Published: August 10, 2026
At the northern edge of the Dirts Kingdom.
In a land that could barely still be called the royal capital, there stood a shabby little tavern. Normally, it was probably the sort of place where the poor people living nearby came just to get drunk on cheap liquor. There was no stable or anything so considerate; a carriage was parked exposed right in front of the shop.
I approached the carriage and checked the wheels. Something with strong elasticity had been smeared onto the metal rims.
...Just as I thought, this is rubber. A cutting-edge chemical material that is still rare in Dilz. It had been painted the same color as the metal parts to hide it, but the sound it made while traveling made it obvious these were no ordinary wheels. It hadn't been hard to follow this track all the way here.
I opened the tavern door.
"—Hm? Welcome, little miss! Old enough to drink?"
Ignoring the friendly tavern owner for now, I quickly looked around the interior.
Just as I had imagined from the outside, it was a rough-looking building.
Wooden tables and chairs were thrown together in a disorderly fashion, and the place was filled with the bustle of customers, cigarette smoke, and the smell of alcohol.
I took a seat at an unremarkable table near the edge. I ordered a simple dish from the waiter, and while pretending to focus on my meal, I kept my attention on the other customers.
A few tables away—there were a group wearing flashy clothes that looked like Oracle Kingdom traditional dress, each holding a bottle of liquor as they chatted.
...All of them were speaking in dirts language...
"So after all that, I finally wore her down—took me half a year! I told her that day, her parents wouldn't be around!"
"Well, then you couldn't exactly not go. So what happened?"
"Right when things were getting good, her husband came home! And he even had a baby with him! What was all that about her parents? You're the parents, aren't you?!"
"That's brutal, ahahaha!"
From the start, their story of being Oracle people had smelled suspicious. There was an odd sense of discomfort, like native Dilz people deliberately putting on a broken way of speaking. And now, away from the castle, their Dilz language had become fluent.
As I thought, they were Dilz people—and their manner of speaking, their choice of words, and that calmness peculiar to soldiers. Their appearance was rough, but there was no doubt they were trained troops.
Dilz soldiers pretending to be Oracle people?
Why? And on whose orders—?
I stared at the mug on the table.
I kept listening for a while longer, but they had clearly gotten thoroughly drunk, and it seemed they had no intention of saying anything but crude, meaningless nonsense. Even if I kept eavesdropping like this, it didn't seem like I'd learn anything important.
...I need information. To get anything more, it looks like I'll have to move more boldly.
In that case—.
"I suppose I'll have to infiltrate..."
I stood up.
I called out to the owner and paid my bill first. At the same time, I slipped several times that amount in gold coins into his hand. When the owner's eyes went wide, I pressed a finger to my lips. Then I leaned in and whispered instructions in his ear.
The tavern owner from the poorer district seemed to be used to this sort of request. Without a word, he silently tried to bargain for one more gold coin, then followed my instructions and headed over to the group.
"Hey there, everyone. You're drinking awfully well. I actually have some special liquor and snacks I've been saving. I'd love to hear what you think."
"Hm? What's this? We were just about to leave."
"Oh, don't say that. It's on the house."
If you insist... and the men sat back down.
I quickly left my seat and slipped through the back door into the back room.
In a corner out of sight, I opened my bag and pulled out its contents. A crimson tunic, a leather belt dyed green. The brass clasps reflected the light one after another. The cloak was a teal blue-green like peacock feathers, with tiny beads strung along the edges. Once I put this set on, it became so flashy that anyone who passed me would turn around and stare. Since this was an undercover investigation, there was no need to hide—"I" was a wandering minstrel, and I lived by standing out.