Chapter 92
‘The Fanatic Alert does not appear.’
Aquila lightly furrowed his brow at the silent notification, as expected.
Then he immediately changed his expression.
“……What are you plotting? Answer me.”
He aimed the branch of the Spirit Tree in his hand at Ark.
In appearance, it was nothing more than a branch freshly cut from a tree, still bearing unwithered leaves and small buds.
To an onlooker, it would not even seem threatening.
But the problem was the one holding it.
Aquila knew every dangerous spell that existed in this world.
Even the kinds of forbidden dark magic that were proscribed—though he had only used them a few times.
In other words, even if his opponent was one of the few Sword Masters on the continent, Aquila was thoroughly versed in ways to wound and restrain him at all costs.
And above all—wariness.
At this moment, Aquila regarded Ark as an enemy.
“No. The one I know cannot possibly be here. Who are you?”
Yet the other party did not appear flustered, nor did he show overt hostility.
His gaze was as calm as the surface of a lake untouched by a single ripple.
He merely looked at Aquila with that composed face so painfully familiar.
“Did you not call my name earlier?”
Ark turned fully toward Aquila.
Only then did his face, previously buried in shadow, come clearly into view.
Ark looked much the same as he had on the way to the final decisive battle.
That unkempt, long hair in particular was unchanged.
However, there was something unfamiliar to Aquila as well.
“Your eye…… one of them……”
Earlier, he had only seen Ark’s profile.
Now he realized that Ark’s left eye was not blue, but completely white.
As though someone had taken it from him.
At Aquila’s reaction, Ark rubbed his left eye as if he had grown accustomed to such responses.
“Ah, this…… I gave it up as a price.”
“A price?”
“To avoid doing something foolish again.”
Aquila frowned at the incomprehensible answer.
But Ark, seemingly unwilling to elaborate, changed the subject at once.
“I came to make you a proposal. You seem to be in trouble.”
“Ha. The only thing troubling me is you. What exactly are you—”
“Have you found a way to go east?”
Aquila’s brow furrowed even deeper.
The east.
It was something he had still been deliberating over—and now it had slipped from Ark’s lips.
Yet Ark did not seem to have come merely to chide him for not yet finding a way.
“I will send you east.”
“What?”
Aquila hesitated for a moment.
Leaving aside how Ark knew of it, what sort of scheme lay behind such an offer?
His eyes scanned Ark, as though trying to gauge his true intentions.
“I do not know how much you are aware of, but going east itself is not the problem.”
“I know. You simply cannot explain why you must go east. You are worried those around you would be concerned. You are more soft-hearted than you appear.”
“Ha. You speak as though you know everything…….”
Aquila let out a derisive snort.
But the next words froze his twisted lips in an instant.
“Just as you have reason to know me well, I know you just as well.”
Aquila knew Ark well because he had encountered him repeatedly over thirty cycles.
No matter what circumstances arose, he could predict with certainty what choice Ark would make.
It was data accumulated with ruthless thoroughness.
Those memories existed within Aquila.
Yet Ark’s words sounded as though he, too, remembered everything.
‘……That is impossible. No—suppose he does remember. Even so, he never once retained his memories in the previous cycles. Why, of all times, would he remember now, in the thirtieth cycle?’
Aquila’s thoughts spiraled into chaos.
“If you need an excuse to depart for the east, I will create one for you. Do not worry. You only need to head east.”
“You speak as though I must absolutely go east this time.”
Ark gave a faint, crooked smile.
“That manner of speaking has not changed, Claude…… No. It is Aquila now, is it not?”
Aquila Leshenhart.
The protagonist of this world murmured the name several times, as though steeped in regret.
“In four days, come to the ‘Lion Fountain That Grants Wishes’ in the center of Denimarad. I will take you east.”
“Do you know what this ‘world’ is? How much do you know?”
Aquila stepped forward, still aiming the branch of the Spirit Tree at him.
Instead of retreating, Ark merely shook his head.
In the dim moonlight illuminating his profile, only his single blue eye—deep and clear like a tranquil lake—shone brightly.
“There is no need to hurry. You will soon come to know as well.”
Without hesitation, Ark turned his head.
He intended to leave.
But Aquila had far too much he needed to hear—and far too much he wanted to ask.
“Hey, Ark……! Where do you think you—!”
Golden light instantly shimmered at Aquila’s fingertips, and a magical formula coiled around the branch of the Spirit Tree like a serpent.
It was a spell cast in urgency.
WHOOSH!
Yet its power was anything but careless.
In a burst of dazzling brilliance, golden chains—solidified mana—shot forth to bind Ark’s entire body.
But Ark had already drawn his sword from his waist.
He swung it toward the condensed mass of mana.
SHRING!
With only a few movements, the chains split apart and disintegrated at once.
Ark placed one foot lightly upon the windowsill.
“That is not a good habit. You should have used an offensive spell rather than a binding one. We will meet again, Aquila.”
With a faint smile, Ark vaulted over the window frame and disappeared into the night.
When Aquila rushed to the window and leaned out, there was nothing but darkness.
He could detect no presence anywhere.
With his current abilities, there was no way he could find him.
“……Damned bastard.”
Clicking his tongue, Aquila irritably brushed his hair back.
Out of countless spells at his disposal, why had he chosen a binding spell?
He did not understand it himself.
‘I should have struck him the moment I saw his face!’
Frowning deeply, Aquila shut the window with a sharp sound.
Then he pressed his forehead against the cold glass, as though trying to cool the chaos in his mind.
“In four days……”
Aquila whispered, and for a long while, he did not move from that spot.
***
“Young master, did you not sleep well? Your complexion is poor today. Are you tired? Is it because you went to the imperial household yesterday? I suppose it was not particularly pleasant……”
“Shen. It is fine.”
The carriage rattled.
Aquila, having silenced Shen who was chattering directly before him, swallowed a quiet yawn.
Though he had pretended to retire early the previous night, he had ultimately remained awake until morning.
He had not slept a single moment.
Since Ark Bachel had vanished like that, questions had swirled endlessly—what this cycle truly was, and what Ark knew.
Of course, he had reached no conclusions.
There was truly not a single thing he knew for certain.
For the first time in a while, Aquila prodded the System Window, demanding the game administrator reveal itself.
As expected, not even the slightest response came.
He rubbed his weary eyes with the back of his hand.
“I believe we have arrived.”
Having scrutinized her young master’s pale complexion long enough, Shen looked out the window and said so.
The carriage carrying Aquila had just entered the main gate of the Friadel Family.
It gradually slowed, its wheels turning languidly.
“……Sigh. Being here still weighs heavily on my heart.”
Yuzelia murmured, clasping her hands together.
Meeting those connected to the victims who had died from the Venomous Curse—families and friends—continued to burden her heart.
Even though she now knew a way to counter it, only a few months ago she had been utterly powerless.
She had always been the one forced to apologize, saying she could do nothing.
Aquila glanced at Yuzelia.
Her face showed concern and worry about the impending meeting, but nothing beyond that stood out.
Though her eyes were slightly red and swollen, it seemed she had managed to sort through her emotions somewhat after meeting Chelsea the previous day.
He had been concerned she might still be deeply unsettled.
‘……It seems I need not worry further about Martio.’
Having reached that conclusion, Aquila shifted his gaze.
As the carriage came to a complete stop and they stepped down, another carriage was seen entering.
Clop, clop.
The sound of hooves ceased gently, and the door opened.
A man with water-colored hair stepped out.
“My, we have arrived precisely on time. It is a pleasure to see you.”
Ianpel smiled warmly upon spotting Aquila.
The Saint had apparently just arrived as well.
“Lord Aquila Leshenhart, and Lord Ianpel. We have been awaiting you. This way, please.”
A neatly dressed man in a butler’s uniform approached them and bowed deeply.
Though they were not particularly close, they had no time for pleasantries and immediately proceeded inward together.
***
Orphe Pad Friadel was a man of ambition and spirit.
Discerning and sociable, he nevertheless possessed a pronounced desire for power, driven by an overwhelming yearning to restore his family’s prominence.
Yet such desire could also be read as a refusal to remain stagnant, and as he was not without ability, none deemed his ambitions beyond his station.
After all, his daughter Agnes Friadel had been selected as Crown Princess.
Orphe Pad Friadel loved his intelligent and wise daughter, believing Agnes to be the supreme gift bestowed upon him by the gods.
He cherished her more than anyone else.
Though he could at times be overly zealous, no one doubted that Orphe sincerely loved his daughter.
Moreover, the First Prince—who would become Agnes’ husband—deeply respected and loved her.
No one doubted that the First Prince would be appointed Crown Prince, and indeed, the investiture ceremony was scheduled to be held in one week.
Celebratory parties were held without pause.
It was during one such day of festivity.
The celebration had even been hosted by the Friadel Family itself.
Suddenly, Agnes Friadel began to scream.
The Venomous Curse burned through her entire body.
Writhing in endless agony, Agnes did not endure long.
She died in her own home.
In the end, she could not even scream.
“Do you know how immense the pain must have been……! She clawed at her own skin until it bled and tore away, yet even such wounds seemed trivial compared to the agony of the curse!”
Orphe Pad Friadel shouted, his eyes bloodshot.
The former gleam that admirers once saw in them was gone.
Only the desire for revenge.
Only fury.
Those alone filled Orphe Pad Friadel’s eyes.
“I, Friadel, will take upon myself the task of killing those wretches. Even if all others lose their lives to their cowardly hands, I will remain until the very end and burn every last one of them to ashes.”
Orphe’s blazing gaze fixed upon Aquila.
He even bowed his head in appeal.
“Therefore, Leshenhart, step aside for the time being. That is why I have called you here.”
Aquila met his gaze.
‘This may be quite the opportunity. If Friadel alone goes to the Labyrinth City like this…….’
Yet as always, matters did not proceed solely according to his plans.
“No. That will not be possible.”
The one who spoke with confidence, even before the head of the Friadel Family—
As expected, it was Ianpel.
The Saint smiled faintly.
“Regrettably, the forces of Friadel alone are insufficient to bring down the Dark Guild.”