Late into the night, the slash-and-burn village, with bright torches burning here and there, seemed as if a festival was underway. That is, if one ignored the fact that the men holding those torches were fierce-looking bandits.

“The search is underway in divided teams, but the traces of those bastards are unclear. Judging by the rough direction of their movements, it seems they’re headed towards the northern Carthago checkpoint, but we can’t be certain.”

“From the beginning, they veered off the path early on, making tracking difficult…”

Listening to the report with a frigid face, Jerome spat out his words as if chewing on them.

“Are you saying it makes sense that after deploying all the search teams, you haven’t encountered a single one of them so far?”

“One search team was attacked by them, Boss. But since it was shortly after those bastards fled, they must have already gotten far from there.”

“There’s also one search team member who’s missing. Perhaps he was also ambushed…”

“It’s too dark now to find any traces. Even if we want to send in trackers, we’ll have to wait until sunrise tomorrow.”

Rodrigo, standing beside Jerome, glanced at a corner of the hut while half-listening to the report.

There, Kaien, looking more subdued than usual, was sitting and clutching his head. To anyone’s eyes, he looked like a young son dejected by his mother’s death.

However, Rodrigo, who had known him quite well, was aware that Kaien wasn’t the type to be bothered by such things one by one. For some reason, the boy’s condition seemed abnormal at the moment.

And his guess was accurate. Ever since Martha died at the base of the cliff earlier, Kaien had been suffering from an excruciating headache. That suspicious devil-worshipping bastard had done something to the boy.

‘My head hurts…’

Kaien bit his lip.

He had simply tried to finish devouring Martha’s soul, which he had been nibbling on for a long time, before she died completely. The souls of the truly dead had no taste, after all.

[Aaaaah Kaieeeeen-]

[Why me! Why me! Why me!]

[Aslan Aslan Aslan Aslan…]

Bizarre wailing could be heard from beyond the mountains. Sounds that only Kaien could hear in this place.

Usually, he found the cries of those fools amusing, but now they were only intensifying his headache.

The fragments of souls he had scattered throughout the mountain were precious things that had died before he could finish devouring them. He had resolved not to waste them like that again, but an unexpected fellow had interfered.

‘What was he?’

When he first saw him, he certainly thought he was an ordinary fellow, but for a moment, his soul, which had vaguely revealed itself before Kaien’s eyes, was enveloped in an extraordinary light. Kaien had never seen such a dazzlingly overwhelming light before.

And from the moment he revealed himself, Kaien had been plagued by a peculiar tinnitus and severe headache. Just attempting to interfere with someone else’s soul made him nauseous.

Rodrigo, one of the souls Kaien had been diligently nibbling on recently, approached the boy, who was groaning and sweating profusely.

His weakened soul had already become nothing more than a puppet directly carrying out Kaien’s orders. Unlike the sensitive Martha, Rodrigo was simply too stupid and dull to recognize that discomfort himself.

“…Go to the Carthago checkpoint, Rodrigo.”

Kaien commanded without even looking at Rodrigo’s face.

No matter which path they took to escape, those bastards would eventually have to pass through the Carthago checkpoint. With an old man groaning from alcohol addiction accompanying them, they wouldn’t be able to hide in the mountains for long.

“Kill those bastards.”

Seeing a strange madness flowing in the boy’s dark eyes, Rodrigo unknowingly trembled. It was a fear deeply engraved in his soul without his knowledge.

“Kill them all, Rodrigo.”

***

Aslan woke up in the early dawn.

It was because he heard a sound like a hushed conversation next to him.

“…I see, you’ve arrived. You must have had a hard time keeping to the schedule. Inform Enrique of the rendezvous point as well.”

“So, how is Morres doing?”

“That seems to have been a bit hasty. Was there a need to rush like that?”

What? What are they talking about?

“I’m referring to the one underground. Seeing how he tried to use it as soon as I was absent, it must not have been an important piece to him.”

“…No, I didn’t avoid it on purpose…”

“…I’m sorry. I absolutely did not run away because I didn’t want to play chess.”

Ah, this was Bart’s voice. But he’s not having a conversation, he’s talking to himself.

“Yes, let’s do that. For the time being, chess will be twice a week…”

“…So it’s not that I dislike it…”

I don’t know what it is, but it really seems like he dislikes it? His voice is getting quieter and quieter.

Aslan called out to him in a daze as he opened his eyes.

“…Bart?”

He could see him sitting against the entrance of the cave. He was definitely alone, so who was he talking to?

But something strange caught his eye through his still-hazy vision from sleep. There were two blurry, smoke-like figures flickering in front of Bart.

Ghosts? Faint pink and pale blue shadows…

Aslan blinked, and suddenly those strange shadows were gone. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but there was only Bart alone at the cave entrance.

Was he seeing things because he was tired?

However, there was something that captured Aslan’s gaze more than the ghosts he saw half-asleep—Bart’s face. As he silently observed him, Bart’s face somehow felt strangely unfamiliar.

Aslan asked doubtfully.

“Um, Bart. Was your hair always that color? It seems a bit darker…”

His hair, which he thought was a deep brown, definitely looked darker than yesterday even under the faint morning sunlight.

His face also seemed to have changed slightly. Previously, his features were neatly handsome, but there was a sense that his impression was a bit hazy. Now, his impression seemed more defined, and somehow more good-looking? Huh?

The only thing that remained unchanged was his silver-gray eyes, which occasionally gleamed with a strange luster.

At Aslan’s words, Bart tugged at his hair and examined it this way and that, then nodded.

“Well, I’ve been here for quite some time. The synchronization rate must be gradually increasing.”

Synchronization rate? What does that mean?

As he stared at him blankly, old man Max, who had been tossing and turning behind them, opened his eyes and yawned.

“Ugh, camping out at this age. But somehow, my back that used to hurt every morning is fine, and it’s bearable.”

He didn’t seem to notice anything particularly unusual about Bart. Perhaps because the changes were so subtle?

As Aslan tilted his head alone, Bart stood up, dusted off his robe, and said.

“From now on, it’s a race against time. They will eventually chase us to the Carthago checkpoint, so now we will aim to reach the checkpoint as quickly as possible without worrying about leaving traces.”

So he had been mindful of traces until now. Aslan thought they had just been running away recklessly to avoid pursuit.

As Aslan gaped dumbly, Bart slightly raised the corner of his mouth.

“If they try to track us properly, they’ll probably wander a bit.”

Well then, shall we depart?

Soon, a waterfall of sacred power poured over the two men’s heads, signaling the forced march ahead.

Surprisingly, by noon, they managed to reach a well-maintained thoroughfare. In just a single day, they had traversed the rugged peaks of the western mountain range with an elderly man in tow. Of course, it was the end of a hellish march, chewing on dried rations while walking and constantly being drenched in sacred power.

Although their bodies were continuously restored and fine, it was still tiring, so it was a schedule that severely drained their mental strength.

Now, if they just followed the thoroughfare straight down, they would reach the Carthago checkpoint in a few hours. A glimmer of relief flashed across Aslan and old man Max’s faces.

“It’s too early to relax. If they rode horses along the maintained thoroughfare since yesterday, they might catch up to us at the last moment.”

Bart, who said that, also looked pale.

Aslan gazed at him with a slightly worried face. The body that still couldn’t activate aura was as unreliable as ever, and the cloth under the shackles he had been swinging around since yesterday was already soaked in blood here and there. Of course, if the cloth was unwrapped, the actual arm would be fine.

Above all, was it really okay to pour out sacred power like that?

Bart staggered to the side of the road and plopped down on a large rock, saying.

“Although time is a bit tight, we have to wait for our contact here.”

“Contact?”

“We can’t secretly sneak out through the checkpoint, can we?”

Ah. Aslan and old man Max’s expressions turned solemn.

It was a fact they had tried hard to ignore until now. Even if they safely reached Carthago, how would they, with unverified identities, pass through the checkpoint?

Fortunately, it seemed Bart had some sort of solution. He muttered to the air in a nonchalant tone.

“This fellow better not be too late…”

At the same time as those words, someone suddenly descended in front of them. It was a mystery how he appeared without a sound on the wide-open thoroughfare.

He was a man dressed in pitch-black clothes from top to bottom, and apart from the long scar running from the corner of his mouth to his chin, he had a gentle impression that made him look like a scholar.

The man glanced at Aslan and old man Max, who stumbled back in surprise, then approached Bart and knelt on one knee.

“Your Majesty.”

It seemed he was an old acquaintance of Bart’s.

Your Majesty? Aslan froze at the unexpected form of address, but Bart showed a faint smile.

“My senses have become so dull that I didn’t even notice you coming, Enrique.”

“It’s Twenty-one, Your Majesty.”

“…”

As the man curtly replied, Bart, sensing something was off, closed his mouth.

As expected, the man immediately poured out complaints in a stiff tone.

“What in the world happened? You ordered me to investigate the caravan and the slash-and-burn village, then the next night, I heard the shocking news that you had suddenly appeared at the Asein branch. Didn’t I always quietly wait and gather information for you as before? What was so urgent this time?”

“About that, I’m sorry, Enrique. Strangely, I had a bad feeling about this case…”

“It’s Twenty-one, Your Majesty. Thanks to you, the guild’s capital central branch is in chaos right now! Leaving a pile of complicated and difficult instructions, then disappearing like that—what are the people working under you supposed to do?”

“That…”

“Is that all? What’s with the sudden notification to rendezvous far away across the border? Even the fastest courier on the continent can’t move like that! I’ve barely slept and rode horses from Delcrois to here for the past four days, so how much have I…”

The man trailed off. Despite his blunt and plain tone, strangely, the anger boiling over and not fully contained within was vividly conveyed. Aslan just blinked and observed the two men’s expressions.

It seemed Bart also sensed his intense resentment. Glancing at him furtively, he hesitantly extended his hand towards the man’s forehead. Soon, a bright light radiated from his hand, and the dark circles under the man’s eyes instantly disappeared.

However, what the man focused on was something else. He grabbed the shackles that approached his face and asked, alternately looking at the blood-soaked bandages and Bart’s face.

“What is this?”

“When I woke up in Asein, it was like this. At first, I wondered about it too, but it’s quite useful for hitting people in emergencies.”

The man’s expression turned strange.

“They couldn’t have put this on for you to use as a weapon, right?”

“…Hmm.”

Bart’s face visibly darkened.

“Tell the Asein branch chief that if he has any complaints, he should say it directly.”

“I’ll try, but I don’t know. This seems like a protest with a lot of grievances, so he’s telling you to come and hear it yourself, isn’t it?”

“…”

“Your Majesty, who else in this area can cut off the shackles with an aura blade without severing your arm while you can’t use aura?”

However, upon hearing those blunt words, Bart unexpectedly raised his head with a slightly brighter face.

“I had something in mind for that. I was hesitating to ask that young child because I felt sorry…”

At that, Twenty-one, Enrique’s gaze sharpened.

“I have a good idea of what you’re thinking. If we roughly cut off the shackles, the cut arm will reattach on its own, even if the arm falls off, it can be reattached. Is that what you’re trying to say? I’m sorry, but I don’t have the skill to cut through this lump of iron in one stroke either.”

“No, rather…”

“You’re not suggesting to just cut off your arm, are you? I won’t do it.”

“…”

Wow, with recovery power that transcends common sense, the scope of ideas is also extraordinary.

Aslan, who had been listening to their conversation from the side, unknowingly gulped and thought to himself.