Chapter 161

It happened the moment Mikhail stepped onto the carriage. A bustle of sounds drew closer from behind.

Footsteps heavier than Salvator's members, and the measured presence of people moving with formality.

Mikhail turned toward the approaching group. They were faces he'd come to know through this campaign.

"Glad we caught you in time. We came to say goodbye."

The one who spoke in that booming voice was Tibeau, leader of the Allied Knight Order.

Tibeau flashed a broad grin as if to smooth over the slight awkwardness hanging in the air. He stepped closer to Mikhail and thrust out his right hand.

"It was a pleasure fighting alongside you. Salvator. And… its entirely self-serving team leader."

Mikhail looked up at Tibeau—a good deal taller than him—then reached out and took the handshake.

A friendly farewell was hardly something worth refusing.

Tibeau clasped Mikhail's hand eagerly. His eyes lit up like a child's, and he pumped their joined arms up and down.

"First time we met was inside those ruins. You barged in out of nowhere and started swiping our points left and right—I thought, who does this shameless brat think he is?"

"……"

"But in the end, we wound up as comrades who brought down that monstrous lizard together! That was a genuinely thrilling experience. I'll have stories to tell for days when I get back to headquarters."

Tibeau tilted his head back as though reliving the memories, then broke into a wide, toothy grin.

"Hope we cross paths again. Next time, I'd love to fight on another front together."

"Yeah."

When Mikhail answered with easy warmth, Tibeau gave a satisfied nod and released his grip.

The members of the Allied Knight Order offered quick bows of their own before turning to follow Tibeau.

As if they'd been waiting for an opening, the others standing nearby moved in and began their farewells.

"Guild Private Defense Academy. We look forward to learning alongside you again."

"Night Owl Training Camp. It was great meeting you."

Some spoke with open enthusiasm, others with sheepish or slightly awkward tones…

After a round of goodbyes, each carrying its own weight of feeling—

"Western Sand Mercenary Company. Back then, when we didn't trust your call and tried to back off with the enemy right in front of us… ahem, we're truly sorry about that."

Mikhail answered the last one with a nod in place of words, released the handshake, and turned toward the carriage.

"Senit."

That was when a familiar voice called his name. Mikhail turned back around.

On the path where the crowd had parted to either side—Verte stood there in a patient's robe.

Verte stared at Mikhail in silence, drew one deep breath, and spoke.

"I read the message you left."

"……"

"Wait for me. I'll be back to challenge you. Count on it."

Mikhail looked at Verte standing his ground.

He was as proud as ever. Same as always, he showed no sign of caring about the murmurs rippling through the people around him.

But the tone of his voice was different from before. The hostility that had saturated every word throughout the campaign was gone.

Mikhail held his gaze, then smiled and answered.

"Yeah."

Verte heard the reply, lowered his eyes, and turned to go. He'd barely taken a step when—

"Verte."

This time it was Mikhail who spoke. Mikhail extended his hand toward Verte as he stopped and turned back.

"Come whenever you're ready. The promise I made you—I'll keep it."

Verte's eyes went wide, and a thin breath caught in his throat.

But he closed the distance a moment later and clasped the outstretched hand.

A single pulse of warmth passed between their touching palms.

Mikhail slowly released his grip. He returned Verte's parting bow with one of his own, then climbed onto the carriage.

Tap.

The carriage set off before long. Through the rattling of wheels, the streets of the busy town slid past the window.

Mikhail watched the people coming and going with an untroubled expression, then closed his eyes.

From here until they reached the academy, the time was entirely his.

What to prepare for in the days ahead, what to learn first…

There would be more than enough time to sort through those thoughts.

---

The carriage ran on and on. While hoofbeats kept their steady rhythm, the sun sank below the horizon, and the early stars began peeking over the ridgeline.

[Welcome to the port city of Derion.]

It was only after full dark had fallen that the carriage finally reached the port city where the academy stood.

The cry of seabirds and the sound of waves. The briny smell of the sea.

Familiar sights drifted past the window, and what appeared at the end of the journey was the academy's front gate.

"……"

Mikhail stepped down from the stopped carriage. He dragged his heavy luggage behind him and walked toward the dormitory.

So much for thinking time…. I was out cold within minutes.

Mikhail blinked his gritty eyes, clicked his tongue in mild annoyance, and rubbed the back of his head.

He vaguely recalled someone offering to help with his bags, but he hadn't had the energy to walk and talk at the same time, so he'd declined.

Creeeak.

Mikhail pushed the door open and stepped into his room. Despite the long absence, a faint scent of cedar still lingered inside.

"……"

Mikhail swayed forward. He set his staff and the trophy on the desk, dropped his round duffel bag on the floor, and threw himself onto the bed.

Flump.

Mikhail buried his face in the pillow and let out a long breath. The moment he let the tension drain away, a drowsiness washed over him like returning to some old, familiar place. The one thing that welcomed a worn-out body without fail, no matter when—was there really anything besides a soft bed?

What am I… even saying.

Mikhail snipped the unusually idle train of thought short, lifted his face from the pillow, and looked toward the window.

"……"

What caught his eye was the bookshelf. It had been completely empty when he'd first arrived in this world.

But now it was lined with handouts from lectures and books he'd picked up along the way.

There were papers he'd jotted notes on while mapping out future events, then shoved in haphazardly.

Through the course of academy life—missions, tasks, everything in between—it had taken on a shape of its own.

Rustle.

Mikhail took in the sight atop the bookshelf, then sat up from where he'd been lying on the bed.

Come to think of it, after submitting the campaign field report, the free study period would begin.

A stretch of time after all external activities were complete, where students chose supplementary classes and practicals based on their own judgment to shore up their weaknesses.

So which courses would be the smart pick…

Right—even the courses you choose get factored into your evaluation. Self-reflection… something along those lines. In that case.

Foundational and introductory classes would be the way to go. Considering what the professors doing the evaluating would view favorably.

First year, I was too busy falling apart to study.

But after being pushed to the brink of expulsion, he buckled down—studied hard, completed his field training with solid results.

And then, realizing the importance of fundamentals, he enrolled in foundational theory courses during the free study period.

For Salvator's educators, it would be exactly the kind of narrative they'd find convincing and commendable.

"Haaawn."

Mikhail tilted his head to one side, mentally running through the upcoming lectures, and let a yawn slip out before he could stop it.

Ancient civilizations and founding history. The origins of magic…. Somehow, just repeating the titles was enough to make his eyelids heavy.

Mikhail pinched his brow. Then he dragged a dry hand down his face and muttered.

"That aside…. Where is Ethan Welton, and what's he doing right now?"

---

The following morning.

"…What?"

They were atop the windmill, where a cool sea breeze came and went.

Mikhail set down the sandwich he'd been chewing and asked again. Lloyd swallowed the vegetables in his mouth, shrugged, and answered.

"Don't act so surprised. I told you—Ethan went to a garrison."

"There are dozens of garrisons across the continent. Which one did he go to?"

"That much I don't know."

Lloyd took another bite of his sandwich and continued.

"Apparently you pick whichever one you like from a long list…. Oh, but I did hear he took a carriage heading west. So that narrows it down to about twenty."

Mikhail scowled, heaved a sigh, then tore off a piece of bread and hurled it into the open air for no reason at all.

A seabird happened to be passing by and snatched the morsel mid-flight without missing a beat.

Mikhail was tracking the bird's tail feathers with a sharp glare when Lloyd spoke up with barely contained amusement.

"Come on, there's nothing to worry about, is there? Ethan's skilled enough to hold his own anywhere, and if he's building combat experience on top of that, he's only going to come back stronger no matter what."

"That's true, but…."

Mikhail murmured his reply and let his shoulders sag.

Lloyd was right, in fairness. During the downtime after the main storyline's conclusion, Ethan going off to gain combat experience on his own wasn't a bad thing.

If anything, it was a stroke of good luck—a stretch of free time where he wouldn't need to fuss over the protagonist's growth.

Beyond attending the courses he'd chosen for the free study period, there were other things he'd already been planning to do.

And yet. Even so…

"…Never mind. Forget it. He'll be fine."

"?"

Mikhail pressed his fingers to his temple and shook his head. Lloyd sent him a quizzical look, blinking once.

But that was all. He didn't push further.

"……"

Beneath a sky where seabirds cried and glided in cheerful arcs, the sound of bread being chewed repeated a few more times.

Lloyd popped the last piece of sandwich into his mouth and spoke to Mikhail.

"Speaking of which—what are you taking during the free study period?"

"First-year courses. Ancient Civilizations and Founding History, and Origins of Magic."

"Ah."

Lloyd nodded, then crumpled his empty sandwich wrapper and stuffed it into his pocket.

He met Mikhail's eyes and spoke.

"What a coincidence. I'm taking those too."

"…?"

Mikhail's shoulders twitched. He looked up at Lloyd with unconcealed confusion and asked.

"Didn't you already get perfect marks in all of those? Why take them again?"

"Mmm. Well, that's true."

Lloyd brushed the breadcrumbs off his hands with a casual expression, then scrunched the corners of his eyes and said.

"I'm just not in the mood for anything that'll give me a headache."

"……"

Mikhail stared up at Lloyd in silence. Then he let out a hollow breath and raised a hand to cover his eyes.

"Fair enough. I guess that's a valid reason."

"……"

"Works out for me, then. Lend me your notes sometime."

Mikhail lowered his arm and looked at Lloyd. Lloyd held a blank expression for a beat, then cracked a smile and answered.

"If you need them."