The Divided Western Wasteland

In the Main Hall of Lorenburg, Gilbert's pupils reflected the light of the distant Eternal Lamp.

"Baron Williams told me that a few days ago, His Grace Duke Cyril Falkenhaus unexpectedly paid you a visit."

The Former Foreign Minister asked gently but cautiously:

"I imagine he brought you more than just a sword?"

Tales paused.

"He did say quite a lot."

The youth swallowed a piece of meat, his gaze sharpening slightly as he pondered.

"And it left me rather uneasy."

Gilbert's expression darkened.

"Associating with different people is always the most direct way to gain insight into the world."

Gilbert's voice remained gentle, but now held more caution and deliberation.

"But, Your Highness."

"Please make sure you never forget this." Seated opposite him, Gilbert spoke meaningfully.

"What everyone lets you see is the version of themselves they want you to see."

"Especially when your position is so special and your identity so sensitive."

Tales stopped using his knife and fork and fell silently into thought.

"What a coincidence."

"Not long ago..." Tales wore an expression of helplessness and mockery.

"Count Kloma said something similar."

Gilbert stared at him, wanting to speak but hesitating.

Tales continued eating his dinner until Cunning Fox of the Star Kingdom let out a sigh.

"Since you have met them, Duke."

"What do you think the nobles of the Western Wasteland are like?"

Tales's movements slowed.

The nobles of the Western Wasteland...

What kind of people were they?

His thoughts returned to the moment he had met the three nobles—Falkenhaus, Kloma, and Bozdov.

The Prince narrowed his eyes.

"They aren't stupid. They know what you... what we want to do."

"From Bladefang Camp to Gifting Town."

Tales stared absently at the distant lights.

Gilbert frowned slightly and cleared his throat.

"Then how are they responding?