Misunderstanding (1)

The dungeon raid and the purge of the heretics had ended in success.

Arthur finished off every last chimera that remained. There was no need to craft any additional golems. When a trap appeared, he smashed it with raw power. When an enemy appeared, he smashed it with raw power. When a puzzle appeared, he smashed it with raw power.

So this is what they mean when they say a strong body keeps the brain from having to suffer?

He was still marvelling at the thought when the raid simply… ended.

Phew. I get to live.

The moon hung high overhead. The crisp air of early dawn filled his lungs. They had finished earlier than expected — though subjectively it had felt like a full day had passed. If it actually had, he would have collapsed from exhaustion by now.

"Number Four. Keep those documents safe. Don't lose them."

Number Four bobbed its head and cradled the papers with care.

A handful of documents containing alchemical information and research notes. Not a massive haul. Most of it concerned human experimentation — pages so grotesque he could barely look at them. He burned the majority. What he kept was only the foundational knowledge on alchemy and chimeras. That much was tolerable. There were even a few surprisingly advanced alchemical texts, as if someone had attempted human transmutation. Arthur had given him some rather peculiar looks while he was burning the rest, but that was neither here nor there.

The real jackpot is the two usable artifacts I picked up.

Two rings sat on his index and middle fingers — the most valuable finds of the entire raid.

The first ring. A band with a bluish sheen, inscribed with a formula that could store magic. It could hold up to three spells of his choosing, usable three times a day. The downside? Evan had to supply the mana himself. Most artifacts of this type stored mana as well, but this one was peculiar. Without mana, it simply wouldn't work. Disappointing, but not fatal — because its other advantage more than made up for it.

It can hold magic up to the Fourth Order.

Magic was broadly divided into nine ranks, from the lowest First Order to the highest Ninth. From the Fifth Order onward — the exact midpoint — spells were classified as Unique Magic. So as long as it wasn't Unique Magic, this ring could store anything. Items like this had been surprisingly hard to come by even in the original game.

I got lucky. What spells should I load into it… Spatial Storage would be the most efficient, wouldn't it?

Spatial Storage. In simple terms, an inventory. Roughly Third Order in classification — but it required learning spatial magic to use, which made it Unique Magic by category.

Tch. The Spacetime Magic Tower is so isolationist… better not get my hopes up.

Inscribing a spell was simple enough. Just wear the ring and cast. Magic scrolls counted, too.

If I get the chance, I should learn some magic myself.

Evan's golems weren't omnipotent. Just as he himself lacked talent in certain areas, each of them had its own shortcomings. Number Two could only reside in shadows and had limited time outside them. Number Three was pure brute force with no capacity for fine control. And the shared weakness across all of them: the complete absence of magic — a direct result of Evan knowing nothing about the subject.

Fortunately, alchemy didn't require creating an Aura Hole or a Mana Hole. As long as he had mana to use during transmutation, that was enough. In theory, he could learn as much as he wanted. Moving around was a pain, so he'd skip the Aura Hole and plan on creating a Mana Hole instead. Stay in the back line and just fire off spells. The safest approach possible.

And then — the second reward.

This is the one I like best.

Evan stroked the ring on his middle finger with satisfaction. It was painted a garish crimson, so the design was a little tacky. But the effect was beyond excellent. By consuming blood stored within the ring, it restored the wearer's stamina and cleared status ailments. In short: a health ring. An essential artifact for someone as frail as Evan.

"Hmm."

Just as Evan was smiling in contentment, Arthur spoke.

"This is as far as we go."

Arthur hadn't walked away with much of anything tangible. Yet satisfaction was written all over his face — thanks to the potion Evan had given him. A potion that partially eased that interminable curse. For Arthur, it was probably the reward he needed most right now.

"I enjoyed myself today."

"I enjoyed myself as well. I hope you came away with something worthwhile."

"I gained a great deal."

Arthur offered a courteous bow.

"All of it thanks to you."

"It was thanks to your own efforts, Arthur."

Honestly, Evan wanted to just agree — but that would have looked far too shameless. So he offered a measured denial and delivered his parting words.

"Please write to me once you've returned."

"…"

Arthur's face went rigid for a split second. Evan glanced at him sideways.

…Does he hate writing letters? I just meant we should keep in touch.

"…I shall write regularly. And I will deliver Bishop Blake without losing him along the way."

"Understood."

"I will not cross you, so you need not worry."

"???"

What is that supposed to mean?

Evan shot him a baffled look, but Arthur vanished in an instant. Disgustingly fast.

"Lapis, Frey. Let's head back."

"Okay. Got it."

"Yes! Evan! We're going to the ballroom, right?"

"…That's correct."

Now that it was time to actually return, he wasn't particularly keen on the idea. It didn't show on his face, of course.

Hmm. My stomach feels a little off, too.

…Ah.

What if I just don't go?

Not a chance.

Evan quietly made his way back to the ballroom.

"Young Master! Where have you been?!"

"I had a brief errand. How is the ball?"

"It's almost over — they've moved into the after-party stage!"

Balls have after-parties?

Fortunately, the ball was already winding down toward its final stretch.

"Bwahahaha! You really are ugly, you know that?!"

"Hahaha! Look who's talking! No wonder a commoner dumped you!"

"What was that, you bastard?"

The atmosphere was even livelier than when Evan had been present. Young nobles drinking and cackling. A few of them were even staggering — as if they'd taken something stronger than wine.

Ugh. That smell.

For a moment he'd almost been envious. Then the nauseating chemical reek hit him, and he promptly retracted the thought.

Good thing I skipped out after all.

Surely this counted as a legitimate excuse? The Duke wouldn't want him associating with young nobles in this kind of compromised ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠state. The moniker attached to Duke Alcarte was, after all, the Drug King. That said, he never actually encouraged his own children to use drugs. Why the title? Because he was a power broker in the underworld — and even that epithet had been pinned on him by the Imperial Family as a way to keep him in check. A deliberate attempt to diminish his stature. Without it, he would have been called something like the King of the Underworld.

"Young Master!"

That was when Dolf, who had been resting among the other servants, spotted Evan and came sprinting over.

"Where on earth did you go?!"

"I went for a short walk."

"A walk? But then why is your clothing…?"

"…Ah."

Only then did Evan check his own appearance. The robe draped over his fine formalwear was caked in dirt and dust. He hadn't even noticed.

"…I was playing with a snake for a bit."

"A snake?!"

"It was a gentle snake. No venom, either. Isn't that right?"

"That's right! It was a super gentle snake!"

Lapis chimed in from the side. Only then did Dolf's face relax into relief. Pure, unadulterated concern — so earnest it was almost burdensome. All the more so because there wasn't a shred of malice in it.

If he finds out I fought heretics, he's going to lecture me endlessly, isn't he?

Fortunately, they had buried the bodies thoroughly. Even if a necromancer came looking, they'd never find them. The corpses had long since been Disassembled into food for microorganisms.

"Ah! Young Master! Did you happen to see that wall that appeared in the east and then vanished?"

"…I know nothing about that. Perhaps someone was practicing illusion magic?"

"That must be it! Some of the other young masters were practicing magic earlier and a few people got hurt…"

Phew. Dodged that one.

Dolf's suspicions washed away as if they'd never existed. His loyalty was high enough that a plausible explanation was all it took. Dolf himself, however, was not the problem.

The other servants who had been with him. They had begun casting suspicious glances Evan's way.

"Isn't that a little strange?"

"I heard Lady Belia suddenly went quiet, too…"

"Don't tell me he couldn't wait that long…?"

Whispers drifted over as they looked at Evan. What exactly were they suspecting? He couldn't even begin to guess. Being on the receiving end of bizarre misunderstandings was nothing new at this point.

More importantly — where did Belia go?

Belia. The second daughter of the Golden Merchant Guild, who by all rights should have died. He had saved her life from the heretics, just as she'd wanted. He was supposed to receive a reward for that. Had she seriously pulled a dine-and-dash?

Tch. Looking at the state of these people, though… probably not.

Well, he'd have to send her a letter separately later. Given that she was nowhere to be seen in the ballroom, she must have left early.

He was casually scanning the room when Frey whispered, her voice low enough that only Evan could hear.

"Evan."

"Those servants. They're tearing you down with the most ridiculous nonsense…"

Her two blue eyes gleamed coldly.

"Shall I take care of all of them?"

There was not a single ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠emotion in her voice. She spoke as if she were simply offering to kick a bothersome pebble out of his path — as if it were truly nothing at all. For a split second, Evan almost nodded. He hurriedly tensed his neck and held it still.

"I'll do it for you. Anytime you want."

"…That won't be necessary."

"Really? All right."

Frey withdrew without protest. Something about her had changed. She had genuinely become more obedient than before. That subtle rebellious edge — the kind a child hits in adolescence — had vanished, replaced by a gaze that looked at Evan the way Lapis did. And yet… there was a feeling to it. As if she had become a time bomb that could go off at any moment. The fact that she was so well-behaved right up until the explosion was the scariest part of all.

Eh, it'll be fine, right? I even gave her a name. What's she going to do?

Still, she was a little scary. Just a little.

Evan took a discreet step back and spoke.

"It seems the ball is wrapping up. Let us head home."

"Yeees! Today was so much fun!"

"Dolf! I'll never forget this!"

"You did great today!"

Dolf returned amid cheers from the other servants. What on earth had he been doing? He scratched his head with a bashful grin.

"It was nothing much… I was just singing your praises, Young Master!"

So that's what he was up to.

Whatever he'd said, it probably wasn't anything bad.

"Dolf. Before we leave, first draft a letter to Lady Belia…"

That was when it happened.

"Good evening, Young Master Evan Alcarte."

A woman's voice from beside him. He turned his head slightly, and there she stood — a woman he had been deliberately ignoring, dressed in a lavish gown. A natural, confident smile played on her lips. Striking red hair like roses, red eyes, and an imperious beauty. She approached with a pretty, smiling gaze, trailing a faint scent of roses.

"Did you enjoy the ball?"

"…I enjoyed it thoroughly."

"Oh my. Coming from someone who spent most of the evening out on the balcony."

Words laced with thorns. Malice that even her pretty smiling eyes couldn't hide.

Ah. I was deliberately pretending not to know who she was.

Evan knew exactly who this woman was. One of the Act Two bosses. The young lady of House Fraus, a family that dreamed of becoming the second House Alcarte. The notorious villainess, Asella Fraus. For reasons entirely opposite to those of his allies, she was someone he absolutely did not want to meet.

Why? One look was enough. Asella was a villainess — one who coveted power and wealth, and didn't care who died in the process. What mattered to her was the honor and fortune in her own hands. For Evan, whose top priority was safety, she was the last person he should ever approach.

"I never imagined you were acquainted with Belia."

"I met her for the first time today."

"Hmm… So the man who intimidated so many noble heirs only just met Belia today and struck up a conversation?"

Lady Asella, what exactly do you want me to say?

The question rose all the way to the back of his throat. Honestly — if she weren't a villainess, he'd have shoved right back. Evan might have been a coward, but even his pride had limits. Being openly provoked? Of course it made him angry. He simply chose his opponents carefully. It wasn't that he was scared.

Ah. Come to think of it.

For her to say those things, a certain precondition was required: that Evan knew her name. She knew who Evan was, but Evan had no idea who she was. Naturally — this was the first time he'd seen her today.

Hmm. I should start with introductions, right?

"Before I answer those questions…"

"?"

"May I ask your name?"

"…"

Asella's mouth snapped shut. Her eyes burned like open flames.

Yeah, that's a little terrifying.

"If you have nothing further to discuss, I'll be taking my leave."

Evan made his decision. Flee — no, a prompt exit.

"Let's go."

"Yes!"

"Okay."

"Yes, Young Master! I'll go ahead and prepare the carriage!"

Evan departed without a backward glance. He could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still feel her gaze on him.

…Oof. My back is on fire.

In the space Evan had left behind, Asella remained alone, a laugh escaping her lips.

"Heh… heheh…"

A laugh bristling with thorns, like a rose. Asella brushed her cheek with her fingers.

"To think I'd be dismissed so thoroughly."

Evan Alcarte. Asella despised him. Because he was receiving all the attention that should have been hers. He didn't even actively socialize the way she did. He simply stood still — or stepped out for a brief stroll — and his notoriety piled up on its own. Just now, merely conversing with Belia on the balcony had been enough to make him the talk of the evening.

Thanks to him, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the "party" I prepared for tonight is completely ruined.

Asella's goal had been to reel in those soft, well-fed young nobles. Expanding her influence in high society that way would have been more than useful. Pleasure — the kind ordinary indulgences could never provide — was what she had intended to gift them. Naturally, she had excluded all the important figures and prepared her alibis. They would all have participated of their own free will; Asella was merely the supplier, not the ringleader. That was how she planned to quietly siphon influence from the underworld, bit by bit…

And he ruins my entire plan just by showing up for a moment?

She didn't like it. Not the baseless rumors, and not the way a single face earned him that kind of evaluation. He was handsome and a little cold-looking — so what made him so special? It had to be a string of coincidences, lies, and fabrications. There was no way any of it was real. Youngest alchemist in a year? Challenging a Taboo? Absolute nonsense.

She had tried to force him to admit it with his own mouth — and failed. She had even been openly ignored.

"…If this is how you want to play it."

Asella smiled.

"Then I have no choice but to personally prove, with my own hands, that every last one of your rumors is false."

The groundwork for spreading the rumors was already complete. All that remained was execution. Asella crooked a finger, and servants scrambled over to set out wine and a table. Seated alone, she drew a letter from her bodice.

The Spacetime Magic Tower. A tower that taught and passed down spatial magic. Isolationist, but second to none in skill. If anyone could uncover the truth, it would be them — that Evan Alcarte's prestige and notoriety were both fabrications.

Heheh. I do look forward to seeing the look on his face when that happens.

Asella smiled sweetly. As if toasting herself, she raised a glass of faintly red wine. She had not the slightest doubt that every scrap of the "false notoriety" he had built would soon come crumbling down.