For some reason, the one accompanying the troupe on this monster hunt today was none other than Yaevinn, commander of the Squirrel Party. He had brought only two subordinates as escorts, and they, along with Angoulême, tacitly kept silent along the way, not taking part in the exchanges between the "leader" and the "captain."
According to Angoulême afterward, those mystifying, vague, and cryptic conversations were simply not fit for human speech.
As they walked, several shafts of sunlight broke through gaps in the clouds and the canopy overhead, warmly falling upon Yaevinn and Victor.
Victor wore a bright smile. "...You know, having you personally guide us puts us under a lot of pressure. Especially my young troupe member—she's still just a little girl and hasn't seen much of the world. You're making her very nervous."
──Why the hell did you come in person?
Yaevinn was evidently in a fine mood as well. "Oh... there's nothing I can do about that. In fact, I consider myself rather refined and courteous. At the very least, I don't have any scars. Judging by faces alone... perhaps you're far more frightening than I am." He made the joke cheerfully.
──I sure as hell don't want to tell you.
The elf wore light hunting armor today. A faint smile rested on his lean cheeks, while little emotion could be read in his narrow brown eyes.
The captain and the commander chatted merrily about everything under the sun as they traveled, as if they had met far too late.
"To me... it was like a flower.
An ugly, nauseating flower.
──The last words of Brass Turner"
Ninety feet away from the unknown plant ahead—roughly the length of a basketball court—Yaevinn raised a hand, signaling the group of five to stop.
"Vic, is that thing