Ding-dong—
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
When Frondier got up and opened the door, Elodie was standing outside.
"Hi. I came back today."
"Yeah. I just got home, too."
At his reply, Elodie slowly looked him up and down.
"......You’re in one piece."
"You thought I went there to fight?"
"No, I thought you went there to get dragged into one."
Sharp as ever.
Frondier opened the door wider and gestured her inside.
"Come in. Mei’s here too."
"I know. She came over from my room."
Elodie stepped inside and sat down in a convenient chair, looking at Frondier.
"So, how’d it go? Was Heracles really that Heracles?"
"I told you, I didn’t fight him."
"Liar. Your mana’s cut in half."
"......How did you know?"
He’d believed he’d managed to contain it well enough.
Elodie chuckled softly, her eyes narrowing.
"Trying to fool my eyes when it comes to mana? You’re a hundred years too early for that."
"......As expected of you. But seriously, it wasn’t a fight."
Frondier explained the situation with Heracles.
Of course, he left out the part about actually fighting Telephos — there was no need to bring that up.
"And in the end, he just walked away like nothing happened."
"......Incredible."
After hearing the full explanation, Elodie’s mouth fell open in disbelief.
"To think someone could take that and come out with only scratches... that’s insane."
"That’s why he’s called a demigod."
Elodie nodded, and her expression grew serious, as if catching Frondier’s mood.
After watching her for a moment, Frondier said,
"And he told me my full power was like arithmetic."
"Arithmetic? Like landscape painting sansuhwa?"
"......No. Arithmetic as in adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing."
When Mei had said it, he’d thought of “the four operations,” but even trying to explain it himself, he ended up saying the same thing.
Still, Elodie was a mage, not a warrior. Her perspective on strength was fundamentally different. She would think of it as a magician would; understanding what Heracles meant would be difficult.
"Aha."
But then Elodie nodded, as if she did understand — and said something so quintessentially mage-like,
"If arithmetic isn’t enough, he’s telling you to do mathematics, right?"
Frondier blinked for a very long time.
***
Obsidian Prison.
After Aster and Dierre left, Marco spoke in disbelief.
"Unbelievable. Such a nice face, and I could’ve sworn his nature was good too. I read it, after all."
Marco recalled Dierre’s expression and tilted his head, still confused.
It wasn’t an act — he had truly read a kind heart. Reading hearts was one of a demon’s specialties.
But that expression, those words — all wrapped in cunning tricks and deceit. Did such a human really exist?
'That Dierre kid might be a natural enemy of demons. I’ve never seen a human that can make a demon drop its guard like that.'
Marco turned to the warden, Esther, who was standing outside the cell.
"Hey, I’m not saying another word if that brat comes again. Got it?"
Esther sighed.
"You said the exact same thing when you first got here. Back then it was Frondier — now it’s Dierre?"
"Yeah. He’s the same kind as that Frondier. No, maybe worse. Infuriating little bastard. From now on, no cooperation."
"Cooperation, my ass."
Even now, Marco was every bit the demon.
He’d never intended to cooperate in the first place — his goal had been to manipulate humans through smooth talk and trickery. But now that he’d been outplayed, he was brazen enough to play the victim.
'Well, I was worried Dierre might actually fall for his tricks.'
It was a relief that Dierre seemed to have gotten enough information out of him.
Esther looked at Marco and asked,
"For someone claiming he got outplayed, you look awfully relaxed. Still hiding something?"
At that, Marco shook his head.
"Nope. I really got played. Once I panicked, I couldn’t get my expression or posture under control. That Dierre kid must’ve seen right through me. I lost. Completely lost."
He raised both hands in a mock surrender pose.
Naturally, Esther didn’t like that one bit.
"Then what’s with that smug tone? Dierre will pass the information to Frondier, and once Frondier realizes the full picture of your plan, that’ll cause you plenty of trouble."
"Frondier, huh... Yeah, that one’s impressive."
Marco nodded.
"Didn’t expect him to head for Agoris at all. Then again, from his first appearance to the end, the guy’s been nothing but one giant variable."
To Marco, Frondier was a living nightmare.
From their very first encounter, the man had done absurd things — and managed to incapacitate a being that was supposed to be unkillable. From that moment, Satan’s plan had completely collapsed.
Frondier was strong. Marco knew that well.
"But in the end, he’s still just one human."
"If you keep thinking of him as ‘just human,’ you’ll get burned again."
"Hahaha. The important part isn’t that he’s human — it’s that he’s one."
No matter how strong, Frondier was an individual.
And there were limits to what an individual could do — limits that had nothing to do with raw strength.
"Tell me, Warden, do you believe in fate?"
At the sudden question, Esther’s eyes cooled.
"If I did, why would I work in a prison? I’d just leave things to fate."
"Khaha! Fair point."
But Marco’s tone grew quieter.
"Still, fate exists. It really ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) does."
"Then what, you being locked up here is fate too?"
"Something as trivial as what happens to a lowly thing like me doesn’t matter."
Marco called himself lowly.
His voice carried a certainty, as if he truly believed in some enormous force called destiny.
Of course, he was a demon — his words carried little credibility — yet the way he spoke made them hard to ignore.
"Whether I rot in this prison, escape it, or was never caught in the first place... those small results are like changing the shape of a wave. Build a breakwater, cover it with rocks, or even look smaller — a single human footprint can change the shape of a wave. Nothing remarkable about that."
Marco gripped the bars with both hands and leaned forward.
"But even so — can you stop the next wave?"
"......."
"The stronger an individual becomes, the more they’re affected by fate. Frondier must’ve realized that early on. He was branded a demon by the continent and forced to leave it. What could he have done? Almost nothing."
"......Frondier simply chose that path."
"He had to choose it. That’s the kind of man he is!"
Marco’s voice boomed.
"Go ask him yourself. If he went back in time, do you think he’d choose differently? No! That man can’t stain his hands with innocent blood, not even a single drop! Give him a hundred chances, and he’ll choose to leave the continent a hundred times! What else would you call that if not fate?"
"......And your point? Rambling about the past to argue fate — what does that accomplish?"
"This time is the same, Warden."
Marco grinned — the very picture of a demon’s smile.
"The war can’t be stopped. Just like Frondier couldn’t protect himself. He’ll be swept into this war powerless to resist, unable to move hand or foot. Knowing a few more lines of information won’t change that. That’s fate. Frondier himself already proved it — the proof being that he’s no longer on this continent!"
"......Hah."
Esther sighed as if it were nonsense.
But Marco, unfazed, went on.
"We have the God of Destiny on our side now. It’ll be quite the refreshing experience — for both continents alike!"
"If you’re done spewing, I’ll be leaving. I thought you might have something useful, but as always, demons never have anything nourishing to say."
"Khaha! Trying to feed yourself off someone else’s words — such a bad human habit!"
"Keep talking and I’ll make sure you regret it."
Esther turned and walked away.
She said that, but Marco’s words lingered in her mind.
Those who truly knew Frondier all carried some form of guilt over his exile from the continent. The degree varied, but the guilt itself couldn’t be ignored.
That demon was digging into that guilt, using it to preach fate. Whether or not he truly believed a war was inevitable didn’t matter — fatalism itself was dangerously seductive.
'Damn it, beating that demon means nothing anyway.'
The immortal demon, Marco. His restraints prevented him from using his powers, but his numbness to pain remained. If he were injured too much, there was even a chance the restraints might weaken.
'...Still,'
As she walked, a sudden thought struck Esther.
'Fate... the God of Destiny...?'
Stop.
She halted and tilted her head slightly.
"I’ve heard something like that somewhere before..."
***
"Leaving already?"
A gruff-faced man asked bluntly.
Despite his rugged build, he held a delicate carving knife and a file, carefully working on a gemstone smaller than his own pupils.
From behind him came a soft, feminine voice.
A slender figure, pink hair, an aura and grace that seemed wrapped in pure allure.
"Yes. I’ve finished all my studies."
The man sighed.
"You could at least stay for graduation."
"No. Wasting time doesn’t suit me."
Tap.
He set down the gem he’d been holding, placing the carving knife on the table as well.
His gaze turned toward the girl — his daughter.
"......Do you really trust that man?"
"This isn’t trust."
The girl shook her head.
"There’s simply nothing to doubt."
"......If I’d known it would come to this, I should’ve thrown him out the moment he first came to our house."
"Ahahaha."
The girl laughed softly.
"You already knew, didn’t you, Father?"
"......Hmph."
The man closed his eyes, choosing not to answer.
"So why today, of all days? It’s not a particularly special date."
"Why else? You know the reason."
The girl lightly brushed her hair back.
Swish—her pink locks curved gracefully, as if guided by fate itself.
"I just feel like today’s the day I should go."
Her eyes were both pure and unwavering; her posture, both proud and delicate.
With those enchanting lips, the girl spoke:
"Cybel Forte — I’ll be going now."
