Exploration and freedom—that was the essence of Meta Pangaea‘s gameplay.
You could follow the main quest or ignore it entirely.
The sheer freedom to play however you wanted, with no consequences.
‘Maybe I should indulge in the stories I used to skip.’
Now that skipping wasn’t an option, the narratives he’d once glossed over seemed oddly compelling.
“……”
“……”
Silence settled between them.
The Duke fiddled with his jewellery before nodding slowly.
“I see. Travel, hm? Something I’ve never considered—nor could I.”
The Duke wasn’t someone who could leave his post on a whim. A man like him couldn’t just wander off for leisure.
“If you ever return from your travels, tell me about them. Better yet, write a book. If the mood strikes, I’ll sponsor it.”
“Your words alone are honor enough.”
Just then, the Duke turned his head.
Viola was approaching—with no prior indication she’d even be joining.
“What kept you?”
“I ran into my brothers on the way. We talked, and time slipped away.”
“Hmph.”
“Father, perhaps it’s time to stop? Young Master Ian seems quite intoxicated.”
One glance at Ian’s flushed face was enough to confirm her concern.
But—
“Nonsense! I won’t send my drinking companion away so soon! We’ll drink till we drop!”
The Duke’s expression made it clear: he wasn’t listening.
A textbook drunk. No more, no less.
‘Since when was the Duke this lightweight?’
Ian could’ve sworn the man was second only to dwarves in alcohol tolerance.
And he hadn’t seemed that wasted earlier.
‘Whatever.’
At this rate, he worried one of them would actually drop dead.
But then—miraculously—
“Are you trying to make me a widow?”
“Hic—!”
A third voice cut through the air, startling the Duke into a hiccup.
Turning toward the sound, Ian saw—
“M-My dear!”
The Duchess stood there, smiling.
A smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“I came to check on you, and this is what I find?”
“Darling, this is—”
“Didn’t you say this was a tea gathering?”
The Duke had begged the stewardess for secrecy, but caught red-handed, there was no wriggling out.
The Duchess’s gaze sharpened like a hawk’s.
“We’ll talk later.”
“Hic!”
The Duke clamped his mouth shut, rendered speechless.
Then her eyes shifted to Ian.
He braced for scolding, but none came.
If anything, her expression softened slightly.
“You must be… the Schrantz heir?”
“Yes, madam. I’m honoured you remember me.”
They’d only exchanged brief greetings at the banquet.
He hadn’t expected her to recall him among the sea of nobles.
“How could I forget? You’re quite the celebrity in the north. I expect we’ll meet often—let’s get along. But it’s late now. I’ll arrange another time to properly host you.”
With that, the Duchess single-handedly ended what could’ve been an endless drinking session.
‘Saved.’
Ian cheered internally—until:
“Viola, escort Young Master Ian to the gates once he’s sobered up. A stroll through the garden should help.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Darling, surely you don’t mean—!”
The Duke’s protest died under her glare.
Ian wholeheartedly agreed with the Duke for once.
Being left alone with Viola was the last thing he wanted.
“Madam, your concern is kind, but I’m perfectly fine. I can return alone.”
“No need to fret. Do as I say.”
Her smile was gentle but firm.
She’d mistaken his refusal as fear of the Duke’s temper—not his dislike to Viola.
The Duke notoriously scolded male nobles from getting too close to his daughter.
‘I don’t need this…’
But further refusal was impossible.
The Duchess had already dragged the Duke back to the mansion.
The Duke wore the expression of a condemned man—but Ian wasn’t doing much better.
The walk was excruciating.
Lanterns lit the path at intervals, and Viola’s familiarity with the route prevented any wrong turns.
But one problem remained.
‘This is unbearable.’
The silence between them was suffocating.
Neither spoke, the tension thickening with every step.
“Are you… uncomfortable?”
Caught off guard, Ian feigned ignorance.
“Why would you think that?”
“You haven’t said a word.”
Truthfully, he was uncomfortable—but mostly because he had nothing to say.
“The drinks and the… tension, I suppose.”
Whether it was the Duchess’s commanding presence, his alcohol-resistant constitution, or the night air, the buzz had long faded.
But admitting that felt too blunt, so he dodged.
“I’m glad, then.”
“……”
“……”
The awkward silence returned.
Ian racked his brain for conversation topics, but the residual alcohol fogged his thoughts.
‘How do I keep this going?’
Viola was equally lost.
She wanted to break the silence but had no idea how.
‘…How does one talk to the opposite sex?’
Viola had no male friends—thanks to her father’s interference—and even female companions were rare.
Most who approached her had ulterior motives, leading to swift dismissals.
As a result, she had zero experience navigating casual conversation with peers.
‘But I want to say something.’
That much was genuine.
This man was different.
There wasn’t a shred of hidden ambition in his demeanor.
There was also a desire to learn from someone with such foresight, enough to earn even her own recognition.
But more than that, she sincerely wanted to become close to this man.
She wanted someone she could talk to comfortably, someone she could truly open up to.
Her mother, who understood her situation, had likely arranged this opportunity so she could make a friend her age.
Viola, too, longed for a friend she could speak to from the heart.
Ian had intrigued her since their first meeting.
It wasn’t just because of her mother’s consideration—her wish to grow close to him was genuine.
That’s why, just as she was about to open up and say something—
Suddenly!
Ian came to an abrupt stop. Viola, startled, had no choice but to stop as well.
“What is it?”
“Don’t you feel like something’s off?”
Ian glanced around as he asked her.
“Excuse me? What do you mean…?”
“No matter how quiet a garden is, isn’t it strange that we don’t even hear any insects?”
Whoosh—!
Before Ian had even finished speaking, a sound cut through the darkness—something slicing through the air.
It was an ambush, aimed at both Ian and Viola.
Swish—!
Ian’s hand moved swiftly, having already drawn his sword from his waist.
Clang! Clang!
He instantly deflected the incoming projectiles with his blade.
Then he confirmed with his eyes what he had struck down.
So close combat is next, then.
Just as Ian predicted—
Rustle—!
There came the sound of grass being stepped on.
Two figures emerged from the bushes on either side, rushing at Ian.
No—three.
Snap!
There was a sound from above his head as well—someone jumping down from a tree.
“Rock Bullet!”
A nearby pebble rose into the air and shot forward, piercing the head of the one who had leapt from the tree.
The assailant didn’t even get the chance to defend himself—he fell straight to the ground, dead on impact.
Ian swung his sword at the nearest one.
The man tried to block with his own blade, but it was pointless.
[The enemy’s weapon has been destroyed due to the effect of ‘Weapon Breaker.’]
Just like slicing through butter, Ian’s sword cleaved through both the enemy’s weapon and his neck.
Slice—!
The headless body collapsed like a scarecrow.
Viola’s eyes widened as Ian turned to attack the last one.
“Please don’t kill the last one!”
Even if she hadn’t said it, he had no intention of doing so.
Instead of cutting the last man down, Ian kicked his shin as hard as he could.
Crunch!
Perhaps he used a bit too much force—a terrible cracking sound followed.
It was the sound of bone shattering.
And yet, the man didn’t scream.
He should’ve been rolling on the ground clutching his leg or passed out from shock. But no—
Instead, he pushed off the ground with his other leg and charged at Ian again.
Is he drugged?
Even in the darkness, Ian could clearly see his eyes, thanks to the blessing of the Lycanthrope.
If the man were enduring the pain, his expression should’ve changed.
But there was no change—just a vacant, glassy gaze. He clearly felt no pain, relying on the drug.
Tap!
Ian stepped forward without hesitation.
Swish—!
He ducked and spun swiftly, striking the man’s head with the back of his heel.
Thud!
The impact landed clean.
The man hovered for a moment, then crashed to the ground.
Even Viola, who had been watching from the side, couldn’t quite grasp what had happened.
It was all too fast—and it was also a martial art she’d never seen before.
Naturally, it was unfamiliar.
Because what Ian had just demonstrated was Taekwondo.
That sharp spinning kick had rattled the man’s brain.
Even without pain, thanks to the drugs, he wouldn’t be able to move properly for a while.
“Is it over now?”
“No, not yet.”
“Sorry? What do you mean…?”
Was he implying more enemies were hiding nearby?
No, that wasn’t it.
Ian sheathed his sword and approached the subdued assassin.
Crunch!
“Mmgh! Guh!”
He smashed the man’s teeth with his fist, then shoved his hand into the man’s mouth.
“What… what are you doing?!”
Viola was flustered by Ian’s bizarre behaviour.
To her, it looked like he was deliberately torturing the captured man.
But Ian didn’t stop. Soon he pulled his hand out of the man’s mouth.
“Look at this.”
He opened his bloodied fist and showed her what was inside.
Among the broken teeth was something black, about the size of a fingernail.
It looked like a tightly compressed bundle of grass.
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