Although Kirschtaria had said more than once that the ones truly responsible for developing the Lostbelts were the Crypters, not the Lostbelt Kings, the weight carried by a Lostbelt King was still immense. If the Crypters could maintain a good relationship with the Lostbelt Kings, cultivating the Fantasy Trees would be twice as effective with half the effort.
The Scandinavian Lostbelt had an old god. Though only one remained, it was undoubtedly an incomparably precious existence—and a god of goodness, at that.
If such a god could acknowledge, desire, and pursue the new world the Crypters spoke of—
"Oh, right. I want to recall Caenis. Is that alright, Ophelia?"
Changing the subject, Kirschtaria brought up a matter concerning his own Servant.
"Caenis? Didn't she just arrive in Scandinavia?"
Looking up with a momentary bewildered expression, Ophelia's face immediately turned serious.
"Could it be something on your end...?"
"It's just that I have another use for her."
Kirschtaria smiled.
"I'm very satisfied with the progress of your work. As for my side, it seems a great hero has caused a certain amount of unrest at sea."
"She'll be useful in that regard—"
"Now, that's something I can't pretend I didn't hear!"
Whoosh—
Boom!!!
"Urgh—!!!"
Feeling the pressure rushing straight at her, Ophelia instinctively assumed a defensive, wary stance as she looked at the source of magical energy that had suddenly appeared in her room.
"Caenis, so you really were here."
Kirschtaria wore an unsurprised expression.
"What did you mean by what you just said?"
Ignoring Ophelia's expression beside her, Caenis darkened her face, raised the spear in her hand, and aimed it at Kirschtaria's image floating in midair.
"I'm not like this woman here, some ugly clown you can order around at will. My time is precious—after making me cross storms