V3 Chapter 1

It was a landscape that could pass for hell itself.  

Not a single blade of green grass in sight. A rugged expanse of rock and sand, uneven yet monotonous when viewed from a distance, stretched endlessly. Wherever if one looked, half the scenery was blurred by white smoke rising from various points, and a dense, foul odor confounded not just sight but smell.  

Lacking color, lacking change.  

A place utterly divorced from the pulse of life.  

Yet unlike a mere empty cold wasteland… the stench and heat actively menaced intruders. This land was steeped in poison.  

But even in such the heart of such a place.  

“Haa…”  

Toru Acura was relaxed.  

Utterly slacking with his entire body as limp as could be.  

A rare sight indeed.  

Toru was a young man—or, from certain angles, youthful enough to pass for a boy. His black hair and eyes weren’t particularly distinctive, and his features were slightly above average, nothing remarkable. Yet there was an oddly mature, languid air about him, unbecoming of youth.  

There's this saying that people age not by time spent but by experiences amassed.  

The same logic made the weathered appear older. For Toru, raised in a somewhat peculiar environment by societal standards, looking older than his years was only natural.  

“…This feels amazing…”  

Toru leaned against a large rock, gazing upward.  

Training while standing. Training while sitting. Even training while sleeping.  

Since childhood, that was Toru’s way of life. In extreme terms, he trained round-the-clock—half-unconsciously honing himself. From arm movements to footsteps, breathing to heartbeat, voluntary or not, every bodily action was ingrained as training deep in his subconscious.  

Fish don’t practice swimming. Birds don’t practice flying.  

Same principle.  

Thanks to this, even during periods of sloth, he could maintain his condition.  

But… when unconscious training was so ingrained, deliberate “rest” became necessary. Left unchecked, Toru’s body would train endlessly, accumulating fatigue.  

This could lead to collapsing from exhaustion—a disgraceful outcome.  

Certain animals or masters, it was said, could rest one half of their body while training the other, or “train while resting”—a feat too dexterous for Toru, a mere twenty-year-old novice.  

So—  

“…Haa.”  

He exhaled long, submerged to his shoulders in hot water.  

He could feel the clumps of “fatigue” knotted in his body and the tension clinging to muscles, veins, nerves were slowly melting and dispersing. Closing his eyes lightly, he sensed his body’s warmth and blood flow vividly.  

He was in a hot spring.  

The surrounding landscape was barely visible through the thick white steam, but nearby rock formations created a unique vista. All were volcanoes harboring intense heat, their slopes marked by black lava stones from eruptions.  

The foul odor and steam came from heated sulfur and groundwater.  

The spot Toru occupied was originally just gravelly ground, but a nearby river prompted a whim to dig. Sure enough, warm water gushed forth. Seizing the chance, he made an impromptu hot spring to rest his body.  

“Five years… huh.”  

Toru muttered, gazing at the sky through gaps in the steam.  

The Acura Village, where Toru and his kin lived, had similar terrain, with hot springs of its own. After training, they often rested in those springs.  

But since Acura Village was disbanded, hot springs had been a distant memory. Living hand-to-mouth, Toru’s group lacked the means to heat baths, usually washing in rivers or ponds.  

Thus, this hot spring, after five years, soaked deeply into his bones.  

“…Nn.”  

Of course, Toru was naked in the spring.  

But that didn’t mean he was defenseless. Even while resting, his body was primed to snap back to readiness.  

“…”  

Toru narrowed his eyes and reached out of the water.  

The makeshift spring was reinforced with stones and rocks along the edge to prevent collapse. On a particularly large rock, his clothes were neatly folded.  

His fingers quickly found the target.  

A shuriken.  

Primarily for throwing, but with a handle for gripping. Compared to proper blades, it was fragile and crude, but in a pinch, it could parry or slash. Toru hadn’t brought his usual twin short swords, as their complex structure made them prone to damage in humid places.  

“…Akari?”  

Toru pulled away from the rock he leaned on, turning to peer through the thick steam, muttering.  

“…Not her, right?”  

A presence had been approaching for a while.  

His non blood sister was likely busy processing harvested sulfur.  

Skilled in compounding—apothecary arts—she could craft explosives, poisons, or even stimulants from sulfur. For their trade, such substances were invaluable. They never had too much, only too little.  

So—  

“Chaika, then?”  

As if waiting for Toru’s words—a girl emerged, parting the steam like a curtain.  

A delicate girl.  

So fragile, she seemed she might snap if hugged too tightly. Her limbs were slender, her frame thinly fleshed. Not unhealthily gaunt, but her breast was modest, with room to grow. For allure, a few more years might be needed.  

Her slightly upturned eyes evoked a cat—not sharp, but likely to remind many of a kitten’s charm.  

Her perfectly balanced features made her seem like a work of art that adding or subtracting anything might ruin the harmony. It was hard to imagine her as a child or elder. As if she’d remain a girl from birth to death—a delicate beauty complete in the present.  

Long silver hair and amethyst-like eyes amplified this impression. Usually clad in mourning-like white-and-black attire, now she stood bare naked with her unblemished maiden form dazzled Toru’s eyes.  

Chaika Trabant.  

That’s how she introduced herself—Toru’s employer. More bluntly, the master served by saboteur Toru. Though younger and unconcerned with formalities, their relationship was less master-servant and more casual.  

“—WAIT.”  Toru let out a near-scream. “What’re you doing!?”  

Even if their bond was informal, it wasn’t the kind where they’d suddenly bare themselves to each other without context.  

Toru hurriedly spun in the water, turning his back to the approaching girl.  

He’d seen Chaika in her undergarments before, she was rather careless about that but she wasn't fully nude was a first.  

“…Toru.”  

The sound of water—no, hot water splashing—reached Toru’s back.  

Chaika must have submerged herself in the spring, like him.  

A keen sense was troublesome at times. Toru felt her approach—now close enough to touch if either reached out. Turning carelessly would leave no way to avert his gaze.  

“What’re you even thinking!?”  

“…What?”  

A puzzled voice asked.  

Devoid of any seductiveness—like a toddler just learning to speak.  

“No, I mean…”  

Toru faltered.  

Chaika was once a princess of the northern superpower, the Gaz Empire.  

Royalty and high nobility often held values distinct from commoners. Powerholders, ever at risk of assassination, kept guards close—during baths, toilet visits, even intimate moments with spouses or lovers. Saboteurs sometimes filled such roles, and Toru had heard such tales.  

No one blushed at a dog seeing them naked.  

If Chaika didn’t see Toru as a romantic interest, she might feel no shame at all.  

(But this doesn’t mean I can just stare, damn it!)

Toru was a young man; principles aside, a young woman’s nude body would stir him inside and out.  

“Toru…”  

Oblivious to Toru’s turmoil—or perhaps toying with it—Chaika’s fingertips brushed his back.  

No, more—  

“…Toru.”  

Her breath grazed his neck.  

Normally, Chaika’s height reached only Toru’s shoulder, but with him kneeling in the water, her head was higher. Turning carelessly would force him to see her neck to breast was unavoidable.  

“Toru…”  

Her crystal gentle whispering voice was terribly close.  

From its tone, he could tell she was slightly leaning forward.  

As if about to kiss his neck—  

“…”  

Toru let out a guttural growl.  

The next instant—  

—Gyaji!

The shuriken Toru thrust out as he turned made a grating sound.  

Caught—literally—by Chaika’s teeth.  

“…”  

“…”  

An odd silence hung between them.  

Toru didn’t move. Neither did Chaika.  

Finally, still gripping the blade, Chaika frowned and said:  

“What’re you doing?”  

“That’s my line.”  

Toru glared at her.  

“What’s your game—Fredrika?”  

“Ambush, obviously.”  

The thing in Chaika’s form said plainly.  

Despite firmly biting the shuriken’s edge, her speech was eerily clear. Perhaps her vocal mechanism differed from a human’s.  

“What’s with that getup?”  

“What? I’m naked.”  

“And why the hell are you naked?”  

“‘Cause I’m bathing? You’re naked for the same reason, right?”  

Her tone said, What’re you talking about?

“…Yeah, that makes sense, but!” Toru snapped, half-desperate. “Why’re you naked and barging into my bath!?”  

“Like I said, ambush.”  

Releasing the shuriken’s edge and stepping back slightly, the one called Fredrika answered.  

Each word flashed her buckteeth—or rather, small fangs. Had Toru not raised the shuriken, those would’ve sunk into his neck.  

“You’d drop your weapons while bathing, I thought. Toru, bringing weapons to a bath? That’s just rude.”  

“Coming from you—or anyone—I’m not taking lectures on manners from you!!”  

Toru roared.  

No greater humiliation than having his humanity questioned by this girl.  

Fredrika wasn’t human.  

A Dragoon—a type of Feyra. Their magic primarily manipulated and transformed their bodies. In battle, they turned skin to armor, enlarging themselves to engage. Most knew only this side of Dragoon—but they could also shrink into smaller forms.  

Like a human girl, for instance.  

“…Shame. Thought I’d tear out your throat.”  

Fredrika said in a lax tone, as if disappointed a prank fizzled, utterly casual.  

This dragoon had been targeting Toru since a certain incident.  

She openly aimed to kill him. Not out of hatred or duty, but simply, “Nothing else to do.”  

Thus… she’d linger near Toru’s group, then vanish abruptly, catlike in her whimsy. As a non-human, applying human values to understand her was likely futile—but Toru struggled to handle this Feyra girl.  

“But Toru?”  

Still in Chaika’s form, Fredrika asked:  

“When’d you notice?”  

“…From the begining.” Toru said. “Got sure at the last second, though.”  

“I copied Chaika’s face and body perfectly, though.”  

“…It’s scarily close, yeah.”  

Even facing her, he could mistake her for Chaika.  

Her finer mannerisms clearly differed—but with his back turned earlier, he hadn’t seen them. Her speech, too, had been fragmented, not distinct enough to notice differences.  

“So how? Presence or something?”  

“…Ugh.”  

Toru scratched his cheek and said:  

“breasts.”  

“Huh? breasts?”  

“Chaika’s chest is way smaller.”  

“What? Really? I thought I copied it exactly.”  

“She stuffs her chest. You wouldn’t know just looking at her clothes.”  

“Toru?”  

“What?”  

“So you’ve seen Chaika naked? That's impressive.”  

“Just her underwear! What’s ‘impressive’ about that anyways!?”  

He knew arguing seriously with this monster was pointless, but her girlish form made him retort instinctively.  

“Akari said you’re Felbist Continent’s top girl-seducer—”  

“Don’t buy her lies!”  

“Oh…”  

Fredrika mostly ignored Toru’s anguished cry.  

“If I’d just made the chest smaller, you’d have been fooled, huh?”  

She said, pushing and pulling her chest with her palms. The modest swells shifted softly before Toru’s eyes—  

“Stop it!”  

Toru yelled, turning away again.  

And then…  

“—Huh?”  

“Oh…?”  

His eyes met Chaika’s.  

Purple eyes blinked, staring at him.  

For a moment—Toru was confused.  

He’d looked away from Fredrika in Chaika’s form, so why was he facing Chaika head-on? Her delicate features, straight silver hair, and modest chest were unmistakably hers—  

“…”  

Glancing back, there was Fredrika, still in Chaika’s guise. At a loss for where to look, Toru tilted his head upward.  

“What’s wrong, Toru? Nosebleed?”  

“No way!”  

“Muu…?”  

The newly arrived Chaika, despite coming to bathe, had hauled her black coffin—taller than her—here. She seemed uneasy without it in sight, a clear sign this was the real Chaika.  

“Mumumu…”  

Chaika looked shocked.  

Naturally—seeing a girl with her face would startle anyone.  

Especially so close to Toru, almost embracing, it’d spark all sorts of misunderstandings.  

“No—look, Chaika.”  

Toru scrambled to explain, but no clever words came.  

Chaika, staggering back a step, pointed a trembling hand at the other her—Fredrika, standing beside Toru, tilting her head.  

“Breasts!? Enhanced!?”  

“That’s your first concern huh!?”  

Toru reflexively turned to retort—then hurriedly averted his gaze.  

Why were the women around him so utterly shameless—or rather, oblivious to such matters? He started wondering if he was the fool for caring about everything. A former princess and a Feyra mimic… neither had conventional shame, he knew.  

“Breast enhancement. Secret. Teach me.”  

Chaika waded through the water, closing in on Fredrika.  

“It’s easy with magic.”  

“Don’t be ridiculous, you too!?”  

A dragoon's transformation magic applied only to themselves or objects recognized as part of them. Human magic had no equivalent, as Toru had heard from Chaika before.  

“Fredrika’s magic doesn’t work on others without a contract.”  

A temporary “pseudo-contract” via biting could heal wounds, but fully “transforming into another shape” required more than that for stability.  

“Contract!”  

“Oh, then swap an arm.”  

“Don’t say it like trading side dishes!”  

If I remember correctly, a dragoon knight's contract requires that a certain amount of body part, like an arm or a leg, must be exchanged with the dragon.

"Just kidding, just kidding~"

Fredrika said.

"Toru, so you're the kind of person who doesn't understand jokes."

"... Your jokes are really hard to understand damn it!!"

Toru yelled, feeling like he wanted to cry.

There was a long, long era of warring states.  

That three-hundred-year age of strife naturally shaped people’s values.  

Born amid war, dying amid war.  

That was the norm of the era.  

Naturally—every aspect of life was built around the premise of war.  

One pinnacle of this was the existence of those called “saboteurs.”  

Battlefield handymen, outcasts taking on dirty jobs shunned by proper knights or warriors, war artisans writhing in the shadows… such was their nature. They spared no means to achieve their ends. Unashamed when called cowardly or vile. It was precisely because of their nature that they could handle the shadowy tasks undeniably present on every battlefield.  

Assassination. Incitement. Conspiracy. Ambush. And so forth.  

When a situation couldn’t be resolved by orthodox combat, it was the saboteurs’ stage.  

Where there was demand, supply naturally arose.  

In time, saboteurs ceased to emerge individually and were instead trained and dispatched by organizations called “villages.” To efficiently “produce” more capable saboteurs, this was the logical method.  

Various schools arose, each village raising numerous saboteurs at the behest of powerholders, sending them to wars across the land. The villages knew they were sought as disposable pawns, so it wasn’t uncommon for saboteurs from the same village to be sent to opposing factions. Saboteurs had no ideology. They served whoever hired them… and powerholders rarely faulted them for this.  

One could say supply and demand were balanced.  

But… the so long warring era ended.  

When peace arrived, saboteurs were branded “aimless curs” or “cowardly and vile,” their unsavory traits emphasized and reviled. This was likely due to powerholders’ smear campaigns, fearing their skills. Saboteurs’ abilities were perfect for inciting rebellion or riots. Nations that had heavily used them knew their “power” well.  

In any case, with peace’s advent, saboteurs lost their place.  

Worse—most “villages” were crushed by the same powerholders who’d flipped their stance.  

Many saboteurs were forced to scatter.  

Toru Acura was one such saboteur.  

Or rather, a saboteur-in-training, perhaps.  

Before he could leave Acura Village and take to the battlefield—the war ended.  

The countless skills drilled into him since birth, meant to shine on the battlefield, were effectively sealed.  

Now, saboteurs were akin to strays abandoned by their masters.  

Utterly without value. Deemed “necessary” and bred diligently—then suddenly declared “unneeded.” Worse, their unchecked proliferation was seen as dangerous.  

Toru… sulked.  

What was he born for?  

What was his purpose in life?  

Everything seemed absurd—and he stopped working, spending his days aimlessly.  

It was then that Toru met a girl named Chaika Trabant.  

Through a series of events with her, Toru learned several things.  

That Chaika was collecting her father’s “remains,” split into pieces.  

That her father was the Gaz Empire’s emperor, a central figure in the past wars.  

That an organization backed by nations was moving to capture Princess Chaika.  

That a legitimate heir could revive the Gaz Empire, plunging the world back into a warring era.  

…And so on.  

Toru saw this as an opportunity.  

War was fine by him. Compared to this peacetime with no place for him, a warring era was far better. By siding with Chaika, embroiled in conflicts and disputes, he could break free from days of wasting his skills and rotting alive.  

Thus, Toru became Chaika’s retainer.  

However…  

“…Toru, Toru.”  

The sensation of fingers poking his back.  

There was no need to turn—it was Chaika and that was obvious.  

“Future. Plans.”  

“She wants to discuss our next steps while we’re here,”  

Fredrika added.  

A glance at the corner of his vision confirmed Fredrika had reverted to her blonde-haired, red-eyed form—distinct from Chaika.  

This girl-form of Fredrika, in terms of sheer charm, rivaled Chaika… but their vibes were opposites. Chaika had an inorganic, doll-like air, while Fredrika felt raw, like a small beast in girl form, exuding lively, mischievous energy.  

Apparently, Fredrika’s ever-changing nature meant she had no “true form,” but this was the one she most often used around Toru’s group. Roaming in her natural armored dragon form caused too much fuss… or so she claimed.  

“Lets take the talk after we’re out of the bath.”  

Toru said, keeping his back to the girls.  

Currently—Toru leaned against the spring’s edge, facing outward.  

Chaika and Fredrika were soaking inside the spring together.  

If both were unbothered by being seen, he needn’t avert his gaze—but with them before him, he feared a nosebleed would trap him in an indefensible situation, so he stubbornly faced elsewhere.  

“Then we’ll finish bathing and get out?”  

“Do that.”  

“What about you, Toru? Not getting out? You’ve been soaking forever.”  

Fredrika asked in an innocent tone.  

“…”  

Toru clamped his mouth shut.  

He would have left ages ago if he could.  

The spring’s water was murky, so as long as he kept his lower half submerged, he could manage.  

“…Chaika and them,”  

Perhaps interpreting Toru’s silence, Fredrika seemed to decide to continue.  

“Are looking for the Gaz Emperor’s remains, right?”  

Seeming intent on talking, Fredrika asked.  

Toru sensed Chaika nodding behind him.  

“Affirmative.”  

“Why? Sure, the Gaz Emperor’s corpse are a hefty mana source… but if it’s just about mana, there are other options, right?”  

“…”  

Toru heard Chaika falter behind him.  

(Come to think of it, we haven’t told Fredrika about Chaika’s identity yet.)

Creatures with a certain level of intelligence naturally accumulated mana in their bodies. Some used this directly for magic—but humans used their internal mana as a “spark,” drawing actual spell-casting mana from mana sources.  

Namely, the remains of intelligent beings.  

For ease of use, fossils of intelligent beings—Feyra fossils—were preferred, called fossil fuel. But with proper treatment, non-fossilized remains could serve as mana sources.  

The remains of the Gaz Emperor, said to have lived three hundred years and a renowned great mage, were indeed ideal as a mana source.  

But—inversely, they were replaceable.  

Like monetary value: if one fixated on “fitting in the palm,” a large gem was irreplaceable, but for “equivalent value,” gold could suffice.  

For sheer mana quantity, there was little need to obsess over the Gaz Emperor’s remains.  

“Fredrika.” Toru said, still stubbornly facing away. “There is a question… what do ya think of Emperor Arthur Gaz?”  

“Think?”  

“Like the allied nations say, the root of all evil, a great villain?”  

“…Dunno.”  

Fredrika’s tone was utterly carefree.  

As if answering a question about favorite colors or flavors.  

“I just followed Dominica’s goals. Sure, I joined the Gaz Empire capital assault, but honestly, I didn’t care much. Unlike Dominica, I didn’t enter the castle—so I never saw him face-to-face.”  

“…I see.”  

Toru sighed briefly.  

Hiding Chaika’s purpose and identity was an option. Fredrika’s thoughts were hard to read. She could turn enemy abruptly. Better to withhold information—  

“I… daughter.”  

As Toru pondered, Chaika confessed:  

“Arthur Gaz, my father.”  

Toru sighed.  

Chaika seemed to lack wariness toward this Feyra. Unlike Toru, constantly targeted by Fredrika, and with her in the guise of a same-aged girl, perhaps her guard naturally lowered.  

“…Huh?”  

Even Fredrika seemed slightly surprised by the confession.  

“Chaika’s real name is Chaika Gaz.”  

Denying it now was pointless.  

Toru sighed again and continued.

“It’s not about mana sources. Chaika just wants to properly bury her father’s remains.”  

“…‘Bury’?”  

Fredrika echoed the word, puzzled as if hearing an unfamiliar foreign term.  

“Yeah. Bury. Bury… right. Uh-huh.”  

Muttering the word as if savoring it, Fredrika nodded.  

“Humans are pretty fixated on that, huh?”  

“You were fixated too.”  

“Huh? Oh—Dominica?”  

Fredrika’s voice carried confusion.  

This Feyra girl, to fulfill her former contract master Dominica Škoda’s dying wish, had mimicked her form, played her role, and challenged Toru’s group. To Toru, this was Fredrika’s way of burying Dominica…  

“Hm… that’s a bit different from that.”  

“Different? How?”  

“That wasn’t burying.” Fredrika said plainly. “Dominica and I were one. Her desires were mine. So I wanted to fulfill her desires, even in form. That’s all.”  

“Isn’t that burying?”  

“Did the Gaz Emperor say, ‘Collect my remains’?”  

“No… that’s…”  

Toru didn’t know the details.  

But—  

“You weren’t ‘contracted’ like us, right?”  

Fredrika said.  

“Humans lie, betray, so without a contract binding them, who knows what they want?”  

“That might be true.”  

Indeed, Chaika’s memories of the Gaz Empire’s fall were vague. For unknown reasons, she recalled nothing of her escape from the empire—or the events around it.  

If the Gaz Emperor had ordered her to “collect my remains,” she might not remember.  

Thus, her collecting the remains wasn’t his will.  

It was Chaika’s will.  

(I see. To Fredrika, ‘burying’ is ‘self-satisfaction’.)

That perspective indeed made sense.  

The dead didn’t lament.  

Grieving neglect or oblivion was for the living. Projecting emotions onto the absent dead, feeling sadness on their behalf, one could say.  

“Just for that, you fought me?” Fredrika’s tone held disbelief. “Risking your life?”  

“That’s a harsh way to put it ya know.” Toru frowned. “It’s important to Chaika. Even if it’s meaningless to others—”  

“No, not that.”  

Fredrika sidled beside Toru and said:  

“Toru, you.”  

“Me?”  

Toru asked, striving not to glance at her nude form.  

“What meaning does collecting the Gaz Emperor’s remains have for you?”  

“For me—it means nothing.”  

The remains of a stranger. Nothing more, nothing less.  

Had Toru been a mage, he might’ve valued them as a prime mana source or a great mage’s relics, but—  

“I just wanna fulfill Chaika’s wish.”  

“And why is that?”  

Fredrika pressed further.  

Not accusingly.  

Purely curious—her voice held wonder.  

“You’re not ‘contracted’ to Chaika, and if her wish fails, you lose nothing, right?”  

Her “contract” likely meant a dragoon cavalier’s bond.  

Toru was technically hired by Chaika, but with no written agreement or tangible proof—like a dragoon cavalier’s body-part exchange-transplant.  

It was a mere verbal promise.  

Yet…  

“If it’s because you’re mates, I’d get it.”  

“Mates?”  

“If she’s the one to bear your children, I’d understand.”  

“…Hey.”  

“It’s natural for living things.”  

Fredrika said calmly, to a stunned Toru.  

“Striving to live. To pass on your blood. That’s normal—nothing odd about it driving actions. But your reason, Toru, I don’t quite get.”  

“…”  

He’d lived to become a saboteur.  

Born to fight, dying to fight—that was his sole connection to the world as a saboteur.  

But the wars ended abruptly, negating all he’d built.  

All unnecessary. All wasted.  

“…I wanted to fight.”  

Toru muttered.  

“Like Dominica?”  

“No. Not to die fighting. To fight and leave something behind. If I’m to die someday, all the more—I only know that way of life. It’s all I was taught.”  

“…”  

“So, I jumped at Chaika’s story.”  

Toru said with a wry smile.  

“A girl collecting the remains of the Gaz Emperor, blamed for the wars. The legitimate heir to the Gaz Empire. One misstep, and the world could revert to a warring era. A stage for saboteurs to shine.”  

“I see.”  

Fredrika blinked her red eyes, peering at Toru’s profile.  

“But Toru, you said, ‘Fulfilling a dear person’s goal is my goal,’ right?”  

“…You remember well.”  

Toru grimaced.  

Indeed, during a meal at Dominica’s mansion, he’d said that.  

Chaika and Akari seemed to misunderstand it oddly. He’d clarified the “dear person” meaning to them, but not to Fredrika.  

“So, what about it?”  

“Chaika gave me, who’d lost my purpose and was rotting, a reason to fight again—a new purpose. She’s my benefactor.”  

“…Hm… I mostly get it now.”  

“Really?”  

Toru shot Fredrika a sidelong glare.  

As a creature fundamentally different from humans, Fredrika’s thoughts often clashed with theirs. Her claiming to “understand” didn’t rule out a core misunderstanding.  

“But one fundamental question.”  

Fredrika turned to Chaika behind Toru and asked:  

“Chaika. Are you really the Gaz Emperor’s daughter?”  

“Mui!?”  

Chaika let out a startled cry.  

Likely because she hadn’t expected such a question—doubting the very premise. It was akin to asking, “Who are you?”  

“What’re you saying?”  

Toru said to Fredrika, exasperated.  

If Chaika wasn’t the Gaz Emperor’s daughter, then what?  

Initially—she hadn’t claimed to be his daughter. Toru learned her identity from her pursuers, who said she was the Taboo Emperor’s daughter, dangerous, hence their chase.  

If Chaika meant to deceive Toru, she’d have called herself Chaika Gaz from the start.  

Yet…  

“For starters, isn’t it odd? The Gaz Emperor’s daughter, not perishing with her nation, wandering here?”  

Fredrika tilted her head.  

“T-That’s…”  

As mentioned, Chaika had no memories of the Gaz Empire’s fall.  

How she escaped the crumbling capital—or whether she was there—was unknown. At least, that’s what Toru heard from her.  

“You saying Chaika’s lying?”  

“There’s still a chance she’s unaware.”  

“…”  

Toru fell silent.  

What if Chaika’s memory gaps weren’t accidental, but an excuse to gloss over inconsistencies? To deceive not just Toru’s group, but herself?  

“So there is no proof of Chaika’s Arthur Gaz’s true daughter, right?”  

“…”  

Indeed, there was none.  

Behind Toru, Chaika’s confusion was palpable.  

She likely hadn’t expected this to be questioned. If, as Fredrika suggested, Chaika was deluded, she might feel her foundation crumbling, gripped by unease.  

“What made you trust Chaika, Toru?”  

“…”  

Toru couldn’t answer immediately.  

Honestly—whether Chaika was truly the Gaz Empire’s princess didn’t matter to him.  

He wanted to fulfill her wish, and that process gave his life meaning. That’s why he aided her.  

Just that.  

Yet…  

“Well, turning a blind eye to such ambiguity might be what makes humans human.”  

Seeing the silent Toru and Chaika, Fredrika—who knows what she thought—flashed an oddly gleeful smile and remarked thus.  

“Humans’ thinking is so interesting.”  

“…That doesn’t sit right.”  

Toru said, his expression sour.  

Having ambiguities abruptly dragged into the open and dismissed with “interesting” left a strange unease, like something stuck in his throat.  

Toru sighed briefly—  

“By the way, Anii-sama.”  

“Gah!?”  

Lifting his gaze, he found Akari.  

“What’s this situation?”  

Akari Acura.  

A beautiful girl with sharp, almond-shaped eyes.  

Usually, she tied her long black hair back, claiming it “got in the way,” but now it hung loose, accentuating her keen, blade-like, unadorned beauty.  

Unlike Chaika’s delicate charm that stirred protective instincts, hers was a simple, powerful elegance akin to a wild animal’s. Her muscles were well-balanced, poised for both strength and speed, not favoring one.  

Like many beasts, her form likely shone brightest not in stillness, but in motion—running, leaping, fully using her body.  

Akari was a saboteur and Toru’s sister.  

Like Toru, she had black hair and eyes, but they weren’t blood-related.  

In Acura Village, it wasn’t uncommon to adopt abandoned children or those from poor villages whose parents couldn’t raise them—children who’d otherwise be “culled.” The village bought and raised them. Talented individuals directly fueled the village’s income, treated like “stock.”  

Thus, in Acura Village, unrelated parents, siblings, or families weren’t rare. Learning the same school’s techniques in the same village was the family bond. However, since the village often sent saboteurs to opposing factions, family could naturally become enemies. Acura Village’s “family bonds” were easily severed.  

That aside…  

“…”  

Toru froze in the spring.  

Currently—Akari, like Chaika and Fredrika, was stark naked, poised to bathe. Her long hair draped over her shoulders and chest, and she held a towel, partially shielding her from Toru’s gaze.  

“While I was compounding explosives, poisons, and antidotes for Anii-sama’s use, what was Anii-sama doing?”  

Now that she mentioned it, Akari’s hair was slightly grimy. Likely sulfur powder or other compounds from her apothecary work. Such substances needed washing to avoid hair damage, so her coming to bathe was natural.  

“…Just… taking a bath…”  

“I see. Indeed. Bathing. Certainly.” Akari nodded deeply. “With two naked girls.”  

“…”  

Factually true.  

One was notably flat, the other a beast mimicking a girl, but arguing that was likely pointless—Toru could guess as much.  

“…Akari.”  

“What, Anii-sama?”  

“I’ve done nothing shameful.”  

Toru said, dropping his gaze to his hands.  

Honestly, he’d seen Akari naked as a child, so she wasn’t someone to blush over now… but with two flatter girls nearby, Akari’s more curved figure suddenly seemed alluring.  

“Is that so?”  

Akari replied, her expression unchanging.  

No doubt, no joy.  

Despite her beauty, her face was always impassive. A smile could double her charm… but her emotions rarely showed. Even Toru, long acquainted, often couldn’t read her.  

“Then why avert your eyes?”  

“No reason—don’t crouch damn it!!”  

Toru yelled as his sister crouched to peer at his face, struggling to keep his gaze on his hands.  

“Anyway, I’ve done nothing shameful! Nothing, trust me!”  

“I see…” Still crouching, Akari sighed expressionlessly. “Disappointing.”  

“What were you expecting!?”  

Toru splashed the water, shouting.  

“I believed Anii-sama wouldn’t just gawk at female bodies flaunted before him…”  

“What kind of pervert am I in your head!?”  

“It’s hard to sum up in one word—” Akari said, oddly tightening her lips. “But if Anii-sama wishes to hear, I’ll speak all night.”  

“Don’t wanna hear it!!”  

“Asking then refusing is unfair.”  

Saying that Akari suddenly clapped her fist into her palm, as if realizing something. Her lack of expression made such gestures seem theatrical… but anyway.  

“No. This must be the ‘teasing’ technique. Relentlessly unfair acts, followed by sudden clinginess, using the contrast to break the target—an ultimate skill—”  

“What school’s teaching is that from!?”  

“As expected, Anii-sama.”  

“Don’t praise me for skills I don’t have!”  

“Toru. Technique master?”  

“Don’t pick weird bits to chime in on!”  

Toru yelled at Chaika behind him, then sighed.  

Watching him…  

“Interesting, huh?”  

Fredrika remarked in a needlessly cheerful tone.

A cramped space enclosed on three sides by paper-thin membranes.  

There, on a small seat, sat Knight Alberic Gillette.  

A young man with golden hair and blue eyes—possessed of refined features.  

His eyes were cool, his nose straight, exuding an air of true elegance. It wasn’t just his face but also his firmly set lips and straight posture gave the impression of a serious young noble incarnate.  

He now sat in a conversation seat for magical communication.  

The three white, thin membranes were devices to capture the speaker’s voice—or to emit the voice of the communication partner as sound. In essence, they were part of a gundo crafted solely for communication.  

“—A ‘hero’ of the Königsegg Kingdom.”  

Several types of magical communication existed.  

However, the one equipped on the Jillette Corps’ mobile base—the mechanized vehicle April—was the simplest of them. Other methods were too complex, requiring larger gundo and dedicated mages to constantly control them, making them impractical for a mechanized vehicle.  

Thus, the communication magic used by the Gillette Corps wasn’t for contacting others at will. A prearranged time was needed, with the recipient also activating the spell. Unilateral transmissions would dissipate without being received.  

Hence, such communication magic was primarily used for scheduled contacts.  

“Simon Scania, a mage, appears to be one of the eight in question.”  

On the other side of the magical communication was Konrad Steinmetz, head of the Kleeman Agency—Alberic’s superior.  

Of course, being voice-only, the other side couldn’t tell if Alberic propped an elbow or lay down… but he sat upright, as if Konrad were before him. This reflected the young knight’s earnestness.  

“However, even the Königsegg Kingdom doesn’t know his exact whereabouts.”  

“What does that mean?”  

Alberic tilted his head slightly, asking.  

Behind him, his subordinates—Vivi the assassin girl, Nikolai the mercenary swordsman deputy, Mateus the mage, and Leonardo the special soldier—listened. However, only Alberic, seated in the conversation seat, heard Konrad’s voice clearly; those outside caught only fragmented words leaking through.  

Incidentally, another subordinate, Zita, a mage and magical engineer girl, was just beside Alberic, beyond the thin membrane, controlling the communication magic with her gundo.  

“That the Königsegg Kingdom doesn’t know a ‘hero’s’ whereabouts?”  

Here, <hero> referred to the eight members of a suicide squad who, at the end of the warring era during the Gaz Empire capital assault, advanced ahead of the main force to kill Emperor Arthur Gaz. It also meant—unknown to the public—those who divided Arthur Gaz’s remains as “war trophies.”  

In truth, the names of these eight “heroes” weren’t publicized.  

This seemed due to various national agendas—purely political considerations—but military and government insiders naturally knew the heroes’ names.  

So, how could a hero’s nation not know their whereabouts?  

“This Simon Scania was, it seems, a thorough misanthrope, or rather, a human-hater. Right after the war, he fled, and even the kingdom’s military couldn’t track him accurately.”  

“Fled? He didn’t formally retire from the military?”  

“So it seems. It counts as desertion.”  

“…”  

Alberic furrowed his brow.  

Even if not publicized, a hero was a hero. Their treatment within the military was favorable—promotions and salaries likely generous. Why, then, would he desert and vanish?  

“As for the ‘Eight Heroes,’ many in the suicide squads that stormed the imperial castle had issues, it’s said—”  

To ensure Arthur Gaz’s slaying, multiple suicide squads were sent into the imperial castle. The exact number wasn’t publicized, but the “Eight Heroes” were one such squad.  

Guerrilla units focused solely on killing Gaz, heedless of all else. Naturally, they used highly skilled combatants—but many had flawed personalities.  

Ordinary people wouldn’t volunteer for such a squad.  

The Gaz Empire’s Emperor Arthur Gaz, with his many epithets.  

As some bluntly called him a “monster,” he was said to be unmatched in personal combat prowess. Challenging him as a human was suicidal—so some claimed.  

Thus, those who willingly joined such madness either had an abnormal disregard for their lives or dire circumstances—betting their lives on a bad gamble for martial glory.  

This was another reason the “Eight Heroes’” names weren’t publicized. Glorious heroes ending the war—revealing most were broken personalities wouldn’t look good.  

Yet…  

“It’s said Simon Scania was suspected of murder.”  

“Murder—sir?”  

“Not on the battlefield. He was suspected of killing his wife and friend at home. However, due to insufficient evidence and his exceptional skill as a mage, he wasn’t arrested by the military police, returned to the front—and volunteered for the suicide squad half a year later.”  

“…What does that mean?”  

Did he join the suicide squad to obscure his murder charges?  

And, fearing postwar reinvestigation of his wife and friend’s deaths, did he vanish? Wartime chaos might allow cover-ups, but peacetime often exposed hidden crimes.  

“The finer details we won’t know without asking him. In any case, Simon Scania went missing right after the war. But… further investigation turned up a sighting of him in Lademio Town.”  

“Lademio Town…”  

Glancing back, Leonardo, the boy with beast ears, swiftly offered a folded map, with the road April traveled and its surroundings at the top.  

“We could reach it in two days if we hurry.”  

“The sighting was four years ago, though.”  

“…”  

Alberic sighed softly, inaudible to Konrad.  

The information was far too outdated.  

“Of course, Simon Scania likely moved since then. But there might be clues to track him.”  

“…I see.”  

Honestly—it wasn’t promising, but with no better leads, Alberic had little choice but to head to Lademio Town. Two months had passed since losing track of Chaika Gaz and her retainers—wandering border regions aimlessly only bred frustration.  

The Kleeman Agency likely had a wider intelligence network than Chaika Gaz… but if her goal was collecting all the remains, she’d eventually reach Simon Scania’s name and Lademio Town. Alberic’s group could set a trap there.  

“…However.” Muttering, Alberic voiced a “feeling” welling within him. “First Dominica Škoda the dragoon cavalier, then Count Roberto Abarth… for ‘heroes,’ their later lives feel… somehow off.”  

“Indeed.”  

Konrad said.  

“Even if many had flawed personalities, it’s concerning.”  

Count Roberto Abarth had holed up in his mansion, obsessed with developing magical devices, neglecting his territory. He’d nearly abandoned his duties as a lord, letting refugees flood his land, causing issues with security and taxes.  

As for Dominica Škoda—it was recently revealed she’d died years ago.  

For unknown reasons, she settled deep in a forest roamed by Feyra, completely abandoning her granted territory’s governance, passing alone unnoticed.  

“Among those in the know, some even call it ‘the Gaz Emperor’s curse.’”  

“…A ‘curse’?”  

Alberic said, slightly perplexed.  

There was a time when “magic” and “curse” were conflated… but now, in every nation, they were strictly distinguished. Magic technology, centered around the Gaz Empire, had been organized and systematized over centuries.  

Modern magic was a legitimate technical system.  

Curses, however, were folk beliefs—bluntly, superstitions.  

From a magical technology perspective, a spell lasting months or years without a mage or gundo present, or activating abruptly after a long latency, was impossible. It defied logic.  

Yet…  

“With tales of living three hundred years or wielding impossible magic, it’s no wonder such rumors arise.”  

Arthur Gaz was shrouded in mystery.  

His reign exceeded two centuries, with countless outlandish anecdotes. Alberic didn’t believe them all… but they showed how formidable he was. Even after death—exerting influence beyond clear causality—his existence could indeed be called a “curse.”  

“Or perhaps…” Alberic said, struck by a thought. “His remains might have something that drives people mad.”  

“You’re saying that too?”  

“Not curses or such…” To Konrad’s exasperated tone, Alberic replied with a wry smile. “With unmatched monetary and mana source value, plus historical significance, it’s natural some lose sound judgment under its influence.”  

Like those who, suddenly gaining vast wealth, misuse it and ruin themselves. No supernatural force needed. The holder, dazzled by its value, strays easily—a kind of “curse” in itself.  

“I see. That’s a perspective.”  

“More realistic than superstitious ‘curses.’”  

Alberic smiled.  

“In any case, I understand regarding Simon Scania. The Gillette Corps will head to Lademio Town to investigate.”  

“I’m counting on you. That’s all—ending the 407th scheduled contact.”  

With those words, the magical communication ceased.  

The faint blue mana glow clinging to the membranes faded—as Zita operated, they smoothly retracted into the dedicated magical device.

The steam, stirred by the breeze, drifted gently—drawing unique patterns against the twilight sky.  

Toru lay sprawled on the cargo hold roof of the mechanized vehicle Svetlana, gazing absently at the sky deepening to crimson.  

Having soaked in the hot spring too long, exposing his needlessly flushed body to the soft breeze was just right for cooling off.  

Incidentally, perhaps due to her petite frame, Chaika, who’d overheated even faster than Toru, was sprawled inside the Svetlana. Fredrika, as usual, had vanished abruptly, and Akari was supposedly continuing her apothecary work inside the Svetlana.  

“…‘Trust,’ huh.”  

Toru muttered the word.  

It was, in essence—a beautiful act, perhaps.  

But once spoken, it suddenly took on a dubious, hollow ring.  

To trust is to not doubt. To doubt is to weigh possibilities and debate truth.  

So then…  

‘What made you trust Chaika, Toru?’

When asked again, he realized there was no clear basis for it.  

Toru knew almost nothing about Chaika.  

At least, the facts he knew were a mere fraction of the elements composing the girl, most of them hearsay… with no grounds to deem them true. If anything, it was just that, for now, there were no contradictions—so no grounds to call them lies either.  

Chaika didn’t seem to be lying to Toru.  

But even that was merely a judgment that “there’s no obvious gain for Chaika in lying to us.”  

It could be that Toru’s group simply hadn’t noticed and there might be some benefit, and Chaika herself might lack awareness of deceiving them. With parts of her memory missing, what she thought or planned in those gaps was unknowable.  

The more he thought, the less it ended.  

Easily “trusting” halted thought—but “doubting” was a quagmire. Doubt bred doubt, sinking him endlessly deeper.  

“Hm…”  

The day he met Chaika, Toru fought for his life for the first time.  

Though his body was drilled with combat skills… feeling death’s breath on his back while drawing out every ounce of strength was a first. The sense of fulfillment from that moment lingered, unforgettable.  

Maybe this could change me—he had thought back then.  

That event was indeed the trigger for Toru to escape his rotting days and there was no mistake there.  

But… strictly speaking, that had no connection to trusting Chaika unconditionally.  

If it hadn’t been Chaika but someone else—say, Akari—in that moment, Toru might’ve felt the same fulfillment. The experience of fighting a Feyra for his life was what mattered; there was no necessity for Chaika to be his partner.  

“…I…”  

Perhaps Toru was… like a bird chick hatching from its egg, mistaking the first thing it sees for its parent, fixating on Chaika, who was by his side during that first experience, as someone special.  

If so, it was mere misunderstanding.  

And—  

“Akari…”  

Akari’s situation differed from Toru’s.  

She wasn’t accompanying Chaika. She was accompanying Toru, who accompanied Chaika. She had no reason to see Chaika as special. She was likely just tagging along, worried about her feckless brother.  

If Toru was deceived by Chaika and risked his life, that was, in a sense, his own fault.  

But from Akari’s perspective, there was no reason to fight for Chaika’s sake from the start. Sure, formally, she was hired by Chaika like Toru, but unlike him, Akari seemed somewhat adapted to the new era. She wasn’t like Toru, unable to live any way but as a saboteur—incapable of choosing another path.  

Was he unfairly dragging Akari into this?  

It started to feel that way for Toru…  

“To call my name in such a wistful tone.” Akari said, peering down at Toru’s face. “Has something awakened in you, Anii-sama?”  

“—Don’t sneak up without a trace!!”  

Toru bolted upright, yelling.  

When had she approached—Akari sat on the Svetlana’s roof, wearing her usual outfit with a white apron. Apparently, she’d come to check on Toru mid-apothecary work.  

“Every damn time with you!”  

This wasn’t the first time Akari had startled Toru by masking her presence. Rather, she seemed to constantly lurk for chances to catch him off guard. Toru couldn’t fathom what was fun about it.  

“You wanna give me a heart attack that bad?”  

“Foolish. Why would I scheme such a thing?”  

Akari shook her head grandly, as if offended.  

Her expression, as always, made it seem overly theatrical.  

“I’ve long decided Anii-sama will die in the throes of passion.”  

“Don’t decide my cause of death!” Toru roared at Akari, who clenched her fists emphatically. “Anyway… normally, dying in the throes means a heart attack, right?”  

“With Anii-sama’s iron will and lust, I think exhaustion is achievable.”  

“Achieve that!?”  

What kind of person did this sister think he was?  

Toru sighed long and—sat back on the Svetlana’s roof beside Akari.  

“Hey… Akari.”  

“What, Anii-sama?”  

Akari tilted her head slightly at Toru’s serious tone.  

Feeling it hard to ask while meeting her gaze—Toru looked up at the darkening sky again.  

“Why’d you come on this journey?”  

“…What’s with you all of a sudden?” Akari said, expressionless—as always. “Wasn’t it because Chaika hired us?”  

“Yeah, sure, but…”  

“You decided to work for Chaika, right?”  

“That’s was my decision—you didn’t have to go along with it you know.”  

“…?”  

Akari tilted her head further.  

As if she couldn’t grasp Toru’s words.  

“I’m saying you didn’t need to follow me and join Chaika’s journey. Like Fredrika said, it’s all uncertain, dangerous too.”  

“Really, what’s this now?”  

Akari said.  

As expected, neither her expression nor tone showed emotion—no waver. In a matter-of-fact tone, as if stating obvious truths, she continued calmly.  

“I’m not accompanying Chaika. I’m accompanying you, Anii-sama.”  

“…But still.”  

“If it’s dangerous, all the more reason I won’t leave your side.”  

“Akari…”  

“I couldn’t bear you dying somewhere I don’t know.”  

Akari shook her head slowly.  

Since childhood, she’d been poor at expressing emotions but so even among peers, she was often misunderstood. And Toru often shielded her. Why? He wasn’t sure himself. Probably just because he was her brother, and she his sister.  

Even if… their family bond was merely set for convenience.  

“If you died where I couldn’t see—” Akari said, gazing at the sky alongside Toru. “I couldn’t stuff you.”  

“You’re still on that gag?”  

Toru glared at his non-blood related sister with half-lidded eyes.  

He cursed himself for bracing, even briefly, for something touching.  

“I’m a devoted woman, you know.”  

“Don’t say that yourself. And that’s the wrong usage.”  

“Is it?”  

Akari tilted her head again.  

And then—  

“—!!”  

“—!?”  

The next instant—Toru and Akari reacted almost simultaneously.  

Toru grabbed his two short swords at his side, and Akari reached for the iron hammer slung on her back. Neither fully assumed a stance, as they were seated on the Svetlana’s roof, lacking stable footing.  

Both had sensed it at once.  

A presence that, until a split second ago, hadn’t existed, suddenly appeared behind them. Not approaching stealthily like Akari earlier. It had truly emerged abruptly, without warning.  

“Who’s there?”  

Akari asked, twisting to look back.  

Toru turned too—  

“You…”  

He growled, narrowing his eyes.  

There stood a slender boy.  

Flaxen hair. Amber eyes. Likely mid-teens—still youthful, not yet fully a “man,” with a delicate, androgynous fragility that struck first.  

His appearance was strikingly refined… but something felt off to Toru’s senses.  

Something was missing. An impression that something humans naturally possessed was absent. Asked what, Toru couldn’t answer. The boy had a “lifelike but somehow different” air, like a meticulously crafted doll.  

“Guy—was it?”  

Restraining Akari with one hand to prevent rash moves, Toru said.  

When they first met, Toru had instinctively attacked this enigmatic boy, Guy. Akari might do the same. And likely, her attack would yield the same result.  

“You remembered. I’ll commend you.”  

The boy… responded in a strange tone unbefitting his appearance.  

His words carried a haughty, condescending edge, yet his tone was dry, utterly devoid of emotion. Unlike Akari’s expressionlessness from suppressed emotions, this felt “empty from the start.” Unlike Akari, his half-hearted gestures and inflections made it seem theatrical, highlighting the void behind them.  

“Anii-sama. This guy—”  

“I told you before. The one who gave us info on the Svetlana and Dominica Škoda earlier.”  

In a way, he was far shadier than Chaika—by orders of magnitude.  

No identity revealed, no purpose stated, no direct action taken—just giving Toru’s group information and leaving. Likely aiming to manipulate them for some agenda, but that agenda was unclear.  

“Guy, was it?”  

Standing on the roof, Akari narrowed her eyes, glaring at Guy.  

“Let me give you one warning.”  

“I’ll hear it. What?”  

“Anii-sama has no taste for men.”  

“What’re you saying!?”  

Toru shot up, releasing his sword hilt to slap Akari’s head.  

“No, first impressions matter—”  

“Stop spouting nonsense!”  

“With Chaika and Fredrika already complicating things, more people stoking Anii-sama’s base desires would be trouble.”  

“Is that all your worldview’s got!?”  

“No.”  

“Don’t say it proudly!”  

Yelling that—Toru fixed his gaze on Guy again.  

Though more a conscious act, his eyes hadn’t strayed since turning. Guy’s eerie unpredictability meant even a moment’s lapse could be dangerous.  

The boy’s skills were unknown. How or when he moved was unknown.  

Meaning—Guy could kill Toru’s group anytime.  

“So—what’s your business?” Toru asked for now. “Got more information for us?”  

“Indeed. New information. The whereabouts of the next ‘hero’ you should pursue.”  

“…”  

What kind of intelligence network backed this boy?  

Certainly not an individual’s. No lone person could gather such information. There had to be an organization behind him.  

Yet…  

“Simon Scania. His exact location is unknown, but he was last confirmed three days’ travel by mechanized vehicle from here, in Lademio Town.”  

“Lademio Town—”  

A name Toru didn’t recall hearing much.  

Likely a small border town.  

“The sighting of Simon Scania himself is nearly four years old, with no one seeing him since. But as the last place his presence was confirmed, it’s a lead for tracking.”  

“…”  

Toru glared at Guy’s composed face.  

The information on Dominica Škoda and the Svetlana had been accurate. Yet Toru couldn’t trust this boy. He likely wasn’t what he seemed. Beyond his cooperative facade, Toru sensed hidden motives.  

“You know everything from the start, don’t you?”  

Toru asked, probing Guy with his gaze.  

“What?”  

“The remains’ locations.”  

“…I don’t know.” Guy said flatly, shrugging. “At least, I don’t.”  

“What?”

“There may be those who know. But I’m merely a messenger, you see. Beyond the finer details of the field, overall judgments aren’t within my authority.”  

“…”  

At Guy’s roundabout words, Toru caught Akari frowning in the corner of his vision.  

As expected, she too sensed something shady about this boy. It was less rational, more instinctual—a snag hard to pinpoint concretely.  

“Feels like we’re being played, and it’s pissing me off.”  

“Is that so? That’s good.”  

Guy nodded grandly at Toru’s words.  

Not sarcasm or spite. At least, no such clear emotions were visible in the boy’s “emptiness.”  

“Feel free to rage, doubt, mock, hate, love, laugh, and cherish. That’s what’s expected of you.”  

“…”  

Toru felt irritation at the increasingly cryptic phrasing.  

“Doubt my information if you like, but if you trust it and go, you’d better hurry. It seems the Kleeman Agency unit chasing you has obtained the same information.”  

“What?”  

“Alberic Gillette, was it?”  

“…”  

The image of that young knight flashed in Toru’s mind—his razor-sharp skill.  

A true scion of a martial lineage born from the long war era. They’d clashed once, but it was clear he wasn’t an ordinary foe.  

In a one-on-one duel—could Toru even win?  

Moreover, their numbers clearly outmatched his group’s.  

“Got it. I’ll keep that in mind.”  

Toru nodded.  

Of course—throughout, he hadn’t taken his eyes off Guy for a moment. Since recognizing Guy’s presence, he’d even tried to blink as little as possible.  

Yet…  

“—Anii-sama.”  

Even Akari’s voice carried a faint trace of shock.  

They hadn’t looked away for an instant. Likely, Akari hadn’t either.  

But despite that, Guy’s figure had vanished from before them.  

No warning, no trace, truly abrupt—as if such a person had never been there. Four eyes couldn’t even catch which direction he’d moved.  

“What’s the trick?”  

“No clue.”  

For now, he wasn’t an enemy.  

But if he ever became one, he’d be a massive pain.  

They should devise at least one countermeasure against Guy thinking vaguely, Toru finally exhaled the tension coiled within him.