Episode 32

Steel traded sparks, bodies feinted and checked, spells wove and broke—two “boys” clashed with a ferocity that belied their age. Without a knight acting as referee, anyone would have mistaken it for a duel.

Light gathered along the armor-clad boy’s blade until it blazed; the sword lengthened, swelling into a gigantic greatsword.

“Saint Caliber!”

He brought the light blade down at the black-haired boy—Zeke. The cut was read and slipped with ease, but that was expected. The attacker never let up, sweeping the massive sword again and again. He could ignore the weapon’s “weight” because the greatsword was conjured light, not steel—its precision came from magic control layered atop refined swordsmanship.

“You’re still faster than my sword!”

He halted and shifted his grip. Pointing the radiance straight down, he drove it into the ground. The earth shuddered; pillars of light burst up under Zeke’s feet, boxing him in and freezing his motion. It looked like a scattershot trick, but the blond boy—Luke—saw the lanes of light as if they’d been drawn for him. Reading the lines, he sprinted the shortest path to Zeke.

“Annoying.”

“You’re the last person who gets to say that!”

Light pooled in Luke’s right hand—points glittering like stars.

“This is payback… have it back—Impulse Wave!”

Luke had watched Zeke fight up close, stealing what he could and making it his own.

“Never heard of it.”

The strike seemed to catch Zeke—an instant too slow. Cloaked in mana like armor, he vaulted, brute-forcing his way through the light pillars. Behind him, a spray of ice spears bloomed.

“Dropping your sword was a mistake.”

“…Magic isn’t yours alone. Holy Lance!”

Luke fired back, but only half the scale Zeke had conjured came out in time. He’d lose the exchange on sheer volume.

“Not yet… Relaction!”

Luke’s outline blurred into multiples—an afterimage spell to dodge, confuse, and set up the counter.

“Not bad. But your opponent is me.”

The spells were about to collide—Brink’s signal cut through.

“That’s enough, both of you… Any more and it’s no longer a mock bout.”

They released their magic; the taut air eased.

“Every time, it’s life and death. I feel like I’m fencing a demon.”

“Save the drivel. If you’ve got breath to waste, head for the capital.”

They traded jabs—the usual scene for those who knew them. Even Brink couldn’t help smiling.

“How’s the form, Luke?”

“No problems. After that, it’s all down to the day.”

As a regimental commander, Brink would normally serve in the entrance trials—but with family among the candidates, he’d recused himself.

“No telling what will happen. We’ll leave early, same as planned.”

He’d taken leave to return to Rent. He and Luke would travel to the capital together for the exams.

“Right. …I’ll rest a bit, then go thank the folks who’ve helped me.”

Luke jogged off.

“Looks like he’s sparing our feelings.”

“Impatient kid.”

Pass the exam, and he’d be based in the capital—harsh training, chores, enforced dorm life. Coming home freely would be hard for a while.

“…Will Luke pass?”

“If he doesn’t, the Order’s finished. And no—that isn’t the worry sitting in your gut.”

The string of incidents shaking the Diabalet Kingdom—the faceless organization behind them—still left the crown with no solid lead.

“They might target the applicants… Luke included.”

“Maybe. If that much kills him, that’s as far as he goes.”

Four years ago replayed behind Brink’s eyes—a hollow that had swallowed everything. He never wanted to feel that again.

“Everything you’re thinking right now is useless.”

“…Of course. As a knight, my duty is to protect the realm.”

“No.”

Zeke’s tone sharpened; his glare pinned Brink.

“Get it through your head—that one is special. Mana Sclerosis kills in months without treatment. He’s lasted a year.”

By Zeke’s reckoning, the disease should have taken Luke already.

“A man fated to die is still standing. Believe it or not, some people are just… different.”

Brink felt it—a certainty, as if Zeke had seen the road ahead.

“If something happens in the capital, you handle it. …If it’s outside, I’ll end it.”

“…When will I ever repay you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. There’s a pack out there that spits my name with a grudge. I’m going to make every last one of them understand. That’s all.”

The words were hard; the intent under them wasn’t. Brink knew that by now.

“…Understood. Any movement in House Lagias or on your lands?”

Every captive had said Zeke’s name. It was an open death notice. Given how openly he’d smashed the enemy’s schemes, it was no wonder he’d become their marked man.

“That’s a useless worry. What’s the point of striking a place that can’t get any worse?”

Even as the lord’s son, Zeke judged trouble on Lagias soil unlikely—the “damage” would barely move the needle.

“So the targets would be you, personally, and—”

“I’ll crush them—so they never forget. Thoroughly.”

If only nothing happened. Brink could only pray the two—so different, yet side by side—would keep walking forward together.

“Letters of thanks from a ducal house and the Capital Adventurers’ Guild… Well done, Zeke!”

Zeke (Hiroto) had returned to the Lagias Territory. By now, Luke would be setting out for the capital.

“You’ve grown splendidly. I’m proud of you,”

Fool (father) spoke, beaming; Noisy (mother) teared up. Freeze the moment and it almost looked moving—if they weren’t the notorious pair they were.

“The Lagias stock is soaring. We won’t let those eyesore nobles catch up.”

“Jewels will drape all around us… how wonderful.”

Hiroto’s mood sank. No matter what he did, the credit became “House Lagias’s renown”—which, in practice, meant more scandal than fame. It was one reason he hated being praised.

“So, Father… about what I asked.”

“An expedition with the private troops? Approved. House Lagias has no rivals left. You can be away from the fief a while.”

“Do as you please.”

Idiots, Hiroto thought. If they wanted to stop disgracing themselves, they should get off the stage. Why hadn’t the enemy aimed at the Lords’ Council?

“Hard to believe you’re already fifteen, Zeke.”

“Yes. Perhaps it’s time to talk matches.”

Heirs and marriages—his parents got lost in the topic. They didn’t notice the way Zeke looked at them—colder than ice.

The two pillars of Diabalet—the Knight Order and the Mage Corps—kept meeting at the top about “the organization.” Some days, the Royal Guard, Maria Church, and Adventurers’ Guild joined the table.

“No formal request that Lagias cooperate…?”

Aktor of House Asteira—the crown’s intelligence arm—received the brief with the rest.

“They fear emboldening him. I get it—but it’s a little late for that.”

House Lagias was loathed like a plague—at home and abroad. Washing that name clean wouldn’t be easy.

(Once, they were the crown’s sworn ally. If ‘arrogance’ is the worry, that was seeded by the kings then…)

Tasked with a role and still carrying it out—almost no one understood the truth anymore. Even the current head, Fool, was suspect.

“Are we sure? As a fighting asset, he’s unmatched.”

“Don’t try to ‘use’ that. Letting it move freely is wiser.”

(A calamity. Anyone who forgets that and gets close… disappears.)

Aktor knew it first-hand. A creature like that, a titled noble? The thought chilled him.

“Keep watching House Lagias as before. As for Zeke Lagias… leave him be for now.”

(I need a counter—he could become a threat to the realm itself.)

The script he’d written for the future was unraveling.

An abandoned village outside the capital—once a poor hamlet, emptied by a resettlement plan. A cluster of men holed up among the ruins.

“Why the hell are we in a dump like this?”

“…Figure it out. The guild picked Lagias—didn’t pick us.”

They were former capital adventurers, licenses revoked; with nowhere to go, they’d fled here.

“So we’re bandits now…”

“Or go back and start from scratch in the sticks.”

They weren’t criminals—on paper they could live in the capital. But they couldn’t bear the looks—from citizens, from knights and mages, even from former colleagues.

“I’m not going back. They’d use us as scapegoats.”

Many had called the guild’s punishments too lenient. If policy shifted, “license revoked” might turn into charges.

“Zeke Lagias. I’ll never forgive him.”

“…On that, we agree.”

“Jump him as a pack? No—there’s got to be—”

Different motives, same rancor. Which is why they were easy to use.

“Fufu… poor things. I’ll give you… value.”

Eyes gleamed in the dark. The men drowned in that gaze; none of them woke again.

“About that plan, Zeke?”

“Approved. Everyone, be ready.”

“Understood. …I’m surprised they permitted it.”

“It was only a matter of time. Start looking for your next job.”

The Lagias hellion began to move—quietly.