Chapter 72

It was after they'd defeated the magical beast from the mission.

Ethan and his entire party had gathered around a table at the village's most popular tavern, which doubled as an inn.

"Man… that seriously scared me. When you just dropped your sword like that, I thought you were going for the kill in one shot!"

"Same here. I held my breath without even thinking, and then— what do you know! He only took out the golden crystals, clean as anything!"

"Either way, I'm just glad it's over safe and sound. Plus, I don't know if it's just me, but… I feel like I've got more energy than usual!"

The food the villagers had specially prepared for them was outstanding in both flavor and aroma—more than enough to lift the already celebratory mood even higher.

Ethan smiled faintly and looked around at his companions trading stories in the lively din.

Then he quietly rose from his seat.

"Hm? Where are you going?"

Lloyd asked, midway through draining his third mug of beer. Ethan paused and answered.

"Just putting my stuff upstairs."

"Ah."

Lloyd nodded without objection and took another swig, then added in a flat tone.

"Sure. Try to leave it behind while you're at it. You've been fussing over it all day."

Ethan furrowed his brow and shot Lloyd a sideways glance. But he didn't argue.

He fixed his eyes forward again and climbed the stairs.

He stopped in front of a room tucked into the corner.

Click.

The key slid into the lock and turned smoothly.

Ethan stepped into the spacious quarters, crossed to the table by the window, and set down the sword he'd been wearing.

"……."

He stared down at the blade resting quietly on the table.

Then he reached out again, gripped the hilt, and drew the blade from its sheath.

Shring.

The steel sang with a keen edge and revealed a surface without a single scratch.

The silver face was as sharp and smooth as ever.

Clink.

Ethan studied the blade closely, let out a low breath, and sheathed it again.

He blinked slowly, his mind drifting back to one fleeting moment during the fight.

The instant he'd cut through the exhausted beast's crystals—

For one brief, impossibly brief heartbeat—he thought he'd seen countless hairline fractures spider across the sword's surface.

If, by some slim chance, my master's keepsake were to break—

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

Break. That possibility had been ruled out the day the sword was passed to him.

His master had been unreliable in almost every way—never one to inspire confidence, always grinning at the worst moments—but never when it came to the things that truly mattered.

The man had handed the sword to Ethan, who'd recklessly swung and snapped every weapon he'd ever touched, and spoken with a seriousness Ethan had never heard from him before.

[Ethan. There'll never come a day when this sword gives out on you. No matter where you go, what you fight, or how hard you swing—this blade will never break and never dull.]

[So whatever happens, don't go cradling it like some fragile heirloom. Keep it close and always swing without hesitation. That's a promise between us.]

And just as his master had said—the blade had never dulled or cracked. Not once.

But still.

Ethan lifted his eyelids and exhaled.

He gazed down at the sword resting on the table, then rummaged through his bag and pulled out the standard-issue blade he'd been given as a spare.

Clank.

He slid his master's sword into the bag, then turned toward the door.

At the very least, there shouldn't be any urgent need for it in the immediate future.

Being a little cautious wouldn't hurt.

---

It was the morning after that.

Mikhail finished his letter with a few words of greeting and a brief postscript, then set down his pen.

The name in the recipient field was Joseph Senit.

"……."

He rose from his chair and walked to the window. He unlatched it and gazed out over the quiet campus.

The mail office wouldn't open for another hour or so—enough time to organize his thoughts about what lay ahead.

Training with Julien before we enter Elfensia. Getting Edwin into shape as well. Those two are the top priorities, but—

Mikhail pulled his gaze from the window and turned toward the letter on the desk.

His eyes settled on the family seal stamped into the envelope. The corners of his gaze narrowed ever so slightly.

It's about time I started looking further ahead.

The second main storyline arc—the one that would begin right after the second mission and the joint operation with Ethan wrapped up.

From that point on, he'd start getting tangled up with the factions surrounding the kingdom's inner power structure.

And the vast majority of them wouldn't be friendly toward the North—or toward him.

Mikhail let out a quiet hum and weighed the rivalries and conflicts that had been simmering, the competing interests of interlocking factions.

So to prepare for what's coming, I need to start building leverage now.

He tilted his head. The moment his thoughts concluded, something flickered through his mind.

First. Bring Julien under the North's banner.

A minor character who'd possessed remarkable ability but met a tragic end.

Under his plan, however, instead of losing everything and crumbling at the story's margins—

Julien would grow into an elite force that would topple the North's enemies under a new name.

Tap-tap.

Mikhail drummed his fingertips on the desk, eyes narrowing.

But steering things along the path he envisioned required solving one problem first.

The spell formation on the back of Julien's neck.

A binding curse that had stunted his growth, isolated him piece by piece, and driven him toward ruin. Dismantling it came before anything else.

Mikhail let his eyelids fall shut.

The curse's design, its effects, its range, its activation conditions.

He called up Julien's temperament one detail at a time, then what he himself could and couldn't do.

His eyes opened again, tracing the path forward.

The head of the southern house cast it himself, so breaking it won't be easy—or quick. But it's not impossible, either.

---

Roughly two hours later.

Mikhail stopped by the mail office and sent the letter and package, addressed to the North.

Then he called for Julien and headed to the magic department's training hall.

Every day before their departure for Elfensia was precious training time—he had no intention of wasting a single session.

And he'd begin laying the groundwork to undo the binding curse, little by little.

Keeeeen—

Perhaps because he'd reserved it in advance, the locking enchantment released the moment he touched the door, and it swung open with ease.

Mikhail strode into the wide hall and took his position along the right edge.

A system message rose into view.

【[Sub] Complete Partner Training】

• Quest Reward: Shop Currency +4

Mikhail read the details, then looked across the hall.

Julien was walking toward him, eyes wide, swiveling his head in every direction.

"Whoa. This looks a little different from the training rooms we normally use. …Hm, or am I imagining things?"

Mikhail gave Julien a sidelong glance, then crossed to a small stone tablet mounted on the wall.

It was a magic tool exclusive to top-tier training halls—used to inscribe keywords that configured and controlled the environment settings and training programs.

"You're not imagining it. I didn't book this one as a student."

"…Huh?"

Julien's voice pitched up in surprise. Mikhail turned to face him and shrugged.

"I booked it under Senit of the North."

"Why? No— more importantly, is that even allowed?"

"It's not a problem. Salvator's training facilities are top-notch, so during periods when student usage dips, they open them up to outside parties who need them. There is a cost, though."

Julien swallowed and asked cautiously.

"A cost? How much?"

"A hundred gold per half-day."

"A hundred… gold?"

Julien counted on his fingers, muttering the sum under his breath, then looked like he might fall over backward.

"The price of a top-of-the-line carriage, gone in half a day? Mikhail, even so, that's way too—"

Mikhail recalled the postscript he'd tacked onto the letter to the North and let a smirk slip through.

"Relax. I already told my father. His perpetual failure of a son wants to use a training facility for once—you really think he'd say no to that?"

"……."

"Besides, this completely blocks any prying eyes."

Julien flinched and blinked.

Mikhail turned away from him, picked up the chalk resting in front of the tablet, and continued his explanation in an even tone as he wrote.

"If I'd booked the room as a student, the supervising professors could pull up the records. And that would be a problem. Your secret could leak."

"……."

"But when it's booked under the Senit name, it's a different story. Nobody gets to rifle through a great noble house's records on a whim. Not unless they're looking to declare war on our family."

Mikhail slowed his hand for a moment, turned his head, and flashed Julien a grin.

"So at least in here, you don't have to worry about secrets or anything else."

Julien dropped the gaze that had been fixed on him.

He bowed his head low enough that his expression was impossible to read, and for a while the only sound was the soft rhythm of his breathing.

"……."

Mikhail didn't press for an answer.

He returned his attention to the stone tablet and finished inscribing the environment settings.

Tap. Click.

The chalk struck the slate a few more times.

Just as Mikhail set the chalk down, Julien's voice rang out—noticeably brighter than before.

"—So. How are we going to train?"

Mikhail turned to face him and let the corner of his mouth curl.

"Since this is our first proper session, I kept the setup simple. Three pieces of cover, medium-sized room. But to keep us from settling into long standoffs, amplification enchantments will pop up here and there."

Mikhail tapped the tablet as he spoke, and Julien nodded without hesitation.

"Sounds good. Let's do it."

Mikhail moved his hand to the bottom of the tablet.

He was about to sign beneath the inscribed text to finalize the settings—

"……."

He stopped mid-motion and turned to Julien.

Their eyes met. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but weighted with intent.

"Julien, remember what I'm about to tell you."