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Before me on the table gleamed a dazzling golden Adventurers’ Guild card, and I couldn’t help but utter my honest impression.

“…I don’t understand.”
“Well, even if you say that, this is a decision from headquarters.”

replied Branch Master Eraldo, who then slid the card toward me, pushing it closer until it was right in front of my eyes.

Was it my imagination, or did his expression and gesture look suspiciously like that of a shady magistrate from a period drama saying, “Heh heh heh, my lord, here’s your gold-colored confectionery bribe”?

Looking down at it again, the gaudy card indeed had “A-Rank Adventurers’ Guild Card” engraved on its surface, along with the names “Julia Fortuna Clärchen” and “Shrine Maiden Princess” etched in elegant letters.

“I only became C-rank a year ago! And since I was missing for that entire year and unable to perform any guild-designated activities, I had to request a reissue because my status was suspended and invalid! Isn’t it only natural that my rank should *drop*—not *jump* suddenly to A-rank?! What kind of joke is this?!”
“Well, even so, considering your abilities and achievements, I still think this is rather modest.”

Eraldo said coolly. When he looked around for agreement, everyone present wore an awkward expression. They probably agreed in principle but couldn’t bring themselves to approve of such blatant bending of the rules.

Eren, Lana, and Chaton eagerly chimed in with, “That’s right, that’s how it should be,” “It’s only natural for Lady Jill,” and “Doesn’t matter what it means—being important is great, nya.”
Coppelia alone huffed, “To categorize Lady Clara within the confines of a system created by ignorant fools is sheer absurdity.”

“I can only assume my *status* (as an Imperial royal—more precisely, a super-imperial recognition) and *title* (Shrine Maiden Princess) caused political pressure to be applied as a special exception. But rules aren’t supposed to work like that! They should be determined properly, through due process!”

“…Well, you’re absolutely right about that.”
“But isn’t this the kind of complaint you’d normally hear from someone who was *unfairly treated*—not *overly favored*? …you got it backwards, Jill”.
“Jill’s refusal to tolerate injustice is precisely what makes her admirable,”

Lieselotte sighed, Cestlavie commented dryly, and Luke summarized it.

In any case, I absolutely couldn’t overlook such unfair conduct. I would *not* accept this under any circumstances.
And if they kept trying to press the issue, I was ready to turn on my heel and make a full-speed *dash* straight into the Tenebrae Nemus—a place crawling with A-, S-, SS-, and even US-rank monsters. Catch me if you can, hohohohoho!

Sensing my genuine resolve, Branch Master Eraldo gave a placid smile.

“Ah, I see now. Lady Julia believes the Adventurers’ Guild has granted her undue favor or special treatment as a privilege, yes?”

He shook his head in amusement, as if to say, *Good grief, what a misunderstanding.*

“Isn’t that the case?”
“Well, it’s a special case, yes—but I swear we haven’t broken any rules.”
“That can’t be—”
“Lady Julia, are you familiar with the ‘Wartime and Disaster Field Promotion System’ used across guild branches? It’s a rule that grants a two-rank promotion when a registered adventurer or staff member is dispatched to a war or disaster that concerns national survival and loses their life in the line of duty.”

Clearly anticipating this moment, he opened the Guild Regulations—handed to him by Caldina—and read it aloud smoothly, like water flowing off a board.

“—Wait. H-hold on a moment. Don’t tell me…”

“Yes, exactly that. The No-Life King incident a year ago was classified as a Catastrophe-level disaster. Therefore, Lady Julia—who went missing during that time—was, unofficially, granted a two-rank posthumous promotion. Incidentally, upon confirmation, the same applies to Priest Cestlavie here.”

“Lucky♪” said Cestlavie cheerfully.

“Well, since you’ve miraculously returned alive, we obviously can’t reverse it now. There’s no precedent for revoking a posthumous promotion. Thus, Lady Julia, you have officially been promoted from C-rank to A-rank. Congratulations.”

““““Congratulations!””””

All the maids (except Coppelia) and Caldina offered their congratulations in unison.

“As expected of you, Jill. There are fewer than a hundred A-ranks in the Empire, and I hear there are many privileges attached to it.”
“Well, even so, those privileges mostly benefit commoners—they gain automatic citizenship equivalent to knighthood and enjoy reduced taxes. So for someone like Fräulein Jill, there’s not much of an advantage.”

Said Luke, shrugging, with Viola adding a nod. Eraldo then explained further, likely for my benefit.

“Indeed, those perks mean little to Lady Julia personally. However, the greatest advantage of being A-rank is that you have the right to accept or refuse any request—and that there are no annual quotas. That, I believe, is the true benefit.”
“No quotas? That certainly sounds nice. But as for choosing which requests to accept—isn’t that something everyone does normally at the counter anyway?”

Normally, an adventurer accepts jobs by discussing with the guild receptionist (like Caldina) at the counter, not just pulling sheets from the request board. Emergency postings are relatively rare—most requests are mutually agreed upon after consultation.
So I wondered why he was making a big deal about “choosing freely,” since that seemed normal to me. Apparently, it wasn’t.

“It seems Lady Julia has never received one before, but among requests, there are what we call designated requests—assignments directed to specific adventurers. These cannot be refused. Well, technically, they can, but doing so incurs an enormous penalty fee.”
“Ah, I see. So quite a few designated requests came in, aimed at Jill, yes? And among them, there were some… less than desirable clients—leaving the guild troubled about how to handle them.”

Said Lieselotte, her tone laced with sarcasm. At that, both Branch Master Eraldo and Caldina lowered their eyes.
Apparently, she had hit the mark.

“And these ‘less than desirable clients,’ who might they be, exactly? Surely not—”

As I began to ask, a dreadful suspicion crept into my mind. My imagination—no, my *delusion*—turned cold and clammy, and I shuddered in fear of my own thoughts.