Chapter 150

Rain fell in a steady drizzle. The kind of weather most travelers cursed—soaking through clothes, dragging down body heat, an uninvited guest no one asked for.

Shaaaaaaa—

But for those who had just clawed their way out of a cave that had sealed its ceiling shut and shaken as though it might collapse at any second, the open sky's downpour tasted closer to honey.

"We made it! We're out! We actually got out! …Oh god, I never have to worry about being buried alive again!"

"Seriously, I aged ten years in there! Who knew this plain was such a beautiful sight! …Cave of Contemplation? Hah! I'm never sleeping with my head pointed in this direction again!"

Ethan let the relieved voices wash past him, then turned to look behind.

A dozen or so paces back.

The entrance to the Cave of Contemplation.

The rocks that gaped wide like an open mouth, showing nothing but flat, monotonous black—bore a passing resemblance to the basilisk's dead body.

RUMMMBLE….

With one exception.

Even now, it was still spitting out sounds impossible to tell apart—whether they were cries or screams.

"……"

Ethan stood beneath the pouring rain and stared into the cave's depths. But he soon pulled his gaze away and let his head drop.

Patter. Tap-tap.

His rain-soaked shoulders grew heavier with every passing moment, and his thoughts kept sinking—deeper and deeper.

In a corner of his chest, close to his heart—the place where every tangled thought had its root—dusk was creeping in.

Mikhail is… still in there.

His breathing hitched and broke apart. But Ethan bit his lip and shook his head, forcing back the flood of thoughts that threatened to swallow him like quicksand.

"I really will be out soon. Just tell them nobody's here. Please."

He could trust Mikhail's judgment. His decisions.

He'd seen the return stone glowing softly in Mikhail's hand with his own eyes.

So there shouldn't be a problem. The moment he finished whatever he needed to do, he'd walk out of the cave wearing that same composed expression he always wore.

Right. Just like every time before. No surprises, no anomalies—

KA-RUMBLE!

Thunder. Or something equally massive split the sky overhead.

Ethan's head snapped up. He whipped toward the source of the sound.

"…!"

His pupils locked in place.

What they fixed on was the cave entrance—the same one every participant and reinforcement member had filed through barely ten minutes ago.

The black archway was collapsing in on itself like a structure that had lost its central pillar.

"Oh… oh my god. It's actually caving in."

"Lord have mercy. If we'd been even a little slower getting out, we'd be trapped in there right now."

Some let out hollow sighs. Others shuddered and muttered under their breath. A few clasped their hands together in prayer.

Ethan, though, stood rooted where he was.

He watched the collapse unfold with eyes the same color as the overcast sky—blank, unblinking.

BOOM! CRASH!

The irregular explosions of sound kept crawling deeper into the cave like floodwater rushing inward.

Ethan forced a dry, stone-hard swallow down his throat. He clenched the fist hanging at his side with deliberate effort.

The kind of anxious dread that belonged to a frightened child kept surging up from nowhere—squeezing his heart tighter and tighter.

There couldn't have been that much left to check on the basilisk's corpse… right?

BOOM!

Then he should be heading out by now.

CRASH! CRASH!

So why… hasn't there been any sign of him?

His heart hammered against his ribs. Ethan fought to push the rising panic down and forced himself to think.

Mikhail is… right. He's probably activating the return stone as we speak. He'll be near here any moment now. So there's no reason to worry….

"—Verte! Verte!"

Someone screamed near the medical tents. Ethan turned toward the voice that shattered like breaking glass.

The broad-shouldered young man he'd seen with the magic research institute's group.

Face drained of all color, the man was shoving through the crowd, firing off desperate questions at anyone who'd listen.

"V-Verte…. Hey, have you seen Verte? Verte Fischer. You know what he looks like, right? Have you seen him anywhere?!"

"What are you talking about? Verte got carried out ages ago after that fight with the basilisk."

"No—he's gone! He's not there! Not in the tent! Not anywhere on this plain!"

The anguished cries sent bewildered murmurs rippling through the gathered crowd.

"……"

Ethan stood there, motionless, tracking the man's back as he wove frantically through the sea of people—then turned to look behind him.

His unsteady gaze came to rest on the spot where Salvator's members had gathered.

"…Huh? Now that I think about it."

Dian, standing at the center of the group, tilted his head and nudged Hailey beside him.

"Mikhail. Where's Mikhail?"

"Huh? What? Wasn't he with you guys toward the back?"

"No, he definitely wasn't. I didn't see him anywhere around us, so I figured he was walking up front."

While Lloyd quietly averted his gaze and kept his mouth shut, Dian called out to Ethan, standing a short distance away.

"Hey, Ethan. Do you know anything?"

The question drove into his chest like a spike. Ethan felt the blood drain from his body as his mouth opened and closed uselessly.

"Ah…"

He knew what he was supposed to say.

That Mikhail had stayed behind in the cavern because there was something he needed to check.

But not to worry. He had a working return stone, so he'd be out any moment now—

"Ah… ahh."

That was what he should have said to put everyone at ease.

But his jaw—locked solid, utterly frozen—refused to cooperate.

"Ethan?"

Dian's follow-up landed like an accusation. Ethan let a groan escape and raised his trembling hands to cover his face.

Beeee—. Beeee—.

A ringing filled his ears.

The flat, monotone noise swallowed every sound around him like a wall of static, smothering everything into silence.

Ethan let his hands fall from his face. He started walking toward the cave in the distance.

Mikhail.

The worst-case scenario that had been drifting through his mind light as a dandelion seed had, at some point, grown into an ancient tree—thick roots spreading, pressing down on every corner of his thoughts.

"You can't… get out right now. Can you."

Ethan murmured it in a voice coming apart at the seams. The broken syllables lay across the staff lines drawn by the rain like a chord gone wrong.

"Then I'll go get you…. I don't care about anyone else… I can go. I really can. Because… I…. You know what I can do… my abilities…."

Grab.

Something powerful seized his wrist. Ethan kept his half-glazed eyes fixed straight ahead, tensed his arm, and swung.

Something went flying backward. Ethan dragged his feet and started moving again.

RUMMMBLE….

"—What are you doing! —Hey!"

Overlapping shouts tangled into noise. Ethan looked at the entrance—buried under a mountain of fallen rock.

There was no way in that any normal person could take. But wedged between the misaligned edges of the debris, he spotted a gap.

A space formed where the corners of the rubble overlapped at awkward angles. He could squeeze through there.

As long as I get inside… nothing else matters.

But even as he sized up his way in, bodies kept throwing themselves in his path without pause. Ethan shook them off, one after another.

THUD!

He swung an arm, twisted an ankle free, and shoved.

When even that wasn't enough, he dipped his shoulder and drove an elbow.

"Hah."

Whatever was running between his fingers had to be rainwater. Ethan let a hot breath escape, shook his hand clean, and walked on. He had no intention of stopping—not the slightest.

Whether the entrance ahead was jagged as a wall of thorns, whether the ceiling caved in and the tunnels were severed—he could keep going. He would keep going.

WHOOSH!

In that instant, the sound of something cutting through the air pierced his ears.

"…?"

Ethan stopped dead and looked down. A blue shackle had been clamped around his wrist.

A situation that made no sense at all. Ethan blinked, then followed the blue line stretching from the shackle and turned around.

"Ngh… ugh…"

Bloodied fighters lay groaning on the ground, and beyond them, his companions stood ashen-faced—lips moving but no sound coming out.

SNAP!

Blue ropes shot in from every direction. The grasping cords lashed around Ethan in an instant. Tangled in the snare, he couldn't move a muscle.

"—Now! Take him down!"

The sharp command stabbed into his ears. His knees buckled in the same breath, and his body pitched forward.

THUD!

His vision spun once and then went horizontal. Ethan lay with his cheek pressed against the ground, grinding his teeth through ragged breaths.

Patter. Tap-tap.

Raindrops bouncing off the ground.

The mist of cold spray jolted his awareness back to life, chipping away at the blackened haze that had sealed over his senses.

Ethan heard the murmuring voices gathered around him. The footsteps closing in with every beat.

"……"

A pair of black shoes stopped in front of his face. Ethan craned his head up toward the person standing over him and snarled.

"…Let me go. Now."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen. Ethan Welton."

The one who met his threat head-on was Germain. Flanked by the fighters maintaining the blue restraints, Germain looked down at Ethan sprawled on the ground and spoke.

"I'm sorry it has to be this kind of introduction…. I'd assumed we'd exchange pleasantries at the awards ceremony—on friendly terms."

Germain studied Ethan's face for a long moment. Then he flicked a glance toward the cave entrance, pulled it back, and spoke in a slightly softer tone.

"I can piece together what happened. You lost your head worrying about a comrade's safety. I won't hold you accountable for the outburst, so stand down. A search for the two missing individuals will be underway shortly…."

"No."

Ethan spat the word like he was biting through it, severing Germain's sentence at the root.

Then he twisted the corner of his mouth upward and strained every tendon in his neck.

"I'm going. Get this off me and move."

The silence between them, filled only by rain, lasted barely a moment. Germain let a scoff slip and raised a hand to push back his hair.

"Hrgh…"

Ethan hissed a breath fueled by pure fury through his teeth and curled his fingers into claws.

FZZT.

He lit his mana across his entire body—bright, clean blue—intent on burning through the restraints binding him.

Tszzt. Tszzzzzt.

Ethan's mana crawled up the ropes lashing his body. It stained the rigid surface in its own color, gnawing into the taut lines.

"……"

Germain watched the scene play out in silence.

Then he set his jaw, turned toward those standing behind him, and snapped his fingers.

CRACK!

At Germain's signal, several fighters poured additional strength into the restraints, flaring their mana brighter.

The bonds around Ethan's arms and legs blazed with blinding light.

CRACKLE!

The balance flipped. Ethan's mana was shoved back hard, and the blue shackles reclaimed their original brilliance—solid and unyielding.

Clink.

Ethan curled in on himself, gasping for air. Then he bit down on his lip and ground the words out like a curse.

"You bastard…"

Germain pressed his fingers to his temple and let out a hollow sigh. He rubbed the back of his head with a low hum, then crouched down in front of Ethan.

"Ethan Welton."

Olive-colored eyes looking down at the boy collapsed on the ground.

In pupils that had never shown anything but warmth, a sliver of cold contempt now glinted.

"This will also be hard to hear—but I'm not stepping aside."

"……"

"Do I really need to explain why? Look at yourself. Forget subduing the people around you—you can't even control your own emotions. Someone in that state talking about saving anyone? That's absurd. You'd be lucky not to drag them down with you."

Ethan's lips parted and trembled. His wide-open eyes drifted downward at an angle, and rainwater traced uneven lines down his lowered cheek.

"……"

Germain watched Ethan's fingertips claw roughly into the dirt, then straightened from his crouch.

He started walking toward the technical team's command post and spoke to the personnel around him.

"Keep him tied up in a tent until his head cools down. Watch him closely this time. I don't want a single incident."

---

RUMMMBLE.

The ceiling overhead was trembling. Mikhail pushed the reverberating noise behind him and faced Verte, standing across from him.

Ever since the campaign began, a single phrase had surfaced in his mind every time he laid eyes on this man.

The variable that's been a thorn in the main storyline from start to finish.