That was how Soren ended up in his current situation.
Sitting face to face with Morcant Calder in the commander's office, surrounded by polished furniture and the faint scent of tea that had gone cold a long time ago.
Two chairs, one desk, and one pot of untouched tea off to the side, the steam long faded, the surface of it reflecting lamplight like dull glass.
Both of them wore polite, fake smiles as they watched each other's every move, like they were acting out some noble tea party instead of sitting in a room that could easily become a murder scene.
Morcant tapped his finger lightly against the wood between them.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
"You speak of a deal," he said, eyes fixed on Soren, "but you have yet to tell me what I get out of it."
His tone was mild, almost amused, as if this was a conversation he could pause whenever he felt like it, as if Soren wasn't a first-year student who had walked in here with nothing but audacity and a plan built out of sheer spite.
Soren mirrored the arrogance, resting his chin on his palm, elbow on the armrest, posture loose enough to look careless.
"Should I be more honest?" he asked. "This isn't a deal. It's blackmail. I'm not giving you a choice."
Morcant's finger stopped for a moment.
Then his lips curled upward again, the smile returning like a mask sliding neatly into place.
"I see. So we're dropping the niceties now."
"I only called it a deal at the start to get your attention," Soren replied. "You're the type who gets bored easily. If I didn't make it sound interesting, you wouldn't listen."
Morcant chuckled softly.
"You seem to know me well."
Soren gritted his teeth for a brief second to stop himself from cursing, then exhaled sharply through his nose and forced his jaw to relax.
"To put it bluntly," he said, voice still level, "I have nothing to offer you. You're insane. You don't want anything but chaos."
Morcant's eyes curved, pleased.
"That's one way to put it. Go on."
"So," Soren continued, "I wondered how to deal with you. Morcant Calder. The man who turned everyone against me, even the people closest to me."
His gaze dropped to the desk for a moment, then lifted back up, meeting Morcant's eyes again with a steadiness that didn't match the pounding in his chest.
"It was difficult," he admitted. "There's no physical proof. No robes, no letters, no convenient documents I can 'accidentally' find. The Lunar Cult is annoying like that. You keep your hands clean and let everything else rot instead."
Morcant's brow lifted slightly.
"You seem to know much of our situation. This is surprising."
"Just shut up and listen."
Morcant's shoulders shook with quiet laughter.
He made a small motion with his hand, as if inviting Soren to continue like this was a story Morcant had paid to hear.
"Because of all that, there really isn't much I can do about you directly," Soren went on. "So I looked at the next option, which was killing you, but—"
"—That's impossible," Morcant finished for him, still smiling, voice gentle enough to sound like advice.
Soren clicked his tongue.
"…Right," he admitted. "Which left me with only one option."
"And that's this?" Morcant asked. "Walking into my office and trying to put a knife to my throat with words?"
"To be more specific," Soren said, "it was to settle things peacefully."
Morcant let out a low hum of amusement.
"Peacefully," he repeated, tasting the word. "A first-year student walks into a bishop's den and starts talking about 'peaceful' blackmail. I really chose well, didn't I?"
His grin widened, and for a brief second it looked less like a polite smile and more like a predator's delight.
"I only chose you because I'd heard you were the leader of the little group that subjugated Lord Murmur, but who could have guessed things would go this way?"
Soren clicked his tongue again.
At the time, during the labyrinth, he hadn't thought about consequences.
All that mattered had been survival, and the fact that killing Murmur had apparently put him on Morcant's radar felt like the world mocking him in hindsight.
Every choice he made seemed to circle around and bite him later, no matter how careful he tried to be.
"It's annoying," Soren said, voice dry, "but it's too late to regret it now. So, what's your response?"
Morcant went quiet.
He tapped his finger against the desk a few more times.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Then he stopped and lifted his gaze, staring straight into Soren's eyes.
"Soren Arden," he began, voice lower now, "I entertained all of this because you seemed interesting. I turned everyone you know against you, pushed on their envy, and yet you still haven't broken. Instead, you came to me, looked me in the eye, and openly said you'd blackmail me."
He tilted his head slightly, studying Soren like he was examining a new toy for hidden mechanisms.
"I'll admit it," Morcant continued. "You're fun, and far more interesting than I initially thought."
His smile faded into something closer to genuine curiosity, then into confusion, like he had reached a point in the conversation where the expected script stopped making sense.
"But I must ask…"
Morcant's eyes narrowed.
"Are you stupid?"
The words hung in the air.
Soren's breath caught in his throat.
They were words he had expected.
Words he had been waiting for.
He knew they were coming logically, but actually hearing them made the anxiety spike in his chest all over again, sharp enough to sting.
For a moment, his body wanted to flinch, wanted to show weakness, wanted to give Morcant something to grip.
Morcant didn't wait for a response.
"You admitted you have nobody on your side," he said calmly. "You admitted you can't beat me. You revealed facts that even some members of the cult itself wouldn't be privy to. And you expect me to go along with what you say?"
He spread his hands slightly, palms up, as if he was displaying the obvious truth on the table between them.
"Do you understand how ridiculous that is? You've put everything on the table and then handed me the knife. I could kill you now and simply… tidy up."
Soren's heart pounded.
If he made even one wrong move here, he would die.
It wasn't an exaggeration.
It wasn't dramatics.
If he slipped up, everything really would be over, and the worst part was that Morcant could make it look clean.
A tragic accident.
A student who wandered where he shouldn't have.
A misunderstanding that ended badly.
A single beat of silence passed.
Soren lowered his eyes, staring down at the floor.
From the outside, it might have looked like he was breaking, like he had finally realised the weight of the situation he had thrown himself into and couldn't carry it anymore.
Morcant watched him, still, patient.
Then Soren laughed quietly.
Not kindly.
Not nervously.
Something colder.
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, movements smooth and unhurried.
He lifted his chin slightly, looking down the bridge of his nose toward Morcant with a kind of arrogant ease he had never worn before in his life.
His lips curved upward.
"Morcant Calder, why are you putting on an act like that?"
Morcant's eyes narrowed.
"You heard what I said, didn't you?" Soren continued, voice calm, almost bored.
His fingers tapped once against the armrest, a small, dismissive motion that made his whole posture look infuriatingly controlled.
"I'm not here to play your stupid games. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already."
For a moment, Morcant genuinely looked thrown off by the sudden shift in atmosphere, as if he had been expecting panic and got something else entirely.
Soren didn't give him time to settle.
"For someone who acts so wise," Soren said with a grin, "you don't pick up on things very well, do you, Morcant Calder?"
The grip on Morcant's armrest tightened.
He didn't laugh this time.
"…Care to explain?" Morcant asked, voice still quiet, but the softness had sharpened at the edges. "If your answer doesn't interest me, be warned… those might be the last words you speak."
Confidence was everything here.
If his act cracked even once, it would all fall apart.
Soren shrugged lightly, as if the threat bored him.
"Hmm…" he hummed, tapping his fingers again, then looked up with an expression that suggested Morcant was the one being slow. "Morcant Calder, it seems like you have a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding?" Morcant repeated.
"Did you really think I came here without making any preparations whatsoever? Even the most hated people can find help in some places."
It was a lie.
He had come straight here after class without speaking to anyone, without leaving any messages, without any backup at all, because the moment he tried to involve someone else he knew his courage would collapse and the plan would rot in his hands.
But Morcant didn't need to know that.
Morcant's eyes narrowed further, trying to feel out the edges of Soren's bluff.
"…The headmistress?"
Soren almost blinked.
'The headmistress?' the thought flickered, immediate and sharp, but he caught it before it touched his face.
He hadn't spoken a single word to Dorothy since arriving at the academy.
Even in the game, Alex had only properly interacted with her much later.
The fact Morcant's mind went there at all made Soren's stomach twist with a different kind of awareness.
Outwardly, Soren let out a soft sigh.
"I'm afraid I can't disclose who," he said smoothly. "I wouldn't want to put them in danger, now would I?"
Morcant frowned slightly, irritation breaking through his pleasant mask.
"Fine, let's say you really do have someone like the headmistress backing you. That still doesn't explain why you came here instead of just… dealing with me through her."
Soren clicked his tongue and shook his head in an exaggerated, almost mocking way.
"Morcant Calder," he said, voice laced with faint disdain, "are you stupid?"
Morcant's expression twisted.
"Do I really need to explain everything to you?" Soren continued, letting the insult land. "Seriously, how the hell did you end up a bishop? What were you thinking, Alinar…"
The name slipped out as if it were natural, as if it were a thing Soren had said a hundred times.
Morcant's entire body stiffened.
The change was immediate, violent in its subtlety.
His shoulders tensed, his eyes widening, his breath catching just enough to finally crack the calm persona he had been wearing.
"H-How did you—"
"Shhh," Soren cut him off, lifting a finger to his lips.
The gesture was casual, almost lazy, and that laziness was what made it dangerous.
"I don't care enough to explain myself. If you haven't already figured it out, then there's nothing that can be done."
Morcant stayed silent for a moment, then spoke hesitantly, voice far weaker than before.
"…Who are you?"
Soren clicked his tongue again, letting his eyes sweep over Morcant like he was appraising something disappointing.
"Seriously useless," he muttered. "I can't imagine what use Alinar would have for you. If this is really one of his elite, then it's a disappointment."
He sighed, and beneath the act his stomach churned, because he could feel it now, a faint pressure trying to crawl along his skin.
Ever since Alinar's name had been brought up, Morcant had been subtly trying to push [Dark Energy] into him, testing, probing, looking for cracks.
Fortunately, for whatever reason, Soren was immune, but the feeling was still disgusting, like humid air in a sealed room.
He wrinkled his nose.
"Can you stop that? It's irritating."
The moment he called it out, the pressure vanished.
Soren inhaled slowly.
He hadn't realised how heavy the air had felt until it cleared, and the relief almost made his knees wobble.
"That's better," he said with a faint smile.
"How?" Morcant asked, voice quieter now, real uncertainty creeping in. "How are you unaffected?"
Soren rested his cheek against his knuckles and looked at him with cold eyes.
"Do I need to spell everything out for you? I have knowledge you don't. I know your leader's name. I'm immune to [Dark Energy]. Is that brain of yours only for cosmetic purposes?"
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't sound angry.
He just sounded tired and annoyed, like a senior scolding someone who had forgotten basic training, and that tone did more damage than shouting would have.
It took only a few seconds for Morcant to connect the dots in his own way.
Soren watched the process through his eyes.
Shock.
Confusion.
Then a flicker of fear that Morcant tried to crush instantly, but couldn't fully hide.
"…Could it be?" Morcant whispered.
Soren just smiled faintly.
He neither confirmed nor denied it.
He let the silence stretch until Morcant filled it himself, because that was the point.
Let the man strangle himself with his own imagination, let him build the monster he was afraid of, let him decide what Soren "must" be.
Morcant swallowed.
His gaze roamed over Soren slowly, as if he were seeing him properly for the first time.
The lazy arrogance in his posture.
The unbothered gaze.
The casual way he had spoken of Alinar like an annoying junior rather than an untouchable existence.
"…You," Morcant muttered. "You're… one of them, aren't you?"
Soren tilted his head slightly.
"One of the Seventy-Two…"
The words left Morcant's mouth in a whisper, thick with disbelief, and with fear he couldn't fully hide.
Soren didn't answer.
He didn't nod.
Didn't deny it.
Didn't react beyond the faint curve of his lips.
Inside, his heart started racing again.
'What the hell are you talking about…?'
But he didn't let any of that reach his face.
He narrowed his eyes lazily instead, as if Morcant was finally starting to be mildly entertaining.
"Now then," Soren said, tone light, "let's get back on topic. We were talking about blackmail, weren't we?"
Morcant visibly flinched at the casual tone, dragged back from his spiralling thoughts.
"Y-You…" he began.
"Ah," Soren cut in with a small snicker, lifting his hand in a half-dismissive gesture. "No, 'blackmail' sounds too harsh. Let's go back to calling it a deal. It suits your position better, doesn't it?"
He smiled, pleasant and sharp.
"A bishop of Envy like yourself being blackmailed might affect your position."
Morcant swallowed again.
Before he could respond, Soren raised his hand and brushed his fingers through the air.
A ripple spread from his fingertips as he opened his inventory.
A thin sheet of parchment appeared between his fingers, followed by a small glass vial filled with dark, viscous ink that glimmered faintly with mana.
Soren placed them both on the desk with deliberate slowness.
The air in the room seemed to grow heavier as the parchment touched the wood.
Morcant's gaze dropped to the items, eyes narrowing.
"…A mana oath."
"Obviously," Soren replied. "You didn't think I'd just rely on spoken promises, did you? That would be stupid. Even for me."
He tapped the parchment with his fingertip.
"The terms are simple. You will never again lay a hand on my business. You won't touch those around me either. No manipulation, no quiet nudges, no little games from the shadows. You will stay out of my way, and you will keep your cult away from my people."
Morcant's expression twisted.
"That's—"
"—Completely one-sided?" Soren finished for him with a grin. "Of course it is."
He leaned back in his chair.
"Did you forget the position you're in, Morcant Calder?"
Morcant's eyes darted between Soren, the contract, and the ink vial.
There was nothing written there for him.
No benefits.
No protection.
No promise of safety if things went wrong.
Under normal circumstances, he would have burned the parchment and killed the idiot sitting across from him, then walked out and smiled at the next student who asked for sparring advice.
But his hand didn't move.
Alinar's name still echoed in his ears.
The memory of [Dark Energy] sliding off Soren like water off glass lingered.
The 'what if' dug its claws into his spine.
The possibility that Soren really was something he didn't understand pressed down on his chest hard enough to make him breathe differently.
His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the ink.
"…You're insane," Morcant muttered.
Soren shrugged, not bothering to deny it.
Morcant let out a slow breath.
He uncorked the vial, then pulled a small knife from his belt and pricked his fingertip with the practiced ease of someone who had done oaths before.
A drop of blood fell into the ink, and the mixture shimmered faintly.
He dipped the pen and wrote his name across the parchment in careful strokes.
The ink flared with soft light as the letters settled, lines of mana spreading out like thin veins before sinking into the page and disappearing.
The binding took hold.
Soren watched the entire process with a lazy smile.
His hands, hidden in his lap, were slick with sweat.
"Good," he said lightly. "You can use your brain when you're cornered. Congratulations, Morcant Calder."
He pushed himself up from his chair, movements unhurried, as if this outcome had always been guaranteed.
Walking around the desk, he stopped beside Morcant and rested a hand on the man's shoulder, giving it two light pats, almost friendly.
"Keep making smart choices like this," Soren said, voice faintly amused, "and you might actually live long enough to take Alinar's place."
Morcant's jaw clenched.
He said nothing.
Soren removed his hand and turned away, heading toward the door with steady, measured steps. He didn't look back.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
And the moment it did, his legs almost gave out.
He leaned back against the wood, sliding a fraction of the way down until his shoulder caught on the frame.
A deep, shuddering breath escaped him, raw enough to betray how close he'd been to breaking.
His hand rose to clutch his head.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he whispered.
His heart was still pounding so hard it hurt.
The [Mental Care] he had cast earlier felt thin now, like cheap paper barely holding back a flood.
"I-I can't believe that actually worked…"
He stayed there for a while, pressed against the cool door, breathing in and out as he tried to pull himself back together.
His hands shook faintly.
His knees felt weak.
Slowly, the pounding in his ears began to quiet.
For now, at least, Morcant Calder would not be able to touch him or the people around him.
The contract would hold.
And if Morcant wanted to live a long life, he wouldn't test whatever he thought Soren really was.
Soren straightened up, forcing his back away from the door.
His steps were still a little unsteady, but he moved forward anyway.
There were people he needed to protect.
There were relationships he needed to fix.
And this time, he had taken a step forward of his own will.
Even if that step had been more like a leap doused in drugs that numbed him.
————「❤︎」————