Gilles Vert's tent was the largest and most lavish in the camp. Once they passed through the entrance, where military and house banners hung crossed overhead, he strolled over to his seat.

"Sit wherever."

"Mm."

Ivan blithely ignored his surly jerk of the chin, sat down, and propped his feet on the tea table. Gilles Vert's eyebrow twitched.

"My armor."

"Yes, Your Highness!"

An attendant approached and began removing his armor. As the clasps of the heavy plates snapped open, Gilles Vert gently shook his head.

"Take your time."

"... Pardon? Ah, yes, Your Highness!"

The armor began coming off at a turtle's pace. Oscar broke into a cold sweat. This was an exceedingly childish battle of wills. It was also rather rude to keep guests waiting like this, and hardly aristocratic behavior.

He cautiously glanced at Ivan. Surprisingly, the man's expression could not have been more serene.

With a small clink, Ivan drew a little metal object from his coat. On closer inspection, it was a comb. He began leisurely combing his beard, waggling his feet on the table as though he were lounging in his own bedroom.

When this peculiar battle of wills finally ended, Gilles Vert grumbled at Ivan, who was still combing away.

"Insufferable bastard..."

"Finished?"

"Yes!"

"Good. Let's talk business."

Ivan folded his beard comb and, with delicate movements, wrapped it in a silk handkerchief, secured it tightly, and tucked it inside his coat.

Unbelievable. Why had he brought that thing?

Isabelle pressed a hand to her forehead.

"Why would I talk business with a bastard who never sent me a single letter to say he was alive?"

"A letter... Are you going through puberty? I had no idea."

"Did you know the Lord Protector has the authority to summarily execute anyone in this country? That's the power of a 'real' noble. Not some title a princess casually tossed your way."

"You certainly sound like an adolescent. Aging backward, are you? Good to see you're staying young."

"Do you two really not get along?"

At Isabelle's question, both men turned to her and nodded in unison.

Wow. They really did look close. Mister actually had a friend. Who would have thought?

Isabelle shook her head and sat down. Once everyone had gathered around the table, Ivan lowered his feet and wiped away every trace of his shoes.

"I'm not remotely glad to see that bastard... but Bella, it's wonderful to see you looking so well. How are your studies abroad? There's not a single decent soul among those Krasilof wretches. Your uncle has been terribly worried."

"Ah... yes... Thank you for your concern, Your Highness."

"Your Highness?! Call me what you used to!"

"But... I was ten back then..."

"Go on!"

"Uncle Gilles Vert..."

"Adjutant! Adjutant! Bring my strongbox! How much pocket money do children need these days?!"

Watching him forget his age and make a fool of himself, Ivan could only conclude that all those years had been wasted on him. He clicked his tongue. The Hero's Party had, by and large, been a collection of lunatics.

Veolgrin, Einar, Enrique: all equally frivolous for their age. Wasn't growing more mature with time a basic principle of life? For the sane man who had watched over that party, those had been trying years indeed.

By the time Ivan finished reflecting, Gilles Vert was warmly greeting each member of the party. It was fitting conduct for a noble. Hospitality was a point of aristocratic pride.

"Ah, Elpihera. It's been a long time. Thank goodness you don't take after your father."

"Pardon...?"

"Honestly, wouldn't you say you're better than Veolgrin?"

"Ah... Ahahaha!"

There were remarks like that.

"Esidisi! Oh... To think Einar's child has grown up like this... Then again, his wife was quite the beauty."

"You speak as though he's your younger brother. Isn't Einar older than you?"

"Someone who's still unmarried at your age has no place in this conversation."

"My head hurts."

The conversation continued in that vein. Once Gilles Vert had finished welcoming everyone in the Hero's Party, Oscar quietly raised his hand, sweating.

"Father? I'm here too. It's been half a year for me as well..."

"Have you been well?"

"Yes... Thanks to you."

"Then that's all that matters."

Oscar nodded and lowered his hand. It was hard to tell who was actually his child. Only after forcing a whole bundle of gold coins on a protesting Isabelle did Gilles Vert turn back with a satisfied smile.

"So, have you come to introduce these children? Preparing the next generation?"

"It's too early for that."

"Nonsense. They've grown up splendidly."

Gilles Vert looked fondly over the group, murmuring how grown-up they were.

It hadn't been long since their own retirement. In truth, he still prided himself on being in active service. Even so, seeing the next generation coming along like this was deeply satisfying. All the more so for a life peer whose title could not be passed down.

The title of Lord Protector was inseparable from the office. Its duties were not hereditary. A Lord Protector was, fundamentally, a knight who defended the nation. It was a position to be won through ability, not birth.

Of course, with royal blood in his veins, his son would inherit the ducal title. But what did it mean to be a duke in name alone, a noble by law with neither territory nor office?

Judging by the boy's condition, he had made remarkable progress. That was enough. Gilles Vert hadn't been entirely pleased about sending him abroad to study, but if Ivan was at that school, that changed things. The man was no great teacher, but at least he could be trusted.

"Let's clear the room," Ivan said, tapping the table.

"Everyone out. I have something to discuss with the Duke of Etakrich."

"Hmm..."

Gilles Vert nodded to the attendant glancing his way. Only after the attendant and the party had left the tent did Ivan meet his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"Hunting a dragon."

"Why is it taking so long?"

"Well, the thing flies. And annoyingly enough, it's nocturnal. Care to join me tonight?"

"Madame Etoile asked me to come. She said you were making a mess of things and needed help."

Ivan regarded him coldly. Yet behind those chilled eyes lay scattered fragments of concern and doubt.

"What are you after?"

"What do you mean? Obviously..."

"No. Enough with the fine excuses. This is excessive force for a single dragon. I saw on the way here that your supplies have been cut off. Maintaining an army this size can't be cheap. The Eastern Order alone should have been enough."

How many soldiers did it ordinarily take to face a dragon? There were precise historical records on that point. For ordinary soldiers—trained professionals, that is—it took roughly three to four thousand.

Dragons could wield magic, breathe fire hot enough to melt ramparts, and fly. Their scales easily turned blades and spears even without assistance, and with magic they could withstand artillery as well.

If one had to draw a comparison, they were bombers. Without antiaircraft batteries, bombers were an infantryman's nightmare. So, assuming sufficient preparation—preparation capable of dealing with a dragon in flight—three to four thousand soldiers could manage it.

But that applied to ordinary people. For Gilles Vert and his Eastern Order, the calculation was different. He was powerful enough to hunt a dragon alone. With the Eastern Order at his side, he could eliminate even more than ten without losses.

This was excessive force. Bringing such a large army had needlessly made his supply lines vulnerable, to the point that the great nobles could exploit the opening and hurt him simply by scheming behind the scenes.

There was no way Gilles Vert didn't understand the importance of supplies. It would have been no exaggeration to call supply problems the greatest enemy of soldiers back then.

"Hmm."

The smile vanished from Gilles Vert's lips. He sighed, his face set.

"Ivan, this could be construed as interference in our internal affairs. Just enjoy some sightseeing and go home."

"I can't do that."

"I'm not saying this for my sake. Get involved, and you'll see some ugly things. You can forget the retirement you wanted badly enough to have a funeral."

"I don't care."

Ivan shook his head firmly and looked Gilles Vert straight in the eye.

"Count Orléans, Count Grandmartel, and Count Vermontfort. I hear those three are trying to bring you down. Wasn't this whole situation suspicious from the start? A dragon appearing at just the right moment to draw you away from the royal castle?"

"Yes, it must have been deliberate. A way to get me out of the picture. Isn't that obvious? I've no idea where or how they found a dragon, but they must have spent a long time preparing."

Gilles Vert shrugged.

"I've taken my time hunting, let the days pass, and drawn the troops away. With me gone, those bastards won't bother hiding their ambitions anymore. I know."

"Then why...?"

"Justification, Ivan. To a noble, that matters most. It's the only thing that has any value."

Having strength did not mean one could simply march an army out and execute nobles. Not even the king of this country, let alone its Lord Protector, could do that.

Might did not guarantee a functioning system. Society had to be built on reason and law. A society where strength alone justified every action was ultimately no different from the demons.

Look at the demons. They had scattered the moment the Demon King died. With their unifying force gone, their warlords now gladly stabbed and devoured former comrades for whatever scraps of profit remained.

Would humans be any different? If a ruler's strength was the sole basis of their authority, what they ruled could not be called a nation.

Lord Protector was a title bestowed to defend the nation. It was the greatest authority and the greatest duty, entrusted to the strongest individual. An immense honor—and an immense shackle.

The rights of a life peer did not pass to their descendants. He wielded power that no member of the royal family could disregard, yet it would all end with him.

Despite those shackles, Gilles Vert had willingly relinquished every other right he deserved. To protect the kingdom.

And protecting a nation meant more than merely repelling foreign enemies. It meant defending the nation's foundations, its institutions, its laws, and all the people who lived with faith in them.

Because the strong exploiting the weak must never be accepted as natural. Because every agreement between people ought to rest on reason.

That was Gilles Vert's duty. He would not simply execute the nobles who sought to check him and gnawed away at the nation. He would only wait for them to act.

Like a lion before the hunt, he lay quietly in wait. Still, without so much as a breath. Letting his foolish prey frolic without a care.

When the moment came, this country would become his hunting ground.

"... Yes. You would have a plan of your own."

Ivan shook his head and leaned back in his chair. Come to think of it, Gilles Vert had understood politics better than anyone in the Hero's Party.

Apart from Veolgrin, that was. Elves were generally political creatures by the mere fact of being alive.

Gilles Vert gave a small chuckle at Ivan's words.

"Oh, right. Do you know where that dragon has made its nest?"

"I heard the Bernina Mountains."

"The largest, most rugged mountains in the northeast. But here's the thing..."

Gilles Vert grinned and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"We found a strange structure near its nest."

"A strange structure?"

"We were searching every possible hiding place in the area that could serve as a nest, and we came across something odd in a cave."

He tapped a corner of the map.

"Traces of an underground structure with no mention in any records. We've seen this sort of thing before, haven't we?"

"... A dungeon."

"Yes. Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

"Hmm..."

Judging by the map's scale, the points Gilles Vert had marked were a considerable distance apart. If they were all parts of the same structure, it might well extend beneath most of the mountain range.

Like a dwarven city. A dungeon of this size, with no record of its existence.

Excavating beneath a mountain range and building there was not something an ordinary workforce could accomplish. It was a massive undertaking, requiring labor on a national scale.

That something like this lay buried beneath the earth without any record meant one thing. Ivan already knew this kind of ruin. He had often encountered them during his time with the Hero's Party.

Ruins from antiquity, when gods walked the earth. From a time when the present religion had been considered just another sect.

An ancient vault holding tremendous treasures. And by the common sense of academy stories, this was most likely a level-up event.

'Was this a Chain Quest...?'

Seeing Gilles Vert's smile, Ivan found himself smiling too.

So, he meant to leave it for this generation's youngsters. The sly bastard.

"The hunt comes first. Madame Etoile wants you home now. I imagine the Duchess of Etakrich does as well."

"Mm, well. I've stalled long enough. Since they've cut the supply lines, it looks as though they'll be making their move soon."

"Then let's finish this quickly."

There was still no telling what the great nobles were preparing. He couldn't even begin to guess. There could be no means in this country of killing Gilles Vert in the field with the Eastern Order under his command.

Therefore, Ivan had to stay with him at least until this operation ended. Even if a scheme capable of killing Gilles Vert truly existed, their calculations could not have accounted for Ivan as well.

When they had a reliable scout, the Hero's Party had broken through even the strongholds of the Seven Dragon Generals without losses.

Krasilof's tactical doctrine held that, given sufficient strength, one should deliberately walk into the enemy's trap. That way, one could face the very best they had prepared.