act30side

I'm back, dedushka.

Huh? Where'd he go?

He got pulled away by his friend in black.

'John'?

...No way.

I do hope that you managed to enjoy yourself at tonight's banquet, My Lord.

I sure was, up until you called me away.

Good, because I do not think you will enjoy this next step.

Out with it.

There is a secret underneath the Kjeragandr statue at the heart of Lake Silberneherze.

Soldiers really hate the word 'secret', Mr. 'John Smith'. Isn't this your lot's job to figure out these sort of things, rather than ours?

Unfortunately, I have no way of solving this particular issue myself.

Not words I expected to hear out of a Trilby Asher.

I have run into a few obstructions.

Wait, am I hearing you right? You've failed?

No.

Though I am unable to ascertain what exactly is down there, the very fact that I am encountering resistance is proof that I am on the right track.

The Trilby Asher takes out a stack of loose papers from the inner recesses of his coat. Within that stack are photographs, assorted documents and some handwritten notes.

Harold takes a few to look at himself, and immediately, the smile on his face freezes.

Goods loaded onto the wine transport carriages.

The true flow of the oriron supply chain.

Transport route itineraries.

All this intelligence points towards a single fact—

Under the island at the heart of the lake lies Enciodes's secret... No, not just his, but the greatest secret of this entire nation.

...She's gone.

I know.

Allowing the daughter of a Kjerag politician to hear that was not good.

I'm a soldier, I only care about real battles. This is something that you intelligence agents should be handling.

She barely even knows whose daughter she is. What can she possibly do?

If this makes her recognize what is brewing in this nation and make her cut her visit early, this is not necessarily a bad thing.

She is, in the end, merely a citizen of Ursus. I am not one to make an enemy of that empire.

Perhaps I misjudged you during our earlier meet-ups, my good Trilby Asher.

You and me both, My Lord.

Perhaps it is a good thing that people like you and I are wary of one another.

Some real words of wisdom you got there.

My next words might not be those words of wisdom you so adore.

You cannot go home empty-handed, My Lord.

I know.

I hope you truly understand that this is the price Enciodes must pay Her Grace.

He has crossed a line.

Is that what you tell yourself to make it feel better?

You're far better at that sort of thing than I am.

O Great Hero.

The banquet continues.

People gathered around the bonfire singing merry tunes and dancing, welcoming the arrival of tomorrow.

In their minds, tomorrow will certainly be a bright, jubilant, festive day, one that would compel anyone to break out into ecstatic dance and vibrant song.

'I'm probably the only one in the room who doesn't feel that way', thought Harold.

He suddenly feels a little chilly.

The last time he felt such a chill was the very first time he set foot in this land.

He felt like what he really needed was a bottle of wine. Perhaps a whole barrel.

Harold! I've been waiting ages for you, *hic*!

If you were any later, I would have finished the entire bottle myself!

Hahaha, look at me! Do I look like the sort of person to miss out on fine drink?

Come! Tonight, we drink till we drop!

He's forgotten some of the finer details of what he did that night.

Perhaps he danced a merry jig from his hometown by the bonfire? Or perhaps he grabbed some unlucky fellow to sing some folk songs of Kjerag with?

Ah, that's right. He seemed to have spent a good amount of time discussing the finer points of Kjerag veterinary techniques with a guard rail.

How did he get to this point?

Alas, nobody knows.

At the very least, he remembered the way back to his bed.

However, the distance between the banquet and the barracks is no short stroll.

First, he had to follow along the lakeside path until it joined with the main street at the center of town. Along the road, he would run into many elderly folk taking a post-meal walk, and see children playing atop the ice.

From here, he could see the distant statue of Kjeragandr, and all along the road there were viewing stations set up just for gazing upon it. They were bustling places filled with people at all times. Some prayed towards Kjeragandr, while others took selfies.

There are times when two diametrically opposed ways of life will clash, but most times they will coexist in some sort of harmony. Such was the way of many things in this land.

Continuing on, he passed through the main street, which got busier by the day. He distinctly remembered noticing that some of the stores that were there when he first arrived in Kjerag had changed ownership.

In a small alley close to the center of the road, there was the latest restaurant that he had fallen in love with.

This restaurant had managed to meld together the flavors of Victoria and Kjerag together into their dishes, and suffice it to say that he was a big fan.

The restaurant was run by a young couple, the wife a Kjerag native who had learnt the culinary arts in Victoria, meeting her spouse in the process.

The two of them started a family, returning to Kjerag to set up their restaurant, hoping that they would be able to have a better life in this flourishing land.

After the alley, he had to cross a highway still under construction, then a patch of woods, before arriving at the hillside where he could look out over the whole land, where a roaring fireplace awaited him.

At the moment when he stepped over the edge of the road onto the soft soil, he became quite aware of just how much further this nation had to go to be considered 'well-developed'.

But walking through the tranquil woods immediately put a stop to that line of thinking.

Though he often jabbers away with other old men whenever they meet, lately he finds himself thinking back to the time of his youth.

The golden wheat fields rustling in the evening breeze, his younger self running about within as though he were without a care in the world—

Yes, without a single care in the world.

As he walked across the icy ground, as he found himself cloaked in snowy silence, one thought came to the forefront of his mind. He was no longer young.

Whew, you reek of booze.

Boss, if you're going out to get roaring drunk, can't you at least bring some back for your boys?

Boss, look here!

These damned burdenbeast blind boxes! We've gotten three full sets now <i>except</i> for the mystery variant! This has got to be some kinda scam by Karlan Trade!

He pulls out a remote control from the deepest recesses of his room, constantly flicking through the various slides on a projector.

Every single one has information regarding Kjerag. Possible marching routes, the locations of military bases, the distribution of sentry posts, investigations into the Tschäggättä—

Within a week of him arriving in Kjerag, all this intelligence was already neatly organized before him, and yet again and again he forced himself to stop thinking about these matters.

To the point that he has managed to memorize most of it.

He throws aside the remote control and grabs a collapsible chair close at hand, throwing himself deep into its embrace as he closes his eyes.

Rather than looking at maps and military sand tables, he much prefers listening to the subtle sounds of snow falling on branches, making them rustle and creak under its weight. It reminds him of the sound of waves of wheat—

Rustling under the moonlit breeze—

Boss? What's the matter?

Don't mind him, he's probably just drunk off his gourd. Let's get back to what we were talking about just now.

I heard that the Leithanians want to build a new city, mostly to get foreign trade going. Check out these preferential policies. The calculated returns for investments are unreal...

But reality never goes the way he wishes it to.

Just like how his father always yelled at him to get out of the wheat field and to continue his training at home.

Just like when his pipe stem loses a piece without him knowing.

Just like how his lost leg would never return.

...*sigh*

The hubbub of the barracks fades away, as his men all look towards him.

His men. His lads. His soldiers.

Everyone, change to live ammunition, then be on standby.

At the break of dawn tomorrow, we begin our operation. Our target is—

The statue of Kjeragandr.