Chapter 144

The cave shook without reprieve. Ethan answered the question thrown his way with a voice pitched high and sure.

"Yeah. Trust me."

Mikhail studied the conviction etched into Ethan's bearing, then let a faint smile cross his face.

"All right. Let's make it work. I had a feeling I'd need to ask something of you anyway."

Ethan's expression brightened in an instant. Mikhail caught that last flicker before turning to face the basilisk mid-transformation.

Crack. Crrrack….

The reptilian eyes had already turned a solid, blazing gold.

And drifting across their surface like a thin veil of mist was a dark-violet mana.

In the original progression, Ethan and the protagonist's party would trade blows with the basilisk, learn its patterns, then bring it down. But right now…

There was no time for that luxury.

With every passing second, the dark-violet mana's encroachment would deepen—and the basilisk's raw power and the difficulty of killing it would scale exponentially in tandem.

A swift, decisive kill. Speed was their only edge.

Counter every attack without a single miss. If the opening we need doesn't exist, we force one.

Mikhail mapped the flow of battle he intended to draw out, then turned to face the formations gathered behind him.

"W-we are getting out of here alive… right?"

"Damn it, quit clinging to me and shut up. 'We' is a big word when… I don't have a clue either."

Everyone stood clutching their weapons, yet restless voices spilled from every direction.

Those paralyzed with fear and grasping at nothing.

Those calculating how to slip away with their skin intact.

But threaded through the chaos, eyes seeking direction—seeking a plan—had begun drifting toward Mikhail, one by one.

"Hey! Young lord of the North! Looks like you saw this disaster coming! Forget the rest—do you know anything else? Like how we get out of here alive?!"

Flutter, flutter.

The butterfly-shaped broadcaster circling overhead locked its round crystal lens squarely on Mikhail's face.

Every angle of the scene—with Mikhail at its center—crystallized across the orb's polished surface.

"……"

Mikhail swept his gaze across the faces before him, drew a sharp breath, and raised his voice.

"There is one! A way for everyone to make it through this! Follow my lead against the basilisk, and there won't be a problem."

The moment Mikhail declared it with full confidence, a voice cracked from the far edge of the ranks—pitched all wrong.

"D-don't make me laugh! How are we supposed to believe that?!"

The objection came from the leader of the Western Sand Mercenary Company. A man with a jagged scar carved across his face jabbed a finger at Mikhail and bellowed.

"Y-young lord—no, you! Don't just waltz up front and act like you're someone! Fight the basilisk, you say? Ha—you're supposed to be the heir of that great northern house, and you haven't done a single impressive thing this entire campaign! What could you possibly know to be ordering us—"

Mikhail cut him off mid-sentence, his expression hardening.

"I never expected anything from you. Men who only look for a way to turn tail don't have a shred of a warrior's pride."

"……"

"Get to the back. Now. That's as far as my guarantee of your safety extends."

Mikhail fired the words at the mercenary captain, then raised his voice to the crowd once more.

"Anyone afraid to face this—fall back immediately. Protect yourselves however you can. This is the most consideration I can offer, and it's a one-time chance."

Mikhail scanned his surroundings. Two or three groups, by his estimate, would take the exit he'd offered.

They differed only in how openly they showed it—but teams that prioritized self-preservation above all else, same as the Sand Mercenaries, existed among them.

"…Well, the Sand Mercenary guys aren't wrong, exactly."

The voices Mikhail had predicted began trickling out. Murmurs chased each other from every corner.

"But we all watched him take down Verte single-handedly. And he was the one leading Salvator from the front the whole time."

"Either way, the safest option is killing the basilisk, isn't it? Running's all well and good—but what happens when that lizard comes after you? You'll regret bolting, guaranteed."

"The young lord's earned enough trust for us to see with our own eyes. Besides… Senit is a guardian of the North. Let's follow his lead."

Tibeau's booming voice wedged itself in like a rallying cry.

"Hmph! Obviously there's no one else here cowardly enough to turn their back on a fight that needs fighting!"

The defections Mikhail had anticipated never came. After a brief exchange of words, everyone stood their ground and fixed their eyes on him.

Scenes that, by the original story's design, should never have materialized.

Mikhail's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard. He forced down the tremor threatening to break through his eyelids and opened his mouth.

"…Cutting to the point. The center of the formation—Allied Knight Order through the Night Owl Training Camp."

Mikhail locked his gaze on the positions of the groups he'd named and drove force into his voice.

"You'll defend against the basilisk's mana core projectiles and its palm strikes against the ground. The tells will be a flash from the basilisk's jaw and its left hand. The instant you spot the change, respond together."

"Got it. Consider it done!"

Tibeau answered with arms folded and brimming confidence.

Mikhail gave a firm nod toward that lion-like face, shifted his gaze, and continued.

"Second. Left flank. Guild Private Defense Academy through the Pine Wind Escort Company."

Their task: intercepting curses designed to knock fighters unconscious or paralyze every sense in their body.

The tell would be mana flaring near the basilisk's neck and its right hand.

"Third. Right flank. Fang Training Camp through the Torchlight Marksman Corps."

Their task: rapidly destroying structures that would erupt from the ground like stalagmites and lock down all movement in the area. The tell would be a bright glow near the basilisk's forehead.

"And last. Salvator."

Mikhail placed a short breath between his words and fixed his gaze on the familiar faces before him.

I never expected to be the one directing the battle like this.

Mikhail met the eyes of the lead cast trained on him, then raised his hand and sparked a brilliant arc of electricity.

FZZT!

The flash at Mikhail's fingertips blazed like a star.

"All of you—conserve as much strength as you can until the basilisk shows an opening. The moment I send this signal, hit it with everything you've got."

"No problem, Mikhail."

Lloyd, arms folded with his usual composure, accepted without hesitation.

Mikhail tugged the corner of his mouth up at Lloyd, then addressed everyone gathered around him.

"—One last thing to remember. If things take a dangerous turn, get to safety immediately. Don't try to tough it out."

Tension sat plainly on every face across every formation, yet not a single voice objected. They nodded as one.

The briefing had just wrapped up when, from behind them, the thunderous sound of the basilisk shifting its body rolled through the cavern.

WHOOOOOSH—

A gale roared like a battle cry. Mikhail turned to face the fully transformed basilisk and seized his staff, then glanced sideways at Ethan standing beside him.

"Ethan, I said I'd have something to ask of you."

"Yeah."

Ethan answered without a trace of hesitation. He stole a glance at the basilisk, then spoke.

"But is there actually a role left to defend or attack? Sounded like every position's been assigned."

Instead of answering right away, Mikhail paused. In the silence that hung between them, he repeated it to himself.

No room for mistakes. Not a single one.

The right timing, the force required, everything before and after… I know all of it. This is something only I can do right now.

Mikhail broke the quiet and answered Ethan.

"Unlike before, where it just alternated between attacking and getting stunned, this basilisk is going to unleash three consecutive attacks."

"What?"

Ethan's brow furrowed with confusion, but Mikhail pressed on without slowing.

He flicked a quick follow me gesture and broke into a run away from the cliff's edge, his voice carrying the same measured calm.

"Three attacks in a row with no openings between them… that's a recipe for dragging the fight out, don't you think?"

"…?"

"So we're going to force the basilisk into a stunned state ourselves. Pull the fight forward—by brute force."

---

The basilisk, its transformation complete, wasted no time. It raised a neck now twice its former length and swept its blazing gold eyes across the figures standing on the ledge above.

GRRRRRK!

A piercing cry lashed the air, and the pressure spiked. Everyone on the platform craned their necks at the basilisk's head—now nearly scraping the ceiling—and went pale in the same instant, swallowing hard.

"Hey! Hey! Don't panic! We know how to handle this! Everyone, get ready to move—stick to your roles!"

But they said more than half of fear came from the unknown.

Even crushed under a pressure none of them had ever faced, every person there drew on the instructions Mikhail had just given and assembled their formations.

"Yeah! Come on! Bring it!"

Someone screamed the challenge at the basilisk with everything they had. The beast obliged without hesitation.

Its left arm—bloated and studded with golden crystals.

A flash of mana sparked from its surface, and the basilisk's first attack came hurtling down.

KA-BOOM!

The beast's taloned hand slammed over the ground like a massive roof collapsing, sending shockwaves rippling outward.

Whatever stood beneath it should have been crushed beyond recognition.

FZZT.

But just before the blow landed, the defense formation—led by the Allied Knight Order—had already seized the basilisk's attention and drawn its strike.

"HRAAAAAAGH!"

Tibeau, planted at the center of the defensive line, unleashed a roar that shook the walls.

Crrrk.

His thunderous cry seemed to catch in the beast's momentum like a stone jamming a gear. The descending hand couldn't close the final gap against the ground.

Through the sliver of space that remained, blue mana began seeping outward.

Tszzzzzt.

Mana pooled beneath the basilisk's palm, glowing bright—channeled through the weapons and bodies of every fighter holding the line.

The blue energy pushed against the beast's grip, inching it upward, until it finally launched the hand away.

The basilisk's wrist snapped backward—and in that same sliver of a moment:

FZZT!

Mikhail surged electricity-laced mana through his body and pressed his hand to his ankle. Ethan was already in motion—launching himself at the basilisk's displaced wrist like a bolt of lightning, cutting across the open air.

TAP!

The sword in Ethan's grip flashed like a predator's fang, scattering white light. He locked his eyes on his landing point and swung the blade.