(Orsted POV)
I let silence linger after Ryuta finished his retelling. The dining room felt small beneath my presence. Nanahoshi is with us for some reason, which is very unlike her, as she has never shown interest in these types of discussions.
"It seems Hitogami wanted you at that first wave. Specifically for your high manapool," I said, the words coming out heavier since it meant I've been playing into Hitogami's plan.
Ryuta's lips tightened. Panic flickered in his mismatched eyes before he grimaced. "I… I didn't mean to get captured. It was a failure of mine."
"Failure?" I stepped closer, voice heavy. "Against those you faced, survival alone borders on victory."
Nanahoshi shifted beside me, arms crossing, her eyes narrowing on him. She heard the doubt in his tone as clearly as I did.
"You've been fighting against North God Kaman III, while also fending off against the [Three Swords of the North God]—North Emperor Auber Corvette, North King Wii Taa, and North King Nuckel and Gard. No mere average combatants." I slowed on each name. "And you not only lived, you cut most of them down. Even held back North God himself. That is not something to take lightly."
Ryuta's jaw dropped, every name and title making it open even further. "W-what? That many…? And they were...? That guy was a World Power?!"
His gaze faltered. The disbelief clung to him.
'He underestimates himself too often,' I thought. 'Had Hitogami reached him first, he would have either succumbed to a terrible fate, or a dangerous apostle beyond measure.'
"Note this, Ryuta. This is not a reprimand," I said, quieter now. "The fact that you managed to escape from that hidden fortress after everything already is enough."
The ember of resolve flickered behind his shock. Nanahoshi caught it, her lips pressing thin, as though willing him to hold onto it.
But time pressed forward. "Now for the more pressing matter at hand. The reanimated Black Dragon you've described—its existence is as much of a threat as it is unknown. There is little to no telling what it may do."
Ryuta paled. "That monster... Is this another thing outside your knowledge?"
"I indeed do not recall the use of necromancy happening in this period of history, nor do I recall something about a three-headed Balck Dragon."
Memory failed me; no loop held such an event. These may be related to the Metastasis Event, which is causing all these anomalies. However, this also allowed Hitogami to utilize these events to his own advantage, using up cards and apostles in desperate ways.
"Again," Ryuta spoke up. "I told you that I was on a lot of drugs that time. I'm just saying that it looked like a three-headed Black Dragon. I mean, there were voices in my head speaking to me, so it might have been my imagination going wild."
"Nevertheless, the way you described it
Nanahoshi's brow furrowed, arms hugging tighter around herself. She had never been able to stomach talk of curses or death for long—not out of weakness, but because it clawed too close to her fears. Ever since that spirit-fiend died in her room, she had come by almost daily, demanding updates about Ryuta, as if asking might keep him tethered to life.
"But where do we start?" Ryuta asked. "That massive Teleportation Circle had every indication of its destination erased before I could get to it."
"We don't. We wait for it to make its appearance before we go after it."
"And the army?"
"Their advance stalls until word of the king's death spreads. That delay is our window. Let's use it while we can."
Ryuta's voice dropped. "Wait… Orsted. The king's death? You killed him?"
"No," I did not flinch. "He was the apostle you dropped from the sky and into the ocean of flames."
The air thickened. Ryuta's words fractured. "He... he was?"
"Indeed. Given the scale of it, he was already a main suspect. But with that, it was a necessary move of eliminating him, given what methods he was willing to use."
"And the one next to the throne? Are you sure they aren't finishing what the king had planned for so long?"
"Stevio von King Dragon, the successor to the King Dragon throne, would not take such a risk. But the chances are still high given the state of Asura."
He sagged, pale, exhaustion bleeding through the white in his hair.
"You may rest for now, Ryuta," I ordered. "You have depleted your mana. It will take a while for you to replenish it until we move on."
He almost protested, but Nanahoshi cut in sharply: "He's right. You look like you have been through enough for the next few days."
Ryuta only gave a small nod. "…Alright." His steps down the hall were heavier than he wished.
Nanahoshi hurried after him, her voice rising beyond the wall.
"You're not fine! Look at yourself—your hair, your eyes! Don't you see you need a break?!"
"…It doesn't matter," Ryuta shot back. "I have work to finish before anything else."
The door shut hard. Silence returned.
When Nanahoshi came back, she looked smaller, but her eyes burned. She dropped into the chair opposite me, fingers trembling as she pressed them to her temples.
"He's impossible," she muttered. "Overbearing, stubborn… he'll kill himself chasing this." Her gaze snapped up to mine, sharp. "And you'll just let him, won't you?"
"If that is his choice, I will not complain."
Her jaw clenched, a bitter laugh escaping her. "Of course you'd say that."
She looked so fragile, and yet she was the only one willing to speak to him as a person between the two of us, not a weapon. That was her strength—and her burden.
Ryuta, however, is not that simple.
Throughout history, many individuals have driven themselves in pursuit of ambition, vengeance, or glory. Ryuta's aim was different. Raw, wounded, buried in shadows.
If his past becomes relevant, I will demand it. Until then, his secrets remain his own. He is valuable. That is enough.
Standing up from my chair, I headed straight for the Teleportation Circle in the basement.
"Where are you going?" I heard Nanahoshi ask behind me.
"Taking care of a few things," I answered, not bothering to tell her.
Though it might go against Ryuta's adamant wishes to minimize my mana usage, I will make an exception and ensure the army's key soldiers are taken care of beforehand.
***
(Third POV)
Sharia's market was crowded and noisy—vendors shouting, carts clattering, the smell of bread and roasted nuts hanging in the air. People pushed past each other, but Ryuta kept moving with a clear purpose, scanning each stall.
Metal fittings. Marked stones. Ink for magic circles. To most, they were just scraps, but to him, a craftsman in Magic Tools, they were necessities, replacements for what he had burned through in the last fight. With every purchase, his pouch grew lighter, but the pressure on his shoulders only seemed heavier.
At last, he found the last piece he needed: a faintly glowing crystal. He paid without bothering to count the coins.
The noise of the market suddenly felt too close. He pushed his way out of the crowd and dropped onto a worn bench under a leaning streetlamp. The voices around him faded into background noise as he stared at the ground.
Orsted's warning wouldn't leave his head. The king's death. The Black Dragon's shadow. The sense of psychopathic joy he felt whenever his actions took another's life. Everything was spiraling, and he was trapped in the middle of it.
He ran a hand through his hair. The pale streaks, once something he never thought about, were now impossible to ignore. A reminder of how close he had come to the edge. He let out a shaky breath.
"Ryuta?"
The voice cut straight through his thoughts. Soft. Familiar.
His head snapped up, heart skipping.
Sara stood just a few steps away, frozen in place as if she had walked into the past. She still held a cloth sack of vegetables against her hip, its drawstrings loosened as though she had forgotten she was carrying it the instant she saw him.
Her eyes locked on him—not just on his face, but on the changes. The streaks in his white hair. The darker shaded color in his mismatched eyes. The tiredness in his posture.
Her lips parted, but no words came.
"…Sara," Ryuta managed to say, voice low and unsteady.
///