[NARRATOR POV]
The City of Milishion unfurled before them like a meticulously crafted tapestry, its districts arranged with geometric precision that spoke to centuries of careful urban planning. Unlike the organic sprawl of most settlements, this holy capital had been designed with purpose—each quarter serving distinct functions within the greater machinery of the kingdom.
In the north stood the [Residential District], where the architecture itself told stories of social stratification. Modest homes of whitewashed stone and timber framing clustered in neat rows for average citizens, while ornate manors with sloped tile roofs and decorative spires housed noble families and distinguished knights. Despite these visible disparities in wealth and status, they all shared the fundamental classification of private residences—all dwellings beneath the same northern sky.
The eastern section breathed with the rhythmic pulse of commerce in the aptly named [Commerce District]. Here, merchants from across the continent gathered under colorful awnings and within cramped storefronts. While individual structures remained modest in size, their collective energy transformed the district into a hive of economic activity. The air vibrated with haggling voices and the clink of coins changing hands, while scents of exotic spices and foreign goods mingled with the ever-present aroma of freshly baked bread from countless small bakeries.
This was more than a marketplace—it was the economic heart of the kingdom, where trading companies forged connections that would extend throughout the continent. Blacksmiths hammered glowing metal into tools and weapons, while auction houses showcased treasures that had traveled from lands beyond imagination.
The southern quarter, known simply as the [Adventurers District], carried a distinctly different atmosphere. Here, the gleaming silver headquarters of the Adventurers Guild dominated the skyline, surrounded by establishments catering specifically to those who risked their lives for profit and glory. Weapon shops displayed deadly implements in open windows, while specialized clothiers offered garments enhanced with magical protections.
Yet beneath this veneer of heroic enterprise lurked darker elements. The district housed a notorious slum where failed adventurers wasted away their final coins in gambling dens that never closed their doors. The slave market—relocated here rather than in the commerce district in a tacit acknowledgment of its unsavory nature—operated with quiet efficiency despite the supposed moral authority of the kingdom.
To the west, the [Holy District] gleamed with pious splendor. The Great Church dominated this area, its massive spires reaching toward heaven like supplicating hands. Sunlight reflected off gilded domes and stained glass windows depicting saints and holy warriors. The headquarters of the Holy Millis Knight order stood as a physical manifestation of the church's martial authority—a reminder that this faith spread not only through prayer but also through the sword when necessary.
The party approached the city through the Adventurers District, a practical choice born of necessity. Experience had taught them that adventurers attempting entry through other districts would face rigorous questioning and bureaucratic delays—a complication they could ill afford.
What a troublesome city, Claude thought, observing the elaborate social stratification built into the very stones of Milishion.
The transition was immediate and jarring as they passed through the city gates. From a distance, Milishion appeared as a beacon of divine grace, its white stone walls and glittering spires promising sanctuary and spiritual elevation. Yet once inside, the illusion cracked to reveal a city as flawed and human as any other.
Near the entrance, inns and stables competed fiercely for new arrivals' business. Barkers shouted promotional rates and dubious claims of comfort, their voices creating a cacophony that assaulted the senses after weeks on the quieter roads. The scent of horse manure mingled with cooking fires, incense from street-side shrines, and the indefinable musk of too many people living in close proximity.
Down the main cobblestone avenue, an arms shop displayed its wares behind iron bars—protection against theft in a district known for its desperation as much as its heroism. Claude's experienced eye noted the narrow alleyways branching from the main thoroughfare, where cheaper accommodations could be found for those willing to sacrifice security for economy.
The Adventurers Guild Headquarters dominated the district's skyline, its silver-plated dome catching the afternoon sunlight and casting an almost otherworldly glow across the crowded streets. Even from the city entrance, this monument to organized adventure beckoned like a lighthouse to ships at sea.
Upon reaching a reasonably priced stable, they arranged housing for their horse and cart. The transaction had barely concluded when Geese cleared his throat with deliberate emphasis.
"Now then, I've got some places to visit, so please excuse me!" he announced, his tone casual but his eyes alert in a way that Claude immediately recognized as significant.
"Eh? We're already disbanding?" Rudeus' voice carried genuine surprise, his expression falling slightly.
"What's this? Does that make you lonely, senpai?" Geese's words were teasing, but carried an undercurrent of genuine affection that had developed during their shared journey.
"Yeah, that makes me feel lonely." The boy's honesty was disarming, free from the calculation that often guided Claude's own responses.
Claude observed the interaction with careful neutrality, though internally he parsed every nuance of Geese's behavior through the fragmented lenses of multiple timeline memories. In some versions of events, Geese was merely a helpful traveling companion. In others, his connections to the Human God made him an unwitting agent of cosmic manipulation.
Rudeus genuinely valued the man's companionship. They had traveled together for only a brief span, but Geese's easy manner and practical skills had eased many burdens. His cooking alone had elevated their journey from mere survival to something approaching comfort.
"No need to feel lonely, senpai. We'll meet again as long as we are in the same city." Geese shrugged and patted Rudeus' head with casual affection before turning to leave.
Eris stepped into his path, her posture assuming what Claude had come to recognize as her 'demanding stance'—arms crossed and chin tilted upward in a display of stubborn determination.
"Geese!"
"Next time we meet, teach me how to cook!" she demanded, her voice carrying the imperious tone of nobility that years of displacement had failed to completely eradicate.
"That's why I've said no way. You're persistent." Despite his words, Geese's expression held more amusement than annoyance as he sidestepped around her.
Before departing, he paused to pat Ruijerd's shoulder—a gesture of respect between men who understood the weight of their respective histories.
"Then, you take care as well, Danna."
"You take care as well. Don't do too many bad things." The Superd warrior's response carried a hint of humor beneath its serious delivery.
"I know that." With a final wave, Geese melted into the crowd with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to both appearing and disappearing at will.
The farewell seemed disproportionately casual given the two months they had traveled together. Their paths, briefly intertwined, now diverged with such abruptness that it left Rudeus blinking in confusion.
Just as Geese's distinctive profile began to disappear among the bustling crowd, he suddenly turned back.
"Ah, that's right, senpai. Make absolutely sure you show your face at the Adventurer's Guild!" he called, voice barely audible above the street noise.
"Hn? Ah, sure!" Rudeus replied, raising his hand in acknowledgment.
The boy's thoughts were transparent to Claude: They needed to visit the Guild regardless to secure work and funds. Why emphasize something so obvious?
As Geese vanished once more into the crowded street, Claude observed the subtle shift in Rudeus' demeanor—the slightly unfocused gaze, the almost imperceptible dulling of his usual sharp awareness.
"Sigh... are you stupid or something?" Claude's words cut through whatever mental fog had begun to envelop his companion.
"Huh? Oh, right! The information board...." Rudeus' embarrassment manifested in a sheepish gesture as he scratched the back of his head.
The momentary lapse struck Claude as profoundly uncharacteristic. For someone with Rudeus' intellect and caution—a boy who carried the memories and wisdom of a previous life—to suddenly forget something as critical as checking for information about the teleportation incident was more than strange. It was suspicious.
In that moment, Claude felt the subtle pressure of external manipulation—the barely perceptible fingerprints of divine interference. The Human God's influence operated with insidious subtlety, nudging Rudeus away from certain knowledge, steering him toward predetermined encounters and away from others.
I see, it must be that Human God... Claude's mind raced through implications and possible countermeasures while his expression remained carefully neutral.
The pattern was becoming clearer. In the depth of the Demon Continent, when the original timeline should have guided Rudeus and Eris to Roxy, the Human God had intervened. Instead, they encountered Kishirika Kishirisu, the Demon Lord of Eyes, who granted Rudeus the gift of foresight—a gift that would shape his decisions in ways that served the deity's inscrutable agenda.
Now, here in Milishion, the manipulations continued. If events followed the primary timeline that Claude remembered from his fragmented knowledge, Rudeus would soon clash bitterly with Paul before encountering his sister Aisha—another chess piece moved into position by unseen hands.
Even Geese is something the Human God planted, Claude realized, admiring the intricate layers of the deity's schemes despite his aversion to their source. The god's ploy is filled with wonder. I don't know what is hidden under his thumbs. But the fact that he can't come by himself is already a thankful thing... which means that he can't enter this world without a proxy.
This limitation offered a measure of safety, at least for now. The deity required avatars and agents to enact his will in the physical world.
Based on the memories Claude held from his third variant self, the Human God's ultimate aim was to win Rudeus' trust and belief—to transform him from potential threat into willing instrument. Any element that might interfere with this plan—such as Norn's potential marriage to Ruijerd in some timeline branches—would need to be eliminated.
Well, let's see how the future unfolds, Claude thought, his outward calm masking the calculated analysis occurring behind his eyes.
As they approached the Adventurer's Guild, Claude's attention sharpened at the sight of figures wearing the distinctive attire of Arbalest operatives. With subtle gestures, he directed Rudeus and Ruijerd toward them, his movements casual enough to avoid drawing attention from ordinary passersby.
"Pleased to meet you, Master Claude." The operative bowed slightly, face carefully neutral but eyes conveying recognition and respect.
After brief introductions, Claude's party was efficiently separated. Ruijerd, Eris, and Rudeus were escorted to a comfortable waiting room with refreshments, while Claude followed the operative to a secured VIP chamber deep within the Guild's headquarters.
The room was austere but private, with sound-dampening enchantments woven into its walls and furniture arranged to prevent eavesdropping from any angle. A thick folder of documents awaited on the polished table, bearing the discreet seal of Arbalest.
"It's the report we had gathered until today, my lord," the operative stated, standing at attention while Claude took his seat.
To most of the world, Arbalest operated under Mike's ownership and direction. Few knew the truth: Claude was the organization's true founder and master, with Mike serving as his public face and operational director.
Every member had been personally vetted and trained by Claude himself, resulting in a network of agents whose loyalty was absolute and whose skills bordered on legendary in certain circles.
"Hmm, so it's 90%, huh?" Claude mused as he scanned the meticulously compiled data. "Have you found anything else?"
"No, sir. Based on the 90% we've tracked, we've found that 15% were dead. It would be a 16% death rate counting the couple you found."
Claude's expression didn't change, but something cold settled in his chest. Each percentage point represented people—families torn apart, children orphaned, lives ended or irrevocably altered by an event he had failed to prevent despite his knowledge.
"I see. The reason for metastasis victims' deaths is our lack of support, then." The statement wasn't a question but a bitter acknowledgment.
"Yes, sir. We lack sufficient personnel to save all affected individuals." The operative's voice remained professionally detached, though a hint of genuine regret colored the edges of his words. "We've also been in contact with Somar in the Criminal City district. He's operating undercover while attempting to establish control over the entire area."
Claude nodded, pausing briefly before continuing to read through the detailed report. Pages of data, witness accounts, and tracking information painted a more complete picture of the teleportation disaster's aftermath than anyone else on the continent possessed.
As he absorbed the information, a complex emotion rose within him—not quite pride, but something adjacent to it. Mike had coordinated their operations with remarkable efficiency, mobilizing Arbalest's resources to locate and assist as many displaced Buena villagers as possible. Without their intervention, the death toll would have been significantly higher.
This success carried another implication that Claude found oddly comforting: the Human God's manipulations appeared limited to key individuals like Rudeus. The deity showed little interest in what Claude privately termed "background characters"—the ordinary people whose lives were deemed insignificant to whatever cosmic game was being played.
This blind spot created opportunities. While the Human God focused on manipulating major players, Arbalest could operate in the shadows, countering his influence through actions deemed too inconsequential for divine attention.
Memories from the third Claude surfaced with particular clarity as he considered Rudeus' role in the unfolding drama. Despite their childhood bond and shared journey, Claude harbored no illusions about their compatibility as partners.
Rudeus Greyrat was brilliant, powerful, and fundamentally decent. He was also stubborn, naive in specific crucial ways, and—most dangerously—a prime target for divine manipulation. His status as a reincarnated individual who retained knowledge from Earth made him especially valuable to entities operating on a cosmic scale.
Rudeus is not a good partner to be with, Claude concluded, closing the report with a decisive motion. Not because of personal animosity or lack of affection, but because proximity to him attracted the attention of forces Claude preferred to avoid.
And yet, their paths remained intertwined. Whether by fate, cosmic coincidence, or the machinations of entities beyond comprehension, Claude found himself repeatedly drawn into Rudeus' orbit despite knowing the dangers it presented.
For now, he would continue the delicate dance of assistance and distance—helping where he could while avoiding becoming another piece on the Human God's game board. The future remained uncertain, shrouded by competing possibilities from multiple timeline fragments.
But one thing remained clear: Claude would use every resource at his disposal, including the impressive network now reporting to him, to counter the manipulation of those he sought to protect—even if they never realized the invisible war being waged on their behalf.
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