Trek stood with a limping body, breath ragged, blood dripping from wounds that hadn't yet been closed. His legs trembled, yet he still forced himself upright. In front of him, two figures approached—two people he had once insulted, hurt, even cast aside because of his own ego. Now, after all the battles that drained his very life, they stood right before him.
His gaze finally settled on one man: Freddy. His old friend. The one he had disappointed long ago with his stubbornness and uncontrollable pride. Trek gave a bitter grin, as if mocking himself.
"Well… looks like our positions have finally reversed, huh?" his voice was hoarse, tinged with bitterness.
Freddy stared at him for a long moment before finally letting out a heavy sigh. There was so much he wanted to say, so many old wounds he wished to lay bare, but seeing Trek's state now—the man who had once been so hard-headed that he hurt everyone around him—Freddy could only choose not to make things worse.
In his heart, Freddy understood. Trek hadn't acted without reason. He knew all too well the mindset of the people in their city, how unprepared their mentality was. If the city gates were opened, if the rules became too loose, chaos would surely follow. Trek may have been wrong in his methods, but his intentions hadn't been entirely misguided.
"The people weren't ready to face change," Freddy thought quietly. "Rather than create new problems, it was easier to seal everything away."
But he also knew that shutting oneself away forever wasn't a solution. There came a time when someone had to take risks in order to move forward.
"Haaah… I don't know," Freddy finally said, extending his hand. His voice was firm, yet gentle. "I guess you weren't entirely wrong. And yeah, I wasn't always right either. What matters now… is that we stand again. For our motherland, right?"
Trek stared at the outstretched hand for a long time. Conflict showed on his face—between pride, regret, and guilt. At last, he let out a sharp snort, then grasped it. Freddy's grip was strong, pulling him up to his feet. For the first time in so long, the two old friends who had once been broken now stood side by side again.
Ren, watching the scene from afar, could only let out a sigh. He felt relief, but also a sting of bitterness. The bond before his eyes reminded him of one thing—Kiriya.
(Hard to believe it's already been three months. Sorry, buddy. I might take a little longer to come get you…) Ren thought, gazing at the sky as it cleared from the storm.
The memory returned vividly in his mind. When their entire class had been summoned to another world, Ren had been treated as a burden. He had even deliberately acted useless, avoiding attention, until he was eventually cast out. Back then, Kiriya had begged him to stay, begged that they not be separated. But Ren refused, giving the excuse that he needed Kiriya to remain in the group, to keep their balance intact. He had promised that one day he would come for him.
What Ren didn't know was that the world had kept turning. Kiriya too had now left that group. Their paths no longer aligned. Now, Kiriya was walking his own road, training, growing stronger, and—without Ren's knowledge—he had already entered a prestigious academy: Starford Academy.
After that great battle, the city lay in ruins. Cracked walls, split roads, and houses reduced to rubble. Yet unlike most tragedies, this destruction did not last long. Thanks to Ren and the technology he had brought from his world, the recovery process moved forward at a pace that seemed almost impossible.
Hundreds of worker robots—Ren's creations, built from Ultro's programmed database—moved tirelessly. Their mechanical arms lifted massive stones, rebuilt foundations, and patched walls within mere hours. Meanwhile, other bots operated modular molds, preparing new structures to replace buildings that had been completely lost. The hum of machinery mixed with the awed cheers of citizens who watched with their own eyes.
"This construction… it could be finished in just two days," murmured one of the townsfolk, eyes sparkling.
Standing beside Ren, Freddy gave a crooked smile. "If it weren't for this kid, we'd need months."
Ren exhaled deeply, arms crossed over his chest. He knew this success was good news, but there was one problem far greater than the scattered debris. That problem revealed itself when he was summoned to the temporary government office that had just been re-established.
Inside a modest room, already serving as the administrative center, Ren sat in a chair that looked far too grand for him. Across from him stood Trek, arms folded, his face still marked with the wounds of battle.
"There's really no other way besides this!?" Ren snapped, voice edged with frustration.
Trek shrugged, his expression flat. "Kid, I already told you. The city's traditions can't just be broken. Our leader is chosen through a duel. Whoever wins, leads. People prefer to follow someone proven strong, because that's the only thing that guarantees their safety."
Ren slapped his forehead hard, his voice almost despairing. "So I'm… some kind of king now!?"
"Yes," Trek replied firmly. "You're not mistaken. Starting today, the entire southern district falls under your authority. You'll manage it, whether you like it or not. Be proud, kid—you're the youngest champion in this city's history."
Ren turned toward Freddy, searching for backup. "Hey, you're not just going to stand there, right? Say something!"
Freddy only raised his hands in resignation. "Ahem… sorry, kid. I can't do much. You're legitimately the leader now."
Ren's shoulders slumped instantly. He dropped forward onto the table, face buried in despair. (Oh, come on… how did I end up as a ruler? Am I supposed to manage all these weird people too?)
After several seconds of grumbling in his heart, Ren finally lifted his head again, fixing Trek with a sharp glare. "Fine. But answer me one thing—whatever method I choose to govern, that's not a problem, right?"
"No problem," Trek replied curtly, then added in a warning tone, "but I'd advise you not to act too much like a dictator. The duel tradition still applies. If the people aren't satisfied with you, they can issue a challenge. If you refuse, the penalty is lifelong social sanction—a punishment far more painful than death. Just like I dethroned the champion ten years ago, and just like you defeated me."
Ren blinked, then sighed. "One year, right? That's all."
"Yes. Until the national tournament opens, or until someone reckless enough decides to challenge you. But I think that's unlikely. You have the two strongest in this city at your side, and you also defeated the champion who held the title for ten straight years." Trek pounded his chest proudly, pointing to himself.
Ren snorted. "So I have to join that tournament too?"
"That's up to you," Freddy answered this time.
Ren immediately shot them both a look full of protest. "Why does your system for picking leaders feel more like choosing a gladiator!? Isn't that dangerous? What if the winner turns out to be an idiot?"
Trek crossed his arms, his face calm. "That can be a problem, true. But usually, if a champion makes foolish policies, people keep challenging them until they lose. The control mechanism is built into the system. Duels can't be avoided—both sides must agree, and if someone refuses, social sanction awaits. It's already an unwritten law in this city."
Ren could only clutch at his own hair with a frustrated face. "Damn it… fine. If you don't mind the method, then I won't either. Starting now… I'm the president, or champion, or whatever, for the next year."
The two of them nodded in agreement, as if the matter was already settled.
But behind his resigned expression, Ren's thoughts had already gone further. The southern territory he now ruled wasn't barren land. On the contrary—it lay along the equator, rich with flora and fauna. If managed properly, this land could become the foundation of a new power, as well as the cradle of a more advanced civilization.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. "By the way… where's Kumara?" Ren turned to Freddy.
Freddy gave him a calm look. "If you mean that fox girl, she's at the shrine. The place where the nine-tailed fox is sealed."
Ren nodded slowly. (Right… Ultro reconstructed that place into a Shinto-style shrine. So that's where she is now.)
"By the way, you were pretty impressive controlling that many golems. So you really are a mage?" Trek asked, narrowing his eyes, his tone laced with curiosity and a hint of skepticism.
Ren, leaning back in his chair, only gave him a sidelong glance. His right hand propped up his head while his fingers tapped lazily on the desk. He had expected this question. In this world, nearly anyone who could control something remotely was labeled a mage or sorcerer.
(Good grief… no wonder they misunderstand. They don't even have the most basic concept of electricity, let alone programming or artificial intelligence. If I force an explanation, they'll just stare blankly.)
"No," Ren answered flatly, his voice heavy with impatience. "I hate being called a magician. Those things—" he gestured out the window, where dozens of worker robots were still repairing the city's ruins, "—aren't golems. They're the result of my own hands. I created them, designed them, and controlled them. Not magic. They run on the principles of complex science. In short, you wouldn't understand even if I explained from beginning to end."
Trek raised one brow, clearly dissatisfied with such a half-hearted answer. "Then simplify it. Stop talking in circles."
Freddy, who had been quietly watching with his arms crossed, chimed in with a flat tone, "Yeah, simplify it. You know, not everyone here has a head as hard as metal like yours, kid."
Ren snorted, dragging a hand over his face as if in surrender. He knew if he left it at that, they'd just keep pressing. Like it or not, he had to find a way to explain something so complex in a language these people—who still clung to magic and alchemy—could grasp.
He let out a long breath, then straightened in his seat. "Alright, listen. Imagine you have an army of soldiers. But these soldiers don't eat, don't sleep, and never complain. They only work according to the orders you gave them at the start. That's what robots are. They're not living beings, just metal and machines moving according to rules."
Trek narrowed his eyes, still trying to process it. Freddy gave a small nod, though his expression betrayed confusion.
Ren continued, this time tracing a rough sketch on the desk with his finger. "I embed something called a program. Think of it like a written scroll of commands that can't be broken. If the scroll says: 'lift the stone, stack it there,' then the robot will do exactly that, without stopping, without asking why. They don't have their own will, only instructions."
"So… like a magic contract?" Trek finally spoke, his voice more cautious, as if trying to map it onto a concept he understood.
Ren paused, then smirked. "Yeah, to put it simply, you could call it that. The difference is, a magic contract is usually made with a spirit or living being that can still resist. My robots? They can't resist. They only obey the laws of logic I've written. No freedom, no negotiation."
Freddy stayed silent, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. "So they're really just tools. You're not a mage, you're more like… a mad blacksmith who can bring dead things to life."
Ren let out a short, cynical laugh. "If that makes it easier for you to digest, then sure. But don't ever lump me in with magicians. I hate that term."
Trek fell into a long silence, staring at Ren with a complicated look. In his eyes was a faint glimmer of admiration, mingled with fear of something he couldn't comprehend. Meanwhile, Ren simply leaned back again, ending the conversation with his usual lazy demeanor. (Explaining science to people in this world… it's like talking to a wall. But there's no helping it. I need them to understand at least a little, so no one mistakes me for some cheap magician again.)
Freddy's thoughts tightened. (This kid is extremely dangerous.)
Because he understood what Ren meant. Imagining hundreds of soldiers that only followed predetermined orders, without emotion or empathy, was a vision he didn't even want to picture—let alone see. It overturned everything he knew about war. If the boy before him ever desired to become a dictator… it would be terrifying. But seeing Ren's clear aversion to such a path, Freddy could only sigh and resolve himself to keep watching, making sure this kid never strayed into the darkness.