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  • A Veteran Player Becomes a Troublemaker Chapter 99

    “Even if they turn a profit, the price should only be slightly higher than usual food costs—still affordable.”

    Of course, not all merchants would sell Levior at a reasonable price.

    Since it was the only food source during the famine, some would jack up the price several times over.

    ‘Well, most of those greedy bastards will probably get beaten to death by desperate people anyway.’

    A famine was the kind of situation where cannibalism could break out.

    People pushed to the brink wouldn’t stay passive.

    But since he had sold it at a fair price, there was no reason for anyone to blame or attack him later.

    “Why are you looking at me like that?”

    Ian noticed Nea gazing at him with a soft, almost admiring smile.

    “It’s nothing,” she replied simply.

    ‘He’s thinking not just of Schrantz’s people, but those in other territories too…’

    She hadn’t considered that.

    She’d only thought about the profits, not who would be buying Levior beyond that.

    His warmth—extending even to the “lowborn” nobles so often scorned—left her in awe.

    She’d seen countless people who were strong against the weak and weak against the strong.

    But Ian was the opposite.

    Gentle to the weak, unyielding to the powerful.

    And on top of that, he was considerate of those beneath him.

    Even though there wasn’t much of an age gap between them, his thoughtfulness made him deeply admirable.

    ‘I’m truly lucky to serve a young master like him.’

    ‘What’s with her?’

    Of course, Ian had no idea what she was thinking.

    He could only guess.

    ‘Ah, she must be grateful because she invested in Levior too and made a lot of money, right?’

    Naturally, his guess was completely off the mark.

    ‘I’ve met with all the trading company heads and negotiated. Now that the busy work’s done, I can finally focus on my own training.’

    Just as he was about to return to his routine and start seriously training for the fourth chapter—

    “Young master… I have urgent news.”

    Klins approached him.

    Ian drained the last of his drink and turned to him.

    Even after spending time together, Klins still hesitated, watching his reaction carefully.

    “What is it?”

    “Refugees have arrived in Schrantz County.”

    “Oh?”

    Ian wasn’t particularly concerned.

    With the fierce battles still raging in the west and south, he’d expected refugees to eventually trickle in from those war-torn regions.

    “Then we’ll have to take care of them.”

    Of course, there might be spies mixed in among them, but that wasn’t his job to sort out—it was Nea’s and the Shadows’ responsibility.

    ‘Perfect timing. The Shadows have been bored with nothing major to do since the territorial war ended.’

    They’d appreciate having something to occupy themselves with.

    ‘Though the chances of spies slipping in are pretty low anyway.’

    Schrantz had declared neutrality in the civil war, siding with neither prince.

    It was a territory that simply kept to itself, quietly waiting for the conflict to end as soon as possible.

    From the Second Prince’s perspective, some backwater border county wouldn’t even register as a threat.

    “W-Well… It might be a bit more complicated than that.”

    “Why? Worried their lord will protest?”

    Ian smirked, already guessing Klins’ concern.

    If refugees were arriving, it meant their original territory was in no state to care about them anymore.

    Hell, for all he knew, their lords might already be dead or captured by invaders.

    If they couldn’t even protect their own people, they had no right to complain.

    “No, it’s just… There are way, way more refugees than we expected.”

    “How many are we talking? Why the dramatic pause?”

    How many could there possibly be?

    ’10 or 20? No, if he’s making a big deal, maybe 50?’

    That would be more than expected, but still manageable.

    At most, Ian figured it wouldn’t exceed 100.

    “Close to 500. Maybe even more.”

    “……What?”

    Ian blinked.

    So Klins was saying that nearly *500* refugees—more than the entire population of Dariel Village—had flooded into Schrantz.

    “Good grief…”

    Ian couldn’t help but be stunned as he looked at the refugees flooding into Dariel Village.

    Exhausted from their long journey, they looked no better than beggars—mothers clutching infants, heads of families leading their kin, children supporting elderly parents.

    Just seeing them made Ian’s head throb.

    ‘I thought the report was exaggerated because such numbers didn’t make sense, but…’

    It wasn’t an exaggeration at all.

    He didn’t know the exact count, but it was definitely more than Dariel Village’s entire population.

    The village, which usually housed around 80 households, was now packed to the brim.

    ‘Why the hell…?’

    This was Ian’s first time dealing with such a massive influx of refugees—something even Meta Pangaea hadn’t prepared him for.

    Lately, it felt like unexpected situations kept piling up, and he had no idea why.

    “My lord! We’ve come all the way from the south! Please, don’t turn us away!”

    “Noble sir, my family fled the west! We barely escaped bandits and soldiers to get here!”

    “No other territory will take us! We have nowhere else to go! Please, don’t abandon us!”

    “Stay back from the young lord!”

    The refugees practically competed to plead their cases, swarming toward Ian, while the soldiers struggled to control the crowd.

    But it was no easy task.

    There were simply too many of them.

    Dariel Village’s ten guards, five escorts, a spirit archer (Dwayne), and a mage (Sera) weren’t nearly enough to manage this many people.

    Seeing their desperate, tearful pleas weighed on Ian’s conscience.

    But that didn’t change the fact that this was a logistical nightmare.

    He hadn’t prepared for refugees on this scale.

    ‘What the hell? Why so many?’

    It felt like he kept encountering situations he’d never experienced before.

    He couldn’t comprehend what had driven this many people to flee.

    ‘Did things take a turn for the worse in the west or south?’

    Otherwise, this kind of departure wouldn’t make sense.

    But as far as Ian knew, the war’s status hadn’t changed much—both sides were still locked in a standoff.

    Even accounting for delays in information, the Shadows’ intelligence network was reliable.

    If something major had happened, he would’ve heard before the refugees arrived.

    “Young master, isn’t this a good thing?”

    While Ian was still processing the situation, Klins spoke up.

    Ian gave him a questioning look, and Klins continued.

    “Why not report this to the lord and suggest sending them to Ansen?”

    Luther quickly agreed.

    “I think that’s a great idea. Settling this many people in Ansen would solve our labor shortage at once. Plus, the tax exemption for migrants is still in effect—it’d help them too.”

    Ian shook his head firmly.

    He’d considered that option, but hearing their reasoning made him reconsider.

    “They just said they came from the west and south, right?”

    “Yes.”

    “Even if the westerners could tough it out, do you really think southerners can handle the northern cold? I’m certain they wouldn’t last long in Rosen, let alone Ansen.”

    Especially those from the south, where snow was a rarity.

    The south recorded above-freezing temperatures even in midwinter, while Schrantz—already the northernmost territory—was extremly cold even in summer.

    Sending them further north to Ansen?

    ‘People would freeze to death left and right.’

    Even now, in what was technically autumn, this weather would feel like an unprecedented cold snap to southerners.

    “Is it that bad?”

    “I’m worried they might freeze even in this weather—and it’s not even below zero yet.”

    As proof, Ian could already spot some refugees shivering violently despite bundling up in whatever clothes they’d brought.

    If they weren’t just suffering from severe colds, they were undoubtedly southerners.

    ‘Even if they could endure, they look too exhausted to go any further.’

    Many seemed malnourished, their immune systems weakened from lack of proper meals.

    Forcing them to march farther would literally be a death sentence.

    ‘Whatever happens later, sending them north now is out of the question.’

    Ian didn’t want corpses littering the streets, left for beasts or monsters to scavenge.

    That said, he didn’t have a perfect solution either.

    ‘If only they’d come in manageable numbers…’

    This was beyond what he could handle alone.

    “No matter how you look at it, this is way above my pay grade.”

    So he decided:

    “This exceeds my authority. I’ll consult Father on how to proceed.”

    For now, he’d ask Hugo for instructions.

    His gaze returned to the refugees.

    They stared back at him with pleading eyes.

    Under the weight of their collective desperation, Ian sighed.

    A hundred refugees? Maybe he could’ve improvised.

    But this many? He couldn’t make that call unilaterally.

    “What should we do with them in the meantime?”

    “Telling them to fend for themselves would be too cruel. Since they’re here, we’ll have to arrange shelter and food.”

    Whether Hugo would accept them all, turn them away, or only take those useful to the territory remained to be seen.

    But until a decision was made, Ian would ensure their survival.

    “Captain. Klins.”

    “Yes, young lord.”

    “At once!”

    The two approached promptly.

    “Captain, work with the villagers to set up tents on the empty land near the village. They’ll stay there temporarily.”

    “Understood. But we won’t have enough for everyone.”

    Dariel Village only had about thirty soldiers at most.

    Even with emergency supplies in storage, there was no way they had tents for hundreds.

    “Then empty the storerooms—gather every spare piece of fabric. If any villagers have tents, buy them.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Also, send word to nearby villages to bring all available tents here. If we’re still short, use planks to build windbreaks.”

    “It will be done.”

    After issuing orders to the captain, Ian turned to Klins.

    “Distribute Levior to the refugees.”

    “Huh? Levior?”

    Klins was taken aback—Ian was willingly offering the very resource meant for sale.

    “Isn’t that… wasteful?”

    Wasteful?

    ‘Not really.’

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 185

    For a while, the emperor’s office had seemed quiet—but once again, it was filled with the presence of others.

    That was because all the key figures, save for those dispatched to distant provinces or resting like Ivania, had gathered in one place.

    Among them were Francisco, who commanded the cavalry, the Latin troops’ overseer; Halid, who led the Murtati; Bishop Nikephoros, who had been preparing to depart from Morea; and finally, Gemistos Plethon, who had come after tending to his students. As soon as they assembled, the emperor looked around at each of them.

    Not a single face showed any trace of composure—they were all stiff and serious.

    It was to be expected, considering the seriousness of the situation. The news had arrived only five days after the secret agreement with Venice was signed. In other words, the incident had occurred well before then. Had it reached the Pope in Italy by now? The emperor tried to dispel some of his shock by indulging in such idle thoughts.

    Even so, the reason he couldn’t bring himself to speak right away was simply because he didn’t want to believe it.

    But turning away wouldn’t change anything—it would only make matters worse. Resolving himself, the emperor finally opened his mouth and addressed the assembled ministers.

    “…Wallachia has launched an invasion into Hungary’s Transylvanian region. It’s not exactly good news.”

    “That’s… extremely bad news.”

    Francisco, sweating profusely, made a sarcastic remark. Under normal circumstances, Plethon would have rebuked him for his lack of decorum, and Halid would’ve found something to mock—but this time, both held their tongues.

    Only Bishop Nikephoros crossed himself repeatedly. Though no one said a word, the silence conveyed that they all felt the same. The emperor was no different. The mood in the office sank rapidly.

    It was inevitable.

    From the perspective of Morea, they had always assumed that any trouble would come from Albania. No one had expected this. The miscalculation left everyone at a loss for words. Even those who wanted to speak found no voice. The first to break free from the suffocating silence was Halid.

    “Wallachia would not have planned an invasion of Hungary on its own. Surely, someone is pulling the strings.”

    Sometimes, stating the obvious helps people grasp reality. His words brought focus back to their eyes. Francisco was the first to regain his composure, followed much later by Plethon and Bishop Nikephoros. The emperor, whose thoughts had gone blank, also recovered his clarity.

    “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. You’re actually making sense for once.”

    “Shut up, you idiot.”

    “I even complimented you, and still—!”

    Francisco lashed out with insults, trying to cover his embarrassment, while Halid snarled back fiercely. Watching the two squabble, the emperor quietly sank into thought. Just as Halid had reminded them, Wallachia, which had long stood in opposition to the Ottomans, wouldn’t suddenly change its stance without outside influence.

    And it wasn’t hard to guess who might benefit from such a maneuver.

    There was only one party who stood to gain from Wallachia’s sudden offensive.

    “…Murad.”

    Crack.

    The emperor clenched his teeth tightly, unable to suppress his curiosity. How had Murad managed to move Wallachia? No, did Wallachia still have the forces to launch such an invasion?

    Unfortunately, the Danube region was one where the empire, and even Venice, held little influence. Their focus had been entirely on the main Ottoman force near the capital, leaving Wallachia outside their field of interest.

    Yet one thing was certain—this Wallachian invasion was highly threatening.

    Sure enough, Plethon spoke up to highlight the danger.

    “Your Majesty, Hungary has been drained by years of fighting heretics. From what little I know, they haven’t even finished subjugating the remnants of those sects. I doubt they have the strength left to defend Transylvania against Wallachia.”

    “If only the Western Church recognizes the severity of this situation…”

    “….”

    Nikephoros murmured with regret, and even Halid and Francisco stopped their arguing. They, too, likely shared the bishop’s concerns. But the emperor, taking a more clear-eyed view of reality, slowly shook his head.

    Even Morea had only just learned of the event. It was unlikely the Pope’s awareness would lead to swift action—nor was the situation in the West favourable.

    It was that unexpected.

    The greater the shock, the longer the ensuing chaos would last. And this chaos—that, surely, was what the Ottomans and their sultan truly desired. But what purpose did this chaos serve? As he turned that question over in his mind, the emperor finally began to realize what the previous signs had meant.

    The obsession with the capital, Skanderbeg’s sudden halt in his conquests, the relaxed siege, the treaty that pulled Venice back from the front lines, and now, Wallachia’s surprise invasion of Hungary—

    —All these signs pointed to one thing.

    “…The Ottomans are going to move.”

    Francisco swallowed hard at the emperor’s conclusion. Everyone had expected that the Ottomans would make a major move someday. But no one had imagined they would prepare this thoroughly.

    “…As you all know, expecting aid from the West is now a hopeless dream. With Hungary shaken from a surprise invasion, they’ll be tied down until a truce with the Hussites is secured. This leaves us defenseless. Not just us—Serbia as well.”

    Hungary, which had been in the best position to respond quickly to the Ottomans, was now paralyzed. The path was wide open for the Ottomans. Thus, the earlier prediction that Albania would be the target had been mistaken. If they had aimed for Albania, there would’ve been no need to hinder Hungary.

    The real targets were either Morea or Serbia.

    Of the two, Morea—an enduring thorn in the Ottomans’ side—was the likelier target.

    As that thought struck him, the emperor turned to Halid.

    Of all those in Morea, there was only one man who truly understood the inner workings of the Ottomans. But even the trusted Halid shook his head this time.

    “What I know dates back nearly a decade. I doubt it will be useful now.”

    “Even speculation will do.”

    “…Then I shall offer an example from the past, Your Majesty.”

    At last, pressed by repeated urging, Halid opened his mouth to speak.

    Of course, it was not a pleasant tale for anyone present. And because it came without metaphor or filter, it was not something they could easily ignore.

    “Decades ago, the Ottoman Empire was split in two after Sultan Bayezid died at the hands of Timur. Even then, the warlord who took control of Rumelia mobilized an army of eight thousand, and Sultan Mehmed, who ruled Anatolia, raised an army of ten thousand twice in just a few years.”

    “Hmm.”

    “Wow.”

    A low hum from Plethon, followed by Francisco’s awed exclamation. Bishop Nikephoros shut his eyes entirely. Yet no sign of disturbance appeared on the emperor’s face.

    He had already once endured a siege by Warlord Osman long ago. Knowing full well what kind of adversary he faced, there was no reason for the emperor to waver now. That wasn’t to say he gleaned nothing from Halid’s words. The meaning was clear.

    “At least twenty thousand, then.”

    “One plus one doesn’t always make two, Your Majesty.”

    “Francisco, how does Morea’s military stand?”

    “Let’s see—six full Alagia, with two still being formed… That makes about eight thousand, being generous.”

    They had rebuilt the army to this level from the brink of annihilation. It even exceeded the former six-thousand strong force. And it wasn’t just quantity—great effort had been made to improve quality as well. That was the reason behind the burdensome fifty percent tax rate: to raise a strong force that could stand against the Ottomans, and even reclaim lost territories.

    Even so, the limits were clear.

    “Damn it. I thought we had done well.”

    Francisco clenched his fists in frustration. But there was nothing to be done. National power wasn’t something easily bridged. Strength accumulated over years didn’t topple easily. To overcome the vast gap in power, every possible option had to be pursued. The emperor turned his gaze toward Bishop Nikephoros.

    “It seems the time I must ask this of you has come sooner than expected.”

    “…Making contact with the Albanians. I doubt how much I can do, being a man of the cloth… but if it’s something only I can do, I will see it done.”

    “We may not be able to help you properly, given the circumstances. I ask for your understanding.”

    “Of course, Your Majesty.”

    From here on, it would be a race against time.

    Resolute, the emperor turned to Plethon.

    “Plethon, I will need your gift of rhetoric. We may be forced to mobilize the army. The people will surely be shaken—help calm them.”

    “…As you command, Your Majesty.”

    “Halid, Francisco—you know what must be done. Prepare the troops, but do not gather them. Remember, we must not give them a pretext.”

    Thankfully, both Halid and Francisco were seasoned veterans. Even in such a desperate situation, they remained composed. Despite their now-serious expressions, they still managed to wear confident smiles as they replied together:

    “”At Your Majesty’s will.””

    For an instant, their eyes flicked toward each other in a sharp glance, but only briefly. Then, they both stepped back with proper formality. Only then did the emperor let out a breath and fully comprehend the situation facing the Empire.

    We must not give them an excuse. This is the most dangerous moment.

    As long as Albania remained unconquered, all land routes to Morea were blocked. And now, with Venice having stepped back from the frontlines, Morea stood completely isolated. Between Serbia and Morea, the greater danger clearly lay with the latter. The emperor had considered Genoa as a replacement for Venice, but making contact would provoke an Ottoman reaction.

    At this point, the only hope lay in gaining support from the Albanians.

    But there’s no way the Ottomans are finished with just this.

    Sadly, such hunches are never wrong.

    Barely a week had passed since the shocking news of Wallachia’s invasion of Hungary, when Morea received an unwelcome guest. The visitor came alone, but even Emperor Dragases, hailed as the Empire’s last hope, found this guest a formidable opponent.

    The guest was none other than an Ottoman envoy.

    “I have come to deliver the Sultan’s message to the Emperor Dragases of Morea.”

    Compared to when he was still a royal prince, the wording was far more polite. Yet the condescending attitude toward the emperor had not changed. All the ministers except Halid scowled, but the envoy remained unfazed. For the emperor, who had no real expectations to begin with, it was more respect than he had anticipated, so he did not bother to comment.

    “I will hear it.”

    “…‘Long ago, I forged a bond of suzerainty and vassalage with you, and as long as you honored that trust, I guaranteed peace and religious freedom. Yet now, the Emperor of Constantinople has broken the alliance made in my father’s time and rejected even my tolerance. I begin to wonder—might there be others who likewise harbour betrayal in their hearts?’”

    Not exactly a positive start.

    As expected, the next words were sharp enough to shake even Emperor Dragases composure.

    “‘Therefore, I summon you to my court in Edirne to prove your loyalty and sincerity. Come. The reward for loyalty shall be prosperity and peace. The price of betrayal—shall be paid in steel.’”

    —And with that, a blade of words, cold and formless, pressed against the emperor’s throat.

    “‘All vassals of the Ottomans would do well to choose wisely.’”

  • TFHITS Chapter 13

     

    “No, wait a minute.”

    …Was what I meant to say, but the screen popped up first.

    <Error. ‘The Secret Between Neril Slane and Dame Seide.’ This is classified as B-Rank.>

    <You must reach Eye of Omniscience Level 3 to access it.>

    ‘……’

    [……]

    ‘Got nothing to say?’

    [Hmm. A woman with many secrets is always attractive, you know.]

    I ignored Trail’s answer and fell into thought.

    A secret involving someone named May Enerika was also B-Rank.

    If it’s on the same level as Neril’s core secret, then whatever ‘that item’ Dame has must be incredibly valuable.

    Just then, Neril spoke.

    “Sorry. I still can’t tell you…”

    “Anyway, what’s the reward?”

    “Uh, huh?”

    “The reward Dame promised. I’m very interested in shiny things.”

    Maybe realizing I was deliberately changing the subject, Neril’s expression softened.

    She answered in a light tone, playing along.

    “A magpie, are you?”

    “Worse than that.”

    “Pfft. It’s just jewels and gold coins. And Dame is mistaken. I’m not so desperate for rewards anymore.”

    Because the person who was supposed to give the reward is already dead.

    Neril seemed to be implying that.

    “So that grave keeper old man partnered with the Empire for a comfortable retirement?”

    “You really are quick on the uptake. Yeah, the butler’s warehouse had piles of gold and silver higher than a person’s height. He just stuffed it all in without spending a single coin.”

    “And you knew that and still kept accepting the rewards?”

    “I considered it the bare minimum atonement.”

    I didn’t bother asking what that meant.

    Neril continued.

    “Of course, all that treasure was stolen by Grey’s gang.”

    “Aha. They all lived ‘successful’ lives on the continent, huh. I always wondered how those pieces of trash made it big—turns out they cashed in there.”

    “Grey’s tool shop probably had the same story.”

    She let out a light sigh.

    I scratched my head and asked,

    “So? If Xenia shows up, are you going to go along with the interrogation willingly?”

    “Hmm. I’d love to kick up a fuss, but that might mess with your ‘Path of the Hero,’ right?”

    “I’ll have to meet her to know for sure.”

    “Then meet her and decide. I’ll do whatever you want.”

    I opened my eyes wide in surprise, not expecting her to say that.

    Then our eyes met.

    We awkwardly turned our heads away at the same time.

    Trail chimed in.

    [No way… You guys aren’t going to stay like this forever, are you?]

    ‘What are you on about.’

    [Anyway, this next part is going to be really interesting.]

    ‘Huh?’

    [Xenia Seide. Nicknamed the God’s Agent. A holy knight who emits more divine power than most high-ranking priests. And most importantly—]

    He continued in a subtle tone.

    [She’s your former party member.]

    He was right.

    Xenia Seide was one of the members of the hero’s party.

    The fourth person Kaeld successfully recruited.

    He currently has three heroes under his wing… in other words, the next target(?) is Xenia.

    [In other words, Kaeld hasn’t gotten to her yet. This is your chance—bring her over to your side.]

    ‘It’s not that simple.’

    [Eh?]

    ‘Neril and Xenia. The two of them had an absolutely horrible relationship.’

    I recalled my memories from before the regression.

    Xenia was the fourth person Kaeld recruited.

    And Neril was the fifth.

    When they first met, Xenia treated Neril like a mortal enemy… even said she’d leave the party if Neril joined.

    [Hmm. Well, one’s a witch and the other’s a holy knight.]

    ‘No, it’s not just bad chemistry. There’s a backstory between them.’

    [A backstory?]

    ‘Yeah. And the one who resolved that story was Kaeld himself. That was the moment Xenia truly came to believe in him as the Hero.’

    I stopped there and stared silently at Neril, who was now munching on an apple.

    “What? Want one?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Here. Ten guilds.”

    “Okay. Just a sec.”

    “No, no—it’s fine. I was just kidding. Don’t actually pull out money. That’s embarrassing.”

    Flick.

    Neril tossed me an apple.

    And then, for some reason, bit into her own apple a bit more hastily than before.

    [So what is the backstory?]

    ‘Anyway, in my current position, I can’t afford to go against the capital. It’s hard to resolve things between the two of them right now. What to do…’

    [Hey! I asked you what the backstory was!]

    ‘At the very least, I need to prevent them from going at each other’s throats. Maybe if I tell Xenia I’ll handle it later, she’ll believe me?’

    [Hello?? Are you ignoring me again?]

    ‘Well, I’ll do what I can. If I earn a lot of trust through this mission, it might work out somehow.’

    [I’m gonna cry. I really will, I swear.]

    I could almost hear the sound of someone sniffing in sync with my sadness.

    Though I was probably imagining it.

    As we neared the Lior Territory, a piece of good news arrived.

    <Ding! Your level has increased.>

    <Level: Slightly Famous.>

    <Your name is spreading throughout the Drucker territory. (All points retrieved!)>

    <Your name is spreading throughout the Quelk territory. (All points retrieved!)>

    <Reputation Points Needed for Next Level: 1,760 / 20,000>

    All the points from the Quelk territory had been retrieved, and I had leveled up.

    That gave me ten seconds of joy… and thirty minutes of despair.

    Thanks to what Trail said next.

    [Well done. Now that your level’s gone up, you can see Kaeld’s fame level in detail. Well, technically, you can see everyone’s fame levels now.]

    ‘Show me. Right now.’

    [You sure you want to see it? You ready for this?]

    ‘I’m a so-called “slightly famous” person now. Show me without worry.’

    With a solemn sound, Trail brought up the display.

    The usual continental map showed our respective domains in different colors.

    In the center of each domain, numbers appeared.

    <Mide Mohan: 1,760>

    <Kaeld Wake: 20,450>

    …Huh?

    “This has to be a mistake.”

    I accidentally said it out loud, and Neril tilted her head.

    “What is?”

    “How do I explain this… It’s like starving for days and finally getting a drumstick in your mouth, only to watch someone toss away a full roast turkey, saying they’re too full.”

    “……”

    Neril didn’t respond.

    She seemed to have given up trying to understand.

    Thanks to that, I had a bit of time to complain to Trail.

    ‘What the hell has that bastard even been doing to be so damn famous?!’

    [This might be the first time I’ve seen you yell.]

    ‘Haa…’

    [Calm down. He started this “playing hero” thing several years before you. You can’t help it if you had a different starting line.]

    ‘If it was going to be like this, they might as well have sent me back ten years, not just seven.’

    [Uh… I’m sorry? Is “sorry” the right thing to say here?]

    My sigh only deepened.

    The carriage arrived at the territory of Lior.

    As I paid the coachman, he spoke.

    “But you folks… you’re mercenaries, right?”

    “That’s correct.”

    “Nope.”

    Neril and I gave completely opposite answers.

    The coachman tilted his head, confused, then continued.

    “If you’re mercenaries, it won’t be easy to find work around here.”

    “Sounds like a peaceful region.”

    “Hmm, more like… the whole town’s full of lazybones.”

    A town of lazybones.

    The coachman didn’t say it to mock them.

    Around this time before my regression, Lior was practically a symbol of laziness.

    As if it were agreed upon, the townsfolk didn’t even get out of bed until 10 a.m.

    Then they wrapped up their daily work around 4 p.m. and went home.

    And by 9 p.m., it was lights out.

    Their bizarre routine, like that of small children, had even become a running joke in neighbouring territories.

    Neril spoke.

    “Ah, I get it now. It’s such a lazy town, there aren’t even any mercenary requests.”

    “That’s right. Ironically, this is the land governed by the ‘Martial King.’”

    “Who’s that?”

    When Neril asked, the coachman looked flabbergasted.

    I smoothly cut in.

    “Please understand. This young lady was raised quite delicately—she doesn’t know much of the world.”

    “Ah, well, that explains it. Even her tone had the air of nobility. If I’ve been rude in any way—”

    “Not at all, so don’t worry. We’ll be going now.”

    “Take care.”

    The coachman bowed a full ninety degrees, probably thinking I was the lady’s bodyguard.

    Once he had left, Neril spoke.

    “‘Young lady,’ huh. Has a nice ring to it.”

    Get a grip.

    [You get a grip. You’re the one who got Rena to call you ‘big brother.’]

    I ignored that and opened my mouth.

    “Seriously though, you really don’t know who the Martial King is? You’ve had dealings with the Empire.”

    “You keep going on about the Empire, but to be precise, the only person I’ve dealt with is that bastard Dame Seide, Captain of the Holy Knights of Light. It’s not like we’re close or anything.”

    “Hmm.”

    “The only imperial organization tracking me is the Holy Knights, right? So I only bothered learning about them.”

    “You should work on building some general knowledge from now on.”

    “Hearing that from the most nonsensical guy I’ve ever met is… weirdly insulting.”

    That’s harsh—especially to someone as exemplary and reasonable as me.

    “So anyway, who’s this Martial King?”

    “Terce Crine. If you ranked the Empire’s power players, he’d be around tenth. He’s from this region, and about ten years ago, he entered a martial tournament in the capital as the local lord’s proxy and won.”

    “Hm.”

    “And not just won—it was an overwhelming victory. The Imperial Academy even tried to scout him, but he turned them down. He’s deeply attached to his hometown, Lior.”

    Despite my enthusiastic explanation, Neril looked completely uninterested.

    She glanced around instead.

    It was 2 p.m.

    A time when most people should be busy at work, but the territory was eerily silent, like a ghost town.

    Neril spoke in an intrigued voice.

    “The coachman was right. Everyone really is a lazybones.”

    “If someone answers your question, try listening properly.”

    “I did listen.”

    “Then tell me the Martial King’s name.”

    “Artwill Garen.”

    Unbelievable.

    Not a single letter was right!

    “Close enough?”

    “Sure…”

    I gave up trying to explain.

    Neril asked,

    “Anyway, where are we headed? How are we supposed to make a name for ourselves here?”

    “Let’s go to the mercenary guild first.”

    “Huh? Didn’t the coachman say there wouldn’t be any work because everyone’s so lazy?”

    I smiled lightly and answered.

    “If there isn’t any, we’ll just make some.”

    Lior may be infamous now as a land of lazybones, but in a few years, it becomes known for something else entirely.

    One of the quests the so-called “Hero Party” received after it formed under Kaeld was here, in Lior.

    [Wasn’t the quest to kill the Demon King?]

    ‘Kaeld judged the Demon King too powerful. So instead of charging straight at him, he decided to tighten the party’s bonds and level up through various quests around the continent.’

    [Hmm. And the quest in Lior was what?]

    I paused a moment, then answered.

    ‘Kill the Martial King.’

    [What? What are you talking about?]

    ‘It’s complicated. You’ll see soon enough.’

    […]

    ‘Besides, there’s something more urgent to deal with right now.’

    I said that and stopped walking, looking up at the sky.

    Neril took a few more steps before turning back to look at me.

    “What are you doing? Spacing out all of a sudden?”

    “You don’t see it?”

    I pointed to a spot in the sky.

    Neril squinted in the direction I was pointing.

    “Something’s flying… Isn’t it just a bird?”

    “Your eyesight sucks.”

    “Yeah, it sucks. Must be nice to have good eyes.”

    “Hm. It’s far from ordinary magic, so I get it.”

    “Seriously, what is it?”

    Instead of answering, I pulled out a dagger.

    Then I bent my body backward, almost touching the ground with my hand.

    Neril recognized the pose and stepped back.

    Creak…

    The muscles in my right arm swelled to the point where the word “bulging” wasn’t enough.

    And then—

    Shwaaak!

    The dagger shot upward at a terrifying speed.

    I took a light breath and straightened my posture.

    ‘Consider that a greeting. It’s been a while, Xenia.’

  • Star Maker Chapter 66

    But the reaction to Seon-ho’s calm tone was anything but calm.

    Team Leader Choi Ki-seok, PD Joo Min-hwan, Director Shin Ho-yoon, and even CEO Kim Dong-han had all fallen silent, immersed in mentally simulating Seon-ho’s plan.

    Meanwhile, Seon-ho sank into thought.

    The reason he had structured Unit B as Jia’s solo unit was, truthfully, for marketing.

    Last Friday, after hearing about the unit mission, he had fallen into deep contemplation.

    It wasn’t because he didn’t know what to do.

    It was because there were too many viable unit combinations to choose from.

    Mathematically speaking, there were 15 ways to divide five members into two units.

    But this wasn’t a simple matter of picking one out of fifteen.

    When you considered the different ways a team could be produced, the number of possibilities ballooned absurdly.

    Most producers would first create two songs, then find unit combinations that suited those songs.

    But Seon-ho was a producer who chose the singers and concept in advance, and then worked in a way that brought out 100% of their potential.

    That made the unit mission one of the most difficult challenges.

    Even after agonizing all weekend, it wasn’t enough—he was still mulling it over as he ate lunch, when Manager Kwon Hosan asked,

    “You’re thinking about the unit combination right now, aren’t you?”

    “Huh? Oh, yeah.”

    “Want some advice?”

    “Advice? Do you have a good idea, sir?”

    “I’ve been watching, and… You’re struggling because musically, there’s no clear best or second-best, right?”

    Manager Kwon’s assessment was spot-on.

    If something were clearly better and something else clearly worse, you’d just pick the better one and be done with it.

    But the unit mission didn’t offer such clarity.

    Sure, in the end, some combinations might be better or worse.

    But without the ability to see the future, there was no way to know which choice was best or second-best in the present moment.

    Whatever the combination, Seon-ho would do his utmost to bring out their full potential.

    Manager Kwon said,

    “Then don’t base your decision on the quality of the songs.”

    “Huh? But we’re choosing songs.”

    “No matter which unit gets which song, you and Prefer are going to give it your all anyway.”

    “That’s true.”

    “So assume the quality of the songs is equal. Think about another kind of value.”

    Seon-ho asked,

    “What kind of value?”

    “Promotion, obviously.”

    It was an unexpected suggestion.

    As Seon-ho hesitated, Manager Kwon set his spoon down and said,

    “I’m not like other company heads who go around saying, ‘The era of winning with songs is over. Now it’s all about promotions.’”

    “Hmm…”

    “Promotion is about color. Say there’s a spring dress with the exact same design. But one is a dull gray, and the other is a bright pink. Which one sells more?”

    “The pink one, of course.”

    “Exactly. If the song is complete and makes the singer happy, the rest comes down to promotion. What kind of color you put on it, how you sell it—that’s where the effort goes.”

    Seon-ho found himself resonating with Kwon’s words.

    Kwon added one last thing.

    “One day, a really good song you and Prefer made will get buried. A song you were truly confident about, but it’ll get no reaction. That’s when a composer hits a slump.”

    “Yeah.”

    “When that happens, just say, ‘Ugh, the PR team did a crap job,’ and move on.”

    At that, Seon-ho nodded.

    And at that moment, a gloomy voice interrupted them.

    “Was our PR really that crap?”

    It was Team Leader Choi Ki-seok from the PR team, who had just arrived at the cafeteria and overheard their conversation.

    Kwon jumped up in alarm.

    “Team Leader! That’s not what I meant—”

    “Sorry. All we can manage is crappy promotion, I guess…”

    It had taken quite a while to clear up Choi Ki-seok’s misunderstanding that day.

    “Explain in more detail.”

    Snapping out of his thoughts at CEO Kim Dong-han’s question, Seon-ho began explaining how he had requested the OST from writer Min Heeyoung.

    “So Jia’s solo track is confirmed to be included as an OST in the drama?”

    CEO Kim asked a sharp question after hearing the explanation.

    In truth, not all OST tracks were actually featured in the drama.

    Some made it onto the OST album but weren’t used in the show, or were only used for a few seconds—like just the instrumental intro.

    Seon-ho replied calmly.

    “No. The song hasn’t been completed yet, so nothing is confirmed.”

    “Then?”

    “Writer Min Heeyoung and the PD plan to review it positively.”

    “Wow, you sure know how to word things nicely.”

    PD Joo Min-hwan sneered.

    Just moments ago, he had looked flustered, but hearing that nothing was confirmed seemed to revive his confidence.

    CEO Kim raised a hand to stop Joo Min-hwan and spoke.

    “You do realize there could be backlash, right?”

    “Yes. I’ve taken that into consideration.”

    What CEO Kim referred to was the potential for public criticism if a song served as both a drama OST and an idol competition track.

    Since both the drama and the idol competition were KBM programs, it could come across as overpromotion.

    There was also the risk of rumors that the competition’s judgment wasn’t fair due to the drama tie-in.

    “There’ll definitely be negative opinions. How will you deal with that?”

    “That’s not something I can personally control. I’m just placing my trust in Team Leader Choi Ki-seok and the PR team.”

    Team Leader Choi, who had been sitting quietly, was startled.

    “M-Me?”

    “Yes. I believe you’ll guide public opinion in a positive direction.”

    “Uh… Well, that is my job, technically.”

    Sensing the discussion leaning in favour of Prefer’s song, PD Joo Min-hwan hastily interjected.

    “But if Jia’s solo track doesn’t become the drama’s main OST, then all of this is meaningless, isn’t it?”

    Seon-ho rebutted.

    “No. The reverse could also happen. If Jia’s solo track gains popularity through Idol War, it could end up being inserted into the drama afterward.”

    As the two clashed, CEO Kim Dong-han, watching them closely, stroked his chin and said,

    “Director Shin.”

    “Yes.”

    “What do you think?”

    “Well, I’m as much a stickler for principles as you are, sir. When it comes to song selection, I always follow the singer’s opinion.”

    Director Shin Ho-yoon added,

    “Still, I think we should at least listen to Jia’s solo track before deciding.”

    At his words, CEO Kim Dong-han asked,

    “Manager Han Seon-ho. When do you think the song will be ready?”

    “It just needs mixing and mastering now.”

    “Really? Then it’s basically finished.”

    “Yes.”

    “Let’s hear it here, then. Along with Producer Joo’s song.”

    A moment later, Director Shin Ho-yoon spoke with a sigh.

    “We should’ve just listened to it first. No point in all that talk.”

    CEO Kim Dong-han gave a barely noticeable nod and said,

    “Let’s go with this one.”

    And so, the unit for the third mission of Idol War was confirmed.

    The third filming of Idol War took place on Friday.

    An average viewership rating of 11.3%.

    A peak rating of 19.8%.

    The insane upward trend of Episode 2 had the production crew beaming with joy.

    Especially since word had spread that bonuses would be paid out soon.

    But unlike the cheerful production crew, the seven idol groups gathered for the shoot were filled with tension.

    There was nervousness about the Round 2 cover song mission—but more than that, it was the fear of elimination that gripped them.

    Even A.S.A.P and Jesco, who were confident they wouldn’t be eliminated, couldn’t hide their unease.

    The only team not nervous at all was Personal Color.

    “Why is Personal Color so full of energy?”

    “Come on, there’s no way they’re getting eliminated. They’re the talk of the town and they performed well.”

    “Still, even Jesco and A.S.A.P are on edge, but Personal Color looks totally carefree.”

    Passing staff members murmured among themselves.

    Just as they said, Personal Color looked completely relaxed, immersed in something.

    The staff initially thought they were rehearsing their cover song mission.

    But on closer inspection, it turned out they weren’t practicing today’s mission track.

    They were rehearsing Vivid, the song they had performed in the first round.

    “Why are they practicing that?”

    “Oh, I heard they’re singing it on High School in Melody.”

    “Wait, seriously? Personal Color is going to be on High School in Melody?”

    “My friend’s on the High School in Melody team—they said Personal Color was cast as cameos.”

    “Wow, they’re really riding the wave now. When they were first cast, people were calling them industry plants and all.”

    “Right? Makes you wonder why they hadn’t made it before. Or rather—why they’re suddenly blowing up now.”

    Just then, a handsome man walked past the group of gossiping staff.

    It was Han Seon-ho, Personal Color’s manager—well-known among the Idol War production team.

    The tall staffer, suddenly reminded of something, said to the shorter one,

    “Oh yeah. I have this friend who knows everything about idols—like, even Dispatch can’t keep up with her.”

    “Is she hot?”

    “No.”

    “So what about this informant?”

    Grinning at the absurdity of the question, the tall staffer continued,

    “She told me the reason Cha Hye-mi and Personal Color are blowing up is because of that guy, Han Seon-ho.”

    “Huh? What kind of nonsense is that? What can a rookie manager even do?”

    “Apparently, managing isn’t what’s important about him. I mean, he is good at the job, but that’s not the key.”

    “Then what is?”

    “He’s the eyes, ears, and brain of Team Prefer.”

    “What? Team Prefer?”

    The tall staffer gave his friend a brief explanation.

    “So basically… Han Seon-ho observes and listens to the artist, conveys what he senses to Prefer, and Prefer turns that into a song?”

    “Exactly. And every single song made by Han Seon-ho and Prefer has been a hit so far.”

    “Which songs?”

    Autumn Leaf. Girl in the City. Vivid.

    “Damn. All megahits. But there aren’t that many.”

    “Are you dumb? He’s a three-month rookie and released three songs in three months.”

    “For real? He’s only been at it for three months? I thought he was close to a year in—he’s so composed.”

    “He’s gonna be huge. I heard CEO Kim Dong-han even calls him into his office for private meetings.”

    “Then I’d better cozy up to him in advance.”

    The shorter staffer tilted his head and asked,

    “But how come I’m only hearing about this now? That kind of story should’ve been all over the place by now.”

    “Because he’s too good-looking. People just assumed it was some baseless rumor. But with Vivid doing so well, hardcore idol fans are starting to take notice.”

    The staffs, deep in idle chatter, quickly got back to work when the assistant PD barked at them for slacking off.

    Soon, the real filming began.

    And the first eliminated team was revealed.

    Ladies Day, who ruined their performance by rearranging the song to highlight a new member.

    Dream Girls, who got so nervous after seeing Personal Color’s performance that they kept messing up.

    Soul Mate, whose performance fell flat due to nerves over potential elimination.

    Most people thought one of those three would go.

    But the team that got eliminated was…

    “Black Label. Thank you for your hard work.”

    It was the girl group Black Label, who had shown neither strengths nor weaknesses.

    Their performance was better than the three candidates, but because it lacked anything remarkable, their online score was far too low.

    That was why they were eliminated.

    Upon hearing the result, Black Label members burst into tears, and the hosts swarmed around them.

    All the weeks of rehearsal, the elaborately prepared outfits, the hour-long full makeup session—none of it made it to the stage. They had to leave for the interview room instead.

    Watching them leave, Seon-ho vowed that Personal Color would never face a situation like that.

    And by the end of filming, he felt confident that Personal Color wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

    Day by day, Personal Color was growing in confidence and skill.

    Jia, in particular—once criticized for her weak vocals—had improved dramatically.

    As long as he kept creating great songs, Personal Color wouldn’t be eliminated until after the finals.

    That night, the two songs for the unit mission were fully completed.

    TL: Lol, this convo is funny

    “Oh yeah. I have this friend who knows everything about idols—like, even Dispatch can’t keep up with her.”

    “Is she hot?”

    “No.”

    “So what about this informant?”

  • The Regressed Extra Becomes a Genius Chapter 193

    “Wow.”

    As soon as I stepped into the massive circular stadium, I couldn’t help but be impressed.

    They said it could hold seventy thousand people, and it boasted an incredibly enormous scale.

    “So many people.”

    The audience seats were packed tight without a single empty spot.

    Not just Koreans—there were quite a few foreigners of various ethnicities as well.

    Seeing this, I was reminded once again how insanely popular magic matches—so-called ‘Magic Duels’—were around the world.

    Of course, today’s match was the comeback match of the wildly popular ‘Champion,’ which added to the hype.

    I looked up at the scoreboard inside the stadium.

    [Won Hyukjin vs. Jungwi]

    Instead of the name Liang Liang, the name Jungwi was written.

    Jungwi was a fake name created for Liang Liang’s public activities.

    He probably couldn’t use the name from the underground dueling arena, so he had to go with an alias.

    Seeing this brought back the memory of the day I saw Liang Liang in the underground arena.

    Back then too, Liang Liang was a rookie making his debut, and his opponent had been the champion. Then and now, he sure knows how to make a flashy debut.

    “Kim Sunwoo! What are you doing over there?”

    As I was lost in thought, I heard Lee Seo-jun’s voice.

    When I turned my head, I saw he was already seated, looking at me.

    “I’m coming.”

    I walked over to Lee Seo-jun and took my seat.

    Next to me sat Lee Seojun, then Jeon Min-gi, then Shin Young-joon and Lee Hyun-joo.

    As I sat there, a sudden question popped into my mind.

    “By the way, why are you in our group?”

    I asked Jeon Min-gi.

    According to the original story, Jeon Min-gi wasn’t supposed to be here today.

    “Ah! I wanted to get closer to my seniors!”

    “……”

    Jeon Min-gi answered with enthusiasm.

    Maybe because of his middle-aged-looking face, I still wasn’t used to him speaking formally or calling me “senior.”

    “…Oh. Is that so?”

    I nodded and looked around the inside of the stadium.

    In the open waiting area visible to the crowd, the champion, Won Hyukjin, was warming up.

    He looked completely relaxed, as if the thought of losing to a rookie hadn’t even crossed his mind.

    Even from afar, he looked incredibly handsome.

    Won Hyukjin’s popularity wasn’t just due to his skill—his good looks played a big role too.

    This time, I turned my gaze toward Liang Liang.

    He was speaking to a man who seemed to be his manager, his face unreadable.

    I stared intently at Liang Liang and used Character Insight.

    ━━
    Name: Liang Liang
    Age: 23
    Race: Human
    Condition: Calm
    Mana Grade: B+
    Interest Level: 0
    ━━

    A mana grade of B+, huh.

    Just as expected, it wasn’t that high.

    At this point in time, Liang Liang hadn’t been formally learning magic for very long.

    Of course, reaching B+ grade in such a short time is proof that he’s got significant talent.

    Besides, in the original story, Liang Liang was known less for his mana grade and more for his innate cruelty and underhanded fighting style. That’s where his true nature lies.

    “……”

    “What are you thinking about?”

    Seeing me sitting still with a serious face, Lee Seo-jun asked.

    “Just bored from waiting.”

    I made something up offhand, and Lee Seo-jun nodded without thinking too much of it.

    “By the way, when are we going to start gathering materials for necromancy? You said we’d do it after exams.”

    “Necromancy? Ah…”

    Right, we had planned to summon Jin Cheonwoo’s soul using the necromancy spell from his journal.

    I had almost forgotten.

    “I think I’ll have to start during the break. I’m a bit busy right now.”

    “Busy with what?”

    “Just… I’ve got a few things I’ve been putting off.”

    “…Really?”

    Lee Seo-jun shot me a sideways glance, then nodded.

    He didn’t press me about what those things were.

    He probably knew from experience that I wouldn’t answer anyway.

    I leaned back in my chair and looked around.

    Surely, ‘those two’ must be hiding somewhere here.

    Baek Eun-seong and Natasha—members of Jaun.

    In the original story, they also came to this stadium in disguise.

    As I scanned the sea of spectators—faces barely distinguishable—I started using Character Insight on each one.

    Just then, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from beside me.

    Turning my head, I saw Choi Seo-yoon walking toward me with both arms full of food.

    Chicken, popcorn, snacks, drinks—you’d need three guys just to finish all that.

    Seeing her made me anxious, so I got up and took part of the food from her.

    “Oh! Thank you.”

    “Why did you buy so much food? No way we’re going to finish all this.”

    “I didn’t know what you’d like, senior.”

    She said a line straight out of a drama without batting an eye. I stared at her blankly.

    “No, I mean… still, come on.”

    Choi Seo-yoon chuckled softly and sat next to me.

    “What are you waiting for? Sit down.”

    “…Yeah. Okay.”

    As I sat down, Choi Seo-yoon suddenly grabbed a piece of popcorn and popped it into my mouth.

    “Mm!”

    “How is it? Is it good?”

    She looked at me with hopeful eyes.

    I chewed the popcorn and swallowed before nodding.

    “…Yeah. It’s good.”

    “Hehe. That’s a relief.”

    She smiled once and took a piece for herself.

    Then she frowned, as if she’d swallowed it the wrong way.

    “Cough cough.”

    “…Good grief.”

    I quickly opened the drink and brought it to her lips.

    At the same time.

    Baek Eun-seong and Natasha, core members of Jaun, were sitting in the audience directly across from Lee Seo-jun’s group, their identities concealed with magical disguise masks.

    They were here today to enjoy some leisure time during their week-long vacation.

    “Wow. There are so many people.”

    “Hey. That’s not the issue right now. This popcorn tastes awful.”

    Baek Eun-seong frowned and drank some water.

    Ignoring him, Natasha looked at the photo of Won Hyukjin that appeared on the jumbotron.

    “Oh, I’m really looking forward to Won Hyukjin’s comeback match.”

    Natasha was a fan of today’s main fighter, Won Hyukjin.

    Her eyes sparkled like a girl gazing at her favourite idol, unlike her usual demeanor.

    Apparently annoyed by this, Baek Eun-seong sneered.

    “…Tch. What’s so great about that guy? If I fought him, I could kill him in five minutes.”

    “So what? Won Hyuk-jin is super handsome.”

    “What are you talking about? I’ve heard I was good-looking since I was a kid too, you know?”

    Baek Eun-seong blurted out in frustration.

    “As if.”

    “I’m serious. Back in school, kids lined up for me.”

    To be fair, Baek Eun-seong’s face did fall under the handsome category. He simply wasn’t Natasha’s type.

    If Won Hyukjin had a rugged, masculine appeal, Baek Eun-seong leaned more towards the boyish and pretty side.

    “You look like a kid, so no thanks.”

    “Says the old lady.”

    “What did you say?”

    Natasha glared at him with a chilling gaze. Realizing his mistake, Baek Eun-seong cleared his throat and changed the subject.

    “But there are quite a few students here. Isn’t that the Mage Academy uniform?”

    “Yeah. I heard they came as part of a special school activity.”

    “Then Lee Seo-jun must be here too?”

    Baek Eun-seong looked around for Lee Seo-jun.

    There were nearly 70,000 spectators, but it didn’t take long to spot the students in uniform.

    “Oh? Found him!”

    He pointed across the stadium. Natasha followed his finger with her eyes.

    Though they were far away—barely visible to the naked eye—she could see clearly thanks to her magically enhanced vision.

    “You’re right. Lee Seo-jun looks like he’s having fun.”

    “Well, he’s at that age.”

    As they watched Lee Seo-jun, Baek Eun-seong suddenly noticed Kim Sunwoo sitting beside him.

    Kim Sunwoo was a rising star in the academy, gaining just as much attention as Lee Seo-jun recently.

    But Baek Eun-seong looked startled the moment he saw him.

    Because Kim Sunwoo was already looking in his direction.

    For about a second.

    Then, as if it were coincidence, Kim Sunwoo turned to the girl sitting next to him.

    “…What the hell?”

    Natasha asked, “What’s wrong?”

    “Oh? It’s nothing. I think I just imagined it.”

    Baek Eun-seong mumbled while fiddling with his prosthetic arm.

    Just then—

    Flash!

    Bright lights lit up the stadium.

    And the announcer’s voice echoed.

    [Fighters, enter!]

    To intense music, Won Hyukjin stepped onto the stage.

    The crowd erupted in cheers at the sight of the handsome man radiating masculinity.

    Natasha enhanced her vision to get a better look at him.

    “Tch.”

    Baek Eun-seong clicked his tongue and waited for the next fighter.

    Before long, a gaunt man with a sharp expression entered from the other side.

    Baek Eun-seong was intrigued.

    He instinctively sensed that the man had the same aura as himself.

    “Who’s that guy?”

    “His name’s Jungwi. Came from China. He’s a rookie, so there’s not much info on him.”

    “Really?”

    Baek Eun-seong stared at Jungwi—Liang Liang—deep in thought.

    A man with that kind of presence should be well-known, but it was his first time hearing the name.

    “I’m interested. Let’s see what he’s got.”

    About twenty minutes passed.

    The match between Won Hyukjin and Liang Liang had ended.

    The unexpected course of the fight had left the audience stunned.

    I, too, was surprised.

    Liang Liang’s skills were far more refined than when I had seen him before—almost as if he had learned magic from Ha-ryeong, the host of the underground arena and an S-rank demon.

    At this level, he was likely approaching mid-to-high A-rank.

    Of course, his mana control was still rough, so this assessment referred only to his combat instincts, not pure ability.

    “This is gonna make the news.”

    “Good thing nothing major happened, though.”

    Liang Liang showed off remarkable skill, as expected of someone undefeated in the underground scene.

    But his opponent was a champion from the official scene.

    No matter how much you dominate the underground, fighting a top-tier fighter aboveground is a whole different game.

    And fitting of the title ‘champion,’ Won Hyukjin overwhelmed Liang Liang with sheer mana capacity and technique.

    Of course, the pressure he applied was all within the strict rules of a magic duel.

    Since magic can easily kill, Won Hyukjin had restrained himself accordingly.

    Just when it looked like Liang Liang was going to lose—

    Just like in the underground arena last time—he launched a surprise attack, aiming to catch his opponent off guard.

    He used a kill spell—a banned move that results in immediate disqualification.

    Thankfully, the attack failed. The moment Liang Liang struck, the arena’s safety team and protective magic activated.

    He was immediately bound by restraining spells and dragged away.

    This, too, followed the original storyline.

    Liang Liang would now be stripped of his license to compete legally and return to the underground, where he would reign once more.

    As time passed and all matches concluded, the audience began to exit.

    Our group did the same, chatting as we left the arena.

    “Man, Won Hyukjin almost got seriously hurt today.”

    “Yeah. That rookie’s insane. With that much mana packed into the attack, he really was aiming to kill.”

    “Probably just lost it after getting hit so much.”

    As we exited, I felt a peculiar gaze directed at me.

    I turned my head and saw a man in an elegant suit watching me with strange eyes.

    His face seemed familiar.

    Then it hit me—

    He was the man I’d seen in Liang Liang’s waiting room. Wait… if he was there, then could it be—

    I used Character Insight on him.

    ━━
    Name: Ha-ryeong
    Age: 62
    Race: Demon
    Status: Stable
    Mana Rank: S
    Interest Level: 0
    ━━

    As expected.

    He was exactly who I thought.

    The S-rank demon—Ha-ryeong.

    Master of the underground arena.

    Read advance chapter on Patreon. Click here.

  • TFHITS Chapter 12

     

    Clack.

    Xenia set down her teacup and continued speaking.

    “The authority to investigate and judge matters within the territory lies with you, my lord. We only investigate what’s considered ‘unusual.’”

    “……”

    “For example, the Witch of Carnage.”

    Frank’s back stiffened.

    “Surely you’re not saying that witch is in our territory?”

    “When the Witch of Carnage uses magic, she leaves behind a strong remains. It’s so unique and thick that it’s easily identifiable.”

    “……”

    “Our Knights Order has dispatched affiliated mages to every territory on the continent, and Quelk was no exception.”

    Baron Frank’s face twisted.

    That meant a spy from the capital had been openly operating in his territory.

    But Xenia spoke on, unconcerned.

    “We received a report not long ago that the Witch of Carnage’s mana had been detected. She’s such a major figure that I had no choice but to come personally.”

    “……”

    “Before I came to see you, I found traces of a battle in the open field north of the territory. Without a doubt, it was her doing. She fought someone.”

    “Fought the witch, did they? Whoever it was, I’ll say a prayer for their soul.”

    “I’m not so sure.”

    Xenia furrowed her delicate brow.

    “It might actually be the opposite.”

    “Pardon?”

    “On the way here, I heard a rumor spreading through the territory. About Mide Mohan. Apparently, a great mercenary arrested a notorious criminal who had been tormenting the people. And they say there was a woman at Mide’s side.”

    Frank recalled the woman who had stood behind Mide like a lifeless doll.

    That woman was the Witch of Carnage?

    A cold sweat ran down his back.

    “Looks like you recognize the description.”

    “There was indeed a woman who accompanied Mide.”

    “Tell me more.”

    “Well… I never actually spoke with her. Mide led all the conversations while the woman simply listened.”

    “The witch did that? She’s not the obedient type.”

    “I’m just telling you what I saw. It felt like Mide had full control over the situation.”

    A glint of interest appeared in Xenia’s eyes.

    After a bit more conversation, she realized she had nothing else to learn from the baron and stood to leave.

    She found a quiet bench in the garden, sat down, and took something from her coat.

    It was a communication orb.

    A device developed by one of the heroes who appeared during the descent of the Second Demon King—Archmage Iori Otix.

    Xenia brought the orb to her lips and spoke.

    “Father—no, I’m sorry.”

    –Hm?

    “Captain, I’m reporting in.”

    –No need to be so formal. You’re still my daughter.

    “That was a slip. I shouldn’t have said that during official business.”

    –Fine, fine. So, did you learn anything?

    “Yes. As we suspected, it appears to be the work of the Witch of Carnage.”

    –I figured. Dammit, things were quiet for a while, and now this chaos.

    Xenia shook her head.

    Then, in a slightly quieter voice, she continued.

    “I think it’s a bit different this time. The Witch of Carnage wasn’t alone.”

    –What?

    “My impression is… well, I don’t know if this term suits that witch, but it seems she has a companion.”

    –That’s impossible.

    “And not just any companion. Apparently, some lowlife caused a disturbance here in the territory, but the witch delegated everything related to the incident to her new companion. And that companion was…”

    –Go on.

    “Mide Mohan. You may not know him well, Captain, but in the mercenary world, he’s already reached the top. He’s a formidable expert.”

    There was silence on the other end as if he were gathering his thoughts.

    Xenia waited a bit longer and then asked,

    “What should I do?”

    –What happened to the lowlife? Another one of the witch’s poor victims?

    “No, and that’s what’s strange. Mide turned him over to the lord and exposed all of his crimes. He was tried through formal procedures and is now imprisoned. Though… it seemed the trial had a personal grudge behind it.”

    –Still, it followed proper procedures?

    “Yes.”

    Even as she said it, Xenia couldn’t quite believe it.

    Who was the Witch of Carnage?

    Thirty years ago, even after being completely beaten down by her father—this very man on the other end of the call—she had continued to commit heinous crimes across the continent. A criminal whose name would be etched into human history.

    And now she’d gone and reported a petty criminal? And been welcomed by the people?

    –I don’t understand it.

    “Maybe she’s finally repenting. Perhaps what happened with you changed her mentally. Made her think, ‘I need to be humble.’”

    Dame, her father, noticed that she had accidentally called him “Father” earlier but chose not to mention it.

    Instead, he brought up something else.

    –That can’t be. That was thirty years ago. And as you know, for the past thirty years, Neril has committed atrocity after atrocity—brazenly.

    “…She did.”

    Of course, that was a lie.

    A hidden deal between the Empire and Neril.

    The Empire promised her safety and compensation. In return, Neril accepted infamy under her name.

    Nearly all the atrocities attributed to Neril after that event thirty years ago were actually committed by the Empire.

    And leading that dark enterprise was the Captain of the Holy Knights of Light—Xenia’s father, Dame.

    The tragic part? Xenia didn’t know any of that.

    As Dame listened to his daughter’s report, he pondered:

    ‘Why? The Empire gains a villain to carry the blame, and the witch gains safety and rewards. I thought it was a fair trade—so why would she have a change of heart?’

    Is she trying to clear her name now?

    Did something happen to stir her feelings?

    That would be a problem.

    The puppet used to cover up the Empire’s filth must not rebel.

    Meanwhile, Xenia asked,

    “So what should I do now?”

    –Hmm. For now, return to headquarters.

    That’s when it happened.

    For the first time, Xenia’s tone—until now full of respect and deference—changed.

    She spoke in a cold voice.

    “I refuse.”

    –What?

    “Oh—sorry. That came out wrong. I don’t mean to refuse. I just… want to ask why.”

    Dame let out a low sigh.

    Xenia’s tone earlier hadn’t come from mere professional enthusiasm .

    And Dame understood exactly what she was thinking.

    But he pretended not to know

    –It’s too dangerous.

    “I’m strong.”

    –……

    “This part won’t be on record, but I’ll say it clearly: I’m stronger than you.”

    Realizing she was getting emotional, Xenia tried her best to calm herself.

    Then she racked her brain.

    She needed a logical justification for why she couldn’t return now.

    After a short while, she thought of something useful.

    “Captain. We need to confirm something. As I mentioned, she has a companion now.”

    –……

    “We need to determine whether this Mide person is a benefit to Neril or to us. Based on what’s happened so far, it looks like he benefits us—but who can say? I’ll find out myself.”

    –Hmm.

    “I’ll contact you after I locate the witch. Please send support then.”

    Dame acknowledged his daughter’s skills.

    He knew full well that Xenia could hold her own against Neril.

    And that was precisely the problem.

    ‘With that upright personality, if she finds out about the secret contract between the Empire and the witch, she’ll cause a huge uproar.’

    Especially if she finds out that ‘that incident’ had nothing to do with Neril.

    After a moment of silence, Dame spoke.

    —Even so, what if I order you to return?

    “I’ll probably resign from the Holy Knights of Light. That way, I wouldn’t be obligated to follow Father’s orders.”

    —What?

    “I’ve been entrusted with the heavy responsibility of serving in the Holy Knights of Light. I just can’t accept stepping back when we’ve finally discovered Neril’s whereabouts after she’s been missing for years.”

    At his daughter’s response, Dame instinctively realized—

    That persuading her any further was impossible.

    ‘There’s no helping it. I’ll have to give Neril a heads-up first.’

    He let out a sigh and said,

    —In that case, swear to me here and now. Swear that you won’t confront Neril on your own even if you find her. That you’ll contact me immediately.

    “Of course. I swear, Captain.”

    —Good. Permission granted. If you need anything, let me know.

    “Yes. Thank you.”

    Just as the call was about to end, Xenia hesitated, then hurriedly blurted out,

    “Um, and… ah, please don’t record this either. You absolutely must not.”

    —Hm?

    “I’m sorry for speaking so arrogantly earlier. Father.”

    —…….

    “I still do, and always will, respect you deeply. That’s all. Excuse me!”

    Xenia abruptly ended the communication, almost like she was running away.

    She realized her face must have turned red.

    After lightly patting her cheeks to calm herself, she put the communication orb away.

    When she rose to her feet again, there was no trace left of a daughter who admired her father.

    What remained was only the face of the vice-captain of the Holy Knights of Light, carrying out her duty.

    Neril seemed to talk a bit more now than she had before the regression.

    Not that she had become chatty or anything.

    Clatter. Clatter.

    Inside the carriage heading for the Lior territory, Neril asked,

    “Who’s the real Hero?”

    “Huh?”

    “You said before that the real Hero would appear later, properly, after receiving a divine revelation. And if my intuition’s right… you already have a guess who it is, don’t you?”

    You’re sharp.

    I shrugged.

    “You wouldn’t know him even if I told you, but it’s a guy named Kaeld. Kaeld Wake.”

    “Hm.”

    “Word probably hasn’t spread this far yet, but he’s already pretty famous in the southwest of the Empire. He’s got five territories locked down tightly.”

    Neril didn’t bother to ask how I knew that.

    She must’ve known I wouldn’t answer even if she did.

    I continued,

    “So yeah, I’m a bit anxious. The real Hero I have to catch up to is already way ahead. I have to hit it big in the Lior estate.”

    “…No.”

    “Huh?”

    “You’re the real Hero.”

    “……”

    “Let’s just call that Kaeld guy the fake Hero between us. Got it?”

    Strangely, my chest felt a little ticklish at that moment.

    I turned my head slightly—and so did Neryl.

    For a while, we silently gazed out the carriage window.

    [Seriously, you two are like moody teenagers.]

    Then it happened.

    A faint bluish glow suddenly began to radiate from Neril’s luggage.

    With a face like she’d been expecting it, she rummaged through her things.

    And pulled out a communication orb.

    “Dame Seide. Captain of the Holy Knights of Light. Know him?”

    “Yeah. Let’s listen together. Pretend you’re alone for now.”

    “Sigh. Haven’t heard this bastard’s voice in a while.”

    As Neril gently touched the orb, a deep, middle-aged voice came through.

    —Neril.

    “Dame. Long time no see. Not that I’m happy about it.”

    —I feel the same, so I’ll be blunt. What the hell is going on in the Quelk territory?

    “Already finished your investigation?”

    Dame responded cautiously.

    —Yes. For reference, the one who led the investigation is my own daughter.

    “Xenia, was it? Well, you do seem to be stepping back from the front lines these days.”

    —Here’s another reference: Xenia knows nothing about the contract between you and me.

    Neril let out a short laugh.

    “What? Wanted to look like a saint to your daughter, huh?”

    —Don’t be cheeky.

    “I was just stating the facts.”

    —…In any case, since we found traces of you in the Quelk territory, the Holy Knights of Light had no choice but to investigate. Xenia will find you soon. So just… take it easy.

    “You mean don’t bring up the secret contract and comply quietly with the interrogation?”

    —No. You won’t even meet her in the first place. I already told her to contact me immediately if she finds you.

    Dame lowered his voice.

    —I’ll be sending a subordinate who knows about our contract soon. But if Xenia tries to contact you on her own before they arrive, just play along for a bit.

    “Do I really have to go along with that? If it was going to be such a mess, you shouldn’t have sent your daughter in the first place. Just send another subordinate from the beginning.”

    —If she hadn’t learned of your presence, maybe. But once she knew, I had no way to stop her. How could I possibly reject the vice-captain of the Holy Knights wanting to pursue the Witch of Carnage?

    I nearly snorted at that.

    ‘That’s not it.’

    [What do you mean?]

    ‘I heard something before the regression. This pursuit of Xenia’s is driven by personal feelings. So much so that even her captain’s orders couldn’t change her pursuit.’

    Trail looked like he wanted to ask more, but before he could, Neril spoke.

    Apparently, she was thinking the same thing I was.

    “That’s really all there is to it? My gut says otherwise.”

    —…You don’t need to know more.

    “Ha. The little brat’s really grown up.”

    —Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m asking as a favour. If everything wraps up well, I’ll reward you.

    “Not really interested.”

    —Don’t make me say it.

    Suddenly, Dame’s tone turned cold.

    —I’ll make this very clear.

    “……”

    —If you tell Xenia about our secret contract, I’ll burn that item I’ve been holding onto.

    Neril’s face hardened.

    —You’re quite fond of it, aren’t you? Burning it would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it?

    “You bastard…”

    —So let’s continue to maintain a cooperative relationship.

    Dame said that, then hung up without waiting for a reply.

    Neril’s mouth twitched.

    “That son of a bitch.”

    “That item? Did he get something on you?”

    “……”

    “Well, it did seem weird from the start. I couldn’t imagine someone as free-spirited as you cutting a deal with the Empire just for safety or some reward.”

    I waited for a reply, but Neril’s lips never opened.

    Then Trail suddenly spoke.

    [Wanna take a look?]

  • How to Live as a Magical Genius at the Academy Chapter 60

    Abydos was confused.

    He understood that he had been ambushed from behind. He also understood that the ambush had been so fast that he couldn’t react in time.

    But what he couldn’t comprehend was how the attack had pierced even the defensive magic he always kept active.

    ‘What is this?!’

    For a moment, he suspected holy magic.

    Holy magic was the natural enemy of necromancy and could easily penetrate undead magic.

    But that didn’t seem to be the case. There was no trace of the distinct light unique to holy magic.

    Still, it was a fact that the girl’s blade had pierced him. Though it had only damaged a portion of his bones, that damage had disrupted the chantless spell he was preparing.

    “You wretch…!”

    Abydos thickened his defensive barrier and released a wave of dark energy toward the long-haired girl.

    It was originally a technique used by vampires, channeling a sinister spiritual wave that could drain the life force from ordinary humans just by contact.

    But…

    “…!”

    Crack!

    A shock that shook the soul itself!

    He had been hit by a powerful, unidentified attack. Even though he had just reinforced his defensive magic, the spell was utterly shattered.

    ‘It’s not just physical damage! The very formula constructing my body is taking serious damage…!’

    As he felt several bones break, Abydos hastily cast a flight spell.

    He quickly retreated and put distance between them. Only then could he grasp what had happened.

    “You…!”

    The descendant of the necromancer order who had proven his loyalty earlier… was now using his skeletal soldier to attack Abydos.

    “What is the meaning of this?!”

    As Abydos screamed in disbelief, the skeletal soldier lunged forward with terrifying force.

    Clutching the same blade that had just broken his defensive magic.

    “You traitor?!”

    Abydos shouted as he hovered in midair.

    “You betrayed the necromancer order!!”

    “Traitor?”

    I shot back in a cold voice.

    “I was never part of your cult to begin with.”

    “What?!”

    “I just happened to get my hands on your scriptures, that’s all.”

    “…!”

    I had deceived Abydos by pretending to be a devout follower of the cult and launched a surprise attack at the critical moment.

    The plan I had prepared with Senia, without exchanging a single word, had worked perfectly.

    “You… deceived me?!”

    Abydos let out a cry of agony.

    If he weren’t a lich, he might’ve been clutching his head in despair.

    “The way you recited the First Prayer of Necromancy! Your mastery of necromantic spells! You were clearly a descendant of the cult! You understood the teachings deeply!”

    “Just because I understand them doesn’t mean I agree with them.”

    “You bastard…!”

    Dark energy surged from Abydos.

    If I touched that, I’d lose my life force.

    But I had no intention of making contact with it.

    “…!”

    Flash!

    Deathvice, the dragon fang soldier, jumped into the air and swung the progressive blade.

    The dark energy engulfed him, but it was useless.

    It’s impossible to drain life force from a creature that has none.

    “Urgh…!”

    Crash!

    Abydos’s barrier shattered completely.

    The progressive blade wielded by Deathvice had torn through the defense.

    “H-How?! How could a mere dragon fang soldier destroy a lich’s magical defense?!”

    Abydos was shocked.

    Dragon fang soldiers were powerful undead, but compared to a high-tier undead like a lich, they were minor.

    Seeing one tear through a lich’s defensive spell so effortlessly, it was only natural to panic.

    “C-Could it be?! That strange sword…!”

    Realization struck Abydos and he raised his voice.

    “That sword—it carries the power of dispel, doesn’t it?! It nullifies magical phenomena!”

    That’s right.

    The progressive blade Professor Hephaestus made wasn’t just an extendable sword.

    With the cooperation of my uncle Kaisel, it had been imbued with the ability to interfere with and dismantle pre-existing magical formulas.

    ‘I still don’t fully understand the theory—it’s far too advanced for my current knowledge…’

    But watching Deathvice press Abydos back made it clear.

    Every time the blade touched Abydos’s spell constructs, they shattered like glass.

    ‘That’s Uncle Kaisel’s specialty… Dissolution!’

    Dissolution.

    That is Kaisel’s spiritual origin.

    A power that separates and deconstructs everything.

    Hephaestus harnessed that ability to give the progressive blade the power to break down magical constructs.

    That’s why any magic that comes into contact with the blade breaks apart instantly.

    For beings like the undead, who rely on magical constructs to even exist… it’s the ultimate counter.

    “Grrgh…!”

    As Abydos raised his hand, a compressed bullet of dark energy shot toward me.

    Realizing he couldn’t handle Deathvice, he aimed for the controller—me.

    “Eriol!”

    But it was useless.

    Moving like the wind, Senia swung another progressive blade and sliced all the dark bullets out of the air.

    “I’ll protect you! Eriol, focus on your spell!”

    “Got it!”

    If Abydos had been free to cast spells from a safe distance, we wouldn’t have stood a chance.

    But now, he was too busy fending off Deathvice’s assault. All he could do were simple ranged spells at best.

    And those—Senia could intercept every single one.

    ‘I can tell just by watching. That lich is weak in close quarters!’

    Traditionally, mages were specialized in long-range combat.

    Modern mages use body-enhancing spells to fight in close quarters, but in the old days, allowing enemies to approach was a death sentence.

    Abydos had already taken damage from Senia’s ambush. Then he let Deathvice, even stronger than Senia, get close.

    He had no breathing room to unleash the full extent of his magic.

    “Damn it, to be bested by the likes of you…!”

    Abydos suddenly soared upward.

    His right leg bone had been crushed by Deathvice’s blade, but he flew regardless.

    “Arise…!”

    Rumble!

    At his command, the previously still mummy soldiers began to move.

    Countless corpses surged toward us like a wave.

    But then—

    BOOM!

    Professor Murselt, now more than twice his original size, swung his fist—and countless mummies were instantly reduced to chunks of meat.

    And he wasn’t alone. Cain, Helios, and Ingrid, who had only been pretending to fight Murselt earlier, were now fully engaged against the mummies as well.

    “Eriol!”

    Klein was also firing off spells in rapid succession, supporting us from afar.

    He seemed eager to come to our side, but the sheer number of mummies made it impossible for him to advance.

    “Eriol, there are too many mummies! At this rate…!”

    “No, it’s fine.”

    I replied in a calm voice to Senia, who shouted while cutting down the approaching mummies.

    “I’ve already finished preparing the spell.”

    “…!”

    Thump! Thump! Thump!

    Three enormous fireballs were simultaneously deployed.

    With this many enemies, there was no need for precision.

    All I needed was overwhelming firepower to wipe them out.

    “Make sure you don’t get caught in it, Senia.”

    “Understood!”

    BOOOOM!

    The massive fireballs engulfed the mummies.

    Perhaps because their corpses had been thoroughly dried to eliminate moisture, the mummies ignited instantly, turning into flaming masses.

    “How can someone so young use such powerful magic… Ugh!”

    Slash!

    Jumping off a wall, Deathvice severed one of Abydos’s arms.

    Abydos’s body was already a wreck.

    It looked like half of his skeletal structure had been shattered.

    “Urgh…!”

    This must have been a truly humiliating situation for Abydos.

    If only he had enough distance, he could’ve wiped us all out in an instant with his powerful magic—but everything had fallen apart after being ambushed by enemies wielding weapons that dismantled magic and being forced into close combat.

    “Damn it…!”

    Then, suddenly, Abydos made a different move than before.

    Up until now, he had been hovering in the air, trying to maintain distance from Deathvice and the others. But now, he suddenly dropped to the ground.

    “Did we get him?!”

    “No!”

    Abydos slipped among the mummy soldiers.

    The horde of mummies formed a wall of corpses to protect him.

    As Deathvice swung his blade to cut through the mummies, Abydos slipped away.

    “No way…! The secret exit he mentioned earlier!”

    Abydos had said earlier that there was a direct passage leading to the surface from here.

    He was now trying to open that door and escape outside along with the mummy soldiers.

    “This place is too cramped! I’ll deal with you out there!”

    “Eriol! We have to stop him from activating that switch!”

    Abydos reached out his bony hand toward the air.

    In response, a mummy near the switch raised its arm in sync with Abydos.

    Once that switch was activated, the escape path to the surface would…

    “…!”

    CLANG!

    A sharp, ringing sound echoed—and the mummy’s hand froze over.

    Just before it could activate the switch.

    “Charlotte!”

    When had she rushed in?

    Behind us, Charlotte was standing with her arm raised, panting heavily.

    “Charlotte Strasbourg! I told you to wait up top, it’s dangerous—!”

    “There’s no way I could just sit still in a situation like this!”

    Shouting back at Klein, Charlotte began casting another spell.

    The mummies near the switch all froze in place.

    “I can’t shoot ice well… but I can freeze things solid!”

    Thanks to the fire spells I had just fired off, the area around the switch was now in ideal condition for using freezing magic.

    There wasn’t enough moisture to create ice from scratch, but just lowering the temperature was enough to freeze the targets.

    “And what are you supposed to be now…?!”

    Abydos shouted in frustration.

    He had been blocked from opening the escape route because of Charlotte’s sudden appearance. And with so many frozen mummies around the switch, even going there to activate it himself wasn’t an option.

    “How did it come to this?! I am the great Lich Priest of the Necromancer Order! A death priest who serves the Red Moon! And yet how am I being brought down by children—?!”

    “You still don’t understand, Lich?!”

    Fwoosh!

    Before anyone noticed, Senia was already upon him—her Progressive Blade digging into Abydos’s neck.

    His robe was shredded completely, revealing the battered skeleton underneath.

    “From the moment you fell for Eriol’s deception, your defeat was sealed!”

    “Urgh!”

    With a clean slice, Senia’s blade severed Abydos’s neck completely.

    But that wasn’t the end.

    Now reduced to just a skull, Abydos shot upward into the air.

    ‘Move!’

    At that moment, I gave the command.

    To Deathvice—who had been lying in wait among the mummies for an opening.

    “Ah…!”

    Thud.

    Deathvice leapt forward, crushing a mummy beneath his feet.

    Gripping the Progressive Blade tightly with both hands, he launched himself toward Abydos, who was trying to escape into the air…

    “No—!”

    Abydos’s skull let out a desperate scream.

    And Deathvice’s blade swung directly at him.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 184

    Morea, on high alert in response to the Ottoman movements.

    The first news to reach those, led by Emperor Dragases, who were desperately trying to uncover the Ottomans intentions, concerned Venice.

    For the first time in a long while, the Venetian resident merchant had requested an audience. Sensing an ominous air at once, the emperor accepted the meeting immediately—and thanks to that, he was able to obtain critical information.

    “Be cautious, Your Majesty. The Ottoman forces will soon be on the move.”

    A voice filled with certainty echoed through the imperial office. Of course, everyone knew the Ottomans would act before long. But none had made such a bold and clear assertion as the Venetian before him. The emperor’s eyes sharpened, convinced that there must be a reason behind this confidence.

    “Something must have happened.”

    “You are correct, Your Majesty. We Venetians recently signed several treaties with the Sultan of the Ottomans. All of it was to ensure the safety of Thessalonica and our trade routes.”

    “You’re being surprisingly forthcoming.”

    “It is because we deemed the threat that grave, Your Majesty.”

    The Venetian bowed respectfully, unfazed by the emperor’s sarcastic tone. Seeing this, the emperor refrained from pressing further. Though the Empire and Venice shared a relationship filled with love and hate, at least for now, they stood as aligned powers with shared interests against the Ottomans.

    Suspecting a Western ally—especially one relied upon for intelligence and naval strength—would only be shortsighted.

    Reminded of this, the emperor slowly regained his composure. He had to be patient. How many times had he repeated this to himself? Only after confirming the emperor’s calm did the Venetian disclose the price the Ottomans had demanded.

    “What we asked was simple: to halt the fortification of the Dardanelles Strait.

    But the Sultan went further. He offered not only to ensure Thessalonica’s safety, but also to lift tributes. In exchange, what he demanded was a treaty prohibiting any hostile acts for the next five years.”

    “Five years, is it?”

    A period that could be considered either reasonable or vague. No doubt, the aim was to prevent Venetian interference while the Ottomans schemed something in that time.

    The emperor mulled over the implications briefly but soon realized it was futile. He knew too little. Now was not the time for conjecture, but for gathering more clues.

    “What’s the scope of this ‘hostility’ clause?”

    “It covers a wide range—providing ships to enemies of the Ottomans, supporting them with funds—broadly speaking, any form of involvement in war.”

    “In other words, they want you to stay completely out of any conflict. And I assume you agreed.”

    “Yes, Your Majesty. The Senate, concerned about Genoa’s recent gains, chose not to oppose the Ottomans but to build influence from within instead.”

    So they sided with the Ottomans out of fear of Genoa’s expansion. What had been intended as a balancing act in the Aegean Sea had turned into a blade pointing back at them. Yet the emperor couldn’t fault Venice for their decision.

    Especially since they had succeeded in delaying the fortification of the Dardanelles Strait—a matter of great importance to the Empire. Any effort to aid their isolated capital in the future would require control of the sea.

    Thus, the emperor merely sighed in response.

    “I understand. For you, there was no other choice. The mere fact that Thessalonica has been preserved is fortune enough.”

    “Your Majesty’s understanding is more than we deserve.”

    In truth, this outcome was far better than expected. According to the course of history, Thessalonica was to be left isolated without surrounding powers to divert the Ottoman threat. Unable to bear the overwhelming burden of defense, the city would eventually fall to the Ottomans. That it remained friendly to the Empire at all was a hopeful sign.

    The only troubling matter was the treaty prohibiting hostilities for the next five years.

    Whatever gains or protections Venice had secured, the pressure around the Ottomans had undoubtedly eased. Venice’s navy, which had been pivotal in blockading Anatolia and the Balkans, was now forced to pull back. And surely the shrewd Venetians understood the implications of such a situation. The Ottoman resurgence was a threat to both the Empire and Venice alike.

    That was why they hadn’t hesitated to share such critical information. The Venetian merchant, speaking as a representative of the Senate, continued without reserve.

    “The reason we believe the Ottomans are preparing to act is precisely because of this treaty. And sure enough, once we paid closer attention, we began to detect significant movements of troops and supplies.”

    And this—this was the information Emperor Dragasēs had truly been hoping for.

    “The Ottomans are moving troops?”

    “Yes, Your Majesty. The Sultan… the Sultan has been relocating forces to the Bulgarian region—outside our sphere of influence. And he has done so slowly and steadily, over several years.”

    “If it’s been over years, it’s hardly ‘recent.’”

    “Everyone was focused on Constantinople. We were no different.”

    “…I see. The siege of the capital was a distraction.”

    Only now did the fog shrouding the Ottomans’ true intentions begin to lift.

    So it wasn’t a ploy to lure out Morea, but rather to keep neighboring powers fixated on the wrong target.

    An army of eight thousand is no small force. Yet it was clearly not the full might of the Ottomans. The emperor had thought the small number a precaution against the strain of frequent campaigns, but now he realized it had been a deliberate ploy.

    “And of all places—Bulgaria.”

    Moving forces to Bulgaria would make naval supply lines difficult. Even so, the emperor couldn’t say the Sultan had miscalculated. Through past conflicts, the Sultan had likely realized that Venice was leaking substantial intelligence. Thus, it wasn’t odd for him to choose Bulgaria—a region beyond Venetian influence—to hide his true intentions.

    Being deep within Ottoman territory, it would also make troop formation harder to detect. But the most concerning factor was this: because of these very reasons, it was nearly impossible to guess when or where the Ottoman advance would come.

    “Is it really Albania?”

    There was no denying that the Ottomans would face multiple obstacles in launching a direct campaign into Albania. The main among them was the Pindus Mountains, a natural fortress that effectively isolated the region of Epirus.

    Thanks to this natural barrier, Epirus had remained relatively safe from Ottoman influence. And not just Epirus—southern Albania had also been shielded.

    However, now that Skanderbeg had secured a route into Albania, could the fractured region truly withstand a full-scale Ottoman invasion?

    Of course, the possibility that Albania might not be the next target couldn’t be ruled out.

    Serbia and Wallachia were also potential avenues for Ottoman expansion.

    Yet both Serbia and Wallachia were currently vassals under the sway of Hungary. If the Ottomans were to attack them directly, the West would be forced to weigh its options—continue its struggle against the Hussite heresy, or confront the growing Ottoman threat?

    ‘More likely than not, the scales will tip toward the Ottomans.’

    It wasn’t optimism—it was a likelihood too significant to ignore. The Christian powers, worn thin by the Hundred Years’ War and the ongoing Hussite conflict, weren’t the only ones fatigued. The Ottomans, too, were weary after a series of campaigns and prolonged warfare. They wouldn’t risk provoking a Crusade. Instead, they’d choose a softer target—Albania.

    With this reasoning, the Emperor turned his attention back to the Venetian representative.

    And quickly recalled the nature of the Venetian state and its core values: a coldly rational entity that acted purely in pursuit of its national interest. That was Venice.

    “Thanks to the valuable information you’ve shared, I’ve been able to deduce the Ottomans next target. I assume you tipped me off because you reached a similar conclusion. Are you also concerned about Albania?”

    “You are as perceptive as ever, Your Majesty.”

    The Venetian wore a faint smile—whether it was simple flattery or genuine admiration was hard to tell. But one thing was clear: his voice carried a touch more excitement than before.

    Even so, this wasn’t a matter to be agreed upon too hastily. Knowing that Albania might be the next target didn’t mean they were ready to make a move just yet.

    “But officially, I am still a vassal of the Sultan. Unless I renounce that oath, I have no justification to intervene in Albania.”

    “The same applies to us, Your Majesty. We Venetians are bound by treaty. However, if the Albanians themselves were to rise up against the Sultan, they would, in turn, threaten his authority.”

    “I see. So our thoughts do align.”

    The Emperor’s and the Venetian’s gazes met in mid-air. The Emperor couldn’t help but feel a growing admiration. He could faintly sense the power that would one day make Venice the master of the Mediterranean. As expected, they had already prepared a plan.

    “We’ve heard that Your Majesty seeks to foster cooperation among neighboring regions to prevent religious conflict in Albania. If your efforts succeed and the Albanians unite as one, they will surely rise against the Sultan’s rule. And should that happen, the safety of our ships—which were preparing to set sail with tribute—would no longer be guaranteed.”

    Cunning devils.

    The Emperor held back the sharp retort that came to mind as he listened to Venice’s plan. They weren’t outright breaking the treaty against hostilities just bending the rules. Later, if accused, they could simply claim they’d been raided. Devious? Absolutely. But strangely useful. Now, he was curious—why go to such lengths?

    “You’re willing to push Albania to resist the Ottomans… why?”

    At this, the Venetian finally revealed the edge he’d kept hidden in his eyes until now.

    “Your Majesty, the moment the Sultan declared his intent to fortify the Dardanelles, peace between us ceased to exist. Peace—such a word is forgotten until one side yields. And we can only hope it is the Sultan who reconsiders first.”

    The next word that came to the Emperor’s mind was not “cunning,” but “sinister.”

    Truly, they were devious and calculating. And it was likely because of that very nature that they had risen to and maintained their current stature. Looking at the Venetian with a conflicted expression, the Emperor finally nodded.

    “I will not forget your counsel.”

    “May Your Majesty be ever praised.”

    Though it was regrettable that the Venetian navy could no longer be counted on now that they had stepped back from the front lines, their support in consolidating Albania would be no small matter.

    For both the Emperor and the Venetian envoy, this private meeting had been a satisfactory one. A secret pact had been formed. The Ottomans aggressive stance had ironically brought Venice and the Empire closer together.

    But then, a variable no one had foreseen emerged.

    A shocking event that stunned every power entangled in the complex affairs of the Balkans—

    It was none other than the sudden unrest in Wallachia.

  • A Veteran Player Becomes a Troublemaker Chapter 98

    The merchant lords secretly scoffed at Ian’s question.

    ‘Is he trying to pit us against each other to drive up the price?’

    ‘Not a bad attempt, but far too transparent.’

    ‘His scheme is painfully obvious.’

    This was exactly the scenario they’d anticipated.

    And they’d prepared accordingly.

    One of the merchant lords spoke up. “We propose 10 shillings per bundle of Levior. How does that sound?”

    “Ten shillings?”

    “Yes, ten. A reasonable price, wouldn’t you agree?”

    “Our company agrees with that valuation.”

    “At ten shillings, we could certainly consider purchasing.”

    Surprisingly, none of the merchants engaged in competitive bidding. They’d clearly colluded beforehand to present a united front.

    ‘Expected, but they’re treating me like a complete fool.’

    “Ten shillings is far too low.”

    The merchants had anticipated this response and were prepared to negotiate upward.

    “Then what price did you have in mind, Lord Ian?”

    They assumed he’d propose something slightly above their offer, allowing them to meet somewhere in the middle.

    But Ian’s next words sent shockwaves through the room.

    He hadn’t gone through all this trouble for mere double profits.

    “Four silver coins per bundle.”

    “Wha—!”

    “Four silver?!”

    Some laughed in disbelief, others in sheer amazement. Even Nea, observing from the side, looked stunned.

    Demanding eighty times the purchase price was indeed audacious.

    Ian remained unfazed by their reactions. “Yes, four silver coins per bundle.”

    The outcry was immediate.

    “My lord, you purchased Levior for five shillings per bundle! I personally handled those transactions! How does five shillings become four silver?!”

    “This is outrageous! Eighty times markup? Let’s settle at fifteen shillings.”

    “Four silver.”

    “By the gods! My lord clearly doesn’t understand commerce. We’re offering fifteen shillings—three times your purchase price! This is already generous!”

    “Four silver.”

    “Very well! Twenty shillings then! Four times your cost! Surely this satisfies you.”

    Ian didn’t budge. “Four silver.”

    “This is madness!”

    The merchant lords shot up from their seats when Ian showed no intention of negotiating.

    “With these tactics, you’ll find no trading partners!”

    “Four silver for common weeds? Preposterous!”

    Through their protests, Ian remained stone-faced.

    ‘Why isn’t he responding?’

    Without counterarguments to react to, the merchants eventually exhausted themselves.

    When the uproar subsided, Ian finally spoke. “You seem to be laboring under a misconception.”

    He delivered the hard truth: “Can you actually source Levior anywhere else?”

    “It’s just a weed—it’ll regrow soon enough.”

    Ian smirked openly. “True, Levior’s resilient. But will your people last until next summer? That’s the real question.”

    The merchants froze. He’d struck a nerve.

    A famine wasn’t called “great” without reason—when no food could be found at any price.

    Though Levior grew quickly, during peak season they’d uprooted it all to sell to Ian. By the time the famine was certain and rumors spread about Levior being edible, it was too late to stop the trade.

    Outside Shrantz, most northern territories had been stripped clean of Levior. Come summer, supplies might replenish, but for now, Schrantz held a monopoly.

    In this famine, with Levior the only viable food alternative, Ian held all the cards.

    He knew his advantage perfectly—and intended to wield it.

    The merchants recalculated furiously, but the math only grew more grim. Schrantz was the sole source of Levior on this scale—the only territory, the only lord with substantial reserves.

    They scrambled for leverage but found none.

    ‘What exactly can you do?’

    Levior—the famine’s only solution—belonged solely to Ian.

    Perhaps scraps remained elsewhere in the north, but nowhere near enough to feed entire populations. Ironically, they’d helped create this monopoly by enthusiastically selling every sprig to Ian.

    Moreover, Ian had actively purchased Levior at premium prices, even cultivating dedicated fields.

    “My price is four silver. Non-negotiable. Further haggling means no deal.”

    When they realized who truly held the knife by the handle, the merchants groaned in defeat.

    “Damnation! Very well—four silver!”

    The negotiations had been impossible from the start. The deal was struck.

    After concluding his dealings with the merchant lords, Ian lounged comfortably on the terrace, sipping a drink as he examined the new title floating before his eyes.

    [Tycoon]
    —A model for merchants, one whom all look up to. Your reputation spreads across the continent.

    [Effects]
    —Permanently increases Command +5
    —Grants 10% profit margin in trade deals
    —Merchant Favourability +10
    —Noble Favourability +10

    Ian couldn’t help but grin at his newly acquired title.

    ‘This was one of the hardest titles to get back then. Now it’s practically free.’

    During his gaming days, Tycoon had been one of the most elusive achievements—awarded only after completing a single trade worth 10,000 gold.

    Countless players had tried and failed to obtain it.

    Ian himself had once stubbornly played as a merchant—a class he didn’t even enjoy—just for this title.

    The forums had been flooded with posts celebrating the achievement, with desperate players begging for tips in the comments.

    But what was once a near-impossible feat, requiring both skill and luck, had become trivial after the Levior famine solution was discovered.

    Official stats showed that only 0.01% of players had earned it before—but after the Levior recipe spread, over 50% of active players obtained it.

    By the end of Meta Pangaea’s lifespan, practically every dedicated player had it.

    “Good heavens. I never imagined we’d make this much money.”

    Nea, who had assisted Ian throughout the negotiations, was still reeling from the sheer scale of the profit.

    The numbers were beyond anything she had imagined.

    In just ten minutes, Ian had secured 11,800 gold.

    ‘Though, sadly, not all of it is mine.’

    He sighed wistfully.

    Taxes had to be paid, loans repaid with interest, and investors compensated.

    After all deductions, he’d likely pocket 7,000–8,000 gold—still an obscene amount for any individual.

    ‘And the merchant lords will keep coming back.’

    The money would keep flowing until the next harvest.

    By then, he’d easily have over 10,000 gold in his personal coffers.

    ‘Money problems? Gone forever.’

    As he chuckled to himself, envisioning his rosy future, Nea spoke up.

    “Watching you negotiate made me realize something.”

    “Hm?”

    “Couldn’t you have sold it for even more?”

    They had a monopoly.

    The merchants had to buy—they were desperate.

    If he had pushed further, they might have paid gold per bundle rather than silver.

    Yet he had stubbornly stuck to 4 silver.

    “Ah, that?”

    Ian waved it off casually.

    “People are starving. If I priced it any higher, how would commoners afford it?”

    The wealthy could manage, but the majority would be left with nothing.

    ‘And more importantly, the backlash would be catastrophic.’

    The merchant guilds weren’t charities.

    They’d resell Levior at inflated prices, leaving the people no better off despite the supply.

    ‘And all that blame? It’d land squarely on me.’

    He’d seen it happen—not to himself, but to other players.

    Those who had gotten greedy, squeezing every last coin from the famine.

    When prices soared beyond reach, the people starved even though the empire could have saved them.

    The result?

    Public outrage.

    Nobles and peasants alike turned on those players, their wealth stripped away in territorial wars.

    In the worst cases, revolutions erupted, and the greedy merchants were the first to be hanged.

    If Levior hadn’t been an option at all, the blame might have been avoidable.

    But when salvation existed—only to be withheld for profit?

    That was a death sentence.

    So players had researched the optimal price—one that maximized profit without triggering revolt.

    And the answer?

    4 silver per bundle.

    Prices would rise the farther it traveled, but one bundle could feed a family of four for four months.

    Stretched thin, it might last half a year.

    ‘Not like anyone would eat more than necessary—unless their taste buds were broken.’

    People would endure it to survive, but nobody would enjoy it.

    And that was exactly how Ian wanted it.

  • TFHITS Chapter 11

     

    Neril said, “Lucky you, huh?”

    “Lucky how?”

    “All I hear is your name from every direction. Looks like the baron’s plan failed. I bet this trial was supposed to be all about boosting his own fame.”

    “It’s just his usual behaviour catching up to him. If he had run his domain properly, people would be saying, ‘That’s our lord!’ by now. He brought this on himself.”

    “Hmph.”

    Neril let out a snort and looked toward the trial bench.

    There sat Grey, looking up at the sky, with barely a flicker of strength left in his expression.

    Neril clicked her tongue.

    “That bastard’s not gonna die in prison, is he?”

    “People like that don’t give up their lives so easily. The more lightly they treat others’ lives, the more precious they think their own is.”

    “……”

    “Don’t worry. He’ll last at least seven years.”

    Neril didn’t respond.

    I kept talking.

    “Let’s come back here together in seven years after I deal with the Demon King.”

    “……”

    “By then, I won’t stop you. You could probably storm that prison and take his head off on your own, but if it’s too hard, I’ll help you.”

    “I don’t get it. Why is it okay in seven years but not now?”

    “Because you can’t let yourself become a butcher anymore. I mean, most of those accusations against you were probably false to begin with.”

    Neril tilted her head slightly and looked at me.

    I crossed my arms and gave a wide grin.

    “You’re about to become a member of the party that’ll save the whole continent. Did you really think I’d let your rampages slide anymore?”

    “Ha. So basically… you don’t want my bad reputation staining the radiant path of your heroic journey, is that it?”

    “Mm. Nailed it.”

    Before the regression.

    At that inn table, Kaeld had said the exact same thing.

    That he couldn’t allow any more bloodshed.

    In a way, I was saying the same thing now.

    Except back then, Kaeld had been far more serious about it, and the mood had been gentle.

    But Neril’s response had been ice-cold.

    Yet now—

    “Pfft. Ahahaha!”

    She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach.

    This is weird.

    I said it way more lamely than Kaeld did—so why is she enjoying it so much?

    After a while, Neril wiped away tears and said,

    “You really don’t hold anything back, do you?”

    “Huh?”

    “Yeah. You say it straight up, and it’s kind of refreshing. Alright. No more bloodshed. I was planning to disappear after Grey anyway.”

    She turned to look at Grey, who was nearing the end of his trial.

    But calling it a trial now felt generous.

    The crowd had turned into a mob, throwing stones, spitting, and shouting.

    Normally, the lord would’ve stepped in to restore order, but he seemed to think this was a good chance to let people vent their fury and remained silent.

    Thwack.

    Grey, blood trickling down his forehead, cried out.

    “Ugh. Y-Your Honor! Someone just threw a stone at me!”

    “Silence!”

    “No, you have to stop this! I haven’t even been officially found guilty yet—”

    “I declare Grey Palm guilty!”

    The judge cut him off and slammed the gavel.

    Grey collapsed in his seat, dazed, as if the sky had fallen on him.

    “Uwahh… Please… have mercy. I swear I’ll live honestly now. Please, forgive me…”

    “Shut up, you wretched scum!”

    “He’s the Demon King! The Demon King reborn!”

    “Burn him now!”

    “Give me back my daughter!”

    In the hellish uproar where up and down blurred together, Grey’s pitiful sobs rang out.

    Neril folded her arms and smiled in satisfaction.

    “If I had just killed Grey back then, none of his other crimes would’ve seen the light of day. People might’ve even pitied him.”

    “Yeah. Probably.”

    “Thinking about that made me sick. I’m glad I listened to you.”

    “……”

    “This really must’ve been the right answer. So… uh.”

    Neril scratched her cheek and turned slightly away from me.

    “Thanks.”

    “Sure.”

    “I actually struggled a bit to say that, and you just answered right away? Were you waiting?”

    “Yup. You’re not the type to let a thank-you slide by half-heartedly.”

    “Hmph. Talking like you’ve known me forever.”

    I just smiled.

    Neril scowled at me.

    “You really think you can become the Hero?”

    “Yeah. But…”

    “You won’t. Heroes chosen by divine prophecy have this glow about them. And the Hero’s Mark appears.”

    Well, she’s not wrong.

    Before regression, I had doubted and doubted Kaeld. But not once did I think, “Maybe he’s not the Hero,” because of that mark.

    The chosen Hero gets a symbol on their forehead.

    Neril said,

    “So the first thing we need is a fake symbol.”

    “I’ll have to find a good makeup artist. There should be some in the Mercenary Guild.”

    “That won’t cut it. It might fool commoners or low-tier nobles, but the higher you go, the quicker they’ll see through it.”

    “……”

    “I’ll make it for you. The mark.”

    My eyes widened.

    Neril continued.

    “With my magic, I can fool anyone. Well, not the real Hero, but that’s your problem.”

    “Neril.”

    “There’s a lot more you need too. You’ve got to be able to wield the Hero’s Sword, earn the spirits’ recognition, and overcome the trials of past Heroes, right?”

    She stared off into the distance and added,

    “You can’t do all that alone. I’ll help.”

    And for some reason—

    My heart thumped.

    I started to wonder why, but before I could dwell on it, a screen popped up.

    <You’ve earned 100 Fame Points!>

    <Your name echoes throughout the Drucker Territory. (All available points retrieved!)>

    <Points needed to reach next level: 970/1,000>

    <Points expected from this event: 790>

    <Neril Slane now sees you as ‘a man her eyes keep wandering to.’>

    Uh.

    What is this?

    ‘What the hell, Mr. Trail?’

    [You’re flustered. Your tone got weird.]

    ‘Ahem. Sorry.’

    [No, I get it. “A man her eyes keep wandering to”? Is this what I think it is? Is it that?]

    You’re the one with the weird tone now.

    I changed the subject.

    ‘Anyway, bring up the map.’

    [Good idea.]

    ‘Time to fix your tone again, too.’

    The map of the continent appeared on screen.

    The light that had only faintly glowed over Drucker Territory now shone far more brightly.

    Quelk Territory was glowing as well.

    My fame was spreading across the land.

    I stared quietly at the map.

    ‘What about Kaeld’s side?’

    [Let’s see… oof. It’s no joke.]

    Last time, Kaeld’s fame—that is, the black aura—was affecting four territories.

    But in less than two weeks, that number had increased by one.

    Now the guy’s influence reached across five territories.

    ‘What’s his total Fame right now?’

    [It’s still hard to get an exact figure. So level up quickly. Once you raise your level, you’ll be able to check.]

    I guess I’ll have to.

    I once again examined the black aura.

    It wasn’t just the size of the area—it was also the density of the glow. That suggested his fame must be quite high.

    ‘Trail. The Empire can be divided into a total of forty territories.’

    [What, are we having geography class now?]

    ‘Just listen. There’s a mountain range called the Koskart Mountains running horizontally across the center of the Empire. It practically splits the Empire in two.’

    I pointed at the map with my chin.

    ‘And by coincidence—or maybe not—it’s almost perfectly divided, with twenty territories on each side of the mountains.’

    [Hmm.]

    ‘I need to claim the northern half first. I have to hurry. Kaeld’s already way ahead.’

    [Alright. So what’s your plan now?]

    “What’s your plan now?”

    Right on cue, Neril asked the question.

    Pretending to think for a moment, I opened my mouth.

    “First, I need to spread my name a bit more.”

    “I figured. I still don’t get how that’s connected to becoming the Hero, though.”

    “My plan is to travel through the northern regions first and slowly work my way down. Any idea where I might find some work?”

    “Not sure. I’m not some wandering mercenary, you know. I don’t keep tabs on that kind of thing.”

    “It’s fine. Truth is, I’ve already decided.”

    “…You’re kind of annoyingly smug, you know that?”

    Ignoring her, I pulled a map out of my bag.

    It used to be one of my prized possessions before I met Trail, but compared to the digital map from earlier, it now looked embarrassingly crude.

    [Do you finally understand my greatness?]

    “Alright. We’re currently here.”

    [Excuse me?]

    “Next, we’re heading here—the Lior Territory.”

    [Hey.]

    Neril tilted her head and asked,

    “What’s in this place?”

    “Nothing much. For now.”

    “You’re talking like you can see the future.”

    I casually shrugged.

    “Anyone trying to make a living needs a few trump cards up their sleeve, right? You’re the same.”

    Neril flinched and shot me a sideways glance.

    “I thought it was strange how you listed off all those dirty secrets about the baron and that Grey bastard… Do you have some kind of power that lets you dig up people’s secrets or something?”

    [Indeed! That is the power of my all-seeing eye!]

    “If only. Just think of it as insight built from long years of experience.”

    [Hey! Listen to me!]

    “Whatever. But if you try digging into my secrets, you’re dead.”

    [Uh… would it kill you to acknowledge me a little?]

    “I’ll be careful. I may be younger than you, but I’m not ready to die just yet.”

    […]

    “Now that we’re on the subject, use honorifics.”

    “Yes, ma’am.”

    “…Just talk normally.”

    “Will do.”

    And so, we bickered over nothing as we began leaving Quelk Territory.

    Behind us, the heat of the ongoing trial could still be felt.

    Once we had secured a wagon and were completely out of the territory, I suddenly heard Trail sniffle.

    [Sniff]

    ‘What now? Are you crying? Why?’

    [I’m sorry. From now on, I’ll always stay humble.]

    What a weird guy.

    After Mide and Neril departed for the Lior Territory, a visitor came to Baron Frank.

    Normally loud, Baron Frank couldn’t raise his voice in front of this guest.

    One of the Empire’s two swords.

    The Vice-Captain of the Holy Knights of Light had arrived.

    While the other sword, the Alkahad Division, symbolized pure military force, the Holy Knights of Light were responsible for investigating and resolving unusual phenomena and incidents across the Empire.

    Their investigative authority came directly from the Emperor.

    No mere lord could challenge their authority.

    And this was the Vice-Captain.

    Baron Frank sipped his tea and looked at Vice-Captain Xenia Seide.

    A young blonde woman who looked barely over twenty, she was considered the most brilliant talent in the Holy Knights’ history.

    Baron Frank spoke.

    “It’s true there was a bit of unrest in my territory recently, but I didn’t expect it to warrant an investigation by the Holy Knights. The incident happened only a few days ago—how did you arrive so quickly?”

    Despite the slightly sarcastic tone in his voice, Xenia replied nonchalantly.

    “Let’s just say the Empire has some very fine horses.”

    “…Alright, then. But still, why the urgency? I didn’t think that trial would draw this much attention from the capital.”

    “No, I’m not interested in that matter.”

    “Excuse me? Weren’t you here to investigate that scum Grey?”

    “Who’s Grey? Actually, never mind. Don’t answer. Like I said, I’m not here for that.”

    Her indifferent tone made the baron’s brow twitch.

    This brat’s getting cocky. Giving a rookie like her lofty titles like ‘God’s Agent’… The Holy Knights sure love their exaggerations.

    If Mide had been there and heard the baron’s thoughts, he would’ve laughed until he cried.

    The woman before him—Xenia Seide.

    Before the regression, she had been Mide’s comrade and a hero-level member of the Hero’s party.