Heavies pinned both Konrad and Welf to the ground, stripping them of their valuables.
They got his crystal and his vial, too—while tribesmen wailed and bled behind them.
A purple glare of judgment burned his skin, and he had no excuse for messing up.
"Yer kind's fate is to burn on stakes," foul breath choked him, "but I'll be yer friend, if ye help."
That thug was the last person he'd call one, but—
How'd he even think he controlled monsters? He had the fake ones, but—
Should he agree, pretend, and fail when a real one showed up?
No, they'd kill him. And should he explain they were wrong, they'd kill him right away.
"Hurry up, or I'll slit yer slave's throat," came the warning. Back to square one, he was pathetic and useless, although— The ink on his skin also had a weak charge in it.
Spells still active; at least he could've gone out with a bang. It was a gamble he took.
"Unhand me, or I'll burn you to cinders," he schooled his voice, but his hands trembled.
A fireball took shape in his palm, his second spell making the flames dance.
The infrared light was his final touch, providing real heat. The runes lost most of their glow by the time he finished, but the results—
"W-wait," the captain and his men jumped. His arms became free, lifting the fireball higher.
Ten seconds, or less, until he'd burn through his mana, but thugs scrambled back in panic.
"Bold of you to threaten the Green Mage's apprentice," Konrad said, as the illusion fizzled out. It fulfilled its purpose; he reclaimed his sword. "I kept my powers in secret, but now—"
Now he was about to faint. But he got used to it. Dizzy as he was, he waved his blade at Welf.
"Return him and all you've stolen," he demanded, his legs shaking. If he made them believe he was in control, it'd become reality. The captain's blade wavered.
Eyes darting between fire and the wounded—before his knees buckled.
"I-it was a misunderstanding, ser," he mumbled, shoving his men back.
It sure was, but as soon as the blacksmith was free, he wasted no time, and—
Tore up his clothes, rushing to treat the wounded tribesmen with the scraps of his garbs.
Konrad sighed. Priorities.
"The crystal and the vial," he barked, hoping he'd last long enough. "And explain yourself."
The Crows' captain threw the goods without hesitation. The boy caught it, feeling a hundred times stronger already. He wouldn't let his relief show, though.
"I, I thought ye were a scam, and sicced those beasts on us somehow—"
Did he mix him up with Zoltan?! Still, "if I were a scam, how could I—"
"Ye were starin' at 'em, Ser, and I thought ye might've shown them somethin', to—"
That bastard had some interesting ideas, though he wouldn't admit it.
"Fool, I used my demonic glare to weaken them," he claimed instead, cringing as the words left his lips. But if this chunibyo bullshit worked for Lily—
"Yes, yes, I see it now," the captain kept bowing. "Yer talent's the real deal."
Simpleton. That salvaged the situation, but it was still dire. The Crows lost five men, and a pariah lost his arm. It was a miracle that none of them died.
"Treat the wounded, and don't cross me again," Konrad warned, then took a few deep breaths.
He recovered, but the fading adrenaline left him exhausted. Mercenaries rushed to deal with their own, and he stumbled after Welf to help with theirs.
If only he had Lily's healing magic—
Or enough mana so he could at least stand on his own.
The blacksmith seemed mad, still, and after his little show, the tribals must've feared him more.
"I'm sorry, okay?" Konrad muttered to himself before noticing a desperate, purple glance.
"C-can you—" The grey-haired girl trembled, reluctant, but hopeful. Her voice was so thin and hoarse, he almost missed it. And when she lifted that severed arm, the boy recoiled, retching.
She followed, shuffling on her scraped knees, ignoring the pariahs who'd try to stop her.
"Please, Ser. I know you're powerful," her plea grew stronger. "Could you reattach this—um, Master?" His throat locked, desperate to help, but illusions wouldn't mend those injuries, ever.
The arm still twitched, dripping blood on her feet, her matted hair more red than grey now.
"Come on, Eyna, not even Lily could do that." Welf shouldered through grieving tribesmen, prying the arm from her grip. "Help me with the wounds that we can still treat—"
Eyna? Where did he— Hold on.
"You guys know each other?!" Konrad choked out.
"I told you, they're the Black River tribe, didn't I?" Welf paused, rolling his eyes, like the boy was an idiot. "Eyna and I met a few times at the tribal council; she's the chieftain's daughter."
So that's why the tribesmen hissed at him when he approached her earlier.
"No, please," the girl pleaded. "I've no name and rank anymore, my tribe—"
A tear formed in her surreal, purple eyes, but never fell.
"If you knew them, why didn't you tell me?!" Konrad still couldn't get over the fact.
"You told me to fool everyone and act like your slave," Welf dumped bandages on him and waved towards the wounded. He wasn't the brightest in the shed. "Now, clean up your mess."
"To fool Vargas and the mercs," the boy choked. "I tried my damndest to talk to the tribesmen."
The blacksmith shrugged, tightening the bandages on the elder with the lost arm. It seemed like he'd survive, but the others still avoided Konrad when he chased them, trying to help.
No matter how tired he felt, the guilt didn't let him laze around.
While his goal was to break the Rabid Crows, sacrificing the pariahs seemed too harsh. If he could help it, he wanted to save them, too—and not cause them even more suffering.
They'd be like him in his previous life, but this world was much more ruthless.
He sympathized with them and wanted to at least apologize to the maimed elder, but couldn't find the time. The thugs looted their fallen comrades and dealt with their wounded, too.
"Get up, we're heading out," their captain yelled. "I'll leave behind anyone who'd slow us down."
Konrad groaned, catching some wary glances. He was sure the Crows would stab him in the back the first chance they got. How long until they've reached the center?
How long have they been here?
Copying that codex in the afternoon felt like a distant memory. If only he saw more of it—
"So Liliana is still alive?" The girl's whisper drifted to him as he stumbled, exhausted.
Welf stood behind with the other tribesmen, and the boy had the entire vanguard to himself.
"Of course, but she's in a coma," the redhead explained. "Not the same one as that time—"
He had to get rid of them, somehow, before they'd become collateral damage.
He didn't know how he'd deal with the Rabid Crows alone, but the tribesmen were in the way.
They distracted him so much that he almost missed the changes in the dungeon.
But they were hard not to notice.
The ground sloped, and in a hundred paces the horizon opened up.
He saw an orange sky overhead with clouds and strange birds circling above.
A vast plane stretching for miles in every direction, the vegetation lush and alien.
Welf called it a pocket dimension? It was an entire world—teeming with monsters.
And in the distance—something massive stirred.