Chapter 92

Mikhail had just finished scanning the message and turned his gaze back to Fredik's face.

That was when Ethan's voice cut in from beside him.

"Um, Mr. Fredik."

Mikhail shifted his eyes toward Ethan. The boy was leaning toward Fredik, color risen in his cheeks.

"From what I've heard, you're a renowned blacksmith. I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind taking a look at a sword for me? It's a bit sturdier than most."

Fredik seemed caught off guard by the sudden request, but nodded readily enough.

"Sure, that's no trouble. Let me see it."

Ethan handed over the sword he'd been carrying on his back.

Fredik took it and began turning it this way and that. While he examined it, Ethan added in an anxious tone:

"It happened fairly recently. During combat, I kept catching glimpses of cracks along the blade's edge. But every time I checked after the fight was over, it looked perfectly fine—like nothing had ever been wrong. I can't make sense of it…"

"Hmm."

Fredik gave a solemn nod and drew the sword from its scabbard.

Mikhail fixed his eyes on the blade as it emerged.

Shrrring.

The blade slid free with a clear, ringing note. Its silver surface gleamed brighter than any ordinary sword, and the straight, clean body was nothing short of flawless.

A brief silence fell. Then came a soft click of the tongue. Fredik was studying the blade, smacking his lips as he spoke.

"Fine piece of work. Very fine indeed."

Clank.

Fredik slid the sword back into its scabbard and set it down in front of Ethan.

"Nothing wrong with it. Not a hairline crack, not a warp, not a trace of wear. Perfectly sound."

Rather than picking up the scabbard right away, Ethan stared down at it in silence.

He swallowed a trembling breath, then leaned toward Fredik.

"Could you… could you look just a little more carefully? There has to be something else—"

"Ethan."

Mikhail cut him off, his tone even and measured.

Then he turned and looked at Ethan, who had gone rigid beside him.

"Don't forget—him agreeing to inspect it at all was already more than generous."

Ethan sucked in a sharp breath and closed his mouth.

His expression sank a shade darker as he pulled back from the table and addressed Fredik.

"…I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

"Hm? No, no. Don't worry about it. You probably just saw something reflected in the blade and mistook it for a crack! Even self-proclaimed veteran swordsmen get fooled all the time! Bwahahaha! Ha ha ha ha!"

Fredik threw his head back in a booming, carefree laugh.

Mikhail offered neither agreement nor denial.

He simply stared ahead with a neutral expression—then, in a quiet moment, shifted his gaze to Ethan and said offhandedly:

"Don't worry. Your sword's going to be fine."

Ethan flinched.

Mikhail caught the look of disbelief on Ethan's face, then turned back to Fredik.

The old smith had already pulled the contract document toward himself and was chuckling as he filled in the details.

"Well, anyway. I'll go ahead with the contract. But Red Sun Metal won't be easy to come by—I know that much. So if you end up giving up partway through, I'd understa—"

Mikhail smiled and said with quiet certainty:

"No. I'll bring it back. Count on it."

Fredik's hand stopped mid-stroke. He lifted his eyes from the document and looked at the boy sitting across from him.

The sentiment written across his face was plain—amused by the naive confidence, yet entertained by it all the same.

"Ha ha. Well, I do like the swagger, at least! Hm? Ha ha ha ha."

Mikhail listened to Fredik's superficial laughter and allowed himself a faint smile.

The promise he'd just made was something he could prove in time.

No need to pile on more words here and now.

Clatter.

The heavy front door swung open and shut again behind them.

Leaving the request office at their backs, Mikhail stepped onto the road and walked in silence toward the village outskirts. The neat cadence of footsteps trailed close behind.

"Mikhail."

They'd been walking for roughly five minutes when a low but clear voice caught his stride.

Mikhail paused but didn't turn around.

"What."

"About what you said earlier. About my sword."

"Ah."

Mikhail let the drawn-out syllable hang in the air, then slowly turned.

Four or five paces back, Ethan had stopped as well.

Head bowed, eyes downcast—like a young tree crushed beneath branches that had sprawled out every which way, too heavy for it to bear.

Mikhail studied the still, silent figure for a moment, then spoke.

"I don't want to get into it. Not yet."

Ethan's eyes narrowed, a subtle twitch at their corners. His hand clenched at his side. But he added no objection.

"…Okay."

A brief silence, followed by quiet acceptance.

Ethan drew a deep breath. Then he moved on to something else entirely.

"Looks like the contract's all taken care of. Are we heading for the ruins next?"

Mikhail shook his head.

"No. There's more to prepare."

"Still?"

"Yeah. The area we're heading into is… a little different."

Mikhail let the words trail off with a weighted edge.

A thin smile settled across his lips as he lowered his gaze and tightened his grip on the backpack's shoulder strap.

What surfaced in his mind was the place they'd be entering before long.

Noon and midnight. Past and present. Remnants and completion. Enemy and ally—a world of extremes where all of it collided…

His heartbeat quickened between one thought and the next. His curled fingers felt as though they were hardening in the cold.

"……"

But not now.

The time to focus on what came next hadn't arrived yet.

Mikhail gave his head a small shake to clear away the thoughts and looked over at Ethan.

"Anyway, that's why I need your help. There's a rather tricky item we need to gather."

"Tricky item?"

Ethan seemed to study Mikhail's face for a moment, but asked nothing further. He simply echoed the thread of conversation.

Mikhail gave him a nod and scanned their surroundings. A table sat outside a general store nearby.

"Come here."

Mikhail walked over to the table, rummaged through the bag slung over his shoulder, and pulled out a sheet of paper and two pens of different colors.

Then, with a deliberately serious air, he set pen to paper.

Scratch. Scratch.

Polygonal shapes took form beneath the pen tip in reasonably clean lines.

Mikhail allowed himself a small, satisfied smile at the passable result. That was when Ethan muttered from behind him, clicking his tongue.

"You're really terrible at drawing."

"…Shut up."

Mikhail shot him a glare and went back to finishing the sketch.

Tap.

He set the pen down.

On the white paper sat a single lepidopteran creature rendered in polygons.

Diamond-shaped wings extended from either side—one purple, one green.

Two pairs of wings, one large and one small, arranged in perfect symmetry.

Mikhail slid the paper toward Ethan and spoke.

"Clover Crystal Wisps. They're magical creatures that are powerfully drawn to mana of a similar nature. You'll find them all over the bushes and rock crevices on the outskirts of the village. We need to catch roughly ten of them. They have no real intelligence, so they won't attack first or do anything unexpected—but they're surprisingly quick when they bolt, so stay sharp."

Mikhail paused for a breath and continued.

"The basic form of a Clover Crystal Wisp is a single pair of same-colored wings with a long, diamond-shaped crystal on the tail. Like a three-leaf clover. But the ones we need look different. Two pairs of wings, each side a different color. Think of it as the four-leaf clover of the species."

Rustle.

Ethan listened, then gave a slow nod and took the paper held out to him.

Those calm, ash-gray eyes traced the sketch.

He studied the unusual Crystal Wisp's shape as if etching it into memory, then asked in an even tone.

"Anything else I should keep in mind?"

Mikhail hummed and rubbed his chin at the question.

Then his brow furrowed, and he waved his hand open and shut for emphasis.

"When you're catching them, never use mana or bladed weapons. Bare hands only. They're fragile—anything else and they'll shatter."

---

An hour or two drifted past after that.

Chirp, chirp. Chirp.

The brush on the outskirts of Melphendes was steeper and denser than most places.

Mikhail crouched behind a large tree where a songbird had perched, holding his breath.

Five or six paces ahead, a cluster of Clover Crystal Wisps fluttered lazily above a rock formation.

And there, at the center of the group, hovered the special one he was after.

That's the one… the four-leaf clover.

Mikhail swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the makeshift catching net he'd cobbled together.

He'd been trudging through this undergrowth for nearly two hours, and the truth was, he hadn't managed a single clean capture yet.

The reasons were obvious enough. The two-toned Crystal Wisps were exceedingly rare to begin with, and every last one of them seemed to cluster in wide-open spots with generous escape routes.

On top of that, Mikhail's body was about as far from agile and flexible as a person could get.

But this time's different. The conditions are good. The Wisp's escape path will get blocked by a tree trunk once, and it'll circle in place twice trying to untangle its route.

Mikhail drew a deep breath and clenched both hands.

The instant he exhaled, he burst forward without hesitation.

Da-da-da-da—

The Crystal Wisps, startled by the sudden presence, scattered in every direction.

But just as he'd predicted, the target's movement was cut short. It hovered in place, circling and faltering.

Now was his chance. Mikhail swung the net in his grip—

LURCH!

A patch of moss hidden beneath the weeds sent his foot sliding out from under him.

Mikhail felt his body tipping sideways and bit down on his lip.

Just before the certainty of failure fully crystallized, he threw out his hand.

Pzzt!

Mana crackled from his outstretched fingertips. At the same instant, the base of the tree beside him buckled inward.

CRACK!

The tree, its lower trunk snapped clean, toppled forward and crashed down over the Crystal Wisps from above.

Dense branches fanned out in every direction, cutting straight across the two-toned Wisp's path.

"!"

The Wisp thrashed back and forth, unable to find an escape route.

In that sliver of a moment, Mikhail barely caught his half-fallen body.

He stretched toward the Wisp hovering above and launched himself upward.

CRASH-THUD!

The sudden leap threw his balance past the point of recovery, and he went down hard.

Mikhail lay sprawled face-first on the ground, chest heaving. He flicked his eyes upward.

Dozens of Crystal Wisps were scattering toward the blue sky above.

"Ha."

He let out a sigh as he watched them go, then shifted his gaze forward.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

There, trapped inside his outstretched, dirt-caked hand—wings twitching and flailing—was a four-leaf clover.

A two-toned Crystal Wisp, caught at last.