Antero watched Carla with contempt, but his steps remained cautious.
'...No signs yet.'
He kept glancing at Carla’s eyes. Naturally—he had no desire to provoke her and end up turned to stone.
Antero believed Carla wouldn’t petrify him. If she did, the aftermath awaiting her would be a dreadful tragedy.
But that belief was only a kind of self-preservation through threat. If she actually lost her temper and turned him to stone, he was finished.
Of course, Carla’s life would also collapse into ruin, but a dead man wouldn’t be around to care.
So even if the odds were low, Antero had to prepare for that one in a thousand.
'Still, too good to pass up.'
To Antero’s eyes, Carla and Frondier standing together was a very strange sight.
The man stood motionless, his focus gone. And Carla was desperately guarding him.
'I was already thinking it was about time I hit the limit of using Carla anyway.'
Her secret was far too dangerous for her to ever blend into human society. And because of that, Antero could exploit her.
But precisely because of that overwhelming advantage, he had made a mistake—he had demanded too much of her.
'I gave her too short a deadline to obtain information. At this rate, Carla won’t even be able to keep her position as principal of Atlas before her secret is exposed.'
Indeed, just moments ago, Lady Achaia and the nobles aligned with her had nearly reached the truth of Carla’s secret—until Frondier interrupted.
Antero, unaware of that, saw only a suddenly appearing man who looked like a delicious piece of prey.
'I came here thinking I might extend her time limit, keep milking her longer...'
But now Antero intended to change plans.
If he could take that man hostage—and if that actually worked on Carla—then there would be no need for negotiations at all.
He’d have another piece of blackmail and could squeeze Carla to the bone.
'Step.'
Antero took another step forward. Carla’s face stiffened.
But still, there was no petrification.
'So it was all bluff after all.'
He grinned. Petrification couldn’t be blocked, but one could see it coming—her eyes would change first.
So at least until that transformation appeared, he was safe.
'Right, Carla. There’s no way you’d use petrification on me, not you, who so desperately wants to become human.'
Antero already had his sword drawn. Two more steps and he’d reach Frondier past Carla—or rather, if he used aura, it was easily within range.
But that distance—
“Hey.”
—might have been safe from Carla, but not from Frondier.
“What do you think you’re doing.”
To Antero, there were still two steps left. To Frondier, the man had already crossed far beyond acceptable range.
“!”
Antero stopped walking. He looked at Frondier.
Eyes in perfect focus. A calm, indifferent gaze. Nothing about him looked deranged.
Tch. Antero twisted his lips.
“So you weren’t just some idiot. Sleepwalker, maybe?”
“Idiot, huh.”
Frondier also laughed—but not mockingly like Antero. His laugh was dark, quiet.
Of course. It was genuinely funny.
It had been a very long time since someone had dared to call him that.
“F-Frondier! You’re awake!”
Carla exclaimed with relief. Turning toward him, she said quickly,
“Please, leave for now. I’ll handle this.”
Frondier looked at her briefly, then turned his gaze back to Antero.
“And who’s that?”
“Eh...”
The sudden question froze Carla. Antero’s expression hardened.
“F-Frondier, you don’t know who Antero is?”
“Is that a name I’m supposed to know?”
Frondier tilted his head, studying him.
He’d studied the continent and its nations in the library. But nowhere had he seen that face. Then again, books with actual portraits were rare.
Carla blurted out in a fluster,
“Antero’s a Paladin, Frondier! You’ve really never heard of them?”
Paladin?
A name so familiar from his previous world that it felt trite. Yet because it was too familiar, he couldn’t tell what kind of “Paladin” this world meant.
“Twelve knights gathered under the kingdom of Palma—the Paladins. You truly don’t know them?”
Ah. Now Frondier understood.
So it referred to something like the Zodiac of the Falind continent.
The Terst Empire of Falind had twelve decisive weapons who fought monsters—the Zodiac.
And here, too, there were twelve such warriors.
'They really love the number twelve. Understandable, I suppose.'
This world gathered every myth and legend imaginable; the number twelve was inextricably bound to them.
'So like the Terst Empire, Palma is both the king’s name and the nation’s name.'
Each ruler kept twelve mighty warriors by their side—one fighting monsters, the other fighting demons.
And as far as Frondier knew, Palma was the only human nation on the continent of Agoris.
But that made one thing odd: Palma never called itself an “Empire.” Even King Palma was never called “Emperor.”
'What’s the distinction between them, then?'
“Hey, half-wit.”
Antero called out to him.
“If you know who I am, get on your knees, you fool.”
Frondier blinked.
The words were so outlandish he needed a moment to process them.
Get on his knees? Before someone who wasn’t even an emperor?
Antero didn’t stop there.
“On both knees, forehead to the ground. Stay still, and it’ll end without pain.”
Amazingly, he was openly announcing that he’d kill him right here.
Carla cried out in shock.
“Antero!”
“Stay out of this. He’s the one who crossed the line.”
He wasn’t joking. And even if he were, it wasn’t remotely funny.
Carla turned to Frondier.
“Run, Frondier! I’ll buy you time!”
“...”
Frondier went quiet, at a loss for words.
Instead of replying, he asked something else.
“Are Paladins allowed to do that sort of thing?”
“...Officially, no.”
Ah.
She said “no,” but everything about her tone screamed the opposite.
“Anyway, run!”
Antero regarded her lazily.
“Do you know why I’m calmly listening to that nonsense right in front of me? Because your interference doesn’t matter. Run all you want—you’ll only die in greater pain.”
Frondier listened and thought deeply.
Truly, thoroughly considered.
He gauged the presence emanating from Antero—the rough level of his strength, how much might be hidden, how much stronger he’d be at full power. Whether any of it was bluff.
As he went down the list, his head slowly tilted to the side. Antero’s face twisted in irritation.
“What are you thinking—”
“You said your name was Antero?”
Antero scoffed.
Frondier’s voice carried no fear, no anger, no contempt. It sounded like he was talking to some guy his age he’d just met for the first time.
As though Antero’s killing intent and aura simply didn’t reach him—as though he was an oblivious clown who couldn’t read the mood.
It was infuriating. And then Frondier asked again,
“Twelve knights under the king. So you’re one of Palma’s strongest, right? At worst, twelfth place?”
“...Correction. You really are an idiot. Hopeless beyond salvation!”
Aura flooded into Antero’s sword. The blade let out a strange whirring sound.
A mechanical sound, unmistakably. Frondier glanced at Carla.
“What is that?”
“A magitech weapon—a ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) sword called ‘Exzo.’ When the user channels aura into it, the internal mechanism rotates and makes the emitted aura spin sharply.”
In other words, the aura’s output turned into a drill-like form—same power, more lethality.
“Frondier, Antero can freely handle every kind of magitech weapon!”
Frondier’s eyes lit up at that. Carla, seeing his reaction, thought he finally understood.
“Now you get it, right? Run, quickly, Frondier!”
Carla’s mana surged. She couldn’t defeat Antero, but she could buy time. And since he didn’t intend to kill her, blocking him would at least be troublesome for him.
But Frondier said,
“So that means his body’s covered in magitech devices right now?”
“Y-yes! So hurry—”
Thud!
Antero stamped his foot.
“Enough of this chatter!”
He burst forward wrapped in aura. Cutting through the wind, he reached Frondier in an instant. The sword Exzo screamed with a shrill whine as it shot straight toward him.
Too fast for Carla’s eyes to follow—the strike of a Paladin, a nation’s top combat force.
Then—
Kwaaang!
“Guh?!”
Antero felt a dizzying, searing pain. He nearly blacked out and barely stayed conscious. The fact that he still gripped his sword was a miracle.
“W-what the—”
He thought he’d been ambushed from somewhere. Anger flared—
But his body wouldn’t move.
'What... what is this?'
Then he saw his surroundings.
Half of the wall behind him had been smashed, and he was embedded in it. A black solid mass pinned him completely against the wall. Only his fingers and head could twitch.
'What is this pitch-black stuff? A monster?'
He thought it was a random unlucky attack—something unrelated to Frondier.
But the source of that blackness was Frondier himself.
Because Frondier had his hand extended toward Antero, as if controlling it.
“Wha—”
Antero stared, dumbfounded.
Frondier wasn’t even looking at him.
He just had one hand stretched toward Antero while the other touched his chin, head slightly bowed, lost in thought.
“Y-you bastard! What the hell are you—! How dare you!”
“Wait.”
Frondier’s tone was calm, almost gentle, like soothing an upset child—yet faintly strict.
“I’m thinking.”
That was all he said.
While keeping a Paladin pinned into a wall.
Without even looking at him.
Carla gaped in disbelief. Antero’s eyes bulged wide, unable to comprehend his own helplessness.
And Frondier—more than either of them—looked as though he couldn’t make sense of it.
With one brow furrowed, he genuinely thought hard.
'Does this even make sense?'
Even more than the powerless Antero, Frondier himself found this situation deeply displeasing.
