Episode 33

Aaron ran toward the noble district, with Clotted chasing after him.

“Stop! Aaron! Have you gotten scared of me!?”

“…Brother, if you want to play tag, let’s do it another time.”

“!? You’ll insult me to the very end!?”

Clotted aimed lightning magic at Aaron, but because he was casting while running, his aim never settled. He sprayed spells into houses, streetlights, and sidewalks at random.

“Stop it, brother! Innocent people will get hurt!”

“Look around! This is commoner territory. Who cares how many of them die!”

Clotted desperately hurled magic at Aaron. But his mana was low and the quality was poor—his spells barely even held together.

“…I’m disappointed, brother. I didn’t want to do this, but…”

Aaron stopped running and faced Clotted. A rapier was in his hand.

“Looks like you finally accepted it. In the end, you’ll speak like a noble—with a sword.”

Clotted drew his own blade: a double-edged straight sword, unlike Aaron’s rapier, decorated with glittering jewels.

“What do you mean, ‘like a noble’? —Noblesse oblige. If you’ve forgotten that, you’re nothing but a barbarian.”

“Don’t lecture me about nobility, you failure! Just shut up—”

For an instant, Aaron was wrapped in light. When Clotted realized what had happened, the rapier was already pressed to his throat.

“Ugh…”

“Izosaar-style Court Swordsmanship: Curtain Lightning. …An inevitable result, brother. While I was mastering court swordsmanship, what were you doing?”

To be acknowledged by his father—and by his two older brothers—Aaron had trained desperately with rapier and lightning magic. Part of it was simple fascination, but beneath it was his feelings toward his family.

There were even times he had invited Clotted and Tsaity to study together.

Not only did they ignore him—they resorted to vicious sabotage.

Even so, Aaron never broke; he kept moving forward.

Their current situation was rooted in past events, and Aaron was showing that with his actions. Clotted frowned as if something came to mind.

“Don’t get cocky, third son who can’t even be a spare. The Royal Guard Corps, the ducal house, and even that Lagias— to them, you’re nothing but a convenient tool. You don’t get that, which is why you’ll stay the third son forever!”

“Brother… I don’t understand what you mean. You were the one who told him it was an Izosaar problem. …When things turn against you, you immediately shift the argument. That’s been your worst habit since childhood.”

The rapier remained at Clotted’s throat. Either he forgot, or rage simply drowned it out.

“Shut up! Don’t talk down to me! Now that you’re siding with Lagias, what do you think you’re doing!?”

“…Brother, it’s fine now. Please be quiet.”

“A-rank adventurer? The ducal house’s favorite? A hero in the shadows? So what!? What does that matter!? No matter what he does now, the past won’t change! Can you say the same thing to all the people who were made miserable because of Lagias—!? He’s evil. A great villain!”

Clotted panted heavily, then—perhaps feeling exhilarated—smiled.

“And besides, you—!? M-my body—”

Aaron sheathed his rapier and turned away.

“I’m suppressing the effect on your body as much as possible. You’ll be numb and unable to move for a while.”

He murmured softly.

It was the last scrap of mercy he could give an irredeemable brother. He had other things to do now.

Clotted collapsed to the ground and shouted something. Aaron judged it was the usual resentment and moved on—no, he was about to move on.

“Ku—kuhahahaha! That’s why you’re soft, Aaron! So this is power…!”

A sudden spike in mana.

Mana far beyond anything Clotted could possess made Aaron whip around.

“—Brother, that formula is…”

“That’s right. It’s my power. It’s all mine!”

The series of attacks that had continued for two years.

The formula said to have been used by those suspects.

A pattern similar to what had appeared on Pariaach at the Falsh Ruins Site now surfaced across Clotted’s face.

“You’ve fallen as far as you can fall… brother.”

“Begging for your life? Everything’s already too late. Die for me, Aaron!”

The civic district’s main street was lined with countless stalls—an everyday marketplace where Spirito’s citizens bought and sold food and daily goods.

Something—multiple somethings—rushed through that market.

“Hm? …What was that?”

“Something just—whoa!?”

The moment they felt something cut across their vision, a violent gust tore through, blasting goods, people, and stalls aside.

The scene looked like a storm had passed; people stood frozen in shock.

(Damn… this is hard to fight in, seriously!)

While moving at high speed, Zeke and his opponent kept trading sword strikes and magic.

The enemy read his movements as if in their palm; even when he tried to outmaneuver them, everything was anticipated.

In a sense, that was only natural. The enemy was a copy of Zeke— and in the original story, it was a boss character who fought many battles.

(Yeah, the event existed. But making the target the villain—are you kidding me?)

A perfect reproduction—appearance, combat ability, even equipment.

In the game, party members could be copied and forced into a one-on-one battle event.

From the enemy’s side, it was meant to stall them, but the event concept was something like “confront your inner self,” Hiroto recalled.

But he wasn’t even Zeke. What was he supposed to “confront”?

He cursed inwardly.

(If I screw up, I’ll get wiped instantly. I didn’t think there’d be this kind of drawback.)

To survive—to never lose to anyone—he had built up strength.

Since he existed as the worst character in the story, he had no choice but to handle it alone.

He never imagined it would backfire in this way.

Regret swelled as he realized he should have been more cautious.

Pariaach was making contact with a mob character who never appeared in the original.

Was this also an effect of the altered scenario?

Either way, this was bad.

Using footholds of ice formed in midair, he ran up into the skies above the royal capital.

The shadow leapt after him, turning it into an aerial battle.

Ice swords and spears flew; cold detonations collided.

Neither used their biggest spells—both prioritized fast-cast magic.

Partly to avoid damage to the capital, but also because overcommitting mana created openings.

Since the shadow had no reason to care about civilians, the latter reason was what kept the fight balanced.

(The worst-case is if it decides to go all-in, huh.)

Hiroto would never choose to sacrifice his life for Spirito’s citizens—let alone the world.

Self-destruction to win was beyond absurd.

That kind of “pretty ideal” could be left to the protagonists.

But the opponent he was clashing with now might not share that logic.

A combat weapon without emotions.

If ordered to kill, it would use any method to accomplish it.

If it judged it couldn’t finish cleanly, it would likely try to drown the entire capital—Zeke included—in an ocean of ice.

If that happened, there would be no way to stop it.

(I can use teleportation to escape… but…)

That was the last resort.

He didn’t care what happened to the citizens, but if there was an afterlife, he might have to listen to their grievances forever after dying.

—No thanks.

(Should I use teleportation to relocate it with me? No—if it escapes afterward, that’s even worse. It might go straight for Aaron.)

Their kick techniques collided, spreading thunderous sound and shock.

He caught sight of citizens below staring up at the sky.

He muttered that they were carefree.

(My mana is finite, but theirs is infinite—what kind of cheating is that?)

Hiroto, a devoted fan of the original, had tested all kinds of things back then.

Was the fake protagonist’s mana finite? Did it copy loop-run techniques? Would it use paywalled magic?

He had found that its mana never ran out, and if the character had learned loop-only techniques, the enemy could use them too—though paywalled techniques were excluded.

He remembered thinking afterward: “So what?”

(!? Damn—)

In the gap between thoughts, he was caught by a tiny opening and taken from behind.

A kick descended from above—Moonlit Strike.

No time to gather mana. No foothold to dodge.

He had no choice but to defend.

—CLANG!!

The shadow’s kick was blocked by something, and a dull sound rang out.

(This is… a priest’s barrier art? No—more importantly—)

A transparent barrier stood before Zeke.

A barrier solid enough to withstand the kick.

Something this powerful was impossible for an average cleric.

Which meant the caster was—

Zeke teleported down to the ground.

The sudden appearance startled the newcomer, but to Hiroto, the other guy was the scary one.

“What’s your angle, tough guy? You think that little thing earned you a favor from me?”

“…With that filthy mouth, you seem fine.”

Bart Pinas, a cleric of the Maria Church.

A man famous for top-class ability within the church—and an utterly vicious-looking face.

“I was scheduled to make a house call in the noble district… but it got canceled, so I was coming back. Then I found this mess.”

“Hmph. That noble probably canceled because you scared them.”

They spoke, but neither took their eyes off the enemy.

The shadow formed ice footholds and descended onto the upper levels of a building, watching them carefully.

“That is… what?”

“A thing made by copying me. If you can’t understand that sentence, vanish from here right now.”

“…No. That’s enough. I was watching from below. Looks like the civic district is in a critical situation.”

Bart took off his jacket, revealing a body far too muscular for a cleric.

“You look surprised. The capital’s problems get solved by the people who live in the capital. That’s what a certain foul-mouthed noble told me.”

“…Just for a moment. Stall it. That thing looks defective.”

“Kid… did you change a little?”

The Zeke Bart had seen a few days ago carried hesitation.

He was likely still troubled by something.

But Bart felt a far stronger resolve to move forward.

“Hah. If you drag us down, I’ll erase you first.”

“…That won’t do. I can’t leave my family behind.”

An unusual duo prepared to face the false villain.

Lightning magic had heavily damaged the surrounding buildings. An unpleasant burnt smell hung in the air.

“Hah, hah… why? Why is this happening to me… because of someone like you…”

Clotted bled from shoulder, arm, leg—many places. The formula glowing on his face flickered weakly.

“It’s over now, brother. You cannot defeat me.”

“Shut up… I got power! —Elect Slash… cough—!?”

Clotted spat blood. He had forced the spell, and his body screamed back—blood burst out.

“There is no power you can obtain easily, without risk, brother. That formula feeds on your life—”

“Shut up shut up shut up shut up! Don’t order me around, you third son! Don’t look at me with pity!”

Even soaked in blood, Clotted glared and spat abuse. Aaron watched him with cold eyes. The gap between them remained vast.

“…If you’re scheming, then Tsaity must be involved too. Where is he now?”

“Kuhaha—! Tsaity already left the capital. For the plan… Too bad. There’s no seat for you!”

He pointed at Aaron, laughing while vomiting blood—completely mad.

“Brother… what do you want? If you and Tsaity disappear, who inherits House Izosaar? Are you going to end its history in Father’s generation?”

“You’re so fake, Aaron. You think if we’re gone, you can inherit the house, don’t you? Idiot!”

“I’ve told you again and again. I’m not qualified to inherit, and I don’t want it. How many times must I say it!”

It was the same exchange they had repeated since long ago.

Aaron’s insistence never reached his brothers.

Even in this life-or-death moment, his shout did not pierce Clotted’s heart.

“…That won’t work, Aaron. If Father doesn’t acknowledge me…”

Clotted dropped to one knee. He was near his limit.

Left alone, it was only a matter of time before he died.

—So Aaron decided the end should be by his own hand.

That was when an unexpected visitor appeared.

“? Weird big brother?”

“…Mr. Bart’s little lady?”

A small girl Aaron had met at a meal recently.

Philia—who looked nothing like her father Bart—stared at them with a puzzled face.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Daddy’s job today is in that district, so I came to pick him up.”

In Philia’s hand was a small bag—perhaps holding a lunchbox. Had she come to deliver it to her father?

“—Tonel Prison!”

A lightning prison suddenly manifested, enveloping Philia.

The violently charged cage crackled and roared.

“Eek—!?”

“Little lady! Brother, what are you doing!?”

Clotted stood again, his face twisted with madness.

“That’s why you’re soft, Aaron! You let your feelings get in the way over a commoner brat, so this is what happens!”

“What are you saying!? Release the spell right now!”

“Huh? You sure you want to talk like that? If I feel like it, she’ll turn into charcoal in an instant.”

“—Ghk…”

Clotted’s face twisted as he vomited blood, but he laughed like he was truly happy.

“Drop the rapier. If you resist… I’ll kill the brat.”