Quickly leaving the crime scene he had just called, it was already dark, and the lanterns' light illuminated the city. While there weren't as many people out as a little bit ago, there was still a nightlife — he could hear some rowdy people inside a building that looked like some medieval bar.
He had drunk before, curious why everyone liked alcohol so much in movies, but trying it himself had been equivalent to sipping vinegar; he hated the taste and, since then, told himself never to drink it again. He would much rather have soda.
His original plan was to find an inn to stay at until he could complete his mission, but when he thought about the purpose of an inn — to stay the night and rest — he felt scared, hoping not to find one after all. Every time he had fallen asleep or been knocked out, he had been forced to relive the most vivid, painful, and longest dreams he had ever experienced, and it had been happening in a row. Even if he reverted to his old sleep-deprived ways, he would stay awake. There didn't seem to be any coffee in this world, so he had to stay awake with sheer willpower.
His mission had changed from finding an inn to finding something to bind himself to, in case he accidentally fell asleep and tried to kill himself when he woke up — it would be game over. When the sun came up, he would try to ask for directions to the Sword Saint's mansion.
Now that he was here in the capital, alone and with so many hiccups in his plans, he felt quite foolish. He couldn't fall asleep, had no one to talk with, and no backup plans. Also, he had just assaulted three hobos — it was in self-defense, but the degree of self-defense would probably show him as guilty.
Oh, maybe he should try to find that giant — Felt's grandfather figure, Rom. Why the author made so many similar names was probably his own inside joke. Ram, Rem, Rom. He always wanted to meet a giant. Oh, but his little shack had been destroyed by Reinhard... he felt bad for him. Rom had been assaulted by his granddaughter's employer, only to find his granddaughter gone, kidnapped by the Sword Saint after waking up alone in his destroyed loot house.
As if gripped by an innate instinct, he walked down an alley in a certain direction, randomly taking sharp turns and hopping over blocked paths until he reached the area known as the slums. This must be the younger me's memories. Walking through the area that seemed to be shunned by all its residents, he could see children in the dark grabbing a tarp and huddling together to keep warm, fires being lit in trashcans, and people putting some mystery meat on impaled sticks over them.
As he was mindlessly watching, he heard a crumbling sound behind him, turning to see architecture falling apart after years of abuse and neglect. Looking as far as he could to see how large this area of the slums was, he realized it went on for as far as the eye could see. While the capital was also too big to take in, the fact that the slums were this massive showed the true political and economic state of the country. The people taking care of this country — and anyone previously in charge — held all the blame for people living like this.
As he watched some delinquents kick down a man for some food, he was reminded of the Three Stooges. They might have been horrible people, but they did what they had to do to survive. He shouldn't forgive someone who beat and killed him, but seeing the surroundings, he understood why they did what they did. He felt his heart soften.
How long is it until the Royal Selection? It should be 25–30 days of downtime from Arc 2. He arrived in this world on the evening of the 2nd day, fought on the 3rd — which was the end of Arc 2 — got knocked out for the 4th and 5th days, then woke up on the 6th day and sped up the snow festival. He practiced magic on the 7th day and left for the capital on the 8th. Which means tomorrow is the 9th day.
Since the 3rd day marks the end of Arc 2, Arc 3 should start in 20–24 days. I have to prepare.
I have a night of free time before I try to find the Sword Saint. Walking to where he remembered the loot house previously stood, he saw a large brown building with the roof and part of the wall just gone, as if smashed by a battering ram. He said "large," but that was only compared to the other buildings in the slums, which seemed to decrease in size by the moment.
As he walked closer, he heard the sound of something rolling, along with a squeaking sound that repeated consistently every few seconds. Peeking into the loot house was easy with its wall destroyed — but that's when a massive club smashed into the wall right next to his peeking head, as a threat. All he could do was flinch back and let out a yelp.
"Why are you peepin' at me, boy?" came a deep, resonant voice. "If you want to steal my stuff, you have to be quieter."
Taking a deep breath and gulping, Toyota put on a grin. "Rom, right?"
Footsteps echoed as they drew closer, and the rolling and squeaking followed. Out of the loot house and into the open firelight revealed a 7'3" bulky, hunchbacked figure. He was bald but had white hair that covered over his eyebrows, making it confusing whether it was his hair or an eyebrow. Behind him, he carried a large wheelbarrow-like cart that was full of trinkets. They didn't look expensive — more like treasured keepsakes.
"You know me, boy?"
"Of course. I would like to give you a gift, out of gratitude for saving me."
Rom scanned the kid — while he wore fancy-looking clothes, they were covered in dust and blood. Rom could tell the majority of the blood wasn't his own. He checked the boy's expression for any signs of deception or manipulation, but there was none. Letting his expression relax, he grumbled,
"I appreciate the thought, but I don't need money. And I don't remember saving you."
Toyota only felt melancholy hearing this. While Rom never succeeded in saving the younger him from Elsa, he had risked his life to do so — and for that alone, Toyota felt indebted.
"You may not remember, but I do. So, in gratitude, I'll give you some information and money in exchange for some advice."
Rom turned, visibly annoyed — but in a way that made him look more like a grumpy, stubborn grandpa than anything threatening. He huffed, stuttering over his words.
"Boy, I told you, I don't need money. I won't take advantage of children. I can give you advice for free. I don't need no information, so you keep it."
Toyota's train of thought stumbled for a second. Was this really the so-called genius strategist of Felt's camp, refusing free information like it was nothing?
"While I appreciate you offering the advice for free," Toyota said, flashing a small, almost mischievous grin, "I think you'll really want to hear this."
Rom gave an exaggerated sigh, dropped the handles of the wheelbarrow with a heavy clatter, and crossed his arms like he was preparing for a long, stubborn argument.
"What's so important that you think I'll want to hear it?" he grumbled.
"It's about where Felt was taken when you were unconscious."
The shift was instant. The lazy frustration vanished from Rom's face, replaced by sharp, focused seriousness. His eyes, half-hidden under the curtain of white hair, locked onto Toyota with an intensity that made the boy instinctively straighten up.
"You know where Felt is?" he demanded.
"Not exactly," Toyota admitted, his voice dropping into a more cautious tone. "I know who took her... and I have a good idea of where that person might be."
Rom's entire body tensed. "How do you know this, boy?"
Pausing for a moment to think, Toyota chose his words carefully, feeling the weight of the situation settle on his shoulders.
"You know Subaru, right? We're friends. After he woke up, he asked Emilia what happened after he was knocked out. She told him that Reinhard offered to take him to his mansion... but instead, he ended up taking Felt, because of a selection stone."
Rom didn't respond immediately. A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the nearby trashcan fires. Then, slowly, a deep, rumbling anger built up behind Rom's eyes.
"That damn Sword Saint..." he muttered, voice low and dangerous. "How dare she kidnap my granddaughter."
Toyota blinked, pausing mid-thought. She? he almost said aloud, but the words caught in his throat.
"So, she's most likely in his mansion," Toyota finished, a little more cautiously this time.
Rom, who had paused like he misheard something, seemed to register Toyota's confusion — but instead of explaining, he simply grunted and turned his gaze toward the distant capital walls, ignoring it.
"So... what are you going to do now?" Toyota asked, glancing down at Rom's wheelbarrow full of old antiques and keepsakes.
Rom scratched the back of his head, then shook it with a small, genuine smile.
"First of all, I don't need any of your money," he said, his voice softening into real gratitude. "Thank you for the information. So... you're a friend of Subaru? That weird guy?"
Toyota chuckled. "Yeah."
Rom gave a small grunt of amusement. "He's fun. I just wish I could have more of his snacks. Alright then, boy. Tell me your problem, and I'll give you the best advice I can."
"I have a lot of problems," Toyota admitted, his smile fading. "But the most urgent one... whenever I fall asleep or go unconscious, I start receiving memories. Memories from someone else. And they're always traumatic. When I wake up, I lose my mind for about five seconds — and most recently... I attacked someone. I even tried to kill myself when I woke up."
The mood shifted sharply. Rom, who had been relaxing, immediately straightened. The sudden change in tone from light-hearted banter to something so heavy left him uneasy.
"I'm no doctor," Rom muttered. "I can't recommend any miracle herb or medicine for that kind of thing."
"I know," Toyota said quietly. "I just... I just want to know what you would do in my situation. I don't want to sleep anymore."
Rom looked at him carefully. The boy's face, smeared with dust and blood, wore a weary, hollow expression. His eyes told stories of pain and death — sights far too common in the slums... but still. Something about it unsettled Rom.
"You sure it's not a curse placed on you?" Rom asked cautiously.
"It feels like a curse," Toyota admitted. "I thought about tying myself up at night... but that'd just make me vulnerable."
Rom's chest tightened with pity. Living with something like that — night after night — it wasn't a life anyone should endure.
"I could help you find out if it's a curse or something else," Rom offered after a pause. "And... if you need it, I could watch over you when you rest."
Rom wasn't sure why he made the offer so easily. Maybe it was the boy's beaten-down spirit. Or maybe... it was something deeper. Something in the soul — a stubborn fire that reminded him of Felt. Not in attitude... but in essence.
"Hey, boy. What's your name? And how old are you?"
Toyota smiled faintly.
"I kinda recently made up my name. I call myself Toyota. I was thinking of making my last name 'Crimson.'"
"Why 'Crimson'?" Rom asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.
"Apparently, it has something to do with my dad... but also because it sounds awesome," Toyota said, shrugging.
"And your age?"
"Well... I don't really know," Toyota admitted sheepishly. "I never had my birthdays celebrated. But I know I'm somewhere between 14 and 18 years old."
Rom blinked.
"How do you not know your own age?"
"I was told that when I was born... it wasn't a good day. And by the time I could count, I couldn't remember how long ago it was."
Rom stared at him for a moment, then let out a low, sympathetic grunt.
"That's kinda sad, Crim."
"Crim?"
"Yeah. It's a nickname I made for you, boy. Don't you like it?"
Toyota — Crim — repeated the word under his breath.
"...Crim."
A slow smile crept onto his face.
"I could get used to it."
Following Old Man Rom and his wheelbarrow through the dark, Toyota stayed close, stepping carefully over the broken stones and muddy ground as they made their way out of the slums.
"So where are you taking all this stuff, Gramps?" Toyota asked.
At that, Rom raised an eyebrow — or maybe both. It was hard to tell.
"Since my hideout got destroyed, I'm taking it somewhere safer where I can start over," Rom grumbled. Then his expression softened. "But you gave me a goal, Crim. You said she was taken by Reinhard because of the Selection Stone, right?"
"Yeah, but... I don't know how that stone works."
"Enough about the stone," Rom said, waving a hand. "That means she's going to be a candidate for the Royal Selection — in twenty days."
"Okay..." Toyota said slowly.
Rom's mouth curled into a sly grin.
"That'll be the perfect place to create a distraction... and take Felt back."
"Gramps, I think that's a horrible idea," Toyota said flatly. "Even worse than trying to take her back from the Sword Saint's mansion."
Rom's grin widened.
"Really? And why's that?"
"Because," Toyota said seriously, "on the day of the Selection, every candidate, every noble, every knight, and every Wiseman will be there. The security will be insane. It'll be the most heavily guarded event in Lagunica."
Rom started to chuckle under his breath, the sound low and rumbling.
"You're pretty sharp, Crim. But you're thinking too two-dimensionally."
Toyota frowned.
"With that many factions in one place," Rom said, eyes gleaming, "and all the political tension between them... there's bound to be some kind of outburst. That chaos is the perfect chance to slip away unnoticed. And if no outburst happens..." He smirked. "I'll just cause one myself."
"I think you're forgetting the biggest reason why it still won't work," Toyota said stiffly.
Rom's grin faltered slightly.
"I know," he muttered, his voice dropping. "The Sword Saint."
"If you fail," Toyota pressed, "you could be executed. Why not just come with me tomorrow to meet Reinhard? You could see Felt without risking your life."
Rom's expression hardened.
"I refuse to ask to see my grandaughter from the one who stole her. My pride won't allow it."
"Why are you trying to see the Sword Saint?" Rom asked.
The two of them, after a while of walking in the dark, arrived at a spacious, inconspicuous part of the street. Rom set down the wheelbarrow, then reached under a cracked slab of concrete, pulling out a rusted bronze key. Grabbing it, he took a few steps toward a large metal sliding door — it looked kind of like a primitive garage door, the way it was built to slide upward.
He found a part of the metal that had a small indent, inserted the key, and twisted it. A click echoed through the silent street. Rom then lifted the heavy metal door with one arm and shoved the wheelbarrow inside with the other.
Rom grunted "Well."
"I need to tell him certain information... about the Witch's Cult. I know where they're going to be, and I know what their powers are. Only the Sword Saint has the strength to stop them while keeping casualties low."
Rom grabbed a large glass bottle nearby and pulled out two dusty cups. He poured a white liquid into each before handing one to the boy.
"It's milk," Rom said simply.
"Thanks," Toyota muttered quickly, taking a long sip.
As the boy drank, Rom quietly watched him. It was obvious Toyota was avoiding the topic, almost flinching from it.
Rom exhaled through his nose, putting the pieces together.
"It's the memories you received... huh?"
(AN: I forgot to write a chapter on schedule until I had an hour and a half left so I had to rush this out. I stayed up on a school night for you, past midnight, feel honored, my readers, I care so much about you.😘
I've set an official release schedule: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Although when I get bored, I add extra.
Bonus chapters will drop on Saturdays if my demands are met. 🔫
Trade deal:
You give me 70 power stones, and I give you a bonus chapter.
Sounds fair, right?)