(Ryuta POV)
I don't regret what I did to Aleksander. It wasn't just his naïve ideals that pissed me off, but his delusional belief that tearing down a kingdom would somehow make him a hero.
I get that he wanted to live up to the Kalman name. But this was ridiculous.
Not many know the truth about Kalman II—the bastard who kept the Strife Zone drowning in endless war. And now Kalman III carries that rotten legacy, strong enough to be the only one still standing from the first wave.
Orsted told me he dealt with the rest when he returned. Mostly Strife Zone recruits—disposable pawns the king didn't care about.
What caught me off guard was what Orsted revealed before I interrogated North God. Kalman III has abandonment issues. He inherited the North God title far too young, and after twenty years, his disciples left him—twenty years—a blink for someone with Immortal blood.
He swore never to take on students again. And yet, he did. He gathered Strife Zone recruits with a natural talent for North God Style, and within two years, most of them reached Saint rank. Hard to picture.
But Sumizome wiped out the majority of them as if it were nothing. Damn. Looks like I underestimated that shadow mutt.
Orsted had a tougher time with North God, but he still won. That doesn't mean I forgive myself for letting him burn precious mana—mana he can barely recover in the first place.
So, I made a suggestion. Why not chain that idiot Aleksander to Orsted as a watchdog? Loyal mutt, always at his side. Guard duty for life. Fitting punishment.
***
Orsted sat behind his desk, hands folded, lost in thought. Aleksander and I waited in silence, the poor guy frozen stiff from the Dragon God's curse.
Finally, Orsted raised his gaze. "The Demon responsible for those undead… Maronos Nuronos. An ogre. Beyond what Sylvaril has told us, there's nothing more to say."
"I figured as much," I said.
This Maronos Nuronos guy lived long before Orsted's time loops began. Given demon lifespans, I figured today's necromancer was more likely a descendant or perhaps a protégée. But the truth? We couldn't be sure because Orsted himself stopped counting after the hundredth loop.
"Are you certain there aren't ruins, some relic that could've taught them necromancy like Maronos invented?" I asked.
"There is one site," Orsted admitted. "On the Demon Continent. East, near the old snake-infested castle ruin. But the documents there would never be enough to revive something of this scale. Which leaves only one possibility: Hitogami taught them. A sign of a desperate move."
A chill went down my spine. Hitogami, desperate enough to hand out his knowledge? That smug bastard must really be cornered to lower his high horse that much.
"So rare, I take it?"
"Correct. It would otherwise take decades for someone to master necromancy at this level. That piece of trash must truly be in a hurry."
A malicious smile twisted across Orsted's face. My bones turned to ice.
"Right… but we still need to deal with the roaming undead monster," I said quickly.
That seemed to sober him.
I tugged the map from the wall, spread it on the desk, and conjured three pawn figures.
"Based on what we know, there are three possible deployment sites for the three-headed Black Dragon."
The first pawn I placed on the border of the Asura Kingdom, near the tip of the Lower Jaw mountains.
"Option one: the frontlines where the main army would be."
"I highly doubt it would be that one," Aleksander said, stepping closer.
He rested his good hand on his chin, eyes narrowing over the map.
"Sending it there would destroy the king's credibility. Necromancy is forbidden as it is, and people today know better than to trust something as horrific as using the undead as an army. It would cause panic, not faith."
"He's right," I added. "Necromancy is reviled. It drove even the Armored Dragon King to abandon his vow to stay dormant until Laplace's return."
Aleksander shot me a suspicious side glance. "I'm still not sure how you became friends with Lord Perugius."
I ignored him, sliding the second pawn onto the Lower Jaw mountains. "Option two: here. The Red Dragons were forced to migrate. A wide-open field for the undead."
"That would be the most advantageous," Orsted said, leaning forward. "The Upper Jaw dragons are already pressing them, and the southern army has them pinned. Yes… The king may have saved it for this very scenario."
"Which leaves option three," I said, placing the final pawn atop the Upper Jaw mountains.
Aleksander looked baffled. "There?"
I nodded. "Think about it. Hitogami wouldn't craft such a monster only to waste it for no reason. Unleashing it against the Upper Jaw's Red Dragons guarantees destruction. Once the dragons are scattered over the lands, the monster can march on the Asura Kingdom. The disaster could later be written off as a 'dragon invasion' no one foresaw."
Silence followed—the kind of silence where strategy turns into inevitability.
"We will have to take a gamble here."
I was afraid that Orsted would say something like this.
There have already been many abnormalities in this loop, which includes myself and Nanahoshi's summoning to this world that caused many people to either get scattered around the world or die from it.
And likely patterns have either vanished and/or new ones are within the realm of possibility not even Orsted can forsee.
There are, however, certain things, but without the ability of Future Sight, none can be determined for us until they have already happened.
"We will go as follows," Orsted says, lifting his glaring sight before us, causing Aleksander and me to straighten.
"Ryuta, you will head out and stay at Buena, a village in the Fittoa region. There is an important individual who is likely to be one of the target of Hitogami."
Buena — still rebuilding from the disaster four years ago. Quiet, rural, but somehow important to the village's stubborn chief.
Paul Greyrat, the strongest knight in Asura, but also the most defiant, was living there.
He is of the Notos bloodline, but discarded his noble name long ago and is living a peaceful life.
I gotta say, I'm kinda curious to see what kind of guy this Paul turns out to be.
"As for Kalman and me," Orsted continued, "we will scout the Lower Jaw mountains. The undead monster is bound to leave a trail behind in that open space."
That's a good enough set-up. With no monsters around at the Lower Jaw, Orsted isn't required to use any mana against a monster or any potentially death-wishing mercenary or bandit.
And even if something does come around, Aleksander can handle it, even with his arm missing. I heard once that North God Style even prepares for scenarios of a missing limb. And given that this guy's an Immortal, he totally had to got at least some experience in that.
"Then I guess we leave any status update against the King Dragon Army to Asura and their soldiers."
"With Perugius on it as well, we can be certain that they will. His coperation in this will boost the moral among them."
That's true. Perugius is one of the three legendary heroes (four if you count Ruijerd) who defeated Demon God Laplace. During that war, Asura played a big role as it is one of the two Kingdoms that still stands after the end of it.
"Well, then. If everything is said, I will go ahead and prepare."
He didn't say another word, but I could feel the weight of trust—or perhaps expectation—behind his silence. I stepped back, ready to gather my gear for the journey, but before leaving, I turned to Aleksander.
He stiffened the moment our eyes met.
"Make sure you stick to him," I said, pointing at Orsted. "Like a guard dog. Don't let him lift a finger if it's not necessary."
Aleksander swallowed hard, then straightened his posture and nodded. "I… I'll do my best."
I stepped closer, gripped his shoulder, and leaned in until he could see the smile I'd been holding back. The kind that made people freeze before they even knew why.
"That's not enough," I said quietly. "Give it your tenfold. Consider it retribution—for wasting his energy."
Aleksander's face went pale. "Y–Yes! I swear I will!"
Satisfied, I let go and turned away. The door creaked open behind me, letting in the faint chill of the mountains.
"Good," I said, without looking back. "Don't make me regret giving you the chance to begin with."
And with that, I left the room.
***
Guard duty.Simple on paper. In practice? It means keeping every sense sharp, every breath measured. When I say "eyes," I don't mean the ones in my head—I mean my detection. It reaches farther than the scope on my sniper staff ever could.
The Fittoa region… still an unlucky place. Even after all these years since the teleportation disaster, you can still feel the scars underfoot. The recovery's maybe halfway done—five more years, and it might finally stand on its own again.
A quiet, rural land. The kind of place where people earn their coins through sweat and stubborn will.
Good for laying low. Easy to monitor. Fewer surprises.
Or so I thought.
***
Rain poured in sheets, the wind howling like a banshee through the treeline. The sky was a single wall of gray, rumbling and angry. Someone out there was using [Columnimbus], a Saint-tier Water spell.
I held a small wind barrier above my head to stay dry while scanning the surroundings with detection.
Found them—five people in the distance. One was the caster. Probably a public demonstration. Odd, though. For late winter, this much rain didn't make sense.
The barrier I used could only hold while I stood still. Any movement, and the mana consumption would spike. Better to wait for the caster to finish.
A minute passed, and the rain weakened… only for another storm to surge up again. A weaker variant, but chaotic enough to tear through small trees. Probably part of a rank-up test—training to reach Water Saint class. That meant two, maybe three more repeats.
Then I caught something else—a trio of small, fast-moving shapes tumbling through the wind.
Children.
They were being tossed around like rag dolls, their little bodies light enough to lift off the ground.
"Goddammit," I muttered. "Why do I always end up in these situations?"
Complaining wouldn't fix it. Acting would.
I conjured three mana hands and extended them outward. One by one, I caught the kids midair, gripping their arms gently enough not to dislocate them, and pulled them into my vacuum barrier.
They hit the mud with soft splats, coughing and squirming, their clothes soaked through. One of them—a boy—landed face-first.
The trio sat up, blinking and sniffling, trying to wipe mud off their faces. The smallest, a girl with braids, looked at me wide-eyed.
I sighed, crouched down to meet them eye-level. "You kids alright?"
They flinched. Can't blame them—any stranger standing in a mana bubble during a thunderstorm probably looks like a ghost.
"I'm not gonna hurt you," I added quickly. "You nearly got carried halfway to the next town. Count yourselves lucky someone caught you before that happened."
The girl peeked up. "We… we just wanted to see Miss Roxy's students practice…"
"Miss Roxy?" I echoed. The name tugged at something buried deep inside. Faint. Familiar... and painful? Where does that come from?
"She's a teacher!" the boy blurted, his voice still trembling. "She teaches water magic at the academy! We wanted to see her students do the big storm spell!"
So that was it. A training exercise gone too far. I exhaled, half in relief, half in disbelief. "Well, you've seen plenty now. Almost drowned in the wind. Lesson learned, right?"
The kids looked down, ashamed.
"We'll wait until the storm dies down," I said, adjusting the barrier to reduce mana drain. "Then I'll walk you back. Next time, don't wander out without supervision."
The boy glared. "You're not our parent! You can't tell us what to do!"
The others immediately turned on him.
"Wynn, shut up! He just saved us!"
"Yeah! You were crying a second ago!"
"I wasn't crying!" he shouted, cheeks puffing like an angry chipmunk.
I leaned back, arms crossed. Kids arguing meant they were fine—no injuries—just stubborn pride.
Then I heard it.
"Norn, stop yelling, you'll make him mad!"
That name froze me mid-breath. Norn. Of all names.
I remember Orsted mentioning her name. Besides the princess, this little girl has an important role in his plan.
I wonder what surprising trait she is going to develop in the future?
The rain finally eased into a drizzle. I dropped the barrier, letting the cold air breathe again.
"Alright," I said, "storm's over. Let's get you three back before someone starts another weather disaster."
Two nodded; the third mumbled something about being fine. Oh, typical defiant children's behavior.
The road back was muddy and uneven. In the distance, thin trails of chimney smoke marked Buena Village. Humble, still healing. Houses patched with mixed timber, a few ruins scarred from old displacements, the scent of wet earth hanging heavy.
We hadn't made it far when two adults came running toward us.
"Wynn!" a woman shouted, her voice cracking between anger and relief. "Where have you been!?"
The boy froze. "Uh-oh."
The man beside her looked ready to breathe fire. "You said you were just going to the well! We were about to send a search party!"
The woman hugged her son tight—then smacked the back of his head. "You could've been killed!"
"Sorry, Mom…"
Then the man's gaze shifted to me, suspicious. "And you are…?"
"My name is Ryuta. I'm just a wandering Magician," I said evenly. A simple excuse I thought of before heading out here.
"I was nearby when a Saint-tier Water spell went off. Found these kids getting blown away and brought them to safety."
"Saint-tier?!" the woman gasped, snapping her head to the little boy. "You went to see Miss Roxy's demonstration? Wynn!" The little boy looked like he wanted to shrink away into oblivion the longer his parents' scolding eyes were aimed at him.
The man's anger melted into guilt. "I… see. You have our gratitude, Sir Ryuta." He turned to Wynn. "You dragged the others into this, didn't you?"
The boy winced. "…Maybe."
Before the scolding could continue, movement caught my eye. A woman with blond hair and a calm, maternal aura hurried toward us.
"Norn?" she called out.
The girl perked up. "Mama!"
She ran into her arms. The woman—Zenith—fell to her knees and embraced her daughter tightly. Relief softened her features.
The others quickly apologized to her. "Miss Zenith, we're so sorry! Our son—"
Zenith shook her head. "It's alright. They're safe." Her eyes found mine. "Are you the one who helped them?"
I nodded. "Just doing what anyone should."
She smiled—gentle, grateful—and for a brief second, her face stirred something I didn't understand. That ache again. Faint, but sharp.
Zenith. Norn. Roxy. Why do these names feel like ghosts in my head?
"If you don't mind me asking, is there somewhere I could stay for the time being? I've been traveling for quite a while."
Zenith's gentle smile didn't waver despite the rain. "There's an empty hut on the west end of the village," she said. "It's old, but dry. You're welcome to stay there."
I hesitated. "You're sure? I don't want to trouble anyone."
She shook her head. "You saved the children. Buena doesn't forget kindness."
Wynn's father pointed toward the path. "Follow the fence by the well road until you reach the last birch grove. You'll see it there."
"Got it. Thanks," I said. Zenith's daughter, Norn, peeked from behind her and whispered something. Zenith nodded, and the girl turned toward me.
"Thank you, Mister Ryuta!" she said shyly.
I couldn't help but smile. "Just stay away from storms next time."
***
Four days have passed since then. Buena Village is… peaceful. Hardworking people, quiet routines. Well, except for the incident with little Wynn.
I've pretty much kept to myself, but the villagers still watch me. Especially the man they call their chief.
Paul Greyrat.
The so-called strongest knight of Asura. Rumored to be God-class. Orsted already told me to take that claim with a grain of salt.
In previous loops, Paul barely reached King rank in one of the three schools—if he ever trained seriously in the sword.
Which means either this timeline's different… or the man's reputation is built on luck and tall tales.
Frankly, I'm betting on the latter.
His adventuring record? One word: scumbag. Retired from being an adventurer, then cheated on his wife with their maid, who got pregnant.
Zenith—yeah, that Zenith—is a saint among women. Gorgeous, graceful, strong-hearted. I even hear that some call her saintes.
And that man still betrayed her. Unbelievable.
If his wife looks like that, I can't imagine what the maid looks like.
Still, credit where it's due: the guy must be insanely lucky to have a family that hasn't torn itself apart.
Luck, huh? Maybe that's what defines him—a man blessed by fortune, cursed by his own stupidity.
And here I am—guarding the village while the only means to kill time is to work on Magic Tools at night.
Worse yet... I forgot the last time I went to the brothel. Three? Maybe four months?
It may sound egotistical, but I want a reward for all my sacrifices once this Red Dragon and Undead Dragon stuff is over.
///