As promised, the king and queen had granted everyone leave to visit the city today. With seven of us available to guide the heroes, the group naturally split according to familiar social circles rather than any strict numerical balance.
Captain Aldric took most of the adult group along a separate route. Under normal circumstances, the most efficient arrangement would have been four groups of four, with two additional groups of three. However, due to some light protests during breakfast, it was decided that Captain Brandon and Captain Elias would escort Lord Haruto’s group and Lord Takumi’s group instead.
Captain Godwin and I were assigned to Lord Vi, Lady Reika and Lady Shizuku, along with Lord Arthur and his usual company, plus Lords Shunsuke, Yuuto, and Hanzo. Captains Gendry and Rondry would take the remaining ladies, accompanied by their teacher, Kaname.
Several carriages lined the courtyard, not royal carriages, but large ones, built to carry eight people at the same time. All were polished and waiting patiently for their passengers to assemble.
Even today, Lord Vi had been woken by Lady Reika and Lady Shizuku. And, predictably, he was in a foul mood.
Once again, the three of them were clustered in the doorway—Lord Vi clinging to the doorframe with desperate determination while the two ladies attempted to pry him loose.
“I am not awake,” he muttered hoarsely. “This is a dream. A cruel one.”
“Ae, please,” Lady Reika pleaded. “You agreed to go.”
“You agreed for him,” Lady Shizuku corrected, tugging harder.
Having finally reached his limit, Lord Vi’s father stormed over, seized him by the collar, and dragged him away from the door in one smooth motion. Lord Vi gagged, flailed, and protested incoherently as he was hauled across the courtyard and unceremoniously deposited into the waiting carriage.
The door slammed shut.
Captain Godwin cleared his throat. “Well,” he said simply clapping his hands, “that settles that. Off we go.”
I hid my smile behind my hand as the carriages began to stir. Lord Vi tried to protest, insisting that at least one of the boys sit with him, but they all answered with cheerful thumbs-ups. In return, he flashed them a strange gesture, raising both middle fingers.
Really, was it so terrible to sit with the three of us? Lord Vi ought to feel honored—after all, he had the privilege of sharing a carriage with beautiful girls.
Still, the city awaited us, along with whatever trouble Lord Vi was destined to stumble into, whether he was awake or not.
As one, we rode past the castle gates and onto the main road leading toward the city. The castle sat atop a gentle hill, and after only a few short minutes of descent, the towering walls and gates of the capital came into view. To ease our passage, one of the captains rode ahead alongside the coachman, exchanging brief words with the gate guards before waving us through.
Once past the gates, the carriages split. Two veered right, while another turned left. The adults wished to browse the marketplace, while Lord Haruto had expressed interest in seeing the commoner districts, so their carriages followed the same route. The ladies, intent on browsing clothing and accessories, headed left toward the noble district, where the finest tailors were said to reside.
Our group, however, was less unified—at least at first. Various suggestions were thrown around, each one naming a place they wanted to see. That changed the moment Lord Vi casually mentioned a destination of his own.
To my mild surprise, the agreement was nearly unanimous.
Only Lady Reika and Lady Shizuku seemed uninterested, exchanging glances that said we already know where this is going. Still, with the majority in favor, our carriage continued deeper into the city, toward its very heart.
As we traveled, the scenery steadily changed. We passed rows of stone and timber buildings, some old and dignified, others clearly newer, their edges still sharp and clean. Shops displayed their wares openly—metalwork gleaming in the sun, bolts of dyed cloth swaying gently in the breeze. Vendors called out to passersby, their voices blending into a constant, lively hum.
Questions were asked frequently—about the architecture, the symbols carved into stone, the uniforms of passing guards. I did my best to answer most of them patiently, occasionally correcting assumptions or adding context.
Being the capital, the city bore the marks of careful planning and extensive rebuilding. The roads were thoroughly paved, wide enough for carriages to pass comfortably. The buildings were clean, orderly, and well-maintained, a stark contrast to the smaller towns I had seen before.
From within the carriage, I watched Lord Vi press his face lazily against the window, eyes half-lidded yet sharp, taking everything in. For someone who claimed to hate being dragged outside, he seemed very awake now.
Our carriage cut through several narrower streets to reach the main road, after which it would be a straight route to our destination. The buildings pressed closer here, stone walls rising on either side, the sound of hooves and wheels echoing more sharply between them.
Then, suddenly, shouting broke through the rhythm of the ride.
Along with it came the sharp, unmistakable clamour of bells.
Our carriage slowed to a halt, and so did the one behind us. Almost at once, everyone leaned toward the windows, craning their necks to find the source of the commotion. From the sound alone, it was clear that whatever was happening was not stationary—it was moving, and quickly.
Knight Captain Godwin stepped down from the driver’s seat, the carriage wobbling slightly under the sudden shift of weight. He raised a hand toward the carriage behind us, signaling them to remain still.
“Not to worry, everyone,” he called out calmly. “That’s one of the city’s alert signals—either a thief or a ruffian. Looks like some soldiers are trying to catch someone.”
Lord Vi slid the window fully open on his side, letting the noise rush in unabated. The shouts were clearer now—men yelling orders, cursing loudly, urging one another on. Some screamed threats, others promised capture, and a few sounded downright murderous in their enthusiasm.
Before any of us could comment further, Captain Godwin flagged down a group of six soldiers sprinting past. They skidded to a stop, saluted sharply, and exchanged quick words with each other. After a brief discussion, two remained behind while the other four resumed their chase, disappearing down the street at full speed.
“What’s going on here? Who’re you after?” Captain Godwin asked, his tone clipped and efficient.
One of the soldiers straightened. “We’re pursuing the Blue Devil, sir. Our watch captain ordered us to cover all possible escape routes and head him off.”
“I see,” Captain Godwin replied, nodding once. “No need to hold you up. Carry on.”
The soldiers saluted again and took off, their boots striking stone in hurried rhythm. Seeing no immediate danger, Captain Godwin climbed back onto the carriage, which swayed yet again before settling.
It was then that Lord Vi let out a soft chuckle. The sound stood out—quiet, amused, and entirely out of place.
“What’s wrong, Ae?” Lady Reika asked, turning toward him.
“Oh, nothing,” Lord Vi replied, shaking his head lightly as the carriage resumed its movement.
But he didn’t close the window.
And as we rolled forward, leaving the echoes of bells and shouting behind us, I noticed his faint smile lingering far longer than it should have—like someone who had just heard a familiar story, or perhaps a funny joke.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
“Huh. Quite an eventful day,” Lord Vi said after a few minutes, breaking the lull. “Is this normal?”
“Ah—no. No, not at all,” I replied quickly, perhaps a little too reproachfully. “I assure everyone, this is merely a coincidence. The city is usually far more… orderly.”
“Then who’s the Blue Devil?” Lord Vi asked. There was a lightness to his voice, a mix of curiosity and mischief that made me wary.
I hesitated.
“I wouldn’t call him a—bad—criminal,” I said slowly, choosing my words with care. “He is a thief, but he doesn’t steal much, nor anything of great value. Most believe he does it because it irritates people. And because he enjoys being chased. He’s more of a nuisance, really. He appeared perhaps six months ago, give or take. Even so, there’s a fairly large bounty on his head.”
“Hm. I see, I see,” Lord Vi nodded, eyes unfocused as though turning the idea over in his mind.
“What did he even steal?” Lady Shizuku asked. “What did he steal that makes that person only a nuisance?”
Again, I hesitated—longer this time.
“The reports vary,” I admitted. “But… hats. A pot of stew, once. A walking cane. Fruits and bread, which he later threw back at the guards chasing him. Shoes—always just one, it doesn’t matter if it’s left or right. At one point, he stole a guard’s uniform and returned it the very same afternoon.”
“Returned it?” Lady Reika echoed.
“Altered,” I clarified.
“Altered,” Lady Reika repeated, brows knitting.
“He sewed additional fabric onto it, dyed it,” I continued, recalling the incident despite myself. “He made it resemble a gown of sorts. Then he hung it near one of the plazas with a rather… crass remark about the original owner. And a horse.”
Lady Shizuku winced. “So… a public nuisance. That’s harassment.”
“No,” Lord Vi said calmly. “Those are pranks.”
Every head turned toward him.
“What?” he asked, glancing around at our stares. “Game recognizes game.”
I had no idea what that phrase meant, but his earlier point lingered. Pranks. When I considered the list again—no lasting harm, no true loss of wealth, only wasted time, frayed patience, and bruised pride—I found myself reluctantly agreeing.
“Yes,” I said at last. “I suppose… they could be considered pranks.”
Lord Vi’s smile deepened just slightly, the kind that suggested private amusement.
“Well,” he said, leaning back against the carriage wall as the city rolled on around us, “whoever they are, they’ve got style.”
I wasn’t sure why, but something about the way he said it made me uneasy—as if this Blue Devil were no longer just a story, but a thread already weaving itself closer to us.
Then, without warning, Lord Vi stood.
“Alright,” he said, raising his voice just enough to carry beyond the carriage walls. “You, under the carriage.”
Before any of us could react, he stomped his foot against the wooden floor—once, twice, three times.
“This carriage is heading to the Free-Blade main office,” he continued evenly. “Unless you want a truly impressive number of people chasing your head, I suggest you get off now.”
For a heartbeat, his words made no sense to any of us.
Yet he spoke with such certainty that Captain Godwin leaned down from the coachman’s seat, peering over the side.
“Captain Godwin,” Lord Vi said calmly, though his voice carried an odd, undeniable weight, “please stop the carriage.”
Scratching his head in confusion, the captain nevertheless nodded. Moments later, the carriage slowed to a halt.
“Lord Vi, what—” I began.
“Thank you!” a voice called from outside.
My breath caught.
Before I could even finish my thought, Lady Shizuku and Lady Reika were already scrambling toward the window. I followed, heart pounding, disbelief prickling at my skin.
A figure rolled out from beneath the carriage and took off at a sprint.
They were no ordinary passerby. Their clothes were made for travel and speed—close-fitting, practical. Leather guards protected their arms and chest, sturdy boots striking the stone road with practiced ease. And covering their face—
A blue mask.
“The Blue Devil!?” Captain Godwin’s voice rang out from the front, thick with disbelief. “He was under our carriage!?”
Our carriage was built for long travel; leather flaps hung low along the sides to keep mud and debris from splashing inside. Apparently, they also served quite well to hide someone clinging beneath.
“You noticed,” Lady Shizuku snapped at Lord Vi, “and you didn’t tell anyone?”
Lord Vi shrugged, entirely unapologetic.
“It wasn’t my place,” he said. “And starting a fight on the first day out wouldn’t look good in front of the adults. Trust me.” He paused, then added, “So try not to spread that information around.”
“And you’re all missing one thing,” he continued, glancing in the direction the figure had fled. “Your Devil is a she.”
We stared at him.
“From that voice alone,” he went on casually, “definitely female. And if I had to guess—she sounds Eastern European speaking English.”
I heard Captain Godwin sigh heavily as he slumped back into his seat. After a moment, he instructed the coachman in a low voice—no doubt giving the same order Lord Vi had just suggested.
Despite the logic in Lord Vi’s reasoning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he hadn’t spoken up earlier for reasons known only to himself. Reasons he likely found amusing.
But even if we’d wanted to act differently, by the time any of us could have, it was already too late. The Blue Devil had slipped into a narrow alley, swallowed by the city as though she had never existed at all.
We continued on, and soon the carriages came to a halt before a three-floored stone building. Unlike the surrounding structures, its architecture was markedly more stately—clean lines, reinforced stonework, and wide doors built to withstand both traffic and trouble. It did not flaunt its importance, yet its presence alone commanded attention.
Everyone disembarked, some stretching their legs, others craning their necks to take it all in.
“Hey,” Lord Arthur said casually, glancing toward Lord Vi, “what was the driver talking about earlier? About someone hiding under the carriage?”
“A serial prankster,” Lord Vi replied with a shrug, as if that settled the matter.
We gathered just off to the left of the entrance, careful not to obstruct the steady flow of people entering and leaving the Free-Blade Guild’s main branch. The sight before us was lively.
Some adventurers were armored head to toe, steel gleaming in the daylight. Others wore only partial protection—a single shoulder guard, reinforced gauntlets, greaves without chest plates. Their equipment varied just as widely. Swords hung at hips, bows were slung across backs, daggers nested in belts and boots. Spears rested against shoulders, and staffs—tall, worn, and unmistakable—marked the spellcasters among them.
“Those carrying staffs…” Lord Takashi said, eyes bright as he scanned the crowd. “There are a lot of mages.”
“And all of them are wearing some kind of armor,” Lord Shunsuke added, sounding impressed.
“I suppose that is technically true,” I replied, seizing the opportunity to explain. “However, Lord Takashi, identifying a mage here is not quite so simple.”
They turned toward me, listening.
“Under the Free-Blade system, one may only formally call themselves a mage after seven cycles of service within the guild,” I continued. “If they are not already recognized by the court or an academy—like myself, for instance—they will refer to themselves as casters instead.”
Lord Takashi blinked. “Seven years?”
“Yes. It is meant to ensure discipline, experience, and restraint,” I said. “Casters may use magic for both offense and defense, but healers fall under a separate classification entirely.”
“And how would someone learn all that?” Lord Yuuto asked.
“If you wish for details,” I replied, gesturing toward the building, “Apothecary Donovan is well known for explaining such things—often at great length.”
That earned a few quiet chuckles.
Everybody stood there, watching seasoned free-blades pass us by—some scarred, some laughing, some utterly exhausted, sacks of proof and loot slung over their shoulders. The smell of sweat, leather, and the metallic tang of iron hung faintly in the air, mixed with the muted clatter of armor and the low hum of conversation.
“Uhm, excuse me.”
I turned to see a tall, tanned-skinned woman standing before me. She was as tall as Lady Shizuku, her dark hair tied into a low ponytail that hung over her shoulder. Her clothes were light, practical travel wear, paired with sturdy leather boots. The definition in her arms and the ease with which she carried herself told me she was no stranger to combat.
“This is the Free-Blade Association guild building, right?” she asked. “Do you know how I would post a job to be taken?”
“Yes, this is the building,” I replied, nodding. “Once inside, go to the left. You’ll find an area marked Information. There are three stalls—just queue at any free one and ask there. They’ll explain the details.”
She nodded once. “Thank you.”
With that, she entered the building, blending into the flow of people passing through the wide doors.
“Lady Celestia, I’m confused,” Lord Vi said, crossing his arms as he stared at the building. “About the naming conventions. And what exactly is this free-blade system?”
“Oh, that,” I said, realizing I had been using the terms rather loosely. “The names are often used interchangeably. People shorten it out of convenience. The official name is the Free-Blade Association and Regulatory Commission, and this is one of its main branches. Each city acts as a hub while towns are for sub-branches.”
“It’s kinda long,” Lord Trayn muttered. “I get why people keep changing it.”
I nodded. “It is called an association because membership in the regulatory board requires each guild to maintain at least two hundred members, not counting the guild master and their chosen representative. Essentially, each guild is expected to be a small army in its own right. Once they have enough members they can apply for a seat.”
“And it is called a commission because this body has oversight and regulatory authority,” I continued. “Licensing, arbitration, enforcement—those powers are granted through the Free-Blade Concordant.”
“The Free-Blade Concordant,” I went on, “was enacted specifically because of dungeons. More precisely, because of dungeon migration. When a dungeon migrates, it becomes… a crisis. Not unlike a demon incursion, though usually more contained.”
I paused to make sure they were following.
“Everyone remembers when I told you that everyone has a plate, yes?”
They nodded.
“That is because when a dungeon migrates, towns in its path are mobilized. Monsters flood out in large numbers, and everyone—civilians, soldiers, free-blades—is expected to contribute to containment and cleanup. The free-blade system ensures that everyone who participates receives a fair share of the bounty and recognition.”
I folded my hands in front of me.
“In short, everyone is a free blade. Hence the name.”
The group fell quiet, gazes drifting back to the guild building.
Lord Vi, however, looked more intrigued than unsettled—as if the idea of a society built around organized chaos was something he found… deeply amusing.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Around us, free-blades continued to pass—laughing, arguing, limping, boasting, bleeding, living.
Not heroes in stories.
Just people.
People who chose to stand between cities and extinction.
And for the first time since arriving, I saw something shift in the heroes’ expressions—not excitement, not curiosity—
But understanding.

