Chapter 88

A scattering of streetlamps and benches lined the quiet footpath on the outskirts of campus.

Mikhail slowed his pace and settled onto one of the benches.

Lloyd followed suit and sat down beside him.

Whoooosh.

A cool breeze drifted from the undergrowth, tousling their hair as it passed.

Mikhail slid his eyes sideways to Lloyd—arms draped over the backrest, upper body slouched—and spoke.

"How'd the mission go?"

Lloyd's reply came with a hint of indifference.

"Mm, fine. My teammates were solid, and the whole thing went about as smoothly as I expected. But more importantly…."

Lloyd let out a theatrical groan and straightened up.

A mischievous grin settled across his face as he turned to look at Mikhail.

"I'm a little impressed. Mikhail Senit. Sweeping first place in both team and individual rankings? Didn't you say at the start of the semester that you had no interest in chasing high scores?"

Mikhail tilted his head slightly and answered without missing a beat.

"Just sort of happened."

Lloyd let a small sound of disbelief slip out, but it didn't last. He shrugged and replied.

"Fair enough. If anyone could pull that off, it'd be you."

His voice was light—almost breezy. As if he had no intention of pressing further.

Mikhail shifted his gaze from Lloyd to the path ahead.

The conversation idled for a moment. Leaves rustled in the wind around them.

Lloyd was the one to change the subject.

"By the way, Mikhail. I heard you're heading out with Ethan for your next mission."

"Yeah."

"That so? Mind if I tag along?"

Mikhail kept his mouth shut, brow creasing just slightly.

Lloyd's tone had been perfectly casual. But the intent behind it was anything but careless.

In that case.

Mikhail weighed the implications of the offer—the trajectory it would affect, the exceptions it might create, and the costs and gains tied to Lloyd's involvement.

Then a thread surfaced—the ideal angle—and he spoke, slow and deliberate.

"Is this about… the debt from when you helped me in that alley a while back?"

"No."

"Then I'll pass."

Mikhail answered without a shred of hesitation.

Lloyd deflated with an audible sigh and clicked his tongue, visibly annoyed.

A beat of silence stretched between them like a standoff.

Then Lloyd's voice returned—lower, more measured than before.

"And if I said I was calling in that debt—would you say yes?"

Mikhail glanced at him and answered.

"No."

A single breath's pause. Then:

"You were never going to play that card anyway."

Silence settled between them again. But unlike the moment before, there was no edge to it.

Mikhail blinked to the sound of Lloyd's quiet, rueful chuckle behind him.

Against the blue sky filling his vision, a tall tree swayed at a leisurely rhythm.

Smaller branches fanned out from a thick central trunk.

Mikhail studied the scene—so reminiscent of the main storyline's arc—then turned to Lloyd and grinned.

"There's no rush. We'll get the chance to test each other soon enough. Once the free mission period wraps up, the Guild-sponsored joint suppression campaign kicks off right after. Whether it's my skills or yours—we'll get a much better look then. …We'll probably end up on the same side."

Lloyd swallowed the laughter bubbling up in his throat and answered readily.

"Yeah. You're right. Rushing only makes things fall apart."

The easy confidence returned to Lloyd's face in an instant.

He rose from the bench, curled his hand into a loose fist, and held it out.

"Have a safe trip. And try not to kill each other—you and Ethan."

Mikhail glanced at the fist hovering in front of him, then lifted his eyes to Lloyd's face.

Nothing more than a simple wish for a smooth, uneventful journey.

Mikhail tugged the corner of his mouth upward and bumped his own fist against Lloyd's.

"We'll see."

---

After parting ways with Lloyd.

Mikhail noted the sun tilting west and continued along the road.

His unhurried stride carried him toward the combat department's outdoor training grounds—the most likely place to find Ethan at this hour.

He's not the type to slack off before a mission. And his head's probably not in the most comfortable place right now either.

CLANG!

Just as expected. Ethan stood alone on the sprawling training field, swinging a wooden sword.

The sharpened edge of the blade froze at precise angles before carving swift horizontal and vertical arcs through the air.

Mikhail lingered at the edge of the grounds, watching the movement, then drifted inward at an easy pace.

"……"

Ethan must have sensed him.

His body tensed, and he lowered the wooden sword before turning toward where Mikhail stood.

Those heated, ash-gray eyes cut through the distance like a blade.

Mikhail met the gaze of the boy standing four or five paces ahead, chest heaving, and spoke with perfect composure.

"Hey."

Ethan swiped the sweat trailing down his jaw and replied.

"What do you want."

"I've got business."

Mikhail fired back as though he'd been waiting for the cue, pulling a completed mission document from his inner pocket and giving it a shake.

Then he tossed it to Ethan.

Fwip.

The rolled document traced an arc through the air and landed neatly in Ethan's hand.

Ethan glanced down at it, then shifted his gaze back to Mikhail.

A look that demanded to know what the document was and what Mikhail was after.

Mikhail jerked his chin toward the edge of the training grounds and spoke.

"Info on our next mission. And be at the armory within thirty minutes. There's something we need to take care of."

---

Inside Salvator Academy's armory.

The owner of the armory, sixty-five-year-old Alex Flon, gazed down at the freshly mopped floorboards with quiet satisfaction.

All day long, people had been filing in and out to restock special-order supplies—yet not a single footprint remained.

Alex leaned the mop against the wall.

Then he noticed a smudge on the lens of his glasses and slipped them off to clean them with care.

The frames were a garish red with dangling chains—a far cry from anything dignified.

But according to his granddaughter Ada, this was the trendiest style right now.

Alex chuckled at the memory of Ada's fuss and shuffled toward a shelf tucked in the corner.

He needed to check the ledger for the special inventory.

CLANG—!

Something at his feet caught against his toe and toppled over with a tremendous clatter.

"Oh, for—"

Alex clicked his tongue and scooped the fallen fire poker off the ground.

That was when it happened.

Creeeak.

The sound of hinges grinding together made Alex turn toward the entrance.

A student was stepping through the open door.

Dark blue hair falling past his shoulders, a delicate face that looked like it had never gripped a rough weapon in its life—

—Ah, the one who saved Ada!

The instant recognition struck, Alex startled and strode briskly toward the entrance.

"It's been a while. How've you been?"

He greeted the boy without bothering to hide an ounce of his delight.

The dark-haired boy smiled warmly and replied.

"It's good to see you again, sir. Have you been well?"

"Heh. What's there to change at my age? Same as always."

Alex answered with a hearty laugh, then gestured toward an empty table by the window.

"Why don't you sit? I'll bring you a glass of cold water, at least."

But the boy shook his head with a slightly apologetic expression.

"I appreciate it, but I'll just take the thought. I came today because there's a special favor I'd like to ask."

"A favor?"

Alex raised a curious eyebrow, but nodded without reservation.

"Sure. Can't be anything too difficult. If it's coming from you, I've got no reason to say no."

"The thing is…"

The boy hesitated for some reason.

He drew the pause out, trailing off, then let his deep blue eyes drift downward.

Alex murmured a puzzled sound and followed his gaze.

Where the boy's eyes had come to rest—

A fire poker, roughly forged from solid metal.

And on its surface, Alex's own name and the emblem of a former affiliation, etched into the steel.

Alex flinched, yanking the poker behind his back. But the boy had already opened his mouth.

"Former leader of the mercenary band 'The Stalking Night,' Alex Flon."

"……"

"I need you to draft a document vouching for my party's capabilities at Melphendes."

Alex swallowed a dry breath and stood frozen where he was.

The sound of his own throat working was impossibly loud in the silence.

"……"

Meanwhile, the boy standing before him—Mikhail—raised his lowered gaze and studied the man across from him.

Surprise, bewilderment, and discomfort surfaced on Alex's face one after another, each dissolving as quickly as it appeared.

Mikhail already knew that Alex had no desire to broadcast his former identity.

But for the next mission to go smoothly, the endorsement of a renowned mercenary captain was essential.

"Heh-heh-heh. Well now. That's, uh. That's something. To hear a name from a good dozen years back come out of a student's mouth…. I'll be honest—you've caught me completely off guard."

Alex scratched the back of his head and smacked his lips.

But it wasn't long before the hand he'd raised drifted back down, and his eyes settled squarely on Mikhail.

The creased corners of his eyes—always crinkled into something warm and genial—carried a surprisingly keen edge now.

"Alright. I won't pretend otherwise. Like you said, I led The Stalking Night—a mercenary band that chased danger and treasure, gold and blood. But that's one thing, and vouching for your party's skill at Melphendes is another matter entirely. Not something I can treat lightly."

Alex's tone was measured—serious. Mikhail dipped his head agreeably and replied.

"I understand. Standard-grade or not, Melphendes is a ruin with real dangers. Your endorsement could directly affect our safety."

"…Right. So you already knew that."

A brief pause preceded Alex's response—as though the boy had surprised him again.

Mikhail offered Alex a small smile, then turned toward the window beside the entrance.

Through the clear glass, a boy with a neat build and dark gray hair was approaching.

Mikhail turned back to Alex.

"I also didn't think words alone would be enough to convince you."

"……"

"So please—test our skills yourself, and then write the endorsement."

Alex stood motionless, studying Mikhail's face.

But it wasn't long before he seemed to reach a decision. He gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Mikhail answered with a smile.

Creeeak.

The armory door swung open right on cue.

Mikhail shifted his gaze from Alex to Ethan, now stepping inside.

"……"

Ethan's shoulders twitched the instant he crossed the threshold. He froze in place, head swiveling back and forth.

Once toward Mikhail on his right. Once toward Alex on his left.

His brow finally crushed together and he opened his mouth at Mikhail.

"Don't tell me you—"

Mikhail flashed a deliberately loose grin, then strode over to Ethan with a spring in his step.

Once they stood face to face—

Tap.

He reached out, clapped Ethan lightly on the shoulder, and smiled.

"You've been working hard on those missions, right? Time to show me what you've got."