The road to Sedoma stretched beneath a gray sky that had been behaving erratically for days. At times, a brief drizzle would fall, then stop for no apparent reason. It wasn't usual for the region, but it wasn't enough to halt their journey either.
Liza guided the carriage with a steady hand, her cloak drawn tight to guard against any sudden rain. Tama and Pochi rested inside, half-asleep on the blankets. Hans remained as always—in Satoru's shadow, silent and vigilant.
Sedoma was no longer far, and Satoru had two objectives there.
The first was the witch of the forest of illusions.
The second was to find the encrypted documents that held information on sacred weapons. Such items could only be found among old merchandise sold irregularly. If the rain continued as it had, merchants would close their stalls, and he would lose an entire day.
He couldn't allow that.
Satoru raised his hand toward the sky.
The spell spread without a sound, adjusting the region's weather conditions with absolute precision. The rain that had been about to form ceased entirely, and the sky stabilized enough to guarantee several hours of calm.
Liza sensed the shift in the air.
"My lord?" she asked, glancing back slightly.
"It's nothing," Satoru replied calmly.
The carriage rolled onward until they found a place suitable for camp.
The trees along the roadside still shed the last droplets of past rains. Nothing new fell from the sky. Sedoma would soon appear on the horizon, but for now, it was wiser to rest and make use of the following day.
A stable climate was enough. With it, tomorrow's search would go uninterrupted.
The group stopped at a clearing beside the road—wide enough to light a fire without blocking travelers. The absence of rain allowed them to prepare dinner peacefully. Liza, the only one who truly knew how to cook, handled the meal. Hans moved silently among the nearby trees, nearly invisible as he secured the perimeter.
Tama and Pochi climbed down from the carriage when two low-level undead appeared behind Satoru. The girls greeted them cheerfully.
"Benji! Toru!" said Tama.
"Please help us with this," added Pochi, pointing to the containers they needed to carry.
The undead obeyed without a word. To the girls, their presence was already part of daily routine.
Satoru watched for a moment, then approached where Liza was working.
"I'll help," he said evenly.
Liza looked up. Not surprise—just a flicker of hesitation she couldn't quite hide. The memory of their closeness in the cabin still lingered, giving every gesture between them a subtle weight.
"As you wish, my lord," she replied softly. "We just need to prepare these ingredients."
Satoru picked up a knife, intent on assisting. He had no memories of cooking, but he didn't think it would be much of a challenge. Alchemy studies were useless for the moment, and watching the others work made it uncomfortable to stand idle. Helping Liza, who worked alone, seemed the logical option.
He placed a vegetable on the board. Measured the distance. Calculated the angle. And brought the knife down in one firm motion.
Too firm.
A loud crack echoed through the camp.
The cutting board split cleanly in two, like dry wood.
The knife didn't fare any better—the blade splintered and bent, ruined.
Both Liza and Satoru froze.
"My lord…" she said quietly, looking from the broken board to him. Her expression was difficult to read—surprise, concern, and something else she couldn't quite name.
Satoru said nothing.
Liza opened her mouth, perhaps to offer a suggestion—or an apology she didn't owe—but a whisper cut through the air.
"My lord."
Hans appeared a few steps away, bowing his head. His timing was impeccable. Satoru set the damaged knife down without a word, accepting the interruption as a natural exit.
"Report."
"The area is secure," Hans replied. "There will be no incidents tonight."
Liza removed the broken pieces of the board, restoring order with automatic efficiency. Tama and Pochi guided the undead through smaller chores, keeping their rhythm steady.
Satoru stepped back from the preparation area—not evasive, merely resuming his usual place, the one from which he observed and supervised while others carried on.
The camp returned to its habitual calm.
Dinner proceeded without further mishap.
***
Sedoma greeted them with more activity than any city they had visited since Seiryuu. Stalls were being set up in a rush, carts squeezed through crowded streets, and hawkers shouted for customers as soon as the weather allowed it. There was a restrained energy, as if everyone were trying to make up for the lost days of rain.
At the gate, they encountered little trouble.
The guards gave the carriage a routine inspection, their tired eyes glancing over Liza, Tama, and Pochi without lingering. To them, seeing demi-humans with a traveler meant one thing: slaves or servants—nothing unusual.
"You may proceed," said the head guard after a brief check.
The carriage moved on without issue. Sedoma pulsed around them: merchants wiping wet counters, apprentices fixing sagging roofs, and customers arguing over prices after so many days of rain.
And above all, murmurs.
"Hope the weather holds."
"It was about to pour again last night, then stopped suddenly."
"This weather makes no sense."
Satoru listened without reacting.
Beside him, Liza watched the city with cautious curiosity.
"The weather's in our favor for now," Satoru said quietly. "Let's make use of it before it changes again."
Hans, walking behind them in silence, understood. That stability wasn't natural, nor free—it came at the cost of his master's mana.
When they reached the inn, the owner—a sturdy woman with little patience—came to the counter, frowning. She studied the group, her gaze hardening as she noticed the demi-humans.
"I've got no rooms for—" she began.
Satoru handed her a sealed letter bearing the crest of the Church of Parion. The woman snatched it irritably, but when she broke the seal and read, her demeanor changed instantly.
"Understood," she said, suddenly stiff. "If you're under the Church's protection, then I can assign you a room for them as well."
It wasn't kindness.
It was obligation.
Tama and Pochi entered carrying their belongings, blissfully unaware that they had just avoided a confrontation. Liza kept her composure, though the tension in her shoulders eased once they crossed the threshold.
Once inside, Hans approached.
"My lord."
Satoru turned to him.
"Find information on the witch. Her trail must be somewhere in or near this city. Return once you have a clear picture of her situation."
"Yes, my lord."
Hans vanished after those words.
Tama was the first to speak.
"My lord, what should we do?" she asked.
"Can we help too?" added Pochi.
Liza stood beside them, waiting for instructions.
Satoru remained silent for a few seconds. He couldn't state his true purpose aloud. Asking directly for "the method to forge sacred weapons" would be foolish and dangerous. No one even knew such knowledge existed; merely mentioning it would spark rumors, suspicion, or worse in an unfamiliar city.
Then he recalled how Satou had found that information. Satou hadn't sought or researched it. He hadn't even known it existed. He was simply walking through a marketplace when he found a pile of old papers mixed with worthless junk. They were worn, wrinkled, untitled, and unclassified. But something had caught his eye—his Analysis skill, which automatically displayed the market price of any item, couldn't assign them a value.
It had only happened before with extremely rare items, including sacred weapons.
That anomaly was enough for him to buy them. Later, when one of his companions examined the papers, she noticed that the text was written vertically, in an ancient style, and among the lines she identified a key term: "Sacred Sword." That was how they discovered that the seemingly worthless papers contained encoded fragments of the process to forge one.
In other words, what Satoru sought wasn't labeled, guarded, or recognized as valuable. It was knowledge buried among old, forgotten papers that no one could read or interpret. The only way to find such information was to look for items without clear worth—exactly like the ones Satou had found.
"We'll go to the market," he said at last. "We're looking for bundles of old files, unclassified documents, or piles of used papers. What I need tends to hide that way."
Tama and Pochi nodded eagerly.
Liza, silent, understood the importance implied by his tone.
The marketplace of Sedoma was in full motion, though it still carried the weariness of the past days. Many stalls were damp inside, awnings half-collapsed, and merchandise only just unpacked. Even so, people moved quickly—everyone trying to make the most of the fair weather while it lasted.
Satoru and the demi-humans walked street after street, stall after stall. Most merchants offered vegetables, spices, cloth, used books, wooden utensils, worn tools, and occasionally documents that no one could classify. Exactly what he needed.
Satoru examined the first batch without emotion. The documents were in poor condition—creased, torn, nothing unusual. He went through them one by one calmly, then paid for them to avoid suspicion. When he opened them for a closer look, all he found were deteriorated account notes and warehouse records from businesses long gone.
They moved on. At the next stall, an old man was selling another set of aged papers. Satoru bought a small bundle that caught his attention due to the paper's texture. They turned out to be letters without sender, fragments of incomplete prayers, and partial medicinal recipes.
Nothing useful.
The day dragged on slowly, yet without result. Tama and Pochi moved energetically, rummaging through smaller piles, pointing out bundles lost between boxes or under tables. Liza checked with him any batch that seemed unusual. Their cooperation was efficient, but the market held no secrets for them today.
At one point, while examining a group of papers older than the stall itself, a subtle ripple crossed Satoru's perception. His face tensed slightly as he raised his gaze.
The clouds, which had stayed still all day, began gathering again—rolling from the west in a formation that did not belong to nature. A faint whisper surrounded the air, as if the rain were trying to reclaim its domain.
Satoru extended a hand with the smallest of gestures. Through magic, he once more manipulated the weather directly. The gathering clouds halted, then slowly retreated, as if a superior will had pushed them aside.
Only he perceived it fully. Liza noticed a change in the light but did not understand why. Tama and Pochi kept searching through a heap of damp books, unaware of anything unusual. Satoru withdrew his hand, and they continued.
They inspected more stalls, bought another batch of old documents. And another. And another. Each one worthless.
The sun began to sink, and the market, as usual, started closing down to avoid nighttime theft. Merchants who had been exuberant hours earlier now rushed to store crates, tie bags, and take down tarps before the moisture ruined their goods again.
Satoru made a mental count of the time. He hadn't found what he sought. It was natural; such information was never easy to locate. Yet the fact that it hadn't appeared even on the first day was troubling.
The world was moving along its own line. He had known that since Noukii… but seeing it reflected in the absence of something that should exist—even hidden—was another kind of warning.
He expected to find the documents within two days at most. His mana was vast, but not infinite.
Maintaining stable weather for so long had a cost, one he could not afford indefinitely under his current circumstances.
If he failed to locate them, his only option would be the witch's trail—to verify whether her knowledge could compensate for the loss of those records. And if not… he would have to face the seal more directly.
When they reached the edge of the market, Satoru let his hand fall slowly. Nature took control again. The first drops began to fall immediately, as if they had merely been waiting for permission. A soft rain at first, almost shy, then heavier with each step they took toward the inn.
Tama and Pochi raised their cloaks to shield the purchases. Liza kept a steady pace, used to far worse weather. Satoru looked up at the sky for a brief moment… and kept walking.
The return to the inn was silent. The rain, now falling with more resolve, forced Liza and the girls to quickly don the long hooded cloaks they had prepared for large towns. With them, their ears and tails were hidden; no one in Sedoma had any reason to give them a second glance.
They entered unnoticed. Inside, the oil lamps cast a warm glow, and the place was crowded with weary travelers seeking heat and food before retiring for the night. The innkeeper barely acknowledged them as they passed, gesturing toward a corner table.
It was the best spot to avoid curious eyes.
Satoru sat first, back to the wall, with a clear view of the room. Liza took the seat to his right, and Tama and Pochi sat opposite him, careful not to soak the floor any further. The noise of dishes, voices, and overlapping conversations filled the air without becoming overwhelming.
While waiting for dinner, Satoru went over the day's events in his mind.
He had lost a day. It was expected, yet still an irritating deviation. The documents might appear tomorrow or the next day—or never. And if that happened, harsher measures would be necessary.
Liza watched him for a few seconds. She didn't know the exact nature of what they sought, but she understood enough: if her lord desired those papers so intently, they had to be important—perhaps connected to the seal that had wounded him, or to the wrapped sword he had carried ever since.
"My lord…" she said softly, leaning toward him a little. "We'll keep searching tomorrow. We'll check more stalls and talk to more traders. We won't give up."
Tama nodded firmly.
"Tama will search better tomorrow!" she declared, striking her chest proudly.
"Pochi too!" the other added, nodding with determination.
Satoru looked at them, silent at first. It wasn't his nature to be swayed by optimism, but he couldn't ignore the determination they offered him. He thought for a moment, then nodded.
"You're right. If it's not there, it's not there. We'll find another way."
The words were simple but drew a quiet line under the day's worry. The goal remained: to move forward without stopping—to find a solution, even if it wasn't the one he'd first intended.
Still, something else caught his attention.
Hans had not yet returned.
It wasn't alarming—Satoru could still sense his presence within the detection range he had left active—but it was unusual. Hans rarely delayed without reason. Normally, he would already be in the hall or waiting near the door.
Satoru decided to give him a little more time.
The mood shifted when one of the nearby drunkards slammed his mug on the table and shouted,
"Hey! Keep playing! Don't stop now!"
The bard, who had paused his song to take a drink, laughed proudly, as if expecting the encouragement. He took up his lute, strummed lightly, and began playing again. Several heads turned toward him, some curious, others simply out of habit.
"All right, all right," said the bard, enjoying the attention. "This next one's an old story—the tale of a hero everyone here knows! The greatest among the great… the Ancient King Yamato!"
Several heads lifted.
Even after centuries, that name still commanded respect.
The bard began his song in a clear voice.
He told how Yamato had commanded entire armies against the Demon King of his era, how he had endured through ages of darkness, and how he had unified kingdoms that now existed only in books. He spoke of his sacred sword, Claiomh Solais, which, according to legend, could divide into thirteen blades that fought at his side as if alive.
He also mentioned his living armor—an ally both loyal and feared—that was said to still serve the royal family.
And his dragon.
The tavern reacted with murmurs.
It was the most exaggerated part of the legend—and still the most repeated. They said Yamato had tamed a dragon and fought demons with it. Many dismissed it as impossible, since dragons were said to surpass even some Demon Kings in power. Others saw it as proof of the hero's absurd strength.
Satoru listened in silence.
He didn't deny that part of it might be embellishment, yet he didn't dismiss the idea entirely. In a world of heroes, demons, gods, and extraordinary artifacts, such a story wasn't wholly impossible.
"And so," the bard continued, voice rising with passion, "with his sacred sword pointed toward the horizon and his dragon roaring across the sky, King Yamato marched to his final battle…"
Satoru lowered his gaze for a moment. The bard's voice faded slowly in his mind.
He compared, in silence, the legendary hero… with the one who had wielded that same sacred sword against him.
"How would they compare…?" he murmured under his breath.
Unconsciously, his hand brushed his abdomen. The place where the sacred sword had pierced through him still ached beneath the quiet of its bandages.
Not physically, but in memory.
When the song ended, the hall resumed its usual noise. Travelers, slightly livelier from the tale, returned to their meals and mugs while the rain tapped harder on the windows.
Satoru rose calmly once the girls finished eating.
"Let's go," he said.
Liza nodded immediately, and Tama and Pochi quickly gathered the bundles of papers they had managed to bring. They climbed the stairs quietly; most patrons were already too deep in drink to notice them.
As soon as they entered their room, Satoru closed the door behind them. The sound of rain became clearer. Liza began helping the girls organize their things while Satoru withdrew to the farthest corner from the window, considering his next move.
Then he felt it.
A presence approaching swiftly—direct and silent.
Hans appeared seconds later, slipping in through the window without a sound. He landed on his feet and bowed slightly.
"My lord," he said. "I return with information."
Satoru wasted no time.
"Speak."
Hans remained bowed as he delivered his report.
"I've found the witch and her apprentice. Both are inside the castle of the local lord. I arrived in time to overhear part of their meeting with Count Kuhanou."
Satoru straightened slightly, his silence prompting him to continue.
"It seems," Hans went on, "the witch maintains a regular pact with the territory. Twice a year, she provides three hundred high-quality potions. For a region bordering monster zones, those potions are vital. The arrangement has existed for years."
That was logical. The Kuhanou territory had long been known for drawing adventurers and mercenaries due to its dangers—and opportunities—especially after the recent kobold invasion of one of its mines.
Hans continued in his steady tone.
"However, the local lord attempted to halt this year's delivery to pursue his own aims. It's unclear what they were, but the witch informed the Count. When he arrived, the lord was executed on the spot."
Tama and Pochi, listening from nearby, merely widened their eyes, as if hearing a tale rather than a report. Liza wasn't surprised but stayed attentive.
Satoru showed no reaction; that same lord had nearly been executed when Satou resolved the matter originally—the only reason it hadn't happened then was because Satou intervened, unwilling to let the girls witness a killing. That act alone had persuaded the Count to choose a lesser punishment instead, assigning the lord to labor in the mines.
"There was another incident," Hans said. "The delivery of potions was handled by the witch's apprentice, not the master herself. When the lord interfered, the girl used living armors and magic to defend the shipment. According to what I heard, the damage worsened the conflict. The uproar drew attention, and now the witch and the Count are renegotiating the terms of their arrangement."
He paused briefly, letting the information sink in.
"At least, that was their intent—but their meeting was interrupted by something more pressing."
Satoru lifted his gaze.
Hans finished the report with a sentence heavier than all the rest.
"Someone arrived who overshadowed the entire gathering. The Empire's current Hero. Hayato Masaki."
The silence that followed closed over the room like a shroud.
*****
Author's Note:
Apologies for missing last week's update. Thank you for your patience and continued support.
Now, here's chapter 26.
The market, the witch, and now a new name entering the story… the pieces are slowly falling into place.
Next time, we'll see how Satoru faces this meeting—and what it means for everything that's to come.
Thank you for reading.