Chapter 111

It was the day of the campaign. Mikhail dragged himself upright, hair tousled, and peered through the gap in the curtains.

Dawn was breaking across a dim sky.

He shifted his gaze downward from the horizon and raised his left hand, gathering mana.

FLASH!

The sphere of mana that bloomed above his palm bobbed gently—like a jellyfish drifting through shallow water.

Mikhail watched the glow and flexed his fingers.

Each curl and twitch reshaped the sphere in a brief flicker of light.

A compressed crystal. Spreading smoke. Hooked curves and surging straight lines. Smoldering embers and ice bristling with jagged points.

Every elemental trait he'd awakened over the free mission period, reflected in a single display.

Fssssh.

Mikhail dispersed the mana, let his hand drop, and cast his mind back over the past five days.

Nothing out of the ordinary. All I needed before the campaign was to build up my reserves—quietly and steadily.

In that sense, the Guild headquarters' training facility had been the perfect fit. It was equipped to let him put every elemental attribute through its paces.

[Stat Increase Notice]

Spell Accuracy: B+ → A (tier increase)

Mikhail skimmed the message, then drummed his fingers against the blanket as he ran through what else he'd taken care of.

First—the state of the protagonist's party, since they're the ones driving the storyline forward.

Ethan and Lloyd had been sparring against each other, and the rest of the group had thrown themselves into training just as hard. They'd enjoyed the first-rate facilities without losing sight of the goal: deliver results that mattered. It was a scene that lined up perfectly with the main storyline's progression.

Next, he'd paid Colin a visit with the sky foxes.

He'd introduced Han and Ul to Colin and left him with a small favor for the day of the campaign.

["Colin. Think you could save two extra seats in the spectator gallery?"]

["Of course! They're for the fox friends, right?"]

["Among other things."]

["?"]

And lastly.

He'd crossed paths with Verte Fischer a few times while using the same wing of training rooms, but—

["……"]

It was like passing a cow that hadn't noticed a chicken.

Verte walked by without incident.

If there was a reckoning to be had, it would come through the campaign's results—no point burning mental energy on petty friction beforehand.

Mikhail wrapped up the thread of thought and let a quiet laugh escape.

My technique drills for the campaign are done, and my stats are more than sufficient. I've arranged seats for the people I want watching. If there's one variable to keep an eye on, it's Verte going off-script—but…

Whatever he tried, it wasn't something Mikhail couldn't handle.

The angles Verte could exploit were limited to elements within the campaign itself. And when it came to knowing the terrain, Mikhail held the clear advantage.

Let's get moving. Back to the original main storyline.

Rustle.

Mikhail threw off the covers and climbed out of bed.

He stepped into the bathroom, finished washing up, then walked over to the shelf by the window and examined what had been neatly laid out for him.

Clothing specially prepared for campaign participants.

A uniform bearing Salvator's crest sat alongside lightweight shoes inscribed with mobility-enhancing formulas.

Mikhail dressed in everything provided, tied his hair back with a plain cord, and reached for the black box.

Whirrr.

The World Tree staff thrummed with resonance the instant it settled into his hand, pulsing in time with his mana.

Mikhail let the faint blue glow at his fingertips dissolve and turned toward the bed.

"Grrrn."

Han and Ul had just woken and were rubbing at their matted fur. The moment they spotted Mikhail, their tails began to wag.

Mikhail held those two pairs of black eyes for a beat, then lifted his chin and spoke.

"Let's go. I got you the best seats in the house."

After leaving Han and Ul with Colin, Mikhail headed for the carriage platform at the headquarters' main gate.

The sky that had been dim when he'd woken had already hoisted the sun to a low perch in the east.

"Mikhail!"

The moment he reached the long line of carriages, a voice shot toward him and lodged itself in his ear.

Mikhail looked toward the source.

In front of a carriage bearing Salvator's crest, Ethan, Lloyd, and four others stood gathered in a cluster.

"Catch!"

Lloyd, standing at the center, waved with a teasing grin and tossed a small magic tool his way.

Fwip.

Mikhail snatched the device out of the air and gave it a look.

Shaped like a wristwatch, its central face displayed the characters [0pt].

[Item: Campaign-Exclusive Point Calculator]

[A specialized magic tool that functions only against magical beasts encountered along the suppression route. Built on a unique formula framework, it fires microscopic pins alongside the wearer's attacks to measure the beast's biological response and tally points accordingly.]

Mikhail strapped the device to his wrist and walked toward the group gathered by the carriage. Every pair of eyes locked onto him at once as he took his place at the center.

An awkward silence settled over them.

"……"

Mikhail studied each face in turn.

Setting Ethan and Lloyd aside, this was the first time he'd worked directly with the rest of the protagonist's party.

A gray-haired boy in round glasses. A girl with silver hair pinned high and peach-colored eyes. A pink-haired girl with a bob cut and a gentle air about her. And a boy with cropped red hair swept back.

"……"

Given the backstory he'd written for them, none of these four would have fond memories of Mikhail Senit.

True to that assumption, some of them were guarded, others visibly uncertain, and the rest stiff with tension.

Mikhail surveyed the rigid faces, drew a deep breath, and spoke.

"Albin Diel."

The gray-haired boy on the far left flinched and jerked his shoulders.

Mikhail called the names of each person standing beside him in quick succession.

"Hailey Felder. Nisha Conte. And Dian Kruger."

Those named swallowed hard or stiffened in place, staring at Mikhail in taut silence.

Mikhail let the tension hang for just a moment, then eased his expression and curved his lips into a smile.

"Good to be working with you. Let's give it everything we've got."

The four of them couldn't find their words right away. They traded bewildered glances, lips parting and closing without sound—plainly stunned by a situation none of them had expected to face.

"—You didn't call my name. Mikhail."

Ethan was the one who cut in, his tone playfully needling.

He flashed Mikhail a relaxed smile, then turned and hopped lightly up into the open carriage.

"He's right, you know. Didn't call mine either. I'm deeply wounded!"

Lloyd was next to chime in.

He strolled over with exaggerated drama in his voice, threw an arm around Mikhail's shoulders, and pulled him into a headlock. Mikhail eyed the arm pressing down on him and tugged the corner of his mouth.

"We've swapped greetings enough times to last a lifetime."

"Come on—greetings are like meals. Just because you ate breakfast doesn't mean you skip lunch. I sure can't."

A laugh burst from the pink-haired girl—Nisha.

She let the bright ripple of amusement trail behind her like a ribbon and spoke in a cheerful voice.

"Yeah. Let's do this. Mikhail."

That single line from Nisha broke the seal on everyone else.

"Same here. Looking forward to it! Man, if I'd known this was coming, I would've run some drills together beforehand."

"I've heard your skills have gotten seriously impressive lately. I'll do my best so we can build some real synergy."

"Tch… we're on the same team, so yeah. For now, let's make it count. Mi… hail."

Mikhail nodded as he passed his gaze over Hailey, Albin, and Dian in turn.

Lloyd cleared his throat and raised his voice a notch, thrusting his hand toward the carriage with a grand sweep.

"All right then—now that we've gotten the pleasantries out of the way on a high note, let's go win this thing! Sounds like it's about two or three hours to the starting point on the southeastern plains."

---

It was around the time the sun climbed to its peak.

Two figures—somewhere between boys and young men—scrambled out of a carriage that had just pulled up to the Guild headquarters' main gate.

"—Yes! We made it! We're not late!"

Edwin, a cooling pad stuck to his feverish forehead, dragged Julien behind him and charged headlong into the central building.

The kind of space where distinguished guests from every corner of the kingdom would gather to watch the campaign—he knew exactly where to find it better than anyone.

"Hah… hkk."

The entrance to the main hall, housed in the central building. Edwin wiped the sweat beading on his forehead and stared straight ahead.

Screens linked by an array of magic tools floated high in the air, while a clear voice narrating the campaign's progress rang through the space.

"Welcome to the southeastern grasslands—where the remains of a plains dragon that perished long ago stand like a landmark on the horizon! Drawn by the lingering mana of that draconic wreckage, powerful magical beasts have converged here, and rising talents from across the kingdom have assembled to bring them down!"

Below the screens, spectators jostled shoulder to shoulder, scrambling for the best possible vantage point.

At this rate, can we even get decent seats…?

Edwin scanned the crowd with a disgruntled look, then something clicked and he spun on his heel.

[Winner or Loser! Place Your Bets!]

Where Edwin stopped was a betting board set up in one corner of the main hall—a station where spectators wagered on the rankings and performance of participating teams or individuals.

[1. Guild Private Defense Academy – Projected Win Rate 23% / 380G]

[2. Allied Knight Order – Projected Win Rate 21% / 270G]

[3. Central Magic Research Institute – Projected Win Rate 32% / 490G]

Edwin studied the names and the graphs representing each pool of wagers.

While most bets clustered around team win rates and rankings, a few entries bore individual names.

The ones labeled Mikhail and Verte.

"……"

Edwin watched the graph and scowled.

Even accounting for Mikhail's track record of poor results and obscurity, the gold stacked under his name was painfully thin. Meanwhile, the bets piling up on Verte kept climbing higher.

"Tch."

Edwin clicked his tongue, turned his pockets inside out, and dumped every last coin he had onto the counter.

Clink.

The attendant running the board went wide-eyed at the considerable sum and stared at Edwin.

Edwin declared in a voice hot enough to scorch.

"Mikhail Senit! Put it all on that name!"

"E-excuse me? But…"

The attendant stammered as though doubting his own ears, then offered a hesitant word of caution.

"You, um… you did check the odds and the situation before deciding, right? Once a bet's placed, there are no take-backs…"

"Put mine down too. Same name."

Before the attendant could finish, another voice slid in from beside Edwin.

Julien—wearing a look of absolute confidence—was already pushing his own stack of gold coins across the counter.