Olivia awoke not long after Isama had given her a healing potion. Slowly opening her eyes, she saw Isama's worried face beside another man she recognized—Piccaro.
"Master Isama…"
"Master Piccaro…"
She spoke their names softly, her voice faint. Hearing this, Isama quickly turned to her, surprised that she had opened her eyes.
"Olivia, you're awake," he said, gazing at her with deep concern.
At his words, Olivia clutched her head as pain flared briefly—memories of being beaten by Loco rushed back to her. Yet she also noticed that the pain throughout her body had vanished. The lingering taste in her mouth told her she had drunk a potion—an expensive one. She knew immediately that it must have been her master who gave it to her.
"Thank you, Master," Olivia whispered, feeling she could never repay such kindness.
"You don't need to thank me," Isama said as he gently clasped her hand. Olivia felt the warmth of his touch spread through her palm, calming her.
Suddenly, Piccaro rose to his feet, his gaze sharp as he looked at her. "Who did this to you?" he asked, sliding one hand into the pocket of his trousers.
Olivia lowered her head in silence.
"You don't need to be afraid," Piccaro said firmly, trying to assure her that she was safe enough to tell the truth.
Glancing at her master briefly, Olivia saw the deep fury burning quietly in his eyes. Taking a breath, she finally spoke: "It was like this…" She recounted everything Loco had done to her.
As her story unfolded, Isama sat in silence, his fists clenched tightly, his rage boiling beneath the surface.
"That bastard…" Piccaro muttered, his own expression hardening. He was furious too—angry at Loco, but also at himself for not knowing what had been happening all this time.
"I'll report this to the head of the family," Piccaro declared after listening.
But at those words, Isama grabbed Piccaro's sleeve. "Please, don't let Father know about this," he pleaded.
"?" Piccaro looked at him in confusion, sensing the heavy aura of rage radiating from Isama.
"I'll deal with him myself," Isama said, bowing his head slightly.
He stood, walked toward the door, and without looking back, said, "Please take care of Olivia."
"!" Piccaro stiffened. Something in Isama's presence felt entirely different from before.
"Master, where are you going?" Olivia asked weakly, watching him head for the exit.
Isama didn't answer. Olivia tried to rise and follow, but Piccaro stopped her.
"Master Piccaro!" she cried, shocked that he restrained her.
"He feels like… a different person," Piccaro muttered, his eyes fixed on Isama's retreating back as he disappeared from sight.
...
Outside, heavy rain poured down. Isama stepped out of the mansion, carrying an umbrella to shield his frail body from the storm. The cold air pierced into his thin frame, but he pressed forward.
He walked through the downpour until he reached a statue that towered proudly—the statue of the hero Arthur, the savior of mankind. Isama stared at the strong, imposing figure, his eyes filled with thought.
He had left the mansion in search of a solution. He could not simply lash out at or kill Loco—not when Loco was under the protection of his elder brother, Beirtho.
"I have to adapt quickly to this power," Isama muttered, gazing up at the heroic figure of Arthur, one of the greatest who had brought peace to humanity.
He remembered the stories from his childhood: Arthur had once been just an ordinary man with no remarkable talent. Yet through sheer determination and relentless effort, he had forged his own strength, eventually rising to join the ranks of The Heroes.
Isama's power was unlike magic that could conjure fire, lightning, or other elements. It was something that defied the laws of the universe itself—a power that could alter destiny, that could rewrite what was already established.
"Plausibility," he whispered as his eyes lingered on the statue before him.
Plausibility—the power described in the Book of Anarchy. A power that could disrupt and alter systems. The more complex the system, the more Plausibility it consumed.
Its use was intricate, requiring a deep understanding of the system itself. Just as Isama had destroyed Loco's fire spell circle, he had been able to do so because of his knowledge of fire magic, breaking the system that created it.
"I must settle this before Father returns," he said, gripping the umbrella tightly, Olivia's suffering burning in his mind.
Rain pooled across the streets, forming mirror-like puddles that reflected the dark sky above. Footsteps splashed against the wet pavement nearby.
A woman in a spotless white priest's robe approached gracefully, stopping beside Isama. He turned slightly and saw someone he recognized.
Her long robe reached her ankles, fitting snugly around her frame. The high collar covered her neck, giving her posture an air of dignity. Around her neck hung a golden chain with a red pendant at the end. Holding a white umbrella, she stood beside him calmly.
"Saintess Meliora," Isama greeted her.
"Isama, are you feeling better?" Meliora asked gently. She knew of his frail condition—she herself had once tried to heal him, though her efforts had been in vain.
"Yes, my body feels a little better now," Isama replied with a faint smile.
"!"
"That's a relief," Meliora said, startled but truly glad to hear it.
"By the way, what are you doing out here in this rain?" Isama asked, sensing something unusual.
"I needed to clear my mind," Meliora admitted, her voice tinged with weariness.
"A serious matter?" Isama asked curiously.
Meliora glanced at him for a moment. "It's… a problem within the Church." Her tone made it clear she didn't want to reveal more, the issue being far too secret.
Isama understood. Matters within the Church were always guarded closely.
Meliora served the god known as the Sun Shade—one among many deities who granted power to humanity.
Suddenly, Isama's stomach growled loudly, like a roaring beast. Meliora couldn't help but let out a small, amused smile.
"Excuse me, I should go…" Isama said sheepishly, realizing his hunger.
"…Please send my regards to the Archbishop," he added as he walked away, leaving his farewell.
"I will," Meliora replied with a gentle smile as she watched him depart.
"There should still be a few places open," Isama muttered to himself as he strolled through the rain, shielded by his umbrella.
Eventually, he spotted a small eatery with its lights still on and a wooden sign hanging on the door that read Open.
It was a modest place along the main street, quiet but welcoming. Isama stepped inside, closing his umbrella.
The sturdy wooden tables were neatly arranged. The dining area wasn't crowded—only three to five customers sat scattered across the seats, though the place could hold dozens.
"Can I help you?" a man asked, approaching politely.
"Prepare me a meal," Isama said.
"Of course, sir. Please take a seat, and I'll store your umbrella for you," the man replied, showing him to an empty seat and offering to put the umbrella aside.
Isama handed over the umbrella and sat down as directed. A menu lay neatly on the table. Not long after, a server arrived, ready to take his order.
"One venison soup, two garlic-butter rolls, and a warm tea," Isama ordered.
"Very well, please wait a moment," the server said, jotting down the request before heading to the kitchen.
It didn't take long for the food to arrive. The rich aroma of venison broth rose to meet him, mouthwatering and warm.
"Please enjoy," the server said, setting the dishes before him.