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“Then, if I may be so bold, I shall report to Lady Clara myself.”

The “Four Heavenly Maids” (-ish) of our household—Monika, Eren, Lana, and Coppelia—perfectly lined up by the walls. Of which, it was the automaton, Coppelia, who bowed respectfully to me before taking a step forward.

It occurs to me now that our household maids are quite distinctive. Thirty years ago, at the St. Ravier Church, the trainee shrine maidens and attendants who cared for me felt, in comparison, small and somewhat unremarkable. I suppose that was the norm… I thought as I observed their varied and striking faces, and prompted her to continue.

“Please go ahead. But make sure you explain in a way that everyone else can understand as well, not just me.”
“Understood. —Then, everyone else present besides Lady Clara, open your ears wide and listen up!”

Coppelia bowed deeply with a formality so perfectly polite it was almost rude—truly a textbook example of courteous insolence.

“From what I have investigated, not only the central capital but organizations across the continent in that field are currently in utter disarray. It would not be an exaggeration to call it a cauldron of chaos.”

In the temporarily closed Letindüte shop, curtained off from the outside, under lighting imbued with Light spell, we had rearranged the tables to resemble a conference room. Coppelia began speaking with a rare, grave expression.

Present in this gathering were the usual members—myself (and my Sirius familiar Vier, puppy-sized, resting on my lap), Luke, Cestlavie, Eren, Bruno, Pryui, Ashimi, Jesse, Eleanore, Laika, and Chaton—plus, for some reason, Princess Lieselotte and Viola, who were seated as if it were entirely natural for them to be there.

The purpose for assembling this particular group on such short notice was singular:
To investigate the truth behind a rumor currently sweeping through the aristocratic society of the central capital—namely, the uncertain report that the head of one of the most prominent noble houses of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom (the foremost among the empire’s lords and one of the Three Great Nobles; Duke of Cilento aka the King of the Central Kingdom, the Marquis of Eunice aka His Holiness the Pope, and Frontier Count Aulanthia aka the Minister of War) had been attacked by someone within the central capital, resulting in numerous casualties. The goal was to pool the information each had collected and determine its veracity.

Incidentally, I deliberately used the term “scandal” here. That is because it is exactly how the nobility of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom perceives it.
After all, Aulanthia is on the frontline of the Imperial Kingdom, bordering the Graviol Empire and Tenebrae Nemus. As a result, it is widely known across the empire:
“Aulanthia Three Fame: the strongest soldiers in the entire Imperial Kingdom, the rare treasures found only in Tenebrae Nemus, and the Ragweed Princess of Livitium.”
This is so well-known that even traveling bards sing of it…ugh… and to think that the head of such a powerful nation-c̲u̲m̲-territory could be attacked by bandits, suffering great losses, is nothing short of shameful. At the very least, in a society that places the utmost importance on face and reputation, it was instantly recognized as a scandal.

However, a rumor is just a rumor. Even the Ragweed Princess is now the Shrine Maiden Princess, after all! To confirm the truth, we had asked Cestlavie and Jesse—who could move with relative freedom throughout the day—and Chaton, who has influence in the underworld, to gather information. Today’s gathering was a presentation of the results they had collected.

Thus, surprisingly, the first to request permission to speak was Coppelia.
Well, given that Coppelia is unexpectedly well-connected…or rather, possesses mysterious networks—it is entirely possible she had obtained information through some unforeseen channels.

“Chaos… I suppose that’s true. But do you actually know which forces are involved, how they are assessing the situation, and how they are acting?”
“Of course. There is no oversight with *me*.”

Coppelia’s confident gesture of pounding her chest looks unusually reassuring today.
After all, the information so far amounts to nothing more than “there was an attack and there were casualties.” The specific damage and the safety of my father—the Frontier Count—remain unknown. Having spent the entire day fretting over this, I focused all my attention on her next words as if clinging to a straw.

The others wore similar expressions, listening with interest to Coppelia’s report—except for a few. By “a few,” I mean those who seemed to doubt her entirely: Cestlavie and Eren, who viewed her with skeptical eyes; Chaton, Bruno, and Ashimi, who were busy devouring the garlic rice I had prepared after they said they were hungry from working all day; and Princess Lieselotte, who kept glancing at them somewhat covetously. …Hmm? Could it be that only a minority is listening seriously?

“First, we have confirmed that the former mainstream has split into two factions.”
“““““?””””
“The entrenched faction is the ‘the First Shrine Maiden Princess is supreme, and no other will do’ group, but the ‘including the second Shrine Maiden Princess, all Shrine Maiden Princesses are supreme’ faction is trying to supplant it.”

Coppelia spoke passionately, fists clenched.

“…Uh…”
“However, the largest faction at present is the ‘we don’t care about the first. The second Shrine Maiden Princess is the goddess of a new era’ faction. But this faction has only just formed, centered on the younger generation, so frankly, it’s impossible to say how strong their support is—their base is highly unstable.”
“Ah, such a ragtag bunch will either split quickly or be absorbed and dismantled by the older, established factions, as usual.”

Viola said this with a self-satisfied smirk, dripping with mockery.

“That’s exactly right. And so, we, the officially sanctioned fans of Lady Clara, are committed to putting all our effort into unifying the factions!”
“What on earth are you talking about?! And haven’t I told you over and over to stop that so-called ‘official’ fan club of yours?!”
“Yes, that’s why the ‘Official Clara Fan Club’ was disbanded and transitioned into the new ‘Official Clara Royal Fan Club,’ abbreviated as the ‘Kukkoro Club.’ So what’s the problem?”
“What is that name supposed to be?! It sounds like some female knight about to be captured by an orc!”

As I scolded Coppelia, almost everyone around me curiously chimed in, saying things like “Now, now,” or “It’s just a fan club, isn’t it?”—trying to calm me down.

Seeing how suspiciously in sync they were, I suddenly grew wary.

“Could it be… that all of you are members of the fan club as well…?”

The moment I voiced my suspicion, almost everyone—including Vier—instantly averted their eyes.

“Excuse me—!?!?”
“Now, next up is me, checking with the assassination guilds and such, nya.”

Chaton, who you could bet was somehow involved in merchandise sales, set down the empty plate and spoon, and blatantly changed the topic—or rather, steered the conversation back on track.

“…Go ahead.”
“First, our organization had nothing to do with this crime, nya. Also, it’s certain that at least the assassination guilds and other underground groups around the central capital weren’t involved, nya. I’d stake twenty gold coins on it, nya.”
“In that case… a bandit group or wandering mercenaries, perhaps?”

At Jesse’s suggestion, Chaton shook his head.

“The large armed groups near the central capital are the ‘Lone Wolf Brigade’ and the ‘Phantom Fang Squad, Dyed Pitch-Black by the Twilight,’ but we’ve confirmed that neither of them is involved, nya.”

“—Woof? (You called?)”

Being an orphan herself, Vier tilted her little head on my lap at the word “lone wolf.”

Similarly, Laika and Eleanore exchanged glances, as if compelled to comment:

“If a bunch of lone wolves form a group, can they still really call themselves lone wolves?”
“And that Twilight-something-or-another Squad… the name sounds like something someone scribbled in a fit of inspiration at night and then rolled on the floor laughing when they saw it in the morning.”

They proceeded to give their blunt, unfiltered commentary one after another.

“Hmm. In that case, it seems most likely that the ‘Demihuman Liberation Front’ did do it, even if their claim of it was unofficial…”

Princess Lieselotte spoke, her expression serious.

“The Demihuman Liberation Front…?”

I had never heard anything about a claim of responsibility, but it wouldn’t be surprising if Princess Lieselotte, as a royal of this country, had information unknown to the rest of us.