Frondier had left, and Carla was left alone.
When his figure completely disappeared, she covered her face with both hands.
“......Why.......”
'Why isn’t it working!'
She felt the heat of her own face with her hands.
At first, she’d been confident. Confident that even if she met Frondier, she’d be able to get through it without any problem.
She believed that no petrification impulse would occur and that she’d be able to maintain her composure. The sunglasses were, well, simply a precaution. Just a kind of insurance.
But it hadn’t gone as she wanted. Her facial expressions and the movements of her fingertips didn’t follow her will.
'Ugh, how stupid must I have looked.'
Why isn’t it working! She’d been acting all her life!
'Could he have noticed?'
Carla hadn’t been able to see Frondier’s face properly.
The sunglasses were nothing but consolation. Her curse couldn’t possibly be stopped by something like sunglasses. She wore them not to block petrification, but so that she wouldn’t properly see Frondier.
She had believed that if they didn’t face each other, her heart wouldn’t waver like before.
Of course, since that hadn’t worked at all, the best thing she could do was avoid looking at Frondier’s face. Not just his face—even a single strand of his hair mustn’t come into view.
'I couldn’t see his face, but that voice, those questions.......'
—Is that an alias? The name Carla.
—Do you know about Poseidon?
—Do you know about Atena?
A series of questions that could never be coincidence.
Those were questions no one could ask without knowing who Carla really was.
'But how? How did he know? It was as if he knew about me from the start.'
Carla was a person living in the present world, meaning she was not a being recorded in mythology. The fact that she had been cursed with petrification and was related to Poseidon and Atena was something no one but herself could possibly know.
But that was only true within this world.
Frondier knew too much. Because the mythology he knew wasn’t limited to this world alone.
'Ah, anyway, I have to go.'
Carla shook her head.
Although the situation had turned out completely differently from what she’d expected, she had nonetheless cleared the first hurdle of meeting Frondier.
Now it was time to do her duty as principal.
She began walking toward the gymnasium.
***
For the students, the start of Makia began with selecting their class representatives.
Originally, it was hoped that representatives would be decided by vote or meeting, but the students wanted them chosen through proper duels.
Thus, the vast Atlas gymnasium had been divided into sections so that each class could hold duels simultaneously.
Of course, nobles were also in attendance to observe these duels. Since there were multiple matches, attention was dispersed, but as long as there was even a chance of catching a noble’s eye, there was no reason for any student to hesitate.
So in most classes, fierce duels were being fought to determine representatives, and several nobles were already exchanging opinions while watching promising students.
—Wasn’t that one a second-year? The one holding the sword.
—Strong, but isn’t his stance poor? With his hands that low, it’s hard to read the path, but he might lose his grip.
—He’s left-handed, I think. He’s used to spacing fights differently than others. That stance must be for countering that.
The gymnasium was loud.
The shouts of students as they clashed, the murmurs of nobles watching, the calls and instructions of several teachers guiding the event.
It was proceeding far more successfully than even Frondier’s original plan had envisioned.
Even so, within that noise, there was a small pocket of silence.
“......Hm.”
Pielot stood awkwardly in the center of the assigned dueling area.
“Is no one coming?”
“.......”
“.......”
He looked around as he asked, but no one answered.
Selecting a class representative was up to the class itself.
In Pielot’s class, 3rd year B, they had decided that a simple tournament format would be unfair. Since matchups mattered so much in duels, they’d instead adopted a challenger system.
First, all students would secretly vote for one person they believed fit to represent the class. Then, anyone who wished to challenge that chosen representative could do so in the gymnasium duels.
When Pielot first heard this, he’d been impressed. As expected of Atlas students, he thought—they truly thought things through.
When he’d been chosen by vote, he hadn’t questioned it. He’d simply been happy, and on the day of the duels, he’d been excited, waiting for whoever would challenge him.
But when the moment came, Pielot finally understood what his classmates had really been thinking.
'No one intends to fight!'
He still stood there, awkwardly in the middle, looking around at his classmates.
Searching for challengers with his eyes—but every student he looked at turned their gaze away. Even Ias averted his eyes, though his expression was one of irritation.
Everyone surrounded Pielot in the dueling space, but no one responded to him or met his eyes.
He hadn’t imagined he’d be ostracized this openly.
“......Ah, ahem.”
At that moment, one of the girls in the class cleared her throat. She was the B class president.
Smiling, she said, “Alright then, since there are no challengers, our representative is Pielot. That’s settled, right?”
“What?”
Pielot asked in disbelief, but everyone was of one mind.
“Oh, that’s right.”
“Excellent, Pielot.”
“Be our class’s pride.”
“Good luck, Pielot!”
“You’re amazing, Pielot!”
As if rehearsed, the students threw him one line after another, even applauding him.
“So this is really it? No one wants to be representative? This is your chance to get noticed by nobles!”
Pielot couldn’t understand it.
It wasn’t that he had any intention of losing, nor did he think he’d lose to anyone.
But this duel wasn’t just about winning or losing. As long as one showed good movement and judgment, the nobles present would still recognize that. Whether they won or lost, it could still be a valuable chance.
Yet the other students only gave awkward smiles and bitter looks.
They were all thinking the same thing.
'That only works when the duel looks like a duel. What if we end up like Ias?'
They couldn’t help it—none of them had forgotten how Ias had been defeated.
Before Pielot arrived, Ias had clearly been the strongest in their class. And yet, he’d been taken down in a single exchange. And almost no one even knew exactly how.
If that had happened to Ias, the rest of them would surely fare worse. To display that humiliation before nobles was out of the question.
“......Alright then! So our class representative is Pielot di Ribanche! Elected!”
“Waaaah—”
Pielot stood there in the center, receiving their applause, not knowing what to feel.
***
“Prisoner number 886.”
A guard called out to a man.
The man approached and neatly folded the clothes and shoes he had worn inside the prison, handing them over.
The guard checked them, placed them inside, stamped something on the paper in front of him, and said, “You’re released.”
“......Yes, sir.”
The man quietly bowed his head and looked toward the exit.
Following his gaze, the guard looked to the closed door, where two solemn-faced guards began unlocking it.
“......Number 886.”
The man was about to walk forward when the guard called him back.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you one thing?”
“Anything, Officer Rooker.”
The man nodded politely. The guard, frowning slightly at that courtesy, asked, “What were you doing all this time in prison?”
“Nothing at all, sir. You know that.”
“Of course, you always looked still.”
“That’s right. Cleaning, work—whatever it was, I did it diligently.”
“I know. That’s what’s strange.”
The guard tilted his head.
This man wasn’t quite a model prisoner, but he had been one of the most trouble-free inmates.
Still, there had been one odd thing: while inside the prison, he truly did nothing—just sat still all day.
“Were you really just sitting there? Doing nothing?”
“Is this some kind of quiz? If I don’t answer right, I can’t be released?”
“No. As of now, you’re free. Just an ordinary citizen. I’m asking out of curiosity.”
At that, the man let out a small breath.
Then he lifted his head and spoke as if gazing far beyond the prison ceiling.
“In truth, I was sleeping.”
“With your eyes open?”
“Yes. Hehe, it’s my little secret talent.”
The guard didn’t believe him. Sure, there were people who could sleep with their eyes open, but such people always reacted slowly when called or when alarms sounded.
But this man had never done that. If he’d truly been asleep, those signs would’ve been obvious.
Still, the guard didn’t press him. He’d said it himself—the man was being released, a free citizen now.
“I had a wonderful dream,” the man said.
“Is that so? Must’ve been a happy one.”
“Haha. Rather than happy... it was interesting. I always wanted to see what came next.”
He chuckled softly as if recalling it vividly, then suddenly looked at the guard.
“Officer Rooker, may I ask you something too?”
“What is it?”
“Has Frondier really left? This continent?”
“...That demon?”
The guard’s expression hardened at once. The man smiled faintly, as if satisfied.
“——Yes, that demon.”
“The imperial reports say so. No doubt about it. The demon fled. Escaped off the continent.”
“I see.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Wouldn’t it be terrifying if such a demon were still here? I’m just an ordinary citizen, after all.”
“Hm.” The guard nodded. Indeed, that demon had been a terror—especially frightening because he had once been hailed as an imperial hero. Whatever he had been planning, no one knew now.
“Well, thank you for everything.”
The man stepped out through the heavy prison gates, inhaling deeply the wind of freedom.
One step. A refreshing start.
One step. A light smile of satisfaction.
One step. A stride so distant that no one in the prison could see him anymore.
One step.
A shadowed face, a deepening grin, and a figure walking toward the forest.
Caw!
Caw, caw!!
Caw—!
Loud cries echoed from behind to before him. With a fluttering of wings, black shapes rose into the air. Dozens of crows cried as if to welcome him, circling around and perching on his shoulders and arms.
“So, that arrogant brat left the continent without even saying goodbye, not knowing his debt.”
Caw!
As if to agree, the crows cried out. The man, still smiling darkly, looked off into the distance.
—You are now free.
The guard had said that. He had clearly declared his freedom.
“Demon, huh. Heh heh heh. I knew it. I never doubted he’d end up that way after what I saw of him.”
Caw?
The crows tilted their heads as if to ask what he meant.
“Frondier, you’re far too black to be called a hero.”
Caw!
The crows raised their heads high, crying as if in agreement.
“You can’t help it—you suit crows too well. You’re a perfect match.”
The man didn’t have to choose crows, but he did.
It was simply a matter of taste. Nothing more.
“Go.”
At his light command, all the crows took flight, soaring ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) high and scattering in every direction.
“Find out where Frondier went.”
Across the continent, his eyes and ears were everywhere. Crows flew in every sky, and under every dark shadow, rats crept.
I am the one who devours all sounds of the continent. The one who exposes every hidden wound.
Yet even the continent isn’t enough to satisfy me, for I am a mass of greed.
“Are there crows there too, Frondier?”
