Chapter 59

Lifa had been acting strange lately. Harold could tell because the frequency with which they crossed paths had dwindled to almost nothing.

If it were just a matter of timing, he might have chalked it up to coincidence. However, when he personally witnessed her turning on her heel and marching back the way she came the moment she spotted him, the message was clear. Perhaps she had finally grown tired of his vitriol and decided to keep her distance.

The last time Harold had actually spoken to her was a few days ago. She had been observing his usual early morning training, and he had whispered a curt warning: "You shouldn't wander the institute alone." As per usual, the advice had come out sounding like a sarcastic jab. That was likely the root of the problem.

Given his track record, it wouldn't have been surprising if the weight of his past insults had finally broken the camel's back.

While there were benefits to being hated by her, she wasn't like Erika; her animosity wasn't a narrative necessity. It would be a genuine problem if she ended up defecting to Justus’s side out of spite. If it came to that, he would have to consider bringing her into his own faction instead of the Protagonist's Party as a last resort.

While Harold weighed his options for a worst-case scenario, El seemed to know exactly why Lifa was acting out. For some reason, El refused to share the details, but since the strategist didn't seem particularly worried, Harold figured it wasn't anything that would lead to a strategic disadvantage. That, at least, was a relief.

Regardless of Lifa’s mood swings, Harold was grateful for El’s presence. Having El around reduced his stress levels exponentially. He had come to rely on the youth so much that he felt there was nothing El couldn't handle.

This was especially true now, as Harold found himself forced to leave the institute on one of Justus’s errands.

(…Seriously, how much further to this rendezvous point?)

A few days ago, Justus had summoned him to assign a new mission. While that was business as usual, this time was different: the task hadn't originated from Justus himself, but from a third-party client.

In all the time Harold had spent under Justus’s thumb, this was a first.

Usually, he was given specific coordinates and objectives. This time, he had been told to get the details directly from the client at the meeting spot. He had also been informed, quite clearly, that he didn't have the right to refuse.

To make matters weirder, Justus had sent him a message the previous night. While they communicated via text frequently, the content of this one was cryptic: "Be careful not to overuse your power. Keep in mind that your life will not last much longer, Harold."

The "power" likely referred to the sword Justus had custom-built for him. The official story was that the crystal embedded in the blade granted immense power at the cost of the wielder's mana and lifespan. By publicizing such a dangerous drawback, Justus had managed to justify keeping a "threat" like Harold under his personal supervision. In reality, it was a complete fabrication.

The very evidence the Knight Order and the Deliberation Chamber used to brand Harold a criminal had been manufactured by Justus. There was absolutely no reason for the man to offer Harold a sincere warning.

Taking that into account, the message was likely a performance intended for a third party’s ears.

(Was he being wiretapped? Did he send that specifically so someone else would hear it…?)

Harold looked down at the device strapped to his wrist like a watch.

It was a terminal Justus had developed. It allowed for voice communication by transmitting a specific Astral Body through materials sharing the same magical source. Justus had sneered when Harold asked for details, claiming the "science of magical engineering" was too complex for him to grasp, so Harold still had no idea how the damn thing actually worked.

The condescension rankled, but Harold couldn't argue with the fact that he lacked the specialized knowledge to understand the mechanics, so he simply accepted it as a "magic gadget."

The system required recording a message before sending it, meaning it wasn't a real-time phone call. The further the distance, the longer the "lag" for the message to arrive. Still, in a world without telephones, it was a revolutionary invention.

The unit Harold wore was a prototype intended for eventual mass production. If it succeeded, Justus’s fame and fortune would only grow.

Lost in these thoughts, Harold continued to endure the swaying of the carriage.

It had been two full days since they left the Royal Capital. The sun was already half-buried beneath the horizon. Just as he was beginning to dread the prospect of traveling through the night, the carriage began to slow.

When it came to a halt, the door was pulled open from the outside.

"We’re here. Get out."

The driver, a man of few words and even less charm, lowered the steps.

Harold stepped out and found himself in a large town square. It appeared to be a commercial district; lamps were lit in the windows of shops, and despite the approaching night, the area was teeming with life.

However, Harold didn't recognize the place. It likely hadn't appeared in the game, or at the very least, it wasn't a location the player could visit.

"Where are we?"

"Kablan."

The name rang a bell. While it hadn't been in the game, Harold had heard of it during his years in this world. It was a major regional hub, considered one of the three largest cities in the kingdom, excluding the capital.

"And what am I supposed to do here?"

"Damned if I know. My job was just to drop you off."

With that, the driver hopped back onto the bench and whipped the horses, leaving Harold behind.

The situation was absurd. Left in an unfamiliar city with no instructions, he had no choice but to stand there, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer lack of direction. That was when a voice called out from behind him.

"What’s wrong? You’re looking a bit lost standing there."

Harold reacted reflexively. In a normal state of mind, he would have recognized the voice immediately. It was a familiar, nostalgic tone.

"It’s none of your busi—"

Harold turned, the words dying in his throat. For once, his composure shattered, replaced by genuine shock.

"Oh, I wouldn't say it has nothing to do with me. Not after everything we’ve been through."

"…Itsuki? What the hell are you doing here?"

Standing before him was Itsuki Sumeragi—Erika’s older brother and the closest thing Harold had to a friend.

---

The day after Harold left for his mission, the atmosphere in the research institute felt uncharacteristically peaceful. No doubt the "Harold Effect" had worn off in his absence.

Lifa, currently acting as a temporary roommate, had also regained the composure she had lacked over the past few days. However, her state of mind was the polar opposite of the staff’s.

She wasn't avoiding Harold because she "hated his face" anymore; she was avoiding him because she "couldn't look him in the eye." And yet, she still hadn't quite connected the dots as to why.

(I never expected things to go this way. It’s too early to call it love… but she’s certainly hyper-aware of him now,) El thought.

That morning a few days ago, El had sensed Lifa sneaking out of the room and had followed her in secret, adhering to Harold’s orders not to let her out of sight.

It had been a simple walk. But during that walk, she had encountered Harold, and El suspected she had been struck by his raw masculine appeal.

If one could look past the permanent scowl and the murderous intensity in his eyes, Harold’s physical appearance was top-tier. Even to El, who had met countless people, Harold was among the most attractive men alive.

He had a refined face and a body honed by relentless training. To have a man like that whisper in your ear while his shirt was half-open… it was enough to make some people faint on the spot. And the worst part was, Harold seemed entirely oblivious to his own effect.

A natural-born charmer, El mused. When they had first arrived, Justus had teased Harold about having a "local wife," and El was starting to think the doctor hadn't been joking.

Lifa had been emotionally fragile lately, but today, she seemed to have cleared her head. She had a second meeting scheduled with Justus, and she was eager to present the new ideas she’d developed since their last session. She looked like a student ready to ace an exam.

El admired her ability to flip a switch like that. As they watched the clock, the appointed hour finally arrived.

"Alright, El! Let’s go!"

"Yes, yes. I’m coming."

Lifa practically dragged El out of the room. Not wanting to be hauled across the floor, El matched her pace. There was no way El was letting her face Justus alone.

Still, Lifa seemed a bit too fired up. Perhaps her intense focus on research was a way to distract herself from her confusing feelings for Harold.

Regardless, she was wound tight. El would have to be careful to ensure she didn't leave any openings for Justus to exploit.

Truthfully, El wanted as little to do with Justus as possible. El had already learned that trying to pry information from that man while keeping one's own secrets was a monumental task.

However, backing out now would be as good as a confession of guilt. Justus’s intuition and analytical skills were beyond human. He was a monster in a lab coat.

Walking into his den by choice… I must be a masochist, El thought with a self-deprecating smile. But this was the job Harold had assigned, so there was no turning back.

When they reached the research lab, El knocked, but there was no answer. Usually, an assistant would greet them, but El realized there was no sign of life coming from the main room at all.

It was past dinner time, but these researchers were the type to forget meals and sleep. It was highly unlikely the entire staff had left at once.

"Huh? Is nobody here?"

Lifa reached for the knob. Before El could stop her, the door clicked open.

The room was dark and empty.

However, a sliver of light was visible beneath the door leading to Justus’s inner office at the back. The master of the house was home.

El hesitated. Technically, they were here at the requested time, so entering wasn't a crime. If they were caught, they could claim they had just arrived. If they were lucky, they might overhear something useful.

But this "empty" setup felt a little too perfect. It was a golden opportunity for Justus to make a move on them while Harold was away. If they walked in blindly, they might be falling straight into a trap.

El wavered—and then decided to take the risk.

Harold had told El to prioritize safety, but El knew better than anyone that playing it safe would yield nothing from a man like Justus. He was too formidable for cautious probes.

Besides, El was feeling impatient. If El had been thinking clearly, a more calculated approach would have been chosen.

But Harold had offered a tempting price for cooperation: the Stellar Memory. A legendary repository of all knowledge—past, present, and future.

For the Giffelt Clan, who lived for information, obtaining it was the ultimate goal. Some even said the clan had been founded specifically to find it.

If Harold deemed El useless, that lead would vanish. El needed to prove their worth by securing vital intelligence, no matter the cost.

El pressed a finger to their lips, signaling Lifa to be silent. Once Lifa nodded, El slipped into the room like a ghost. Lifa followed, her movements clumsy but quiet enough.

They reached the door to the inner office. Taking care not to let their shadows show through the blinds, they leaned in to listen.

The voice they heard was cold and clinical.

"—Be careful not to overuse your power. Keep in mind that your life will not last much longer, Harold."

To Lifa, it sounded like a merciless death sentence for the man she had only just begun to understand.