Chapter 120

"Where is he? Verte Fischer."

Mikhail swept his surroundings as he posed the question, his voice pitched low and even.

The floor beneath him was as parched and barren as a slab of wasteland torn loose and dropped indoors.

Scattered across it lay machines crumpled like scrap metal with their power drained, alongside the bodies of slain magical beasts.

Mikhail surveyed the wreckage and pieced together what the research institute's group must have gone through.

The beast corpses haven't started decomposing—they're still fully intact. Which means…

It couldn't have taken them long to clear the beasts and the ancient machines in quick succession. They must have dumped a massive burst of output all at once to get it done.

And that would have left everyone in the room thoroughly drained.

THOOM—

Mikhail let the distant rumble pass through one ear as he took in the full scene.

Every person holding their ground wore the same look—gazes dropped at sharp angles, lips sealed shut.

As if they'd collectively decided to invoke their right to remain silent.

"Senit. Why should we answer your questions?"

The one who shattered the standoff of silence was the same man who'd confronted Mikhail when he first appeared.

Mikhail turned his head and studied the rough-hewn features. He knew the man's name.

Noen Atman, was it… Well, if you take Verte out of the picture, he's the only one in this group cut out to lead.

While Mikhail was retracing the man's profile, Noen had been drilling him with a frigid stare.

Then, in a sudden shift, Noen tugged one corner of his mouth into a crooked sneer and spoke with open mockery.

"Before you start running your mouth without so much as a shred of manners, maybe take stock of where you stand? We have the advantage here. The strength to overpower you and the numbers to corner you—both are on our side. You should be able to figure that out just by counting heads."

Noen clenched his fist and snarled as though he might lunge at Mikhail any second.

"So what makes you think we'd answer some rude-ass question like that?"

"Y-yeah! What Noen said! Why would we!"

One of the group jumped in to pile on.

Mikhail let his eyes rest on the person who'd raised their voice, held for a beat, then pulled away. A dry laugh slipped from his lips as he took a single step forward.

Brow creased, his words came out bitten and sharp.

"Then by all means—try overpowering me with those impressive numbers."

The instant he threw the challenge back in Noen's face, Mikhail raised the staff that had been hanging at his side.

A crack of ignition, and vivid mana flared to life.

A blue flash erupted from the staff's tip, radiating pressure like a warning shot.

FZZT!

What materialized at the end of the outstretched staff was a razor-edged shard of ice.

The frost-breathing crystal gleamed with the wicked sharpness of a spearpoint, aimed squarely at the research institute's group.

Tsssssss…

Every pair of eyes trained on Mikhail froze solid. Lips sealed around dry swallows as panicked glances ricocheted between them.

"……"

Mikhail studied the faces gripped by barely concealed anxiety beneath the silence, then tightened his fingertips.

Blue light burst from the staff's tip a second time.

FZZZT!

The ice crystal swelled in an instant, doubling in size as it radiated an even sharper cold.

Its pale white surface threw off a bloodless light—like a crescent moon hanging in a winter sky.

"Ah… u-uh."

The crushing pressure bore down to the base of their throats, and the institute's members couldn't hide their unease.

Mikhail, meanwhile, maintained his composure without a single waver and reflected on the characterization applied to the people before him.

Just as I expected. I knew they'd react this way.

People with a tendency to overestimate unexpected threats. People whose behavioral pattern leaned toward caution and retreat rather than bold confrontation with the unknown.

It was the inertia of well-read academics who'd spent too long behind desks—and it was also the in-game characterization assigned to the research institute's members.

[Uuuuugh—. Help me. Help me out here, please? If I get pulled from another field exercise, they're docking my grade again.]

[Wh-what? Beast expedition? I—I can't go. I won't! What if we run into something way more dangerous than expected?!]

Timid little episodes that had popped up throughout the story like comic relief replayed in his mind.

Behind his expressionless mask, Mikhail allowed himself a faint smile.

But it vanished as quickly as it had come. He adopted an overbearing posture, chin tilted up, and dropped his voice to a low command.

"Talk. Unless you want to fight me right here."

The institute's members stumbled backward like cornered herbivores, step by halting step.

The spirited battle cries they'd been roaring just minutes ago were nowhere to be found.

"You bastard…"

But one person was different.

Noen strode forward, his thick brows—coarse as nettles—twitching as he bellowed with enough fury to grab Mikhail by the collar.

"Don't make me laugh, Senit! You think I can't see through your bluff?"

"A bluff…"

But even that razor-edged accusation couldn't shake Mikhail's composure.

He stretched the tail of the word with the air of someone genuinely entertained, then let his eyes drift in a slow, fluid arc.

His gaze settled on the corridor leading deeper into the ruins.

—THOOM! —THOOM!

Rhythmic impacts echoed from somewhere much closer than before.

Loud enough now for everyone in the room to hear.

Noen faltered, and Mikhail seized the opening without mercy.

"From the looks of it, you burned through a fair amount of energy taking down the beasts and machines in here. If you clash with me on top of that, your recovery's going to fall that much further behind. You won't be able to put up a proper fight against the other factions nearby, either."

Mikhail turned his wrist toward Noen, showing the display with Salvator's score.

[180pt]

"But our situation's different. My teammates are pushing ahead as we speak. At this rate, you're going to get overtaken by Salvator. That first-place standing Verte worked so hard to put up? You'll lose it."

Noen couldn't fire back right away. All he managed was to scrunch his brow into a painful knot, as if wringing out a thought that wouldn't come.

Mikhail caught the crack of hesitation and pressed harder.

"So talk. Where did Verte go."

"……"

"Strange. There's no reason to clam up this hard. Verte wants to face me too, doesn't he? …Ah. Wait."

Mikhail cocked his head to one side and hung a loaded smile on his lips.

"You think Verte's going to lose to me. Is that it?"

"You—!"

Noen's fury flared and his eyes went wide. But the response that followed didn't come from him.

"—No! That's not it!"

The fierce denial seized every pair of eyes in the room. Mikhail kept his staff extended and turned his head.

Among the cluster of hunched, shrinking figures, one person stood with fists clenched and chest heaving—fighting to hold themselves together.

Mikhail waited for the person with the disheveled sky-blue hair to steady themselves, then asked.

"Then what?"

"It's… the reason is—"

Confronted head-on by the question, the person's trembling lips quivered like grass in the wind. But only for a moment.

Beneath the glare fixed on Mikhail, a voice hardened by resolve burst free.

"Because we want to protect him! Verte!"

Mikhail's breath stopped for an instant. The person pressed on, raw anguish layering over the words like flesh over exposed bone.

"We don't think Verte's going to lose! And we don't think his name is something to be ashamed of! We just… all we want—no matter what—is for Verte to be safe and happy!"

The cry rang through the chamber like a desperate plea.

Mikhail lowered his head in silence. Half-lidded eyes cast a shadow over the deep-sea blue of his irises.

"……"

After a moment, his fingertips curled tight around the staff.

The ice crystal at its tip ceased its momentary tremor and steadied, hovering in its original form.

"…Right. So that's your answer."

The murmur came out muted, pressed flat beneath his tone. Then Mikhail raised his eyes and faced forward once more.

A gaze that betrayed not even the faintest tremor swept over the enemies across from him.

"Then talking's done. I'll have to do this the hard way."

WHIIIIRR—

A quiet declaration of hostilities, and the air rippled. Mana surged toward the tip of Mikhail's staff.

The shape coalesced with ferocious intensity—as if it meant to devour everything in its path—growing sharper and more defined by the second.

"…!"

The institute's members thrust their hands out in a frantic scramble, clawing together whatever mana they had left.

Crack. Crackle.

But the mana gathering at their outstretched fingertips sputtered with static, clumping in erratic, formless knots.

Between the mana they'd already burned through and the anxiety piling on top of it, nothing would take shape.

"Dammit—everyone, get it together and prepare to attack! We're fighting no matter what! We have to hit back somehow—!"

Someone barely managed to rally their nerves and raise their voice.

That was the moment.

KA-CRACK!

A sound like something wrenching apart shook the room, and the air in front of them flooded white.

A biting wind stampeded toward everyone holding their ground.

"Ghhk…!"

Noen curled his body against the searing cold, throwing his arms up to shield his face.

Behind him, his companions—unable to contain their panic—screamed from every direction.

"AAAAAGH!"

"GYAAAH!"

Seven people, completely and utterly overwhelmed by a single man.

Noen ground his teeth, caught between humiliation and fury. But even as he seethed, he braced his stance against the follow-up attack he knew was coming, hardening every muscle in his body.

No. Keep your head. Opportunities come to those who stay sharp. I'll find an opening and seize my chance to strike back. For Verte's sake, if nothing else…

Noen drew a deep breath and pulled his muscles taut.

"Hff."

But… that was all.

The time he'd braced for came and went, and all that followed was silence.

No crushing blow, no slashing edge, no strike of any kind.

"?"

Confusion gripped him. Slowly, Noen raised his head and stared at what lay directly in front of him.

"Wh… what…"

His eyelids flew open.

What filled his vision was a massive wall of ice.

Behind the translucent barrier, where Mikhail's figure should have been standing—there was nothing. He had vanished completely.

"……"

One by one, those who grasped what had happened began to murmur among themselves. And in the moment Noen stood there dumbstruck, unable to find a single word, leaking nothing but a hollow, bewildered laugh—

The sound of calm, unhurried footsteps reached his consciousness from somewhere far down the corridor.

Mikhail retraced the path he'd come from, following Verte's trail.

As he walked in silence, his heart hammered in a rhythm nothing like its usual pace—and showed no sign of settling down.

"Haah…"

He stopped and dragged a hand down his face. A single sentence was buzzing in his ears like an echo that refused to fade.

[Because we want to protect him! Verte!]