With full bellies and heavy eyelids, the group rested for a while by the fire.
Close to midnight, the sound of an approaching column finally reached them.
"The Knight Order. They're here."
Reinhard peered into the darkness beyond the firelight, his sharp eyes picking out what the others couldn't yet see.
"Thank god. I can finally get some real sleep." Felt rose from her spot by the fire and rubbed her eyes, grinning.
"So how exactly is the Knight Order going to haul that thing back?" She jerked a thumb toward the whale's mountainous carcass.
"Cut it up, obviously. You didn't think they'd drag the whole thing home in one piece, did you?" Gojo stretched his arms overhead.
Beside him, Reinhard shifted, looking faintly uncomfortable. "Lady Felt, the Knight Order is only here to verify the kill. They won't be transporting the whale for you."
"Assisting with that would count as intervening in the competition between Royal Candidates."
"You're telling me we have to move this thing ourselves?!"
Felt stared at the whale. It was the size of a small hill. The six of them could chip away at it until they rotted and still not finish.
"Don't look at me. I'm not hauling that." Gojo cut her off before the thought could fully form, hands raised in preemptive surrender.
"Reinhard..."
"Lady Felt, I'm sorry, but..."
He meant it. There was no realistic way for him to shoulder a whale and jog back to the Royal Capital. The thing weighed more tons than any of them cared to guess.
"Betty..."
"I do magic, not miracles. Something this size? You'd need the Witch of Envy herself to drag it anywhere." Betty's lip curled with exasperation.
"So what, we just leave it here?"
The waste of it made Felt physically uncomfortable.
"We'll have to go back and hire people to carve it up. Partner with a trading company, maybe. Offer enough coin and they'll jump at the chance."
"Dragon Carriages, load by load. That's probably the only way."
"But that'll cost a fortune..."
Felt's voice turned mournful. For her, spending money ranked somewhere between a stab wound and a personal betrayal.
"No getting around it. Whatever you spend will still be less than what the whale's worth."
"Fine. I guess that's how it has to be."
They were still debating logistics when a column of knights crested the rise and approached. At the head of the formation rode Marcos Gildark.
"Does your commander not have anything better to do?" Gojo asked, remembering that Marcos had shown up in the previous loop too.
Reinhard shook his head. "The White Whale is significant enough to warrant his personal attention."
"Lady Felt. Reinhard." Marcos dismounted and surveyed the scene.
"Commander. The White Whale has been dealt with. We'd appreciate your verification."
Marcos turned to look at the whale's remains. On that perpetually stern face, something rare flickered: a smile.
"I don't think verification is necessary, is it?" He inclined his head. "Lady Felt, congratulations."
"Save the congratulations. If you could carry that whale back for me, that'd be worth a lot more."
Felt's smile was all teeth and no warmth.
"I'm afraid the Royal Guard Knights cannot involve themselves in competition between candidates." He paused. "However, we can take a portion of the whale as evidence."
Gojo's mouth quirked. So the commander wasn't a stickler after all. That tracked with the previous loop, when he'd also found ways to be helpful within the rules. Of course, back then the remaining carcass had been considerably smaller.
"Much appreciated, Commander Marcos," Gojo said, taking over smoothly. Then he turned. "Betty, I've got one more favor to ask. Take Felt and Reinhard back to the Royal Capital so they can arrange a merchant convoy."
"I knew it. Of course you'd dump this on me."
"Fair warning, though. After one more jump, I'll be nearly out of Mana. And without you nearby, I'll have to take a Dragon Carriage back."
"That's fine. I'll wait here."
Gojo waved it off. "Someone should keep an eye on the whale anyway. Last thing we need is some Mabeast wandering over for a midnight snack. Meili, Subaru, you two go back with them."
He yawned wide enough to crack his jaw.
"You're not staying to guard it. You're staying because you're lazy." Betty glared at him as she trudged toward Felt.
"That's definitely it," Felt agreed. "I can see right through him."
"Hey, I'm being considerate here. You know what, fine, I'll just go back too..."
"Oh, stop it. I know exactly what you're thinking." Felt waved him off with theatrical disdain. "Stay here and nap. Betty, let's go. The sooner we find a merchant company, the sooner we're back."
"Commander, I'm leaving this in your hands." Reinhard's tone carried the weight of a formal handoff.
"Go. We'll handle things here."
With everything settled, Reinhard gave Gojo a nod. Betty gathered the group, tore open another rift in space, and they vanished toward the Royal Capital.
Marcos watched them disappear, then turned to Gojo. "Mr. Gojo, we'll begin collecting evidence now."
"Go ahead. I assume you don't need help?"
"No, we can manage."
Happy to be useless, Gojo lounged nearby and watched the knights work. They harvested the horn from the whale's crown, pried loose the bony spines along its back, and for good measure, severed an entire section of tail fin still connected to its spines. They'd come prepared: the Dragon Carriages and the Earth Dragons pulling them were all oversized, built for heavy freight. Loaded down, they moved slowly but managed.
After what felt like half the night, the work was done and the carriages packed.
"Mr. Gojo, we'll leave the rest to you."
"Will do. Safe travels."
He gave a lazy wave as Marcos and his knights departed, Dragon Carriages rumbling off toward the capital.
Once they were gone, silence settled over the clearing. Gojo launched himself up onto the whale's body, found a clean spot among the fine fur that covered its hide, and lay down.
The fur was deceptive. Tough enough to have bolstered the whale's defenses in life, but soft as down when you pressed into it. The warmth enveloped him immediately, a welcome barrier against the dropping temperature of the late-night air, which had grown damp and cool.
Infinite... Divine Protections. What an absurd power.
Alone at last, Gojo pulled up the system shop and began scrolling.
He didn't know exactly which Divine Protections Reinhard currently possessed. But if he wanted to close the gap, or at least reach a level where he could put up a real fight, the system shop was his only path forward.
It wasn't a matter of confidence. He understood his own strength with painful precision. Could see, clearly, where his ceiling was.
Take Hollow Technique: Purple, his most devastating attack. The only way to push it further was to add an incantation, boosting its output to roughly double. Beyond that? Finer manipulation of his Cursed Techniques. Marginal refinements.
Polishing. Not transformation. And polish alone would never put him on Reinhard's level.
He'd browsed the entire shop twice now, and his attention kept drifting back to the same entry.
Adaptation.
Given the current situation, it might be the only ability that could give him what he needed: the capacity to genuinely contest Reinhard in a fight.
Then there was the Divine Protection of the Phoenix.
Adaptation raised his ceiling, but if Reinhard could breach the Limitless and deal damage beyond what Reverse Cursed Technique could heal, a higher ceiling wouldn't matter if he was dead. The Phoenix covered that gap.
Two and a half million Popularity Points.
He stared at the numbers and scratched his head.
Both Adaptation and the Divine Protection of the Phoenix cost one million points each. And Adaptation had a prerequisite: he needed to first unlock the Ten Shadows Technique.
One million plus one million plus five hundred thousand. Two point five million total.
His current balance?
He checked. After that impulse purchase of a haircutting Divine Protection out of sheer curiosity, he'd clawed his way back up to a grand total of twenty thousand. And that was after weeks of accumulation.
The one silver lining: Return by Death didn't affect Popularity Points. Even when time rewound, his point balance stayed intact. In a roundabout way, the loops gave him more time to save up.
Seriously, why does everything cost so much.
He closed the shop with a flick, too annoyed to keep staring. There was nothing he could buy right now anyway. Out of sight, out of mind.
Better to find Reinhard when they got back and test himself in a spar first. See where he actually stood.
Honestly, if not for that bottomless well of Divine Protections, Gojo was certain he wouldn't be inferior. Not one bit.
The thought trailed off as drowsiness crept in. Full stomach, warm fur, quiet night. His eyes drifted shut, and sleep took him fast.
He didn't know how long he was out.
When his eyes opened again, sunlight hung warm and bright overhead. Morning.
But that wasn't what woke him.
Lying atop the whale, Gojo heard an unfamiliar voice drifting up from below.
"How cruel. They killed my adorable pet." The voice was strange, pitched oddly, carrying a childlike quality that didn't quite fit. "So cute, and they had to go and butcher it like this."
"Killing your pet was certainly an infringement on your rights, but you can just make another one, can't you?" A second voice, this one dripping with an arrogance you could taste from the first syllable. "Hardly seems worth the trip."
"Oh, I could make another. But there wouldn't be much point." A pause, and the first voice brightened. "Besides... if something was strong enough to kill my pet, that means it must be quite a delicious treat, don't you think?"
The exchange was bizarre. Pets. Delicacies. None of it made immediate sense.
But Gojo had sensed them the moment they'd drawn close. Some instinct had pulled him from sleep the instant they entered range. He'd assumed it was a merchant or a traveler, drawn by curiosity at the sight of the whale.
He was wrong.
Pet. Making another one.
The connection snapped into place. The White Whale was one of the Three Great Mabeasts, created by the Witch of Gluttony.
Anyone who claimed they could create another White Whale, aside from the long-dead Witch herself, could only be one thing: a Sin Archbishop of the Witch Cult.
Gojo sat up on the whale's back, yawned, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and looked down.
Two figures stood before the whale's carcass, examining it like tourists at a landmark.
"Hey. This is private property." He slid his sunglasses on. "If you don't have a good reason for being here, hands off. Otherwise I'm charging admission."
The pair couldn't have been more different.
The taller one was a young man, white-haired, pale-skinned. Average height, average build, unremarkable features. Everything about his appearance was plain except for how meticulously clean it all was: white shoes, white trousers, white coat, not a speck of dirt anywhere, as though filth itself knew better than to touch him. His eyes drooped with a permanent look of impatience, and every line of his posture broadcast the same message: I am above this.
His companion was the opposite in every conceivable way. Short, gaunt, with lank brown hair that hung past his knees, the ends crusted with blood and grime. A long, wasted face housed a pair of green eyes and a too-wide mouth full of jagged teeth. His clothes were rags. Over them hung the stained robes of the Witch Cult. Strapped to his grimy arms were two daggers, both smeared with old blood. He looked like a beggar who'd crawled out of a sewer, the kind of person you crossed the street to avoid.
...
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