The Deceived One
"Alright, here we go."
With a resolute look, Kals hefted his shield toward Thomson.
As he'd said before, Kals had never properly learned shield technique.
'I know that already.'
Still, as a knight who'd reached the six-star tier, he possessed tremendous raw strength.
Now he poured all that power into the shield.
This skill only needed one solid strike to be effective.
"Go, Kals!"
You're it.
[Defense Technique: Strike-and-Roll]
Bang!
With a heavy shockwave, Thomson's body flew through the air.
"Waaaargh!"
He went flying in a straight line like a reincarnated truck crash victim, limbs flailing as he landed on top of the thugs.
"Aaaah!"
"W-what the hell is this?!"
The thugs toppled backward like bowling pins struck by a bowling ball, screaming.
And the bowling ball probably hurt a lot too.
"Oooh! I'm dead! Oh no!"
"..."
It looked like I'd hit him harder than intended, and I felt a little guilty.
This wasn't quite how it had gone in the original plan.
The one who'd struck Thomson scratched the side of his head, embarrassed.
"Uh, was that too hard?"
"You were practically trying to kill him, weren't you?"
"Well, he isn't dead, so isn't that fine?"
"Next time, swing like you want to break him."
"Understood."
Regardless, the thugs who'd been surprised by the blow ground their teeth and pulled themselves up toward us.
"How dare this brat!"
"We'll tear them apart!"
They glared at Kals with a vicious air.
"Hey, Thomson! Which side are you on, you bastard?"
"Screw you! See you later, huh?"
"I-I'm sorry, sirs..."
Thomson trembled like a gazelle caught by hyenas.
Understandable—he was surrounded by thugs far higher in rank.
I watched him and smiled quietly.
That line about seizing a chance to change his back-alley life—
'Did he really take that to heart?'
Anyway, I began to walk toward the thugs.
There were maybe seven or eight of them.
Their arms held only daggers and a crossbow or two.
'Not bad. It would've been dangerous if anyone had a greatsword.'
Why would a greatsword be dangerous?
Because it's long. If everyone becomes one mass, a long blade swinging inside that mass is obviously a hazard.
Shhhhh...
"Huh?"
The thugs hesitated at an odd sound.
[Magical effects have begun.]
[Overcharged mana increases efficacy by 815%!]
[Remaining time: 1:55]
Tyrbaen's Tree-Root Defense began to take full effect.
Under the maximized, pushed-to-the-limit spell, everyone was bound together.
The thugs were drawn and stuck together like iron filings to a magnet.
Naturally, they panicked.
"Wha—what—!"
"B-Boss! What is this?!"
"Some weird force just hit us!"
Completely unaware of what had happened to them, they writhed and struggled.
They strained and strained to break free.
But this was—true to its name—Tree-Root Defense.
"Kals, what's a tree root?" I asked.
"If it's a tree's roots… they tangle and you can't really pull one out—everything's connected? Isn't that it?"
"Right. That's exactly what I mean."
Roots that connect underground can't be pulled out one by one.
They form a single body.
That's a 'tree root.'
So the thugs' struggles only tightened the magical bonds restraining them.
The more they thrashed, the more the formation knit itself together.
Maximizing defense by binding the formation was the very essence of Tree-Root Defense.
But now, because Tyrbaen had forcibly pumped so much mana into it, the binding was excessively strong.
They were pressed so close together they could barely move.
"What the hell is this?!"
"Hey! Don't move, you bastards!"
"Why not?!"
"It gets stronger! Don't you dare wiggle!"
The tangled thugs were squabbling among themselves.
'Some of them are beginning to understand the situation, it seems.'
Yet without a mage capable of dispelling the spell, they couldn't resist.
I instructed Kals.
"Now roll him."
"Understood."
"At first it'll be tough, but once you start rolling down the corridor and hit other guys, you'll pick up speed."
"I'll keep rolling until it gains momentum."
Kals gathered all his strength and raised his shield.
Then—
"Let me take this one, will you?"
Igral stepped forward and blocked Kals.
He wanted to do it himself?
"…Fine, suit yourself."
I liked Kals, so I didn't mind.
Igral strode forward, took something from his cloak, and tore it open.
I recognized the item.
'A small mana storage scroll?'
A tiny item that stores a small spell to be used instantly when needed. I didn't know exactly what effect he planned to invoke with it.
But one thing was clear—
'So he really isn't a mage type.'
Small scrolls are items rarely needed by characters who've fully learned magical skills, so that was a reasonable inference.
I watched carefully as Igral took a long breath, then sprang forward.
"…!"
I widened my eyes.
'What? He's incredibly fast.'
Igral's display of speed was greater than I'd expected.
He launched forward like a sprung coil—his legs moved so fast they were nearly invisible.
In pure velocity, he could rival the nine-star Marquis Reut.
The moment the sprinting man thrust out the Balance Shield—
[Defense Technique: Strike-and-Roll]
Bang!
Another impact sent the thugs reeling backward.
From the tangled heap came screams.
"Aaah! We're rolling!"
"B-Boss! Owaaaah!"
At first their shape had been just a sloppy pile of people.
But once they started rolling—
"Who the hell—get your feet off my face!"
"Ah, it hurts! My precious place!"
"Hey, you bastards! Put those daggers away right now!"
The tangled mass of bodies began instinctively shifting into a proper shape—
a form ideal for rolling.
Like molding clay into a ball, they naturally rounded themselves out.
"Hey, hey, watch your elbow!"
"Boss! Duck your head!"
The "clay" was noisy but started curling in on itself out of instinct.
Soon, the wobbling ball began to roll—
a grotesque snowball.
Igral's voice was filled with disbelief.
"So I just… keep rolling this thing? Like a dung beetle?"
Hey, now—he's underestimating dung-rolling, isn't he?
"Roll faster! Don't you know Tree-Root Defense has a time limit?"
"…So I just need to roll it faster?"
"Yeah—what, you want to sprinkle some sweet glaze on top too?"
Igral shut his mouth.
I jerked my chin toward the nightmare-like snowball.
"Hurry up and roll it. We're getting out of here!"
Bang!
With a thunderous crash, the black-market entrance burst open.
Through the narrow iron door, the bundled-up thugs shot out like cannonballs.
That was the end of my strategy.
At the exact moment they breached the exit, the Tree-Root Defense expired perfectly.
[The spell has ended.]
"Uwaaaagh!"
"Graaagh!"
The lump unraveled, and the thugs scattered everywhere—
like a balloon popped with a needle.
"Ugh…"
"Oww, I'm dying here…"
Groans echoed all around, but no one seemed dead.
They were just bruised, broken, and crushed under each other's weight.
"You all rolled great. Must've been your first time, huh?"
Passing through the half-collapsed entrance,
I stepped among the sprawled thugs.
Then, a familiar big guy crawled up, groaning.
"Y-you…!"
It was the gatekeeper we'd met when Thomson and I first entered.
He'd apparently gotten swept up in the snowball—
his wrist bent at an awful angle, his scalp split open.
"Aw, too bad, Mister Gatekeeper. Got caught up in the end, huh?"
"Shut your mouth!"
"Hey, you started the small talk."
"Damnable bastards from the Guild! You think you'll get away with this in our territory?!"
…Guild?
'Sounds like a misunderstanding.'
Well, might as well take advantage of it.
I glanced at Kals and said coolly,
"Seems like they've figured out who we are. Guess we'll have to wipe them out."
Of course, Kals just blinked, looking confused.
"...Pardon?"
Naturally—an elite knight like him wouldn't know about guilds or the underworld.
But the thugs did.
"So they really are from the Guild!"
"Damn vigilantes!"
"How could you monsters do something this brutal?!"
…What a joke.
We'd spared them, and now we're the villains?
"Who's calling who brutal here, huh?"
Now that I thought about it, I was getting pissed.
Maybe I should've just killed them all.
'No, that's still too much.'
It just felt… unpleasant.
The thugs limped back into formation around the gatekeeper.
And then—
"Boss! P-please, take me with you!"
Thomson popped out from among them and ran to our side.
Shouts erupted behind him.
"That traitor!"
"I knew it!"
"You backstabbing bastard!"
Criminals calling another criminal scum—how poetic.
Still, since Thomson had been at the center of the Tree-Root Defense,
he was surprisingly uninjured.
'So, you've made up your mind?'
Good. I welcomed it.
['Thomson Delbo' has joined your party.]
I pulled him behind me and ordered quietly,
"Think of the route to Cold Sun."
"T-the tavern, sir?"
"Yeah, the one you guys are all terrified of."
We were heading straight for that tavern crawling with city guards.
That'd throw off the gang's pursuit perfectly.
"Everyone ready?"
"Y-yes, sir! I'll guide you the fastest way!"
"My student, I've spent all my mana and can hardly move!"
"Don't worry, Lady Tyrbaen. I'll carry you."
"...Then I'll accept your chivalry, Sir Silion."
What a bunch of clowns.
"Move out!"
I shouted and turned to run.
The thugs, who had just finished regrouping, froze in confusion.
"Uh?"
"Boss, they're running!"
"Those little punks… Don't just stand there, after them!"
In seconds, the back alley turned into a chase scene.
Thomson sprinted in the lead,
while I, Kals, and Tyrbaen followed—
and Igral brought up the rear.
Even while I was panting, Igral easily caught up beside me.
"Cold Sun is one of my hangouts.
When you get there, tell the barkeep my name—he'll give you a room."
What the hell was he talking about?
This broke idiot who couldn't even afford his own Balance Shield?
I glared at him mid-run, but he just smirked.
"Consider it payment for the show."
"Show, my ass."
"We'll meet again soon. Next time, we'll have a different conversation."
With a quiet smile, he veered off—
vaulting up the wall and disappearing over it like a shadow.
Watching him vanish, I realized something.
'He's definitely using that, isn't he?'
If I was right, that made him quite the troublesome character.
But one thing still nagged at me—
'…That smell.'
What was that, exactly?