Book 6: Chapter 42: Doubts

Zeke felt like a mouse caught in a trap.

At the very last moment—just when escape had seemed assured—the guard had appeared. It was his own mistake. He had allowed himself to grow careless, to lower his guard while still deep in enemy territory. A lapse in awareness, a moment of vulnerability.

His earlier ferocity, the burning desire to fight, did not stir in the face of the overwhelming presence before him. Not even for an instant. The thought of resistance didn’t cross his mind—not because he lacked the will, but because it would be utterly meaningless. A battle against an Archmage? A fool’s errand.

“I…” he began, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. What could he possibly say to explain this situation?

“No need to feel down, laddie,” the guard said, his voice gruff yet oddly sympathetic. The unexpected response sent a jolt through Zeke. “I had a feelin’ it’d end up like this.”

Zeke’s mouth fell open.

He… expected this?

He had anticipated that Zeke would knock them unconscious and tamper with their minds? What kind of guard was this? No—something wasn’t adding up.

Slowly, Zeke turned his head, following the dwarf’s pitying gaze. What he saw sent a chill down his spine.

Thoren and Balin stood before the inscribed wall, their backs turned to him, utterly motionless. It was as if they had never moved—as if the confrontation, the struggle, the theft of their memories had never happened.

They were standing in the exact same positions as when he had first entered the chamber.

In an instant, Zeke’s mind caught up with what he was seeing—and the opportunity it presented. He turned back to the guard, his face contorted in carefully crafted frustration.

“I… have a referral letter. How could they not even acknowledge me?” he demanded, his voice laced with just the right amount of indignation.

The guard let out a weary sigh, shaking his head but offering no explanation. After a brief, awkward silence, he simply said, “No use waitin’ any longer. He ain’t budgin’.”

Zeke cast one last lingering glance at the two scholars, their backs still rigidly turned toward the wall. With a heavy sigh, he conceded, “I guess you’re right.”

Without hesitation, he shoved the World Anchor back into his pocket and followed the guard toward the exit. As the heavy iron door swung shut behind them, a final, muffled

thud

echoed from within the chamber.

For a brief moment, Zeke’s breath hitched. Had something collapsed inside? Or was it just his imagination?

Thankfully, the guard either hadn’t heard the sound or simply dismissed it as unimportant. His stride remained steady as he retraced their path through the tower, showing no sign of hesitation or suspicion.

Not a single word passed between them until they reached the entrance. Even as the heavy doors swung open and Zeke stepped back into the open air, the man remained silent. The only acknowledgment he gave was a firm, almost sympathetic tap on Zeke’s shoulder before turning and vanishing back into the Tower of Scholars.

For a moment, Zeke just stood there, struggling to process what had happened.

Had he actually… escaped? Just like that?

His thoughts raced, but there was one question he needed answered above all else.

“Akasha?”

he called out mentally.

“Was that you?”

[Answer]

The presence of two collapsed bodies posed a significant risk. I chose to animate them to provide better cover while Host was recovering.

Zeke's breath hitched.

Animate…

His eyes widened as realization set in. Akasha had used

[Blood Puppeteering]

on them while they were unconscious. Under normal circumstances, controlling Mages of his own level would have been impossible—but in their suppressed state, they had been easy prey.

“Thank you,”

Zeke said inwardly.

“You really saved my ass this time.”

In the next moment, Akasha's illusionary projection appeared beside him, walking in perfect sync as he made his way back toward the town.

“There is no need to thank me, Host,” Akasha replied. “My purpose is to serve you.”

Zeke offered a wry smile. “Sometimes, it feels like you'd make a better Mage than me...”

Though his words were lighthearted, there was a kernel of truth behind them that Zeke couldn't ignore. During his solitary march, the thought wouldn’t leave his mind.

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The times he had missed crucial details, only to be saved by Akasha, were beginning to add up. More and more, it felt like everything that made him special was tied to Akasha and Khai’Zar. Without them, he couldn’t help but wonder just how much he would have truly accomplished on his own.

Now that the thought had taken root, it refused to leave him alone. As he reflected on his biggest achievements, the truth of it hit him like a sledgehammer.

Even his first major victory—the one that had earned him recognition in the empire’s prestigious school tournament—had been thanks to his Draconic heart. He could still vividly recall the chilling sensation of impending defeat as Leo prepared that final strike. His victory hadn’t been his own; it had been a result of the power granted to him.

As for his title as the youngest Grandmage?

Wasn’t that merely the result of Khai’Zar sharing the knowledge of the Mana Purifying Device, and Akasha recreating the designs while also finding the location of the missing ingredients? What part of it was truly his own achievement? With the help of those two, even a monkey could have managed to pull this off.

Zeke’s thoughts spiraled deeper. Each reflection seemed to undermine his sense of accomplishment. Meanwhile, the Spirit, only visible to him, continued to walk silently at his side, offering no words of comfort or guidance.

It was only when they were nearly at the town that Akasha finally spoke, her voice as detached and emotionless as ever. “What is the purpose of these thoughts?”

“What?” Zeke snapped, his voice harsher than he intended.

“Why does Host entertain such meaningless thoughts?” she repeated, her tone unchanging.

Zeke fell silent. Meaningless? His entire reputation, every achievement he had claimed, had been built upon the backs of others, and yet she dismissed it all as meaningless? How was he supposed to feel any sense of achievement when he was little more than a vessel for two far superior beings?

“Superior beings...” Akasha echoed, her voice betraying his very thoughts.

Zeke remained silent. There was no need for further words. The Spirit already knew his exact thoughts on the matter.

The two continued to walk in silence, with the Spirit appearing to be deep in thought. It was the first time Zeke had seen her like this, and he was beginning to grow curious about what she was pondering for such a long time. For a being such as her, such long deliberation was far from common.

“Back then…” she spoke at last, her voice unusually hesitant, “when you the Dragon in those ruins… did he willingly surrender to you?”

Zeke couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. The memory of the Dragon’s attempt to trick him out of his body had almost become a fond recollection, in hindsight. “That greedy old reptile? How could that be possible?”

Akasha gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

“What about me?” she continued. “Did I decide to follow Host on a whim, or did we establish a contract, one that both sides agreed to?”

Zeke paused for a moment before answering, his voice steady. “We made a contract.”

Akasha nodded once more, a subtle satisfaction in her gesture, as though pleased with the answers Zeke had given. It almost felt as though she had orchestrated this entire exchange to draw him into some kind of trap. But rather than pressing further, she simply stared at him, her gaze expectant, as though waiting for something to happen.

“What?” Zeke finally asked, the weight of her unblinking stare becoming unbearable.

Akasha shook her head, her expression unreadable. “Host already knows.”

“Know what?”

“…The achievements of the vassals are the achievements of the king,” Akasha replied, her tone oddly calm, as though it were an obvious truth.

Zeke scoffed, the very idea absurd. “I am no king.”

“A king is he who makes others bend their knees,” she countered, her words clipped, as if reciting a passage from one of the countless books in her collection.

Zeke opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the Spirit spoke faster than he could react. “Even if the Dragon would never admit it, he has already made many concessions to benefit you,” she continued, her voice growing more thoughtful. “And I, too, have bent my knees willingly.” She paused, tilting her head as if something wasn’t quite right with the phrasing.

“Metaphorically, of course,” she added. “I don’t actually have physical knees to bend.”

Zeke’s words faltered, caught in his throat. For the first time in a long while, he was left utterly speechless. Had Akasha… just tried to cheer him up? More surprisingly, it was actually working. Rather than comforting him with empty words, she had chosen to checkmate him with cold, hard logic—and in that moment, it was exactly what he needed.

Zeke found his stride returning as his perspective began to shift. Yes, it was true that he wouldn’t have gotten this far without Akasha and Khai’Zar, but that didn’t mean he had simply been handed their assistance.

Hadn’t he risked his very life to bond with the Dragon? Hadn’t he fought tooth and nail for the chance to receive a Summon? In truth, it was his own grit, his cunning, and his willingness to bet everything that had brought him into contact with these two powerful beings. They hadn’t simply given him their support—they had been drawn to him because of his own actions, his own choices. That had to count for something.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter as much that it was his Draconic Heart or his Mind Spirit that had allowed him to rise to where he was. After all, if it were truly so easy to gain the aid of such powerful beings, then why didn’t others do the same?

In truth, the accomplishments of befriending a Dragon and securing Akasha’s fealty far outweighed any of the public accolades or titles he had earned. If there was anything Zeke could genuinely take pride in, it was having gained the trust of those two extraordinary beings.

And that, he realized, was no small feat.

[Notice]

I advise Host to leave the city. Once the Scholars awaken, they will likely have questions about what transpired. It is highly probable that Host will be summoned for questioning at that time.

Zeke was jolted out of his thoughts, the faint smile on his face fading into his usual, neutral expression. He hadn’t even noticed when the Spirit had disappeared, but without realizing it, he had followed the subtle trail she had set for him.

Now, he found himself standing in front of a familiar building—the one housing the Portal Network managed by the Mage’s Association.

Akasha was right. It was time to leave the city.

Staying any longer would be too risky, and besides, he had already accomplished everything he had set out to do. The pressure of his looming deadline weighed on him, relentless and unforgiving. His resolve solidified. There was no time to waste. With a sense of purpose, Zeke strode into the building.

“Welcome, Sir. Where would you like to travel?” the receptionist greeted him, his voice polite and routine.

Zeke placed his membership card on the counter for verification, his tone steady. “Tradespire,” he said. “Time to go home.”