Standby Order: First Capital of Zephent, Part 1

With a whisper, winter had returned, dusting the world in a fresh quilt of snow.

In the First Capital, snow signaled the arrival of the new season. It was a rare sight usually prevented by Bafroque, the Goddess of Storms. Nevertheless, not even she could manipulate the weather indefinitely. The strain would drain her strength far too quickly, and constantly interfering with the climate could seriously disrupt the area’s surroundings.

And so, around the end of the year, the First Capital of Zephent had to begin preparing for snow. That time always came with a spark of joy as well, because it meant the festival to celebrate the new year was right around the corner.

Look at ’em all, I thought. They can hardly contain their excitement.

I was walking down the city’s main street.

It had been some time since I’d been to the First Capital. Following the decisive battle in the Second Capital of Zeyllent, Jayce and I were revived and underwent treatment at the repair shop. We’d been released about two weeks prior. That meant Teoritta and I had arrived in Zephent a only few hours ago.

The First Capital was even more crowded than usual; it was almost suffocating. The city was all dressed up ahead of the festival. The streets were filled with bright lights, the traditional decorations for the season. White and blue lamps powered by sacred seals hung throughout the shopping district, while homes displayed large keys from their eaves. These keys, decorated with vines, cords, and strips of old cloth, were meant to welcome the new year’s sun. Long, long ago, people believed the sun rose through the “White and Blue Gate” in the east and set through the “Black and Red Gate” in the west, and these decorative keys were meant to unlock the doors through which the new year’s sun would pass.

That was why they called this festival the “Passage,” or “Luffe Aros.” It was one of the Federated Kingdom’s grandest and most important celebrations. Even now, as the people faced the Demon Blight and its monstrous threats, this three-day celebration remained a crucial source of entertainment for the kingdom’s citizens.

The winter brought a real sense of security as well. The northern strait would freeze over with ice floes, and snow would bury the roads leading north, creating troublesome obstacles not just for humans but for faeries as well. Snow severely hampered most faeries’ movement, and even those with wings became little more than savage birds of prey when they couldn’t coordinate with friendly forces on the ground.

Winter was a brief period when the people could forget about the Demon Blight and the faeries, and that was exactly why Luffe Aros was such a big celebration. It was easy to understand why everyone was so excited.

That said, the whole thing makes me uncomfortable.

I adjusted the collar of my mantle to conceal the sacred seal etched into my neck. Since becoming a penal hero, I’d started feeling out of place at festivals. People who saw the telltale mark on my neck usually recoiled in fear and disgust, a reaction that was quick to ruin the lively atmosphere.

And I have to worry about her now, too.

I was staring across the grand plaza at a lone girl. She was waving at me with both hands. This was Goddess Teoritta, of course.

“Xylo! What are you doing?!” She was beaming, hands over her head, beckoning me over.

Above her head was a sign carved with the words “Tulo & Heath’s Workshop.” It appeared to be a jewelry shop. The storefront displayed an array of meticulously polished necklaces, hair ornaments, brooches, rings, and earrings.

The grand plaza was packed with countless shops like this one, such as a white-walled bathhouse called “Ritsuba’s Platter,” a shop called “Fokta” selling phonograph records that used sacred seals to store music, and even a red-brick guest house known as the “Scarlet Manor.” You could find just about anything you wanted here. And yet, out of all those choices, Teoritta had set her sights on this jewelry shop.

“Xylo, look at this!”

She gestured toward a silver bracelet. The design was in the style of the Eastern Kioh Islands and featured intricate, wavelike patterns.

“What do you think? Is this bracelet not absolutely beautiful? Don’t I have excellent taste? Hee-hee…!” Teoritta puffed out her chest with an inexplicably proud air. “My knight, a bracelet like this would be the perfect addition to our heroic saga. Don’t you agree?”

“There are a few problems with that. For starters…no one is calling our battle a ‘heroic saga.’” Looking over Teoritta’s head, I caught sight of the silver bracelet’s price tag and suppressed a wince. The number was high—far too high for what seemed like a fairly ordinary piece of jewelry. I stretched out my hand to feel the craftsmanship, my fingers running over the metalwork. “Next, this bracelet is extremely expensive. I mean, it’s not even pure silver, is it? The craftsmanship is incredible, but that’s a lot of money.”

“Must you be so dull, Xylo?” My honest answer was met with disapproval from the goddess. “This is a festival. We are supposed to be having fun, not worrying about money!”

“The festival isn’t for another ten days.”

We still had some time before the Passage. It had been about a month since the decisive battle at the Second Capital when Jayce and I had both gotten ourselves killed, like total idiots. We’d needed treatment on top of the usual revival process, delaying our arrival at the First Capital. To be honest, I’d have preferred to postpone our trip until after the festival was over.

The reason was Teoritta—and sure enough, my concerns were right on the mark. She was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Ever since we passed through the city’s main gate, she’d been dragging me into every shop she saw.

“Hey, Teoritta? Do you even have any military notes left? I’m pretty sure I just saw you buy a ton of candy.”

“…Uh, yes. That is true.” Teoritta hid the paper bag she was holding in one hand behind her back. “But I have yet to exhaust my military notes. I was highly commended for my performance in our last battle and was generously rewarded.”

“Well, don’t come crying to me when it’s all gone, because I’m not giving you any of mine. I know Patausche has been spoiling you and lending you her notes, and I’m gonna put a stop to it, okay?”

“Y-yes…of course! But I am afraid this is a necessary expense!”

“Is it really?”

“It is! There is a reason why this bracelet is so expensive.” Teoritta waved the price tag in my face, showing me what was written by the number. “See? They can engrave whatever phrase you want on the underside of the bracelet.”

“Oh… So it’s one of those, huh?”

It was common for people to inscribe their names or personal messages inside silver jewelry, and it was believed such items helped ward off misfortune, even without the help of sacred seals.

“You’re free to get whatever you want engraved into the bracelet,” I said, “but there’s still a problem. That thing is way too big for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Teoritta looked like she wanted to roll her eyes at me. “You will be the one wearing it.”

“…Me?” I pointed at myself. “Wear that?”

“Yes! Consider it a gift from me to my hardworking knight!” She spread her arms wide. “You should feel honored! Are you not thrilled?! We should ask them to engrave our names and today’s date into the bracelet!”

“I feel like what I do goes a bit beyond just ‘working hard.’”

I had a hard time forcing a smile. The truth was, I knew exactly why she was doing this.

She wants to help me remember this moment…even if I die again and need to be resurrected.

It was common for penal heroes to lose their memories when they were brought back to life. Sometimes, they might forget only the last few hours. On other occasions, they might wake up unable to remember their favorite foods, or the faces of those dear to them, or experiences they’d shared with friends and loved ones.

During the battle at the Second Capital, I messed up and got myself killed, and some of the memories I shared with Teoritta had vanished—or so I’d been told. Apparently, I’d bought something in Ioff City for Teoritta, but she was reluctant to tell me more. That was probably why she wanted to buy this bracelet and have it engraved. She probably hoped that, even if I lost my memories of this moment, the engraving would serve as proof that it had happened.

But…

I waved a hand in front of Teoritta, blocking her accusing gaze. “You’ll have to give up on this one. Sorry.”

“What is the issue now? I promise I will use the rest of my allowance wisely! So come on! This bracelet will look so good on you!”

“I’d probably break it the next time I use Zatte Finde.”

“…Oh.”

The explosive seal etched into both of my hands was called “Zatte Finde.” I could infuse objects I touched with its power, but it required a delicate touch and a certain level of skill.

I patted Teoritta on the shoulder. “Sorry.”

“…I—I cannot believe I failed to consider such a thing! …Let us keep looking. We shall find you another present!”

“Sorry, but we’ll have to put that on hold for now. We don’t have time for any more adventures today.”

“What? But the sun hasn’t even begun to set! As long as we return to the barracks before evening—”

“We have some unwanted company.”

I pointed behind me. If he’d intended to tail us, he was doing a terrible job of it. Then again, given his personality, he’d probably wanted me to notice him.

“What do you want, Adhiff?” I called out.

Adhiff Twevel was the captain of the Eighth Order of the Holy Knights and my former colleague.

A straw-colored hat sat jauntily atop his light brown hair, while a pair of suspiciously sleek glasses rested on his nose. I got the feeling his outfit had been chosen specifically to get under my skin.

“Give me a break already,” I said. “I just got here. I’m not in the mood. Whatever you have to say, it’s sure to piss me off.”

“Yes, I figured as much. I only learned of your return about four hours ago.”

“I wasn’t even through the damn city gates then. You must’ve been really excited to see me, huh?”

“Relax. I have someone here who is anxious to see your goddess again.”

Adhiff smirked and gestured toward the girl beside him—a silver-haired maiden named Kelflora, the Goddess of Shadows. As soon as she saw Teoritta, she raised her fist then opened and closed it three times.

“Teo. Hiya! Sorry for interrupting your walk.”

“Kelf! Hiya!”

Teoritta raised her fist in return and mimicked her friend. I assumed this was some unique code only the two of them understood. There was no point in dwelling on it.

I looked back at Adhiff. “What kind of emergency necessitated bringing along your goddess?” People were starting to stare, making me uncomfortable. Teoritta really stood out in a crowd, and I had the distinct feeling people were pointing at me, too. “You trying to start some sort of impromptu goddess autograph session? Because I’m not in the mood. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Perfect. I know just the place where we can talk in private.”

Had Adhiff planned all this, knowing it would get to me? It certainly seemed like something he would do. Though he often played the fool, there was always purpose to his actions.

“I have nothing to discuss with you.”

“Unfortunately, I do. And it’s important. So…” Adhiff suddenly approached me and whispered, “I would like to request that you join us in our little scheme. I have already summoned your commander.”

“Venetim?”

Was I hearing things? How was that useless dumbass going to be of any help?

“Yes, him. Now, shall we go? I’d rather not do anything so uncouth as ordering you. I respect you too much for that. Almost as much as I respect Captain Lufen.”

“So, in effect, this is an order… And you could’ve left off that last bit.”

Once again, I was reminded of why I couldn’t stand Adhiff. I was sure we would never get along.

Adhiff led us somewhere unexpected: The Yawning Pavilion of Fymlynde. It was a tavern in a back alley, audaciously named after a goddess. I was expecting something a little more classy—maybe even a private room, so this came as quite a surprise.

Teoritta was visibly uneasy, constantly scanning her surroundings. Kelflora, on the other hand, seemed used to places like this. Either that, or she was simply uninterested. Her eyes glazed over as she sipped her northern-style tea with honey.

It was incredibly noisy in the tavern, but that worked to our advantage. No one was paying any attention to their neighboring tables; even Teoritta and Kelflora went unnoticed under their simple hooded cloaks.

“…And that’s the gist of the matter.”

Venetim gave us a rundown of the situation, a vague smirk on his face. When he was done, I was overcome by a nearly uncontrollable urge to kick him in the shin. It didn’t help that he’d been waiting for us with an infuriatingly nonchalant grin.

“This is a top secret mission, and the orders come from Captain Adhiff himself. So we can’t refuse.”

“Yeah, we’re penal heroes, after all.” I glared at Adhiff, a glass of warmed wine in my hand.

There we were, the three of us—the captain of the Eighth Order of the Holy Knights, a con artist, and the goddess killer—sitting around a table at some seedy tavern, and with two goddesses, no less… It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.

“Why are you even here, Venetim?” I asked.

“I wish I knew. Circumstances led me here, I suppose…”

“In other words, you messed up. Just like you always do. So? What’s the ‘little scheme’ we need to help out with? Do you want us to kill someone? Because if you’re looking for an assassin, you should ask a professional. As it happens, we have one in our unit.”

“Xylo! Again with such violence?” Teoritta looked at me sharply, her expression stern. I had hoped she would let my casual remark slide, but killing or harming humans was strictly forbidden for a goddess, and my attitude must have bothered her. “I will not allow you to be a part of something so vile! And I will stop you, even if it is the last thing I do!”

“I know, I know. It was a joke.”

“Well, it was not funny! You will make me angry if you keep this up!”

“I know. Well, you heard the lady, Adhiff. Get talkin’ before you piss her off. What do you want me to do?”

“Patience, Xylo,” he replied. “Though I suppose you were never a big fan of waiting around.”

Adhiff was being coy, but that was no surprise. And besides, the waiter had just brought our food: salami, pickled mushrooms, and some mixture of ground meat, potatoes, and onions. It seemed they knew how to put together a decent plate, and I dug right in.

“I’m not in the mood to catch up,” I said. “I can’t think of a single thing I want to talk to you about. So hurry up and get to the point.”

“Very well. My request for you two is very simple.” Adhiff elegantly raised his glass to his lips and took a sip of his drink. It was an unusual concoction—a hot rum with butter and sugar. “I need your help with the upcoming election.”

“What?”

I began to question his sanity.

“The hell is wrong with you? Do I look like the guy for a job like that? If you need me to blow something up, then I can help, but you’re barking up the wrong tree with this.” I pointed at Venetim. “Or do you want this con man to give some speeches to help promote you as the next chancellor? That would sure be hilarious. Think you could do that, Venetim?”

“I’d be a free man if I was that good.” Venetim twisted his mouth into a smirk and took a large gulp of his drink. “But that isn’t what Captain Adhiff needs help with. He wants our cooperation with a different election. And, uh… It isn’t for parliament or the Allied Administration Division, either. It’s…for a position in the Temple.”

“Exactly. Xylo, are you familiar with the divine election that takes place during Luffe Aros?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

The divine election was a sacred process to determine the next archpriest, the head of the high priests and the pinnacle of the Temple’s hierarchy. It was conducted almost like a ritual—the high priests alone had the right to vote and would choose the worthiest candidate. Or so they said. The reality was far more pragmatic: The position was typically filled by business owners or administrators—whoever could bring in the most members, money, and influence.

This state of affairs was only natural and certainly not deserving of criticism. After all, an organization needed a leader who could ensure its survival and prosperity.

Don’t tell me he wants me to…

I glared at Adhiff, with his smug expression.

Apparently, the divine election would be held publicly at the Luffe Aros Festival. All the candidates would gather, and the next archpriest would be chosen right there.

“What do you want us to do?” I asked.

“I want you…”—Adhiff swirled the glass in his hand—“…to help a certain someone win the upcoming election.”

“To be frank, I hadn’t even heard there was going to be an election this year.”

“The current archpriest announced his retirement yesterday, and they need to anoint a successor as soon as possible.”

“Don’t tell me you—”

“The archpriest chose to retire of his own accord. He was already well into his twilight years.”

Adhiff couldn’t have sounded less sincere if he’d tried. I had no doubt he was involved somehow.

“…Seems you’re going to a lot of trouble. What’s so important about this anyway?” This was all very sudden, and Adhiff’s approach seemed quite aggressive. What’s more, the Passage was less than ten days away. “And why the rush?”

“Because the attack we have planned for this spring is mankind’s last chance to end this war. We can’t afford to keep fighting. If this initiative fails, we’ll starve. If you’re a betting man, this is the time to go all in.”

Adhiff was probably right. The treasury couldn’t keep supporting this war. Military actions ate up a nation’s budget. They were the most wasteful investments a government could make. Instead of enriching the people, the Federated Kingdom had been using all our resources to stave off the Demon Blight and had only barely been maintaining the cycle of production and consumption at home. Put simply, we’d reached our limit. And that was why the spring offensive was so important.

“Therefore, I would like someone highly placed within the Temple who we can use to our advantage in the run-up to the spring offensive.”

“You’re not beating around the bush, are you? What was wrong with the last archpriest?”

“He couldn’t be trusted. As I’m sure you’re aware, coexisters have already infiltrated the Temple.” Adhiff said all this as if it were obvious, and I kept my mouth shut.

The coexisters. It seemed Adhiff was certain of their existence. Personally, I’d been skeptical until quite recently. As a member of the high nobility, he must have possessed an impressive information network.

“The former archpriest ran the Temple by staying mindful of the coexisters secretly operating among them and maintaining balance. But that is no longer enough. Drastic reform is needed. We require someone who will order the Holy Knights to fight in the upcoming expedition.”

“And your candidate’s the guy to do that?”

“Yes, High Priest Nicold Ibuton will serve our purposes. I would like you to ensure that he becomes the next archpriest.” Adhiff rested his cheek on his palm and looked away from me.

Off to the side, Teoritta and Kelflora had completely lost interest in our conversation and were engaged in some incomprehensible game. Teoritta was folding paper atop a table, while Kelflora created an identical shadow on the floor below. They whispered and laughed as they worked. I couldn’t blame them. This was a rare chance for the both of them to interact with an equal.

“Venetim, Xylo,” said Adhiff. “Can I count on your cooperation?”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” I replied. “Do I have to work with Venetim, though? I’d rather not.”

“Oh! I agree with Xylo,” Venetim chimed in. “I’d just get in the way. Wouldn’t it be better to let him handle everything? I can stay in the rear and provide support.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’ll be completely useless in this little scheme. If anything, this is your field of expertise, Venetim. You’re good at conning people into doing what you want, right?”

“Whaaat? What do you expect me to do?” Venetim sounded pitiful.

Adhiff smiled. “I’ll leave the method to you, Venetim. You owe me for what I did for you back at the Second Capital, right? I expect you to do whatever it takes to make this happen. You can even go to your family for help.”

“…As you wish,” replied Venetim weakly.

Something about their exchange caught me off guard. His family? What does Adhiff mean? Come to think of it, I knew nothing about Venetim’s background. But if I asked him about it, he’d probably just lie. I’ll give it a shot later, I guess. For now, I needed to focus on what Adhiff was telling us.

“Xylo, you will be in charge of roughing people up.”

“What now?” I didn’t like the sound of that. Why did we need violence for something like this? “Who do you want me to rough up? I thought this was an election.”

“You need to make sure absolutely nothing happens to High Priest Ibuton.”

That made sense. If Adhiff was set on elevating this guy to archpriest, there were sure to be people out to sabotage his plans. I could think of a few individuals who might be capable of it, too.

“If, by chance, something does happen to him, I have a backup plan that will capitalize on his death. But I’m hoping it won’t come to that. Therefore, I’d like you to protect him in case violence breaks out.”

“Dammit, what a chore. Can’t Venetim handle it?” I turned to the man in question. “Hey, you know how to use a one-handed sword now, right? I taught you the other day. Have you been practicing? I mean, your safety kind of depends on it.”

“Of course I’ve been practicing.”

“What a liar.”

“Please don’t ask me questions you already know the answer to. I’m just averse to violence, all right?!”

“As you can see, Xylo, we need your help,” said Adhiff. His voice was monotone as he reached for a plate of food. “Obviously, the coexisters will back a candidate benefiting their cause, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they started threatening our candidate or even sending assassins to keep him from being elected. We will keep them at bay while we make sure Nicold Ibuton is elected archpriest. That is my little scheme. So? Will you help me?”

“Don’t act like we have a choice.” I reached for the plate and grabbed a huge handful of salami—a small act of protest. “This is an order, right?”

“But of course. I expect you to risk your very lives to make sure it is accomplished.”

“Quite the little scheme you’ve concocted. The whole thing hinges on our success. Very kind of you to give us such a big vote of confidence.”

“I’m trying to keep risks to a minimum. After all, if you fail, we’ll simply have you revived. Obviously, I have multiple plans already set in motion. But I’d rather not resort to those—they’re a lot less pleasant.” With an elegant gesture, he casually picked up the last piece of salami. “I am expecting great things from you two. This is our best chance to get Nicold Ibuton elected without sacrificing any lives. All you need to do is make sure he becomes the next archpriest, and nobody will get hurt.”

There was something in Adhiff’s smile that suggested he had other, less gentle means at his disposal, and if that were the case…

“A lot of blood will be spilled if this plan fails,” he said. “Worst-case scenario, the Temple may be split into multiple factions. That would certainly affect our ability to attack the Demon Blight in spring. Therefore, we need to do everything we can to keep that from happening.”

“You’re a sick man. You know that?” I said. “Venetim, tell this man how twisted he is.”

“I, uh… I would love to, but I have something more important to discuss with you all. As it happens, I am in the middle of another secret mission, and those orders came straight from Galtuile. So unfortunately, I cannot be a part of this mission, due to—”

“Stop that this instant!”

Venetim was about to utter yet another ridiculous lie when a loud shout erupted from beside him.

It was Teoritta. A stranger had his arm around Kelflora’s shoulder while three others stood behind him. Judging from the massive weapons they were carrying, I suspected they were adventurers. And they were absolutely plastered.

“Kelflora is clearly uncomfortable! She does not wish to go with you!” Teoritta shouted furiously, pointing at one of the drunkards. “Go back to your table and leave us alone! We are discussing something very private right now!”

“What? This babe doesn’t look uncomfortable to me. Hey, give me a number.” The man with his hand on Kelflora shifted his gaze to me for some reason. What’s going on? “How much for the girl? Just one night’ll do. I promise not to break her, ’kay? So? How much?”

Kelflora looked confused, as did Teoritta.

I finished off my wine. “Adhiff… Does this happen often?”

“Sometimes. Kelflora is quite beautiful, after all.”

The drunkards were mistaken, but I could sympathize. It was hard to believe a girl like Kelflora would show up at this back-alley tavern just to sit around.

“Guess I’ll have to handle this,” I mumbled.

But before I could stand, Adhiff grabbed the drunkard’s wrist and twisted it while sweeping his legs out from under him, knocking him to the ground. Unsurprisingly, his friends’ expressions instantly changed.

“What’d ya think you’re doin’?!” one of them exclaimed. He was looking at Adhiff as if to say, “What was that for? All I did was touch her shoulder.” It was indeed common behavior in a place like this. In short, this was all Adhiff’s fault for choosing a bad venue.

“I prefer not to brawl, but it seems I have no choice,” said Adhiff. “Are you okay, Kelf?”

“Hmm? I’m perfectly fine.” As expected, Kelflora was oblivious to what was going on.

Teoritta, on the other hand, was clinging to my arm. “Xylo! I think the ones behind that man are being extremely rude as well!”

“I suppose you’re right. Looks like I’ll have to take care of them, too.”

One of the drunkards charged at me while spewing incoherent threats. I deflected his wild swing, sending him into the wall with a thud that caused Venetim to shriek and instinctively grab on to my arm.

“Xylo! Why do things always get violent when I’m with you?”

“Venetim, I need at least one arm to fight, so let go! Go hide under the table or something! And Adhiff…!”

I had to get Venetim off me and fast, because it was quickly becoming clear these adventurers weren’t alone. Two more guys showed up, making six in total. I dodged another one trying to tackle me, and soon the tavern had descended into utter chaos.

“I’m never coming with you to a place like this again!” I shouted.

“Strange. Lufen told me you’d love this place. I suppose he was mistaken.”

Was Adhiff even dumber than I’d thought? No…he probably did all this just to annoy me. Maybe he even enjoyed watching me fight, for some sick reason.

“…That Lufen. I’m gonna kick his ass next time I see him.”

For now, however, I settled on kicking the man in front of me.

The snow was worse than expected.

Daslow, the transport unit commander, gazed at the western sky. The sun would set soon.

This is as far as we go today.

They couldn’t risk pushing forward, so they gave up on reaching the next way station. Two days had passed since they’d left Galtuile, and everyone in the unit was exhausted. The good judgment shown by Daslow in this situation was precisely what had earned him his position as unit commander. His intuition for danger was especially sharp, though he sometimes joked that it was merely a manifestation of his cowardice. It had nevertheless saved countless lives.

And right now, that intuition was telling him they were in trouble. Pressing on through the night would be far too dangerous, and there was no guarantee that the weather wouldn’t turn even worse.

We can’t afford to fail.

This was a supply mission to aid the Eleventh Order of the Holy Knights, who were still deployed in the north and couldn’t return to the First Capital. Daslow knew how important this task was. The strongest order of Holy Knights had to maintain peak readiness at all times. They were holding the front line for humanity in the north.

“All right, men! This is as far as we go today!” Daslow shouted. Though the snowstorm was growing stronger, he could still make out everyone’s faces, and they could still hear him. “Change of plans! We’re going to stay in a nearby hut for the night.”

“A hut?” asked his aide. The man was holding the hem of his coat as it fluttered in the wind, trailing a bit behind the commander. “Is there one nearby?”

“Yes. Hunters use it.”

It was crucial to have a solid grasp of the terrain and facilities along the transport route. This was a habit Daslow had picked up from a man named Lufen, his former instructor. Though Lufen didn’t like it, Daslow liked to call him “Master Lufen,” out of respect for having taught him everything he knew.

Daslow raised his sacred seal-infused compass to eye level. Rather than cardinal directions, the compass showed the distance and direction of their destination. This instrument had been improved by Lufen himself. It was the size of a small shield and contained an additional sacred seal, allowing it to double as a communication device.

“The weather will probably get worse, so we’ll be better off waiting out the blizzard somewhere safe. Beats praying to the Goddess of Storms and hoping we make it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” several men said at once, sounding relieved. They spoke in perfect unison, but something was off.

That wasn’t everyone, thought Daslow.

He had twenty-four men in his unit, and just now, he had heard far fewer voices than he’d expected. Maybe they had been muffled by the strong wind, or some of the men were too tired to speak up. The latter might pose a problem, so Daslow decided to check in, just in case.

“Roll call! Partner, is there anyone unaccounted for?”

He’d expected his aide, still beside him, to start the head count. But several seconds passed, and no response came.

“Hey!” Daslow glanced over his shoulder and froze. His aide was missing.

He heard a muffled groan that seemed to emanate from the heart of the blizzard, followed by a sickening thud. Daslow whipped back around to face forward, his heart pounding. A horrible sight met him—his entire team was gone. Or rather, no one was left alive. Seven lifeless bodies littered the ground. One soldier was just taking his final breath, one hand clamped around his throat. And where were the others?

But before he could dwell on this mystery, Daslow had to confront a more immediate danger. A bizarre figure had just landed before him and slit the throat of his unit’s last living member.

“What the…? Who are you?!”

The figure resembled a colossal lizard, its hide a deep crimson. But this was no ordinary reptile. The creature stood upright on two legs, and its mouth, filled with menacing fangs, curled into a grotesque grin. Vines twisted and writhed across its scaly skin, as if it was a living host for some parasitic plant.

It had to be a faerie. That was the only logical explanation. And yet this was unlike any faerie Daslow had ever encountered—a monstrous chimera of plant, reptile, and insect. He had never heard of such an abomination, and to his utter disbelief, the creature opened its mouth and spoke in a clear, articulate voice.

“…Looks like you’re the last one.” Its words had a strange, viscous quality, but the language was unmistakably human. “Unfortunately, you’re going to die a painful, pitiful death. My boss ordered me to make it brutal…”

Its voice was tinged with amusement. Clearly, the creature was taking pleasure in this.

“Ugh.” With a swift motion, Daslow drew his lightning staff and aimed. “Bff…! Fff…!”

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fire his staff. Only a half-hearted gasp for air escaped his lips as he collapsed to his knees. Nausea rose in his throat, and his limbs felt weak. Something had gotten to him. Poison, perhaps? But how?

“I’m afraid you can’t move anymore. That’s what this poison does.”

He could tell by the creature’s voice that it was grinning in amusement. A flower with crimson petals was blooming on one of the vines covering its body. Was its pollen what had done this, or was it something else?

There’s no time to think about that. I have to fight. I can’t give up here…

Daslow managed to remain upright as his opponent casually approached him. The creature’s guard was completely down, and it was so close to him, he could almost touch it. He was still gripping his staff, and his fingers still worked. If he could just touch the sacred seal to activate it, he could fire.

I hope you’re ready for this, you scaly bastard!

But just as Daslow gritted his teeth, he felt a surge of heat in his chest.

No… This is different…

It wasn’t heat; it was pain. Unable to keep kneeling, he collapsed face-first. Something had pierced his chest. But what? Had someone been behind him? He didn’t know.

“…Hey, One-Eye. What’s wrong with you? That was my prey.”

“What? Really? Well, you know what they say: The early bird catches the worm.”

The lizard creature’s sullen tone was met by the cheery voice of a woman. It seemed someone else was nearby—another bipedal reptilian chimera with deep crimson scales.

“Listen, Six-Eyes,” she said. “There’s no room for dawdlers in our unit. Got it?”

“What? You talkin’ about me?”

“Yes, I am. You take way too long. Your biggest flaw is that you like playing with your targets.”

“Hey, now. Don’t get cocky just ’cause you were chosen to be captain. I’ll have you know I’m not convinced. What’s that new commander know about us anyway?

“Who cares what you think? I, for one, like the new commander. Though he is a bit disgusting.”

The sound of their voices grew fainter and fainter as an unbearable agony consumed Daslow. His mind was slipping away, and he realized with a sinking feeling that all hope was lost.

No, I can’t give up yet… There’s still something I can do…

Daslow was determined to keep struggling until the bitter end. All he had left was his compass.

“Anyway, it’s time to clean up—captain’s orders. Uthob Front, Unit 7110, get ready to move out.”

When the woman called “One-Eye” clapped her hands, Daslow noticed several other figures beginning to move. There were far more of them than he had realized.

“Burn their supplies and collect the bodies. You’re free to eat a few if you’re hungry, but hurry.”

Those words echoed in Daslow’s mind with startling clarity. He summoned one final surge of energy and extended a trembling hand, running his fingers across the compass.

Dammit… Come on… Please work…

His fingers brushed the sacred seal embedded in the back of the compass—the one that allowed it to serve as a communication device. Although he couldn’t speak, he could still move his fingers. He tapped, then released. The corresponding communication board in Galtuile Fortress would be blinking in time with his movements, each sequence carrying a specific meaning. It was a basic yet effective form of encrypted communication.

He knew it was a long shot. There wasn’t much he could say, and it was possible no one was even watching. But he still had to try.

I repeat…!

Daslow persisted, repeating his message until he drew his last breath.

Standby Order: First Capital of Zephent, Part 2

By the time Venetim and I left the tavern, it was quite late. After the brawl, it came out that Kelflora and Teoritta were goddesses, and everyone agreed to overlook the whole incident in exchange for their autographs. Even the adventurers who had started the fight got on their knees and apologized. Then they asked for my autograph, too.

Because we wound up wasting so much time, we didn’t reach the barracks until after midnight. The penal heroes were staying in the westernmost barracks in the First Capital. The location was far away from everything, extremely inconvenient, and ridiculously cold. The place had to have been built before the Federated Kingdom was founded. Chilly drafts crept in through the building’s cracks, and there was no end of snow to shovel.

Still, it was better than sleeping outdoors, and we had heaters powered with sacred seals to keep us warm.

“You’re late,” said a familiar voice the moment we arrived. “Extremely late!”

Patausche Kivia stood in front of the barracks, glaring at us. Her arms were crossed, and she looked very displeased.

“What were you doing with Goddess Teoritta so late at night?” she demanded. “You didn’t take her anywhere inappropriate, did you?!”

“Keep it down. You’ll wake Teoritta.”

I leaned to the side so she could see Teoritta sleeping on my back. The goddess had started dozing off on the way, and I’d wound up giving her a piggyback ride. I couldn’t blame her. We’d ridden horses from the repair shop to the capital, but it had been a rough journey with little time to rest. And once we’d arrived, Teoritta had used a lot of energy looking around at the shops.

Patausche reluctantly lowered her voice and repeated herself. “…All right, but what took you so long? Venetim looks like he got punched in the face. Did someone figure out he was trying to con them?”

“I don’t just look like I got punched in the face. I did get punched, and it really hurt.”

Venetim rubbed his cheek. Technically, he had tripped and fallen face-first onto the floor, but I kept my mouth shut. Correcting him after every single lie was way more trouble than it was worth. I idly wondered if it was all these little fibs going uncorrected that allowed Venetim to pull off his big lies.

“Just to be clear, I was punched when we got into a little scuffle at a local pub… Anyway, I know you’ve been waiting all day for Xylo and Teoritta to get back, so I feel really bad asking you this, but we were kind of given a secret mission. So if you don’t mind, we need to hold a meeting straightaway.”

“A s-scuffle? At a local pub?” Patausche’s scowl deepened, though I suspected she was more confused than angry. “Why would you bring Goddess Teoritta to a pub?! And what’s this secret mission? No, wait—what are you implying? I definitely wasn’t waiting all day! I wasn’t waiting at all. Ugh! Your explanation is all over the place. I can’t even follow!”

“Come on, keep it down. Teoritta’s mumbling in her sleep. You’re waking her up.”

“…Fine. Just tell me what’s going on. What’s our mission? Is it another crazy one?”

“Yep.” I picked up my pace and headed toward the barracks entrance. A lamp that used bisties to emit heat glowed nearby, providing some relief from the cold. “Put simply, we need to make sure a certain candidate wins the divine election held during Luffe Aros.”

“Th-that sounds like corruption. Why would we do that?”

“It’s an order from Adhiff. We can use whatever methods we’d like as long as some guy called Nicold Ibuton wins. Have you heard of him?”

Only high priests were eligible to become the archpriest. If memory served, there were nearly thirty of them, and I hardly knew any.

“…I’m aware of his name and reputation. He’s well known for being eccentric.”

It made sense that Patausche was well-informed. Her family had deep ties to the Temple, and she’d been a serious-minded captain of the Holy Knights until very recently.

“He’s an honest, upright man. But, on the other hand, he’s stubborn and inflexible… Or at least, that’s what people say. He’s still in his thirties, making him the youngest high priest of the group. He has absolutely no interest in infighting and usually spends his time volunteering and doing unprofitable charity work.”

“Sounds like the kind of person the Temple would hate. How’d someone like him even get to be a high priest?”

“He’s extremely popular. The laity love him—so much so that the Temple couldn’t afford to give him the cold shoulder.”

“Makes sense.”

I had a hunch I wasn’t going to get along with this Nicold Ibuton fellow. Pure, upright guys like that tended to have a poor sense of humor and usually wound up glaring at me. I’d had many such encounters over the years.

“I guess that’s why Adhiff wants him elected so badly,” I mused. “He’s respectable, and at the very least, he’s not a coexister. With a leader like that, it will be easier to send in the Holy Knights.”

“True… A lot of the high priests are corrupt or working with the coexisters.” Patausche looked away, her voice tinged with pain, as if I’d struck a tender spot. “But this won’t be easy. That man has a reputation as an eccentric among his peers. He’ll be at a disadvantage going into the election.”

“Yeah, I agree. We need to convince a majority of those peers to vote for him regardless.”

The rules for the divine election were strictly defined. The current group of high priests would go in front of the public and nominate a few of their number, then conduct a vote. To become archpriest, one had to carefully cultivate support in order to win a majority.

That was why the coexisters had such a strong presence within the Temple, and only those who could maintain balance, collecting votes from both factions, were elected. In effect, the retiring archpriest had been slowly weakening his own foundation.

“This is going to be our hardest mission yet,” I grumbled. “I mean, what can we even do? I’ve never helped anyone get elected before. Should we just threaten all the other candidates one by one?”

“Why does it always come back to violence with you, Xylo?” scolded Venetim. “That isn’t going to work. If a penal hero threatened someone like that, they’d simply detonate the sacred seals in our necks.”

Venetim made a very valid point, so I didn’t even try to argue. Even Patausche nodded in agreement.

“Exactly! We can’t resort to violence or criminal activity. We should appeal to the other high priests and urge them to vote for Nicold Ibuton.”

“Um… I’m pretty sure, if that were an option, we wouldn’t have been put on this mission,” mumbled Venetim weakly. This, too, was a good point.

In essence, my proposal was too extreme, and Patausche’s was too straightforward. We needed a middle ground. I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Venetim. For some reason, he always got scared when I looked him directly in the eye.

“…What about you?” I asked. “What would a con man do to get everyone to vote for Nicold Ibuton?”

“Well, if we only need their votes…then bribing them would be the easiest option…”

“B-bribe them?” Patausche’s expression suddenly hardened. “You can’t bribe a high priest!”

“More importantly, do you even have the money to bribe anyone?” I asked.

“Oh, uh, well… We don’t exactly need to use money… I mean…” Venetim paused as if he was having trouble explaining what was on his mind. “People vote for whoever they think is best, right? In other words, they vote for whoever is going to benefit them the most… For some people, that’s money, and for others, it might be world peace or the bolstering of some religious belief or conviction.”

Venetim had a tendency to get carried away once he started talking.

“Therefore,” he continued, “we simply need everyone to believe that High Priest Nicold Ibuton’s election will benefit them the most— that he is going to yield higher dividends than any other candidate. That’s how we bribe them.”

“Interesting.”

I understood what Venetim was getting at. If elections were about voting in the guy who stood to benefit everyone the most, then we needed to convince the other high priests that Nicold Ibuton was that guy. It was still a very straightforward approach.

“And to do that…we’re going to need some capital first—for research purposes, of course,” Venetim explained. “We need to know who needs what and who the other candidates are.”

“Rival candidates, huh?” I thought about this. “That’s going to be the real problem. I doubt the coexisters are just going to sit back and watch while we’re helping out Nicold Ibuton.”

It was very likely, if not a foregone conclusion, that the coexisters would be helping Ibuton’s rivals.

“They might even send an assassin to kill him. At the very least, there will be threats.” We needed a means of defending our candidate. “We won’t be able to do all this ourselves. We’ll need help—a squad, if possible. If we can, I’d like to infiltrate the election as official guards.”

If we could do that, we’d be able to protect the candidates while they were onstage on the day of the election. Given the possibility of snipers and other attacks, that “official” status was crucial. Of course, there was no way they would let penal heroes like us anywhere near the stage on election day. We were convicted criminals, after all.

“We need money, people, a means of protecting our guy, and a means of gathering votes… Hold up. We don’t even know if Nicold Ibuton is going to run in the election, do we? We’ve got a load of things to do, and we haven’t even started yet.”

My head was spinning just thinking about it. Were we really capable of pulling this off? Either way, we didn’t have a choice. This was a direct order. The secret missive Adhiff had presented to us had Galtuile’s official seal.

Patausche, who had been wearing a grim expression the whole time, folded her arms and sank into thought. “There’s one thing still bothering me. Is this really an official order from Galtuile? If so, just who has the power to give orders to Captain Adhiff? I find it hard to believe he came up with this plan by himself.”

“Wondering about it won’t change anything,” I insisted. “We’re just grunts in all this.”

“Yes, but…”

“Exactly. So let’s get started. First, we need capital, just like Venetim said.”

“How are we supposed to do that? Doing odd jobs for the military is only going to get us so far.”

“That sounds way too slow and boring… I have two ideas for getting the money. One—we borrow it.”

That would be the quickest way. We had a high chance of success, or at least I thought so.

Patausche narrowed one eye at me, looking exasperated. “And who would lend us money? Do you know some oddball willing to finance criminals?”

“Lufen Cauron, captain of the Sixth Order. He comes from a filthy rich family of nobles in the west. Never had to worry about money a day in his life. Plus, he has a lot of influence among his noble peers, so he can help us hire soldiers for protection as well. We’d be killing two birds with one stone.”

“Lufen Cauron? I’d heard he was your friend…”

“Don’t you have any friends who might lend us money?”

“…I suppose there are a few. Savette might… But I’d rather not be in her debt.”

“Oh, uh… That’s not going to be possible,” Venetim interrupted. “Captain Lufen is leaving the First Capital tomorrow morning with his men. He’s being sent west with Savette Fisballah and her knights to shore up defenses there, so I doubt either of them will have time to meet with you.”

“Guh.”

“Mn.”

Patausche and I groaned in unison. Despite the cold, there were still some faeries and demon lords wandering around, and the government had to keep up a minimum level of defense. At least a few units had to be stationed on the front lines at all times, though I was surprised they’d chosen Lufen. Was it just bad luck, or was someone trying to sabotage us?

Either way, if he wasn’t going to be around, we’d have to think of something else.

“All right, plan B, it is,” I said. “We’ll have someone enter the Sword Offering and win.”

“Interesting,” said Patausche with a knowing nod. “That might actually work.”

Venetim, however, looked baffled. “Uh… The Sword Offering? What’s that?”

Had he never heard of the event? I supposed it was of more interest to those in the military and to gamblers.

“It’s like a pre-festival tournament. It’s happening the day after tomorrow. It’s meant to determine the strongest swordsman in the military.”

“Right… It sounds very…violent.”

“Not really. It’s part of the festival, remember? …Wait. Patausche, have you entered the tournament before?”

“Yes, I got first place,” she said casually.

I wasn’t surprised in the least. Her skills in close combat were unparalleled. If we fought one-on-one, I wasn’t sure I could win.

“If we win, there’s a high probability they’ll let us join the election as guards. In fact, it’s almost guaranteed, since the winner is basically proving they’re the strongest knight in the military. There’s no reason not to try. The only issue is…”

“You are not allowed to participate if you’ve won before,” Patausche said, finishing my thought. That would be our biggest challenge. “Therefore, I won’t be able to participate. What about you, Xylo?”

“Unfortunately, I’m in the same boat.” I would have lost on purpose back then if I’d known this would happen. “You hear that, Venetim? You need to get Jayce to sign up and win. Once, when we were trading brags in front of Neely, I brought up the tournament and asked if he’d ever participated, and he said he hadn’t. I’m positive he’d win, and that would net us both the reward money and a chance at becoming official guards.”

“I see… But I’m afraid there is one problem with that plan.” Venetim frowned, sounding hesitant. “Jayce isn’t here right now.”

“What?”

“Apparently, House Partiract is holding a family gathering, and he’s gone to join in… In other words, he isn’t in the First Capital at the moment.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me… Come on!”

“P-please don’t yell at me. You are going to wake Goddess Teoritta.”

Dammit, I thought, struggling to maintain my composure. Of course Jayce isn’t here when we need him. Asshole.

“What are we gonna do now?”

My question hung in the air, answered only by the mournful wail of the icy north wind.

The First Capital of Zephent had a railway station that was once part of the sacred seal railway linking Galtuile Fortress to the Industrial City of Rocca. Although routes to regions plagued by the Demon Blight had long been abandoned due to the deteriorating state of the tracks, the railways within the human-controlled territory centered around the First Capital were still operating at full capacity.

At the moment, the First Capital’s railway station was teeming with soldiers, all hard at work. Some units were loading cargo onto a train made of black steel, while others were filling its engine with cylinders of luminous fluid. Lufen Cauron stood on the sidelines, observing the frenzy with a sense of detachment.

It’s getting cold. No wonder Niflaine went straight inside the train the moment we got here.

Only moments ago, his goddess had been running around playing in the snow. But all it had taken was a single sneeze to make her retreat into the warm train, shouting, “It’s too cold! I hate snow!” With his goddess gone and no more orders to give his men, Lufen found himself with nothing to do.

I guess I could take a nap. We depart at dawn, after all.

Lufen glanced at his pocket watch. The cargo would soon be loaded and the vehicles prepared for departure. Everything was going smoothly. His only regret was that he wouldn’t be able to attend Luffe Aros in the First Capital.

He was also going to miss out on meeting his friend, who was supposed to arrive in the capital very soon.

Xylo, I really hope you haven’t forgotten about me, buddy.

Lufen was well aware that might happen one day. He knew that was part of being a penal hero.

But if you do remember me…

We both owe each other money, so you’d better not forget…

“Thinking about something important, Captain Lufen Cauron?”

Golden curls bobbed before his eyes. They belonged to Savette Fisballah, captain of the Fourth Order of the Holy Knights. She was one of the youngest people to rise to the station of captain, and she was skilled in both military and political matters. Some even called her a prodigy.

And that prodigy was currently peering at Lufen’s face with an amused gleam in her eye. “You always close your eyes like that during meetings, when you’re concentrating. Are you worried about the mission?”

“No…” Lufen had always found Savette difficult to deal with. She was brilliant, and despite being obviously superior to him in every way, she was always scrupulously polite. He wasn’t sure how to react. “Preparations are going smoothly, and I’m not concerned. I’m just disappointed that we won’t be able to go to the festival to celebrate the new year.”

“I feel the same.” Savette nodded, her face perfectly composed. Lufen couldn’t read her expression at all. “I was really looking forward to seeing you show off at the Sword Offering.”

“Well, that’s never going to happen. My swordsmanship isn’t good enough. You’re a far better swordsman than I am. I wouldn’t stand a chance against you.”

“Pfft.” Savette snickered. “You flatter me. However, that’s not a very nice compliment to give a lady such as myself. You should be more mindful of your words if you’re trying to impress.”

Lufen hadn’t meant it as a compliment. He was simply stating a fact.

“I wish we could have enjoyed Luffe Aros together,” Savette continued. “But unfortunately, it appears my Bafroque and the Eleventh Order are the most suitable candidates to defend mankind through the winter.”

Some faeries would attack even in the winter snow. To combat them, they would use Bafroque’s power to manipulate the weather, creating a localized snowless zone around their defensive position while channeling the wind toward their enemies. That would hinder the faeries’ advance while making it easier for mankind’s forces to defend.

Meanwhile, the Eleventh Order, now universally regarded as the most powerful unit, was staying put in the north, with apparently no intention of attending the Passage. The captain had said so in an official statement, so there was nothing they could do.

“…And so, when given the choice, I chose your unit right away. Other than the Eleventh Order, there’s no one else I’d rather have as backup, Captain Lufen Cauron of the Sixth Order.”

“Really? Well, I guess that’s reasonable…”

“It’s more than simply ‘reasonable.’ You don’t seem to understand your own value, Captain Lufen.”

“What? Wh-what value?” Lufen was openly wary. He got the feeling there was hidden meaning behind every word Savette said. “The fact that I can lend people money? I know my family is wealthy, but I’m not really into investing. It makes me nervous. Captain Savette, are you starting a business or something?”

“Pffft!” Savette covered her mouth and chuckled. “Impressive. I didn’t see that one coming. You are just so—”

“Ahem. I hate to interrupt you two, but can we talk?” came a voice from behind them.

Lufen turned around. As he did, he noticed Savette’s face cloud over for an instant.

A short man with cropped hair was standing nearby. He had a warm smile, but his uniform made it clear he was a soldier. Behind him stood a person Lufen assumed was his attendant.

“I apologize for bothering you, but I wanted to ask if you had any requests before you depart. Our unit was given orders to supply you with whatever you need.”

He had a gentle, unintimidating demeanor, but Lufen couldn’t place his face.

This is bad.

He scrambled to recall the man’s name. The medals on his uniform indicated a high-ranking officer. If Lufen failed to recognize him, he could wind up in hot water.

Think, Lufen! Think! I can do this! Oh, right—his family crest…!

Lufen’s eyes were drawn to the insignia on the man’s chest: a bow and arrow. He knew that symbol.

“Sir…Kormadino.” Lufen bowed. The name belonged to a prominent noble family from the central region who had contributed greatly to the western line of defense. “Thank you very much for your support in providing and distributing supplies.”

Savette chuckled beside him, clearly more familiar with the man, then bent forward in a deep, elegant bow.

“Governor-General Simurid Kormadino of the Fourth Northern Front, thank you for coming all this way to meet us. Preparations for our departure are going smoothly, so there is nothing to worry about.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Kormadino saluted.

Lufen was relieved to find him a cheerful, friendly man. It didn’t seem like he had it out for him, at least. Lufen had a reputation for being lazy, and some soldiers could be hostile. That was always a big inconvenience, because Lufen was lazy. He was always trying to make things easier for himself. Was that really so bad?

“Allow me to express my deepest gratitude and respect to the Holy Knights, who protect our human territory.” Kormadino reverently bowed. “While I unfortunately cannot go with you, I will be praying for your safe return.”

“Thank you for your gracious words. It is an honor to speak with such a high-ranking individual.”

“Not at all. You two are champions with far more impressive achievements than me. I have heard all about your impressive exploits, Savette.” Simurid laughed.

“What an honor,” Savette replied coolly, before beginning to walk off. “We are counting on you to protect the First Capital while we are gone, Governor-General.”

There was a coldness in her voice and expression that Lufen had never seen before. It was a sharp contrast to Simurid’s friendly smile.

“But of course. It is my duty as a soldier to protect the people, after all.”

“But of course. Come, Captain Lufen. You said you had to finish loading the supplies, yes?”

“Oh, uh… Right.” Lufen followed her. Apparently, they had things to do. “I really appreciate that you want to help, but could you slow down so I can catch up?”

Lufen got the impression that Savette didn’t like Simurid very much. Later, he asked her about him.

“I don’t just dislike that man,” she said. “I despise him.”

Later on, the train carrying Lufen and Savette departed, leaving a trail of pale white light in its wake. Simurid Kormadino watched it vanish into the western horizon from the castle ramparts. Ever the pragmatist, he felt it was important to witness everything firsthand from start to finish. Strong foundations, he believed, were built on careful observation and preparation.

I’ve done everything I can… I’m positive this is going to work.

He repeated those words in his heart. He was no dreamer. He knew how to choose the surest way forward and see his mission through.

“Your Excellency,” said his young attendant, “are you really all right simply letting them go? We could have sabotaged their supply wagons or even disposed of them if you wished.”

“What a barbaric thing to say. I like your style.” Kormadino gave a hearty laugh, making a conscious effort to seem cheerful. “But there’s no need for that. All that matters right now is that they stay away from the First Capital.”

He didn’t want to provoke any unwanted suspicion after all.

All of a sudden, Kormadino had the urge to bite his nails. He managed to stop himself at the last second, however. That was something children did, and he was an adult. He had to face reality.

He couldn’t allow himself to show any weakness in front of his young attendant. He had to maintain his image as the great Governor-General Kormadino at all times.

“The fewer casualties, the better. I wish to avoid repeating the tragedies of the past.”

“But if you let them live, their actions could jeopardize the plan. Lufen Cauron is well known for his expertise in military logistics, and I hear Savette excels in both leadership and strategy.”

“That’s simply an illusion born from rumors and hearsay,” said Kormadino, trying to keep his voice calm and suppressing his own irritation. “In reality, they are nowhere near as valuable as people claim, and they definitely don’t deserve all the praise they receive.”

It was Kormadino’s belief that neither of them should have been allowed to forge pacts with goddesses. The two of them acted like they were humanity’s champions, but their only skill was flattering those immature little girls. They had no right to hold such a privileged position.

“Lufen Cauron is as rude and unmotivated as the rumors suggest, and Savette Fisballah views war as if it were some kind of game. Neither of them takes their duties seriously.”

“That’s…exactly the impression I got of them as well, Your Excellency.”

His attendant saluted, his expression serious.

Only those with true ability and the achievements to back it up, and who were honest and sincere, should be allowed to call themselves humanity’s protectors. That was Kormadino’s view.

“Now, let’s continue as planned. You must remain calm. Anxiety only leads to failure.”

The man’s words were as much for himself as they were for his attendant. How was his voice? Did he sound self-assured and thoughtful? As if he had everything figured out? He had to, if he wanted to achieve greatness.

I have no interest in becoming a champion.

But this was simply the best path forward. He was the only one who could do it. How many of those in the military had seriously thought about humanity’s future, as he had? Most of them were just chasing an unattainable dream of victory.

A bunch of deluded idealists…

Kormadino clenched his fists, suppressing his irritation.

“Contact High Priest Mirose, then get in touch with Doc. After that— No…” After a moment of hesitation, he made a decision. He was going pull out all the stops. “Get in touch with Tevi as well. It’s time I meet with this Saint.”

The coexisters would surely win. Kormadino was certain of it. The only way to survive was for humans and the Demon Blight to coexist and find peace together.

It wasn’t what he personally desired, but this task would undoubtedly make him a champion.

Punishment: Manipulate the Luffe Aros Election, Part 1

There were only nine days left until Luffe Aros.

In the meantime, Patausche Kivia was up to something strange.

She was swinging around a wooden stick wrapped in leather, knocking out soldiers as they came charging at her. The thing in her hands could barely even be called a weapon.

What the…?

Dotta shrank back in horror at the grisly sight.

It was right in the middle of the day, out in the freezing cold, and a penal hero was beating up regular soldiers on the military’s training grounds. Dotta would have expected this from Xylo or Jayce, but from Patausche? Then again, he’d always had a nagging suspicion she was yet another uncouth ruffian who just happened to have a respectable upbringing.

One of the soldiers Patausche had knocked down lay on the ground and groaned. It seemed he couldn’t even move. Had he broken a bone? Or maybe the blow had just really hurt.

“Not bad. Your defense was remarkable.” Patausche looked down at the man, wooden stick still in her hand, and softly exhaled. “However, you lack stamina. Surely, even you noticed how hard it was to keep your weapon up at the end. You need to train your muscles so you can keep up your stance.”

She wiped the sweat from her brow. She was even offering tips to the defeated soldiers! As Dotta watched, he had only one thought.

She scares me.

How could she give such condescending advice after inflicting such a painful blow? Xylo and Jayce weren’t any better, of course. What’s more, the soldiers didn’t even seem resentful. In fact, they willingly accepted what she had to say. Maybe these guys just got off on being beaten up.

“Next!” Patausche shouted as the fallen soldier was carried off.

The next one stepped forward, brandishing his own leather-wrapped stick. But after a few exchanges, Patausche landed a powerful blow to his stomach, sending the tough-looking man straight to the ground.

“Your reflexes and stamina are good, but you’re not using your head. You need to predict your opponent’s actions and counter accordingly. You should have been able to avoid that thrust to the gut easily… Next!”

Soldier after soldier stepped up, only to be knocked down by Patausche. Were there really this many people eager to get thrashed? Apparently, they were calling this “training,” but Dotta didn’t think anyone was going to improve by being beaten up.

And Patausche was a penal hero, to boot. Was she even allowed to be here? Why was everyone so eager to take her advice? Dotta would’ve expected the soldiers to spit on the two of them and insult them.

But there was still something even more puzzling about this situation.

Is it just me, or are there way too many spectators for something like this?

A bunch of people were gathered around the training ground, most of them not wearing uniforms. That meant they were off duty and only here to have fun. He could even see Tsav over to one side, scribbling something on a big newspaper with an unusually serious glint in his eyes. He still had the same slovenly expression on, though.

But when Dotta asked him what he was doing…

“My girl Patausche sure is tough, huh?”

…he got back a totally nonsensical answer.

“I wonder if even Jayce would stand a chance against her one-on-one,” Tsav continued. “Hard to say. My bro Xylo’d definitely win in an anything-goes fight. But in a duel like this, who knows?! I sure don’t wanna fight her! Oh, I’d make an exception if I had to assassinate her, of course, but—”

“W-wait! That’s not what I’m asking.” Dotta had no intention of listening to Tsav’s endless ramblings. “I wanna know why there are so many people here. Is this fun? Are people really learning anything?”

“Neither. Wait. Hold up, Dotta…” Something had dawned on Tsav. “Don’t tell me you don’t know squat about military events. Personally, I’ve sneaked into one before, so I’m pretty well-informed.”

“Oh, well… I guess I’ve never been interested…”

“Really?! Then I guess you don’t have a clue about the Sword Offering. It’s part of the Luffe Aros Festival. A lot of nobles come to watch it.”

“Oh.”

The phrase “Sword Offering” combined with “festival” conjured up a vivid image in Dotta’s mind. He imagined it as kind of like the stick-fighting Patausche and the others were engaged in, but a lot grander and more festive. The judges probably looked at who’d dished out the worst beating to decide the winner.

“Every unit staying in the capital sends a representative, and they all fight to see who’s the strongest. It’s a really huge event. Even the royal family and chancellor show up. And it’s tomorrow! It’s all anyone’s talking about right now!”

“…Let me guess. You’re betting on the winner.”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?! It’s an important tournament that decides the reputation and honor of every unit that participates, and there’s a lot of money on the line! The bookies are all nobles, so you know there’s gonna be a lot of dough going around! It’s basically a publicly sanctioned gambling event.”

That explained Tsav’s newspaper. It had pictures of each unit’s representative, along with their information. Dotta could see names next to each person’s portrait and numbers that were probably betting odds.

“And right now, my girl Patausche’s sparring with all of ’em. It’s a great opportunity to figure out who to bet on.” Tsav glanced around at the crowd, then at the line of guys waiting their turn to face Patausche. “You know, since we can gauge their skill level by how long they stay standing. Heh-heh!”

“She’s going to get mad at you if you keep calling her your ‘girl,’ you know? …Wait. Why don’t you just bet on Patausche? Looks like she’s the strongest one.”

“She’s not allowed to participate, unfortunately. There’s some sort of rule that you can’t join the competition if you’ve won before.”

“So she’s won before…?”

“That’s why everyone’s here to watch her spar. It’ll give us a good idea of how strong everyone is and who’s destined to eat shit.”

“Then why is she being so polite and giving them all advice? Doesn’t she realize they’re using her?”

“That’s just the kind of person she is.” Tsav scribbled some notes into the blank spaces in the newspaper. “If it were me, I’d just give them a little lip service, then send them on their way, but not her. She’s legit hilarious.”

“Yeah, even I think she’s funny sometimes.”

“Right? But I appreciate it. Some of the fights are pretty intense, and it helps my predictions.”

Sometimes, Tsav’s activities were too sleazy even for Dotta. Xylo and Jayce weren’t much different, though. They all seemed to thrive on watching people get punched in the face.

“There are basically three candidates vying for the win this year. Who do you think it’s gonna be, Dotta? Based on the info I’ve got, I’m leaning toward Adelat Fuzer from the Fourth Northern Front Unit. Captains in the Holy Knights are prohibited from joining in, so I’m having a hard time deciding!”

“What about having Xylo or Jayce enter? I’m sure one of them would win.”

“Unfortunately, my bro Xylo’s already won before, and Jayce got special permission to leave the capital to see his family, so he’s not here. I bet Neely would wipe the floor with everyone if they let her try, though. Ha-ha!”

Despite his complaints, Tsav seemed to be having a great time.

Gambling, huh? Dotta wasn’t much of a gambler himself, and he wasn’t into meticulously researching data and probabilities like Tsav. If he wanted to bet, he’d just put a tiny bit of cash on whoever, then leave the rest to luck.

“Next!” shouted Patausche.

Another fresh challenger stepped forward, brandishing a stick, and the whole scene repeated: another standoff, another clash of sticks, followed by a flurry of blows. Patausche quickly closed the distance while deftly dodging her opponent’s attacks. Then she delivered a swift blow to his shoulder and chin, leaving him on the ground, writhing in agony.

Whatever. Not like this crap has anything to do with me.

Dotta preferred to spend his time hanging out in town.

“By the way, Tsav, you free tomorrow night? Want to go somewhere together?”

“What?! Like somewhere with a lot of girls?!”

“Yeah, basically… I don’t care if they’re lying to me. I just want to go somewhere where the girls are nice. We could go out to eat, too. I’m in the mood for some thick cuts of meat…”

“I’m in! I’ll be loaded after the Sword Offering, so I could totally treat you to dinner!”

“You always lose when you gamble, though…”

“Not this time! I’ve got this one in the bag. I mean, there might be some surprise entries tomorrow, and the odds aren’t for sure… But I plan on betting every last military note I have, so don’t worry! It’s a done deal!”

Even Dotta knew that betting all your money was the riskiest move you could make. If Tsav lost, he’d be completely broke. Not that you could stop him once he’d made up his mind.

“Let’s hit the hot springs afterward, too! One of the ones with a steam bath! Oh, man! I can’t wait!”

Oh well, thought Dotta. They were in the First Capital, and this was his first vacation in ages. Who knew when he’d be able to relax like this again? He might as well enjoy his time in the big city. And he planned to earn enough funds to do just that by the end of the day.

I love when things are peaceful. This is the life.

Dotta was truly grateful for the winter season and its associated cease-fire.

Unfortunately, it was precisely at moments like these that disaster tended to strike.

“And so, Dotta, I have a little favor to ask of you.”

Venetim had called Dotta to his room that night and proceeded to babble a bunch of nonsense.

“I need you to participate in the Sword Offering tomorrow, representing the penal hero unit.”

“Huh?!”

It took Dotta some time to reply. He ruminated on the words, repeating them in his head. His head tilted to the right, then to the left. At last, he spoke.

“…What was that? Venetim, what exactly are you asking me to do again?”

“Fight in the Sword Offering tomorrow. As our representative.”

“No…” Even Dotta was startled by how hard he was shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no, no! No way. And why me? We’re talking about tomorrow, here! Why would you ask me on such short notice? There are plenty of people more suited for the job!”

“That’s the problem: There aren’t. Neither Patausche nor Xylo are allowed to participate, and Jayce isn’t here… To be honest, I wish I could ask them instead. I tried and tried to come up with a solution. I thought so hard, my head started to hurt.”

Venetim massaged his temples, as if this were literally true. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his complexion was pale. In fact, he’d looked unwell ever since they’d been given time off.

He must have had a lot on his mind. Then again, maybe he was just feeling under the weather. This was Venetim, after all. You couldn’t take anything he said at face value.

“So it has to be you, Dotta…unless you have someone else you think is more suitable for the task.”

“Of course I do! What about Tsav?”

“He would severely injure his opponents. He might even kill them, and then what would happen? Our vacation would end right there, and we’d all be thrown into a cell to await our next mission.”

“Oh…” Dotta could already envision it, and the thought of spending the rest of his time off in a prison cell filled him with dread. “Then what about Tatsuya?”

“That would be even worse. Tatsuya doesn’t understand what it means to go easy on someone. Last time I asked him to hold back, he smashed a guy’s limbs beyond repair.”

“…I see.”

It wasn’t even worth mentioning Rhyno. Who knew what he might do? The guy had zero common sense. And Norgalle was a lost cause.

“To be frank, you’re the only one who can do this, Dotta.”

“No! I hate fighting. I—”

“Quit whining already,” someone growled. “Just shut up and do it. You’re the only one left we can ask.”

It was Xylo. He’d been standing at Venetim’s side with a disgruntled expression the whole time. That was pretty normal for him, though.

“We want to win, so it’s not like we wanted to choose you.”

“In that case, you definitely don’t want me in this thing…” Dotta steeled himself against Xylo’s piercing gaze and mustered his courage. This was a critical moment. “Why don’t you just put on a mask and do it yourself, Xylo? We can tell them you’re some kind of mysterious psycho killer or something.”

“I’m about ready to knock your teeth out. This isn’t a game. And Venetim, stop nodding like you think that’s a good idea! There’s no way they’d let some weirdo in a mask participate!”

“Yes, I agree. This is no time to be joking around, Dotta.” In a flash, Venetim changed his expression and adapted his stance. Dotta was amazed at how quickly he changed sides.

“Anyway, this is an order from Venetim, your commander,” said Xylo. “You’re doing this, Dotta.”

“Venetim can’t tell me what to do. He’s…Venetim!”

“Actually, he can. At least on paper. So you’d better comply! This is the military, and we’re soldiers, dammit!”

“I don’t remember signing up for this, and I’m not doing it! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just remembered I have very important business to—”

“Not so fast.”

Just as Dotta attempted to spin around and flee, someone seized him by the scruff of the neck. The arm grasping him was disturbingly swift, unnaturally long, and wrapped in bandages.

“Don’t you dare run, Hanged Fox. If you ask me, this Sword Offering sounds fun.”

It was Trishil. She’d been looming behind Dotta this whole time. She, too, had been summoned to Venetim’s room—or rather, she’d decided to tag along.

Trishil glared down at him with burning contempt. “This is the perfect chance for you to learn some hand-to-hand combat. You’re doing this.”

“What…? Did you not hear what I just said? I don’t think I could have made myself any clearer.”

“I’m not asking what you want. I’m telling you what you’ll do. It’s either this…” Trishil wrapped her right hand, covered in bandages, around Dotta’s neck. “Or I can hurt you so badly that you spend the rest of your vacation at the repair shop. That could be fun.”

“W-wait! Wait, wait, wait!” Dotta shrieked as her hand slowly tightened around his neck. “A-are you sure about this?! I mean, is there even a point in me joining the tournament? ’Cause I’m not gonna win!”

“You will win. One way or another.”

Xylo’s expression was dead serious. He wasn’t simply trying to torment Dotta, and that made the whole thing even more troublesome.

Something else was bothering him, too.

“What’s so important about me winning?” he asked. “Is something bad gonna happen if I lose?”

“Yep. But telling you all that would just confuse you. So just take my word for it.”

“Oh, but if you’d like a fake reason, I can provide one,” said Venetim. “We have been sent on a secret mission by a very important noble and must thwart an evil plot cooked up by villains who seek to destroy humanity—”

“On second thought, I don’t need to know… And listening to Venetim lie is an even bigger waste of time.” Dotta could feel his mood deteriorating faster and faster, and it wasn’t just because Trishil was squeezing the life out of him—probably. “…By the way, do people…get hurt during this Sword Offering thing? What if you surrender immediately?”

“Many look down on us penal heroes,” explained Venetim. “In fact, many despise us. Unless you’re Patausche or Jayce, of course… Even if you surrender, Dotta, I expect they will pretend they didn’t hear you and proceed to break all your bones. A wooden stick wrapped in leather can do a lot of damage if you swing it hard enough. Or so I have been told.”

Dotta knew he was right.

“You hear that, Hanged Fox? Congratulations.” Trishil twisted her lips into a vile grin. “It looks like you’ve got a reason to train. You don’t want to spend the rest of your vacation at the repair shop, right? Don’t worry, though. We’ll train all night, and I’ll have you ready to fight by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll help, too, of course,” said Xylo in a show of unasked for goodwill. “I have to make sure you win this.”

Luffe Aros, the vibrant celebration of the new year, was just ahead, and yet Dotta’s mood was anything but festive.

The floorboards creaked as Trishil glided forward, a wooden stick clearly visible in her left hand.

She would strike down from above—no, that was just a feint. Her footwork gave it away, and there was a significant shift in her body weight.

But what was her real aim?

I have no clue what to do.

How could he? Dotta had shut his eyes the moment the wooden stick came hurtling down toward him. Immediately, he felt a heavy impact in his stomach. The thick leather wrapped around his torso couldn’t completely protect him from the pain.

This really hurts. There’s no way this is real armor. Those guys are all liars.

Dotta doubled over, only to feel the wooden stick press against his throat.

“How is closing your eyes going to help?” Trishil asked.

She didn’t just look exasperated. It was as though she couldn’t even understand what she was seeing.

Having Trishil towering over him made Dotta realize once again just how tall she was. Her slender frame made her seem a bit shorter than Patausche. If he thought of Patausche as a massive wolf, Trishil was more like a wildcat.

“I know you can see every move I make. And yet you throw all that away by closing your eyes.”

“…Yeah, but… Come on…,” Dotta whined, his voice strained.

Bruises covered his body, not just his stomach, and fatigue had begun to set in. He couldn’t fathom how Xylo and the others jumped around so nimbly in this restrictive armor. The wooden stick was surprisingly heavy, too.

I’m just not a fighter.

He felt this truth in his bones.

Before long, Dotta sank to the ground. They were in one of the training fields in the heart of the military camp. They’d chosen the most run-down spot of them all—a cramped, dilapidated space with outdated equipment and walls that seemed held together by force of will alone. The place was practically condemned, scheduled for demolition any day now. Hardly any sun got in, and the inside was gloomy and dark. But with the tournament just around the corner, this crumbling hazard zone was the best a penal hero could get—a spot too dangerous for everyone else.

“Normally, if someone’s gonna hit you with a big stick, you close your eyes, right?” Dotta protested.

“That’s ridiculous. How are you going to dodge with your eyes closed?” Trishil was spouting nonsense. It didn’t make any sense to him. “If you’re that worried about getting hurt, you need to keep your eyes open.”

“I can’t. I’m not used it.”

“Then get used to it. That’s why we’re doing this.”

That sounded totally unreasonable to Dotta. Getting used to this level of violence would take a ton of training and lots of mental preparation. How could someone like him, who wasn’t even motivated to change, manage something like that overnight?

But he knew better than to talk back. That would only make Trishil angrier.

“What the heck are you doing?” Xylo asked, heckling from the sidelines. “Trishil is being extremely patient. It’s not often you get a chance to learn the basics from someone of her caliber. Get it together.”

“It’s quite stressful, you know.” Trishil looked back at Xylo. “This is the first time I’ve ever had to hold back so much while sparring. He has a good pair of eyes on him, but he’s not using them at all.”

“Yeah, he’s got what it takes physically, and yet here we are…”

“I agree. Maybe I should try moving a little faster.”

“And hope his reflexes kick in? I guess some people do find it easier to get the hang of fighting when they’re pushed to the brink…”

“N-no, stop! That won’t help!”

Dotta was pretty sure he’d just wind up with major injuries.

There’s absolutely no way this is the “basics.” Liars.

Dotta found Trishil’s training excruciatingly difficult. She struck him mercilessly with her wooden sword. She might be limiting herself to one hand, but Dotta was utterly outmatched. She’d told him to attack whenever he wanted, but he never saw a single opening.

Still, this was probably better than having Xylo train him. That oaf would probably shatter his bones without a hint of hesitation. He was always saying things like, “Poorly trained solders never die alone; they drag everyone else down with them. So it’s better to injure them in training so they won’t even be sent into battle.” What a barbaric notion. Dotta trembled just thinking about it.

“Listen. I know I’m repeating myself, but there’s only one way you can win.” Xylo was indeed repeating himself, offering pointless advice. “There’s no need to lock weapons or grapple with your opponent. Just dodge their attack once, then strike them with that stick. Piece of cake.”

What an absurd suggestion. I wouldn’t be struggling if it were that easy, thought Dotta. Then he said it aloud.

“I wouldn’t be struggling if it were that easy!”

“Sure. Everyone struggles to reach that point. But you’re starting off in a far better position than most people. You’re gonna have a shot at this after only one night of training. That’s why we’re counting on you.” Seated cross-legged on the floor, Xylo started playing with the knife he’d been polishing. “You have potential. For example…”

He casually flicked his wrist, sending the knife flying. Dotta scrambled to dodge it, but the blade still grazed his cheek before embedding itself in the wall behind him.

“Ahhh! Wh-what the hell is wrong with you?!”

“See? You saw the knife coming and dodged. Most people couldn’t even manage that. But you can.”

“No, but… Well, if I have to fight…I prefer something more…,” Dotta said, trying to protest. This was insane. “I feel like I’m better suited to attacking people who don’t fight back. When I have to protect myself, it’s just too hard…”

“Did you hit your head as a child?” asked Xylo.

Trishil felt the same. “What is this garbage spewing out of your mouth?”

Dotta immediately regretted his words.

Trishil, who was especially displeased, grabbed him by the collar with her abnormally long right hand. “The whole point of this is to make you stronger!”

“You know, Trishil, I’ve been wondering this for a while, but…why are you so obsessed with making me stronger?”

“Because I need you to become a real hero. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“First off, it’s part of my contract and one of the reasons why I was hired.” Trishil jabbed the wooden stick against the floorboards. “Second, my pride is on the line here… And third, I owe it to you.”

When she said the word “hired,” Xylo’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. But Dotta was too preoccupied to notice.

“Personal pride aside…” Dotta purposely avoided engaging with that claim. He was aware that emotional issues were personal and knew better than to get involved. “But why would you owe me anything? I don’t remember ever doing anything for you.”

“…If you don’t remember, then that’s fine.” With a flick of her scarlet hair, Trishil snorted disdainfully. “What you did for me was just chance—an irrational, absurd coincidence! But I still owe you, and I’ll be in trouble if I don’t make a man out of you!”

Trishil brandished her wooden stick, pointing it directly at Dotta’s face.

“Break’s over,” she said. “Grab your stick. It’s time to train.”

“What…? Already?”

“Get up, or I’ll start attacking you while you’re still sitting down. You need to at least force me to use my right hand, got it? Once you can do that, I’ll treat you to the best meal of your life.” Trishil gave a taunting laugh, but Dotta knew that was a totally unrealistic goal.

“Well, that’s generous of you.” Xylo smiled. “You must think really highly of Dotta.”

“…Hmph.” Trishil looked almost fed up. “You should use those observation skills more often. Frenci Mastibolt seemed pretty annoyed with you.”

“Frenci? Now that I think of it, you two really hit it off at the Second Capital. I don’t know what she said to you, but I’m not in the mood to be insulted today. Got it?”

“Wow. You really are reprehensible. Not a single good trait.”

“I just told you not to insult me!”

A wave of despair washed over Dotta as he listened to their exchange. If he didn’t want to die, he needed to come up with a plan, and fast.

“…So I came to you. What do you think I should do?”

Though he wasn’t excited about the idea, Dotta had no one else to turn to.

He’d asked Tsav first, but the ex-assassin had just laughed his head off, then suggested Dotta tell his opponents the same story in the hopes they’d die laughing. Then, without offering any real solutions, he said he was busy and headed off to enjoy the nightlife. Penal heroes were prohibited from going out at night, of course, but Tsav had probably found a way to do so anyway, just like Dotta had.

With Tsav crossed off the list, there was no one else left. Patausche, Venetim, and Norgalle were lost causes when it came to stuff like this. And so, out of sheer desperation, he turned to Rhyno.

Tatsuya was in the corner, walking continuously straight into the wall. The sight really bothered Dotta, despite Rhyno’s assurances that this was typical behavior for him. According to Rhyno, he’d “stop when he gets tired.” But that didn’t make Dotta any less uneasy. He was really grateful he didn’t have to share a room with Tatsuya.

“Yes, it would be difficult for you to win in a fair fight, Comrade Dotta,” said Rhyno cheerfully. “Allow me to explain why, since I did a bit of research on the competition.”

Rhyno picked up a newspaper about the Sword Offering, similar to Tsav’s. Dotta had spoken with Rhyno briefly the previous night, but he was apparently already done with his research. The man was surprisingly helpful when it came to things like this. Dotta was grateful, but there was something unsettling about his level of skill.

“There are four favorites to win,” Rhyno continued. “Out of those, Adelat Fuzer from the Fourth Northern Front Unit has the highest chance of winning. I suppose you could call him a seasoned soldier. He’s described as a man of few words, skilled in the tempestuous swordsmanship of the south.”

The newspaper included an illustrated portrait, depicting a man with long hair and a stern gaze who exuded an aura of intimidating strength. There’s absolutely no way I’m gonna beat this guy, thought Dotta.

“He looks really tough…”

“He is. He came in second place during last year’s competition, so he will likely be a formidable opponent.”

Dotta found Rhyno’s enthusiasm utterly unrelatable. The only thing going through Dotta’s mind was an image of this Adelat guy ripping him to shreds.

“Nevertheless, Heine Bukah Tanze from the Tenth Order of the Holy Knights is receiving almost as much attention. Supposedly, they have almost the same odds of winning. Despite her typically gentle and chatty demeanor, Heine is well known as a master of Eastern swordsmanship, a style renowned for its powerful single strikes. She’s also known as the ‘Cliff Splitter.’” Rhyno’s finger moved over the paper in front of him. “While human women tend to be physically weaker than men, I suspect she makes up for it with some sort of sacred seal. Or perhaps she simply trained so hard that she overcame the gap in physical strength on her own. Though I suppose you don’t need really big muscles to kill someone with a blade.”

Rhyno sounded fascinated, but his description of this Heine woman did nothing but send shivers down Dotta’s spine. Both Adelat and Heine sounded like intimidating foes he’d rather keep his distance from. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would be eager to see them fight. It sounded horrible.

“Next, we have Yubaet Ludmischen. While he’s not as well-regarded as the other two, he is a master of the northern style and renowned for his exceptional defensive skills and precise thrusts.”

“I’m not sure any of that is very helpful… Anyway, who’s the fourth favorite to win?”

“You, Comrade Dotta.”

“Huh?!”

“Well, you beat out Jayce to represent the penal hero unit. People are probably expecting a lot from you. You should see your betting odds.”

Rhyno wasn’t joking. Dotta stared in disbelief at the newspaper. Under the name of the publication, the Livio, was a crudely drawn caricature unmistakably intended to be him. Next to it was a caption that read, “The penal hero’s ace in the hole. The fearsome ‘Hanged Fox’ has exterminated countless demon lords, and there’s nothing he loves more than slaughtering soldiers of the Federated Kingdom. Is there anyone who can stop this bloodthirsty devil?”

“Wh-wh-what…?!” Dotta was at a loss for words. “What is this?! Th-this is awful!”

“It’s impressive, really. Quite an enticing introduction, yes?”

“No! Who wrote this garbage?!”

“Regardless of its quality, this article does list your first opponent. Here.” Rhyno pointed at one of the other competitors. “You’ll be fighting Yubaet Ludmischen.”

“Uh… Isn’t that the guy you just told me about?”

“The third favorite to win, yes. In other words, you’ll need more than just luck to beat him.”

“Then I’m doomed!” Dotta shouted at the ceiling. “I don’t want to get hurt… Hey, maybe he’ll go easy on me if I tell him I’m actually really weak…”

“I highly doubt it. Your infamous reputation precedes you, and this article has introduced you as a vile criminal.”

“What did I do to deserve this?”

“Stealing, perhaps? From what I hear, that tends to make people very unhappy.”

“Guh.”

Dotta racked his brain for an excuse but kept drawing blanks. He couldn’t rationalize his theft, nor did he possess the emotional depth to feel guilt. All he knew was that this whole situation made him incredibly uncomfortable.

“Therefore, you shouldn’t expect your opponent to hold back. Although he specializes in thrusting, he might try to break a bone or two as well. And since penal heroes can be resurrected, he might even try to kill you. A wooden stick can be surprisingly deadly.”

“What am I gonna do?! Wait, maybe I can just withdraw myself from the tournament…”

“I would have loved to take your place, but Comrade Xylo prohibited me from participating.”

At this rate, his only chance was to boldly yell, “I give up!” right at the start of the match and pray his opponent would have mercy on him. But he knew that wasn’t likely. They’d probably hit him at least once or twice, and the referee would let it happen. At this point, Dotta was sure of it.

“At any rate,” said Rhyno, folding up the paper with a gentle smile, “there is no way you will win fighting fair and square. And so I have a proposal. We simply need to make sure your opponent is weaker than you.”

“…What do you mean?”

“We shall pay each of them a little visit tonight.”

The instant I stepped into my room, Patausche started asking questions, like she’d been waiting there to ambush me.

“And…? How did Dotta do? Did he improve any?”

With a goddess by her side, Patausche enjoyed a degree of freedom unusual for a penal hero. As long as she was with Teoritta, she was free to visit our barracks under the pretense that Teoritta had to train with her knight.

So here she was, casually seated at our shabby table with Teoritta. But they weren’t my only visitors. Venetim was here, too, sitting on the bed and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

All four of us were entangled in Adhiff’s nefarious plot. Our lineup was so pathetic, it made me want to cry, but there was no one else I could turn to. Jayce was gone, Norgalle would explode if he heard about a conspiracy like this, and Rhyno creeped me the hell out. I could have asked Tsav, but he was occupied with another task that I could only hope was going smoothly.

“Trishil is a highly skilled warrior,” said Patausche. She’d fought her firsthand, so she probably knew what she was talking about. “With both of you training him, he must have improved. I can tell Dotta has potential. Even if he’s just dodging and counterattacking, he should have a chance.”

“Really?” Teoritta looked surprised. She was cradling a warm cup of milk in her hands. “Dotta…has potential? I can’t imagine handing him one of my swords…”

“I’m talking about potential, Goddess Teoritta, not current skill level.”

I was glad Patausche had opted to explain; I would’ve just made some smartass comment.

“Dotta possesses extraordinarily quick reflexes and excellent agility that, coupled with his sharp eyesight, give him the potential to become an exceptional swordsman. Hypothetically speaking, with some solid basic training, he could become a real monster.”

“Interesting… I had no idea Dotta had such potential…!”

“Just another case of wasted talent,” I said, chiming in. I didn’t want Teoritta getting her hopes up. “He’s not a fighter. He doesn’t like quarreling with people. He’s never needed to, either. That’s the real problem. Whether it’s hand-to-hand combat or business, people improve at stuff like that because they have the desire to become better than someone else. Normal people do, anyway. Dotta doesn’t have a trace of that competitive mindset.”

Dotta simply didn’t see fighting others as a means of survival. If he needed something, he would simply steal it. With no need to pay for things, he had no connection to the world of currency and transactions. There was no need to struggle or compete with anyone to get what he wanted; he could just take it. That was his reality. When it came to theft, he was extraordinarily talented—and that was precisely why he lacked any real drive to fight.

“He doesn’t feel the urge to get stronger; I doubt he even understands it.”

“This is a serious problem,” said Patausche. “We need to take drastic measures, and it can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother. It’s pointless. If we work him too hard, he might just die on us.”

I could see where Patausche was coming from. Soldiers frequently found themselves skirting the edge of death in combat. Many underwent brutal training designed to push them to their limits, and it was well known that such experiences could really toughen up a person. But it was different with Dotta. If we put him through the wringer, it might actually kill him.

“What’s the plan, then?” Patausche was dead serious. “Because our original idea was to have him win the Sword Offering so we could join the divine election as guards and secure funding. If he doesn’t win, the rest isn’t happening.”

“Yeah. I guess we’ll just have to pray he somehow gets lucky.”

“…Do you honestly believe he has a chance?”

“No, I don’t. Dammit! Was this plan doomed from the start? We’re short on time, and there are so many other issues we need to focus on… Venetim!”

Venetim was sitting at the back of the room, staring at a newspaper with his eyes glazed over.

“How are things going with the Temple?” I asked. “You said you would look into that high priest’s rivals.”

“Yes, I got all the information we need,” he said breezily, but I knew things like that weren’t so easy. Determining who had the advantage and by how much required an intimate understanding of every faction involved.

“How did you look into it? You’re not lying again, are you?”

“What? No, of course not. It was easy to figure out. Betting has already started, and the odds have been posted. I used an old contact to help me conduct some interviews at the Adventurers Guild.”

“Hold up… Are you saying what I think you’re saying? People at the Adventurers Guild are betting on who’s gonna be the next archpriest?”

“People are even more excited about it than the Sword Offering.”

Maybe the world deserved to be destroyed. Then again, preaching morality to adventurers was like herding cats.

“Currently, three high priests have announced their candidacy. The oldest and most conservative is High Priest Carne, followed by High Priest Duffrey, who is advocating for large-scale reforms. Last is High Priest Mirose, who claims to favor neutrality.”

“And one of those three is a coexister.”

That much was certain, considering how concerned Adhiff was about the coexisters ascending to the highest position in the Temple.

“…This is merely my opinion,” said Patausche, “but I think it’s most likely High Priest Mirose is the coexister.”

Once again, she was the best informed.

“Claiming you’re neutral sounds good on paper, but it’s also an easy way to get the most votes. She’d probably stop at nothing to win, including joining hands with the coexisters.” She paused, reining in her emotions. “She was close with my uncle as well. I remember hearing her name quite often.”

That pretty much confirmed it. Venetim probably hadn’t grasped the full implications of Patausche’s statement, but he nodded anyway, eager to move the conversation forward.

“Well, she seems to be the most favorable candidate at the moment,” he said.

“You mean the bookies are giving her low odds?” I asked. “Do most people really expect her to win?”

“Yes. After all, she has abundant campaign funds. And…uh, supposedly, she has financial backing from, um…” Venetim grew hesitant. “…from the Verkle Development Corporation. They’re really propping her up… I wonder if that’s even legal.”

“Verkle? That’s gotta be just a rumor. They— Hold on.”

I was on the verge of dismissing the idea when something hit me. Verkle Corp was initially a commercial venture funded by the Allied Administration Division. However, while it was once under the thumb of the Federated Kingdom, it was now largely autonomous.

Their primary focus was development. In the past, that had meant supporting efforts to fight the Demon Blight out in the frontiers. Basically, they pioneered new weapons using sacred seals. That should have put them at odds with the coexisters, but as a private business, they had different motivations than the government did.

In other words, they’d do anything to make a profit.

If Mirose was indeed neutral, then it was entirely plausible that she had brokered deals with both the coexisters and Verkle Corp, promising each special privileges. Verkle’s ultimate objective was unclear, but they could easily have seen gaining greater influence over the Temple as beneficial to their interests.

“My head hurts,” I grumbled. “I haven’t heard a single bit of good news all day. And that means this Nicold Ibuton guy doesn’t even want to be archbishop, right?”

“It would seem so,” Venetim agreed. “Rumors suggest he has absolutely no interest in power or factional infighting. And no other high priest would nominate him, so he is not even being considered for the position.”

I admired the grit, but this was not what we needed right now.

“One more thing…,” Venetim continued.

“Come on. Seriously? There’s more to worry about? Whatever. Just say it.”

“I’ll tell you if you promise not to get angry.”

“I won’t get angry, so just say it, dammit! Now!”

“I just saw Dotta climb over the barracks wall, and he was with Rhyno.” Venetim was looking out the window. Dotta might have gone unnoticed if he were alone, but Rhyno stood out like a sore thumb. Dotta should never have brought him along. “I have a very bad feeling about this. Don’t you all?”

“Dammit! Nothing good can come from those two working together.”

I had the sudden urge to pound my fist into a desk. Every last one of these guys is nothing but trouble.

“Venetim, I’m going to head out for a bit. In the meantime, I want you to start racking your brain for good ideas. We need a way to make some money, become official guards during the divine election, get Ibuton to run for archpriest, and ensure his victory. I’m counting on you.”

“What?!”

“Patausche, take Teoritta back to the barracks. It’s already late. You two need to sleep.”

“If you’re going after them, then take me with you,” said Patausche. “There’s no telling what they might be up to.”

“No, I’ll handle this. I need you well-rested and in tip-top shape.” I patted Patausche on the shoulder, then stood up. “You’ve been helping other knights train for the tournament all day, right? Sleep. You’re the only one I can count on right now, so don’t exhaust yourself. I’d die of stress without you.”

“M-mnnn…!” Patausche cleared her throat. “D-d-don’t think you can win me over with cheap flattery…!”

“Just get some rest.”

I didn’t have time to grab my usual weapons belt, so I only took a single knife. Surely, that would be more than enough to stop Dotta…

Dotta crept into an alley, holding his breath. Overhead, sacred seal–powered streetlights bathed the nighttime scene in an ethereal bluish-white radiance, illuminating snowflakes that seemed destined to keep falling until dawn.

It’s cold. Let’s just get this over with.

Escaping the military camp had been easy for him. All he’d needed were a few scraps of cloth and a bent piece of metal to put together a grappling hook. With that, he’d scaled the wall and hopped over the spikes at its summit without issue. And there were always gaps in the soldiers’ patrols.

He’d only been worried about one thing: He wasn’t alone that night. He’d been concerned his companion would slow him down, but the guy was surprisingly nimble for his size.

“All right, there’s nobody here,” said Dotta. “We should be okay.”

Rhyno followed him with an agility that belied his large frame. He had wrapped a reddish-brown scarf around his mouth and had on a hat and goggles, like the ones Jayce usually wore. Dotta was dressed similarly.

“I wonder if Lady Trishil is really asleep?” mused Rhyno.

“She has to be, after how much she drank… I hope.”

Dotta thought about all the booze he’d wasted getting Trishil drunk.

That was some really expensive stuff. I’d been looking forward to it, too…

It was whiskey made in the north under the Eard family’s brand name, Sparkling Violet—a rare find and at a fine age of about twenty years.

“Good. I’ve heard she’s in possession of a rather special eye,” said Rhyno, nodding emphatically. He was leaving deep tracks in the snow behind him.

“Her stigma gives her the ability to see a target from really far away, right?”

“That’s what she told me, at least. Isn’t that terrifying?”

“Yeah…”

Rhyno always spoke in a monotone, making it difficult to gauge his true thoughts. However, his last statement sounded unmistakably sincere.

“At any rate, let’s go over the plan one more time,” he said.

“Come on, I know what to do… We’re going to sneak into this…Yubaet Ludmischen guy’s mansion and make sure he’s useless during tomorrow’s tournament, right?”

Yubaet would be their first target. He was the first one Dotta would have to face, after all. They couldn’t waste too much time on him, either; they had a lot of tough foes to take out that night.

I can’t believe we only have until tomorrow. There’s hardly any time…

Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Dotta tugged his forest-green scarf up over his nose.

“We have to be efficient… We can’t kill him, though, Rhyno, okay?”

“But of course. Murdering people is bad. It would probably cause a huge fuss, and his unit would only find someone else to represent them.”

Yubaet Ludmischen was part of a military unit outside of the Holy Knights. Apparently, he belonged to the Abanekka Front, Unit 381, a force stationed in the north. They had to be careful not to injure him too badly, since there were plenty of others who could take his place.

“We should also refrain from simply breaking his bones and injuring him, since that could result in a substitution, too. This is a surprisingly complicated task, and I’m afraid I haven’t come up with a single good idea yet.”

“That’s why we’re gonna go with poison.” Dotta reached into his pocket and produced a handful of small bottles. “Our best chance to stop him is this powerful laxative. All we need to do is slip some into tomorrow’s breakfast.”

“Interesting! Nonlethal poison! What a wonderful idea, Comrade Dotta. Your wisdom has left me in awe.”

“And this little bottle has a poison that leaves you extremely lethargic, like you’ve caught a cold.”

“Fascinating.”

“And this one makes you extremely nauseous, though it takes a little while to set in…”

“Impressive.” Rhyno was actually clapping, albeit softly. Is this guy for real? Dotta wondered.

“…Of course, I wouldn’t mind giving him a good ass-kicking if we get the chance, though.”

“Yes, a few bruises should weaken him up quite a bit.”

“Yeah, but…that’s probably not a good idea. They say really skilled fighters can sense the presence of others even when they’re sleeping.”

“You will be fine, Comrade Dotta. Your ability to remain undetected is extraordinary. I believe you would find it easy to hurt someone while they are sleeping.”

“I don’t know. I tried to kick Xylo in his sleep once, and he grabbed my leg and gave me a beating I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”

“Comrade Xylo is the exception. He—”

Rhyno started to say something but abruptly stopped. Dotta had noticed it, too. Something was off.

What’s that sound?

They could hear noises—and in the dead of night, in an upscale residential district in the First Capital. There was shouting and the clanging of metal. The sound of snow crunching roughly beneath someone’s feet. Dotta listened intently.

“I hear fighting,” Rhyno said. “Over there.”

Dotta unconsciously turned toward the direction in which Rhyno was pointing. Around the corner and down a long street lined with walls of white stone was an overturned carriage. Its wheels had been shattered, and black smoke was rising from the wreckage.

What the…? What happened?

Near the carriage, Dotta could make out human figures—several of them. Squinting into the darkness, he focused on their silhouettes rather than on their faces. He counted seven of them. One surrounded by six others, and at the feet of the central figure, he saw three or four bodies lying motionless. Dotta instinctively knew they were dead…and the realization sent a shiver down his spine.

“Wh-wh-what the heck going on?” he said, panicking. “What happened over there?!”

“Yes, this is surprising… Perhaps someone had the same idea as we did?” Rhyno tilted his head casually, as if in thought. “Because that’s definitely our target. The others have surrounded him and are attacking.”

“Huh?! What? Why?!”

“It appears Yubaet Ludmischen was ambushed.”

“Does that mean…?”

A surge of excitement coursed through Dotta. Could this be his lucky day? Yubaet Ludmischen was fending off his attackers with a single sword, his back pressed against the wall. Though he was putting up a brave fight, it was clear he had already sustained injuries.

“All we have to do is sit back and watch while they take care of him for us. Yesss!”

“I don’t think it will be so easy…” Rhyno’s voice had a peculiar dryness to it. “It appears they are trying to kill Sir Yubaet, I’m afraid.”

“That’s bad!” Dotta shouted. “If that happens, they’ll just send someone else in his place! And we don’t have time to deal with anyone else!”

“I agree.”

“W-w-we…!” Dotta gulped. “We have to save him!”

He didn’t like it, but they had no other choice. They had to save Yubaet Ludmischen. He was outnumbered already, and if they didn’t step in, he’d surely be killed. And then they’d have no time to thwart his replacement.

Why was Yubaet Ludmischen outside so late at night anyway? Were the soldiers that busy? Or was there something else going on? And why were these other people attacking him?

Dotta couldn’t explain any of it, but one thing was clear: He needed to act immediately.

“I agree! Saving him is a wonderful idea, Comrade Dotta.” Rhyno smiled from ear to ear. “I was actually about to suggest the very same thing.”

Dotta was baffled by Rhyno’s easygoing attitude. It felt unfair that he was so stressed, when no one else was. He wanted the ones responsible for this—and Rhyno, too—to experience even a fraction of his anxiety. And so he gave Rhyno the most dangerous role of all.

“Sure! Whatever! Just hurry! You attack from the front!” Dotta braced his foot against the wall. “I’ll attack from above.”

Kicking off, Dotta propelled himself upward. By using the small hooks on the soles of his boots and fingertips and the sacred seal engraved in his gloves to enhance his grip, Dotta could scale most vertical walls with ease. Running along them in short bursts was also well within his capabilities.

Meanwhile, Rhyno charged forward, kicking up a flurry of snow as he drew the enemies’ attention.

“Pardon me,” he stated politely, before launching himself into the heart of the fray.

In his right hand, he held a short iron rod—a weapon Dotta hadn’t even noticed he had. And with a powerful swing, he struck the temple of one of the assailants as he turned to face him. The man immediately collapsed with a heavy thud.

“What the…?!” exclaimed one of the man’s fellows. The forced bravado in his voice was obvious.

Dotta leaped off the wall, taking the large, black-masked man completely by surprise and wrapping his arm around the man’s neck. The fight was already over.

Ugh.

In one swift motion, Dotta drove his knife into the masked man’s throat, staining the pristine snow with an arc of crimson liquid. Then, almost as an afterthought, he plunged the blade into the man’s chest. The weapon was partially blocked by the man’s rib cage, and the wound was clumsy.

I hate this feeling.

Dotta loathed killing for two reasons. The first was the visceral disgust he felt; he couldn’t even stomach butchering meat. The second was the inevitable aftermath. There were always repercussions. People got angry, and sometimes they even retaliated. And having to dispose of the body was the cherry on top of the miserable ordeal.

Yet, if he could ignore those inconveniences, Dotta was remarkably efficient at taking people’s lives.

“You two…”

The group of assailants had just lost two of their number, but Yubaet Ludmischen was even more confused than they were. Thankfully, his years of training kicked in, and he plunged his sword into the heart of another of his attackers with a quick upward thrust.

“Who are you?” he asked. “You…do not appear to be investigators. Are you military escorts? No, wait…”

Up close, Yubaet looked utterly exhausted, his pale golden locks plastered to his forehead with sweat. There was a bloody wound on his head—perhaps from a blunt weapon. His left arm and left leg were wounded as well.

“Either way, you’ve saved me. Thank you,” he said, gasping. Then he leaned his back against the wall. “It appears I let my guard down. The coexisters sent…Gwen Mohsa assassins… I never thought they’d go this far…”

There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding, thought Dotta, but there was no time to correct him…

“Tsk.”

…because he’d just heard someone behind them click their tongue.

“This filthy little spy called for backup!”

The three remaining assailants lunged forward in unison. A man wearing an eye patch was aiming for Dotta. He was holding two short swords low against his body, each engraved with a sacred seal and a triangular, wedge-shaped insignia.

A chill ran down Dotta’s spine as he watched the blade ignite.

“The light shall wash away your sins!” the man shouted, swinging his flaming daggers. Sparks flew off the blades, casting an eerie glow onto the snow.

Ack.

The blazing blades were sacred seal weapons, much like Patausche’s. Flames curled and twisted like serpents from the blades’ edges as the man charged at Dotta. But Dotta sprang back just in time to dodge the attack.

“Wake up the doll!” the man roared. “Don’t let a single one of ’em escape!”

“I’m on it,” said another attacker. “Get up! It’s time to work!”

At the man’s command, a bell rang, and a massive beast rose to its feet from behind the overturned carriage. Or so it appeared at first. In reality, the creature was probably only a little bigger than Rhyno, and it wasn’t a beast at all. It was more like a crude, humanoid monstrosity cobbled together from scrap metal and wire.

What the hell…?

Dotta couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

“Giiih. Gih!”

A grinding noise echoed from the creature’s head. Perhaps it was meant to be a war cry.

The man with the eye patch had called it a “doll,” but it didn’t seem very cute to Dotta. Was it also a kind of sacred seal weapon? Or was this some animal from the east or west that Dotta had never seen before?

“Back me up. We’re killin’ the tiny one first.”

The man with the eye patch and the “doll” were both clearly targeting Dotta.

Oh crap.

Dotta tried to call for help, but he knew full well that neither Yubaet nor Rhyno had time to help him.

The steel doll rose to its feet as the assailant’s blade sparked.

Dotta’s first action was simple. It was completely nonsensical in terms of swordplay and even combat in general, but it was business as usual for him. Essentially, he turned tail and ran. Right toward a wall.

“Tsk!” The man with the eye patch clicked his tongue. “Stop runnin’!”

The man was swinging his blade so close to Dotta’s back that he could feel the heat of it.

No thanks. I’m getting out of here.

There was murderous rage in the man’s voice, and all Dotta could think to do was to put as much distance between them as possible. He kicked up snow as he dashed toward the wall, then he used the hooks on his clothes to scurry up it like a lizard.

“Kigigigi!”

The steel doll swung its arms as it pursued him. It managed to crack the wall, but not enough to take it down.

It was now a straight shot to safety at the top of the wall.

This man is insane. He’s gonna slaughter me.

Dotta scrambled up to the roof in a flash, then looked back down at the ground. He readied himself, keeping the man with the eye patch in focus as his opponent climbed up after him, blades poised and ready to strike.

There’s only one kind of fighting I’m good at…

Dotta pulled out an especially short lightning staff.

…and that’s attacking someone who can’t fight back.

They called this weapon the “Quadio.” It was a new type of lightning staff developed by Verkle Corp, and once Dotta had witnessed its capabilities, he’d decided it would suit him perfectly.

Eat this.

A chaotic burst of lightning erupted from one end of the weapon. Multiple bolts dispersed through the air toward the man with the eye patch. Many streaked past him, but several found their target, searing his shoulder, arm, chest, and abdomen with such ferocity that his blazing daggers slipped from his grip.

This is amazing. Even I can hit someone with this.

The Quadio was designed to fire multiple bolts of lightning in a scattershot pattern. The downside was that it ran out of luminescence relatively quickly, making it somewhat inefficient. Nevertheless, its wide coverage could be devastating under the right circumstances, and even someone like Dotta, with limited skills, could land a hit as long as they were close enough.

Dotta liked to keep his enemies at a distance, so he wasn’t very comfortable with weapons like this. But lately, he’d had a bad feeling in his gut, especially in regard to Trishil, so he’d brought it along. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was planning something reckless and aiming to get him involved, so he wanted to be armed at all times.

“Why, you little…! That lightning staff…!”

His hand still smoking, the man in the eye patch grimaced and reached for his fallen sword, but Dotta wasn’t going to let him grab it. Now that he was disarmed, Dotta was confident he could beat him. Some of the other penal heroes were like humanoid weapons, but this thug was a far cry from monsters like Xylo, Jayce, and Patausche. There was no reason for Dotta to be afraid of him.

“Uh…” Dotta jumped on the man’s head. “Please don’t come back to haunt me as a ghost…”

“Guh…!”

Dotta slit the man’s throat, severing his windpipe, then drove his knife deep into the enemy’s chest. The man stopped struggling immediately, but Dotta’s fight wasn’t over yet.

“Giii. Gih.”

The steel doll bent its wired arms and swung at Dotta, forcing him to roll forward and grab the fallen man’s sword. Quadio’s magazine was now completely empty, and there was no time to replace it.

I’ve gotta do it. Just like Xylo or Trishil would!

Dotta brandished the dagger and activated its sacred seal, sending sparks into the surrounding air.

“Take this!”

He swung the weapon, smashing its flaming blade into the doll. This might well be the first time Dotta had ever delivered such a powerful blow.

“G-giiiiii!!”

A metallic screech, almost like a roar, erupted from the creature. It seemed to be in pain as the blade scraped across its steel surface, flames scorching the metal. But despite the damage, the doll continued its relentless assault.

“Ack! I didn’t even put a dent in it!” Dotta cried.

The steel doll brought down its arm in a powerful swing. It was a fatal blow, and Dotta was about to take a direct hit, all because he’d chosen to attack. He’d tried something new and immediately regretted it.

He instinctively tried to defend himself, and a shock wave ran through his body. Something snapped—his left arm, or perhaps his shoulder.

Ouch. That…really hurts! This can’t get any worse!

Dotta tumbled helplessly, rolling across the ground as the steel doll closed in on him. As he lay there, he wondered if he was already dead. Then, all of a sudden, he heard a savage, primal scream.

“Outta the way, idiot!”

A strong arm snaked out from behind Dotta and yanked him to the side. Then he heard a metallic clang as a knife deflected the steel doll’s attack. Dotta looked up to find the arm belonged to none other than Xylo. The man, with his menacing glare, had just saved Dotta’s life.

What’s Xylo doing here?

But Dotta was unable to speak.

“You just had to be a pain in the ass tonight, huh?” Xylo hissed.

He was moving in ways Dotta couldn’t even comprehend. In one fluid motion, Xylo pressed the palm of his left hand against the steel doll, freezing it in place. Then he plunged his knife into the creature’s armpit, exploiting a gap in the metal at its joint. He followed up the strike with a powerful kick and sent the doll flying.

Less than two seconds later, the knife embedded in the doll began to glow and then exploded. But the doll kept coming. Even missing a chunk of its body, the creature pushed on.

“Gih, gih, gih.” It charged at them again, its voice a hoarse metallic screech.

“Damn thing just won’t go down.” Xylo reached for another knife and grimaced, remembering that he’d left his weapons belt behind. “…Dammit! How could I be so stupid?!”

Thinking fast, he balled his hand into a fist.

I know Xylo’s tough, thought Dotta, but there’s no way he’s gonna break that thing with his bare hands.

How could anyone beat a creature like that without a weapon? It swung its arm, but Xylo dodged and retreated…until his back was up against a wall. There was nowhere left to go.

This is bad!

Dotta adjusted his grip on his blade. He had to aim for the gap in the doll’s metal plating, just as Xylo had.

It’s kill or be killed…!

Steeling his resolve, Dotta took a moment to concentrate. His head cooled right to the core.

A moment later, something slammed into the doll from the side, sending it flying. There’d been a blinding flash of light, even more intense than the one from Xylo’s knife, and a roaring sound that reverberated all down the street.

The doll, now in unrecognizable pieces, crashed brutally into the wall.

“Wow. Impressive.”

Rhyno was standing there, some odd contraption strapped to his arm. It was a white gauntlet of sorts, but much too big and unwieldy. It looked big even on a man as large as Rhyno.

Xylo let out a frosty breath as he relaxed his fist, letting his arm hang limply at his side.

“Where’d you find a scary new toy like that?” he asked.

“I borrowed it from that carriage over there. It seems like a brand-new weapon for artillerymen. You can fire a shell using only the gauntlet.” He spoke in a monotone as he removed the white gauntlet, revealing his scorched, smoking arm. “I’m guessing it is still in the prototype phase and can only fire a single round. It’s still relatively weak, and as you can see, it scalded my arm. No sane person would dare use it.”

“You did, though, I see.”

“Ha-ha!” Rhyno laughed brightly at this, but there was something hollow about the sound. “Just once, though. It hurts far too much to try again.”

Xylo remained silent. Maybe he’d determined that words were pointless with a guy like Rhyno. Then, taking a deep breath of cold air, he glanced down at the shattered remnants of the doll. A few metal pieces were still twitching spasmodically, like the severed limbs of a dying insect.

“Looks like it’s still alive.” Xylo’s stared at the shards, watching their pulse-like movements. “It’s hard to believe, but I think that thing was probably a faerie. Seeing that it’s humanoid and made of scrap metal, it’s probably a knocker—or maybe not. It looks like the metal itself turned into a faerie. Is this a new type? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“H-hey, uh… Did you say ‘faerie’?” Dotta choked out. His arm was still throbbing. “What would a faerie be doing here? We’re in the capital, right? How is that even possible?!”

“Everything about these guys is impossible.”

Xylo’s eyes were drawn to the fiery sword clenched in Dotta’s fist, its blade adorned with a sacred seal and an enigmatic, wedge-shaped symbol.

“Dammit!” Brushing the snow from his hair, Xylo turned to face Dotta. “What were you doing out here?”

As always, it was difficult for Dotta to discern whether Xylo was angry. He suspected he was both angry at Dotta and frustrated over their current predicament.

“Actually, don’t bother explaining. The moment you teamed up with Rhy—I mean, that idiot—I knew you’d be up to no good.”

“R-really…?”

At any rate, the battle was over, and the aftermath was grim. A few corpses were scattered in the snow, their lifeless forms marked by stark crimson stains.

I’m tired. I just wanna go home.

Exhaling a white puff of air, Dotta sank to the ground, completely exhausted. He’d gotten way more exercise than he’d expected that day. And to make matters worse, his left arm hurt so much that he couldn’t even move it.

Great… It’s definitely broken. Could this get any worse?

This was exactly why he hated fighting—it was painful and exhausting—in fact, there wasn’t a single good thing about it. He needed to patch himself up, and fast.

“Come on, let’s head back,” Xylo suggested. It was as if he could read Dotta’s mind. “The Sword Offering is tomorrow. I’ll wait until it’s over to talk some sense into you.”

“Hmm? Oh, my apologies, but we still haven’t finished what we set out to do tonight,” said Rhyno, picking up his sword. “We still need to take out the other competitors before tomorrow’s competition, and we’re now behind schedule.”

He still wants to go through with this? Dotta was stunned. Even he couldn’t imagine moving forward with a sneak attack after all that. Could you even call it a sneak attack at this point?

Xylo was staring at them, aghast. “What is wrong with you? I’m almost impressed. You’ve got nerves of steel—no, lead.”

“Is that a compliment, Comrade Xylo? Why, thank you! You always impress me, and I respect you very much as well.”

Rhyno was going on and on, without a care in the world. Dotta and Xylo were speechless.

“Rhy—! You…!”

“Seriously?!”

“Hmm? What’s wrong? Are you injured, Comrade Xylo? It appears Comrade Dotta has a few broken bones. We need to tend to his wounds—”

“N-no! Uh…! That’s not the problem. Why are you blurting out our names for all the world to hear?”

“Yeah! What are you thinking?! Why would you reveal our—?”

“…You’re Dotta?”

A third voice, distinct from both Xylo’s and Rhyno’s, cut through the air. It was Yubaet Ludmischen. He stood firm despite his wounds, his sword gripped tightly in his hand.

“Well, uh… To tell the truth…” Dotta attempted to formulate an excuse, but he just didn’t have what it took to spin a story out of nothing like Venetim always did. “We, uh… You know? The funny thing is…like…”

“Thank you very much for saving me.”

As Dotta fumbled his words, the knight before him bowed.

“I messed up. I was working undercover as part of a military intelligence operation… I’d infiltrated the coexisters, but their surveillance was far stricter than I’d anticipated. As you can see, they even brought a faerie with them to dispose of me.”

The sounds coming out of Yubaet’s mouth were gibberish to Dotta, but he continued to listen as the man retrieved something from the ground—Dotta’s hat, which he hadn’t even noticed was missing. When Yubaet handed it back, face slightly pale, it became clear that he’d completely misunderstood the situation. But Dotta kept his mouth shut. There was no way he’d admit he’d come here to cheat.

“My name is Yubaet Ludmischen, and I am a member of the Twelfth Order of the Holy Knights. I promise to pay you all back for what you’ve done for me today. Dotta Luzulas… Rhyno… And Xylo Forbartz… The penal hero unit is even more unpredictable than the rumors suggest.”

“Wait, what?” asked Xylo, as if he’d just seen a ghost. “Holy Knights? Twelfth Order?”

Dotta turned to look at him. The reaction was totally unlike Xylo.

Yubaet smirked. “Yes, our members are spread out all over the place. And I must ask that you keep this matter to yourselves.”

“I have no clue what’s going on,” grumbled Xylo, his expression sullen. “Talk to me. Who are you? Why did you have prototypes for new weapons in your carriage?”

“It’s late. I will arrange for a meeting to explain it all later.”

“Great. Is that what your boss wants? What about this ambush? You guys didn’t set this whole thing up to trick us, did you?”

“Please relax. Everything that happened tonight came as a complete surprise, especially my rescue at your hands. And that is exactly why we need to talk. Though I’d appreciate if you could bring your goddess next time.”

As Dotta listened to Xylo and Yubaet, there was only one thing on his mind.

I don’t care. I don’t care about any of this. I just wanna go home.

“…So how’d it go?” asked Venetim.

Tsav was pouting in his room.

Venetim had been on his feet since dawn, with all sorts of tasks to attend to. He’d only just made it back to the barracks as the sun began to set. He’d completely missed the Sword Offering and only caught a glimpse of the cleanup crew after it was over. But Tsav’s expression was enough to tell him how it had gone.

Venetim was eager to confirm his plan’s success. That was why he was here, in Tsav and Dotta’s room. Dotta, however, was conspicuously absent. Only Tsav was around, sprawled out in his bed.

“The Sword Offering is over, right?” Venetim asked. “Did Dotta actually fight?”

“Yeah,” Tsav muttered as he sat up. His usual carefree demeanor was nowhere to be found. “Dotta fought…and it was a total disaster. The crowd was heckling him and the other guy like crazy. It was pathetic! Just two exhausted dudes with sticks whaling on each other the whole time! And I don’t know what happened to Dotta, but his left arm was broken before the match even started!”

Tsav spoke with increasing intensity, his voice rising.

“I mean, that swordsman called Yubaet, like, he couldn’t even hold his stick properly. It was such a lame match! A total waste of time and money!”

“Wait… Dotta’s opponent was injured as well? So he really did go out and ambush the others…” Venetim scowled. He hadn’t expected this, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be scolded for someone else’s mistake. “Do you have any idea what happened last night, Tsav? I didn’t get to ask Xylo about it. He was in a really bad mood when he got back.”

“Nope! Not a clue!” Tsav’s reply was refreshingly frank as he picked up a newspaper and crumpled it into a ball. “Anyway, it was like watching two little kids fight, so it’s no surprise everyone was booing. But I guess you could say they were evenly matched! Dotta wore himself out and gave up in the end, and Yubaet was so beat up, he had to forfeit his next match!”

Tsav snorted derisively. It must have been quite a disaster. Tsav hadn’t seen the match himself, but if the two had seemed evenly matched, it could only mean one of two things: Either Yubaet had been severely injured the night before, or he was going really easy on Dotta.

“At least Dotta gave us a good laugh at the end. After the match, that redhead broad grabbed him by the neck and dragged him off somewhere.”

“Oh…” Venetim could easily imagine it.

“I think her name was Trishil or something. Anyway, she looked mega pissed. I bet she whipped Dotta’s ass after that. Probably had to send him straight to the hospital when she was done. I mean, his arm was already broken.”

“Y-yes… I hope he’s still alive…”

“Yeah, I bet you do, since you’re the one that has to do all the paperwork when someone dies.”

“Indeed.”

As the commander of the penal heroes, at least on paper, he had the unenviable task of juggling various administrative duties—or more accurately, of finding ways to circumvent them. And since the penal heroes were treated as military assets, any damage incurred outside of battle required a substantial amount of paperwork.

“So?” asked Tsav. “How’d things go on your end?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, with Dotta’s match. You’re the one that had him participate, so I figured you talked to his opponents and fixed the match or something.” Tsav laughed. “I lost a ton of money, though! I have, like, zero funds left! That means no going out and enjoying myself. All my exciting plans for Luffe Aros are ruined. Can’t believe Adelat Fuzer lost.”

Adelat Fuzer had been the favorite to win by a big margin. Venetim breathed a sigh of relief at this news. Tsav really had no luck when it came to gambling.

“Does that mean the second favorite beat him?”

“Yeah, Heine Bukah Tanze from the Tenth Order nabbed the win! She was actually the third favorite to win after all the hype, though.” Tsav looked up at the ceiling. “Dotta got so much hype before the match, he raised her and Yubaet’s odds… Argh! I should’ve bet on her!”

“That’s too bad,” Venetim muttered. This was only the first of many gambles they’d be making. Just thinking about it filled him with dread and made his stomach twist.

When Venetim heard Tsav’s predictions, he’d put his money on Heine. The real challenge had been manipulating the odds to secure the maximum payout. But thankfully, that was something Venetim specialized in.

The fact that Dotta was a penal hero had guaranteed him a lot of attention, and Patausche’s impressive display the previous day had further bolstered their unit’s reputation. Naturally, Venetim had helped out by penning various articles and spreading unfounded rumors to sway public opinion. In the end, Dotta’s odds had plummeted, while those of the other participants had soared.

According to insider information from the Holy Knights, however, it would be a toss-up between Adelat Fuzer and Heine Bukah Tanze. Therefore, Venetim had decided to bet against Tsav.

Had Tsav won, Venetim was planning to propose a high-stakes gamble to swindle him of all his winnings, but thankfully, that would no longer be necessary.

At least we’ve secured the necessary funding, but…

The thought of what lay ahead made him feel nauseated. If they were going to win this election, he’d have to face off against people a lot tougher than Tsav.

“Oh, you look pretty down, Venetim! Don’t tell me you bet on Adelat, too?!”

“Yes, something like that.”

Venetim put on a strained smile and evaded the question. That expression usually made others assume the worst and leave him alone. He’d learned from experience that people tended to like it when others were miserable. Or at least as miserable as they were.

“That’s life for you, man.” Tsav lifted the bottle of booze in his hand. “I found Dotta’s secret stash, and if he’s in the hospital, I figure he won’t be needing it. So here’s to all three of our losses! Come on, let’s drink.”

“That does sound nice.” Venetim grabbed the bottle with a forced grin. If he didn’t drown his sorrows now, he’d be tossing and turning all night. “Oh, but before that. Tsav, did you look into what I asked?”

“Oh, about Gwen Mohsa? Of course I did. Who do you think I am?” Tsav gestured to himself with his thumb. “There’s no doubt about it. They’re working with the coexisters. Their enforcers are already on the move. Hell, they even attacked me, so there’s no doubt about it!”

Not so long ago, back in Ioff, they’d clashed with thugs pretending to be Gwen Mohsa assassins. In reality, they were just assassins hired by the Adventurers Guild. But this time, Tsav assured him, they were the real deal.

The Gwen Mohsa were a religious sect who professed unwavering loyalty to the goddesses but who were cast out of the Temple for heresy. Venetim didn’t know much about their beliefs and couldn’t have cared less. But there was one thing he did know: They posed a significant threat. After all, they were the group that raised Tsav.

“They’ve been underground so long, they’re just itching to kill. They increased their number of enforcers, too. They’re probably about to go on a rampage. I tortured three of the guys that tried to kill me until they cracked, and they basically confirmed it.”

The word “torture” sent a chill down Venetim’s spine. He knew that Tsav was more than capable of torturing him, too, if he felt like it.

“What exactly are they planning? What kind of ‘rampage’ are we talking about? Xylo is very curious about their next move.”

“The three I questioned were basically nobodies. They knew, like, almost nothing. So I’m not sure just yet what they’re up to.”

“I guess you’ll have to keep investigating.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna look for their hideout in the meantime. Pretty sure I know where it is already, though.” Tsav spoke casually, as if what he was suggesting wasn’t absurdly dangerous.

“Then I can count on you to continue looking into the matter, yes? Of course, I’ll be sure to pay extra.”

“Love doin’ business with you! Heh-heh. You made the right choice coming to me. They’re still being really cautious. Anyone else would have been caught and beaten half to death.” Tsav swiped the military notes out of Venetim’s extended hand. “They’re legit sick in the head, too. They’re even keeping faeries as pets now.”

“What…? I thought Gwen Mohsa used to be a sect within the Temple. What happened to worshipping the goddesses? Doesn’t using faeries go against everything they believe?”

“Ha-ha-ha! Yeah, well, they’re getting really desperate! They’re so dead set against using the goddesses as tools for war that I bet they’d rather surrender to the Demon Blight and let them wipe out humanity. I mean, the whole organization was already on its way out when I was growing up, so I’m not really surprised.”

Venetim was at a loss for words. It seemed Gwen Mohsa’s obsession with the goddesses bordered on the apocalyptic.

“Tsav… If they were our enemy, would you be able to take them on?”

“What? I mean, I could probably beat any of them one-on-one…”

“No, that’s not what I mean. For example…what about the people that raised you? Or a mentor? Would you be able to fight them?”

“Ohhh! That’s what you meant? Heh-heh-heh!” Tsav chuckled jovially. “I already took out everyone but my mentor, so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Venetim was once again rendered speechless. The workings of this man’s mind were a complete mystery to him.

“Oh hey! Do you wanna hear about my tragic past?” he asked. “It’s a story about the sweetest little boy in the world—a boy named Tsav—saying good-bye to the parents who raised him! It’s famous for its heart-wrenching ending.”

At that point, Venetim realized his fatal error: He’d set Tsav off. And once the man started talking, there was no stopping him.

“Hmm… Where should I begin? First, as you know, I essentially had three parents, and one of them…”

Venetim braced himself for an all-nighter.

“…All right, everything seems fine.”

The doctor who’d diagnosed Dotta’s fracture shot him a reassuring smile. With long, bluish hair, androgynous features, and a slender frame, the doctor’s gender was completely ambiguous.

“You should be better in no time. Thankfully, this hospital has a decent supply of sprites from the Goddess of Blood if it comes to it. Unfortunately, they’re rare, so we can’t use too many on you. But with a little rest, you should be as right as rain in a few weeks.”

“Thanks…” Dotta bowed, his face clouded. He’d be missing all of Luffe Aros now. “By the way… Uh… Could you do me a favor? It’s about my unit… Do you think you could—?”

“I already contacted them, and they will be here shortly to visit you.”

At that, Dotta’s expression grew even darker. He knew exactly who would be coming to see him. In fact, he’d been about to ask the doctor to keep them away.

“Now, get some rest.”

The doctor retired from the room, leaving Dotta alone in the corner of a bustling ward. Right away, another patient started talking to him.

“You’re lucky, kid! Dito’s an amazing doctor!”

It seemed the doctor’s name was “Dito.” The other patient had his leg elevated in a cast, but he seemed to be in a good mood. He must have been soldier.

“Dito even cured a kid who was bedridden with a lung disease! So you don’t have a thing to worry about! Isn’t that right?” he said, turning to yet another patient.

“Yeah! I cracked my goddess-damned skull and thought I was a goner, but here I am. Apparently, I’ll be out early next year.”

“My problem was my heart. Thought I was gonna die…but Dito’s medicine worked miracles.”

Dotta managed a forced smile. It didn’t matter to him whether the doctor was a medical genius or a total quack. All he wanted right now was to get out of this ward.

Trishil’s on her way right now. I just know it.

Dotta braced himself for a bleak new year.

There were seven days left until Luffe Aros.

Time was ticking. And yet I found myself forced to go out the following afternoon. My destination was the White Bell, a bookstore a little ways off the main street. As its name implied, a white bell adorned the entrance of the small shop. I’d stopped by the place a few times before on my way to the castle. The selection was decent, and every now and then, you’d find a hidden gem.

This time, however, Yubaet Ludmischen—a mysterious, self-proclaimed member of the Twelfth Order—had asked me to bring Teoritta there to meet him. How we were supposed to converse in a bookstore was beyond me, but I decided not to dwell on it. The Twelfth Order… If Yubaet was to be believed, they were a top secret intelligence unit, so maybe they had some special way of doing things.

At any rate, we arrived early, so I decided indulge myself in a bit of browsing. I’d been looking for a certain book anyway.

“My knight! There are so many books here!”

Teoritta was unusually animated. Now that I thought of it, this was probably our first visit to a bookstore together.

“I know how you feel, but you have to keep it down. This is a bookstore.”

“Okay! …But there are even more books here than there were at the Great Exchange. This is incredible…!”

Had she never seen a bookstore before? Or did she simply not have any memories from before I awakened her? Whatever the case, Teoritta kept asking me to rate various volumes.

“My knight, what about this one? Is this book any good? Would I be able to read and enjoy it?”

She was holding an anthology of poems about the size of my palm titled Sweeping the Stars. It was written by Ravetelio Riunesse, a poet from the so-called modern era. That said, he’d lived about fifty years ago, before any sightings of the Demon Blight. That meant it would be quite difficult to understand. It was hard to imagine a society without the Demon Blight, after all. And if you didn’t understand the poetry leading up to his era, you’d miss a lot of the nuances that made it interesting.

“I think that one might be a little too high-level for you.”

I decided to be honest. What’s more, it seemed a little crazy to me for someone just starting to get into books to jump right into poetry.

“I think a novel would be better. They’re easier to read, too.”

“…I want to read the same books you do, though.” Teoritta pursed her lips in dissatisfaction but quietly returned the book to its shelf.

“You need some background knowledge to enjoy stuff like that. For now, you should pick something easy to read. Want to try something I’ve read before?”

“Sure. I’ll let you pick it out.”

“All right… Just let me find what I’m looking for first.”

“Oh?” Teoritta seemed interested in my search. “What exactly are you after, my knight? Another anthology of poems? Let me help you.”

“No, I’m looking for a book called Vladd’s Secret Records. It’s like an encyclopedia with pictures.”

“You can count on me! I shall find it for you in no time! Hmm…”

“Hold on. I found the spot. It should be on this shelf right— Ah, here it is.”

“Y-you did not even give me a chance to look! I have not had a single opportunity to shine since we arrived in the First Capital!”

“Sorry, but it’s a famous book, so it wasn’t that hard to find. Just about any bookstore will have a copy.”

I picked up the book. Supposedly, it was written in ancient times by one of the heroes summoned during the First War of Subjugation. Up until the most recent outbreak of Demon Blight, it had been considered merely a collection of legends and myths. But now it was regarded as a historical, academic text. Its pages contained the names of demon lords and faeries that had appeared in the past. Even now, whenever a new demon lord appeared, the Allied Administration Division would assign it a name based on similar ones from the text.

“Hey, can you help me find something?” I opened Vladd’s Secret Records so Teoritta could see. If I didn’t get her help on something, she’d start sulking. “I saw a faerie in town yesterday. It looked kind of like a knocker, but it was like a doll made completely out of iron. I suspect it was a new type of faerie.”

“Okay! Um… An iron…doll-like faerie…”

Teoritta stared intently at the book. Then, all of a sudden, a shadow fell across the page.

“That would be a coblyn, Xylo Forbartz.”

The unfamiliar voice was followed by a finger reaching out and turning the page to point at one of the book’s illustrations.

“Although it has a body made of steel, it isn’t a knocker. They are said to be weapons and armor corrupted by the Demon Blight. What you saw was most certainly an undiscovered species of coblyn.”

“Hmm?”

“Mnn!” Teoritta and I whipped around at the same time, but the goddess was the first to voice her displeasure. “Yet again, I am robbed of my moment of glory… Why have you thwarted me?! I was just about to find the answer myself!”

“You have my deepest apologies, Goddess.”

The man bowed with exaggerated politeness. I found his smile sadistic and deeply suspicious. Where had I seen him before…?

“Oh!” exclaimed Teoritta. “You are the man who visited Xylo in Ioff when he was resting!”

“I am honored that you remember me.”

Back when I’d seen him in Ioff, I’d figured he was an intelligence agent, but it looked like he was an even bigger deal than I’d thought.

“My knight! You remember him, right?!”

“Yeah…”

“You did not tell us your name then, however. Where are your manners?”

“My apologies, Goddess Teoritta. I am Kafzen Dachrome, captain of the Twelfth Order of the Holy Knights.”

His manners were impeccable, but only his manners. He was exactly the sort of person you should never trust. I glanced behind him. If he was truly a captain of the Holy Knights, he should have his goddess with him. Yet he seemed to have come alone.

“Well, I don’t see your goddess.”

“Enfié is shy, and I couldn’t risk bringing her around the city with me. It would be far too dangerous. She is a very important goddess to both of you as well, so I trust you will understand my caution. You may even thank me, if you wish.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It isn’t a riddle, and I’m not interested in explaining further. At any rate, your goddess here seems to have a far more curious mind than Enfié.” He turned to Teoritta. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Goddess Teoritta. I always hear so much about you and your knight and everything you do for mankind.”

“It sounds like you know a lot about us.” Teoritta tensed slightly and grabbed the hem of my mantle. “…Are we really that famous?”

“But of course. I know much about you as well, Xylo Forbartz. Back when you were a Holy Knight, you stood out as much as Captain Buchs.”

“Well, I don’t know a single thing about you.” I’d only heard rumors about the Twelfth Order. I hadn’t even been sure they existed. “You sure the captain of a secret order should be waltzing around town and introducing himself in public?”

“There is nothing to worry about. This bookstore is just one of the many buildings belonging to my Twelfth Order. As it so happens, I am the owner.”

I scoffed at this absurd revelation. The store manager had always been a rotund old man with gray hair, ever since my student days. But right when I was about to tell him that the owner of this place was no freak, I glanced back into the store and realized the old man was nowhere to be found. Had he been Kafzen in disguise the whole time? Or was he just lying? You could never trust intelligence agents.

“We can talk freely here. But I’m afraid we are busy, so we’ll have to keep it short. You are aware of the suspicious activity going on in the shadows of the First Capital, yes?”

“What was his name again? Yubaet Ludmischen, was it?” Memories of the previous night flooded back, inducing a mild headache. “He was ambushed, right? One of the ding-dongs in my unit went to go ambush him last night and happened to find him under attack. Were the coexisters behind all that?”

“To be exact, the assailants were assassins from Gwen Mohsa working with the coexisters. You are aware of them, yes?”

Those were the people Tsav used to hang with—a deranged cult that raised assassins.

“There is growing support for the coexisters even within the Temple,” Kafzen continued.

“The hell is going on? What happened to their beliefs?”

“They are working with the coexisters because of their beliefs. They are against using goddesses as weapons, so they are fighting to free them. In other words, they wish to live in peace with the Demon Blight. By periodically offering a select handful of mankind to our enemies, they can save the goddesses from their destiny. What would you do in their shoes?”

I was pissed, so I didn’t say anything. Teoritta, on the other hand, haughtily puffed out her chest. She was still gripping my clothes.

“They are mistaken. I am the one who decides what I wish to do, and I wish to be a great goddess who protects mankind!” Her anger was palpable, radiating from her body like a scorching heat. “In fact, I find their pity extremely condescending!”

“Yes, perhaps you’re right,” said Kafzen, as if it was no concern of his. “Whether or not they listen to you is another story, however.”

You’d be hard-pressed to find someone as unlikable as this guy, but I figured arguing would be pointless, so I kept my complaints to myself.

“At any rate, now that they’ve begun to assimilate other forces, we no longer have a good grasp of how much power the coexisters possess.”

“In other words, you’re slacking at your job.”

“While true, I find that accusation very hurtful.”

Kafzen grabbed a nearby poetry book and idly flipped through the pages. He looked utterly bored as he placed it back on the shelf. That was a collection of Altoyard Comette’s greatest works, you philistine! It was clear we would never see eye to eye.

“We’re very short on personnel, unfortunately. We simply don’t have enough people to keep up with all these conspiracies.”

“What happened to the third goddess? Can’t she predict the future?”

“As it happens, she predicted an upcoming preemptive strike on the port facilities along the Valligarhi Channel.” Kafzen’s tone was completely level as he spoke. “We must stop it, no matter what the cost. Should it succeed, it would jeopardize our spring offensive. Furthermore, Galtuile has run into a little problem as well. The transport convoy heading north has completely disappeared without a trace.”

“‘Disappeared’? Not killed?”

“Yes, disappeared. Though I suspect they were killed and their bodies taken somewhere. This is also a major concern.”

What he was saying made sense. An entire unit going missing was much worse than if they’d simply been wiped out. It sounded positively paranormal—more than enough reason to get the intelligence unit involved.

But something about that struck me as odd.

“It sounds fishy to me. Like a distraction meant to keep us busy while they do something in the First Capital.”

“Even if that were true, the threat level would be relatively low. It’s already been decided that we will ignore it.”

Something about Kafzen’s phrasing bothered me. Did he have some boss he was reporting to? And why was an attack on the First Capital not worth their time?

“We have put a lot of thought into the situation and are currently preparing as best we can. We are also taking steps to ensure that our forces remain combat-ready in the event of an emergency.”

Kafzen cast me a meaningful look, as if he knew something that I didn’t. It was the same look I often got from Adhiff Twevel. Whatever he was thinking, I had a feeling it wasn’t good.

“Whatever the case, we can’t prepare for every possible scenario. We have need to deploy our resources in the most effective way possible.”

Resources, huh? He probably means…

“You mean us, right?”

“Exactly. That’s why I came all the way here to urge you to be careful.”

“I couldn’t imagine a bigger waste of time. What are you? Some sort of fortune teller who tells you you’re cursed and then just leaves?”

“Yes, I would feel guilty if I left you with nothing, so allow me to offer you a clue.”

My insults seemed to roll right off Kafzen as he casually picked up another book, his eyes flitting across the pages with unnatural swiftness. Was he some kind of speed reader?

“I’m sure you know this, but there are ruins from the Old Kingdom beneath the capital. Namely, the underground fortress of Cidfil.”

“Underground ruins! Really?” A strange glint appeared in Teoritta’s eyes, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Stop beating around the bush and get to the point,” I urged. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

“The coexisters have set up a base inside those ruins. We’ve had our eyes on Gwen Mohsa for a long time, and it was they who led us to it.”

“Why don’t you go clean the place up yourselves?”

“We can’t. We don’t have the right skills. I’m afraid we’re lamentably ill-suited to battle. I feel awful about it, really.”

I was certain he felt no such thing. Kafzen idly began to flip through a book on architecture. Smirking, he put it back on the shelf.

“Fortunately, fighting is your specialty, yes? I know all about your escapades with Captain Lufen back when the two of you would pretend to be adventurers.”

What a pack of scumbags. Intelligence agents would go digging into your background and use whatever dirt they found, no matter how insignificant.

“Wait, what?” Teoritta’s eyes lit up with a strange delight. “My knight used to go on exciting adventures with his friend?”

“Kafzen, stop filling our goddess’s head with nonsense. If you don’t have anything important to say, just leave.”

“My apologies. I suppose it is time for me to head out… There is one last thing I need to tell you before I go, though. I believe you’ll find it very important. In fact, you’ll probably thank me.”

Important information, huh? What could he mean? Either way, I hated his pretentious attitude.

“I’ll decide if I want to thank you. Just get to the point.”

“The Uthob Front, Unit 7110.”

As much as it pained me to admit it, that actually was important information. I’d been ready to shut him down immediately, but I fell silent instead. The Uthob Front, Unit 7110—that name alone sent a chill down my spine. They were the very reason I’d had to kill Senerva.

The Fifth Order had been sent on a suicide mission, lured into a trap under the pretense of rescuing Unit 7110. But in reality, there was no Unit 7110.

“I told you that a transport convoy heading north from Galtuile disappeared, yes? Well, we received a message from that unit just before they disappeared. It was a single phrase repeated multiple times.”

“…And that phrase was ‘Uthob Front, Unit 7110’?”

“Personally, I believe a unit by that name truly exists, and I think they’re the ones who set you up. The coexisters use them as an intelligence unit, and I believe they are involved in the upcoming divine election.” Kafzen shot us a mocking smirk, then turned on his heel to leave. “See? You really want to thank me now, don’t you?”

“Just shut up and go away.”

There wasn’t much else I could say.

As dusk settled in, someone arrived at Governor-General Simurid Kormadino’s mansion.

The visitor was none other than Tovitz Hughker, a name well known among high-ranking soldiers like Kormadino. As a former officer, Hughker had been a key figure in the brutal revolt led by Jayce Partiract and had helped him slaughter many fellow officers and regular soldiers.

He was a brilliant staff officer… I still can’t believe he joined the Demon Blight.

Hughker was undoubtedly a man of extraordinary talent. But he had one glaring flaw: a total lack of drive. Had he remained in the military, he would almost certainly have stagnated without advancement or success. Kormadino had always felt that it would be a shame to waste such a sharp mind. Personally, he’d thought the man would make a good vice-captain in the Holy Knights. Perhaps if he’d been paired with someone like Xylo Forbartz… Though the idea of that man rather grated on him.

But if Hughker has finally found a purpose, then…

He’d be quite a threat to humanity’s future.

Kormadino chose a single attendant and summoned him to his private chambers to ready the room for an audience. The young man was visibly nervous, but Kormadino didn’t believe he had anything to be concerned about.

“This is Fomor,” announced Tovitz, holding aloft a box just big enough to fit in his arms. “The sixtieth demon lord recognized by mankind.”

“It’s surprisingly small.”

“Don’t worry. It will grow in due time.” Tovitz gently placed the box on the table. “Once it’s fully grown, it should be large enough to destroy the First Capital, at least.”

“Surely, the Goddess of Prophecy would see a threat like that coming, don’t you think?”

Kormadino wasn’t about to underestimate the Holy Knights. Among those left in the capital, the Third and Tenth Orders in particular, were forces to be reckoned with. He was especially wary of Mavika Reagar, the seasoned captain of the Third Order and her goddess who could see the future. He understood well why a warrior of that caliber would be entrusted with the royal capital’s defense.

“What’s stopping them from striking before it’s fully grown?”

“We plan on creating as much chaos as possible to distract them. We’ve already instigated a group of bandits to start a riot in the east, and we’ve arranged for several other distractions.”

“That still doesn’t guarantee this will to work.” Kormadino wasn’t a dreamer, and no matter how bleak reality was, he refused to look away. “We can’t let our guard down, and we can’t be overly optimistic. Do you have a backup plan in case this fails, Tovitz Hughker?”

“Of course. We are making preparations in advance of the spring offensive, as well as chipping away at their forces. You may think of this as a preliminary skirmish. Are you familiar with the Uthob Front, Unit 7110? They’re already working behind the scenes.”

Kormadino knew the name well. They were a covert unit allied with the coexisters, specializing in espionage and sabotage. They had only a dozen members, and all shared a unique trait: Every one of them was a faerie. However, these were no ordinary faeries; they were highly intelligent and articulate—experts in their field. In fact, Kormadino had relied on them for help once himself. However…

“I thought they were Demon Lord Abaddon’s personal task force?”

That was what Kormadino had heard, at least. The only way that unit would take orders from humans was if the Demon Blight who spawned them commanded it. In the past, the Uthob Front, Unit 7110 had merely been loaned to the coexisters by Demon Lord Abaddon when deemed necessary.

Abaddon, however, had perished in the Second Capital. Someone must have taken over for him.

“Lord Abaddon foresaw his demise, so he left the unit to a certain individual to use at their discretion. Through them, I have been appointed commander, and I have been given orders to support you in every way possible, Governor-General Kormadino.”

Interesting.

It all made sense to him now. It appeared this man had already become deeply enmeshed in the Demon Blight’s chain of command.

The Uthob Front, Unit 7110 might be small, but they are a powerful force.

Kormadino knew firsthand just how strong they were. After all, he had once sent them to annihilate Xylo Forbartz, his goddess, and his Holy Knights.

The memory was still fresh in his mind. Xylo Forbartz and the Fifth Order had come to rescue him and his people that day, when a demon lord and its army laid siege to Kormadino’s lands. Of course, what wound up happening was hardly a “rescue.”

I had already struck a deal with the Demon Blight, and the battle was a farce. At least, it was supposed to be…

Even back then, Kormadino had been in contact with the Demon Blight, and the demon lord’s invasion was the result of a deal they’d struck. In exchange for allowing them to raid a village on the border of his territory, he had secured a one-year truce, so he wouldn’t have to worry about being invaded anymore. In effect, the Fifth Order’s “rescue” had ruined everything. After repelling the faeries, Xylo Forbartz had stormed Kormadino’s castle.

“The hell is wrong with you? Twiddling your thumbs like you’ve got nothing better to do.” Xylo’s voice, he recalled, had sounded like a feral growl. “What are all these soldiers for if you’re just going to keep them locked inside your castle? Barricading yourself and hoping for the best, huh? Aren’tyou those people’s lord? One of your settlements is being attacked, and you’re just gonna abandon them?”

“But…” Back then, Kormadino had fought back. “Is it not a lord’s duty to make difficult decisions like who to save and who to cut loose? We cannot eliminate the Demon Blight entirely, so we must find a middle ground and—”

“Are you sure you want to be saying that?” Xylo Forbartz’s eyes were like smoldering coals. “Can you say that to the soldiers fighting on the front line? To someone who died in this war? Have you no shame? We’re going to eliminate the Demon Blight. And if you’re not fighting to kill every last one of them, what are you fighting for?”

Xylo’s attitude had been unbearably arrogant, but what was even more intolerable was the contempt he’d displayed. Kormadino felt a wave of nausea-inducing rage. It was men like Xylo who had dragged everyone else into unwinnable battles.

“…You are absolutely right. It appears I was mistaken.”

Kormadino managed to suppress his inner rage and disgust, even managing to utter a few words of remorse.

Nothing could have been more humiliating.

Pathetic idealists. Eliminating the Demon Blight is nothing more than a pipe dream.

It felt like Xylo was insulting all his hard work. He’d done everything in his power to protect his territory while sacrificing only the bare minimum. And he’d only managed it by staying realistic.

It was then that Kormadino truly joined the coexisters. Not simply as a means of self-preservation, but out of a sense of true belief. Half a year later, he finally managed to lure Xylo Forbartz and his goddess into a trap.

“At any rate, Governor-General Kormadino, I have been given full authority to decide how we approach this matter.” Tovitz Hughker had been staring intently at Kormadino, making him slightly uneasy. He felt as if the man were peering straight into his soul. “Our sole purpose is to ensure their spring offensive fails. Is that clear?”

“Is that the shared will of the Demon Blight?”

“Yes, that is correct. This is the will of the king who reigns over them.”

“The ‘king’ of the Demon Blight…?” Kormadino stared straight at Tovitz, unable to hide his surprise. “Does such a thing exist? Have you ever met him?”

“…He is a very fascinating individual. Someone like me cannot even begin to fathom what he is thinking.”

“…Now, this is interesting. How would you describe him?”

“You shouldn’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. The king doesn’t like it when people pry.”

For a brief moment, Tovitz glanced out the window, giving the impression they were under some sort of surveillance. But all Kormadino could see was the snowy overcast sky.

“I am expecting great things from you, Governor-General Kormadino. You have sufficient forces now, I presume? I’ll be leaving this demon lord with you.” Tovitz poked the small box on the table. “And besides, you have ‘Doc,’ too. You’ve been hiding him well. With this much power at your disposal, I believe you have what it takes to strike the First Capital—or even the Holy Knights themselves.”

“…You knew about that?”

It appeared Hughker was aware of “Doc,” Kormadino’s secret weapon.

Three years ago, he’d made a deal with the demon lord known as “Doc” to kill Xylo Forbartz. And he’d been harboring it ever since. But Kormadino didn’t let surprise or disgust cloud his expression.

“In that case, please look forward to my success,” he said. “I am confident you will find my services invaluable.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Tovitz’s reply was brief and devoid of any warmth. It seemed he was still as indifferent to others as he’d always been. “I leave the rest in your hands, Governor-General. Now, then…I must head to another meeting. I am confident your success will pave the way for your desires to become reality.”

“Ha-ha! My desires are nothing so grand.” Kormadino meant what he said. There was only one thing he wanted, and if anyone else was serious about avoiding total annihilation, they’d feel the same. “All I want is to create a world without war—a world where mankind and the Demon Blight can coexist.”

“I see. I agree with you there. I, too, long for a peaceful world where I can be with the one I love. She is all I need.”

Tovitz smirked and stood up, signaling an end to their meeting. This was a top secret discussion, and it would be best to keep it brief.

“Ahem. Would you see Sir Tovitz out?” Kormadino said to his attendant. “Make sure nobody sees you, all right?”

“As you wish,” the young man replied. He then escorted Tovitz to the back door—a hidden passageway that served as an emergency exit from Kormadino’s mansion.

As he watched Tovitz walk away, Kormadino began to think. He had taken all the necessary precautions. In fact, there was no one else as serious about the future as he was.

And that’s why I can’t fail. I have to do this for the sake of mankind.

Their immediate enemy was clear. It was obvious who was trying to get in Kormadino’s way: Xylo Forbartz and his penal hero unit. And if killing them once wouldn’t stop them, then they would simply have to kill them again and again until all their memories disappeared and they became mere shells of their former selves.

Punishment: Manipulate the Luffe Aros Election, Part 2

There were six days left until Luffe Aros.

The Temple was dedicated to worship of the goddesses, and even Venetim could recite their creation story.

The myth began with the phrase: “First, there was a beginning.”

It continued thus: “A world without a beginning could not have begun, and thus cannot be spoken of. Everything exists within necessity, and this world was born from the miracle of a beginning.”

In essence, the very fact that people passed down myths paradoxically guaranteed the world’s beginning. From Venetim’s perspective, however, this seemed like nothing more than a meaningless play on words.

And yet most people believed this assertion and could think of no other way to define the world’s beginning. In any case, the world had its beginning, and at some point, for some reason, the goddesses were created to ensure the prosperity of mankind.

Temples existed to offer prayers to those goddesses, and the scale and number of temples were proportionate to the population of each city. The First Capital had as many as eight publicly recognized temples—and there were even more if you counted the ones located inside public buildings and meeting places.

But if you wanted to go to the smallest temple in the whole First Capital, you would undoubtedly find yourself at the Chikarta Temple in the city’s western district. This location seemed to have only the barest essentials needed for a place of worship. It had a long history but boasted none of the decorations that lent such places their sacred air.

Only one clergyman worked at this tiny temple: High Priest Nicold Ibuton. At just under forty, he was unusually young for a high priest. The other twenty-seven had an average age of over fifty years. That was the normal age at which one advanced to such a position, after all. In other words, at a relatively young age, Ibuton had already managed to garner enough achievements and support within the Temple to qualify for such a high appointment.

But in that case…

Venetim Leopool looked up at the tiny temple, lost in thought.

…why is his temple so plain?

It was more than just “plain.” It was less a temple and more a glorified shack. The place was old and showing signs of wear and tear all over. There was no evidence to suggest that anyone had ever attempted to repair any part of it. Even the orphanage next door was in better condition—so much so that Venetim had initially believed it was the main building.

…I suppose I ought to keep that thought to myself.

For the sake of his mission, Venetim needed to stay in High Priest Ibuton’s good graces at all costs. He needed to be careful, too, of course, but he was a lot more worried about one of the men he’d brought along as bodyguards…

“Damn. This place is a dump. Is the priest here too broke to fix it up? It looks like our barracks.”

Xylo seemed to say exactly what he was thinking without any filters. It was quite unsettling how little he cared about the effect his words had on other people. But Venetim was in no position to tell him to stay behind.

“I need to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t do anythingstupid,” he’d claimed earlier that day. This had come as a surprise to Venetim, who felt exactly the same way about Xylo.

“Xylo, please don’t say that in front of the high priest. I’ve heard he is very hard to please.”

“What are you so afraid of? I’m not stupid. I’ll try not to piss him off.”

“See?! It’s the fact that you have to ‘try’ that worries me. Every time you say something like that, you mess up.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t piss him off. Happy?”

The fact that he’d repeated the word “okay” was quite worrying, but Venetim swallowed his complaints. Maybe it would have been better to stick with just one bodyguard—the one who was sure to keep his mouth shut while Venetim handled the negotiations. After all, he was the most reliable hero in their unit and, according to Xylo, the best infantryman there ever was.

“I’m counting on you, Tatsuya. This is an extremely important mission, so— Huh…?”

Venetim’s voice cracked. When he looked back, the large man he’d expected to be standing behind him was doing something very bizarre. At first glance, it looked like he was spinning around at an incredible speed, swinging human-shaped weights on both arms. In reality, the “weights” were two small children, one dangling from each of his arms.

“Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!” cackled one of the little ones.

“He’s so faaast! He’s like a hundred times better than Father Nicold!”

“What the heck?! Isn’t he getting dizzy?”

A group of children had gathered around Tatsuya as he spun, cheering him on. They were even taking turns. Venetim suspected they were orphans from next door. To them, Tatsuya must have seemed like a piece of playground equipment.

Was I really so nervous that I didn’t even hear them?

Venetim massaged his throbbing temples.

Sometimes, when Tatsuya went somewhere with a lot of children, he’d wind up playing with them—or rather, being used as their toy.

“The hell are you little brats doing?!” Xylo shouted, prying the kids off the other man. “Tatsuya, you have to start telling them no! We don’t have time for this!”

Xylo’s expression should have terrified the children, but not a single one seemed afraid. Instead, they began to laugh and run circles around him.

“Ha-ha-ha! Wow! It’s really him! It’s really Xylo!”

“It’s the Thunder Falcon! Ka-kaw!”

“I told you it was them! The penal heroes!”

The noisy children made Xylo’s head spin. He crouched, one hand to his head, and ended up at eye level with them.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked. “You kids know who we are?”

“Yep! You’re famous! I heard you blew up Zeyllent Castle along with the Demon Blight!”

“I heard he fought Abaddon one-on-one and broke every bone in its body.”

“Then swallowed it headfirst!”

Even Venetim thought that was an awful lie. But one of the stories he’d just heard rang a bell: the one about how Xylo had fought Abaddon barehanded and had broken every bone in its body. After all, he’d written it himself in one of the articles he’d penned for the Livio just three days ago—one of his many side hustles. Of course, he wasn’t about to incriminate himself and admit that.

“…I’m suddenly feeling really tired,” said Xylo, still crouching on the ground. “Venetim, do something.”

“Huh? Right… Uh, children, that’s enough now,” he muttered hesitantly. “This man has work to do. He’s my bodyguard.”

“Whaaat? Boooring!”

“Already?”

“I’m really sorry.” Venetim turned back to his other bodyguard. “Tatsuya, come on. We have to go.”

Tatsuya came to an abrupt stop mid-spin. He was a nearly perfect bodyguard, yet there were times when he would act in unexpected ways—just enough to cause concern. Even if he was dealing with a child, Tatsuya would follow orders almost unconditionally, as if he lacked any ability to refuse.

Just then, Venetim heard someone say, “Hey.” He looked down and found one of the children gazing up at him. “Are you here to see Father Nicold?”

“Yes, I have a favor to ask of him.”

“Don’t bother. People come to see him sometimes, and it always ends with him yelling at them until they leave.”

“What…?”

“And you look super shady, so I just know he’s gonna yell at you. What do you want to ask him?”

“Well, uh… The truth is…” Venetim hesitated, unsure if he should say anything. But after a few moments, he decided it didn’t really matter and continued. “We need High Priest Ibuton to become the next archpriest.”

Adhiff Twevel had insisted that Nicold Ibuton was the only high priest they could be absolutely certain wasn’t involved with the coexisters. By placing him at the helm and forging an alliance between the Temple and the military, they could significantly strengthen their position ahead of the spring offensive. This would have a profound impact on how much they could expect from the Holy Knights, who had to bow to the Temple’s wishes, thanks to their relationship with the goddesses. They tended to be bound by ideological constraints, such as the belief that a Holy Knight’s duty was primarily defensive. If they succeeded, those barriers could be overcome.

According to Adhiff, Ibuton was the best candidate to carry out this plan. He was impartial, had sound judgment, and wasn’t affiliated with any factions. But the man had a major flaw, too.

“Unfortunately,” Adhiff had told them, “he is extremely eccentric.”

Venetim felt certain he would not be a fan of this high priest. And, as if to confirm this inevitability, the child before him grinned.

“Someone like you came the other day. He wanted Father Nicold to endorse him or something.”

“…And what happened to him?”

“Father Nicold kicked his butt so bad, he ran away crying.”

Venetim swallowed. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well, but he had to try anyway.

“He sounds like a real pain in the ass,” said Xylo. He’d recovered his composure somewhat, and was now standing, stretching his neck from side to side. “Not like we got much of a choice, though.”

“Hey, uh… Xylo? Please don’t resort to violence, even if he hits you, okay?”

“Why the hell would I do that?! I’m not going to hurt the guy we’re trying to get elected. What kind of person do you think I am?”

Violence made human. Venetim almost said the words out loud, but in the end, he just patted Tatsuya on the shoulder.

“Come on, Tatsuya. I need you to protect me in case this guy tries to beat me up, okay? Uh… Tatsuya? Are you listening?”

“Mnn.”

“Feeling a bit dizzy?”

“Mnn.”

“…Then let’s take in a few deep breaths before we go inside.”

To be honest, Venetim needed a moment to calm down as well.

The interior of the temple was even more austere than its exterior. There were only a few chairs and a cracked altar. The place had no incense burners, candlesticks, or silverwork replicating the Great Sacred Seal—items typically used in religious ceremonies. And Nicold Ibuton himself proved even worse than Venetim had imagined.

“No,” replied the high priest. He was scrubbing the floor and didn’t even look up.

“I will not get involved in the election. The pursuit of power goes against my beliefs.” His words were as sharp and harsh as a chisel cutting into stone. “And I will not vote, either, because I do not believe there is a single person within the Temple worthy of becoming the archpriest. Although I will be present at the divine election, the ballot I submit will be blank.”

“But High Priest Ibuton…” Prompted by Xylo’s silent gaze, Venetim decided to try his best. “That is exactly why the Temple needs someone as noble as yourself. You—”

“I told you I wasn’t interested, and nobody is going to convince me otherwise. Especially not a shady individual like you. You reek of deception.”

Venetim was impressed the man could tell such a thing simply from his voice. He hadn’t even looked up.

Even Xylo seemed impressed. “Wow, High Priest Ibuton. You really saw right through this guy.”

He brought his hands together and hunched over the high priest, peering into his face like a thug. The display was extremely disrespectful.

“You’re right,” he said. “That guy’s a con man. He got caught and was sentenced to live out the rest of his days as a penal hero… That said, the Temple really does need someone like you. We have to do something about the Demon Blight.”

“The Temple doesn’t need me. It’s the military. Isn’t that right?” Ibuton’s answer was clear and firm. “But we do need to eradicate the Demon Blight. That much I can agree with.”

“‘Eradicate,’ huh? I like your style.”

“Yes, the only way to save mankind is to eliminate every last one of them.” He cast a sidelong glance at Xylo before returning his attention to his task. “If I were archpriest, perhaps I would implement a policy to actively deploy the Holy Knights. The current archpriest’s strategy of focusing solely on defending human territory is far too reactive.”

“Then why don’t you? Before it’s too late?”

“Because I refuse to pursue a position of authority. And that will not change, Xylo Forbartz.”

“Tsk. I should have stayed behind. You know who I am?”

Xylo stood up, scratching his head furiously. He was a former captain of the Holy Knights. Obviously, any high priest was going to recognize him.

“Former Captain Forbartz, I do not know why you sinned, but it must have been because of what you believed. And I am sure those beliefs have not wavered. Am I correct?”

“It wasn’t anything that grand… And I think I probably made the wrong choice.”

“I might be wrong in my beliefs as well, but I do not plan on changing them.”

Xylo shook his head in resignation and raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. But Nicold Ibuton didn’t even spare him a glance.

“We are done here,” said the high priest. “I must purify the temple before worship, and I still have classes to teach to the orphans. After that, I need to organize community efforts to collect trash and clear snow.”

“Hmm…?”

Venetim was somewhat taken aback. Cleaning the temple and teaching at the orphanage were tasks that should have fallen to the congregation, or at the very least to lower-ranking priests. No high priest should be doing such work, especially not all by himself.

“Hey, uh… Couldn’t you ask other priests or disciples to do that stuff?”

“I don’t have any, and that’s why I’m so busy. I do have some volunteers who help out, but my own tasks are numerous—preparing meals, teaching, helping refugees.”

Venetim was even more astonished. It seemed this high priest was single-handedly managing the whole temple. Even if they weren’t officially on the temple’s roster, he’d expected the man to have helpers.

“Does that surprise you?” asked Ibuton.

Unnerved by how easily the high priest seemed to read his thoughts and sensing the man was mad at him, Venetim decided to be honest.

“I just figured a priest would have enough donations to expand this place. Then you could do even more for the community.”

Ibuton wrung out his rag and scoffed at the suggestion. “I give away all the money donated to this temple to nomadic priests working outside the First Capital.”

“You’re not even using it to invest? …You simply give it away?”

“Yes. The priests are free to use it however they see fit. There are countless people in the countryside who need saving. Faith is a fortress of the heart, and the ones who need it most are those people most affected by the Demon Blight.” Ibuton stood and dusted off his backside. He was shorter than expected; maybe even shorter than Venetim. However, when faced head-on, he had an overwhelming presence.

“Ha! This high priest is the real deal.” Xylo smirked. He seemed to be enjoying himself, but Venetim couldn’t understand what was so amusing. He really didn’t get the man’s sense of humor. “How long until you abandon this temple and head out to spread the good word yourself?”

“I wish I could, but I can’t abandon the orphans. I can’t trust anyone else with their education. We’re already short on materials.”

“Ah! Y-yes, exactly,” Venetim chimed in enthusiastically. This could be his chance. “The orphanage must be in a tight spot financially. I know how difficult it is to maintain an institution of this size solely on donations from the public. In fact, you might have to close it or even downsize at this rate.”

Downsizing would mean having to choose which orphans to save, and Venetim was sure that would run counter to Ibuton’s beliefs.

“But if you took control of the Temple,” he continued, “you could reform the system and promote your ideals—”

“It’s only natural for institutions that rely on the goodwill of the people to fall apart when that goodwill dries up.” Ibuton’s response was as cold and hard as steel, leaving no room for negotiation. “I’ve considered reforming the Temple before, of course, but compromising my faith would defeat the whole purpose. Listen, no matter how noble the goal, the means to achieve it must be righteous. What good is something achieved through sacrificing one’s beliefs?”

The way the man spoke—the determination in his voice—reminded Venetim of Norgalle.

“I will never compromise, no matter what I do. For a small compromise is likely to lead into a much larger one. And to me, seeking power for oneself is just such a small compromise.”

“But what about the children?”

“I suppose I am a very selfish person. If it comes to that, I will live outdoors with them. We don’t need a temple to pray. Things like that are merely convenient symbols meant to attract followers.”

Venetim couldn’t fathom this way of thinking. But he also realized he had no chance of changing the high priest’s mind.

“Hey, uh… Xylo? I have a suggestion.” Venetim glanced at his teammate. He was sure they’d exhausted all their options here.

But when Xylo met his gaze, he wore a ferocious glare. “You got something you want to say to me? Giving up already?”

“N-no… Um, excuse me, High Priest Ibuton! H-hypothetically thinking…” Venetim decided to check one last thing before he gave up. “What if another high priest recommended you for the position of archpriest?”

According to the Temple’s rules, one did not have to nominate oneself to be elected. Those put forward as candidates by other high priests could also be chosen.

“In that case, would you still decline?”

“No, I accept the rules of the Temple, and if I was chosen, rather than seeking the office myself, that would mean my faith had chosen me. Though realistically, that would never happen.” Ibuton smirked thinly, then fixed his gaze back on Venetim. “None of those power-hungry high priests would ever recommend me. They…”

At that point, Ibuton paused and narrowed his eyes. But he wasn’t looking at Venetim or Xylo; he was looking at Tatsuya. Venetim instinctively glanced back, but the infantryman wasn’t doing anything unusual. He was just staring vacantly into space, his face devoid of expression. It was as though he couldn’t even see the high priest.

“U-um, is Tatsuya bothering you?”

“No.”

Nicold turned back toward the altar. On the wall behind it was a single symbol of the temple’s faith. It was a painting of a goddess and her followers. Its muted colors and delicate brushwork seemed very suited to the tiny temple.

“High Priest Ibuton…?”

“It’s nothing. Now, leave. I don’t have time to listen to your drivel any longer.”

Things had gone about as poorly as they’d expected, and there was nothing left for them to do. Xylo snorted in annoyance, and Venetim sighed and patted Tatsuya on the shoulder.

They were left with no choice but to resort to Plan B: bribery.

That night, Venetim and Xylo were drinking away their cares in the barracks.

“This is bad,” Xylo said, groaning and draining his cup of wine. It was a line Venetim often heard from Dotta. He also used it from time to time, but tonight, it was Xylo’s turn. “That high priest is a real pain in the ass.”

“…Yes. At this rate, he won’t even be in the running.”

“How are the other candidates doing? Sometimes the votes get split down the middle and they can’t decide. Then they have to hold another election, right? Maybe then we’d have more time to convince him.”

“That seems unlikely. There are three front-runners right now, and one of them already has a clear advantage over the other two.”

The Temple currently had twenty-eight priests. Three among them were strong candidates for archpriest, and of those, High Priest Mirose was favored to win. Rumor had it that her support was only growing, and barring any upsets, she seemed a shoo-in to win.

Venetim recalled what he’d heard at the Adventurers Guild.

“That old lady Mirose is killin’ it.”

“She’s good at stayin’ neutral and keepin’ things balanced. Plus, she’s loaded. She’s funding the Temple’s academies and loaning cash to the Craftsmens Guild right out of her own pocket. Everyone owes her money, and the one with money always wins. That’s just how the world works.”

Lending money was a very effective strategy. Most people used it. Nicold was the oddball for giving money away unconditionally.

“Even Verkle Corp is backing her. There’s no way the old broad is gonna lose.”

It would be impossible for Venetim to undermine Mirose’s faction and to persuade or bribe a majority of the other high priests. He lacked the patience, the motivation, and most importantly, the necessary funds.

There has to be an easier way to do this.

Venetim always sought the path of least resistance, avoiding difficulties and taking shortcuts whenever possible…and that was why he always wound up telling lies. He had no intention to repent, of course. After all, remorse was tedious and unpleasant.

“All I can think of is to threaten the guy. But I doubt it’d work on a guy like Ibuton.” Xylo took a swig of his drink. He sounded resigned. “I guess we’ll have to take a more direct approach. Maybe we could get Teoritta to ask him… On second thought, even a goddess probably couldn’t sway that hardheaded high priest.”

The fact that Xylo was referring to him as a high priest and not as an asshole was a compliment and a rare sign of respect.

“What do you want to do?” he asked Venetim. “If I have to hear Adhiff say, ‘I knew you’d fail,’ I might lose it. And Kafzen said the coexisters have their…”

He began to say something, then stopped midsentence, lowered his gaze, and fell deep into thought. After a moment, he poured himself another glass of wine.

“Whatever. Venetim, you got any ideas? I’m close to giving up.”

Venetim couldn’t complain. He knew Xylo wasn’t good at this sort of thing. The man was far too detached from politics and worldly affairs. Even when he put his mind to it, he could only come up with painfully simple, straightforward ideas.

In other words, I have to come up with something!

It was a daunting task, but at least he had direction. If he wasn’t even sure what to do, he might’ve been stuck, unable to move forward. But right now, he knew exactly what his task was.

“At any rate, we need to use any means possible to make High Priest Ibuton run for archpriest.”

“Yeah… Though I’m a little concerned by the phrase ‘any means possible’…”

“If he won’t run on his own, then our only choice is to make at least five other high priests nominate him. I’ll pick ones who don’t belong to any faction and bribe them.”

“‘Bribe’? With what money?”

“I know of someone with the necessary funds.”

In general, Venetim liked to have others do whatever he couldn’t. Perhaps that was why he was best suited to the role of commander. What’s more, while he was generally useless, he’d never once gotten in Xylo’s or Jayce’s way.

“Who?” Xylo looked at him with suspicion.

He could only think of one person with the power to buy off a majority of the high priests and secure their votes for Ibuton: the head of the First Capital branch of the Verkle Development Corporation.

That person was Fidius Verkle, the eldest son of the Verkle family and Venetim’s older brother. He was the front-runner to become the next head of the family, and one of the clan’s most talented entrepreneurs.

“My older brother, Fidius Verkle.”

“…What?” Xylo’s jaw dropped. “Your brother…is who? Verkle?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I may not look it, but I’m actually a member of the Verkle family. I was exiled, though. Incidentally, I’m the fourth child. I have one older brother, two older sisters, and one younger brother.”

“I have no idea how much of that is true,” Xylo muttered, tossing a handful of nuts into his mouth. “But if we can get Verkle Corp on our side, then bribing five priests shouldn’t be an issue. That said…”

Xylo was suspicious of Venetim’s claims, but he didn’t have any better options.

“Can you even convince your brother to do that?” he asked. “I mean, I’m sure you don’t get along.”

“It won’t be a problem. My older brother loves me dearly.”

“…Be straight with me. How much of this is true and how much is coming straight out of your ass? Please don’t tell me you made the whole thing up.”

“It’s all true. Why are you so skeptical?”

“Because you’re Venetim.”

What a terrible thing to say, thought Venetim. He already knew where Fidius was staying in the First Capital. All he had to do now was stake out his brother’s route home. Luckily, he’d scraped together enough money to hire some collaborators, and he’d already set them in motion.

“Either way, we don’t have a choice. We have to succeed, right? Or are you going to give up just because you don’t trust me?”

“Like hell! Fine. You’re the boss. This is just another one of your big cons anyway. What do you want me to do?”

“I have a favor to ask of you…but it’s going to be rather dangerous. Are you up for it?”

Fidius Verkle left work that day rather late.

A sudden visitor had prolonged his business meeting, and road construction had forced him to take a lengthy detour. The snowfall that had started in the afternoon showed no signs of letting up, and a bone-chilling cold filled the air.

He wouldn’t say he had a bad feeling in his gut, though; Fidius didn’t believe in such things. For him, it was simply an unpleasant day.

However, the night took a sharp turn for the worse the instant he spotted his brother, Venetim Verkle, standing in a snow-filled alley. Fidius signaled his coachman to halt and fixed his gaze on Venetim—hoping, praying that this was merely a specter, proof that his brother had finally perished. But Venetim was, regrettably, very much alive. If there was a ghost here, it was his brother’s companion—a man with unnaturally elongated limbs and a vacant expression. The man stood motionless in the falling snow, an ominous figure whose black, empty eyes seemed to point in Fidius’s direction yet looked straight through him, as if Fidius didn’t exist at all.

“Why, hello, dear brother. It’s been so long.”

Venetim bowed politely, his expression so insincere and audacious that Fidius’s head began to ache. The two of them weren’t close enough for such casual greetings. Fidius had two younger sisters and two younger brothers, all potential successors to Verkle Corp—except for Venetim. After all, he had quickly demonstrated his incompetence, failing every test his father and their other relatives had given him. It seemed he’d never figured out that they weren’t really tests at all, but opportunities.

Venetim was exiled from the family and disappeared shortly thereafter. Fidius had always dismissed him as his foolish younger brother. He knew he made his way in the world as a con man, and that he’d been sentenced to serve as a hero.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that his brother would show up like this on his way home.

He sighed, then said, “I have no idea what’s going on in that brain of yours, Venetim. How dare you show your face in front of me? Get lost! Or would you prefer it if my horse’s hooves turned you into paste?”

“That is no way to speak to your little brother after we’ve been apart for so long.” Venetim’s troubled smile grated on Fidius’s nerves, and Venetim knew why. “Are you still mad? I’m really sorry about the whole Modelis Corporation thing, and I regret—”

“Shut your mouth.” Fidius let out a low growl the instant he heard that name. He wasn’t trying to intimidate his brother; he was simply recalling an unpleasant memory.

Not too long ago, word had spread of a rising challenger to Verkle Corp called Modelis. The company operated as a bank offering secure remote deposits and withdrawals. That wasn’t all it did, however. It was also involved in certain gambling operations that were technically illegal. Nevertheless, the company was growing and even had the Temple’s support.

When Fidius investigated the rumors, his initial findings seemed promising—yet as he dug deeper, Modelis Corporation simply vanished into thin air. By the time he realized the entire company had been a fabrication, the damage was done. His in-depth investigation and the various inquiries from his top subordinates had spooked the investors into dumping their securities, leaving Verkle Corp with massive losses.

But Fidius didn’t believe he’d acted rashly. The investigation had been carried out in total secrecy, and he still had no idea how word had gotten out. But what he did know was that various people had profited from the situation, and that Venetim was at the center of it all.

By the time Fidius had caught up with his brother, he’d vanished once again, leaving behind only rumors of his death. Some were optimistic, claiming he’d been killed in a dispute over the profits. But Fidius found that hard to believe. It wasn’t long after that he was proved right—when his brother was sentenced to serve as a hero. And now…

“I have a business proposal that I believe will be of great interest to you,” said his brother.

Ridiculous. Was there no end to this man’s absurd behavior?

“Too bad. I have no reason to listen to you. You could never offer me anything of value.”

“It’s about the upcoming election for archpriest. I am on a secret mission on behalf of a certain member of the Holy Knights. There is someone we must see elected as archpriest.”

Now he was claiming that the Holy Knights had sent him on a secret mission.

Fidius mulled over this idea, his lips forming the beginnings of a sneer. Was there really a Holy Knight dumb enough to entrust such an important mission to a penal hero? Much less his lying brother?

“I know you’re lying, and even if you were telling the truth, what would it have to do with me?”

“I need you to bribe a few high priests so they’ll nominate High Priest Nicold Ibuton. We only need five people.”

What a corrupt proposal. And Venetim had suggested it with a straight face.

“Absurd. How would that benefit me? Or Verkle Corp, for that matter?”

“Are you asking that because you’re already backing High Priest Mirose?”

“Looks like you’ve done your research.”

“High Priest Ibuton will generate far more revenue than High Priest Mirose. Not only will he increase the Temple’s revenue, but donations will come pouring in from all over, and the higher-ups will cease their lavish expenditures.”

This was true. Fidius was well aware of Nicold Ibuton and his potential to expand the Temple’s influence. One could even argue that his election would benefit all of mankind, since it would also help with the battle against the Demon Blight.

“Furthermore, High Priest Ibuton won’t hoard all the revenue. He’ll donate it to slums, refugees, and rural areas, as well as investing in the Holy Knights. And that is where Verkle Corp will recoup their investment.”

“Makes sense.”

Fidius found himself agreeing, at least in part. He suspected his brother was just making excuses, but his assessment was mostly correct. Fidius’s second sister, Corfinne, had always found this talent of Venetim’s amusing, but Fidius knew their brother was a bad influence. His sister had to be disciplined before she fell into the same bad habits.

And there was one thing Venetim seemed oblivious to.

“But I—or rather, Verkle Corp—will not be investing in Nicold Ibuton. You see, he would benefit mankind too much.”

“And why is that a problem?”

Fidius remained silent. There was no need to explain. What he’d just said was explanation enough. Anyone with half a brain could understand.

If humanity benefited too much, Verkle Corp would lose out. His company needed the war to continue. The Demon Blight was a source of immense profit for them. And so there was only one course of action for them: keep the humans at a slight advantage, while also helping out the Demon Blight.

They’d long kept up a relationship with the coexisters—never getting too close, but keeping them near at hand. It was Verkle Corp that had secretly supplied lightning staffs to their private armies and other collaborators, such as Gwen Mohsa, via sympathetic parties within the military.

They hadn’t yet decided if they would fully align with the coexisters, but they had no desire to oppose them right now. For that reason, Venetim’s proposal was simply unacceptable. They needed High Priest Mirose to become the archpriest. That was what Verkle Corp had determined in their executive meeting, and his father, the head of the whole company, had made the final decision himself. They’d considered supporting Nicold Ibuton as well, of course.

But Mirose will benefit our family business the most. That’s all there is to it.

Fidius recalled an image of his father’s quiet, stern face in profile. He felt as if he’d only ever seen his father from the side. Had he ever met his father’s gaze directly?

But I’m nothing like my incompetent younger brother.

Of that, Fidius was certain. The conviction was not without pain, but the pain was slight, and he could ignore it.

My father values me because I consistently deliver results and prove my worth.

It was no time to get involved with someone like Venetim.

“Now, get out of my way, Venetim. I don’t have any more time to waste on you.”

“In most cases, I would probably agree. But tonight is different.”

“Excuse me?”

Fidius felt a sense of unease. Then, all of a sudden, lightning struck.

There was a dry pop, followed by an explosion. His carriage’s horse reared up, its head shot through. Fidius Verkle, of all people, knew exactly what had happened. Someone had used a lighting staff known as the Yaguruma. It was a new type of sniper weapon with a stabilized automatic ejection mechanism for its magazine.

“What the…?”

But before Fidius could finish his sentence, he was thrown from his carriage. His body was trained to react to danger, and he instinctively rolled and ducked down into the snow. The coachman shouted and raised a lightning staff of his own, only to be shot down from behind. That was when Fidius realized he was surrounded.

“Are you okay? Please keep your head down.” Before Fidius realized it, Venetim had crawled over to his side. “It appears the enemy has arrived, and you’re their target.”

“…What’s going on?”

“They’re coexisters. They probably assumed we were colluding to sell top secret information. I’m guessing it’s because I tried to meet with you in secret like this. I do have a knack for making people suspicious…”

Fidius was speechless. A moment of silence followed, only to be shattered by a bizarre, savage cry.

“Uwoooaaahhh!”

It was the man who’d been standing beside Venetim. He was unusually tall and lanky, and he was holding a long iron rod topped with a battle-ax.

“Don’t worry, Fidius.” Venetim placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Tatsuya has our backs, so all you need to do is trust us.”

Fidius brushed Venetim’s hand away, then punched him square in the face.

Tatsuya moved like a predator on the hunt. One instant he’d crouch low, the next he’d spring up and let out a gurgling howl, as if blood were welling up from the depths of his throat.

“Guhka!”

To Venetim, he simply looked like a dark gust of wind streaking by.

Tatsuya swung his battle-ax one-handed, creating a whirlwind out of the falling snow. In the blink of an eye, he’d decapitated a man standing atop a wall—the sniper from a moment earlier. Fresh blood sprayed into the air.

“Kakaka!”

Tatsuya was relentless, his movements never stopping. Within seconds, he’d taken out two more attackers to his left and right. With a single swing, he’d gouged out one’s throat and the other’s belly, instantly killing them.

Tatsuya is the penal hero unit’s most powerful soldier, thought Venetim.

He watched as blood, mixed with chunks of flesh, rained down before him, making him nauseated. He still wasn’t used to this.

There’s no way anyone could beat him in a fair match.

Venetim was certain of it. It wasn’t just a matter of raw strength or agility. There was something fundamentally different about Tatsuya—something almost inhuman. And from the way Neely treated him, Venetim knew she felt the same. Though he didn’t understand her words, he could tell from her demeanor. She sometimes acted as though she viewed even Xylo and Rhyno as children, but never Tatsuya. She treated him like some venerated senior, or like an aged tree, deserving of respect.

“Venetim!”

Venetim’s thoughts were interrupted as Fidius grabbed him by the collar, his eyes blazing with rage. Venetim had always feared this look. In fact, he’d told countless lies just to avoid being on the receiving end of it. Even if he was caught in a lie and scolded even more, it was still better than being scolded for nothing.

“…There’s still something I don’t understand!” Fidius shouted, voice strained. “How did you manage to get in touch with the coexisters and manipulate them into doing all this? If they simply thought about it for a moment, they’d realize I’d never collude with the likes of you! How did you find this bunch of incompetent fools?”

Venetim’s mouth fell open in astonishment. To think that there was something even his elder brother didn’t know! And it was such a simple, obvious fact. He didn’t even feel a sense of triumph; he was simply stunned.

“I was almost certain that High Priest Mirose was a coexister.” Venetim made sure to keep a straight face, despite his amusement. “So I tried to reach out to her in secret. Of course, she ignored me… But after that, her people seemed extremely cautious of me and even put me under surveillance…”

Tatsuya’s frantic movements filled Venetim’s vision. He could see his long limbs extending and retracting, each swing unleashing more hunks of flesh and sprays of blood. An enemy shot at him with their lightning staff, but a weapon like that wasn’t going to hit Tatsuya.

Under the glow of the emerald moon, he flew to and fro like a giant bat, moving from the wall to a roof, then to the top of a tree beside the road.

“And so I spoke to the person surveilling me to try to convince him to go away.”

“Like what?”

“I told him that while I was indeed a member of the Verkle family, I’d been exiled and no longer had any relationship with them. Especially my elder brother Fidius, with whom I have a long-standing feud. He and I would absolutely never conspire. I begged them to believe me.” Venetim looked away from his brother as he spoke. His furious, unwavering gaze was simply too much. “I tried to explain the situation to him as best I could, but it looks like that only made him more suspicious. I wonder if it was a mistake to let Xylo get so rough with him… At any rate, it seems like the more I explain the situation, the more people doubt me… I simply have no idea why that could be.”

“Why, you little—!”

Fidius grabbed at Venetim’s collar again, and Venetim cringed in fear. But just then, a bolt of lightning whizzed past Venetim’s cheek and grazed Fidius’s shoulder.

Fidius could smell burning flesh and feel warm blood running down his arm. He grimaced and cried out. Someone had given up on taking down Tatsuya and was sniping at them from a rooftop.

Venetim didn’t have the presence of mind to reach this conclusion logically, but he cried out on instinct, calling upon the strongest weapon currently at his disposal…

“Tatsuya!” He pressed down on his brother’s wound with both hands. “Someone’s shooting at us! Help!”

There was no reason for him to believe Tatsuya would make it in time. The next attack was sure to come almost instantly, so trying to evade was the logical option. Venetim, however, was incapable of such tactical thinking.

And, miraculously, Tatsuya heard his cries and obeyed—and managed to save them.

“Giiih!”

A strange, hissing noise escaped his lips as he leaped with incredible speed, battle-ax carving a trail in the sky. Venetim heard a bizarre, sharp crack. A moment later, he realized what it was—a lightning bolt being expertly deflected.

Fidius scowled, groaning. “Did he just…deflect that lightning bolt with his ax? Impossible!”

“Not for Tatsuya.”

The truth was, Venetim had no clue what was happening. But he couldn’t afford to look uncertain, so he put on a brave face and spoke with confidence. Then he put a finger to the sacred seal on his neck.

“…Xylo, do you see the sniper? C-can you get him?”

“’Course I can.”

A dark figure bounded across the snow-covered roof, its movements distinct from Tatsuya’s. It almost seemed to be flying.

“I’m going to corner and capture him, so focus on your part. Don’t screw this up.”

It seemed Xylo Forbartz, who had been lying in wait, had found his target. He’d soon captured the man—the one thing Tatsuya wasn’t any good at.

“It’s over, Fidius. You’re safe. A few of them got away, though…” Venetim felt his body’s temperature rapidly dropping. Facing his brother like this had him drenched in cold sweat. “Anyway, I’m counting on you! Let’s defeat mankind’s enemy together! We’ll crush the coexisters. All you have to do is trust us.”

Tatsuya jumped into another attack atop the roof, plunging his battle-ax halfway into the man’s chest and grabbing his head, then tearing it straight off his body. The man screamed as his innards spilled out, but his cry was soon drowned out by Tatsuya’s.

“Ruuuaaagaaaaaah!”

His behavior seemed far too violent and cruel for a warrior of justice.

“Look! That is the power of the penal hero unit’s strongest infantryman. I promise you that our unit will lead humanity to victory! Join us, dear brother! I respect you and wish to fight by your side!”

“You pathetic liar…!”

It seemed he couldn’t fool his brother. But then again, he didn’t need to.

“I might be lying, but does it look like you have any other option?” Venetim asked.

His brother stayed silent, then punched Venetim square in the face once more. Venetim’s vision blurred as the pain set in, obscuring his brother’s furious expression. Had that been an elbow rather than a fist? He got the feeling his nose was broken.

Well…this beats being lectured, at least. And by a lot, too.

Even as he clutched his nose, Venetim felt a sense of relief. The punch had been over in a second, and now his brother had no choice but to swallow his demands. When someone beat Venetim up, it usually meant he’d succeeded.

“Um, that hurt, Fidius.”

“…There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while.” Fidius slowly straightened up, completely ignoring his brother’s remark. His face resembled Venetim’s, but the impression it gave off was completely different. It was like a sculpture made of cold stone, hard and immutable. “How can you live with yourself? You’re an embarrassment. Doesn’t it bother you to cause so much trouble for others?”

“It does bother me… I wanted to become a decent person, like you. But I just couldn’t do it.”

“Don’t give me that crap. You never tried to be decent. Not even once.”

“I suppose you would think that… I’ve never been able to understand you or the others. But I’ve always done my best to be a good person, in my own way.”

“That’s a lie, too.”

“…Ha-ha. Looks like I can’t fool you. You’re right. What I really want is revenge. I want to get back at you and father and everyone else for expecting so much from me and then being disappointed when I couldn’t live up to your selfish expectations.”

“Enough. I was wrong to expect anything but lies from you.” Fidius shook his head and looked away. “At any rate, I’ve understood the situation at hand. I’m getting nowhere with you, so let me speak with whoever’s giving you orders.”

Fidius had always met everyone’s expectations, including their father’s. To Venetim, he seemed like some kind of transcendent being—someone completely beyond his understanding. Just how much perseverance and fortitude could one man have?

It must be amazing to be able to live like that, thought Venetim.

His brother must have an unshakable sense of self. At this point, Venetim didn’t even know what he really thought or felt. No matter how hard he tried, all he found were whatever words would appease the person in front of him.

In fact, Venetim had never given voice to what he really thought—he’d simply acted in response to others’ threats and demands. What other people wanted had always been his driving force. He couldn’t recall a single time when he’d acted spontaneously on his own behalf.

And now that record was what defined who he was.

I do respect my brother, though… At least, I think I do.

Venetim gazed up at the sky.

I wonder if Xylo got anything out of that sniper…

I dodged a bolt from the attacker’s lightning staff, grabbed him, then kicked him to the curb.

Once I’d caught up to him, the rest was simple. He had a rare short sword for close-range combat that emitted flames, but his skills were mediocre at best. He made a shrill cry like a bird’s when he swung the blade, and it was easy to tell where he’d strike.

“Too slow.”

I stepped in, struck his elbow, and delivered a powerful vibration from Loradd, my probe seal, right into his body. One hit was powerful enough to make most people drop their weapons, and then all I had to do was kick it away. But just as I did so, I noticed something engraved into the blade—a wedge-shaped symbol vaguely resembling the Great Sacred Seal. It was the mark of Gwen Mohsa.

“Relax. You’re only hurting yourself by resisting,” I warned.

The guy was trying to pull out another knife to throw at me. It was a little disturbing how much energy he had left, but not many people in the world could outdo me at knife-throwing. I pulled out a blade and had it lodged in his shoulder before his own ever left his hand. He fell facedown on the ground in front of me.

“I need to ask you something,” I said, putting one foot on the sniper’s back. “Who’s giving you orders? Who’s the asshole financing Gwen Mohsa?”

They had to have someone backing them. They could never have hatched a plan like this on their own. That same person was supporting High Priest Mirose and manipulating Verkle Corp—it had to be a real big shot.

I doubted this guy knew the person’s name, but I was hoping for some kind of clue.

“Ha… Ha-ha! Xylo Forbartz! …You filthy heathen!”

But all I got were nasty insults. There was no fear or anger in the man’s eyes—he looked completely unhinged. What was hurled back at me was far harsher than I had anticipated. The emotion in his eyes wasn’t fear or anger, either—he looked like he’d long given up such things.

“I only have one thing I want to say to you!” A spark flew from his body, the only warning I needed. “Die!”

I knew exactly what was going to happen, and I used Sakara to leap back on reflex. Not a second later, the attacker’s body was blown to pieces in a fiery explosion. I’d managed to avoid the blast, but the shock wave still sent me tumbling to the ground.

Unbelievable. This guy just blew himself up. And to make matters worse…

A fiery vortex raged before my eyes, the effect akin to a small-scale scorched terrain seal. Soon, investigators and firefighters would be rushing to the scene.

That guy was serious… Did he swallow the seal? Or maybe he had it embedded in his stomach.

Whatever the case, the man’s resolve was terrifying. He clearly had no intention of telling me anything and was willing to take himself out if necessary. He could easily have blown me up, too.

But I had gotten something out of our little exchange.

He’s military.

That much I was sure of.

Only someone in the military could have gotten their hands on equipment like that. Sniper staffs and scorched terrain seals weren’t easy to come by. Even if Verkle Corp had supplied the weapons, there were only a few workshops allowed to craft them—military facilities overseen by Galtuile. The same was true of the laboratories where they were developed. Gwen Mohsa’s large-scale use of such weapons made it clear this wasn’t just a few arms making their way onto the black market.

The fact they’d managed to get their hands on something as dangerous as a scorched terrain seal was frankly alarming. Proper storage and handling of such items were some of the military’s most closely guarded secrets. Aside from Dotta, no one could have managed to steal the seals and the relevant information.

Someone within the military, and of considerable rank, had to be behind this. At least a governor—probably a governor-general. And then there was the Uthob Front, Unit 7110. If they were linked to the unit that set me up back when I was in the Fifth Order, that would narrow down the list of suspects even further.

I started to form a mental list of people at the governor-general rank and above who’d been serving since back when I was in the Holy Knights.

The morning light poured into Chikarta Temple.

It was probably designed for just this effect. The altar, simple yet immaculate, was bathed in a serene, sacred glow. Nicold Ibuton stood before it in full regalia as the temple’s high priest.

“…What foul sorcery did you use?” he growled the instant he saw Venetim’s face. “I have absolutely no interest, but five high priests have recommended me for the position, so I suppose it is the will of the goddesses. And I cannot go against the Temple’s rules.”

“Thank you very much.” Venetim bowed deeply. The priest showed no reaction.

“Glad to have you on board. We need you to win, too,” said Xylo, pointing at his own neck as he leaned back in one of the temple’s pews. “Otherwise, they’ll blow our heads off, and we’ll be stuck in the repair shop until next year.”

It was a rude way to talk to a priest, but Ibuton didn’t seem particularly bothered.

“If enough people choose me, then I will become archpriest,” said Ibuton. “If not, someone else will. Personally, I’d prefer the latter outcome, as I already have too many tasks to attend to.”

“This isn’t just your problem anymore. You need to win, no matter what.”

“Ultimately, religion is a deeply personal matter that must be dealt with as an individual. It exists to protect the sacred beliefs we hold dear in our hearts, and a priest’s role should be to serve as protector of that faith, and nothing more. Ideally, that is.”

“…Sure, I can agree with that. One day, I’d like to live in a world like that.”

Venetim couldn’t understand even half of this exchange. It sounded terribly complex. But soon, Ibuton fixed his collar, straightened up, and began to move.

“Luffe Aros is right around the corner. I can finish all the necessary paperwork by the end of the day, but I expect there will be people after my life. If you all wish to see me become archpriest, then you’d best guard me carefully.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Venetim replied. “I have already made the necessary preparations to keep you safe.”

That wasn’t exactly the truth, however. They needed a bunch of soldiers for the task, and they weren’t going to find them through normal means. Something had to be done, and until they figured out what, they’d need to have Tatsuya and Rhyno take turns protecting Ibuton. But that would only go so far. They needed to take action quickly.

I can pull this off, but I’ll have to work hard. Very hard.

Venetim had his work cut out for him.

“Very well,” said the priest. “Let’s move on to my statement of beliefs, then.”

He walked past them, then stopped in his tracks. He wasn’t looking at Venetim or Xylo, however. His gaze was fixed on Tatsuya.

“He’s the spitting image of him.”

“Excuse me?”

“The hero in the legends. Surely, you’ve heard the stories. He was one of the Nine Stars of Destiny summoned by the First Goddess to help end the original War of Subjugation. They say he descended wielding a sword and a radiant beam of light. Eventually, he transformed himself into a divine beast and fought the Demon Blight.”

Ibuton glanced at the painting adorning the altar behind him. It depicted a goddess and her warriors. Rendered in vivid colors, the figures all appeared distinctly inhuman. Of course, as it was only a fictional depiction; it had likely been somewhat exaggerated.

Venetim had heard tales of the First War of Subjugation and knew of the Nine Stars. There was the bodiless grand sage and founder Vladd the Sealed, Avilly of the Cursed Sigil, Nieg the Glutton, and Yukihito the Judge. Who were the others, again?

Suddenly Xylo spoke up. “The Legend of the Nine Stars, huh? I’ve read it.”

His eyes were fixed on the painting. For someone so wild and uncouth-looking, he seemed surprisingly knowledgeable when it came to ancient texts. Perhaps it was a result of his aristocratic upbringing.

“Eight of their names are consistent, but the last one seems to have been lost to history. Though a few authors have taken it upon themselves to make up a name and background for him.”

“Yes, the name of the Ninth Star—the one who wears the flesh of the sacred beast—is lost to us.” Ibuton looked away from both Tatsuya and the painting and continued walking. “All we know is that he was a holy warrior with an unusual appearance, summoned from a foreign world long, long ago.”

“We’ve heard rumors that Tatsuya has been fighting for humanity ever since the First War of Subjugation,” said Xylo. “No clue if there’s any truth to them, though.”

He turned to look at Venetim, the one who’d passed those rumors along to him. He hadn’t lied—he’d been hearing such stories since he was first sentenced. Still, he had no way to verify that any of it was true.

“To be honest, I never really believed it,” said Xylo. “But maybe he really was the same guy.”

Xylo pointed a finger at him, but Tatsuya didn’t react. He’d been ordered to guard Ibuton, and he simply followed along after him, fulfilling his mission. To Venetim, the scene seemed somehow sacred.

“…So, what’s the plan, Venetim?” Xylo stood up and yawned. Apparently, he and Tsav had spent the night searching for Gwen Mohsa’s whereabouts, and he was still a bit sleepy. “Now that we’ve got High Priest Ibuton in the running, we’ve got a chance of winning this. I’m feeling optimistic.”

Xylo was right. Nicold Ibuton was quite popular among believers and other priests. Some were even willing to donate to his cause. If he was archpriest, such income would likely increase, and that possibility could bring in the votes. At the very least, there were the five high priests Verkle Corp had bribed, and others might decide to join them.

Then again… If Verkle Corp intends to help High Priest Mirose win, they probably have something a lot more solid in the works…

But Venetim kept that thought to himself. He’d always been the type to anticipate the worst-case scenario, but he almost never talked about it. Other people tended to dismiss such ideas as ridiculous, after all. If he spoke up, they’d just think he was lying. And if he was right—well, that would be even worse. One time he’d been right, and he’d wound up sentenced to serve as a hero.

No, it was better not to say anything unless he was asked.

“Our only concern now is keeping High Priest Ibuton alive. Let’s hurry up and hire some guards. The enemy might even try attacking the election, so we’ll need at least one hundred guards on standby.”

“You just need me to get as many people as possible, yes? I could probably get…around fifty.”

“Wow, look at you. Planning to ask your brother? Or rather, Verkle Corp?”

“Uh… Broadly speaking, yes.”

“Well, now you’ve got me worried! You’ve gotta tell me what you’re thinking, or else I start to get anxious.”

“Um, well, I’ll tell you if it will make you feel better. If we’re considering the long term, the most effective way to get the numbers we need is…”

And so Venetim explained his thoughts to Xylo. He’d feared the man would fly into a rage, but instead, his jaw dropped in astonishment.

“…Are you serious?”

“What? Uh… Yes. I believe this is a surefire way to win the election…”

“That’s awful! I mean, I thought you were joking at first. What a con. But…” Xylo seemed to be hesitating over whether to chew out Venetim. “You really come up with some crazy ideas, Venetim. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“Th-that’s a compliment, right? I mean, I can’t think of any other way for us to win.”

“It’s a compliment. We’ll need to make a few adjustments, but the plan should work… Our problem now is how to get fifty more people. There aren’t many people we can ask, either.”

“Yes, unfortunately… That worries me, too.”

Venetim could feel a stomachache coming on.

Punishment: Manipulate the Luffe Aros Election, Part 3

There were three days left until Luffe Aros.

The king had been extremely busy with work. Every decision he made could mean life or death for the citizens of the Federated Kingdom. Especially now, when they were in the midst of war. Even during this winter lull, he had to do everything he could to restore the nation’s strength and prepare for the spring thaw.

Norgalle Senridge firmly believed that if they couldn’t eradicate the Demon Blight during the upcoming spring offensive, there would be no future for humanity. And he was certain the king’s actions during this temporary time of peace would determine that battle’s outcome.

And so he didn’t have a moment to rest. Each day began early, and after waking up, he would review his schedule with Chancellor Venetim Omawisc over a simple breakfast. His meals were always sparse: rye bread with pickled turnips, a soup made from vegetable scraps, and occasionally a slice of bacon. On a good day, he might even have a fried egg.

“…Um, uh. Once again, there are numerous documents that require your approval and review today, Your Majesty.” Venetim handed him a stack of papers. It was about as thick as Norgalle had expected. If anything, it was a little sparse. “Furthermore, in regard to the royal guards—”

“No need. I already have the schedule memorized,” replied Norgalle, before taking a sip of his soup, a mere whisper of salt dancing on his tongue. “Venetim, you must swiftly secure the cooperation of the western nobles. The spring offensive will be held up without their support. Do not forget to keep the Temple in check. We cannot let any fools take control of their forces.”

“Everything will proceed as planned. You have my word.” Venetim bowed. The king had been giving him quite a lot of tasks lately, and it appeared he was giving them his all. His face was showing signs of fatigue.

Norgalle decided to offer him a word of encouragement: “Keep up the good work.”

After seeing the man off, Norgalle turned his attention to the mountain of paperwork awaiting him. Venetim had already screened the documents compiled by the Allied Administration Division, but there were still an overwhelming number to consider.

He separated anything that required further consultation. While the king didn’t need to know everything in minute detail, a certain level of understanding was essential. At the same time, it was equally important not to dwell on the specifics. A king needed to think both strategically, considering the bigger picture, and tactically, understanding individual perspectives.

But even while Norgalle was poring over this paperwork, he received the occasional visitor. He had no formal appointments scheduled for that day, but he made exceptions for a select few, such as Kafzen Dachrome, the head of the intelligence agency and the captain of the Twelfth Order of the Holy Knights.

This man had a knack for appearing without warning, often slipping into the king’s office as if he’d appeared out of thin air.

“It has been far too long, Your Majesty,” he said with an exaggerated bow. The man always had an air of theatricality about him. “Please forgive me for the tardy greeting. I am very pleased to welcome you back to the First Capital.”

“Enough with these meaningless pleasantries. You and I are busy people.”

“As you wish. Then please allow me to give you our report on the current situa—”

“No need. I have already been briefed by one of your men. It seems you’ve been fulfilling your duties in my absence.”

A towering stack of documents dominated Norgalle’s desk, all of them clandestine reports from Kafzen’s network. While these daily deliveries had become routine since his return to the First Capital, this was the first time Kafzen had come to visit in person.

“I am honored that our efforts have earned your approval, Your Majesty. How were the front lines?”

“The situation is dire,” replied Norgalle gravely. “Very dire. The soldiers are injured, and the people are exhausted. At this rate, we won’t be able to keep up the war even two or three more years. We must strike now, while we still have the energy.”

“Then my men and I must work even harder.”

“I expect you to give your utmost at all times.” Norgalle glared at Kafzen, who was wearing a somewhat sadistic smile. “Stay vigilant. Remember, you and your people are solely responsible for this nation’s covert security. Pay particular attention to the east.”

Norgalle believed that was where they should be focusing their efforts. His daily reviews of tax revenue, migration, and shifts in public order and economic activity painted a clear picture.

“It appears the people of the eastern islands have been duped by a pack of fools into starting a rebellion. Those so-called pirates are highly suspicious.”

“You have a keen eye. We believe those pirates are armed forces from a powerful clan connected to the former Kioh royal family. They call themselves ‘Zehai Dahé’s army,’ and they are leading a force of dryads, making them difficult to suppress.”

Zehai Dahé was the name of a creature worshipped as the guardian deity of the former island kingdom of Kioh. It was said to be an enormous serpent with scales of deep crimson, able to soar through the air, as well as the depths of the ocean. The legends said it could slice through mountains and conjure mighty windstorms. It was clear that the pirates were attempting to legitimize themselves by claiming ties to the Kioh royal family.

“Do everything in your power to ensure that the spring offensive stays on track. The port is especially critical. Defend it at all costs.”

“As you wish.”

“That is all. Get to work.”

“No need to be so cold, Your Majesty.” Kafzen smiled wryly, as if holding back pain. “I was looking forward to conversing with you upon your triumphant return.”

“My return to the royal capital will only be triumphant once we’ve won the war.” Norgalle shifted his gaze back to the documents atop his desk. “First, we must win. Everything else can wait.”

“I dream of that day—the day you return to the royal castle, and the people rejoice and welcome you home. The day our soldiers are allowed to heal, and our land can finally rest. I yearn for it.”

“Never call it a dream again,” Norgalle barked. Peace was by no means a dream, and a king should never allow it to be spoken of that way. “Now go. We both have jobs to do.”

“I shall take your advice to heart.”

Norgalle glanced up, only to find Kafzen already gone. He always moved about like a shadow.

The only other uninvited guest to visit Norgalle that day was a boy.

The small, thin youth approached with timid steps, then executed a perfect bow.

“Sir Norgalle,” he said, “I still haven’t properly thanked you for saving my life back at the Tujin Tuga Hills.”

“Good to see you, Rykwell,” the king replied. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well. You didn’t come crying to me even once. I’m proud of you. A member of the royal family must always be strong.”

The boy was his younger brother and the kingdom’s third prince, Rykwell Zef-Zeal Meht Kioh. He was a candidate for the throne, since Norgalle had no heir, though Rehnavor and Rezufar were both ahead of him in line.

Wait. Rezufar is… A sharp pain lanced through Norgalle’s temples, causing him to shake his head.

“Sir Norgalle?” Rykwell looked up at him anxiously, but Norgalle simply groaned and shook his head, trying to reassure the boy.

“I’m fine, Rykwell. It appears the exhaustion is finally catching up with me. That’s all.”

“Really? …Well, please don’t overwork yourself. Melneatis is worried about you.”

“Understood.” Norgalle drew a deep breath and finished signing the final document before him. “I expect you two to stay in good health as well. It may seem improper for royalty to rest in times like these; the kingdom needs a steady leader, and there are few left who can take that role.”

Otherwise, the nation would always fall under the sway of whomever proved to be the strongest. That would only bring strife, and the people would never know peace.

Or else the nation might adopt a parliamentary system, such as the one formerly practiced in the Western Federation. Though some people advocated for such a change, Norgalle refused to entertain the notion. Having citizens vote to decide their representatives was like determining a nation’s rulers via a popularity contest. Such a system could never ensure that the most capable individuals would lead. Expecting the populace to be wise enough to choose their own leaders seemed almost cruel to Norgalle.

The king is the foundation of the nation.

And he must be assisted by capable individuals. To ensure that, they needed to expand the nation’s educational infrastructure and put in place protections against corruption.

“Listen, Rykwell. You must constantly ask yourself what your duty is. That is what it means to be royalty.”

“Ah! Um… U-understood!” Rykwell replied innocently after a moment’s hesitation. “I will do as you say, Sir Norgalle.”

It was a perfect answer. Though young, the boy clearly had potential.

After a moment, he asked, “So, um… How are the other heroes doing?”

“They’re well. Almost too well. They are my elites, after all. I cannot have them faltering after such a trivial skirmish.”

Though gravely injured in the last battle, Xylo and Jayce were already back in action. The two of them led the nation’s forces on land and in the air, and they would be key in bolstering the military’s forces in the lead-up the spring offensive. There was no time for them to rest.

“Now, then. I apologize, Rykwell, but I have another duty I must attend to.”

“You’re going out?”

“Yes. I have business that must be taken care of, so I’m afraid I can’t play with you today.” Norgalle slowly rose from his chair, his headache already gone. “I must personally recruit soldiers for the royal guard.”

“Recruiting soldiers?”

Patausche scowled despite herself.

After cavalry drills, she’d had a meal in the city with the leader of the sniper unit, Siena. When she returned to the barracks, she found Xylo waiting in the common room with his usual stern expression. In fact, he’d been looking even grimmer than usual ever since they arrived in the First Capital.

“Are you all right?” she asked instinctively. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping well, and…Goddess Teoritta will be worried if she sees you like that.” The second half was a bit rushed, as if Patausche was covering up some other thought.

Xylo rubbed at the corners of his eyes with his thumbs and smirked. “You don’t have to worry about me. I actually just woke up from a little nap.”

“I never said I was worried about you.”

“I train hard. I won’t mess up just because I didn’t sleep for a night or two. I’m sure you’re the same, right? I’ll take care of what needs to be done.”

Such feats were normal for a soldier. In fact, they were the bare minimum. An officer had to be capable of enduring nonstop marching drills and combat training. They had to be capable of taking action and making swift, appropriate decisions with as little rest as possible. Patausche herself had trained by marching back and forth between Galtuile and the royal capital without a second’s rest.

Nevertheless, Xylo’s remark irritated her.

I’m not worried about whether you can do your job.

However, she couldn’t quite put what she was worried about into words.

As she hesitated, Xylo spoke. “High Priest Nicold Ibuton will officially run for archpriest in the upcoming election.” He was practically growling. “That means we’ve got two jobs left, and only three days to take care of them. We don’t have much time. Pretty depressing, huh?”

“Crying won’t solve anything. What do we need to do?”

“First, we need to take care of Gwen Mohsa. Tsav and I will handle that, since he’s managed to find out where they’re hiding. We’re about to head out.” Xylo held up two fingers. “Our second job is to recruit guards for High Priest Ibuton.”

“…Yes, if he truly plans on running in the election, then it’s urgent we secure enough guards. We won’t be able to protect him alone.”

“Exactly. We need soldiers we can freely command. As long as we can get them by Luffe Aros, everything should work out. I’ll have Tatsuya and Rhyno guard him until then. I figure our enemies won’t stage a real attack until the day of the election, though.”

“You sound confident. What makes you so sure?”

“Because if they take him out before then, we can always just find another high priest to replace him. The higher-ups said they have a Plan B that uses Ibuton’s death to their advantage. That’s what Adhiff said, at least.”

That meant they needed to focus their preparations on the day of the election. Either way, they couldn’t exactly conjure up a bunch of guards out of thin air. If an attempt on the high priest’s life came early, they’d just have to hope Tatsuya and Rhyno were up to the challenge.

“We need a hundred guards. At least,” said Xylo.

“That would be the absolute minimum,” Patausche agreed. “But it’s still a lot to ask.”

Given the current situation, they had no choice but to recruit from the general populace. That meant they needed to find one hundred people willing to join a group of penal heroes on a dangerous, disreputable mission. In other words, they needed one hundred people who were totally out of their minds.

“Technically, we only need to worry about getting half. Venetim said he would recruit the other fifty on his own.”

“Venetim? …That worries me.”

“I was the same at first. But after hearing his plan, I think it has a good chance of working. It’s better if I keep you in the dark about that, though.”

“Wh-why would you say that?”

“Because we need it to be a secret, and you’re terrible with secrets, right?”

“…What? I can keep a secret!”

“Sorry, I phrased that poorly. I don’t want you to have to get good at hiding things. Lately, I’m getting real fed up with people like that.”

Patausche looked Xylo in the eye and found it hard to talk back. He seemed terribly exhausted.

In the end, she cleared her throat and nodded. “All right… I won’t ask for details. But recruiting even fifty soldiers is a tall order. We’re basically asking people to volunteer to be put on death row. How will we compensate them? Can we even properly employ them?”

“We can offer them positions in the Saint’s unit, the Consecrated Brigade. It’s still being formed. You’ve heard the rumors, right? They’d be treated as volunteer soldiers.”

The Consecrated Brigade had been a hot topic lately. It was supposed to be the cornerstone of the spring offensive, and its commander would be the Saint herself, Yurisa Kidafreny. Of course, Yurisa had no military training and couldn’t possibly lead troops into battle, but she would take a symbolic role.

“This will be difficult… The pay won’t be good, and whoever joins will wind up right in the middle of the upcoming battle.”

“Please. I’m counting on you. We only have three days left.” Xylo looked down, and Patausche could see dark circles under his eyes. “We’ve still got loads to do.”

Ultimately, Patausche was the only one he could turn to. Dotta was stuck in the hospital with several broken bones, and even if he wasn’t, this sort of thing had never been his forte. And Tatsuya would be an even worse choice. As for Rhyno, well, putting him in charge of recruiting was like intentionally setting a disaster in motion.

“Am I the only one who will be working on this?”

“No, Norgalle will go with you. You’ll need to work with His Majesty.”

“Him? Will he be any help, you think?”

“He’s good at giving speeches. Remember how he rallied all the adventurers in Ioff? As long as you keep an eye on him, he should prove useful.”

“…Fine.” Patausche sighed. The situation was dire, and they couldn’t afford to have anyone sitting around twiddling their thumbs. “But get some sleep before you head out, okay? You look awful.”

“I’m fine. I need to go now… There’s no time to sleep.”

“So you’re going to work without sleep for some personal request from Adhiff Twevel? Is this really worth sacrificing yourself?”

“The situation has changed.” Xylo grimaced, as if he was enduring something. He’d probably meant to smile. “It seems the people working against us this time are involved with the Uthob Front, Unit 7110.”

“Isn’t that…?”

“Yeah. They’re the same ones who set up me and Senerva. And if they’re a unit, they’ve got to have a commander, or someone else calling the shots. And whoever it is, they’ve got control of Verkle Corp, they’ve convinced Gwen Mohsa to do their bidding, and now they’re backing High Priest Mirose in the election.”

Patausche remained silent. Xylo was pushing himself too hard, but she didn’t know how to stop him. Her mind raced, searching for the right words. At last, she found them.

“…Goddess Teoritta has been worried about you, too.”

Yes, Teoritta is the one worried about him, not me.

“You know she made plans to enjoy the Luffe Aros Festival with you, right? Yet you’ve been out running around who knows where for days. You’d better not break her heart.”

The words felt wrong the moment they came out of her mouth. This wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. But what had she wanted to tell him?

“Guess I’d better finish up before the festival, then. As long as we keep him safe, High Priest Ibuton has a good chance of winning. And once he’s archpriest, our work is done, and we can enjoy the festival.” Xylo patted Patausche on the shoulder. “Say hi to Teoritta for me. I’ll be back in time to check out the festival with her. So make sure you recruit those guards.”

“…All right.” After some hesitation, Patausche nodded.

This was a rare opportunity for her to show off. Frenci Mastibolt had contributed significantly to the success of their previous mission, and that bothered her for some reason. But now Frenci was back home preparing for the winter.

Patausche didn’t have anything against the woman, and she wasn’t interested in competing with her in the slightest. Nevertheless, she decided to take this moment to prove herself, as a woman who had once been chosen as captain to an order of Holy Knights.

She needed to prove to Xylo that he could rely on her—no, on all of those around him. The man in front of her had many flaws, but chief among them was the way he tried to take on everything by himself, childishly claiming it was no big deal.

“You can count on me,” she said. “It won’t be an issue.”

Despite what she’d said, there were numerous problems with the recruitment.

From the very outset, Patausche Kivia’s mission was doomed to fail. There were simply too many impossible aspects.

Norgalle, on the other hand, was beyond optimistic. “If I, the king, call out and raise my flag, surely all the brave men of my kingdom will gather before me. Therefore, the most difficult part of our task will be choosing our soldiers. We must seek out those with exceptional resolve and strategic talent. It will be your task to select the best of the best, Patausche Kivia.” Norgalle stroked his golden moustache. “Commoners will be too nervous to approach the royal palace, so we must choose a more suitable location.”

“…All right.”

Patausche wasn’t thrilled to be following Norgalle’s orders, but she knew he was right. They couldn’t just set up shop in a corner of the military camp. Civilians weren’t even allowed to enter, and rather than asking for special permission as a couple of penal heroes, it would be far easier to simply borrow a private facility in town.

In the end, Patausche set her sights on a multipurpose community building in the East Targano district. It was a popular public space open to all citizens of the First Capital and was used for a wide range of events including plays, concerts, guild meetings, and temporary flea markets. And today, it would serve as a recruitment facility for the penal heroes.

Naturally, its usage wasn’t free, but Venetim was able to pay the whole fee in cash—and with real money, not military notes. This took Patausche by surprise, but she decided not to pry. Still, how had he gotten his hands on so much money? Dotta had lost the tournament, hadn’t he? She got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach just thinking about it.

At any rate, everything seemed to be in order—or so they thought.

“This is the first I’m hearing about it.”

A man in a military uniform greeted them, his gaze as heavy as lead. Patausche suspected he was from some big shot noble’s unit. He had skin as pale as Venetim’s, untouched by the sun. He must have been on guard duty in the capital for some time.

“Me and my men have this place booked for at least the next ten days,” he said.

“Well, nobody told us about that.” Patausche pushed back as hard as she could. She couldn’t exactly issue the man orders, so she had to pinpoint where the misunderstanding had occurred instead. And besides, it was in her nature to root out the cause whenever she encountered something unreasonable.

“On whose authority are you using this building? Do you have proof of your claim? We’ve received explicit written permission.”

“On whose authority, you ask? Why, that would be Commander Dusan, leader of the royal capital’s Thirty-Seventh Heavy Assault Brigade.” Patausche showed him her documentation.

He gave it a cursory glance. “We’re throwing a feast to honor the brave souls in our unit who fought through the winter and the patriots who gave us their financial support. To do that, we needed a large facility in the city. And they’re all basically the same, right?”

Patausche was speechless with rage. “The brave souls in our unit who fought through the winter”? Is he serious?

The commanders of units guarding the capital were often backed by wealthy nobles. Many of them were called cavalry units or shock troops, but in Patausche’s estimation, the only ones guarding the capital who deserved her respect were a few elites in the Holy Knights, or those in the logistics and administrative departments.

The rest were mostly lazy, complacent bums who spent their days enjoying the relative peace afforded by proximity to the First Capital, far from the danger of the front lines. And they had only the vigorous efforts of their commanders to thank for such comfy positions.

“…But surely, you don’t need the entire facility for your party,” countered Patausche. She wasn’t too happy to be having this conversation, but she was determined to fulfill her duty. “We’ve already paid to use the building. We’ll simply set up a tent outside if necessary.”

“I’m afraid that’s not happening. You lot are penal heroes, right?” The man with the leaden gaze swung one hand as if swatting away in insect. “Just being near you might ruin our esteemed patriots’ moods.” He smiled thinly. “Though I guess we could make an exception if you offer to be our servers.”

“You—” Patausche unconsciously clenched her fist. But just then, someone shouted.

“What is wrong with you, you imbecile?!” It was Norgalle. He’d moved in front of Patausche at some point and fixed the man with his usual imposing expression. “I am personally recruiting soldiers for my royal guard! You fools call yourselves soldiers? The chain of command is the very foundation of the military. Without it, how can we ever expect to achieve victory?”

“…What’s with this guy?” The man glanced at Norgalle, clearly annoyed. “You’re startin’ to piss me off, old man. Get lost.”

“U-u-u-unforgivable!” Norgalle was so furious, he could barely speak. “Do you not know who I am?! I am Norgalle Zef-Zeal Meht Kioh! Bring me your commander! I shall have you punished for this insolence at once!”

“R-relax…Your Majesty.” Patausche had no choice but to address him with his royal title. His shouting had gotten the attention of everyone around them, and people were starting to gather. “There must have been some kind of miscommunication. Let’s step away for now and think of something el—”

“Silence, Patausche Kivia! We cannot allow such disrespect to go unpunished! The resulting chaos could bring down the nation! Arrest this buffoon at once!”

“Well, yes. I can see where you’re coming from…”

“Come on… What the heck is goin’ on here? This geezer is seriously off his rocker…”

The man began to retreat in the face of Norgalle’s menacing expression. He looked toward the other solders around him for help. It seemed Patausche had no choice.

“Sorry.”

Once she’d made her decision, Patausche swiftly took action. She elbowed Norgalle in the jaw, causing his head to snap back. She then locked her arm around his throat, putting him in a chokehold. Though Norgalle was physically imposing, he lacked combat experience. He quickly slumped over, unconscious.

“Huh?” The man took another step back, clearly shocked. Those around them began to stir.

“…I’m wasting my time here,” said Patausche. “I’ll find somewhere else.”

With those words, she left the building, dragging Norgalle along with her.

I’ll bet everyone is staring at us now, she thought.

Unable to use the facility she’d lawfully rented out, Patausche was short on options.

I guess we’ll have to set up shop in the park or on the side of the road.

Neither venue seemed very promising. Recruiting soldiers out in the cold in a place where it was hard to gather a crowd would make the whole process even tougher, and they already needed to find people who were either desperate or out of their minds.

Perhaps it would be easier to just hand out flyers. Then again, that would require a printing press, ink, and paper—all things Patausche didn’t have.

…Would that really be worth all the work?

She wasn’t sure, and doubt was winning out in her mind. Logically, she should have been reaching out to nobles and merchants who could provide her with private soldiers, but unfortunately, she lacked the necessary connections. She’d abandoned her home and murdered her only sympathetic relative. The only one she had to blame was herself.

Why did this task have to fall to me?

She recalled Venetim’s frightened expression. After more thought, she realized that, in fact, she and Norgalle were the only ones who could handle this mission. Venetim could gather people, but he couldn’t choose suitable soldiers. Dotta and Tsav were simply not cut out for this kind of work, and asking Rhyno was out of the question. As for Tatsuya—Patausche sometimes found herself wondering who or what he even was. He rarely spoke, and when you questioned him, he only responded in vague grunts and groans with no discernable meaning.

Pull yourself together, Patausche. You can’t afford to fail. What would that man say to you then?

She had to do this. It always surprised her how much hostility she felt when it came to Xylo Forbartz. She couldn’t let herself lose.

There has to be a way. This task was left to me, and I must succeed, no matter what it takes!

She stared at a flyer posted in one corner of the camp. It was calling for volunteers to help at a soup kitchen supporting the large number of refugees who’d lost their homes to the Demon Blight and had evacuated to the First Capital. According the flyer, with winter’s brutal grip tightening as the new year approached, the soup kitchen would provide hot food, clothing, and temporary shelter, as well as help finding work.

A plan began to form in Patausche’s mind. If she used something like this, she wouldn’t need official permission. Who would object to her offering jobs to refugees? It was perfect cover for their recruitment.

There was one major issue, however.

I’ll need basic cooking knowledge if I want to volunteer at a soup kitchen…

That said, she didn’t have a choice. Luffe Aros was right around the corner, and she needed to complete her mission before the divine election in only two days. If she couldn’t find guards by the following day, she wouldn’t even have time to organize them or conduct drills.

Patausche slapped her cheek to fire herself up and stared at the flyer with sharp determination.

“Just watch! I’ll show you the fruits of my labors!”

To make a long story short, Patausche had overestimated her own abilities.

“What is the meaning of this…?”

She peered into a small pot, utterly confused. She’d been making a porridge of barley and potatoes, with a few scraps of vegetables thrown in. Visually, it wasn’t bad. But the taste was far too rich, almost greasy. She wished she’d never even put it in her mouth. And she had no idea why.

Thankfully, she hadn’t used the larger pot. She glanced around at the various cooking implements and utensils set up in the center of the park and wondered if she was wasting even more of Venetim’s funds. Or perhaps she was overthinking matters.

Yes… If I just take a few more bites…

Patausche scooped up another spoonful of her homemade barley porridge.

It’s tasting slightly more edible. Does this count as a success?

She chewed quickly. It had an odd combination of greasiness, excessive saltiness, and burnt bits, but she was gradually getting used to it.

“…Hmm.”

However, Norgalle had a different opinion. He took a wooden spoon and tasted the porridge for himself, then said with a straight face, “We mustn’t serve this to the people. The hero unit must take responsibility and consume it instead.”

“Wh-why?” Patausche glared at him. “I even used the secret recipe Xylo gave me!”

He’d given her a manual as part of her training regimen to improve her cooking abilities while they were out in the field. As long as she followed the steps exactly, her porridge should have come out all right.

“It isn’t that bad after a few bites. I know it isn’t perfect, but I’m sure I can do better next time… I should probably use one of the smaller pots again before moving on to the bigger one.”

“Patausche Kivia, your perseverance is commendable, but that trait is exactly what is hindering your culinary progress.” Norgalle lowered the heat on the sacred seal–engraved cooker and put a lid on Patausche’s pot, as if to hide the porridge from sight. “Taste testing isn’t supposed to be an endurance challenge.”

“I-it isn’t that bad… Don’t worry about me. This stuff actually has a lot of flavor…”

“It is not you that I am worried about. And there is such a thing as too much flavor. Allow me to examine the issue point by point.” Norgalle pointed at the pot with his wooden spoon, as though it were a teacher’s pointer, and began patiently explaining Patausche’s mistakes. “First, why is this porridge so oily? Did you put oil in it?”

“Yes, I wanted to make sure the food didn’t stick to the pot. Xylo told me that adding oil makes the food more nutritious as well. I know it wasn’t written in the directions, but isn’t using oil common sense when it comes to cooking?”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Porridge doesn’t need oil, and you’ve put in far too much. Next, let’s discuss the flavor. Did you make sure to use the correct amount of salt?”

“Of course! I used this teaspoon to—”

“That is a tablespoon.”

Patausche wanted to be angry with Norgalle’s cold criticism, but her personality wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she began to make absurd excuses.

“Th-they’re essentially the same size… That’s right. Are you familiar with the specifications for military shovels? The so-called micro-point shovel is defined as one with a diameter of thirty—”

“Judging a recipe by the standards of military shovel sizes was a strategic failure on your part. You should have asked for help if you were unsure.”

Patausche decided to say nothing. There wasn’t much she could say.

“That said, you are not responsible for burning the food. That is due to the incomplete instructions you were given. You should have been directed on how to adjust the heat, since you are not accustomed to using this equipment.” Norgalle shut the thin booklet titled Emergency Meal Prep Guide. “That is all. For now, I want you to learn the names of the relevant cooking implements and stop forcing yourself to taste test things that aren’t edible.”

“L-let me try it again…”

“There is no time. More importantly, you are skilled with a blade, yes? Start peeling the potatoes.”

The most humiliating aspect of Norgalle’s criticism was that it was entirely justified. Since joining the penal hero unit, Patausche had become somewhat proficient in handling small cooking knives and no longer wasted potatoes by taking big chunks out of them.

“Now, then… It appears I must do the cooking myself.” Norgalle wrapped a white cloth around his head, taking Patausche by surprise.

“Can you handle it?” she asked.

“With the right tools and instructions, there is nothing I cannot do. Besides, these people evacuated to the First Capital seek my protection.” Norgalle began walking, his boots crunching through the crisp snow. “Therefore, it is my duty to live up to their expectations. I shall only do this once, though. Consider it a special treat.”

The penal hero unit’s cooking station was tucked away in a tiny corner of the park. They even had a massive cauldron that barely fit under the tent. Norgalle approached it, ingredients in hand, his features full of unwavering determination.

“All right, then…”

Patausche looked out at the long line of people, stretching right out of the park and into the distance. Their faces were weary and malnourished. So many people had fled the Demon Blight. The regions around the Tujin Tuga Hills had fared particularly badly.

“But will we really find any soldiers to recruit here?” she wondered aloud.

“Fear not. Volunteers will surely gather once I make the announcement. Stop being negative, Patausche, and start peeling those potatoes.”

“Mmm…”

Patausche picked up a knife as she watched Norgalle. He took to cooking with surprising skill. But even if they succeeded here, she doubted many of the refugees would be interested in their cause.

He realizes we need fifty guards, right?

One or two eccentric individuals wasn’t going to cut it. Patausche was pessimistic, but no matter what she thought, failure wasn’t an option.

“We don’t have time to twiddle our thumbs, Patausche Kivia!” Norgalle said, full of vigor. “Once you finish peeling those potatoes, go out and reassure my people, and let them know we are seeking an elite team of soldiers!”

Patausche sighed and focused on the potatoes. She had a feeling she knew how this would end.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Norgalle shouted at the top of his lungs. He had seized a nearby soup kitchen worker and was unleashing a torrent of complaints. “Not even one recruit?! How could this happen?!”

I’m not surprised, Patausche thought.

The porridge had turned out well, thanks to Norgalle’s skilled hands and Xylo’s recipe, and the penal heroes’ cauldron had proved surprisingly popular among the refugees. But that was it. Despite their efforts in handing out flyers and persuading people to join, all their attempts had failed.

Norgalle’s high-handed attitude was simply too much for the refugees, and Patausche—though she hated to admit it—had no experience in charming people into doing things. In fact, the whole plan had gone so poorly that she was on the verge of shooting herself.

Their mission had ended in total failure, and now that the line of refugees had dispersed, only the soup kitchen workers and the park’s usual inhabitants remained. The latter seemed to be gathering at a distance, hoping for leftovers.

“What a disgraceful display! Is patriotism dead? This shall not be tolerated! Prepare an assembly at once. I shall head to the castle and make an address.”

“O-oh, um…what, now? An ‘assembly’?”

The soup kitchen worker whom Norgalle had grabbed looked visibly confused. Patausche had no choice but to intervene. Sighing, she reached out and jerked Norgalle away, startling the volunteer.

“Relax, Norgalle… Personally, I think the problem is how you were recruiting people. You were being a little pushy.”

“Excuse me? What insolence! And that is very rich, coming from you! Who would volunteer when you’re glaring at them like that! You look like you’re shaking them down!”

“What are you talking about? I was nice to everyone.”

“You almost made a child cry! You had the eyes of a man-eating lion tamarin!”

“N-Norgalle! How did you know that was my nickname back in school?”

Just as Patausche was about to explode, someone interrupted them.

“Ahem… Hey, uh…”

Patausche and Norgalle had both turned to look, their gazes downright terrifying.

“Eek!”

The man shrieked and stumbled backward. He was with a group of about twenty others. They all looked a bit disheveled but were otherwise healthy—a far cry from the refugees from earlier.

“My apologies!” cried a man who seemed to be their leader. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not angry.” Patausche meant that from the bottom of her heart. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, uh… You’re penal heroes, right? Oh yes… You, there!” The man pointed at Norgalle, excitement in his voice. “We met in the mine, remember? You were one of the heroes who saved us back in the Zewan Gan Tunnels! You were with that man with the scary eyes!”

Patausche’s thought back to the reckless rescue mission undertaken by the penal heroes back at that mine. Xylo and Norgalle had led the effort. She and her companions had been caught up in the chaos as well, but in the end, they’d managed to save a few of the miners. And now these people…

“They ended up shutting down the mine, so I lost my job… Wound up getting some of the other guys together to look for work as soldiers! And if we’re going to work for anyone, it might as well be you all, right?” The man scratched his head. “I mean, we know you guys won’t just abandon people like trash… So we figured we’d have a better chance of surviving under you. Will you have us?”

Patausche was astonished.

“Hmph.” Norgalle nodded, seeming satisfied. “Your dedication is truly admirable, men. It is thanks to loyal subjects like you that my kingdom thrives!”

The sight made Patausche’s head spin. Memories of the Zewan Gan Tunnels came flooding back. She was almost certain that some of the men in the group were miners she’d met back then. And now they’d made it all the way here, to the First Capital.

“Do you see that, Patausche Kivia?” Norgalle boasted, his mood instantly improved. “This is proof that my influence has truly reached the hearts of my people! My judgment was sound!”

“But we still don’t have nearly enough…”

“Excuse me. Could I have a word with you? You’re from the penal hero unit, right?”

Someone else had called out to them, apart from the miners. The new arrivals were clearly armed, though their equipment was makeshift at best—clubs, spears, and the like. At a glance, they looked like mercenaries; perhaps they’d fallen on hard times and were desperate.

“What now? Mercenaries? Sorry, but we can’t pay much.”

“No, uh… You might call us ex-adventurers… I’m Madritz. I was the leader of the Resistance back in the Second Capital. We worked with Master Xylo.”

“Wh-what…?”

This had Patausche even more perplexed. They were claiming to have fought alongside Xylo and were even calling him “master.” This was the first she’d heard of any of it.

“And, well, there was no work left for us in the Second Capital… We didn’t have anywhere to call home, so we figured we might as well fight for a living. After that, we teamed up with some like-minded adventurers from Ioff who’d lost their jobs, too.” With a forced smile, Madritz held up a piece of paper—a recruitment poster that Patausche had printed. “And we figured we could all work for you guys.”

“…This isn’t everybody, though, right? How many of you are there in total?”

“A little over twenty, I’d say. Do you have any work for us? Because if not, we might have to become bandits…”

“Good work coming to us, men!” Norgalle nodded once more, clearly delighted. “Your dedication is truly commendable. I hereby grant you permission to serve in the royal guard!”

The crowd went wild with excitement.

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

“You’re so kind! I’m so relieved to have food and shelter.”

“Where’s Old Man Ordo? Tell him that drinks are on me tonight!”

“Ha! Do you see that, Patausche?” Norgalle spread his arms wide. “This is the power of my authority. See how the soldiers are lining up to join?”

Patausche had begun to feel dizzy. But one way or another, the penal hero unit had found their fifty guards. Now the question was, would Venetim’s efforts bring them the other fifty?

Despite their success, however, Patausche felt somewhat discontent. Everything had unfolded exactly as Norgalle had claimed it would.

This is ridiculous. I can’t believe this is happening.

Their task was now complete. Venetim’s success was yet to be seen, but they now had half the guards they needed. The rest would be up to Xylo and the others.

Just then, something broke her train of thought.

“Offering jobs in addition to donating food to the poor?” asked a man, his tone somewhat hostile. “Hmph. Is this your idea of charity work?”

Patausche turned around to find a man in a white robe with the Great Sacred Seal around his neck. He was clearly a priest. He was carrying a big pot in both hands—it seemed he was one of the soup kitchen’s volunteers.

It was unusual to see a member of the clergy in a place like this, especially so close to the divine election. At this time, everyone was supposed to be campaigning for their chosen candidate in the hopes of securing a more advantageous position once the new archpriest was selected. This man, his robe worn and frayed, was almost certainly a low-ranking official at best.

“You’re penal heroes, yes?” he asked, as if he already knew the answer. “Giving food to the hungry is commendable, as is offering them jobs in the military. But what will happen to them after that? You expect them to fight to the death on some hellish battlefield alongside you penal heroes?”

“…Yes,” replied Patausche. “This isn’t charity.”

The sky was covered in clouds as the sun began to set. It looked like it would snow again that night.

“But it’s far better than doing nothing,” she concluded.

“Are you suggesting that false virtue is better than good unacted upon? Perhaps you are right. But would you then argue that temporary salvation is justified, even if it eventually leads to hell?” The priest narrowed his eyes.

Patausche, unable to shamelessly nod, countered with a question of her own.

“Do you really believe these men have no idea what they’re getting themselves into? That they lined up to volunteer, oblivious of the hell that awaits?”

“…That’s a good question, and where the problem lies.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate people. That’s a lesson I’ve learned recently myself.” A rather irritating man she’d gotten to know had taught her as much. But she kept that fact to herself. “Just like the goddesses, some choose to walk straight into hell of their own accord.”

“Are you the same, penal hero Patausche Kivia?”

“At the very least, I want to be.”

He knew her name. This surprised her somewhat, and she tried to get a better look at the man’s face. But he quickly turned around and began to walk away.

“Good. Then allow me to thank you, and that man as well. He’s quite remarkable.”

He was referring to Norgalle. He was currently reheating the pot in order to make something else with their remaining ingredients.

“At the very least, you two are worthy of my trust.”

It was only later that Patausche learned who the priest was, and the truth left her stunned.

It had been Nicold Ibuton himself. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a high priest would be serving food to the needy all alone, so close to the divine election.

We were able to access the sewer system from a section of the Domeili River that flowed through the First Capital. From there, we descended a long staircase, originally for emergency maintenance use, that led to the entrance of the underground fortress of Cidfil. After climbing down what felt like countless ladders, we finally reached the bottom, only to be greeted by a damp, cold darkness.

“Man, it’s dark! And chilly!” complained Tsav with an audible smirk. “Even I can’t see a thing. Bro, could you get us some light?”

“On it.” I activated my sacred seal lantern, and its pale light illuminated the cracked walls, revealing a mazelike passage ahead. “Pretty spacious down here, huh?”

Beneath the First Capital of Zephent lay a vast, subterranean space. It was a relic of the Old Kingdom, known as the Black Fortress of Cidfil, constructed by the semi-ancient king of Zef who went by the same name. It was meant as a place to take refuge in during times of crisis, and the structure consisted of two levels. Remarkably, it had endured the test of time and remained largely intact—a testament to the advanced technology of its builders.

“I sure as hell don’t wanna wander around here at random.” I looked back to Tsav. “Hey, you really know where this hideout is, right?”

“Of course! I’m not Venetim. I don’t lie. I politely asked the Gwen Mohsa guy I captured where their base was, and he told me. It’s definitely around here.”

I doubted Tsav’s methods had been “polite,” but I wasn’t about to ask how he’d gotten the information. His casual cruelty could even put me off from time to time.

“Hmm… It should be west from here… Hey, Bro. You think you could bring that light a little closer? I want to check the map.”

Tsav’s map, which he’d acquired from a group of adventurers, was fairly recent. Exploration of the underground ruins had progressed significantly. While it was believed there were no treasures to be found inside, expanding the map alone could net a decent reward from the Allied Administration Division’s city planning department. It seemed a fair number of people had been delving into the subterranean structure for a little extra cash.

“Man, it’s seriously dark! You sure it was a good idea to leave Teoritta behind? Just having her with us woulda made the place, like, a little brighter, at least.”

“Don’t be stupid. We couldn’t fight the assassins with her around.”

Teoritta had tried to insist on coming with us, but I’d managed to dissuade her. There wasn’t much she could do against humans, and I didn’t want to risk exposing her to attacks. As a result, I’d been forced to come down here alone with the likes of Tsav.

“Speaking of which,” I added, “you’re going to be the one handling most of the assassins, got it? I don’t know all their little tricks like you do.”

The fact that we were up against a group of assassins changed everything. Unlike regular soldiers or faeries, assassins had a unique and deadly skill set. They were likely to employ unconventional techniques that could prove fatal if we came unprepared, and I had little experience dealing with them.

“Heh! You bet, Bro. I am a genius, after all! I’ll take care of every single one of them! Man, what would you guys do without me?! Ha-ha!”

“I know I’m the one that asked you for help, but your condescending attitude is already starting to annoy me…”

“I’m just telling the truth, right? Now, come on! Let’s go!” Tsav folded the map and began walking briskly ahead. “Maybe we should leave a trail of bread crumbs or something, so we don’t get lost.”

“And when the rats eat all the crumbs, then what? It’d be hard to see bread crumbs down here, anyway. I brought some luminescent paint instead. It’s used in place of emergency lights in mines and the like, so it should last us a few days if we need it.”

I dripped the pale blue luminescent paint onto the ground from a vial in my hand and used the toe of my shoe to create an arrow shape, marking the path forward. On our return trip, we’d simply follow the arrows backward.

“Oooh! You seem pretty used to this stuff. Did you use to be an adventurer?”

“I pretended to be one, at least. I’ve explored semi-ancient ruins like this one before.”

After nearly getting lost and dying once, I’d become acutely aware of the importance of such preparations. Lufen had a knack for coming up with ingenious solutions like this, and he’d always made sure we brought along extra rations.

“And trust me,” I added, “we do not want to get lost down here…”

“Yeah, this whole place is like a maze. By the way, have you heard the rumors? They say there’s a monster from the Old Kingdom locked away in the fortress, and it still wanders the ruins…and that some of these passages operate as a secret escape route for the royal family.”

“Really? Wait. Where’d you hear these rumors anyway?”

“Venetim.”

“Are you kidding me? You know he pulled all those stories out of his ass.”

“Heh-heh-heh! Yeah, I guess you’re right!” Tsav’s goofy laughter echoed through the darkness. “But there might still be monsters around, since Gwen Mohsa’s keeping faeries as pets now.”

“Good point. They might even have a demon lord with them. If things get dangerous, we should escape and contact the Holy Knights right away, got it? We’ll let Adhiff handle it.” If a demon lord appeared in the First Capital, that would be their job. With the city’s military to help out, they should be able to handle it. “Now, come on. Let’s get this over with.”

I clenched my left hand into a fist and gave the wall a light tap. A muted thunk came back, its soft echo reverberating up the walls and across the ceiling. My probe seal Loradd was especially useful in enclosed spaces like this. It laid bare the whole place’s layout, as vividly as if I were sketching it out with my fingertips. I couldn’t sense anything stirring within—save for the skittering of a few small creatures. Mice, no doubt, scurrying in the shadows.

“Nothing. Come on.”

“Whoa! That’s some mega-useful seal, Bro! That thing is gonna make this so easy!”

“It helps, but relying on it too much can be dangerous. It won’t help us with stationary traps, and if something’s too small, I could miss it.”

“Even so! I feel like we’re gonna finish this up in no time. Oh! If we get back fast enough, I can spend the rest of the night working on my collection.”

“You’re not collecting dead bugs again, are you? Whatever it is, don’t go showing Teoritta. You really scared her last time. She told me she even had nightmares.”

Tsav had a habit of starting odd collections and keeping weird creatures as pets, so I had to make sure he didn’t get any strange ideas.

But he simply looked me straight in the eye and said, “Dead bugs? Why would I collect something like that?”

“Don’t ask me! You’re the one who did it! And they were disgusting!”

“Huh…? Ohhh! That’s right. I did get into that for a little bit. Bochu, Felence, Tonishe, and Sagonan!”

“You gave them names? You’re probably the first person to ever name a bunch of dead bugs.”

“That was just a phase, though. I’m totally into collecting shed snake skins now.”

Just like that, he’d start some bizarre collection, then quickly lose interest. It was totally obnoxious.

“Ah, I can’t wait to get back and start organizing them.” Tsav whistled a cheerful tune as he walked along. “I’ll show you when I’m done, okay?”

“That’s all right. I’m good.”

This asshole thinks he’s on a picnic, I thought.

And of course, starting a mission out on such a positive note was bound to lead to disaster.

How aggravating, thought Simurid Kormadino as he stared at the middle-aged woman in front of him, her long white hair gathered in a single braid. She’s let her anxiety get the best of her. Though I suppose I understand…

He was looking at High Priest Lawin Mirose. Under normal circumstances, a potential archpriest and a military governor-general were not supposed to meet like this—it was a clear violation of the rules. And that was exactly why Kormadino had gone to such great lengths to ensure their privacy.

“It appears our plans have started to go awry,” she said, an undeniable sense of urgency in her voice. “What is going on? Five high priests have endorsed Nicold Ibuton, and now everyone is talking about him. To make matters worse, the Verkle Development Corporation is up to something as well. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? It seems they’re backing Ibuton. Weren’t they on our side?”

“No. Businessmen like that will side with whoever can make them the most money.” Kormadino offered a warm, reassuring smile. At least, that was how it appeared. “I predicted this might happen. After all, the warmongers weren’t going to simply sit back and watch.”

The warmongers—that was how the coexisters referred to their enemies. To Kormadino, they were a despicable bunch—nothing but optimists clinging to an impossible dream, pursing an unattainable goal. As he saw it, the only real struggle was the fight to be one of the survivors when everything was over.

“We still have the advantage. We’ve secured the support of fifteen of the high priests—a clear majority. All of them want you to become their next archpriest.”

To Kormadino, parliamentary systems and the practice of voting were merely symbols of a fragile society. For such processes to work, a majority would have to be wise enough to choose their own leaders—another unattainable ideal. And so to him, such systems were merely tools to be exploited.

“In matters of faith, Ibuton will be a formidable opponent.” Mirose drummed a restless rhythm with her fingertips against the arm of her chair. “This is a sinful thing we’re doing. Do you think this is divine punishment?”

“There is no need to worry. I’ve already convinced the other two candidates to drop out.”

He’d struck a deal with High Priests Carne and Duffrey, the other contenders for archpriest, agreeing to balance reforms and personnel appointments based on the proposals of both factions. Mirose’s victory was now a foregone conclusion. Ibuton’s surprise entry might sway a few votes, but it was unlikely to alter the outcome.

“Do you really wish to give up now, High Priest Mirose?”

Kormadino grinned, and Mirose fell silent. She didn’t need to say anything; he understood her intentions perfectly. After all, he’d thoroughly investigated her background before deciding to cooperate with her.

“Of course you won’t. You understand that this is your best chance to bring Mavika Reagar to her knees. I know she has been a source of constant frustration for you.”

Once, long ago, High Priest Mirose had been a warrior priest, and her rival from back then was now the captain of the Third Order of the Holy Knights, Mavika Reagar, knight to the Goddess of Prophecy. After losing to her, Mirose had given up her aspirations for military advancement and become a high priest instead. Kormadino didn’t know the specifics, but it seemed their rivalry had been quite intense.

And for Mirose, at least, the hostility had never dissipated. Envy or perhaps jealousy toward Mavika Reagar still simmered within her.

“…You appear to have misunderstood me,” said Mirose. As Kormadino had expected, she bristled at the mention of her rival. “I have no desire to humiliate Captain Reagar. She is simply too dangerous. In fact, I believe the Holy Knights should be abolished entirely.”

“I agree with you there. They desire war, and they are forcing people to sacrifice themselves fighting the Demon Blight. And Mavika Reagar is their ringleader!”

The Holy Knights were inherently aggressive and saw the Demon Blight as an existential threat. And thanks to their pacts with the goddesses, that view was unlikely to change. High Priest Mirose was hoping to do something about this problem.

“Those with great power naturally want to use it, after all.” Mirose gazed past Kormadino into the distance, as if she were thinking of something else. “Yes, all the captains of the Holy Knights are afflicted by the same sickness. It is time for us to reconsider their relationship with the goddesses.”

Her ultimate goal was to dismantle the system by which captains of the Holy Knights forged pacts with goddesses. She believed it was a mistake to treat the goddesses as weapons, and that allowing them to forge pacts with captains put those captains in control of excessive amounts of power and military force. In her view, the goddesses should simply be revered as symbols. And that was why she was able to cooperate with Gwen Mohsa.

Kormadino suspected these beliefs were merely a twisted form of jealousy toward Mavika Reagar. But there was no need for him to point that out and risk angering Mirose. However, he was more than happy to exploit those emotions.

He chose his next words carefully.

“I completely agree with you, High Priest Mirose. They are abusing their goddesses’ authority to continue this fruitless war. We cannot allow this madness to go on, don’t you agree?”

“…Yes.” After a slight pause, Mirose nodded. “This world doesn’t need a hero. Such people bring nothing but suffering to the people. The only way to ensure humanity’s survival is to make peace with the Demon Blight.”

“Exactly.”

Kormadino was lying, however. While he agreed with the latter half of her argument, the first part was drivel. Without a leader, the humans would fall into chaos. They needed a champion, and not a mere figurehead who’d won glory on the battlefield. They needed a prudent, grounded guide. A true champion in every sense of the word.

And if mankind needed someone like that…

Right now, he was the only one who fit the bill. The military and the Holy Knights were caught up in a frenzy, trying to exterminate the Demon Blight, their passion for war blinding them to reason. Only Kormadino and a handful of like-minded individuals among the coexisters had the presence of mind to do what needed to be done. And that was why they had to succeed.

After a long pause, Mirose reached for her glass atop the table and took a sip of wine. “Let’s continue with the plan, Governor-General. What do you say?”

“A wise choice. I will continue as planned.”

“But there are issues you can’t ignore. That disagreeable bunch of fools have already started meddling. I’m talking about the penal heroes, of course…”

“I’m well aware of what they’re capable of.”

Even Tovitz Hughker seemed to see them as a threat.

Kormadino scoffed inwardly. The penal heroes had no social standing. They were nothing but a band of misfits caught up in their own delusions.

“For now, I am using Gwen Mohsa to distract Xylo Forbartz. They should have no problem keeping him busy, and they might even manage to kill him for us.”

Tovitz had foreseen that several members of the sect would be captured and subsequently interrogated, and he’d known that at least one of them would crack. That was all part of the plan. It was just about time to get rid of them, too. He’d tasked the Uthob Front, Unit 7110 with the mission of exterminating both them and the penal heroes in one fell swoop. Even if the heroes were somehow revived, by the time they were all patched up, it would be far too late to interfere with the outcome of the divine election. The results were now set in stone.

“I have already prepared a decoy for the Holy Knights and Galtuile as well. The penal heroes were our only remaining concern, but it’s only Xylo Forbartz that poses a problem in terms of force. Their goddess cannot harm people, so she isn’t a threat. I have taken care of everything.”

It was unfortunate, but some aggressive tactics had to be implemented.

“Luffe Aros is tomorrow, and High Priest Ibuton will be eliminated by the morning.”

“…What are you going to do about his guards? I heard he hired quite a number of soldiers.”

“That will not be a problem. I told you already, I have taken care of everything. I have hired the Emerald Finger, a group of assassins from the west, and they have already infiltrated the enemy.”

The only problem left was the penal heroes’ commander. Venetim Leopool was a man shrouded in mystery, even to Kormadino. The fact that he had somehow managed to influence Verkle Corp and thrust Nicold Ibuton into the limelight was frankly alarming. Who knew what unconventional tactics or unexpected reserves he might be hiding?

That said, at the end of the day, he’s nothing but a con man. Surely, all he has up his sleeves are a few dirty tricks…

Kormadino could still afford to put on a relaxed smile. He would never show weakness in front of one of his fellow conspirators.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he assured Mirose. “Just focus on your acceptance speech.”

“You said you’ve secured the votes of fifteen high priests. That’s certainly enough to win, but can you guarantee they won’t betray us?”

“You are aware I run a hospital, yes? Well, as it happens, those high priests have family being treated there. Children, elderly parents, and so on.”

The hospital offered one-of-a-kind treatment, thanks to a certain demon lord disguised as a human that Kormadino had been keeping. This demon lord had the power both to create and to cure illnesses. Because of this special situation, Kormadino had absolute confidence that their current supporters would remain loyal.

“I keep a special demon lord hidden there, and as long as I have him, then every one of our patients is essentially a hostage. If they wish to protect their family, these high priests have no choice but to help us.”

“…All that’s left are the undecided voters. I doubt they’ll make much of a difference, given our current lead, but…”

“I haven’t forgotten about them. As far as I can tell, there are only five high priests who are still undecided, and their decision is likely to depend on the will of the laity.”

All five of them were self-made individuals. Without a domain of their own or the backing of a noble family, they’d had to climb through the Temple’s ranks based only on their own skills and ability to come out on top in internal power struggles. They depended on donations and offerings from the laity for support and thus were easily swayed by popular opinion. For that reason, they were unlikely to align themselves with the losing side. On the day of the election, they would see how the tides were turning and vote accordingly.

“I have prepared a plan to gain mass popular support on the day of the election. We will use the Saint. I’m sure we’ll have their votes, and that will make twenty. We can’t lose.”

“…I hope you’re right.”

Mirose closed her eyes. She was a bit of a worrywart, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was proof she was facing reality, unlike those optimistic fools. That was why Kormadino had chosen her as his winning pawn.

I will come out on top. I’ll face reality head-on and ensure mankind’s survival.

He would stop at nothing to achieve his goal, even if it meant sacrificing thousands, no—tens of thousands.

Men like me will be the true saviors of the Federated Kingdom.

That much Kormadino was sure of.

“May the goddesses’ grace be with us.”

Punishment: Manipulate the Luffe Aros Election, Part 4

There was one day left until Luffe Aros.

Someone was pounding on the door.

The were using an incredible amount of force—they must have had a sledgehammer or something. I was bracing myself against the door, and I could feel the shock waves vibrating up my spine. If the door hadn’t been made of iron, it would’ve been in pieces by now.

“Uh… Bro, I was thinking…” Tsav was pushing against the door to my side, a goofy smile on his face. “This thing’s not gonna hold up much longer. I know we didn’t have much of a choice when we ran in here, but we need to hurry up and do something.”

“Yeah.”

I never dreamed there’d come a day when Tsav’s voice wasn’t the most annoying sound I could imagine. But right now, the pounding behind us was a lot worse.

We were in a small space in the lower levels of the underground fortress—probably a room once used to store supplies. Fortunately, the iron door had been open when we reached it, but now we were trapped inside.

“We’re, like, in trouble…aren’t we, Bro?”

“I’d say so.”

I balled my left hand into a fist and rapped my knuckles against the iron door. I could detect a hulking humanoid creature right behind it, with a few more a bit farther away. They’d picked up on the noise and were slowly making their way over. It was clear that we needed to act sooner rather than later.

“Guess we’re on our own, huh? I mean, it’s been a whole day at this point.”

“I can’t get in touch with anyone on the surface. Something’s probably jamming our means of communication, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Well, great. We’re lost in an underground fortress, surrounded by patrolling faeries, and poorly equipped to boot. It’s been a while since we’ve been driven into a corner like this, eh?”

“…Hold up, Tsav. What do you mean ‘lost’? Just a second ago, you were shouting out directions like you knew exactly where we were going! I thought it was weird we wound up trapped like this!”

“Heh-heh-heh!”

A hollow, mirthless laugh escaped Tsav’s lips as he looked farther back into the room, clearly trying to dodge the question.

“What do you think, Necrus? Are we lost?”

“Mmm…” A muffled voice echoed from the back of the room. “Mmmmmm! Mnn!”

Crammed into the gap between two rusty metal storage containers was a muscular man with a rather striking scar across his face. He was gagged, his wrists were tied, and his left leg was horribly mangled, as if something had tried to bite it off.

Tsav had been calling the man “Necrus.” Apparently, he was Tsav’s former boss and something of a mentor to him. In other words, this was the man behind Tsav’s string of assassinations—or rather, his spree of senseless murders.

“Mmm…!”

Bound and gagged, Necrus writhed violently, his face flushed as he strained to make himself heard.

“Huh? I can’t hear you at all,” Tsav replied. “Think you could speak up a bit?”

“Mmm! Mnn!”

“Come on, one more time! I feel like I’m close to figuring out what you’re tryin’ to say! You can do it! Believe in yourself! Don’t let that gag get the best of you!”

“This is no time to be joking around, idiot!” I kicked Tsav in the leg for wasting my time with his little comedy routine. “You ready for this? We have to kill the faerie behind this door, before reinforcements show up.”

“Guess we’ve got no choice. All right, I’ll count to three.”

Before he even started, the door began to creak. I drew my knife, and Tsav readied his lightning staff—his usual Daisy model. Although the staff was designed for sniping, it was still decently effective at close range.

“One, two…”

I noticed Tsav’s mischievous grin and jumped back as soon as he said “two.” Tsav jumped back right after, confirming my suspicions. Up to his typical tricks, I see.

The door burst open, and the faerie flew inside. It was a new species, but I recognized it immediately. It was a coblyn—a steel doll born from corrupted metal, and this one was huge, easily bigger than a bear. And now it was charging right for us.

“Mmm…!” Necrus was screaming like it was the end of the world.

Though the coblyn had no eyes, I could tell it had locked on to Necrus. The reason was simple—I’d placed our lantern right at his feet. That left Tsav and me perfectly positioned to attack the faerie from either side.

“Heh-heh!”

Tsav laughed carelessly as he activated his sniper staff and aimed a shot right at the creature’s head. A loud pop echoed through the room as a flash of light struck the coblyn, causing it to stumble back. Tsav had shot the thing point-blank in the head, but the damage was minimal.

I knew it was going to be tough, but damn…

I was ready, though. As the coblyn staggered, I drove my blade into its waist joint. If I could damage this critical area, it wouldn’t be able to stand up, much less run.

“Eat this.”

I used my feet to kick the knife even farther into the joint while Tsav dodged out of the way. A loud explosion followed, and the creature’s lower half was blown to pieces as chunks of metal flew through the air.

“Whoa! Nice!”

Tsav clapped, but the truth was, I’d had to hold back. Zatte Finde wasn’t very good in confined spaces like this. That was why I’d had to aim for the joint.

Its lower half shattered, the faerie was left helplessly wriggling in place. There was no need to go any further. The faerie’s shape was so unwieldy, almost comical, that the strategy had worked perfectly.

“All right, then. Let’s get outta here.” Tsav twirled his sniper staff, sending a bolt of lightning right into the crack on the writhing coblyn’s head, reducing its skull to dust. “We’ll just have to keep movin’ until we find a way back to the surface. Necrus, if you know something, you gotta tell us right now! Come on, speak clearly.”

“Get that gag out of his mouth, already. Oh, wait. You think he might bite his own tongue off?”

“Necrus doesn’t have the guts to do that. Do you?” Tsav grabbed Necrus by the scruff of his neck, forced him to stand, then ripped the gag out of his mouth. “So? Ready to help us? The guys who hired you have obviously left you for dead. You were set up, man.”

“Sh-sh-shut your mouth, traitor!” Now free to speak, Necrus shouted at Tsav with all his might. To be honest, I could sort of empathize with the guy. “How dare you show your face here, Tsav?! Because of you, our entire order—!”

“Oof. You’ve got a mouth on you, huh? Back in it goes.”

“Mmm!”

“Heh-heh-heh! He’s hilarious, isn’t he, Bro?” Tsav forced the gag back into Necrus’s mouth and winked at me. “I told you he was funny! Ah, I’m so glad we found him before it was too late.”

He sounded genuinely pleased. I had no idea what was going on in that brain of his. Come to think of it, it was this Necrus guy’s stupidity that had gotten us into this mess in the first place. I thought back to the ambush he and his band of assassins had sprung on us. Everything had been going smoothly right up until then…

We knew there was an enemy group lurking in the darkness ahead.

Loradd allowed me to pinpoint our enemy’s location with remarkable accuracy in closed spaces like this, making it practically impossible to ambush us. We were actually hoping they’d try something like this, since we needed to capture one of them to complete our mission.

“Fff!”

For that reason, we weren’t exactly surprised when a group of assassins suddenly leaped out at us from the shadows with a hiss. They were inhumanly fast, though. I suspected they had Sakara flight seals engraved into the bottoms of their boots.

“Tsav, three men at twelve o’clock, headed this way.” Two of them were armed with knives, while the third held a lightning staff. “And two more on either side.”

“Roger. Looks like they’re Gwen Mohsa enforcers.”

Tsav spun his sniper staff around in a full circle. Its tip shattered the jaw of the first man, and the impact activated the seal, discharging a bolt of lightning that went straight through the man’s head to strike a second man wielding a knife. This was already an extraordinary feat, but the bolt went on to strike a third man right through the chest. Tsav had killed three men with a single shot!

“Keep pushing forward!” someone shouted from the shadows. “Kill them. Our holy war begins now!”

“Oh! Is that…?” A flicker of recognition crossed Tsav’s face. The knowledge had no visible impact on him, however, and he took out the assassin lunging at him as if nothing had happened.

“Fff!”

A fist came crashing down from above, a knife clenched tightly in its fingers

“Huh? Could you be any slower?”

Tsav twisted his upper half and dodged the attack, then countered with a backhand strike. He grabbed his opponent’s wrist, swept them, then stomped on their head, crushing their skull.

Immediately, two more assassins attacked from either side. It didn’t seem possible for Tsav to dodge them, but he bent backward at an absurd angle, beyond the range of motion of any normal human spine. Not only did he dodge the blade aimed at his neck, he even managed to counter, sending a lightning bolt into one man’s chest and slashing the other’s throat. He must have picked up the knife sometime during the fray. In the blink of an eye, both his attackers had been neutralized.

“Heh-heh! Pathetic!” he shouted. “I feel like I’m being underestimated.”

I managed to dispatch the last attacker with a swift kick, but it was clear Tsav was in a league of his own when it came to this kind of fighting. He was way ahead of me in terms of efficiency.

“That’s enough. We don’t need to keep this up until you’re all dead.” My voice echoed through the darkness. “We’ve got this monster of a serial killer you guys personally raised on our side, and he has no qualms killing every one of you. So don’t think you can beg for mercy.”

“Huh? Hey, now! My heart twists with love and sorrow every time I kill! Heh-heh!” With a fluid motion, Tsav twirled his sniper staff so it pointed straight ahead. “I promise to be gentle if you beg for mercy. Though I guess it’s a little too late for that.”

“Dammit! We’re not done here, you filthy heretics!” Someone was still shouting at us from the darkness. “These ruins will be your graves! We’ll turn you into ash! They’ll never be able to resurrect you again, penal heroes!”

Tsav seemed to find this so hilarious that he couldn’t help bursting into laughter.

“Pffft! Ha-ha-ha! Bro! I can’t…! I just can’t take it anymore!” He doubled over and pointed into the dark. Apparently, he found the situation quite amusing. “That’s my old boss, Necrus. They call him “the Black Rain,” and he’s an instructor for Gwen Mohsa’s enforcers… Guys, come on. You can’t win. Just surrender. It’s over.”

“Silence!” Tsav’s words had clearly angered this Black Rain fellow. “I will never forgive you, traitor! Did you forget who took you in and raised you? You ungrateful, good-for-nothing heretic!”

“You listening to this, Tsav?” I pointed at the angry man in the shadows. “Sounds like you owe him your life. Is he your adoptive father or something?”

“I guess you could say he was, like, my master. He taught me how to kill and all that. I’ve already taken out the people who raised me, so we don’t have to worry about them. Killing them is part of the ritual.”

“Oof. This group sounds even worse than the rumors say. They really did a number on your moral compass.”

“Hmm? What do you mean…? I never had one of those!” It was a refreshingly honest reply. I doubted I’d ever understand this guy. “Anyway…”

An assassin had been lurking at his feet, ready to strike. The guy had taken a kick to the head earlier, but he was still breathing. Tsav stepped on the man’s arm, shattering the bone.

“I’m impressed you’re still alive, Necrus!” Tsav continued. His voice held genuine admiration. “You’ve got excellent killing technique, but you’re a total coward, with no influence in the group, so I figured they’d have gotten rid of you by now. Then again, maybe that’s exactly why they let you live. You weren’t exactly a threat.”

“Don’t you dare underestimate me, Tsav.”

Necrus emerged from the shadows, revealing himself. He was a burly man with an eye-catching scar marring his face. He stood like a seasoned warrior, leaving no openings for his opponent to strike. In his hands were a pair of unusual short swords with matte-black blades.

“Who do you think taught you how to kill?” he asked.

“You did, of course. But…” Tsav kicked away another assassin hard in the face. The man hadn’t even gotten up off the ground. “It only took me ten days to surpass you, so I never really felt like your student!”

“Tsk.” Necrus’s expression twisted with rage. “Then allow me to show you the power of the Black Rain.”

He quickly closed the distance. His movements were extremely fluid, with minimal vertical motion. It all made sense now. His actions belied his earlier demeanor; he was clearly skilled. His twin swords danced as if they were alive as he effortlessly dodged Tsav’s attacks, moving ever closer.

But then, out of nowhere, something latched on to his leg like a bear trap.

“Huh?” Necrus looked bewildered as blood began to squirt out of his left leg.

A quick glance revealed a small winged creature, about the size of a cat, with its fangs sunk into his flesh. It had burst out from the back of the corpse Tsav had just kicked.

“Kah! Kyu! Giiih!” it cried, before tearing off a hunk of Necrus’s leg and taking flight.

“Whoa. Is that a faerie?”

Tsav shot it down with his sniper staff almost on reflex.

I recognized the type at once: It was a wisp. These were insect-like faeries, slightly larger than a human’s palm. They weren’t particularly strong, but they had an annoying ability to lay eggs in other creatures. They’d hide inside their bodies like parasites, just as this one had done to that assassin. I saw the other corpses begin to squirm and unsheathed a knife.

“Guh… Urgh! What is this?! Was this your doing, Tsav?!” Necrus rolled around shouting. But we had bigger problems at the moment: We had to take down these wisps.

“Tsav, we’re in trouble, and it’s not just these guys! We’re surrounded!”

“Sure looks that way.”

I infused my knife with the power of Zatte Finde and blew one of the wisps to pieces as Tsav fired his lightning staff.

“So, like… This was a trap, right? I bet they intended to take us out along with these Gwen Mohsa dudes. And that means…”

“There’s no time for speculation. We’ve gotta run. We’re sitting ducks here.”

I pounded the wall with my fist and detected a group of creatures approaching. One colossal humanoid with metallic-sounding footfalls, followed by some smaller ones with wings, and another group of agile, four-legged beasts. Probably all faeries. They must have been watching us from outside Loradd’s range. They likely had us surrounded already. The question was, who set us up?

“Come on, Necrus.” Tsav grabbed the man by the nape of the neck

I rolled my eyes. “You’re taking him with us?”

“Come on, I promise I’ll take good care of him! He’s funny. Trust me. He’ll make you laugh your butt off!”

“What is wrong with you? He’s not some stray animal.”

“He basically is. What? Do you treat humans better than dogs and cats? That’s discrimination, you know.”

“Well, I’m a human, after all.”

“An interesting take! At least you’re honest! Heh-heh!” Tsav forced Necrus up and then began pushing him along. “All right, Necrus. You don’t wanna die, right?”

Instead of answering, the man spat at Tsav and tried to elbow him in the throat. Tsav dodged easily and laughed. Then he punched Necrus in the face—twice.

“Aiming for the neck is basic stuff. I saw that coming a mile away.”

“Why, you little…!”

“A kindhearted, good-natured man like me would never abandon someone, even an ungrateful scumbag like you. Come on, Bro! Let’s get out of here before we’re surrounded.”

“…You’d better take good care of him.”

“I knew you’d understand!”

What the heck is this guy thinking?

That whole conversation felt like it’d happened a lifetime ago, especially after all the time we’d wasted running away from the faeries. Thanks to Loradd, the enemy couldn’t easily surround us, but it felt like they were steadily luring us deeper into the ruins. Not that there was much we could do about it.

After escaping the last room, we found another one with a slightly sturdier door. It had been secured by a heavy lock, but Tsav picked it while humming a little tune. I complimented his skill, but he just said, “If Dotta were here, he’d have gotten it open before I even reached the chorus.”

We must have been down here for over a day already.

Up on the surface, it was probably the middle of the night. If it was already past midnight, that meant the election would be this afternoon. We had no time to waste. Ideally, we would have already gotten the name of the one behind this and passed it on to Adhiff, but…

There isn’t enough time to get his help now. I didn’t want to have to do this, but we’re in no position to be picky. And besides…

I brushed my fingers over the emblem used to fasten my cloak. Its faint blue glow was quickly dimming. The luminescent paint acted as a rough indicator of how much energy I had left. I’d been conservative with my internal luminescence, but I was now alarmingly low.

At this rate, I could manage maybe two more battles at full strength, but that was it. I could no longer afford to use Zatte Finde carelessly, and I needed to be more conservative with Loradd as well.

The situation was dire, but we could still win.

If they were trying to trap us down here to slow us down or kill us, they wouldn’t just send faeries. That would be too risky.

If it looked like we might escape, I was sure the one behind all this would show up to stop us. That would be our way out.

I suspected the enemy had already destroyed the ladders we’d used to get down into the ruins, and the paths we’d traveled would now be heavily guarded. At least, that was what I would have done. Fortunately, after all our time wandering around and Loradd’s help, I’d found another exit—a ladder that led straight to the surface. All we had to do was break through the enemy forces and get out.

This was just a short break before our final spurt.

“…Oh! Looks like it’s our lucky day, Bro! Check out the weapons in here.” Tsav’s cheerful voice broke into my thoughts. “Bro! I think these are artifacts from the Old Kingdom! Look at this sword! Think it’s some super-famous weapon from the past?”

He rummaged gleefully through the pile, eventually picking up a broad-bladed sword and thrusting it out toward me. He was even wearing a massive horned helmet like some kid in a toy store.

“Check out the sacred seal engraved on the blade!” He whirled the weapon around, sending sparks flying from its tip. “It shot out fire! Maybe it has some kind of special ancient powers lost to time.”

“You’re not gonna find any good weapons just lying around in here…”

This was an underground fortress. There might be some weapons stockpiled in case a battle broke out, but they’d be the kind of thing an average soldier might wield. If this was an armory, they were likely all mass-produced, low-level junk.

Of course, a semi-ancient ruin like this might have something with a powerful sacred seal no longer in use, but you’d have a better chance of being struck by lightning than of finding something like that. The ruins might be semi-ancient, but tons of groups had been using them right up to the present day. There probably wasn’t anything left from before the modern era.

“That kind of seal is pretty common.”

I’d seen tons of stuff like that. People were always carving seals into metal to try to make their weapons more useful. But their work was usually pretty shoddy, and the weapons wound up thrown into armories like this and forgotten.

“They’re extremely fuel-inefficient and hardly worth the trouble. Think about it. Have you ever seen a torch with an attached blade? The flames would soften the blade in no time, and even putting that aside, you’d probably just burn yourself.”

Patausche used a sacred seal weapon with a similar effect, but hers used a complex combination of seals known as a seal compound. Advanced techniques had been incorporated to increase heat resistance.

“Whaaat? Seriously? Then what about this helmet?”

“That’s from back when humans were fighting each other. It has a sacred seal on it to protect against bolts from lightning staffs.”

“Aw, come on! How about this huge cylinder? This has to be something incredible!”

“That’s a flare for raising smoke signals. But it’s poorly made, so don’t even think about using it. They randomly explode all the time.”

“Awww…” Tsav looked visibly disappointed. He tossed the helmet to one side, and it rolled back into the pile of junk with a clatter. “Anyway, you sure know a lot about this stuff, huh?”

“My friend had a bizarre obsession with history. Used to talk endlessly about the difference between semi-ancient and ancient ruins and so on. Apparently, anything up to the First War of Subjugation is considered ‘ancient,’ and everything from then up to the Second War of Subjugation is ‘semi-ancient.’”

“You know a lot of weird people, huh?”

That was rich, coming from Tsav. Had he forgotten the man currently lying at our feet, glaring up at us?

“Hey, Necrus.” I tried to make my voice as soft and gentle as I could. “Help us get out of here. We need to work together if we want to escape.”

It was almost time for the divine election. If we didn’t get out of these ruins soon, the mastermind of this operation was going to make sure their candidate won. They’d already betrayed Gwen Mohsa—they were clearly willing to do whatever it took. If we stayed down here, we’d just be a couple of idiot rats caught in a trap.

And in that case, I wouldn’t be able to look Patausche in the eye.

I’d been full of confidence when I chose to come down here, saying it would be easy and I’d be back in no time. If I failed now, I’d look like a total dunce.

I have to get out of here, no matter what. At the very least, I need to find a place where I can contact the surface.

For some reason, we were unable to communicate with anyone aboveground. It was as though something was interfering with our communications.

“Come on, Necrus, talk. The one who hired you betrayed you and left you to die. Why be so stubborn? Who put you up to this?”

The man’s gaze was hostile and filled with bloodlust. If his leg weren’t mangled and his hands weren’t bound, he’d probably have attacked us already.

“I know you were put up to this, and by someone with a lot of authority among the coexisters.” I grabbed the bottle of water I’d brought with me, tilting the bottle to my lips right in front of him. “As you can see, we have food and water. We can share it with you, if you want.”

But Necrus remained silent, his expression unchanged. As I began to lose hope I could persuade him, Tsav interjected.

“You’re wasting your time, Bro. Necrus despises us.”

“Looks that way. You must have done something to really piss him off back in the day. Don’t tell me that scar on his face was your doing?”

“No! Oh, well… I mean, yeah… But he hates you way more than he does me. Probably.”

“Me?”

I hadn’t seen that coming. If Tsav had left that scar on his face, what the heck had I done?

“You killed a goddess, then forged a pact with Teo, right? Let’s just say that didn’t make you too popular with these guys. Gwen Mohsa’s teachings state that there are exactly twelve goddesses. No more, no less.”

“…Exactly. Yet you worship a false goddess, you—you traitor!”

At last, Necrus spoke, fixing me with his hateful gaze. I was uncomfortable to be the target of such animosity, to say the least. I understood that killing Senerva went against their teachings, and I was prepared for them to condemn me for it. I didn’t think they’d forgive me, but if they only knew why I’d done it… No, I’d probably still be a monster in their eyes.

What I didn’t understand, however, was their problem with Teoritta.

“What is that about, anyway? Why do you see Teoritta as a false goddess? The Temple recognizes her, don’t they? What’s the big deal if there’s one more?”

“Sorry. I know you are simply ignorant fools.” Necrus was clearly irritated, but it seemed he was finally willing to talk. I’d hoped he would bite if I brought up his faith. “Goddesses are supreme beings sent from the heavens, perfect and without flaw. There cannot be a new goddess!”

This reasoning didn’t make any sense to me. Perhaps if I were to follow his logic, I could find some basis for his beliefs in the scriptures or legends. But it was way too complicated for me, so I gave up trying to understand.

“Why don’t you get it?! It is you, the ones worshipping the false goddess, who are summoning the Demon Blight in the first place! This is punishment for your misguided faith. And using a goddess’s sacred remains for Project Saint?! Pure blasphemy!”

“…I’m with you on the Project Saint stuff.” I felt like heaving a great sigh. To think I’d agree, even partially, with a member of some insane cult. It was a tough world out there. “The idea of sending someone like Yurisa Kidafreny into battle disgusts me.”

“Really?” asked Tsav. “I think she’s cute. And she’s a hard worker. I guess she wasn’t that funny, but you can’t judge people’s worth based on how much they make you laugh, Bro.”

“Tsav, if I ever sink low enough that I need a moral lecture from you, I’ll walk into my own dagger.”

“Are you mad they’re using your old goddess’s corpse? Because I could totally see—”

“Tsav.” I gripped the hilt of my knife, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. “Shut your mouth.”

“Whoa… Come on. Why does everyone discriminate so much between the living and the dead anyway? Like, why is it okay to make jokes about the living but not the dead? It seems unfair…”

“I told you to shut up.”

“Yes, sir!”

Tsav raised both hands in surrender, and Necrus’s lips twisted. I thought for a moment he would smile, but all I could see in his face was disgust. Was this just how he expressed his emotions?

“Look how obedient you’ve become, Tsav.” Necrus snorted. “…Why weren’t you this loyal to us?”

“I was! I always looked out for you guys, even though I knew how weak and hopeless you were. In fact, I’m such a good guy, I even impress myself.”

“What did you just say?!” Despite being bound, Necrus used his toes to grab the semi-ancient blade Tsav had tossed aside earlier and launched it at him.

Tsav simply laughed. “Again, you’re too slow. If you wanna kill me, you’re gonna have to use a new weapon I’ve never seen before. Or else develop some kind of superpower.” After dodging the sword, he effortlessly moved in to strike Necrus in the face. “See? I told you.”

“…I’m impressed, Tsav…,” the man said, groaning in frustration. “It really is a shame. You were the strongest soldier I ever raised. My greatest work. If only you’d had the mental fortitude to join our cause.”

“Heh-heh! Hilarious. You’re the last person I want to hear telling me about mental fortitude.”

“Tsk…”

After that, Necrus fell silent again. I doubted he could endure much more humiliation. I didn’t think I’d get anything else out of him, but I decided to try one last time.

“Hey, do you guys really not know who put you up to this? They just tried to off every last one of you. Do you really want to die here?”

“…Silence,” Necrus said, grunting. “Shut your blasphemous mouth, Xylo Forbartz. Don’t you dare pity me. I won’t allow it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a matter of faith. I cannot forgive you for what you’ve done.”

Whatever, I thought. It looked like there was only one way to get this guy to talk. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but do your teachings say anything about dying in these ruins? Are you sure that’s what you’re meant to do?”

I had to challenge his beliefs if I wanted him to engage with me… And it worked like a charm.

“…You don’t know anything about us or our teachings,” he muttered, his voice low.

“You’re right, I don’t. But I know that if you die here, it’s over for you. You won’t be resurrected.” Necrus didn’t say a word, so I asked once more: “Who set you up and tried to kill us?”

It might be pointless, but I was determined to keep pressing him. I began to stand up—and found I couldn’t. My legs gave out, and I collapsed to my knees. My temples were throbbing. I felt like my head was on fire—then a chill washed over me, like I was being bathed in pulsating waves of hot and cold. I wasn’t just feeling sick—something was wrong.

I tried to process what was happening to me. It was similar to the feeling of running low on luminescence, but I knew I hadn’t run out. I forced myself to take deep breaths, but that made me feel even worse.

Pull yourself together. This is no time to be passing out.

I blinked, and my vision blurred. I clutched my stomach.

“The hell is going on?”

That was all I could manage.

I thought at first that Necrus had done something, but even he was doubled over, vomiting. Only Tsav was still standing, staring at the door with an irritatingly goofy smile.

“Huh, is this poison, you think?” He was holding his sniper staff in one hand and a sword in the other. It was the matte-black blade he’d stolen from Necrus during their fight. “I’m super resistant to most poisons, so I didn’t really notice… Must be some powerful stuff, though, if you guys can’t even stand.”

It must have been an invisible gas, like the kind used by the Ninth Order of the Holy Knights. Stuff like this was really effective in enclosed spaces like this. But how had they pulled it off? Had they predicted we’d come this way and set up traps beforehand?

That would mean they’ll have an ambush waiting for us up ahead…

We were up against an opponent I couldn’t even detect with Loradd. Was it someone capable of suppressing their breathing and heartbeat almost completely, as if they were hibernating? It was hard to believe a human could pull something like that off, though it might be possible for certain faeries that took the form of snakes or other beasts. If we were up against a target like that, I’d have to expend a lot more energy and time using my probe seal.

I messed up. I was worried about running out of luminescence and reduced Loradd’s output too much. But, wait…

That was probably part of the enemy’s plan right from the beginning. They’d closed in on us, limiting our options and encouraging me to play it safe. I thought I was choosing the best strategy, but that was exactly what they’d wanted me to do.

…Bring it on.

It was about time that we took some risks. I was going to break out of this trap and make whoever was behind this pay. I was gonna give them hell.

“You can come out now,” Tsav said, eyes on the ceiling.

The enemy’s up there?

I followed Tsav’s gaze and found a ventilation shaft. It was only natural for an underground facility like this to have such a system, and that was apparently where our enemy had chosen to hide. I started to activate Loradd, then stopped.

Relax, Xylo. I was confused. What good would it do to pinpoint their location now? If Tsav said the enemy was there, then that was all there was to it. I needed to conserve my strength for both offense and defense. I could still move. This poison clearly wasn’t strong enough to kill at this distance.

“Come on, hurry up. Can’t you tell your poison isn’t working on me?”

Something stirred in the depths of the ventilation shaft.

Something slithered out—it looked like a lizard with dark crimson scales. It was clearly a faerie or a demon lord, but I’d never seen anything like it. It was bipedal, with its limbs encased in an insect-like exoskeleton. Vines grew all over its body, bearing poisonous-looking flowers.

Faeries that took the form of lizards were called nuggles, while multi-legged arthropods were boggarts, and plantlike faeries were alraunes. Each were distinct types, yet this creature seemed to be a combination of all three.

That was surprising enough, but what happened next left me speechless.

“The poison isn’t working, hmm?” The creature began to speak, its voice clear and distinct. “You seem to have some sort of resistance. I do run into such humans from time to time.”

The crimson lizard-man was staring at us, its tail swinging wildly from side to side.

“It doesn’t matter, though. The only difference is whether you die now or later.”

“Don’t try to act tough,” said Tsav. “You can’t kill me. You’re trying to buy time by talking to us. That proves you’re scared.”

He had a point. I didn’t need Loradd to tell this guy was just stalling. The plan was probably to paralyze us and then have faeries swarm in and finish the job.

“How dare you…?” Necrus said, groaning between heavy breaths. He was now crawling across the ground. “Six-Eyes! It’s you! The Uthob Front, Unit 7110…!”

The moment I heard that name, I forgot all the pain I was feeling. I wasn’t dreaming—he’d just said the name of that unit.

Hmph. So Necrus knows about Unit 7110, too.

That meant he knew everything, including who was calling the shots. If Unit 7110 was real, it had to have a commander, and that commander had to be getting orders from someone.

I just need to make Necrus talk! Him, or that damn lizard! Either way, we’re finally gonna find out who’s behind this!

The one problem was that my body was now completely numb. Dammit. Perfect timing. I had to stay conscious, at least. I forced my eyes open and listened intently as Necrus shouted.

“What is the meaning of this, Six-Eyes?!” He clearly had some fight left in him. “Why are you attacking me, too? How dare you betray me?!”

“Sorry, but it’s the new boss’s policy. When someone outlives their usefulness, we cut ’em loose.” The lizard didn’t even glance at him. His gaze remained fixed on Tsav.

“Oh, so I guess they’re gonna get rid of you, too, huh?” Tsav was good at belittling others at times like this. His smug expression was inconceivably irritating. “That’s fine, though. I’m no good at holding back anyway.”

“Are you trying to provoke me to attack you or scare me into staying still?”

“Neither, but good try! I’m giving you advice on how to live a long life. If you cry and apologize now, I might forgive you. Aren’t I just the nicest guy in the whole world?”

“Hmph. Ridiculous.”

As Tsav raised his sniper staff, the lizard-man let go of the wall and fell to the ground, signaling the start of the battle.

“If you’re in that much of a rush to die,” said the lizard-man, “then let me help you.”

“Heh-heh! That’s the line of a loser if I ever heard one!”

Tsav fired his weapon as his mocking laughter filled the room. But his shot met an unexpected resistance. The lizard-man’s exoskeleton-covered forearm deflected it, sending it veering off toward the ceiling. It seemed this creature’s shell rivaled even Demon Lord Awd Goggie’s.

“Whoa! That’s some thick skin!” Tsav whistled. “But I still think it’s best for you to slink away with your tail between your legs.”

Tsav was taunting him on purpose. The lizard-man dodged successive bolts from Tsav’s staff, its body wriggling to and fro. But he didn’t try to flee. Instead, he launched himself straight at Tsav.

“Oh wow. That was a piece of cake! Bro, did you see how easily I just baited this idiot?!”

This was the last thing Tsav wanted.

His tactics usually followed one of three patterns: provoke his opponent into attacking, scare them enough to make them flee, or maintain his distance while he waited for the perfect moment to strike.

To be honest, he’d been a little disappointed when his opponent took the bait and attacked. The other two options made things a lot easier.

Close-range combat, huh? …Just great. Last time this happened, back in Ioff, I had an awful time of it.

Tsav later learned that his opponent back then had been Shiji Bau, a former soldier with an extremely unique sacred seal–engraved weapon. Tsav hadn’t gotten hurt due to his own stupidity—no human alive could have dealt with an attack like that without any preparation. Well, except for Xylo, but he was an exception.

There’s something really wrong with that guy. And that bothered him. If I don’t do something quick, I’m gonna look like some helpless weakling. What do you think?

He wanted to ask Xylo how he felt. Tsav had never been fond of his teammates, but he couldn’t stand the idea that they might think he was incompetent. Dotta, Norgalle, and even Venetim—though Tsav hated to admit it—possessed unique skills. By comparison, he might be more versatile, but he was ultimately still their inferior.

I can do this.

His reasoning might be shallow, but it filled him with determination. He had to finish this before the other faeries showed up. That was his time limit.

The lizard-man closed in. He was surprisingly agile, and his insect-like arms ended in nasty hooked claws. Tsav dodged his attacks with minimal movement as a stale, sweet scent filled the air.

Is this the poison?

Tsav had a pretty good idea of what kind it was and of what it did. He knew he could win, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Too slow,” he taunted, swinging his blade to counter.

It was the weapon he’d stolen from Necrus, its blade extending from his elbow to his wrist—ideal for close-quarters combat. The sword found its mark, striking the lizard-man’s exposed neck. But it grazed off the faerie’s skin with a clink.

“Is that it?” The lizard laughed as it swung its massive tail, sending Tsav flying backward until he crashed into the wall.

Yep, that hurts.

But Tsav didn’t let the pain show on his face. Instead, he calmly assessed the effectiveness of his counter. He’d thought the creature’s exoskeleton was limited to its limbs, but its crimson skin was far tougher than he’d expected. He’d only managed a shallow cut, about the width of a finger.

This lizard-man was incredibly resilient, with forearms tough enough to deflect bolts from a lightning staff, a venomous poison capable of mobilizing most people, and the agility of a savage beast.

No wonder he’s so cocky. But that makes him easy to provoke.

He saw something of himself in the lizard-man. With raw power like this, he couldn’t allow himself to appear incompetent. Maybe he’d taken Tsav’s bait so easily because he was trying to prove himself to someone.

“You seem pretty confident, human. Arrogant, too.” The lizard faerie lunged. “I just love eating humans like you.”

The creature charged directly at Tsav, then abruptly feinted, shifting its trajectory with a powerful leap toward the left wall. Tsav’s eyes followed its movement, but he deliberately restrained himself, choosing not to fire his lightning staff. He wanted to draw the creature in closer, to wait for just the right moment.

Then, just as they passed each other, he deflected the lizard-man’s right and left claws with his sword. When he did so, Tsav stumbled slightly. The pain from the tail strike he’d suffered earlier still pulsed in his stomach.

Or at least, that was what he wanted his opponent to think.

“See?” the faerie said, laughing and baring its fangs. “I’m on a different level than you lowly humans!”

Now’s my chance, thought Tsav. He leaped backward to create some distance, or at least, that was how it appeared. The lizard-man naturally lunged toward him.

Just then, the ground below him exploded.

A flash of flames and a cloud of smoke engulfed the creature. Though the blast was small, it severed the creature’s foot clean off at the ankle.

The explosion had been triggered by a semi-ancient relic—the smoke signal flare that had been lying on the floor perfectly intact until Xylo’s knife had pierced it. The lizard-man stumbled, now missing a leg and unable to see through the thick smoke.

“H-hurry up and finish him off. Should be easy for you, right?” grunted Xylo.

His timing was perfect. That’s my bro for you.

Xylo had an uncanny sense for combat. It was like he could read his teammates’ minds. Tsav thought he must have honed the skill during his many missions alongside the goddesses. Xylo might not realize it, but he had an extraordinary ability to infer other people’s intentions, especially in battle.

That must be why he always ties everything people do back to fighting.

Tsav almost wanted to laugh.

“You’re right,” he said as he moved through the smoke. “We are on different levels, you pathetic lizard.” He hoped to further provoke his opponent, though he suspected he’d only set him at ease with such an obvious taunt. “I’m ending you with this next attack. Think you can block it?”

At that point, the creature had only one option: retreat to safety. He wasn’t here to kill his targets. The plan had been to leave them to the approaching horde of faeries. Coming after Tsav, who was immune to his poison, was just an ego trip.

“…You fool,” came a muffled voice from within the smoke. “Whatever you do, you’ll meet the same end. Your efforts are futile.”

Looks like it’s trying to climb up the pile of rubble to escape through the vent.

“Enjoy being the faeries’ next feast,” said the lizard-man.

“Thanks for talking so much. I really appreciate it.”

Tsav had been goading the creature to elicit a response so he could locate him in the smoke.

I know how ya feel, man. It’s hard to keep your mouth shut when someone’s taunting you. I bet you had complete confidence in yourself, too.

Tsav casually activated the lightning staff in his left hand, firing at the pile of junk as a blinding flash instantly illuminated the surrounding space. The lizard-man might have been preparing to defend, or perhaps attempting to dodge—but ultimately, that was irrelevant.

A sharp, unnatural bang echoed through the room—a precise shot that struck the lizard-man as he climbed toward the vent.

It was an unconventional shot. The lightning’s trajectory was wildly askew, almost a guaranteed miss. And yet the attack connected precisely because of its unpredictability. The impact was devastating. It tore open the lizard-man’s chest and sent him crashing to the ground, sending fragments of flesh and splintered bone in all directions.

A perfect ricochet sniper shot.

The smoke began to clear. Of course, it was only ever meant to be a momentary smoke screen.

Lightning staffs’ bolts don’t bounce off walls, but…

Tsav had spotted the large horned helmet lying at the edge of the pile of junk—the semi-ancient armor crafted for human-on-human combat and specifically designed to repel attacks from lightning staffs. Tsav had exploited his newfound knowledge to catch the lizard faerie off guard.

“You worked hard. Lasted a while, too.”

Tsav’s compliment only made the lizard furious. Or at least, its shrieks sounded pretty angry. The jarring noise sounded like metal tearing apart, but it was the last sound the creature made.

Tsav fired another bolt of lightning at the lizard-man, and his body convulsed violently. He coughed up a pool of thick, sticky blood, then he fell silent.

“All done, Bro. What’d you think? Looks like once again, it’s all thanks to me that—”

Just as Tsav turned around, an unsettling feeling came over him. Something was wrong. He sensed movement through the remaining smoke. And his instincts were nearly always right.

Immediately, a glint of metal flickered at his feet—a blade.

“I figured you’d be able to move by now,” he said.

With a metallic clang, Tsav parried the strike. Necrus had a sword in his left hand. He’d managed to untie himself, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. It was a simple enough task, given enough time. It seemed the man had a high tolerance for poison as well. And the one the lizard-man had used was like strong alcohol—meant to incapacitate, not kill.

“Necrus, you should stop while you’re ahead. You know you can’t beat me, right?”

“Shut…up…!”

The man’s breath came in quick, shallow bursts—a blend of fear and excitement. Tsav couldn’t help but marvel at how a disciplined assassin could have such a volatile temperament. The two aspects seemed incompatible, but they were perfectly intertwined. Tsav had found the imbalance oddly fascinating ever since he first met the man.

“Tsav, I’ll kill—”

“No, you won’t.”

Necrus leaped, swinging his blade in a wide arc. It was a heavy blow, but Tsav easily parried it. Then he countered, sweeping Necrus’s legs out from under him before slamming his foot into his chest.

He looked down at his former master, his blade at the man’s throat. “See? That was easy.”

“…And?” Necrus laughed. It was a harsh, self-deprecating chuckle. “Can you kill me? With that blade? I know I can’t kill you, but you can’t kill me, either.”

Tsav couldn’t believe Necrus was saying such things with so much smug confidence. This man really is hilarious, he thought.

“I know you. You killed the people who raised you like it was nothing, yet you secretly let your pet rat go. The more you know your target, the harder it is for you to kill them. While it’s hard to believe, you’re right about one thing,” Necrus spat. “You’re far too kind to be an assassin. Deep down, you’re a good person. I hate to admit it, but you’re right!”

He really understands me, thought Tsav, impressed. Necrus knew who he truly was, and that was probably why he was so confident.

“But…that’s also why…I know you can’t kill me. You know me too well.”

Necrus smirked.

“Tsav, tell me the truth. I bet you still don’t have a single friend, nor are you interested in what’s wrong or right. You’re a monster. And in that case…” The assassin’s gaze was fixed on something behind Tsav. He was looking at Xylo. “How about killing Xylo Forbartz?”

“My bro?”

“Is that a problem? Are you fond of him? Surely, you see him as nothing more than a fun toy. I can tell. So think about it. Who would be more useful to you, him or me?”

Necrus held a sword to his own throat. What a novel way to beg for mercy, thought Tsav. It was something he’d never do, at least. Necrus was holding himself hostage. Tsav burst into laughter.

“Wow, Necrus. You really are hilarious. Say, do you think we could talk about something? I’ve been really into collecting stuff lately.”

“…Like what?”

“Shed snake skins. And right now, that’s the most important thing in the world to me. I want to go home as soon as possible so I can organize my collection, and I promised my bro here that I’d show it to him, too.”

“What are you talking about? Snake skins?”

“One more thing. There’s this group I’m taking care of. They’re kind of like abandoned puppies, and they’re always causing trouble.”

Namely, Xylo Forbartz and his companions. If Tsav didn’t take care of them, they’d keep dying and dying until they all forgot who they were. Tsav felt sorry for them.

“Hold on. Tsav, don’t you dare look at me like that!”

“Heh-heh!”

Tsav let out a goofy laugh, then used his lightning staff to blow off Necrus’s left arm from the elbow down. Necrus screamed in agony and writhed around, as if to escape the pain. But Tsav stepped on his arm, as if to make sure he wouldn’t get any relief.

“But you’re right. I don’t want to kill you. I’m a nice guy, so I’ll stop short of taking your life.”

“Tsav…! What part of this…is nice…?!” Necrus screamed in pain. “You monster! How dare you?!”

“It’s okay. I know you’ll get through this.”

Tsav recalled a time when he’d let one of his targets escape. They’d had a really distinctive eye color—a shade Necrus would instantly recognize. For that reason, Tsav had to take meticulous care to fool him. For that reason, he’d carved out one of the target’s eyes and mixed it in with the pulverized flesh of some random bystander, before leaving the scene for his master to find.

Tsav had said these words of encouragement as he took his target’s eye:

“Believe in yourself! You’ve gotta be strong so you can move on to a bright future! Do it for your eye!”

For some reason, his targets took great pleasure in heaping abuse upon him at times like this, but that was only a minor inconvenience.

“I’m a seriously nice guy, and I’m an optimist. I believe in people, and that’s why I want you to believe in yourself!”

He gave his master a thumbs-up. His voice was completely sincere. Tsav knew Necrus had a fragile psyche, but he knew he’d make it through.

But just as he was about to replace his staff’s magazine and take out Necrus’s right foot, someone grabbed his arm. It was Xylo Forbartz. Tsav blinked. He was more surprised that Xylo had stopped him than that the poison had already worn off.

“Stop,” said Xylo. “He can’t fight anymore. You’ve done enough. Let’s just tie him up and bring him back to the surface with us.”

“What? But I think he’d be a lot easier to carry if we removed a bit more.”

Tsav thought he heard a sigh.

“No need… We’re good.”

“All right, then. If you’re gonna carry him, I guess it’s fine. But what’s the big deal? I’m not gonna kill him or anything.”

“Just being alive isn’t everything.”

“You can do anything as long as you’re alive. Wait. Hold on. I think I got that wrong. If you have the right attitude, you can do anything.”

For Tsav, these two things were intertwined yet distinct. The penal heroes’ punishment was a slow, deliberate destruction of the mind. Tatsuya was living proof of what became of one’s psyche over time. Tsav believed that death was the end of everything, but for the penal heroes, there was no such finality. They were trapped within their own deteriorating minds, and the thought of losing himself was what Tsav feared most.

“Anyway, just stop. There’s no point in torturing this guy further. Now, come on. We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

“The point was that it would make him easier to carry. I— Okay, okay! I understand! Roger!”

Under Xylo’s menacing gaze, Tsav had little choice but to give in. The poison had mostly worn off, and even if it hadn’t, Tsav knew he didn’t stand a chance against Xylo.

“…I still have something I want to ask him.” Xylo glared down at Necrus. “You and your men were set up and left to die. You don’t owe the coexisters anything anymore, so tell me. Who’s the one giving orders to the Uthob Front, Unit 7110? Who were you working with, and what’s their goal?”

There was a sense of urgency in Xylo’s voice. He was desperate, like a parched traveler asking where he could find some water.

“Talk, Necrus. Who is it? Who used Gwen Mohsa?”

“I really think we need to torture this guy if we wanna get any information out of him, Bro. He might lie, but it’s better than this.”

“No… It’s fine. I’m done…”

Necrus was looking at Xylo, his lips twisted into something like a smile. “Xylo Forbartz, I will never forgive you. Goddesses need to be perfect. They are sacred havens, perfectly untainted. And you have desecrated them.”

“…Yeah, I guess so. Can’t take back what I did.”

Tsav was stunned at Xylo’s admission. He didn’t offer any elaborate justifications; he simply acknowledged his error, plain and simple. Hadn’t he been trying to get information out of Necrus? An answer like that seemed likely to make him clam up even more.

Xylo’s chilly detachment from his own mistake was beyond Tsav’s understanding. He must have an unbelievably low opinion of himself. And sure enough, a twisted smile crept across Necrus’s face, as if he were planning something particularly malicious.

“Xylo Forbartz, you are our enemy. Your existence is counter to everything we believe in. Even now, you continue to use the goddesses as weapons of war.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m the enemy of everything you believe in.”

“And yet you are trying to save me. Do you understand how humiliating that is? Heh… Heh-heh… Ha-ha-ha!” Necrus was laughing loudly and clearly—almost hysterically. “You’re going to take me prisoner, then torture me until I talk. I have no confidence that I can endure that. I’d probably tell you everything. And I can’t bear the shame should that happen.”

“…Tsav!”

Xylo immediately let go of Tsav’s arm, but Necrus was simply too quick.

“…Go to hell!” he shouted. “You can’t always get what you want!”

The sword carved a crimson path through his throat—a fatal wound. Necrus convulsed as blood erupted from the wound in violent gurgles. And with one last smile, almost tearful, he let out his final breath.

Tsav remembered the day the world ended. Or rather, he remembered the day the world ended for Necrus and Gwen Mohsa. It was the day Xylo Forbartz killed the goddess he was meant to serve. A goddess, who was supposed to be perfect, was dead. And for the sect, that reality was simply unacceptable. When their doctrine collapsed, so did their perceived world.

“This cannot be happening… It is unforgivable!” Necrus was furious, spewing curses. “Xylo Forbartz, you will pay for the sin of murdering our goddess!”

He was meant to pay with death. The sect assembled an elite group of assassins, including Tsav. No matter what was decided at Xylo’s trial, even if he was sentenced to death, they were to kill him while he was still locked up, before anyone else could. And in order to ensure their success, the number of assassins assigned to “cleanse” Xylo kept growing.

“We must atone for this mistake by erasing him with our own hands.”

Necrus, at least, believed that was the only way to save the world. They, the goddesses’ true followers, were the only ones who could wash away that man’s sins.

But all that was stolen from him when Xylo was sentenced to be a hero. It had left Necrus a hollow shell, adrift in a world he believed was already damned.

Time seemed to stand still as a crimson pool spread out from Necrus’s throat, staining the ground beneath them.

“Dammit,” Xylo hissed, his eyes filled with rage. “I didn’t get a damn thing out of him…! What the hell am I doing?!”

Tsav couldn’t shake the feeling that this could have been avoided if Xylo had just been a little less honest, but he kept that thought to himself. Instead, he rested his lightning staff against his shoulder and sighed.

“Bro, this makes me so sad… Am I really that unlikable?”

After a moment of silence, Xylo said sullenly, “I wonder. You’re not that bad…I guess.”

“You guess?! …Well, I guess this is just another depressing episode in my life. Maybe I should tell the others all about it when we get back.”

“What is going on in that head of yours? How do you just get over stuff like that?”

“It’s just one of my many strong points! Besides, we don’t have time to chat, right? Can you walk?”

“Yeah… Hey, let go! I can walk on my own.”

“You can barely even stand on your own, Bro. Come on, let’s get outta here. Gotta make sure we don’t run into any more faeries.”

“Stop trying to use me as a faerie detector,” grumbled Xylo, before pounding the wall with his fist.

How close were the other faeries? The two of them would have to force their way through. Looks like I still have one last job to take care of, thought Tsav: He needed to look after his poor, helpless teammate, Xylo. But just as that thought crossed his mind…

“…Wait. Something’s wrong.” Xylo frowned. “The faeries are disappearing. Is someone—?”

A door swung open, and two figures stepped through, as if they’d been waiting for Xylo’s words.

One was a man with a smug grin, and the other was a tall woman in a white robe with an image of the Great Sacred Seal hanging from her neck. She was clearly affiliated with the Temple. They both looked eerily familiar, especially the man, with his sadistic smile.

But who are they?

Though Tsav prided himself on his memory, he just couldn’t recall where he knew them from.

“Hey.” The man smirked and raised one hand. For just a second, he looked them over and narrowed his eyes. “I’m glad to see you two are okay. I took care of the faeries and came to rescue you. Looks like I made it in time today.”

The significance of the word “today” went over Tsav’s head. Meanwhile, the man fiddled with his slender lightning staff, ejecting its luminescence cartridge with a subtle hiss. The quiet sound spoke to the quality of the weapon. It must have been the very latest model.

“Kafzen,” said Xylo. That must have been the man’s name.

“Who’s that?” asked Tsav.

“…Some asshole from the intelligence division. As you can see, he’s a real bastard.”

“What an awful thing to say,” said Kafzen. “Can’t you do a better job of introducing me?”

“Nope. What are you doing here anyway?”

“This underground fortress is under our jurisdiction. We use it like a secret passageway to get around undetected. At any rate, we managed to clean up the place rather easily, thanks to you two distracting the enemy’s main force.”

It was clear now that they had been used as decoys. Tsav considered making a witty remark but thought better of it. Even he felt this was out of character, but he was just way too tired to bother.

“If you’re here to help us, you’re too late.” Xylo made no attempt to hide his displeasure. “We tried to take one of the big shots in Gwen Mohsa prisoner, but he killed himself. We lost our chance to find out who’s behind this or what they were planning—”

“Oh, no worries. As long as we have the corpse, we can figure something out. Enfié, you’re up.”

Kafzen called out to the woman behind him, and she silently crouched next to Necrus’s body, still lying in a pool of blood. Sparks danced at her fingertips. Tsav narrowed his gaze and watched. He recognized that light—it looked a lot like the sparks Teoritta created when she summoned her swords.

“So this girl…” Tsav watched as a book materialized in her hand. “She’s a goddess! Does that mean you’re a captain of the Holy Knights?”

“That it does. Good work, Enfié.”

The woman held the book up proudly and bowed, still not saying a word. Kafzen placed a hand on her head and stroked her hair. The gesture seemed almost automatic, as though he’d done it countless times before.

“Everything that man knew is in here.” Kafzen traced the book’s spine with his finger. “You can’t hide anything from Goddess Enfié.”

Tsav glanced down at the floor. Necrus’s blood had crept up to the toe of his boot.

It’s just sad.

In the end, nothing had gone right for Necrus. He probably still believed he’d done the right thing, though. Tsav couldn’t understand a mindset like that. What must it be like, he wondered, to act with such conviction—to be so sure of one’s choices? It was a thought that had never occurred to him before.

“That book…!” Xylo’s eyes widened as he stumbled toward Necrus. “Let me see it! I need to see who he was working with!”

“Relax. I’m extremely curious as well.”

Kafzen flipped through the thick book. The pages looked like official documents. There was a certificate of residency for the First Capital, travel permits, even transaction records for sacred weapon transfers. Were these actual documents Necrus had seen during his lifetime? Or did Enfié’s ability let her transform memories into documents?

Xylo wasn’t sure how her summoning ability worked, but one detail caught his eye: Every document he saw bore the seal of a bow and flower.

“Xylo Forbartz, have you ever seen this crest before?” Kafzen flashed him a sarcastic grin.

Xylo was unusually quiet. But after closely observing the seal, he muttered, “Yeah. That’s the Kormadino family crest. The current head is Simurid Kormadino—the governor-general. Don’t tell me—”

“We’ve already looked into him. We know he’s a coexister, but we haven’t been able to lay a finger on him. There are just so many people you need to talk to when eliminating someone of his rank. That’s bureaucracy for you, I suppose.” Kafzen shrugged. Like all his movements, it came with an exaggerated flourish. “It appears he’s the assassins’ benefactor and the one behind the recent series of unfortunate events.”

“So he’s the one controlling Unit 7110, eh?”

“Almost certainly. Enfié’s books don’t lie. Do you know him?”

“He’s an old acquaintance… He became the governor-general soon after I met him, now that I think about it. Simurid Kormadino… So he’s the one responsible.”

Xylo muttered the man’s name again under his breath.

Whoa… A chill ran down Tsav’s spine. He’s really pissed.

The more Xylo tried to suppress his anger, the more concentrated it seemed to become. Though Tsav had no idea who Simurid Kormadino was, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy.

“This book spells out every detail of Governor-General Kormadino’s plan. Would you like to have a look?”

“Yeah… Though I have a fairly good idea of what he’s up to already.”

“I suppose so. Unfortunately, it appears we were one step too late.” Kafzen leisurely flipped through the book’s pages. “The coexisters have already cut ties with Gwen Mohsa and are in position to carry out their plan all on their own. Their first goal is to assassinate High Priest Nicold Ibuton. And if that doesn’t work, they’ve made preparations to overturn the entire election.”

“How are they going to do that?”

“This man didn’t know much, but I suspect it will be violent. It would probably be in our best interests to arrest Simurid Kormadino as soon as possible, but… I don’t like the sound of this, either.”

Kafzen’s expression shifted, and his cruel smirk seemed to twist almost imperceptibly.

“What’d you find? I get that they want to assassinate Ibuton, but is there something else?”

“You could say that.”

Kafzen quickly covered the rest of the page with his hand, but Tsav had caught a glimpse of what was written. It had looked like someone’s name, followed by the phrase “the Crypt of Gray Lights.” Tsav had no idea what it meant.

“Our boss has become a target, so we need to go on defense. That means you all will have to take care of High Priest Ibuton yourselves. Keep in mind that if you fail, we will be forced to take drastic measures.”

“…What kind of drastic measures?” asked Xylo.

“We will raze the First Capital to the ground,” said Kafzen calmly. “We have Demon Blight Number Nine sealed and in our possession, and we will release it into the heart of the city. Countless civilian lives would be lost, helping us to unite the survivors. It would be a last-ditch effort to force mankind to join hands and fight the Demon Blight in a final showdown. Naturally, it would come at great economic cost as well.”

“Ha-ha! Nice!” Tsav couldn’t help clapping. “That’d give you an excuse to slaughter the coexisters, too, so you’d be killing two birds with one stone!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” barked Xylo, clearly unhappy with this suggestion. “I won’t let that happen. I just need to get our high priest elected, right?”

“Do you have any means of doing that? I’m positive Kormadino has already rigged the election so that High Priest Mirose will win.”

“There’s no way he’ll beat Venetim at cheating.”

“…Venetim? Does he have some sort of plan?”

“I wouldn’t call it a plan, exactly. It’s too ridiculous.”

Now that was something Tsav could agree with. It would be naive to expect Venetim to cook up some elaborate scheme. No, Venetim was the kind of guy to just show up with results, as if they’d materialized from thin air.

There’s something wrong with that guy. In a way, he confuses me even more than Dotta.

But if even Xylo thought it was a good idea, Tsav thought they had a good chance of succeeding.

“We’re going to win this election,” declared Xylo. “And we’ll capture Simurid Kormadino, too. I’m not letting him get away.”

Despite the lightness in his tone, Tsav could feel the intensity of Xylo’s anger—stronger than anything he had ever sensed before.

“He’s going to pay for what he’s done.”

In the dim light of dawn, a crimson silhouette slithered along the edge of the Domeili River. It raised itself from a prone position, revealing a humanoid bipedal lizard with distinctive branched horns sprouting from its head.

“This is Three-Eyes. One-Eye, are you there?” it muttered softly into the communications device in its hand. “Six-Eyes lost. No possibility of survival. Xylo Forbartz and Tsav are still alive.”

“Oh?” came a female voice. It sounded cheerful, as if the other’s death meant nothing to the speaker at all. “Okay, then. You can go. Our work here is over. It’s time to leave the city.”

“Are you sure? Won’t that put Simurid Kormadino in danger?”

“Our contract is over. We don’t owe him anything.”

“…Roger.”

“Things turned out just like our new boss said they would. I’m a little surprised. That human may be disgusting, but he’s pretty incredible, isn’t he?”

Three-Eyes set off just as the Domeili River began to shimmer under the rising sun. Their contract was up, so it was time to leave the city. After all, their unit was powerful precisely because most humans had no idea they existed.

“I’ll be waiting for you at the rendezvous point as planned.”

“Roger. Do we need to take out Simurid Kormadino?”

“That’s not in our contract, so forget about him. Besides, according to our new boss…” One-Eye’s voice was filled with undeniable amusement. “…Kormadino’s battle with the penal hero unit is going to be a sight to see. The boss said he wants to watch until the very end.”

Punishment: Prevent Enemy Interference in the Election, Part 1

Ever since the sun rose that morning, the entire town was bathed in light.

The grand plaza boasted a particularly dazzling display. With every glance, Teoritta discovered something new. The grand tavern of Mureed Fortress and the bustling streets of Ioff City just couldn’t compare. The buildings around the plaza—general stores, brand-new restaurants, a red-brick reception hall, and a steaming public bath—all seemed to shine brighter than usual. The plaza was always lively, but that day it was positively vibrant.

So this is Luffe Aros…!

The city was adorned with blue and white lanterns, and decorative keys hung from every door. Food stalls lined every street—the main thoroughfare and back alleys alike—helping to create a festive atmosphere. Later, there would be a procession of the Holy Knights stationed in the royal capital along with their goddesses, and crowds had already begun to gather along the planned route.

The goddesses scheduled to participate were Goddess of Poisons Pelmerry, Goddess of Shadows Kelflora, Goddess of Prophecy Seedia, and Goddess of Blood Andavila. Teoritta, however, was noticeably absent from the list.

But that is hardly an issue.

That was what Teoritta told herself, at least. She was an unofficial goddess and well aware of her precarious position in the divine hierarchy. So while she naturally wanted to join the other goddesses on their march, she understood why it wasn’t possible. Her situation was simply too complex.

Right now, she had only one problem.

“My knight still hasn’t come back!” she complained to Patausche.

“Yes, he is running quite behind schedule… I cannot imagine what has held up him and Tsav for so long.”

Patausche looked especially troubled. Obviously, Teoritta didn’t want to upset her further, but she simply couldn’t help herself.

“My knight and I were supposed to enjoy the festival together! I had meticulously planned every detail of our day, right down to which attractions we would visit when.” Teoritta thrust out a notebook she’d been busily writing in over the past few days. “First, we were going to listen to the sacred choir’s performance, then we were supposed to view a puppet show based on the First War of Subjugation’s Nine Stars of Destiny, followed by a visit to the Miwoolies Creams stand! But now my perfectly crafted schedule will be ruined! This is a crisis of the highest order!”

She purposely didn’t consider the possibility that something might have happened to Xylo. She knew he’d find his way back no matter the odds. Besides, Tsav was with him, and no matter how questionable that man’s morals might be, he was a strong ally. There was no doubt the two of them would eventually return.

The truth was, she was afraid that if she voiced her concerns, they might just come true. If Xylo lost any more memories, she didn’t know what she would do. For that reason, Teoritta spoke with ever more exaggerated confidence.

“Maybe it was a mistake to let Xylo and Tsav go alone together. Those two clearly lack discipline! I should have gone along to keep an eye on them!”

“While you are perfectly correct, you must remember how dangerous that would have been. The underground fortress is under Gwen Mohsa’s control, and they pose a great threat to you, Goddess Teoritta.”

“Hmph! You seem quite calm, Patausche. I know how much you were looking forward to enjoying the festival with Xylo, too.”

“Wh-what?!”

“Don’t try to deny it! I can see right through you!”

Patausche was currently serving as Teoritta’s bodyguard and was dressed in full cavalry armor, with little of her body exposed. But Teoritta knew that underneath, she was wearing not a military uniform but street clothes meant for a day on the town. She’d seen her carefully choosing them the night before.

“I know all about your plan to take him to the night market under the guise of ‘relaxing after a hard day’s work,’ and then lead him to a hilltop with a beautiful view of the city! I even saw you trying to simulate the date with figurines and a map on your desk!”

“Th-th-that wasn’t what I was doing! This is all some huge misunderstanding!”

“Lying is a sin. Tell me the truth.”

“I— Oh, Goddess Teoritta! Everyone is looking this way! How about waving back?”

“Mnn!”

Patausche was obviously trying to change the subject, but she wasn’t lying when she said everyone was looking at Teoritta, so the goddess had no choice but to smile and wave to the crowd.

They were standing in a corner of the grand plaza in front of the royal castle. The whole area had been dressed up for the festival with white and blue lanterns meant to welcome the new sun and an ornate curtain draped and arranged to resemble a sacred altar.

This was the hallowed space where the divine election to decide the next archpriest was to take place later that day.

Xylo had tasked Patausche with watching over the election and making sure it went smoothly, and Teoritta had decided it was her duty to assist. She was now occupying a discreet corner of the platform.

Teoritta could have stayed behind at the barracks, of course, but nearly all the penal heroes were currently out attending to some business or other.

Jayce was away visiting his family, and Xylo and Tsav had yet to return from exploring the underground fortress. Meanwhile, Venetim, Tatsuya, and Norgalle were leading High Priest Ibuton’s guards, and Dotta, for his part, was still in the hospital. As for Rhyno… Come to think of it, Teoritta hadn’t seen him that morning.

At any rate, with everyone occupied, she couldn’t justify staying behind by herself, so she’d persuaded Patausche to let her come along to the plaza. She was determined to protect this divine election from any potential violent interference. She couldn’t forget Xylo’s warnings—that the coexisters might attempt to assassinate High Priest Ibuton or, at the very least, sabotage the election.

Xylo will come back, so I have to work hard in his place until then!

Protecting a sacred election was exactly the sort of mission for a goddess! And now that she was here, the Temple’s election committee couldn’t simply ignore her presence. She was, after all, an object of their faith. And so they’d quickly arranged for a special seat for her up on the platform.

The high priests, who were the stars of the day’s event, remained secluded behind the curtain, and the front-runners—High Priest Mirose and High Priest Ibuton—had yet to even arrive.

“It seems the other candidates have indeed pulled out of the election,” Teoritta whispered. High Priests Duffrey and Carne were supposed to be running as well, but had formally withdrawn the previous night. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me too,” agreed Patausche. “Someone or something must have forced them to give up at the last minute. It has to be intentional. Perhaps both of their factions have already been absorbed into High Priest Mirose’s.”

“What?! But if that’s the case…does High Priest Ibuton even stand a chance?”

“I’m not sure, but I saw Venetim rushing around this morning in a panic. I want to believe he has some sort of plan, but…”

Before Patausche could finish her thought, however, a stir ran through the plaza. It seemed to have originated near the gate facing the main thoroughfare, and the crowds began to part as if on cue.

A figure, back conspicuously straight, strode majestically down the newly formed path. Trailing behind this commanding presence was a towering woman, clearly a bodyguard. A lightning staff hung at her waist, along with a gleaming sword.

Patausche and Teoritta both gaped at the sight.

“Is that…Saint Yurisa?!” Teoritta shouted despite herself.

A girl with scarlet hair approached them, young enough that some might still call her a child. Her right hand was wrapped in bandages, and her right eye gleamed a brilliant blue. There could be no doubt about it: This was Yurisa Kidafreny. And she seemed just as surprised to see Teoritta.

“Ah.”

Yurisa opened her mouth as if to say something, but her bodyguard quickly placed a hand on her shoulder, calming her down and prompting her to take a deep breath. Was this some sort of unspoken protocol between the two of them?

“…Goddess Teoritta,” Yurisa said, starting over. “I haven’t seen you since…the battle at the Second Capital.”

“Yes… I would like to thank you for your help in defeating Demon Lord Abaddon.”

Teoritta could hear a slight edge in her own voice. Unease stirred in her chest whenever she looked at Yurisa—particularly at that right eye of hers. When she fought or used the power of the goddess, it would ignite with an incandescent, burning light, unsettling Teoritta.

Yurisa seemed rather cold toward the goddess as well, though Teoritta wasn’t exactly sure why. It was just that, now and then, she sensed a flash of envy, or perhaps competitiveness, in the girl’s expression.

“I am glad to see you’re doing well, Goddess Teoritta,” Yurisa replied awkwardly, gradually regaining fluency. It felt as if she’d practiced this conversation many times over. “We… We will be fighting together during the spring offensive—Mission Ragi Enseglef. I will be counting on you and your penal heroes.”

“Yes, it seems we will be fighting alongside your unit. We will do everything in our power to win.” Teoritta’s words came out somewhat spiteful, but it was too late to worry about that now. Instead, she boldly declared, “My knight Xylo and my penal heroes cannot lose, so you may count on us as much as you would like!”

“…Yes, I will. And I shall do my best to match your efforts.” Yurisa’s tone was almost challenging, and the tips of her hair seemed to crackle and spark. Perhaps it wasn’t just Teoritta’s imagination, either, as she felt her own hair sparking as well.

But Yurisa quickly reassumed a blank expression and took in a deep, measured breath. “At any rate, I was not expecting to run into you here. Did you come to watch the election?”

“Y-yes!” Teoritta puffed out her chest. “It is my duty as a goddess to watch over the divine election! Is that why you are here as well?”

“No, I…” Yurisa walked through the crowd as she spoke, then ascended the stage. “I came to endorse an acquaintance of mine who is running for archpriest: High Priest Mirose.”

“What?!” exclaimed Teoritta.

“E-excuse me?” Patausche was even more shocked than the goddess. “Y-you’re giving a speech to endorse a candidate as the Saint? Is that even allowed?”

Patausche’s agitation caused a brief flash of worry in Yurisa’s eyes. “Is that bad—? Ahem, I mean, do you have an issue with that?”

“Of course I do! A figure as important as the Saint…giving an endorsement…must be against the rules…right?”

“There is no regulation that states the Saint cannot give endorsements,” her bodyguard responded calmly. She fixed a wary gaze on Patausche. It seemed tinged with something akin to disgust. “The only ones prohibited from directly supporting a candidate are Holy Knights and their goddesses. Saints are outside the scope of the regulations,” she added smoothly, before giving Yurisa an encouraging nod. “Saint Yurisa wishes to endorse High Priest Mirose, who is connected to the priest from her hometown. The late grand priest, Bortalas, was also very supportive of High Priest Mirose. Is there a problem with that?”

“Th-that…kind of seems like a stretch…”

Patausche was struggling, clearly inexperienced at this kind of verbal sparring. And so Teoritta decided it was time for her to boldly chime in.

“Th-then…!”

She spoke up almost on reflex, driven by a profound yearning to prove her worth. Since arriving in the First Capital, she had felt sidelined, as if she was contributing almost nothing of importance, and that frustrated her. It was this sting of humiliation that propelled her forward, igniting this instinctive response. Perhaps it was an even more primal impulse, part of her divine nature—a visceral need to demonstrate her value when confronted with a being so eerily similar to herself.

Perhaps it was a selfish, twisted desire. But Teoritta didn’t care what others thought. She, and she alone, would decide if her wishes were right or wrong. And so she boldly declared:

“I—I shall give a speech to endorse a candidate as well!”

The instant they heard those words, Yurisa Kidafreny’s face stiffened, and her bodyguard frowned. Even Patausche seemed flustered.

“You cannot, Goddess Teoritta!” she said. “Y-you’re a goddess, so it’s prohibited.”

“This woman claimed that it was prohibited for the goddesses of Holy Knights to endorse candidates. But I am not a member of the Holy Knights!”

“Huh?! Well, uh… Yes, that’s true… But…” Patausche seemed to be desperately searching for the right words to stop her, but she wasn’t having much luck. “I suppose…you would be the exception, then. Hmm? One moment, please! I need to check the rules! Um… According to the regulations…”

Patausche pressed her fingers to her forehead, as if sifting through her memories. It seemed she had the rules memorized. Meanwhile, Yurisa and her bodyguard exchanged bewildered glances, while Teoritta alone basked in a warm, radiant sense of satisfaction.

“Heh! It appears we are equals under the regulations,” she declared, “so I am going to give a speech, too. I have been wanting to settle things with you. Is that okay, Patausche?”

The goddess smugly puffed out her chest. Finally, her moment to shine had arrived. It was time for her to carry out her role as goddess, and she was going to do all she could within the bounds of the rules. However…

“…Goddess Teoritta, wait!” shouted Patausche.

“What is it? You cannot stop me! There are no rules prohibiting my endorsement, correct?”

“It’s not that! It’s…”

Patausche’s finger was at the back of her neck, brushing against the sacred seal there—the sign of her status as a penal hero. Teoritta could hardly believe it, but then Patausche confirmed her suspicions.

“…It’s from Xylo,” she whispered. “He is contacting me through my seal. It sounds like an emergency…he needs our help.”

Teoritta couldn’t believe her ears. “Xylo…needs our help…?”

“Yes.” This was really happening. Patausche put her finger back against the seal on her neck. “He wants us to come to a specific location… Where are you? Ugh! I can hardly hear you through the static! Speak more clearly, you buffoon!” she shouted.

They seemed to have a bad connection, suggesting Xylo and Tsav still might be in the underground fortress.

Xylo needs my help.

Teoritta immediately grabbed Patausche by the arm. “Patausche, come. We must hurry.”

She still wanted to give her speech supporting Ibuton, but such an opportunity to help her knight was exceedingly rare. Xylo had admitted he needed her help. It felt as though they were finally beginning to function as a team—just as a knight and his goddess should. She had been waiting for this moment for so long.

All right, Xylo. If you need my help, then you need only wait. I am coming to save you.

Teoritta barely managed to hold back a smile. In his time of peril, her knight had chosen to rely on her. It seemed he’d finally realized that she was the only one he could truly count on.

“If my knight desires my help…” Teoritta began to pull Patausche along after her, rushing off without the slightest hesitation. “Then I must save him at any cost. Is that all right with you, Patausche?”

“Y-yes, of course. But…” Patausche looked at Yurisa, and Teoritta followed her gaze.

“I apologize, Yurisa,” she said, “but my troublemaking knight needs me.” It sounded almost like she was declaring her victory. She, unlike Yurisa, had a knight who depended on her. “We can settle this some other time! Until then!”

Teoritta jumped down from the stage and ran through the crowd. Behind her, Yurisa watched, clenching her fists.

“…Tevi, what just happened?” For some reason, she felt utterly taken aback. It was as if she had been left behind.

“I have no idea.” Tevi, her bodyguard, seemed genuinely confused as well. “It appears something happened to the penal heroes, but I am not sure what.”

“I heard her say the name ‘Xylo.’ Isn’t that her knight?”

“Yes, I heard that as well.”

“Did something happen? A riot, maybe? Perhaps someone is using the festival to stage an attack…”

“I highly doubt it. Even if something were to happen, the military would simply send the penal heroes to stop it.” Tevi was completely calm as she placed a hand on Yurisa’s shoulder. “You must relax and focus on what you came here to do. You need to give a speech endorsing High Priest Mirose, yes? Oh, look. She’s here.”

“Ah.”

Yurisa glanced toward the edge of the plaza, where she found High Priest Mirose. Adorned in the formal vestments of her sacred office, her white hair gathered into a pristine bun, she seemed to embody serenity itself.

Yurisa had met her before, back when she was under the care of the priest in her hometown. High Priest Mirose had come to visit while patrolling through the local territories, listening to the candid opinions of the believers. The woman carried herself with exceptional poise, spoke without affectation, and possessed deep wisdom. Upon discovering Yurisa’s stigma, though startled by its presence, she had assured her it was an extraordinarily rare and valuable gift.

The high priest suddenly looked toward Yurisa, and their eyes met across the plaza. Mirose lifted a hand and waved warmly at her. Yurisa almost waved back but caught herself and nodded instead. She was the Saint, after all, and she must always maintain impeccable bearing.

This is fine, Yurisa told herself. I am doing the right thing.

Cheikan the Flea, an assassin from the Emerald Finger, was growing increasingly anxious.

How much longer?

The sun was now high in the sky, and the appointed hour was rapidly approaching.

There wasn’t much time left to assassinate High Priest Nicold Ibuton. The Emerald Finger was the oldest and most elite group of assassins in the western region, and they prided themselves on their reputation. Especially now, when they were under pressure from a new faction wielding sacred seal–engraved weapons, it was of utmost importance that they succeed in their mission.

All the pieces are in place. We simply need to find the target, execute the mission, and we’re done.

A winding alley stretched out before him, filled with a procession of approximately fifty guards. Twenty of them were his own meticulously recruited assassins. The penal hero unit’s recruitment campaign had proved the perfect camouflage for his men to slip in among the high priest’s security detail.

The twenty of us will have no issue overcoming the other thirty if we catch them off guard… Besides these are only volunteer soldiers. Mostprobably have no real combat experience. If anyone is going to prove a problem, it’ll be that man in the lead.

The one in charge here was Venetim, commander of the penal hero unit. He had split the hundred-man force in half and was personally leading fifty of them to check the high priest’s route for danger before regrouping. The other fifty, along with penal heroes Norgalle and Tatsuya, had been tasked with guarding Nicold Ibuton and should have already received the signal to start heading toward the rendezvous point.

Cheikan had arranged for the other members of the Emerald Finger to be assigned to this group to avoid a direct confrontation with Tatsuya, the peculiar man who was always at Ibuton’s side.

His plan was simple: They would stage a surprise attack to draw Tatsuya away—they only needed a few seconds—while another unit hiding within town would take out the high priest using a sniper rifle. It was a gamble, but a calculated one, and Cheikan was confident it was the best approach. If they could distract Tatsuya, the others would be powerless to stop them. After all, they were nothing more than a ragtag collection of adventurers and miners. They’d wait until the two groups met up and let down their guard, then stage their ambush and take out everyone in the ensuing chaos.

And yet there was something nagging at him. It was just a feeling, but that kind of intuition had saved Cheikan’s life on numerous occasions in the past. And now it was telling him that something was off.

“Hmm.” Venetim was studying a map for what seemed like the hundredth time. “We’re almost at the rendezvous point, everyone, so please stay vigilant.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d announced they were “almost there.” The first time he’d said it had been over two hours ago. In fact, Cheikan was fairly certain they’d been going in circles. It wasn’t uncommon to double-check a route for safety, of course. But this was…

Isn’t he being a little too careful?

Cheikan the Flea scanned his surroundings, unease prickling his gut. The rest of his men were starting to get restless as well. Were they picking up on the same tension in the air?

Something felt wrong. Perhaps this route was a trap designed to throw them off. It was possible their cover had already been blown, and they were being led into a carefully orchestrated maze to disorient them. He could see that suspicion written on the faces of the twenty men he’d assembled.

Cheikan decided he’d waited long enough. It was time to reveal the truth.

“…Excuse me? Venetim?” he muttered, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “Are we still not at the rendezvous point? I feel like we just went down this alleyway a few moments ago.”

“I’m just being cautious,” Venetim answered, forcing himself to remain calm. “Due to the complicated nature of this stretch of the route, it’s highly likely an ambush could occur here. It’s of utmost importance that I carefully check for traps and potential enemies hiding in the shadows.”

“Yes, but…” Cheikan refused to back down. “We have already searched every nook and cranny, so I don’t think there’s any need to worry. Unless there is something else concerning you?”

“Hmm, yes.” Venetim nodded, his gaze fixed on the sky as if he were checking the time of day. “I suppose this is enough. We will leave the alley and wait out in the main street.”

His tone suggested that the meeting point had always been intended to move according to the situation. It seemed the penal heroes had some kind of sophisticated communication device utilizing a sacred seal that only they could use.

“You’re saying we’re gonna wait on the main street?”

The man who spoke up this time wasn’t Cheikan but a rugged-looking man standing by his side. He wasn’t a member of the Emerald Finger, though. He had a prominent scar marring his chin, and Cheikan figured he was some washed-up adventurer.

“Is that where we’re meeting up with the others? I’m exhausted.”

“Yes,” said Venetim. “We will wait there until High Priest Ibuton arrives. Is that okay with you all?”

“Roger that.” The scarred adventurer nodded, then he turned toward Cheikan. “…Guess this is as far as you go.”

Cheikan felt a prickle of unease at the man’s low tone of voice. Something was off.

Everyone in the group seemed wary of one another, each of them eyeing the others with suspicion. But before he could analyze the situation further, Cheikan’s body began to move on instinct. It was a reflex difficult to explain with words, but a primal sense of danger caused him to kick off one of the alley’s walls and leap into the sky.

“Tsk.”

The scarred man hissed. He’d just missed slicing Cheikan’s abdomen with the blade of his sword. Another man, sensing an opportunity, lunged forward with his own blade, targeting the spot where Cheikan was about to land, but Cheikan simply dodged. As he did so, he let out a soft breath, expelling a tiny needle hidden in his mouth that struck the man’s eye with deadly accuracy. This hidden weapon, like the bite of a flea, was where he’d gotten his nickname.

As his opponent clutched his eye, Cheikan plunged his dagger into the man’s neck, finishing him off. But who was he fighting?

“Men, watch out!” cried the scarred man. “This one’s tough! Let’s show him what the Troupe of the Cinnabar Abyss are made—!”

But before he could finish his sentence, he began coughing up blood. He’d just been stabbed in the left side of his chest.

“What the…?”

The scarred man seemed taken aback by this development, but Cheikan was even more confused. After all, the chest wound hadn’t been inflicted by a member of the Emerald Finger, but by a man with an eye patch.

“What’s that?” he grumbled. “The Troupe of the Cinnabar Abyss? Those are adventurers who specialize in murder!”

It made no sense—what was going on? Cheikan’s gaze darted from side to side, only to discover that a massive brawl had broken out. Of the fifty guards, barely twenty remained. More than half had already fallen, with his own men now numbering just nine. The survivors glared at one another, their eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and doubt.

“…What is this?” muttered Cheikan. “Who are you people? Are we not the high priest’s guards?”

“Well, uh… I’m afraid I have some bad news for you all.” A voice cut through the chaos. Everyone turned toward the speaker, Venetim. “All of you here today are assassins and raiders gathered with the sole intent to eliminate High Priest Nicold Ibuton. Isn’t that right?”

Nobody said a word, not even Cheikan. While no one was stupid enough to agree with Venetim, their lack of response was a clear indication that he was right.

But what did that mean, exactly?

“You don’t need to hide it. I’m the mediator who specifically hired you all, so I know.” Venetim carried on, leaving Cheikan speechless, his mouth agape. “To tell the truth, I was given the impossible task of recruiting fifty guards, so I had to come up with the easiest way to do so. And, well, while there probably aren’t many people who would pay to protect High Priest Ibuton, there are plenty who would pay to have him killed.”

Cheikan was even more confused. So this man had gathered fifty assassins, all backed by people who wanted Ibuton dead, and had them all sneak into this security detail? That was one way to quickly amass a large number of people, he supposed.

“Fortunately, I know the names of a decent number of coexisters. I was able to guess quite a few without much effort and wound up being right…so I just borrowed their names.”

None of this made any sense. He was saying he’d discovered the identity of a bunch of coexisters just by guessing? It was too much for Cheikan to process all at once.

“It was still tough, of course. I had to set up meetings with multiple groups in a single day, and I couldn’t let them see my face, so I had to hire additional mediators. But thanks to that, I ended up getting tons of offers from different military units and other organizations… And now it looks like…you’ve all taken each other out.”

It wasn’t that all of them were idiots. Take the confrontation a few moments ago, for example. If someone attacked you with the intent to kill, it was only natural for someone in their line of work to strike back. So when multiple small groups of assassins were mixed together, each believing the other was an actual guard, deadly conflict was bound to erupt the moment someone made a move.

They simply couldn’t trust one another, and when one attacked, the other would strike back to kill. Their instincts had been used against them.

“At any rate, this is pointless, so let’s put an end to the violence.” Venetim spread his arms wide. His nonchalant demeanor was infuriating, prompting Cheikan to tighten his grip on the handle of his dagger. “What’s the point of getting hurt? Why risk your life to kill someone like me when I can be resurrected?”

“Enough,” said Cheikan, hissing, as a murderous aura filled the air. There were still about twenty men left standing, and he figured they were all itching to kill Venetim and then go after Ibuton. A lot of them had fallen, but their goal remained the same. And if they worked together, they still had a good chance of succeeding. “You set us up, you fraud. It’s time to pay.”

Cheikan lunged forward, thrusting his dagger straight into Venetim’s heart. Or at least, that was his intention. But a colossal arm, black as midnight and as thick as a tree, reached out from the shadows and grabbed his right arm.

Cheikan’s eyes went wide with horror. The shadowy behemoth seemed to transcend human dimensions.

“Um… And just so you know, High Priest Ibuton isn’t coming,” Venetim continued. Cheikan assumed the other assassins were dealing with shadowy figures of their own. “This is actually the patrol route for the Eighth Order of the Holy Knights, where Goddess Kelflora does her rounds. In other words…everything I told you all was a lie… I’m really sorry about this.”

The humanoid shadow used its incredible raw power to swiftly pull Cheikan down and pin him to the ground.

The Eighth Order, huh? No wonder…

These must have been shadow soldiers summoned by Goddess Kelflora.

“Our vanguard unit informed me that there was a hostile group in the area, but I wasn’t expecting you to be involved, Venetim.”

The speaker was standing behind Cheikan, so he turned his head as far as he could to see. A man in a green cloak was standing beside a silver-haired maiden.

“You saved me, Captain Adhiff. Thank you.” Venetim sounded genuinely relieved. “I knew your goddess wouldn’t abandon me, even if you might want to.”

“You were right about that, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t try a stunt like this again. I don’t like feeling used.” Adhiff smirked. “So please consider your debt to me ongoing. It turns out you’re more useful than I expected—no, more than I could have ever imagined.”

“Ha-ha.” A mild smile appeared on Venetim’s face, or so it appeared to Cheikan. “Please go easy on me.”

“That will depend on the situation. Anyway, what’s next? You took care of the high priest’s assassins. Do you have a plan to win him the election?”

“Yes… You and Xylo told me that he had to win at any cost, so I did what I had to.”

“Interesting. And what was that?”

“It involves Dotta Luzulas.” Venetim spread his arms wide. “And I have a request for you all as well.”

As Simurid Kormadino sat in his private quarters, he received astonishing news.

Two problems had arisen: Xylo Forbartz had somehow made it out of the underground fortress alive, and communication had been severed with the operatives they had among High Priest Ibuton’s guards.

“Are we sure about that?”

“Yes,” his young attendant replied earnestly. “Our external liaison reported that every one of the twenty assassins we hired has been eliminated. The details are still unclear, however.”

They had been heading toward the grand plaza when it happened. Kormadino’s mind raced. This meant he would have to give up on assassinating High Priest Ibuton. Should he move on to his last resort? What would Xylo Forbartz do, now that he was free? Could he just ignore him? There was no way he could change the results of the election at this point.

No, don’t make assumptions.

Their commander was Venetim, a known con man with a silver tongue and an unlimited arsenal of deceptions. Kormadino had to marshal every resource at his disposal and maintain a razor-sharp vigilance. A single moment of carelessness could prove catastrophic. He still had resources all over the city. High Priest Ibuton might have slipped beyond their grasp, but they could still take out Xylo Forbartz.

We simply need to slow them down and make sure they don’t make any moves until the election is over.

The election was what mattered most. They needed to anticipate their enemies’ every possible move. From now on, it was a game of prediction—a match Kormadino was sure to win. After all, who else possessed his masterful grasp of the intricacies at play? His vast network dwarfed the meager capabilities of the penal heroes.

Yes, I will do everything I can to stop them.

Kormadino made his decision in mere seconds and rose to his feet. He knew he couldn’t just sit back and give orders from the comfort of his mansion. Certain victory would require his personal intervention.

“Let’s use our secret weapon. It’s going to be a busy day, but I’m counting on you, Fush.” Kormadino smiled at his attendant. “You have a promising future waiting when this is all over. I expect great things from you.”

“Thank you very much, Governor-General.”

The young attendant executed a crisp salute. He might merely be a civil servant acting under the governor-general’s authority, but he was a man of great skill and promise. He’d already proved himself more useful than a mere intermediary, and Kormadino was considering making him a full-fledged retainer.

Kormadino had to win, both to ensure the survival of promising young men like Fush, and to save the country from those self-important idealists. He had to defeat them, no matter what it took.

Punishment: Prevent Enemy Interference in the Election, Part 2

As I emerged from underground, I could feel the poison finally beginning to wear off. I squeezed my eyes shut, then reopened them. The sunlight was blinding, a sharp contrast to the darkness I’d grown accustomed to. And judging by the sun’s position, the election would be starting in only a few hours.

While I was confident Venetim’s plan would secure our man’s victory, I still had to deal with Simurid Kormadino, just to be sure. After all, he was bound to have some sort of trick up his sleeve, and I wasn’t in the mood for any surprises.

Where are we…?

As my eyes adjusted, the surrounding terrain slowly came into focus. Just as I’d suspected, we’d just come out of one of the exits to the sewers. I was beneath Ceremonial Light Bridge at the eastern end of the Domeili River. The area was on the outskirts of town, far from the main plaza. I needed to move quickly if I was going to meet up with Teoritta and Patausche.

“They’re here, Bro! Right on time!” Tsav exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

He wasn’t joking. Menacing figures stood on the bridge as if they’d been waiting for us. Wearing matching uniforms and equipped with lightning staffs and daggers, they could easily pass for city guards—but there was one glaring difference: They lacked an armband emblazoned with a blue hazel branch—the unmistakable mark of the First Capital Guard. The armband used a complex combination of luminescent paint and contained a sacred seal used for identification, making it difficult to forge.

“Looks like this district’s already been closed off from the public,” Tsav remarked.

“Sure does,” I agreed.

The Luffe Aros Festival was currently underway. On days like this, numerous traffic restrictions were imposed throughout the capital. It would have been easy to use that as an excuse to close off an area like this.

“How many are there?” I asked.

“Six on top of the bridge.”

Squinting against the harsh glare of the sun, I hammered the ground repeatedly. From here on out, I could use Loradd at full power.

“Two groups of four by the riverside as well, and they’re heading this way… There’s also a carriage on the bridge with a steel doll inside. Just great… Another coblyn.”

“Hold up. Is it just me, or is that, like, a lot of enemies? Are we really this popular?”

“It’s your bad karma catching up with us.”

“Hey, you’re no angel, either!”

He wasn’t wrong, but we didn’t have time for idle chatter.

“Tsav, how many shots left in your lightning staff?”

“Four! What about you?”

“I’ve got three knives on me. It’s not gonna be easy, but we need to break through them.”

I could already see our opponents rushing down from the bridge, and we were going to meet them head-on. We needed to take out as many as we could before their reinforcements arrived from the riverside.

“Let’s do this,” I muttered.

All six of them moved in perfect unison—these guys were way more coordinated than the Gwen Mohsa assassins. They were probably soldiers, or at least trained professionals. But that meant I could take them by surprise. I whipped out one of my few remaining knives and threw it.

“Whoa!”

The moment they saw the blade flying toward them, they scrambled to dodge, but it was just an ordinary knife without any explosive power. A trick like this would only work on people who knew who we were and what we were capable of.

This is what you should’ve been watching out for, I thought, flicking a pebble I’d picked up off the ground at them. It quickly exploded, releasing a blinding flash as Zatte Finde activated. The blast wasn’t as strong as the knife’s would have been, but the light and shock wave were enough to make our opponents flinch.

I immediately capitalized on the opportunity, propelling myself toward them with my flight seal.

“Outta my way,” I said, kicking one of them toward the river. It was surprisingly easy, and another followed in nearly the same breath.

“Dammit! That’s…! That’s Xylo Forbartz! The Thunder Falcon!”

As someone shouted, I moved like water through the crackling volley of lightning staff bolts. Soldiers like these were predictable—always targeting the head or torso. All I had to do was dive toward the shouter’s feet, then ram into him with my body.

“Stop right there—!”

I wasn’t going to let this turn into a scuffle. All I had to do was strike my opponent’s abdomen with the heel of my hand, then follow up with a blow to the head. It was more like a slap, but with Loradd activated, my strikes wreaked havoc on my opponents’ internal organs and rattled their brains. The resulting momentary weakness was all I needed to deliver a solid kick, and then it was over. My leg strength was simply on another level.

I claimed my opponent’s lightning staff as a trophy, noting it only had one bolt remaining. Wish he hadn’t wasted all those shots, I thought. Welp, might as well take his dagger, too.

Up here in the daylight, there were few who could best me in simple combat. After all, I had access to a wider range of weapons.

“Yesss! This is a piece of cake! Let’s keep going, Bro— Whoa?! Eek!”

Tsav, for his part, had already taken care of half of the attackers on his own and had even managed to climb onto the bridge. But his gloating soon twisted into a shriek of alarm as the steel doll lurched to life.

With a grating metallic screech, it swung its arm, carving a lethal arc through the air. Tsav rolled desperately out of the way as the ground exploded beneath him, the coblyn’s strike missing him by a hair’s breadth and pulverizing the bridge’s railing.

“Man, I hate these things!” he shouted. “Their bodies are hard, and they don’t even have any intestines!”

“Break it until it can’t move anymore! Hips, shoulders, and knees!”

“Sure, but what do we do next?!” Tsav yelled as he deftly countered the coblyn’s attacks with his lightning staff. “Patausche and Teo are heading straight this way, right?! And there’s probably gonna be way more of these things!”

“Probably. Okay, we’re switching things up. Time for Plan B, just like we discussed. Got it?”

“Seriously? You sure about this?”

“Just do it. You’ll be fine. Probably.”

“I mean, yeah, but I really don’t think we should.”

After dodging a few of the coblyn’s strikes, Tsav unleashed a bolt of lightning from his staff, bisecting the mechanical beast at its midsection. It toppled over, its arms swinging wildly from the force of the attack.

“This is the best chance we’ve got, and you know that,” I said. “Besides, you’re the only one who can pull it off.”

“Well…yeah. Seriously, what would you guys do without me? You’d be dying left and right, that’s for sure. Don’t you think I deserve some heartfelt thanks?”

“I know. You’re a huge help, so I don’t want to see you depressed anymore.”

“Huh?” It took a moment for Tsav to understand what I’d said. “…Me? Depressed? Why would—? Wait… Yeah, I guess I am.”

“You are. And I can’t have you being all gloomy right now.”

“Heh-heh. Well, I did say good-bye to my master today. That was kind of a downer. I bet I could make it into a script and become filthy rich. It’d be a real tearjerker!”

Perhaps all of Tsav’s “moving” tales about his past were real experiences, simply filtered through a mind lacking the proper means to express them, or even to recognize his own emotions.

Then again, maybe his uncanny control over his own mental state simply gave off that impression. He’d once remarked, “What kind of idiot would choose to live with unpleasant emotions like fear, anger, or grief?” Following that logic, his behavior seemed almost frighteningly optimized.

“I’d rather die than admit it, but our unit needs you.” I knew I might be crossing a line, but I needed to say it. “Your old master—dammit… I don’t know how to put it. It’s just…”

I was searching for the right words to say to Tsav, but I knew there weren’t any, so I decided to just blurt out what was on my mind.

“I need your help, okay? I’ll buy you a beer later to pay you back.”

“…Heh!” Tsav’s lips twisted into a grin, and he raked his fingers through his hair and adjusted his hat. Then his face settled back into its usual irritatingly flippant expression. “Heh-heh-heh! You’re terrible at this, Bro. Like, the worst I’ve ever seen.”

“Hey!”

“And make it wine. Red wine from House Clivios! And…”

“Sure. Whatever. You got any other demands?”

“When we’re done, you’ve gotta make sure everyone else knows this plan was all your idea!”

“Got it.” I didn’t get why it was such a big deal, but it was my idea, so I had no objections. “Whatever you say. Now let’s go!”

“Roger! And no take-backs, either. You better not forget, even if you die!”

The city outside was noisy. That afternoon, Dotta finally got up and peered out the window. The winter sun, streaming into the hospital, felt like sharp needles against his eyelids. He yawned as the fog of drowsiness began to lift.

All the sounds must be from Luffe Aros.

He’d been looking forward to attending the festival and celebrating the new year.

Eating good food, watching plays, relaxing in a hot bath…

The penal heroes were tacitly allowed to enjoy themselves during the festival. If only he hadn’t been dragged into that ridiculous tournament and broken his arm… And it was all their fault: Venetim, Xylo, Patausche, Trishil—all the people who had forced him to fight.

Now he had to spend the rest of the year just lying around. Of course, while the hospital was mind-numbingly dull, it was still better than being sent on some pointless, dangerous mission. Even the food was pretty decent. There was only one thing bothering Dotta…

“Perfect. You’re finally awake.” A woman with scarlet hair was glaring down at him. It was Trishil. “You overslept. It’s already past noon. I bet you were up late last night, right?”

“Wh-what? Y-yes, I was…”

“You can’t lie to me.” She fixed Dotta with a piercing glare.

Oh, right, he thought. With her stigma, she could supposedly see what other people were doing, no matter where they were.

“You went into town,” she said.

“Well, uh… I was bored, so I went for a little walk nearby…”

He tried to be vague, but Trishil must have seen right through him. Having nothing else to do, he’d decided to go for a “walk” around the neighborhood. Apparently, this hospital was quite famous and frequented by a bunch of wealthy clients whose mansions were not that far away.

But Trishil didn’t lecture him; she merely snorted dismissively.

“Your arm is going to take longer to heal if you don’t get enough rest. I’ll have to tie you to your bed if you keep this up.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

To Dotta’s great frustration, Trishil visited him often, always giving him little lessons and other training.

“Now, Hanged Fox, you’re going to learn about lightning staffs today.”

With a heavy thud, she tossed a thick manual at him titled Lightning Staff Maintenance and Operation Manual. Looking at it filled him with dread. Dotta had never been much of a reader to begin with, and just looking at the title exhausted him.

“That new model of lightning staff you stole is very delicate. Just one shot drains the entire magazine, so you need to learn how to quickly replace it. Make sure to familiarize yourself with its maintenance procedures as well.”

“…I’m not a good reader, though.”

“Then it’s time you improved. After that, we’re going for a run. We need to train that lower body of yours.”

“‘T-train’? I have to run? But the tournament is over. What’s the point? My broken bones haven’t even healed yet!”

“You can still walk and run with a broken arm. Right, Doctor?”

Trishil turned to find a lanky figure with bluish hair and androgynous features. In fact, Doctor Dito’s gender was a complete mystery to Dotta. As one of the hospital’s attending physicians, they’d just concluded examining the patient to Dotta’s side and now looked up at Trishil and nodded.

“Yes, running shouldn’t be a problem.”

Their voice wasn’t cold, exactly, but it lacked any warmth. The sound of it reminded Dotta of someone in particular. But who…?

“It’s better to move around a bit than to stay in bed all day. You’re free to get in some exercise.”

“See?!” exclaimed Dotta. “The doctor said ‘some exercise,’ not ‘a lot of exercise’!”

“I know. Don’t worry.” Trishil put on a ferocious smile. “This isn’t that much, so you’ll be fine.”

“Hey! Maybe it feels that way to you, but you’re gonna kill me!”

“More importantly, does he need permission to go out?” she said, turning back to the doctor.

“Ha-ha.” Doctor Dito laughed and removed their gloves, then carried a bag of vials over to Dotta. “I should probably give him a little checkup and see how his bones are healing before he goes out. He looks like he’s doing well. Maybe he can even go home a little earlier than planned.”

“Ugh.”

Medical examinations filled Dotta with dread, perhaps subconsciously reminding him of his time in the repair shop. Or maybe there was just something about this doctor that gave him the creeps. Sometimes, their hands felt so cold, it sent chills down his spine.

“Wait! I’m actually…feeling really sick today…”

“Hey! Enough whining, kid!” shouted the man in the next bed over. His condition seemed to have worsened, and he still had one leg suspended in a sling, but his vocal strength remained startlingly robust. “You got a beautiful woman coming to check up on you. What’s the problem? Just shut up and do as you’re told!”

“But…”

“Just relax for me, Dotta. I need to check your—”

Dito stopped midsentence and turned around. Their face had gone blank. Dotta followed their gaze and froze as well.

There was a hulking figure looming in the doorway.

A deep chuckle echoed through the room—not from Dito, but from the large man at the door whom Dotta happened to have the misfortune of knowing. It was Rhyno, his unit’s artilleryman, and he was carrying a basket of fruit for some reason.

“I came to check on you, Comrade Dotta. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” As he spoke, Rhyno’s gaze remained fixed on Dito. The tension in the air was palpable.

“Hmph. What are you doing here, artilleryman?” asked Trishil, clearly annoyed. “I’m in charge of training him. I thought you were busy guarding that high priest. What are you doing wandering around here?”

“Someone else took over for me, and I have something to discuss with Comrade Dotta.”

“What do you need? And what’s with all that fruit you’re carrying? There sure is a lot of it.”

“I’m sending him on a mission, so I figured he needed to replenish his nutrients.”

“That’s way too much for a single person. Don’t you have any common sense? Where did you even get all of it?”

“Captain Hord Clivios left it for us. He said it was to celebrate the end of the year.”

Rhyno plopped down the basket to one side of Dotta’s bed. But something about his discussion with Trishil just now had caught Dotta’s attention.

“Hey, Rhyno? Uh… I must be losing my mind, because I thought I just heard you say something about sending me on a mission.”

“I’ll explain everything in a moment. These are orders straight from Comrade Venetim. He’s expecting great things from you. He said you were our secret weapon, and he asked me to come deliver a message to you.”

“Hmph. Sounds like you’ve got it easy, artilleryman. Just relaying the message? Not even going to help?”

“Of course I’m going to help. For example…”

Rhyno’s eyes had been fixed on Doctor Dito the entire time. The doctor began to retreat, their face still devoid of expression, clearly trying to move away from Rhyno.

But Rhyno swiftly grabbed their shoulder, as if to block their escape.

“…I’m going to protect you from this demon lord.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

Dotta’s jaw dropped, and Trishil frowned. The other patients in the ward were watching with horrified fascination. But Dito remained calm, their gaze unwavering.

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing. Do you have proof?”

“I’ve got a sense for these things. I put in a lot of training, you see… As they say, one improves quickly at things one enjoys. So I’d like to ask your real name. Who are you?”

Dito closed their eyes, exhaled, then opened them again, revealing blood-red irises.

“…Me? Who are you? Don’t tell me you’re the—”

“Whoops.”

In the blink of an eye, the two of them came to blows. Rhyno leveraged his grip on Dito’s shoulder and attempted to knock them down with a blow to their legs. But before he could manage it, Dito’s facade shattered, and their right hand morphed into a bestial claw as they reached for Rhyno’s throat.

Rhyno sprang backward. “Impressive,” he said with a hint of admiration.

“Ack! The doctor really is a demon lord? What kind of sick joke is this!”

Trishil pulled her blade from its scabbard and slashed at Dito, but they evaded the strike with ease, their movements clearly superhuman. Then they countered.

Both Dito’s hands had morphed into talons, and their eyes glowed crimson. With the speed of a wild animal, they whirled their steely claws around frantically, clashing with Trishil’s blade. Even Trishil, formidable as she was, was forced to go on the defensive.

“Wh-what’s going on?! What are you doing, Doctor Dito?!” shouted the man in the next bed over as other patients desperately fled the room. Their bodies collided as they all scrambled toward the door. Dotta and the man with the injured leg were left behind, trapped in the chaos as the deadly duel unfolded at their feet.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Dotta held his head in his hands. I was letting a demon lord treat my injuries?!

“Quite the lively one, aren’t you? My favorite kind of prey.”

Rhyno wore a sinister grin as he pointed his right arm at Dito. At first, Dotta couldn’t make sense of what was happening, but his gaze soon locked on to the silver gauntlet on Rhyno’s hand. It was the same one his teammate had worn the night he’d broken his arm in that ambush.

It’s that white gauntlet from before!

Rhyno raised his left hand as if in greeting. “My apologies, Lady Trishil, but you should move.”

“Damn artilleryman…!”

Trishil leaped back mid-protest, distancing herself from Dito as a blinding flash of light erupted, followed by a deafening roar.

Rhyno had fired a cannon, obliterating the entire right half of Dito’s body and shattering the ward’s window and wall. Trishil would have been caught in the blast as well if it weren’t for Rhyno’s warning and her godlike reflexes. Nevertheless, it had singed the tips of her crimson hair.

“How about warning me a little earlier next time?” she barked. “…Anyway, it’s over for you, Demon Blight.”

“W-wait!” Dito shouted, despite only having half their body remaining. This unnatural display of life force left little doubt about their true identity. “Hostages…! I have hostages! Thirty-five in the First Capital alone! You’re aware of my ability, right? I can both create and cure illnesses! And if I have to, I’ll—”

“Ha-ha.” Rhyno didn’t even bother listening. He punched Dito right across the room, without even removing his still-steaming gauntlet. “Do you really believe you’re in any position to negotiate? For that matter, do I look like someone who negotiates?”

He followed up the punch with a vicious kick, plunging the toe of his boot right into Dito’s gut.

“I’m very pleased you thought so. Thinking of those hostages breaks my heart. Unfortunately, my desire to kill you is even stronger.”

Despite his smile, Rhyno showed absolutely no mercy. Even Trishil didn’t seem to know what to make of him. Yet Dito refused to give up. They rolled across the floor to the bed next to Dotta’s, where the man with the injured leg was still lying.

“I—I…!” Dito grabbed the man’s neck. “I will kill this man!”

“Wow. You’re thorough.” Rhyno seemed almost impressed, while Trishil grimaced. “It seems your primary strategy for survival is to take hostages. What a pitiful existence, but I suppose you don’t have much of a choice, given your lack of combat skills. I see, I see. I suppose that man makes for a good meat shield.”

“Hmph.” With a contemptuous snort, Trishil lowered herself into a fighting stance, her sword poised and ready. “Planning on taking him out along with the hostage, artilleryman? Or is that thing only good for one shot?”

“Unfortunately, you are correct. Perhaps you could slice both of them in half with your sword? I can save the man as long as the blow doesn’t instantly kill him.”

“…I can do it in theory, but I’m not sure my sword will hold up.”

“Enough! Get out of my way!”

Expression had finally returned to Dito’s face. They snarled like a cornered animal, now trying to drag the hostage out of the room.

“What the…?! Hey!” cried the man. “What’s going on? Dammit! Damn it all!”

His legs wobbled beneath him, unable to support his weight. His cheeks were hollow, and his arms hung limply at his sides. He was much frailer than he’d been when Dotta first checked into the hospital a few days earlier. It wasn’t just his injured leg—there was something else at play, something insidious, slowly draining his strength. That was when Dotta realized: This was the work of Demon Lord Dito.

“What did I do to deserve this?!” the man screamed, his voice raw with pain. Dotta felt a strange familiarity in that cry, something akin to empathy.

He sounds just like me.

Before Dotta could give it a second thought, he was already moving. He lunged at Dito in a single fluid motion—an attack so sudden, it was almost instinctive. He had always been confident in his reflexes, and in that split second, he’d undoubtedly caught Dito off guard.

What am I doing?

Even Dotta wanted to sigh at his own stupidity. This was way too dangerous.

It’s just…whenever I see someone weaker than me, I feel like somebody needs to…

His thoughts might not have caught up, but his body was already moving again.

Dito hissed and slashed, tearing into Dotta’s right arm. The pain was excruciating, a fiery agony that seared his flesh. His right arm was now useless, but he still had his left; it had already healed, thanks to the Goddess of Blood’s sprites he’d stolen from the repair shop. He’d been keeping that fact a secret so he wouldn’t have to train with Trishil. His injury still hurt, but it wasn’t enough to stop him.

Wrapped tightly under his bandages, in place of a splint, he’d hidden the dagger he’d stolen during his and Rhyno’s failed ambush before the tournament. He now held it tightly in a reverse grip.

“Burn!”

He activated the sacred seal, emitting a burst of flames and searing Dito’s neck. The doctor tried to scream, but no sound came out. The demon lord released their hostage and turned their back in an attempt to flee. That moment of negligence was all Trishil needed.

“Unbelievable, Hanged Fox…” She plunged her blade deep into Dito’s back, felling them with a sickening thud. “So your left arm is already better?”

Rhyno joined in. “Wow, Comrade Dotta… Simply incredible. I have the utmost respect for you. I can see why Comrade Jayce always speaks so highly of you.”

He grabbed Dotta’s sword and pushed it even farther into Dito’s throat. The flames engulfed the doctor in a fiery inferno until they were burned away to nothing.

“Truly incredible. You risked your life to save a stranger, without even giving it a second thought… Interesting… That must be why you became a penal hero…” Rhyno crushed Dito’s skull with his boot, then took Dotta’s hand. “You are a truly wonderful man. I will never forget what you did today for the rest of my life!”

“Huh? No, uh… That was just… Like…”

In a way, Dotta had simply saved himself. At least, that was how he felt about it. So being praised, especially by Rhyno, made him terribly uncomfortable. However, before Dotta could say another word, Trishil grabbed his left arm.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Hanged Fox. What’s important is that you eliminated the threat and are healthy enough to work.”

“Huh? Hold on. I…” Dotta grabbed his right arm. It had taken a moment to set in, but the pain was now sharp and intense. “Look at this wound.”

“I’ll stop the bleeding for you,” said Trishil. “We have to hurry, though. You still have a job to do. Right, artilleryman?”

“Yes.” Rhyno nodded cheerfully, his smile as bright as the winter sun. “According to Comrade Venetim, there is no time to waste. And I now see why he has such high hopes for you.”

Dotta wished Rhyno hadn’t seen anything and that everyone would stop expecting so much from him.

In fact, right now, all he wanted to do was cry.

Punishment: Prevent Enemy Interference in the Election, Part 3

They galloped across the square and into the bustling main street, the crowds thinning as they rode east. With the entire city out celebrating the Luffe Aros Festival, even the usually busy artisan district along the Domeili River seemed deserted.

“Are we…there yet, Patausche?!” yelled Teoritta, clinging to Patausche’s back, her voice broken by the violent shaking.

“Xylo is…on the move…right?”

“Yes! But I lost…contact with him…a few moments ago. It’s like…”

It had to be a sacred seal weapon causing the interference, but who had activated it? Whoever it was, they had to be the mastermind behind this entire plot. Patausche was certain of it. Someone was hunting Xylo and Tsav, trying to isolate and eliminate them. And here was proof right before her eyes: a group of five armed men blocking the alley leading to the Domeili River. Although they wore the uniforms of the city guard, they were most likely impostors; they lacked the blue hazel insignia on their arms.

“This street is closed for the festival! Get outta here!”

An imposter guardsmen thrust out his sword, trying to block their path.

“Goddess Teoritta, hold on tight.” Patausche urged her steed into a gallop. “I’m about to force my way through.”

“Yes, we have no time to waste! We must rescue Xylo!”

Patausche could feel Teoritta cling to her even more tightly as she spurred her horse forward, her spear poised. The fake guardsmen roared, their swords and lightning staffs aimed right for her. Nevertheless, it was going to take more than just five soldiers on foot to stop Patausche on horseback.

“Niskeph!”

With a swift swing of her spear, she activated its sacred seal, summoning a shimmering blue shield that effortlessly deflected the bolts of lightning soaring at her.

“Out of our way!”

It would be difficult to stop such a charge from a cavalryman. Patausche’s azure barrier, forged from the Strike Seal Compound Niskaphol, effortlessly shattered her enemies’ swords and sent them flying backward. It had taken a little extra time, but she was glad she’d taken the extra time to put on her full suit of armor.

The guards were no match for Patausche, and she effortlessly galloped into the alleyway, where she and Teoritta ran into exactly what they’d been expecting.

“Here they come, Goddess Teoritta. Just as we predicted…” Shadows leaped overhead, followed by the sharp howls of doglike beasts with horns protruding from their brows. “Bogies! Around seven of them!”

“Which means…!” Patausche didn’t even have to look at Teoritta to know that her eyes were sparkling. “It is…finally time…for me to shine!”

She summoned her swords with perfect timing. A flash of light pierced the air as blades materialized and rained down upon the bogies, fatally skewering each one.

“Perfect! I am not done just yet, though!”

Mechanical faeries surged forward in relentless waves, their steel forms barricading the path—the coblynau that Xylo and Dotta had warned about. Meanwhile, from below, fuathan were slithering up through the sewer grates.

“Take that!” Another blinding flash was followed by a shower of sparks, then a cascade of swords rained down, dispersing the fuathan with ruthless efficiency. “There is still more…where that came from! I am Teoritta! The great! Powerful! Goddess of Swords!”

Teoritta seemed to be in a bit of a frenzy. Loudly praising herself, she summoned forth another blade—a brutal, colossal sword that burst from the ground to skewer and immobilize the coblyn, leaving it perfectly positioned for Patausche’s finishing thrust.

There was no stopping their momentum, which left Teoritta with only one concern.

“Where is Xylo? Patausche, have you spoken with my knight?!”

“Something is still jamming our signal, but if we can keep this up…”

Xylo was most likely moving, and Patausche had a good idea where he was headed: toward wherever the enemies were densest. He seemed to be making quite a scene as well. A thunderous explosion reverberated from the artisan district’s workshop-lined streets—unmistakably the work of his sacred seal, Zatte Finde. As planned, they would meet up along the Domeili River, where Xylo could be as noisy as possible, making it easier to find him.

That man’s instincts when it comes to combat are truly uncanny.

Xylo’s foresight was terrifyingly accurate. It was as if he had anticipated this exact situation. Of course, it was only natural for a soldier to prepare for anything, but for him to have foreseen such a disadvantageous outcome and have saved up enough energy and resources to deal with it was simply astounding.

“Over there, Goddess Teoritta!” shouted Patausche. “Let’s push our way through!”

“Yes! Please hurry!”

Patausche spurred her horse forward, clearing the path of any human obstacles while Teoritta handled the faeries. It took only a few dozen seconds to reach the neighboring street, where they found a lone man in black stumbling forward, clearly fatigued. Ten soldiers surrounded him, armed with lightning staffs and short spears, with twenty faeries—a mix of bogies and coblynau—accompanying them. Xylo was putting up an impressive fight despite the poor odds. He was dodging lightning bolts and throwing his knives as if he were putting on an acrobatic performance.

Though he was keeping the soldiers in front of him at bay, none of his knives were exploding—a clear sign to Patausche that his luminescence was almost depleted. Nevertheless, his strikes proved lethal at close range. Yet with so many faeries closing in, and the troublesome bogies hiding behind the steel coblynau, it seemed the enemy was beginning to overwhelm him.

There are too many… He was fighting all these by himself? Impressive as always, Xylo Forbartz.

It was clear to Patausche that the one behind this had a serious vendetta against the man and desperately wanted him dead. Thankfully, she’d made it in time to save him.

“Xylo!” she roared, her spear piercing through a soldier and his shield with brutal force. She was in no position to show any mercy. “We came to save you! So you’d better thank Goddess Teoritta and me when this is all over! Jump!”

“Yes! You’d better be grateful!” the goddess chimed in.

Teoritta began to spark once more, summoning a swirling vortex of razor-sharp blades that swept across the ground—a new technique of hers. The lethal whirlwind proceeded to impale and shred all the coblynau and bogies in its path. Xylo, immediately spotting her telltale sparks, vaulted onto a nearby workshop’s robust wall. Though his jump lacked its usual height, he still managed to dodge the deadly whirlwind of blades just in time. If he was using Sakara, he should have been able to jump even farther.

“Xylo, have you—?!” But before Patausche could voice her doubt, something happened. “Above you! Watch out!”

Had Patausche been able to warn him in time? A figure sprang from atop the workshop’s roof—an armored warrior brandishing a longsword, flowing hair framing a face with an unusually sharp gaze.

Patausche recognized him instantly—she’d seen him both on the training grounds and at the Sword Offering.

It was Adelat Fuzer, originally a top contender to win the tournament and a key member of the Fourth Northern Front Unit. His allegiance to the coexisters seemed incomprehensible. Were the military and the temple really that deeply compromised? The First Capital, Patausche realized, was nothing more than a den of schemes and conspiracies.

They’re reading our every move.

Pitting a skilled human against Teoritta was their best bet, since she would be unable to harm them. They were exploiting her weakness, which meant that they had planned for all of this from the very start.

“Hmph!” Adelat’s lengthy hair, gathered at the back, danced in the wind as his sword carved a lethal arc downward before rebounding skyward—a strike so blindingly swift that Xylo could only roll to one side, unable to parry. Adelat gave him no time to recover, pushing forward relentlessly.

“Sorry, but I need you to die, penal hero. You’re used to that, right?”

There seemed to be genuine pity in his voice, but it was underlaid with unshakable conviction. His longsword blurred into a cyclone of steel, each stroke driving Xylo even farther backward until there was so little distance between them that even Zatte Finde would be utterly ineffective. What’s more, Xylo would need to regain his footing before he could use his flight seal to escape.

“Xylo!” cried Teoritta. She was shaking, her right hand outstretched.

That was only natural, however. Goddesses couldn’t use their powers to hurt humans.

Patausche spurred her horse forward. If she could just slip in between Xylo and that man… “Don’t, Goddess Teoritta. Allow me to handle this.”

“But…!” Teoritta’s face was ashen as she desperately tried to channel her power, tiny sparks dancing at her fingertips.

Although Xylo was desperately rolling, there was no way he could keep dodging the master swordsman’s attacks. Adelat Fuzer moved with terrifying precision, his blade spinning in a dizzying arc. He was wielding his two-handed sword single-handedly, as though it were weightless.

Patausche rushed as quickly as she could to intervene, but there was clearly no way she would make it in time.

Almost there…! Just a little farther…!

One coblyn could still move. Sliced in half by Teoritta’s sword, it managed to hop on its remaining leg, lunging at Patausche and causing her horse to rear in fright. She was forced to swing her spear, activating its seal of protection to cover Teoritta.

“Niskeph!”

An azure ray of light blasted away the coblyn, sending it tumbling through the air. But Xylo was now cornered against a wall, with Patausche too far away to help. Adelat Fuzer’s blade flashed through the air, narrowly grazing the edge of Xylo’s dark cloak.

“Goddess Teoritta! You mustn’t!” Patausche shouted.

“But…I must protect him…even if…” The goddess’s sparks grew brighter as still more bogies began to rain down from above the workshop, leaving Patausche with little choice but to cut them down. “Even if I must hurt someone…”

It was clear that Teoritta was pushing herself beyond her limits. Something was going to happen—something irreversible—if Patausche didn’t stop her.

“No, Goddess Teoritta! Don’t—!”

“Heh.” A lighthearted, goofy laugh echoed through the street. “Heh-heh-heh! Ha-ha-ha-ha! If you need someone hurt, then…”

Cornered against the wall, Xylo ripped off his dark cloak… Or rather, a man dressed like him did, revealing a goofy smirk and slightly faded golden locks. It was Tsav. It had been him running from the enemy this whole time.

“Allow me, Teo,” he said. “I’m way better at this than you.”

The discarded cloak obscured Adelat Fuzer’s vision, its hem catching the tip of his longsword. The sudden realization that the man before him was an imposter had stunned him, leaving him momentarily disoriented and wide-open.

He’s using his cloak, like in a duel!

Patausche’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected tactic. Using a cloak or coat in place of a shield or gauntlet wasn’t a new tactic—although it lacked the hardness of metal, cloth of the right thickness and durability could still prevent fatal injuries. The weight of the fabric also helped, especially when caught on a longsword, which needed to be swung with a decent amount of centrifugal force. It was a technique from a bygone era when people would draw their swords in the streets and engage in duels.

“Dammit! You’re Tsav, the Man-Eating Ghoul!” In a desperate bid to free himself, Adelat tried to swing off the cloak, only to find his momentum greatly hindered.

“What an awful, rude nickname.”

Tsav had already closed the distance between them, slipping up close to the man and essentially ending the fight. Quickly parrying Adelat’s elbow, he headbutted the swordsman’s face while simultaneously plunging a unique dagger, its handle designed to be grasped in a closed-fisted hand, into Adelat’s side.

“It’s unfortunate, really,” Tsav continued. “You’d have beaten me in a sword fight. I even bet on you in the tournament. But…you can’t best me in a street brawl to the death.”

Tsav then dragged Adelat to the ground and, kneeling over him, pressed the knife to his throat.

“Why are you targeting us?” he asked. “You knew Patausche was coming, too, right? What made you think you could win?”

“The election…,” Adelat grunted, his voice low. “All I needed to do was buy some time until the election was over. That’s it… Killing Xylo Forbartz would have merely been a bonus…”

“Like, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but the fact that your boss told you to fight Xylo means that you’re disposable. You were sent to die. Why let someone use you like that?”

“You wouldn’t understand, Ghoul. I’m doing this for my son… He has a weak heart, and that doctor is the only one who can save him. That’s why…”

Patausche felt a prickle of unease. Adelat was acting a little too calm, and it looked like he had something in his hand.

“…I’m not afraid of being called a traitor. I would trade my life for my son’s.”

The instant she realized something was off, Patausche was already riding her horse at full speed toward Tsav and Adelat.

“Tsav, hold on!” she shouted.

“Whoa!”

Patausche seized Tsav’s arm, essentially dragging him away—hopefully far enough to spare him from being fatally wounded, at least. Adelat, expressionless, launched a projectile at them. It burst in a flash of blinding light, making only a muffled pop. Its impact reverberated through Patausche’s spine, causing her horse to violently rear. She was forced to launch Tsav into the air while shielding Teoritta with her own body.

The disposable projectile had been a sacred seal weapon, likely engraved with Zatte Finde—an uncommon choice due to its inefficiency. Nevertheless, the blast left Patausche’s ears ringing as she tumbled across the ground, Teoritta clutched in her arms.

I’m sorry.

Patausche placed a hand on her fallen horse’s neck. Luckily it wasn’t dead, but it had probably broken a leg. It needed a veterinarian, and she needed a replacement.

“…Man, was that really necessary?” asked Tsav. “Everyone’s been doing the wildest stuff lately. It’s downright hilarious.”

He was lounging against a wall, his arms crossed as he casually watched the dust settle, revealing Adelat’s mangled remains. Patausche immediately shielded Teoritta’s eyes, but the goddess seemed far too distraught to notice.

“…Wh-what is going on?” she asked. “What are you doing here, Tsav?”

“Sorry, but this was all my bro’s idea. You must be surprised, huh?”

“He tricked us?! Even me?! Xylo! This is unforgivable! How dare he deceive a goddess like this!”

Her anger was obvious, and Patausche knew exactly how she felt.

“Where is he?!” the goddess continued. “I thought he needed my help!”

“Oh, uh… He said to tell you to go back to the barracks where it’s safe and wait,” said Tsav. “He’ll take care of the rest by himself.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Absurd.”

Teoritta and Patausche spoke in unison, the latter pointing her spear at Tsav’s nose.

“Tell us where that idiot went. Right now,” she said. “Goddess Teoritta and I are not in a good mood, and it isn’t because we were deceived.”

“Exactly. How dare he try to take care of everything by himself again?”

“Tsav, spit it out, or I will deliver divine punishment upon you! I’ll take away all your snacks, too!” Patausche’s rage came rushing out like a tidal wave.

Tsav sighed deeply. “I told him this’d happen. I was like, ‘Don’t do it, Bro.’”

“I’m not interested in your complaints! Where is he?!”

“Okay, okay! He’s at the grand plaza!” replied Tsav with his usual goofy smirk, his back up against the wall. “He said he’s gonna beat up some guy called Simurid Kormadino and make him pay! That’s their boss! I’m not lying!”

Simurid Kormadino preferred to command from the front line—for true battlefield insight could never be gained from a distance, and there was nothing more dangerous than believing otherwise.

For this confrontation, he chose the Scarlet Manor overlooking the grand plaza as his command post. This former guesthouse of the Zef royal family, now his property, served multiple purposes: an emergency headquarters, a warehouse to lease out to trade guilds to turn a profit, a personal warehouse for storing weapons, and a stronghold to secretly station troops in the First Capital, if necessary.

Its strategic location and versatile architecture made it the perfect vantage point to oversee the divine election. He was standing at a window looking down on the grand plaza when the report arrived.

“You lost contact with Doc over an hour ago? I see…”

The messengers were his own guards, stationed to watch over the hospital. Separate from Unit 7110, which he had borrowed from Tovitz, Kormadino secretly maintained a private army of a hundred elite soldiers, handpicked from his own domains—a crucial safeguard against the risks of relying on borrowed forces.

Because the report had come from his own trusted men, Kormadino was sure of it—something had happened to Demon Lord Dian Ceto.

Dito was supposed to have been at the hospital, monitoring Dotta Luzulas, but they hadn’t been able to reach the doctor since noon.

Although Kormadino had considered having the demon lord curse Dotta with an incurable disease, the mechanics behind resurrecting penal heroes were shrouded in mystery. There was a real risk that such a move would be completely pointless and might even expose Dian Ceto’s true identity. Kormadino, a man who shunned unnecessary risks, therefore harbored no regrets about his decision, especially since he had more pressing matters now demanding his attention.

“So the doctor is no longer with us… Let us offer a moment of silence.”

It wasn’t urgency that colored his voice but pity. Of course, his inner thoughts were far different, for this was a severe blow—devastating, even. But he couldn’t let his subordinates see that. Now was not the time for outward displays of emotion. He needed to assess the situation and determine his next move.

Kormadino took a deep breath and extended a hand toward the table.

Relax… Relax. I was expecting this.

He poured himself a cup of tea he had personally brewed. It might have seemed like a theatrical gesture, but it was a motion he had practiced countless times and a symbolic way of showing everyone that his hands were steady.

“Let us go through what we currently know.” A sweet, floral aroma wafted up from the eastern tea leaves. “What happened to Dotta Luzulas? Doc was supposed to be watching him.” He addressed the messenger with a confident, measured tone, making sure his voice was steady. “Is he missing?”

“Yes, sir! As you have correctly deduced, he is currently missing. We attempted to pursue the target, but he is exceptionally fast…” The messenger got on one knee and lowered his head.

As I “correctly deduced”? Don’t try to butter me up.

Kormadino felt a surge of irritation. His men had been utterly useless, far below his expectations. Yet he masked his displeasure, maintaining a facade of composure.

“Don’t let it bother you.” It took a great deal of self-control to speak so calmly. These incompetent men needed to be punished, but until this matter was resolved, he had no choice but to endure their ineptitude. “I don’t want any guilt affecting your work. You did fine. Besides, I expected something like this would happen.”

“Thank you, sir. Then what would you have us do?”

“I have a good idea where Dotta Luzulas is and what he’s doing.” There was only one way that petty thief could overturn the outcome of this election, and Kormadino wasn’t about to lose in a battle of wits against the penal heroes. “He’s heading this way, most likely in an attempt to steal the votes and switch them out with fake ones.”

“What…?” The soldier’s eyes opened wide. “He can do that?”

“I have no idea how, but Dotta Luzulas is a genius when it comes to stealing. He could very well manage it, which is why we have to stop him.”

The votes had been carefully manipulated to ensure their victory, and the only way to change that would be through some miraculous feat, such as swapping out the ballots after the voting had ended. There was no other reason for them to rely on Dotta.

“But he’s too late.” Kormadino had already considered the possibility and come up with a simple solution to prevent it. “Let’s protect the ballots as planned. I have prepared a sacred seal which will ensure they react only to the voter. It’s based on Lufen Cauron’s cargo verification system.”

There was no need to panic. He still had everything under control. While it was unfortunate that they weren’t able to assassinate Nicold Ibuton, they had secured the majority vote. And as for Doc’s death, it was only a minor setback and something they could easily cover up, at least until after the election was over.

And in that case, there’s no need to worry about the votes.

His only lingering concern was whether Xylo Forbartz had successfully reunited with Teoritta. While eliminating them would have been ideal, what could they do to overturn the election now? Their only path forward would be to sow chaos, perhaps to buy Dotta Luzulas enough time to make a move. Yet even that would be futile now that Kormadino had arrived.

Their resilience against overwhelming odds was impressive, but this was as far as they would get.

I have predicted all of their moves. It’s going to be okay.

The stage was set for the divine election in the grand plaza. That was the key location right now, and as long as they held it, they were safe. Still, it would be wise to have a backup plan, which was why Kormadino continued to mentally review the position of his troops.

I haven’t overlooked anything or let down my guard…

He had already set himself up to win. Any last-minute tactics the penal heroes could throw at him would be futile, yet it was too soon to get cocky. The election wasn’t over. He needed to think everything through carefully, considering even the smallest possibilities. Venetim Leopool was still unaccounted for, and there was no telling what kind of tricks he still had up his sleeve.

Think. What would that man do? The con man and commander of the penal heroes… Obviously, he’s going to have some sort of dirty trick ready to go, but…

Kormadino was reaching for the cup of tea on the table to calm himself, when all of a sudden…

“Governor-General!” The room’s door burst open with a clatter as a new messenger burst in. Before the guards could react or Kormadino could raise an eyebrow, it had already begun. “It’s an emergency! Please escape! He’s—!”

The report ended abruptly. The new messenger never made it past the doorway. It was as if something had fallen from the ceiling, striking him on the head with a thud and knocking him out. Kormadino’s fingers froze around his cup.

“Hey,” said a man with one hand against the door frame—he’d just taken out the messenger. “Commanding from the front line can have its drawbacks, huh? Makes you easy to find.”

The guards whirled around and aimed their lightning staffs at the filthy, disheveled intruder.

“Long time no see, Governor-General Kormadino. I know you’re busy, but I just had to ask you something.” Xylo Forbartz leveled a knife at him. “Were you the one who set me up? Who set my unit up?”

It was hard to believe.

I have nothing left to worry about now.

A wave of relief swept over Kormadino as he realized he had outmaneuvered his opponent. Slipping his hand beneath the table, he placed it on the sacred seal there—a hidden alarm meant for emergencies that would summon every guard in the manor. His confrontation with Xylo Forbartz was finally coming to an end.

I had a hunch it wasn’t going to be easy, and my gut ended up being right. When I burst into Kormadino’s chambers, I found more guards than I’d anticipated—six of them, all seasoned soldiers, drawing their swords in spite of their surprise.

Kormadino seemed to be the only one who was actually taken aback. He sipped his tea as if nothing was amiss—a classic move to mask one’s anxiety. Or maybe this idiot was just thirsty.

“I’m surprised,” said Kormadino, smirking. “Xylo Forbartz, I was wasn’t expecting you to do something so foolish. I’m assuming you just had to dispose of me yourself?”

“Shut up. I’m the one asking the questions here.”

I stepped into the room, confident there weren’t any soldiers in hiding. I’d already checked the place out with Loradd. Still, I knew the manor held more guards; Kormadino was only answering my questions to stall for time. For now, this little arrangement benefited both of us.

“Come on, answer me. Back when I killed Senerva, we were sent to rescue some unit known as the Uthob Front, Unit 7110. In the Voikouk Forest. Ring any bells?” I took another step forward, as close as I could get. Any closer, and I’d risk being attacked by his six guards. “Why were there faeries waiting to ambush us when we got there? There was no unit to be rescued… Unit 7110—why are they taking orders from you?” A few steps still separated me from Kormadino. “Answer me, dammit. Why did Senerva have to die?”

“…Sigh. I am simply amazed that you would come all this way just to lose to me again.” Kormadino had just confirmed my suspicions. “You, Xylo Forbartz, are why Goddess Senerva had to die. Because you were a fool. You didn’t see the whole picture. You were using people as your pawns to fight against the Demon Blight. You were fighting a meaningless war and dragging everyone else down with you.”

“‘Meaningless’? Trying to eradicate the Demon Blight is meaningless?”

“Yes, it is. Do you honestly believe you can rid the world of every last one of them?” He was obviously trying to taunt me. “Are you not aware that it’s dreamers like you who are leading mankind to destruction?”

However, Kormadino seemed stirred by his own words, his voice gradually rising.

“The other captains of the Holy Knights are no different: They’re all false heroes who seek glory on the battlefield, believing they can lead mankind to victory by slaying the demon lords… They simply refuse to face reality!”

“But not you, huh? Is that what you want to say?”

“Yes! There is only one path to peace, and that is coexistence. We should embrace the Demon Blight.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. “They eat people… Are you aware of how many will have to die for us to coexist with them?”

“The solution is simple if you use your head. If anything, we could improve society by creating a system where we offer criminals and others deemed worthless as sacrifices. That would benefit both mankind and the Demon Blight. It is what a true champion of humanity would do.” Kormadino nodded emphatically, as if agreeing with himself. “Yes… I will achieve peace through negotiation and compromise, not war!”

“Doesn’t sound like peace for the ones you decide to sacrifice.”

I couldn’t bring myself to argue with his viewpoint. If that was how he saw things, then we had fundamentally different definitions of peace, and our moral standards were worlds apart. In fact, as far as I was concerned, his notion of peace was absolute garbage. So I gave him the finger—the most aggressive gesture I knew.

“I’m gonna slam that face of yours into the floor so hard nobody will recognize you! Don’t move!”

“Hold on, penal hero Xylo. I’d stay put if I were you.” Kormadino sounded almost cheerful. “A criminal has dared to trespass onto my property and has committed a heinous act, and I intend to report him to the proper authorities. I will request that they remove his personality when he is resurrected as well. Do you understand what I’m getting at? As the governor-general, I have that power.”

“Then do it.”

I unsheathed my knife, and immediately the guards sprang into action. Two of them approached, swords drawn and held low, while the remaining four protected Kormadino. What a cautious bunch of assholes, I thought. This could’ve been over in seconds if they’d all charged me at once. But of course, life was never that simple.

“Don’t move!”

The two guards issued a kind warning as their one-handed swords flashed in the light. They must have been quite skilled, but they knew too much about me without truly understanding me. And that was why I knew I was going to win. The moment I raised my knife, they reacted, trying to shield Kormadino from the blast of Zatte Finde’s explosion.

It was a classic mistake. I saw their opening and pounced. By mixing in feints, I could keep attacking endlessly. The more human my opponent, the better tricks like these worked.

“Got something for you.”

With a flick of my wrist, I sent the knife sailing between the two guards. The one on the right attempted to retreat, while the other tried to block it with his sword. Neither move was sufficient. As soon as the blade made contact with the soldier’s sword, it detonated in a flash of blinding light, sending shock waves through the air.

“Dammit! Zatte Finde…!”

“Yep.”

Closing the distance, I kicked the guard on the left toward Kormadino, forcing his partner to engage. With one guard down, the smarter one, who had tried to keep his distance, immediately charged at me. As he thrust, I slipped beneath his blade, then pressed my left palm against his stomach. While clearly a misuse of my probe seal, unleashing it like this at maximum output was extremely effective on human opponents. It brutally shook the soldier’s innards, prompting him to vomit.

“Uhnf…!”

I kicked him out of the way before he could throw up on me, breaking a rib or two of his in the process. The exchange was swift, leaving two of the guards incapacitated, but the other four still remained by Kormadino’s side.

All of a sudden, I heard footsteps approaching. That meant my time was up.

Leaping back, I pressed myself against the wall as a dozen guards, each wielding a lightning staff, stormed into the room.

“That’s enough, Xylo Forbartz.” Kormadino’s eyes were fixed on me. At this point, there was no opening to strike. “Once again, you weren’t able to accomplish anything. You failed back then, and you’ve failed today.”

Perhaps this was his way of declaring victory. Being so despised reminded me of my conversation with Tsav. But I didn’t find it depressing. If anything, it made me want to laugh.

“But are you brave enough to admit your mistakes?” Kormadino asked. “You have lost. It is time for you to accept that I was right, to acknowledge who truly won.”

I couldn’t quite make sense of what was going on in his head, but there was an urgency in his tone that I couldn’t ignore.

“Answer me. You are no champion. You’re nothing more than a fool with a big mouth, claiming we can win this war and eradicate the Demon Blight! Unlike you, I am seriously considering the future of humanity!”

He was desperate, and I could sense it. Perhaps, for reasons I couldn’t quite grasp, making me admit defeat was his ultimate goal. But this time I was prepared, and there was no way I was going to allow history to repeat itself.

With steady resolve, I placed a finger on the pulsing sacred seal around my neck.

“I took care of it, Xylo.” I could hear Dotta’s voice; he sounded terribly exhausted. “The Eighth Order has arrived as planned, so I’m getting out of here… I’m beat. You take care of the rest…”

That was all I needed to hear. I nodded, smiling at Kormadino. “Sorry, Kormadino, but I don’t plan on losing.”

“You still refuse to face reality? You are finished. You will be executed and resurrected without your personality—without what makes you, you.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. And if you’re talking about the election, I’m pretty sure we just won.”

“Do you plan on taking me hostage? Do you honestly believe you can do that?”

“No, I don’t even plan on hurting you. I’m just a decoy.”

“What?”

Kormadino’s expression stiffened. I let out a mocking snort, putting on the most detestable, villainous look I could muster.

“Are you familiar with Venetim Leopool?” I asked. “I told him he could do anything, as long as Nicold Ibuton won the election, and do you know what he said?”

Kormadino didn’t reply. Of course not. There was no way anyone else would come up with an idea like Venetim’s.

“He said that we didn’t need to win. We just needed to make sure that everyone else lost and High Priest Mirose was disqualified.”

“…What do you mean ‘disqualified’?”

“The authorities just found evidence in your mansion that you were conspiring with High Priest Mirose and using Gwen Mohsa to do your dirty work.”

It took Kormadino a few moments to grasp what I meant. Even I had been confused when Venetim first suggested this plan, but it was undeniably the quickest way to victory.

“The Eighth Order has already confiscated all the evidence. This is a clear act of betrayal against humanity. At the very least, Mirose will lose her position as high priest, and you won’t be getting away with this, either.”

“Ridiculous. Neither High Priest Mirose nor I would ever leave any evidence.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. That’s why we fabricated it all.”

Kormadino was at a loss for words.

“We forged documents indicating that High Priest Mirose purchased weapons from Verkle Corporation and sold them to Gwen Mohsa. Of course, she bought them using your name and family seal, since there’s no way to get lightning staffs without going through the military. They found the documents in your safe, by the way.”

“How did you get my seal? And then break into my safe? That’s…”

Kormadino paused midsentence, as if the answer had just dawned on him. There was nothing our unit’s scout couldn’t get his hands on. If he could steal something without anyone noticing, then he could plant evidence just as easily.

“…That’s it?” he grunted. “I can easily do something about that. Did you truly believe you had me in a corner? I…”

“You might be able to weasel your way out of this mess, but who’s going to vote for a problematic high priest like Mirose? Do you really think the other high priests—the ones voting—are going to remain loyal to you after all that?”

In the end, this was a testament to Venetim’s unique ability. His true talent wasn’t convincing people, but sowing doubt. He could make you question everything—and this entire mission had hinged on that. Venetim had even manipulated Kormadino—making him choose the surest, most conservative approach, convincing him to leave his mansion and come to the front line.

“It’s over, Governor-General Kormadino.” I deliberately added his job title, watching as the guards grew more and more unsettled. “It’s time for you to admit defeat.”

“I…”

A look of determination flashed in Kormadino’s eyes. When he suddenly fished a tiny bell-like object out of his pocket, my gut told me something was wrong. But all thinking about it did was slow me down.

“…will not be defeated.”

He rang the bell.

The clear sound of the bell was followed by a cacophony of metallic shrieks as something erupted through the floor. A steel tendril—was it a branch, a vine, or a root?—lashed upward, nearly grazing my side. It reminded me of the metallic coblynau, but that thought barely registered before numerous other metal whips burst from below to attack me—no—to attack everyone indiscriminately, even Kormadino’s own guards.

“Kiiiiiih! Gigigigi!”

The room filled with an excruciating metallic shriek that clawed at my eardrums. It was a tortured, agonized sound, as if something was tearing itself apart. Below, through the shattered floor, I saw a metallic plant erupting from the ground, reminiscent of the demon lord from the Zewan Gan Tunnels.

Although I managed to dodge, Kormadino’s guards met a brutal fate—seized, smashed against walls and ceiling, some even gruesomely dismembered. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was now clear that Kormadino had been keeping a source of the Demon Blight right here in the First Capital.

The grand plaza’s gonna be torn apart…!

I looked out the window to see the plaza transformed into a scene of utter chaos. Steel tentacles were erupting from the ground and attacking everyone in sight, including the high priests on stage, as the ground cracked and split.

It appeared that this was Kormadino’s secret weapon—a demon lord with roots growing below the grand plaza itself. It was a fail-safe meant to ruin the entire election. If he simply killed all the high priests, it would be as if the election had never even occurred. It was clear how desperate he was.

“He was given the name ‘Fomor,’” said Kormadino, calmly ringing the bell in his hand, looking entirely at ease. “He’s a demon lord I raised myself, so he’s loyal to me. He’s the bridge that connects the coexisters—that is, mankind—with them.”

“…S-sir Kormadino!” shouted a guard, ensnared in the steel vines. “Please stop this thing! I-it’s attacking us, too!”

“That’s unfortunate. It seems it only loves me.” Kormadino didn’t take his eyes off me for a second. “While it’s a shame that I will have to give up my position as governor-general, it’s time I cut my losses. I am leaving the Federated Kingdom. So Xylo… Who was the real mastermind here? Venetim or me? You were so wrapped up in your little election victory that you couldn’t see the bigger picture, and that’s what makes us different.”

“Governor-General! Please stop this! Please! We’re—!”

The steel tendril thrashed, slamming the captured guard against a wall, putting a permanent end to his screams. The tentacle writhed around, seeking its next victim, its tip now a deadly spear. The guard beside me curled into a ball and let out a bloodcurdling cry.

“Are you stupid?!” I unsheathed my knife, knowing I’d only have one left; I didn’t have any other options. “Run, you idiots! Get out of here!”

My knife, infused with the explosive power of my sacred seal, met the tendril head-on. A blinding flash and a deafening roar erupted as the tendril was blown back. The attack left a deep wound on its surface and knocked it off course. It whizzed by me and the remaining guard, crashing into a wall.

So even that didn’t break it! Dammit. Those tentacles are tough.

All the same, it created an opening. The tendril pulled back into the ground, clearly wary of my next move.

“Get up! Hey! Do you want to die?” I seized the guard by the nape of the neck and yanked him upright to his feet.

“S-sorry!”

“Don’t talk! Just keep your head down and run!”

I rolled out of the room and into a hallway lined with spotless windows. Elegant paintings and sacred seal–engraved candlesticks lay destroyed as soldiers scrambled to escape—but I didn’t have the luxury of running.

“It appears I have no choice but to join the Demon Blight just like Tovitz Hughker,” said Kormadino. “But I’ll have to bring an offering. I need to deal a devastating blow to humanity before I go.” He rang the small bell again, prompting Demon Lord Fomor to writhe. “I will kill every last high priest, creating chaos within the Temple. Then, though it is only my personal wish, I will kill you, Xylo Forbartz.”

“What a coincidence.” We were on the same page for once. “I was actually thinking about how I need to kill you, too.”

Punishment: Prevent Enemy Interference in the Election, Part 4

The grand plaza was trembling, screams echoing from every corner.

What is going on…?!

Saint Yurisa Kidafreny was there, witnessing the horrors.

Is that a faerie? Or wait, could it be a demon lord?

Whatever it was, its steel vines shattered the pavement as they erupted from the ground.

With metallic shrieks, they lashed out at the crowd in a frenzy, indiscriminately tearing through everything in their path. Even the sacred stage beneath Yurisa’s feet began to crumble.

A high priest, screaming in terror, was caught by one of the vines and dragged to the ground before being peeled apart by even more tentacle-like tendrils. More screams followed.

“P-please help!” A hand stretched out from the crowd toward Yurisa. “Saint Yurisa! A monster…! A monster has my brother!”

“Yurisa!” Tevi, her guard, tugged at her arm, her lightning staff already drawn. “You need to get out of here! That creature appears to be a demon lord!”

“…N-no.”

Yurisa felt a knot tightening in her throat. As a saint, she couldn’t run—she had to stay and help. Yet she was having trouble putting those thoughts into words.

What should I do? I could summon a wall to keep it at bay… No, that wouldn’t work.

With the confused crowd running around the plaza, it would only trap people as they tried to escape.

Then what? There has to be a better way. The tentacles are coming from underground. Maybe I should create a staircase or a tower to help everyone escape upward? Or a pillar? Or a small wall?

A flurry of ideas surged through Yurisa’s mind, each one fraught with risk. One wrong move could cost more lives. In reality, it was barely a second of hesitation, but to her, time seemed to stretch on forever. Nevertheless, in that fleeting moment, someone else made their move.

“Everyone in the front row, please evacuate to the stage!” Nicold Ibuton stepped forward, his voice piercing the air. “Guards! Line up, form a wall, and protect the people! Use your lightning staffs to push the enemy back! Lightning is working!”

He was right, too. Some of the guards on the stage had already begun retaliating with their lightning staffs. While the bolts couldn’t sever the steel tendrils, they were making the creature wary, buying Ibuton enough time to look back at Yurisa.

“Saint Yurisa, please provide backup.”

“Huh? Oh.”

“I would like for you to summon a few small pillars or walls for people to hide behind. The tentacles cannot move freely underground. They only attack from where they emerge, randomly striking at whatever’s around them. They lack the ability to detect anyone hiding behind a barrier.”

“O—” Yurisa gasped for air as a faint pain shot through her right eye. Sparks flew into the air. “Okay!”

It was easy, now that she knew what to do. Yurisa extended her right arm, summoning pillars that could serve as cover and colossal walls to be used as shields.

I froze…

A feeling of utter powerlessness suddenly gripped her.

I hesitated and thought too long when I needed to take action. I’m the Saint. I should have been able to act more quickly!

Yurisa had thought she’d changed after setting foot on the battlefield, at least a little. Yet High Priest Ibuton, who wasn’t even a soldier, seemed far more composed as he gave orders to his guards.

“All right. I’m sorry, men, but I’m going to need you to put your lives on the line.”

The soldiers with him were recruited by the penal heroes. Though mostly ill-equipped and poorly trained, there was one man among them who stood out—a penal hero called “Tatsuya.”

Ibuton faced the men and gave concise orders. “Distract the enemy by attacking its tentacles while those in the plaza escape.”

“What? That’s too reckless,” muttered one of the guards. “We won’t be able to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection,” insisted Ibuton.

“But protecting you is our job.”

“Then I will walk into battle myself. If you people are truly loyal and dutiful soldiers, then make sure I come out unscathed.”

“Wh-what?!”

“Your resolve is admirable, Nicold Ibuton!”

A towering figure shouldered his way past the startled guards. This man was a penal hero, too, Yurisa recalled. If memory served, his name was Norgalle. He traced his fingers over the sacred seal at his neck.

“Hear me, warriors! The lives of the people rest in our hands! We shall stand as their shield, drawing the enemy’s wrath upon ourselves! Word has reached me from Commander-in-Chief Xylo—he is ready to apprehend the ringleader of this madness and take out the monster’s main body, but he requires a little more time. Let us aid him, so that he may root out and destroy the source of this chaos!”

The instant Yurisa heard the name “Xylo,” she felt a sharp pang in her right arm. She told herself it was probably just her imagination, nothing more.

“Move out, my elite!” Norgalle shouted. “General Tatsuya, you have my permission to attack!”

“Vuh!”

“Y-you’ve got to be kidding me!” one of the guards shouted. “This is nuts!”

At Norgalle’s command, Tatsuya charged forward, his battle-ax raised high. With a fierce, decisive swing, he cleaved through one of the monstrous tentacles with enough power to shatter it in a single blow. The guards quickly joined the fight, wielding their lightning staffs and axes.

… I doubt anyone needs to vote now. It’s already clear who the next archpriest will be.

That was the first thought that crossed Yurisa’s mind. Amid the chaos, Nicold Ibuton was the only one standing tall and facing the enemy, his voice rising above his peers’ as he urged the citizens to evacuate. He was even issuing orders to his fellow high priests.

“It is time to fulfill our duties as priests! Prove that your faith is more than just talk! Protect the people!”

Only a few managed to heed Ibuton’s command. Most of the high priests cowered with their heads in their hands, hid behind their guards, or had already begun to flee. High Priest Mirose was in the latter group.

“Get me out of here,” she shouted. “Protect me! Hurry! We must leave the plaza at once!”

Yurisa didn’t want to see her like this, but it was too late. Everyone in the plaza watched as Mirose escaped, protected by her guards.

After that, Yurisa felt as if her right eye began to move on its own. Across the vast plaza, she saw a red brick building suddenly collapse. Someone tumbled out of it, as though something had struck them and sent them flying. The figure rolled across the ground as dust and shards of broken brick scattered in all directions and the air filled with a haze of debris.

As the man shouted at the sky with a furious, savage expression, Yurisa’s eye recognized him. It was…

“Xylo Forbartz…!”

“Yurisa, wait!”

The instant Yurisa whispered that name, she was already unconsciously charging forward, only realizing what she was doing a few seconds later.

It wasn’t until Tevi’s voice reached her ears that she realized she was already in the air, a spire rising beneath her feet. Only then did it dawn on her that the Goddess of Fortresses’s ability could be used for transportation.

What am I doing? she wondered.

…No, this is right.

Acting on impulse was far better than freezing in place as she had earlier, even if her decision wasn’t logical. But if Xylo Forbartz was shouting like that, then the target of his fury must have been the one behind the chaos.

I can worry about whether I made the right decision after all this is over…!

As Yurisa made up her mind, she felt a slight pain throbbing in her right eye.

I was thrown back, then a searing pain ripped through my body. I tried to brace myself, but I obviously didn’t do a good job. My vision blurred as I scanned the scene around me. Red bricks were flying everywhere. The one responsible was Fomor, the demon lord resembling a steel plant. I had to stay ahead of it—if it caught me, that would be the end.

I didn’t break any bones…probably. I can do this. I will do this. It’s not over yet…!

I coughed violently as dust continued to rise.

“Ha-ha-ha!” Kormadino’s laughter echoed through the space.

Where the hell are you?

“You seem to be in a pinch, Xylo Forbartz. Maybe it’s about time you accepted your fate.”

“Shut up!” I demanded, despite that being the complete opposite of what I actually wanted. I needed him to talk more, to reveal his position. So I provoked him. “It’s gonna take more than a lowlife scumbag like you to defeat me! Because…”

While it physically hurt to even consider saying it, I knew there was no better way to piss off Kormadino.

“…I am the Thunder Falcon, Xylo Forbartz! I am the undefeated hero who freed the Second Capital! I have been in countless situations like this and have overcome them all! So there’s no way I’m gonna lose to a petty villain like you!”

“…I see you’re a poor loser.”

Kormadino was clearly trying to suppress his emotions, but I could hear the disgust in his voice. He was on the third floor of the Scarlet Manor, glaring down at me through the shattered wall. Found ya. It made all the embarrassment feel worth it.

“Keep grumbling. Your sour grapes will only make the moment you lose both your memories and your sense of self all the more enjoyable.”

Two tentacles began to writhe deep within the cloud of dust.

“Gih.”

Fomor let out a deafening screech as it lunged toward me, barely giving me a second to jump out of the way.

“Gigi.”

Another two tentacles followed, and I dodged to the side. The attack managed to graze me, but my last knife found its target and blew up one of the tentacles. I was wondering how many more this thing could possibly have when, as if to mock my question, countless tendrils slithered across the ground, spreading like a plague. There were enough to blanket the entire plaza. The situation had just gone from bad to worse.

“Gigigigigigi!”

The tendrils were all closing in on me at once, but I was out of knives. Was there any way to defeat this thing? Was I going to die again? I thought of my memories as my thoughts began to drift. Right… I should have bought something with Teoritta to help me remember. That way, even if I forgot, I’d still…

The fact that such thoughts even crossed my mind was a sign of weakness. I shouldn’t be thinking about what might come after my death. Not yet. Not until I’d done everything I could to survive… This wasn’t over yet. In fact, the torrent of tentacles never even reached me.

Fierce sparks flew into the air, followed by a deafening crash.

“…Wh…what?”

A massive shadow clouded my vision. It was a wall—a thick, unforgiving wall of iron.

“Are you all ri—? Ahem! What is wrong with you, Xylo Forbartz?!”

Someone had leaped down from above… Or maybe they’d fallen. When I looked up at them, I found a familiar face—no, a familiar right eye and arm. It was Yurisa Kidafreny, the saint with Senerva’s body parts.

“So…it was a demon lord! And the one behind it all is…” Yurisa looked up and clearly faltered. “Governor-General Simurid Kormadino? Wh-why?”

“Yurisa, wait. Listen to me.” I almost wanted to sigh. “What are you doing? You’re the Saint. Go protect the bigshots up on the stage.”

“H-High Priest Ibuton and your friends are already handling things over there! S-so I came to save you!” Yurisa glared at me, her eye sparking. “Because you were fighting alone! Is that a problem? I wanted to save you!”

“You…” Again, I wanted to sigh. A sense of déjà vu washed over me. I could swear I’d had this exact conversation before. “You’re out of your mind. Who risks their life to protect a penal hero? We’re not even soldiers. We’re military property.”

“Sh-shut up! Just be quiet!” Yurisa’s face contorted in anger, but that was where our ridiculous argument came to an end.

“Kiiiiii!”

A cacophony of metal rang out as steel tentacles burst from the ground, tearing through the pavement. Four, five—there seemed to be no end to them, and each one moved with an almost sentient purpose.

“It’s coming!” I shouted. “We don’t need a wall! Just some iron bars!”

“I—I know what I’m doing!”

Yurisa’s eye sparked as a wall of iron spikes erupted from the ground, blocking some tentacles while impaling and ensnaring others. Simultaneously, I used my flight seal to scale the barrier. There was something I had to check.

“Tsk.” Kormadino clicked his tongue, then rang the small bell. “Kill them, Fomor!”

This was the moment I had been waiting for. The fact that he had to ring that bell indicated that the creature required direct commands. And in that case, it had to have some means to hear them. I glanced around, looking for some kind of sensory organ.

Immediately, a massive hole opened in the ground, revealing not dirt but a massive, tooth-lined maw. This creature was different from the plantlike entity we’d fought in the Zewan Gan Tunnels.

That’s a sea anemone! I remember Frenci’s old man used to keep one in a huge fish tank!

This was an aquatic creature with countless tentacles and a central, gaping maw. As Kormadino rang his bell, it let out a grating, discordant shriek.

“Yurisa! Summon an iron spire! Even a small one will work!”

Did she know the full extent of her powers yet? She could do more than just summon structures from the ground. I had a feeling she knew what I wanted to say, though.

“And drop it from the sky!” I shouted.

Whether Yurisa understood my command or was simply tracing a memory that still lingered in Senerva’s arm, I didn’t know. But it worked.

“Hff! Come on… Drop!” she yelled, her right arm trembling.

A towering steel spire materialized in the sky and instantly plummeted downward, directly into the very center of Fomor’s monstrous mouth.

“Gigigiiiiiih!”

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the air as the steel spire drove deeper into the creature’s maw, shattering its jagged teeth as it spewed thick, oily blood. Not even the monster’s thrashing tentacles could dislodge it. I reached out and touched the spire, infusing it with Zatte Finde for a whole five seconds.

“Hope you like this!” I shouted, launching myself away from the spire as it detonated.

The explosion ripped through the creature’s maw in a searing flash. Its tentacles convulsed chaotically from the shock, and though it likely no longer knew where I was, its savage assault forced me to continue evading.

“A-aaahhh!”

Iron bars materialized in a shower of sparks as Yurisa used her power, sheltering me amid the metallic symphony of collisions. Yet there was one person left unprotected: Simurid Kormadino. His hubris was rewarded as the thrashing tentacles decimated the Scarlet Manor, hurling him from the third story to crash onto the ground below like the fool he was.

“Th-this is absurd,” he said, groaning as he got up. “I haven’t lost yet… It’s going to take more than this to stop me…!” He fell to his knees; he’d probably broken a few bones. Yet, despite the pain, his grip on the small bell-shaped artifact used to control Fomor never loosened. “It’s not over yet.”

“Governor-General Kormadino! Are you okay?!”

Soldiers emerged from a back alley. They were cavalrymen with uniforms bearing the insignia of a bow and arrow—Kormadino’s private soldiers. There were around twenty of them. Was luck still on this guy’s side? Maybe he was just a better man than I was in general, and this was karma.

“Heh… Ha-ha!” He gritted his teeth and forced out a laugh, his pain evident. “Yes… The battle isn’t over yet. I shall win. I have worked too hard to fail.”

“G-good soldiers, stay away from that man!” shouted Saint Yurisa, raising her right hand into the air. She mustered up as much courage as she could, but her trembling fingers betrayed her. “Governor-General Kormadino was keeping a demon lord under the capital! H-h-he is a traitor!”

“We know,” a man replied softly. He seemed to be the captain. The other soldiers calmly formed a protective circle around Kormadino. “But we owe him. He promoted us and provided homes for our families so they could safely evacuate to the south. We owe our lives to the governor-general.”

“But he…! He…!”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha!” Kormadino cackled, somewhat dryly. “Yes, I knew I could count on my elite!”

“Come, Governor-General. We must retreat. We shall protect you with our lives!”

“Hmph.” But Kormadino dismissed the captain’s plea. Instead, he raised the small bell once again. “‘Retreat’? You must be confused. I can’t just run away without accomplishing anything… I have to prove to the Demon Blight that I am useful.”

“But look around you, Sir.”

“There’s still a way I can win… Fomor! Heal your wounds!”

The instant he rang the bell, the creature’s twitching tentacles began to move with clear, newfound purpose.

“Come, Fomor. I’ve got some special treats for you over here. Eat as much as you’d like.”

“Wh—”

The soldiers appeared as if they were trying to say something, but it was already too late. It was over in the blink of an eye, before either Yurisa or I could intervene. The tentacles snatched up the cavalrymen and dragged them into the demon lord’s mouth, despite its broken fangs.

“Ah! A-ahhh! Gah!”

Screams pierced the air, punctuated by Fomor’s gleeful, metallic cries. Yurisa shut her eyes and turned away as the creature devoured the soldiers; its wounds were healing at an alarming rate. Before long, new teeth sprouted in its mouth as its tentacles thrashed energetically about.

“Don’t look away, Yurisa Kidafreny,” I warned. “The enemy is coming. I need you to guard me.”

“But…there are too many tentacles…” We were already surrounded by tendrils—too many to count, as Yurisa placed a hand over her right eye. “I don’t think I’ll be able to block them all.”

“You can. Do you not understand the full extent of your ability? You can summon incredible fortresses—so powerful that no demon lord can break through them.”

“But…I can feel it. I just know…that I can’t wield these powers like Goddess Senerva could. I’m simply borrowing…a small portion of them…”

“Then this is gonna be easy.”

I spoke honestly and placed a hand on Yurisa’s shoulder. After all, I knew that a goddess’s power was tied to her mental state. And in Senerva’s case, it affected the strength of the structures she could summon.

“Senerva liked to play coy, but when it was time to get serious, she always gave it her all. In fact, she usually overdid it a little.” I spoke with confidence; I knew what I was talking about. “I only need you to block the incoming attacks once. I’ll handle the rest.”

I didn’t know if Yurisa believed me, but she swallowed and grabbed her right arm with her left hand. I could tell she was trembling, and not from fear.

“There you go again, Xylo Forbartz. Dragging yet another innocent soul with you to the grave.”

Kormadino grinned. Fomor’s tentacles pulsed and thickened, growing larger by the second. Perhaps the cavalrymen it had just eaten had fortified it. It appeared the Demon Blight really did draw some kind of power from humans.

“Xylo Forbartz, you will lead every single one of your followers straight into the depths of hell. You deceive others into believing your false ideas about honor and victory. You’re the true con man.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep talkin’.” Kormadino was simply stalling, trying to give Fomor a chance to heal, and I was playing along. “Sure. Of course, I want to believe that I’m some bigshot, that I made a difference… But everyone feels that way, right?” That was a gross exaggeration, of course. But I knew it would serve to further enrage Kormadino. “I’d rather go to hell without any regrets than climb over the corpses of countless others to get into heaven. That’s why I’m planning on taking every last one of you to hell with me.”

“Ridiculous. I’ve heard enough,” barked Kormadino, shaking his head and solidifying the decisive rift between us. Then, in a whisper, he said, “Surely I’ve bought you enough time, Fomor. We are proof that mankind and the Demon Blight can coexist. We can become champions.” He rang the bell again.

The tentacles moved as a single writhing mass, surrounding us. Yurisa’s body grew tense and sparks flew.

“Kill them, Fomor,” ordered Kormadino, pointing at us.

“I will not allow you to hurt them!”

A sharp, tense voice cut through the air just as Fomor was about to strike. I could hear the resonant drumming of a warhorse’s hooves as it galloped across the grand plaza, and soon Patausche Kivia, with the Goddess of Swords clinging to her back, rode into view.

Their arrival was no surprise. I had already detected their presence with Loradd.

“Xylo.”

When she called my name, Teoritta’s voice was filled with pure rage, and Patausche, though silent, radiated a similar intensity.

“I am extremely angry,” the goddess continued. “Obviously, Patausche is angry as well, but that goes without saying. I have never been this mad at you before. But right now…” Teoritta’s hair sparked as a sword materialized out of thin air. “…we need to defeat that creature first! My silly, reckless knight! I shall not forgive you so easily this time!”

With that, several battles erupted all at once. Fomor’s massive tentacles lashed out, aiming to cleave through me, Yurisa, Patausche, and Teoritta in one fell swoop. But Yurisa acted swiftly, summoning a dense iron lattice that entangled the tentacles and stopped them in their tracks. Not all of them were stopped, but it was enough to give me and Patausche a brief window to move.

I shot through the chaos, propelled by my flight seal, while Patausche pushed forward, her seal of protection forming an unyielding shield around her. Fomor, sensing us closing in on it, redirected its tentacles to strike, but Patausche met the attack head-on, using her spear to deflect it.

“Xylo! I have a few things I need to say to you, too! But before that…” Patausche glared at me, her eyes as cold and hard as they’d been the first time we met. “Finish this! That’s the very least you can do!”

“Exactly!”

Teoritta sprang into the air, summoning a barrage of enormous swords that severed several of Fomor’s tentacles. Her speed and force were astonishing. She was clearly growing more powerful.

“Tsk.” Kormadino hissed, drawing a lightning staff from somewhere on his person.

He aimed it at Teoritta, but there was no way I was going to let that happen. Seizing his staff, I kicked him with all my might, feeling his bones crack as I sent him flying through the air.

“F-Fomor…! What…are you doing?! Protect me…!”

Kormadino bounced across the ground, his face contorted in agony. He clutched at a tentacle for help, but it only wrapped around his arm, crushing it.

“Gah…!” A raw, primal scream tore from Kormadino’s throat. “Stop! Let go of me, Fomor! No! I…! I’m your—!”

Fomor’s metallic shriek drowned out Kormadino’s cry as he was dragged into its maw. We could hear the sound of metal grinding against metal along with the sickening crunch of bone and flesh being pulverized. The steel tendrils thrashed wildly, but they could no longer reach us.

“Xylo Forbartz…! Now!”

With a shout, Yurisa conjured a massive iron gate. It appeared and immediately slammed shut, crushing Fomor’s tentacles.

“My knight!” yelled Teoritta, launching herself toward me.

She didn’t need to say a word. I knew exactly what she was thinking. The moment I caught her, sparks exploded and a crude, ordinary sword emerged from the void. It was the kind of weapon that would easily be overlooked on the battlefield.

I gripped its hilt tightly. “I’m sorry.”

Perhaps my apology never reached her, swallowed by the chaos around us. I turned to face the looming threat and swung the Holy Sword straight into Fomor’s writhing tentacle. There was no need for a clean cut—the mere touch of the sword’s divine power was enough. A blinding flash erupted, followed by a clear ringing that seemed to shake the very air. I felt the crackling sparks surge through my arm as a fierce gale engulfed Fomor.

When the storm finally died down, the demon lord was no more, eradicated from existence. Kormadino was nowhere to be found, either, only a pool of blood marking his final stand. A lonely gust of wind swept through the plaza, leaving an eerie silence behind it.

“…Senerva, it’s over,” I muttered under my breath, not wanting Teoritta to hear.

When I turned, I saw a tear rolling down Yurisa’s cheek. That was when it finally hit me: Senerva was truly gone.

At times like this, she used to smile faintly and make some pointless remark. “Looks like it’s going to be a sunny week,” she would say.

It was always something that didn’t matter at all.

High Priest Mirose was completely surrounded. The situation was chaotic, but one thing was certain: Simurid Kormadino had failed. The demonic creature he had summoned had turned on them. While they had managed to escape the plaza, more than half of her guards had been slaughtered.

Kormadino—what an incompetent fool he turned out to be. Pathetic!

Mirose bit her lip and unconsciously reached for the lightning staff hidden in her robes. The divine election of Luffe Aros, which was supposed to elevate her to the position of archpriest, hadn’t even begun. But this wasn’t over yet. The upheaval would inevitably delay the election, but if she could only ensure the votes were cast, she would win. She had been careful to dispose of any evidence linking herself to Kormadino, so for now, she just needed to reach her manor. But blocking her path in the dark alleyway was a band of armed soldiers. And heading them was the last person she wanted to see.

“Where do you think you’re going, High Priest Lawin Mirose?”

Mirose hated that voice. It’s owner, Mavika Reagar—Captain of the Third Order of the Holy Knights—emerged from the ranks of knights encircling the plaza. She was clad in her infantry armor, sword at her side and shield raised high. There could be no mistaking her presence. Trailing just behind Mavika was a young woman in a flowing white robe, her face veiled. It could only be Seedia, the Goddess of Prophecy.

“Get out of my way,” Mirose demanded. “I must return home and start planning, since the election has been postponed.”

“‘Postponed’? You’re mistaken.” Mavika’s voice rang out, clear and strong, belying her age. “The election is already over.”

“…What are you talking about? Didn’t you see the chaos…?”

“And yet there were high priests who stayed behind to protect the people and vote, and they elected Nicold Ibuton as the next archpriest.”

That shouldn’t have been possible, but Mavika’s tone was matter-of-fact, her expression devoid of triumph. And to Mirose, that was the deepest form of humiliation.

“While it was only nine votes, it was unanimous.”

“Unbelievable…”

“In addition, we have a warrant for your arrest.”

Mavika’s words struck Mirose like a bolt of lightning. An arrest warrant? For me? she thought.

“For what?”

“For conspiring with Governor-General Kormadino and ordering Gwen Mohsa to assassinate the goddesses. We have already collected all the evidence we need from Governor-General Kormadino’s home.”

There was no way she had found anything—that was what Mirose wanted to scream, but she knew how foolish and pointless it would be. Had that man left evidence behind? It seemed all he did was hold Mirose back, sabotaging her in any way he could. In the end, he was nothing but a painfully average boy yearning to be a hero who took a childish delight in conspiracies.

“You are under arrest, Lawin Mirose. Do not try to resist.”

When Mavika uttered her full name, Mirose began to yell. Without a second thought, she raised her lightning staff—not at Mavika, but at the one Mavika must have cared about the most: Goddess Seedia. A crackling bolt of lightning shot forth, but Mavika was ready, easily intercepting the attack with her shield. An azure barrier from her seal of protection, Niskeph, shimmered around them.

This is absurd, thought Mirose.

It felt like being in a scene from a play—and she was trapped onstage. Mavika’s soldiers surged forward, seizing her with unrelenting force and quickly driving her to her knees. Mirose’s guards, as ineffective as ever, were shot down with bolts of lightning before they could even get close.

Where did I mess up? Did I pick the wrong people to work with? Did I make bad choices? Or does it go back even further than that?

Mirose’s thoughts drifted to her days as a warrior priest. Back then, Mavika always shined brighter, a celestial being far outside Mirose’s orbit of mediocrity. The only thing Mirose had over her was popularity. Mavika had a stern, aloof demeanor, and was avoided by both those above and below her.

Mirose had been on track to become a Holy Knight. It seemed like a given, a path she was destined to walk. But then the Goddess of Prophecy, Seedia, chose Mavika as her knight instead, and for a reason that didn’t even make sense to Mirose.

The Goddess of Prophecy had claimed that, by chance, she’d once exchanged a few words with Mavika in the inner garden of the Great Temple of Kivogue. That was it. A brief conversation. A fleeting moment. That was enough for the goddess to place her trust in Mavika.

Mirose didn’t know what they’d said to each other, and frankly, she didn’t care. All she knew was that it wasn’t fair. It had been a random encounter—a twist of fate that shattered Mirose’s world. While it may have been destiny for them, what about those who were left behind? What were they supposed to do?

That was the moment Mirose began to resent Seedia. She saw the worship of the goddesses, these beings with minds and wills of their own, as a mistake. A delusion. And she would destroy it. She would dismantle the entire system, tear down the Temple, and crush the hopes of anyone foolish enough to believe in its teachings.

“It’s truly unfortunate, Mirose. I was hoping this future wouldn’t come to pass,” muttered Mavika as she gazed down at Mirose. “You are going to tell me everything you know in regard to the coexisters.”

With despair, Mirose realized that things would probably turn out exactly as Mavika had just described.

Punishment: Prevent Enemy Interference in the Election, Part 5

The day after Nicold Ibuton was elected archpriest, an order went out to the Holy Knights—a sacred decree. It mandated that all members of the organization, regardless of their diocese or rank, were obligated to cooperate in the success of the upcoming spring offensive and fully authorized their deployment. Surely, no one could have anticipated such a forceful move from a man who was generally perceived as a gentle philanthropist dedicated to helping the weak.

At least, that was what I heard at the White Bell bookstore, one of Kafzen’s strongholds. In the end, however, the man himself didn’t show up. In his place was a young woman, almost a child, with brown wavy hair and a slight limp in her right leg. She introduced herself as Narche.

“The First Capital has been thoroughly cleaned. Allow me to express my gratitude to you, Xylo Forbartz.” Her monotone voice and blank expression made me wonder how sincere she really was. “We are especially thrilled about the election of Nicold Ibuton as our new archpriest and about Governor-General Kormadino’s demise. Both are significant contributions to the cause.”

“Great.” I wasn’t really interested, so I gave a half-hearted reply as I stacked a few books on the counter. I was allowed to take as many as I wanted as a special reward for the job. “So? Is that all you wanted to say to me?”

“No. Our captain has a message for you.” Narche uttered the word “captain” like she was taking a sacred vow, a sign that she truly respected him. “He has made time to meet with you for half an hour tonight. He must leave the First Capital soon, so he asks that you join him for drinks before he goes.”

“No thanks.”

“He said it would be his treat.”

“Still not interested.”

I turned away from Narche, books in hand. There was no point in staying here any longer. I had already been put through the wringer once by these people, and I didn’t want to owe the Twelfth Order any more favors.

Besides, I still had an even nastier debt to repay.

“Teoritta…and Patausche are waiting for me, and they aren’t in a good mood. It’s the last day of the Luffe Aros Festival, so I have to show them around and buy them whatever they want.”

“That sounds rough. You must have done something pretty bad to make them so angry.”

“Stop pretending you don’t know.”

Narche was clearly aware of what happened—she was part of an intelligence unit, after all.

“More importantly, let’s talk about the Saint.” I decided I had to bring up the topic before I left. “Do something about her. She’s reckless. She’s going to get herself or someone else hurt.”

“It’s complicated. We already tried assassinating her once, but we failed.”

“Uh-huh.”

She’d spoken so casually that I thought she was joking at first. But I wouldn’t put a thing like that past these guys. We were never going to get along. People like them would sacrifice the few to save the majority without a second thought. They were no different from the coexisters.

Though I supposed military officers and commanders, too, sent their men off to die in battle for the supposed greater good.

Guess we’re no different in the end.

As I stepped out of the shop, the sun was blinding. It was the second day of the festival. They were going to hold an inauguration ceremony for the new archpriest. The main street was even more extravagantly decorated than before, with stalls and food vendors lining every corner. In other words…

“Xylo! You are late!”

Teoritta rushed over, pouting. She clung to my arm, then punched me right in the chest. It didn’t hurt, but it let me know that she was still angry.

“I have already planned everything we will do today, down to the minute,” she said, thrusting her handwritten plans into my face. “First, we are going back to that shop to buy the silver bracelet. This is not up for debate. We will have them engrave today’s date and a special message inside. Then we are going straight to the theater to watch a play. Once that is over, we will check out the street stalls and games…” Teoritta traced the words on the paper with her finger, rattling off our schedule. Then she pointed at me. “You are to stay right here by my side the entire time! Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

“Are you sure?” Patausche barked from the side, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Do you really understand why we—ahem!—why Goddess Teoritta is upset with you?” she added, clearing her throat as though embarrassed to admit that she was angry too.

I knew exactly how she felt, though. I’d be just the same if Lufen or Jayce found out I was genuinely worried about them.

“…I do.” So I immediately threw in the towel. “I’m sorry for being so reckless without discussing it with you first.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh?”

Both Teoritta and Patausche seemed genuinely taken aback, which surprised me. How stupid did they think I was?

“I’ll make sure to be more secretive next time, so you don’t find out.”

“Xylo!”

“You idiot.”

Teoritta’s punch was still weak, but Patausche’s grip on my collar was incredibly tight—it was obvious she was putting her full strength into it.

“You need an attitude adjustment,” she said. “I—we both feel this way. Stop trying to act like you’re a special exception. I will say this as many times as I have to. Stop deluding yourself into thinking you’re expendable. Your arrogance is appalling.” It sounded contradictory, but Patausche was completely serious. “You’re just an ordinary person. You may not be a bigshot, but you’re not insignificant, either.”

I wanted to tell her that I already knew that, but her intense glare shut me up before I could say a word.

“Like everyone else, there are people…who worry about you. Yes, that’s what you need to understand! What? You think you’re special? That you’re a lone wolf who has to handle everything by himself? You fool!” Her insults were brutal and felt undeserved. “If you don’t understand that, then there’s no hope for you!”

I was being berated, and harshly.

This is too much… What would you do in my place, Lufen?

I knew there was no way he could answer me.

Still, I had the vague sense that I owed these two something.

That day, I decided to buy matching silver bracelets for Teoritta and myself—a pair with identical designs. I wore mine on my ankle. The inscription read, “The world’s biggest idiot and the great Goddess of Swords.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. It was ridiculous, yet I decided to embrace it. Maybe laughing at the absurdity each time I was revived would serve as proof that I was still me.

Around the same time, the Crypt of Gray Lights was enveloped in a brief silence.

Dawn had broken and the sun had climbed high in the sky by the time it was all over. Even Kafzen was exhausted.

And there’s still so much cleanup to do.

He cast his gaze down at the floor of the Crypt of Gray Lights, which sunlight never touched, even at the height of noon. Three corpses lay there, all members of the Twelfth Order of the Holy Knights. Each had a different appearance: a young man dressed like a street vendor, an elderly man in a military uniform, and a woman in the luxurious dress of a noble.

The only thing they had in common were the violent wounds inflicted upon them in battle.

“We suffered three casualties this time?” asked a raspy voice from behind Kafzen.

It belonged to an old man known only as the “Elder of Ink.” Even Kafzen didn’t know his real name—or rather, it no longer existed. He had erased all records of his existence at the time of the Federated Kingdom’s formation.

“It appears to have been quite a fierce battle,” the elder continued. “I am impressed you managed to recover the bodies.”

“Our unit cannot afford to leave them behind. Of course, you know that, Elder.”

This was a matter of strict protocol for the Twelfth Order of the Holy Knights. They didn’t gather the corpses out of respect for the deceased, but rather to prevent the enemy from obtaining sensitive information from them. The human body was a treasure trove of secrets: the contents of one’s stomach, sacred seal engravings, concealed weapons, even the signs of rigorous training could all prove vital. By retrieving their dead, the Twelfth Order ensured that no such clues would fall into the wrong hands.

“The enemy appears to be closing in on the Crypt. They got close this time.” The Elder of Ink cast Kafzen a sidelong glance.

The Crypt of Gray Lights was located in a corner of the First Capital’s largest temple, the Gray Cradle. It was connected to the royal palace via an underground passage and had been chosen for the safety and ease of access it provided their master, First Prince Rehnavor.

This time, they had picked up a whiff of someone searching for their headquarters, and it seemed they had gotten very close. The three on the floor had fought and died to protect that information.

“Yes, it was a close call,” Kafzen acknowledged. “It appears we must take measures to ensure our safety.”

“Shall we change locations?”

“Good question.”

Kafzen was purposefully ambiguous. Even when addressing the Elder of Ink, he couldn’t afford to reveal his true intentions. He did not have the luxury of speaking the truth.

“Let me give it some thought,” he added. Though in reality, he had already made up his mind.

It was too dangerous to continue using this place. They would need to reconsider having Rehnavor visit their secret base in person, as well. A more discreet method of receiving instructions would be necessary going forward. Kafzen would have to apologize to the prince about that. A new Crypt of Gray Lights would have to be found, and with the northern expedition about to begin, they would require a larger network of personnel, too.

The enemy will surely try to infiltrate our new recruits.

Shutting them out would hinge on Enfié’s ability. Was it even possible? They were about to face an even more difficult struggle—a shadow war fought by the Twelfth Order of the Holy Knights. And depleted resources would further strain their ability to continue supporting the penal heroes.

“The work we do is so fulfilling, Elder. Wouldn’t you agree?”

But before he the old man could answer…

“Captain!”

The door to the Crypt of Gray Lights burst open to reveal a man dressed in a cassock like a priest. But no ordinary priest could have gained access to this place.

“It’s an emergency!” he shouted. “Level One!”

The Elder of Ink’s face hardened, while Kafzen chuckled wryly. Whenever a serious problem arose, he always made that same expression.

Level One was a code phrase indicating that somebody had died—specifically, somebody important. And in almost all cases, it meant that they had been assassinated.

“Level One? Who? Don’t tell me Nicold Ibuton—”

“Commander-in-Chief Cresdan!”

Kafzen fell silent. Cresdan. He was a military commander who was supposed to be at Galtuile Fortress, finalizing plans for the spring offensive.

“He was found dead in his room at Galtuile. No signs of external injuries. He was coughing up blood, so it is believed he died of illness.”

“…I’m sure.”

Assassination seemed the most likely explanation, especially since the timing couldn’t have been worse. This would undoubtedly affect their plans for the spring offensive—but something else concerned Kafzen even more.

“Who is taking over for him?” he asked, his voice tinged with a faint glimmer of hope. But Kafzen knew better than anyone that such prayers were never answered.

“Governor-General Marcolas Esgein received the majority vote from the Allied Administration Division.”

Depressing news, to say the least. This was one of the drawbacks of putting the military under civilian control. Decisions were often made without considering what was happening on the ground. One could also focus too much on such things, of course.

Marcolas Esgein looked like a brilliant military commander on paper, with an impressive track record and a string of victories under his belt. He had even successfully recaptured the Second Capital. His reputation among the military was excellent. Kafzen, however, had a different opinion: Esgein was merely skilled at forming factions and stealing credit for other people’s achievements.

“The First Capital can’t have been just a distraction.” said the Elder of Ink in a consoling voice. “We simply cannot counter every move the enemy makes. They are far too massive and powerful. That’s all there is to it. To believe we can always deploy the most suitable personnel to every position is nothing more than wishful thinking.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Kafzen knew they had won the majority of their recent battles, and he believed they had managed to prevent any fatal blows to humanity. They had defended the Crypt of Gray Lights, suppressed the eastern rebellion, and avoided attacks on the harbor facilities. By preventing the destruction of the First Capital and installing Nicold Ibuton as archpriest, they now had the option of sending the Holy Knights on expeditions, too.

The assassination of a military commander was merely a small defeat in the overall conflict. The important thing was to minimize the damage caused by that single move.

“You’re right, Captain Kafzen. This job truly is fulfilling,” replied the Elder of Ink, and Kafzen’s lips curled into a sadistic smirk.

Simurid Kormadino was dead. Reports indicated that he had been torn apart by Demon Lord Fomor’s fangs. Tovitz Hughker received the news from the Uthob Front, Unit 7110—specifically a female lizard covered in crimson scales called “One-Eye.” Unit 7110 was a unit composed of highly intelligent faeries, created through the combination of multiple species. Composite faeries tended to be psychologically fragile, but One-Eye was the most communicative and appeared the most stable among them. That was why Tovitz had appointed her leader when he took command of the unit. And so far, she had fulfilled her role perfectly.

“We lost Six-Eyes…and a number of standard faerie infantrymen that were hiding underground beneath the royal capital.” One-Eye shrugged. “I can’t get in touch with any of them, so I’m guessing they’re dead.”

“Thanks. That’s a little more than I expected, but I’m satisfied with the outcome.”

They were out in the forest before a fire, and Tovitz tossed another branch into the flames. They roared, sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet darkness.

“What about the Crypt of Gray Lights?” he asked. “Did you find where they were hiding?”

“The search team was completely wiped out. I can’t get in touch with Seven-Eyes, either, so he’s probably dead, too. It was most likely the Twelfth Order that killed them.”

“Ah, that’s too bad.”

They were, however, necessary sacrifices in Tovitz’s mind. This was a trial run, and it was only natural for the weak to be eliminated. Besides, there was no such thing as a war without casualties. Still, he felt he should express his regret. After all, his soldiers were essentially his possessions, and it was unpleasant to see his belongings damaged.

“Our search for the Crypt of Gray Lights will prove useful later, though. It will compel them to act.”

“Really? I don’t understand the complicated stuff.”

“That’s fine. Thanks for the report. Now, let’s eat. Could you go get the others for me?”

As Tovitz felt One-Eye’s presence fade, he gazed into the bubbling pot of venison and turnip stew, fragrant with herbs. While he was locked up in the Second Capital, he hadn’t been allowed to cook, but his hands still recalled the motions.

Jayce Partiract had been particularly good at food like this.

“You done chatting, Tovitz?” someone called out from behind.

The voice was slightly gravelly. Tovitz hadn’t heard it in a while. When had he returned to camp?

“Don’t surprise me like that, Soola Od. You should have told me you were there.”

He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. And besides, even if he did, the man wouldn’t show his face.

“Not when there are faeries around,” Soola Od replied. “I despise those creatures.”

“Oh, come on. Be nice to them. We’re friends now.”

“Not me. More importantly, let’s talk business. What’s next?”

“It sounds like things at Galtuile Fortress went smoothly.”

“Then don’t ask about it… That Boojum is stubborn, but he can be useful at times. He’s efficient.”

It seemed like Soola Od and Boojum were an unexpectedly good match. They had been tasked with assassinating the commander at Galtuile Fortress, and Tovitz had already been informed of their success.

“Good,” he said. “Anyway, I don’t have anything else to ask from you for the time being.”

“What?”

“We are resting until spring. For now, I want you to train Unit 7110 as much as you can.”

“We’re resting? Explain yourself. I haven’t seen you doing much lately.” Soola Od’s voice sharpened. “The mission in the First Capital apparently failed, too.”

“Yes, but failure isn’t exactly a bad thing in this case. We disposed of the coexisters, who were starting to become a liability. So that’s a plus. If they’d been captured, they might have given up valuable information.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me.”

It seemed some explanation was necessary. Though Soola Od refused to show himself, Tovitz still turned around.

“You seem unhappy, Soola Od. Do you really want to work that badly?”

“Of course. I don’t want to be on the losing side. Do you seriously plan on resting until spring?”

“Giving them a period of peace is important. This is a plan that I personally came up with. Continuing to attack mankind would simply encourage them to unify.” It was time for a change of perspective. Making everyone believe they were in constant danger wasn’t a good strategy. “People start to let their minds wander when they’re bored, and they begin to worry about the silliest things. Take the Saint, for example.”

“The Saint? Why aren’t you preparing to have her killed? She poses a real threat to us.”

“She does as long as mankind permits her to.”

“What are you saying?”

“She is mankind’s greatest weapon…but is there anyone who can control her? Who’s to stop Yurisa Kidafreny from becoming a god who rules over mankind with an iron fist?”

“The goddesses and Holy Knights would stop her.”

“The goddesses were made so that they can’t attack humans.”

Soola Od fell silent, and that alone said it all.

“The Saint has the potential to rise above both mankind and the goddesses, and I believe it’s only natural that people will eventually start to fear her.”

“I think I see what you’re getting at. The coexisters are gone, and now you’re giving them enough time for the seeds of discord to take root.”

“Yes, pretty much.”

This period would instill fear and doubt—or, alternatively, it would tighten the bonds between those of the same faction. Both would both prove powerful weapons for the Demon Blight.

“This series of events has taught me the strengths and weaknesses of our greatest threat. All we have to do now is spend the winter preparing.”

“Are you referring to the penal hero unit?”

“I’ve determined who their most valuable member is. From a strategic standpoint, that is a very significant discovery.”

“Xylo Forbartz? He’s quite a thorn in our side.”

“No, strategically, Venetim Leopool is the heart of their unit. Without him, the penal heroes would fall apart.”

If they could eliminate Venetim, the commander, they could isolate and corner the others. The greatest threat to the penal heroes was none other than mankind itself, since they possessed the authority to instantly kill them at the drop of a hat.

That’s why we will be able to beat them next time.

Now he knew how to confront the penal heroes instead of simply running away. They were terrifying, but that was because their existence itself was a mistake. The majority would refuse accept them, and if they came up against the norms and morals of humanity, they were sure to be ostracized.

“Soola Od, I will make sure you don’t regret your decision,” said Tovitz. “There is no way for mankind to defeat the Demon Blight.”

That much he could state with certainty, and not because he had discovered the penal hero unit’s weakness. No, Tovitz had met with the King of the Demon Blight and had learned a crucial fact.

As long as mankind works hard to fight back, they will not be defeated.

The bonfire’s flames burst and crackled.

But they will never win this war, either.

Because the Demon Blight was summoned as a direct response to humanity’s collective desire for it.

Afterword

Greetings. This is Rocket Shokai.

I love villains who yell “Keh-hyaaa!” when they attack. I call them kehyarists, and today I’d like to introduce you to shark-type kehyarists.

Sharks are famous for their hard work not only on summer beaches but also in the sky and even in space. However, according to my research, with a little extra effort, they can become formidable kehyarists, ready to pounce on their next pitiful victim.

I hope you’ll find this information useful, just in case you ever find yourself turned into a shark.

Shark-type attackers are already a staple in monster movies, but they also have many weaknesses that put them in a challenging position. Because they’re usually underwater, they can’t shout silly lines or laugh maniacally like “keh-hya-hya-hya!” which I believe is a fatal flaw. It doesn’t help that they’re often masters of surprise, meaning that they have to be as quiet as possible.

Therefore, when approaching your victim, I recommend getting creative with your fin display. Make it glow with bright colors like a gaming PC while loudly broadcasting through an underwater speaker, “There’s nowhere left for you to run!” This will enhance your third-rate villain vibe when you attack your pitiful victim.

Furthermore, paying attention to your attack methods can help you create a more convincing kehyaristic performance. While biting is a classic shark technique, consider coating your teeth with a paralyzing poison. And don’t forget to give a long-winded explanation of the poison beforehand.

Something like, “Just one milligram of this poison could knock out a mammoth!” (Or choose some other extinct animal for extra absurdity.) “Once you’re bitten, there will be no escaping your fate! I mean it!” This will encourage readers to think, “Wait. Wouldn’t a regular shark bite be pretty lethal anyway? What’s the point of the poison? And could you even outswim a shark?” And because a shark’s inability to speak can make it seem even more brutal, this fluent chatter will reduce your air of mystery and give the impression that you might not be so tough after all.

Sharks seem extra scary because they surprise their prey and are eerily silent. But if you put in the effort, you can completely ruin those qualities. Anyway, just thought I’d give you all a little taste of the research I’ve been doing lately.

And with that, I’d like to express how happy I am that I’ve been allowed to write five whole volumes for this series and to discuss my favorite third-rate villainous creatures. Thank you very much.

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to the editors, to MEPHISTO, to the designers, and above all, to the readers. Until we meet again.