Chapter 114

"Every last beast on the grasslands has been eliminated! Every single one! And with that, the rankings for the first stage are decided!"

[1. Salvator Academy — 720pt]

[2. Central Magic Research Institute — 610pt]

[3. Allied Knight Order — 560pt]

"WOOOOO!"

Inside the Guild headquarters building.

A roar erupted from the main hall, packed wall to wall with spectators.

Julien and Edwin leapt to their feet, cheering noticeably louder than anyone around them. Violet eyes met olive-colored ones.

"Did you see that? Edwin? They were this close to getting overtaken, and then he shut it down right at the end!"

"Yes! That's what I'm talking about! I knew he'd pull something off! The second he told me to bet everything, I could tell he had it in the bag."

"Yip! Yip yip yip yip!"

Julien bumped his palm against the noses of Han and Ul—bouncing in place—then glanced around.

Spectators were trading reactions in every shade of excitement.

"I figured the opening match would be a sleepy affair. This is way more entertaining than I expected. I've been watching the campaign for close to five years now, and this might be the most interesting one yet."

"Salvator did great across the board, sure, but that boy at the front—the one mowing everything down? His movement was something else. I need to find out his name."

"Heh heh. Nothing beats watching Fischer and Senit go at it. You need a proper rival to keep things tense. Absolutely!"

"Here's hoping we get a real head-to-head clash next time."

Julien watched the screen projecting the distant plains, a faint smile on his lips.

The observation magic tools cycled through images of the participants one by one while the announcer's voice rang out, bright as a songbird in a mountain valley.

"The second stage of Round One will begin after a short break! See you all in one hour!"

---

TWEEEEEEE—!

On the plains where the dragon's remains stood.

Mikhail heard the whistle signaling the end and went still. The ice crystals that had clung to his staff's tip scattered in an instant.

Fssssh.

The first stage had ended with Salvator's victory.

Exactly as it had in the original storyline.

[720pt]

Mikhail confirmed the first-place score on his wrist device and lowered the staff he'd been holding out.

This is exactly the situation I wanted. Maintaining the original progression despite Verte's interference.

He steadied his ragged breathing with a deep inhale, then wiped the sweat from his brow.

So as long as I keep doing this going forward, there won't be any problems. I can secure every quest reward and every storyline outcome I'm after.

Mikhail stood motionless, blinking slowly, then turned his head toward Verte.

Six or seven sprinting strides away.

Verte's face was a picture of barely contained fury. His shoulders heaved violently, and those pale mist-colored eyes churned like a whirlpool beneath a storm.

"……"

Mikhail held the piercing stare in silence, then let his mind drift to the backstory he'd written for Verte—the path laid out for him as a minor character.

After the source of the anomalies ravaging the kingdom had been destroyed.

When the main storyline reached its final act.

Inside the office of the Northern main estate, snow swirling past the windows.

[—Lord Sion. A man claiming to be the rightful leader of the North has requested an audience. He says he won't leave the main gate until you agree to see him.]

After Joseph collapsed and Sion took his place, Verte had gone to Sion.

[I address Sion Senit directly. My name is Verte Fischer. I've come to reclaim the seat that should have been mine.]

Verte had leveraged his accomplishments, his bloodline, and the shifting political landscape to argue for his restoration. In the end, he'd challenged Sion to a duel for control of the North.

[The world Lord Cloelle envisions is the reconstruction of the old civilization in its flawless glory. So, Senit—commoners like you ought to set down your undeserved crown and return where you belong. Even the Guild Alliance, that banner of civilian power that thrived on the world's chaos, is already losing its influence by degrees.]

[I'll give you a chance to step aside with honor. Sion Senit. Through a duel with me.]

But the confrontation never came to pass.

Not because Sion refused the challenge.

[—Fischer.]

It was Cloelle who intervened.

[How absurd. By what right do those who couldn't even protect their own name presume to claim ownership of land?]

There was no place for the Fischers in the perfect world Cloelle had designed. From the moment they'd abandoned the guardian's duty, Fischer had ceased to be a name worthy of the new era—a piece already locked into its fate of fading into history's margins.

[—You know that old Fischer fellow living down the road? Ever since Lord Cloelle's direct excommunication, he seems to have half lost his mind. Throwing things, screaming out of nowhere. Honestly, the whole neighborhood's on edge. Should someone tell him to move?]

If fate ran its appointed course, Verte Fischer would simply sink—clutching nothing but a name as worn and brittle as old bone.

A stale, faded villain.

"……"

Mikhail pulled himself out of the backstory and shifted his gaze away from Verte.

He took a measured look across the quieted plains. The slain beasts were crumbling one by one, leaving behind bronze-colored crystal fragments as their remains.

Fssssssh—

A dry wind swept across the open air.

"—Wrapped that up more smoothly than I expected. Mikhail."

A familiar voice reached his ear.

Mikhail turned toward it. Lloyd had closed the distance in long strides and stood with the corner of his mouth pulled up, fist extended.

"That was all you."

Mikhail looked at Lloyd without a word.

But the expression softened soon enough, and he bumped his fist against Lloyd's.

Tap.

---

The campaign participants settled into clusters across the plains, grouped by affiliation.

Support teams moved between the camps, tending to fatigue and injuries from the recent battle, while others began setting up some kind of equipment one piece at a time.

Whoosh.

Mikhail sat with Salvator's members and watched a campfire spring to life in front of them.

Crackle. Pop.

The fire looked no different from any ordinary campfire, but the warmth it gave off was noticeably deeper.

Mikhail stared into the flickering flames for a while, then took a sip of the fatigue recovery potion in his hand.

Gulp.

He'd just set the half-finished potion down and was mapping out the next stretch of the main storyline when—

"We all did pretty incredible out there. Don't you think?"

It was Ethan who broke the silence.

He spoke with a remarkably bright expression, and the rest of the group smiled back and chimed in.

"Yeah. Definitely. We came out swinging from the start. Having someone point us to a good position made the whole thing so much smoother."

"Man. That feeling when one full swing sends three or four lizards flying? Unreal."

"Oh please, Dian. Do you even know how many times I intercepted wyverns diving straight at you? Watch your surroundings, would you?"

Mikhail looked around at the group, spilling their impressions over one another in a cheerful jumble.

It was a familiar scene. And yet something felt faintly off.

Maybe because his own actions—things that hadn't existed in the original—were woven into the conversation now.

That was when Lloyd draped an arm over Mikhail's shoulder.

"Hey, come on—the MVP who carried us to victory is right here! Picking the perfect spot from the jump, and then answering Verte's sudden power play on top of it."

Every pair of eyes turned their way. Lloyd patted Mikhail's back and continued with easy eloquence.

"Honestly? The moment Verte pushed forward, all sorts of thoughts ran through my head. Do we keep pressing? Or do we cut our losses and aim for the next round? That kind of thing."

Lloyd paused for a beat, then let his expression relax into a grin.

"I probably would've gone with the latter. Fighting a losing battle just isn't efficient, the way I see it."

"I would've gone with the former."

Ethan cut in, his voice calm and measured, and added his own piece.

"Exactly. If it had been just me and Lloyd, we would've butted heads over what to do—right in the middle of a time-critical situation. But…"

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

"This time, that didn't happen. Thanks to you, Mikhail."

Lloyd picked it up as though he'd been waiting for the cue.

"Right. You basically eliminated a pointless war of attrition for us. So keep it coming, yeah?"

Mikhail understood that what they were offering was praise. But an uneasy feeling he couldn't name washed over him, and his head sank.

A conflict that should have existed had simply vanished.

That fact surfaced without warning and seized hold of every conscious thought.

"……"

Was the harmony unfolding in front of him… actually what he'd intended?

The question appeared from nowhere, dropping like a stone into a still lake, sending ripples that filled his mind.

No. No, that's not… it's not that far. I'm…

A heartbeat pounding like fists against a locked door drowned out every other sound, and his awareness slipped—falling toward a memory from his former world.

Seoul, draped in long afternoon light.

Inside a meeting room where a development discussion was in full swing.

"—Hansol. We're going to need to trim some of the stages we've been prepping for the update. You know the story sections you're handling? Condense those down too."

"Excuse me?"

Hansol stopped writing and looked up at the team lead.

The team lead wore an apologetic grin, scratching the back of his head as he continued.

"Yeah, so… the data's showing a pretty high user drop-off rate in the parts where stages repeat. We need to swap out the environment visuals faster. Shuffle the monster placements too. Plus the art team isn't stretched as thin as before, so we've got room to make those changes."

"Ah…"

Hansol let a low hum escape, but quickly gathered his thoughts and spoke.

"But if we suddenly mess with the flow, the characters are going to feel off. Especially the conflict scenes between characters—those only pay off if there's enough buildup leading into them. Cut the middle out and the impact drops."

"Mm, I hear what you're saying, but."

Hansol's tone rose slightly.

"Force the situation and the characters stop feeling natural. They just become paper dolls getting dragged around by whatever the plot needs them to do. And that disconnect… it ends up hurting the whole story."

The team lead rubbed his stubbly chin with an awkward smile, then leaned in with a coaxing tone.

"I get the point you're making. I really do. And I respect your ability on that front—I'd like to honor it as much as possible."

"……"

"But at the end of the day, we have to consider reality and priorities. With this many interests involved, what matters most is efficiency and results."

A deep sigh accompanied the team lead's hand as it reached over. Beneath the pat-pat of fingers on Hansol's shoulder, his voice carried the resigned tone of someone stating the inevitable.

"So you understand, right?"

…Efficiency and results.

Hansol slowly lowered his head. He let a single murmur of acknowledgment slip out, then closed his mouth.

A short silence passed. Then Hansol looked up with a smooth, uncreased smile.

"Sure. I'll make it work as best I can."

"Great. Sorry for springing it on you. Bear with me on this?"

The team lead's face brightened considerably as he gave Hansol's shoulder another friendly pat.

The meeting wrapped up shortly after.

Hansol slipped out of the room, returned to his desk, and got back to work.

"……"

His eyes on the monitor were flat and expressionless. His fingers moved across the keyboard with mechanical efficiency.

People liked to say work was a vehicle for self-actualization, proof of passion—but for most, wasn't its real value simply the means to put food on the table?

This wasn't a solo project. He had no desire to throw a tantrum that ignored how the world worked.

Right. I'm not building this alone. It stings, but there's nothing I can do about it.

Hansol pulled up his earlier work.

Like a racehorse wearing blinders, he kept his focus fixed on the direction he'd been given—and erased the expression he'd drawn on a character's face. Deleted the voice cue he'd placed.

[Delete]

The dialogue scene had felt necessary, but blending it with other elements could probably achieve about seventy percent of the original intent.

[Delete]

The scene meant to reinforce psychological depth could be replaced with flavor text in a later update.

[Delete]

And again.

"……"

Hansol frowned as he watched the progression get carved away here and clumsily patched there, piece by piece, to fit the new requirements.

His blinking eyelids felt unusually heavy and dry.

A headache jabbed at him from the inside, like someone shouting in his skull, and the back of his throat stung.

"Hah."

Hansol stopped his hands, let a thin sigh trail out, and pushed himself up from his chair.

Why is today hitting so hard? Maybe I should take something for this headache.