The blades of the helicopter roared as it descended toward the landing zone near EASC.
Surprisingly, nothing had happened on the way there.
Not a single Void creature had attacked them after they left Europe.
They hadn't even needed an escort—Solomon's presence alone made that unnecessary.
There were barely any aircraft in the skies these days, ever since the Void rifts first appeared.
"There's an SUV waiting for us. It'll take us to the walls of EASC. After that, we'll have to go on foot—no vehicles are allowed in the capital today."
Solomon's voice carried clearly, despite the engine's low rumble. His tone was calm, almost casual.
"Your clothes are fine, but we'll have to do something about your hair—unless you want to present yourself like a homeless man. Like this guy."
He pointed his thumb at Ragnar, who sat beside him and immediately scowled.
"I don't look homeless. You're just jealous. Besides, his father has long hair too—so maybe you're the problem."
Solomon blinked in mock disbelief and pointed at himself.
"Me? The problem? No way. Honestly, it's still a mystery how Aeliana and Lyraelle agreed to marry the two of you with that hair."
Only Solomon could insult the heads of the great clans and live to joke about it—maybe because he was a Saint, or maybe just because he was Solomon.
As Ragnar grumbled under his breath, Azriel couldn't help but laugh—only to freeze when Ragnar's sharp stare cut toward him like a blade.
He shut up instantly.
Trying to play it off, Azriel coughed lightly and shifted the topic.
"Didn't we arrive earlier than expected? Even with the longer route? I thought the plan was to avoid drawing too much attention."
They had eventually agreed it was best for Azriel to reunite with his family privately, without all the heads of the great clans present—much to Solomon's disappointment.
"No need to worry," Ragnar replied. "We'll just wander the capital until they're gone. With the heads visiting, it'll be quieter than usual. Rumors about your return won't even reach the Crimson Estate."
Azriel gave him a slight nod.
His parents reportedly never left the mansion anymore. His sister hadn't left the academy either. She was likely home today too—but somehow, he doubted she'd come outside either.
'Dammit, all of this is such a mess. Just yesterday I was reading about it… and now I'm inside the damn book.'
'The entire plot's going to change now that I've returned…'
There was no avoiding it anymore—he'd have to attend the Hero Academy.
The helicopter landed smoothly as Solomon slid the door open.
Sunlight hit Azriel's face, making him squint. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he stepped outside—and froze.
His eyes widened.
Before him loomed towering gray walls, so massive that even the tops of nearby skyscrapers barely peeked above them.
Huge turrets scanned in every direction, and a long line of people stretched toward the fortified gates.Soldiers stood guard, both atop the walls and on the ground, gripping heavy machine guns.
Armored vehicles lined the perimeter, their weapons modified for Void combat.
"Ah yes," Solomon said beside him, bored. "I've never understood why they waste so many guns when anything stronger than a grade 3 monster just shrugs them off. But anyway…"
He stretched lazily.
"Welcome back to EASC."
*****
Only ten minutes remained before they reached the city gate.
Oddly, the driver hadn't spoken a word to Azriel—and that puzzled him.
Was it because the driver didn't recognize him?
Most likely.
Ragnar was seated beside the driver in the front, while Azriel was crammed into the back seat—sandwiched between Solomon on his left and Thomas on his right.
He couldn't blame the poor man. With the King of the Frost Clan next to him and the most powerful Saint breathing down his neck, it was no wonder he barely noticed Azriel.
Besides, it wasn't like many people would recognize him now as Azriel Crimson.
There was also another reason Ragnar had chosen to sit up front.
It wasn't about pride. Not at all.
Azriel had figured it out after twenty painful minutes.
"Hey hey, Azriel, let's sing something!"
"…I'd rather not become famous for killing a Saint with my voice."
"Eh? So does that mean you're good or bad at singing?"
"Bad."
Clearly, Ragnar had already learned to keep his distance when Solomon got like this.
"Fine, fine. Then let's play something instead!"
"Huh? Like what?"
'I wonder if the games in this world are the same… it's only been 150 years, so not that much should've changed.'
"How about the yellow car game?"
'Guess not much has changed at all.'
"…We're the only ones driving toward the gate, though."
"Oh. Right… then how about 'Would You Rather'?"
'I'm going to regret this, aren't I?'
Still, his curiosity—and boredom—got the better of him.
Thomas hadn't said a word the entire time. Like Ragnar, his eyes remained closed.
'I'd rather not go on another road trip with them. Solomon is way too much to handle…'
"…Fine. You win."
"Alright!" Solomon clapped. "Let's go!"
His enthusiasm made Azriel briefly question whether this man really was one of humanity's greatest Saint.
Then Solomon's expression shifted.
A wicked grin crept across his face as his eyes locked onto Azriel's—and for a moment, Azriel swore he saw them flick toward Ragnar.
'Shit. No. Don't do anything stupid, you psycho.'
He was sure Ragnar, despite appearing asleep, was listening carefully—just like everyone else in the car.
'Please, just don't—'
And then Solomon opened his mouth.
"Would you rather date Celestina Fro—"
"Huh!?" Ragnar's voice boomed with fury before Solomon could finish.
"Don't you dare involve my princess in your stupid little games!"
His sudden outburst made everyone in the vehicle jump.
"Eek!"
'Whoa!'
The driver shrieked, swerving slightly before managing to steady the car.
"A-Ah! I-I'm so sorry, King Ragnar! Saint Solomon!"
The man was drenched in cold sweat.
"…My apologies," Ragnar said, his voice calmer. "I shouldn't have startled you while you were driving."
"N-No, please, don't apologize! I'm not worthy!"
"No need to be humble."
"R-Right…"
Despite the situation, Ragnar hadn't scolded the driver. He took full responsibility.
Even though someone else was clearly to blame.
Azriel turned and glared to his left—only to see Solomon looking straight ahead, trying very hard not to laugh.
'You absolute maniac…'
Thomas, as always, remained still, eyes closed, as if he had expected this exact situation to unfold.
"Ahem," Ragnar cleared his throat. "Even though I reacted like that, it doesn't mean I'd be against Celestina dating you, Azriel."
"Eh?"
"Eh?"
"Eh?"
"Eh?"