Chapter 221
Chapter 221
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 221
Chapter Title: The Blind Knight and the Enigmatic Mage, and the Mimics -7
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Sisel Yurensuto happened to run into the elderly Alonso.
The old man still stood straight-backed, his eyes gleaming with sharp intensity. The childlike innocence in his gaze made him look at least twenty years younger.
"......"
"It's the knight, milady."
This old man was the opponent Sisel had faced in the tournament, the one who had declared surrender and stepped down because he didn't like her answer.
Sisel shrank back a little.
She still didn't know why Alonso had surrendered. But she remembered his disappointed, dejected eyes all too well, and it made her feel a bit intimidated.
The old man gazed at her with his wrinkled, sunken eyes, and with the wisdom of his advanced years, he vaguely sensed the changes in the knight.
"Your eyes look different. Something good happen?"
"......Yes, I suppose."
"Even when discerning good fortune, you have to tack on an 'I suppose'?"
"It's mixed up with some bad stuff, so it's complicated."
Singing with Karen had been a good thing, but that outfit... it felt like the bad part. She never imagined her utterly unremarkable figure would draw so many stares.
As Sisel recalled last night's performance, a parade of emotions washed over her—embarrassment, joy, longing. And with them came a strange surge of courage. Courage to face disappointment. She asked the old man the question that had been nagging at her.
"......Sir, you once told me I was 'an opponent already defeated.' What did you mean by that?"
"Let me ask first. What do you think a tournament duel is?"
"A task. Homework that must be completed."
"Then the opponent before you was just an obstacle, I suppose."
Old man Alonso shook his head. A denial.
"The moment you view a sacred duel as mere homework, there's no honor or glory there. Not even respect."
Why else is combat called the iron dialogue?
Everyone in the tournament has their own aspirations. They've shed blood and sweat to hone themselves, undertaking the grand challenge of hero selection with that much resolve.
Even the mercenary Kargan, broken in a single exchange, must have stood there with tireless effort sharpening his skills and his own desperate wish.
If you show no respect and just shatter that... what could be more fleeting? Old man Alonso said it plainly.
"How can one be a knight without chivalry?"
"......"
"In your next match, pay attention to your opponent. You'll gain much from it. Perhaps... you'll even start seeing it not as a task, but as play. You'll hear my answer then."
The old man said that much and gave Sisel Yurensuto one last look.
In the bustling street where countless people passed by, the knight stood frozen.
She thought of those close to her and their wishes. Karen aimed to climb as high as possible in the rounds to promote the theater troupe she planned to found.
Sisel could feel how fervent that dream was, skin-deep. Wandering the streets singing, practicing, honing herself all the while. She knew the color of that dream's glow.
But if some powerful, indifferent knight struck her down without even giving her a chance to speak... especially if that knight had no particular reason to win.
If all that desperate effort was dismissed by someone.
This won't make you a fine knight worthy of Yurensuto. Anyone can do this—you need to try harder.
That would be... so heartbreaking.
Sisel felt utterly heartbroken.
"V-sign! V-sign! Look this way!"
"Bunny Princess, take me!! Kyaaah!!"
"Ah, ahaha...... V, V......"
She forced a tearful smile and awkwardly raised her fingers in a peace sign.
That alone sent the audience into hysterics. Her face burned like it might explode. Good thing she had the mask, or it would've been a disaster. How did it come to this?
Four days of performing in bunny girl attire and a rabbit mask to hide her identity. Sisel had soaked up Karen's singing techniques like a sponge and could now handle even difficult songs.
She'd crack on high notes sometimes, but Karen always reassured her it was fine. Up to that point, everything was great. Singing was fun, and encore requests left her buzzing all day.
But this popularity... it was too much.
"Sisel, we're, like, way too popular now......?!"
"Wh-what do we do......"
Yeah. Too popular, and that was the problem.
Was it the backlash from the mad mage's intensely personal taste in choosing bunny girl outfits? Or was Sisel's captivating stage presence even stronger than expected?
The once-obscure masked shows now drew near-capacity crowds.
Fame had spread. A graceful woman called the Bunny Princess at Trumpet Hall sings like a dream, and the eye candy is exquisite!
Pingbalrez, drawn by the rumors, had even locked eyes with her.
It wasn't the fame Sisel wanted. Nor what the mimics desired.
Karen and Sisel escaped the mobbed stage and huddled in the cramped, quiet waiting room for a private chat.
"......But the bunny girl effect is killer, right? All these people saw us, and no one caught on?!"
"Who in the world would think the vice-captain of a knight order would dress like this and sing......?!"
"Ow, owow."
Sisel puffed her cheeks a bit and glared at Karen, then pressed down firmly on the giggling girl's head. Karen could be so annoying sometimes.
Karen stuck out her tongue and said,
"But...... it's fun, right?"
"......"
"Once the tournament's over, you'll go back to your duties...... but if you get leave or some free time, come visit! By then, I'll have a proper troupe set up!"
But time...
"......Yes. I definitely will."
The answer slipped out before her mind could catch up. And then, belatedly... Sisel realized the switch of death lay quietly in her grasp.
If she didn't use it, "Sisel" wouldn't die.
But if she didn't, Sisel Yurensuto would.
Sisel hesitated in silence for a long while, fiddling with her rabbit headband before speaking to Karen.
"Um, Karen."
"Yeah?"
"......I have something weighing on me. If you have time, could you listen to my story—"
The mimic inside Karen inwardly cheered. Breakthrough. The intricate favor-building had worked—Mima had opened up to Karen.
Zzt.
"Ah."
At that moment, Karen jolted. A sharp shudder, like a lock clicking.
"......Karen?"
I hurriedly manipulated Karen to cover.
"No, it's nothing! Just a chill down my spine—don't worry!"
"This outfit does expose the back too much. This bunny girl getup......"
"That's what makes it cute!"
Sisel grumbled through her expression, but I knew deep down she liked the bunny girl look. I'd seen her fuss over her outfit in the mirror.
I considered coaxing her into something even more revealing, but that would probably earn me triple the pain from a Yuna punch, so I held back.
"Hey, something urgent came up...... Sorry, Sisel! Can the story wait?"
"Ah, yes. It's fine......"
It couldn't be fine. She'd mustered courage to ask for advice. I desperately wanted to hear it. Such a golden opportunity!
"See you tomorrow! Really sorry, Sisel—once it's sorted, I'll hear everything!"
"......"
But something more pressing had arisen. I slipped away, switching from Karen to another clone.
Moments ago, I'd detected an anomaly.
Call it an alibi setup. In case Sisel spotted me outside or grew suspicious of the stage itself.
I deployed NPCs as physical holograms along public paths where eyes could see. Right now, the awl-nosed old man wandered alleys, and the sword-dancer Kai posed coolly in a tavern, sipping hard liquor.
If Sisel neared, I'd swap places.
With the Hero tournament groups now at the round of 32, twenty-three NPCs remained undeployed.
Not all were still competing.
Some lingered in the city after elimination, nursing regrets; others triggered side events like street troubles. Quite a few were held back for that.
And just now.
"......"
Connection severed with one. Very physically.
Accident? I'd rigged them to send warning signals if trouble brewed. No logs of contact. That meant... dismantled in seconds.
To confirm, I needed the black box recovered. I pulled up my hood and headed to the last connection point.
People have weaknesses where they hide their vulnerabilities. Everyone does. Even my father. They want to shield and fortify those soft spots.
Even if no one knows, even if left alone it'd go untouched— the mere fear of exposure leads to layering on armor, over and over.
The Mad Mage must be the same. He has a weakness somewhere, and he's poured effort into concealing it.
But does that trouble me?
No. It's great for the first mover. It shows exactly where to strike.
Holy city Trumpet Hall teems with visitors for the tournament, more streaming in steadily. Mixed in are the shady and the downright vile.
But now I see ghosts among them too.
The man passing below me now is Abel. Claims he's from the distant south, but he's not. Might not even exist.
No one knows his history. He popped into Trumpet Hall out of nowhere.
Maybe he lived in some deep, secluded village, unknown to all? Easy to dismiss it that way, but...
There are other red flags.
He doesn't digest food.
Sure, he eats and drinks. But in some dark corner out of sight, he pukes it all up undigested. Like it was bottled and pulled out fresh.
More shocking: there are others like Abel. No past before entering Trumpet Hall. No digestion.
I tried grabbing one for interrogation. Stuck right up behind, dagger between the ribs.
"—."
"Uh......?"
But the feel was off. Twisting and stirring the dagger—no screams. Even splitting the heart into three yielded nothing. Only after dismantling him piece by piece did I finally get it.
"Illusion Magic, huh."
Father's friend said the lost branch of the illusion school, erased by the current Magic Tower Master, summoned beings from illusions into reality.
Maybe that's how... he calls mimics wearing human skins. Can't say for sure.
Intent's unclear. But deploying these through the city? Tough work. The investment matters.
Doesn't matter the goal—overthrowing the city, rigging the tournament, crowning a puppet hero.
Ignore that. Just do the opposite. Keep hitting what he'll hate. Chip away. He'll scramble to fix it, and repeating wears him down till a gap shows.
Kill all the "fake humans."
Kill them publicly, flaunt the deaths so everyone knows. Make their identities unusable.
Gathering crowds and murmurs of unrest.
I knew then some massive trouble had erupted. The circle of citizens pointed right to where the NPC connection cut out.
I parted the crowd with Illusion Magic and reached the center. And there...
"......Fuck."
The NPC lay hacked to pieces, bleeding out dead.
Impossible. Hologram magic constructs can take some physical force, but they're empty shells of mana.
They don't bleed real blood; chunks dissolve into mana.
So what was this? I cast perception-lowering magic, crouched, and touched the flowing blood and flesh. Real. Existing. No illusion.
Unbelievable coincidence? No way.
Fortunately, the black box was nearby. I absorbed the data, reconstructing in my mind. NPC walks the alley. Suddenly stabbed from behind by someone approaching, shatters.
Shattered hologram scatters as mana shards. Hooded assailant hesitates briefly, leaves—then returns.
Dragging someone identical to the NPC and kills him.
Not a lookalike. Identical.
Don't know how. But I get the intent. Socially kill my holograms. Public death means I can't reuse that identity.
......
Mid-scenario, before the round of 16...... in holy city Trumpet Hall, serial killings targeting tournament participants began.