The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone plaza outside the Crossbow Guild house, its rays filtering through the perpetual dust that seemed to hang in the air of this reconstructed district.

Even two years after the Metastasis Event, the scent of fresh mortar and newly-hewn timber still competed with the more familiar odors of leather, sweat, and the metallic tang that clung to all adventurer gathering places.

Claude paused in the guild’s doorway, his fingers unconsciously tightening around Isolte’s smaller hand as his enhanced senses detected familiar magical signatures approaching.

The sensation triggered a cascade of fragmented memories—not his own, but belonging to the Kuro incarnation who had obsessed over cataloging every notable figure in this world’s adventuring community.

Migurd magical signature… distinctive water-magic resonance… should be approximately forty-seven years old by now…

The memories surfaced with clinical precision, yet underneath them, Claude felt an unexpected flutter of genuine nervousness.

Roxy Migurd—Rudeus’s beloved teacher, the woman whose influence had shaped so much of the events to come.

Meeting her now, when he was still playing the role of a minor guild leader, required delicate navigation of truths and deceptions.

“Well, well, well… If it isn’t Miss Roxy. It’s been a while,” Claude said, his voice carrying just the right mixture of casual recognition and polite distance.

The blue-haired Migurd stood frozen in the plaza, flanked by two figures whose reputations preceded them in ways that made Claude’s incarnations stir with interest.

Talhand Greyrat—the dwarven warrior whose hammer had crushed countless monsters across decades of adventuring.

His weathered face bore the characteristic scars of someone who had learned survival through pain, while his eyes held the sharp calculation of a veteran who had seen too many young adventurers die from overconfidence.

Beside him, Elinalize Dragonroad cut a striking figure even in travel-worn gear. The elf’s predatory beauty was enhanced by the subtle way she held herself—ready for violence or seduction with equal ease.

Claude’s memories provided detailed files on both: Talhand’s tactical brilliance in dungeon environments, Elinalize’s centuries of accumulated combat experience, and their shared history as Paul’s former party members.

But it was Roxy who drew his primary attention. The small Migurd mage stood perhaps five feet tall, her distinctive blue hair catching the afternoon light as confusion flickered across her delicate features. She possessed that particular stillness that marked dedicated scholars—the ability to focus entirely on a problem until its mysteries yielded to careful analysis.

“I…” Roxy began, then stopped, her brow furrowing as she studied Claude’s face. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?”

The question hung in the air like a blade poised to fall. Claude felt multiple incarnations stirring in the back of his consciousness—Alex’s paranoid tactical assessments, Fred’s careful analysis of information flow, and Kuro’s frustrated impatience with incomplete social navigation.

Each offered different approaches: deflection, misdirection, controlled revelation. But beneath their counsel, Claude recognized this moment’s true significance.

This is where careful lies begin to unravel. One misplaced word, one memory that doesn’t align, and suddenly explanations become necessary.

“Perhaps not formally,” Claude replied, offering a polite nod to both Talhand and Elinalize before returning his gaze to the perplexed Migurd. “Though your reputation precedes you, as I’m sure mine does… to some degree.”

Isolte’s hand squeezed his gently—a subtle reminder of her presence and support. The young woman had learned to read the micro-expressions that indicated when Claude’s incarnations were influencing his behavior, and her touch served as an anchor to the present moment.

Roxy continued to stare at him with growing puzzlement. Her magical perception, honed by decades of careful study, was clearly detecting something unusual about his aura.

The controlled Touki surrounding Claude differed markedly from the raw, violent energy he had displayed during yesterday’s exhibition match.

To someone of Roxy’s skill, the discrepancy would be as obvious as a completely different person wearing the same face.

The silence stretched uncomfortably until the guild house door opened with a soft creak of hinges, and R01 emerged carrying a woven rattan bag.

Her appearance immediately shifted the dynamic—the former court mage’s distinctive magical signature was impossible to mistake.

“Leader, here’s the bag…” Kant said, offering the provisions with the same methodical precision she applied to all tasks.

“Teacher Bloody!”

The transformation in Roxy’s demeanor was instantaneous and striking. All scholarly reserve evaporated as she rushed forward, her small hands clasping R01’s with obvious relief and affection.

The display of emotion from the typically reserved Migurd revealed depths of genuine concern that spoke to a profound teacher-student bond.

“It’s been a while! Are you alright?” Roxy’s words tumbled out with uncharacteristic urgency.

R01’s expression softened almost imperceptibly—a minute change that Claude’s enhanced perception caught easily. “Oh, Roxy. I’m fine, of course. What makes you think otherwise?”

“I mean, just the day before today, when we felt the tremor and investigated the epicenter…” Roxy’s explanation emerged in rapid, precise sentences that revealed her methodical approach to information gathering. “We knew it came from Crossbow’s guild house. A little bit of reconnaissance, and I spotted you from a distance. Which made me come here to meet you.”

Reconnaissance. The word choice was telling—not ‘looking’ or ‘searching,’ but the systematic observation of a trained operative. Claude filed away this insight about Roxy’s capabilities while maintaining his casual facade.

“I see. As you can see, I’m doing fine,” R01 replied with characteristic understatement.

“What made you come here in the first place, teacher?”

“I’m hired by the guild as a researcher here…” R01’s glance toward Claude was subtle but meaningful. “Well, I need the leader’s permission to tell you more about my circumstances here.”

The revelation hit Talhand like a physical blow. The grizzled dwarf’s eyes widened as he processed the implications, his weathered features cycling through surprise, calculation, and grudging respect.

“Wait, Leader? This young’un is?” The dwarf’s voice carried decades of authority suddenly confronted with an overturned assumption.

Elinalize’s reaction was more controlled but no less significant. Her predatory instincts—honed by centuries of survival—focused entirely on Claude with laser precision. “Now that you look at him closely, I see his resemblance with the person who won the bout the other day.”

Her green eyes moved from Claude’s face to his hand intertwined with Isolte’s, and her expression shifted to something approaching annoyance. “This blatant show of affection makes me somehow irritated.”

Claude felt a familiar stirring from his incarnations—Alex’s protective instincts regarding any perceived threat to their charges, Fred’s analytical assessment of Elinalize’s psychological profile, and Kuro’s amused recognition of centuries-old relationship patterns.

But his response came from his own personality, shaped by months of learning to balance truth with necessary deception.

“Pardon me, but we are going to have a date right now. If you please head straight to the point?” His voice carried polite firmness while his grip on Isolte’s hand remained steady and unapologetic.

The young woman beside him colored beautifully at his casual declaration, but Claude noted with satisfaction that she didn’t pull away.

Their relationship had evolved beyond simple embarrassment into something deeper—a partnership built on mutual understanding of the burdens they each carried.

“Go on, you can have your conversation while I’ll have a date with Isolte…” Claude’s smile was genuine as he began to guide her away from the group. “See you later, Miss Roxy.”

As they moved across the plaza, Claude’s enhanced hearing easily captured Roxy’s murmured observation: “Is he really the leader? He looks tamer than Douglas, whom I met the other day.”

The comment triggered a sharp bark of laughter from R01—a sound rare enough to make Claude glance back briefly. What followed made him pause entirely.

“What kind of tame person destroys Douglas’ ribs? It’s just yesterday that he entered the Emperor’s realm, and you say he’s a tame person?”

The words fell like stones into still water, creating ripples of shocked silence. Claude felt Isolte’s hand tense in his as she recognized the significance of the revelation—not the achievement itself, which she had witnessed, but its public acknowledgment.

Talhand’s stuttered response carried the weight of a warrior recognizing a predator he had failed to identify: “Wh… what?! Emperor!”

Elinalize’s composure cracked enough to reveal genuine concern beneath her usual confidence: “That young one is?”

But it was Roxy’s wide-eyed question that cut to the heart of the matter: “I don’t think teacher would lie, but an emperor? What specialization?”

R01’s grin was shark-like in its predatory satisfaction as she delivered her final revelation: “Both.”

The single word hung in the air like a funeral bell. Claude continued walking, but every sense remained focused on the conversation behind him.

The psychological impact of the revelation was immediate and profound—he could practically feel the recalculation occurring in three experienced minds as they reassessed everything they thought they knew.

“Wait… How old is he again?” Talhand’s voice had dropped to something approaching awe.

“He should be seventeen right now, a year older than your disciple. Now that you mention it, did you never meet him when he was young? If I’m not wrong, he also comes from Buena Village.”

The name triggered another cascade of recognition. Elinalize’s sharp intake of breath was audible even at distance: “Isn’t that where Paul was?”

“Paul, oh, right. Paul is the leader’s former teacher. He should be the team leader in Millis. Hadn’t you met with him in Milshion?”

The conversation continued behind them, but Claude’s attention fractured across multiple levels of awareness.

His incarnations were stirring with increasing agitation—particularly Alex, whose memories of Paul Greyrat carried complex mixtures of respect, frustration, and protective concern.

They’re connecting the dots. How long before they realize the true scope of what they’re dealing with?

As Claude and Isolte reached the plaza’s edge, the implications of the revealed connections began cascading through his strategic awareness.

Paul’s former party members, now aware of his existence and impossible achievements. Roxy, whose eventual role in Rudeus’s development could not be overstated.

R01, whose casual revelations had just shifted the entire political landscape of their operation.

Three hundred and forty-seven lifetimes of experience, Claude thought grimly, and I still can’t predict when a simple conversation will reshape everything.

Behind them, the conversation continued with mounting tension as the three visitors grappled with revelations that challenged their fundamental understanding of the world’s current state.

But Claude’s focus had already shifted to the young woman beside him, whose presence represented something far more precious than political maneuvering or strategic advantage.

Let them process what they’ve learned. Some truths, once spoken, create their own momentum.

The afternoon sun continued its steady progression across the sky, casting ever-longer shadows as the day moved toward evening.

And in those shadows, the careful balance of secrets and revelations that had defined Claude’s new existence began its inevitable shift toward something far more complex and dangerous.

___________________________________________

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Chapter 106: Fractured Melodies

The morning light filtering through the guild house’s reinforced windows cast geometric patterns across Claude’s desk, where scattered reports and personnel files created their own landscape of administrative chaos.

Three days had passed since the explosive sparring session that had fundamentally altered Crossbow’s internal dynamics, and the ripple effects continued to manifest in ways both expected and surprising.

The transformation in his subordinates was remarkable to observe through his enhanced perception. Where once hesitation and uncertainty had marked their movements, now confidence and purpose flowed through their coordinated actions like water finding its natural course.

Alex’s brutal but effective training regimen had forged them into something approaching a true unit, while Fred’s methodical instruction in support disciplines had elevated their tactical capabilities beyond what Claude had initially thought possible.

Three incarnations working in perfect harmony, Claude mused, reviewing the latest performance assessments. Each fulfilling roles I could never manage alone.

The psychological impact on his people ran deeper than mere skill improvement. Gratitude and loyalty—emotions that couldn’t be commanded or purchased—now colored their interactions with him and his incarnations.

It was a development that filled Claude with equal measures of satisfaction and unease, knowing how such devotion could become both strength and vulnerability in the trials ahead.

Kuro’s influence presented its own unique complications. The sharp-tongued incarnation had appointed himself as the division’s unofficial morale officer, leading the younger members into increasingly elaborate pranks and social gatherings that somehow managed to alleviate the psychological pressure of their intensive training.

His ability to balance humor with wisdom—drawing from memories of 345 failed timelines—created an atmosphere where exhaustion transformed into camaraderie rather than resentment.

“D047, Lucas Lumiere.” Claude’s voice carried the formal weight of command as he addressed the young man standing at attention before his desk. “Knowing your talent for darkness magic, I believe we should assign you as the leader of the new Division U. What are your thoughts on this proposal?”

Lucas Lumiere bore the designation D047 with the same stoic acceptance that marked all his interactions—a man-shaped void where rage and grief had burned away everything except purpose. His recent performance during training had been exceptional, but Claude’s interest went deeper than mere tactical capability.

The young man’s history as a discarded noble bastard provided valuable insight into the aristocratic mindset that would soon become their primary obstacle.

The Lumiere household’s abandonment of their own blood had created something both useful and dangerous—a weapon with intimate knowledge of his target’s weaknesses, but one whose emotional stability remained questionable under pressure.

“You know what I want, leader.” Lucas’s voice carried the controlled emptiness of someone who had learned to function despite carrying an ocean of pain.

His fist clenched unconsciously as memories surfaced behind his carefully neutral expression. “I hate to see my family ever again. I hate them. I despise them. Even so, I don’t wish to become the same as them…”

The classic paradox of the abandoned child, Fred’s analytical voice whispered through Claude’s consciousness. Desperate to prove their worth to those who discarded them, yet knowing that validation would validate their abandonment.

Claude nodded slowly, recognizing the careful balance required for this conversation. Lucas needed direction, not therapy, but the psychological foundation had to be stable enough to support the weight of leadership responsibility.

“I appreciate your honesty, and I believe Division U—Undertaker—represents the perfect solution to your dilemma.” Claude leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he organized his thoughts. “You’ll serve as the leader and coordinate with Division A and Underground A to handle our enemies from the shadows. Since we can no longer operate openly, certain individuals still require… attention. We cannot allow them to believe our disbandment grants them immunity from consequences.”

“I see, an assassination group then…” Lucas’s tone remained neutral, but Claude caught the subtle shift in his posture—the slight straightening that indicated renewed interest.

“Not exclusively assassination. You’ll also serve as the communication hub between Division C and Division I, which are scattered across the continent.

The responsibilities are extensive, and I suspect contact with your former family will become unavoidable.”

“That’s overworking me significantly, leader…” A hint of dry humor crept into Lucas’s voice—the first genuine emotion Claude had heard from him in weeks. “Are you actively trying to kill me through exhaustion?”

Claude’s responding chuckle carried genuine warmth. “I know exactly how restless you’ve become during dungeon operations.

This assignment allows you to travel the world while maintaining complete anonymity. Since we no longer require public relationships, there’s no need to acknowledge your family connections.”

“Former family, leader.” The correction came swiftly, but without the earlier venom.

“Family relationships don’t acknowledge the word ‘former.'” Claude’s voice carried the weight of multiple lifetimes of experience. “However much you hate them, ignoring their actions serves no one’s interests. Better to observe from the shadows than allow them to act without consequences. Perhaps you’ll find some relief for your depression by… discouraging their worst impulses.”

Lucas’s eyes sharpened with predatory interest. “Have they caused problems for Boss Mike?”

“The Lumiere household has expressed interest in claiming territory from our supposedly disbanded organization. They require… discouragement.”

“You should have led with that information, leader!” The transformation in Lucas was immediate and striking—from controlled emptiness to eager anticipation. “When can I depart?”

“Immediately after we secure transportation. We need to acquire and train wyverns for Division U’s mobility requirements.”

“Understood! I’ll begin preparations immediately. Enjoy your date with Miss Isolte, leader!” Lucas’s departure was swift and energetic, leaving Claude alone with his thoughts and the complex satisfaction of having turned personal trauma into professional motivation.

Another piece positioned on the board, Alex’s tactical awareness noted with approval. The boy’s hunger for vengeance will serve our purposes well.

Standing from his desk, Claude ran fingers through his hair while straightening his clothes—small rituals that helped center his consciousness when multiple incarnations stirred with anticipation.

The prospect of spending unstructured time with Isolte carried its own psychological significance, representing normalcy in a existence increasingly defined by layers of deception and strategic manipulation.

Meeting Isolte in the corridor outside his office felt like stepping from one world into another. Her presence anchored him to simpler truths—genuine affection, uncomplicated companionship, and the possibility that some relationships could exist without ulterior motives or hidden agendas.

“Ready for our adventure?” Claude asked, offering his arm with theatrical gallantry.

“Huh, what?” Isolte’s confusion was endearing, her cheeks coloring slightly as he guided her toward the exit.

The encounter with Roxy and her companions outside created an interesting counterpoint to their departure. Claude’s greeting remained carefully neutral—polite acknowledgment without deeper engagement.

His enhanced hearing caught fragments of the subsequent conversation, including R01’s strategic revelations about his true capabilities, but his focus remained firmly fixed on the young woman beside him.

“Is it appropriate to leave them like that?” Isolte asked, glancing back toward the group still processing R01’s bombshell revelations.

“She doesn’t seem to recognize me, so interrupting their conversation would be presumptuous. Besides, I’d rather spend time with my girlfriend than force acquaintances.” Claude’s response carried casual dismissal that masked deeper strategic considerations. “She’s not particularly important to me personally.”

Yet, Kuro’s voice whispered with dark amusement. Wait until you understand her true significance to the boy you’re trying to save.

“I see.” Isolte’s acceptance came with the trusting simplicity that made her so precious—and so vulnerable.

“So, where shall we explore? I’m entirely at your disposal for this adventure.”

“I don’t know any good locations. Could you be my guide, darling?” Isolte’s request came with an extended hand and a playful smile that stopped Claude’s breath entirely.

The endearment triggered unexpected emotional resonance across all his incarnations—Alex’s protective instincts, Fred’s analytical appreciation for trust given freely, and Kuro’s bittersweet recognition of love offered without strings attached.

The moment stretched between them like crystallized time before Claude’s laughter bubbled up from someplace deeper than conscious control.

“Isn’t it rude to keep a lady waiting?” Isolte’s mock-scolding only intensified his amusement.

Claude’s response came from pure impulse rather than calculation. Releasing her hand, he dropped to one knee and pressed his lips to her knuckles with practiced courtly grace.

“As you wish, my lady…”

The spontaneous theater drew appreciative applause and whistles from passing pedestrians, transforming a simple gesture into public performance.

Isolte’s mortified squirming only enhanced the entertainment value, while Claude acknowledged their impromptu audience with genuine gratitude for their participation in the moment’s magic.

Their subsequent exploration of the district revealed both its limitations and unexpected opportunities. The Adventurer’s Guild provided familiar chaos—shouting voices, clashing weapons, and the particular combination of sweat, leather, and barely-contained violence that marked such establishments across the world.

Their sparring session against overconfident locals created entertaining spectacle while reinforcing Claude’s reputation among the broader adventuring community.

The encounters with local criminals followed predictable patterns. Thieves drawn by the apparent vulnerability of a well-dressed couple found themselves unconscious in alleyways, their purses redistributed to more deserving hands.

Thugs attempting intimidation discovered the substantial difference between appearance and reality, leading guided tours to their hideouts before experiencing comprehensive attitude adjustment.

“I don’t believe this qualifies as traditional dating,” Isolte grumbled, adjusting her grip on the sack of confiscated gold while maintaining her hold on Claude’s free hand.

“Why did you forget to bring spatial storage artifacts? Carrying physical currency is tremendously inconvenient.”

“It’s hardly my fault that trouble gravitates toward beautiful company. Though I confess to appreciating our supplemental income. This district lacks conventional sightseeing opportunities…”

“True. The primary attractions seem to be dungeon entrances and Behemoth skeletal remains. Though I admit to finding satisfaction in violence against deserving targets.”

“Nothing surpasses the pleasure of punishing genuine villains!”

Their conversation carried the comfortable rhythm of shared values and complementary perspectives. Claude found himself genuinely relaxed for the first time in weeks, his incarnations settling into quiet observation rather than constant strategic assessment.

The moment shattered when they encountered the troubadour.

The street performer sat cross-legged beside a fountain, his instrument—something disturbingly similar to a guitar from memories that belonged to another world entirely—gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.

His appearance was unremarkable, but something about his positioning and the confidence of his posture triggered warning signals across Claude’s enhanced awareness.

The opening notes rang out with crystalline clarity:

Tring…

Trang…

“Running away from his home, the young man grinned widely as he entered the barrel to start his journey towards the sea. Wearing his straw hat, he shouted to the sky: ‘I WILL BECOME THE PIRATE KING!'”

Time stopped.

Claude’s mind fractured across multiple layers of consciousness as recognition hit with the force of physical impact.

The words, the melody, the specific phrasing—all belonged to a story that existed only in the memories of his incarnations, drawn from a world that should have no connection to this reality.

One Piece, Kuro’s voice whispered with stunned recognition. But that’s impossible. That story belongs to our world, not theirs.

The implications crashed through Claude’s strategic awareness like an avalanche. If elements from his incarnations’ original world were manifesting here, then the fundamental assumptions underlying his understanding of this reality required complete reassessment.

Where is Kuro when I need his expertise? Claude thought desperately, his composure maintained through pure will while his mind reeled from the impossibility before him.

The troubadour continued his performance, unaware that his audience included someone who recognized the story’s true origins.

But Claude’s attention had already shifted to darker possibilities—if one element had crossed between worlds, what else might have followed?

And more terrifyingly: what did this mean for the careful balance he had been trying to maintain?

___________________________________________

✨ Enjoyed the chapter? Dive deeper into the story world!

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__________________________________________