LOG DIVE

Kuoohhhhhh!

A black storm swallowed the underground shelter whole. Chunks of stone tore free from the floor; even the torches along the walls vanished without a trace.

At the heart of that destruction stood Ska, the Hero of Typhoon, head bowed.

Zick tightened his grip on a sword hilt slick with cold sweat.

"Alright, top of the class. This flunkie came to save you!"

He shouted it boldly, yet the success rate his authority had already whispered was abysmal.

1.42 percent.

Not once in ten fights—hardly once in a hundred—would he even survive. Still, he could not back down. If he ran, his comrades would be next.

Ska's head twisted at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a grotesque angle and lifted. Eyes black and unfocused. He flicked a hand lightly toward Zick.

That single casual motion unleashed a storm of savage black wind spears.

"Shit!"

Zick threw himself aside on pure reflex.

KWA-AAAAANG!

The spot where he had stood an instant before was gouged out of existence. Fragments sprayed in every direction; Zick rolled through them and staggered back to his feet.

Insanely fast!

He had barely dodged. There would be no next time. How the hell was he supposed to last against this monster?

Zick forced his mind into overdrive. The mark on his hand flared. Thought accelerated explosively. In the slowed world, a log record blazed with frantic red warning lights.

Consciousness asleep inside...?

Zick's gaze dropped to his own wrist. An old bracelet, black with rust, little more than scrap iron. The Holy Relic of ■■■■.

A memory from a few days earlier flashed through his mind.

"So this bracelet is a holy relic?"

Gerard's brows knotted fiercely. When the explanation ended, heavy silence settled over the room. Noah examined Zick's wrist with a worried face.

"How does your body feel right now?"

"Fine. Except it won't come off even if I soap it."

At those words Gerard rose smoothly from his seat.

Shrring.

"Then we simply cut it off."

"Wait—Gerard! Stop! Hold it! Put the sword away!"

Zick recoiled, clutching his wrist to his chest.

"What are you trying to cut?!"

"Cursed equipment is cleanest when you sever it along with the limb."

"The tip of that blade was pointed exactly at my wrist!"

"I will cut only the bracelet."

"One slight miss and I'm a one-handed cripple!"

Gerard clicked his tongue as if Zick were overreacting.

"Tch."

The sword slid home with a soft click. Heinz stroked his beard slowly and regarded Zick.

"Young Zick. Might this old man examine that bracelet for a moment?"

"Please be careful."

"Worried the bracelet might be damaged?"

"No. Worried you might get hurt. We still don't know exactly what it is."

A faint smile touched Heinz's lips.

"Your concern is appreciated. I shall not force anything, so rest easy."

Heinz began to chant. Intricate magic circles resembling blue optical scopes layered into existence. Circles of differing sizes rotated like crystal lenses, scanning the bracelet. Zick held his breath, hoping a mage of Heinz's caliber might learn something.

Deep mana swelled until it seemed to fill the room—then

Crack!

A discordant shatter of glass. Fractures spider-webbed across the circles. Before Heinz could cancel the spell, every layered array exploded into glittering shards. He recoiled on instinct; eyes that rarely showed emotion flew wide.

"Heinz, are you all right?"

Even Zick's worry could not pull ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the old mage's stare from the bracelet.

"It did not merely interfere with the analysis. It erased my entire formula as though the spell had never existed from the beginning."

Noah stepped forward next.

"Hero. Allow me to check it with my holy power."

He clasped both hands above Zick's wrist. Warm, gentle white light bloomed from his fingertips and reached for the bracelet—

Pah!

The holy power rebounded harshly.

"Ah!"

Noah clutched his hands, unable to hide his shock.

"It rejected my holy power."

"Maybe because it belongs to a different god?"

"Even holy relics are rooted in divinity. Differing gods of worship do not produce rejection this strong. Hero... is it truly a holy relic?"

"At least my authority called it one."

Zick's certainty made Heinz and Noah's brows tighten. Drake scratched his chin while watching.

"Why not just go to the ruins where that scrap was dug up?"

"I'd love to."

Zick sighed.

"Problem is, those ruins sit right on the front lines."

Reno took over the explanation.

"The site currently sees frequent clashes with the Demon King's army. Far too dangerous for a rookie hero party. The Administration will never grant permission."

"So there's no answer?"

"Succeed at this designated mission and things will change. Once we're recognized as mid-tier, we can take assignments near the front."

In the end, there was no way to learn more right now. They would have to wait until they completed the mission and proved their worth.

Silence stretched. Then Gerard fixed his eyes on Zick.

"Use your authority."

"Did you even listen to my story? I almost blew my head off last time! You got a problem with me or something?"

"Idiot."

Gerard did not deny the "problem" part.

"I am not telling you to use the authority on the bracelet. I am telling you to activate it the usual way while wearing the thing."

He pointed at the mark etched on the back of Zick's hand.

"If your account is correct, something interfered with your authority. If it still causes trouble now, this designated mission could be seriously compromised."

The observation was sharp. If the bracelet itself constrained the authority, the moment they needed it most could become fatal. Even so, Zick hesitated. The terror of the black-market runaway still felt raw.

"Hero."

Noah carefully enfolded Zick's trembling hand. Warmth flowed through his fingertips.

"Don't worry. If the authority runs wild again, this time we will be right beside you to stop it."

The steady gazes of his comrades. Zick gave a short laugh. With guys like these at his side, being scared only proved how far he still had to go.

He drew a deep breath, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠focused on the mark, and triggered the authority. Faint light bloomed; thought accelerated. Thankfully there was no runaway. The log records streamed smoothly under his control.

"Done. No problems."

He was about to sigh in relief when one peculiar log entry froze him solid.

No time.

In accelerated thought Zick bit his lip. Dragging this out was suicide. 1.42 percent. With no idea when the totems would fall, he could not stake his life on that number.

Only one path remained.

Bet everything on the new power that appeared in my authority.

The slowed world snapped back to normal speed at the same instant a second storm erupted from Ska's fingertips.

KWA-AAAANG!

Zick slipped the sweeping gale by a paper's thickness and charged straight at Ska. The activation condition for the new ability was direct contact with the owner of the log—meaning he had to reach Ska through that murderous storm.

The gap in skill was vast, and the curse-maddened winds refused to let him close. Every step Zick took, Ska's storm shoved him three steps back. He slashed to deflect the wind, yet the shock still hammered through. Wrists went numb; shoulders screamed as if they would tear free. Pain like every scrap of flesh being flayed rolled over him.

"Getting close is a real bitch!"

Then—

Kugugung!

"Ugh!"

Ska's body suddenly lurched. He pressed one hand to his forehead, face contorted in agony. The raging winds faltered for a heartbeat, and a new log scrolled across Zick's vision.

"Nice!"

Zick's mouth curved up. Leave it to his comrades—utterly reliable.

He did not waste the opening. He kicked off the ground and leapt, punching through the momentarily weakened storm and closing the distance in a single bound. Ska's blackened eyes snapped up. He thrust out his free hand; a sphere of black wind the size of a soccer ball began to condense in his palm. Even a graze would shred Zick's body to nothing.

Yet Zick smiled as if he had been waiting for exactly this and stretched a hand toward the floor.

"Grease!"

The ground beneath Ska's feet turned slick as if doused in oil.

"Kh!"

The foot bracing against the storm's recoil slipped. The black wind bullet that had been lining up on Zick veered wildly into empty air.

Kwagwagwagwang!

The projectile screamed past Zick's head and detonated against the wall. Amid the cascading debris Zick never slowed. Through the roar of the collapsing ceiling he finally closed the last gap, empty hand outstretched, and slammed his palm against Ska's chest.

Skin met skin with a sharp slap. Zick roared with everything he had.

"LOG DIVE!"

At the declaration, hundreds—thousands—of black characters erupted from Ska's entire body like a waterfall. Sentences recording Ska's past. Choices he had made, emotions he had felt. Memories he had never spoken of to anyone transformed into countless log records, swirling into a vast vortex that wrapped around both of them.

Their consciousnesses were swept into the violent current and dragged deep into Ska's interior.

In darkness where light had vanished, Zick slowly opened his eyes. An unfamiliar landscape stretched before him. No black storm, no stench of stagnant water—only a quiet space. In its center a young boy sat alone, knees hugged to his chest, crying.

Short gray hair. A childish face without a single scar. The boy slowly lifted his head.

Zick recognized him at once.

The boy before him was Ska as a child.