The sound of soldiers gasping for breath filled the forest trail.

An unexpected march.
And not just any march.
They had to sprint across several kilometers without lagging behind for even a second.

Not even during wartime would there be such a reckless march.
They were bound to exhaust their strength before they could even fight.

But now—

Rumble!

“R-run faster!”
“It’s the second earthquake!”
“E-everyone, brace for impact!!”

There was no room for complaints or grievances; all they could do was push themselves harder.
Against the wrath of nature manifesting as an earthquake, humanity had no means to resist.

CRACK!

The ground, already weakened by the burrowing of the worms, crumbled like a sandcastle under the tremors, turning the surrounding area into utter chaos.
Anyone caught in that collapse wouldn’t simply be buried alive—they’d plummet into a yawning chasm, smashed like an overripe tomato.
Unwilling to face such a fate, the soldiers put forth every ounce of effort to escape the zone of destruction.

Thud!

In just a few dozen minutes, the soldiers miraculously managed to escape the earthquake's reach.
It was a moment that proved humanity could achieve anything when it truly tried.

“I-I’m alive…”
“I… I can’t take another step…”
“…I’m dying here.”

Collapsing to the ground one after another, many soldiers either sat or sprawled out in exhaustion.

Normally, this would be the time for the officers to bark orders, urging them to get back into formation.
But the officers, equally out of breath and collapsing in exhaustion, were in no better condition than their men.

As they barely began to catch their breath—

BOOM!

“Ah…”

…The ground beneath them caved in.

This was the largest fertilizer production site on the southern continent and a prison that had endured for over a century.

CRASH!
RUMBLE!

Watching the destruction unfold in real time, the soldiers could feel nothing but awe and despair.
How many people could say they had seen hundreds of meters of earth sink and collapse before their very eyes?
No, even if some had witnessed such a sight, it was likely their last day alive.

In that sense, these soldiers were lucky.

“This is all thanks to you, my lord—no, Sir Aren!”
“Indeed! Without Sir Aren, we would’ve…! Oh, heavens!!”
“O noble and wise White Lion of Pendragon! You are truly our hero!”

[Cheers erupt]

The soldiers didn’t hold back their praise for the royal knight who had saved them.
Without his quick thinking, far fewer of them would have survived.
When the word spread, it would undoubtedly be heralded as an achievement worthy of universal admiration.

It was a moment of promised glory and honor, a time when a man like Aren should have basked in pride and satisfaction.

But instead—

“P-please, stop it. Please…!”

He could only cover his face in shame.

For every person who shamelessly stole another’s achievements and grinned as if they were their own, there was someone like Aren, who couldn’t bear the situation.

And Aren was unmistakably the latter.

Though he had once been arrogant, he had recently been forced into intense self-reflection. The young prince, now slightly more mature, recoiled at the praise directed at him.

He found it unbearable.

Yet—

“Such humility…!”
“Truly a royal!”
“The descendant of the Great Knight King!!”

Once people began seeing someone in a positive light, it seemed nothing could tarnish that image. The soldiers’ admiration didn’t waver.

“Everyone, just shut up already!!”

“Ha ha, it seems he’s embarrassed.”
“Oh dear.”
“Such modesty…”

“Aaaaaaah!!”

The newly matured prince was in agony.

“He’s more than deserving of the praise, so why does he act like this?”
“Indeed, it’s baffling.”

Two knights, Jake and Yord, watched Aren’s reaction with puzzled expressions.
After all, it was true that Aren had saved most of the soldiers.

“Who but royalty could accomplish such a feat?”

Why had the soldiers cooperated so willingly, following evacuation orders and even aiding the prisoners?
It was because a royal had personally taken the lead.
Even if they were knights of the White Lion of Pendragon, mere knights issuing commands wouldn’t have elicited such obedience.
At best, the men might have dawdled; at worst, they would have outright disobeyed orders.

But the one who had given the orders was none other than the descendant of the revered Pendragon Knight King, blessed by the White Dragon.

His silver hair and the name of Pendragon carried an authority that compelled people to follow, even against unreasonable orders.

For that reason, he truly deserved the praise he was receiving today.

“Is it because he’s learning maturity late in life? Perhaps he struggles with self-awareness.”

Or maybe, after a lifetime of hollow flattery, this genuine admiration felt alien to him.

Regardless, the knights decided that Aren’s response wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
If they praised him too much now and he reverted to his old ways, it would undermine all his recent growth.

As Ihan had once said:
“There’s no creature as resistant to maturity as humans. No matter how much they seem to change for the better, they always find a way back to their old selves. That’s why you need to keep a stick ready—always.”

“Phew, I suppose I’d better hurry and find someone to wield that stick.”
“Why don’t you just admit you’re worried about him?”
“What?”
“…Nothing, sir. Never mind.”

Jake and Yord quickly approached the collapsed tunnel, seeking the one who had not yet emerged from underground.

They believed he had survived—but there was always the nagging “what if.”
No matter how monstrous he seemed, he was still not an actual monster.

And, as if to affirm their thoughts—

“Y-you don’t think he’s dead, do you? Could he really have died in battle?”

Someone else was already searching for him, even more fervently than they were.

A boy with gray hair.
A familiar face.

“It’s the collaborator.”

The ally who had helped them in the tunnel.
His name was certainly—

“Lord Derek. Are you searching for your senior?”
“Sir Yord.”
“…Hah, so the senior hasn’t emerged either?”
“…There were… a lot of things.”
“…I see.”

Derek’s expression suggested there was too much he couldn’t bring himself to say. Jake and Yord could only assume that much had happened, leaving them silent with concern.

‘That guy….’
‘Even for a man like him, if he’s trapped underground… Damn it!’

Their expressions grew grim.
They had known from the start that this mission might require them to accept someone’s death. But they hadn’t imagined that he could become one of the casualties.

As shadows darkened their faces—

“There! I see him!”

“What?”
“…But wait, why is [something] being detected here?”

“Huh?”

Derek suddenly said something cryptic, and the two knights tilted their heads in unison.

What exactly was he detecting?

The answer revealed itself soon enough.

Thud!

“!!!?”

The slight tremor in the mound of dirt made it clear.

“N-no way!”
“Quick, dig! Now!!”

The two knights began digging into the pile of dirt with urgency.
Without shovels, they were forced to use their swords.

It wasn’t exactly a knightly thing to do, but saving a comrade mattered far more than wielding a sword for its intended purpose.
At this moment, the knights' blades became excellent shovels. They dug with all their might—

Thud! Thud!

The tremors grew stronger until finally—

Pwhoosh!

An arm shot out of the dirt.

“…Wow. How the hell are you alive?”

Derek muttered in awe at the sight, but the owner of the arm seemed to take offense at such words.

Boom!

He emerged.

“Cough, cough, cough!!”

Spewing out mouthfuls of dirt and coughing uncontrollably, he looked utterly disheveled.
From head to toe, he was caked in dust, and his body was riddled with wounds.
Anyone else in his condition would have long since died, but his vitality was unmatched. Gradually, as he took in the fresh air above ground—

“Haah! I-I almost died…!”

He began to recover, albeit slowly.

Watching him, the three others remarked:

“Did that guy… actually dig his way out to the surface?”
“Forget the earthquake—how did you even survive under all that dirt?”
“Not even a sandworm could survive that much mass of earth.”

To anyone with common sense, survival under such circumstances seemed impossible. Derek couldn’t help but wonder—

‘Is my understanding of reality just wrong?’

Not only had he survived, but he had somehow managed to bring a massive man along with him. Derek was left dumbfounded.

But soon—

“…Haha.”

Derek let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over him.

The situation itself was strangely amusing.

‘This man makes life… endlessly entertaining.’

There was never a dull moment with him.

 

…He’d barely made it out alive.

‘How did I survive that?’

Ihan continued coughing up dirt.
The air felt incredibly sweet, and the sunlight felt indescribably precious.
He was savoring every sensation of being alive, as only someone who had come back from the brink of death could.

Yet even as he basked in relief, he couldn’t quite believe his survival.

‘To think a monster would actually be useful for once.’

The giant sandworm that Ihan had slashed to pieces, with Maximus delivering the finishing blow, had ended up saving his life.
Its massive size—or perhaps its natural adaptation to living underground—meant that its thick hide had withstood the pressure of the collapsing earth.

The rest was simple enough.

Once the earthquake had subsided, Ihan had dug his way out with his bare hands, swimming through the dirt like a mole or a worm.

He didn’t know when the earth might crush him or if his efforts would lead to his death, but in the end, he made it.

It was a true triumph of human perseverance.

He almost felt like congratulating himself.

“…You could’ve just saved yourself. Why drag me out and risk your own life?”
“Ah, finally awake, are we?”
“This air is… surprisingly sweet.”
“If you’re so grateful, show it properly. Don’t spout nonsense.”
“…Of course. I am eternally grateful for saving my life.”
“Save it. If you’re going to give thanks like that, I’d rather not hear it at all.”
“What a pity. I genuinely meant it.”

Maximus, looking sheepish, scratched his head.
It wasn’t that he was ungrateful; he simply wasn’t used to being saved by others, let alone indebted to them.

He wanted to stand and express his gratitude more properly, but—

“…I’d bow if I could, but my body refuses to move.”
“That’s what happens when you overuse those techniques.”
“Agreed. I didn’t expect my body to be in such a state. Is this what muscle pain feels like? A sensation I’ve never experienced before.”
“…Must be nice to brag about that.”

Maximus’s method of using martial techniques was so reckless it bordered on suicidal.

Especially at the end.
His [Heaven Shatterer] move had been so extreme that even Ihan had been alarmed.

When Ihan used overlapping techniques, he rarely exceeded five repetitions. But Maximus had stacked his technique twelve times.

Anyone else would have died instantly, their body bursting apart.
Only Maximus, with his [Trait – Celestial Body], had managed to endure it. Even so, he’d need a long period of recovery.

And that fact—

“…Is unfortunate.”
“What?”
“I wanted to settle things.”
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Maximus couldn’t hide his disappointment.

The delay in their duel due to muscle pain—

“…No, perhaps I’ve already lost. You were the last one standing, after all.”
“…”
“I concede. You’re the victor.”
“…”
“Next time, I’ll challenge you again. Hahaha!”
“…Ridiculous.”

Ihan wanted to fire back. He had plenty to say.

But before he could—

“—Excuse me, sir. I’ll repay you for saving the Deputy Commander another time, but this is not the place for it. Please forgive my rudeness!”

Out of nowhere, a tall woman, her pale skin marking her as someone from the North, quickly apologized and carried off Maximus’s massive frame with surprising ease.

The whole exchange happened in an instant.

Ihan—

“Well, she’s certainly strong.”

He hadn’t planned to stop her anyway, so he simply scratched his cheek, watching her leave.

Then—

“…That guy just handed me the ‘victory’ and ran off.”

Ihan frowned, feeling a strange sense of irritation. He glanced down at the hilt of his sword.

The gladius blade was completely gone, leaving only its battered remains.

Truly—

“How does this look like the face of a victor…?”

It was a victory that felt more infuriating than a defeat.