Within the Jagus Principality, there existed a class of people known as the "Chosen People."
This was not a religious concept, but rather carried the literal meaning of "the chosen ones."
Simply put, they were an elite cadre who had undergone specialized, gifted education from early childhood.
This system had begun approximately fifty years prior.
First, candidates were taken in by state institutions at a young age.
Some were orphans, while others were enrolled by their parents' wishes; however, from that exact moment, their family names were erased, and they were addressed solely by their given names.
Up until the age of ten, they went through the Basic Course, studying a broad curriculum that covered their national language, arithmetic, geography, and the sciences—though one could easily imagine the slanted nature of the content.
At the same time, absolute loyalty to the Principality and its Duke was thoroughly hammered into them.
Once they reached ten years of age, the first screening took place based on their performance up to that point.
Those with outstanding marks were sent to a more advanced educational track as executive candidates.
Those with moderate marks were groomed into high-ranking bureaucrats.
Those with lower marks were relegated to general staff positions.
As for the washouts... what became of them was unknown. No records remained.
Furthermore, there were exceptional cases where individuals displayed unique talents.
Some became chefs working in the Ducal Palace, while others became personal servants exclusively for the royal family.
And then, there were others still...
"Special Investigator No. 99, reporting as ordered."
"Enter."
Ameri, Director-General of the Information Agency, gave a composed nod.
"I assume you understand your mission?"
"Yes, as detailed in the written briefing."
"Good. You have disposed of the documents, yes?"
"Naturally. I burned them."
"Very well. Any questions?"
"If I may, just one."
"Speak."
"Thank you....Is this 'Magi Craft Meister' truly so important a figure?"
Ameri pondered how to answer for a few seconds before ultimately settling on a conventional reply:
"Judge that with your own eyes."
"Understood. If you will excuse me."
"......I expect results."
Ameri directed a fleeting, gentle gaze toward her junior operative for only a fraction of a second, but her eyes immediately reverted to their usual stern demeanor as she saw Special Investigator No. 99 off.
"...The 'Magi Craft Meister,' hm...?"
To No. 99, that name was nothing more than an ancient legend.
Supposedly, this figure wielded extraordinary magic.
Supposedly, an army of countless golems served under their command.
Supposedly, an invincible young automata girl acted as their servant.
Supposedly...
He believed every single one of those claims was merely the kind of grand, exaggerated embellishment typical of legends.
No. 99 was a premier elite, handpicked from among an already elite group.
His physical reinforcement magic, intellect, and tactical judgment were among the finest in the Principality. Naturally, his loyalty was equally steadfast...
Furthermore, as elites, they were aware of the Progresser faction, and several outstanding operatives had been loaned golems crafted by them.
"Let us go, Golem."
"Understood."
Without bothering to give his subordinate golem a unique name, No. 99 simply called it "Golem."
When once asked if that might lead to confusion with other golems, he had nonchalantly answered:
"Other golems with masters all have individual names of their own, so mine will easily be distinguished from the rest."
Disguised as a merchant, No. 99 set out for the town of Hamususu in the Norha Principality.
The route spanned less than two hundred kilometers in a straight line, meaning that by traversing the Great Flot Plain, the journey would take about two days.
Because he traveled on horseback, he was able to cross the border in such a short amount of time.
Once inside the Norha Principality, his journey transitioned to leading a packhorse laden with trade goods.
The primary merchandise he carried consisted of spices—predominantly black pepper. This was part of the loot obtained through extorting Nostalgia by holding the fake Elena hostage.
Of course, the goods were disguised as imports from places like Mitsuho by falsifying their origin. Since the quality itself was of the highest grade, no issues would arise.
First, he headed to the town of Kurosusu, located north of Hamususu.
Residing there was an intelligence operative deployed by the Jagus Principality.
The operative had settled there across two generations, continuously carrying on life as an ordinary citizen of the Norha Principality.
In Japanese terms, he was what one might call a "Yonun"—a deep-cover operative hiding in plain sight amidst the enemy while openly conducting his daily life.
No. 99 intended to use that location as his base of operations.
Known locally as Escher Seun, the middle-aged intelligence operative ran a general goods store in the town of Kurosusu.
He had taken a local wife, though they had no children.
He enjoyed a good reputation among the neighbors, and his relationship with his wife was amicable.
...Such was the background information No. 99 had gathered beforehand regarding his comrade.
"Good day."
First, No. 99 visited the residence under his public merchant persona.
"Oh, welcome."
"Excuse me, but do you carry 'Imuka'?"
"I'm afraid that won't be in stock for another '99' days."
This was a coded passphrase. "Imuka" was Escher's birthplace, and "99" naturally referred to No. 99.
In this manner, they implicitly confirmed that they recognized each other.
"In that case, do you have any 'Tears of Lamentation'?"
"Let's see... That would be '35 Toll.'"
This, too, was a countersign.
Up to this point, they were ninety percent certain of each other's allegiance.
Then came the final confirmation:
"You must be Master Alto Elbein."
This was No. 99's alias.
"Yes. It has been twenty-five years, hasn't it?"
Twenty-five years was precisely the amount of time that had passed since Escher Seun was first dispatched to this land.
In other words, by proving they possessed classified information known only to their organization, they firmly established their status as allies.
"Well then, please come inside."
"Pardon the intrusion."
Thus, No. 99—known here as Alto Elbein—secured his base of operations.