Chapter 54

"Hey! What are you doing to El!?"

The high-pitched voice sliced through the tension between Harold and El.

Lifa, having finished collecting her samples from the Ice Dragon, came sprinting toward them, her white lab coat splattered with bright red gore. From her perspective, it clearly looked as though Harold was tormenting El.

Harold restrained the approaching girl with a single hand. He clamped his fingers over her small head in a firm grip—the classic "Iron Claw."

"Nyaa!?"

Lifa let out a strangled, bizarre cry at the sudden impact and pain.

The sight of a blood-drenched human charging at him had been quite the visceral shock. Then again, considering Harold was also soaked in the Ice Dragon’s blood, he wasn't exactly one to talk.

Since there was no point in holding the thrashing Lifa forever, Harold eventually released her. Freed from the Iron Claw, she scrambled backward, hissing at him like a cornered cat.

She really is like a stray, Harold thought.

He averted his eyes from her and focused on flipping his internal "switch." As he did, the high-adrenaline rush of combat began to drain away, replaced by a cold, steady calm.

The "switch" was merely a term Harold used for convenience. In short, it was a mental toggle he had developed to tap into the original Harold’s power. It wasn't as if his consciousness as Kazuki Hirasawa simply vanished; instead, it was a form of psychological control where he pushed the original Harold’s psyche to the forefront. At least, that was his best guess as to how the logic worked, though the exact mechanics remained a mystery.

Based on his experiences since arriving in this world, Harold suspected the original character’s consciousness was dormant somewhere within his body or soul.

When he first realized his situation, who was it that moved his paralyzed body and forced those words from his throat? When he fought Ritzelt, whose murderous intent had surged from the depths of his being?

By connecting those dots, Harold had reached the conclusion that "the original Harold" still existed inside him.

He had spent countless hours trying to verify this hypothesis. He had experimented with clearing his mind into a void, and he had thrown himself into lethal battlefields where his life hung by a thread. He knew he would eventually need that power—that he would have to survive the hellish combat events of the original story.

The result of that training was this "switch." He didn't know if it proved his hypothesis or if he had simply achieved a supreme level of mental conditioning. All he knew for certain was that flipping the switch converted his fear into pure combat instinct, drastically boosting his performance. Even in a fight for his life, he no longer flinched.

He possessed a body and techniques honed beyond the original game's limits. He had the meta-knowledge of how best to utilize them. And now, he had the original Harold’s feral fighting spirit. In terms of raw strength, he was the pinnacle—the ideal version of Harold Stokes.

The only downside to the switch was that his already foul mouth became even more poisonous. In this state, his speech patterns adhered almost perfectly to the original "villain" persona. It was a side of himself he hated exposing to others.

"Calm down, Lifa. He didn't actually do anything to me," El said, his voice level as he tried to soothe the girl.

"Th-then why were you kneeling!?"

"Ah, that? It’s because I’ve decided to become his—Lord Harold’s—subordinate."

"Huh...?" Lifa let out a blank, hollow sound.

Harold felt much the same way internally.

El had just claimed to be his subordinate. That he had knelt out of fealty.

On the surface, it sounded plausible. However, Harold had only intended to propose a "give-and-take" alliance: El helps him, and Harold helps find the "Stellar Memory" the Giffelt clan sought.

Then again, looking back at their exchange, Harold realized his tone—likely influenced by the switch—had been incredibly condescending. He had sounded like a master addressing a servant. He had been so relieved that El accepted the deal that he’d glossed over the "Lord Harold" part, but he really should have noticed the red flag sooner.

(Wait, why did El actually agree to this? Normally, wouldn't you flatly refuse to work for me?)

Harold had thought he'd gained a partner; instead, he’d apparently gained a henchman. He had never intended to rule over a Giffelt, nor did he think he was capable of truly "managing" someone of El's caliber.

"Don't get the wrong idea," Harold spat. "I only said I would permit you to join my ranks."

"I am aware that I have yet to earn your full confidence. I shall prove my worth through my future actions," El replied.

No. That wasn't what Harold meant at all.

El was using formal honorifics—language never seen in the original game—and had even changed his first-person pronoun. It wasn't just weird; it was unsettling.

"W-what do you mean, subordinate? Were you threatened!?" Lifa demanded, having finally rebooted.

"No such thing. I chose this path myself," El said, flatly denying her suspicion.

He was right. Harold hadn't done anything underhanded. But Lifa’s immediate assumption that Harold had resorted to coercion showed exactly how she viewed him. If it were true, he really would be a scumbag.

It was a testament to how effectively his infamy had spread. While it was a bit depressing to be hated, he couldn't exactly clear the air. It would be a problem if Erika eventually told her he was actually a decent person; maintaining the "villain" facade was safer for the plot.

"If you want to earn my trust, start by dropping that nauseating attitude," Harold barked.

"Is it really that bad? I thought I was doing a rather good job as a loyal retainer."

"It makes my skin crawl."

"Well, that’s a shame," El laughed, "Hahaha." Just like that, he reverted to his usual self.

Perhaps he had just been teasing Harold. Or maybe he was being excessively humble to ensure he got the information he wanted. Regardless, Harold wanted to correct the "subordinate" misunderstanding, but for now, they needed to get off the mountain. Despite the clear skies, the temperature was in the low single digits.

Lifa was in a miniskirt, and El was wearing nothing but overalls and a chest wrap. Harold wondered how they weren't freezing. Then again, Erika had hiked through blizzards in a hakama and wooden sandals in the original game. Protagonist parties were notoriously underdressed for the elements; it was just a quirk of the world's "game logic."

"Staying here is a waste of time. We’re leaving."

"Right. By the way, Harold, are you heading straight back to the Royal Capital?"

"Yes."

"The Capital, huh? It’s been about two years since I was last there."

"And what business do you have there?"

"Not much business—I'm just coming with you."

"What?"

El spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Harold moved to refuse, then hesitated.

Having been purged from the Knight Order, Harold would be confined to a room at the research institute upon his return. And that institute was Justus’s domain. If he could bring El inside, he might be able to gather intelligence.

Harold knew the plot; he knew what Justus was planning and how he would do it. But without knowing the current progress of those plans, he couldn't strike at the root. If he tried to interfere blindly, he might deviate too far from the original story, making his meta-knowledge useless.

His strategy was to play the long game—to prepare a perfect "Counterattack" for every move Justus made. While Rainer and his party would be the ones to ultimately act, Harold’s goal was to support them from the shadows. He had been gathering pieces for this very reason, and El was a massive windfall.

With El's skills, they might finally be able to gauge the depth of Justus’s schemes.

"Since we’ll be working together more often, I wanted to see Harold’s base of operations," El added.

"Hmph. Do as you please."

It made sense, and Harold trusted El not to make a rookie mistake like leaking info if he met Justus face-to-face.

The only real concern was how much El already knew. He seemed to know about Harold’s career in the Knight Order, but did he know about Colette or the LP Farming Method? If Harold tried to swear him to secrecy, it might backfire by making El even more curious.

While Harold was lost in thought, Lifa—who had been watching silently—suddenly made an announcement.

"I’m coming too!"

Harold felt as if time had stopped. He couldn't begin to fathom why she would want to follow him.

"Your brain must be malfunctioning," Harold sneered. "It clearly needs a factory reset."

"What? If El can go, why can't I?"

He’d ignored the sarcasm, but she was right in a way. The problem was that Lifa had to meet Rainer for the story to progress. In this world, she could technically choose a different path, but that would cripple the protagonist's party. Specifically, Lifa was the one who solved the miasma crisis in the Sumeragi territory. If she stayed with Harold, the collateral damage would be catastrophic.

"Because your presence is unnecessary."

"I’m not planning on becoming your subordinate! I’m just going as far as the Capital because I’m worried about El. After that, I’m going back to my village!" Lifa snapped, baring her teeth at him.

It seemed Harold had jumped the gun. She wasn't trying to join him permanently; she was just being a protective friend. If it was only as far as the Capital, it wasn't a huge issue. In fact, it might be safer for her than traveling alone.

"Worried? About him?"

"Yeah! I can't exactly leave El in the hands of someone like you, can I?"

What are you, his mother? Harold thought, barely suppressing the retort.

---

El kept a discreet eye on Harold as they walked. Harold’s face was less "expressionless" and more "perpetually annoyed." His sharp, hostile gaze only added to the impression of a man in a permanent foul mood.

It had been three days since they left Mount Giran. In that time, the only expressions El had seen on him were that simmering irritation or a cruel, twisted smirk used to provoke Lifa.

Harold didn't talk much, but when he did, his words were pure vitriol. It was as if he were constantly trying to maximize the number of enemies he had. As for his true character, El couldn't yet tell, but judged solely by his exterior, he was a thoroughly unpleasant human being. Even El, who had dealt with some of the most eccentric people on the continent, found Harold to be an outlier.

If it weren't for the Stellar Memory, El would never have considered working for him. If the information turned out to be a lie, he would vanish without a trace.

If El felt this way after only a few days, he could only imagine how the people who worked with Harold felt.

Waves of hostility, disgust, and contempt radiated from every corner. Though the halls were technically silent, the weight of a thousand unspoken curses seemed to hang in the air. This was Harold Stokes’ reputation within the Astral Research Institute.

Beside him, Lifa—who had been full of energy until they arrived—was now shrinking back. Just hours ago, she had been ecstatic about her first airship ride, but the atmosphere here was suffocating. Even El had to focus on maintaining a slow, steady pace to keep from bolting for the exit.

The malice directed at Harold by the researchers was breathtakingly intense.

Yet Harold walked through it as if he were alone in the hallway. He wasn't frightened by the loathing, nor did he respond with his own anger. He didn't look weary or try to hide his face.

He was simply indifferent.

(What kind of life do you have to lead to become this numb?) El wondered.

It was difficult to ignore people who were that obsessed with you, whether they loved or hated you. If the interest was that strong and that widespread, most people would break. El began to suspect Harold lacked some fundamental human sensitivity. Or, if he was doing this on purpose, it was a terrifyingly impressive display of willpower.

Harold stopped abruptly in front of a white door at the end of the corridor. He gave a cold, mechanical knock. A few seconds later, the door clicked open.

A man in his mid-thirties stepped out. The moment he saw Harold, his face contorted in a grimace of pure loathing.

"...What do you want?"

"Don’t ask me the obvious, you simpleton. Are you truly that desperate to advertise your incompetence?"

(And there it is. No wonder everyone hates him,) El thought.

It was a hellish environment, but one Harold had built for himself. There was no reason to feel sorry for him—and Harold likely wouldn't want the pity anyway.

The man’s face flushed a deep crimson, his eyes narrowing with rage. He trembled as he tried to maintain his composure.

"The Director is in the middle of an experiment. If you have a report, come back—"

"I was told my reports take top priority. Or have you already forgotten? Go tell that man I’ve returned. Even a moron with the retention of a toddler should be able to handle a simple errand. Unless, of course, that truly is beyond your capabilities."

The insults were razor-sharp. El realized Harold had been going easy on Lifa; the venom he spat here was on an entirely different level.

Just as the tension reached a breaking point, a voice drifted from the back of the room.

"In my opinion, there are useful arguments and useless ones. Which do you think yours is? My guess is the latter."

The voice was flat, almost mechanical.

A man with sallow skin and shock-white hair emerged from the shadows. Though tall, he was gaunt, his frame hunched into a slight stoop that gave him a frail appearance. However, his eyes—hollow sockets harboring a cold, inorganic light—immediately commanded the room.

Justus Freund. One of the Kingdom’s most brilliant scientists stood before them.

---

Author's Note: I laughed a bit because the comments section was flooded with remarks about the dragon's weight. It’s true that a massive dragon weighing the same as a car is a bit odd, but if you consider that a human being is capable of punching out a car traveling at 100km/h in this world, maybe it’s not that crazy? Besides, Harold is a speed-based fighter anyway, right?