Alon had anticipated that Eliban might be stronger than expected.

When Ulthultus first appeared in the north, he met Eliban years earlier than usual, providing him with various items to facilitate his growth.

The items Alon handed over to Eliban at the time were difficult to come by, so it was only natural for his growth to surpass the average.

However—

‘…No matter how I look at it, this doesn’t seem like level 10.’

To think that his strength would far exceed imagination.

He glanced down at the crushed living armors before Eliban.

Living armors were monsters that were particularly troublesome for warriors to deal with, even if manageable by mages or clerics.

Their characteristic was that they wouldn’t stop moving just because their armor was dented.

The armor serving as their body had to be completely destroyed to stop them.

For this reason, most players raising Eliban as a warrior character would delegate battles in the Ironblood Citadel to Yan and clear the area using other characters as shields.

Originally, this battle should have unfolded similarly. Yet, Eliban had single-handedly destroyed numerous living armors.

“Ah.”

Eliban let out a soft exclamation, perhaps realizing this belatedly.

Alon naturally began estimating his level.

‘…Level 30? No, given that he’s annihilating hundreds with a single blow, perhaps level 40? … Considering Eliban’s talent and blessings, that would make sense. He probably hasn’t reached Sword Master, so level 50 would still be far off.’

While Alon was pondering this—

Eliban, who had dashed off, returned with his characteristic cheerful laugh.

“Are you alright?”

“I am fine.”

“That’s a relief.”

“…You’re strong. With this level of strength, was my support even necessary?”

When Alon pointed at the destroyed living armors, Eliban scratched his head.

“I heard it might still be dangerous.”

“…To prepare for a worst-case scenario?”

“Yes, exactly. Now, let’s move forward!”

Without leaving room for further discussion, Eliban began navigating through the living armors.

“…Hmm.”

Alon’s expression became peculiar.

There was something slightly unsettling.

‘If he’s this strong, he shouldn’t have been so anxious.’

If Eliban were the type to prioritize safety above all else, it might have been understandable, but he hadn’t displayed such tendencies so far.

After some deliberation, Alon decided to follow him.

After all, they had business in the Ironblood Citadel.

Then, he suddenly noticed that Eliban’s companions had stopped in their tracks, rooted in place.

“?”

Once again, Alon couldn’t help but feel puzzled.

Eliban’s entire party seemed…

‘…Extremely shocked?’

Every single one of them had their mouths agape, as if their jaws might fall off.

***

The Strange Gate held many rewards.

Though the lore vaguely linked it to the five deadly sins, in the game, the Strange Gate served as a source of weapons and artifacts for players—Eliban’s party included.

Particularly in the Ironblood Citadel they had entered, there were numerous items available for Eliban, who started as a warrior. However, acquiring them typically required significant effort.

Without leveling up through grinding in Lartania right after starting the game, the protagonist would usually reach level 10 by the time they arrived at the Ironblood Citadel.

At that level, it would be challenging to defeat the living armors.

Players were forced to lure the living armors into separate rooms and take them down one by one.

‘…Of course, that wasn’t necessary now.’

“Hm…”

Alon scanned the corridors of the Ironblood Citadel, which they had been exploring for hours.

Scattered everywhere were the remains of what used to be living armors.

They weren’t just slashed with swords—they looked as though they had been smashed to pieces with hammers.

Alon silently observed the carnage before turning his gaze toward Eliban.

The man in question let out his signature awkward laugh, as if embarrassed.

Standing beside Alon, Evan quietly whispered.

“Marquis.”

“Speak.”

“…Frankly, doesn’t it seem like he doesn’t need any help?”

“I agree.”

Though Eliban had requested assistance, Alon hadn’t had a single opportunity to use magic since entering the Ironblood Citadel.

Or rather, he had tried to use magic—

‘Marquis! Are you alright?’

‘Marquis! Are you hurt?’

‘Marquis!’

—Every time he prepared a spell, Eliban would rush forward and destroy all the living armors.

It was as though he was overprotecting a child at risk near water.

“…”

Naturally, Alon found this troubling.

There were items he needed to obtain in the Ironblood Citadel, and contributing to the party would allow him to claim artifacts without hesitation later.

‘…Does he want to monopolize everything?’

For a moment, Alon entertained the thought, but he quickly shook his head.

Based on the lore and Eliban’s actual demeanor, he didn’t seem like the type.

Rather, his personality suited a traditional heroic protagonist more than a dark fantasy character.

“Marquis, are you alright?”

Before he realized it, Eliban had approached him again.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Alon replied.

“…You don’t need to worry so much. As you can see, I’m unharmed.”

“That’s true.”

“By the way, you don’t have to handle everything on your own. I’m strong enough to deal with them as well.”

“Ah, yes. I understand. It’s just a habit, and it’s hard to hold back.”

“A habit?”

“Yes, I just get worried.”

At last, Alon began to understand the situation.

‘He can’t stand seeing his comrades get hurt, huh?’

Given Eliban’s personality, Alon thought it was possible and nodded, but then a thought crossed his mind.

“Still, your comrades seemed quite surprised when they looked at you.”

And extremely so.

Eliban hesitated for a moment, then scratched his cheek with a troubled expression.

“Actually, I’ve been deliberately pretending to be weaker than I am.”

“…Pretending to be weaker?”

“Yes, the goddess advised me that my comrades also need to grow.”

“Ah.”

“So they were probably surprised because this is the first time I’ve shown my full strength.”

“I see.”

“Yes. In this case, I revealed more of my strength than I usually do because of that initial army.”

“You overdid it a bit?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Alon nodded again.

Now he understood why Eliban’s comrades had been so astonished earlier.

“That’s why I’m always grateful to you, Marquis. Thanks to your support back then, I was able to become this strong.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

Seeing how much more Eliban had grown than he expected, Alon felt a sense of pride.

“But you can take it easy. I don’t need to be protected to such an extreme degree.”

“I’ll keep that in mind!”

Eliban’s reply was energetic.

‘Well, not that it matters since only the boss monster remains.’

They had almost reached the end of the battle.

And with only the boss monster left—

‘I should be able to use my magic.’

With that expectation in mind, Alon began walking through the citadel’s halls, bathed in the faint purple glow of the sky.

Before long, the group reached the final destination.

Eventually, what they faced was—

Rumble!

A dark knight.

Unlike other living armors whose armor, pauldrons, and swords floated separately, this one was fully clad in jet-black armor.

It rose from its spot as if to welcome the intruders, and—

Whoosh!

It swung a massive sword that looked heavy just from its appearance.

Its dark coat billowed with the movement.

‘Konkhan, the Ironblood’s Left Hand.’

The moment Alon saw it, he began forming seals.

As per the nature of living armors, it charged madly toward the first attacker.

In that tense moment—

“Marquis—!”

Crash!

Eliban shot forward and smashed the knight’s head to pieces.

“Ah.”

“Ah.”

Both Alon, whose opportunity was stolen, and Eliban, who realized his mistake, let out low exclamations at the same time.

***

The land of elves, Greynifra, and the nation built above it, Fildagreen.

A report was delivered to Queen Magrina, who ruled over the nation.

“…You’re saying the things rising from the roots are increasing?”

“Yes. Recently, their intensity has been unusual.”

“Are they in numbers too great for Paggade to handle?”

“No, not to that extent.”

The face of the Paggade knight delivering the report was clouded with concern.

“But as you know, this is something that hasn’t changed for nearly a thousand years. It’s fine for now, but we don’t know what might happen in the future.”

A brief silence fell.

“I see. For now, continue to monitor the situation.”

“As you command.”

“Your efforts are appreciated.”

After dismissing the knight, Magrina was lost in thought when a visitor was announced.

“Your Majesty, Perion and Philde have arrived.”

“…”

“…Let them in.”

Setting aside her concerns, she welcomed the guests.

“We greet Her Majesty.”

“We greet Her Majesty.”

“…Welcome, Philde, Perion. But you don’t look well. What happened?”

Could something have happened to the Marquis Palatio?

Philde’s complexion was pale.

“I am fine, Your Majesty. More importantly, there is something I must tell you.”

“…Did you investigate the Marquis Palatio?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Though Magrina didn’t seem to notice, her hand tightened into a slight fist.

After a moment of silence, Philde slowly spoke.

“First, let me clarify. What I’m about to say is largely based on conjecture. I did not speak directly with the Marquis Palatio.”

“…So he isn’t the Primordial Elf, then.”

Her voice carried a faint hint of disappointment.

But Philde, shaking her head firmly, declared—

“No.”

“…What?”

“Yes, I believe that the Marquis Palatio is the Primordial Elf. That is to say—”

Like Magrina, Philde clenched her fist tightly.

“He is most likely Your Majesty’s elder brother.”

“What did you just say?”

Her eyes widened in shock at her unyielding statement, devoid of even the faintest hint of humor.