Van reached the Capital's gates again about a day after Liliac's tantrum.
'The place is as bustling as it was before that dragon showed up,' he thought, weaving through the crowd toward the front gate.
'I could just jump over it like last time... But since I'm planning to stay, I might as well try to get along with the Royal Guard. They're not the First Battalion, after all,' Van reasoned, sighing.
'Best not draw attention this time. If they arrest me, I'll just go along with it. What can they really do to me, anyway?' He shrugged. Still, he noticed more stares than usual, as if everyone was on edge around him. 'Why's everyone so tense? Did my passive change or something?' he wondered, glancing around.
Nothing about him stood out—he was wearing his usual armor and helmet... Well, not his own, but it wasn't anything glamorous, that's for sure.
Except for one thing the guards instantly recognized: Cerille's signature sword strapped to his back.
"BY ORDER OF HIS MAJESTY, I COMMAND YOU TO HALT!" Garry shouted, thrusting his spear toward Van's throat. Other guards rushed to surround him as the crowd quickly stepped back.
"Uh... Is there a problem?" Van asked, raising his hands. 'You'd think that piece of shit Nickelson would've informed them about my arrival... But a piece of shit is a piece of shit.'
'That voice...' Garry thought, gritting his teeth. 'It's him again... Van HELLIX's SON! There was no record of him leaving!' His gaze locked on the sword. 'I don't care if you're under Sir Hicks' grace or tied to Miss Veil—you'll answer to ME!'
"WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT SWORD?!" Garry demanded.
'... Oh.' Van looked back at the sword, his eyes widening slightly as he realized the significance of carrying Cerille's weapon.
'Welp, so much for not drawing attention,' he thought, raising his gaze to meet the guards.
'Hm. I remember this guy. He's the same guard who stopped me before and tossed my badge, right? And later accompanied Sir Hicks...? Guess I'm getting arrested again. It is STILL Nickelson's fault since he hasn't informed them.'
"Would you believe me if I said I took it from a senseless child to discipline them?" Van muttered evenly.
Garry's teeth clenched. 'Such insolence toward Lady Cerille!'
"What a disrespectful character!"
"Is Lady Cerille alright?!"
"So immature..." Adventurers and passersby murmured as the royal guards tightened their grips on their weapons, their expressions hardening around Van.
"Are you mocking HIS MAJESTY'S ROYAL GUARD?!" Garry bellowed, prompting low growls from the guards surrounding Van.
Despite the spears pointed at him and the hostile glares, Van's mind wandered to Alicia—her tender touch, the warmth of her body as they shared laughter and kisses under the sheets.
'... For some reason, I feel really fucking good right now.'
"I'm sure the reason you're all on edge is this sword," Van confidently began, pointing to the weapon on his back. "But your Lady is safe. You don't have to take my word for it; you can verify it with that Vibration invention you have." Van called casually yet firmly; and some of the tension among the guards eased slightly. "Heck, I'm sure you already did, being the strong and reliable Royal Guard that you are, right before you charged me," he added, folding his arms.
Behind him, a guard subtly signaled another to leave and confirm the claim.
"And as for your other question, no, I don't mock the Royal Guards—" Van started, his expression softening, but Garry cut him off. Van's casual demeanor, combined with the fact that he was carrying Sir Nickelson's daughter's sword, stirred something deeply unsettling in Garry.
"THEN YOU SHALL PROSTRATE YOURSELF AND SURRENDER!!" Garry interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. The guards tightened their stances around Van, who remained silent. "The fact that you didn't even think to do so before approaching the gates just shows your inner stupidity," Garry growled. "So, hand over that SWORD, and prepare to be arrested and brought in for questioning! If you refuse, not even Sir Hicks will protect you as I throw you into the dungeons with the most dangerous predators and criminals. On top of your idiocy, you'll be labeled a criminal. I couldn't care less who your father is or who your friends are." He leaned into his spear, pressing the tip harder against Van's chest plate.
"That armored bastard pisses me off..." an A-Rank Dragonkin spearmaster adventurer murmured to his group as they watched the scene unfold.
"Yeah. Who does he think he is? And he sounds like a kid too," added a petite elven summoner rookie, her voice light but sharp.
"If that bastard really did something to Lady Cerille, I'll kill him myself. He doesn't seem that special, anyway," a towering B-Rank Orc Berserker muttered.
"Thinks he's the shit because he knows how to talk. Don't worry," the A-Rank adventurer said, tapping the rookie's shoulder. "I won't ever let these types get to you!" he assured her. The rookie startled a little as she turned to him. "Uh... Sure," she replied casually.
'I am in a good mood...'
'... But that doesn't mean I have to like this prick. Or... act righteously, for that matter.'
'Because no matter how hard I try to change myself to fit people's views...' Van thought, as his Untrusted skill flashed in his mind.
"... So, you want this sword, then?" Van asked as he slowly pulled the sword from behind his back. The guards tensed, their muscles coiled like springs.
'They'll still reset to hating me unless we develop some sort of bond. And honestly, I have no intention of making this guard—or any of these adventurers—my buddy. I don't feel like either of these groups are worth my time or effort. And it certainly won't get me anywhere if I try to please them.'
"ARE YOU DEAF!?" Garry bellowed as Van pulled the sword from behind his back. "I SAID, THROW LADY CERILLE'S SWORD TO THE GROUND AND—"
BOOM.
A flash tore through the air, whizzing past Garry's head, missing him by mere inches. A small cut appeared on his cheek, a thin line of blood trickling down as the object crashed into the mighty Varolon wall with a deafening roar. The wall, once an impenetrable barrier, now bore a crater where the sword had struck before clattering to the ground, shattered into many pieces.
Garry's breath caught in his throat as his wide eyes fixed on the spot where the sword had been just moments before. Cerille's sword was no longer in Van's grasp, and the guards around him stood paralyzed, their spears still raised but their resolve shaken.
"Here," Van said calmly, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. He looked directly at Garry, his expression cool and unbothered. "I threw it on the ground for you, as you instructed, oh esteemed royal guard."
'W-what... What just happened...? H-how...?' Garry thought, his mind racing as he turned to the wall behind him, where the crater marred its surface.
'That's Lady Cerille's sword...' He realized, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of it all. The other guards were equally stunned, their eyes darting between Van and the damaged wall.
Garry slowly turned back to face Van, 'He threw it...? But... I didn't even see him move... How could a mere Rank 11... No... That rank belonged to his father... But this is just his son...?'
"So?" Van asked, breaking Garry's reverie as he leaned slightly, drawing Garry's attention.
"Are you going to arrest me now for questioning, Guard?" Van asked, his tone almost taunting as he began walking toward Garry, unhurried and unphased. Garry remained frozen, his spear inches from Van's chest, yet unable to move.
The entire guard force knew in their hearts that even if they all attacked Van together... They wouldn't stand a chance.
'How... How am I supposed to respond to this...? Our magic seals would be useless; this was raw power. I could tell he didn't use any magic... With this strength... I don't think we—or even the nearby adventurers—can stop him... He has to come willingly...' Garry thought, his options dwindling as Van casually walked past him, leaving the guard force in stunned silence.
Van approached the group of adventurers. They hesitated, their gazes dropping to the ground, avoiding his approach.
"C-come on... Bolore, stop him...! You said you would..!" The B Rank adventurer muttered, his voice trembling.
"D-DUMBASS...! I was joking..! If I go all out here, it'll cause a problem for the royal gu—"
Van stepped directly in front of the A Rank adventurer, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Move," Van ordered, his voice calm but commanding from within his helmet.
The A Rank adventurer kept his gaze down, frozen in place. After a tense few seconds, he quickly stepped aside, followed by the rest of the group, none daring to utter a word.
Van walked past them toward the crater he had created. He bent down to pick up Cerille's now-fragmented and broken sword. As he held it in his grasp, the [Durability Guy] passive began to work, slowly repairing the sword.
'So quiet.' Van noted as he turned to face the group of adventurers and guards.
'Varlog, you once told me that true power doesn't come from fear. But what would you say if you saw this?' He thought, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the adventurers, their earlier bravado now completely evaporated as they stood in silence.
'Is fear... Really inferior to hard work?' The question lingered in his mind as he watched the sword gradually rebuild itself in his hand.
The sword was nearly whole again, yet a tiny crack remained, stubbornly refusing to mend as quickly as the rest.
But Van knew, thanks to his passive... It would eventually repair itself fully.
"HELLIX!" A rough voice shattered the tense silence. Garry's attention snapped to the entrance gate, where Greatknight Nickelson strode forward, his gaze locked on Van.
"G-Greatknight Sir!" Garry stammered, trying to shake off the shock that still gripped him.
'What luck...! If Sir Nickelson's here, then he must've seen what that guy did...! He won't let him get away with this!! If it's him, he can stop him!' Garry's thoughts raced as he watched the Greatknight approach.
"SIR!" Garry called out more firmly, his voice tinged with hope. "THIS CRIMINAL IS REFUSING ARREST AND HAS—"
"At ease!" Nickelson's voice cut through the air, firm and unyielding as he waved Garry off.
'W-... What...?' Garry's disbelief echoed through his mind as Van met Nickelson's gaze, unflinching behind his mask.
Nickelson's eyes flicked to the crater, then to the sword in Van's hand. With a slight pause, he addressed the guards, "Men, that person is my guest. Let him through."
'W-What...!?' Garry and the other guards were stunned, their thoughts a tangled mess. 'Even Sir Nickelson!?... To this... Van Hellix's son!?' Confusion and turmoil brewed among them, but the respect they held for their leader forced them to comply... And the guards wouldn't dare admit it, but this time, they were rather relieved to comply.
Van then moved past Nickelson without a word and entered the Capital as he strapped Cerille's sword to his back again.
'To not even acknowledge Sir Nickelson... Just... JUST WHO IS HE!?' Garry's mind whirled in disbelief as Nickelson turned to the crater.
"Fix that," Nickelson murmured with a sigh, gesturing to the damage before following Van inside the Capital.
"S-see..!? I knew not to attack him because he was someone important!" The A-Ranker fidgeted nervously.
"... Let's just get on with the quest, man..." The B-Ranker Orc muttered; his tone filled with resignation.
"S-...sure..." The A-Ranker Dragonkin agreed as they began to walk away.
"HEY, ROOKIE!? What are you doing!!? Come on!!" The A-Ranker called back to the young Elven summoner, whose gaze was still fixed on Van.
"A-ah, I'm coming..!!" She responded, snapping out of her thoughts as she hurried after them.
'Hellix...' The name lingered in her mind. 'It can't be him, right...? The one who...'
'... Proposed to my mom all those years ago...' She wondered.
'Nah,' She quickly dismissed the thought, 'There must be a lot of people named Hellix. And my mom... She executed him... Yeah. It has to be a coincidence.'
=================== ELSEWHERE.... ========================
"You seem to be in quite the rush to get to the Royal Capital. How uncharacteristic, Master Belial," Mirias, the demonic maid, murmured as she ran alongside him.
Belial was tall for a demon. He was slender, yet his muscles blessed with immense raw strength. His smooth, almost ethereal face held an eerie calm, while his deep red eyes glowed with an intensity that hinted at a well of dark power. Belial's short crimson hair flowed like liquid fire with each swift movement, brushing against the sharp, dark, and mighty horns that jutted from his forehead. Each step carrying the weight of a being accustomed to command and destruction...
... Just like his cousin, the Demon Lord.
"Well, I really wanted to go to the Demon Realm first. Feels like I'm being drawn to it..." he murmured, eyes fixed ahead.
"That's why I'll go the opposite way, dear Mirias," he added slyly, a hint of mischief in his voice.
"... You would do well to listen to your instincts. A Demon that doesn't heed his gut is—"
"—Not a true Demon. Yeah, yeah, I was there during my old man's lectures. I don't care," he interrupted, dismissing her with a wave.
"I'm doing what I want. And right now, what I want is to see who this Van character is. The Demon Realm can wait—it's lasted this long," Belial insisted.
"Well, I disagree with your rash behavior, Master Belial. Your family was blessed with power because they followed their instincts. A demon's gut feeling is a gift from the Archdevil. To ignore it is to insult our Devil," she berated, her voice steady.
"... And I share that instinct, the sense that we should rush to the Demonic Realm. We need to go there now, to uncover what the Archdevil wishes us to—"
"Just shut the fuck up," Belial snapped, his voice laced with a forced chuckle. The abruptness of his words caused Mirias to gulp and hold her breath. She bumped into him as he came to a sudden stop and turned to face her.
Belial's voice was low, almost a growl, as he loomed over Mirias. "I know all about our religion, Mirias. I know the doctrine. Sat through the same lectures, listened to the same crap," he said, his long fingernails lifting her chin, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. "I know exactly how you feel about everything—my decisions, my actions, my character; despite those lectures."
He leaned in closer, their eyes locked. "That's why I know you'll keep following me, doing everything I say like the damn mindless sheep you are. Isn't that right, dear Mirias?" His voice barely rose above a whisper, every word cutting.
Mirias' gaze faltered, dropping to the ground.
Belial's lip curled in disgust. "Every single one of you—servants, people below me, even those above me when I was a kid—you've got no fucking personality of your own," he murmured.
"So go ahead, keep being the empty, obedient doll you've been for the past 30 years… and shut the fuck up. Or maybe grow a spine, follow through with those lectures for a change, and stop sniffing my butthole. I can practically see my shit on your nose."
His words were sharp, challenging, and his eyes sparkled with a sliver of expectation as he looked at her.
But she remained motionless, choosing to hold her tongue and avert her gaze.
Belial clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Of course."
"Talk about it again, and I'll consider it treason," he sharply said, his tone cold as he shoved her aside.
"I… Apologi—" Mirias began, but Belial cut her off.
"Yeah, yeah. I know, and I know you mean it. Shut your mouth," he sighed, not bothering to look at her. She had no choice but to follow his command.
"We're going to the human capital. And that's final," he said, turning away and resuming his pace. Mirias followed silently alongside him.
The young demon was not a transmigrator. Therefore, like the rest of the residents in this world, he couldn't see the game-like messages that conveyed the gods' reactions and intentions.
Even his own.
[The Archdevil grits his teeth in anger at Belial.]
[The Goddess Varolia is displeased with Belial and with the Archdevil's negligence in guiding and handling his highest protégés.]
[The Dragon God looks elsewhere, his attention invested in something else. Yet still displeased with Belial's disrespect.]
[The rest of Arataxia is displeased with Belial, sighing in resignation.]