Episode 7

Silence held the room under the killing intent Zeke (Hiroto) had unleashed. Because he’d consciously narrowed its range, the effect stayed within the chamber. Had he loosed it indiscriminately, it would have stirred the place up like a kicked beehive.

(It’s that thing you see in manga a lot… I didn’t think it would actually work.)

He had tried it as an experiment—and the effect was immediate.

(If Luke flies off the handle, that’ll be a pain. I should stop him. Either way, they’ll blame me in the end.)

Even after three years, he was still self-centered.

(And trouble right before he enters the knight order would be bad. It muddies the line I need to draw.)

Just as Hiroto feared, if Luke was Fonsell, he would likely become a knight just like in the original. Luke was fifteen and aimed to be a knight; the flow matched the game.

There was no DNA testing in this world. Proof of identity relied on circumstantial signs—name, appearance, background. One could also judge by the “quality” of someone’s mana, but Hiroto did not know what Fonsell’s felt like.

(Not that DNA would matter without Fonsell’s sample data.)

In the end, the ways to judge were limited: whether he could become a knight—and at fifteen, the youngest ever.

Hiroto wanted to draw his line based on that result. All the more reason he did not want meddling at this moment.

“…Zeke. I’m fine. Let’s keep talking.”

The killing intent that had filled the room subsided.

Freed from the extreme tension, the three still did not move. They all understood—one wrong move could be fatal.

“What about the knight order’s regimental commander?”

“…No—our… mistake. Forget it.”

“Hmph. Spare me the worthless preface. Get to the point.”

The multiple planned scripts and flows had been thrown off. Inside, the three fretted—course-correcting now would be hard.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Weren’t we going to probe each other’s hands?”

They could not form words. Before they knew it, the initiative had slipped away.

“Don’t take me for a fool… You thought I’d meekly obey just because you’ve got a ducal house’s clout?”

“…What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb. That hood is where this started.”

From Hiroto’s view, their agitation seemed small. But that coolness only felt more suspicious.
He had no ironclad proof, but it reminded him of a similar scene in the game.

(Because the method is almost the same.)

“I don’t follow. What are you saying?”

“So you’ll brazen it out… Suit yourselves. I won’t play along with this farce.”

Zeke (Hiroto) rose from his seat—his manner saying he had no more business with them.

“…We’re not finished.”

“Are you stupid? If we don’t hear the job details, we don’t have to accept, right? Forgot your own words already, bird-brain?”

The barrage continued. In game terms, he’d easily broken a fifty-hit combo.

“Fine. Even if I hear it, I decide. I don’t care if it’s a ducal house or anything else.”

(What a mess. If you just change what you want to say on a whim, that’s bad—obviously. Not that it’s news.)

For three years, improving combat wasn’t his only goal. Strength mattered most for survival, but there was no need to pick fights.

Having his statements auto-convert into barbs was a terrible handicap. It might not spare even a king. He had tried to correct it as much as possible, but results were meager.

(Weirdly enough, I’m normal around my parents.)

Half resigned, he decided: if he could not avoid trouble, he would grow strong enough to swat it all aside. If even that failed, he would prepare and flee the country.

It would be sooner than planned, but so be it. If a ducal house was involved, that meant royalty. He had thought even the “Evil Beyond Redemption” Zeke might soften a bit if royalty was in play—but here they were.

Given how close to checkmate the situation already was, this attitude might have ended the House of Lagias by his own hand—but Hiroto shrugged it off: the Lagias lineage had earned this themselves.

He shifted his mind to the escape plan he had drafted and was about to step out when…

“Please wait. I apologize for our discourtesy.”

The hooded figure from before threw back her cowl and fixed her eyes on Zeke—a girl with dazzling silver hair that seemed to hold the stars. Fear still lingered in her gaze, yet she did not look away.

Her inner steel was unchanged from the original. For Hiroto, this was a new meeting with a party character he had seen many times in the game.

The girl remembered… how she had met him.

At first she approached for investigation—under the pretext of a commission, to learn his character and beliefs, his combat strength, the truth of the rumors, and whether he was an enemy of the kingdom.

Meeting him in person, she found his manner as boorish as the rumors said—hardly noble. Above all, he was terrifying.

Her two trusted escorts, veterans of many brushes with death, suddenly felt faint. It was as if he alone faced a dragon. Later she realized she had touched an untouchable reverse-scale.

In hindsight, harming a dear friend of his must have been the one thing he could not forgive. Even if the words had been an unpleasant ploy to win consent, she was filled with regret.

Behind the thorough elitism, there was a hidden kindness—one that cared for others.