Chapter 131

Mikhail stood with his arms folded, watching the quiet profile of Ethan beside him.

Nothing but stillness. It was hard to believe this was the same person who'd been tearing through a fierce battle just minutes ago.

Come to think of it, Ethan went at the knights pretty hard. Charged out front to take down the nearby beasts, too.

Mikhail retraced Ethan's movements. The more he layered the original progression over what he'd just witnessed, the more Ethan's image warped like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong slot.

"Hah."

The breath left him with a bitter edge. Mikhail scowled, then shut his eyes to block the sight entirely.

No. No. Whatever's going on… from a growth standpoint, it's not a bad thing.

Mikhail opened his eyes. He dug his fingertips into his forearm and pruned away the thoughts branching off in every direction.

There was only one thing to focus on right now.

Ethan's path could not stray from the flow.

Beneath the role of protagonist, he had to walk the predetermined course.

He had to stay faithful to the correct answer. For the sake of the best possible outcome….

I'll guide this arc in the direction it's meant to go. All the way to the end.

The moment Mikhail steeled himself, Ethan—who'd been keeping his gaze low—broke the silence and raised his head.

"……"

A misaligned current drifted between them. Their eyes met for a single heartbeat, then fell apart with an awkward distance neither tried to close.

Mikhail held his gaze on Ethan a moment longer, then turned his head the other way.

"—Hey, Mikhail."

That was when Lloyd sauntered over and slung an arm around his shoulders. He tilted his head in close, leaning toward Mikhail's face.

"……"

Sky-blue eyes curved in a teasing arc, glinting with open curiosity.

"Word is you went off to help someone out? So why did the knight order guys come back looking like they wanted to chew nails?"

Mikhail let a noncommittal hum trail out, then turned his head ever so slightly.

"They're just ungrateful, that's all."

"…Huh? Ungrateful?"

"I did pull them out of a tight spot. It's true. Granted… I may have skimmed a few points in the process."

Mikhail tapped the magic tool on his wrist with a fingertip. Lloyd exhaled something caught between a gasp and a groan, then gave Mikhail's shoulder a consoling pat.

"Ahhh, so that's where those extra points came from."

"Heh."

A tongue-click of disbelief escaped Ethan. But Mikhail offered neither of them any real reaction or expression.

〔Quest: [Main] Complete Round 2 of the Suppression Campaign — Achieved〕

• Completion Reward: Shop Currency +3

He simply read the message hovering before his eyes, then lifted his gaze toward the far end of the corridor and spoke.

"Looks like the guide's on the way. We'll need to head outside the ruins soon. Everyone, get ready."

---

Every faction had gathered outside the ruins.

Verte stared up at the sun tilting westward, then craned his neck toward the announcer's voice echoing through the open air above.

"As participants continue to emerge from the ruins, we'll now announce the combined rankings—factoring in performance scores and special audience support points from Round Two!"

Verte listened to the announcer work his way up from the bottom of the standings and raised a hand to shade his eyes.

A hollow laugh slipped from the corner of his mouth.

Unlike the strong start they'd made early on, the magic research institute had slid to third place.

This is pathetic. Whether it's me personally or the team I belong to… there's not a single thing worth holding my head up for.

Verte bit down on his lip, his fingertips trembling.

Who could look at this sorry state and call me the rightful heir of the North? Who could say this is what a guardian should look like?

Verte let the arm shielding his eyes drop to his side and stared up at the sky.

His slate-blue irises absorbed the sunlight settling across their surface in silence—then, in a sudden surge, they churned like violent waves and swallowed the approaching orange light whole.

"—Hey, Verte. You okay?"

A cautious voice cut into the moment. Verte turned his head, and the teammate who'd spoken rubbed the back of his neck before pressing on.

"Look… don't take it too hard. That fight wasn't even an official match. And the whole thing wasn't broadcast either. Nobody's going to judge your full strength based on that. Besides, our faction's score—we can still turn it arou—"

"Where's Senit?"

Verte's cold tone severed the sentence mid-word. The teammate who'd been offering comfort went rigid in an instant.

Silence settled like storm clouds. Awkwardness hung between them in scattered drops. The one who finally stepped through the stillness was Noen.

"Verte. Now's the time to regroup. If you're thinking about picking another fight in this situation, drop it and—"

"I asked where Senit is."

"Verte Fischer. Haven't you had enough of doing whatever you please? It's time we actually talked about—"

At that moment, murmuring voices spilled from somewhere behind Noen.

Verte plucked the name Salvator from the overlapping chatter, then answered the man standing across from him with perfect composure.

"You want to talk, you said…. Hmph. You didn't even need to ask. I was planning to."

"What?"

Noen flinched, his eyebrows twitching. Verte watched the reaction, tugged one corner of his mouth sideways, and brushed past Noen's shoulder as he spoke.

"Leaving the institute's results entirely in your hands doesn't seem like a viable option."

Noen's shoulders jolted hard. But Verte paid him no mind and kept moving.

"……"

Before long, Verte stood in front of Salvator's group. He planted himself there and didn't move. His unreadable behavior drew puzzled glances from Salvator's members, and a few drifted closer.

Rustle.

That was when Mikhail—who'd been standing at the very back—pushed past his teammates and stepped forward.

"Something you want to say?"

Verte looked down at Mikhail. A beat later, he twisted the corner of his mouth upward and spoke.

"The standoff inside the ruins. That was my loss. I'll admit it."

"……"

"But don't think for a second that everything ends here. Mikhail Senit."

Verte's voice simmered low, laced with warning.

"There's more than one way to prove you deserve to be called a guardian in this campaign."

Mikhail regarded Verte in silence. Verte held the stare right back—then let a sharp breath of laughter escape and turned away.

"Verte."

He'd barely taken two steps. Mikhail's voice caught his stride and held it fast.

Verte stopped where he stood without a word. And listened to his rival's voice.

"Whatever resolve you've made—nothing that's already been decided is going to change."

---

The vehicle carrying them to the site of the third round was the same as before—a carriage pulled by plains sprinters.

Damp wind spilled across his cheeks. Mikhail sat at the edge of the carriage with a still expression, eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Hard to believe we're already at the final round."

Mikhail turned toward Lloyd, who'd struck up easy conversation from the seat beside him.

Their eyes met. Lloyd flashed a grin and shrugged.

"Me talking to you all the time—you're used to it by now, right?"

Mikhail looked at Lloyd and let a small laugh slip.

"Yeah."

The ready answer made Lloyd's eyes crinkle. He folded his arms loosely, wiggled his fingertips, and gazed into the distance as he spoke.

"Once the whole campaign wraps up, it'll be evening. By the time we get back, late night…. I bet everyone's going to be dead on their feet and passed out through most of tomorrow."

"Probably."

"Still, they'd better pull themselves together by evening. There'll be the final score announcement and the awards ceremony."

Mikhail nodded along as Lloyd recited the upcoming schedule.

"And at the closing banquet after the ceremony, we'll finally get to meet and greet the dignitaries who participated in the campaign."

"Oh, right. So you've actually been paying attention to that?"

Lloyd's eyes lit up, and he gave Mikhail's shoulder an approving pat.

"Well, I mean—of course you have. The real, legitimate heir of the North who just put Verte Fischer in his place is standing right here. Being at the center of attention is a given."

But the playful tone was short-lived. Lloyd lowered his voice and leaned toward Mikhail.

"Ah… of course, that's all assuming we wrap up Round Three without a hitch."

Mikhail studied the meaningful narrowing of Lloyd's gaze for a moment, then tilted his head and spoke.

"Cloelle."

"……"

"After I win—what happens to Verte?"

A cold current passed between them. But Lloyd quickly layered his usual playful grin back over his features and toyed with the edge of his chin.

"Hmm, well…."

Lloyd furrowed his brow. It didn't last long before he answered with his usual candor.

"After getting publicly humiliated that badly, he won't be able to run around calling himself the rightful heir of the North for a while. The people who'd been in his corner will turn their backs, and the ones who already resented him will have a field day. Politically, influence-wise—you'd have to call it a critical wound."

"……"

"But, well. Mikhail."

Mikhail watched Lloyd in silence. Lloyd continued with a measuring look, as if weighing the scales laid out before him.

"All I can say for certain is that he'll be at a disadvantage. As long as he exists as a Fischer, the possibility of him coming at you doesn't disappear entirely."

The air brushing his cheeks carried a particular bite.

Mikhail gave Lloyd a nod, then raised his eyes to the sky.

Hazy clouds drifted in from the far edge of the open sky like small boats, one after another.

"……"

Mikhail drew in the damp air.

From the seat beside him, Lloyd's voice floated out again.

"Huh? Where'd those dark clouds come from all of a sudden?"

But every trace of the flat composure from moments ago had vanished from his tone. His voice was light, almost childishly petulant.

"Ugh, so unpredictable…. I know the next stage is in a cave and all, but I'd really rather it didn't rain."