Episode 26

Ever since Zeke detained the suspect, the knights’ movements had grown brisk. It’s a sight common before a festival, but there’s nothing of the sort on the schedule right now.

The unusually martial atmosphere would surely make the residents uneasy. To ease that anxiety, Hiroto threw himself into work—no, nothing of the kind; he was relaxing in a room at a hotel that had been arranged for him.

It wasn’t that he was slacking off; he was simply acting according to the assignments decided in advance.

(It’s a rightful perk. Why should I be happy to work more than necessary?)

The hotel had been arranged by the order of knights. Naturally, since they arranged it, they also knew Zeke’s room. In other words, knights and mages would come calling off-duty.

“In an emergency there’s no on-duty or off-duty. Help us.”

“Oh? Then bring every last knight in the royal capital. We’ll talk after that.”

“Lagias, I know you’ve got feelings about this, but let it go for now. The capital is in crisis.”

“You spent all that time denying me and now you turn on a dime? Do you people not know the feeling called shame?”

“Anything’s fine. If you have intel, share it, would you?”

“Are you stupid? If I had any, I’d have moved already. As if I’d ever count on a bunch of incompetents.”

No matter how he lashed them with words, knights and mages kept showing up undeterred. Whatever their ulterior motives, they likely wished for the capital’s peace. He had to admit they were nothing like him.

(That doesn’t mean I’m going to be moved by it. That’s your job, isn’t it?)

He was here because he’d accepted a request, not out of duty. And he’d been set up besides. He would work because he’d taken the job—nothing more.

If this were a story, characters would act from a sense of justice and save many people. If it were the knight order (state power), they’d work to maintain public security. And citizens would cooperate.

But none of that applied to Hiroto. He wasn’t a resident of this world; he was an ordinary person from another one—Japan.

Even if not a key character, if he were an ordinary person (a background extra), he might have felt like helping. He would have gained moderate strength and tried to enjoy this world—the world of Wish Soul he loved.

But Hiroto existed in this world as Zeke—the worst kind of villain. As an enemy of the protagonists whose deaths had been predestined.

That hadn’t changed for three years: staying alive was the first goal. So he had no leeway to prioritize anything else, least of all staking his life for someone else. That was the job of those with power.

(I’m not strong… Zeke’s the one who’s strong.)

Hiroto understood: all of his current strength came from Zeke, and he was merely borrowing it—relying on a late-game boss character’s power.

Yet the reality was a little different. It was true he could fight because Zeke was a mass of potential. But that didn’t mean he had grown exactly as in the original history; even now he far surpassed Zeke’s power at his first appearance in the game.

He had trained desperately to survive. He had fought like a madman. Ironically, he had staked his life in order to live—and talent had meshed with that. There was no way he’d be weak.

Was his failure to notice that because he was too desperate, or because he looked away and didn’t want the responsibility?

Perhaps the clear difference between Van (the protagonist) and Zeke (Hiroto) lay in how they regarded life.

(Still… that was a surprise. To think the protagonist is actually here.)

At first he’d thought, if anything, he would have preferred to be the protagonist. So it wasn’t that he harbored ill will toward the protagonist. If anything, he’d been a little moved—because the hero he’d seen countless times in the game had stood right before his eyes.

(There are still two years left; he’ll get really strong.)

Hiroto had done the deed of cutting his sword, but it wasn’t some petty harassment. He meant it as a spur, an encouragement—do your best from here on out; you’re the leading man. …His mouth had been rough, but that was nothing new. It couldn’t be helped.

(Come to think of it, what was with that pink-haired one near the protagonist… some event I don’t know? Whatever; the protagonist has a heroine. If she clings to him, I’ll knock her flying.)

Just like in the game, he wanted the protagonists to walk the proper path. That would be most convenient for this world—and for him. He didn’t intend to oppose them of his own accord, but if necessary he was ready to trade lives.

Of course, that was a last resort; before that, the better move would be to flee abroad. Even if Zeke exited the stage, it shouldn’t greatly impact the story.

Right now the protagonist was in the royal capital. He didn’t know if it was an event one could call Van’s turning point, but in a way it was convenient. If the hero grew stronger at this opportunity, the story would proceed all the more surely—along the scenario.

They hadn’t become decisively hostile so far, and he had no plans for that going forward. It wasn’t going to happen.

In the original work, Van (the protagonist) and Zeke (the heinous villain) had a particular grudge, but in this world that couldn’t happen.

(That will never happen. Impossible.)

Masfelt Freak—the swordsman hailed as the strongest in the world of Wish Soul, Van’s grandfather and master. The one who killed him was Zeke.

A few more days passed after that, but nothing major happened. If anything, the knights’ movements had become even more active—though to a cool head it looked like they were spinning their wheels.

And now it was the day before the Lords’ Council. The parties concerned had gathered for a final briefing.

“Gentlemen, thank you for assembling. Let’s skip the preamble.”

Struck Lark again laid out the security posture for tomorrow’s Lords’ Council. There were no particular changes; the council itself would proceed as scheduled.

As before, several representatives from each organization were present, but the faces were different and fewer in number. The Royal Guard Corps had sent someone other than Aaron, who’d attended last time, and as for adventurers—not a single one.

The reason was simple: the adventurers declined to attend. Needless to say, Zeke was the cause.

They didn’t want to be seen as the same kind of adventurer. They simply didn’t want to get involved. They hated him. They were afraid. The reasons varied, but most were born of ill will.

The necessary information had been shared in advance, and the overview of the guard detail wasn’t changing, so Struck accepted it. It also suited him to avoid injuries on the day before.

“—That’s all. As you heard, there are no changes. If anyone has anything, speak up here and now.”

Prompted by Struck, Yorn spoke.

“I wish there were something, but there’s been no progress since then.”

“…If there’s nothing, that’s fine. The Church has completed preparations without delay.”

Bart Pinas of the Maria Church. His face still looked terrifying, but it didn’t mean he was in a bad mood. That was just how he looked.

There was nothing new in the reports from the various organizations. Everything was either proceeding as planned or ‘no abnormalities.’

“Thanks for the reports.”

“No point panicking the day before, right? We’ll just have to play it by ear.”

It could be taken as a careless remark, but as Yorn said, there was no time left to do anything now. Better to stand firm than run around blindly and burn out.

No further comments came. Everyone had said their piece. Struck was about to close the meeting when one person kept drawing sidelong glances—the imperturbable Zeke, seated again in the blank zone.

“Lagias, anything from you?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

As it happened, that was Struck and Zeke’s first exchange… though it ended rather blandly.

“Hmm, are you sure there isn’t actually something? You’re the only one who’s had a proper conversation with the man in question.”

“That’s because you lot are incompetent.”

As expected, they couldn’t extract any information from the captive. His mouth was sealed tight, protected by a security of sorcery.

“So much for all those reinforcements; no results. Well, I never expected a thing from the start.”

“Sorry, we’re a collective of incompetents. Not as capable as you.”

Yorn quipped, teasing him—a bad habit of his.

“Don’t make me say it again. That was a fluke.”

He’d been wandering the capital when some weirdo picked a fight with him, which in the end led to the robed man’s capture.

He had no intention of boasting; if anything he found it troublesome—because there were pests who took ‘surveillance’ as license to stalk him.

“Then let’s call it that. …I hope this ends without incident.”

“If that drivel is your true feeling, you’re getting rusty.”

His arrogance hadn’t changed, but that didn’t mean he was indifferent. From his words it was clear Zeke hadn’t lowered his guard.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. Apion and the capital—there’s no guarantee there aren’t others just because we caught one fool.”

Apion and the capital differed vastly in population, scale, and importance as cities. If the enemy had a purpose, he doubted they would simply back down.

“That’s all the deals done. And the goods are put away.”

The members of the Freak Trading Company had been conducting negotiations day after day in the royal capital.

“Good thing we finished before things got rowdy. …Van, what’s got you down?”

From a certain day on, Van had suddenly lost his spark. He’d had similar slumps after being harshly scolded during sword training, but this time the depth of his gloom was different.

“It’s nothing. I told you—my sword got ruined.”

Van didn’t have his usual sword at his hip. A standard, spare blade he’d prepared hung there instead.

“Does a blade normally snap clean in two just from being dropped? Come up with a better story.”

There was much he wanted to ask, but Tret didn’t press him.

In any path, you run into walls. As an elder, he decided to watch and see how Van would overcome this one.

“We wrapped up ahead of schedule. You can take it easy at the inn for the rest of our stay, or heading outside the capital to be alone isn’t a bad idea either.”

“…Sorry. I’ll be fine.”

Van still hadn’t found his answer.

At last the day of the Lords’ Council arrived. The royal capital Spirito had not closed the city and, on the surface, was wrapped in its usual bustle.

“The Lords’ Council has already begun… but nothing’s happening.”

“Our responsibilities don’t change. Don’t relax the alert.”

Struck chided his subordinate. There was no hint of carelessness on his face.

Those long resident in the capital sensed the eerie air. They saw more knights than usual, but it was the greater air of grimness that felt off.

“Understood! …But if nothing happens, when should we lift the alert posture?”

The fundamental mission of defending the capital hadn’t changed. But at present they had deployed more knights and mages than usual and were seeking cooperation from external groups starting with the Adventurers Association.

Naturally, they couldn’t maintain the current posture forever. Moving people costs money.

“Focus on the task at hand. I doubt this ends as-is.”

He couldn’t entirely dismiss his subordinate’s point. Spirito was the heart of the Kingdom of Diabalet and its most well-defended city. Did an entity with enough power to threaten the capital truly exist? The power gap between a single state and a single organization was too great.

“Report. At present, no abnormal reports from any unit.”

He received the report from one of his men.

“…I see.”

Suddenly Struck drew his sword and cut down his subordinate—or rather, the person imitating his subordinate.

The surrounding knights were stunned, unable to follow what had happened.

“C-Commander… what are you—?”

But the change came at once. The colleague in armor—the one they had perceived as a colleague—shifted from armor to black garb. It seemed an interference with recognition had deceived those nearby.

“Relay to all units: one individual believed to belong to a hostile organization has been neutralized.”

Struck issued his orders calmly. The speed and composure came largely from his experience thus far.

“Yessir! I’ll inform—”

“Report!”

Another knight hurried up in a fluster… and this one did not get cut down.

“Message from Squad Six! Multiple monsters confirmed inside the walls! Numerous casualties!”

The report sent the knights into an uproar.

There was no way the massive walls had been breached. Voices cried that it had to be a false alarm.

“Gentlemen, the man lying there is your answer. The enemy’s blade is already at our throat. Status of the walls?”

“No abnormalities at the walls or gates. A notice also says there’s no infiltration from underground, which had been a concern!”

The capital’s vast underground waterways. If there were an incursion, they had assumed it would be from there and had deployed troops accordingly.

“Around the council venue… magic in the sky? And I can hear bells from the belfries as well.”

The sound of bells, installed at several points in the capital for emergencies, rang out. Likewise, magic flared skyward as signals. Both meant a state of emergency—and they were being confirmed across the city.

“Status of the council’s security?”

“F-Forgive me! I’m told there are not only no monsters around the venue—there aren’t even people visible.”

(We’re already in the enemy’s snare. They’d use the Lords’ Council—no, the king himself—as bait?)

“Transmit to all units: prioritize protecting and evacuating civilians. Eliminate the monsters and find the route of their entry.”

Knights sprinted off with acknowledgments. Through the mage couriers, the orders spread by magic.

As Struck was about to give new orders, a barrier appeared from the city walls, covering the entire expanse of Spirito, including the skies above.

“A barrier even though infiltration has already been allowed?”

“All the more reason, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean there won’t be an attack from outside.”

Barrier magic integrated into the walls—meant to prevent enemy troops and monsters from entering from outside.

“No… this is different. This isn’t Spirito’s barrier. Our symbol of Diabalet is silver.”

Struck asserted that what they were seeing was not the capital’s barrier. Spirito’s barrier was a holy technique–based shield that shone silver—but the barrier spreading before them did not.

“It seems… we’ve been sealed inside this capital.”