The role of a war ambassador, no matter how successful you are at your job, is not something to be praised for, nor is it something to be written about in bardic poetry.

　And yet, the risk was far greater than simply going into battle, so if I may say so myself, it was a very unworthy role.

　Because a military messenger is not just a messenger who tells things to his allies. He had to ride alone and unarmed into the enemy's army and convey the intentions of his army without misunderstanding.

　If you fail to do so, you will be beheaded immediately, or worse, even if you just deliver the letter, you risk having a sword grow out of your chest as an example. In this case, it would be better to go out and wield a spear on the battlefield, since your allies are close by.

　If you die on the battlefield, it is still easier to say that you fought for your country or for your friends. However, it would be ridiculous to just deliver a letter and die.

　On this day, the military messenger who was sent from the Great Patriarchal Army to the Monstrance Army with a letter was muttering such things in his mouth endlessly.

　Really, it's not worth it. Even if you can get some reward, it's a small price to pay if you die. If you have a family, you may be able to understand that even if you die, the money will go to your family. But it is always lonely people like you who have no family and no lover who are sent to the dangerous role of military messenger. It's not only unworthy but also a poor lot.

　It's a good idea to have a good friend who can help you. It's a good idea to have a good idea of what you're looking for. It's a good idea to have a good idea of what you're getting yourself into.

　I've heard that elves have a habit of gleefully devouring people. They are rumored to be fond of human hearts. Some of them even put curses on humans to keep them immobile forever. These are all horrible stories, and they make my toes cold.

　But I've come to deliver a letter to something even more terrifying. The warlord felt his heart grow strangely heavy.

　A man of great treachery, a lover of vice, a traitor, Rougis.

　He is the symbol of evil, mentioned in the same breath as the witch Mattia, the standard-bearer of the heraldry.

　In the event that you're not sure what to do, you can always ask your doctor.

　If you are angry about the content of the letter, it is obvious that the blade will swing down on you. In the event that you've got a lot more than one, you'll be able to get a lot more.


I'm sorry.


　--I hope the conversation will be worthwhile for both of us. Battalion Chief Richard Permiris.

　The signature at the end of the letter, inscribed as if it were a scrawl, made me doubt my own eyes. I stared at the ink stain over and over again, my eyes bugging out.

　I wondered if it was spelled wrong, or if it was another person with the same name, or if it was a separated brother. With such ridiculous fantasies in my head, I stared at each letter of the signature as if I were chewing it.

　I can't. No matter how I tried to deceive myself, this messy signature was familiar to me. The way it was spelled, as if to say, "It doesn't matter if you know. I've only known one person who liked to write this way, and his name was Richard.

　But what a change of heart, after hating his last name for so long, even to the end of his life in the past.

Richard's grandfather, I've seen that name before.

　He muttered to no one in the large tent. My voice echoed strangely through the tent as all the generals looked at me as I received the letter without opening their mouths.

　The letter from the Archdiocese was delivered while Saint Mattia and the generals of the heraldic army were eagerly gathering around the military council table. A liaison soldier, who must have been the one to deliver the letter, came running into the Great Tent with a hard parchment in his hand, gasping for breath. I remember that he was in such a hurry that I almost thought that an enemy attack or something similar had occurred.

　The contents of the letter were nothing, it was just a letter from the general of the Great Patriarchal Army, delivered through a military messenger. I don't know why it was sent to me.

　I don't know why the letter was sent to me, but I can't help but understand why the liaison officer was a little upset. The fact that a military envoy of the enemy army came all the way to deliver the letter is proof that the enemy army is close by. It is the best proof that the two armies are about to come into contact with each other.

　The realization that the enemy is close at hand to kill you. It gives you a strange pain in your heart, no matter how it is given. It's hard not to be upset by it, especially for a recruit who is probably not used to the battlefield.

"Are you a familiar face from the battlefield, Lugis?

　Erdis, who was sitting beside me, peered into my face and said. Her large blue eyes have a curious look in them.

"Not exactly a familiar face, is it? He's my master. He helped me a lot when I was a kid.

　That's why he is now leading the army of the Great Saints," he mutters, narrowing his eyes.

　Yes, I was taken care of. I was just a skinny dog, but this old man gave me everything I needed to live in the back streets, how to get by on food, and how to wield a sword.

　It was only under the tutelage of old Richard that I managed to survive as an adventurer in the darkness of the Garleist Kingdom.

　However, the things he taught me were not all that straightforward.

　After all, old Richard himself was a vicious man, a friend of tyranny, and a prey to the flesh of the weak. There was no way I could have received a proper lesson from such a man.

　So the only lessons I received from him were, as I see it, backstreet manners that never saw the light of day. It's not good. Some people might even spit at me on the spot.

　And yet, to this day, I still can't believe that I made a mistake in taking Richard's grandfather as my teacher. He was the epitome of the man I used to be.

　My eyelids were heavy, and for a moment I was immersed in memories of the past. When I opened my eyes again, I suddenly realized that the air inside the big tent had become a little harder and heavier.

"...... Master Lugis, what did that master tell you?

　Anne said in a voice that was as firm as the air. I'm not sure what to say, but I'm sure you'll understand. What's the matter? It's not like anything's wrong.

　He shrugs his shoulders at the somewhat strange appearance of his surroundings, twists his eyebrows, and leaks his words.

He wants to talk to me, one at a time. He wants to talk to me, one of us at a time. No, he wants to renew old acquaintances, it seems the old man has grown tender-hearted in his old age.



　I said, clearing my throat loudly.

　Of course it can't be. That old Richard would never send an envoy to the enemy army for such a silly reason as to renew old friendships.

　Oh, I really miss it. If this inedible old man wants to make a move, he must be trying to draw some kind of a bad picture.

　Because Richard Palmyris is a man who can't escape that kind of nature, a man for whom the words "order" and "justice" are surprisingly unsuitable. And I know that nature very well. I know it all too well.

　Anne and Mattia are looking at the parchment I've rolled up and discussing something. They're probably trying to figure out the best way to respond.

　But my mind was already made up. I stood up from my seat with my cheeks crumpled. Then he threw a word to the liaison officer who was still kneeling near the entrance of the Great Tent, waiting to be told his orders.

"Liaison, tell the Archbishop's emissary that Rougis has agreed to this. It's been a long time since I've seen old Richard.