Chapter 124

Mikhail followed the corridor that led toward the center of the ruins—the starting point for the second stage.

An unusually desolate and cheerless passage.

He'd chosen this route precisely because he didn't want to run into anyone, at least not until he reached the next checkpoint.

"……"

His stride broke mid-step. Mikhail stopped and frowned.

The pounding in his chest hadn't let up since the moment his standoff with Verte ended.

His mind was clear. Nothing turbulent—just a calm stillness, like a lakeshore on a windless day.

And yet, for reasons he couldn't pin down, something kept trembling.

What's wrong with me?

The question gripped him. But it didn't take long to land on an explanation.

Oh, right. That fight burned through a fair amount of mana.

On top of that, he'd closed to point-blank range and forced a brawl just to create an advantageous position.

His body wasn't built for that kind of combat. The strain must have hit hard.

And while getting hit that cleanly had been half-intentional, it was still a solid blow he'd taken.

Yeah. No wonder my body's screaming.

Mikhail let a sigh scatter into the air and started walking again. The moment the question faded, the usual current of calculation latched back on.

He pushed the pounding in his chest to the back of his mind.

Once he locked onto the thought, his head fell into its familiar rhythm—spinning through the costs and returns of everything that had just happened.

The standoff with Verte.

What surged up first was irritation. The whole encounter had ended without a single tangible gain.

He'd burned more mana than necessary, and the recovery time he'd need was going to run longer than planned.

Every one of those factors would limit his movement going forward.

Regardless—I'm never indulging that kind of impulse again.

Mikhail clicked his tongue, shook his head to dislodge the bitter thought, and moved on to the next subject.

According to the original progression, the campaign was already past its midpoint.

If he maintained the established flow from here, Salvator would hold their high score and defend first place—then cap it off by taking down a magical beast strengthened by the anomaly's influence.

The episode would wrap with the protagonist's party at the center of attention among every notable figure in attendance.

Mikhail steadied himself with a deep breath.

It's almost over. From here on, I just focus on maintaining the original flow. Wasting energy on anything else gets me nothing… and I've been reminded of that lesson one more time.

He gave both cheeks a quick slap—like sealing a promise—and picked up his pace toward the front.

Then his eyes dropped to his wrist.

[350pt]

The number on the magic tool confirmed exactly what he wanted to see: Salvator in first place, the story unfolding as planned.

"……"

But the expression on Mikhail's face as he stared at the score was anything but calm.

The specific amount of points Salvator had earned.

It didn't match the progression he'd expected. The total was slightly higher than what the original storyline had produced.

Mikhail narrowed his eyes, retraced the trajectory of the climbing score, and chewed over the points that stood out.

A single hypothesis crossed his mind.

Don't tell me… they avoided the Allied Knight Order?

---

"Whoa! This place is huge!"

The exclamation burst from behind them the instant they stepped into the central hall of the ruins.

Judging by the tone, the voice belonged to Dian.

Ethan gave a single nod of agreement and kept moving forward.

Members of most factions were scattered across the hall in clusters, chatting and trading stories in a lively din.

"……"

But as Ethan's gaze swept the crowd, the one person he was looking for was nowhere in sight.

"Hm? Looks like Mikhail's not here. I figured he'd have beaten us here, with how quiet his side's been."

Lloyd strolled up beside Ethan as they reached the center of the hall. Ethan glanced at him and replied.

"Yeah. I might need to go look for—"

"—Huh? Hey, hey! They're here! Salvator's here!"

A group seated near the center of the hall turned toward Ethan and surged forward in a wave.

"What the. What's all this about…"

Baffled by the sudden rush, Ethan furrowed his brow and studied the crowd closing in around him.

Every one of them had broad-set shoulders and wore yellow uniforms emblazoned with a sword-and-shield crest.

The Allied Knight Order, from the look of it.

But all they did was flash grins—none of them seemed inclined to explain what they were after.

Ethan scanned the faces with a deepening frown.

"What is this? Isn't it common courtesy to state your business first?"

"Aw, come on, don't be so stiff. You guys know exactly why we're here."

"Yeah. Just let us get a look at the winner's face already."

"What?"

His clipped response did nothing to temper theirs—every answer came back as easygoing as could be.

Were these people always this shameless? The bewilderment was thickening in Ethan's chest when one of the knights, unable to contain himself a second longer, raised his voice and asked.

"Look, where's your incredible mage? The legitimate heir who just put Fischer in his place!"

"Put him… in his place?"

Ethan murmured the unfamiliar claim and turned it over in his head.

The last thing Mikhail had said was that he'd take the side corridor to collect points more efficiently.

But Verte Fischer? Put in his place? What on earth had happened?

"……"

Ethan was still groping through details he had no way of knowing, his hand tightening at his side—

"Ahahaha! Hahahaha! Hahahahaha!"

—when Lloyd shattered the awkward silence that had settled between the two groups.

He strolled forward with his hands in his pockets, laughter spilling out of him in a bright, rolling cascade.

"Ahaha… haha. Hahaha. That man never ceases to amaze."

The laughter tapered off before long, and his sky-blue eyes glinted with keen interest.

Lloyd leaned toward the knights in front of him, and a clear, inviting voice slipped out.

"Hey, mind telling us a bit more? Our mage is like a sun shower—you never know when he's going to pull something out of nowhere. Sounds like he did it again."

Lloyd smoothed over the awkward atmosphere with effortless charm, and the knights—visibly relieved to have an opening—launched into the whole story.

"So, the duel we saw was…"

They'd been the first faction to reach the hall, they said. The moment they arrived, they'd caught the live feed playing through the broadcast device.

They didn't know the lead-up, but what they saw was unmistakable—Mikhail sealing Verte behind a massive barrier, bringing the situation to a decisive close.

Then Verte, still demanding they finish the fight from behind the wall, had noticed the observation tool broadcasting everything. His face had turned beet red, he'd screamed—and the feed cut out.

"……"

Ethan listened to the Allied Knight Order's account, then turned toward the entrance they'd just come through.

What flashed through his mind were all the times he'd seen Mikhail after he'd pushed himself to the limit.

Consciousness barely holding on. Body too spent to keep itself upright.

So that means this time, too…

There was a real chance Mikhail had collapsed somewhere after the fight with Verte.

Better to go get him, just in case.

"Hey."

That was when Lloyd called out to the back of Ethan's head as he moved to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Mikhail."

Lloyd answered with a low, wordless hum, and Ethan quickened his stride toward his destination.

Tap.

But the encounter he'd been hoping for came sooner than expected. Ethan had just reached the entrance to the central hall when he spotted it.

Down the corridor, swaying as if about to topple—or staggering, or both—a familiar figure was lurching closer, body listing with every step.

Ethan fixed his gaze forward and planted himself in place. He stood motionless and waited.

"Mikhail."

At the sound of his name, Mikhail—who'd been dragging himself forward at a crawl—slowly raised his eyes.

He stared blankly at Ethan standing right in front of him. Then, with his usual expressionless face, he spoke.

"Going somewhere?"

"Not anymore. I was coming to find you."

"Me?"

For some reason, Mikhail looked genuinely confused. He tilted his head to one side.

But the puzzlement faded quickly. He settled into a casual expression, let a deflating sound escape, and nodded.

"Huh. Well, good timing, I guess. At least I won't have to wander around lost."

Ethan watched Mikhail for a quiet moment, then softened his expression and spoke.

"More importantly—I heard. You fought Verte and won. In front of an audience, no less."

"Oh, uh… yeah. It just kind of happened."

"That's great. So we don't have to worry about that side of things anymore. From here on, we stick together, right? Oh, and we racked up a pretty solid score too. If we keep this up—"

"—Right. The score."

Mikhail cut through the building momentum and fixed Ethan with a flat stare.

Ethan faltered, meeting Mikhail's gaze.

The smile that had been spreading across his face was guttering out—like a campfire meeting the first drops of rain.

"Ethan, I need to ask you something."

Ethan stood rooted in place, looking at Mikhail. He swallowed a dry breath and answered.

"Sure. What is it."

Mikhail raised the wrist bearing the magic tool and extended a finger from his other hand.

The straightened fingertip tapped against the display where the points were etched.

"The score. How did you earn it?"

"How did we earn it?"

"Exactly what I said. This score—who did you take down, and how did you do it?"

"Ah."

Ethan let the syllable drift out and paused.

What surfaced as he sifted through the answer was the scene from roughly an hour ago.

The process of choosing which route to take for scoring.

The moments when—unlike before—he'd weighed optimal efficiency, stopped butting heads with Lloyd, and compromised.

[It's inefficient. No point creating unnecessary friction. And if the person with more information at hand is the one making the call, following their lead isn't a bad choice.]

[Well, can't argue with that. Mikhail would've been pleased with the call you just made.]

Ethan let the memory go, pulled the corner of his mouth into a smile, and spoke.

"We avoided the Allied Knight Order near the center, then worked our way along the edges to pick up points. Managed to rack up a pretty solid haul because of it."

A beat of silence fell between them. When Mikhail's voice came back, it was heavy with doubt.

"Why?"

Ethan stared straight at Mikhail.

The single-word question that had just left his mouth made no sense at all.

Why… what?

The question rose all the way to the tip of Ethan's tongue. But he didn't let it out.

Instead, he added a reason Mikhail would find agreeable—layering his own intent with what he thought Mikhail wanted to hear.

"Because it was efficient."

"Efficient… you said?"

"Yeah. Instead of going back and forth over disagreements, we followed the lead of whoever had the most information. Because—"

Ethan paused and stole a glance at Mikhail.

Those deep blue eyes—fathomless as the ocean floor, impossible to read—were waiting for what came next.

Ethan drew a breath deep into his chest, set a gentle smile in place, and spoke.

"That's what you would've done, Mikhail. So this result belongs to all of us."

Ethan's voice carried a brightness that hadn't been there before.

But from between Mikhail's barely parted lips, a faint, broken sigh escaped.

A silence full of misaligned edges settled between them.

Mikhail raised both hands—sluggish, unsteady—and pressed them over his face. His voice came out weighed down with exhaustion.

"Ah… so that's how it went. That's the direction it took. God… yeah. I see."

He stopped the quiet murmur, lowered his hands, and looked at Ethan.

"Ethan, forget about efficiency. Don't think like that. You… you of all people can't be doing that."

"……"

"You should just… no. Never mind. From now on, I'll explain things more clearly. That'll be enough."

Mikhail scattered a deep breath between his lips, then moved toward the interior of the hall—brushing past Ethan as he went.

Then, mid-step, his foot stopped against the floor and he spoke.

The dry voice landed like pebbles tossed into a sandstorm—blunt and bare.

"Good work. Ethan."

Ethan stood where he was and didn't move. All that remained in his head was the sound of Mikhail's footsteps, growing fainter with every step.