A Journey Unwanted

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Heart Kingdom]

[Pulchritudo]

A wind swept through the park, stirring the clipped hedges and the flowerbeds that surrounded the towering statue of the Queen. Citizens wandered the stone paths, paying little attention to the strange collection of people occupying one corner of the greenery. To them it was another pleasant afternoon. To Mikoto, it was an exhausting waste of time made significantly worse by one unforgivable fact.

They had no Eor.

Which, more importantly, meant there was no chocolate.

His red eyes remained fixed somewhere beyond the park as he leant lazily against the trunk of a broad tree, heavy gauntleted arms folded across the dark plate armor covering his torso. His expression was flat, though there was the smallest hint of irritation resting beneath it. Social interaction was already tedious enough. Being forced through it without something sweet to occupy him somehow made it worse.

Across from him, Gretel pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Mikoto... please tell me you’re joking when you say you spent literally every last bit of Eor we had on sweets." She wore a strained smile that looked as though it had been held together through sheer force of will.

The rest of their group had finally reunited.

Robert stood several paces away with Paimon besides him, wisely keeping the excitable Nil distracted before she could bounce into another conversation uninvited. Off near the statue, Shuten-dōji and Echidna had somehow found themselves comparing the sculpted proportions of the Queen with expressions of complete seriousness, as though it were a matter of scholarly debate rather than complete nonsense.

Only Gretel remained directly in front of Mikoto.

Behind her stood the newest addition to their gathering.

Goiim.

The elegant Nil rested quietly with her hands folded before her, pale eyes observing everyone calmly as if she were not in fact standing between a monster, a spirit, and whatever Mikoto insisted he was.

Mikoto answered Gretel with nothing more than a shrug.

"I thought we still had more." His tone remained almost absent-minded. "Then I figured I’d just make some with magic. Turns out Iofiel doesn’t appreciate that idea. Guess that’s one blessing working as intended."

Gretel stared. "You only realised after you’d already spent everything?"

"I wasn’t exactly counting."

Her eye twitched.

Goiim finally spoke, her smooth voice interrupting before Gretel could.

"Attempting to create Eor through magical means, or really through any artificial means, constitutes an extremely serious crime within the Heart Kingdom." Her expression never changed. "The economy relies upon its scarcity. Counterfeiting it through sorcery is treated no differently than treason." Her pale gaze settled upon Mikoto. "And yet you mention it with remarkable casualness."

"Uh-huh." That was all Mikoto offered aloud; his red eyes lingered on hers. ("She’s a Nil.") The realisation had been immediate; Gretel did not need to even confirm it. It was not because of the faint static-like sensation unique to their kind—that much was obvious.

No, something else bothered him. She felt imposing, not in the obvious sense powerful people usually did. She wasn’t flooding the surroundings with pressure, she wasn’t displaying mana and she wasn’t making herself known.

Quite the opposite.

She felt almost invisible and ordinary.

And that made his instincts far louder.

("Strong, way stronger than she’s pretending to be.")

Even compared to those two Mortifers...

His gaze remained fixed upon Goiim; to anyone else, she was simply a composed young woman dressed in refined clothing. To Mikoto she looked like someone carefully choosing exactly how weak she wished to appear.

It wasn’t deduction or experience, it was his instincts.

An instinct inherited from something much more powerful than himself. Octavia’s blessing had shaped every incarnation she brought back and one trait certainly stood out.

War recognised danger before the mind did.

("Definitely not some ordinary information broker.")

Mikoto finally pushed himself away from the tree.

"So..." His voice remained pleasantly soft. "What exactly was your asking price for information on Albion and Ddraig?"

Without hesitation—

"A billion Eor."

Gretel blinked once, then twice.

"...A billion?" Her composure nearly broke. "A billion Eor?" She repeated it, as though saying the number again might somehow make it less absurd. "That’s... that’s beyond ridiculous."

She stared openly at Goiim.

"Most nobles couldn’t gather that much wealth even if they emptied their estates."

Goiim merely gave a tiny shrug.

"I don’t make the rules." She sounded almost apologetic. "Information concerning the dragons isn’t ordinary merchandise." Her gloved fingers rose gracefully, flicking a loose strand of faded red-tipped hair from her shoulder. "Merely speaking about Albion or Ddraig in the wrong company could become a death sentence."

She lowered her hand.

"So yes. A billion. That is the value attached to risking my neck."

Gretel opened her mouth again before quietly closing it.

Robert, overhearing from nearby, let out a low whistle.

"That cannot be considered a price." He muttered. "That’s extortion."

"I prefer to call it survival." Goiim corrected, without offence.

Mikoto simply stared at her.

("Her face annoys me.") He couldn’t quite explain why; perhaps it was the way she maintained that perfectly composed expression. Perhaps it was because every sentence sounded rehearsed.

Or perhaps...

She was clearly fishing for something.

"A random group wandering around asking questions wasn’t ever going to have a billion Eor." Mikoto spoke calmly. "You don’t strike me as stupid." His red eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "So either you expected us to fail to meet your price or you never wanted money in the first place." The park seemed quieter for a moment. "So quit dancing around it. What do you actually want instead?"

Goiim looked as though she might answer.

Her lips parted.

Then—

"Whoa!" A flash of red practically exploded into the conversation. Paimon appeared between everyone. "It’s so rare to meet other Nil these days!" She looked from Gretel, then to Goiim and back again with unconcealed excitement.

Her blue eyes sparkled.

Gretel blinked in surprise before recognition crossed her face.

"Oh, you’re the girl who came with Mikoto." She cleared her throat politely before extending a gloved hand. "I’m Gretel. It’s nice to meet you properly."

Paimon’s entire face brightened.

"Paimon!" She happily accepted the handshake with surprising gentleness. "It’s really nice meeting you too!"

After only a second her attention drifted; her gaze landed on Goiim.

"Whoa..." She leant forward slightly. "You’re really pre—"

"Move."

Mikoto’s gauntleted hand casually planted itself against the side of Paimon’s hood. With one effortless shove she slid sideways several steps, arms pinwheeling before catching herself.

Mikoto never even looked at her.

His attention remained fixed entirely upon Goiim.

"Now." He continued as though nothing had happened. "Answer the question."

Paimon puffed out her cheeks dramatically.

"Hey!" She rubbed the side of her hood with exaggerated offence. "I wasn’t even finished introducing myself."

Mikoto ignored Paimon entirely, as though her interruption had never happened. His eyes never left Goiim.

"It really depends," the ashen-haired woman replied without the slightest shift in expression. Her pale eyes remained fixed on him with that same unreadable emotion she had worn since introducing herself. "That answer depends entirely on what you’re actually prepared to do."

Mikoto let out an unimpressed sigh, rolling his eyes.

"Get to the point already," he said flatly. "What is it? You want somebody dead? Something stolen? Whatever it is, quit wasting everyone’s time and spit it out."

His tone remained almost lazy, but there was clear impatience beneath it that everyone present could hear.

Paimon’s bright blue eyes widened.

"H-Hey!" she protested, hurriedly stepping forward and raising a finger at him as though scolding an unruly child. "You really shouldn’t talk about murder and stealing like they’re everyday chores. Those are both really, really bad things."

Her cheeks puffed slightly as she frowned at him.

Mikoto did not even bother looking in her direction.

"I need you to steal something for me." Goiim’s answer came without hesitation.

Paimon gasped audibly.

"W-What!?"

For the first time since the conversation had begun, the atmosphere shifted.

Goiim continued in that same soothing voice.

"There’s a particular artifact currently in Duke Bluebeard’s possession."

The name alone was enough; Robert’s emerald eyes immediately sharpened. Paimon’s surprise gave way to concern, and even Mikoto’s indifferent gaze became noticeably more attentive.

"The same Duke..." Robert repeated slowly, stepping forward a pace as he studied Goiim’s face. "...the very same Duke who’s rumored to have ties to one of the Royal Guard?"

Goiim turned her pale eyes towards him.

"My information is valuable because it is accurate," she answered evenly. "This is simply the price."

Robert remained silent for a moment.

If she truly knew as much as she claimed, then she was far more than an ordinary information broker.

Gretel folded her arms.

"What exactly do you want stolen?" she asked carefully. Her voice remained polite, but a tension crept into it. She could still remember the artifact she herself had stolen; she remembered the consequences and the guilt that had lingered long after the act itself.

She had no desire to willingly repeat something like that.

Goiim regarded her for a brief moment before answering.

"I can only tell you after you’ve agreed." Her tone remained composed. "It is a delicate matter."

"A delicate matter?" Gretel echoed quietly.

"Naturally." Goiim inclined her head only slightly. "If I reveal the identity of the artifact before receiving your agreement, then I surrender all leverage while exposing information that could easily cost me my livelihood—or considerably worse." She spoke as though she were explaining basic arithmetic. "There are some things that cannot be spoken carelessly. This is one of them."

Silence settled over the group.

Gretel frowned more deeply; she disliked the proposal. Not because she believed Goiim was lying. Rather, because she sounded sincere. That made the request feel even more dangerous. Stealing from an ordinary noble was one thing. Stealing from Duke Bluebeard—a man whose influence supposedly reached even into a Royal Guard—was another matter entirely.

The thought alone left an uncomfortable feeling in her chest.

She slowly lowered her eyes, thinking.

"I don’t like the sound of that," Gretel admitted honestly. "Agreeing to steal something before we even know what it is – that’s asking us to make a promise while blindfolded. I’ve done something similar before, and I don’t intend to stumble into another mistake simply because someone insists it will all make sense afterwards." Her silver eyes returned to Goiim. "So forgive me if I’m cautious."

Goiim neither argued nor appeared offended.

"I expected caution," she replied softly. "If anything, refusing to question me would have made me considerably less willing to trust you."

Once again, the park fell quiet, and Goiim still remained unreadable.

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