Unintended Encounter -4-

Ricardo's voice rang out once more. "Eyes closed?"

At his request for confirmation, Yuria's heart pounded fiercely. That soft voice. The quiet, gentle timbre brushing against her ear made her press her lips tightly together.

"Yuria? Have you closed your eyes?"

His voice checked again. He knew how curious she was, asking several times while she gave no reply. She simply couldn't speak. The realization that she would've died if she'd been even a moment later kept her lips sealed.

Thump. Thump. Her heart raced wildly. Was it the near-death threat, or seeing Ricardo again? She wasn't sure. But one thing was certain—her heart was going berserk.

Ricardo spoke again, his voice calm. She could sense the worry laced into it, and it shook her resolve.

"You have to close them. It's not a pretty sight."

The situation wasn't good. There were people I had to protect behind me. And a reckless firefly who only knew how to show off was right beside me. I couldn't focus fully on the fight.

As I blocked the heavy greatsword's downward swing, I glanced at Ruin fidgeting with his fingers.

Mumble mumble.

"Ruin."

"What."

I called out to him. Ruin was muttering beside me, preparing a large-scale spell. He was chanting a high-difficulty incantation, but his trembling hands made the deployment useless.

"If you don't wanna die, stop that half-assed spellcasting."

Calling it useless made Ruin bristle. "What?"

Facing an opponent of immeasurable power, he'd naturally be pissed at me nitpicking his usefulness. I got it. He wanted to look cool in front of the girl he liked. But right now, Ruin wasn't just weak—he was scared stiff. Petty desires had to wait. Or he'd really die.

The killing intent pouring from the man before us was overwhelming. His domineering pressure, the blood coating his greatsword, and that black aura. Just looking at it made my skin prickle. And this guy was a heretic, the kind the world called mad. Fanatics who believed "doubt means death," racking up countless casualties. Black priestly robes. Black scriptures. Seeing a heretic for the first time in rumors-only tales, Ruin couldn't control his emotions, making it hard to draw his true power.

Ruin, who had been chanting magic with a grave expression, watched me casually deflect the man's sword.

"Kuhuhu... Blocking this, are you? Young swordsman?"

"I'm a bit versatile."

"Puhaha...!"

Ruin thought if I could do it, so could he. I spoke gently to him, his eyes full of challenge.

"Listen to me, Ruin. You can't reattach Yuria's arm if it falls off."

Ruin wouldn't understand. He wasn't as strong as me.

"Shut up, Ricardo."

To him, my actions looked reckless. Who're you, some academy dropout, to boss me around? That's what he'd think. Even if he tried his best, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was just a fellow academy peer, after all.

Ruin didn't know me well. Not the rumors of me one-shotting Mikhail in an unofficial bout, nor how dangerous aura truly was. A mage like him couldn't imagine it. At best, he'd mistake me for Hanna or Mikhail's level.

"Don't show off. As if there's that much difference between us."

I told him, "Ah. Then do whatever."

Ruin completed his spell. The strongest one he could manage. 'Explosion.' A hot gust signaling its success tousled my hair, and he smirked.

"Watch closely. This isn't the old me..."

The moment red flames ignited in Ruin's hand—

Boom.

With a thunderous roar, the blood-soaked greatsword swung to sever Ruin's arm. I hadn't noticed Ruin in time. Not until the blade nearly touched him.

"See? Told you you'd die."

I kicked Ruin's gut with all my strength. Crack. He slammed into a tree and slumped, head drooping. The shock must've knocked him out. What a useless guy.

"Yuria, keep your eyes shut tight."

"It's about to get ugly."

Slash. A spray of red blood bloomed before Yuria's closed eyes.

Taking a break, and all sorts of crap happens. Is the whole world out to screw me over? Maybe the possessed protagonist hogging all the lucky breaks resented me, because incidents just wouldn't stop. Head throbbing, I'd snuck off to raid a dungeon without the hero, only to run into him on the way. Cleared the dungeon and came down, only to stumble on the heroine nearly dying to heretics. Even for an incident-magnet protagonist, couldn't she take a breather? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Yuria, always knee-deep in trouble, was a pain in multiple ways.

But what could I do? Couldn't just walk past. Plus...

This guy in front of me might be the biggest windfall I'd hit lately.

I eyed the man. Covered head to toe in blood.

Ballack was one of the novel's villains. Not purely evil—he had his backstory—but he'd done plenty of bad deeds. One of us. He joined the heretics for his daughter's illness. A former S-rank adventurer, Ballack had one daughter. The only one left by his late wife. Doctors gave up, the Papal Court urged the same, but she was his sole treasure.

He'd been scammed by doctors dozens of times, knelt begging at the Goddess Church promising cures through prayer, but nothing changed. As his adventurer savings dried up...

One day, he heard a street sermon claiming faith alone cured incurables. That's when Ballack fell. At first, conscience pricked him, hesitating to swing his sword. But as his daughter's condition improved over time, his guilt lightened.

She tried to stop him. But Ballack, abandoning fatherhood ideals, silently gripped his blade. In the novel's late stages, her death revealed the heretics' lies—but he'd already lost to the protagonists.

A tragic villain. And here he was, before me.

Luckily, early novel timeline—he hadn't committed major atrocities yet. He'd just scared Yuria off. Right now, Ballack wandered between conscience and his daughter.

I'd wanted to meet him someday. Not like this, but... kinda nice.

I looked down at Ballack. Greatsword planted in the ground, arms trembling, glaring up at me. His fierce gaze pierced, and I gave an awkward smile.

Ballack said, "Are you a monster?"

"Nah, no way."

"Haha... Otherwise, it doesn't add up."

He spoke sincerely. Even he, a top-tier monster himself, shook his head, admitting he couldn't match me.

I told him, "Look at me. I'm a rag too."

"Compare apples to apples."

I wasn't in great shape either. My right arm trembled, deeply gashed by his greatsword, blood dripping steadily. Ballack too—covered in minor wounds and gore, one knee on the ground, breathing ragged.

After hundreds of clashes, I'd claimed victory. Humbly, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠said, "I am a monster."

"Heh... Mad. Utterly mad. Wielding aura at your age."

Ballack rose heavily. Picking up his shaking greatsword, he approached slowly. I shook my head.

"Let's call it."

"Why?"

"More behind you."

I glanced past him. Countless shadows in the dense thicket. Probably heretics here to raid the dungeon. Elite picks. In the novel, heretics cleared it first, then protagonists fought remnants—Ruin awakening in the process. Ballack came with them to loot.

I eyed him. His battle-lust gaze fixed on me. Killing him here would ease the late-game, but with Yuria and Ruin's safety? No way.

Time to end the fight and part ways. "We'll just go, so you do the same."

"Why? Feels like you could take my head right now."

I waved it off. As if. This guy who'd do anything for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even one of Mikhail's arms? Fighting him, I wouldn't escape unscathed. And Ballack grew more explosive the more he bled. This weakness could be an act.

"Good things should stay good, right?"

"True. Shame—it was a fun fight."

Ballack grinned sheepishly, reluctant to leave. I pulled paper and pen from my pocket. Scribble. Wrote quickly and handed it over.

"Here."

"What's this?"

"My autograph."

Chuckling softly, he pocketed it. "Check it somewhere private. Hard to get."

Leaving his smile behind, I hoisted Yuria—legs gone limp—onto my back.

"See ya. Don't forget me."

And we parted.

On the way down, Yuria was silent. Strapped to my back without a word, the awkwardness was killing me.

She asked, "Did you set this whole thing up?"

"No way."

We descended wordlessly. No clue what to say. Breaking the silence, she said, "But... do you always do this, Ricardo?"

"Do what?"

"Show up whenever it's dangerous, save the day, then act like it's nothing. Why?"

"Hm... Yeah."

Couldn't say it was 'cause I only appeared in the novel's peril spots. Or that I'd watched thinking she could handle it—would scream stalker. Oh, I am a stalker. Felt right on second thought. Sorry on multiple levels.

Yuria spoke again. "Hey, Ricardo."

"Yeah."

"I know what you're thinking every time."

"What?"

She bowed her head. "He's gotta be impotent for real."

Her quiet mutter.

The mansion came into view. Ghostly silhouette and all. Yuria, dozing on my back, stirred.

"Uh... why here?"

"Gotta eat first."

"Huh?"

I glanced at Ruin, dragging limply behind. If this guy hadn't passed out, I'd have ditched him. Hamel's inns weren't safe enough to dump him, so I'd brought Yuria here too.

At the entrance, I looked at the window.

Poke. A silhouette on the second floor, peeking out. Sunset hid us well, so the young miss kept craning her neck.

I dropped Ruin and waved. "Miss!"

Finally noticing, "Ooooh!! Ricardo!"

Then she spotted Yuria off my back.

"Hiet...?"

Olivia, bundled in blankets.