Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 29 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Daijin’s Doubt

A long line of people had formed in front of the gates of Pherzaad. Their appearances varied, but they simply stood in silence, waiting for the line to move forward. Some were farmers who had come from nearby villages, carrying vegetables they had harvested. Others were merchants leading several wagons behind them. There were also mercenaries clad in armor and helmets as well as adventurers who had completed guild-assigned quests.

Though they all lived in the same world, the essence of their lives differed greatly. Farmers devoted themselves wholeheartedly to tilling the land and growing crops. Merchants exhausted themselves in battles of wits against cunning rivals in their trade. Meanwhile, mercenaries and adventurers made their living by risking their lives in combat against monsters and other humans alike. And yet, their goal was the same. They had all lined up at the gates of this city to earn the means to survive another day.

This scene was not unique to the western gate; it likely unfolded similarly at the northern and southern gates as well.

Pherzaad is vital to those living in the surrounding villages, adventurers seeking work, and merchants dreaming of sudden riches. It’s truly the heart of the economy—a lifeline to many, Ryoma mused.

At that very moment, Pherzaad was in a state of high alert. Because Pherzaad supported the local economy as a trade hub, it wasn’t possible to completely shut down the flow of people entering and leaving the city. Instead, the gatekeepers reportedly began inspecting belongings and verifying identities in addition to collecting the usual entrance tax.

So that’s why the line is so long... Well, I suppose being allowed in at all is better than being turned away, Ryoma thought, sighing and casually glancing around him.

Pherzaad was known as the city of trade, part of the three-kingdom alliance in the eastern region of the western continent, and the home port of the Kingdom of Myest’s navy, which was rumored to be the most powerful fleet on the continent. It also served as the largest trading hub in the western continent, holding a monopoly over commerce with the central continent. In truth, one could describe its scale as colossal.

The city could rival Endesia, the capital of the Kingdom of Myest, and O’ltormea, the capital of the empire. Even across the vast western continent, there were likely fewer than ten cities that could compare to Pherzaad. One could say it surpassed even the likes of Venice—the so-called Queen of the Adriatic Sea known for its economic clout through Mediterranean and Eastern trade in medieval Europe—or Genoa, famed as the Splendid City.

In fact, the massive port facilities built along the eastern coast of Pherzaad saw dozens of galleon ships arriving and departing each day. If one included the medium-sized carracks and even smaller vessels, the number would multiply many times over. Even if the smallest rowboats were counted, the total surely would have exceeded a thousand.

All those ships were loaded with mountains of trade goods, destined for locations across the western continent and even beyond to other continents. It would be no exaggeration to say that each and every one of those ships brought immense wealth to both House Hellner, which ruled the city of Pherzaad, and the Kingdom of Myest.

Goods like tea from the Holy Qwiltantia Empire and swords from the Kingdom of Xarooda came from the western continent. These were traded for spices, sandalwood incense, carpets, and woolen textiles shipped in from the central continent.

In intercontinental trade, it was not everyday essentials like foodstuffs, but luxury items like tea and masterfully crafted weapons that drew the most attention. Pherzaad’s merchants redistributed spices and woolens imported from the central continent.

From there, the imports were carried across the entire western continent by small and mid-sized trading companies and individual traveling merchants. It was, in every sense, a fountain of wealth.

To the Kingdom of Myest and House Hellner, Pherzaad was nothing short of a lucky hammer—a source of endless riches referenced in Japanese folklore. One could literally call it Myest’s lifeline. This enormous economic power had fostered the growth of its formidable navy.

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that Pherzaad needs such overwhelming military power because it has amassed such vast economic strength.

The world people called Earth was full of threats to commerce. Chief among them were the creatures known as monsters. In this world, humans did not sit at the top of the food chain, and calling them the apex was laughable.

Of course, a mysterious power known as thaumaturgy existed. But only a limited number of people could wield that power, and even among them, their strength varied wildly. Thaumaturgy was merely a learned technique, and not innate. Its potency depended heavily on talent and hard work.

I’d even heard rumors of a warrior capable of slaying a dragon single-handedly, but that doesn’t mean humans can be called the rulers of this world.

Just because a rare few individuals were incredibly strong didn’t mean the human race as a whole was powerful. When it came to the monsters known as giant species and dragons at their peak, they existed on an entirely different level.

I encountered the King of Sand dwelling in the desert of the Kingdom of Helnesgoula and the Eagle Lord when I tried to cross the mountain range separating the Kingdom of Xarooda and the O’ltormea Empire... Ryoma had personally witnessed creatures classed as giant species twice. But in just those two encounters, he had come to understand the terrifying reality of their existence. Those things were straight out of a B-movie monster flick.

Even among the giant species, not all that were classified as such related to the race. Some rare exceptions included dragons or the so-called Eagle Lords.

For instance, the King of Sand was a colossal creature that had originally been a single sandworm, a member of a relatively common species. Over many years, it had survived constant competition, eventually mutating and growing to a monstrous size, stretching hundreds of meters in length. While it was a terrifying threat, it was merely a single freak mutation at the end of the day. The likelihood of another sandworm ever reaching the same scale and power as the King of Sand was extremely low. It was not impossible, but it might not happen again for another century or two.

The Eagle Lord had indeed ruled the skies with its enormous wingspan, but even that ruler had met its end at the hands of the Malfist sisters and their combined thaumaturgy. Undoubtedly, the giant species occupied a place near the top of the food chain and posed a serious threat to humankind. But that didn’t make them the absolute rulers of this world. Perhaps there was no definitive answer to the question, and it might never be settled.

Well, yeah... That’s exactly why no one can say what really sits at the top of the food chain in this world.

Such notions were the reason people continued to seek strength. At the very least, humans could overcome even the giant species with enough effort. For that reason, the Kingdom of Myest had funneled the immense wealth it earned through trade with the central continent into strengthening its navy.

As Ryoma was lost in these thoughts, it seemed his turn had finally come.

“Next!”

Following the guard’s command, Ryoma stepped forward. He placed three gold coins into the outstretched palm held before him. A greedy, base expression flickered across the gatekeeper’s face, showing he understood Ryoma’s intent perfectly.

“All right, three silver coins received. Very well. Permission granted! The two behind you can go through too!”

Shortly after, the guard stepped aside to let them pass. Ryoma gave a small nod in response and, along with his companions waiting behind him, walked beneath the gate and into the city. They would usually have been questioned about their identities and the purpose of their visit, but the little “incentive” Ryoma had offered had clearly smoothed the way.

Pherzaad, huh. A city I just can’t seem to shake.

Ryoma passed beneath the towering city gate with thick, high walls that loomed above him. Beyond them lay a bustling marketplace, alive with the sound of countless people moving to and fro. On both sides of the main road, stalls were tightly packed together, their vendors shouting to attract customers. Given the supposed heightened security, Ryoma had expected a more subdued atmosphere. But to his surprise, the city seemed livelier than ever.

“Business as usual, it seems. I thought this incident might’ve taken the edge off the crowds a little,” remarked Sara.

“I thought the same as Sara,” another companion agreed. “Lady Cassandra Hellner must truly be an exceptional leader.”

Ryoma Mikoshiba gave a deep nod in agreement and said, “Well, she is a formidable woman said to stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Ecclesia and Alexis Duran. In that sense, it’s no surprise. But whatever happens from here on out is anyone’s guess.”

According to reports from the Igasaki clan, Cassandra Hellner had yet to make any significant moves. She hadn’t shown signs of pledging loyalty to King Owen, nor had she rallied the nearby nobles around Pherzaad to form any sort of opposition.

Considering that nearly all of Cassandra Hellner’s military power lies in the navy, it’s not strange that she’s keeping still.

The Kingdom of Myest’s navy under her command was said to be the most elite force on the western continent. But no matter how powerful a navy might be at sea, winning a war through naval power alone was nearly impossible. Even if you drove the enemy from the waters, the war wouldn’t end unless you could occupy their strongholds.

If we’re talking about harbors or coastal towns, ships could sail in and seize them. But for inland positions, the navy’s utility becomes limited.

If she had battleships like the Yamato or Musashi, equipped with massive cannons, perhaps she could shell enemy fortresses from a distance and level them. But even then, she’d be destroying them—not taking them. Ground forces were necessary to capture territory. There was no way around it. That was why, even in the modern age, militaries had developed specialized units like the marines and naval landing forces. Naval firepower alone wasn’t enough to win wars.

Based on how naval battles in this world often devolve into close-quarters combat once ships are boarded, it’s probably safe to assume that marines here aren’t exactly helpless when it comes to fighting on land, Ryoma thought. Regardless, being able to do something and being good at it were two very different things. Besides, using highly trained marines for land battles and letting them get worn down seems like a huge waste.

Of course, deploying marines on land wasn’t especially difficult. While they might be unable to fight in coordinated formations like land troops trained specifically for ground warfare, charging into the enemy and clashing swords was well within their capabilities. Even marines trained for naval combat didn’t live on ships all the time, after all. But the reverse—loading up land troops onto ships and expecting them to fight a naval battle—was a whole different beast. Putting ordinary soldiers aboard didn’t mean they’d be of any use in a sea fight.

In fact, some soldiers might flat-out refuse to board out of fear of the water.

Of course, flat-out refusal wouldn’t get them far. Soldiers didn’t have the luxury of defying orders from their commanding officers. Anyone foolish enough to argue might literally find their head flying off.

They’d probably board the ship if ordered, even if reluctantly... But fighting aboard one? That’s a different story. Most of them can’t even swim.

Taking a dip in a river or lake now and then was one thing, but unless they were fishermen, most soldiers had little to no opportunity to learn. For a soldier who couldn’t swim, being thrown overboard wasn’t just dangerous; it was basically a death sentence. That undeniable and visceral fear would cling to them like chains. Fear like that didn’t just stay in the mind. It crept into the body and dragged down everything.

There’s no way soldiers like that could actually fight at sea. Honestly, they’d probably be too busy puking from seasickness to even draw their swords. Naturally, they’d need to start by simply getting used to being on the water. In this world, swimming is practically a specialized skill, after all.

During the civil war in the Kingdom of Rhoadseria, Ryoma had chosen to flood a city specifically because he’d heard about this unique vulnerability of the people. The real question was whether it was necessary to deploy marines—who had such a rare and valuable skill set—for land combat in the first place.

It’s not like it’s impossible. If there’s a major disparity in troop numbers, calling on the marines to help balance the scales might be a valid option... But is that really the right call now?

The decision would depend on the circumstances. Deploying marines for ground combat would certainly result in higher casualties. The issue was whether the objective justified taking that kind of loss.

Ultimately, soldiers are meant to be expended. It wouldn’t make sense to avoid using them just to keep losses low, at least from a military standpoint.

From a modern ethical perspective, that mindset might seem inhuman. It would be unpalatable and downright condemnable if spoken aloud. And yet, from a purely military viewpoint, Ryoma wasn’t wrong.

Wars couldn’t be fought while factoring in the personal feelings and backgrounds of every individual soldier. If one started to treat troops like delicate humans rather than strategic pieces, they would tie their own hands. That self-imposed limitation would, without question, lead to more danger for the very soldiers one was trying to protect—wasting lives, not saving them.

At the very least, you shouldn’t get emotionally attached to each and every soldier. You should avoid thinking about their personal lives or futures. Soldiers are pieces on a board. Anyone in a position of command has to understand that.

Hesitating to sacrifice a single piece could easily cost you ten more, defeating the entire purpose.

No victory without sacrifice? Or was it no victory without pain? There are so many versions floating around that I can’t even remember which one’s the original anymore... They’re all starting to blur together. Ryoma’s mind drifted to one of those phrases. It was a variation of a quote attributed to William Penn, a seventeenth-century English statesman. There were too many similar expressions to keep track of. He wasn’t even sure which was technically correct anymore. But in the end, the phrasing didn’t matter because the core idea stayed the same. The only real difference is the cost you’re willing to pay.

The fundamentals of human society didn’t change, whether in the modern world or this other one. Applying that cold logic made the conclusion obvious: Using marines for ground combat was wasteful. At the very least, it was a choice best avoided if any alternatives existed.

War will never vanish, and victory will always demand sacrifice. But that’s exactly why soldiers must be allocated wisely. And it’s our duty to reduce those sacrifices however we can by always aiming for the best possible outcome.

There was a saying that “A swift strike is better than a clever delay.” But in the Kingdom of Myest’s current situation, careful planning and deliberate action were far more valuable than haste.

If the navy is forced to move here, Alexis Duran would either mobilize his troops or resort to schemes to deal with the situation from Endesia. Either way, it would inevitably plunge the Kingdom of Myest into a state of internal strife, Ryoma thought, knowing this move would decide the fate of Myest. Cassandra Hellner understands this well. Or rather, it’s precisely because she has the strategic insight to understand this that she’s one of the three generals.

When the time came, Cassandra would mobilize her forces. Even if she knew that it would drag the Kingdom of Myest into full-scale internal conflict, she wouldn’t hesitate. But at this point, there were still far too many unknowns.

Cassandra would likely be focused on the movements of Ecclesia Marinelle, so she refrained from making any overt decisions.

The trading city of Pherzaad... Strategically speaking, this city holds an incredibly significant position.

After all, Pherzaad was the home port of the Kingdom of Myest’s navy, and Cassandra Hellner, who held the reins of command, was practically the city’s patron.

Now that the southern part of Myest has fallen under the control of the false king Owen and Alexis Duran, Cassandra Hellner’s influence in the northern territories—and her navy—is undeniably a key factor in determining the outcome of the war. No matter where she faces General Duran, the battle will take place within the kingdom’s borders. In such a scenario, securing supply lines becomes crucial, and Pherzaad is absolutely essential to control.

Even Ryoma Mikoshiba had ships at his disposal for naval battles. But the primary mission of the galleons owned by Ryoma was trade along the northern route centered around the city of Sirius. As a result, they generated revenue in the hundreds of thousands, even millions, of gold coins each month. If Ryoma were to use these trading galleons as warships, the finances of the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy would inevitably suffer a sharp decline.

Given the savings accumulated so far, it’s not impossible to endure for a short period. But if it goes beyond six months, things would get difficult.

Furthermore, the galleons owned by the grand duchy were fundamentally trading vessels. While they could be repurposed for combat, they could not fight like proper warships of a dedicated navy. From this perspective, a positive relationship between Ryoma and Cassandra would be crucial.

It’s a strange thing... I never thought I would be returning to Pherzaad in this manner.

Perhaps Ryoma had a sense of nostalgia. But it wasn’t surprising that, beyond its strategic importance, the city of Pherzaad held a personal significance for Ryoma.

There had been several major turning points in Ryoma’s life. Of course, the biggest was being summoned to this world. But if Ryoma were to name another significant turning point, it would likely be the time he took on a request from the Adventurer’s Guild in Pherzaad. That led him to become involved in the civil war of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria.

And if I hadn’t gotten involved in the civil war of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria, there’s no way I would have ever come to rule the Wortenia Peninsula or risen to the rank of archduke.

Based on Ryoma’s assessment, it wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say that the city of Pherzaad had granted Ryoma Mikoshiba the opportunity to challenge the gate of destiny. Once again, he returned to the trade city, steadily making his way toward the Adventurer’s Guild.

The reason? His meeting partner, Liu Daijin, had specified the guild as the place for their talk.

Was it merely coincidence? Something that could be called fate, perhaps?

“It’s probably not a coincidence... Is it?” Ryoma whispered.

“Lord Ryoma, is something the matter?” Sara tilted her head curiously.

He shook his head lightly and smiled.

“No... It’s nothing.”

Ryoma had a vague idea as to why Liu Daijin had chosen the Adventurer’s Guild as their meeting place. But there was no reason to share that guess with the Malfist sisters. In less than an hour, they’d hear the explanation straight from the man himself. As he thought about that, a familiar street finally came into view.

“This is the place.”

Upon confirming the sign that marked the guild, Ryoma, the Malfist sisters, and his bodyguards stepped through the doors. The moment they entered, the chatter of the adventurers inside ceased, and their gazes turned toward the newcomers.

They seemed like people sizing up someone new. Once the adventurers confirmed from Ryoma and his companions’ attire that they were fellow professionals, they quickly resumed what they were doing.

That kind of reaction was entirely natural for those who lived on Earth. Whether they were friend or foe—strong or weak—they were able to assess all that instantly.

For those who made their living from combat, like adventurers or mercenaries, staying alert to their surroundings was only common sense. After all, public safety in this world was abysmal. When one stepped outside their home, it became a savage wilderness ruled by the law of the jungle. That made it necessary to maintain constant vigilance.

Maybe it was more accurate to say that only those with that awareness ingrained into their very bodies could survive in a world like this. That awareness was also an especially vital skill for adventurers and mercenaries.

But there was something more than just sizing us up.

There had been a brief, sharp presence that hinted at killing intent and caution directed at the three of them.

But it was gone in an instant.

They’re probably part of the Organization.

After all, this was the meeting spot Liu Daijin had designated. It only made sense to assume that members of his Organization were already here, mingling among the crowd. As Ryoma approached the reception counter, the receptionist greeted him with a warm, cheerful smile.

“Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild. May I ask you to present your identification first?”

Ryoma nodded slightly and pulled from his coat the ID he had obtained a few years ago in the imperial capital, placing it on the counter.

“Thank you very much. Now, would you kindly place your hand on this crystal?”

Following the receptionist’s prompt, he reached out toward the crystal orb on the counter.

“Ryoma Mikoshiba... Yes, we’ve been expecting you.” The receptionist stood from her seat, stepped out from behind the counter, and bowed politely to him. “Now then, I’ll explain the details of the request. If you wouldn’t mind, may we proceed to the meeting room?”

“Of course, I don’t mind. However...” Ryoma glanced subtly over his shoulder. It was an unspoken question whether he could bring the Malfist sisters with him. Ordinarily, their presence would likely be denied. After all, Ryoma Mikoshiba and the Organization had never exactly enjoyed a friendly relationship.

That description put it a little too mildly.

The Kingdom of Rhoadseria’s civil war... The O’ltormea Empire’s first invasion of the Kingdom of Xarooda... If those were all part of the Organization’s schemes, this incident with the Kingdom of Myest would make it the third time I’ve interfered with their plans.

All of that was nothing more than Ryoma’s speculation. There wasn’t a shred of physical evidence to back any of it up, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth.

No... I’m probably right about this.

Describing their relationship as merely unfriendly would be a disservice, given their history. Hostile would be the more accurate term. Being a front for the Organization, the Adventurer’s Guild should have understood that well enough. Moreover, Ryoma was about to meet none other than Liu Daijin, one of the Organization’s elders.

When protecting someone of such high standing, anyone trained in martial arts or thaumaturgy would likely be a potential threat. Such people couldn’t turn away Ryoma, as he was the one scheduled for the meeting. But it was only logical that they wouldn’t want his bodyguards to accompany him. If Ryoma were the one in charge of security, he certainly wouldn’t allow any companions inside. And yet, the receptionist unexpectedly accepted his silent request without hesitation.

“Yes, of course. That won’t be a problem.” Then, she motioned for Ryoma and his companions to follow her toward the staircase leading to the second floor.

Hmm... Was I overthinking it? Ryoma thought briefly.

Still, it wasn’t unreasonable for him to be cautious. Ryoma didn’t have any solid information about the group people referred to simply as “the Organization.” All he had were the scattered pieces of intelligence gathered by the Igasaki clan and by Simone Christof, including the conclusions he had drawn from those reports.

And the reason for that mystery? His grandfather, Koichiro, had always been reluctant to speak about it.

What Koichiro had told Ryoma was simple. He had once belonged to the Organization, and when he was summoned to Earth, he had relied on the help of an old friend—Liu Daijin.

In response, Ryoma had chosen not to press his grandfather for more answers.

Well, I can guess why. My grandfather probably figured that if he told me too much about the Organization, they’d take that as a reason to seriously come after me.

The Organization was a group that lurked in the shadows of the western continent, fiercely concealing information about itself. A few individuals like Julianus I were aware that such a group existed in the continent’s dark underbelly.

But even the elite members of the Igasaki clan had failed to uncover any detailed information. Uncertainty shrouded the Organization’s very existence, which was characteristic of them. Because of that, Ryoma found it hard to predict how the Organization viewed him.

Naturally, I need to be cautious. Though maybe being too cautious could end up backfiring.

As those thoughts drifted through his mind, the receptionist came to a stop in front of a large oak door. She gave it a gentle knock, then turned to Ryoma, bowed slightly, and quietly walked away. Her role had ended with guiding him there. The heavy oak door slowly opened as if it had been waiting for her departure.

Beyond it lay a lavish room that was elegant enough to be mistaken for a suite in a high-class hotel. The floor was covered wall-to-wall with Persian carpets, and an enormous crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. But at that moment, such luxury held no meaning whatsoever to Ryoma.

What caught Ryoma’s attention were the two figures standing at the center of the room. One was a refined woman dressed in a butler’s uniform, while the other was an elderly man clad in a long robe of white silk.

So this is Liu Daijin... He looks surprisingly young.

For a brief moment, Ryoma doubted whether this man was truly Liu Daijin. But Liu showed no sign of uncertainty.

“Welcome, grandson of my dear friend. You must have been quite surprised to receive my sudden letter. To be honest, I thought you might refuse, but I’m glad you made the long journey.” Liu Daijin approached Ryoma with his arms wide open in a welcoming gesture.

One might expect this posture from a grandparent eagerly awaiting the arrival of a beloved grandchild. With such an unexpected display of warmth, Ryoma couldn’t hide his confusion. Countless thoughts flickered through his mind.

He seems to trust me a lot more than I expected.

Ordinarily, a handshake would have sufficed. Judging from Liu Daijin’s demeanor, he wasn’t aiming for a handshake but instead going in for an embrace. That alone conveyed the connection he felt toward Ryoma. Otherwise, someone of his stature—an elder of the Organization—would never greet someone with a hug. It was a gesture that only someone with deep trust in the other person would ever consider making.

A dagger could always be plunged into Liu Daijin’s abdomen when he stepped in for a hug. If that were to happen, Liu Daijin could easily suffer a fatal wound. Truthfully, Ryoma didn’t even need a dagger.

He should’ve heard about An-da surprise attacks from grandfather, Ryoma thought.

In the Mikoshiba mortal arts, there was a technique passed down that closely resembled the one-inch punch made famous by Bruce Lee—a short-range strike capable of delivering tremendous force from mere inches away. It was considered one of the secret techniques of the Mikoshiba style because its power was nothing short of worthy of that title.

At its peak, An-da could deliver a strike from an almost point-blank distance with greater force than even a full karate straight punch. What made it even more fearsome was that, so long as Ryoma had free use of his wrist and hand, he could still unleash the technique. He could do so even if the power had somewhat diminished.

After all, An-da was originally developed for battlefield use. It was meant for situations where you’ve lost your sword or spear and grappled with the enemy in close quarters.

Naturally, the technique was designed to be viable even while rolling on the ground or pinned beneath an enemy. Liu Daijin, who was said to have had a close relationship with Koichiro Mikoshiba, would undoubtedly know about it.

After all, Ryoma had heard that Koichiro and Liu had exchanged martial arts techniques with each other.

Even if he didn’t know about An-da, anyone with common sense would recognize how dangerous it is to close the distance so carelessly. Given the size difference between us, even if this old man’s confident in his skills, he’d at least show a little hesitation...

Ryoma was confident that he could handle the situation, but there was no need to take unnecessary risks. His height had exceeded 190 centimeters. In fact, he had been growing ever since being summoned to this world, at this point being close to two meters tall.

On top of that, his weight was considerable as well. He hadn’t actually stepped on a scale to measure it, so the exact number remained unknown, but it was likely around 120 kilograms. He was literally a giant. If he had been living in Japan, it wouldn’t have been surprising if a professional wrestler had scouted him.

As for Liu Daijin, he was probably around 170 centimeters tall. His height was about the same as Ryoma’s cousin, Asuka Kiryu. He wasn’t quite “short” to the general public, but one wouldn’t describe him as large. Moreover, his weight was within the standard range. He probably weighed around sixty kilograms, which was considered typical for an adult male.

Although he exuded a youthful energy that didn’t show his age, the difference in physique could be compared to that of an adult and a child. Despite such a disparity in size, these two embraced each other.

A child hugging a bear, huh?

Ryoma’s high school classmates had given him the nickname Sleeping Bear, so it wasn’t entirely wrong. From an outsider’s perspective, it might have seemed like a heartwarming scene. The problem, however, was that the difference in their sizes could easily lead to a situation where one could kill the other.

If Ryoma wanted to kill Liu Daijin, there would be no need to use any of the Mikoshiba family’s secret techniques.

I could just pull him in, squeeze with both hands, snap his spine, or use the distance to grab his head, twist it, and sever his cervical vertebrae.

Alternatively, he could grab his arm to pin him down and gouge out vital points like his throat or eyes with his fingers, which wouldn’t be a bad option either. After all, his opponent was in a completely unguarded state. Regardless of whether it would succeed, there were many methods to kill.

And yet, this old man approached me. Did he plan this beforehand? However, Ryoma quickly rejected that thought. That woman in the butler uniform... When this old man came close to me, I briefly felt a disturbance in her presence, meaning this wasn’t something they had coordinated in advance.

At the very least, it seemed that Liu Daijin’s bodyguards didn’t approve of their charge getting too close to Ryoma Mikoshiba. Such behavior showed Liu Daijin’s resolve.

Then, Liu Daijin gently embraced Ryoma Mikoshiba’s large body with no hidden intention behind it. He was genuinely looking forward to his meeting with Ryoma, even though they hadn’t met before. Given the strained relationship between Ryoma and the Organization, the only reason for such a warm welcome seemed to be one thing.

Ryoma had heard from his grandfather about his connection with Liu Daijin... But honestly, he had been surprised. He hadn’t expected their relationship to be so close that he would receive such an enthusiastic welcome.

Regardless, Ryoma was uncertain about how to handle this unexpected situation. He clearly couldn’t just stand there frozen. Being mindful not to squeeze too tightly, Ryoma returned Liu Daijin’s embrace. He did so because he believed it was the polite thing to do. Perhaps because that sentiment got through to him, Ryoma felt a bit more strength in Liu Daijin’s arms.

How much time had passed? Had they embraced for nearly ten seconds? At last, the strength in Liu Daijin’s arms faded.

“I had heard rumors about you before, but I’m truly glad to finally meet you in person,” he said.

Ryoma nodded deeply as Liu Daijin seemed genuinely happy to welcome him.

“Now then, before we begin our talk, let’s first wet our throats. I considered offering a drink to celebrate our meeting, but given what lies ahead, I think tea would be the better choice. Please, you lovely young ladies, do have a seat,” said Liu Daijin, signaling to his servant Ruqaiya, who had been standing nearby.

Following his lead, Ryoma and the Malfist sisters made their way toward the round table at the center of the room. Ruqaiya immediately began preparing the tea.

Liu Daijin and Ryoma sat facing each other while the Malfist sisters took seats slightly to their master’s side.

“Judging by the color, is it Tieguanyin? But the aroma seems a little different, doesn’t it?” asked Ryoma.

A reddish, amber liquid had been poured into the ceramic teacups from the Chinese-style teapot.

Based on the tea’s hue and its sweet, almost nectar-like aroma reminiscent of white peaches, Ryoma guessed that the tea before him must have been a semifermented variety. It could have been one of the Chinese teas classified as qingcha or oolong. He had voiced his suspicion aloud, more out of curiosity than certainty.

That kind of knowledge wasn’t something he had studied formally but rather was a byproduct of his upbringing. Despite his grandfather Koichiro being a bit of a heavy drinker, he had a deep obsession with tea and coffee, almost to the point of being a connoisseur. As a child, Ryoma had been roped into that peculiar indulgence time and time again. Over the years, he had unconsciously absorbed bits and pieces of his grandfather’s refined tastes.

Still, his nose was telling him something. The fragrance wasn’t quite the same as the Tieguanyin tea he had known.

“You noticed, did you?” Liu Daijin asked.

“Well, if you’re asking whether I really noticed, that’s a tough call,” Ryoma responded, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish grin. “From the color alone, I’d assume it’s Tieguanyin. The scent is similar too. But there’s something softer about the fermentation. And the tea leaves themselves somehow feel unusual. Just a hunch, really.”

Ryoma wasn’t trying to show off. He knew that, compared to a true expert, he was just a hobbyist or a well-fed amateur at best. The only thing he could say with confidence was whether something tasted good or not. Beyond that, his judgments were limited to whether he’d encountered the flavor before.

But that honest humility seemed to resonate with Liu Daijin.

“Well now,” Liu said, his eyes twinkling. “If you picked up on that much, you’ve got a fine palate indeed.” He reached for his cup, smiling with clear satisfaction. “To let you in on the secret... This tea was made using leaves cultivated right here in this world.”

At that, Ryoma’s eyes widened slightly.

“I see... To think you’ve managed to produce something of this quality in a different world entirely.” There was no hint of flattery in Ryoma’s voice, but instead, genuine admiration.

Of course, it didn’t quite match the quality of Tieguanyin or other Chinese teas he had tried back on Rearth. That much was undeniable. Even so, Ryoma had to admit it was excellent when judged simply on taste.

“If I had to nitpick,” Ryoma said thoughtfully, “I’d say it’s just missing a bit of that distinctive Tieguanyin character. But it’s really quite impressive.”

Liu Daijin nodded, clearly pleased with the response, and smirked. “Well, well... Seems you’ve got a deeper understanding of tea than I expected. It’s not so easy to raise the quality to the level I envisioned.”

When Liu Daijin noticed that Ryoma’s teacup had emptied, he gave a small signal to Ruqaiya. Once again, that reddish-amber liquid, which could only be described as elegant, was poured gently into the cup. It was, in every sense, a moment of refined serenity—an interlude devoted entirely to savoring the tea’s flavor.

“Now then, grandson of my dear friend,” Liu began, his tone growing more serious, “let us hear your request. What is it you wish from me? You’ve come all this way to see me, and I fully intend to offer you whatever help lies within my power. So please, speak freely. There’s no need to hold back.”

The speech was undoubtedly a gesture of remarkable generosity.

After all, Liu Daijin was one of the elders of the Organization and a man of considerable influence and power. For such a figure to offer his full support was tantamount to handing over a blank check. Ordinarily, someone would be right to suspect an ulterior motive behind such an offer.

But in this case, holding back would be the greater mistake.

Everything up to this point had made it abundantly clear that Liu Daijin genuinely welcomed him as the grandson of his old friend Koichiro and earnestly offered assistance. Men like Liu, who lived in the world of power and politics, tended to despise unnecessary modesty or hesitation.

So, Ryoma spoke plainly, without embellishment.

“The political upheaval in the Kingdom of Myest... If possible, I’d like you to arrange a meeting with the person who orchestrated it, or at least with someone above them.”

Liu Daijin let out a cheerful laugh, clearly entertained. “Oh? So you’re asking for mediation? And assuming I do mediate, what is it you hope to gain from such a meeting?”

“The halting, or at the very least, a reduction of support to the O’ltormea Empire,” Ryoma answered.

Currently, the most pressing issue for Ryoma Mikoshiba was finding a way to aid the Kingdom of Xarooda, which was struggling beneath the weight of the O’ltormea Empire’s invasion. To accomplish that, he had to overcome two significant hurdles.

One hurdle is dealing with the coup in the Kingdom of Myest. The other is countering the economic manipulation being deployed against the Kingdom of Helnesgoula.

The coup that had taken place in Myest was clearly not a purely domestic affair. It bore all the marks of external interference. Concluding that an operative of the Organization had orchestrated the conflict between the north and south was reasonable.

Ryoma did not want to entertain the idea that the Kingdom of Myest’s proud Three Generals were in league with the Organization. Part of him wanted to dismiss it outright as impossible, to avert his eyes from the mere notion. However, based on everything that had happened so far, Ryoma had become convinced that Alexis Duran was the true mastermind.

Most likely, it was Alexis Duran and those under his command. Neutralizing the root cause is nonnegotiable. The main problem is coming to terms with it.

Of course, the quickest and most certain method to determine the Organization’s control of the conflict between north and south would have been the assassination of Alexis Duran. But Ryoma was reluctant to resort to such extreme means. He didn’t consider assassination to be an underhanded or cowardly tactic. Rather, he simply believed it would be a poor move.

If they succeeded in killing Duran and the Organization retaliated, it could easily spiral into a drawn-out, bloody conflict. In the worst case, the Kingdom of Myest’s southern faction—already allied with Brittantia and Tarja—would end up dragging in the Organization as yet another formidable enemy.

If it came to that, the entire strategy would be for nothing.

After all, I’ve moved so carefully to avoid fighting on two fronts. There is no meaning in adding more enemies now.

The situation wouldn’t be an issue if the Organization were weak. But a group said to possess influence across the entirety of the western continent could not possibly be weak. This made it all the more difficult to take a hardline approach.

All of this, too, is because the true scope of the Organization’s power remains veiled.

There was no greater nuisance than an enemy that hid in the shadows, keeping its true nature out of sight. And that was exactly why Ryoma hoped to resolve things through negotiation with the Organization.

Whether Liu Daijin understood Ryoma’s thoughts, he appeared to enjoy the moment and cheerfully said, “Hm... I understand your intent. But why haven’t you asked me directly? I do hold a respectable position within the Organization, you know? It doesn’t seem like there’s any need to involve a third party, does it?”

“Of course, if it were possible, I would very much like to ask that of you... But I fear such a request might fall outside the ‘reasonable accommodations’ you mentioned earlier, Liu Daijin.”

A dangerous glint flickered in Liu Daijin’s eyes.

Even Ruqaiya, who had been silently observing the exchange, began radiating a palpable killing intent. Ryoma had seemingly stepped on the tiger’s tail.

“Oh...? You say some rather interesting things. Are you suggesting that I, one of the elders of the Organization, am incapable of granting your request? Hm. I wonder, do you have some kind of basis for that conclusion?” Liu Daijin’s tone was calm, but within it there was an unmistakable and unyielding demand for a serious answer.

“A theory... It may not be the strongest. When I consider the movements of the Organization until now, I can’t help but think that it is not a unified group led by a single, absolute authority. Rather, it may be a coalition of several independent factions. And you, Liu Daijin, are merely the head of one such faction. Am I wrong?”

If that hypothesis was correct, Liu Daijin’s influence within the Organization would be relatively limited.

“I see. That’s quite an interesting theory,” declared Liu Daijin, folding his arms, closing his eyes, and quietly turning his gaze to the heavens. “Did Koichiro tell you this?”

The question was logical, seeing as Koichiro had once been part of the Organization alongside Liu Daijin. Even though he had returned to Rearth and distanced himself from it, it wasn’t hard to imagine that his mind contained a wealth of information about the Organization. But Ryoma shook his head once more.

“No, this is purely my own theory.”

“You didn’t ask Koichiro?”

“My grandfather isn’t the type to speak lightly on matters like this. Asking would be pointless. More likely, he’d just get annoyed and clam up.”

Had Koichiro Mikoshiba truly intended to share information about the Organization with Ryoma, he would have done so without needing to be asked.

But he never tried to speak to me about it.

Ryoma had been told that his grandfather had once been a member of the Organization, that he was friends with Liu Daijin, and that he had spent some time under Liu’s care after being summoned back to this world.

However, he had never spoken in concrete terms about the Organization itself.

Did he choose not to? Or was he unable to? Knowing my grandfather’s personality, it was probably the former... “Speech is silver, silence is golden,” wasn’t it?

Once words were spoken, one could not take them back. Sometimes, careless words could invite unexpected disaster. Sharing information was certainly important, but that didn’t mean all information had to be shared.

It seemed Koichiro Mikoshiba had decided that the finer details of the Organization were not something to be disclosed.

Judging from their recent movements, it probably wouldn’t have led to anything good anyway, Ryoma mused. The Organization held significant influence across the entire western continent, but concrete information about them was strangely scarce. This could only mean one thing: They had been deliberately concealing their existence all along.

Ryoma first became aware of the Organization’s existence when he heard of it from King Julianus I on his return to the Kingdom of Rhoadseria following the end of the O’ltormea Empire’s first invasion of the Kingdom of Xarooda. But even Julianus himself hadn’t been fully convinced of their existence.

Julianus I had told Ryoma nothing more than a possibility that some group might be working behind the scenes to stoke the flames of conflict across the western continent. Still, there was no denying that this suggestion had answered the swirling doubts that had taken root within Ryoma’s mind.

It wasn’t like I was convinced from the very beginning either. Ryoma wasn’t so naive as to seriously believe that a secret evil organization like the kind you’d see in Saturday morning superhero shows might exist in the real world. It’s not like I’m into conspiracy theories or anything.

Such TV shows had their charm as a fictional premise. But it was only compelling because it was confined to the realm of fiction. If a group truly existed—one actively working to stir up conflict—no other explanation made more sense for why the wars on the western continent never seemed to end. That was why Ryoma began seeking confirmation through evidence that this answer might be true.

Thanks to individuals skilled in intelligence gathering, like the Igasaki clan and Simone Christof, Ryoma had gradually grasped a vague certainty regarding the Organization’s existence and its underlying motives.

“A hypothesis, is it...?” Liu Daijin muttered, then once again fell silent. “And yet, your tone is rather confident for someone speaking in hypotheticals.”

“It’s not quite confidence,” Ryoma remarked. “But after thinking through everything, I can’t help but feel that’s what it must be.”

“Then tell me. What do you believe our Organization exists for? What do you think our purpose is?”

Ryoma slowly said, “Well... If I had to guess, I believe the group known as the Organization operates based on two major principles.”

“And those are?”

“Primarily, survival and progress.”

The survival of those summoned from Rearth and the advancement of technology in this still-undeveloped world was important. One only had to look at things like the guild network system to see signs of that influence.

But that can’t be all.

Ryoma paused briefly, lips tightening, before continuing with a calm but deliberate tone.

“However... Beyond that, I get the sense that there’s an entirely different will at work. Something darker, like revenge or hatred.”

It was a contradictory answer. If survival and progress represented a constructive, positive intent toward this world, then revenge and hatred stood as its complete opposite—a destructive, negative force. Normally, it would be unthinkable for such opposing intentions to coexist within a single organization.

But if the group is actually a coalition of separate, independently acting factions, each with their own agenda...then that contradiction begins to make sense.

In other words, the Organization’s true nature might be something closer to a secret society or a federation of such groups operating in the shadows. Of course, it was still just a theory. But to Ryoma, it was one he felt increasingly certain of. When Liu Daijin heard Ryoma’s answer, his expression stiffened. Undoubtedly, it was the clearest proof that Ryoma’s words had struck the mark.

The very next moment, Liu Daijin let out a loud, hearty laugh.

“I see. Yes, a most precise observation indeed,” he said, reaching for the teacup placed before him. Perhaps it was an attempt to steady himself—if only a little. Then, Liu Daijin turned his gaze calmly toward Ryoma. “One last thing... Let me ask you this. Depending on your answer, I’ll decide whether to grant your request. Is that acceptable?”

The light in his eyes turned sharp, cold, and piercing. Within those eyes, Ryoma saw a will that would accept no deception. It was as if Liu were attempting to peer into the very depths of his soul. Of course, Ryoma understood exactly what the question was. The real issue was whether the answer he gave would be the one Liu Daijin wanted to hear. In a way, it was a kind of test or a trial by fire.

With the true structure of the Organization still obscured in shadow, it was the sort of question one would ideally avoid. But even as Ryoma hesitated, Liu showed no sign of relenting.

“That said,” Liu continued, “I understand the conditions are somewhat unfair. It may seem unjust to ask this of the beloved grandson of my dear friend. So, if you object, we can end it here. But if possible, I’d truly like to hear what lies in your heart—your honest thoughts. What do you say?”

At first glance, it might have sounded like he was showing consideration for Koichiro Mikoshiba. On the contrary, buried in Liu’s words was an expectation: If you’re his grandson, answering this should be well within your ability.

Still, I suppose I have no choice but to speak honestly.

It would’ve been easy to lie and give a polished answer, something vague and diplomatic. Based on Liu’s earlier reaction, Ryoma was fairly sure his hypothesis had been correct. He could have just repeated the phrase “survival and progress” and likely passed the test. But doing so would be meaningless.

If he sees through a lie, I’ll lose his trust. And even if he doesn’t, I’ll lose something far worse. My beliefs, my pride.

For Ryoma Mikoshiba, that would be the most painful outcome of all. Knowing that, there was only one thing he could say. Ryoma gave a deep nod in Liu Daijin’s direction. When Liu saw this, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Regardless of the outcome, one thing had become clear: The young man his old friend had raised and tempered was no opportunistic coward, willing to twist his words just to please. Because of that, Liu spoke once more.

“What is your purpose? What is it you seek?”

Ryoma let out a long breath. He was sure that all would be lost if he couldn’t answer this question in the way Liu sought. But if he were the type to waver here, he would never have agreed to this meeting in the first place. And so, Ryoma laid bare his heart.

“Coexistence... That is what I wish for.” The moment those words left his lips, a heavy tension filled the room.

Liu’s expression hardened, and a wave of hostility surged from Ruqaiya Redouane’s body. The only ones who remained composed were the Malfist sisters, sitting quietly beside Ryoma. Liu said nothing at first, only tilting his head back to gaze toward the ceiling.

He then slowly said, “I see... Coexistence, is it?”

“Yes. Coexistence.”

Seizon and kyozon represented survival and coexistence, respectively. In Japanese, they differed by only a single character. Indeed, the meanings they conveyed were quite similar. But for Ryoma and Liu, that single character spelled a world of difference. And Liu clearly understood that.

“Do you believe it’s possible?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. It won’t be easy; that much I’m sure of. But if we can’t make it happen, I don’t believe there’s any future left for us. That’s the shape of the future I want to reach.”

Hearing those words, Liu let out a deep breath. With deliberate calm, he gave a slow nod.

“Very well... I shall grant your request.”

Upon hearing those words, Ryoma swiftly rose to his feet. The Malfist sisters, who had been silently observing, noticed this reaction and followed suit. The three of them then bowed deeply in unison.

At the sight of this, Liu Daijin let out a relaxed, hearty laugh.

“There’s no need to be so formal. After all, all I can do is introduce you to the superior of the man who painted this piece for the empire. In terms of effort, it’s hardly anything substantial. Though, I must admit that there are some issues involved...” Liu Daijin trailed off, his tone becoming more ambiguous.

As if preparing himself, he continued.

“The name of the man’s superior is Akimitsu Kuze. He is one of the elders who leads the faction known as the radicals within the Organization, and in the past, he was a sworn friend of your grandfather.”

Upon hearing this, Ryoma’s face betrayed a moment of shock. However, it wasn’t because he had learned that Akimitsu Kuze was a friend of Koichiro. He was surprised because the name Liu Daijin had just mentioned was one that Ryoma Mikoshiba could never forget.

What is this? Why am I hearing that name here?

Questions swirled in Ryoma’s mind like a storm. But sadly, no one in the room could answer those questions.