Chapter 159

The central office of the Grand Guild Headquarters.

Germain stood with an attendant at his side helping him into his formal wear, and stole a glance toward the back of the room.

What caught his eye was the aide-de-camp he'd worked with for years.

"Aide. How are the ceremony preparations coming along?"

The aide bowed his head toward Germain, who was fastening the buttons at his cuffs.

"Everything is on track, sir. From the furnishing of the main hall to the program arrangements—it's all proceeding without a hitch."

"Good to hear. This campaign's been one disaster after another. I'd really love it if the finale, at least, went off without incident."

The aide pressed his lips shut instead of adding anything further and simply lowered his head. Germain blinked through the awkward silence, then seemed to catch himself and hastily tacked on a clarification.

"No—I'm not blaming anyone, so don't go getting all tense. I know none of it could've been helped."

"My apologies, sir."

"Come on. I'm telling you there's genuinely nothing to apologize for— hurk!"

That was when the attendant adjusting his formal wear yanked the sash at his waist tight.

The sudden constriction strangled the air from his lungs. Germain choked on a swallow, then pried his voice out in halting, cracking fragments.

"Um, dear…. I'm sorry to interrupt while you're doing your duty, but I really can't breathe right n—"

"You'll be standing before a great many people. It would be wise to endure at least this much."

"That may be so… but could you loosen it just a ti— ny."

His voice had devolved into outright pleading. The middle-aged woman tending to his clothes let a sly smile slip, then eased the sash she'd pulled taut. Germain finally released the breath trapped in his chest and spoke with visible relief.

"Thank you. I feel human again…. Anyway—aide. What's the expected turnout for this ceremony?"

"It exceeds previous years. In terms of sheer scale, I believe it would rank among the top three of any ceremony held to date."

"I see. It's a good thing when people show this much interest in Guild-hosted events."

Germain replied with a faint smile. But his gaze remained fixed on the blazing sunset beyond the window.

"Though I can't help thinking that kind of turnout is only possible because the world grows more chaotic by the day. …It's not exactly something to celebrate."

The bitterness in his voice hung in the air before he fell silent. But he soon lifted his tone and changed the subject.

"Speaking of which—did they show up for this campaign as well?"

"Ah, the unidentified attendees, you mean. This time there were four… no, five."

"Two more than last time…. Well, I suppose there was plenty of information worth paying attention to from the great noble houses' perspective."

Germain narrowed his eyes, recalling the figures he'd noticed while passing through the corridors—appearances that hadn't quite sat right.

People who'd introduced themselves as bookkeepers for a trading company, yet whose fingertips bore not a single stain of ink.

He'd known full well that these spectators, hiding their true identities to observe the campaign, were informants operating under the great noble houses.

Germain toyed with the edge of his chin, then scrunched his brows and clicked his tongue.

"Great nobles or whatever they are…. Honestly, could they be any more stiff-necked? Would it kill them to just come out and say, 'We're interested in potential recruits and we'd like to see what's happening, so let us have a seat'? It's not like anyone would throw them out."

As Germain rattled off his grievances, the aide allowed a thin smile to settle at the corner of his mouth.

"You know as well as anyone that they aren't the sort to lower themselves to that kind of candor, sir."

"Yeah, fair enough."

Germain let out a clipped breath alongside the concession. He swept his hair back and smiled sourly.

"To people in positions like theirs, we're nothing more than upstarts trying to expand our influence under the cover of chaos."

"……"

"Just look at what's right in front of us. They cherry-pick campaign results to use in selecting fighters for their own ranks—slapping fancy labels like 'interpersonal influence' on it—and yet they'd rather the campaign's outcomes only ever exist in unofficial form."

A hollow laugh escaped Germain as he traced the shape of the situation.

"This isn't some turf war between neighborhood trading companies…. For people who call themselves great nobles, leeching off the efforts of those beneath them is a pretty small-minded look. But the reason they go that far is obvious."

A short inhale pressed down the heat rising in his voice. Germain continued, his eyes narrowing to a sharp edge.

"They want to keep our influence from growing. Power, authority… they have no intention of yielding a single scrap."

The declaration rang crisp and clear through the air. After a brief pause, Germain spoke again.

"Listen, aide."

"Yes, sir."

"As you're well aware, we've been able to sustain our current standing under the justification that increasing anomalies demand a more flexible response. But what happens if the underlying conditions change?"

"When you say the conditions change, you mean…"

"When the anomalies die down and peace returns."

The aide closed his mouth. Germain tilted his head back and let the words he'd been holding inside pour out in succession.

"Do you really think the people at the top will leave us be? No—there's no chance of that…. I can already feel how little they approve of us as things stand. So we need to build up our strength and position, and put a plan in place to protect ourselves."

The aide didn't chime in right away. Rather than pressing his superior for an explanation or tacking on his own opinion, he quietly studied Germain's expression and asked.

"Is there something specific you've had your eye on?"

"Mmm, well…."

Germain's expression loosened in an instant. He scratched his cheek and spoke with a sheepish grin.

"Let's just say there's a young master I think I could have a good conversation with."

Germain checked the knot of the tie taking shape, then turned his eyes toward the desk.

Stacks of documents layered with countless voices and reports from every corner of the land, bringing news from across the vast continent.

Germain watched the papers with the corner of his mouth lifted, then slid his arms into the jacket being offered to him and spoke.

"Well, anyway. Getting through the ceremony in one piece comes first. We should get going."

---

The ceremony began as stars emerged one by one into the sky after sunset.

Mikhail changed into the formal wear that had been delivered to his quarters, tied his hair up, and arrived at the entrance to the main hall right on schedule.

"—Attention, please! Spectators are asked to proceed to the seating areas at the rear and on the second floor of the hall! Participants, please make your way toward the front—!"

The area in front of the main hall was an absolute sea of people. The crowd was so dense there was barely room to set a foot down, let alone see a step ahead.

But Mikhail didn't bother surveying the scene any further.

He already knew where Salvator's table was. All he had to do was find a gap to weave through.

"—Mikhail, you made it on time?"

It was the moment he stepped inside the hall. That trademark smooth voice tugged at his attention.

Mikhail turned toward the sound.

Lloyd was leaning against a corridor pillar with his bangs swept back, greeting him with an easy smile.

"I heard the helping hands were a bit short-staffed, so the line for getting dressed ran pretty long."

"I just threw mine on myself."

"Just threw it on…. For someone who did that, there's not a single thing out of place."

Lloyd pushed off the pillar and walked over, scanning Mikhail's appearance from head to toe.

He looked like a detective inspecting for clues. Before long, Lloyd let out a short laugh and reached forward.

"Actually, scratch that. You missed one thing."

Lloyd's hand landed on the decorative knot pinned to the front pocket of Mikhail's vest.

He untied the deep navy cord and retied it from scratch.

Mikhail watched the deft fingers shaping the knot and remarked flatly.

"An ancient ceremonial knot. That's a tricky one."

"Oh, you knew? Well… I've had plenty of occasions that called for it. Do it enough times and it becomes second nature."

What emerged was a lattice-patterned knot. Lloyd withdrew his hand from the finished shape and smiled. Then he tilted his chin toward the interior of the hall.

"Let's go. Everyone should be there already."

Mikhail gave a nod and fell into step behind Lloyd.

Lloyd glided through the bustling crowd as if swimming through it, pressing steadily forward. The sheer mass of people seemed to pose no obstacle to him whatsoever.

"Oh, you two! There you are!"

They'd arrived at the table assigned to Salvator. Nisha flashed a bright smile and waved.

She wore elaborate formal attire—a far cry from her usual look.

Mikhail returned the greeting with a glance and took his seat, eyes sweeping over the faces gathered around the table.

"Everyone made it on time. I heard the line for getting dressed was so long people were cutting it close."

"Oh, yeah. I ended up wandering around and caught wind of the situation a little early. Moved fast, so it worked out fine."

Nisha answered with a bashful smile, but her expression dipped for just a moment as her gaze drifted toward the empty seat at the front.

The chair where Ethan should have been sitting.

A brief silence settled over them. Then Hailey turned to Mikhail with a playful grin and steered the conversation elsewhere.

"By the way—you look better with your hair up. Why not just keep it tied from now on?"

"I subscribe to the philosophy that those extra minutes are better spent sleeping."

"Oh, I'm with you on that one. Morning sleep is non-negotiable."

"Haah… figures. Why is it always the people who have no intention of using what they've got who end up with the good stuff?"

Starting with Mikhail's reply, answers bounced back and forth among the group until a ripple of quiet laughter broke through.

As the laughter faded, Albin turned his head toward the stage at the front and spoke up.

"Oh, that reminds me. We're the winning team, so we'll probably get a trophy or something. Who's going up as our representative?"

"Good question. We don't have a team leader right now, so…."

Everyone trailed off and exchanged glances. Then Lloyd gave Mikhail's shoulder a light tap.

"You go. Mikhail. Put the finishing touch on a job well done."

Mikhail blinked at the sudden suggestion and looked at Lloyd. Before he could respond, voices chimed in from all around.

"I agree. You had the highest contribution score out of anyone this time around."

"No objections here! I mean, honestly… you earned it, didn't you?"

Mikhail let the chorus of approval wash past him and tilted his head to one side.

He sat with the thought for a moment… then answered.

"All right. Sure."

Flash!

In that instant, the chandelier light illuminating the hall winked out all at once, and only the stage lights blazed to life.

"—Thank you all for your patience. We will now begin the Guild Alliance's Eighth Joint Suppression Campaign Awards Ceremony."

Above the charged air where countless gazes and excited voices crossed paths, a clear, ringing voice announced the start of the proceedings.