Chapter 92: Prelude②

Deep, deep in a forest of towering trees, crystal light sparkled when one looked up at the sky.

A man was running through that mysterious forest.

It was a camp. Many tents were lined up.
The man entered the largest tent.

“Where’s the boss?”
“Hey now, what’s the rush?”
“Where’s Forcutt? The boss? Isn’t he in camp?”
“Ah, he’s away from camp. Deep in the western forest ahead.”
“He should be with him.”
“Then, in the depths of the western forest.”
“H-hey—”

The man ran.
He dashed desperately through the strange forest.
The monsters of the dungeon in this area had already been cleared, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still dangerous.
Even so, the man pressed forward.

At last, he encountered a faun man practicing swings with a massive poleaxe on top of a fallen giant tree.
His upper body was bare, dripping with sweat.

“Mm. Halt.”
“Ah, Trebol-san. Where’s the boss?”
“What business do you have with the boss?”
“A message. From the Grand Guild.”
“Then the boss is farther in.”
“Understood.”

The man ran again.

Eventually, he reached a colossal crystal. In front of it, a pair of elf twins sat side by side reading books.
They looked up at him simultaneously.

“You there.”
“Stop.”
“Cuore-san. Almas-san. The boss?”
“He’s just ahead.”
“What do you need with him?”
“A message from the Grand Guild.”
“Then at the spring further in.”
“He’s there.”
“Understood.”

The man ran.

By now, fatigue was setting in. His pace slowed.
Finally, gasping for breath, he reached a small spring.
Clear water shimmered, surrounded by trees. There stood a lone man.

“Boss.”

The man turned. He had flowing golden hair, sharp black eyes, and strikingly handsome features.
There was an androgynous air about him that radiated both beauty and a sense of sanctity.

He looked like a finely crafted statue, a beautiful youth.
Draped in a red cape and clad in pure white armor, he was a living painting even just standing there.

Such was this man.

“What is it?”
“A message from the Grand Guild: ‘The Great of Rounds’ will be held. That is all.”
“I see. So it’s that time already. Understood. We return to the surface.”
“Y-yes, sir.”

This beautiful young man was the so-called boss, Alverd von Rutvelt.
Clan Master of Hydrangea’s greatest clan, Coon Hunt.
A First-Class Explorer, known as the “Destructor of Destruction.”

The far north of the continent. Great Prosphora Mountain.
Midway up its slope stood a massive structure, shaped like a split egg.

Inside the structure were enormous triangular pillars, one white, one blue, one red.

At the center of the pillars floated a huge black metallic ring, and within that ring stood a white dome.

That white dome—
This was the Grand Guild headquarters, Grand Guild Blíðskjálf.

In the dome, inside the Grand Guild Master’s office.
Alhazard Abramelin peered through his reading glasses at documents.
His face was panther-like, with a pure white beard.

The Grand Guild had long since shifted from scrolls to bundles of paper and books.
A dignified dark-skinned woman, dressed in a black coat and uniform, stood by his side and asked:

“Grand Guild Master, it is time to begin preparations for the ‘Great of Rounds.’”

“I see. So it’s this year.”

The ‘Great of Rounds’ was a grand event of the Grand Guild, held once every five years.
Without exception, all First-Class Explorers would gather together in a great council.

“Yes. And this year, there are three to be promoted to First-Class Explorers.”

“At last, the curse of twenty-seven will be broken, then.”

Alhazard smiled wryly. For decades, the number had remained at twenty-seven.
There was no particular rule about that number, but in five years’ time, some would always die, returning the total to twenty-seven.

“The three are: Agaro, Megadia Megalopolis, and Ens Hyland.”

“Agaro, I know. The ‘Annihilation Sword.’ Megadia—an Edda. Megalopolis, one of the old Edda six houses. Ens? Impossible… yet he is… what does this mean?”

Alhazard lifted his gaze.

“Yes, please review these documents.”

He received the documents and read them.

“…Hmph. The dungeons are truly mysterious. To think such a thing could happen.”
“Indeed.”
“And the venue, then?”

The venue was not fixed at the Grand Guild—it rotated among the cities.

“Yes. And forgive me, I neglected to mention: apart from that, I have two urgent documents requiring your seal.”
“Which are?”
“An emergency budget request for the aftermath of the Minos Unit incident.”
“That was in Hydrangea, was it not?”
“Yes. The 12th floor of the dungeon in the city where it occurred has completely collapsed and been sealed off. The teleportation circles have been connected.”
“Chaive, then.”
“Yes, the invoice is attached.”

Alhazard frowned at the figure listed.

“…Isn’t this a bit high?”
“This is already considerably lower than the initial request.”
“Hmm.”

Reluctantly, Alhazard pressed his seal twice.
The woman received the stamped documents.

“Thank you.”
“Now, about the venue.”
“Yes, here are the candidates.”
“Hm. Hm. Not bad, but—”

Alhazard glanced over the documents he had been handed and muttered that something didn’t sit right.

They were all places where the event had been held multiple times before—stable, yes, but lacking excitement.

“It isn’t about enjoying ourselves.”

“Even so, the soul of an explorer is necessary. For we are explorers.”

Partly due to his position, but also simply because of the passage of time, he had not ventured into a dungeon for decades.

And then, suddenly, he remembered.

“The Witch’s Apprentice.”

“Huh?”

“The witch was in Hydrangea, was she not?”

“Yes.”

“And the Minos Unit appeared in Hydrangea as well?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you have the records?”

“Yes, right here.”

Adjusting his reading glasses with a practiced flick, Alhazard leaned over the materials he had been offered.

“Appearance point: 12th floor. The Arc Ruins—those murals in the watchtower… To think, this happens so soon after speaking with the Witch’s Apprentice. Shall I dismiss this as coincidence, or not? Fascinating. Truly fascinating. So, the Witch’s Apprentice. How delightfully entertaining this is.”

“Something on your mind?”

“I’ve decided. This year’s ‘Great of Rounds will be held in Hydrangea.”

For the first time in years, Alhazard looked deeply satisfied.

Hydrangea was about to witness a festival the likes of which it had never seen.

The Royal Capital.

In the northeast of this historic city yawned an unnatural hole.

At the bottom of that hole lay the “Edda Noble Manor.”

It was a vast underground world overflowing with nature.

Among forests, by lakesides, atop mountains—grand mansions and castles dotted the landscape.

Within it stood an ancient temple.

The temple of the Utopia family, one of the Six Houses of Edda, who presided over sacred rites.

The deity enshrined there was none other than Generous, the god of Edda.

“That brat…”

Within the ancient sanctuary that only she could enter, a lone girl seethed with irritation.

Purple hair. Purple eyes. Brown skin. A beautiful face, though still bearing traces of youth.

She wore a white ceremonial robe, layered with blue cloth wrapped multiple times.
A deep slit ran from her waist to her ankles, leaving her thighs completely exposed.

Before the divine statue that only she was allowed to worship, she danced.
With Vanish, she made the paper streamers on either side disappear.
Closing her eyes, she drew in a small breath—and exhaled it in one long gust.

“So great… so supremely great… the greatest in all this world… And yet, that one—
that brat, that child, that ignorant fool who knows nothing of himself, who dares to think himself weak… Unforgivable. I will not forgive. Never. I shall make him understand. Wof…”

Narcissus Utopia, known as the “Reincarnation of Generous,” swore a solemn oath.

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