Volume 03, Chapter 92

  Plan Against Belard

  Célestin and I are in my bedroom, the weight of the previous conversation still lingering in the air.

  I sit perched on my bed, legs drawn up slightly, while Célestin leans back in the chair at my desk, arms crossed casually.

  “I told you they’d be proud of you,” he says, a smug grin curling at the corners of his lips.

  I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah… you were right.”

  Even though André and Celine had initially been disappointed, their feelings shifted. They are proud of me now. That should feel like a relief, but instead, it leaves a strange weight in my chest.

  “Though…” Célestin’s voice turns curious. “I was not expecting you to lie that much to them. The Basic Gun Arts, raiding temples alone… Why?”

  I tense.

  The real answer is something I cannot reveal—not to him, not to anyone. The System warned me that I would be erased if I spoke of it. That alone is enough to keep my mouth shut.

  But even without the System, there are other reasons.

  Lying about how I obtained the artifacts? That was because I did not want André or Celine to worry. I am not their real son, so I did not want them wasting their energy being concerned about me. They already have enough to deal with—the debts, responsibilities, and daily struggles.

  As for the temple raids… I told them I did it alone because I did not want Arthur or Célestin dragged into family discussions. But in the end, that reasoning feels hollow. The truth is, I asked Arthur for help with the Temple du Sceptre Lié, so is it not contradictory of me not to ask André for help?

  How ironic.

  I am willing to ask a friend for help, but not Dominic’s father.

  “Clark?”

  Célestin’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

  I lift my head and force a weak smile. “Sorry, just thinking.”

  Célestin does not look convinced. His light blue eyes study me carefully, as if trying to peel away every layer I am desperately trying to hide.

  “So?” he prompts. “What’s the real reason?”

  I shrug. “I just… didn’t want them to worry. They already have enough on their plate.”

  Célestin sighs, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I get that,” he says, his voice softer now. “But that’s just the surface reason. What’s the deeper one?”

  The deeper one…

  Why am I so determined to handle everything on my own? Why am I so resistant to accepting André and Celine’s help?

  Then, it hits me.

  It is something I carried over from my previous life.

  Back then, I never asked my parents for help either. They were drowning in debt, just like André and Celine. When I was bullied, I never told them because I did not want to add to their worries. I convinced myself that I had to handle things alone and could not afford to be a burden.

  That thinking never changed.

  I clench my fists. That is probably it…

  I exhale, my voice quieter than before.

  “It’s because of my parents… in my previous life,” I mutter.

  Célestin does not react right away.

  Then, slowly, he leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

  “…Go on,” he says, his voice calm, but there is a weight to it—like he knows this is something important.

  And for the first time, I feel like I can talk about it.

  Even if only a little.

  “My parents in my previous life… they struggled with debt too,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make the weight of the memory unbearable.

  Célestin does not interrupt. He watches me with that same unreadable expression, his silence both patient and unnerving. It is as if he already knows what I am going to say but is waiting for me to voice it anyway.

  I exhale slowly, my breath shaky as I gather my thoughts.

  “I first noticed it in middle school,” I say, staring at the floor. “I found a contract—one of those predatory ones that trap people in endless payments. They tried to hide it, but I saw the signs after that. The exhaustion, the way they avoided talking about money… like saying it out loud might break the illusion of stability. And still, they pushed themselves beyond their limits to give me a decent life.”

  My fists clench involuntarily, my nails digging into my palms as the memories flood back. “After I realized that, I… stopped asking them for help. I didn’t want to add to their stress. If I was bullied, I handled it on my own. If I struggled, I kept it to myself. I convinced myself that I had to be strong and could not afford to be a burden. And eventually… it just became a habit.”

  Célestin leans back in his chair again, arms crossed, his expression thoughtful. “And that habit carried over to this life,” he murmurs, his tone neither accusatory nor sympathetic—just observant.

  I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “…Yeah.”

  That is why I cannot ask André or Celine for help, and why I do not want them to worry about me.

  It is not just because I am not the real Dominic.

  It is because I have spent years—no, lifetimes—convincing myself that asking for help means making things more complicated for the people I care about. That belief has not changed, even after everything.

  Célestin exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Clark,” he says, using my old name deliberately, as if to remind me of who I was. “You do realize that’s not how family works, right?”

  I let out a hollow chuckle, the sound tinged with bitterness. “I know. But knowing that does not change how I feel.”

  “Yeah. I figured you would say that.” Célestin’s gaze softens, but there is a sharpness to his next words. “But I find it contradictory. You accepted my and Arthur’s help in retrieving the Chalice of Merging at the Temple du Calice de Convergence.”

  I flinch at the observation. He is not wrong. I accepted their help without a second thought, even though I had been adamant about not burdening André and Celine. But there was a difference, was there not? Or at least, I convinced myself there was.

  “To be fair,” I say slowly, choosing my words with care, “I did not ask for your help. You offered it. And I thought… I thought it would make retrieving the Chalice easier. I did not want to risk failing.”

  Célestin raises an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “And yet, you did not stop to think about how we might feel? About the danger you were putting us in?”

  "I… I know that…”

  “You know? Yet you—”

  “Célestin… please…”

  Even though I know I did not think about it, his words still hit me like a punch to the gut. He is right. I did not consider it—not really. I was so focused on the mission and the goal that I pushed aside the risks.

  Célestin, for all his knowledge as a regressor, is still vulnerable. Arthur, for all his strength, can still get hurt. And yet, I dragged them into danger without hesitation.

  Especially Arthur. I invited him to raid the Temple du Sceptre Lié with me. He got hurt because of it, and I almost died. That guilt still gnaws at me, a constant reminder of my recklessness.

  Why did I do it? Why was I so willing to accept their help yet resistant to André’s or Celine’s? Was it because friends are different from family? Or was it because, deep down, I still see myself as an outsider—someone who does not deserve the unconditional support of a family?

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Clark, you’re…” Célestin begins, his tone cutting through my thoughts.

  “I know, I’m a hypocrite,” I say, cutting him off. My voice is heavy with self-reproach. “I did not ask André for help, yet I let you guys help me.”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, a sudden realization hits me like a thunderclap. I did ask André for help. I asked him to train me since I learned he was a Stargate Raider. I witnessed his strength firsthand when he effortlessly defeated Arthur. I saw him bicker with Maurice, an [SS]-Ranked Magician, as if they were equals.

  How did I overlook those facts? Had my overthinking blinded me to the obvious?

  So, my promise not to let my family help me had already been broken when I discovered André’s job. Maurice noticed something in me and decided to train me, even though I never asked him to.

  …I have been a fool, contradicting myself at every turn.

  “Heh,” I chuckle, the sound hollow at first but quickly growing into full-blown laughter. “Hahahahaha!”

  Célestin raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of concern and amusement. “Uhh… are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just… dumb,” I say, still laughing, though there is no humor in it. “I have been a fool this entire time.”

  Célestin smirks. “I’m glad you noticed.”

  I grab the nearest pillow and throw it at him, but he catches it effortlessly, his smirk widening.

  “How do you feel?” Célestin suddenly asks.

  I blink at him, caught off guard.

  How do I feel? Now that he asks… I realize something. The weight pressing down on my chest, the suffocating guilt—I can breathe a little easier.

  “…Lighter,” I admit, almost surprised by my own answer. “I feel… lighter.”

  The moment the words leave my mouth, Célestin moves.

  Before I can react, he lunges at me, knocking me backward. I let out a startled grunt as my back hits the mattress, and suddenly, he is above me, hands braced on either side of my head, his face inches from mine.

  I blink up at him, half-confused, half-exasperated. “Célestin, what the hell—”

  “I’m glad,” he interrupts, his tone serious, though there is a familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’m really glad, Clark.”

  His expression softens. “There is nothing wrong with asking for help. And,” he adds with a smirk, “there is also nothing wrong with being a dumbass.”

  Before I can come up with a retort, his hand suddenly lands on my chest.

  I freeze.

  “…Did you just grope me?” I deadpan.

  Célestin blinks. “Huh.”

  He gives my chest an experimental squeeze.

  I grab the other nearest pillow and whack him with it.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll stop!” he laughs, dodging my next attack as he rolls off me. “I had to check if the ‘lighter’ feeling was just in your head.”

  I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “You’re insufferable.”

  “And you’re fun to mess with,” he shoots back, grinning.

  I huff, but… I cannot deny it. The tension, the weight of everything I have been carrying, feels just a little easier to bear.

  Even if he is annoying.

  “Anyways… now that’s settled, let’s talk about Belard,” Célestin says, shifting beside me on the bed.

  Ah, right. Belard. The man responsible for the predatory contracts that have been choking André—and, by extension, the entire E?eforte territory—for years.

  I straighten up, nodding. “So, how much power does this guy have?”

  “Like I told you before, he’s got connections with a mafia—specifically La Peste Noire.”

  I frown. “La Peste Noire…”

  Célestin leans forward slightly. “They are one of the most feared and secretive criminal organizations around. They specialize in assassinations, sabotage, and underworld dealings, all while operating under the guise of a business syndicate. In reality, they are a mafia built around destruction, manipulation, and biological terror.”

  A chill runs down my spine. Biological terror? That does not sound good.

  Célestin continues, “Belard is closely connected to their leader, and he has always favored him—especially when it comes to sabotaging infrastructure developments in the E?eforte territory.”

  That sets off alarms in my head. “The leader… what’s his name?”

  Célestin’s expression darkens. “Guzman de Venefique Moreau.”

  I blink. “Moreau? Wait, is he related to you?”

  Célestin waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, just a coincidence. Happens sometimes.”

  Still, it is odd to hear the name “Moreau” associated with something this vile.

  “How dangerous is he?” I ask.

  Célestin’s smirk thins. "Very. He’s a [B] Ranked Magician. But that’s not what makes him a nightmare—it’s his magic attribute. Plague."

  I stiffen. "Plague…?"

  Célestin nods grimly. "It’s a rare and terrifying magic type that allows him to create, manipulate, and spread supernatural diseases at unnatural speeds. His infections begin subtly—mild symptoms like fevers or coughs—but they escalate rapidly into full-blown necrosis, pneumonia, and even heart failure."

  I swallow hard. "That’s…"

  "Horrifying? Yeah, I know." Célestin exhales and runs a hand through his hair. "Domy and I struggled to take him down during our early regressions. He was a nightmare at first… but as we went through more loops, we learned something important."

  "His weakness?"

  A smirk tugs at Célestin’s lips. "He’s arrogant. Overconfident. He constantly underestimates his opponents, and that makes him sloppy."

  I nod, absorbing the information. "So, how do we even get to him?"

  Célestin leans back, resting his weight on his elbows. "Oh, that part’s easy. You see, Domy and I developed a habit of repeatedly kidnapping a guy named Jun Wei—a Celestrian who was forced to work for La Peste Noire in exchange for Guzman sparing his family back in Celestria."

  My eyes widen slightly. "Wait, you kidnapped the guy? Multiple times?"

  "Yeah, because he was stubborn as hell and wouldn’t go down without a fight."

  I stare at him. "Okay… and once you kidnapped him, then what?"

  Célestin shrugs. "At first, we interrogated him, but he refused to talk. So, I offered him tea."

  I blink. "Tea?"

  "Yep. I told him I would use my family’s name and company resources to protect his family back in Celestria if he cooperated."

  I frown. "And he believed you?"

  Célestin grins. "Well, I was not lying. I did have the means to help him. So, he agreed."

  "And what did he tell you?"

  "That La Peste Noire’s operations base was deep in Aurelior."

  My brow twitches. "Somewhere deep? That’s pretty vague."

  Célestin chuckles. "Yeah, the exact location was never something we could pin down."

  I cross my arms. "Then how did you guys deal with him if you couldn’t find his base?"

  A mischievous glint flashes in Célestin’s eyes. "Oh, that’s simple. We baited him."

  I raise an eyebrow. "Baited?"

  "Yeah. It went like this—Jun would ‘escape’ after we roughed him up a bit—with his consent, of course—and then he would send a message back to Guzman."

  I nod slowly. "And what did the message say?"

  "That Domy—who was still a Manaless at the time—was challenging Guzman to a fight."

  I stare at him. "And Guzman accepted that invitation?"

  Célestin grins. "Of course. A Manaless challenging him? That was an insult to his pride. He wanted to put Domy in his place, humiliate him publicly."

  I scoff. "Wow. What an idiot."

  "Right?" Célestin laughs. "So, he showed up at the designated time and place alone, expecting an easy victory."

  I smirk. "And then?"

  "Then, while he was busy underestimating Domy…" Célestin mimes holding a rifle. "I shot him from a distance."

  I blink. "Wait. That worked?"

  "Every single time," Célestin replies smugly.

  I stroke my chin. "So, if we follow that same plan in this timeline…?"

  "Guzman dies, and La Peste Noire stops interfering with the E?eforte territory."

  I exhale. "Damn… that’s a solid plan."

  Célestin’s grin widens. "I know, right?"

  I shake my head, unable to hide my smirk. "I can’t believe this entire scheme revolves around baiting a mafia leader into an ego trap."

  "Hey, if it works, it works," Célestin says with a shrug.

  "Then… what about Belard?"

  Célestin smirks. "Simple. He’ll be baited just like Guzman."

  I raise an eyebrow. "How?"

  "After Guzman’s death, we sent Jun Wei to deliver a message to Belard—one that made it seem like Guzman had arranged a private meeting with him at a specific location."

  I frown. "And he would just… show up?"

  "Belard isn’t the type to question Guzman. If he believes it was arranged by him, he won’t hesitate."

  "And when he arrives?"

  "Domy will be standing there in the middle of the clearing, waiting for him."

  I narrow my eyes. "And then?"

  Célestin nods. "Belard will be confused, trying to figure out why Domy is there instead of Guzman. And while he’s distracted…" He mimes pulling a trigger. "Boom. One clean shot from me."

  I let out a sigh. "Another baiting strategy."

  "Exactly!" Célestin grins, clearly proud of his handiwork.

  "And La Peste Noire? Will they still be active after that?"

  "Yes, but with their key enforcer and Belard gone, they will stop interfering with the infrastructure projects in E?eforte territory. That’s our goal."

  I stroke my chin, my thoughts drifting deeper. Mafias like La Peste Noire should not just be left alone. Even if they stop interfering in E?eforte, they will continue their crimes elsewhere.

  I clench my fists.

  I know what it is like to be powerless under people like them. I know what it is like to suffer because of those in control. I will not let others go through the same thing.

  I exhale slowly.

  "Célestin… instead of just killing Belard and Guzman, what if we destroy La Peste Noire entirely?"

  Célestin’s eyes widen in alarm. "Are you insane? Despite all my regressions, I still do not know where their base is!"

  I meet his gaze, unwavering. "I know. But I have an idea of someone who might."

  Célestin raises a brow. "Who?"

  I already have an answer.

  "René."

  ════ ?★? ════

  André remains seated in the dining area, his body heavy with exhaustion. The weight of the Stargate raid still clings to him, and the conversation with Dominic has drained whatever energy he had left.

  He leans back in his chair, closing his eyes for a brief moment, letting the quiet settle around him.

  "Here."

  André opens his eyes and sits up as Celine approaches, carrying a tray with two steaming cups of coffee.

  She sets the tray down, sliding one cup toward him.

  He offers a tired smile. "Thanks."

  Celine takes her cup, mirroring his movements as they both take a slow sip.

  For a moment, neither of them speaks. The warmth of the coffee and the familiarity of their shared silence bring comfort.

  Celine gazes into her cup, her expression soft. "I’m glad we finally settled things with Dominic."

  André exhales, setting his cup down. "Yeah… it’s a relief."

  Celine’s lips curve into a gentle smile. "I want him to understand that we’re always here for him. That he never has to carry things alone."

  André sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t want him thinking he’s a burden. We’re his parents. No matter how deep in debt we are, we’ll do whatever it takes to help him."

  Celine places a hand on her chest, her voice quieter now. "I just hope he learns to open up to us more."

  “We—”

  "Good morning, Celine. Good morning, André."

  Before André can respond, a small, sleepy voice breaks the moment.

  They turn to see Clark trudging toward them, rubbing his eyes. His hair is tousled from sleep, and he looks like he could collapse back into bed at any moment.

  "Good morning, Clark," Celine greets, warmth in her voice.

  André nods in acknowledgment.

  Clark glances around, his drowsiness fading slightly. "Where’s Big Brother?"

  "He’s still sleeping," André replies. "He’s tired from… studying."

  "Oh."

  Clark clambers onto a chair, his small feet swinging idly beneath him.

  André and Celine exchange a glance before Celine turns her attention back to the boy.

  "Clark."

  He looks up. "Yes?"

  Celine stands and walks over to kneel beside him. She reaches out and gently ruffles his hair.

  "If something is ever troubling you, don’t hesitate to talk to your parents when you go back home, okay?"

  Clark’s eyes widen slightly before his expression darkens. His gaze drops to the table, his tiny fingers curling into his lap.

  "Okay…"

  But his voice is barely above a whisper.

  His mind drifts back to Japan, to the home he had left behind. He can still remember his parents’ smiles, their soft voices, and the warmth of their love. The memory is vivid… yet distant, slipping further away with each passing day.

  He misses them.

  So much.

  André and Celine recognize that look all too well.

  Clark has been living with them for over a month now. And despite their best efforts, his past remains a mystery. There were no records of him anywhere—no missing child reports, no mentions of him in the Verdant Haven registry, not in Celestria, not in Frostheim, not in Ember Citadel, and not even in Lumina Falls.

  It was as if he had appeared out of nowhere.

  "We’ll find your parents, Clark. We swear it." André’s voice is firm, but laced with quiet resolve.

  Clark lifts his gaze, searching their faces.

  A beat passes.

  Then, slowly, he nods.

  "…Okay."

  Even if it is just a promise—just words—he wants to believe them.

  Because if he does not… he does not know what else he has left to hold onto.