September, the golden season of autumn.

The slate-blue sky held not a single wisp of cloud.

Cool breezes danced with withered leaves and dry grass.

A crisp chill filled the air, refreshing the soul.

Closing my eyes, I felt weightless—floating in serene emptiness.

What breathtaking scenery~

But!

"Ahhh! What do I do?! Where even *is* this place?!"

I’d followed the map exactly!

My heart felt trampled by a herd of imaginary beasts.

Guess being directionally challenged meant maps were useless from the start.

The only proof I was south? My compass needle stubbornly pointing that way.

*Breathe, Sass.*

I flipped the map upside down, hunting for hidden clues.

Stared.

...Just an ordinary map.

"At least tell me this place’s name."

"Baha Balm. This is Baha Balm."

A voice answered out of nowhere.

I turned. A man stood there—calling him "uncle" felt harsh. Early thirties, maybe.

He wore a knee-length, off-white linen coat over a thin, dark green tunic. No buttons fastened the coat; only a wide red sash cinched his waist. Below, practical off-white work trousers met simple black cloth shoes. His clothes were faded with age, yet the golden-haired man radiated unshakable confidence.

Actually... pretty handsome, now that I looked.

*Wait. Not the time for this.*

"Baha Balm?!"

"Yep!"

"Isn’t this 200 kilometers from Leahdon?!"

"Eh, probably. Not my strong suit."

...I’d gotten *this* lost.

If directionlessness had levels, I was LV99.

I pressed a hand to my forehead.

"Um... anywhere nearby to stay? Cheap?"

Two months on the road had drained my coin purse. This wouldn’t do.

"Hah! Lost, lad? I’ll get you a place. Free of charge."

"Eh?! Really?! You’re a lifesaver, Uncle!"

"U-uncle?!"

"Ah—sorry! Uh... handsome guy?"

"Heh-heh. Call me Alto. Alto Balm."

"Mr. Alto. I’m Sass Vies."

"Sass? That means ‘sage’ in some tongues, you know."

"*Sage*? Hardly..."

That title was basically a death wish. Also, since when did my name mean that?

"Come on. Follow me. Windward Fortress is an hour’s walk this way."

"An hour... *sigh*."

Leaning on my cane, I trailed Alto toward Windward Fortress.

He’d noticed my cane long ago but never mentioned it—respect, I guessed.

*Thoughtful guy.*

Fields stretched endlessly along our path. Farmland dominated here.

The south never lacked water, but flood control policies focused on damming had starved downstream rivers. By autumn, some ran dry.

The crops looked stunted—no golden harvest glow in sight.

I shook my head.

"This year’s yield’ll be worse than last. How many’ll starve this winter?"

Alto’s cheerful expression dimmed.

"Floods... natural disasters. Though humans make it worse."

"Humans? The local lord cut taxes to ten percent. Still no help..."

"It’s not just taxes. Many layers to this rot."

"Like what?"

Alto leaned closer, suddenly intrigued.

*I don’t swing that way!*

I subtly shifted my position away.

"Well... the one who dammed the river? That’s human folly."

"True..."

A bitter smile flickered on his lips.

"Mostly... the Imperial Court. The capital’s failures."

"They don’t touch us directly..."

"Nothing’s ever direct. Today’s rot didn’t sprout overnight. It’s been festering."

"...Silence."

"This is decay. Rot spreads slow... terribly slow. And it *grows*."

*Did I get too abstract? Hope he didn’t understand. Actually—better if he didn’t.*

Alto stood frozen. No words. No movement.

Dusk was falling. If he kept this up, we’d reach Windward Fortress in pitch darkness!

"MR. ALTO! We have to go!"

"Gah! You startled me!"

"It’ll be night soon!"

"Right! Let’s go!"

For some reason, Alto’s smile returned.