Chapter 56

They were at the northeast palisade of Colton Winery.

Bant Hemilson, the security captain, finished scanning the area and sank to the ground with a sigh.

Tch, the pickpocket hasn't shown so much as a hair this whole time—no chance in hell they'd be loitering around somewhere this wide open.

Bant scrubbed at his scalp. He'd kept a straight face in front of his men, but the truth was, he was dying inside.

The sleeping sickness alone has us running ragged, and now a thief on top of it…. We're short on manpower, sure, but I reinforced the patrol routes and added ambush points on top of that. How does it make any sense that we can't turn up a single lead….

After heaving one more long sigh, Bant hauled himself upright on creaking knees.

His nerves were fried, but sitting around wasn't an option.

Deputy Captain Nelia and the rest of the squad were out there running themselves into the ground right now.

The security captain had no business nursing his frustrations in peace.

Come to think of it, old man Wil at the request office said he'd look into whether there were any similar pickpocketing cases. I should head over and get whatever information….

Bant was just reaching for his chin and turning toward the village when it happened.

Fweeee.

A light whistle pierced his ear. Bant flinched and whipped his head toward the source.

A massive old tree stood rooted nearby. There, perched on the trunk, sat a boy.

Who's that? Don't think I've seen him before.

And yet he wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Bant narrowed his eyes and looked the boy over—

"Hello there, Captain."

The boy on the tree called out a cheerful greeting.

At the same time, two sky-blue foxes popped into view from behind his shoulders.

"Kang!"

A bright bark split the open air, and Bant startled back a step.

The boy glanced at the foxes in turn, pressed a finger to his lips, then hopped down from the trunk.

Tap.

He landed lightly and walked up to Bant.

"I'm here to help with the investigation."

"The—the investigation?"

The boy who'd appeared out of nowhere was saying things even more baffling than his entrance.

Bant's jaw dropped at the unexpected turn, but he quickly recovered with a gruff clearing of his throat.

"Investigation, you say. What kind of nonsense is this, out of the blue? You've got nothing to do with the guard force. And you don't look like a villager, either. Who exactly are—"

Rustle.

But Bant's question never finished. The boy cut him off with a document he'd been waiting to present.

Bant gaped at him again, then accepted the offered papers with hesitant hands.

His eyes dropped to the neatly printed lines.

[Salvator Academy: Credential and Mission Authorization Certificate]

• Magic Department, 2nd Year. Mikhail.

• Magic Department, 2nd Year. Julien.

• Combat Department, 2nd Year. Edwin.

Salvator—that's…!

Bant let out a quiet sound of recognition and placed the source of the déjà vu.

The boy standing before him was the same one he'd glimpsed in passing at the request office about an hour ago.

Students from the kingdom's distinguished academy.

Though, come to think of it, Wil's expression hadn't exactly been glowing when he'd mentioned them.

"My name is Mikhail. The cover of the certificate I just gave you has an identification spell that verifies its owner matches the person listed—so it should serve as solid proof of my identity and record."

Bant flipped the booklet over and scanned the cover.

Sure enough, just as Mikhail said, a green formula glowed across the leather surface.

The color confirming a verified identity. Bant gave a small nod and raised his eyes to Mikhail.

Mikhail met his gaze and smiled.

"We don't have much time, so I'll get straight to the point. If we move right now, we can catch the pickpocket."

"Wh—what did you say?"

Bant blurted the question before he could stop himself.

What Mikhail had just said pointed to the resolution of a problem he'd been praying for—

But it was also the very last thing he'd expected to hear from someone who'd just set foot in the village.

"……."

Bant opened and closed his mouth in a flustered daze, then caught himself and reined in his expression, remembering his position.

His cheeks still faintly warm, he put on a dignified front and stalled with a deliberate cough.

"Ahem. Mm-hmm…."

Bant cracked his eyes open and studied Mikhail from head to toe, as if sizing him up.

Hair a touch long for someone who'd sprint without a second thought. Eyes that held something quiet and steady.

Features that belonged more to someone sitting in silence and turning pages than chasing a ball across a field—composed and sharply defined.

If he were being a bit more indiscreet, the kid had probably received his fair share of love letters, too.

Well, be that as it may.

Bant eyed the not-quite-finished growing and the cheeks that hadn't fully shed their boyishness, and let a dry smirk slip through.

Right. At the end of the day, a student is still a student. Young. And green.

Seventeen, maybe eighteen. The age where ignorance gets mistaken for confidence and bold claims come without a shred of hesitation.

The age where a direct order to charge headfirst is more welcome than the patience to dissect a problem.

And that was a phase that nine out of ten young students went through—no, make that ten out of ten.

Makes sense. What he just said was probably the exaggerated version of something a lot more modest.

So rather than taking that little declaration at face value, the wiser move was to hear the details first and sort out whether anything actually held water.

His mind made up, Bant paused for effect and spoke in the coaxing tone of someone humoring a younger man.

"Listen, son. I know you're from that famous academy. I'm sure you've had fine instruction. But you only just arrived in this village, haven't you? You ought to hear our side of things first before making promises. If you lead with guarantees before you've got the full picture, your credibility takes a real—"

WHOOOOSH—!

…In an instant, Mikhail curved the corner of his lips upward.

A sudden gust of wind lashed across Bant's face.

Dust swirled thick through the air, and Bant screwed up his face, flailing his hands to wave it away.

"GAAAH! What—what in the—!"

Mercifully, the freak gust died down as fast as it had come.

Bant shook his head hard to knock the grit from his face. He spat out the sand that had gotten into his mouth.

"Ugh, ptoo. Ptoo-ptoo. What kind of bolt from the blue was that."

Bant grumbled and raised his head again.

Mikhail stood exactly where he'd been, head tilted ever so slightly, wearing the same unruffled expression as before.

When their eyes met, he smiled at a leisurely pace, as if nothing had happened at all.

Then, almost casually, he raised the left arm that had been hanging at his side—

Rustle.

Mikhail held out his hand toward Bant. The credential booklet sat in his outstretched palm.

"Huh?"

Bant had been staring blankly ahead. He blinked, then looked down at his own hands. Both were empty.

A hollow breath leaked from his lips.

The booklet in the boy's hand had definitely been in his possession just moments ago. But when—no,how?

"……."

Bant clamped his mouth shut, mute as a stone, and stared down at his empty palms.

What cut through the silence was the voice of the person standing across from him.

"The power I just showed you is the same kind the pickpocket uses. So if you want to catch them, trusting me won't cost you a thing."

Bant slowly raised his head and looked at Mikhail, who had stepped one pace closer.

Mikhail put weight behind his voice.

"Listen carefully. I'm going to tell you how to catch the pickpocket. We're short on time, so I'll only say this once."

Bant stared at Mikhail and swallowed hard.

Maybe it was what he'd just witnessed. The words coming out of this boy no longer sounded like the bluster of someone too young to know better.

"……."

Before long, Bant's expression settled into something serious. He dipped his head toward Mikhail and spoke without hesitation.

"All right, son. Let's hear it."

Mikhail let a pleased smile rest lightly on his lips, then turned his body toward the hill behind him.

Across the landscape of relatively short trees, old and cracked stone statues dotted the terrain at uneven intervals.

Mikhail swept his gaze over the view and spoke.

"Head back and bring your guards here. Set up an ambush at the foot of the hill. Wait a while, and the windmill house troublemaker will pass through. Stop him and ask for his cooperation with the investigation—he'll look for an opening and bolt. Stay right on his tail. That's how you'll catch the pickpocket."

Bant answered without objection.

"Easy enough. Anything else?"

"No. That's all. Let's get moving."

Bant studied Mikhail's profile as the boy gazed intently at the hill.

But soon enough, he followed Mikhail's lead.

He pulled back the gaze he'd been holding in place and turned his body toward the village.

"I appreciate it, son. If this pans out, I'll make sure to repay the favor."

---

Fssshh.

Meanwhile, at that same hour.

On a secluded hill, Julien crushed his ninth relic and drew out a long breath.

He could finally breathe again. The tangled mess inside his head cleared the instant the surging impulse released its grip.

Fssh.

…In the gap between breaths, the last remaining relic crumbled to pieces.

Julien surveyed the ground—strewn thick with fine debris—then tilted his head back.

Somewhere between crisp and cold, a breeze stirred the pale green leaves above him.

The worst of it's over. But….

Julien let his eyelids fall shut. He'd cleared the crisis, but his mind was anything but calm.

The dread that had swallowed his consciousness like quicksand had faded—yet the questions surfacing in its place were sharper than ever.

"……."

The silence stretched on.

A gust of wind shook loose a handful of leaves, and a small rodent snatched up a fallen fruit and scurried across a branch.

At last, Julien opened his eyes.

He drew a long, unguarded breath and murmured in a quiet voice.

"Mikhail. What is it that you know."