Episode 270
Clang!

The blade struck the wall and clattered to the floor. Just as expected from his appearance—he really was no ordinary fighter. The gang’s eyes followed the sword’s movement, which distracted them enough that they didn’t immediately notice Ian’s eyes turning a glowing gold.

Timothy roughly rolled up his torn sleeve and bent down to pick up the fallen sword.

“Damn it! Don’t you know there’s no winning against a gang attack?”

“Move forward! Push! Guys, he’s grabbing the sword!”

“You lead the way! Let’s go!”

“Hurry up!”

The first strike with the gang backing you up—there’s no truer rule in the world of thugs. Before Timothy could even get into proper stance, they all charged at once. Shouts erupted here and there, masking their tension and fueling their excitement.

“Waaah!”

“Wait, wait a second. That sucker’s eyes…”

“Finish him! Kill him!”

In the narrow, windowless corridor, Timothy and Ian were cornered. Timothy scraped the floor with the tip of his sword and took steady steps forward. Three steps, two steps, one step before the clash…

“Hold on! I’m telling you, that sucker’s eyes are weird!”

“Ahhh! Let’s go!”

Watching from behind, Ian tilted his head, eyes wide. “Sucker?” He thought he must have misheard. It was the first time he’d ever heard that term. Rather than anger, a fresh, almost amused smile crossed his face.

Tap tap tap!

“Gah!”

The man at the front swung his sword wide and charged at Timothy. The blade’s broad arc meant even a sloppy strike would land somewhere. He carelessly pushed the sword’s tip forward—

“Huh?”

Clang!

Timothy parried with his sword, and the difference in strength was immediately clear through the locked blades. The man’s arm trembled uncontrollably. He tried to strike down, but it was impossible.

Timothy easily pressed him back against the wall. The blade kept sliding up toward the man’s neck. He turned his head to signal for help from his comrades, but that misstep threw off his balance—and his neck was sliced.

Shing!

“Ahhh!”

The man was cut twice in an instant—once by his own sword, once by Timothy’s. Clutching his neck with both hands, he collapsed forward.

Timothy raised his sword and warned quietly, “Clear the way.”

But it was too late to turn back. Reckless bravado had clouded their judgment, and the sounds of footsteps above only fanned the flames. More gang members were rushing in to support. The frontliners attacked Timothy simultaneously.

“Die!”

Shing! Clang!

Slowly but surely, Timothy focused on each strike, even if it meant being pushed back. As he advanced step by step, the gang’s momentum surged.

“It’s okay! Keep pushing!”

“Damn it! Aaaah!”

With five or six swords striking at once in the narrow corridor, Timothy’s breathing grew heavier. Even if he cut them all down, the bodies would pile up, blocking his way out.

Then, an unexpected attack came whistling toward Timothy’s ear.

‘Ah.’

His other ear was about to be cut off too. Just as he thought that, Ian quickly condensed his magic and unleashed it. The powerful shockwave sent the nearby enemies flying backward.

Boom! Bang!

“Ahhh!”

“What was that just now?”

“What’s going on up ahead? Damn, I can’t see.”

“Suddenly pushing like that—what the hell?”

“Shut up! I think it’s magic!”

The frontliners froze. Though chaos reigned behind them, they couldn’t move rashly. A mage? Forget about hope—they were probably connected to the royal palace.

Timothy relaxed his stance and looked back at Ian.

“…Thanks, but the building’s falling apart.”

“I said I’d be gentle, but I admit it’s a bit shaky. Still, better than having the envoy’s ears cut off, right? The king would be curious when you return.”

Dust and debris fell from the ceiling after the shock. If the building collapsed underground, that would be a serious problem.

Thud! Bang!

Sure enough, from the far end of the corridor near the arena came a loud crashing noise. The floor and walls shook violently. The gang flinched and glanced back.

Crash! Bang! Clang!

Rattle! Thud!

Something was happening inside the arena. Occasional screams pierced the air, along with incomprehensible explosions.

The gang stood frozen, unsure whether to look forward or back. Then, the arena doors suddenly swung open, and something burst out.

“Iaaaan!”

“Ugh!”

Boom!

A figure sprinted out, legs slipping through the bars, hands raised high to brace against the cage. One staff member tried to stop him but was thrown aside, tumbling down the corridor. Beric roared in frustration.

“You bastards! You left Ian behind! How am I supposed to get there alone?! Give me the carriage fare! How many times do I have to tell you to let me out—!”

“…Beric?”

“Huh? You’re still here?”

Ian looked at him in disbelief. The crashing inside must have been the ceiling collapsing. His wounds weren’t even fully healed—how was he holding that up?

Beric spotted Ian and waved cheerfully. As soon as he let go of one side, the cage tilted and crashed to the floor.

Boom!

“Ugh, this thing’s damn heavy.”

“Beric, how did you get down here?”

“I just jumped and shook it until the ceiling came down with it. But if I’d known you weren’t coming, I’d have stayed put. My tailbone’s killing me.”

They moved to talk with Timothy, but Beric seemed to think Ian had left him behind. Not much time had passed. He was just impatient, as usual.

“So, what’s everyone doing? Looks fun.”

“Well, it is, actually.”

“I wanna join. Anyone wanna lend me a sword? Hey, you! You look weak as hell—perfect to crush. You don’t deserve a sword! Give it to me! Or bring me my black sword!”

The man Beric pointed at snapped back, flustered. It was the usual back-alley bickering, almost automatic.

“Who said I’m the weak one? You’re the one who’s gonna get crushed!”

“Huh? You little—”

“Trapped in a cage and talking big! Hah!”

Thwack!

The man jabbed his sword through the bars, but Beric twisted the cage quickly. The blade snapped and bounced off, and the cage’s edge caught the man’s jaw.

He fell forward, clutching his torn mouth. Teeth spilled out with the blood. Beric grinned triumphantly.

“I’m not trapped—I just can’t get out!”

…Isn’t that the same thing? The gang hesitated, glancing around. Ahead were a skilled fighter and a suspected mage. Behind was a red-haired lunatic.

Best to run for now. If the blonde boy really was a mage, there was no way to survive—physically or legally.

“Move! Damn it!”

“Get out! Get out!”

As they turned and ran up the stairs, Ian ordered Beric.

“Beric. Block the stairs. Don’t let anyone out.”

“Huh? Hey, hey! Ian says don’t go! Stop!”

“Run, you bastards!”

“I said don’t go! Are you deaf?!”

Beric lifted the cage and charged ahead, taking position at the stairway entrance before the gang could reach it. They tried to push the cage away, but Beric held firm.

“Stab him! Kill this crazy bastard!”

“Anyone wanna stick their hand in? I’ll bite it off for you.”

“Kill him!”

Crunch!

“Ahhh!”

“Oh, a sword! Don’t know whose it is, but thanks! Anyone wanna try? I’ll cut you up!”

Shing! Thud!

Beric grabbed a sword and swung it wildly. As he dodged the relentless barrage of blades and fists, Timothy steadied himself and charged in. These were just street thugs, and the skill gap was obvious. Now, they even had their backs turned.

Timothy cut through them with ease, advancing steadily. The darkness was thick with the sound of dripping blood, the stench of mold and decay growing stronger.

And then, the final strike.

Shing!

A man fell to the ground, and Timothy found himself face-to-face with Beric, drenched in blood. Beric smirked and reached out.

“Oh, mister. Up close, you’re even nastier than I thought. How about a fight if you get out of here?”

“…Ian.”

Timothy glanced over Beric and then back at Ian, who was approaching over the bodies.

“Yes? What is it, Envoy Timothy?”

“Is this really your friend?”

Ian had called Beric a friend earlier, but Timothy couldn’t believe it. Setting aside etiquette, their worlds seemed completely different.

“Ah, come on! You just don’t get it. I might look like this, but hey? I’m not so bad!”

He wanted to boast, but there was nothing to say. He ate well, slept well, and fought impressively—but he wasn’t the best yet. He’d lost to Jarrett and the Black Armor, after all.

Ian smiled wryly, stepping in for the speechless Berrick.

“I’d like to deny it too.”

---

“Why are there so many people? Was it this crowded earlier?”

Jin, Romandro, and Xiao Xi all sensed the sudden shift in the street’s atmosphere. When they parted ways with Ian, the crowd hadn’t been this thick, and everyone had seemed half out of it.

But now, the restless buzz made it clear something was going on.

“Yeah, and there are so many carriages…”

“Those are the guards.”

“That alley over there—that’s where Ian went, right?”

“Let’s check it out. Xiao, keep Jin close.”

“Yes, understood.”

“Excuse me, coming through. Thank you.”

Romandro pushed through the crowd while Xiao Xi lifted Jin into his arms, following closely behind. The deeper they went, the louder and more chaotic it became.

At the center stood a shabby building, swarming with guards busy ferrying injured people. Jin, perched on Xiao Xi’s shoulder, spotted Ian.

“Ian!”

Ian, who had been talking with the captain of the guards, turned at the sound of Jin’s voice. Following Ian’s orders, the guards cleared a path for them.

“Jin, did you check out the park properly?”

“Yes, brother. I came to pick you up since it’s almost time. But what on earth is going on here…?”

“Jin! Do you have any bread left? I’m starving!”

“Berrick?”

Jin’s eyes widened in shock when he saw Berrick, bloodied and trapped behind bars. What had happened? Sensing Jin’s concern, Berrick waved it off with a grin.

“I’m fine, I swear. This isn’t even my blood.”

“Berrick, you idiot! Your stomach wound isn’t healed yet! What kind of trouble did you get into?”

“I didn’t cause any trouble! Seriously, it’s unfair. Got any bread?”

Romandro rubbed his forehead, clearly overwhelmed by Berrick’s antics. Ian whispered something to the captain, who saluted crisply before heading back to the scene to retrieve the keys to Berrick’s cage and his black sword.

“There are too many eyes and ears here. Let’s go somewhere private, and I’ll explain everything. Also…”

“Good day.”

It was Timothy. Jin slowly looked up at him. Up close, his presence was even more imposing.

Timothy knelt on one knee, locking eyes with Jin. Among Ian’s group, the one person who fit the image of a silver-haired, blue-eyed noble was unmistakably him.

“I am Timothy Obia. It is an honor to meet you, though I regret the circumstances. If you permit, I would like to formally pay my respects soon.”

Jin nodded almost without realizing it. It was a brief greeting, but given the tense attention around them, it was the most respectful thing he could do. Ian took Jin’s hand and spoke to Timothy.

“Then, Ambassador Timothy, until we meet again.”

“Yes, Ian.”

Ian gave a subtle nod, urging them to leave quickly—he’d arranged for them to avoid any questioning by the guards.

Timothy pulled his robe tighter and disappeared into the crowd. Ian watched his retreating figure intently, while Jin studied Ian.

“Ian.”

Ian turned with a smile, as if to ask what was wrong. Jin’s instincts prickled. Had Ian ever smiled like that at a stranger before? He wasn’t sure.

“Have you met Timothy before?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

Ian had grown up on the frontier and only recently arrived at the capital. Even Jin, a prince, had never met Timothy before. Ian denied it, but Jin still felt unsettled.

“It’s just… he seems familiar.”

“Probably because you’ve seen his portrait.”

“I see.”

“Let’s head back first. I’ll explain everything there.”

Ian patted Jin’s shoulder as he stood, and Jin nodded in agreement. Then, suddenly, the boy tugged on Ian’s hand.

“By the way! Are you hurt anywhere? Berrick was covered in blood…”

Suspicious or not, there was still cause for concern. Jin’s question made Ian’s smile deepen.

Ah, so it was just a misunderstanding. Ian’s warmth wasn’t directed at Timothy—it was simply because he was in a good mood. Jin smiled softly, following along.