I Returned with the Cheat Holy Sword

The black market was always the same—damp, musty, and reeking of its own particular stench.

A place filled with all manner of strange and grotesque human beings that no person of sense or refinement would ever willingly set foot in.
But even in such a place—
A young man with orange hair being dragged along by several grown men, laughing brightly as he went, was certainly enough to draw some attention.

Judging by the blood and dust caked on him, he’d clearly taken a brutal beating.
...And yet, the fact that he was still grinning through it all, like he’d just come home, only made the sight more bizarre.
Still, Carlyle had his reasons for smiling.

Nothing ever changes here.
After all, falling ten years earlier than his usual regression point meant that everything naturally felt unfamiliar.
Even in places that looked the same, they felt different somehow.

It was a strange thing—how even when the people and places were technically the same, they no longer felt like the familiar scenery he’d come to know.
But this place—this one—was unchanged.
It hadn’t shifted in the slightest from the landscape Carlyle remembered—
—!

And then a boot flew into Carlyle’s smiling face.
Blood splattered in all directions.
“Stay still. Or I’ll kill you.”

It was violent in the extreme, but none of the people nearby reacted in the slightest.
Part of it was that they were all used to lives filled with brutal incidents like this.
But more importantly, within the black market, violence of any kind was strictly forbidden. If it were allowed, the place would descend into a bloodbath within seconds. It was an unspoken rule.

So for someone to brazenly wield violence in full view of everyone meant only one thing.
There was something—someone—so terrifying backing them that they could ignore those rules without consequence.
Everyone present could feel it in their bones: best not to get involved.

“Yessir, sorry.”
“......”
...Carlyle, for his part, just chuckled and agreed cheerfully as he was dragged along.

It was as if he didn’t feel pain at all.
One of the men hauling him gave him a look like what kind of lunatic is this and spat on the ground.
[You really should treat your body with more care, you know.]

If getting worn out means this ends faster, isn’t it worth it?
At the very least—
This was the only method Carlyle could think of to make quick contact with Pale Moon.
[Honestly... sigh.]

While the Holy Sword trailed off—
Carlyle was dragged into a dusty, dingy old tavern.
He almost wanted to applaud.

Wow. Not a single thing had changed.
While he savored the nostalgia, a woman behind the counter, who’d been nodding off, rubbed her eyes and glanced over at him.
Her face, scarred and partially covered by an eyepatch, had a dagger with dried blood sheathed at her belt.

She radiated the kind of presence that screamed “dangerous.”
Yawning wide, the woman looked over at Carlyle as he was dumped onto the tavern floor and spoke through another yawn.
“What’s this stray mutt supposed to be?”

“...He knew Pale Moon’s password. He’s not listed in the registry.”
“......”
Her eye gleamed with a sharp glint.

The drowsy demeanor from a moment ago vanished without a trace as she drew the dagger from her waist.
“...Is that so?”
Grinning, she kicked Carlyle square in the ribs without hesitation.

As he coughed and rolled across the floor, she pinned him down with her boot and pressed the blade to his throat.

“Hey. Where’d you hear that?”
“......”
“Don’t think you can plead the Fifth now. If you know our passwords, you’re not some random nobody. Let’s not make this messy.”

The dagger grazed the side of Carlyle’s neck.
Right where the major artery ran. Just a little more pressure and he’d be dead.
And yet, face-to-face with that—

Carlyle spoke up.
“Ah, my apologies. I didn’t mean to stay silent. I just couldn’t see.”
...Still smiling.

Brightly.
So much so that the woman watching him gave a baffled snort.
“...You’re definitely not right in the head. What do you mean, you couldn’t see?”

“Your face. I needed to confirm who you were before I responded.”
“What kind of bullshit is—”
“—If the outer code was ‘fox,’ then the inner one must be ‘wolf.’ You two are close, aren’t you?”

“......”
Her expression turned to stone.
All the easygoing aura from earlier shattered in an instant.

Because what Carlyle had just said—
Was a pair of codenames only known to high-ranking officers.
Among Pale Moon’s members, only a rare few knew those.

“Who the hell are you?”
This time, her voice was serious.
Carlyle’s smile only widened.

Perfect. Everything was going according to plan.
These were the exact reactions he needed for his Pale Moon contact speedrun—something he’d perfected over multiple regressions.
“Just some nutcase who’s been blabbing your secrets.”

“......”
“By protocol, that means you’ve got to take me to a ‘safe house’ and torture me, right? Figure out how I know what I know?”
“......”

“You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you? If you don’t, your higher-ups are going to throw a fit. So why not get it over with?”
“......”
The woman looked at Carlyle in disbelief, then turned to the men who had dragged him in.

The men shook their heads, completely exasperated.
“...He’s insane.”
“...Looks like it.”

[Absolutely.]
...Why the Holy Sword felt the need to chime in was beyond him.
***

When Carlyle came to again, the first thing he noticed was the chill crawling up his spine.
That bone-deep cold unique to underground basements.
Judging by how he felt, they’d stripped him of everything except his underwear and placed a sack over his head.

...About a day?
Judging from the stiffness in his muscles, he’d been unconscious and transported for roughly that long.
They’d taken him straight to Pale Moon’s headquarters.

Which was just what he’d hoped for. If he could endure a few hours of torture before the ‘plan’ kicked in, everything would go fine.
Compared to getting dropkicked by Gray in a rage because he messed up the seasoning on her food, this was like frolicking through a field of flowers.
[...]

...
[Was that really that painful?]

Is that even a question?

Even though he’d funneled all growth potential into Gray every loop, Carlyle still maintained a minimum level of training—just to survive her senseless violence.
The Hero was always calling him insane, but she was the one who made his every moment a brush with death...
As that thought passed, a bright light pierced his vision.

Someone had yanked off the sack over his head.
Around the table in front of him were several chairs, each occupied by a person wearing an animal mask.
“My apologies for the rude welcome.”

The one seated at the center, wearing an owl mask, finally spoke.
They held a cane in both hands and bowed deeply with a dignified air.
“I heard we had an unusual guest. I would have preferred a proper reception, but we can’t show our faces. I hope you understand.”

While the man spoke, Carlyle blinked and looked around.
He studied each of their masked faces in turn, his expression dazed.
The owl chuckled quietly.

“I imagine it’s hard to follow what’s going on. Let me explain—”
“...No, what the hell is wrong with you people.”
Carlyle, looking borderline horrified, cut him off.

“Why are all of you here?”
“...?”
The urgency in his voice made all of them tilt their heads.

...How to describe it?
He looked terrified.
But not of them—not of the mysterious people who had kidnapped him.

He seemed more afraid of something—or someone—else.
“Whatever do you mean?”
And as that calm reply came, Carlyle’s face twisted in panic.

“You people aren’t supposed to be here! You’re all supposed to be busy doing your own damn jobs with only one guy staying behind to torture me! Why are you all here?!”
“......”
Well, if someone started freely spouting their top secrets, it wasn’t that strange for every executive to show up just to see the guy’s face.

That thought crossed the minds of everyone present.
But Carlyle was deadly serious.
This was completely off-script. Only disposable nobodies should have been involved.

Just one psycho torture freak obsessed with pain and murder—that’s all that should have been here.
He could’ve let that guy beat him half to death, grabbed the item, and gotten out—
No.

...No.
No...!
These people were supposed to be the informants he’d use later.

If things kept going this way, they were all going to die.
There’d be nothing left. Not even ashes.
“...Do you really think you can kill us like this? You must think we’re a joke—”

“Not me.”
As he said that—
Carlyle’s stomach flashed with a blue glow.

It was the alchemical potion he’d taken beforehand—crafted using a secret Hunter recipe.
A tracking potion.
...Meaning that someone now knew where he was.

Someone who was furious after hearing he’d been kidnapped.
“She’s coming,” Carlyle whispered, shivering.
“The monster.”

And the next moment—
—...
The underground began to tremble.

Slowly.
As if something was drawing near from far, far away.