April 22, 1616 Central Calendar, 20:00

Cartalpas, Carthinia Province, Holy Milishial Empire

Commencing on the 24th, the Eleven Countries Leadership Conference is scheduled to span the entire last week of the month. The initial portion will be dedicated to meetings by diplomats, succeeded by a high-level meeting of foreign ministers from each participating nation to deliberate and determine key international policies. But before the intense discussions that hold the potential to significantly influence known world affairs for years could begin, the event will first kick off in style on the 23rd, marked by a ball and welcoming ceremony at the Imperial Cultural Center, a building of grandeur and opulence situated to the north of the main city that also served as the same venue as the conference sessions.

Fueled by the world conference, nights during that week would be pulsing with life, especially near the harbor district where a festival-like atmosphere was prevailing within sight of the moored fleets from the participating countries. Groups of diplomats, officials, and even sailors from various nations could thus be seen wandering through the festivities, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling harbor in attires reflecting the diverse cultures and backgrounds represented at the upcoming conference.

For the four figures standing atop a rooftop overlooking the harbor district, the sounds of laughter and music from the festivities around them drifted up to them, but their attention was fixed on the lone dilapidated sailing ship moored near the Rieman fleet at the spot designated for the Third Civilization Area countries. Meteos, Ace, Robin, and a red-haired elf calling herself Nova, the disguised persona of Princess Lugiel who arrived in Cartalpas shortly after the Rogueriders, were gathering before making their move.

Flying a dark orange flag with a white design combining an avian and an eye in the center, this ship hailed from the Annonrial Empire, a magical civilization of the southern world that came here in the Eleven Countries Leadership Conference as its sole representative. Despite its distant location from the civilized areas, rumors abounded regarding the Empire’s purported dominance over the southern continent. However, as no outsider had ever set foot on the Annonrial Empire to verify these claims, they remained speculative. The Empire’s strict isolationist policies confined interactions with outsiders solely to their northernmost territory of Bushpaka Latan Island. Being labeled as a ‘barbarian’ nation, their presence at the conference was largely disregarded by other attendees who viewed them merely as token participants. Their inclusion, orchestrated by the Holy Milishial Empire in an attempt to make the conference appear as a true “international event involving all countries,” is a mistake in hindsight.

After all, the Annonrial Empire was not being truthful in their self-presentation, and what they concealed is a matter of concern not just for the Holy Empire’s national security but also for the future of Ars Goetia.

The Princess in charge of intelligence matters was overjoyed to discover that the Order of the Ancients’ Person of Interest was a seer with the gift of future visions, seeing it as an even more valuable asset they could use to the Holy Empire’s advantage. However, the Person of Interest’s vision extended far beyond the boundaries of the Middle Lands, envisioning a better world that surpassed even the Order of the Ancients’ pledge that ended the Warring Kingdoms period. Impressed by the magnitude of this vision, Lugiel decided to lend Meteos Roguerider’s cause her branch’s expertise in intelligence matters. Her decision stemmed not only from shared interests but also from her admiration for his determination, making her the fourth Magister to do so after Enepsigos the Revealer of the Voice, Eblis the Summoner of the Left Arm, and Tephras the Guardian of the Heart.

…………

The aforementioned Magisters resided in Runepolis, and what actually happened was that four of the seven branches of the Order became Meteos’ allies seemingly without resistance due to their souls being touched by Meteos’ Illusion Magic: Temple of Heaven, a technique derived (corrupted) from the concept of Common Destiny used by the founders of Attarsamain to achieve a prosperous world. With the Desire Driver and paramita to mitigate his weakness as a young human with limited mana reserves, Meteos seemed to have the technique’s strain covered, except the greatest weakness of the technique lay not within the physical limitations but the presence of an overseer. Luckily for Meteos, since he only ever used his almost reality-bending technique strictly for ‘business purposes,’ there’s not enough reason for the First Horseman of the Apocalypse to kill the brat.

‘So… the end still justifies the means, but he has a heart that is above the influence much?’ Legiel wondered inwardly with a touch of amusement, observing the reincarnator carrying out his quest from a distance. He was not expecting the human who was distrustful of him to come to him and ask for something from him, but if he did, Legiel will just tell him “NO” to his face… or punt his ass into the sea if he insisted. It was fun messing with the protagonist of the story he’s writing.

…………

Back to the team of four, donning the same attire as the other three key figures of the current off-the-record operation planned since months ago—a dark gray double-breasted hooded jacket paired with a black undershirt, pants, gauntlets, and boots—Meteos watched as the stunning elven woman beside him closed her eyes, focusing her other senses while remaining motionless. Activating a sensing technique, she exerted her mana to pinpoint the signatures of the Annonrial Empire’s winged people among thousands upon thousands of crowds mingling on the streets below them.

“Seventy signatures that belong to neither one of the six races that inhabit the northern known world,” Lugiel announced after her eyes snapped open. “Spread out, but most of them are concentrated near their ship.”

“That’s about what you’d expect for a carrack’s crew and delegation combined,” Robin remarked to Meteos.

“They’re committed to keeping up a façade, no matter how inefficient it will be,” Ace chimed in.

Meteos agreed with the assessment. The suggested figure did appear reasonable for the sham the Annonrial Empire put, being the crew manning a carrack of approximately 100 tonels propelled solely by sails. However, concealed within this façade lay an advanced magic engine that would blast in activation once the ship was out of everyone’s sight. Furthermore, the ship would be broken up shortly after returning to Bushpaka Latan, never reaching the mainland which was Meteos’ main target to breach. While the ship’s crew would continue their post on the island, or being “sent back in time” as the Annonrial people called it, the diplomats would travel to their capital, marking them as one of the mission’s secondary objectives. The primary? To assess whether Meteos’ Desire Driver-boosted Temple of Heaven could even work against the winged people, which possess the highest level of magical power among the people of Ars Goetia.

If he can successfully confirm that the spell can work despite Meteos punching way above his weight class, the next objective would be to use it on as many Annonrials as possible, thereby opening a window for information gathering far to the south.

“But seventy signatures… that’s quite a lot to sift through,” the reincarnator mused. “For starters, can you find me the weakest link among them?”

“The easiest targets, I see.”

Lugiel nodded and closed her eyes once more in concentration. The cacophony of the festival faded into the background again, replaced by the ebb and flow of mana signatures below. She calmly sorted through the chaos, searching for not just winged people, but for specific vulnerabilities. Their current level of mana, emotional state, whether they were inebriated or not—every detail mattered.

After a while, Lugiel finished and informed Meteos. “I found two with the weakest mana signatures. They seem to be younglings your age walking slightly farther away than the cluster. Sober.”

“Pages…?” Meteos speculated, raising an eyebrow. “…That can work. How far are they, and where are they headed?”

“Five hundred meters directly north, deeper into the crowd. Looks like they’re drawn to the commotion near the food stalls.”

As a de facto leader of the operation, Meteos harrumphed with a cold glint in his eyes. “Alright, then. I’ll intercept them and ‘convince’ the targets to make a trip to near the outpost.” He glanced at Robin. “Teacher, I need you to cover me, and as for Ace, please get ready to receive them at the outpost.”

Seeing the two gave him a curt nod of confirmation, Meteos looked expectantly at Lugiel.

“I’ll keep watch on the other signatures and direct you to them as you requested,” the princess assured him.

“Thank you.”

Turning to address his three companions before diving headfirst into the crowd below, Meteos muttered something to himself before turning to look at the others one by one.

“Before we begin, I would like to say something. The fate of the Holy Empire—no, I mean…” he said, correcting himself mid-sentence, “The fate of the world rests on the outcome of this mission. Let everyone do their utmost. That is all.”

The three’s responses varied to his encouragement, but all of them were positive. Lugiel met his gaze with a silent understanding and a single determined smile curving on her lips. Robin chuckled softly and reached for the featureless white mask adorning her belt. With a practiced flick, she secured it over her face, transforming her features into an anonymous visage. Meanwhile, Ace muttered something indiscernible under his breath before pushing himself off the rooftop and leaping across the gap between buildings like a phantom. Before long, he was gone, swallowed by the labyrinthine alleys leading towards the outpost.

For a man lacking social skills who used to live the latter part of a previous life with blind vengeance, being able to at least encourage his friends with his earnest words felt rather nice, Meteos thought.

…………

Parkouring across the rooftops, Meteos followed Lugiel’s guidance and soon spotted his targets: two young teenagers donning an attire common outside the civilization areas and stubby wings sprouting from their backs, one black while the other half white. They were not much older than himself, giggling as they pointed at a street performer juggling luminous orbs. Seeing an opportunity, Meteos jumped down into a nearby alley and emerged into the street amidst the throng of people passing by, the activated Desire Driver already equipped underneath his jacket. Robin was perched on a pole some distance behind him to watch out for signs of danger.

Walking casually in the targets’ direction, Meteos then slightly shifted his weight and veered slightly into their path, his shoulder deliberately brushing against one of the younglings. The impact was barely noticeable, merely a fleeting bump amidst the jostling crowd. However, in an instant the one he bumped whirled around with an indignant scowl. “Watch where you’re going!” the taller one snapped. The other, a long-haired boy wearing a cloth bandanna above his head, looked at the silver-haired boy with a withering glare that made not a single effort to conceal how disgusted he felt toward this brazen ‘inferior specimen.’

In response, Meteos feigned embarrassment and dropped his head in a display of sheepish apology.

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” he stammered with faux remorse. “I didn’t see you there. Once again, I’m so sorry!”

As he spoke, he met their gazes head-on. But beneath the surface, he willed the Temple of Heaven to activate. A thrill surged through him as he witnessed the shift in their eyes. Although the two’s expressions remained the same, unconvinced by Meteos’ words, their irises glowed a faint blue indicating that the Desire Driver managed to compensate for the disparity in magic power, causing the spell to overpower their mental defenses. The seed has been planted.

“Why you…”

“Wait a second,” Meteos continued while the spell was still active. “You two seem like calm and reasonable people. You don’t need to be angry at me.”

The indignant scowls that had consumed the two Annonrials faded as suddenly as they appeared upon hearing those words. Their glare softened, replaced by a reluctant understanding. “Hmf… You know what…? Whatever,” the taller one mumbled, the venom had gone from his voice.

“Hmm, you’re right. Anger isn’t necessary here.”

The other winged teenager tilted his head, his earlier disgust also melted away.

Meteos immediately capitalized on their mental shift while maintaining his contrite expression. “I truly am sorry for bumping into you. Perhaps, to make amends, I can tell you a nice place around here where they sell delicious food and drink?”

“Sure.”

“Alright…”

Driven by the subconscious influence, the two winged boys’ suspicions and hostility were replaced by a sense of curiosity, eventually ‘deciding’ to themselves to give the place Meteos mentioned a visit. As the two teenagers began walking in the direction of the outpost, Meteos allowed himself a small, satisfied grin hidden beneath his apologetic façade. He then retreated back onto the rooftops and contacted Ace through his bracelet-mounted manacom.

“Amon to Belial. The targets have been successfully guided and are inbound to your location. They’ll do whatever you tell them.”

“This is Belial. Acknowledged,” he heard Ace’s voice from the other side. “Happy hunting.”

He continued observing the boys, keeping them within his sight while maintaining a safe distance. To his relief, even after the spell’s direct influence subsided, they continued walking towards the destination location without hesitation. His earlier concern about needing to nudge them further melted away.

At the same time, a faint feeling of lightness filled him. While it was to be expected given the targets’ species, the lethargic fog usually associated with using the Temple of Heaven was noticeably absent. He attributed this to the power boost from his device and the relatively low power of the targets – seemingly untrained teenagers with weaker mana signatures despite being winged people. Perhaps, his growing experience with the Temple of Heaven was starting to show, allowing him to exert finer control over the spell and minimize its energy drain.

This realization brought a surge of hope. Maybe he could push his limits further and influence stronger individuals without succumbing to exhaustion eventually. It was a thought he tucked away for later, a glimmer of possibility amidst the growing tension of the operation. After all, their current targets, the adult diplomats and crewmen of the Annonrial Empire, were undoubtedly far more formidable opponents. But that was a challenge for later. The immediate priority was ensuring the success of this initial phase.

Two down, sixty-eight more to follow.

“Sorath, this is Amon. Guide me to the next target.”

Contacting Lugiel, Meteos requested her to direct him to the next target. Hopefully at least one of them would be a diplomat.

…………

From his spot at a table in the back of a seemingly ordinary restaurant, Ace glanced up from looking at his grimoire’s screen as the bell on top of the entrance tingled. His blue eyes took in the two young men with wings on their backs who entered, and having recognized them as the first two targets Meteos had successfully guided, a subtle grin curved his lips.

Now having to play his part and make an entrance, Ace rose from his table and pretended to head for the restroom, taking a route that guaranteed he’d walk right past the newcomers. As he passed the two winged teenagers, their heads snapped up and their gazes locked onto him with a flicker of recognition.

“Huh, new faces around here?” he asked nonchalantly.

The taller of the two cleared his throat, realizing that the new silver-haired young man had noticed their stares. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbled hesitantly. “We just arrived in town.”

“From where?”

“We are with the Annonrial Empire’s delegation,” the other teenager, the one with the bandanna, added, his gaze fixed on Ace as if gauging his reaction.

“Where is that—” Ace feigned a double-take before his eyes seemingly widened in realization. “Oh, that country from far to the south?”

The teenagers bristled. “Far to the south? We wouldn’t call it that!” the taller one scoffed in irritation, pride leaking.

“And don’t act surprised,” his buddy cut in with the same withering look. “Everyone should have known that the Annonrial Empire is participating in the conference.”

Inwardly mocking them for being idiotic amateurs who were easily riled up, Ace held up his hands in a placating gesture and a widening grin. “Alright, alright, my bad. I’m not much of a geography buff. But tell you what, why don’t you join me in eating delicious food here? As an apology for insulting you, I’ll be the one paying.”

Before either could let out a reply, Ace spun on his heel and called out to the outpost’s Handler, his voice booming through the seemingly empty restaurant. “Owner, double the special for today!”

The teenagers stared at each other. Normally, the seemingly friendly stranger’s sudden generosity would catch them off guard, but their irritation dissolved again, and the Temple of Heaven’s lingering influence made the offer of free food perfectly reasonable in their minds. Obeying Meteos’ latent command to “Do whatever the silver-haired man says without hesitation,” the two winged teenagers were inclined to trust this stranger, rationalizing their decision as they complied.

“That sounds good.”

“Free food is free food.”

Ace nodded sagely. “Exactly! Consider it a gesture of goodwill from the locals to welcome you esteemed delegates.”

Thus, guided by Ace, the three sat down at the seat with the silver-haired boy sliding into a chair across from the two teenagers while they occupied the ones flanking his. The moment their butts hit the chairs, Ace leaned forward. “So, before the food arrives,” he began, “let’s play a little game. Just a quick one, I promise.”

Raising a curious eyebrow, the taller one looked at him. “What kind of game?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Just a friendly test of trust. I want you to nudge each other. You know, like a light shove on the shoulder. Nothing serious, just a tap.”

“Sure, why not.”

Without hesitation, both teenagers reached out and playfully nudged their companion on the shoulder. The action was harmless, but to Ace, it was a gesture of confirmation.

“Give your friend a slap. Make it loud.”

THWACK!

“Ouch.”

“Damn, I don’t know you can slap that hard…”

“Huh…” Ace snorted.

‘That’s what you get for being the receiving end of an outside-context problem for this world…’

Staring at the winged teenagers with red cheeks who gave him a shrug after doing exactly what he told them to do, Ace proceeded to ask them to tell him more about the Annonrial Empire where they came from. Like little birds, they sang tales about their homeland even as more winged people came and filled the outpost with more tales—true tales—about the enigmatic country of the southern world. With absolutely no one in this world who would expect a random human to possess a powerful alien magic technique and a tech so broken it made everything else look trivial, in theory Meteos has a complete element of surprise both for his allies and adversaries.

Similarly, making his allies not even entertain the thought of questioning what exactly the method he used in ‘convincing’ these Annonrials to help him is also because they weren’t expecting the existence of the Temple of Heaven, allowing Meteos to use it rather openly without consequences that would needlessly complicate matters.

…………

21:30

Each passing minute and target converted to his side left a new bead of sweat glistening on Meteos’ brow, and one and a half later, he’d neared the limit of his endurance. The cumulative effect of using the Temple of Heaven on multiple individuals in quick succession, each target progressively more powerful than the last, was taking its toll. Now hit by the usual consequences of mana exhaustion, his head throbbed and a heavy lethargy clawed at his limbs. Eventually, Meteos sat down on the rooftop slope and slumped with a tired sigh. The ever-vigilant Robin jumped down from her perch on a nearby pole and joined her apprentice in taking a rest.

“Take it easy, Kid,” the bespectacled woman stated after unmasking herself, gently touching Meteos’ forehead with the back of her hand. For the group, the most valuable asset is Meteos himself. If he falls, the operation falls with him.

Meteos ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and chuckled lightly. “I know. But we only have a limited window of meeting the Annonrials before the conference ends. If we can reach as many targets as possible now, it will mean less risk later.”

“And more gains for our side, I know. But sorry for burdening you with all this, Meteos,” Robin muttered.

“I chose this, Teacher. Don’t worry about it.”

Meteos reached into his pouch and withdrew a bottle filled with a shimmering green liquid. Uncorking it, Meteos brought it to his lips and swallowed its contents in one gulp. The potion burned down his throat, leaving a lingering taste of mint and honey. It wouldn’t erase the fatigue right away, but it would grant him a temporary reprieve, enough to boost his mana’s recovery as time passed. As for the paramita that he used to fuel the Desire Driver, he wouldn’t need to concern himself, as they had ample reserves readily available on the Foundation’s Boudica 213 flying boat moored nearby.

So far, they have claimed eighteen Annonrials, comprising of 4 pages, 13 sailors and even one of the diplomat’s aides to their side. In addition, Ace’s questioning had confirmed much of Meteos’ future visions about the Annonrial Empire hiding its true strength from the world, as well as getting out of them other details such as important names and habits of the ship’s crew. In other words, tonight’s operation proved highly fruitful, with only one major secondary objective remaining: securing an official that they were sure would travel to their capital city: a Foreign Affairs Office Senior Diplomatic Officer namedropped as “Karl Krunch” by the crewmen.

“So, the difficulty level will truly rise with the next ones,” Meteos began with a tired but determined voice. “Pages and sailors were easy picks, but the diplomat and higher-ranking personnel will have stronger resistance. That Karl Krunch guy is an untrained diplomat, but he doesn’t seem to be leaving the heavily guarded ship any sooner.”

“That’s where our newly acquired allies come in, yes?”

“Indeed.”

Karl Krunch is the same man who occupied the Senior Diplomatic Officer two decades later. Given the Annonrial Empire’s modern lifestyle, enduring twenty years straight being posted at Bushpaka Latan must be quite a miserable experience. Nonetheless, if his personality didn’t change much during the intervening years, he probably found it better to live in Bushpaka Latan rather than step into a land that disgusted him and mingled with species he considered as lower than trash if he could help it. While Meteos applauded Karl’s commitment to his resolve for arrogance, he needed him to be one of his eyes and ears within the Annonrial Empire.

In anticipation of this problem, the team produced a special concoction during the planning phase months ago. Using a recipe tailored specifically for the winged people of Annonrial based on Meteos’ knowledge, would induce drowsiness and lower their mental resistance without rendering them completely unconscious. Just enough to make the personnel with higher mana reserves more susceptible to the Temple of Heaven, while still allowing them to participate in future events without raising suspicion because of their absence. Despite the delegation leader’s own views, he was actually required by his superiors to play along with the itinerary set by the host country.

…………

In the now packed restaurant, Ace and the Order’s member manning the outpost were merrily talking around with more than a dozen winged people and bidding farewell to some of the “converts” who were about to return to their ship, taking useful notes from those who blab about their homeland as soon as someone prompted them. Ace’s gaze lingered on the only female within the leaving group, reported as one of the two aides for the Annonrial delegation’s leader. This made her the closest window the team had to approach the stubborn Karl Krunch at the moment.

“Ah, leaving so soon?” Ace asked with a friendly tone as soon as the group passed by him. “Anyway, I trust you enjoyed the hospitality of our establishment?”

The woman gave him a curt nod and replied, “Your service is decent.”

“Heh,” Ace chuckled. “I’m glad to hear it. And to ensure your journey back is even more enjoyable, I have a small token of appreciation.” He reached into his pocket and produced quite a sizable wrapped bundle tied with a black ribbon.

Intrigued, the woman raised an eyebrow. “For me?”

“More for your colleagues,” Ace clarified, handing her the bundle. “It’s a special spice mixture all the way from northern Middle Lands. Mister Krunch likes to drink at midnight, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why not surprise your boss and fellow crewmen with a taste of something different back on the ship?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m not sure if they’ll appreciate the gift but that’s very kind of you.”

Ace shrugged with a lazy grin. “One more thing. Inside the package you will find a small note with instructions and a bracelet manacom. The former details the proper dosage for adding the spices to your ship’s meals and some. Be sure to follow them carefully for the best results. After that, call me using the latter.”

With a final wave goodbye, the aide and some of her companions departed, heading back to their docked ship. After watching them disappear into the crowd, Ace retreated to the backroom, leaving the lively chatter of the restaurant behind. There, he activated his bracelet manacom to contact the others.

“This is Belial. The package has been delivered,” his voice rang out with satisfaction evident in it.

“Acknowledged, Belial. Good work. With this, the first phase is complete. For now, I’ll try to claim several more targets before regrouping.”

“Understood.”

“Sorath, understood.”

Just as Ace climbed to the rooftops and was about to head to meet the others, another transmission came from Lugiel.

“Amon, I’m detecting an additional signature walking with Walman Falkenhausen and others at the Via Trincea delle Frasche, 400 meters northeast of your position. It belongs to a young human I haven’t encountered before, I sense no hostile intent.”

“Interesting,” Meteos’ reply came. “Thank you, Sorath.”

So far, everything has gone without a hitch. However, it seemed that they would spend the time until the commencement of the next phase by hanging out with their friends. The feeling is not particularly unpleasant.

…………

Meanwhile

Via Trincea delle Frasche, Cartalpas

Exiting a large hobby store that he encountered while exploring, Walman occasionally peeked at the neatly packaged wooden model kits of two Warring Kingdoms-era warships inside a shopping bag he was carrying. Walking alongside him on either side were two of Meteos’ older siblings, Cyrus and Ashera, accompanying the brunette to divert his attention. This arrangement came after their group decided to split up for a while, granting Meteos, Robin, and Ace the opportunity to carry out their mission.

Being the Four Horsemen, they refused to directly help Meteos’ plans unless he managed to best them in combat (impossible), but unlike Legiel who gleefully rubbed Meteos’ weakness to his face and Adonis who gave him the all-powerful ‘disappointed father’ stare for defaulting to beg for his help, Cyrus and Ashera are willing to play along to some degree just to see what the young human is capable of.

The lively chatter was suddenly halted as Walman caught sight of someone ahead of him. Approaching from the opposite direction was the same boy whom Walman and Meteos had come across earlier during the arrival of the delegation fleets. In physical appearance he was around the two boys’ age: shorter than both, with shorter brown hair and red eyes. Walking alone, he occasionally munched on a biscotti from the paper bag he carried with him. Unable to contain his surprise seeing him again so soon, Walman called out to him.

“Hey! Bront Osborn! It’s you again!”

“Huh?”

Hearing someone call his name, the boy lifted his head and widened his eyes in recognition. With a wide grin, he jogged towards the trio with a wave.

“Oh! It’s you!” Bront exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. What a coincidence, huh?”

“Well, we were just looking for something nice,” Walman shrugged.

“Cool!” the boy’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What are you getting?”

His eyes lit up even more as Walman let him peer into his bag. “Are those…?”

“A boardroof ship and a turtle ship,” Walman confirmed.

“Ooh, those are ancient ships, aren’t they? Well, I prefer the sleek, modern ones myself, but it’s your taste.”

“Fair enough.”

In addition, being bored of seeing sailing ships (which have existed since ancient times) so often didn’t mean that Bront cannot appreciate them. Especially ships with legendary status like the two models purchased by Walman.

Invented by a western Middle Lands engineer affiliated with the Lucius of the Morning Star’s army, the boardroof ship was a stoutly-built vessel and primarily oar-powered, intended to enable the use of magic cannons, their most potent weaponry at the time, in naval battles. Featuring a U-shaped hull and a shallow draft, it could traverse shallow waters like the great rivers where the warfare around its conception was mainly taking place. With two to three decks, rowers occupied the lower levels while marines on the upper deck gained a tactical advantage, firing down on enemies and thwarting attempts to board. Thus, in contrast to other factions still relying on hand-to-hand boarding combat, the Morning Star’s army utilized their superior firepower to engage the enemy in a more modern form of naval warfare earlier than anyone else in the Middle Lands, bombarding enemy ships with heavy artillery from a distance.

The other ship design was also a floating tank of a ship like the boardroof ship, with the top fighting deck covered with a spiked roof resembling the shell of a turtle and a dragon head at the bow for psychological warfare. There weren’t that many of this type, but they were so impervious to enemy attacks that they could be sculled into the midst of vastly superior enemy numbers to level cannon broadsides or magical attacks such as elemental spells from point-blank range. During that time, they were basically superweapons in their own right.

“Ahem.”

Ashera’s loud throat-clearing snapped Walman out of his conversation with Bront. Understanding the cue, when he looked over his shoulder, he turned to Bront again.

“Oh, right. I haven’t introduced you guys yet. This is Cyrus and Ashera Roguerider. They are Meteos’ older siblings… you know, the boy who was with me earlier.”

“Ooh, nice to meet you. I’m Bront Osborn.”

“He lives around here,” Walman added.

“Yeah—wait, hold on…”

Bront trailed off and turned to stare at the older teenagers with a look of disbelief. A realization hit Bront like a bolt of lightning.

“You have the same name as that company! You are like, super rich or something!” he exclaimed, nearly choking on his biscotti.

The three who saw him in that state couldn’t help but sigh in exasperation.

After calming himself down, Bront asked them again.

“So, where’s your friend?”

“We decided to split up for a while, but now that we’re heading back to our lodging soon, we should be seeing him back soon.”

“Well, it was awesome meeting you guys!” Bront beamed. “But I should head home now. My mom’s probably wondering why I took so long.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Bront Osborn,” Ashera replied with a grin. Cyrus simply offered a curt nod.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again while we’re still in Cartalpas,” Walman chimed in, hoping to extend the connection.

“Yeah, I hope so. Tell your friend I said hi when you see him.”

Unbeknownst to Walman and Bront, their encounter was being observed from a rooftop overlooking the street. Meteos, Ace, and Robin, taking a break from their mission for the time being, headed to their position immediately after conducting a debriefing with Lugiel. As Bront stumbled upon Walman and company, Meteos immediately recognized the boy from their earlier encounter at the harbor. It brought him a sense of relief knowing the unknown mana signature belonged to a friendly face, and as he watched their interaction, Meteos chuckled softly at Bront’s outburst about the Roguerider Foundation.

“Looks like you two made a quick friend with a local,” Robin remarked beside him.

Meteos nodded. “So it would seem. Good thing too, he seems like a decent kid.”

Having confirmed things, the trio on the rooftop quickly changed their clothing back into their casual attire. A nearby alleyway provided them with the perfect cover, and moments later, they emerged and were ready to rejoin their companions not long after Bront left the scene.

❖⟐❖⟐❖

April 23, 1616 Central Calendar, 01:13

Annonrial Empire’s Delegation Ship, Third Civilization Area Moorings

With wispy clouds that shrouded the moons, the tarred hull of the Annonrial Empire delegation’s carrack was absorbing the meager moonlight amidst the stillness that blanketed the area around their assigned mooring that midnight. But despite the outward calmness, a subtle disquietude flickered centering on this vessel. Some of the winged guards who were usually alert and patrolling the decks, stood swaying and rather lax in their postures. The source of these men’s lethargy wasn’t readily apparent, as if the feeling of drowsiness just came creeping out of nowhere like the gentle lapping of the water against the hull.

Unbeknownst to them, the tendrils of their drowsiness stemmed from their own supplies. Hours earlier, amidst the flurry of activities near the conference’s venue, a number of crewmen claimed by the Temple of Heaven had begun tampering with the food and drink meant for their own brethren using a pinch of specially concocted powder enough to slowly bring them into a lull.

Now, as the effects took hold, the guards’ movements grew sluggish. Yawns escaped their lips, their gazes unfocused as they stared out at the surroundings. Their once-sharp alertness had devolved into a hazy stupor, while some others who stood nearby noticed their slipping consciousness but ignored them as if nothing had happened. And then, amidst this lapse in the vigilance network, four masked figures clad in dark attire silently descended from above, having navigated their way to the delegation ship’s mast through freerunning. Passing by the fully conscious winged crew members who silently acknowledged them, knowing they were firmly on their side, they proceeded to the Senior Diplomatic Officer’s cabin like they owned the ship.

…………

Cooped up inside his cabin, Senior Diplomatic Officer Karl Krunch rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand amidst his reading. Heaving a sigh, he took another swig from his glass, the amber liquid leaving a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. Despite his usual ability to burn the midnight oil, this feeling of fatigue had started to plague him now that the delegation had docked safely in the land claimed by these disgusting inferior specimens that their glorious ancestors used to torment to their liking. As a result, the stress from having to undertake this less-than-stellar job might have resulted in his current predicament.

Then, a rapping on his cabin door startled Karl from his stupor. Grumbling in disdain, he placed the book face-down on the desk and set his glass aside.

“What is it?”

“Sir,” came a muffled voice from the other side, “Captain Repsant requests for an urgent discussion with you.”

“Let him in,” he groaned. He had hoped for a night of undisturbed tranquility before having to see this land’s natives for an entire week starting tomorrow.

As the door swung open, Karl braced himself for the captain’s gruff visage. But instead, four figures clad in dark garb met his gaze, their faces hidden behind differently-colored but identically designed masks. A jolt of confusion shot through him, recognizing them as something alien amidst his drowsiness.

“………!?”

Before he could even stammer a question, the shortest one donning a white and gold mask, stepped forward. The moonlight glinting off their mask revealed nothing, but Karl swore he saw a flicker of bright blue emanating from beneath the eyeholes that sent a shiver down his spine. Without him knowing it, his eyes were slowly glowing with the same color as well.

“Do not move,” the figure commanded with a voice as deep as the ocean. “Sit down and make no noise. If you do as we say and listen to what we’re going to say, you will not be harmed.”

Karl recognized the cold edge of danger in the masked figure’s voice and felt the urge to do as they said. Hesitantly, he lowered himself and stumbled back, collapsing into his chair under the four’s gaze. His mind raced, searching for an explanation. Were these assassins? He couldn’t help but glance again at the figure with the glowing eyes, but as the situation dragged on to a standstill, such questions no longer mattered for Karl, who managed to calm himself down ever so slightly.

Still maintaining eye contact, the short one glided across the cabin and stopped directly in front of Karl’s desk. The other three figures remained positioned near the door as vigilant sentinels guarding the unexpected meeting.

“We know what your empire hides, Master Krunch,” the figure stated again. “The truth you conceal from the world. Where and how we obtain such information is not important, but we know everything about you.”

While his eyes widened in a mix of fear and shock, Karl rasped. “…What do you want from me?”

“Your cooperation.”

“What?”

The short one nodded. “Yes. We need you. Now, more than ever, the illusion put forth by Zaratosthra of the Messiah is threatening our very existence. If you are well-learned, you should know that the Ravernal your ruler is trying to resurrect will likely slaughter you all the moment they arrive because that’s what they are. Therefore, in this time of crisis, the wise build bridges, while the foolish build barriers. Master Krunch, we must find a way to protect one another as fellow denizens of this world.”

What if the people of the Ravernal Empire also refuse to acknowledge his brethren as people?

Their words sent Karl’s mind reeling. His disdain for other races clashed with the sliver of truth contained within the masked figure’s words. While his emperor promised that the day when the Ravernal Empire returned would be a glorious one, Karl’s scholarly mind sometimes noticed one discrepancy that his brethren often glossed over in favor of what they wanted to see the most from their ancestors: it was written that the Ravernal Empire’s behavior during their time suggested that they have zero concept of coexistence—meaning they refused to acknowledge species other than themselves as sapient beings.

“…What can your primitive species even offer to resist the Ravernal Empire’s return?” Karl asked with a grimace, unsure of what he felt at the thought.

“Which is why we need you as the key to our coexistence.”

“Coexistence…?” he rasped, groggily trying to stand up from his chair with his hand clutching the edge of the desk for support. His mind buzzed with questions and suspicions, but a seed of curiosity took root with him. “If you claim to know everything about us. Don’t you know… what we have done to your kind?”

The short one tilted their head. “Yes… But what will you do now?”

“You are naïve… to think that everything can change just because you wished to…”

“I know. But…”

The figure gently held up their hand, inviting him to grasp it.

“I wanted to see a better future. That’s why… we must be better.”

“………”

“Will you join us?”

Slowly, Karl raised his eyes to meet the figure’s hidden gaze. He felt a curious warmth emanating from their outstretched hand, and with a trembling hand of his own, he grasped their forearm.

At that moment, he felt that the figure’s eyes, which always seemed to be glowing, seemed to gleam brighter just like the north star that this land’s people were so proud of. What was its name again…?

Ah, yes…

The August Star of Heaven.

“Thank you, Master Krunch. From now on, you can call me Amon.”

The Available Information from Beyond

ACTION OF 22/04/1616 RESULTS

By the dawn of April 23, as many of 23 out of 70 crew belonging to the Annonrial Empire’s delegation had been recruited to Amon’s cause, comprising of 4 pages, 13 sailors, 1 chief steward, 1 captain, 1 armed diplomatic escort, and 3 supernumeraries (diplomats including Senior Diplomatic Officer Karl Krunch).

However, Amon’s condition has deteriorated to the point that it will be unwise to continue anymore now that all objectives have been completed.