Chapter 56

In the heart of the research institute's grounds lay a garden. A stone fountain stood at its center, feeding clear water into a branching canal that bubbled softly as it flowed along.

Harold sat on a bench, hands clasped over his knees, gazing at the distant sky. He paid no mind to the gentle stream or the vibrant flowers blooming in the nearby beds. Though the blue heavens were reflected in his eyes, he saw nothing. His mind was occupied by a single, crushing word: regret.

(I got ahead of myself...)

He couldn't deny the feeling that he’d jumped the gun. He had gained a powerful ally in El, a character from the original story, and let it go to his head.

His opponent was Justus—the final boss.

He had sworn to move with the utmost caution, yet the moment the wind started blowing in his favor, he’d acted with such reckless idiocy that he could only loathe himself.

The worst part was that he had practically handed Justus a reason to suspect El. El was supposed to be his trump card. If the boy was marked, his freedom of movement would be severely restricted.

This would likely reset the progress he’d made in securing personnel and strengthening Rainer’s party. If surveillance intensified due to these suspicions, things might actually turn out worse than if he’d done nothing at all. A torrent of self-loathing raged within Harold’s chest.

As he sat there dejected, a figure approached. Harold kept his gaze fixed on the sky, but he could sense who it was from their presence alone.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"…If you’re going to ask for permission, don’t start sitting down before you get it."

"It’s not as if this is Harold's reserved seat, is it?"

El ignored the sarcasm and sat down beside him. Even so, he left enough space between them for a third person to fit.

They both lapsed into silence as time flowed by quietly.

Harold wondered if being seen alone with El in such a deserted place would only invite more suspicion, but he quickly realized it was far too late for that. Justus’s parting words had been an unmistakable threat: I’ve got my eye on you.

In that case, it was better to be bold. If they acted like they were simply having a chat in the open, Justus might not pursue the matter further. In a place with such clear lines of sight, it was impossible for anyone to sneak up on them. There was no need to worry about being overheard.

After a long silence, El finally spoke. His first words were an apology.

"I’m sorry. Not only did we fail to get the results we wanted, but I gave him an opening to exploit."

Harold couldn't find the words to respond immediately.

El didn't need to apologize. If anything, the only reason Harold hadn’t made a fatal blunder in that room was because El had covered for him. Besides, El was an information broker; the role Harold had shoved him into today was hardly a case of "the right man for the job."

The one at fault—the one who had made the wrong call—was Harold himself. He felt the weight of that truth sinking in. After all, he was currently in the middle of a self-deprecation marathon.

"Don’t be so conceited. I told you from the start I wasn't expecting anything from you."

"…Right. You did say that."

"Whether you choose to feel responsible for your failures is your business, but do not let it interfere with your work. If you’re going to let yourself wallow, then cut those feelings of self-reproach out of your heart this instant."

"Is that your idea of encouragement?"

"Do you honestly think me capable of such a thing?"

"Fair point. But fine, if that's how it is, I’ll switch gears."

El stretched his arms toward the sky and sighed. It might have been Harold's imagination, but the boy's tone seemed a fraction lighter.

Harold let out a long breath of his own. Then, with a somewhat troubled expression, El continued.

"The problem is, while I can bounce back, Lifa isn't doing as well."

"What?"

"She seems to regret jumping at Justus’s invitation as a knee-jerk reaction."

That was entirely misplaced. Harold was the one who had allowed Lifa to come along and had essentially talked her into entering the research institute; she had simply been used and dragged into his mess.

From Lifa’s perspective, her interests actually aligned more with Justus than with Harold. Of course, it would be a massive problem if she actually defected, so Harold would prevent that at all costs.

Perhaps sensing the confusion on Harold’s face, El tilted his head.

"Is it really that surprising? If you feel like you’ve let a friend down, it’s going to weigh on you."

"…I have no memory of becoming friends with that girl."

"I had a feeling, but Harold, you really don't have many friends, do you?"

El looked at him with something bordering on pity. Harold found himself unable to offer a rebuttal.

If asked who his friends were, the first person to come to mind was Itsuki. Although they saw each other less frequently these days, their bond remained intact. They had known each other for eight years now.

But beyond that? No names came to mind.

He had fought Rainer once at a tournament five years ago—hardly a friendship. It was the same for Robinson, Sid, Aileen, and his other peers from the Knight Order. He hadn’t even seen them since leaving.

Zen, his servant, was someone Harold technically considered a subordinate, and their age gap made the concept of "friendship" feel thin. And as for Erika, they were like cats and dogs.

The conclusion was stark: Harold’s only friend was Itsuki. Now that he thought about it, his social circle was pathetic. It made sense, though; since he essentially savaged anyone who got close to him with verbal attacks, it was a miracle he had even one friend.

While making these excuses to himself, a sour-grapes remark escaped his lips.

"I have no need for shallow socializing. 'Friends' are the ultimate example of such waste."

"I think that depends on the person. It seems to be important to Lifa, at least."

It was a mystery why she would consider him a friend after he’d done nothing but provoke her since they met, but Harold could understand the sentiment. However, if he tried to comfort her now, his "Harold Mouth" would only end up pouring oil on the fire.

Since she seemed genuinely depressed, he’d have to find a way to indirectly let her know he didn't care about her mistake.

But that would have to wait.

"Hmph. That's irrelevant."

Actually, it wasn't, but he needed to change the subject. He had things to discuss with El while they were reasonably certain no one was eavesdropping.

"More importantly, we need to discuss your assignment."

"I'm all ears."

Sensing the change in mood, El straightened his posture.

There were two things Harold needed El to do. But first, he had to explain the existence of the group he had been quietly recruiting in the background of his missions.

"I want you to lend your strength to the management of an organization I’ve established."

"Your own organization?"

"A mercenary group called 'Frieri'."

In the original story, Frieri was a jack-of-all-trades group founded by Cody after he quit the Knight Order. They handled everything from security and warfare to monster hunting and mundane errands.

However, likely due to Harold's interference, Cody was still a knight. In fact, he’d actually been promoted higher than in the original timeline.

Originally, there were several plot events that required Frieri’s cooperation, but since the foundation—Cody quitting—had collapsed, Frieri would never be born. That would cause massive issues for the progression of the story.

Thus, Harold had established Frieri himself. Fortunately, Tasuku had been setting aside a portion of the profits from the LP Farming Method in Harold's name, so he hadn't lacked the capital to get it started.

"You want me to run it? I've never commanded troops in battle before."

"The mercenaries will handle the field work. I am giving you the authority to decide whether Frieri takes a job or not. And, by extension, how the organization operates."

"…Are you serious? You’re giving that kind of power to a newcomer?"

Harold understood the hesitation. This was, once again, a questionable appointment.

However, Harold believed El had the necessary skills. El could grasp complex situations accurately and deeply by synthesizing vast amounts of information. Even if he wasn't a tactical commander or a military strategist, he would excel at organizational management.

More importantly, Harold’s faction was so short-staffed that there was literally no one else. If he hadn't lucked into recruiting El, he or one of the mercenaries would have had to do it, and neither option inspired confidence.

"I will set the general policy and provide the necessary directives. Your role is to handle the minutiae and operate Frieri when I am unable to act."

"You make it sound so simple. That's a huge responsibility."

El gave a theatrically weary sigh.

Despite calling it a huge responsibility, he didn't seem particularly stressed. In fact, he even whispered, "Wait, does this mean I'm actually... quite trusted?" loud enough for Harold to hear.

Since the boy clearly had room to breathe, Harold ignored the comment.

"By the way, how many people are in Frieri right now?"

"Fourteen. It’s not enough. I want you to scout for talented individuals using your information network."

"I can do that, but what about the budget? Poaching good mercenaries isn't cheap."

"If it’s a trifling sum like the cost of hiring mercenaries, name your price. I’ll pay it."

He wasn't joking. The funds in Harold’s account had grown to a point where such costs were rounding errors. If he didn't have a death flag and the end of the world hanging over his head, he could have retired right then and lived like a king.

Then again, if he hadn't been possessed by Harold, he never would have developed the LP Farming Method to save House Sumeragi, so it was a bit of a catch-22.

"How generous. Where does all this money even come from?"

"There is no need for you to know that."

"Too bad. Well, I understand the job. I’d like to see this 'Frieri' with my own eyes, but..."

El trailed off, looking back toward the research institute building.

Specifically, he was likely looking toward the reception room where they had just met Justus. Harold felt the weight of that unspoken concern.

There was no doubt El was now a person of interest. Would the paranoid Justus truly allow such a person to roam freely?

Harold couldn't afford to be optimistic. He had just been burned by his own arrogance. He had to assume they were being watched.

"If you have a way to slip past his surveillance, you can go this instant."

"I'll pass on that for now. I'll find a way eventually, but in exchange for taking this on, I have a request of my own."

"…Speak."

"First, regarding Frieri—I want to make contact alone. I’ll need something to prove I’m your messenger."

"Give me a reason."

"It’s the best way to keep Justus in the dark."

Harold considered this. El probably meant that moving alone made him less conspicuous.

Certainly, if they were seen together, it screamed "conspiracy." Much like their current meeting.

"I want you to tell Frieri in advance that I'll be coming alone. When you do, please keep my appearance, age, and gender a complete secret. I want to keep my status as a Giffelt hidden, so I don't want to give them any unnecessary information."

"I thought you wanted to spread the Giffelt name?"

"Strictly for prestige and information gathering. It’s too risky for it to be known for my personal movements."

"Fine. If that ensures things go smoothly."

Harold didn't see a reason to refuse. He couldn't afford for these negotiations to break down over something small.

Within reason, he should accommodate El’s requests. El seemed to think he was a subordinate, but the reality was that Harold was the one who desperately needed the help.

Still, it made him wonder... in the original story, El had openly identified as a Giffelt to Rainer's party. Had that been for the clan’s benefit? Or perhaps he had known that supporting the protagonist was the only way to reach the Stellar Memory?

Harold tried to push the idle thoughts aside. He was over-analyzing the game's mechanics again.

"That helps. And one last thing."

El’s voice pulled him back from the brink of deep thought.

"More? You’re a persistent one."

"It's nothing major. I just want you to clear a few hours tomorrow afternoon."

It really was a small request.

Harold had no missions scheduled for the foreseeable future, so he was effectively a man of leisure—if you ignored the constant, looming threat of a gruesome death.

"I hope it’s not for some trivial errand."

"Oh, it's very important. For our future together."

El wore a meaningful smile. Harold, however, completely failed to grasp the significance of the look.