The Ogre—or rather Ned Inga—was surprisingly easy to convince to join the eventual war effort.

  I had always intended to approach him. The moment I saw that monstrous Strength stat of 412 appear during his fight against Kleave, thanks to the Random Character Checker, I knew he was someone I had to secure.

  But there was no real rush.

  The war was still years away—though I had a nagging suspicion that the timeline could accelerate, given my opponent within the Kobar Empire was either an Aware or an Awakened individual. More importantly, with the Game's difficulty level, victory wouldn't come in a single Round. Per Micah, it would take at least several dozen Rounds. Even the veteran playing the role of Grandov struggled through 67 Rounds without beating the Game.

  So, rather than immediately making my move, I observed the enormous man. And every morning, without fail, I would roll a Random Character Checker on The Ogre to glean any helpful insight that could prove advantageous to me eventually.

  The first check ended in failure.

  [ NULL. Random Character Checker failed. ]

  The second morning, I got some useless, though surprising insight.

  [ Ned Inga (The Ogre) is 30 years old, born on the third moon of Year 750 of the Adovorian Calendar. ]

  Thirty years old. He was far younger than I expected.

  Ned's face looked like his creator had sculpted him from clay—then carelessly smudged the features with a thumb. Low brows, beady eyes, and a nose and jaw that had clearly been broken more times than I could count. His towering height only added to the impression of a creature built for battle.

  Given his long and previously undefeated reign in The Cage of the Gilded Siren, that meant he had been fighting professionally since his teenage years.

  Crazy.

  The third morning, I uncovered something much more valuable, albeit concerning.

  [ Ned Inga (The Ogre) is currently afflicted with Claustrophobia, the fear of small spaces. ]

  [ Claustrophobia: 35 ]

  That explained why he slept in the desert outdoors instead of in the rooms provided.

  It also meant there was an unexpected complication. Kathy's antidote wouldn't have helped with this affliction. His aversion to enclosed spaces was just as debilitating as the fragrance poison, and it seemed the monks had chosen to tackle it first.

  This meant leaving the desert was of little use until the monks deemed him ready, which I overheard would take about a month.

  That was fine by me.

  I still needed to track down an antidote for the scent-based affliction, but I wasn't worried. Kathy wasn't the type to craft a poison without a cure.

  On my final morning at the monks' abode, just before setting out, the Random Character Checker revealed something that made me internally groan.

  [ Level 3 Random Character Check in progress for Ned Ingra (The Ogre) ]

  [ Ned Ingra's Nationalism level for Adovoria is at Peak. ]

  [ He will gladly stake his life on behalf of his country in return for glory and a place in history. ]

  So that's how it was.

  I had assumed convincing The Ogre to fight in the war would take effort, and I'd need to leverage his ailment—offering a cure in exchange for his service.

  But the reality was backward.

  The Ogre didn't need persuading. He would have thrown himself into the war against the Kobar Empire regardless. The real issue wasn't motivation—it was his crippling affliction against the scent of flowers that kept him from being battle-ready.

  Which meant my job wasn't to convince him. It was to remove his obstacles.

  "I'll have the cure for your ailment in a month's time," I told him.

  His laughter rumbled like distant thunder. "You really are crazy."

  Up close, he was even larger than I had realized—more imposing than he had seemed in The Cage against the short Kleave. A mountain of muscles and scars.

  "One month," I repeated, holding his gaze.

  By then, the monks would have tackled his Claustrophobia, and I would have the antidote.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  And with that, I'd have my war champion.

  ***

  "Young master Luca." Remlend held open the carriage door as I emerged from the labyrinth of winding tunnels.

  The perfect attendant, as always.

  A pair of desert striders stood before the carriage, lapping up water. Judging by the damp sand beneath their hooves, they hadn't been here long.

  The sun had just risen above the horizon, and for now, the desert air was comfortable, untouched by the day's impending heat.

  I had been slightly worried about not having a ride home. The flaw of Illusion Magic was that while it allowed me to communicate at an enormous distance, I could not receive a response in return. Thus, I had to trust Remlend to do his job well.

  But I didn't need to worry. When has Remlend ever lapsed in his execution?

  "Young master Luca!" Henry greeted me excitedly, reminding me of a golden retriever. "How was your… stay? And where is Leona?"

  He looked around expectantly, some lines of worry crossing over his face as he couldn't find her.

  "She's staying with the monks," I replied.

  "Ah, is that so." He hesitated, lips parting as if to ask more.

  "Don't dig any deeper than that," I cut him off before he could ask and entered the carriage.

  There was no point in explaining further. Nothing I could have said would ease Henry's concerns. The monks had suggested a rather lengthy timeline for Leona's recovery. It wasn't an issue in the long run, over the course of several Rounds, but it was too lengthy to explain to this Henry, who would only ever recall this Round.

  It was frustrating to leave her behind, but I had accepted that, without her Sanity in check, Leona was about as dangerous as a Wobbly Pebble.

  I frowned as the carriage lurched forward, the desert shifting outside the window.

  Speaking of Wobbly Pebbles, I still needed to solve that.

  Despite a lengthy investigation into the matter in the previous Round, in the end, Kathy never figured out how to undo its effects. But she had provided some insight.

  "This damage is more akin to fire rather than poison," she had told me, her face grave. "It doesn't just weaken the body—it breaks it down, mutates it at the cellular level. There's no simple antidote. You'd have to either reconstruct the body from scratch or turn back time. And as far as I know, no one is capable of either, except perhaps The Alchemist."

  The Alchemist wasn't just powerful—she was a monster in human skin. She could twist a person into whatever form she pleased, reshaping flesh as easily as a sculptor molding clay. But while I had found reason and common ground with other dangerous individuals, she was different.

  She made my skin crawl. Especially after having seen the children she had mutated.

  A grim smile filled my face as I realized I could not recall their forms anymore, even if I tried. The memory had been wiped away. It was that disturbing.

  I felt Apophis' cool body slide past the back of my neck, arranging himself across both shoulders.

  And now, aside from Leona, I had a second creature The Alchemist would love to get her hands on.

  However, what if—?

  [[ Apophis, do you know if The Alchemist had any disciples? ]]

  With Remlend sitting across from me, I relied on Illusion Magic to interact with Apophis.

  A venomous hiss sounded from the snake into my left ear.

  ~Master, why do you mention that damned bitch?

  A shiver ran down my spine.

  I was clearly tapping my knuckles against a door that Apophis did not wish to open. However, it was necessary.

  [[ Did she? ]]

  ~Hah, no, she did not. That narcissist refused to teach anyone her craft.

  I sighed, somewhat frustrated.

  I had hoped—however foolishly—that perhaps one of her disciples could have helped. Maybe even one with a shred of morality left. But if there were no disciples at all…

  I turned my gaze to the window. The desert stretched endlessly beneath the unbroken blue sky. Mirages shimmered at the horizon, twisting the landscape into illusions, while clusters of stubborn shrubs, dusted with violet blossoms, clung to life in defiance of the heat.

  The desert was beautiful, in its own cruel, unrelenting way—much like the Wobbly Pebble.

  A poison without a cure was a double-edged sword. However, I couldn't ignore its raw, destructive potential. If harnessed correctly, it could turn the tides of war, flipping the chessboard entirely—ending this Game once and for all.

  I should have Leo Jarbez take another look at it—and explode it at a safer distance this time. His Magical Inventor (Level 3) skill and talent for reverse engineering made him my best bet at unraveling the Pebble's mysteries. Unfortunately, he had been killed by Claude in the previous Round, cutting off his research into it entirely.

  Perhaps aside from reverse engineering it, he could find a way to reverse its adverse effects?

  I should also check Lisa's archives. She might have something useful on the topic.

  Or perhaps it was a question for Freida Stran—though if my favorite information broker was going to run to Lisa for answers, I might as well start there myself. I had enough questions I wanted to pose to Freida, as it were. With summer coming up, aside from the handful of days of rain, I was going to be in a drought of rain and information, so it was best to take advantage of her few working days.

  My mind churned with everything that needed to be done.

  I leaned against the plush seating of the carriage, closing my eyes.

  With training my mind among the monks off the table, I now had time to tackle the matters I had originally intended to delay. But now that it came to it, there was too much to complete.

  But after settling the most critical pieces, I'd travel. And while I was at it, I'd hone my skills in Chaos Magic.

  Exploring the vast expanse of countries and cities across the two continents wasn't just an opportunity to gain knowledge toward my preparation for the war—it was something I genuinely enjoyed doing in the previous Round.

  But for now, I was looking forward to returning home.

  "Remlend, tell the driver to go straight to Genise. No stops except to change horses," I murmured, eyes still closed.

  "Of course, young master Luca." Remlend tapped the wall behind him and relayed my orders.

  It was going to be a long drive, but I was looking forward to returning home.

  However, that comforting feeling went up in smoke. Literally.

  By the time we arrived at Genise, it was already nightfall, but the night was anything but still.

  A sharp, acrid scent filled my nostrils before I even laid eyes on the source. Burning wood. Scorched fabric. Something darker, more bitter—charred flesh.

  "Fire," I muttered before the carriage even entered the capital city walls.

  Thick plumes of black smoke billowed into the sky, their heavy tendrils clinging to the wind, blotting out the stars. The crackling of flames filled the air, punctuated by the splintering groan of collapsing beams. Distant cries rang out. Some shouting orders, others wailing in despair.

  A deep, resonant bell tolled in the distance, its somber chime cutting through the chaos. A warning. A command for all to stay away.

  However, we ignored it, the carriage moving directly toward the carnage.

  My stomach twisted as we rounded the final bend, revealing a sight I had witnessed once before.

  The Frey Manor was ablaze.

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