Chapter 136

Mikhail met Verte's pointed stare head-on—then noticed what he was holding.

A pouch, sagging under the weight of its contents.

Mikhail peered through the half-open mouth of the bag. Inside sat glass vials filled with teal-colored liquid. He knew what they were for. Mana replenishment drugs.

But not the kind you'd find in regular circulation.

Mikhail shifted his gaze from the bag's contents to Verte himself.

You're planning to push further? At this rate, you won't just burn through everything you have—you'll be left with lasting damage.

Mikhail let his eyelids droop halfway and lingered on the thought. But soon enough, he shook his head as though it were none of his concern.

Well. Not my problem to weigh in on.

In truth, the only thing worth caring about when it came to Verte Fischer was his potential as a variable. The one who'd surfaced as an exception during the second phase of the main storyline.

But even that felt insignificant now. The odds of him producing another disruption were slim to none.

They had nothing left but the final battle.

The magic Verte prided himself on would amount to nothing once the endgame arrived—once Salvator's overwhelming performance brought the curtain down.

"……"

Mikhail was still watching Verte, threading one thought into the next, when Verte's patience visibly frayed.

Apparently the silent, drilling stare didn't sit well with him. The hand gripping the pouch clenched tight, and his eyes snapped wide with hostility. His shoulders heaved like a crater about to blow.

"Tch."

But an irritated click of the tongue was all that came.

Verte turned away without a word and stomped toward the research institute's members, each heavy footfall pounding against the cave floor. He must have decided that picking a fight wasn't worth the energy.

"……"

Mikhail watched Verte's retreating back shrink into the distance, then turned to face forward.

Whatever happens, I'm steering this campaign's finale along the original progression. All the way to the end.

Mikhail closed his eyes and let a thin breath slip free.

What rose from the darkness beneath his consciousness was the principle of action he'd maintained ever since setting foot in this world.

Treating the original progression as a given—then planning every move and shaping every situation around it.

Not once had he entertained the idea of altering the storyline or straying from the main path.

Following the predetermined flow was obvious. Deviation had never been on the table. Because.

That was the path that guaranteed everyone's happiness.

Mikhail pictured the faces of the lead cast, each one vivid even behind closed eyes.

Ethan. Lloyd. Dian. Nisha. Albin. Hailey.

According to the original progression, the protagonist's party would overcome every hardship and trial thrown at them, press forward on the right path, and eventually find the answers that led each of them to happiness in their own place.

And the world—rebuilt alongside their efforts—would find its footing again too.

Besides, maintaining the original flow wasn't a bad deal for me either. There were inflection points where I could save people like Julien, and further down the line, opportunities to prevent House Senit's downfall would start appearing.

Streetlamps flickered on, one by one, inside the pitch-black interior of his mind. The orderly lights were justification and reason, lined up in a neat row. Mikhail stood motionless and stared at the bright, clear flames.

Then—without warning—a single gust of bitter wind cut through.

WHOOSH—

The cold air grazed his cheek and dragged him back to reality.

"……"

Mikhail peeled away the eyelids he'd drawn down like an awning and raised his left hand. He studied the fingers extended before him for a quiet moment, then exhaled a steady breath and murmured to himself.

Right. So there's no other way.

The fingers in front of him were straight and unremarkable—except for a callus pressed into the side of his index finger. The kind that came from gripping a pen for years on end. A mark that suited the original Hansol far more than some reckless young master.

Right. Stop overthinking and focus. I've done well so far, and I'll keep doing well from here.

Mikhail sealed the resolve by clenching his fist. The fingers that had been splayed in every direction collapsed inward all at once. He dropped the raised hand to his side and lifted his gaze toward the high ceiling ahead.

The dark expanse looming before him.

Someone had once described a ceiling like this—mana stones scattered across it like countless stars—as a sight that looked as though the night sky were about to come crashing down. The scene before him matched that description perfectly. The vast black stone surface cradled a dense constellation of mana stones across its face.

Anyway… this whole area will be packed with the basilisk's head and body soon enough.

Mikhail tilted his head to the side and called to mind the opponent they'd face in this final battle.

The basilisk—forcibly roused from slumber—would wield formidable combat power despite never having fully matured. Neither its offense nor its defense would fall short.

And since we'll be taking down the mutated version on top of that… this main storyline's rewards should be pretty generous.

POP!

〔Quest: [Main] Subdue the Basilisk〕

• Reward: Shop Currency +6

Perhaps his thoughts about the final battle had triggered it. A new quest notification surfaced before his eyes. Mikhail confirmed the golden text, smirked, and rummaged through his jacket.

RUSTLE.

What his fingers pulled out was the pre-battle briefing document distributed by the organizers. Mikhail flipped past the cover and scanned the table of contents.

〔Suppression Target: Basilisk〕

• Target Characteristics.
• Offensive and Defensive Behavior Analysis.
• Post-Neutralization Precautions.
• Reference Images.

I already know every bit of this by heart. And it's not all that complicated to begin with.

Mikhail skimmed the information on the page, then cast his gaze toward Salvator's group.

Ethan and the others were calmly exchanging the tactical details needed for the basilisk encounter. Exactly as the original scene had played out.

Good to see.

Mikhail watched the group with a faint smile before pulling his gaze away.

Mikhail Senit was never part of the main storyline to begin with. As long as it's not a moment where I'm absolutely needed, staying one step removed might be fine.

Mikhail tapped the document against his knee, let a light breath trail out, then closed his eyes. A dull ache was beginning to throb through his skull, and the few words he'd left with Salvator's group before separating drifted back to him.

I'm not feeling well, so I'll be resting for a bit. Don't bother me. I've got the basilisk strategy memorized cover to cover, and I'll take a position as far back in the formation as I can—so don't waste energy worrying about that either. …Just focus on your own roles. Got it?

Meanwhile, in the area where Ethan and the rest of Salvator's students had gathered.

"Hey, Ethan. You okay?"

"Huh?"

Ethan snapped to attention at the cautious voice and lifted his head. Nisha sat across from him, question written plainly on her face. She studied his complexion from several angles before carefully adding one more line.

"I've been watching you for a while now, and you haven't seemed focused at all…. Is something bothering you?"

The others around them nodded in agreement with Nisha's observation.

"Yeah. You've barely said a word during the whole discussion. Just nod every now and then. I was starting to wonder if something was up too."

"You can't be spacing out like this right before the final battle. Get your head together, Ethan Welton. Hm?"

The last remark belonged to Lloyd, doing a pitch-perfect impression of their combat department professor. Ethan said nothing for a moment. But before long, a faint smile surfaced and he answered.

"…Yeah."

Ethan steadied the expression that had sunk low, then took a slow look around the circle of teammates seated nearby. Faces that broke into relieved smiles now that he seemed present again. Ethan let the breath he'd been holding drop away. His teammates were right—now wasn't the time to let his mind wander.

"You guys are right. Can't let my guard down. Need to stay sharp."

"Exactly. We're on the attack unit this time. The way we move is going to be completely different from when we were on defense."

Ethan nodded and fluttered the document in his hand.

"Guys. Where'd we leave off? The part about targeting the basilisk's weak points?"

"No. The section below that. The basilisk's attack patterns. Let's all read through what's written first."

Albin pushed his glasses up as he spoke. Ethan answered with a quiet hum and turned his eyes to the information on the page.

〔The basilisk employs two primary elements in its attacks. Its own body. And the environment.〕

Ethan worked his way through the text line by line, committing every important detail to memory.

"Improvised actions during the coordinated assault are… prohibited."

Before long, the teammates around him were equally absorbed in studying the material. The murmuring voices gradually died down until only the sound of turning pages remained.

FLIP. FLIP.

In the quiet, Ethan raised his eyes. His gaze drifted and came to rest on the spot where Mikhail sat.

Mikhail had the briefing document propped on his knees, eyes closed. His complexion matched the mana stones overhead—pale and cold, radiating the same chill light.

"……"

Ethan forced the exhale that had climbed to his chin back down behind his neck and dropped his gaze to the document in his hands.

The final battle's about to start, and he's in that fragile a state—is that really okay? Why does he keep pushing himself to the breaking point alone….

His fingers dug into the paper. The printed words beneath his grip buckled and warped.

Ethan caught the thought veering off at a sharp angle and shook his head before it could take hold.

No. He must've had his reasons back then. He probably decided it was something he could handle on his own—that's why he stayed quiet about it.

Ethan laid a calm breath across the stream of thoughts still flowing through him.

But this time is different. There's no way he can manage alone. The beast we're about to face is overwhelmingly powerful. Powerful enough that group coordination is the baseline assumption.

Ethan stilled his mind beneath the pulse hammering in his ears like a distant echo.

And besides… he said he'd stay at the back of the formation this time.

What tugged at his consciousness next came from a corner of his chest.

Something coiled there like a knot of thorns, pressed tight against his sternum.

The sharp, pricking sting of it—whether it was stubbornness or recklessness, he had no way to tell.

"……"

But the hand hanging at Ethan's side was curling into a fist with unmistakable clarity. As though he refused to let the chance to prove himself slip away.