Chapter 751: Chapter 751: First Strike (1)

“We’ve lost Baron Yandel...”

The subordinate who had served at his side for decades lowered his head in shame as he gave the report.

The marquis did not grow angry.

He merely closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, as if trying to calm his emotions.

“I see...”

If one were to ask whether he wasn’t angry at the failure—no, that wasn’t it. But emotions must have a clear target before being released.

And for the marquis, that target was himself.

As well as the world itself.

This world weaves events using invisible threads.

As if it finds some perverse delight in doing so.

‘Does the world not wish for that barbarian’s death...?’

They had fired the Thunderbolt.

And somehow—he didn’t know how—the barbarian not only blocked it, but saved everyone.

As a result, he had collapsed, incapacitated.

According to the report, it seemed he was in such a dire state that it wouldn’t have been strange if he died at any moment.

So the marquis had thought: just one more shot would finish him.

But...

“Tell me. What happened?”

“Well...”

According to the explanation, a mysterious magic circle had suddenly activated, and when they came to their senses, everything had vanished from sight.

“We are currently investigating the nature of the spell as quickly as possi—”

“There’s no need. I already know what it is.”

“...Sir?”

As the chancellor of Lafdonia, the marquis knew this city better than anyone.

This city is a fortress.

The greatest fortress ever built on the surface, designed to withstand and respond to any possible invasion.

Countless ancient magics are embedded within it, and a few still function even in the modern era.

“It’s a type of summoning circle. It forcibly extracts everything within a narrow area.”

The marquis had only heard of the situation through reports, but he understood it more quickly than anyone else.

“In that case, the one responsible must be Baron Wilkins of the Fifth Legion. As soon as the wartime state was declared, he would have been granted access to the ancient magic of District 7.”

The marquis continued, piecing things together aloud.

“They couldn’t react in time to the first Thunderbolt, but after that, they were surely on alert. They must have known we were targeting Baron Yandel. They would have tried to block the second strike no matter what. But the spell circle likely needed considerable time to activate...”

Tap, tap—the marquis drummed his fingers against the table.

“You mentioned there were stragglers?”

“Yes. Dozens of barbarians at the perimeter were not teleported and remained behind.”

“I see... So upon seeing our troops retreating, they hastily activated an incomplete spell circle...”

Fire returned to the marquis’s eyes.

“In that case, it’s not too late.”

“Sir?”

“That summoning circle was last used during the Siege of Iron Walls for rescue purposes. Even then, it failed to function properly due to being used in haste.”

There was no chance the records were wrong.

When planning this entire operation, the royal family had reviewed every possible contingency hundreds—no, thousands—of times.

Knock knock knock—!

Urgent knocking rang out just then.

As soon as the marquis gave permission, a man entered and quickly offered his greeting.

Eltora Tertherion.

Former commander of the Third Legion—and the marquis’s own son.

Yet, despite their clear blood relation, the marquis greeted his son with a question straight to the point.

“What is it?”

He was colder than when addressing his subordinates.

If one looked closely, his face even seemed displeased.

But it didn’t take long for his expression to brighten.

“...There’s news that the spearwoman, Ainard, has been sighted causing a disturbance in the Dimensional Plaza of District 4!”

The marquis’s lips curved upward at the report.

If the spell had functioned properly, everything within the affected zone should have been teleported to the Imperial Capital.

But this proved that it had not.

‘During the Siege of Iron Walls, the rescue targets were scattered randomly across the city, creating chaos, weren’t they?’

Of course, if Bjorn Yandel had been lucky enough to end up in the Lafdonia region, there was nothing to be done for now.

But...

‘It’s too early to give up.’

Take that barbarian, for example.

As long as there was even a sliver of possibility, he would tenaciously cling to it and ultimately seize success.

There was only one way to catch such a monster.

“Eltora, relay my orders to all troops. I want every occupied district searched down to the back of every drawer and behind every wardrobe.”

You have to become just as obsessive.

***

Have you ever felt the irony of fate?

If someone were to ask him that, Rotmiller could nod many times and recount his own experiences.

Losing his parents as a child.

Meeting the benefactor who taught him a way to survive.

Entering the labyrinth, only to lose companions again and again due to his lack of talent.

And despite all that...

He was the one who accompanied a man who would be remembered forever as a great hero through his first exploits.

Having grown up in a Reatlas Temple orphanage, Rotmiller considered it all fate.

Meeting people, learning new things, gaining comrades, discovering precious bonds, letting go of one thing to grasp something more important, learning emotions he never knew...

If a series of coincidences could be called fate, then his whole life had been one long chain of them.

Yeah—maybe even this very moment.

“Truly... ironic.”

Rotmiller felt fate’s cruel irony once more.

Because really—how else could you explain this?

An ancient magical weapon fell from the sky, and the man who seemed impossible to topple collapsed after protecting everyone.

Before they could even regroup, enemy troops poured in from all directions and overwhelmed them.

[Behell—Raaaaaaaagh!!!]

A spear-wielding barbarian carried the fallen hero on his back, and a fairy contracted with the spirit king carved open a path.

A beastkin wielding twin blades darted around rescuing the endangered, and a magician—now a leader—relentlessly cast spells while trying to find an escape.

And then—

[The enemies are withdrawing!]

The enemies who had been doggedly clinging to them suddenly pulled back like the receding tide.

[It’s the Thunderbolt...!]

The moment it appeared in the sky once more—

Swooooooosh—!!

A brilliant light erupted from beneath their feet as geometric symbols formed on the ground.

His memories after that were incomplete.

When he came to, he was before the goddess statue.

[Teleportation...?]

He looked around. The temple was a ruin. Through a shattered window, he saw Noark troops patrolling the streets.

And—

Bjorn Yandel.

The man everyone called a hero lay unconscious on the floor.

There were no visible severe wounds, likely thanks to several top-grade potions having been poured over him—though his body was drenched in blood.

At this rate, he should wake up soon.

Rotmiller held onto that hope and waited quietly—but at some point, the situation turned urgent.

It wasn’t that Yandel’s condition had worsened.

[Search everything! The marquis demands we rip down the wallpaper if we must!]

What had seemed like simple patrols through the window now became active searches with clear objectives.

At this rate, it was only a matter of time before they found this place.

[...Yandel! Yandel! Can you hear me?!]

Rotmiller shook him in desperation. Fortunately, Yandel woke up from his deep slumber.

But—

[Don’t worry. I can still mo—]

For some reason, Yandel suddenly began bleeding from every orifice and collapsed again.

His mind went blank from that point forward.

They would be here soon.

He had to get out before that.

But how...?

He didn’t know.

So Rotmiller searched the ruined temple for information.

Current location: Central Branch of the Reatlas Temple in District 4.

If he could just follow the main road in front of the temple, he would reach the Imperial Capital.

If they could just get that far...

‘We’ll survive.’

There was just one problem with the plan.

How would they get there?

How could he possibly carry the massive barbarian, who couldn’t even walk, through enemy lines and reach their destination?

Fortunately, he was used to compromise.

Rather than seeking a perfect solution, he chose the best option available to him.

‘First, I need a horse and a cart.’

Rotmiller headed to the stables attached to the temple branch.

There was a cart used for transporting supplies—but no horse to pull it.

It seemed they’d already taken the horses earlier...

[Neigh—!]

Just then, like a miracle, he locked eyes with a horse that had wandered outside the fence.

Why a horse was still there didn’t matter.

Maybe it had slipped through the broken fence and just happened to avoid getting looted.

What mattered was that he now had a horse and a cart.

"Whoa, easy now..."

Having tended to horses as a child at the orphanage, Rotmiller calmly took the reins.

After securing the horse to the cart—

“Ugh...”

He somehow lifted the massive barbarian and loaded him into the cart.

He bent the oversized body sideways to keep the legs from sticking out and stacked hay around it.

Finally, he threw a large cloth over everything, turning it into a perfect supply wagon.

The problem now was...

Would this work?

Could he really make it safely?

If they failed, they’d both die.

Wouldn’t it be wiser to act alone to survive?

As the doubts lingered, resentment welled up.

Why me?

Surely the man had comrades with far more skill.

Surely, there were plenty of people in this city who would gladly help him without being asked.

Yet in this moment—when help was desperately needed—

Why him?

“Damn it all...”

A muttered curse slipped out.

He shook Yandel, begging him to wake, fell into despair when he didn’t, cursed fate, and felt shame at his own ugliness.

“But still...”

Inside the ruined temple, surrounded by shattered goddess statues, he steeled himself.

“I’ve got no choice.”

Sometimes, life throws things in your path.

Frightening things—but ones you must get past.

Yeah, so—

“Twilight stars shall guide us...”

He rode into the streets, full of enemies.

A cart trailed behind the horse he rode.

Clip, clop.

The pace was slow.

So slow that even a trot would’ve been faster.

And it wasn’t stealthy either.

Rattle, creak.

The cart wheels groaned with every turn, and each creak felt like a cannon blast to his ears.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

His heart pounded so hard it made him dizzy, but he forced a calm expression.

Because he wasn’t strong like Yandel’s other companions.

He couldn’t mow down hundreds or use clever spells to solve crises.

So /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ all he could do—

‘Please...’

Was desperately pray that his trick would work.

That was the best he could do.

And maybe it did.

"..."

The first Noark soldier he met only gave him a glance, not even bothering to question him or act suspicious.

Apparently, slowly walking down the street with a cart wasn’t strange enough to raise suspicion.

“Whew...”

He had acted with confidence, believing it could work—but now that it was working, he felt completely drained.

Still, he’d only passed one soldier.

Rattle, creak, rattle—

The road ahead was long and painful, just like the slow pace of the cart.

But it wasn’t anything new.

His life had always been this way.

Two, three...

It took him eight years of crawling through the labyrinth to reach seventh-rank explorer.

Four, five, six...

He had started slower than anyone.

Most entered the labyrinth as soon as they became adults, but he first set foot inside at the age of 26.

Ten, twenty, thirty...

He ran like mad to make up for the delay.

But he was always behind, always left behind, always enduring that pain.

So this was nothing new.

Going slow—

That, perhaps, was the thing he was best at in this whole world.

"Hey."

The 71st Noark soldier he passed stopped and approached him.

"Which unit are you from? I want to check what’s in the cart."