Chapter 64: Shirone Branch
Armored Dragon Calendar Year 418 – Claude, Age 13
[Claude POV]
The journey from Milshion Kingdom to Shirone typically stretched across three grueling months. The same timeframe Rudeus had endured in what felt like another lifetime.
But with Ash's Charizard cutting through the skies, we'd compressed that odyssey into a single month, accounting for our brief respites and the inevitable maritime detour.
Even Charizard's powerful wings couldn't sustain four passengers across the churning expanse of ocean.
Not that Isolte was particularly heavy, nor Charizard weak, the logistics simply demanded pragmatism.
The Item Box I'd developed proved invaluable, its weight-halving enchantment allowing us to carry provisions that would have otherwise grounded us.
Still, as we descended toward Shirone's familiar skyline, a fragment of memory surfaced, one where this same approach had ended differently, where timing had been everything and I'd arrived too late.
I pushed the thought aside. This wasn't that timeline.
Shirone was recovering from something violent.
The locals wouldn't say what, their eyes went distant when questions touched on recent history, conversations redirecting with the practiced ease of people who had learned that some topics were dangerous. But the evidence was everywhere.
Fresh scars on old buildings. Streets showing signs of recent reconstruction.
A general wariness that suggested trauma not yet processed.
What I eventually learned through careful intelligence gathering was that the third prince had attempted a coup. Got himself killed, along with half the royal guard.
The king was barely holding power.
Two princes dead, one missing, the queen in seclusion.
A kingdom in flux. Power structures unstable.
Perfect conditions for establishing an Arbalest presence. And perfect conditions for getting killed if I wasn't careful.
But first, family.
"Claude!"
Aisha's voice cut through my tactical assessment like sunlight through storm clouds. She launched herself at me with the uninhibited joy that only children possessed, and I caught her in a fierce embrace.
"Aisha," I murmured, breathing in the faint scent of lavender soap that clung to her hair.
In the original timeline, no, in that timeline, both Aisha and Lilia should have been journeying toward Milishion by now. But I'd deemed such a venture unnecessarily perilous.
Unlike Paul and his reckless disregard for consequences. I wouldn't allow them to traverse continents without proper escort.
Some mistakes from other timelines were too bitter to repeat.
"What happened with the troublesome prince?" I asked, settling into the familiar rhythm of our conversations.
Aisha's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. "Oh! Father had him detained! You should have seen it, Claude, the king himself came to apologize to us personally. I never thought someone so important would bow so low!"
"Fufu, all thanks to your brilliant big brother Claude," I said, striking an exaggerated pose. "Now, where's my well-deserved praise, dear Aisha?"
"Big brother Claude is so cool! The coolest!" she declared, throwing her arms wide.
"Cooler than Rudeus?" I pressed, unable to resist the petty comparison.
Aisha tilted her head thoughtfully, her expression growing more serious than I'd expected. "That's... hard to say. You're both amazing in different ways!"
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. "Oh? Do tell me about this 'amazing' Rudeus."
Her eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of someone eager to share a treasured story.
"Well, when I first met big brother Rudeus, I thought he was just another weird kid. But then..." She paused dramatically, clearly relishing the memory.
"He saved me from those horrible kidnappers!"
"Kidnappers?"
"Mm-hmm! These scary men grabbed me and some other children from the village. They were going to sell us!" Her voice carried the matter-of-fact tone children used when discussing horrors they didn't fully comprehend. "But big brother Rudeus came with Paul and some other adventurers. He used this incredible magic, water and earth spells that I'd never seen before!"
She gestured excitedly, her small hands trying to mimic spellcasting motions. "The way he fought was so different from regular mages! He didn't use magic circles or long chants. The water moved like it was alive, and the earth shaped itself to trap the bad guys. It was like watching a fairy tale come to life!"
Of course Rudeus would leave an impression like that. In my own memories, magical combat was often brutal and efficient, less fairy tale, more nightmare.
But seeing it through Aisha's innocent eyes, I could understand the wonder.
"And then?" I prompted, settling into a comfortable chair in the lounge area while she climbed onto my lap.
"After the rescue, big brother Rudeus was so gentle with all of us scared children," she continued, her voice growing softer with affection. "He didn't treat us like we were just problems to be solved. He sat with us, told us funny stories, and made sure we weren't hungry or cold. Paul was proud and relieved, but Rudeus... he looked sad."
"Sad?"
"Like he was thinking about painful things. When I asked him about it later, he said he was just glad we were safe. But I think..." She bit her lower lip, a habit she'd inherited from Lilia. "I think he was remembering something that hurt him."
Perceptive little thing. Rudeus carried his own burdens from his previous life.
Though different from my fragmented memories of parallel failures.
"So," I said carefully, "what makes Rudeus different from your other big brother?"
Aisha grinned impishly. "Well, big brother Rudeus is amazing at magic and really smart about people. He makes everyone feel safe and happy just by being there." She paused, studying my face with those unnervingly perceptive eyes. "But you, big brother Claude... you're amazing in a scarier way."
"Scarier?"
"Mm-hmm! Rudeus makes people feel better about problems. But you make the problems go away completely." She gestured around the headquarters. "Like with the mean prince. Or how you convinced all those important people to do what you wanted. Rudeus helps people after bad things happen. You stop bad things from happening at all."
Her observation hit closer to home than I'd expected. Out of the mouths of babes...
"And which do you prefer?" I asked, genuinely curious about her answer.
She was quiet for a long moment, her small fingers playing with the fabric of my sleeve. "I think... I think we need both kinds of big brothers. Rudeus makes the world feel warmer and safer. But you make it actually BE safer." She looked up at me with startling intensity. "That's why I'm not scared anymore, even when Mother worries about Papa. Because I know you'll fix things."
"I'm not perfect, you know," I said quietly. "Sometimes even I can't fix everything."
"I know," she replied with startling maturity. "But you always try really, really hard. And that's what matters."
If only it were that simple.
While we continued our conversation, I noticed Isolte nudging Ash with enough force to make him wince, clearly having overheard at least part of our exchange.
"What's the real reason behind the king's groveling?" she demanded.
Ash rubbed his ribs ruefully. "Could you maybe not try to crack my bones when you're curious? And did you just hear that entire conversation?"
"The part about big brothers and problem-solving? Hard to miss when Claude's being unusually sentimental," Isolte replied dryly. "Now answer the question about the king."
I chuckled, adjusting Aisha's position as she settled more comfortably against me. "Simple economics," I explained. "Shirone's a minor kingdom, but they're positioned along major trade routes. Unfortunately for them, I've got the Central Continent's merchant guilds dancing to my tune."
"That's impossible. How could you have that kind of influence?"
Ash sighed. "Earth to Isolte, haven't you noticed that miraculous item he uses to store our belongings?"
"The Item Box? What about it?"
"It's something only he can create. Every merchant on the continent would sell their grandmother for one. But they can't get them anywhere else. So, they do what Claude wants, hoping to stay in his good graces."
"No merchant guild would cease trade with an entire kingdom over some storage device."
"Shirone's a minor kingdom at best. The profit loss hurts, sure, but having access to Item Boxes? That's generational wealth. Imagine being able to transport rare goods across continents without worrying about spoilage or bandits. The profit margins alone..." Ash spread his hands helplessly.
"I see. Tiny Shirone never stood a chance."
Their conversation drifted as they worked through the implications. But my attention had already shifted inward.
The psychological insights from those particular memory fragments proved invaluable in these situations, not every merchant could be bought or threatened, but understanding their motivations made manipulation far more elegant.
This particular gambit had been refreshingly straightforward. By allowing Arbalest to establish headquarters in Shirone's capital, I'd positioned the king between his kingdom's needs and the merchant guilds' desires. Mike had handled the direct negotiations, displaying the Item Box V2 like a prize just out of reach while explaining that its creator was currently imprisoned by royal decree.
The merchants' greed had done the rest.
Of course, this strategy had its limitations. The Central Continent's merchant princes weren't fools.
They could only be led by their avarice so far before suspicion set in. I'd need to deliver thirty Item Box V2 units to maintain the illusion.
Each one a substantial drain on my time and magical energy.
Another training session sacrificed to political necessity.
But watching Aisha's bright smile as she chatted with the Arbalest members stationed here, seeing how they all seemed genuinely fond of her presence, perhaps some sacrifices were worthwhile.
After settling in, I called a meeting with the local contacts.
Three operatives waited in the safe house, people who had been feeding Arbalest intelligence for months, waiting for the official establishment of a permanent presence. They rose when I entered, expressions mixing relief and nervousness.
"Commander." The speaker was a middle-aged woman named Vera, different from the Combat Division leader, but the name coincidence had already caused confusion in communications.
"We weren't sure you'd come personally."
"The situation warranted it. Report."
The briefing took an hour.
Shirone's political landscape was exactly as unstable as I had suspected. Three noble factions fought for control of what remained of centralized authority.
The royal family, technically still in power, had been weakened by the coup attempt. Their grip on the kingdom was nominal at best.
More relevant to our purposes: trafficking routes ran through the mountain passes along Shirone's eastern border. Slavers had operated with near-impunity during the recent chaos, taking advantage of distracted authorities and displaced populations.
"We've identified at least four major routes," Vera continued, spreading maps across the table. "Guards at the passes are either bribed or absent. The volume has increased significantly in the past six months."
"Numbers?"
"Estimates suggest two to three hundred people moved through per month. Mostly going east, toward territories where enforcement is weaker."
Two to three hundred. Every month.
People reduced to cargo, shipped through mountain passes while everyone looked the other way.
Something methodical calculated resource requirements. Breaking the trafficking routes would require mountain specialists, people capable of operating in difficult terrain, ambushing convoys, disrupting supply lines.
We had some, but not enough. Not for operations at this scale.
"We'd need mountain specialists," I said. "Our current capacity is insufficient."
"We've recruited locally," Vera offered. "Some hunters, former soldiers, but they're not trained for this kind of work."
"How many?"
"Twelve committed. Another twenty who might be convinced."
Thirty-two potential assets. Not enough for direct action against established trafficking routes. We would need months of training before they were ready for that kind of operation.
Unless we approached the problem differently.
"We use what we have," I said.
"Which is?"
"Information first. Intelligence gathering. We map the routes completely before we act."
"That's sensible. But how? The mountain communities are tight-knit. Strangers asking questions attract attention."
I considered the problem. Standard intelligence operations wouldn't work, adult agents would be noticed, remembered, potentially compromised.
We needed observers who could move freely without raising suspicion.
Aisha arrived for the briefing later that evening. Her Junior Unit members securing the perimeter with enthusiasm that was almost comical.
"You want me to spy?" she asked directly.
"I want you to observe. Document. Report."
"That's spying with extra words."
"...Yes."
"I accept."
The speed of her agreement didn't surprise me. Aisha had been pushing for more responsibility since her unauthorized rescue operation.
This was exactly the kind of work she had been requesting.
"You understand the risks," I said. It wasn't a question.
"Slavers. We watch them. We don't engage. Adults handle the fighting."
"Exactly. Your team's advantage is that no one expects children to be threats. The moment that changes, the advantage disappears."
"And we become targets instead of observers."
"Correct."
Aisha nodded, her expression serious in a way that no nine-year-old should need to be. But she wasn't a typical nine-year-old.
None of them were. Children forced to grow up by circumstances that didn't care about appropriate developmental timelines.
"Official designation?" she asked.
I had considered this carefully. "Junior Intelligence Specialist. Your team operates under the Intelligence Division, reporting structure through Ghislaine."
"The beast warrior spy master?"
"She's adapted well."
"What does she think about children in intelligence work?"
"She's pragmatic. Results matter more than age."
Aisha considered this, then nodded. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow. There's a warehouse in the merchant district that we suspect is a staging point for trafficking operations. Your team will observe for three days, then report findings."
"And if we find what we're looking for?"
"Report. Document. Don't engage. Adults will handle the next phase."
"Understood."
Three days later, Aisha delivered her report.
The warehouse was indeed a staging point. Her team had observed it continuously, rotating in shifts that looked like ordinary street children playing in the area. Guards had noticed them occasionally but dismissed them as irrelevant, just kids being weird, as one guard had apparently remarked.
"Shift schedules," Aisha began, spreading handwritten notes across the table. "Four guards during the day, two at night. Night shift changes at midnight and dawn. Deliveries arrive every third day, usually evening. Last delivery included sixteen people."
"Sixteen."
Sixteen people, treated as merchandise.
"Twelve adults, four children. They were moved inside within minutes. Professional operation."
"Guard patterns?"
"Predictable. The day guards patrol the perimeter hourly. Night guards mostly stay inside except for smoke breaks, one of them smokes, takes breaks at irregular intervals. The other one sleeps."
"Sleeping on duty."
"Extensively."
The intelligence was comprehensive. More detailed than I had expected.
Aisha's team had gathered everything we needed for a successful raid.
"Anything else?"
"The building has a back entrance. Hidden, but Marcus spotted it when a guard used it to dispose of something. Probably connects to the sewer system, escape route if the front is compromised."
"That's important. Good work."
Aisha allowed herself a small smile before returning to professional composure. "When's the raid?"
"Tonight. Your team is off the operation from this point."
"We could—"
"Could what? Fight armed traffickers?" I kept my voice gentle but firm. "You did your part. The information you gathered will save lives. But the fighting isn't yours to do."
She wanted to argue. I could see it in her eyes.
The frustration of being sidelined when the action began. But she understood the logic, even if she didn't like it.
"Understood."
"Watch the perimeter if you want. From a safe distance. See how the operation unfolds."
"A learning experience?"
"Exactly."
The raid went precisely as planned.
Vera's locally recruited operatives handled the assault with competence that exceeded my expectations. The sleeping night guard never woke up, knocked unconscious before he realized anything was happening. The smoking guard was subdued during one of his breaks, dragged into shadows before he could raise an alarm.
Sixteen people emerged from the warehouse. Twelve adults, four children, exactly as Aisha had reported. They were thin, frightened, disoriented from confinement.
But they were alive.
The slavers were less fortunate. Three killed resisting, two captured for interrogation, one escaped through the back entrance that Aisha had identified, but into a sewer tunnel where additional operatives waited.
Zero casualties on our side.
I watched from a neighboring rooftop as the freed prisoners were escorted to safety. Somewhere below, Aisha's team was watching as well, learning how intelligence translated into action, seeing the direct results of their careful observation.
A week later, the Shirone branch was officially established. Twelve permanent operatives. Twenty local recruits in various stages of training. A network of safe houses, supply caches, and communication routes that connected Shirone to the broader Arbalest infrastructure.
Cross-kingdom operations were now possible. From nothing to multinational in three years.
Aisha stayed in Shirone, officially protected as a junior intelligence specialist. Her team would continue observation operations, feeding information to the adult operatives who handled direct action. The arrangement was unusual but effective.
The realization hit me in the document room, where reports about Orsted awaited my attention like patient predators.
The latest intelligence made for sobering reading, our target had proven as elusive as expected, utilizing mountain paths and hidden routes that avoided populated areas entirely. But my disciples had exceeded expectations, tracking him even through terrain that should have been impossible to navigate.
Orsted.
The Dragon God's name carried weight across multiple timelines. Though the memories I'd inherited painted conflicting pictures of their encounters.
In some fragments, he'd been an implacable enemy. In others, a reluctant ally.
The inconsistencies left me disoriented, grasping for certainty that remained frustratingly beyond reach.
One thing remained constant across every timeline: Dragon God Orsted was a walking catastrophe. Capable of reshaping the world's fate with a gesture. And somewhere in the mountains surrounding Shirone, he moved with purpose I could only guess at.
I spread the surveillance reports across my desk. Each document a piece of an increasingly complex puzzle.
I was stalling.
Shirone. Saint Port. The aerial unit. The intelligence networks. Every expansion, every improvement, every new capability, all of it was valuable. All of it was necessary. And all of it was distraction from the thing I was avoiding.
Building was important. But building could also be hiding.
We couldn't build forever.
I knew that. Had always known it. But I kept building anyway.
For a little while longer. Because building felt productive, felt safe, felt like progress even when it was really just elaborate procrastination.
The decision was coming. Orsted was out there, moving through the world according to purposes I couldn't understand. Eventually, our paths would cross, whether I initiated the meeting or not. When that happened, all the building in the world wouldn't matter if I hadn't prepared for the confrontation itself.
I stared at the surveillance reports, tracking Orsted's movements through mountain passes and hidden valleys. Division A had done excellent work.
But what came next would require more than excellent intelligence gathering.
It would require courage I wasn't sure I possessed.
Soon.
The word formed in my mind with resolution. Or perhaps just acceptance.
Soon, I would stop building and start acting.
But not today.
Today, I would review more reports, plan more operations. Continue the work that needed to be done. And tomorrow... tomorrow I would see.
◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ AUTHOR'S NOTE ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆
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