Everyone clutched their weapons as they faced down the three cultists. Nobody moved. Someone needed to make the first move.

That someone would be Hestia.

"Come'ere, idiots!" she yelled, charging forward.

Prota's eyes widened as the flow of mana began to move. It was such a tremendous amount of mana that she couldn't help but notice it.

"Wait-" she started, running forward, but it was too late.

A magic circle activated underneath their feet, and the two girls, along with a cultist, were teleported away.

"Where did you take them?" John said quietly, raising his swords.

"You'll get to find out if you can beat us," one of the cultists shrugged. "But that won't be happening."

"Typical," John muttered. "Great."

He stepped forward, but this time, there was nobody to warn him of the gathering mana. Nobody else could sense it. Of course, there was an uneasy feeling as he continued to move toward the enemy, but it was only when the magic circle began to glow again that everyone noticed what was going on.

"Quarta!" Grey yelled, dashing forward.

Now, it was just Gale and Gorm with the last remaining cultist.

"Well, I suppose all that's left are you two," he said, stepping forward. "Let's begin, shall we?"

~~~

John found himself in a large room, seemingly empty. It was a little dim, but there was more than enough light for him to see the cultist and Grey.

"Splitting us up?" John frowned. "Really? That was your best strategy?"

"It seems to have disoriented you, at the very least. I'd say it was a success."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," John muttered.

He was scanning his system's map, but there wasn't anything familiar nearby. He was in a completely new area. He was a little concerned about Prota, but if Hestia was by her side, she would likely be fine.

Right now, he was more worried about himself.

"Grey," he muttered. "I can't kill that guy."

"What?" Grey whispered back. "What do you mean, you can't kill that guy? I thought you took out the leader of the cultists!"

"That's when I was stronger," John shook his head. "All I can do is stall. The power I used back then isn't working right now. But I can stall pretty damn good. You still got it, right?"

Grey's specialty was an interesting type of shadow magic. Similar to the way Bren was able to slip into the shadows, Grey was similarly able to manipulate his items to turn to shadow. It consumed a lot of mana, but by doing so, he could penetrate through any defence. Combined with his highly versatile wind magic, he was one of the best assassins in all of Vulcan.

"What makes you think this guy is that strong, anyway?" Grey hissed. "We haven't seen anything yet."

"Trust me," John grimaced. "He's strong."

It wouldn't make sense to put enemies weaker than the knights in a scenario like this. It just wasn't logical in [Story] terms. These were something akin to mid-tier bosses, a challenge before the real final fight. There was no way these were just some random cultists who couldn't hold their own weight.

"Fine. Just don't die," Grey muttered, vanishing in a puff of smoke.

John raised his swords, staring at the enemy before him.

"What, are you stalling for time? You could've just asked," the cultist laughed. "I would've given it to you."

"I'm going to kill you now," John said simply. "Ready?"

It'd take every bit of skill he had to do this. [Infinity] was far stronger now, maybe around a multiplier of x10000 after using the mana pills, but that wouldn't be enough. Like he'd said, his goal here was survival, not extermination.

Interestingly enough, this cultist seemed to be a caster rather than a fighter. He began chanting, but relative to the students and weaklings John had fought, this one chanted quickly. Just a few words, and a swirling orb of water began to form.

"Shit," John cursed.

He immediately diverted half his power to his reaction time and the other half to his speed. Even then, he was barely able to dodge the torrent of water spears headed his way. It was an unbelievable hail of attacks. A giant orb of water sat above the cultist's head, firing out attacks at random. Instead of making it easier to dodge, though, it actually made the spell more unpredictable, more chaotic.

John could only pray that Grey was doing well.

"Hm. You're not bad," the cultist nodded. "Guess we'll step it up."

His tone of voice made John a little nervous. The cultist still wasn't trying all that hard. On one hand, this was a blessing, but on the other hand, if John tipped his hand off too early, things could get dicey really quick.

True to the cultist's words, the attacks began to speed up. John cursed to himself. He'd been hoping to get out of this with relatively little effort, but it looked like that wouldn't be the case anymore.

His strategy was forced to switch, now. Instead of splitting his energy, he was forced to move all of it to his reaction time. Then, just before the attacks reached him, he'd move all his power to speed, allowing him to dodge attacks at the very last second. It was a good strategy. The problem was that it took a huge toll on his mental stamina, and the moment he ran out of that, he was done for.

It wasn't that the act of switching abilities drained his energy, but trying to manually keep up with every little thing required to pull off such a task was so mentally draining. He had to switch the distribution of power just right, relax enough to let his body react to the attacks, time it so that the difference between reaction speed and physical speed lined up…

Even with all his practice, he wouldn't last forever.

"You're not using mana," the cultist commented.

"Yeah? And?" John gasped.

"Nothing," the cultist laughed, shaking his head. "Just thought I'd point it out. You know, in case you didn't realize it."

The enemy still wasn't going all out. Good. That also meant that he thought Grey was gone. Even better. John wasn't sure why all these enemies they ran into were so cocky all the time, but if it worked to his advantage, he wasn't going to complain.

He kept dodging, surprisingly with no injuries. The cultist was playing with him. Good. The less injured he was, the better. It wouldn't do to have a showdown with the Wyntons looking all beaten and bruised.

"Well, it's been a fun ride," the cultist sighed. "But I suppose I should end things here."

John flinched. Shit. What had triggered this change? It didn't matter. All he knew was that he'd have to step it up.

"You've been dodging. But what happens when I take that away?"

The man began chanting, and John bent his legs, ready to dash.

It didn't matter.

As soon as the chant was done, water surrounded John's legs, then froze, immobilizing him. His arms were free to move, but it didn't matter when his feet were glued to the floor. His heart began to race in panic. This wasn't good.

"Try to dodge this!"

The orb of water swirled around, forming into a giant lance. It began to spin, picking up speed, then shot straight toward John. Despite the size of the thing, the tip was still incredibly sharp, like the point of a needle.

It was the effort to make the spell deadlier that allowed John to survive.

"What the shit?!" John yelled. "What the fuck is that?"

"Your death. You've been annoying us for too long. Now die."

John raised his swords, putting the flats of the blades together to form an X, blocking the spell head-on. Normally, this wouldn't have been practical. Without aura, the blades would've broken under the force of the spell, reaching John's body in the process.

But these blades were unbreakable. They stayed exactly the same, no matter what was done to them. The ice began to crack as John held onto his swords, the force of the spell pushing him back. Even as the ice shattered, he continued to hold his ground, gritting his teeth as sweat poured down his face.

With a final cry, he leapt to the side, the spell smashing into the wall, drilling a giant hole and exposing the outside.

"What the- what are your swords made of?!" the cultist cried out.

"The power of friendship and love," John said through clenched teeth. "Suck my dick, asshole."

Thankfully, the fight was over. Grey shimmered into existence, his knife already plunged into the back of the cultist's neck. The enemy fell over, dead, a pool of blood beginning to gather beneath his body.

"Took you long enough," John sighed, putting his swords at his side.

"One of those spells would've killed me," Grey argued. "Plus, I trusted you to survive."

"Yeah, good one," John snorted, scanning the room. "It's over. That's all that matters."

There was a set of wooden doors on the other side. Interesting. What kind of person built an empty room like this? Or was this once again some kind of trick, some kind of preparation for their intrusion?

"By the way, where did you get that second sword from?" Grey frowned, pointing to John's side.

"This? Don't worry about it," John said, waving the question away.

"No, seriously, I didn't see that before," Grey persisted as they stepped out the doors.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

John went first, meaning he barely had time to react to the glowing light on the ground.

"Quarta!" Grey yelled, throwing himself forward.

This successfully pushed John out of the trap, but this also meant that Grey was caught fully by the blast of flames that came out of the ground.

"Grey!" John yelled, turning around.

Shit. It shouldn't have come to this. The magic circle had activated quickly, way too quickly, for him to have reacted properly. His body had begun to move, but he didn't have the speed to get out.

Grey had saved his life.

"Quarta," Grey gasped, his body covered with terrible burns. "Go. This is… this is my payment. For ratting you out."

John's face turned grim. Instead of saying anything, he simply picked up his comrade and began to run.

"Leave… me…" Grey wheezed, but John paid no attention.

As he'd said, he'd gotten his revenge on Grey already. There was no need to let him die this time around.

What he was going to do was risky. But he'd sworn that the [Author] wouldn't get his way anymore. He wasn't even going to linger on the fact that Grey might die anyway. He didn't even care that this was completely uncharacteristic for him. His pettiness for the [Author] was stronger than his apathy.

Action was needed, and fast.

~~~

Hestia wiped the sweat off her face, staring at the lump of ash that used to be a cultist. They were in a room similar to the one John and Grey had been trapped in; empty and dim.

"Phew. That guy was tough."

She looked at the little girl beside her, staring at the remains with indifference. What a child. On one hand, Hestia firmly believed children should be raised properly. On the other hand, what the hell? Just what had they raised?

No, not they. The four adventurers had a hand in training this child, but they'd never taught her combat. And Scholaris didn't teach children to fight like this.

It was that crazy bastard, Quarta. Come to think of it, she'd seen him fight a few times. Their fighting styles were similar. That fearlessness. That crazy, insane movement.

Like sister, like brother.

"You did well, kid," Hestia grinned.

Prota looked up and nodded silently. Hestia felt a little awkward, seeing no reaction from her, but thinking back on it, the child never reacted to much anyway. She stretched, looking around.

"So, how do we get out of this place?"

Prota was about to pull up her map when the doors to the room slammed open.

"Prota!" John yelled, making his way to her.

He placed the burnt Grey on the ground gently.

"Healing. Now," he panted.

She looked at him, concern visible in her eyes. She only had four orbs. What happened if they needed this one?

"He's going to die without it, Prota," John pleaded.

"Hold on, what's going on?" Hestia frowned. "Grey? What happened? Just what kind of fight did you two-"

"Not now, Hestia!" John snapped.

Prota's eyes widened. She'd never seen John react like this. She looked at the burnt man on the ground. If John was willing to risk something to save someone, then why should she? The light in one of her sapphires faded as a green light gently floated over Grey, who immediately began to recover.

"...Quarta," Grey said quietly as his body recovered. "Why?"

"We're comrades, aren't we?" John said, looking away. "We don't just abandon each other."

"Alright. Do you like gambling, Grey? Let's leave this up to the [Author]. If you're needed, you'll survive this. And if you're not, well…"

No more gambling on lives. He wasn't going to leave it up to the [Author] anymore. He was a [Writer] himself. He'd take it into his hands.

"You're right," Grey said, a small smile forming on his lips. "Thank you."

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps grew louder as Gale and Gorm barged into the room. It seemed they'd also finished their fight with little injury.

"...looks like everyone beat their cultist."

Grey sat up, checking himself out, but the charm of healing had done its job. He looked at Prota, who looked back at him.

"Thank you," he nodded.

She nodded back.

No more words were said as the group continued through the mansion. There were plenty of guards, almost an army's worth, but John's guns truly shone here. While there were many opponents, none of them were quite strong enough to survive an [Infinity] enhanced weapon.

This meant that the others could rest while John easily cleared out waves of enemies, casings raining to the ground as magazine after magazine of bullets were expended.

They would occasionally run into a knight, but it seemed that the majority of their elite had been dedicated to defending the front door. A five-on-one was easily favoured in the side of the five, and in this fashion, they made their way through the mansion, checking each room one by one.

Finally, there was only one room they hadn't checked.

"Guys," John said quietly as they stared at the large set of double doors.

He wasn't sure how this was the last place they'd checked, but it was obvious that the enemy was, in fact, behind this door. It was just so blatantly cliche and obvious that he no longer doubted the fact that the [Author] was toying with him.

And if that was the case, then it was best to remove any possible sacrifices.

"Time for you to go."

"What?" Gale frowned. "Quarta, you-"

"It's time for you guys to go. We can handle it from here."

"Quarta, think this through," Grey said cautiously. "After that fight against our cultist-"

"We'll be fine. Trust me. You guys have yet to be implicated in anything, anyway. Get out of here before city guards arrest you for something stupid."

"Quarta-"

He whipped out his gun, aiming it at his former companions. This time, though, there was no bloodlust behind his action.

"I thought you were better than this. People aren't just things, Quarta! You can't just do whatever you want to them! I'll show you how badly a "thing" can hurt."

John didn't know if these people were things or not. He didn't know if they counted as people. He didn't know if he counted as a person.

But tools could destroy other tools.

If these adventurers were tools, so was he. And the person handling them all could destroy them at any time.

If that were the case, then it was best that he be the only tool to get involved.

"You guys-"

Suddenly, a group of eight knights barged into the hall, weapons raised.

"Go!" Hestia yelled.

Everyone was suddenly alert. This was no time to stall.

"But-"

"We'll hold them off!" Hestia yelled. "Just go in! It's your revenge, anyway!"

John clenched his fists. They couldn't afford to waste any more stamina here. It was a shame, but…

"Damn it," he cursed. "Yeah. We've got it."

Hestia gave him a thumbs-up. "We've got your back."

John nodded. "Hey, and once you're done, don't come in. Leave, get out of here, whatever, just make sure you're not implicated."

"What-"

"Trust me. Please."

Gorm nodded at John, who was relieved with that much.

With that, he and Prota barged through the doors.

~~~

The room was quite large, similar to the throne room they'd seen in the Elvish castle. A long red carpet led up to an extravagant golden throne, on which sat a fat, bearded man.

Emotor Wynton. John had met the man only once.

Three years ago. In a dark, rainy alleyway. Back then, they'd been nothing more than a bartender and a drunk.

Now, they were [Anomaly] and noble, coming face to face.

"So you are John Quarta," Emotor said with disdain. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to be alive. No matter. You look… a little younger than I expected."

"Some things happened," John said, withdrawing his swords.

He was just itching to kill him, but reason was holding him back. Reason and fear. After all, if he [Reset] here, everything would be all over.

But being in the same room as the man who'd cause all their problems was nearly too much.

This was the man who'd been the identifiable source of nearly all her problems. John's death. Her capture. Jinae's death. Draco, in the Town of Beginnings. Draco, in Scholaris. The crimes committed against himself, the crimes committed against his sister.

John wasn't one to consider himself a hero of justice or morality. He didn't consider this fight to be one of right and wrong.

It was just something he wanted from the depths of his heart, and it wasn't just what had happened to him as a [Character].

Emotor yawned, his chins folding in on themselves.

"Well, I suppose I'll have you killed now."

And there it was. This stupid noble stereotype. Why? Why was it always present? He couldn't stand it. He didn't get why [Authors] had to constantly put this stupid trope in.

So, in a way, this man embodied not one vessel of hatred, but two.

John despised what Emotor was, what the noble stood for, and every action that came along with it. With Draco dead, the only one he could get his revenge on was this Wynton before him.

At the same time, he despised what Emotor meant. The man was a constant reminder that this was not reality, but fiction. A reminder that there was, in no way, a man that should exist like this. Corrupt and evil people existed, yes, but not like this.

This was truly the embodiment of imagination.

Killing Emotor was, in a way, striking at the [Author] themselves.

Freedom was so close. A single bullet could solve everything.

Reason and hours of planning were what stopped John from taking action. Too many things were strange. The depth of detail surrounding Emotor. The cultists, the soulless humans in his basement, the connection to Doctor…

If the Wyntons were buried deeper within the [Plot] than John thought, he needed to figure that out first. His rage and revenge would have to be put on hold.

"Why don't we chat a little first?" John called out.

The sounds of fighting behind were gone. Hopefully, this meant the adventurers had won.

"Why should I entertain bugs like you?"

"Just entertain a dead man's wishes, won't you?"

It looked like Emotor was considering it. John sighed. He'd rather die and [Reset] than do what he was about to do, but since [Resets] were gone, he had no choice.

"Please. I'm sure your wide and generous heart can spare a drop of your infinite mercy."

John felt Prota's intense glare. He understood the sentiment. He himself would've burst out laughing upon hearing such a line. Unfortunately, this was all he had left.

The advantage was that it was almost guaranteed to work.

"Hm… Well, I suppose you're right," Emotor nodded. "Very well. I shall grace you with my wisdom."

John felt a little bit of himself die inside, but it was worth it.

"What is your connection to the cultists in the Town of Beginnings?" John called out.

"...I cannot tell you that," Emotor said quietly.

The man was so stupid that he hadn't even bothered to hide the fact that he was working with cultists.

"Come on," John pleaded. "We're going to die anyway, remember?"

"Ah, that is true. Well, you may as well understand my intelligence."

John hid a grimace. He was glad things were going his way, but he was going to vomit if he had to put up with this for too long.

"Then, please enlighten us on how you came up with the genius plan of supporting the Demon King," John said, bowing ever so slightly.

"It's simple. I was visited by a strange, hooded man," Emotor started. "He told me the fall of this kingdom would be soon. The Demons would come and rule us all. But us nobles. We nobles were chosen to rule the new world! We would survive and be rulers of a new age."

"...ok," John managed.

"All I needed to do was fund their research. In return, they'd give me new materials, new magic, anything I wanted! It is, after all, what I deserve."

"And your slaves?" John said, a bit of aggression creeping into his voice.

"Bah, what does it matter if the slaves are those dolls or not? They do their job. They're all the same," Emotor said, disgusted. "It matters not."

"Did you… do you even know what they are?"

"Why does it matter what they are? They're beneath me. That's all I need to know."

John's eyes widened a little. Emotor had no idea what he was funding, what was going on in the Town of Beginnings. That was better than him willingly funding such a project, but that didn't change the fact that they'd be killing him soon.

Ignorance wasn't always a crime, but it certainly was here.

"So… do you know who your money was going to?" John frowned.

He didn't have to keep the act up anymore. Emotor was so engrossed with his own "intelligence" that he wouldn't notice if John was being respectful or not.

"Of course not!" Emotor snorted. "Someone would simply come by and take the money. Again, it matters not. All that matters is that I am the one who stands above all. If I lose a few gold coins in the process, why does it matter?"

"And the assassination attempts on us," John continued. "Were they your doing?"

"...attempts?" Emotor frowned.

"Oh, come on!" John protested. "The cultists? At Scholaris? That wasn't you?"

"No," Emotor said. "I only requested that you be looked into. What are you talking about?"

"Requested… that I be looked into?"

"Yes! My son requested that you be looked into. Supposedly, you have some strange powers. Well, it matters not anymore."

That last part confused John. The cultists might've been attacking him of their own will for some reason, but why had Aiden shown up? That part confused him. Well, it was unlikely that Emotor was lying.

There was only one last question to ask.

"Your son. Draco. Were you the one who taught him to live the way he did?"

"Of course. He is of noble blood! He, too, stands above all the others. Why should he bow to some insect beneath him?"

John was fed up at this point. He wouldn't be getting any more information out of this man. His idea that the [Author] would bury some kind of hint here had been completely off.

Emotor was just the source of funds for the cultist organization as a whole. There was nothing more to the man. No parts of the [Plot] had been expanded upon due to this meeting. Yes, this conversation had tied up some loose ends, but ultimately, it hadn't done much.

John didn't like playing judge and jury. He wasn't fond of the idea that people deserved to die or that punishment was something that was needed. This kind of attitude was something he'd observed in many [Readers], and while he didn't disagree with it, he did think it was odd that people could feel so violently against a fictional being.

After all, it wasn't the [Readers] that were being impacted by this [Character's] actions. It was him. It was he who had to suffer the consequences of such actions.

None of that mattered, though. In the end, his actions here were for one thing and one thing only.

Revenge. Nothing more.

He pulled out his pistol, intending to fire. For a brief moment, John watched in satisfaction as Emotor flinched, and his finger squeezed the trigger. There was a bang as the bullet went off.

Emotor remained unhamed.

In front of the noble was a knight in golden armour, shield raised, the bullet falling to the ground with a light ping.

"I-I see our talk is over," Emotor said, slightly shaken. "I would say good day, but both of you will be dead soon. Captain, I want their bodies brought to me."

Emotor stood up and left through a small door in the back. The knight stepped forward, withdrawing their sword, clanging it against their shield.

"You are charged with treason and attempted murder."

John was surprised. The knight was a female, it seemed. Well, not that it mattered.

Either they would die, or she would die. And the identity of a nameless corpse in a [Story] rarely mattered unless found by the [Protagonist].

He tossed his gun to the side and withdrew his swords. Prota, seeing the approaching battle, took her staff into her hands as her eyes began to glow.

"I shall commence the sentence of the traitors, John Quarta and Prota Char."

Tension filled the room. The knight pointed her sword toward the siblings.

"Your crimes are the invasion of a noble's territory and attempting to murder his Lordship, Emotor Wynton. Your punishment, then… is death by execution."

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