Special Investigator No. 99, operating under the alias Alto Elbein, was exchanging information with the "Younin," Escher Seun.
That said, the exchange mostly amounted to asking about recent events—particularly concerning the "Magi Craft Meister"—so there was little risk of arousing suspicion even if overheard by bystanders.
After all, information was a vital commodity for any merchant.
Incidentally, Escher's wife, Lamisa Seun, had no inkling of her husband's true identity. As far as she was concerned, he was simply entertaining a merchant acquaintance from years past.
If anything, she seemed far more captivated by the spices Alto Elbein had brought with him.
"This time, I managed to procure thirty kilograms of pepper from the Eastern Country."
"Thirty kilograms! My goodness, that's incredible."
In the Four Principalities, pepper commanded a retail price of around ten thousand Toll per hundred grams—roughly ten thousand yen.
While not quite matching its weight in gold—with gold trading at 300 Toll per gram, or thirty thousand Toll for a hundred grams—it was priced remarkably close.
"If you'd like, I could spare about ten kilograms."
"Oh, that would be a tremendous help!"
This part of the exchange was pure merchant business.
Once they settled on a wholesale price of 400,000 Toll for the ten kilograms, Lamisa's hospitality toward Alto improved dramatically. How delightfully mercenary, No. 99—now going by Alto Elbein—thought with an inward wry smile.
Behind the shop sat a small stable where his horse was being boarded.
Fodder was by no means cheap, but because Alto had paid generously in advance, a towering pile of hay now stood before the animal.
Tending to the horse was the golem he had brought along. In truth, it had been specially calibrated to handle such mundane chores.
After watching the golem work for a short while, Alto returned inside, thoroughly satisfied.
Upon his return, a beaming Lamisa called out to him.
"My, you must be exhausted after traveling all that way! I've gone ahead and drawn a bath for you, so please, go wash off the road dust."
"Well now, thank you very much."
The town of Kurosusu sat less than twenty kilometers from the sea, giving it a reasonably dependable water supply.
As a result, the local residents made a habit of bathing roughly once a week.
Most made do with the public bathhouse, which opened every three days, but a handful of residences and inns featured private baths of their own—and the Seun household possessed one, modest though it was.
Stepping into the freshly drawn bath, Alto let out a long, satisfied sigh.
(It may be cramped, but having a bath at home really is a luxury.)
Having crossed the Great Flot Plain at a grueling, forced march, fatigue had thoroughly settled into his bones. Super-elite operative though he was, he was still human.
(Still, it's a blessing the air wasn't too dusty, likely thanks to that recent rain...)
As the warm water washed away the sweat and grit, Alto turned the newly gathered intelligence over in his mind.
(There seems to be no mistake that someone claiming to be the "Magi Craft Meister" arrived in Saichi Village, just near the neighboring town of Hamususu.)
Even so, the details defied belief. An "airship," "one hundred golems," "well digging," a "public bathhouse," "road repairs"...
The notion that a single individual had accomplished such staggering feats in mere days was something he still struggled to accept.
(I'll simply have to see it with my own eyes...)
Harboring those thoughts as he stepped out of the bath, Alto caught wind of another intriguing piece of news.
It concerned the drainage channel Jin was overseeing. Work had commenced shortly after noon on August 9th, meaning it ought to be finished by now.
The only reason Escher knew about it was that a formal notice had been circulated to the surrounding towns and villages under the Duke's name prior to construction.
The official behind the notice was Ministry of Technology Undersecretary Nahams Marow, who was assisting Jin on the bureaucratic side.
"The canal runs along the eastern edge of town."
Though evening was settling in, the sky remained bright, so Alto decided to go investigate.
At a distance of about two kilometers, it was just under a thirty-minute walk. That was a bit far for a casual post-bath stroll to enjoy the evening breeze, but for Alto, it was part of his mission.
"What in the world...?"
Before Alto's eyes stretched a drainage canal roughly three meters wide, flanked by an evenly laid road about two meters across.
The road hadn't originally been part of the blueprint, but toward the end of the project, Jin D had redirected surplus labor once reinforcements arrived in the form of one hundred "Smiths."
Simply by having 110 golems march across the terrain, a fully functional road had been formed. Naturally, they had cleared away massive boulders, standing trees, and thick patches of brush beforehand.
"...Was this truly accomplished by a single individual calling himself the 'Magi Craft Meister'...? Inconceivable!"
Even with the evidence laid out before him, Alto could scarcely believe his eyes.
(Could it be that the 'Magi Craft Meister' isn't an individual at all, but an entire organization...?)
That deduction wasn't entirely off the mark.
After all, the "organizations" known as "Hourai Island" and the "Jin Family" were indeed extensions of the power wielded by the entity known as the "Magi Craft Meister."
Yet none of it had materialized out of thin air.
It had been painstakingly built from the ground up by a single man named Jin.
There was simply no way someone raised and educated within the insular confines of the Jagus Principality could grasp that reality at a glance.
Regardless of whether he could comprehend it, the undeniable truth lay right before him.
As he stood lingering on the path, a faint vibration rumbled through the earth.
"What's that?"
Glancing toward the source of the noise, he saw a dense column of golems marching straight toward him.
"Wh-What are those...!?"
Startled for a brief instant, relief quickly washed over him as he realized they must be the golems commanded by the rumored "Magi Craft Meister."
Stepping aside to clear the way, he resolved to observe them from up close.
The 110 golems advanced in disciplined, orderly ranks.
Their purpose was to tread over the newly carved road once more, firmly compacting the earth to reinforce its structural integrity.
One after another, the 110 "Smiths" marched right past Alto.
(Their frames closely mimic the human anatomy. And their movements are uncannily fluid, too.)
Having studied the absolute fundamentals of magi-craft, he was at least competent enough to discern that much.
However, his insight went no further.
(They have numbers on their side, but our homeland's golems appear far sturdier... No doubt because these were built strictly for civil labor rather than combat.)
He had completely misread their true capability.
(In the end, it seems their technology is impressive, but they've grown soft and complacent from peace.)
He even went so far as to draw such a conclusion.
"I've seen what I came for. Time to head back."
Muttering to himself, Alto turned on his heel and retraced his steps to Escher Seun's shop.
Before he realized it, dusk had given way to night, and stars were beginning to twinkle overhead.
"How did it go?"
"Fortune was on my side. I ran right into the golems on their way back from the worksite."
"Is that so?"
Over the dinner table, Alto and Escher traded intelligence under the guise of casual chatter.
"It feels a bit late to bring this up now that dinner's already served, but do you have any dietary dislikes, Alto-san?"
Escher's wife, Lamisa, asked with a mildly apologetic expression.
Lamisa was a petite, plump woman who carried the warm, bustling air of a neighborhood shopkeeper's wife, yet despite her unassuming demeanor—or perhaps because of it—she was remarkably attentive.
The awkward timing had only arisen because Alto had slipped out to enjoy the evening cool before she had the chance to ask.
"No, none at all. I'll eat anything."
"Oh, that's wonderful to hear."
In truth, having undergone rigorous training as an intelligence operative, Alto had also endured survival courses; he was capable of stomaching virtually anything so long as it wasn't lethal poison.
Before long, the table was laden with the various homemade dishes Lamisa had prepared.
Salt-grilled and simmered white fish. A fresh vegetable salad. And pan-fried flatbreads.
These flatbreads were a local specialty made by kneading wheat flour with water and salt, then frying the dough in an oiled skillet.
The result was remarkably similar to chapati—crispy on the outside and wonderfully fragrant.
"Oh, this looks fantastic."
"Please, eat your fill!"
Operative or not, a man was still human at heart, and Alto thoroughly savored the warm, freshly cooked meal he hadn't enjoyed in far too long.