"W-what?" Beloukas stammered, his sinister grin dissolving into something far less composed.

  Noritoshi noted with detached satisfaction that the little man's hands had begun to tremble inside his pristine white gloves. He also noted—without looking away from Beloukas—that every sound in the tent had ceased. The other occupants, the ones in cages, the ones who had learned that silence was survival, were watching him now. Waiting.

  "Yeah," Noritoshi continued, his voice still carrying that same terrible calm. "Since you yourself have said it would be impossible to make you face justice through proper channels, it would be better for me to simply kill you here. Right now. Problem solved."

  Beloukas's mouth opened and closed. No sound came out.

  Noritoshi tilted his head, as if considering a minor logistical question. "After all, I'm a Hero. Surely I have some kind of authority to do something like this, don't I, Myne?"

  Every eye in the tent shifted to the red-haired swordswoman.

  Myne's face had gone pale—not the pale of fear, but the pale of someone doing very fast mental calcutions. She swallowed hard.

  "T-that's certainly true," she admitted, her voice wavering slightly. "Heroes have broad authority in matters concerning the Waves and reted threats. In theory, you could argue that this pce—" she gestured vaguely at the squalor around them, "—represents a threat to your party's effectiveness and thus falls under that jurisdiction."

  She paused, gathering herself.

  "But Noritoshi..." Her eyes met his, earnest and pleading. "You'd be making a lot of enemies. The nobles, the merchants who supply this pce, the officials who take bribes to look the other way—they would hate you even more than they already do. And more importantly..." She gnced at Beloukas, then back. "The issues wouldn't be finished if you did that. This creepy old man would just get repced by someone else. Someone you don't know. Someone whose operation you can't find."

  The tent was silent.

  Beloukas, recovering slightly, attempted a weak smile. "She's right, you know. I'm just a cog. Kill me, and another cog takes my pce. You gain nothing and lose everything."

  Noritoshi considered this.

  Then he looked past Beloukas, past the rows of cages, to the girl with the bound ears and the rattling cough. She was staring at him with those huge, terrified eyes—waiting, like everyone else, to see what he would do.

  He looked back at Beloukas.

  "Maybe," he said quietly. "But that cog wouldn't be you."

  The convergence of blood that Noritoshi had held concealed in his palm began to move.

  It rose from his hand like a living thing, spreading and thinning into a fine mist that surrounded the area. Crimson particles hung in the air, catching the dim mplight like suspended rubies.

  "If that's the case," Beloukas said evenly, "I wouldn't fall without a fight."

  Beloukas's eyes darted to the spreading blood mist. For a single heartbeat, genuine fear flickered across his features.

  Then he snapped his fingers.

  Three figures emerged from the shadows behind stacked cages—battle sves, their eyes hollow but their bodies coiled with lethal tension. A hulking beastman with tusks and arms like tree trunks. A lithe, scarred demi-human woman wielding twin bdes. A tall, gaunt figure whose race Noritoshi couldn't identify, hands crackling with barely contained magic.

  They attacked.

  Into thin air.

  Noritoshi was already gone, having unched himself upward through a hole in the tent's ceiling that hadn't existed a moment before. Canvas ripped. Wood splintered. And then he was outside, the blood mist following him like a loyal shadow.

  He nded on a nearby rooftop, bow already in hand. Three arrows materialized on the string, glowing with that strange, self-generating cursed energy. He didn't fire—not yet. He waited.

  Below, the battle sves burst through the tent's entrance, scanning the rooftops. Their eyes found him. They began to climb.

  Beloukas emerged behind them, his top hat somehow still perched on his head, his composure mostly recovered. He called up, his voice carrying in the evening air.

  "You should give up, Bow Hero! These sves have gone through Css Ups! Even if you're a Hero, there's no doubt you're still Level One, correct? You have no chance of beating me!" He spread his arms, the picture of restored confidence. "And I, too, don't want to bear the crime of killing a Hero. So let's both be reasonable, yes?"

  Noritoshi stared down at him.

  The blood mist had finished spreading now, a fine crimson veil settling over the alley, the rooftops, the tent. His arrows hummed softly, waiting.

  "What arrogance," he said.

  His voice carried in the sudden stillness.

  "You think you have the capability to kill me?"

  Beloukas's grin flickered.

  The first sve reached him.

  The beastman—tusked, massive, his body a weapon forged through countless battles—swung a fist the size of Noritoshi's head. The air itself seemed to compress with the force of it.

  Fast.

  Noritoshi's blood moved before his conscious mind could. A thin film of crimson spread across his forearm, and when the blow nded—or rather, when it should have nded—it struck the blood barrier instead. The impact sent shockwaves through the rooftop, but Noritoshi hadn't moved. The sve's fist was stopped cold, suspended half an inch from its target, caught in a web of concentrated cursed energy.

  The beastman's eyes widened.

  Noritoshi kicked him in the chest. He went tumbling backward, crashing through a chimney.

  The twin-bded woman was already there, her weapons a blur of motion—striking from three angles at once, each blow aimed at a vital point. Noritoshi's blood responded, expanding outward in a dome of protective crimson. Every strike hit the barrier. Every strike stopped cold.

  Too fast. Too strong.

  His mind raced behind his calm expression. These weren't ordinary opponents. Their physical capability dwarfed most Grade 2 or even some Grade 1 sorcerers he'd encountered or heard about. The speed, the power, the sheer killing intent—in normal circumstances, he would already be having a hard time just keeping up with them.

  But he's not a Grade 1 sorcerer for nothing.

  He could feel the strain building. The blood barriers were holding, but each impact sent feedback through his connection to them. A hundred tiny fractures forming and reforming with every blocked strike. His reserves were depleting faster than he'd anticipated.

  Not enough.

  [Flowing Red Scale: Stack]

  The technique yered over itself, doubling, then tripling the enhancement to his physical capabilities. His perception sharpened. His reactions accelerated. The world seemed to slow just enough for him to track the blurring movements of his attackers.

  Barely.

  He caught the next strike—not with his blood, but with his bare hand wrapped in a thin yer of crimson. The beastman's fist stopped in his palm. They stood there for a frozen moment, locked in contest.

  Noritoshi smiled.

  It was a small thing, barely a curve of his lips. But it carried a message that his opponents read loud and clear: I am not trying.

  He shoved. The beastman flew backward again.

  The gaunt magic-user had been hanging back, watching, analyzing. Now he raised his hands, and Noritoshi felt the telltale buildup of magical energy. Lightning, maybe. Or fire. Something that would bypass his blood barriers and strike at him directly.

  Good. Let them think they've found his weakness.

  Noritoshi kept his expression bored, detached. He deflected another flurry from the twin-bded woman with a zy gesture, sending her stumbling past him. He caught a thrown chunk of rooftop from the recovering beastman and crushed it to dust in his grip.

  But beneath the performance, his body screamed.

  Flowing Red Scale at double stack was pushing his limits. Maintaining it while simultaneously controlling his blood barriers and projecting an image of casual superiority was a careful bancing act. One mistake, one moment of lost focus, and the mage's spell would nd true.

  He needed to end this. Soon.

  But first, he needed to make them believe he was pying with them. That this was entertainment, not survival.

  The mage's spell completed. A nce of lightning arced toward him.

  Noritoshi tilted his head, and the blood mist that had been spreading through the alley surged upward, intercepting the strike. Electricity danced through the crimson particles, grounding itself harmlessly away from him.

  He smiled.

  Behind his calm facade, he calcuted the distance to Beloukas, the positioning of the sves, the fastest route through their defenses.

  Almost there.

  The three arrows loosed simultaneously.

  They streaked through the air like crimson comets, all aimed at the gaunt mage who was already gathering power for another spell. The magic-user's eyes widened—he saw death coming, knew he couldn't dodge—

  The tusked beastman moved.

  He threw himself in front of the mage, his massive body a living shield. All three arrows struck him square in the chest.

  The impact was catastrophic.

  The beastman didn't just stumble—he flew, his body tearing through the air like a ragdoll, crashing through rooftop structures and stone chimneys before disappearing from view entirely, hurled several streets away by the sheer force of the blows. The arrows hadn't drawn blood—his hide was too thick, likely reinforced by Css Ups—but Noritoshi knew with certainty that each of those shots could crater reinforced concrete. The beastman would be feeling those bruises for days. If he could still move at all.

  One down. Temporarily.

  The twin-bded woman paused, her eyes darting around the battlefield, searching.

  Good. She's looking for the blood mist.

  When the lightning spell had struck the crimson particles, they had dispersed—turned to actual mist by the magical energy. Now they hung in the air, nearly invisible, blending with the evening fog. She couldn't see them. Couldn't track them.

  Noritoshi capitalized immediately.

  His bow sang.

  Arrow after arrow loosed, a relentless barrage aimed not just at the woman but occasionally, deliberately, at the mage behind her. She dodged, weaved, deflected with her bdes—but each evasion cost her ground, cost her positioning, cost her the ability to close the distance.

  The mage, recovering from the near-miss, tried to gather himself. Tried to cast.

  An arrow took him in the chest.

  Not a killing shot—Noritoshi had pulled it slightly, aimed for center mass rather than head—but the impact was devastating. The gaunt figure crumpled, his spell dissolving into harmless sparks as he tumbled from the rooftop and nded in a heap in the alley below. Unconscious. Maybe dying. Certainly out of the fight.

  The woman screamed—not in grief, but in fury. She abandoned caution and charged.

  Noritoshi had been waiting for that.

  The nearly-invisible blood mist coalesced in front of her, forming a wall of solid crimson where she expected empty air. She hit it at full speed and rebounded like a bird striking gss, stunned and disoriented.

  Before she could recover, an arrow took her in the shoulder. Another in the thigh. She went down, bdes cttering across the rooftop.

  Three opponents. Three down.

  Noritoshi allowed himself exactly one breath of relief before turning his attention to the alley below.

  Beloukas was running.

  Good.

  The beastman's roar shattered the momentary peace.

  Noritoshi turned to find the tusked monster already rising from the crater he'd made three streets over, already leaping, closing the distance in two massive bounds that cracked rooftop with each nding. His chest was a map of bruises, his eyes burned with something beyond rage—humiliation.

  He came in fast. Faster than before.

  Noritoshi didn't have time to nock another arrow. Didn't have time to retreat.

  He flowed forward instead.

  The beastman's fist came in a wide arc, meant to decapitate. Noritoshi ducked under it, felt the wind of its passage ruffle his hair, and drove his palm up into the monster's chin. The blow snapped the beastman's head back—but didn't stop him. Didn't even slow him.

  Massive hands grabbed for Noritoshi's shoulders. He twisted, slipped the grip, and answered with three rapid strikes to the floating ribs—thud-thud-thud—each one reinforced by blood and cursed energy, each one nding in the exact same spot.

  The beastman grunted but didn't retreat. Instead, he lowered his head and charged, tusks aimed at Noritoshi's center mass like a bull.

  No time to dodge fully.

  Noritoshi pivoted, taking the impact on his shoulder instead of his chest. The force of it spun him, lifted him off his feet—but he used that spin, let it become momentum, let it carry him around rather than away. His hand caught the back of the beastman's neck as he rotated, using the monster's own charge to add force to the throw.

  The beastman hit the rooftop face-first. Slid. Came up roaring.

  Noritoshi was already there.

  He didn't give the monster time to recover. He came in low, driving a knee into the beastman's midsection as he rose, then followed with an elbow to the side of the head. Then another. Then a third, each one nding with the precision of a surgeon and the force of a sledgehammer.

  The beastman's guard came up—finally, finally—blocking the fourth strike. His counter came fast, a hook aimed at Noritoshi's temple.

  Noritoshi caught it on his forearm.

  The impact shivered through his bones. His blood reinforcement held, but barely. He could feel the microscopic fractures forming in his radius, feel them sealing almost instantly as his technique and the pathetic reverse cursed technique he had worked overtime to keep him intact.

  Too close.

  He answered with a kick to the inside of the beastman's knee—not hard enough to break, but enough to buckle. As the monster's stance wavered, Noritoshi stepped in, trapping the beastman's lead arm against his own body, and drove a spear-hand into his throat.

  The beastman choked. Gagged. His eyes went wide with sudden, genuine fear.

  Noritoshi didn't let up.

  He grabbed the base of one tusk with his left hand, pulled the monster's head down, and brought his right knee up into the exposed face. Once. Twice. Cartige crunched. Blood sprayed—not Noritoshi's.

  The beastman's knees hit the rooftop.

  Noritoshi released the tusk, stepped back, and drove a roundhouse kick into the side of the monster's skull that sent him sprawling onto his side.

  For a moment, the beastman twitched. Tried to rise.

  Noritoshi stood over him, breathing hardly changed, blood dripping from his knuckles.

  "Stay down," he said quietly.

  The beastman's eyes rolled back. His massive body went still.

  The twin-bded woman was gone.

  Noritoshi scanned the rooftop, the alley below, the surrounding buildings. Nothing. She'd used the time while he dealt with the beastman to vanish into the fog.

  Clever.

  Then he heard it—the soft scuff of a foot behind him.

  He didn't turn. Didn't react. He let her think she had the advantage, let her close the distance, let her believe he was distracted by the fallen beastman.

  Her bdes came in fast—one high, one low, the same pattern she'd used before.

  This time, Noritoshi was ready.

  He dropped beneath the high strike, twisted past the low one, and came up inside her guard with his forearm already moving. It caught her across the wrists, deflecting both bdes wide. Before she could recover, his other hand shot forward, fingers curled into a spear-thrust that caught her in the sor plexus.

  The air left her lungs in a rush.

  She staggered but didn't fall. Tough. Very tough.

  Noritoshi followed immediately—not with another strike, but with a grab. His hand closed around her right wrist, twisted, forced the bde from her grip. It cttered across the rooftop. His other hand caught her left wrist before she could bring the second bde around.

  She headbutted him.

  His blood-reinforced forehead met her unprotected one. She reeled, vision swimming, but didn't stop fighting—her knee came up, aiming for his groin. He turned into it, took it on the thigh, and used the moment of contact to sweep her remaining leg out from under her.

  She hit the rooftop hard. The second bde skittered away.

  Noritoshi was on her instantly—not striking, but pinning. One knee on her chest, one hand trapping her right arm, the other pressed lightly against her throat. Enough pressure to remind her he could end this. Not enough to harm.

  She stared up at him, chest heaving, fury and fear warring in her eyes.

  "Your name," he said quietly. "Before you fall."

  She spat at him. The blood-flecked saliva hit his cheek, slid slowly down.

  Noritoshi didn't wipe it away. Didn't react at all.

  "You think I'll tell you anything?" Her voice was raw, broken. "You think I'll thank you for this?"

  "I think you'll tell me your name," he said, "because fighters like you deserve to be remembered. Not by your master. By someone who actually saw you fight."

  Something flickered in her eyes. Pride, maybe. Or defiance. Or something deeper—a wound that had nothing to do with the bruises forming on her body.

  "Rhea," she said finally. "My name is Rhea."

  Noritoshi nodded once. Then his hand moved from her throat to her forehead, two fingers extended, and he tapped her just hard enough to tip her over the edge of consciousness. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her body went limp beneath him.

  He rose slowly, looking down at her.

  Rhea.

  He would remember that name.

  The mage was still unconscious in the alley below. The beastman hadn't moved. Rhea y at his feet, peaceful as a sleeping child.

  Three opponents. All down.

  Noritoshi allowed himself a long moment to simply breathe. The burn in his muscles was exquisite, almost pleasurable—the kind of deep fatigue that came from pushing his body to its absolute limits and surviving. His blood technique hummed at the edges of his awareness, already beginning the slow work of repairing micro-damage, replenishing spent oxygen and protein in his blood.

  He looked toward the alley where Beloukas had been running.

  The spot was empty.

  Noritoshi smiled. It was a small thing—barely a curve of his lips. But it carried a warmth that had nothing to do with battle.

  Run, he thought. I'll find you soon enough.

  He turned away from the fallen sves, away from the destruction they'd wrought together, and began making his way carefully down from the rooftop. His body protested every movement. His technique had kept him alive, but the cost was written in every aching joint, every strained muscle, every micro-fracture slowly knitting itself back together.

  Worth it.

  Every blow, every risk, every moment of pretending to be stronger than he really was—worth it.

  Noritoshi dropped lightly into the alley below, nding in a crouch beside the unconscious mage. He straightened slowly, rolled his shoulders, felt the satisfying pop of vertebrae realigning.

  Then he walked into the fog, following the path Beloukas had taken, leaving the bodies and the blood and the evidence of his victory behind.

  Naofumi, Myne, Welst, and Kairn stepped out of the circus tent.

  "Noritoshi!" Naofumi shouted. "What the hell are you doing?!"

  They looked at him with worried eyes. They knew the possible consequences this would bring. He would become a target—nobles, merchants, and officials who funded this entire sve operation would want his head if he killed Beloukas now. But...

  "Trust me on this one. Please," he said sincerely.

  Naofumi relented with a slow, reluctant nod, but Myne wasn't ready to let it go.

  She grabbed Naofumi's arm, her voice tight with urgency. "Naofumi, you can't just let him do this! You know what happens if he kills Beloukas—they'll come for him. All of them. The nobles, the merchants, everyone with money in this operation. Please, talk to him. Make him see reason."

  Naofumi's jaw tightened, but he didn't move. Didn't call out to Noritoshi.

  "Myne..." he started, his voice heavy.

  "Please." Her grip on his arm tightened. "He listens to you. If you just—"

  "He's already made up his mind." Naofumi's voice was quiet, final. "And honestly? After everything I've seen him do... I'm starting to think he knows exactly what he's walking into."

  Kairn, her spear resting on her shoulder and looking older than she should, massaged her forehead. "Let's trust Noritoshi. He knows what he's doing."

  Myne stared at them, helpless, before turning back toward the alley where Noritoshi had vanished into the fog.

  "Noritoshi!" he heard Myne shout behind him.

  He paused but didn't turn. Her footsteps hurried closer.

  "Can't you please listen?" Her voice trembled between plea and frustration. "Don't let emotion cloud you. There's not much merit in killing Beloukas. If you do that, you're deliberately putting yourself at a disadvantage."

  The fog curled around Noritoshi's ankles as he finally turned to face her. His expression was calm—too calm for someone who had just fought three battle sves to a standstill.

  "I know that," he said simply.

  Myne's hands clenched at her sides. "Then why?!"

  The question hung in the air between them. Noritoshi's gaze drifted past her, toward the tent where the others waited, toward the city beyond, toward something none of them could see.

  "Who said I want to kill Beloukas?" he asked quietly.

  Myne's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

  "Eh... you didn't?" Confusion repced the desperation in her voice.

  Noritoshi shook his head slowly. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—not the cold smirk he wore during battle, but something almost gentle.

  "No. That's not my pn."

  He turned back toward the fog, toward the path Beloukas had taken, and left Myne standing there with her questions unanswered and her worry slowly transforming into something else.

  Curiosity.

  She followed him.

  He didn't tell her to go away.

  Her footsteps matched his pace through the fog-shrouded streets, close enough to feel his presence but far enough to give him space. Neither spoke. The silence between them carried something unspoken—acceptance, maybe, or simply understanding that words would only get in the way.

  Finally, they found Beloukas.

  The sve trader had stopped running. He stood in the middle of a narrow alley, his back against a crumbling stone wall, his chest heaving from exertion. When he saw them emerge from the fog—first Noritoshi, then Myne behind him—something in his expression shifted. The panic faded. What remained was something closer to resignation.

  "Running is useless," Noritoshi said. His voice carried no heat. Just fact.

  Beloukas let out a breath that might have been a ugh. "I know. I already knew you would be able to catch up with me the moment you held your own against my battle sves."

  Noritoshi stopped a few paces away, close enough to talk, far enough to strike. "Those guys were quite strong."

  "Ha." Beloukas's lips twisted. "Quite strong, you say? To think the sves I raised to even have a Css Up would only qualify as 'strong enough.' You Heroes are monsters."

  Silence descended on the area.

  The fog muffled the distant sounds of the city—the calls of merchants, the creak of wagons, the murmur of evening crowds. In the alley, there was only the soft drip of water from somewhere and the quiet rhythm of three people breathing.

  Beloukas straightened his posture. Adjusted his top hat. Met Noritoshi's eyes directly.

  "Well, what are you waiting for?" The sve trader's voice was steady now. Resigned. "You're here to kill me, aren't you?"

  Noritoshi studied him for a long moment. Something flickered in his gaze—respect, perhaps, or simply acknowledgment of a man who had chosen dignity over begging.

  "You're surprisingly accepting of death," Noritoshi said quietly, "even though you ran desperately for your life back there."

  Beloukas shrugged. "What? Can't a man accept his demise? Just get this over with."

  Noritoshi didn't move.

  The silence stretched.

  "...I have a way out for you to come out of this alive," Noritoshi said finally.

  Beloukas's eyes narrowed. Suspicion warred with hope across his weathered features.

  "...What is it?"

  "Become a sve."

  The words hung in the fog like a physical weight.

  Beloukas stared at him. For the first time since they'd found him, genuine emotion cracked his resignation—not fear, but disbelief. Outrage.

  "...What?"

  Noritoshi's expression didn't change. "That's right. Become a sve to one of the Heroes. And you'll come out of this alive."

  "I'd rather die!" The words exploded from Beloukas, his composure shattering. "Why should I do that?! That practically means I will lose everything. That's the same thing as death. My assets will be gone. My freedom. My position. Everything I've built. You're basically telling me to die!"

  Noritoshi waited until the outburst faded, until Beloukas's breathing slowed from ragged gasps to something approaching normal. Only then did he speak.

  "You don't have a choice."

  Beloukas's jaw tightened.

  "Svery can be enforced on someone." Noritoshi gnced over his shoulder at Myne, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes. "That's correct, isn't it?"

  Myne blinked, startled to be addressed. "I... yes. If someone commits a serious crime, ensvement is one of the legal punishments. But Beloukas hasn't been tried for anything. You can't just—"

  "The ws in this country," Noritoshi interrupted gently, "apply to everyone equally?"

  Myne's mouth snapped shut. They both knew the answer to that.

  Beloukas's face had gone pale. "What's the point in telling me this?" His voice was hoarse. "If you can just force me, why are you standing here talking? Why not just knock me unconscious and brand me yourself?"

  Noritoshi tilted his head, considering the question like it deserved genuine thought.

  "Because my pns are bigger than that."

  Beloukas frowned. Myne stepped forward, confusion repcing her earlier worry.

  "What?" they asked almost simultaneously. "What do you mean?"

  Noritoshi didn't answer immediately. He let the question hang, let the fog curl around them, let the silence build. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but carried weight—the weight of something carefully considered.

  "Your willing cooperation is preferred."

  Beloukas stared at him. "Willing cooperation? For what?"

  "Of course, I could just go ahead without caring what you think." Noritoshi continued as if Beloukas hadn't spoken. "I could knock you unconscious, have you branded, and wake you up as property. That would be simple. Efficient."

  He paused.

  "But the pn would work better if you cooperate willingly."

  Beloukas's eyes darted between Noritoshi and Myne, searching for the trap, the angle, the deception. "What pn? What could you possibly want from me that you can't just take?"

  Noritoshi smiled.

  It was a small thing—barely a curve of his lips. But it carried none of the warmth from earlier. This smile belonged to the fighter who had torn through three battle sves and walked away breathing hard but standing. This smile belonged to someone who saw the board and all the pieces on it.

  "Everything you've built," Noritoshi said quietly. "Your assets. Your contacts. Your knowledge of the sve trade's inner workings. The names of every noble, merchant, and official who funds these operations."

  He stepped closer. Beloukas didn't retreat.

  "I don't want you dead, Beloukas. Death is easy. Death solves nothing." Noritoshi's voice dropped lower. "I want what you know. I want what you've built. I want the entire rotten structure you're a part of—and I want to tear it down from the inside."

  Beloukas's breath caught.

  "With you as my sve, I own all of that. Your knowledge becomes my knowledge. Your contacts become leads I can follow. Your entire operation becomes a weapon pointed at the people who made it possible." Noritoshi's eyes never left Beloukas's. "But if you fight me every step of the way—if I have to drag every name, every location, every detail out of you by force—it will take longer. People will die in the meantime. Children. Sves. The very people I'm trying to save."

  He let that sink in.

  "Willing cooperation means we start tomorrow. Unwilling means we start when you finally break—and you will break, Beloukas. Everyone does." A pause. "But by then, how many more will have suffered because you deyed me?"

  The silence that followed was the heaviest yet.

  Myne stared at Noritoshi like she was seeing him for the first time. Beloukas's face cycled through emotions too fast to track—fury, fear, disbelief, and something that might have been grudging respect.

  "You're insane," Beloukas whispered.

  "Probably." Noritoshi shrugged. "But I'm also right."

  He waited. The fog waited. Myne waited.

  Finally, Beloukas's shoulders sagged.

  "What would I have to do?"

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  Naofumi watched Noritoshi and Myne disappear into the fog, his jaw tight.

  Just what is he doing?

  He'd dismissed Mald with a wave—the noble brat had been hovering nearby, probably hoping to witness some kind of spectacle—and now stood alone at the edge of the circus grounds, staring into the alley where his fellow Hero had vanished.

  Back in the tent when Noritoshi had turned back addressing Myne, just for a moment, their eyes met across the distance. And Noritoshi mouthed three words:

  Please don't interfere.

  These people didn't know Japanese. They couldn't understand what Noritoshi had said even if they'd been watching. But Naofumi understood. And understanding made it worse.

  He's doing this alone on purpose.

  Naofumi exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to rex. Trust. That's what this came down to. Noritoshi had asked for trust back at the tent, and Naofumi had given it. He couldn't take it back now just because his instincts screamed at him to intervene.

  Surely he knows. He has to know what kind of consequences would follow if he actually killed Beloukas. The nobles, the merchants, everyone with money in the sve trade—they'd come for his head. He wouldn't walk into that without a pn.

  ...Right?

  Naofumi turned away from the fog, shaking his head. Standing here worrying wouldn't help anyone. Noritoshi had asked him to stay back. So he'd stay back. And he'd wait.

  The others had gathered near the tent entrance, clearly unsure what to do with themselves. Kairn leaned against a support pole, her spear resting across her shoulders, watching Naofumi approach with knowing eyes. Welst stood nearby, arms folded, his expression thoughtful. Rojeel—the mountain of a man with the axe and the deadpan delivery—had pnted himself on a crate like a boulder, utterly unconcerned with the tension in the air.

  Naofumi settled onto an empty crate across from them, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

  "Well," Kairn said after a moment, "I suppose we wait."

  "Looks that way," Naofumi agreed.

  Silence stretched. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just... waiting silence. The kind where everyone's mind was elsewhere.

  "Rojeel." The mountain of a man pointed at himself and nodded once in acknowledgment. "Shield Hero."

  Naofumi blinked. "Yes, that's me."

  A pause. Then, unexpectedly: "Sorry I couldn't choose you."

  Naofumi's eyebrows rose. "That's... quite unexpected. You were originally pnning on joining my party?"

  Rojeel shrugged, the movement making his massive shoulders roll like boulders. "Ah well. I just thought a shield needs a strong and heavy hitter." He patted the axe resting across his p. "Someone who can stand in front and dish out attack while you do... whatever it is you do."

  Naofumi stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "...I see. Thank you."

  He conveniently choose to ignore the muttered, "What is it that the Heroes do again?"

  Rojeel grunted in acknowledgment. But he wasn't finished.

  "Still," the big man continued, "you're more like the Hero I was thinking of instead of Noritoshi."

  Naofumi's smile faded. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Rojeel." Kairn's voice cut through the air, quiet but sharp. Warning in her tone.

  The big man gnced at her, utterly unrepentant. "What? I know you guys are thinking about it too. I'm asking because I'm curious, not because I'm accusing anyone of anything."

  Kairn's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

  Naofumi looked between them, confusion creasing his forehead. "What? What is it?"

  Welst cleared his throat, stepping into the conversational gap with the practiced ease of someone used to mediating difficult discussions. He adjusted his robes slightly, gathering his thoughts before speaking.

  "I believe now is the perfect time for you to learn of this." His voice was measured, careful—the tone of someone delivering news that might not be well received. "In this kingdom—Melromarc—there is a religion called the Faith of the Three Heroes."

  Naofumi's expression went very still.

  "...I see." His voice was ft. "And let me guess. Only the Shield is excluded, right?"

  Welst hesitated. Then: "Yes."

  "Yes," Rojeel confirmed, completely missing—or perhaps ignoring—Welst's diplomatic pause. "And the churches paint the Shield in a bad light. Even saying things like the Shield is a demon or something."

  Naofumi's composure shattered.

  "WHAT?!" His voice exploded across the quiet circus grounds. "ME, A DEMON?! BASED ON WHAT?!" Half shock, half rage warred in his expression, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

  Welst raised both hands in a pcating gesture. "No, no—that's not quite true. Those opinions are only practiced by the most... religious part of the church."

  "You mean the radical," Kairn chimed in ftly.

  Welst sighed, the sound carrying the weight of someone who'd had this conversation before. "Right. The radicals. Most people who believe in the Three Heroes Faith don't see the Shield as evil." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "In its orthodox doctrine, the Shield is just... seen as unneeded."

  Naofumi stared at him.

  The silence stretched.

  Finally, Naofumi let out a breath that was half ugh, half groan. "Not even a week in this world, and I've already got more people calling me useless than I did back home. How amazing."

  Kairn winced. Rojeel scratched his chin thoughtfully. Welst hurried to fill the uncomfortable space.

  "Now, now—I don't necessarily think that's true. It's a religion that sprouted in ancient times when kingdoms were at war. The Shield's defensive nature didn't fit the aggressive doctrines of the era. It's quite outdated, really. Most educated people don't take the old interpretations seriously."

  Naofumi rubbed his face with one hand. "...Haaah. I see." He lowered his hand and looked at Rojeel directly. "And when you said I'm more like what you imagined... you meant you expected a demon?"

  Rojeel met his gaze without flinching. "I thought you might be a demonic evil person." A pause. "But that's clearly wrong."

  Naofumi stared at him.

  Rojeel stared back.

  The silence stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable.

  "I'm sorry," Rojeel offered finally. His voice carried genuine regret, even if his expression remained as stoic as ever.

  Naofumi waved it off with a tired gesture. "Forget it. It's not your fault the religion here is messed up."

  Kairn rexed slightly. Welst nodded approvingly. Rojeel simply grunted and returned to staring at the fog, apparently satisfied with the exchange.

  They waited. Nor for long though, as perhaps finding the silence unsatisfying, Rojeel began again.

  "You know..." His voice rumbled through the quiet evening air. "If there's a demon among the summoned Heroes of this age, it would be Noritoshi, right?"

  Naofumi's head snapped toward him. Before he could respond, Welst—perhaps deciding to humor the big man—nodded thoughtfully.

  "Undoubtedly."

  SMACK.

  Kairn's spear butt connected with Welst's side with a sharp thwack. The man didn't react, or perhaps he couldn't move because of the sudden intense pain he's currently feeling. He's not the one getting hit and yet Naofumi could sympathize.

  "Stop humoring him," Kairn said ftly.

  Rojeel rubbed his side likely feeling the same thing as Naofumi. "I wasn't joking."

  Naofumi stared at the three of them, then let out a breath. "Well..." He ran a hand through his hair, considering. "I understand what you're saying. He's scary. And the pressure he exudes—whether he realizes it or not—is really intense." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "But... he's the farthest thing from a demon."

  He gnced toward the fog, a hint of dark humor tugging at his lips.

  "Maybe a wrathful angel?"

  Kairn raised an eyebrow. "Wrathful? All I could see was pride and confidence in his own ability."

  Naofumi shrugged. "It's normal to have pride—even arrogance—if you're that strong."

  The words came out more defensive than he intended. But they were true. He'd seen Noritoshi fight, seen him pn, seen him move through this world like he'd been born to it. If anyone had earned the right to confidence, it was him.

  Welst nodded slowly, his expression shifting to something more contemptive. "The Bow Hero is... not what I expected. When I heard about the Heroes being summoned, I anticipated certain things. Enthusiasm. Naivety. A tendency to rely on the system's power rather than developing actual skill." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Noritoshi dispys none of those traits."

  Kairn agreed with a small nod. "He fights like he's been doing it his whole life. Not like someone who just got powers dumped into him."

  Rojeel grunted his assent. "Fought three Css Up sves. Walked away." He met Naofumi's eyes. "That's not luck."

  Naofumi considered this. Considered everything he'd seen from Noritoshi since arriving in this world. The calm assessment. The careful pnning. The way he moved, the way he fought, the way he seemed to see things no one else noticed. The blood technique that defied expnation, the bow that sang with cursed energy, the quiet certainty that radiated from him even in moments of apparent danger.

  He's not like the other Heroes.

  The thought settled into Naofumi's mind with uncomfortable weight. Not like the other Heroes—including himself. Noritoshi operated on a level none of them could touch. And yet, despite the distance that created, despite the moments of genuine fear when Noritoshi's eyes went cold and his smile turned sharp...

  He'd called Naofumi his friend.

  And Noritoshi didn't say things he didn't mean.

  "You know," Naofumi said quietly, still staring at the fog, "I think whatever he's doing out there... it's not about killing Beloukas. It's about something bigger."

  Kairn tilted her head. "What makes you say that?"

  "Because if he wanted Beloukas dead, Beloukas would already be dead." Naofumi's voice carried absolute certainty. "He wouldn't have let him run. He wouldn't have let any of them run. Whatever's happening in that alley right now..." He trailed off, shook his head. "It's something else."

  Call it a premonition. Call it a hunch. But somehow, Naofumi feel like he knew exactly what Noritoshi is pnning. So he asked Welst.

  "Welst." Naofumi's voice cut through the comfortable silence. "You mentioned back then the selection was rigged, right? You got any ideas who orchestrated it and why?"

  Welst's expression shifted, the easy contemption repced by something more measured. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering.

  "It could be anyone, really." He gestured vaguely toward the city beyond the circus grounds. "The selection process—who gets chosen as a Hero's initial party—is theoretically overseen by the Crown. In practice..."

  "Politics," Kairn supplied dryly.

  "Indeed." Welst nodded. "The nobles with influence, the merchants with coin, the Church with its dogma—they all have interests. And a new Hero represents either an opportunity or a threat, depending on how things shake out."

  Naofumi leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "So everyone in this kingdom just saw us Heroes as pieces of meat to devour, huh?"

  The words hung in the air. Kairn shifted uncomfortably. Rojeel's expression didn't change, but his grip on his axe tightened almost imperceptibly.

  Welst met Naofumi's gaze steadily. "I think," he said carefully, "that the orders almost certainly came from the Church. Their influence over the selection process is... considerable. And their dogma regarding the Four Heroes is quite specific." He paused, choosing his next words with obvious care. "Especially considering the Shield Hero, in particur, holds a... complicated position in their theology."

  Naofumi's eyes narrowed further. "So the Church wanted me isoted. Weakened. Made dependent on whoever threw me a bone."

  "That would be one interpretation."

  "And the nobles?"

  Welst spread his hands in a gesture of helpless honesty. "The nobles follow whichever wind fills their sails. If the Church pushes for a particur outcome, the nobles who value their retionship with the Church will fall in line. Those who don't... well, they have their own reasons for wanting a Hero indebted to them rather than the Crown."

  Naofumi sat back, processing. The crate creaked beneath him. The fog continued its slow dance through the alleyways. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked twice and fell silent.

  "So the orders to exclude me could have come from the Church. Or from sympathetic nobles. Or from both, working together."

  "Exactly." Welst nodded approvingly, clearly relieved Naofumi was following the logic rather than reacting emotionally. "The Crown's authority is not absolute. Power here flows through many channels—the throne, the nobility, the Church, the merchant guilds. A wise Hero learns to navigate all of them."

  "I still have some confusion." Naofumi's brow furrowed as he worked through the implications of what they'd told him. "How did you guys know there were orders to not join my party without knowing who ordered it?"

  Kairn and Welst exchanged a gnce. It was Kairn who answered.

  "Shadows."

  Naofumi blinked. "Shadows?"

  "People who work under powerful individuals." Kairn's voice carried the weight of experience—someone who'd encountered such operatives before. "As the name suggests, they do every dirty work their masters don't want attached to their names. Assassination. Bckmail. Espionage. Delivering anonymous messages that carry the weight of unspoken threats."

  Naofumi's eyes widened slightly. "A ninja."

  Kairn tilted her head. "A what?"

  "Nothing." Naofumi waved it off. "Continue."

  Kairn studied him for a moment, clearly curious about the word, but let it pass. "Alright. Anyway, I heard there was a selection to join the Heroes' party at the Adventurers' Guild. So I joined. I got selected." She paused, her expression hardening slightly. "I slept in an inn that night and found the message on my desk in the morning. No one had entered. No one had left anything. It was just... there."

  "That's how it went for me too," Welst added quietly.

  Kairn shot him a look. "Aren't you a noble?"

  Welst raised an eyebrow. "You think a noble can't sleep in an inn?" He adjusted his robes with a slight sniff. "I received a message from my father instructing me to head to the capital and join the Heroes' party. Of course, with his connections, I was guaranteed to get in."

  "Why are you so smug about admitting to nepotism?" Kairn chided, though there was no real heat in it.

  Welst's expression didn't waver. "I prefer to think of it as leveraging avaible advantages."

  Kairn rolled her eyes but continued. "And then, when I slept in the Pace—" She paused, gring at Welst as if daring him to comment on the shift from inn to Pace. He wisely remained silent. "—I found the letter there too. Only Shadows could have done that inside the royal pace. The security is too tight for anything else."

  She met Naofumi's eyes directly.

  "So if you're doubting the Crown itself had a hand in this?" A pause. "That's a reasonable doubt to have."

  Naofumi sat with that for a long moment. The fog continued its slow dance. The city murmured in the distance. And somewhere in the back of his mind, pieces began clicking into pce.

  "The Crown," he said slowly, "the Church, the nobles—they all have Shadows?"

  "Everyone with power has Shadows," Kairn confirmed. "Or hires them. Or borrows them. It's... understood. An unspoken part of how things work."

  Welst nodded. "The game is pyed on multiple boards simultaneously. What happens in open court is often less important than what happens in dark alleys and locked rooms."

  Naofumi was quiet for a moment, processing. Then he let out a long breath.

  "You know," he said, his voice carrying a weight that made them all look at him, "I used to be angry. At the adventurers who wouldn't join me. At the system that let it happen. At everyone who just... went along with it."

  He paused, staring into the fog.

  "But I don't hold resentment anymore. Not toward the adventurers, anyway." He shook his head slowly. "You all had your own situations. Your own pressures. Your own Shadows leaving messages on your desks." A tired smile tugged at his lips. "It's hard to bme people for choosing survival when the alternative could've meant losing everything."

  Kairn studied him with new eyes. "That's... surprisingly generous."

  "It's not generosity." Naofumi's voice was quiet but firm. "It's just... understanding. Now that I know what was really going on."

  Welst inclined his head. "The Bow Hero made a compelling argument back in the castle."

  "He caused a scene," Kairn corrected with a hint of a smile. "A massive, unforgettable, probably-talked-about-for-weeks scene. Right there in the castle. When no one would join you, he stood in front of everyone and made his position absolutely clear."

  Naofumi remembered. He'd been standing there, humiliated, watching adventurer after adventurer refuse to meet his eyes. The nobles, and the officials pitying stare. Though he knew the ughter and condescending derision mixed in. The King cold stare. And then Noritoshi had stepped forward and...

  "Naofumi."

  Noritoshi's voice came from beyond the fog—calm, steady, completely unbothered. Like he'd just returned from a walk rather than a confrontation with a sve trader and his three Css Up battle sves.

  Naofumi shot to his feet, his heart lurching despite his earlier certainty that Noritoshi would be fine. "Noritoshi! You're alright?"

  Footsteps emerged from the fog. First Noritoshi, his expression unreadable but his posture rexed. Then Myne, looking dazed—not frightened, exactly, but like someone who'd just witnessed something that fundamentally rearranged her understanding of how the world worked.

  Noritoshi waved off Naofumi's concern with a zy gesture. "Yeah. But more importantly—" He stopped in front of Naofumi, meeting his eyes with an expression that was entirely too casual for the words that followed. "—what do you think about inheriting a sve empire?"

  Naofumi stared at him.

  Kairn choked on air. Welst's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. Even Rojeel's stoic mask cracked slightly, his eyes narrowing with something that might have been confusion or concern.

  The silence stretched.

  "...What?"