"What the hell?" Vargas couldn't cope with the change of scenery.
His face transformed, one crease at a time, as fear gave way to confusion and anger.
The new reality also caught Konrad off guard, despite figuring the illusion out.
At least when Zoltan tried to bolt, the guard's blade stopped him.
"No more tricks, scum," he seethed with rage. Whatever their deal was, with the thief's back to the ruined tower, he had nowhere left to go. "Surrender now, or I'll be happy to kill you."
"He's good," Konrad examined the ruins with awe. "You sure the Green Mage ever existed, or he's made up like Maou—"
"Of course, he exists," the captain barked, cornering the trembling Zoltan. "I met him many times. Even fought by his side during the last war."
That again?
"That doesn't mean a thing," the boy scoffed.
It was a bad idea with all his injuries, but the pain granted him some clarity.
"You fought by 'my father's' side, too," he cradled his ribs, taking shallow breaths. "But I don't know who he was. What if this guy used an illusion on you all this time?"
It was clear as day that whatever happened with that tower, it happened a long time ago.
The broken slabs had no sharp edges left. The weather wore them down, and moss covered everything. A year? A decade? What if the tower collapsed a century ago?
"He's too young for that," Vargas countered, and he had a point. "And too powerless, too."
Powerless? Projecting almost perfect images on that scale? He wasn't sure about that.
But yes, scruffy as Zoltan was, he must have been only a few years older than him. The boy unsheathed his reforged blade, too, ensuring the scammer didn't get any funny ideas.
"Young or not, he stole something from me," and well, he got him a beating, as well.
Thanks to that, he was in no shape to fight—but Zoltan didn't have to know that.
To show his defiance, the bastard kept his mouth shut, eyes flashing to the side for a split second. But that was enough. Konrad followed his gaze, and the purple glint became obvious.
"Now we're talking."
Disregarding the pain, he rushed to retrieve his lost treasure. He found a contraption with his crystal in its centre, still intact, pulsing with the same energy.
Was it something the illusionist used to project the tower's image?
His curiosity surprised even himself, but he yanked his treasure away. Air shimmered, crackling, but nothing happened—the artifact disabled the magic earlier.
"Where is the mage, you bastard?" Vargas asked while Konrad clutched the crystal.
They got no answer.
With the defiant glare burning on the scammer's face, the boy knew he'd die before submitting.
Unless, of course, someone praised his efforts.
"I'm more curious about how long he managed to keep this huge image alive," he mused. "It's crazy, I could only see a little shimmer, but I wrote that up to the magic within the tower."
It seemed the villagers had no idea, either, as they started to gather in the distance.
There was no sign of anyone else living in the tower's ruins, so the illusions had to be all his doing. As much as he hated to admit it, it was clear that Zoltan had a talent for this.
And he was desperate for someone's praise.
"Since last winter," he finally said. "It was a one-to-one replica of the original."
"Amazing," Konrad muttered, and he didn't even have to fake it.
"For half a year?!" The captain's jaw dropped, too, for a second time. "And the Green Mage?"
Zoltan shrugged, avoiding his gaze.
Their eyes met instead, telling him more than a thousand words.
Of course, he wasn't here. Why else would he need that illusion?
But something didn't add up. The ruins were much older than half a year.
"He's long dead, isn't he?" Konrad asked, terrified about the prospect.
"I've no idea," the apprentice clenched his jaw. "I was away on an errand and came back to this."
Whether the mage got bored and moved on or an assassin did him in, it didn't matter.
He was not here to teach him magic.
The boy's brain went into overdrive, desperate for clues, drowning Zoltan in questions.
"What was the mage working on? Did he leave anything behind? Did he have enemies? Or say something about wanting to leave?"
The clock was still ticking, regardless, all thanks to that stupid—
"Forget arresting him," Vargas had had enough. "I'll only take his head back to Aset and report about this illusion crap to the duke at once."
Go figure.
That would cancel even that short timer, and—
Hold on. His beef with the scammer was that he stole his expensive crystal.
He got that back now, but Vargas meant a grave danger to him, with that letter to the king.
The villagers had already gathered, too.
In a split-second decision, Konrad spun around, raising his blade against his guard now.
"You're not taking him anywhere, head or whole," he issued a challenge.
The handle got warmer once real intent flashed through his mind, and it even made him a little dizzy. The 'W' rune glowed up, but if he blinked, he'd miss it.
"You little— I'll take your head too, as an apology to the duke for falling to your schemes."
Vargas didn't hesitate to face him, and he was well aware that Konrad was in no fighting shape.
But it was never going to be a one-on-one fight.
Apart from the useless scammer, now, even more villagers surrounded the ruins.
The boy almost dismissed them first. He thought they came to lynch the apprentice, but it was the exact opposite. Pitchforks, clubs, and murderous intent, all aimed at the captain.
"He's our saviour," a farmer shouted. "We'll defend him to the last man."
That was also the last thing Konrad expected to hear. He was what?
"You townsfolk don't understand," another pleaded. "He killed the evil wizard."
Hold on, evil? And no, he did not.
"He's only holding back," someone claimed. "He's even stronger than Maou Midori. You're doomed as soon as you make a move."
What the hell they— Ah, of course.
Zoltan was an illusionist with excellent tricks, and the villagers all lapped it up.
For all they knew, the tower blew up one day, and the 'evil wizard' was gone.
Then the tower returned, and—
Konrad took a better look at the village.
It wasn't your average little farmer-hamlet; it was prospering. And not on Haiten's level, where merchants made everyone rich who had the money and smarts to profit on them.
No. Every house and person's clothes were neat and clean.
Much more than anything he saw in this world so far.
The boy was so focused on the magic tower that he missed an important detail.
Who knows how much gold this bastard scammed together? Aset had an official warrant against him, with a bounty and all. They even risked going against his 'master', who didn't exist.
And yet he wore rags, while the village was in this shape.
"You heard them, Vargas." Konrad used the chaos to his advantage. Was it treason? Sure, but who cared? The captain set him up anyway. "Drop your sword and nobody'll get hurt."
Vargas 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.