Chapter 110

Ethan and Colin's reunion was heartfelt.

Ethan asked after every little detail, and Colin answered without a hint of reluctance—turning the questions around to ask about Ethan's life in return.

Mikhail watched the two of them for a while, then lowered his gaze to the ground and spoke.

"Colin. Shouldn't you be heading back?"

Colin's shoulders twitched. He glanced down at the long shadows stretching at his feet and said:

"Oh, you're right… If I'm any later, my father might start worrying."

"Come on. I'll walk you."

Mikhail took the lead, and a pair of footsteps fell in behind him.

He followed the path toward the central building. When the entrance came into view, Colin dashed ahead and called back in a bright voice.

"See you later! I'll be cheering for both of you!"

Mikhail waved in reply and watched the small figure shrink into the distance. By the time Colin's head disappeared into the flow of passersby, Mikhail had already turned to face Ethan.

"Let's go."

Ethan pulled his gaze from Colin's retreating back and fell into step. The two of them retraced the way they'd come.

They walked in silence for a stretch before Mikhail stole a sidelong glance at Ethan's face and asked.

"You seem happy."

Ethan took a beat before answering. Then he tilted his head back and replied.

"Yeah, I guess so. Colin seems to be doing well."

His chest rose and fell with a slow exhale, and his voice came out loose and easy.

"It's not like every worry's disappeared. But right now, there's nothing weighing on me or keeping me on edge."

Ethan's ash-gray eyes drifted sideways and settled on Mikhail's face.

"…And nobody left to fight with, either."

"How boring."

Mikhail let a dry laugh slip from the corner of his mouth and turned to face forward.

Beneath the clear sky, their footsteps rang out in an even rhythm—almost in sync.

Then, without warning, the smile Mikhail had been wearing dissolved like smoke. His eyelids sank shut.

"……"

He'd known all along.

That the peace and quiet Ethan longed for wouldn't last easily. That Ethan would have to fight through deviations and exceptions for a long time yet, just to protect what he wanted. That only after fulfilling the protagonist's role would he finally reach the stillness called an ending.

"…Ethan."

Mikhail stood still, his face clouded with thought. Ethan stopped as well, and Mikhail gazed at him for a long, quiet moment.

But it passed quickly. Mikhail cracked a light grin and spoke.

"Never mind. Let's make this campaign count."

Ethan blinked as though caught off guard, then broke into a confident smile.

"Yeah. Let's get through it in one piece."

---

Several hours later, after nightfall.

Inside a hall in the Guild headquarters annex, a welcome reception was underway for the campaign's participants.

Mikhail sat at the right-hand table assigned to Salvator.

"So? Quite the turnout, right?"

"Sure is."

Mikhail answered Lloyd's shrugging inquiry and scanned the room.

From the central tables where campaign participants were seated by affiliation, all the way up to the two-story VIP gallery—even a rough estimate put the crowd well over a hundred.

"—Ahem, can everyone hear me?"

The reception got underway. Mikhail turned his gaze toward the front, where a booming voice was filling the hall.

The campaign's host and representative of civilian forces—Guild Master Germain Lowell—stood addressing the participants gathered at their tables.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Allow me to express my sincere gratitude for joining us today. In this campaign, you will face a rapidly shifting environment and have the chance to demonstrate your individual resilience and courage, as well as your collective coordination and composition. Through that, some of you will earn praise, honor, and renown—while others will gain commensurate support and material reward."

Germain surveyed the room with an easy curve at the corner of his lips, then continued.

"Whatever outcomes you pursue—regardless of their nature—each one holds genuine value. I hope this campaign allows every one of you to claim what you desire and return home satisfied. For my part, as your host, I will do everything in my power to ensure smooth and comfortable proceedings."

Thunderous applause erupted the moment Germain finished.

Next came introductions for the campaign's participants. Following the emcee's announcements, those seated at the left-hand tables rose first and greeted the assembly.

"……"

Mikhail clapped along with each introduction, noting the names worth paying attention to. Among the participating groups, four stood out as particularly prominent: the Guild's private defense academy, the capital's allied knight order, the central magic research institute—Verte's group—and then.

"—And last but not least, Salvator Academy!"

Mikhail rose from his seat, dipped his head in the customary bow, and raised it again.

Amid the applause ringing out like a cheer, skeptical gazes from the gallery grazed his field of vision. So did Verte's razor-edged stare and tightly sealed lips from the diagonal table.

"……"

Mikhail sat back down, leaving those pointed looks behind him.

The program continued. Guild executives overseeing the campaign's overall operations were introduced, followed by the researchers who'd helped develop the specialized magic tools exclusive to the event. Then came the announcements of the campaign route, projected magical beast deployments, evaluation criteria, and the ranking calculation method.

That more or less wrapped up the briefing portion.

Clink.

Mikhail eyed the warm dishes being laid across the table. Steak and roasted vegetables. Stew and pie, and a deep red drink. Servers bustled back and forth filling every table while Germain's voice boomed across the hall.

"Eat and drink to your hearts' content. You have five days until the campaign begins—use them to replenish your strength and energy! The Guild will spare no effort in supporting you!"

The declaration lifted the hall's mood into something genuinely festive.

Mikhail had been watching Germain when Lloyd spoke up beside him, drawing his attention.

"By the way, there's something special in the back. Want to check it out?"

Where Lloyd jerked his thumb, a large glass vessel stood guarded by an attendant. It was filled with a sparkling, translucent liquid.

Mikhail recognized it at once.

Starlight Martini.

The ingredients and proportions were notoriously finicky, but the drink was exceptional at easing travel fatigue and stabilizing mana flow. No reason not to take advantage while the opportunity was here.

"Sure."

Mikhail rose and headed toward the corner. As he walked, some people recognized him and clamped their mouths shut mid-conversation. Others snuck sidelong glances, then drifted away with awkward coughs.

Mikhail had a fair idea of what had been said, but he gave nothing away and stopped in front of the attendant.

"Two glasses, please."

Lloyd, who'd arrived first, received two glasses of Starlight Martini and held one out to Mikhail.

Mikhail took the offered glass and leaned against the wall by himself. He sipped at the drink and surveyed the scene.

Glamorous, but far from friendly. Yet he knew that by the time the second main storyline reached its conclusion, this landscape would look nothing like it did now.

At that moment, a large shadow strode up from the front.

"Lord Mikhail Senit, I presume. A pleasure to meet you."

Mikhail looked up and offered a polite greeting to the hearty-faced Guild Master.

"The honor is mine, Lord Germain Lowell."

Germain let a quiet breath settle between them before speaking.

"You really do look just like your father. Though those eyes—those you inherited straight from your mother."

Mikhail blinked with mild surprise and lifted a hand to absently rub the corner of his eye. Germain smiled warmly and softened his tone.

"I didn't come over just for stiff pleasantries. Hmm, let's see… think of me as a friend's dad, if that makes it easier. I hear you and our Edwin have been getting along?"

Mikhail's expression shifted to one of understanding as he replied.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm glad. Seems like he's found a good friend."

Germain leaned against the wall beside Mikhail and swirled the martini in lazy circles.

"I've heard quite a bit about you from Edwin's letters. For the longest time, the kid only ever wrote these blunt little notes that made me wonder if everything was all right… but once your name started coming up, he suddenly had plenty to say. Really got animated about it. He wrote that sometimes he can't figure out what you're thinking, and that the two of you had a pretty serious falling-out once—but that he'd still learned a lot from the experience."

Mikhail let out a small laugh and said:

"Edwin grew on his own."

"Ha ha. Maybe so."

Germain agreed readily enough, but after another sip of martini, he spoke again.

"Still—nobody can stand alone forever. Clashing, breaking, learning from each other—that's how real growth works."

"……"

"So what I'd like… is for you to keep being a good friend to our Edwin."

Germain delivered the words with frank sincerity, then turned to Mikhail and extended his glass.

"This campaign—I hope you finish it safely, without injury or incident. Knowing you through what Edwin's told me, I'm sure you'll see good results. But even if the campaign turns out differently than planned, the fact that you're a good friend to Edwin won't change one bit. So please—don't put too much pressure on yourself. And good luck."

There was a quiet resolve woven into those encouraging words. Mikhail held Germain's gaze, then let a small smile surface as he touched his glass to the offered rim.

"I will. Thank you."

---

Five days passed.

The morning before the campaign.

Edwin—face painted into a convincing mask of misery—accepted his return permit from the magic research institute's administrator between bouts of hacking coughs.

"Head back to school and get some proper rest. In your condition, there's no way you can participate in the observation program."

"Yessir…"

Edwin let his shoulders droop, gave the administrator a meek bow, and shuffled out of the room.

Click. The door shut behind him, and Edwin trudged down the long corridor with heavy, defeated steps.

"Heh heh heh."

But the slumping act didn't last long.

A snicker leaked from beneath his downturned face, and Edwin's fist clenched around the permit.

Success. His masterstroke for escaping the mind-numbing research institute tour and getting to watch the campaign instead had worked. The face paint—specially designed to make you look sickly pale when applied just right—had apparently done its job.

Of course, that wasn't all he'd done. He'd also dunked himself in cold water every chance he got and chewed through heaps of ice.

Da-da-da-da-dash.

Edwin sprinted down the empty corridor, swiping at his cheek. The murky color that came away on his fingers from his flushed skin was annoying, but at this point, that was the last thing on his mind.

He pumped his fist through the air, then blurted out a sudden thought.

"Oh, right! While I'm at it, I should grab Julien and bring him al—ACHOO!"