Chapter 185

"Child. You seem a little young to be standing in a place like this…. What's your name? Your age?"

Ethan looked at the priest bent toward him as she spoke.

Then, with a quick sweep of the eyes that had fixed on him from all sides, he answered.

"Eighteen. My name's Ethan Welton."

"Eighteen. And what brought you all the way out to this kind of front line? Pay? Or did someone…."

"Ah, no. It's nothing like that, priest."

The one who cut in on the conversation was the commander. He glanced down at Ethan, gave a small cough, and spoke.

"Ethan Welton is from Salvator. His skill is outstanding as well — more than enough to handle this kind of anomaly. You don't need to worry."

"Ah, is that so. That's a relief…."

The priest answered as she looked up at the commander, but her voice trailed off for a beat and she blinked.

"Wait a moment. Salvator…."

She turned her eyes back to Ethan. Drawing her brows together, she let out a small thoughtful sound and ran her gaze carefully over Ethan, his sword slung at his shoulder.

"Ethan… Ethan Welton. Eighteen. Salvator…. Ah!"

In the next instant something seemed to come back to her. With a small sound of recognition, she looked Ethan in the face once more and smiled softly.

"Salvator, second year. Ethan Welton. I knew it sounded familiar. I have it now. You were on the team that won the suppression campaign, weren't you?"

"…Huh?"

A buzz of low chatter started up among the soldiers nearby.

"Salva… suppression… what's that?"

"Hey, idiot. That's the famous school. You didn't know?"

"Famous school? Then the tuition's got to be expensive. So is the kid a noble's son?"

But Ethan was just as caught off guard. He just stood there blinking. The truth was, he hadn't expected the topic she'd just brought up — not in the slightest.

"……"

Even so, the priest seemed to be enjoying Ethan's bewilderment too. She smiled at him, more brightly than before, and went on.

"Yes. So you're the one Mr. Hanson kept saying he was sorry to have missed at the awards ceremony."

Ethan pulled his suddenly distant focus back together. He carefully asked the figure in front of him,

"I'm sorry, but… who is Mr. Hanson?"

"Ah, of course, you wouldn't know yet. Mr. Hanson is the director of the bank in the capital. He's deeply trusted, and very devout besides."

The priest answered the question in her soft voice, then reached out and took Ethan's hand in both of hers.

"I heard he had urgent business and couldn't attend the awards. But to think that urgent business was rescuing people on the borderlands…. How admirable that is."

Ethan didn't agree or disagree with the praise that followed. He only stood where he was, breathing in and out.

For all his stillness on the outside, his head was somewhere else entirely.

It had been close to half a month since he'd left the Grand Guild Headquarters as if running away, without so much as properly seeing the suppression campaign's closing through.

He'd cut a poor figure, no question about it — and in the middle of all that, had he told anyone where he was headed?

…No. Definitely not.

Ethan swallowed past a throat going dry.

The reckless departure he'd made because he couldn't keep hold of himself. And still, someone had smoothed over what would have looked like an abrupt move, and even arranged a friendly connection on his behalf….

Ah.

Ethan lowered his eyelids. The instant the thought reached its end, only one person came to him.

Mikhail… Senit.

The figure of the boy, shining a dark-blue, turned to face him. Without realizing it, Ethan caught his lower lip between his teeth.

[……]

The softly curved eyes were vivid. The back he'd hoped, all along, to draw close to felt as clear as if it were standing right in front of him.

He'd been sure he was leaving him behind. He'd thought it wouldn't be strange at all if Mikhail were disappointed by what he'd shown of himself and looked away.

But all this time… that deep blue had been quietly bracing his back.

You were watching out for me. Again.

A breath, almost a groan, slipped out of Ethan. It felt as though some powerful vision had taken hold of him. The further off the figure stood, the more he ached to keep looking.

Whooo—.

A dry breeze brushed past his cheek. Ethan slowly raised his eyes and looked the priest across from him in the face.

The person who had appeared at the end of a path Mikhail had laid for him.

The priest tightened her grip on his hand and, in a tone different from before, introduced herself.

"Ethan Welton. I'm the Third Priest of the Central Parish. Philia Roti."

Philia looked at Ethan's face quietly. As if she meant to commit each feature, one by one, to memory.

"From what I've heard about you and what you're doing now, I think you may find yourself in the capital before long. If that time comes, do make sure to stop by the Central Parish."

She pressed each word the way someone does when asking something important, and held her hand out with the little finger extended.

"There. We'll make a promise."

Ethan looked at it for a moment. But soon he stretched his own arm out and hooked his finger around hers.

At that, Philia laughed as if pleased. The pendant at her throat swung and glinted gold; her voice carried on, pressing the instruction into him once more.

"You must come. I'll have something ready that will be a help to you. I'll be waiting."

---

Inside a private dormitory room at Salvator. Mikhail was lying on the bed in his room.

"……"

It was afternoon, the hour for being up and doing things. But Mikhail was only blinking in a daze. At least right now, he didn't feel like moving a single finger.

"Rrrr…."

In truth, that wasn't because some drug was working on him, or because he'd caught a cold.

It was just that for three mornings running he'd been drinking something with alcohol in it from the crack of dawn, and now a quiet hangover had settled over his whole body, his arms and legs heavy as lead.

"Grrrrr…."

No… maybe he just didn't want to move.

Mikhail buried his face in the top of Han's head as the kit wriggled in his arms. Warmth seeping out from between the soft fur warmed his cheek. A heat like heated honey water rolled in over him, slow and drowsy….

"Rrrrrrk."

"Just ten seconds. Just stay like this for a minute. Hm? I'll give you an extra snack later. Please…."

The relentless growling soon eased under the coaxing trade. Han let out a heavy sigh as if he had no choice and let the strength go out of his body.

Mikhail grinned and pushed his face deeper into the soft fur. Such a sweet little friend, and easy to reason with.

"Hah."

A breath let out on its own. Warmth rose around him in soft drifts, drawing his awareness lower….

Clink.

With his sight just gone black, the sound of a glass trembling lightly against a bottle, again and again, was ringing in Mikhail's ear.

Honestly, Julien. What's he trembling so much for.

A small puff of breath escaped Mikhail's lips.

Come to think of it, every time Julien handed over the cocktail, his color had been bad. With a sunken face, worry and self-reproach all over him. And he'd kept looking at Mikhail with something rising up in him, ready to overflow….

"……"

Mikhail vaguely traced back through those moments on the bench, then drew a breath as if making up his mind.

What he'd resolved to do — save Julien.

It was time to start preparing to make that resolve real. He had to get the necessary pieces set in the right places so nothing would go wrong….

"……"

Mikhail soon lifted his head and let go of the arm around Han.

Han hopped to the side with his fur all mashed flat. With a light little patter of feet, he dropped down off the bed.

"Sniff."

Mikhail looked at the little bundle of fur shaking himself off, then turned his head toward the corner of the room.

His eyes landed on the calendar hanging on the wall.

Six days of break left.

Mikhail blinked and let out a quiet thoughtful sound.

What came to him along with that were the academic schedules that would follow before long.

Salvator's academic program had been shifting more and more toward practical work since the start of his second year.

But the first semester's program was only the introduction.

Starting with the second semester, the practical training would turn into something more individual, more personal.

Based on the grades and skills each student had built up so far, their backgrounds and abilities, missions submitted from across the kingdom would be assigned to them.

That meant the students would be able to deepen their reach and expertise in directions more specifically tailored to each of them….

Add the family entanglements on top of that, and there may be events outside the academic schedule that slip into mine, too….

Mikhail narrowed his eyes, picturing the great noble house where carriages bearing crests had come and gone.

A world in upheaval. Movements weighing principle against practical gain.

The events and contact points he'd be running into from here on out looked like they'd be more complicated than what had come before.

That aside.

Mikhail pushed himself up from the bed. Then he went over to the drawer set against the wall and opened the bottommost compartment.

What appeared inside was the black wooden box holding the World Tree Staff. Mikhail looked at the box and smiled a little.

Whatever situation comes up, the thing that's going to be useful all around is this.

A simple, clear-cut answer. Building up the force he could bring to bear.

In truth, the line of growth he'd kept to so far was the kind that gathered more weight the more time passed.

It would let him break through problems head-on.

In a restless age, that alone would be enough to start something useful echoing back….

Click.

Mikhail lifted the lid of the box.

The staff lay on a length of purple velvet. He looked down at the weapon resting quietly there and tilted his head.

As what had passed crossed through his mind, one particular assumption took hold of him.

The basilisk that was stronger than expected, that I brought down. And the contact with Black Ark, after which the state of my mana changed. So in that case… maybe even for me….

Mikhail's brow tightened a little.

Whether the thought that had come to him out of nowhere was needless worry or a fair guess, he'd only know by checking for himself.

Mikhail drew a single breath, then reached out and closed his hand around the staff.

Click.

The moment it met his palm, the staff answered with a strong, beating pulse. Then, before long….

Crack.

A fracturing sound, and a faint line traced itself across the outer surface.

"…Huh."

Mikhail watched the staff, blinking, then let out a small laugh and let go of what he'd been holding.

The reason something like this had happened.

That much he could guess at without any trouble.