Mike here, and I suppose you’re wondering about Arbalest.

What started as a simple merchant group—the place that hired me as a wide-eyed trainee—has transformed into something I never could have imagined. Arbalest Merchant Company, as we were known then, now operates under the banner of the Arbalest Group. We’ve evolved into a fully-fledged military organization under the direct command of the Fittoa Region’s noble house, the Boreas Family Army.

Such recognition doesn’t come easily in the cutthroat politics of the Asura Kingdom.

Claude and I spent countless sleepless nights mapping out every possible route to establish our legitimacy and control. Our first priority was saving the regent himself—Lord Sauros Boreas Greyrat. Claude’s fragmented memories had shown him glimpses of what would come: the Metastasis Event would provide the perfect opportunity for the Boreas family’s enemies to orchestrate their lord’s downfall, likely resulting in his execution.

To understand the gravity of our situation, you need to grasp the political landscape of the Asura Kingdom itself. Sprawling across the Central Continent—the largest landmass in this world—the Asura Kingdom stands as one of its most powerful nations. The kingdom operates under a complex feudal system, divided among four great noble houses: the Boreas Greyrat in the frigid North, the Notos Greyrat of the temperate South, the Eurus of the Eastern provinces, and the Zephyrus of the Western territories.

The Boreas and Notos houses both carry the Greyrat surname, marking them as branches of an ancient bloodline, while the royal family bears the name Asura. The Eastern and Western houses maintain their own distinct lineages. It’s a system designed to maintain balance while preventing any single house from growing too powerful—though as recent events have shown, that balance remains perpetually fragile.

Paul, as it happens, hails from the Notos Greyrat line. His self-imposed exile led him to abandon his family name, retaining only “Greyrat” as a reminder of both his heritage and his rebellion. Zenith, too, carries noble blood from the Millis Kingdom, making Rudeus a child of remarkable lineage. Claude insists there’s more to Rudeus’s extraordinary mana capacity than bloodline alone—something involving the unique circumstances of his existence—but he’s always vague when I press for details.

Using Claude’s foreknowledge of the Metastasis Event, we had positioned ourselves strategically. The Arbalest merchant group evacuated beyond the territorial boundaries before disaster struck, then made our move. We traveled to the capital and delivered carefully crafted letters to all four great noble houses—time bombs set to detonate four months after the catastrophe.

The Royal Court of the Asura Kingdom buzzed with tension and barely contained political maneuvering. This grand chamber, where the kingdom’s most crucial decisions were rendered, served as both courtroom and theater. Citizens packed the galleries, their voices rising and falling like tide as they witnessed the proceedings that would determine the fate of one of their most prominent lords.

Today, the very foundations of the kingdom seemed to tremble.

“The court will now commence judgment proceedings against the accused!” The herald’s voice cut through the murmur. “Lord Sauros Boreas Greyrat, Regent of the Fittoa Region!”

What followed was a methodical character assassination orchestrated by someone from the Notos faction—the political maneuvering had Paul’s family’s fingerprints all over it. I could see the Notos representative’s calculating eyes from our intelligence reports; they’d been positioning themselves to absorb Fittoa’s territories for months before the disaster even struck. The prosecution laid out a litany of charges, each more absurd than the last. They accused Sauros of failing to prepare magical defenses against an unprecedented disaster, of abandoning his people during the teleportation, of negligence in duties no mortal could have anticipated. They piled blame upon blame, painting him as a callous, incompetent ruler who had allowed catastrophe to consume his lands.

From my position in the gallery, I could see the other noble representatives. The Eurus delegate sat with perfect composure, her fan fluttering occasionally—clearly someone who’d anticipated this moment and prepared accordingly. Beside her, the Zephyrus representative watched with the detached interest of someone observing a chess match, already calculating his next three moves. Only the Notos faction seemed genuinely invested in the outcome, their spokesman’s fingers drumming against his armrest with barely contained ambition.

“Lord Sauros Boreas Greyrat has also engaged in the slave trade, purchasing beast folk for his personal use!”

That accusation, at least, carried weight. Sauros couldn’t deny it.

“Do you acknowledge this charge?” the prosecutor pressed.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH THAT!” Sauros’s voice boomed across the chamber. “IT’S NOT LIKE THE OTHER NOBLES DON’T DO THE SAME!”

I watched the attending nobles suddenly find their shoes fascinating, their eyes carefully avoiding the regent’s furious gaze. In the gallery behind me, I caught fragments of whispered conversations—a blacksmith muttering about noble hypocrisy, a seamstress nodding vigorously in agreement. The commoners understood what the nobles pretended not to: this was theater, not justice. The king coughed delicately, and the prosecutor, reading the room, scratched that particular charge from the record.

What kind of kingdom is this? I thought, my merchant’s mind calculating the long-term costs of such institutional corruption. If they continue down this path of willful blindness and political cowardice, they’ll destroy themselves from within. And when they do, who will be left standing?

The bitter irony wasn’t lost on me—here I was, a former merchant trainee, manipulating the very system I despised. Claude’s absence made every decision feel heavier, every calculated move a gamble without his reassuring presence to confirm our strategy. Would he approve of how far I’m willing to go?

The opposition continued their relentless attack, but it all boiled down to a single, damning word: negligence.

That’s when I made my move.

“But we did ask for help!” I declared, rising from my seat. I produced five crumpled letters, each bearing the unmistakable Boreas family seal. “Arbalest was authorized to send urgent communications to the other three great noble houses. Additional letters were dispatched to merchant groups throughout the region, though these lacked official insignia.”

The merchant guild had initially scoffed at our warnings—until Claude vanished during the disaster. Suddenly, their golden goose was missing, and they scrambled to organize search efforts with desperate efficiency.

“With the merchant union’s assistance, we have successfully located approximately forty percent of the displaced population from the Fittoa region.” I held up our meticulously detailed reports, along with comprehensive missing persons lists. “However, I have yet to see meaningful aid from the other three great noble houses! This is not negligence on Lord Sauros’s part—this is negligence from his supposed allies who abandoned us during an unprecedented crisis!”

My words sparked immediate chaos in the gallery. Citizens began talking over one another, their voices growing louder as they processed the implications. I caught fragments of conversation—people expressing outrage at how the nobility were scapegoating a lord in his darkest hour. A merchant from the middle section stood up and shouted, “Where were the other lords when our children went missing?” His cry was taken up by others, creating a wave of popular support I hadn’t anticipated.

But in the noble section, the reaction was markedly different. I saw the Notos representative lean over to whisper something to his aide, his expression darkening. The Eurus delegate’s fan snapped shut with an audible click—the first crack in her composed facade. The Zephyrus representative simply smiled, as if he’d expected this development all along.

The lack of clear hierarchical structure in this kingdom’s nobility system had always frustrated me. The informal distinctions between Great Noble, Noble, and Lesser Noble created constant confusion about who held authority over whom, aside from the obvious supremacy of the four great houses.

Back in the courtroom, I could feel the opposition’s murderous glares boring into me. The Notos aide was already scribbling notes—probably compiling a dossier on every business dealing Arbalest had ever made. I knew exactly what they were thinking: Who is this upstart merchant to dare lecture his betters?

But this wasn’t the time for petty finger-pointing or political games. Lives hung in the balance.

During the brief recess, the Zephyrus representative approached me with that same calculating smile. “Impressive presentation, young man. Perhaps we should discuss mutual opportunities over dinner sometime soon.” His tone was friendly, but his eyes held the cold assessment of a predator sizing up potential prey—or a useful tool.

“I appreciate the offer, Your Grace,” I replied carefully, “but Arbalest’s commitments to the rescue operations keep us quite busy.”

“Of course,” he said, his smile never wavering. “But surely even the most dedicated merchant needs… diversification. We’ll speak again.”

As he walked away, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the court’s stone walls. This was how it started—first respect, then cooperation, then corruption. I was beginning to understand the seductive danger of the political game Claude had thrust us into.

As our heated exchange continued, the discussion gradually shifted from assigning blame to addressing the ongoing crisis. Under mounting public pressure, the Eurus and Zephyrus houses committed to sending personnel and resources for regional reconstruction. The Notos faction, clearly reluctant but cornered, begrudgingly agreed to deploy relief forces to the affected areas.

I could see the Notos representative still plotting something vindictive, but I dismissed him as irrelevant for now.

Recognizing our success in the political arena, Lord Sauros seized the moment to officially elevate us to the status of a knight brigade under his direct command. This formal recognition carried significant practical benefits for our operations.

It’s a grim irony that the deaths of his son and daughter-in-law actually strengthened our position politically. The image of a grieving father and just lord resonated powerfully with both the court and the public.

Claude and I had tried desperately to save them, you understand. We truly had.

Three days before the Metastasis Event…

“The barrier artifacts won’t be enough,” Claude had said, his voice tight with frustration as we stood in his workshop. “Not if they land in the Deep Valley region. The monster density there is…” He trailed off, those distant eyes of his seeing something I couldn’t.

“Then we give them more protection,” I’d insisted. “Weapons, guards, anything.”

“You don’t understand.” Claude’s hands shook as he activated another enchantment. “I’ve seen this moment. Different versions, different outcomes. Sometimes they live a few minutes longer, sometimes hours. But they always—” He stopped, jaw clenched. “The variables are too chaotic. Too many monsters, too little warning.”

We’d sent three of our best mercenaries to shadow the family discretely. We’d equipped them with emergency teleportation scrolls, healing potions, even a small fortune in protective gear. But when the Metastasis Event scattered people across dimensions, physics itself became the enemy.

Present moment…

But some fates cannot be altered, no matter how much foreknowledge you possess. When the Metastasis Event scattered people across dimensions, Sauros’s family materialized in the heart of a monster-infested territory. The protective barrier artifacts Claude had given them proved insufficient against an entire pack of Fanged Wolves. The couple died fighting in what amounted to a war zone, their hired guards falling beside them.

I’d been the one to deliver the news to Lord Sauros. Walking into his study, seeing him look up with hope in his eyes, thinking maybe I’d brought word of survivors… The moment his expression crumbled when I shook my head will haunt me forever.

“We tried everything we could, my lord,” I’d whispered. “Claude even sent his best people to protect them.”

“I know,” he’d replied, his voice hollow. “I know you did.”

When the news reached Lord Sauros, he immediately ceased all activities involving his beast folk servants. He dismissed everyone from his presence, but throughout the mansion, we could hear his grief—deep, wrenching sobs that seemed to echo from the very stones. The entire household mourned alongside their lord, sharing in his overwhelming loss.

The change in him was immediate and profound. The next morning, he summoned all the beast folk servants to the main hall. I watched from the gallery as he stood before them, his eyes red-rimmed but resolute.

“From this day forward,” he announced, his voice carrying despite its hoarseness, “none of you are slaves. You are free to leave, free to stay as paid employees, free to choose your own paths.” He paused, struggling with emotion. “I cannot undo the wrongs of the past, but I will not compound them with future cruelty.”

Most chose to stay. Some out of loyalty, others because they had nowhere else to go, but their relief was palpable. It was a small mercy in an ocean of tragedy, but it mattered.

The continued absence of Eris only deepened his anguish. Every search report that didn’t include her name was another dagger to his heart.

Following our court victory, Arbalest officially became a partner organization of the Asura Kingdom. This alliance bound us to the crown, but the relationship flowed both ways—we gained legitimacy and resources, while they gained our expertise and growing influence.

Over the following seven months, we expanded our operations while continuing search efforts for displaced persons. With royal approval, Arbalest evolved into an independent organization. Though officially recorded as subordinate to the Boreas family, we had effectively become a nation within a nation—an autonomous entity operating under the kingdom’s umbrella.

The weight of that responsibility pressed down on me daily. Every morning brought reports from our search teams—some successful, many not. I found myself making decisions that would have been unthinkable months ago: which territories to prioritize, how many resources to allocate to long-shot rescues, whether to negotiate with bandits who’d captured displaced civilians.

The worst part was the ledger on my desk—a meticulous record of every person found, every person still missing, every person confirmed dead. Each name represented someone’s family member, someone’s friend, someone’s future. The weight of those numbers kept me awake most nights.

Our rescue operations had evolved from desperate searches to complex military-style extractions. I’d personally led seventeen missions into hostile territory, each one a calculated risk against potential gain. The first time I ordered a retreat because the tactical situation was hopeless—leaving behind three confirmed survivors to save twelve others—I’d vomited behind a boulder for ten minutes afterward.

But I’d made the call. Because Claude wasn’t there to make it for me.

During one particularly brutal operation in the monster-infested Beltrum Region, we’d encountered a group of displaced nobles who refused rescue because they didn’t trust “mere merchants” to protect them properly. I’d left them there. Three days later, we received word they’d all been killed. Part of me felt vindicated. A larger part felt sick.

The Asura Kingdom’s royal family remained blissfully unaware of our true scope and independence—or so I thought. Last week, however, I’d noticed a new face among the capital’s information brokers. Someone was asking questions about Arbalest’s funding sources, our operational capabilities, our real chain of command. The royal intelligence apparatus was starting to take notice. Since we had no interest in causing unnecessary political complications, we maintained the facade of being cooperative neighbors while pursuing our own agenda.

By the time Claude’s letter finally reached me, Arbalest had grown into the most influential organization within the entire Asura Kingdom—a transformation that began with a desperate gamble to save one man’s life and evolved into something far greater than either Claude or I had ever dared imagine.

But as I sat in my office that evening, reading Claude’s familiar handwriting describing his guilt over failing to prevent the Metastasis Event entirely, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we’d won our political victory at the cost of something harder to quantify. When had I started thinking of displaced persons as “resources to allocate” rather than people to save? When had I begun weighing lives against political advantages?

The boy who’d started as a merchant trainee was gone, replaced by someone who could stand in royal courts and play games with the lives of thousands. I’d gained power, influence, the ability to save lives on a massive scale.

I just hoped, when Claude returned, he’d still recognize the person I’d become.

And more terrifyingly—I hoped I’d still recognize myself.