Chapter 102

It was the moment the golem's core shattered.

A system message materialized before Mikhail's eyes.

[Notice: [Natural Attribute: Ice] settles into possessed mana, activating the attribute.]

[Mana Element: Ice]

[A natural element carrying the ice attribute. The user may expend mana to partially replicate ice's properties and activate the traits of [Freezing] and [Crushing].]

[Stat Change Notice]

Impact Reduction: C → C- (tier increase)
Mana Quality: B- → B (tier increase)

Mikhail lowered the arm he'd flung forward and blinked.

His vision hadn't fully returned—patches of the scenery still wavered and blurred—but he could make out Ethan standing motionless, and the new form of the sword in his hand.

A faint smile settled across Mikhail's lips.

The problem with Ethan's sword.

It was a mismatch between the owner's rate of growth and the wear on the blade's surface. Ethan had grown far beyond what was predetermined after stepping into the deviations of the main storyline—but he hadn't cut down enough enemies to match that growth.

Which was precisely why Mikhail had sought out the hardest entity available and made Ethan cleave through it.

Like cracking open a shell too thick for the chick inside to break on its own.

"Knew it… I knew it'd work ou—"

Before he could finish, his vision pitched backward. The smell of grass surged up close and hit his nostrils.

Mikhail lay there with his lungs heaving and stared up at a sky that stretched high and blue, like the world after a rainstorm.

The brutal cold had left its mark—every inch of his body ached and shivered. But the pendant in his coat was still radiating warmth, which meant he could at least hold on to consciousness.

And since everything had played out exactly as he'd hoped, his mood wasn't half bad either.

"—Mikhail!"

Hurried footsteps and Ethan's shout closed the distance in a single breath.

Mikhail glanced at Ethan, who'd dropped down beside him and was scanning him for injuries, and lazily raised a thumb.

"Wow. Look at that face. Pretty cool, huh?"

"…I'd rather not hear that from the person who put me in this state."

Ethan's brow crumpled like crushed paper, and he rubbed absently at the small cuts scattered across his cheek.

Then he let out a breath that practically boiled on the way out.

"There's reckless, and then there's whatever you are. Transforming into a golem without a single word of warning? You've exceeded my imagination. Where do you even learn that kind of recklessness?"

"Aw, that hurts. It was a masterstroke—I threw myself in because I trusted you. How can you not appreciate that?"

"You always have an answer for everything. And what if I hadn't been able to beat you? What if we'd both been trapped in here forever?"

"You need to stop borrowing trouble. Keep it up and you'll age five times faster."

He couldn't so much as hold his own body upright, yet every retort rolled off his tongue with the ease of someone who hadn't a care in the world.

Ethan stared at him, caught between exasperation and disbelief, and let out a hollow breath—but soon pushed his bangs back and spoke.

"…Yeah. Like I could ever win against you."

The edge had left Ethan's voice.

Mikhail wrapped up the exchange with a thin smile, then let his gaze drift over the ice crystals strewn around where he lay.

Crystal fragments left behind as the Frost Golem's remains.

Most had cracked and shattered, their light fading fast—but a few still held their vivid dark blue color.

Rustle.

Mikhail closed his hand around one intact crystal near his fingertips and, after several steadying breaths, dragged his limp upper body upright.

The instant he did, a sharp crackle of static burst to life a few paces ahead.

BZZZT!

A soft halo of light bloomed outward, and a portal shimmering pale violet opened before them.

It looked identical to the one they'd used to enter the World of Extremes. The exit back to the real world.

Mikhail stared into the rippling mana field, then turned to Ethan beside him.

"Ethan."

Ethan had been studying the dark blue crystals scattered across the floor, but he lifted his head at the sound of his name.

Mikhail drew on a perfectly shameless smile and spoke.

"Everything hurts like hell. Give me a hand."

Ethan didn't refuse.

He picked up the Red Sun Metal from the floor without a word, shifted the swords he'd been carrying to his waist, then turned and offered his back.

"Get on. You're in no shape to walk."

Mikhail didn't decline. Ethan hoisted the thoroughly selfish disaster onto his back and straightened his knees.

Tssszzz.

In that moment, the ice crystals strewn beneath Ethan's feet trembled and began to fade.

Ethan stiffened at the sight of them dissolving, and Mikhail spoke in an offhand tone.

"Each person can only claim one reward from the golem's remains. And I technically count as golem wreckage too."

Ethan grunted in quiet understanding and resumed walking.

The crunch of something like dry snow breaking underfoot drifted up three or four times.

Mikhail reached a hand forward.

"Here. Take it."

Ethan stopped dead. His gaze locked onto the object that had appeared without warning.

Resting in Mikhail's outstretched hand was a dark blue crystal, still radiating its full, unbroken light.

The very thing that had carved wounds into his body during the fight just now—wounds that refused to close.

"I told you I'd make it happen on this mission. A weapon to suppress your ability."

Ethan stood beneath Mikhail's voice—ringing with a clarity that didn't feel quite real—and stared at the crystal, smooth as black ebony.

Then, expression dazed, he turned to look over his shoulder.

Mikhail was already smiling, cutting him off before he could form a question.

"You weren't the only one who took down the Frost Golem."

A tremor ran through the corners of Ethan's eyes. His lips parted just slightly, and a halting voice slipped through.

"Don't tell me… at the end, when you ripped out the core and… attacked—"

"Yeah. Pretty much. So what you'd call that is…"

Mikhail tilted his head back and forth, searching for the right word to describe what he'd done.

"…The finishing blow. Right?"

A brief silence drifted past.

Ethan let a single wisp of a laugh land at the corner of his mouth, light as a fallen leaf.

"You really do say the strangest things."

"…Don't I know it."

Trading one inconsequential line apiece, Ethan set off toward the violet portal.

Mikhail listened to the neat, measured cadence of footsteps—same as always—then spoke in a flat, unbothered voice.

"That makes every promise kept. Ethan."

Ethan didn't look back. He just nodded.

The white breath slipping between his lips floated upward like a cumulus cloud on a clear day, then quietly faded.

Before long, the two of them stood before the humming threshold.

Ethan gave the portal's entrance a careful once-over, then prodded the ground beyond it with the toe of his right foot.

"We just walk straight in?"

"Yeah."

The instant Mikhail's answer fell, Ethan stepped through without hesitation.

From the vanishing point ahead, a brilliant shaft of light rose like the first rays of dawn and came rushing toward them.

"Mikhail."

The light was only a few strides away. Mikhail answered the voice that called his name.

"What."

"Thank you. For keeping your promise."

Ethan's tone was flat and emotionless—like someone reading lines written on a page.

But Mikhail knew how rare this was.

Ethan wasn't the type to bare what he was feeling. Not easily. Not ever, really.

"……"

Mikhail let a brief pause hang between them like a comma.

Then, as if it were nothing worth dwelling on, he puffed out a deflating little breath and spoke.

"Don't mention it. Obviously."

---

Two days drifted past after that.

A warm afternoon sun angled down through the windows.

A quiet corner of the Melphendes request office.

"—WHOOOOAAAA! Incredible! Amazing! I can't believe you actually brought back the Red Sun Metal!"

Mikhail listened to Fredik's booming voice and stole a glance at the table's sound-dampening device to make sure it was working.

Fredik sat with the crimson crystal before him—red as a camellia blooming in snow—wearing the flushed cheeks of a man who'd downed six or seven bottles of liquor.

"Yes! I knew it! I knew you'd bring it back! Something about the way you talked—that nerve, that audacity—I could tell you were no ordinary kid! Ha! My eye never lies, I tell you!"

Fredik was pounding the table with meaty fists, too excited to contain himself, when Mikhail smiled from across the table.

"For someone who says that, all you brought were sweets, Mr. Fredik."

"Ahem!"

Fredik cleared his throat for no good reason and quietly nudged the basket of pastries beside him out of sight.

"Well, you know—there's always a chance things don't work out. You've got to be prepared for the off chance something disappointing happens. Don't you think?"

"Sure. I suppose so."

Mikhail agreed without fuss. There were more important matters to get to than nitpicking over throwaway lines.

"By the way, Mr. Fredik—you'll be processing my request as a success, correct?"

"Of course! Absolutely! Splendidly completed! It's been ages since I've had a deal this clean and satisfying!"

Fredik answered with eager generosity, snatched up the completion document, and signed it with a flourish.

Meanwhile, Mikhail leaned to the side and picked up a box.

Inside was the World Tree sapling—its bark trimmed clean and smooth by Ethan's strike.

Clunk.

The moment Mikhail set the box on the table, Fredik's eyes snapped to it.

"Huh? What's that impressive-looking thing?"

"The session with the kingdom's greatest blacksmith that I'm owed as part of the commission. I'd like to use it right now."

"Hm?"

Fredik blinked and stroked his beard, but soon shook his head and huffed through his nose.

"Hmph. Think carefully now. I told you before, didn't I? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity money can't buy. The smart move is to save it for when you need your most important weapon forged…."

"That would be right now."

Creeeeak.

Mikhail spoke with quiet certainty and lifted the lid of the tightly sealed box.

Resting on a bed of soft cloth was a single silver rod, scattering flecks of light like snowflakes.

Every trace of the rough, uneven bark had been stripped away.

Fredik fixed his eyes on the clean, straight line and went rigid as a statue—then seemed to find words at last, stammering them out.

"What… what is this material? Something about it feels almost… familiar. No—maybe I've never seen anything like it."

"Honestly, I'm not entirely sure myself, but…"

Mikhail tapped the table a couple of times and paused for a moment before answering.

"Someone once theorized that it's a sapling of the World Tree."