem, and chatting along the way would allow him to gather information—useful or not, information was always valuable. Before long, since he had left Roswaal's mansion in the late afternoon, night fell after they had traveled only a short distance.
For Lillian himself, traveling day and night without rest wouldn't have been an issue. The merchant caravan, however, couldn't manage that—both their stamina and concentration had limits. They decided to stop, set up tents, and spend the night. With the intention of talking more with them, Lillian stayed as well.
Crackle… hiss…
A campfire was lit, and everyone gathered around it. Each person took out their own food, exchanging items with one another and sharing some with Lillian. As they ate and drank together, conversation naturally drifted toward their cargo.
"My batch of meat should sell for a good price. Meat prices in the capital are high this year."
"Tell me about it. You're making money—me, I'm taking a huge loss this year."
"Haha, you made a killing last year and still aren't satisfied? You can't win every year. But no matter how bad it is, it's still better than Otto's situation!"
"Hahahaha!"
Laughter erupted. Only the young man in the green hat sighed helplessly.
"Seriously, I'm already unlucky enough. Do you really have to tease me too?" He then turned to Lillian. "Hey, mercenary friend—do you need oil? Or know anyone who does? If so, come to me! I'll give you a super low price!"
"Sure…"
Lillian looked at the anxious Otto and thought to himself that this man was a key figure. Leaving everything else aside, Otto's Divine Protection of Soul Language was incredibly powerful—it allowed him to communicate with any being capable of producing sound. At present, he hadn't fully mastered it. If he ever did, that would be another Pirate King-level ability—remarkably similar to Roger's "Voice of All Things."
"Really?!"
"Hey, Otto, calm down. He's just being polite."
"Ah…"
Everyone laughed again. This time, however, Lillian spoke seriously.
"If I really need it, I'll definitely look you up."
Otto immediately thanked him with heartfelt gratitude.
After drinking some wine and eating meat, the conversation finally loosened up.
These men, who spent their days running around trying to make money and had little interest in art or culture, naturally gravitated toward just a few topics when gathered together: women, business, and politics. Business had already been discussed, and most of them were married, so women were hardly worth mentioning. That left only politics.
With the Royal Selection approaching, it was indeed a fitting topic.
"If you ask me," one man said with dissatisfaction, "this time we should elect a king who actually benefits small traders like us. At the very least, lower our taxes. Damn it—nearly one-seventh or one-eighth of what I earn in a year goes straight to taxes."
"But the candidate list isn't out yet," another replied. "Still, I've heard a rumor—the president of the Hoshin Trading Company might be one of the candidates."
"Anastasia?!"
Everyone was shocked. Their expressions immediately darkened, and one man nearly dropped his bottle.
"Then we're finished!" he said. "We small merchants are already getting crushed by the Hoshin Trading Company. If that girl becomes king, we won't have any good days left at all!"
"Exactly…"
"Even if she does run, I doubt she'll make it," someone added. "Would the Royal Knights even support her?"
"And the military… they'd probably back one of their own, right?"
"I say if someone can just maintain stability, that'd already be good enough," another man said. "Think about it—the country's been getting more chaotic these past two years. And then the entire royal family died out one after another… No way that was natural."
"Shh! Are you crazy?! Saying that out loud?!"
Spit, spit, spit! The man hurriedly spat a few times, shrinking back and refusing to continue.
Lillian watched quietly, feeling a sense of realization. Even before the candidate list was announced, these merchants already knew only about Anastasia—and had made it clear they opposed her. That was only natural.
The pressure Anastasia's large commercial faction placed on small merchants was enormous. Her political stance indeed favored heavy taxation—though the key question was who those taxes targeted. If imposed on commoners, her support would plummet. Lillian guessed she would instead target rival merchants and the so-called "middle class," while promising more jobs and public infrastructure to gain popular support.
However, if she truly rose to power and consolidated authority, the country could easily shift into a fully capital-dominated system. In such a society, capital devoured everything. Human value would be endlessly exploited, leading people into blind consumption, massive debt, and eventual bankruptcy—turning them into something akin to "slaves."
No wonder small merchants opposed her. If Anastasia took the throne, the nation might resemble early-era America on Earth—except without racial divisions. Instead, anyone who went bankrupt would be reduced to "gentle slaves" working on plantations. What small merchants wanted, on the other hand, was something closer to France—a general hostility toward big corporations and a ban on monopolies.
Unfortunately, neither scenario was easy to realize in this world.
In Lillian's view, Anastasia's camp would have a hard time winning the Royal Selection—but that had little to do with him anyway. He didn't know how long he would remain in this world, and the Royal Selection wasn't a quick affair. The entire process would last two to three years. By the time a result was decided, he might already be gone.
"Oh, right," Otto suddenly asked, "does the Mercenary Association have any candidates it supports?"
Lillian snapped back to attention and shook his head.
"I'm not sure."
In truth, he didn't even know what the Mercenary Guild really was, let alone its political stance.
"I see. Still, I feel your opinions matter too," Otto said. "Ah well, better to focus on making money. Worrying about this doesn't really help!"
Otto said it optimistically, but Lillian thought to himself that it wasn't useless at all. Stand at the right point in the tide, and even pigs could fly. If one could know in advance who would become king, the business opportunities would be enormous…