--Previous Chapter

    *.*.*.*.*

    It’s already been half a day since he altered the advance party’s trajectory to head towards the Calorian border.  The fastest group had already landed in Small Shimaron.  Also, the two units who had quickly went around the Gilbit harbor town should have started gathering information in the autonomous region of Caloria.

    Lord von Voltaire had headed down to the research room from hell in order to tell Greta the news.  However, why exactly does he have to keep visiting that place?  Since he’s in charge of the investigation and is supervising all the soldiers in this state of emergency in absence of the king, it’s strange that he’s constantly going to report all of the insignificant details personally.

    Next time, he’s going to call them to his office.  Gwendal decides this as he pushes open the door.

    The soundproofing is perfect as always.  As soon as the heavy doors opened, really loud noises drift out.

    “Ngaah!  That’s not fair Anissi-agh!”

    It’s the scream of a child crushed to death.  Thinking she might be committing abuse, he runs into the room, but it was just the descendant of the Wincotts, Lindsey, getting his nose pinched until it turned red.

    *.*.*.*.*

    His body just won’t get used to civilized living after such a long time.

    “… These clothes are somewhat prickly.  But I only spent a little time naked… at this rate, His Majesty will come to hate me.  His Majesty likes me better when I wear clothes.”

    ‘You tried otherwise!?’ was what only one person retorted in their mind.

    His speech patterns have completely returned to normal.  Lady von Karbelnikoff, knowing nothing of restraint or going easy, had reinserted his jaw bone.  Completely dressed, Lord von Christ returned to the headquarters of Blood Pledge Castle for the first time in ten days.  He starts spouting off little words of wonder.

    “Ah… my office I haven’t been at for a while, the castle air I haven’t breathed in a while… achooachooachooachoo ACHOO!  The dust- achoo!  Damn it all!”

    Or not.

    “It’s not that it’s sad that His Majesty isn’t here, it’s sad that I can’t be by His Majesty’s side.  Ah, Your Majesty… I offer up the 72nd song of praise of Your Majesty… His Majesty that loves winter, the something something person~”

    He’s horribly messing up the lyrics.

    Gwendal clicked his tongue.  Where did all that determination from before go?  With him like this, becoming Real Günter won’t change anything, will it?  Greta, who had been sticking her head out the door, quickly drew her head back in.

    “Someone’s coming!  They’re carrying something huge.”

    “Your Excellency!  I am reporting without delay!”

    “What happened?”

    It seems that the guard knows which one of them is safer to receive their orders from.  The guard who had run up out of breath kneels in front of Gwendal and showed him his back.  What he was carrying was a limp model skeleton on the verge of death.

    It was an Ubasuteyama with an uneasy conscience. (1)

    This was the first time the heir of the von Wincotts, Lindsey, had seen one of the tribe so he was really excited.

    “Please excuse my rudeness.  He… this flying skeleton has passed its limits with its continued mind connection and has exhausted itself into immobility.”

    “That’s fine.  Just tell me the facts.”

    “Frankly, one of the members of the tribe… Um, I can’t really understand it well.  It said it received words from His Majesty.”

    “Words?  Did it meet him directly?”

    “It seems so.”

    “And just what was it told?”

    The soldier tilted his head to the side and turned his face to his back and the skeleton made a noise like air being let out.

    “He said ‘evenin.’”

    That’s a greeting, probably.  Lord von Voltaire sits at the desk he’s become accustomed to and waves his right hand for the soldier to continue his report.

    “Okay, I’ll translate… member, of tribe, His Majesty, saw.  Travelling, he was, river, by boat.”

    “Not the direct translation.  Please translate it liberally.”

    “Yes sir.  My father’s father’s father, a relative of a far lineage, departed on a journey on a flowing river.  He partook of alcohol with a comrade and exchanged the stories of their lives.  The river divides the land and flows to the vast ocean.”

    The Flying Skeleton Tribe is quite poetic.  All present in the room make this new discovery.

    “This fortuitous meeting in a strange land was heard on the tidings of the wind by a friend.  Those beautiful black eyes gazed fondly upon our ghastly visage.”