Translator: KJ

The Valkanian diplomat was killed in an explosion in the Empire's border region. Valkania naturally protested, and the Empire transmitted only a perfunctory reply that it was 'the work of Mekerel'.

Valkania's Prime Minister Azento flew into a frothing rage.

Naturally, since there was no way the Empire's claim was true.

"The Empire will hold to that position until the very end."

Prozen National University in the west, on the balcony of Professor Jean Pierre's office. Highland's eminent scholar and Councilor 'Arthur Winston' declared while puffing on his pipe.

"The war cannot be stopped. This is only the beginning. The Empire will set this continent ablaze, mark my words."

Hoooo. The smoke he exhaled scattered into the air beyond the balcony.

"But Highland's idiot politicians are misjudging the Empire. They labor under the delusion that the current Emperor is a monarch one can reason with. But the man is a lunatic. He was born wrong, badly wrong, from the very start."

Arthur Winston spat vicious invective at the Emperor of the Empire. Jean Pierre asked, puzzled.

"Do you know about the Emperor?"

"Very. Very well indeed. I've even seen him in person. The man is a moron riddled with insecurity over his looks and every inferiority complex under the sun."

Arthur twisted the corner of his mouth with a soft snort, as if in disgust.

"Golden hair, golden eyes, long arms and legs. Of all the symbols of the pure Aran that the Empire's lot trumpets, the Emperor possesses not a single one. The very proof of the bloodline he so worships is the thing the Emperor himself lacks, and that vicious contradiction is what drove him mad."

He tapped out his pipe and looked Jean Pierre straight in the eye.

"He's taking his fury at being born wrong out on everyone else."

"......."

"But tell me, is Prozen's defense line sound?"

The 'Aegis Defense Line', built when Prozen poured in vast capital during the Western War of the past, was still solid.

But now, its very existence was becoming poison for Prozen.

"The greatest problem is that we rest easy on blind faith in that one defense line."

Jean Pierre answered bitterly.

"The factional strife is simply too severe. Ever since Minister of Defense Louis Marceau was assassinated, Prozen's political circles still haven't recovered from their mutual distrust."

Arthur Winston let out a hollow laugh.

"Prozen, Highland, the situation is the same, it seems."

"Yes. Fortunately, things are a little different on the ground. Lately I've been receiving letters from soldiers."

Lieutenant Colonel Michel, the backbone of Prozen's armored corps. He had sent Jean Pierre letters warning of the Empire's military buildup and its mass production of tanks. The message asked that, as one of Prozen's notable men─though Jean Pierre himself did not see it that way─, he somehow persuade the politicians.

"......To tell the truth, Jean. I read the book you wrote, and it left a deep impression. I even sent someone to record your lectures so I could listen to them."

"Huh? That's illegal, you know."

"My apologies. But it means I agree with your thinking that much. Which is why the likes of the Empire's Emperor gives me no cause for concern at all."

Arthur's gaze sank heavily.

"Maximilian and Ebenholtz....... In a way, it is an utterly horrifying thing. To think that Sebestian's son is Maximilian."

Sebestian and Maximilian. Jean Pierre swallowed a dry breath as well. The two men of Ebenholtz had already become part of history.

"As we speak, the Imperial Army is being overhauled root and branch under the terror that is Ebenholtz. The incident where Maximilian had hundreds of corrupt soldiers shot in one stroke on the eastern border, you know of it?"

"Yes."

Word of that purge had already spread across the entire continent, freezing the whole Imperial Army into rigid discipline.

"What's more, the Genen Autonomous Region, which he personally took the scalpel to, has now clearly stabilized. Jean, have you ever been to Genen?"

"Not...... yet."

"Go and see it sometime. The people of the west fear Genen as some land of slaughter where winds of blood blow, but when I went, I found there was no need for any of that."

Arthur drew several photographs from his coat and laid them on the table. They were photographs of recent scenes from Genen.

"Feel free to use them in your lectures."

Dazzlingly developed logistics warehouses, factories humming with life, wide and cleanly paved roads, bridges linking river to river, the guard posts watching over them, the military base newly established on the city's outskirts, and the massive commercial district that had formed around it.

"......It's a metropolis."

"Indeed."

Genen was the key bridgehead leading to the east. The Empire had therefore poured in capital to bring in industry and military installations, and by abolishing unreasonable tax burdens, it had made the lives of the Autonomous Region's citizens far more prosperous than before.

"Elias Walter, who will soon become Governor-General of Genen, is Genen born and bred. But he carries the blood of Imperial nobility in his veins. Thanks to his efforts, the Genen people have been firmly recognized in law as 'Quasi-Bloodline'. Though fuck me if I still know what kind of bullshit that Quasi-Bloodline business actually is."

Arthur flipped through the photographs one by one, then slid the last one over to Jean Pierre.

A man with pale golden hair and golden eyes, smiling gently as he surveyed a bustling marketplace.

Elias Walter.

"This Elias Walter, too, is a figure Maximilian sculpted. Maximilian controls the entire board from behind the scenes."

Arthur blew out a long stream of tobacco smoke. The hazy white mist slipping through his teeth scattered on the current of the wind.

"Jean. What do you think?"

At Arthur's question, Jean Pierre's answer came after a brief but deep deliberation.

"......In the end, I believe we have no choice but to put our faith in people."

His gaze took on a resolute cast.

"If some great evil exists, and if everyone in the world names it evil and stands together against it, then people will overcome it and prevail, without fail. That is the current history has proven, time and again."

"......."

It was a fittingly scholarly answer, but it did not sit well with Arthur Winston's heart. He gave a wry smile and asked in return.

"Even if that vic⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌tory does not come in our generation?"

"Yes. No matter how long it takes."

Tap. Arthur knocked out his pipe roughly.

"Professor Jean Pierre. What you're saying is no different from saying that, in the long run, we are all dead."

His hardened gaze blazed with a warrior's fire.

"Forgive me, but I haven't the patience to wait for a victory in some distant future."

"......."

Jean Pierre knew Arthur Winston.

He was a man like fire. The kind of figure who would proudly carve his name into a page of history.

"I want to defeat those bastards with my own hands and see the victory plainly with my own two eyes."

Without question, he wa⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌s a man capable of standing against the Empire.

"Yes. I hope for that as well."

As a mere scholar, all Jean Pierre could do was support their cause.

All he could do was pray for the victory of good.

* * *

The royal palace of Mekerel. King Batimus received word of the Valkanian diplomat's death by explosion.

"To the outside world, it will be framed as an assassination, an act of Mekerel terror, but Mekerel need only remain silent."

Mekerel was already bleeding from an unjust invasion as it was. There was no need to plead innocence or make excuses to the Valkanian bastards. And of course, Valkania would be certain from the very start that the Empire was behind it.

A piece of theater everyone performs while knowing full well.

"......I understand."

King Batimus nodded, his face heavy.

"The shipped weapons and communications equipment have all arrived safely as well. People came along with them, I see."

"Yes. We sent instructors to handle the equipment, along with interpreters."

"You mean to say there are others in the Empire who can speak the language of Mekerel?"

I gave a small laugh.

"The Empire is vast, and those who wish to learn are many."

To be precise, they were Imperial anthropologists who had picked up the Mekerel Language as a side branch of their research into 'tribes', but there was no need to say that out loud.

"Now then. Before I depart, I would ask you to put our secret pact into writing, a single document."

The terms were brief.

The 'Rundar' region, an Ezenheim enclave, shall be ceded to the Empire.

The King's eyes wavered for a moment, but he soon nodded firmly, as if his mind was made up.

"Furthermore, this pact must not leak anywhere until the war is over."

"If anything, that is my own wish. For I have sold off the few of my people for the sake of the many."

"......Yes. Thank you for making such a difficult decision."

"Now go and rest easy."

I left the royal hall and returned to my guest room.

A room prepared within the royal palace.

Sitting at the desk there.......

Honestly, there's nothing to do. For now, maybe I'll start writing the [Knight Doctrine] to be newly issued to Empire Point and Sentinel.

I picked up my pen.

Scritch──. Scritch──.

─A knight shall at all times maintain courteous speech and dignity. One who raises his voice in the sway of emotion, or lets vulgar words pass his lips, is unfit to be a knight.

If I just rough it out, Johann will take it and polish it into something exquisitely eloquent all on his own.

─In striking down the enemy, a knight shall set aside personal grudges and take only the Empire's security and the greater cause as the measure of his judgment.

─A knight's sword shall not be drawn lightly, but once drawn, it shall without fail end the enemy's life.

─A knight shall not advertise his deeds in battle or display them to excess.

There's no need to make pointless enemies out of arrogance and pride. Great power must be matched by commensurate responsibility. A knight must be exactly that. He must carry in his heart a conviction and a standard that never waver.

Knock, knock-

A sudden sound of knocking came.

"Come in."

I could tell who it was from their presence alone.

Leon Ascar.

He walked in carrying a bottle of murky-colored liquor and glasses in one hand.

"Max. How about a drink? Apparently this is traditional Mekerel liquor."

"Sounds good."

I nodded gladly.

A taste you can only get in the place itself. Just what I'd hoped for. Now, bring it forth.

"Pour me one."

"Sure."

Glug, glug.

Leon filled my glass.

"By the way, everyone here is so dark-skinned. And I swear there's some weird smell, too."

That single short sentence held the full measure of Leon's bigoted worldview.

"Bear with it."

I raised my glass, swallowed a slow mouthful, and said,

"Because what matters is what's inside."

A distinctive aroma blooming through the mouth, with a sharp, tingling finish.

Their outsides may be a little dark and rough, but they're hundreds of times better than the Ezenheim bastards, rotted pitch-black to the core.

"You know, Max, you always surprise me."

Leon gave a small smile.

"You hate the Ezenheim with everything you've got, but you stand up for primitive people like these. Sometimes it feels like there are several different people living inside you."

"......There's a concept called 'Quasi-Bloodline'."

Clack. I set my glass down.

"If they willingly devote themselves in ways that benefit the Aran, they can be treated as a bloodline on par with the Aran."

"But they can never become real Aran, right?"

"Right. The point is, as long as you're not Ezenheim, it all comes down to what you make of yourself."

"Why don't the Ezenheim qualify?"

"Because they're an Anti-Race proven by history."

Leon looked at me with an odd expression. I raised my glass to him.

"It's good. This stuff."

"Yeah?"

Leon hadn't so much as touched his own glass.

"So why aren't you drinking?"

"......I mean, I don't really need to."

"Drink up."

"You like trying new food, Max. I don't. Honestly, even the smell of this stuff is weird."

He gave a strained smile and slowly inched his way backward.

"Leon."

I called him to a halt as he tried to slip away.

"There's a region called 'Rundar'. An Ezenheim enclave."

"Oh. Yeah?"

Leon leaned his back against the wall.

I said,

"Tomorrow, I'm planning to pay it a visit. Stand by for me nearby."

"Mmm. Got it. The food here doesn't really agree with me, but it's only a day or so, so I guess......."

.......

I deployed Illusion Magic to disguise my identity. I turned my conspicuous golden hair a deep black, layered the hue of a natural tan over my pale skin, and pulled the hood of a thick robe down over my head.

My destination was 'Rundar'. A basin quite far from Mekerel's city center, and an Ezenheim enclave.

I walked in alone.

Thump─ Thump─ Thump─

The moment I set foot at the village's edge, my heart took up its familiar pounding.

The Ezenheim standing along the roadside stared straight at me with wary eyes.

Thump─ Thump─ Thump─

Their reasons for suspecting me, for being on their guard, are perfectly sound.

Because nearly every last one of them is dark-skinned.

───Mmmmm.

From somewhere in the village, a soft murmured chant drifted in on the wind.

The Ezenheim worship a closed religion all their own. A faith called 'Ezent', running on an entirely different track from the continent's mainstream beliefs.

Aaaaah───

A resonance like a hymn, somehow phantasmal.

A melody to dress themselves up as holy, perhaps.

In any case, I did not slow my steps. I moved with the stone temple in a corner of the village as my destination.

"......."

The temple was a tunnel leading underground. From below, an eerie presence pressed up at me. A certain 'danger' registered too, like instinct.

But knights I could call for support were standing by within close reach. No reason to back down.

I stepped inside.

──Thud. Thud.

Feeling the wind pushing up from underground, I went deep.

Deeper still, descending until I touched the very bottom.

Whoooo──

The interior was dark with damp air. Candle flames hanging along the rough stone walls swayed precariously, and within them, glimpses of a strange violet light flickered.

Fwoosh!

Now and then a candle flared high. Even so, across the stretches of wall the light failed to reach, religious patterns found in no text anywhere on the continent were engraved deep into the stone.

Lines tangled and intertwined as if alive and breathing......

"Um. Who are you?"

Suddenly, a voice came from beside a shadowed pillar, questioning me in the Mekerel Language.

A boy with a still-childish face stood there.

But he was, unmistakably, 'Ezenheim'.

A human boy on the outside, but on the inside, an otherworldly seed meant to bring hu⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌manity to ruin.

"Hmm......."

I scanned my sur⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌roundings.

Here, it was just the two of us, the boy and I.

But Filty's Clairvoyance would be watching over me even now.

"Good to meet you."

First, I answered gently in the Mekerel Language. The boy hesitantly bobbed his head.

"Uh...... yes."

"......."

Gazing steadily at the creature, I moved my lips in silence.

The waves of mana Jacob had once spat out. I rewound that 'Otherworldly Language' in my head.

[ How dare you steal our language? I'll rip your heart to shreds and devour it. ]

Sometimes, there are pieces you can only obta⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌in by taking a risk.

There are doors that only open when you gamble.

Somewhere in this Ezenheim enclave, there must be individuals like Jacob, clumsy at controlling their emotions and unable to hide what they are.

And I hope that the thing standing before my eyes, this creature wearing the shape of a boy, is exactly that kind of individual.

So I drew a deep breath, and mimicking their wavelength, one no human vocal cords could ever produce──

─Hello.

I spoke to him in a 'language' only their kind could understand.

~~~

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