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As the five Belrüsa warships approached the harbor, four galley ships that had been anchored in Lotzo Port raised their auxiliary sails and set out. All of them bore Lotzo’s crest.

“Tch. The old b̲a̲s̲t̲a̲r̲d̲’s still got sharp eyes, even at his age.”

Garsche spat cheerfully, then issued orders to the fleet.

“Listen up, you b̲a̲s̲t̲a̲r̲d̲s̲! Right now we’re allies of the Demon Lord’s Army! I don’t care if it’s the Lotzo military we’re up against! Anyone who gets in our way, kill ’em!”
“Hey, hey…”

I was exasperated—but what followed left me even more so.

The Lotzo warships closed in on the Belrüsa fleet. Naval combat in this world meant boarding the enemy ship. Were they planning to grapple us?
Just as I thought that, a roar came from the flagship.

“Is that you, Garsche, you little s̲h̲i̲t̲—!”

It was an unbelievably hoarse voice, loud enough to overpower the sea breeze and the sound of the waves.
Garsche roared back just as loudly.

“Shut up, you old b̲a̲s̲t̲a̲r̲d̲—!”
“I can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying!”
“You can hear me just fine, you goat!”

What is this, a comedy skit?

On the flagship of the Lotzo fleet stood a small old man, legs planted wide. His hair was white and his head bald, but he looked full of vigor.

“You idiot! Belrüsa’s allotment is four warships, ain’t it! What gives you the right to add one more on your own, you dullard!”
“Shut it! I’m done listening to those northern assholes! You should surrender to the Demon Lord’s Army too, old man!”
“Don’t screw with me! What the hell do you think the Demon Lord’s Army is—!”

Two governors screamed at each other.
The Belrüsa landing troops raised their crossbows in unison, faces straight out of the end of the world.
On Lotzo’s side, rough-looking men like violent fishermen readied their throwing spears, aiming at us the way you’d throw a harpoon.

I see. With how rough both sides are, that “persuasive power” really is necessary.
To avoid getting caught in the crossfire, I ushered Rasie and the others away and quickly took cover.
The governors were still enthusiastically shouting at each other.

“You little brat! I thought you’d finally calmed down, and now you’re running around with some random bunch again!”
“You’re the one who’s gone senile and turned into the Senate’s pet goldfish! The name ‘White Shark of Lotzo’ is crying!”
“Don’t get cocky, you greenhorn! I’ll hang you from the mast!”
“Shut up, old man! Go sleep in your coffin!”

This isn’t negotiation.

I was dumbfounded, but neither side seemed inclined to start killing each other with crossbows and javelins. The two fleets sailed into port just like that.
Eventually, the Belrüsa warships docked, and we were told to disembark.
What was all that about?

Rasie, Parker, the werewolf unit, and I disembarked together with Garsche’s group.
From there, we headed for the governor’s mansion of Lotzo.
Belrüsa had that hidden “pirate cove” kind of charm, but Lotzo was a proper port city. The townscape was Mediterranean in style like Belrüsa’s, but much calmer and seemingly safer. It made you want to take your time sightseeing.
The governor’s mansion was impressive too. Apparently, Lotzo was doing quite well financially.

Shown into the mansion’s reception room, we soon came face to face with Governor Petore of Lotzo.
Before we even had a chance to sit down, Petore appeared and looked us over carefully. At a glance, we all looked human, so there was no way to tell who was who.
Then, the moment Petore looked at me, he said this.

“I am Petore Orio Fikarsch, governor of Lotzo. You there—you’re one of the Demon Lord’s big shots, ain’t you?”

How did he know?
The Garne brothers looked tougher, Monsa looked calmer, and Parker gave off much more of an executive vibe.

Though shaken internally, I suppressed it and replied calmly.

“I am Veit, adjutant to the Demon Lord.”

Petore nodded as if it were only natural.

“The king’s adjutant, huh. I see. That’s a big fish alright.”

Garsche cut in from the side.

“How’d you figure it out, old man?”
“You can tell who’s the most important just by watching how the others look at him and carry themselves. This one looks calm on the surface, but he’s a real heavyweight.”
“Huh… impressive.”

Monsa muttered softly. That was rare.
But Petore looked unimpressed and gestured for everyone to sit.

“Enough. Sit down. I’ll have some tea brought in.”

Looks like this governor won’t be easy to deal with either.

The negotiations began with Garsche’s explanation.

“So that’s how it is. The Demon Lord’s Army took care of the ‘Demonic Sea.’ They keep their promises, and I’ve seen with my own eyes how strong they are. They’re trustworthy.”

Garsche spoke passionately, but Petore barely listened.

“Hah! I’ve no interest in listening to some brat who couldn’t even secure the safety of the sea routes.”
“The reason the routes weren’t secure is because you couldn’t handle it either, damn it. Did the Lotzo army manage anything?”

Petore wasn’t fazed by Garsche’s retort.

“The one suffering from unsafe sea routes is Belrüsa, not Lotzo. Our main artery is the eastern route, so your little problem don’t matter much to us.”
“Damn it…”

Apparently, Belrüsa depended on the route more heavily than Lotzo.
Still, I can’t believe he’d say that.
It felt like stepping into a parent–child argument, but as Belrüsa’s ally, I decided to say a few words.

“I’ve heard that both Belrüsa and Lotzo are important powers of southern Miraldia. Belrüsa says it intends to form an alliance with the Demon Lord’s Army. Would Lotzo not at least consider it?”

I spoke politely, showing respect for his age.
But Petore crossed his arms irritably and replied,

“I’ll consider it all you like—but what’ll you do if I say no?”

Any other demon would have answered “we’ll conquer you” on the spot. That was my basic plan too.
But forcing obedience through threats would only sow trouble later.
I hesitated for just a moment—but Garsche answered immediately.

“Obviously, Belrüsa will conquer Lotzo. If you won’t submit to the Demon Lord’s Army, then Lotzo’s our enemy.”

I’m trying to take the moderate route here, and this guy just blows it up.
As expected, Petore shot Garsche a sharp glare.

“Oh? You gonna do it?”

His gaze was piercing.
But Garsche replied in a low, steady voice.

“Damn right. I didn’t bring five hundred landing troops just to go home empty-handed.”

Hey, stop it.
Ignoring me completely, Petore laughed.

“You think you can kill me?”

Garsche answered quietly.

“I’m the governor of Belrüsa. For Belrüsa’s future, I’ve resolved to kill even my own old pop. Don’t worry—I’ll rule Lotzo properly too.”

At how things were unfolding, the werewolves reacted silently. At a single order from me, they were ready to transform and attack Petore.
Garsche’s men said nothing, but their hands rested on their sabers and knives.
The Lotzo soldiers in iron helmets and armor didn’t stay idle either, stepping forward, turning sideways, and lowering their centers of gravity.
One wrong move, and things would explode.

And Petore’s booming laughter blew it all away.

“Well done! Wahahahaha!”
“W-What!?”

Garsche’s eyes went wide, and his men stared in disbelief.
Petore stood up and slapped Garsche’s shoulders repeatedly.

“That’s what a governor should be! You’ve grown up fine, you lil s̲h̲i̲t̲! Now I can brag properly at Glasco’s grave! That his son finally became a man!”
“O-Oh.”

Petore laughed to himself, then suddenly his eyes grew moist.

“It’s been seventeen years since you took over your old man’s post… or was it eighteen? I was worried I wouldn’t manage to make you stand on your own before my eyes closed for good.”
“You were worrying about that!?”

Garsche said, exasperated. Petore barked back.

“Of course I was! Belrüsa’s Black Whale and Lotzo’s White Shark—the roughneck duo that even the Senate shut up about. I thought it wouldn’t do for the Black Whale Glasco’s son to turn out this soft, but…”

I’d really like to know exactly which part of this pirate captain looks “soft.”

Petore sniffed and let out a deep sigh.

“A governor always has to think about the city first. That means making cold-blooded decisions, even fighting your own kin if necessary. Looks like little Garsche has finally learned to walk on his own.”
“…Damn right.”

Garsche, perhaps embarrassed, stroked his beard and looked away.
Petore then turned to me.

“Seems my best friend’s son’s been in your care. Sounds interesting enough, so I’ll at least hear you out. Go on—say what you want.”

What an abrupt old man, in every sense.