Bermuda

A bolt of lightning shot out in an instant and struck the shot put suspended in midair. Ero’s shot put, which had been flying ahead, slammed violently into Leonardo Blaine’s shot put. Unable to withstand the impact, the surface seemed to dent for a moment before both spheres flew far away, shimmering through the distant heat haze.

Following the sharp blue trajectory carved across the air by the two spheres and the magic that propelled them, Leonardo Blaine himself launched forward like a bullet.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. The ground where he had been standing sank inward, cracking the barrier above the maze as black smoke began to rise. The mark left behind looked as if lightning had struck. Startled, Ero staggered backward and ended up collapsing onto the ground.

A thunderous detonation echoed through the arena a moment later. Such overwhelming magic spread eerily through the wind that everyone in the arena turned their heads.

The tingling sensation crawling along the skin was similar to a shiver, a strange thrill that almost felt pleasant. Watching the arena, Hugo closed his eyes briefly at the familiar magic brushing across his cheek, then opened them again.

“It will certainly become noisy.”

A legionnaire from the 1st Battalion standing beside him spoke after sensing the same magic.

The accompanying legionnaire was a man soon to be promoted to platoon commander. He was one of Hugo’s secretly planted confidants within the organization, a former knight of the Agrizendro family, and—though assigned to a different unit—an agent closely monitoring Kenis Weaver’s covert mission.

Hugo wiped the faint trace of a smile from his lips as he replied.

“It was an inevitable step. Though not originally scheduled for today.”

“As you instructed, we coordinated with the operations side so that no one except authorized newspaper staff may enter the interior. However, perhaps because rumors spread that a prominent figure is present, a crowd has been gathering outside for about an hour. We will disperse them within two hours.”

“Move faster than that. The match may end sooner than expected.”

Releasing his clasped hands behind his back, Hugo checked his wristwatch while tracking the scattered magic with his eyes. A small floating sphere drifted beside him. The sphere, which had been transmitting sound the whole time, now emitted only static as if the signal had been cut.

After tapping it a few times and confirming it no longer responded, Hugo grasped the sphere and shrank it in his hand. Then he glanced toward the man who had been accompanying Leonardo Blaine. The man who had fallen so disgracefully hurriedly scrambled to his feet and ran forward, apparently chasing after Leonardo Blaine.

Hugo’s blue eyes followed the man’s footprints stamped into the sand. His thoughts followed them as well.

What did that mean?

Even someone as clever as that can’t remember the kid he met a few years ago.

A clever man and a kid. There were countless people who could fit that description, yet something about Leonardo Blaine’s voice when he said it had sounded strangely resentful. It had caught Hugo’s attention for a moment—though only briefly.

The legionnaire, who had been quietly watching the profile of his superior and lord, followed Hugo’s gaze and spoke.

“What do you intend to do about the old-model handcuffs case?”

Hugo’s eyes slowly lowered from the distance to the ground at his feet. The legionnaire added carefully:

“If the matter is uncomfortable, you may speak of it later. I only thought that informing me beforehand might help with your intentions, Commander.”

Since the sudden news of Servan’s death two days earlier, the atmosphere inside the Council had sunk heavily. Hugo, the investigator responsible for the case, had even been summoned by the higher authorities. It was hardly a welcome topic.

His eyelids, which had seemed lost in deep thought, blinked twice before that sharp, perceptive gaze returned.

“Investigate Marcus Servan’s family background thoroughly. Determine what relationship he and his family have with Leonardo Blaine—whether any relationship truly exists—and whether his superior is entangled as well.”

“Do you suspect the 11th Battalion Commander?”

“I’m not certain myself.”

“....”

“I worry that suspecting subordinates has become a habit. And the timing is poor for exposing anyone. Orders have come down to suspend the investigation entirely for the time being.”

Silence fell between them. After a brief pause thick with quiet, the legionnaire broke it first.

“Will you suspend it?”

“No. For now, we will simply move on our own.”

“May I offer a thought?”

“Go ahead.”

“If there is someone behind this, they deliberately chose this moment. The witness who remained silent until now suddenly stepping forward to reveal the truth is not a coincidence. It is closer to a carefully laid plan.”

Hugo turned his eyes toward his confidant.

“I agree. Which is precisely why we cannot stop.”

Vine from the 11th Battalion’s sudden confession and emotional statement, followed by the suicide of Company Commander Servan. Then Noel Presentia, the 11th Battalion Commander, who had refused food and drink after his subordinate’s death. The chain of behavior surrounding these figures could hardly be dismissed as coincidence.

Until Castiel Vine confessed that it had been his superior’s order, the investigation into Leonardo Blaine’s old-model handcuffs had been dragging along with little progress. The reason was simple: with no clear evidence or witnesses, officials from the equipment management office had attempted to resolve the uncomfortable internal atmosphere by blaming the incident on a mistake by legionnaires. Even the higher authorities of the Council, reluctant to cause unrest, had treated it as the fault of an inexperienced recruit within a flawed system and planned to quietly discipline the individual before letting the matter fade away.

But Hugo had not allowed the case to end so easily.

Even if Leonardo Blaine had walked away with his freedom, what had occurred within the organization Hugo served had to be uprooted by his own hand. So he clung to the case stubbornly and dug into it relentlessly. In part, he believed it was something he owed Leonardo Blaine as well. He had watched Leonardo Blaine endure that time of cold mockery—had seen up close the man’s face, fractured like shattered glass from extreme anxiety and exhaustion.

Moreover, the voice of Castiel Vine, who had recently stepped forward as a witness, continued to echo in his mind.

Everyone must have expected that the Legion Commander would not simply let this matter pass.

Amid the confusion of ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) testimony, that was one of the few statements Hugo believed to be true.

If someone truly stood behind the incident—and if that person understood Hugo’s nature and conduct—they would know he would never end the investigation easily. They would throw out a convincing piece of bait to bring the case to a close. Vine’s confession and Servan’s suicide would be that bait. And the reason it had all erupted now was because the Council leadership had no choice but to tread carefully during the League period.

“This League carries a different meaning than usual. From the noble lives of the comrades we left behind on the Eldermilli Peninsula to the aftermath of the Pentagov explosion incident, it is a rare opportunity to renew the Council’s tarnished footsteps. At the same time, it marks the opening of a new era alongside the thousand-year history of Raina Rogia.”

“Yes.”

“The higher authorities will tolerate no discord. They will try to avoid even the smallest scandal. Especially if the matter could lead to replacing a battalion-level commander of the 13th Battalion—the very face of the legion. Someone is using that fact very well. The moment the League opening ceremony began, they started moving their pieces.”

Hugo stepped forward and rested his arms on the transparent railing of the spectator stand. With his fingers interlocked, he stared at the sun hanging over the blazing desert.

“If you were the victim at the center of this case, would you want to know the truth? Or would you rather remain ignorant and live freely like the wind?”

The legionnaire immediately understood that the question was not meant for him, even though no one else stood near Hugo.

“He has already endured countless storms. I fear that the abyss I uncover may drown him.”

A wind rose just then, stirring Hugo’s neatly combed dark-blue hair. His melancholy eyes sank deeper with it.

The legionnaire hesitated before answering. Staring at the lord who had openly admitted fear, he carefully chose his words after a moment of thought.

“That is something only the person involved can decide. It does not seem to be my place to add anything.”

Hugo nodded once without speaking.

He was right. There was no meaning in asking someone else for an opinion.

Leonardo Blaine’s delicate inner self had been torn apart again and again, healing only to break once more until only a hardened shell remained. Yet Hugo knew the truth: the bleeding had never truly stopped. Beneath it all was still a young boy trembling pitifully, covered in blood.

That was why Hugo had never mentioned the mire surrounding Leonardo Blaine until now. Yet it could not remain hidden forever.

His blue eyes swept the distance blankly. Even after enlarging the image on his retina to its limit, he could no longer see Leonardo Blaine’s face. Instead, he could only guess that the man was somewhere within the raging sandstorm that seemed ready to sweep everything away.

“...In the end, I should ask him directly. Whether he wants to know the truth.”

Tiny grains of sand gathered to form towering dunes. Hugo could only hope the fragile skin passing through them would not be torn apart by the wind.