Episode 24

“Keat… did you catch that?”

“I barely kept up with the lightning. Could I have blocked it? Doubt it.”

The pace of the fight had outstripped most eyes. Everyone had seen Aaron in control—until, before they realized, Aaron was the one down and out.

At last, all present understood: Zeke’s skill was the real thing.

“Marcus… this isn’t what you told me.”

“Don’t do this to me. My report was from three years ago.”

They’d had snippets since then, sure—but no one expected Aaron to be outmatched this badly.

“The kid never even drew his sword. What is that, decoration?”

“More like he didn’t need it. And his hand-to-hand isn’t shabby either.”

He had read Aaron’s rapier, the magic, and even that original “court sword” form. It had looked like Zeke was on the back foot, but perhaps the result was never in doubt.

“What a nuisance. …Next.”

The pressure pouring off Zeke dwarfed even Aaron’s earlier killing intent. “Different league” was putting it kindly.

“Monster…”

The A-rank party Wings of Light couldn’t back out now: too many eyes, and Zeke had already fixed on them.

Haria whispered a plan on the fly, treating the “Lagias Brat” as a hunt target. Difficulty: A or higher.

This had slipped beyond a mock bout; they moved as if their lives were at stake.

“Keat, we’re stopping this.”

“Yeah. This crosses the line… and the Sage asked us, too.”

Wings of Light fanned out, encircling Zeke. Each member shone with a soft aura—someone from the Maria Church had already laid the buffs.

“Hold it. You lot don’t need to move.”

“You’re far too calm. He doesn’t know the meaning of restraint.”

“Just wait. …Schtrolk is here.”

Zeke stood within the ring without a flicker of emotion or motion. He still meant to give them the first move.

“Leader! I can feel his mana. But if you want a deep read, I need more time!”

“You think this monster will give you time? Track while you fight!”

“Roger.”

The scout grimaced. What Zeke had shown against Aaron had them all spooked.

And just as the clash was about to erupt—

“That’s far enough! All parties, sheath weapons and drop spells. The mock bouts are over.”

The iron in Schtrolk’s voice cut cleanly through the charged air.

“Hmph. Consider your necks spared.”

To some surprise, Zeke obeyed at once. He knew if he ignored the order and rampaged, he’d be the villain on paper.

“D-don’t be ridiculous! We’re not—”

“You’re the adventurer core here, Wings of Light. If anything happens to you, our security fails.”

“So we’re expected to lose. Got it.”

Haria’s jaw tightened.

“Knowing when to disengage is part of a warrior’s craft. If you insist, do as you please. But you’ll pay the penalties.”

Shoving through would win them little and cost them much—trust with the crown and the Association, to start. And first things first, they couldn’t be sure they’d win.

“You’ve all seen enough to gauge each other. Take something from this that’ll matter in a real fight.”

The crowd that had packed the gallery had thinned—some adventurers had limped out; some had simply fled.

What this outcome would set in motion was anyone’s guess. Whether Hiroto would get what he wanted from it was murkier still.

A little later, Schtrolk handed down the assignments. The Knights and Mage Corps would blanket the capital; adventurers would be placed at key points to plug gaps. The Maria Church and medical orders would split across several aid posts to respond fast. The council venue itself—where the king would appear in the opening—would be walled in by Royal Guard, knights, and top mages.

Nothing shocking. All very sensible.

The locals—knights and mages who knew the city—covered wide areas. The king’s hall went to the elite, Guards included. Outsiders like adventurers wouldn’t be handed the crown jewels. They were here to widen the net across a sprawling capital.

As for Zeke the “adventurer,” he was given no fixed sector. He’d roam solo and reinforce wherever needed—a one-man flying column.

Hiroto read it as a graceful shoo-off and didn’t mind. He wanted no part of guarding kings and lords; pairing up with anyone would only breed friction—and it already had. Having license to act alone might be the best outcome.

For the next few days until the council, everyone would rotate city patrols, neutralizing suspicious people or objects on sight.

Hiroto would follow orders—but not break his back doing it. He’d survey, bide time, and watch for a chance to pay the ducal house back.

An event off script. Get too involved, and nothing good happens. Do the minimum, wait, and strike later.

The day after the chaotic meeting, Zeke began his patrol, alone.

“The capital—still as lively as ever.”

The Freak Trading Company had reached the city without trouble. Inspections were smooth; they were off to their appointments.

“Uh… shouldn’t we check every crate? We didn’t open them all.”

“Normally, yes. But we’ve dealt here plenty. Freek Co. is a known quantity.”

The one explaining to Van was Trat, a company man who’d been like an uncle to him since childhood.

“Even so… aren’t there way more knights out? And mages?”

“Van. A merchant keeps his ears sharp. The capital’s on high alert.”

They’d heard about Apion—and that the council could be a target.

“I-I knew that! Obviously! …All the more reason to check everything, right?”

“Council or no, the capital’s busy year-round. There isn’t time to crack every box. Exceptions exist.”

“Because our name’s good,” Trat finished. Van had questions, but let it go for now.

“Still, we’re loaded this time. You sure we can sell it all?”

“That’s our job. Work smart, or you’ll be working non-stop.”

“Please no…”

Van hurried on toward their first buyer.

“Commander Schtrolk, reports say no anomalies so far.”

“Continue patrols.”

In a Knights HQ office, Schtrolk fielded updates.

“Going smoothly then… Schtrolk?” Only one man in the corps called him by name: fellow regimental commander Brink Hartmann.

“So it seems.”

They’d joined as squires together, pushed each other, and risen to command. On and off duty, they were close.

“But we can’t relax. If they strike, it’ll be during the session.”

Brink had once resigned to search day and night for a cure for his son Luke’s illness; Schtrolk had been one of those who quietly helped where it didn’t harm the work. When Luke recovered and life eased, it was Schtrolk who pressed his friend to return.

At first, Brink refused. He’d left for family; you don’t just stroll back. Schtrolk had anticipated that—and simply sent word up the chain: Hartmann was ready if called. Brink’s strength, character, and respect in the ranks made the rest easy. The offer became one he couldn’t refuse.

“Changing the subject… how was Lord Zeke?”

Of course that’s what you want, Schtrolk thought.

“Given what you told me, the adventuring he’s done, and the Astera report—none of this is surprising.”

Brink had long heard of the noble boy who saved his son: a Lagias scion, yet formidable in arms, and—beneath the acid tongue—a youth who risked himself for others. (Perhaps a touch embellished.)

“His magic—good enough that I can see why the Mage Corps would court him.”

They’d also expected the mock bouts to blow up, given his temperament. If the name “Lagias” was going to dog him, better to force the issue publicly.

“And that mouth of his is gifted, too. He’d have a rough onboarding in the Knights.”

“Sadly, he has no intention of joining.”

Luke had once begged him to sit the exam together; Zeke hadn’t bitten.

“No interest. You and your son just want a laugh at my expense.”

Brink had chalked it up to the Lagias name dragging Zeke—and possibly hurting Luke by association. Zeke wouldn’t shackle them. (The truth was simpler: the “original” Zeke had joined the Knights, and Hiroto wanted to dodge that route.)

“I see. I half expected him to take the test with your son.”

“He sees further than we do. He’s got an eye for things we can’t.”

At times Schtrolk had wondered if Brink was brainwashed—until he met Zeke. The boy’s presence outstripped any praise.

“Call me a doting father, but Luke’s an ace in his own right. The exam will be… lively.”

Schtrolk knew Brink doted, but it wasn’t like him to say it aloud. That said, three years alongside Zeke—adventuring, training—had forged Luke into something special for his age.

“In that case, I’ll look forward to it.”

Calm before the storm. May it prove needless, thought the two old warhorses.

“They say the Lagias Brat’s in the capital.”

“Yeah, with Lord Lagias himself.”

“And that he painted the floor with adventurers and even a Royal Guard.”

Patrolling, Zeke (Hiroto) found chatter about “Lagias” everywhere. Barely a day had passed, and already the rumor mill was roaring—enough to make him wonder if the house was secretly beloved for the attention.

“They say he bites anything he sees. A mad dog.”

“Hear this? The monsters fled the city just from his aura.”

“But they say he’s meek as a lamb for the duchy’s ‘goddess.’”

He wanted to deny it all, but he had, admittedly, made a spectacle—and the cycle would repeat: “I was menaced in the capital,” and so on.

One mercy: most passersby didn’t realize they were gossiping about the boy walking right next to them. Black hair was rarer here, but not unheard of—and he didn’t frequent the city.

“You there—black hair! Stop!”

…Or maybe not. Lagias would be Lagias.

“Hey! Stop—don’t ignore me!”

He sped up, but the voice’s owner cut him off: a girl about his age.

“How rude—I’m the one talking to you!”

Light-pink hair falling to her shoulders, glossy in the daylight—like something from an anime, he thought. On this world’s streets, hardly unusual.

“You look suspicious. Especially the black hair.”

First time he’d been accused for that alone. He almost admired the dedication to hating Lagias.

“That villain Zeke Lagias had black hair too. Suspicious. Leeeet me just—”

He sighed inwardly. Another character magnet. Better to leave fast. But—

“Th-thief! Someone catch him!”

Of course. He looked over: a woman down on the ground, and a man bolting with her bag.

“Wait—that’s Zeke Lagias!? He fooled me completely—stop right there!”

What a whirlwind of a girl. Still, knights patrolled the capital; not his problem—he turned to go. He did not get far.

“Don’t just stand there! You’re coming too! Move!”

And somehow he was conscripted—physically hauled along. For the record, he still hadn’t said a single word.

Dragged by the girl, he found the gap to the thief wasn’t closing.

“Stop, thief! I’ve got evidence!”

Impressive lungs for someone sprinting, he noted. Plenty of stamina—so go alone, he didn’t say.

They veered off the main drag into a narrow lane. Zeke could have ended it in a blink, but something itched. With all this noise, why hadn’t the Knights responded? And the thief’s aura felt… off. Better to watch a moment longer.

“You there—the brown-haired one! Move! Purse snatcher!”

A brown-haired teen stood in the thief’s path, paper bag in hand—shopping, maybe.

“A purse snatcher!? Leave it to me! I’ll help!”

He set the bag down and drew a plainly made sword—except the blade, faintly red-tinged, caught the sun and flashed a deep crimson. A real piece of work.

Under other circumstances, Hiroto would have admired the steel. But: brown hair, swept-up bangs, soft-cropped back, and those notoriously loud scarlet boots. He’d seen this hero in-game a thousand times.

Van Freak, protagonist of Wish Soul, stood before him.

The thief, hedged in, pulled a knife rather than surrender.

“So he wants a fight? Fine by me.”

The girl readied a dagger and a short staff—dual-wielding.

“Feast your eyes—this is the new-gen battle style!”

New to him, certainly. He would have preferred less volume; he wanted to watch Van.

“You’re amazing! I’m Van, a swordsman, as you can see.”

“Nice to meet you, swordsman. I’m Eris. …And you, Mr. Black Hair—behind me!”

Zeke still hadn’t spoken. Honestly, there wasn’t room; the scene was jam-packed with personalities.

“What even is this…?”

“Stop mumbling. Chargeness!”

Eris began to glow—some kind of self-buff.

“No mercy for crooks!”

Van didn’t charge—he planted his sword in the dirt and sprinted in bare-handed.

“Hey! Why ditch the sword!?”

“Grandpa said a real swordsman doesn’t rely on the weapon!”

He pressed the knife-man with fists and feet—sharp jabs and kicks, an unbroken string that forced the thief purely on the defense.

“Fine—I’ll back you up. Fire Aura!”

“Wh—my hands and feet!?”

Flame wreathed Van’s limbs. He flinched, but felt no heat—nor did his clothes burn.

“Enchantment. It won’t hurt you. Go wild!”

He grasped it instantly. That quick mind, Hiroto thought.

Punches threw firebursts; kicks smashed with blazing weight. The thief’s guard lagged—the burns were taking their toll.

“Finish it—Break Aura!”

Red light surged over Van—another buff, muscle singing with power.

“Got it! Eat this!”

He hammered a flame-packed fist into the ground. Heat and concussive force blasted the thief into the air.

A hand-to-hand version of the hero’s combat—that wasn’t in the game. Hiroto had to admit: entertaining.

The thief lay conscious but helpless, glued to the cobbles by pain.

“About time you behaved, Zeke Lagias!”

“He’s Zeke Lagias!? This black-hooded old man!?”

Eris’s declaration floored Van—and Hiroto. “Old man,” really?

“Yeah, he’s… older than me at least,” Eris frowned. “I heard he’s our age.”

“I heard ‘beautiful boy,’ too…”

Their confusion was fair. The real Zeke stood right behind them.

“Zeke… Lagias!?”

The downed man suddenly writhed. Forcing his ruined body, he tore fresh blood from the burns.

“Hey! Stay down! You’ll die!”

“If I must die, I’ll finish the job first.”

Black and red sigil-circles crawled up his skin, glimmering with a sickly light.

“A spell!?”

Shadow rippled out from his body.

“N—no good! I can’t move!”

The black field froze Van and Eris in place—some restraint domain. Their magic sputtered too.

“I don’t know how you recognized me… but none of you leave alive.”

The red circle blazed hotter, heat knifing outward even fiercer than Eris’s enchantments.

“This is bad—he’s going to blow himself up!”

“You’re kidding me! We have to run!”

They couldn’t twitch. Their spells were gagged. A cornered rat with a deadman trigger.

“I’m sorry… this is my fault.”

“Don’t you dare. There has to be a way. I still… have things to do!”

“Comrades… I’m counting on you.”

Light, heat, then the ground itself trembling—catastrophe seconds away.

“What a cheap parlor trick. Is self-destruct in fashion now?”

A new voice cut in. They couldn’t see the speaker through the field—but a black-haired boy strolled into view, utterly unhurried. The one Eris had dragged along: Zeke.

“You—how are you moving?”

“You don’t need to know. …Magic has an ‘origin point,’ doesn’t it?”

Zeke stopped before the man. In his right hand, a rapier of pure frost coalesced, and he drove it into the left shoulder.

“Who… are you?”

“Are you an idiot? You just screamed it. …Something like this?”

The heat bled away. The circles went dim, then brittle, then died; the red and black lights winked out.

“Hmph. Less impressive than I thought.”

Free again, Van and Eris could only stare, riveted.

“What did you do? If you break a seal, it runs wild…”

“I’m done with you. Begone—Prison Rout.”

Ice swept up and molded into a prison. The joints froze in place so precisely the man couldn’t even twitch a fingertip.

And just like that, they had their “thief”—and something far worse—boxed and captured.