The Queen Bee Among the Kingless Swarm
'Anders.'
Ella repeated his name silently.
With red hair and blue eyes, he was a man just over forty, always wearing a confident smile.
The villagers often whispered about how Anders had never started a family, but aside from that, there was no ill talk about him. He had a good reputation—and the skill to match it.
However, Ella—and her older brother—did not like him. Because among his talents, his mastery of spirit arts stood above all.
"Do I look like one?"
Ulrich asked, looking at Anders.
Until just a moment ago, Ulrich had barely shown any expression, and his tone had carried the weight of age—but now it was the complete opposite. He smiled lightly, fitting his youthful appearance of about twenty, and his tone was polite.
Ella was taken aback by the sudden change, but Anders didn't seem to notice. He simply let out a low "Hmm" and nodded.
"Among all the people I've seen, there are few who handle spirits as well as you. Even in this village, you could be considered among the very best. However…"
Anders clapped his hands.
At once, the spirits that had been clearing the debris stopped and turned to look at him. When he gave a command, they moved again.
The spirits had been tidying the field after hearing Ulrich's whisper—but they hadn't stopped chattering, and their movements had been sluggish. Yet at Anders' command, they shut their mouths and began moving briskly.
"This is the level one must reach to be called a spiritist."
"You truly handle them like a proper spiritist."
At Ulrich's admiration, Anders' smile deepened even further.
"I heard a priest has come to the village. Are you part of her group?"
"My name is Ulrich. I've been traveling here and there with Priestess Roberta." Ulrich placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly. "Seeing so many spirits, I got carried away and ended up lending a hand."
"With talent like that, anyone would get excited. Handling spirits is no easy task, yet your skill is remarkable. Who taught you?"
"I wouldn't say I learned from anyone in particular. I've simply encountered many things while wandering."
Anders narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard.
"Encountered many things, you say?"
There was a hint of suspicion. For someone so young to claim such experience—it seemed he believed Ulrich was hiding something.
But Ulrich only continued smiling without elaborating, and Anders shifted his gaze to Ella beside him.
"You're back early. I heard there were many issues up near the mountain."
"That was resolved quickly. I heard your brother hasn't finished his part yet, so I was heading over to wrap it up. Then I happened to see this gentleman handling spirits."
He shrugged.
"I don't know how long the priest will be staying, but if you need help, come to me. I'll be more useful than this girl's brother."
With that, Anders left. Ella glared at his retreating back.
"You don't seem to get along very well."
"…Yes. He and my brother argue often."
"Because of the spiritist position?"
Ella nodded and let out a sigh.
"In this village, the spiritist is like a lord. If you become one, there's much to gain—but if you're pushed out, you lose everything you had."
Ella and Valdemar had once been among those who enjoyed such privileges. Their father had been the spiritist, so his children received the same treatment.
But their father had died, and the son who tried to take his place had been pushed aside by a rival. Only because their grandmother and father had both been spiritists had they not been immediately cast out of the village—but they were barely holding on.
To Anders, the siblings were like stones stubbornly clinging to something that wasn't theirs. To Valdemar, Anders was a stone that had come rolling in out of nowhere. There was no way they could get along.
"I hate to admit it, but he's the best spiritist in the village. Until recently, he and my brother were competing… but now there's no comparison."
"That's only natural."
Ulrich scanned the spirits still working in the field. Even after Anders had left, they continued moving briskly. The debris scattered everywhere had nearly all been cleared.
"See? The level of control is completely different."
Watching the scene, Ella sighed again.
It was only natural that her brother, Valdemar, was falling behind. To be blunt, his level was even below Ulrich's.
The spirits her father had created followed Valdemar and Ella well, but there were only a few of them. And even then, spirits were still spirits—they often slacked off.
In contrast, Anders' commands were exactly as they appeared. With a single order, they moved in perfect unison, never abandoning their tasks midway.
"No, that's not what I meant."
"…What? Then what did you mean?"
Ulrich did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned the question back on her.
"What was Anders' relationship with the previous spiritist?"
"…None. He didn't really have any connection to my father."
"None at all? He never learned from him?"
"Not that I know of. Not even once."
Ulrich muttered "I see" under his breath, then turned and began walking. He left the field and headed back toward the village, with Ella and Fritz following behind.
What had he realized?
Ella hurried to keep pace with his long strides, sticking close to his side. They had only met today—not even half a day ago—so she couldn't read his expressionless face at all.
Had he found an answer? Or was he still searching?
Unable to tell, Ella watched him anxiously.
"You said it's been a few years since the previous spiritist died."
"This year makes three," Ella replied.
"You noticed rather late."
"…What do you mean?"
"Anders—he's a spiritist."
Ella stopped dead in her tracks.
Ulrich and Fritz took a few more steps before halting and turning back to look at her. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, Ella stared blankly at Ulrich.
Anders… is a spiritist?
"That's impossible," the words rose to her throat—but she swallowed them.
How could that be?
No—she had thought he was a spiritist. But she had assumed he was the kind who gained spirits' favor through familiarity—not a true spiritist like her father.
"…How do you know?"
"Didn't I tell you? I received a request."
He had said that. That long ago, he had received a request from the four spirits—that he was someone who monitored duty, authority, and succession.
Was that how he knew? Just from exchanging a few words, had he already discerned Anders' true nature? As a watcher, had he been given some ability to identify successors—true spiritists?
"But… even if that's true, I still don't understand. If he's really a spiritist—a true one—then someone must have passed it on to him. So who did he inherit it from?"
Her father?
Then why hadn't either her father or Anders ever mentioned it?
"You said he had no connection to the previous spiritist."
"None at all. My father barely ever mentioned him."
"Was he perhaps from outside the village?"
Ella shook her head.
"Then he must have left the village at some point."
After thinking for a moment, Ella let out a small gasp.
"That's right… I heard he left the village for a while long ago…"
She looked at Ulrich with a dawning suspicion. His face remained expressionless, yet somehow she felt certain—he was convinced.
"It's unlikely he forcibly took over the duty and authority from the previous spiritist. Unless he had exceptional ability, there's no way he could have overthrown a spiritist within their own domain."
And her father had died suddenly—so suddenly it could be called an abrupt death. Ella had seen his body. It had been peaceful, like someone in a deep sleep, without a single wound. No one had suspected foul play.
"As you said, it would be impossible to act without anyone noticing."
"But he left the village before I was even born. While my father was alive, I never saw him handle spirits. Even after my father died, he seemed incredibly awkward at first…"
"Of course he would hide his hand. Having two spiritists in one place is like having two queen bees in a single hive. In the past, they might have managed things together—but nowadays, one pushes the other out."
"But—" Ella began.
Ulrich raised a hand, cutting her off. As if he had read her thoughts, he answered immediately.
"As for why Anders returned to his hometown, the answer is obvious. He failed to manage his own domain. Because of that failure, he had no choice but to return."
"Failed… to manage it?"
"You know what a spiritist's role is, don't you?"
"To create an environment where spirits can be born easily… isn't it?"
Ulrich stroked his chin with a low hum, and Ella shrank slightly, wondering if she had said something wrong.
"That's not incorrect—but it's not quite the full answer either. By modern standards, it might even be considered correct. After all, if you ask what a spiritist is today, you'll get completely different answers."
"Like, 'a spiritist is someone who commands spirits,' or 'someone who gains their favor as a friend,' right?"
Fritz, who had been quietly listening, spoke up.
"Exactly. There's plenty of talk like that—but few people think deeply about it anymore."
Ella recalled what the villagers expected from a spiritist.
What they wanted was prosperity. Moistening dry soil, helping newly planted seeds sprout, having spirits attend to human convenience—they desired worldly abundance.
But to her, her father had been a solemn man. His solemnity came from suppressing desire and pleasure to fulfill his duty. And that duty had, in a strange way, manifested as an obsession with nature.
That was why people praised her father, yet also said he didn't share what he had. Both Ella and Valdemar had thought so at times. He could have enjoyed so much more—so why didn't he?
"A spiritist's role, put simply, is to maintain the purity of mana flow. Cultivating the environment, creating spirits—those are not the ultimate goal in themselves."
Ulrich said that the role of a spiritist was to preserve the state of the world as it had been when the gods first shaped it.
"Of course, forms change over time, so at the very least, they sought to preserve the cycle of nature. That was the will of those four spirits—to keep the flow of mana, scattered by the gods to foster life, pure."
Because of such efforts, in ancient times the flow of mana was so pure that even without undergoing the infant consecration rite, there were no problems. There were also no years where rain or snow failed to fall.
"It was this role—and the authority granted to fulfill that inherited duty—that led people to regard spiritists as something akin to priests. But now that they're seen merely as 'friends of spirits,' that truth has been forgotten."
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