About a week and five days had passed since leaving the colony.

“Then, I look forward to seeing you again next time, Count!”

“Indeed.”

Leaving behind the head merchant, who bowed deeply with a folder-like gesture, Alon decided to return to the Palatio Count’s estate first. This was because he couldn’t take the treasure wagon he received from the colony along on the upcoming journey.

So, he headed back to the Count’s estate, stored both wagons, and immediately set off toward Lartania.

If the path to Lartania had been entirely opposite to the route to Raksas, he would have proceeded to his destination without hesitation. Fortunately, Lartania lay along the way to Raksas.

Even though it wasn’t the shortest detour, he was willing to endure it and set off on another journey.

Five days later…

“Count.”

As Alon blankly gazed at the leisurely forest, Evan, who was driving the wagon, suddenly asked a question.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing special, but you seem to have something on your mind lately.”

“Does it look that way?”

“Yes, you’ve been lost in thought quite often recently, haven’t you?”

Alon remained silent for a moment before responding to Evan’s remark.

“Seems like it.”

“Is it because of what you mentioned before? That you had something to think about?”

At Evan’s words, Alon thought, ‘That’s part of it, yes.’ However, what had been preoccupying Alon’s thoughts lately was not related to faith.

Of course, he was curious about why he suddenly possessed the capacity to harness power. But there simply wasn’t enough information to ponder or deduce anything alone. Currently, Alon’s focus was not on faith but rather on the last words spoken by the dragonkin.

“…Two possibilities.”

He recalled the dragonkin’s discussion about magic at that time.

“As you know, a mage’s magic fundamentally requires ‘imagination’ to be used. This is an unchanging law and truth, as certain and natural as the sun rising and setting. Yet, you seem to ignore it effortlessly.”

Alon remembered the dragonkin extending its sharp, unusual index and middle fingers, different from those of humans.

“The law is immutable. It cannot be changed and must not be changed. Thus, I think you fall into one of two possibilities.”

“One is that you, standing here before me, are an existence beyond my imagination.”

“And the other is that you simply don’t remember.”

Recalling the dragonkin’s farewell words, Alon clicked his tongue.

‘No matter how I think about it, neither seems right.’

Obviously, Alon wasn’t some inhuman being. If he were, as the dragonkin suggested, he wouldn’t be struggling like this in the first place.

Yet, the second suggestion regarding ‘memory’ didn’t resonate with Alon either. He had never lived during the Age of Forgotten Gods, when mages were known to exist. Even in the game, the Age of Forgotten Gods was merely part of the lore, while Babylonian phrases and beastfolk were merely means to enhance magic attack power, never fully explored.

In other words, Alon had learned even a bit about imagination only through his conversation with the dragonkin.

As a result, when Alon initially asked the dragonkin if there were any other possibilities, the dragonkin firmly stated that there were no other options beyond the two mentioned.

‘Why is it that as time passes, I learn more about things I didn’t know rather than uncovering hidden truths?’ Alon sighed briefly but then shrugged. According to the dragonkin, when he eventually reached Raksas, he would finally see the truth of this world.

Of course, to him, seeing the world’s truth was less important than predicting whether this truth would bring danger to the world. After all, his ultimate goal, both then and now, was to lead a peaceful life.

“A peaceful life…”

Evan, hearing Alon’s quiet mutter amidst the sound of rolling wheels, spoke up.

“Do you wish to live a peaceful life?”

“Indeed.”

“…For someone who says that, your life doesn’t seem very peaceful.”

“I’m just a bit busy at the moment.”

“I don’t think things will be any different in a few years…”

Alon didn’t respond. Deep down, he knew Evan’s words weren’t entirely off the mark.

“Evan.”

“Yes?”

“For dinner tonight, just eat some sweet potatoes.”

“…What?”

But thinking and saying are two different things, so Alon, revealing a small hint of annoyance, looked outside the wagon. Contrary to Alon’s state of mind, the scenery outside was as peaceful as ever. It was a late sunset kind of day.

***

A few more days later, upon arriving in Lartania, Alon decided to stop by a nearby shop to buy a suitable gift before heading to Merd. He didn’t expect to get the artifact appraisal for free, but he believed it was only polite to bring a gift or two when visiting someone’s home. Additionally, he regretted not having brought a gift the last time he rushed out to handle an Outer God.

Recalling the worn-out fountain pen in Rine’s office, Alon stopped by a shop to buy one. While searching for something that wasn’t too extravagant but also didn’t look cheap, he overheard some rumors.

“Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“One of the Triumvirate has died again.”

“I heard about that too. You mean ‘Vima,’ right?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Hmm, considering the bribes he pocketed, he kind of deserved it… But with Riet, another member of the Triumvirate, dead as well…”

“Only Rine is left. That’s why there’s such an uproar.”

“Why is that?”

“I heard this from somewhere, but the rumor is that she killed all the members of the Triumvirate.”

“Why? How did such a rumor start?”

“It’s not entirely clear, but they say they had a confrontation recently. Apparently, someone insulted her godfather—”

“…??”

It was a rather unsettling rumor.

***

Deus Macallian, known as the Second Sword among Caliban’s Five Swords, was incredibly famous within the country. Although unofficial and unrecorded, the fact that he had already defeated Reinhardt was widely known throughout Caliban.

Despite his glowing reputation and overwhelming charisma, there were whispers in the background about his suspicious fondness for magic, even though he was a Master Knight. Some even claimed that, during his nightly sword training, he would sometimes assume peculiar stances and mimic casting spells when no one was watching…

Nevertheless, Deus Macallian’s fame was so overwhelming that such strange rumors could hardly diminish it. However, not everyone viewed this situation favorably. One of these skeptics was the Prince of Caliban.

Prince Tyrian, the second prince of Caliban and the son of King Palmaryan IV, was not pleased with the current situation. This was mainly because of his bad blood with Deus Macallian. Of course, this strained relationship was entirely his own doing.

Unlike the first prince, who was deemed suitable for the throne, Tyrian was known as the palace’s troublemaker. In the past, he had tried to approach Deus Macallian’s only sister with crude, indecent remarks. As a result, he was humiliated in a duel, sanctioned by the king, where he was severely beaten. This incident left Tyrian with deep resentment toward Deus.

“Tsk.”

Despite his reluctance to think about Deus, Tyrian’s thoughts turned to him today because of a secretive request he had received. The request was to apply political pressure on Count Palatio.

Fulfilling the request was not particularly challenging—in fact, it was something Tyrian had to do. Despite his notorious behavior, Tyrian was able to maintain his faction, largely thanks to the “item” provided by the person who made the request.

Moreover, the request itself wasn’t particularly difficult. Applying political pressure on Count Palatio without cause was risky for Tyrian. After all, Count Palatio was a noble of the Asterian Kingdom, not of Caliban. Even though Caliban and Asteria were united under a confederation, it was still a delicate matter to interfere with another nation’s nobility in this manner.

However, there was one reason why Tyrian considered it easy to pressure Count Palatio: the person who sent the letter provided reasonable information that would make it seem natural for the second prince of Caliban to exert such pressure.

In other words, Tyrian could apply pressure on Count Palatio without significant risk. Furthermore, by doing so, he could put the sender of the letter in a position of slight indebtedness to him.

The real problem was the close relationship between Count Palatio and Deus Macallian. To be more precise, it was troubling that Deus Macallian seemed to be unusually fond of Count Palatio.

“Hmph…”

Tyrian knew that during the Five Swords meetings, whenever the topic of mages came up, Deus would soon begin talking about Count Palatio’s greatness for nearly an hour. Tyrian was aware of this because he regularly received reports from one of the swords allied with his faction. Recently, Deus had even been abruptly praising Count Palatio, saying things like, “Why does Count Palatio always come to mind?”

This left Tyrian in a dilemma. Opposing Count Palatio was insignificant compared to the potential benefits. For Tyrian, who despised Deus, it was the perfect opportunity to undermine someone Deus adored.

Yet, Tyrian hesitated. He was unsure what Deus Macallian might do once he learned of this move. Despite his fame, Deus was like a mad dog.

After pondering for a while, Tyrian finally made a decision.

‘No matter how crazy he is, he can’t possibly act.’

A sly grin spread across Tyrian’s face. The only reason Deus Macallian had been able to beat and humiliate him before was that he had just cause. Without just cause, even a mad dog like Deus Macallian wouldn’t be able to touch him.

Despite his reduced influence and diminished trust from the current king, Tyrian was still Caliban’s second prince. To harm him without any justification would be nothing short of madness, and Deus knew that as well.

So, Tyrian was convinced that Deus wouldn’t dare make a move.

At least, until the day before.

BOOM!

With a blank expression, Tyrian stared ahead. The door to the office of the palace annex where he was staying had been shattered, and a man stood there.

Holding a wooden sword in one hand, the man was none other than Deus Macallian.

“The Sword of Caliban greets the successor of the Five Swords,” he said, his eyes burning with fierce intensity.

“I’ve come to ask you something.”

He had come for Tyrian.