Chapter 2616 - SB 122

"We've lost Baron Yandel…"

The subordinate who had served at his side for decades lowered his head in shame as he gave the report.

The marquis did not grow angry.

He merely closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, as if trying to calm his emotions.

"I see…"

If one were to ask whether he wasn't angry at the failure—no, that wasn't it. But emotions must have a clear target before being released.

And for the marquis, that target was himself.

As well as the world itself.

This world weaves events using invisible threads.

As if it finds some perverse delight in doing so.

'Does the world not wish for that barbarian's death…?'

They had fired the Thunderbolt.

And somehow—he didn't know how—the barbarian not only blocked it, but saved everyone.

As a result, he had collapsed, incapacitated.

According to the report, it seemed he was in such a dire state that it wouldn't have been strange if he died at any moment.

So the marquis had thought: just one more shot would finish him.

But…

"Tell me. What happened?"

"Well…"

According to the explanation, a mysterious magic circle had suddenly activated, and when they came to their senses, everything had vanished from sight.

"We are currently investigating the nature of the spell as quickly as possi—"

"There's no need. I already know what it is."

"…Sir?"

As the chancellor of Lafdonia, the marquis knew this city better than anyone.

This city is a fortress.

The greatest fortress ever built on the surface, designed to withstand and respond to any possible invasion.

Countless ancient magics are embedded within it, and a few still function even in the modern era.

"It's a type of summoning circle. It forcibly extracts everything within a narrow area."

The marquis had only heard of the situation through reports, but he understood it more quickly than anyone else.

"In that case, the one responsible must be Baron Wilkins of the Fifth Legion. As soon as the wartime state was declared, he would have been granted access to the ancient magic of District 7."

The marquis continued, piecing things together aloud.

"They couldn't react in time to the first Thunderbolt, but after that, they were surely on alert. They must have known we were targeting Baron Yandel. They would have tried to block the second strike no matter what. But the spell circle likely needed considerable time to activate…"

Tap, tap—the marquis drummed his fingers against the table.

"You mentioned there were stragglers?"

"Yes. Dozens of barbarians at the perimeter were not teleported and remained behind."

"I see… So upon seeing our troops retreating, they hastily activated an incomplete spell circle…"

Fire returned to the marquis's eyes.

"In that case, it's not too late."

"Sir?"

"That summoning circle was last used during the Siege of Iron Walls for rescue purposes. Even then, it failed to function properly due to being used in haste."

There was no chance the records were wrong.

When planning this entire operation, the royal family had reviewed every possible contingency hundreds—no, thousands—of times.

Knock knock knock—!

Urgent knocking rang out just then.

As soon as the marquis gave permission, a man entered and quickly offered his greeting.

Eltora Tertherion.

Former commander of the Third Legion—and the marquis's own son.

Yet, despite their clear blood relation, the marquis greeted his son with a question straight to the point.

"What is it?"

He was colder than when addressing his subordinates.

If one looked closely, his face even seemed displeased.

But it didn't take long for his expression to brighten.

"…There's news that the spearwoman, Ainard, has been sighted causing a disturbance in the Dimensional Plaza of District 4!"

The marquis's lips curved upward at the report.

If the spell had functioned properly, everything within the affected zone should have been teleported to the Imperial Capital.

But this proved that it had not.

'During the Siege of Iron Walls, the rescue targets were scattered randomly across the city, creating chaos, weren't they?'

Of course, if Bjorn Yandel had been lucky enough to end up in the Lafdonia region, there was nothing to be done for now.

But…

'It's too early to give up.'

Take that barbarian, for example.

As long as there was even a sliver of possibility, he would tenaciously cling to it and ultimately seize success.

There was only one way to catch such a monster.

"Eltora, relay my orders to all troops. I want every occupied district searched down to the back of every drawer and behind every wardrobe."

You have to become just as obsessive.

***

Have you ever felt the irony of fate?

If someone were to ask him that, Rotmiller could nod many times and recount his own experiences.

Losing his parents as a child.

Meeting the benefactor who taught him a way to survive.

Entering the labyrinth, only to lose companions again and again due to his lack of talent.

And despite all that…

He was the one who accompanied a man who would be remembered forever as a great hero through his first exploits.

Having grown up in a Reatlas Temple orphanage, Rotmiller considered it all fate.

Meeting people, learning new things, gaining comrades, discovering precious bonds, letting go of one thing to grasp something more important, learning emotions he never knew…

If a series of coincidences could be called fate, then his whole life had been one long chain of them.

Yeah—maybe even this very moment.

"Truly… ironic."

Rotmiller felt fate's cruel irony once more.

Because really—how else could you explain this?

An ancient magical weapon fell from the sky, and the man who seemed impossible to topple collapsed after protecting everyone.

Before they could even regroup, enemy troops poured in from all directions and overwhelmed them.

[Behell—Raaaaaaaagh!!!]

A spear-wielding barbarian carried the fallen hero on his back, and a fairy contracted with the spirit king carved open a path.

A beastkin wielding twin blades darted around rescuing the endangered, and a magician—now a leader—relentlessly cast spells while trying to find an escape.

And then—

[The enemies are withdrawing!]

The enemies who had been doggedly clinging to them suddenly pulled back like the receding tide.

[It's the Thunderbolt…!]

The moment it appeared in the sky once more—

Swooooooosh—!!

A brilliant light erupted from beneath their feet as geometric symbols formed on the ground.

His memories after that were incomplete.

When he came to, he was before the goddess statue.

[Teleportation…?]

He looked around. The temple was a ruin. Through a shattered window, he saw Noark troops patrolling the streets.

And—

Bjorn Yandel.

The man everyone called a hero lay unconscious on the floor.

There were no visible severe wounds, likely thanks to several top-grade potions having been poured over him—though his body was drenched in blood.

At this rate, he should wake up soon.

Rotmiller held onto that hope and waited quietly—but at some point, the situation turned urgent.

It wasn't that Yandel's condition had worsened.

[Search everything! The marquis demands we rip down the wallpaper if we must!]

What had seemed like simple patrols through the window now became active searches with clear objectives.

At this rate, it was only a matter of time before they found this place.

[…Yandel! Yandel! Can you hear me?!]

Rotmiller shook him in desperation. Fortunately, Yandel woke up from his deep slumber.

But—

[Don't worry. I can still mo—]

For some reason, Yandel suddenly began bleeding from every orifice and collapsed again.

His mind went blank from that point forward.

They would be here soon.

He had to get out before that.

But how…?

He didn't know.

So Rotmiller searched the ruined temple for information.

Current location: Central Branch of the Reatlas Temple in District 4.

If he could just follow the main road in front of the temple, he would reach the Imperial Capital.

If they could just get that far…

'We'll survive.'

There was just one problem with the plan.

How would they get there?

How could he possibly carry the massive barbarian, who couldn't even walk, through enemy lines and reach their destination?

Fortunately, he was used to compromise.

Rather than seeking a perfect solution, he chose the best option available to him.

'First, I need a horse and a cart.'

Rotmiller headed to the stables attached to the temple branch.

There was a cart used for transporting supplies—but no horse to pull it.

It seemed they'd already taken the horses earlier…

[Neigh—!]

Just then, like a miracle, he locked eyes with a horse that had wandered outside the fence.

Why a horse was still there didn't matter.

Maybe it had slipped through the broken fence and just happened to avoid getting looted.

What mattered was that he now had a horse and a cart.

"Whoa, easy now…"

Having tended to horses as a child at the orphanage, Rotmiller calmly took the reins.

After securing the horse to the cart—

"Ugh…"

He somehow lifted the massive barbarian and loaded him into the cart.

He bent the oversized body sideways to keep the legs from sticking out and stacked hay around it.

Finally, he threw a large cloth over everything, turning it into a perfect supply wagon.

The problem now was…

Would this work?

Could he really make it safely?

If they failed, they'd both die.

Wouldn't it be wiser to act alone to survive?

As the doubts lingered, resentment welled up.

Why me?

Surely the man had comrades with far more skill.

Surely, there were plenty of people in this city who would gladly help him without being asked.

Yet in this moment—when help was desperately needed—

Why him?

"Damn it all…"

A muttered curse slipped out.

He shook Yandel, begging him to wake, fell into despair when he didn't, cursed fate, and felt shame at his own ugliness.

"But still…"

Inside the ruined temple, surrounded by shattered goddess statues, he steeled himself.

"I've got no choice."

Sometimes, life throws things in your path.

Frightening things—but ones you must get past.

Yeah, so—

"Twilight stars shall guide us…"

He rode into the streets, full of enemies.

A cart trailed behind the horse he rode.

Clip, clop.

The pace was slow.

So slow that even a trot would've been faster.

And it wasn't stealthy either.

Rattle, creak.

The cart wheels groaned with every turn, and each creak felt like a cannon blast to his ears.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

His heart pounded so hard it made him dizzy, but he forced a calm expression.

Because he wasn't strong like Yandel's other companions.

He couldn't mow down hundreds or use clever spells to solve crises.

So /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ all he could do—

'Please…'

Was desperately pray that his trick would work.

That was the best he could do.

And maybe it did.

"…"

The first Noark soldier he met only gave him a glance, not even bothering to question him or act suspicious.

Apparently, slowly walking down the street with a cart wasn't strange enough to raise suspicion.

"Whew…"

He had acted with confidence, believing it could work—but now that it was working, he felt completely drained.

Still, he'd only passed one soldier.

Rattle, creak, rattle—

The road ahead was long and painful, just like the slow pace of the cart.

But it wasn't anything new.

His life had always been this way.

Two, three…

It took him eight years of crawling through the labyrinth to reach seventh-rank explorer.

Four, five, six…

He had started slower than anyone.

Most entered the labyrinth as soon as they became adults, but he first set foot inside at the age of 26.

Ten, twenty, thirty…

He ran like mad to make up for the delay.

But he was always behind, always left behind, always enduring that pain.

So this was nothing new.

Going slow—

That, perhaps, was the thing he was best at in this whole world.

"Hey."

The 71st Noark soldier he passed stopped and approached him.

"Which unit are you from? I want to check what's in the cart."

-x-X-x-

One of the Noark soldiers approached to inspect the cart. However, it didn't feel like he was sincerely performing his duty. Regardless of his sleazy appearance, that distinctive attitude seeped from his voice.

"What's this? Why aren't you talking? Got something expensive in there?"

Hearing that, Rotmiller understood. This man's goal was purely to satisfy his own greed.

"…It's just food."

He said it hoping to draw away interest and be left alone, but the Noark soldier only grinned.

"Food? Say something that makes sense. Hey, brother? Don't be so heartless. We're all just trying to survive here."

"What is it that you want?"

"Nothing big, just asking you to share a bit. We're all in this mess together, right?"

Rotmiller sighed inwardly. How did I end up getting noticed by someone like this? Or maybe… I should be grateful it was someone like him?

'If I'm lucky, I might be able to resolve this with just a conversation.'

With that decision made, Rotmiller pulled out a few items of high monetary value from [Treasure Vault].

"This is all I can give. So please, be satisfied with this."

The items he handed over were valuable assets, but he didn't particularly feel regret. And why would he? If something like this could save Bjorn Yandel, then it was absurdly cheap.

But—

"Oh, something this valuable?"

There was one problem with the solution Rotmiller had chosen. Since retiring from exploration and spending his days teaching young warriors in the Sanctuary, Rotmiller had momentarily forgotten. The greed of beasts has no end, and there definitely are beasts who speak like humans.

And so—

"But hey, the more I think about it…"

If you look weak, you'll get bitten.

"This doesn't seem like enough."

The Noark soldier's voice now carried deeper greed and confidence. It was simple. Because Rotmiller had given valuables away after a few words, he now looked easy. Even more so—

"What kind of stuff are you hiding to give something like this away? Let me have a quick look inside."

In the Noark man's logic, Rotmiller must be hiding something more valuable, which was why he gave away these items.

"…Didn't you hear me? I said I want to see inside."

The man who had kept a careful distance at first was now clearly ready to use force to check inside the cart.

"Do you really have to look inside…?"

"And what if I do?"

A confident grin appeared on the Noark soldier's face, and Rotmiller let out another long sigh in his mind.

'Sigh… So this is how it ends after all.'

He quickly finished that fleeting hesitation and nodded.

"Fine, then take a look. But as I said, it really is just food inside."

"Bullshit. You think I'm stupid? Must've hidden it real well, huh?"

The Noark soldier sneered and approached the cart. But the moment his greedy hand reached for the tarp—

Puk-

Rotmiller drove a dagger taken from [Treasure Vault] deep into the man's neck.

"…Huh?"

Even after getting stabbed in the throat, the man's eyes showed confusion, as if he still didn't know what had happened. He collapsed to the ground.

Rotmiller slowly looked around.

Thump-

Every nearby Noark soldier was staring at him. It was no surprise—after the commotion, he had just slit a man's throat.

But now Rotmiller understood. Until now, he hadn't fully grasped what kind of place Noark really was—he'd only heard the stories.

"..."

"..."

Even among the Noark soldiers who were actively searching the area, there was no suspicion in their eyes. No surprise over someone being killed. No fear. Only thick, greedy desire filled their gazes.

That's why Rotmiller shouted back at them.

"Fuck are you looking at?"

"..."

"If you don't wanna die, mind your own damn business and get back to work."

A shout to avoid looking weak. But those sticky stares didn't go away.

Thwip-

Rotmiller pulled the dagger from the man's neck. And then—

'Shit, shit, shit, shit…'

Cursing nonstop in his head, he began slicing the dead man's neck like sawing through it.

Shk, shk-

He cut through the flesh, and even separated the hard spinal bone. The head, now completely detached from the body, was thrust onto the spike mounted to the left side of the cart.

And then—

"What, you wanna be mounted on the right side too?"

When he said that to everyone watching, only then did the Noark soldiers finally lose interest and return to their duties.

Clack, clack.

The cart, which had come to a stop, began moving again. A bit faster than before.

Clack, clack.

As it rolled forward, Rotmiller began to understand why goblins and orcs wore bone decorations. They may seem grotesque to human eyes—but in reality, they were extremely practical tools of barbarism. Exactly like this.

"…Who the hell is that?"

"Where's he taking that cart? Should we ask?"

"Leave him alone. Guy looks fucking nuts."

People they passed by didn't just ignore him—they actively avoided him. No one imagined that inside the cart—rolling through the street with a severed human head on display—was the very man they had been desperately searching for:

Bjorn Yandel.

Clack, clack.

The cart, which had picked up speed, only came to a stop again when the distant city wall had clearly come into view.

"You. Who are you? Don't seem like we share the same hobby, but you're interesting."

A mage holding a staff stepped out and blocked the cart's path. The mage didn't even seem to care about the mounted head—nor did he act like it mattered.

"Then what exactly were you trying to protect to pull off such a cute little act…?"

With those words, a strong gust of wind surged forward.

Swaaahhhhh—!

The tarp covering the cart couldn't resist the wind and fluttered into the air, revealing to the world what had been hidden inside.

Truly unfortunate.

"Bjorn Yandel…!"

"That's Bjorn Yandel…!!!"

There wasn't a single person in this city who didn't know that face.

***

Thanks to the sudden appearance of the bear and its help, Sven Parab managed to escape safely from the Eastern Branch and made it out onto the street. And then—

Boom—!

He shattered the well that was connected to the secret passage, ending any concerns about being pursued. In front of ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) the well, familiar faces were waiting for him.

"Mr. Parab…!"

From Riris Marone, who threw herself into his arms in tears, to the refugees expressing their thanks, to the bear woman…

And—

"Haha, good to meet you. First time, right? I'm Hikurod Murad. In a way, you could call me your senior."

With a hearty laugh, the dwarf reached out his thick hand for a handshake.

"Senior…?"

"Ah! Mr. Murad used to be one of Mr. Yandel's teammates!"

At Marone's explanation, Sven Parab nodded. Come to think of it, he had heard about someone like that in the past.

"Oh, the one who retired and runs a forge now…"

"That's right! Though now, I'm on the verge of losing everything again! Hahaha!"

"It's a real pleasure to meet you. But what brings you here…?"

"It's because of that guy over there. Said he was going alone to rescue his wife, but how could I let someone who can't even find the road go off on his own?"

The dwarf gestured toward the direction where the bear woman's husband had gone, and that's when Sven Parab finally had a chance to introduce himself.

"I'm Avman Urikfrit."

"Ah…! I've heard of you. I'm Sven Parab."

"Let me say it again—I really mean it. Thank you. You saved my wife and child, didn't you?"

"Ah… It was something I had to do."

"Even so, gratitude is gratitude. If anything happens again, just say the word. I'll drop everything and come running."

Even as he listened to the heartfelt thanks, Parab felt a strange emotion. Was this what people meant when they said fate worked in strange ways? The woman he saved just happened to be the wife of one of Yandel's old comrades. But thinking about it… it was because he chose to save that woman that he survived. It all tied together.

"By the way, did you and Mr. Murad ever work together?"

At that moment, Marone looked between the two and asked. The dwarf answered on their behalf.

"Haha, not exactly. I'm technically his senior."

"Really? You two seemed so close that I thought otherwise…"

"We became friends over time. We both ran businesses, we drink well… and we've got Yandel in common."

"Ah, I see. I was wondering if I had misunderstood and you'd actually been on the same team."

So that was the story. Makes sense now. Even today, it was the connection to "Yandel's comrade" that brought them together like this.

"Then who was on the same team with Mr. Murad? I know about Mr. Yandel, Ms. Kalstein, and that mage… but I don't think I've heard of the last one."

"Ah, Brown Rotmiller. He was the guide of our team. In a way, he's this kid's direct senior, right? I heard he's been teaching young warriors about exploration back at the Sanctuary these days…"

"Oh, I see."

"Now that I think about it, we've both been so busy that we haven't even seen each other in ages. Once this is all over, I ought to go find him and have a drink."

The dwarf smiled with a fond look in his eyes.

***

Swaaahhhhh—!

With a sharp sound, the gust of wind lifted the tarp off the cart, and the situation became brutally simple.

"..."

"..."

Even the mage who had playfully peeled back the tarp with a mischievous voice fell into a brief silence.

"Bjorn Yandel…!"

"Bjorn Yandel…!"

"That's Bjorn Yandel…!!!"

As if time, which had stopped, resumed all at once, voices erupted. But Rotmiller wasn't afraid. His mind went blank for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure and thought.

Currently, District 4 is under Noark's occupation. But that doesn't mean Noark controls the wall between District 4 and the imperial capital. The wall is still under control of the royal army, and the Noark forces are maintaining a front line far from it. And aside from the area around the gate, the front isn't even that wide…

'If I can just break through here…'

Then maybe this will work. The royal army should be watching from atop the wall. They'll open the gates and send reinforcements. They'll save Yandel.

Yeah. That's why…

"…I'm sorry."

With a short apology—

Thwack—!

He stabbed an arrowhead into the horse's hindquarters.

Neigh!!!

Startled by the sharp pain, the horse bolted forward. The mage, frozen in place at the sight of Yandel, rolled out of the way, momentarily clearing the path.

Of course, the odds of breaking through the enemy lines and reaching the wall were almost nonexistent…

But—

'It's not zero.'

Living with the barbarians, Rotmiller had learned something naturally. That giving up without trying is the dumbest thing you can do.

And really, isn't it true? It's better to fail than to surrender.

Thump—!

Especially when you've got nothing left to lose.

"Yeah! Behell—raaaaaaaaah!!"

Rotmiller shouted the battle cry he'd heard so many times it was ingrained in his skull—for the first time himself. And at that moment—

"Behell—raaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!"

As if in answer, a true barbarian war cry erupted from somewhere. Hearing the voices of countless barbarians, Rotmiller could immediately tell who one of them was.

'Huh, that voice… Ainard…?'

-x-X-x-

When you live in the Barbarian Sanctuary, something you hear thousands of times a day is the battle cry. Even when eating, it's "Behella," even when chopping wood, it's "Behella." They shouted the name of their ancestral god at every opportunity, and thanks to that, Rotmiller gradually learned to distinguish them. Even though they all seemed the same at first, each battle cry actually had its own character…

This particular one had three distinctive traits.

"Behell—laaaaaaaa!!!"

First, the pitch of 'Be' ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ started low. Then there was a habit of taking a deep breath between 'hell' and 'la'… and most importantly, the voice was female.

'Ainard…?'

And that guess turned out to be right. When he turned toward the direction of the sound, Rotmiller spotted Ainard standing on the balcony of a four-story building.

Chwaaak!

A pair of wings spread behind her. From a distance, even at a glance, she looked impressive, holding a fine green glaive in her hand.

"A-a divine spear…!"

"I thought she was supposed to be in the plaza!"

Rotmiller didn't know why Ainard was there, but the reason didn't matter. What mattered was that their odds of turning this crisis around had just risen dramatically.

Boom—!

Ainard leapt from the rooftop of the four-story building and landed beside the cart, which had been charging forward like mad.

And then—

Neigh—!

Running at the same speed as the horse with an arrow stuck in its rump, she asked, "Tell me, guide. What should I do?" A question condensed down to only the essentials—very barbarian-like. "I'm not smart, so I don't know. So tell me. What do I need to do to save Yandel?"

From that short question came a heavy sense of trust. Rotmiller, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of emotion, forced himself to remain calm. If he was trusted, he had to answer that trust.

"If we can just get to the wall, the Royal Army is highly likely to come out and help. So—"

"Make it easy to understand."

"Just clear the path up front!"

"…Simple enough."

The moment Rotmiller gave the order, Ainard's figure surged forward.

Thwack—!

She swung and thrust her green glaive, cutting through the enemies blocking the path. Her wings fluttered behind her, and not a single enemy managed to block her spear properly. Watching her from behind, it was almost enough to make one believe that a warrior woman had descended from the heavens to save Bjorn Yandel.

"Behell—laaaaaaaa!!!"

Now, the enemies didn't even dare to block her, and the cart began speeding up rapidly. The faster they moved, the closer they got to the wall.

But of course, things couldn't go smoothly until the very end.

Shhk.

A man stepped out into their path—one of the few who didn't shrink back. Rotmiller didn't know who he was. But…

Ainard, who had been confidently laughing and swinging her spear at anyone who dared to stand in her way, suddenly froze. Even her voice dropped.

"From here on, you'll have to go alone. I'm leaving Yandel in your hands, guide."

She said this while still running. And at that moment—

Fwoooooosh—!

The world darkened as if night had fallen, and goosebumps spread across their skin.

「Roland Banossant has cast [Black Evil Eye].」

Hundreds of eerie eyes opened in the darkness that spread across the city. In the same instant, everything froze. Everything—except two people.

"Good thing I showed up," said a man, calmly walking forward, his strange eyes glowing.

And then—

"Behell—laaaaaaaa!!!"

With a battle cry, the warrior woman thrust her spear.

Fwoooooosh—!

The powerful gust from her strike blew outward, but the tip stabbed only empty air.

However—

Crackle—!

The darkness shattered as if it were breaking glass, and time began moving again.

"Khk…"

The man, who had been so relaxed, staggered backward as if struck unexpectedly. Ainard charged at him and shouted, "Go!"

Rotmiller took the reins and drove the cart forward. Honestly, he hadn't done much. The horse, already crazed, had kicked off the moment the darkness lifted. All Rotmiller did was guide it with the reins.

Rattle, rattle—!

The cart rolled forward.

Behind him, the sounds of superhuman battle rang out, but Rotmiller didn't look back. He focused all his attention on one thing—getting the cart to that wall.

But…

"Catch him…!"

"Stop him!"

Once Ainard disappeared, the enemies who had been lying low started chasing him again.

And the problem was—

'Shit.'

The cart was slowing down.

Well, of course it was. Even though it had wheels, it was still carrying a massive barbarian and a grown man. At this point, fatigue was unavoidable.

Thunk—! Fssshhh—!

Rotmiller dropped the reins, climbed onto the cart, and began shooting a crossbow at the pursuers.

But it wasn't very effective. He wasn't a powerhouse like Ainard.

"Just ordinary arrows with no special power!"

"He's nothing!"

They'd stepped aside for Ainard without a word, but these men were still far stronger than Rotmiller. A few bolts did land on target occasionally, but…

"Catch him…!"

The distance between them and the cart narrowed quickly. At this rate, they'd catch up. A decision had to be made, but there was no time to calmly think it through.

"I'm out of bolts!"

He had no more crossbow bolts. And then—

Thwack—!

An enemy skill struck his right shoulder, rendering his arm useless.

To put it simply, staying on this cart meant doing nothing but adding weight. Countless thoughts raced through his head. Was this the end? When Yandel appeared in the Sanctuary, he thought there was still more story left for him. But is this really the end of his?

No—maybe not.

There was still one way. If he pushed this heavy barbarian off the cart, he might survive. They weren't chasing him—they were after Yandel. If he did that, the cart would likely reach the wall safely, and Rotmiller would survive.

But…

'Now I think I understand.'

Back in the Sanctuary, when he sensed death approaching, Rotmiller hadn't fully understood. He couldn't comprehend what his mage friend was thinking in that final moment. He could only guess, never truly grasp it.

But now, maybe he understood just a little.

'No matter how scared you are—'

Like the barbarians who entered the labyrinth, like the warriors who smiled through pain—'you just can't run.'

Like a breeze clearing away fog, his mind cleared.

Dwalke hadn't been great. He was just like Rotmiller—ordinary. He'd feared death, longed to keep living, looked back at his life and saw only regrets and mistakes. He probably wanted to flee and fix everything.

But he hadn't run.

He'd done the best he could—and as a result, he'd saved everyone.

'Yeah…'

If it weren't for him, the story would've ended long ago. Even agonizing over this was foolish.

So…

"I'm sorry, but from here on, you'll have to go alone."

He offered a final goodbye to the unconscious man who couldn't hear him.

But maybe he really was just an ordinary person after all—because even at the end, he still had lingering feelings. So he took out a pen from the [Treasure Vault].

And—

Scratch, scratch.

He wrote something on his thick palm. He couldn't write much, given the urgency of the moment, but even that small act helped clear away his regrets.

Maybe even that last message was selfish, but…

'This much selfishness… should be okay.'

Rotmiller gripped a dagger in the same hand that had held the pen and jumped off the cart. He swung it at the enemies rushing toward him, again and again.

"What the hell is this bastard?"

Hot blades tore through his body.

Rattle, rattle.

The squeaky sound of the cart wheels grew fainter.

He didn't need to turn around to know.

Rattle, rattle.

That cart would make it. To that towering wall.

***

It felt like waking from a deep sleep.

His body was heavy, but his mind was clear. It felt like he'd had a long dream, though he couldn't remember what it was about.

"Where… is this?"

He looked up and saw what seemed to be the ceiling of a military tent. Slowly, he raised his upper body to look around. Nothing gave a clear clue about where he was. It looked like a Royal Army tent…

But why was he lying here?

"…Rotmiller."

As he tried to piece together his memory, fragments of what happened before he lost consciousness started to fall into place. The thunderstrike. Blocking it. And when he barely came to—Rotmiller had been at his side.

'What… the hell happened?'

He was confused. He needed information. Just as he was about to get up completely from the bed, a knight entered the tent.

A familiar face.

"…Astarotta?"

Royal Knight, Astarotta Berun. A temporary ally who had disappeared along with Raven after being dragged to the Netherworld by the Corpse Collector.

"You're finally awake."

"Why am I here? Where's Raven?"

"One question at a time, maybe?"

Really now, a bit cold to someone who just woke up.

"Where's Raven?"

"She's safe. She'll be here soon—she got word of your condition."

Phew… good.

"Then tell me. Where is this place, and why am I here?"

"This is the imperial capital, Karnon. As for why a baron like you is in a soldier's tent—it's for security."

"Security?"

"The moment your location is revealed, another thunderstrike will hit."

"…What?"

"Looks like the Chancellor's getting heated. Every time your position is discovered, he starts firing off thunderstrikes."

So it really was the Marquis who did that.

That's useful information—but it's not what he was asking.

"Astarotta, what I want to know isn't why I'm in a soldier's tent. I want to know everything that happened while I was unconscious."

"Oh, that?"

Astarotta casually made a face and then explained what had happened.

It was pretty simple.

The second thunderstrike fell, and Baron Wilkins, commander of the 5th Legion, activated an ancient summoning spell embedded in the city. Because it required a long casting time and was used in haste, a "side effect" occurred.

That side effect: the summoning coordinates became randomized.

"So in the end, everyone there was scattered all over the city at random?"

"Better than everyone dying, right?"

Well… yeah, that's true.

"So I just got lucky and landed here?"

"No way. You fell right in the middle of enemy territory—District 4. And someone else brought you here to the capital while you were unconscious."

"Someone else… Rotmiller! You mean Brown Rotmiller?!"

"Probably."

"What happened to Rotmiller?!"

He asked in a rush. Astarotta, unfazed, responded calmly.

"He's dead."

"...…What?"

"According to reports from the wall garrison, when the cart slowed down, he jumped off and held the enemies back."

Uh…

"And that shield warrior, Ainard Prnelin, who helped you escape? She was captured."

Rotmiller dead, Ainard captured…?

Too much information flooded in at once. His mind couldn't keep up. Astarotta gave a dry chuckle.

"You're way more soft-hearted than you look. I'll step out until you pull yourself together. Oh, and one last thing…"

"…?"

"Your palm."

Leaving those cryptic words behind, Astarotta exited the tent. He sat vacantly on the bed, then raised his arm and flipped his hand upward.

There, written hastily, were a few words. And the moment he read them, it all became real.

[Treat Miss Shabin well. She's a good woman.]

…It hadn't been a dream.

-x-X-x-

"Sir, if it's not too presumptuous, may I ask you one question?"

The old man with white hair sipped his tea without a word upon hearing the wolf-masked man's inquiry.

And then…

"Presumptuous? Nonsense. Go ahead."

"Why did you stop him from heading °• N 𝑜 v l i g h t •° to the Sanctuary? Forgive me, but I truly cannot understand your reasoning."

"What part is hard to understand?"

To the old man's question, the wolf mask replied.

"As a result of him going to the Sanctuary, Brown Rotmiller, a 7th-rank explorer, died, and Sven Parab became a 'Saint.' Ah, of course, he's not fully there yet."

"Hmm?"

"In the end, he lost a useless guide but gained a comrade far more useful for the journey. So I can't help but wonder why you told him not to head to the Sanctuary."

"Ah, so that's what this is about…"

Hearing the wolf mask's doubt, the old man gave a kindly smile. But if you looked closely, his eyes sparkled with the mischief of a prankster.

"Where's the fun in just telling you?"

"…Excuse me?"

"Why don't you try thinking it through? Why do you suppose I did it?"

Presented with a question in return, the wolf mask fell into thought before speaking cautiously.

"I believe it must be one of three things."

"Go on."

"The first is that you predicted how he would act."

"You're saying I told him not to go to the Sanctuary precisely because I knew he'd disobey—like a disobedient frog. Incorrect. If that were the case, why would I have sent you to offer the advice? He would've gone there on his own if left alone."

"Yes… That was part of my confusion too."

"And the second?"

"The second… is if Brown Rotmiller was fated to die no matter which path he took."

"Oh?"

"Of course, that wouldn't explain why you tried to send him to District 7 in the first place… but I thought perhaps you didn't want Sven Parab to become a Saint."

"Interesting. Go on."

"You've said it before, haven't you? That Sven Parab has a soul attuned to the divine. That even uncontracted dark gods might speak to him first."

"I did say that."

"So I wondered if perhaps you feared Sven Parab might grasp the hand of a dark god instead. After all, a priest of Karui could be more dangerous than a Saint. Either way, he'd still be helpful to the journey."

The old man smiled warmly at the second theory.

"I'm glad I asked your thoughts. That's quite the compelling worldline."

"So… I was wrong again?"

"Yes. If he had gone to District 7, Sven Parab would have died."

"I see…"

The wolf mask's voice deflated, as if a masterstroke had missed the mark.

"The third possibility… is that Brown Rotmiller is more valuable than Sven Parab, even as a newly ascended Saint…"

Even to himself, that seemed unlikely.

How could a retired 7th-rank guide be worth more than a soon-to-be holy knight Saint—?

"That's the correct answer."

"…Excuse me?"

"I judged that, for his journey, Brown Rotmiller would be of far greater help."

The wolf mask couldn't comprehend it.

Still, drawing from his experiences following the elder and observing the fates of countless people, he offered one more hypothesis.

"…Sven Parab actually hinders his journey, doesn't he."

He spoke with certainty.

It was the only thing that made sense.

Something that seemed like a plus turning out to be a minus.

Fate was full of strange and fickle twists—such cases weren't rare—

"Wrong again."

"…What?"

Surprised by his own voice cracking, the wolf mask looked at the old man, who now turned his gaze to the window.

"Sven Parab will contribute as much to the journey as we hoped."

"…And yet you still chose Brown Rotmiller."

"Judging the future by only what a person is now… that's a foolish thing to do. Who's to say kings and nobles are born with royal blood? Even a beggar can become a king in this world."

"…Are you saying Rotmiller had that kind of talent?"

The old man chuckled softly at the binary thinking, shaking his head.

And then…

"He didn't have that kind of talent. But all value is determined by what is recorded."

His voice grew heavy with regret.

"If Brown Rotmiller had survived, he would've left a far greater legacy in this world."

But of course, that future no longer existed in this world.

***

It feels like I just shut my eyes for a moment.

That's why it doesn't feel real.

I didn't see it with my own eyes, didn't experience it firsthand—I only heard about it afterward, once everything was already over.

Maybe they got it wrong somehow?

That naïve hope refuses to leave my head.

But…

[Be good to Miss Shabin. She's a good woman.]

There's no way.

Ainard Prnelin has been captured and taken prisoner.

And Brown Rotmiller, my first guide, is dead.

That's the unchangeable reality.

Which is why…

Crunch.

I clench my fist.

Where did it all go wrong?

Before heading to the Sanctuary, the "wolf mask" gave me a warning.

If I go to District 7, A will die.

If I go to the Sanctuary, B will die.

So I assumed A was Rotmiller.

And I went to the Sanctuary just as planned—ended up saving Rotmiller, who was in danger at the time.

But now…

"B was Rotmiller…?"

So the result of heading to the Sanctuary was his death.

It's not like I'm blaming myself, saying I killed him. I'm not that stupid.

I know the difference between what I can and can't do.

I'm not the type to beat myself up over failures I had no control over.

Yeah, I've always been that way.

"…"

But then, what is this goddamn feeling?

This barbarian body, branded with deep violence, begins to boil.

I want to fight.

Until I stop thinking.

I want to smash everything in sight.

But I hold it in.

Because this barbarian body isn't Ihansu's.

Breaking a mouse or keyboard won't cut it anymore…

A wise warrior knows how to wait for the right moment.

Wait for the moment I can release this feeling—

Sffft.

At that moment, the tent entrance lifted, and someone stepped inside.

Arua Raven. A welcome face.

But something was off.

"…!"

Our eyes met, and Raven froze in place at the entrance.

Her complexion pale, her small white body trembling like a leaf.

What… did something bad happen to her?

That's what I thought—just as I was barely calming the urge to destroy again, the fire began to rise anew.

"…I-I'm sorry."

Seeing Raven avert her eyes in fear, I realized.

"I-I'll just… stay outside until you've calmed down…"

It was me Raven was afraid of.

"Hoo…"

I let out a long breath, like I was expelling every toxin in my body. Then I called out to Raven, who was about to bolt.

"Don't go. I've calmed down now."

Raven looked back at me cautiously, studying me, and finally let out a breath of relief.

And then…

"…I heard what happened, too."

She struggled for a long time, unsure of what to say, and finally offered that small comfort.

"…"

I didn't reply.

Because I felt like I'd boil over again.

But there was one thing I had to ask.

"Do you know what happened to Rotmiller's body?"

"Um… I don't think you want to hear this…"

"Don't worry. I've calmed down."

"Uh… I really don't think you should—"

"I said I'm fine."

Raven only looked at me with eyes that clearly said I wasn't fine, hesitating to the very end.

And in the end, the answer came from outside the tent.

"Noark soldiers took his head. Once it's confirmed he was your comrade, they'll claim it as a military achievement."

Thump—!

My heart pounded.

Unbelievably fast.

Crack.

My jaw clenched.

So tight I worried I'd lose a tooth.

"You might've been hoping to use the Resurrection Stone… but too bad."

My heart thundered again.

"That bloodlust—mind reining it in? I'm fine, but… she looks like she's about to die."

Haa…

Seeing Raven trembling again like she was about to seize up, I forced myself to reel everything back in.

And to think about something else, I changed the topic.

"What happened to you all? Where's that Vivian?"

"After you disappeared with the Corpse Collector, Orkulis's leader showed up. There was a battle… long story short, we were the first to retreat."

"…What?"

"I mean—we didn't run, exactly. We pulled back at a reasonable point."

She talked about how she'd done it to protect Raven, or how they could've won if they fought properly…

But only she knows the truth.

Anyway, here's the summary of what happened next.

The leader, who originally came after me, realized I was a royal knight and changed targets.

While the leader chased Astarotta, I slipped out of the underworld at just the right time.

After entering the capital, Astarotta recovered from her injuries and rested for a while.

Ah, and Vivian, who had tagged along, got thrown in prison, apparently?

"She's useless now anyway. Thought about just executing her, but decided to keep her alive just in case."

After regrouping, they tried to find me—but the ancient magic caused them to lose track of me.

When word came that I'd entered the capital unconscious, they rushed over.

"So now I want to ask—what are you going to do?"

At Astarotta's question, I closed my eyes for a moment.

What should I do now?

It didn't take long to decide.

"First, we have to rescue Ainard. No matter what."

"I see."

Astarotta nodded at my answer.

Then she asked:

"And how?"

"…"

"Just so you know, all we've heard is that she was taken prisoner. We have no idea where she is now, or if she's even alive."

Right, of course…

We need intel first.

"Astarotta, I have a request."

"Speak."

"Even if it's only in the areas the royal family still controls—can you gather the scattered comrades and bring them together?"

"No need to ask. That's already underway."

"I see… good."

She may seem rigid, but in moments like these, she proves she knows what she's doing.

"If you need anything, or once your plan is set, call for me again."

With that, Astarotta left the tent once more.

I sat quietly on the bed, turning things over in my mind.

I reviewed every piece of information I had, checking for anything I might've missed. Every few minutes, I bothered Astarotta again.

Where was Ainard?

Were there any more comrades stranded in enemy territory?

And—was the Marquis's location still unknown?

In a wartime scenario like this, I had no choice but to rely on military intelligence.

But no matter how long I waited, no news came. I was starting to feel the pressure.

'…Wait a second.'

The information I'd been desperately seeking came from an entirely unexpected place.

Thinking of the Marquis led me to think of Ragna.

Thinking of Ragna reminded me of that girl who was like Ragna's right hand—Hyeonbyeol.

And that led me to remember the 'Love Note' she gave me a long time ago…

'No way…'

I hurriedly pulled out the 'Love Note'—and there really was writing on it.

It boiled down to two things:

[Ainard Prnelin, Alminus Central Bank Basement Vault.]

Presumed current location.

And…

[Execution Scheduled.]

Current status.

-x-X-x-

Alminus Central Bank.

The place where all the world's wealth flows, and with all manner of treasures locked away in private vaults, it's no exaggeration to call it a dragon's nest.

And naturally, with such a concentration of gold and jewels, the security is top-tier…

Even I have to admit, it seems like a far better place than the security bureau or guild underground prison—

To imprison someone important.

"Isn't it a little too obvious…?"

That was Raven's response after I explained the situation to her.

"Harin Suevi? I don't know why you two were exchanging something like a 'Love Note' in the first place, but she's the right hand of Countess Peproc. And Peproc is obviously aligned with the Marquis faction."

"…"

"This is clearly a trap. I hate to say it, but why do you think they didn't just kill Ainard on the spot and dragged her away instead?"

To be honest, I had been thinking the same thing.

Of course, Raven doesn't know that Harin Suevi is Hyeonbyeol, or what kind of relationship she has with me.

And I don't believe Hyeonbyeol intentionally fed me false intel to mislead me, either.

But…

'A trap is still a trap.'

Even if the info came from Hyeonbyeol, the fact that it reached my ears at all is the problem.

If the Noark side had really wanted to keep this top secret, it never should've reached me.

'And considering that bastard Marquis's personality…'

It goes beyond "maybe a trap." It's 100%.

Like Raven said, the fact that they kept Ainard alive rather than killing her is suspicious enough.

So I figured they'd try negotiating or something—but now they're saying execution scheduled?

Too transparent.

But…

'If it's right now…'

This might be the golden window.

Because the info came through Hyeonbyeol.

Even the Royal Army probably hasn't received it yet. Which means they'd never imagine I already know.

In short, there's a good chance the trap hasn't been fully set up yet—

'I have to move fast.'

Time is short.

***

A building directly across from the Alminus Central Bank.

It used to be the headquarters of the Alminus Merchant Guild, but had long since been looted and reduced to ruins.

And in that building, a woman was hiding quietly.

"Lady Emily…?"

"Quiet. I'm thinking."

Amelia Rainwales stared out the window.

But just by looking, could anyone really know what she was thinking?

"Even for you, Lady Emily, this is too much… I won't ask you to retreat to the capital or to District 3. But at least stay hidden and rest until your wounds heal."

Auyen's voice was full of concern. And his sincerity matched it.

He didn't know what the others thought of a former marauder like himself, but to him, Amelia and Yandel were saviors.

He couldn't just sit by and watch.

"Besides… you don't even have one arm right now."

Auyen pressed a little harder.

Under normal circumstances, maybe. But right now, Amelia's right arm was severely injured.

It happened during a chase with Noark forces—not that the entire arm had been blown off or anything.

But in some ways, it was worse.

Her forearm's bones and muscles had been completely split vertically. And due to her unique essence, she couldn't even take potions.

"You only just stopped the bleeding—what exactly do you think you can do in that state?"

He wasn't literally clinging to her legs, but his tone and posture weren't far off from begging.

But…

"I said I'm thinking, didn't I."

Amelia replied, flat as ever, not batting an eye.

Which only made Auyen more nervous.

Because he knew what "thinking" meant in her case.

It wasn't about deciding whether to do something.

The decision was already made.

She was only contemplating how to do it.

"Do you think Captain Yandel would approve if he knew what you were doing?"

Auyen finally played his trump card—and only then did Amelia's gaze shift from the window to him.

"...."

Just her gaze was enough to make him feel overwhelmed.

But even trembling, Auyen didn't look away.

"Auyen Rockrove, you're crossing the line."

"I don't have a choice. To stop someone who already crossed it, I have to cross it too."

A clear declaration: he wouldn't back down.

At that, the cold killing aura around Amelia dispersed. She sighed, as if admitting defeat.

And then, in a gentler tone:

"It's not like I don't know it's dangerous. But this is something I have to do."

"Why?"

"…Because I don't want Ainard Prnelin to die."

That was the root of everything.

They # Nоvеlight # happened to be hiding in a building near the route Ainard was being transported—and once they saw her being led into the bank, they began tracking her.

"Why do you think she'll die? If they wanted her dead, they wouldn't have taken her alive. No, they're definitely trying to use her as leverage against the royal family or Captain Yandel."

"Maybe. That's possible."

"Exactly. So first—"

"But what if not?"

Amelia cut him off.

"What if I waited, thinking the time wasn't right—and she ends up dying in that bank?"

"…Even if that happens, it wouldn't be your fault."

He wasn't lying.

But as he said it, Auyen found himself averting his gaze.

Amelia chuckled softly at that.

"You don't need to say that. Honestly, you're not wrong."

Amelia herself once believed in such logic.

Survive by any means necessary. No matter what.

"…Ah! Then—!"

"That's enough."

Amelia ended the conversation.

She wasn't skilled at persuasion.

In truth, she didn't even know what she could say to explain it.

"I'll be careful. You just stay hidden here."

It was more of a notice than a request.

And Auyen didn't argue further.

"Yes… please be careful…"

Amelia didn't respond.

At some point, her presence disappeared from Auyen's sight—and he was alone.

"...."

The third floor office of the ruined merchant building.

In the empty stillness, Auyen stepped to the window and watched the bank's front entrance.

But no matter how long he stared, he didn't see Amelia.

Which, of course, made sense.

She wouldn't go in the front if she was trying to be stealthy.

Even if she did, he wouldn't have been able to see it.

"…Please be safe."

He had no religion, but he closed his eyes and prayed.

Then kept a wary watch on the bank, just in case something happened outside.

How long had passed?

"What the—there really is someone here."

"Told you. I sensed life energy."

Startled by voices behind him, Auyen turned around.

And at that moment—

Thunk—!

A blunt weapon smashed into his forehead, and he collapsed.

As his consciousness faded, he heard the voices of the Noark soldiers.

"So who the hell is this guy?"

"Isn't he one of Yandel's scattered comrades?"

"Eh, I doubt it. Guy passed out from one hit. No way he's a real comrade."

"Probably just a regular civilian hiding out, or a transferred explorer. I heard hundreds of barbarians and a bunch of small clans were mixed in."

"Hmm. So he's one of those, then."

They tried to guess his identity.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—they didn't recognize him as a member of the Anabada Clan.

Still, that didn't mean he had much hope of survival.

"So what do we do with him?"

"Why even ask? Dump him at headquarters like always. They're already short on fuel for the magic weapons."

"Ugh, do you know how far HQ is from here?"

"They'll still pay. And he looks like he's absorbed a few essences. Worth a bit of pocket change."

"Hmm… fine, let's do that. No point keeping him here—"

Then one of them suddenly cut himself off.

"Wait—he's still awake?"

Crack—!

That was Auyen Rockrove's last memory.

***

Greed brings ruin.

Auyen Rockrove agreed with that saying.

In fact, the reason he'd survived so far was because he had never been greedy.

"Next."

He gave up on dreams of being a great explorer.

So he learned sailing instead.

"Next."

Even when he joined a vicious clan and was worked like a slave, he felt grateful just to survive—and dared not hope for more.

"Next."

When the barbarian took him in, he didn't dream of escape, even trapped underground.

"Next."

In time, they began to accept him. And that fact alone saved him.

They called him names like Rockrock or Ngu-Yen, but…

That didn't matter.

They ate the food he cooked, said he did a good job handling the horses—

And in those moments, he felt something inside him finally fill, something he thought would always remain empty.

Sure, he was more of a pack mule than a comrade of Yandel's but…

"Next."

So what?

Heroes don't fart rainbows.

"Next."

Yeah. People like him needed to exist too.

He was helping in his own way.

So he worked hard.

Read cookbooks while out shopping, got better at handling horses.

He even studied navigation so he could help when the Anabada Clan needed to sail or move between floors.

Maybe he'd forgotten it for a while—

"Next."

Greed brings ruin.

A snake who lives beside a dragon doesn't become a dragon.

So, yeah…

'This must be fate, too…'

He accepted the situation as natural.

Because really, wasn't it?

He was a burden. So blindly following them around—it was only fitting this was how it ended—

"You deaf? I said next!"

A soldier in armor grabbed his collar and dragged him forward.

At the end of the path stood a massive machine.

It looked crude, simple in construction.

A vertical structure with a shaft running down. They were throwing people in without hesitation.

'So this is how I die…'

To someone like him, used to suppressing desire, acceptance was like breathing.

"Ugh…!"

He didn't even think to resist.

Sure, he could maybe take down one or two—

But then what?

He'd be tortured and killed.

Better to just go quickly inside that thing—

"Wait. Stop."

Just as he was leaning over the endless shaft, someone stepped in and halted the execution.

A man in a knight's uniform.

He examined Auyen's face, grabbing his chin, then nodded.

"Yeah, it's him. Auyen Rockrove. He's technically a member of the Anabada Clan."

"Really?"

"Don't know where you picked him up, but I'll take it from here. His Excellency will want to see him personally."

And so, Auyen was led away by the knight.

When he came to, a middle-aged man with a chilling aura was looking down at him.

He knew who it was at a glance.

"I brought the one you asked for, Your Excellency the Marquis."

"His hands are untied?"

The Marquis commented, and the knights hastily explained.

"He's supposedly one of Yandel's allies, but only served as a navigator. Estimated combat ability—below an orc. No threat."

"I see…"

The Marquis accepted that and dropped the subject.

Auyen went blank for a moment—but then it clicked.

'They don't know.'

Of course not.

The royal family knew Yandel acquired that essence—but they'd never imagine he gave it to me.

And I never used it, so the info never leaked.

Yes, so…

"Uh, uh…"

Maybe…

'This is my chance…'

"Speak, if you want to live."

His thoughts didn't last long.

It was a surreal moment.

He'd been the kind of guy to agonize over which eggs to buy—

But this time, he didn't hesitate.

"How valuable are you to Bjorn Yandel?"

As soon as the Marquis finished speaking, he activated the skill.

Unavoidable. Instant.

Bypass defense.

Respectable power, minimal soul cost, short cooldown—Yandel had praised it.

The special ability of the third-tier monster, Bellarios:

「Auyen Rockrove has activated [Crush].」

It surged from his hand.

And—

The instigator of this civil war.

Former chancellor of Lafdonia.

Marquis Tertherion himself.

A man so far above someone like Auyen that he never should've been within speaking range.

A man the entire city now wanted dead.

"Guohk…!"

Coughed up blood and collapsed.

-x-X-x-

"So what you're saying is… the Marquis Tertherion is coughing up blood and collapsing on the brink of death?"

The Lord of Noark was at a loss for words after receiving the report.

Well, maybe "at a loss for words" wasn't quite accurate—what he felt first was just "Are you fucking kidding me?"

And who wouldn't?

"Do you actually think this makes any sense?"

How many knights were assigned to protect the Marquis? How many mages?

All of them had been raised by the Marquis since childhood, brainwashed until the very concept of "betrayal" had been erased from their minds. Human golems, in every sense.

At one point, the Lord of Noark had even envied the Marquis, thinking If only I had subordinates like that, I wouldn't fear anything.

And yet…

"You're telling me someone actually broke through that kind of guard?"

An impenetrable wall of defense—broken.

And not even by some grand assassin, but…

"By some seventh-grade navigator, one of Yandel's comrades?"

From the Lord's point of view, it didn't make sense no matter how many times he heard it.

Sure, the navigator might've had some unknown third-grade essence, but come on.

What the hell was the Marquis thinking?

He didn't even bind the guy with a psychic shackle before bringing him right up to his face?

"Well… I suppose they were a little too confident in their own intel…"

"Even if I grant that the Marquis was that arrogant, you're telling me not a single one of his guards questioned it?"

The subordinate shut his mouth tightly at the Lord's anger.

Of course, it wasn't that he had nothing to say.

"..."

From the perspective of someone loyal to their lord, it was more likely that the Marquis's guards had anticipated the possibility of an assassination attempt by the navigator.

But probably something tame—like a fireball or a hidden blade.

In that case, they'd be waiting by his side, and when the "navigator" tried something, they'd stop it with a single blow, then mutter something like 'What foolishness… Are you alright, my lord?' while earning brownie points.

Yeah, honestly…

Not a bad little plan.

Especially since no one would actually get hurt.

The Marquis could take pride in having invested wisely in his subordinates, and the subordinates could feel more justified in their next paycheck.

But…

"That's what makes the Marquis's men so cunning—clever and conniving. I should remember that for later."

That's the sort of reflection he should have been having.

But it got cut short for one simple reason:

Because what should have been an impossible assassination attempt…

actually succeeded.

'You fucking idiots.'

Now, the Marquis's entire inner circle were just a bunch of clowns.

Still, unlike them, the Lord wasn't a clown. So he kept those thoughts to himself.

For one very simple reason:

The one he's yelling at isn't me.

And really, what good would it do to know the pathetic details of his subordinates' screw-ups?

"Huu…"

Just as expected, it wasn't long before the Lord let out a sigh.

He was an intelligent man. He didn't take his frustrations out on the wrong people.

With a touch of frustration, he simply asked:

"So tell me. The assassination attempt succeeded—I get that. But what the hell do you mean the Marquis is 'on the brink of death'?"

From his perspective, it was a reasonable question.

It's not like the Marquis was some lower-class wretch who couldn't afford a priest's healing spell.

He's either dead or he's alive. What's with this 'brink of death' nonsense?

"Well…"

Hearing that, the subordinate closed his eyes like a man facing the inevitable.

"To be precise, he's not exactly on the brink of death."

He'd never said that, not exactly.

He'd realized early on that a misunderstanding had taken hold—but it hadn't been the right moment to correct it.

Still, rather than drag out the awkwardness by clarifying things too late, he chose to explain before the Lord could speak again.

"The Marquis possessed an artifact. It saves you from a fatal injury, but in exchange it puts you into a coma for two days."

He left out the name and serial number of the artifact.

Not exactly important right now.

"…Should I be relieved, or not?"

The intelligent superior finally grasped the full situation.

"The mana weapons are still under the Marquis's authority, correct?"

"…Yes."

"So we won't be able to use Urae for two days."

"…Yes."

The ancient war machine, considered more strategically valuable than even the Orkulis commander, had just turned into a pile of scrap.

Because of one seventh-grade navigator.

"What happens to the operation, then?"

He didn't specify which operation.

But the man who had served a single superior for more than a decade understood instantly.

"Temporary command and execution rights for the plan to capture Bjorn Yandel using Ainard as bait have been transferred to the eldest son, Eltora Tertherion."

"…And if something happens to him too?"

Then things would get complicated.

Even the ever-prepared Marquis probably hadn't thought to appoint a stand-in for his temporary stand-in.

The right answer was: We don't know.

That is, unless someone interfered.

"In that case…"

Since the cause would be external, not internal, there was a clause in the alliance agreement that could be interpreted—creatively.

"In that case, my Lord, you may temporarily assume command authority."

"…I see."

Hearing the answer he wanted, the Lord seemed visibly pleased.

And finally, with some of his curiosity piqued, he asked a personal question.

"So, what happened to the navigator?"

"Well…"

Now that his superior seemed to be in a better mood, the subordinate answered more comfortably.

***

Auyen Rockrove.

When he opened his eyes in a dark underground prison, his first thought was:

'Why am I alive?'

In this world, failing to pay your taxes got you executed.

So it was common sense to fight tooth and nail to survive, every single moment.

And as one of its denizens, Auyen Rockrove knew better than most the value of life—or more precisely, his own life.

And yet…

'Seriously, why am I still alive?'

Rather than relief, confusion ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don't copy, read here) took the lead.

It's not that he wasn't relieved—but the confusion was stronger.

After all, he had closed his eyes after seeing a meteor slam into the earth.

And now he was waking up in one piece.

The first thought wouldn't be "I survived…" but "Why am I alive?"

So he retraced the last moments before blacking out.

[Kugh—!]

The Marquis had collapsed, vomiting blood.

[M-My Lord…!!]

Mages and priests—those precious elites—rushed to his side, panicking.

And then—

[A-An assassination…!!]

The knights, those who lived to use their bodies, all lunged at him like one.

In an instant, his body was crushed to the ground.

And "crushed" wasn't metaphorical.

Arms, neck, legs, ankles, index and middle fingers of his left hand, ears, etc. etc.—

As if sealing away a great demon, dozens of knights tied him down, binding every limb.

In hindsight, it made sense.

With the Marquis collapsing like that, who the hell wouldn't panic?

This wasn't some situation where you could just stand back and say, "Well, they've got it covered…"

[...]

Pinned beneath dozens of knights, he couldn't breathe.

And eventually, his consciousness faded.

And when he opened his eyes—here he was.

'Seriously… why am I still alive?'

The human mind is a strange thing.

Even while dying of suffocation, he could still clearly hear—

[The Marquis has lost consciousness…!]

[What a monstrous bastard…!]

[Why are you restraining him? Kill him immediately!!]

The hatred and fury directed at him—the Marquis's would-be assassin.

It was still unclear whether this was real or a dream, or if he'd somehow landed in the afterlife.

"..."

A cold silence filled the underground cell.

Auyen Rockrove kept wondering why, and that question slowly evolved.

From "Why am I alive?" to "Why did they let me live?"

And just when the question reached that point, he got his answer.

From a mysterious man who appeared deep in this underground cell of some unknown building.

"Eltora Tertherion," he introduced himself.

The Marquis's son.

"I have something I'd like to ask of you."

At first, Auyen thought it would be some twisted request to suffer through torture before dying.

But instead…

"Please… please help me."

It took him a while to respond—when he finally did, it was in a dazed voice.

"…Excuse me?"

He didn't understand a damn thing either.

***

Waiting might seem passive at first glance, but in truth, it's open to interpretation.

You don't even need a philosophy book to know that.

Passive: when the subject is acted upon by an outside force.

Active: when the subject acts on its own will.

So if you wait because you chose to, it's an active behavior.

But if someone holds a knife to your throat and tells you to wait, that's passive.

Amelia Rainwales fell into the former category.

"..."

Her body still wasn't in perfect condition.

And from the looks of it, the rescue target was also still intact.

Jumping in right now wasn't the best move. It made more sense to wait for a better opportunity.

Well, unless something suspicious suddenly happened. Then she'd have no choice but to act.

Having made that decision on her own terms, Amelia waited.

She didn't feel bored or restless at all.

She was used to this. Her countless infiltration and assassination missions, forced upon her by others, had made her an expert at waiting.

Drrrrrrrrrng—!

It was a bit irritating that the person she was supposed to rescue was snoring away in that situation, but still.

Her mission hadn't changed.

"..."

She held her breath. Erased her presence.

Listened to the enemy chatter, absorbing it all and organizing it carefully in her mind.

Seemingly trivial details would later help her make rational decisions.

And sometimes—she'd overhear something important.

Like now.

"I don't get why we're even guarding this woman. Why not just kill her and be done with it?"

"Tsk, that's a really shortsighted way of thinking."

"Shortsighted…? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you can't see far ahead. You only focus on what's right in front of you. Think for a second—why do you think the higher-ups captured the lancer and locked her up like this?"

"...Just say it already."

"She's bait. For a much bigger fish."

"A bigger fish… oh! They're trying to catch the giant guy!"

"Exactly. Otherwise, there's no reason to assign this many people just to watch over one subdued barbarian."

The man who heard that explanation stayed quiet for a while.

Then, staring at the speaker, he asked:

"...…Did you actually figure that out yourself?"

"Haha, of course not! A friend of mine in command whispered it to me after I got this assignment."

"…And that 'shortsighted' line—he's the one who said it too, right?"

"Well, naturally! These educated types always use those fancy words, I'm telling you…"

From Amelia's position hidden in the ceiling, that wasn't something she could ignore.

Based on the context, it wasn't some idle speculation. This was the official plan.

'So they really did use her as bait to lure Yandel…'

She was glad she hadn't listened to Auyen's advice and had come to rescue Ainard anyway.

But the realization also made her a bit anxious.

Because now there was a time limit.

She had to do something before Yandel walked straight into the trap.

She was sure of it—if that barbarian found out a comrade had been taken, he'd charge in even knowing it was a trap.

The best outcome was to get this done before he ever arrived.

No doubt about it.

But…

How?

The answer came from a completely unexpected place.

"Everyone, leave us for a moment. I have business with the woman."

A man approached Ainard's holding cell, clearing out the heavily guarded area with a single command.

'Eltora Tertherion…!'

Crouched in the darkness, Amelia's eyes gleamed.

She didn't know what kind of "business" he had in mind, but it couldn't be good.

After all, he was the son of the Marquis—a man who might as well be evil incarnate.

He definitely came here with something sinister in mind—

'Auyen…?'

Shit. He got caught?

Amelia spotted the man following behind the Chancellor's son and clenched her jaw, calculations racing through her mind.

'If they don't know I'm up here right now…'

Then not only could she slit his throat—she could subdue him.

And if she could subdue him, she could threaten and manipulate him afterward.

'There's no way I'm getting a better chance than this.'

She didn't need much time to act.

Split-second decisions, driven by instinct, often had the highest success rate.

'Now.'

Amelia released her stealth and dropped nimbly from the ceiling.

"...!"

Eltora looked up, just barely noticing her presence.

But it was too late to draw his sword.

Chak.

Landing, Amelia trapped his neck between her legs.

And with her only free hand, she drove a dagger—brimming with cold, sharp aura—straight at his face like lightning—

Whoooosh—!

The blade halted just short of Eltora's widened eyes.

"If you make a sound, you die. Move without permission—you die. Even think too hard—you die. If you understand, kneel down, slowly—"

"L-Lady Emily!"

"Thank me later—"

"H-He's on our side! That man…!"

…Huh? Our side?

What the hell is he talking about?

Wait. No way…

"You've already been brainwashed, haven't you…?"

"Huh? Brainwashed? N-No, it's not that…!"

"Unbelievable. The bastards…"

"No, seriously! I'm totally fine!"

It took quite some time before Amelia fully grasped the situation and came to accept it.

"…So what you're saying is, this guy ditched his dad and wants to join us?"

"Y-Yes…! That's right!"

Auyen nodded fervently.

-x-X-x-

Drrrrrrrrrng—! Drrrrrrrrrrrrrng—!

The thunderous snoring, reminiscent of an ogre, echoed endlessly like background noise throughout the underground vault of the now-defunct Alminus Bank.

Amelia, watching over Ainard, let out a sigh.

Not out of frustration or disappointment, of course.

'Did they drug her…?'

It would make sense—after all, they'd had a fairly long conversation right next to her, and yet she hadn't stirred at all.

There was no other explanation except that they had sedated her—

"Kh… kuh…"

Just then, Ainard began to show signs of labored breathing, and Amelia hurried over.

If she couldn't breathe on her own, Amelia needed to step in.

But it didn't come to that.

"Uuuugh…"

Ainard just scratched her belly with one hand, then turned to her side as if her shoulder was stiff.

And then…

Drrrrrrroooooooonnnnng—!!

Even louder snoring filled the room.

Watching her, Amelia started to wonder if she hadn't been drugged after all and was just… actually sleeping.

'No way… there's no way, right…?'

I mean, sure, she was a barbarian, but even so—how could she be that relaxed when her life was on the line?

"Um… shouldn't we wake her up now…?"

"How? Ainard Prnelin is currently sedated."

"…Ah. Is that so?"

Auyen nodded as though he'd just realized something.

Though in the background, the infamous disgrace of a son, Eltora Tertherion, could be heard muttering, "Sedated…? I don't recall any such report…"

But Amelia pretended not to hear.

After all, blaming it on drugs was less humiliating.

Not that they were in such a rush they needed to wake her up right now or anything.

"Um… may I continue what I was saying?"

As Eltora cautiously brought the conversation back, Amelia, who had turned her attention to Ainard, sharpened her focus again.

"Where were we?"

Her reply was cold, and her eyes held deep suspicion.

Naturally so.

Eltora Tertherion, the son of the Marquis, claimed he was abandoning his father to join them.

After a long conversation, Amelia had come to accept that it wasn't due to brainwashing.

But understanding the truth and believing it were two different things.

Right. So—

"I was speaking of what benefits the royal family and the Anabada Clan would gain if they accepted my proposal."

"Ah, right… well, forget it."

Amelia showed no interest in those "benefits."

Or more accurately, she saw no need to hear them right now.

I mean, really—being able to use the Marquis's son as a spy?

Anyone with half a brain could list the strategic value of that in a single sentence. No need to waste breath on it.

Amelia chose to focus on something else.

"Why are you betraying your father?"

Motivation.

The thing that drives people to act.

"…As I said earlier, my biggest reason is survival."

"So you think the royal family will win the war?"

"Of course. Rebelling against them in the first place was utter madness."

It sounded rational on the surface.

But Amelia knew better.

All people have desires—and even the smallest of desires can blind them completely.

"But if your side wins, you'd basically be living like a prince."

Humans are strange like that—they'll ignore ninety-nine reasons to fail and cling to the one reason they might succeed.

So how had the Marquis's son made such a decision? From the looks of it, he'd made up his mind almost the instant his father collapsed.

How?

The answer was surprisingly simple.

"…No way. Even if the rebellion had succeeded, I wouldn't have survived. My father—no, Marquis Ageni Rotten Tertherion—was someone who wanted to get rid of me the moment he could."

"I don't understand. Why would the Marquis treat his only son that way?"

"I didn't understand at first, either. It wasn't until much later that I figured it out. The Marquis treated me like that… because he knew who I really was."

"…Who you really were?"

In response to Amelia's question, Eltora gave a bitter smile.

He wasn't a barbarian, but this time, there was no need for a long explanation.

"…I'm a spirit-born."

A confession—possibly the first of his life.

"Huh. Saying it out loud is easier than I thought."

His heart pounded, but along with the thrill, there was an odd sense of relief.

Of course, that was only true for Eltora.

"...!!"

Auyen Rockrove, the man who had managed to assassinate the Marquis with nothing but a commoner's body, gaped in shock at the revelation that the Marquis's son was a spirit-born.

"…Oh?"

Even Amelia Rainwales—the seasoned assassin, expert at hiding emotion—let a flicker of surprise show in her gaze.

Now things made more sense.

If that was true, then Eltora Tertherion's betrayal wasn't strange or sudden at all.

If anything, it was logical.

But…

"At this point, you could say I've willingly handed you my leash. Can you trust me now?"

Even then, Amelia didn't nod.

Because of her nature—she simply wasn't good at trusting people.

A confession was just that. It wasn't proof.

What if even this "I'm a spirit-born" was a lie?

She hadn't blindly trusted him, but fortunately, she had a way to verify it.

"A metal object that flies through the sky."

"Airplane."

"A dwarf gives a poisoned apple to a princess and she dies. What's the princess's name?"

"Are you… talking about Snow White?"

"Sponge who wears square pants."

"Sponge… wait, how do you know about that?"

"I believe you. You really are a spirit-born."

Using the otherworld knowledge she'd heard from Lee Hansoo, Amelia gave her final verdict.

Eltora Tertherion was the real deal.

Sure, he'd stammered and failed to answer the "Yi Wan-yong?" question, but that was within the margin of error.

Even people from the same world have gaps in their knowledge.

Clearly, Eltora hadn't been well-educated.

The thought reminded Amelia of her own time under Noark's regime, where learning had been out of reach.

She felt an unexpected sense of kinship with him—but chose not to voice it.

"…What's with that look?"

"Nothing."

"So then, does that mean you believe everything I've said?"

"Yeah. My doubts are gone."

Hearing that, Eltora felt a strange kind of joy.

He had finally proven himself, after showing everything and answering every question—even to someone as suspicious as Amelia.

But—

"Then… will you accept me now?"

Perhaps due to a lingering unease, he asked again.

And received a devastating answer.

"That… unfortunately, isn't up to me."

"Not up to you…? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. The leader of the Anabada Clan is Yandel, and the deputy leader is another woman."

"What the hell…!!"

Eltora felt even more wronged than he had when his father abandoned him with no explanation. And with his life on the line, his frustration exploded.

"That doesn't make any sense! I know all about your group!"

"Even so—"

"You're Yandel's woman, aren't you?!"

"…Huh?"

"I heard Yandel trusts and relies on you more than anyone! That no matter what, he always asks you first for advice! And you say you don't have the authority?"

"Uh… well, not quite that much…"

"You and Yandel are practically one and the same!"

"Uhh…?"

"So if you're going to reject me, just say it straight! Don't pretend you don't have the authority! Everyone knows that if Baron Yandel ever marries, you will be his wife!"

"…H-His wife?!"

"Who else could it be? That lunatic blood mage? Kalstein, who's only useful for her early contributions? Raven, who joined the royal family ages ago? Or maybe that musclebound lancer over there?"

"I-I never thought about it that way—"

"Don't give me that 'no authority' crap! I know how much Yandel treasures you!"

Maybe it was the overwhelming stress of betraying his own father with his life on the line.

Whatever the case, Eltora was swept up in emotion and poured out his frustration.

And then—

"…Approved."

He got what he wanted.

***

Ainard Prnelin lay quietly, eyes closed, deep in thought.

'Is it time to get up…?'

The truth was, she hadn't just woken up.

She'd come to a while ago—but pretended to still be asleep.

For a very simple reason.

[Ah, right… well, forget it.]

She'd heard Amelia's voice right away.

Which meant what she hoped was true—her comrades had come to rescue her.

Naturally, Ainard had been overjoyed.

But then—

[Ainard Prnelin is currently sedated.]

She'd already been educated once on what that meant—it was basically code for "Stay down."

So she kept her eyes shut.

Didn't seem like the situation was too urgent, anyway.

No real evidence for that, just a gut feeling.

But for barbarians, knowing when to lie down—or when to eat meat—came just as naturally.

Anyway, that's what happened.

But then…

[Where were we?]

[I was speaking of what benefits the royal family and the Anabada Clan would gain…]

Amelia was deep in conversation with some unknown man. As she listened, Ainard realized he was the Marquis's son.

And…

'Ugh… my head…'

A headache hit her for some reason.

So she decided to keep pretending to sleep a little longer.

"..."

"..."

Silence fell as the conversation ended.

'…Guess it's time to wake up.'

Sensing her cue, Ainard yawned like nothing was wrong and sat up.

And then—

"Ah, please don't be alarmed! I'm now on your side—"

Thwack—!

Before he could finish, she socked him in the face with full force.

"…Stop. He's one of us now."

As expected, Amelia intervened.

Only then did Ainard calm down.

"Oh, really? Sorry! Didn't know!"

Actually… she had known.

She'd heard it all while lying there.

So why had she punched him?

Even she wasn't sure.

"Hmm…"

It had been a long time since Ainard seriously contemplated something.

But being the clever girl she was raised to be, she soon found the answer.

[I heard Yandel trusts and relies on you the most.]

Maybe it was a lie?

Didn't matter.

Humans lie all the time. That's just what they are.

[If Baron Yandel ever marries, everyone knows you'll be his wife.]

How could the great warrior's wife be a human?

Same idea.

Humans didn't know any better.

[Or maybe that musclebound lancer?]

It sounded like a compliment—

But somehow, it still stung.

Still, that wasn't the answer either.

'It's just…'

It was just because.

"Beheeeeeell—raaaaaaaaagh!!!"

"…Seriously?"

"I just felt like it!!"

That was Ainard's carefully considered conclusion.