Pursuit (2)
Calix's declaration that he would prove his prowess in the Knight Tournament.
But Russell showed no joy on his face.
On the contrary, he looked gravely serious.
He knew exactly what Orsel was thinking.
In the Lock Kingdom's system, where one's martial power directly translated to authority, those with exceptional talent inevitably drew envy and jealousy.
Count Collin's death already reeked of conspiracy, and there was no guarantee Calix wouldn't meet the same fate.
But bringing it up now would be awkward.
Many lower nobles present didn't know the full story.
Officially, Count Collin's death was an accident.
To question it required ironclad proof, or it could backfire.
Servio Viscount might use it as an excuse to claim honor defamation and declare war on the territory.
He commanded the nobles, who were on the verge of exploding with excitement.
"You are all dismissed."
"Pardon? Your Excellency the Regent, we..."
"Enough! By the authority of the lord regent, I issue a gag order. Do not breathe a word of today's events outside. Violators will face severe punishment."
Some nobles wore dissatisfied expressions, but the sharper ones caught Russell's unease.
"Come on, it's not just today. Let's head back. The regent must have his reasons."
"Ahem, understood."
Once the nobles had filed out, only two remained in the vast grand hall.
Only then did Russell stride forward and place his hand on the mana hole below Calix's navel.
A trickle of mana from his palm coursed through Calix's body, probing every corner.
Moments later, he withdrew his hand and asked,
"What in the world happened here?"
"Why the sudden fuss?"
"You're not pretending ignorance, are you? Reaching Class 4 already—how?"
Calix's thoughts naturally drifted to his time with Laila, and he averted his gaze.
"Truth is, I got a decent spirit herb while out with Krout. Ate it, and my mana surged faster than expected."
"You expect me to believe that you ingested a spirit herb raw, with no preparation or knowledge, absorbed it perfectly, and jumped to Class 4? That's pure fantasy."
"Ugh!"
"Don't hide it from me. I trust our shared goal hasn't shifted in priority."
Russell's eyes were cold and still.
It was a silent pressure: if Calix hindered his purpose, he'd turn the sword on him without hesitation.
"Fine, the truth. I exchanged mana with Laila."
"Exchanged mana...? You didn't—!"
"Calm down. It didn't go that far. Just a kiss."
"Ahem! Fine. I'll grant lucky absorption of the spirit herb. But you've overlaid a different mana breathing method on top of the Szczecin family's heirloom technique. Don't you know what happens when two clash?"
"Relax. I luckily stumbled on a superior one and absorbed it naturally. No need to worry."
Russell's eyes sharpened.
"How did you know? Your training isn't deep enough to discern that from content alone."
Damn... Can't exactly say the system window told me.
"Honestly, I knew after mastering it. The mana's nature shifted smoothly in my body, no conflict."
"Hmm...!"
He stared into Calix's eyes.
Then sighed.
"Watching you makes all the common sense I've held feel like garbage."
"It was a desperate choice to survive extremes. Lucked into an S-grade mana breathing method, trained it, hit Class 4. Nothing complicated."
"Understood. But you know the storm if word spreads—a boy your age at Class 4?"
Calix nodded slowly.
"It'll be chaos."
"Far graver than you think."
"No, I grasp the implications better than anyone. Don't worry."
"How can I not? You know what befell the late count. You've avoided the spotlight until now—why the Knight Tournament now? There are other ways to prove your strength."
"As you said, an uninitiated youth hitting Class 4 will stir massive waves. Draw eyes from enemies and allies alike. But tell me, Collin—Father—did he reveal his own Class 4 out of ignorance?"
He stared at Calix, eyes suddenly moist.
"Ugh! He said the same. Fame can be a sturdy shield sometimes. But he couldn't overcome in the end."
Calix placed a hand on Russell's shoulder warmly.
"Our foes got that edict betting I couldn't or wouldn't reach Class 4 soon. They'd dispatch investigators constantly, gnawing at the territory."
Russell fell silent.
He'd felt that most acutely while Orsel rampaged unchecked.
"This way, we'd wither slowly. Better to flip the board and rebuild from scratch."
"Hmm, not easy. This capital journey is their last shot at assassination without backlash. They'll go all out."
"Probably."
Calix nodded calmly.
Seeing that, Russell held his tongue. Trust had grown.
Faster growth than the prodigy Count Collin, who bore the kingdom's hopes—without family backing, solo.
He'd even survived inside an ancient worm.
Now, Calix's trials sparked quiet anticipation: how would he overcome, grow next?
"Tight timeline to reach the capital before the tournament. Depart in three days—prepare accordingly."
"Yes, Young Master."
"And... thanks. Without you, Russell, I couldn't roam this freely."
The unexpected warmth drew a deeper, kinder gaze from Russell.
"I'm old now. I'd only hinder your path. I'll set aside grudges and revenge, become your simple retainer."
Calix suddenly saw the old man's shoulders shrink.
"Don't, Sir Russell. I need not a retainer, but a grandfather to lean on."
"Young Master...!"
Calix wondered if this was the moment he truly saw Eren Continent folk as fellow humans.
"I'll handle the rear—you charge ahead. Endure trials, stand tall. Strike down any who block you without mercy."
"Haha, got it. Planning to give the attackers a harsh lesson anyway."
"Young Master."
"Yeah?"
"I firmly believed in your return, but prepared for delays. This might be useless now, but take it—just in case."
He offered a transparent crystal orb.
Calix asked curiously,
"What's this?"
"Check it alone, later. Oh, lock the door and disable voice playback first."
"What? Why the secrecy?"
But Russell said nothing.
As Calix tilted his head,
Bang! The grand hall doors flew open, a massive shadow hurtling toward him.
"Young Master! Ungh!"
"Gah!"
The over-190cm knight crashed into the much smaller Calix's arms. Too swift to dodge, Calix yielded his solar plexus.
"You bastard! C-can't... breathe!"
Calix shoved Krout off, rubbing his chest. Ribs throbbed.
Krout scanned wildly, spotted Laila entering behind, lunged for her collar.
"You wench!"
Whoosh!
Thud!
"Oh? Dodged?"
They traded hand and elbow strikes, mana unraised. Left longer, feet would fly.
Finally, Calix bellowed,
"Krout! The table's splintering. Sit down!"
They parted, glaring. Krout couldn't hide his shock amid it.
"What did you feed this feral cat? In one or two months... Gasp! You didn't give her the spirit herb I fetched, did you?"
Calix averted his eyes.
"Had to, to survive."
"Guh!"
Deflated, Krout slumped in a corner, radiating sulkiness.
Calix ignored it. He'd forget by tomorrow.
More pressing: Yurin clinging to his left arm like a leech.
"Why're you stuck to me like glue? Heavy. Get off."
"No!"
Calix couldn't fathom her sudden clinginess.
Shaking his head, he spotted awkward Gordon nearby.
"Must've been rough. Sorry for acting on my own."
"No, sir. Your safe return is all that matters."
"Come on, forget worries tonight—let's drink. You know? My coming-of-age today. Wine's out; distilled spirits now. Heh."
The return-and-rite party stretched late.
Still a minor and near-outsider, Yurin slipped away mid-party to her room.
Lying abed, she murmured to her attending maid,
"Marie, I wanna get strong too."
"Pardon? You said earning money beats training. Sudden wind change?"
"Dunno. The royal mana breathing and martial arts—teach me."
"The head maid would've wept joyfully... but."
Marie eyed Yurin suspiciously.
But piercing the poker face honed by child-merchants was tough.
"So? Won't teach?"
"Of course. Self-defense is vital for exiles like us. Women can't just rely on protection to survive. Wise choice, Princess."
Motives dubious, but Marie shelved it. The desire mattered more.
Yet Yurin seemed unsatisfied.
"Self-defense... How long to match Krout?"
Marie paused at Krout as goal. He was too fine for a rural post.
But no preemptive discouragement.
"Agrapartna's royal mana breathing and arts are top-tier anywhere. You're talented—don't fret."
"Yeah! I'll train hard."
"Contact the head maid in Poznyu?"
"Godmother? Nah, she's swamped. Ricky'll handle training anyway."
"Understood. I'll report minimally."
Marie resolved to probe the meeting's details.
Three days later.
Pre-departure, Russell asked worriedly,
"Sure? More troops..."
"No. This trip'll be rough. Unawakened are dead weight—better without. No porters either."
"Yes. Safe travels."
"Back soon."
Calix stored the group's gear in his inventory.
Maxed for hoarding merchants in Poznyu, space aplenty.
Bodies lightened, they mounted.
"Two paths to capital: over Kalstad Mountains or boat down Elrin River. Which?"
"Shift between. Conceal intent maximally."
Krout nodded.
"Got it. River means fixed ship schedules—might wait days at port."
"Fine. Foes won't strike openly. Don't sweat it."
"Good, but..."
Calix eyed Krout. Trip scarred him; safety obsession grew.
Krout was the expedition's youngest survivor when Count Collin vanished.
Recalled Russell's pre-departure tale, plea for understanding.
But looming trials left no slack.
Hope he pulls through.
The group rode for Kabala, land-road-river fork.
Execution leader Tabar pondered over a map.
"Where to?"
"Kabala-bound, seems."
"Kabala? Hiding route to the end..."
"Agreed."
"Headache. Can't deploy regulars against all Class 4+ elites—one even Class 6. Dark knights plentiful, but Sword Owner's tough. They prize their necks."
"Bribe Class 5s sky-high? Futile. None tank a Sword Owner head-on; they'll pass the buck, disaster."
Tabar and aide chorused,
"Dominator's the answer."
"Dominator."
Tabar chuckled, rubbing his gleaming pate.
"Problem: their path."
"Yes. Land or sea first, then pick Dominator. Ogre herder wasted if sea. Watch longer."
"Too late post-Kabala. Need prime ambush spot, timed right. Force a choice."
"Which?"
"Land monster en route vs. river beast at sea. Deadlier?"
"River. Ship shatters midstream—no escape."
Tabar nodded, finger on map.
"Right. Ambush here, herd them there."
"Spot it, veer opposite? Away from capital—miss tournament. Ingenious."
"Yes. To Nodesa, not Kabala."
"Sea-only there... I'll hire a Vidit handler."
"Heh, Vidit... Blood festival. Proceed!"
"Yes, boss!"
Riding leisurely, Calix scanned.
"Perfect ambush terrain."
Krout agreed, halting the group.
"Halt!"
Sure enough, figures emerged from flanking brush. Patchwork beast-hide garb, rusted, toothless motley weapons.
"Bandits?"
Krout looked incredulous at the sight.
No house banner for stealth, but they screamed untouchable.
Mounts alone: glossy, hefty warhorses, leagues from draft nags.
A group handling dozens? Army or knight order minimum. Bandit no-touch.
Frontmost Gordon bellowed confidently,
"Hmph! Bandits' prime virtue: judge foes. Your rotten eyes doom you to gripe from the grave. So..."
Sword drawn mid-sentence, he charged.
"Die!"