"What have you done?!" Vargas yelled, yanking his artifact away in panic.
For the most part, Konrad was about to pass out. Only the aching pulse under his ribs kept him awake. That still-steaming amulet drained every ounce of his strength.
And despite suspecting an illusion, this new reality caught him off guard.
The entire landscape transformed without the tower, and so did Zoltan's appearance.
Were those cat ears on his head? A dog's? He must have been a beastman for sure.
Not as interesting as that gorgeous tribesgirl before, but still a novelty for him. His spells must have kept them hidden until now. But someone else's face changed, too.
The captain's eyes narrowed, fear replaced by anger as he drew his sword.
"No more tricks, scum," he grunted. "Where's the Green mage?!"
He got no response.
"Is he even real?" Konrad butted in. Or rather, hissed in. His bruises were far from healed, and his earlier actions amplified the pain. Was magic always like this? He sure hoped not.
"Of course he's real," Vargas barked, stepping past him. "I've met—even fought by his side."
That again? Was there anyone in Kasserlane he didn't fight alongside before?
"Got to admit, he's good, though," the boy noted, examining the ruins. "To cover up all that?"
Zoltan's ears twitched at the praise, inching his way to the side with the shadow of a smirk.
That disappeared fast when the captain raised his blade at him.
"One more step and you're dead."
He was much less polite with the beastman than he was with him.
Not that he was a fan of Vargas either way. Or of the illusionist, for that matter.
But whatever happened to that tower, it happened a long time ago.
The broken slabs had no sharp edges left, and moss covered everything. A year? A decade?
It could have been centuries. A captivating mystery, but Konrad had more urgent questions.
"Where's my crystal, magic peddler?" he demanded, unsheathing his own sword.
Zoltan would only press his lips together, ears flattening against messy dark hair.
Being disheveled wasn't part of the illusion. He still looked like your average homeless person.
But a nervous glance to the side—and the purple glint was immediately obvious.
"Now we're talking." Konrad sighed in relief, regretting it right away.
Small breaths. His ribs couldn't handle anything more.
But he still disregarded the pain to climb the ruins and retrieve his lost treasure at last.
The air shimmered and crackled when he touched it, but that was all. It only lasted a second.
He found the Griphlet's loot on a strange contraption that the amulet must have disabled.
"So, where is he?" Vargas repeated his earlier question, and now Konrad was listening, too.
Zoltan held his arms up high, his hands starting to tremble. But with that defiant glare?
The boy knew he'd die before telling them anything. They were at an impasse, unless—
"I'm more curious about how long he managed to keep this huge image alive," he mused. "It's crazy. I noticed a little shimmer, but I wrote it up to the magic within the tower."
The villagers gathering in the distance seemed to have no idea, either.
But there it was again, that little twitch of the beastman's ear.
"Since last winter," he grunted after a long moment. "It was an accurate one-to-one replica."
Got him.
"Amazing," Konrad muttered, and he didn't even have to fake it. Not that he could.
"For half a year?!" The captain's jaw dropped, too. "And the mage?"
Zoltan shrugged, avoiding his gaze.
He looked at Konrad instead, his eyes telling him more than a thousand words.
Of course, he wasn't there. Why else would he need that illusion?
Still, something didn't add up. The ruins were way older than half a year.
"He's long dead, isn't he?" Konrad asked, the prospect terrifying him.
"I've no idea," the apprentice mumbled. "I ran an errand for him and came back to this."
Whether the mage got bored and left on or an assassin did him in, it didn't matter.
He was not available to teach him magic.
The boy's brain went into overdrive. Desperate for clues, he drowned Zoltan in questions.
"Did he have enemies? Or say something about wanting to leave? What was the mage working on? Did he leave anything behind? Was the errant important?"
He ran out of breath by the end. And despite his aching lungs, he got no answers this time.
And the clock was ticking, all thanks to that stupid—
"Forget arresting him," Vargas had had enough. "I'll take his head to Aset and report Lord Schwertburg about this illusion crap."
Go figure. That would cancel even that month he had as a lease on life, and—
Hold on. His beef with Zoltan was about the stolen crystal, and he already had it.
But Vargas had that letter to the king, which could have gotten Konrad executed.
And those villagers who gathered in the meantime? They didn't seem happy at all.
In a split-second decision, Konrad changed his stance to point his blade at the guard instead.
"You're not taking him anywhere, head or whole," he issued a loud challenge.
So loud, in fact, that his ribs ached even more. He was in no way to fight.
"You?! Whatever, I'll take your head as an apology to the duke as well."
Not a moment of hesitation. And Vargas was also aware of his injuries.
Of course he was. His subordinates caused them in the first place.
But this was never meant to be a one-on-one fight.
The villagers kept inching closer until they surrounded the ruins.
The boy thought they came to lynch the apprentice first, but the mood was different. They had pitchforks, clubs, and murderous intent, all aimed at the captain alone.
"He's our saviour," a farmer shouted. "Ye town rats won't lay a hand on him."
That was still the last thing Konrad expected to hear. He was what?!
"He killed that evil wizard," another added. "He's only holding back to spare you."
Evil? And no, he did not.
"He never kills, but he's stronger than Maou Midori," someone claimed. Didn't that contradict their previous statement? This was getting ridiculous, but—
Ah, of course.
Zoltan was an illusionist. The villagers must have lapped up all his cheap tricks.
Besides, when Konrad took a better look at the streets, it wasn't your average poor hamlet.
This place was prospering, and not even on Haiten's level. Every house and villager's clothes were neat and clean. Cleaner than anything he had seen in this world before.
The boy was so focused on the magic tower that he missed an important detail.
How much gold did this bastard scam together?
And yet he wore rags, while the village was in such an excellent shape.
"You heard them, Captain." Konrad used the chaos to his advantage. Was it treason? Sure, but who cared? Vargas set him up anyway. "Drop your sword and nobody'll get hurt."
The captain seethed with anger, but couldn't do anything. The tables have turned.
Neither of them expected the villagers' reactions, but their motivation was obvious.
Zoltan was this world's own Robin Goddamn Hood.