Disguised Identity
A guest room at the Cold Sun.
"...Hmm."
Tyrbaen had locked the door, saying she'd replenish her drained magic power, and soon fell asleep.
Kals had gone out with Thomson under my instructions to procure some supplies.
That left me alone.
For a brief while, I blankly stared out the window, dazed by the unfamiliar silence I hadn't felt in a long time.
Then I began pacing the middle of the room, deep in thought.
"...Why did he do that?"
No matter how I thought about it, I couldn't understand.
'Why lie about that?'
Igral.
I couldn't help but think about that man who had told me such an absurd lie.
While escaping after raiding the black market, he had said this to me:
"When you reach the Cold Sun, tell the innkeeper my name. He'll give you a room."
His voice had been brimming with confidence—so much so that I almost mistook him for the innkeeper's secret son.
But Lucard had said he didn't know anyone named Igral.
"Igral? Never heard that name before!"
He'd been so firm about it that I'd felt embarrassed for even asking.
As I recalled that moment, I pondered over Igral.
'Why say such nonsense? There's definitely something behind it.'
Of course, I could have just brushed it off.
Maybe he just wanted to mess with me once before disappearing.
But something about it didn't sit right.
After Igral had disappeared past the alley corner—
"Your Highness, I believe that man is from the southern Duchy of Wyler."
Kals had quietly approached and said that to me.
I'd been caught off guard.
"Huh? Who?"
"I mean Igral, sir. I believe he's from the Duchy of Wyler. I can't be absolutely certain, but that's my impression."
...I really hadn't expected to say this line myself someday:
"How do you even know that? Are you a prophet or something?"
Kals, of course, replied in the most knightly manner possible, leaving me speechless.
"That peculiar footwork—it's part of the martial arts taught only in the Duchy of Wyler. It's known as the Dance of Arrows."
"...!"
I'd only vaguely recognized it, but Kals, with the keen senses of a six-star knight, had identified it precisely.
'The Dance of Arrows.'
That was a skill from the A-rank destiny card Dawn Assassin.
And as Kals said, it was a technique that existed only in the Duchy of Wyler.
'Since the Dawn Assassin card is a special quest reward exclusive to the Grand Duchy of Wyler...'
So unless both Kals and I were mistaken, Igral was indeed from the Duchy of Wyler.
At the very least, he'd clearly spent a long time in that southern region.
'The Duchy of Wyler, huh.'
It was one of the vassal states of the Balt Empire—
a small territory centered around its grand ducal house, but wealthy thanks to its large harbor and thriving trade with other continents.
And since it was an imperial vassal, its allegiance lay firmly with the Empire.
'So a character who invested time and effort to earn the Dawn Assassin in an imperial-aligned region suddenly joins the revolutionary army?'
Highly suspicious.
I had fundamental doubts about Igral, who had somehow taken the role of a player character.
I couldn't get him out of my head and was determined to dig into his background.
'Since I'm already tangled up with the Association, maybe I can drop by before starting the quest and hand out a request?'
But that turned out to be unnecessary—
because someone soon came to see me and resolved the issue.
The dining hall on the first floor was quiet; meal hours were long over.
Lucard stood behind the counter, lazily polishing dishes.
I sat at a table far from him, facing my visitor.
The old man spoke first.
"Shan, I brought what you asked for."
"...Shan?"
What was he talking about?
"Something wrong? That's your name, isn't it?"
Was this old man senile or something?
Why was he acting like this all of a sudden?
Until yesterday, he'd been calling me Third Prince without fail.
Had we grown that close overnight?
"...Ah."
Then it hit me as I looked at High Priest Bamilo's face.
'Oh—this must be part of The Savior of the Sons questline.'
"Shan" wasn't a nickname.
It was my disguised identity.
"Here."
Bamilo slid two items from his robes onto the table.
One was the item I'd requested—Warlacas's Eye, a pair of enchanted glasses.
The other was an identification card.
The Great Church of Aeolem certifies that Shan Aledro is a legitimate resident of Aulrax.
— Sealed by the Archbishop.
The ID bore my photo under the name Shan Aledro, along with a birthdate.
"...Guess I'm seventeen now."
"Oh, then I suppose I should speak casually to you, hmm?"
"There's no one around to hear. What's the point of this little playacting?"
"Consider it practice."
Or maybe he was just tired of treating me like royalty.
Normally, the alias in these fake IDs uses one letter from the player's name—
so I'd become Shan.
Kals was Kal, and Tyrbaen was En.
Thus, we became the Aledro siblings.
"But why is Kals the eldest and I'm the youngest? We should at least have a proper chain of command!"
I protested vehemently, but High Priest Bamilo pretended not to hear.
"Still, we can't stop the wanted posters from spreading. Avoid attracting attention or clashing with the city guard."
"And yet this is a tavern crawling with city guards?"
"Frankly, this was a rather shocking choice. 'Hide in plain sight,' they say—but to actually use this tavern…"
I couldn't help but chuckle.
"I'll make good use of it. Oh, and this too."
As I held up the glasses, they automatically adjusted size and shape to fit my face perfectly.
Warlacas's Eye.
A magical artifact crafted by the demon race, it aided in predicting the trajectory of projectile weapons like bows or crossbows.
Once I drew the bowstring, I'd instantly see exactly where the arrow would fly.
It even seemed to sharpen my eyesight a bit—maybe just my imagination.
"...It's only a loan. Don't forget that."
Bamilo's voice quivered as if he were suppressing simmering frustration, and I had to fight the urge to laugh.
The truth was, these glasses had belonged to none other than the leader of the revolutionary army.
'Luckily, the leader's away right now.'
So I'd told old Bamilo to "borrow" them from the leader's study.
It was payment for a sacred oath—
he'd once sworn that if the priesthood safely escaped imperial territory, he'd procure any one item I desired.
I was simply cashing that in.
"Well, sure. Let's call it a loan. Can't say how long I'll need it, though."
"...Haa."
The high priest sighed, but didn't forget his duty.
"The ritual will begin at the Dark Cliff in the forest northeast of Aulrax."
The ritual Bamilo spoke of was the Rite of the Red Wind.
It was the ceremony the revolutionary camp's children underwent to be recognized as adults.
It was the scene of the event "Dying Sons" and also the stage for the quest I had to undertake, "Guardians of the Sons."
"We've done everything the Church can do. We created new identities for you, put your names on the register. You're fully prepared to participate in the Rite of the Red Wind."
After saying that, Bamilo idly tapped the table and looked at me.
"What will you do now? How will you prevent the boys from being massacred?"
"..."
It was an important question from his point of view.
'Massacre.'
The word was accurate.
Among the boys who take part in this rite, the vast majority die in the incident.
A monster wave of phenomenal scale—enough to tear apart part of the forest—will occur, and the boys fail to escape; they are slaughtered.
'Cruel, even for a game scenario.'
This atrocity was being orchestrated from within the revolutionary camp itself.
It was an internal crime planned and carried out by clerics of the Kishiris order, rivals of the Aeolem Church.
'It's hard to call it mere betrayal.'
Perhaps better described as a team-kill to expand their faction's influence and power.
The Kishiris law forbids accepting males into the priesthood.
Because of that, female clergy predominate there, and to them "male boys" are merely potential future assets for another faction.
So they intended to remove all the boys while leaving the girls alive.
Seeing it spelled out like that, it was a cold, terrible calculation.
So, how to stop this incident?
'The question is: how will I resolve the quest?'
First option.
"Strike first, win. We could smash the Kishiris order beforehand. How about sending explosives to the cathedral?"
"What—what?!"
Bamilo's face went white.
"Third Prince, you must be joking? Please tell me you're joking."
He was so startled that even his annoying nickname disappeared.
I snorted.
"Of course I'm joking. If a cathedral in the city center blew up, it'd be as serious as the kids dying—do you think the leader would just stand by and watch?"
"If—if the leader would just stand by, then perhaps it might be worth a try," Bamilo muttered.
"Hahaha, how did you know?" I said, and then there was the second option.
"We could assassinate the mastermind before the incident occurs."
"Hmm? How would you even find the culprit? Is there a way to learn who it is?"
"Well, there must be a priest dispatched to the site to conduct the rite. Obviously she's the culprit."
Bamilo shook his head.
"Kishiris will send not one but five priests. They wouldn't all be involved."
That was true.
In reality, it was the act of a single person.
Bamilo crossed his arms and sighed.
"If you can't single out the guilty one among five, you'd have to kill them all. We cannot do that, can we?"
"That could be…."
"Please tell me you're joking again, Shan."
"I'm joking. Hahaha."
Of course, I already knew which of the five priests was the culprit.
So I could pick her out and deal with her.
But I wouldn't do that.
That approach would stir up backlash inside the revolution—and be tiring to deal with…
'Besides, the reward's stingy.'
If nothing else happened and only one priest conveniently died, the incident's gravity would be diminished, and the value of the action that prevented it would not be properly recognized.
'People only appreciate what's precious after they lose it.'
So I wouldn't use a method that prevented the event beforehand.
"I'll do it this way."
I leaned forward; Bamilo tensed.
"At first, I'll let the incident happen. I won't interfere."
"...?"
"But I will make sure no one dies. Even the priest who orchestrated this will survive."
"...!"
The canonical true route of this quest is nonlethal.
"How—how will you do that?"
Watching Bamilo's shaking eyes, I grinned.
"It's a long explanation, so just let the Aeolem High Church pretend ignorance. Don't make a fuss."
"And the monstrous wave?"
"That will face judgement from inside the revolutionary camp. The full truth will be revealed."
Bamilo nodded.
"Very well. If the Archbishop trusts you, then I shall trust you too."
How kind of him.
"...Anyway."
I glanced toward the counter.
Lucard was now polishing spoons one by one.
'He said he doesn't know Igral at all.'
The question that had been buzzing in my head the whole time.
Who on earth was that man?
"Father, Igral told me to give his name to the innkeeper, but the innkeeper says he doesn't know anyone called Igral."
Bamilo's eyes widened a little.
"Igral really said that?"
"Yes—he made me feel embarrassed for even asking."
"Hmmm."
The high priest thought for a moment and then nodded.
"Alright—then I suppose I can tell you."
"...?"
"Actually, Igral isn't his real name. It's an alias."
I frowned.
'Igral is a pseudonym?'
He'd been hiding his face so thoroughly—what sort of secret, noble person was he to use such a disguise?
"So what's that fellow's real name?"
"Hmm, that is…."