Chapter 86: A Talk With the Fellow Summoned Heroes

John let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back into the leather cushion of his swivel chair. He laced his fingers loosely over his stomach, his blue eyes casually tracing the stunned expressions on their faces.

"Relax," John said in English, his tone conversational and light. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Though I suppose to anyone from the capital, that’s pretty much what I am."

The silver-haired elf standing by the window closed the dossier with a crisp snap, stepping smoothly to the side of his desk. Her amethyst eyes remained fixed on the newcomers, sharp and observant, but she said nothing.

Miyuki took a shaky step forward, her hands slowly dropping from her mouth. "You’re... really alive, John? In the dungeon... the abyss beneath the imperial altar... everyone said no one could survive being cast down there."

"Yeah, well, the goddess and her high priests weren’t exactly known for their due diligence," John replied, picking up a pen and twirling it idly between two fingers. "Though to be fair, it’s funny you mention remembering me. If memory serves, we only knew each other for about twenty minutes. We got yanked out of our lives, dumped onto cold marble, and before I could even ask where the hell we were, that goddess looked at my status plate like I was a cockroach."

A bitter memory flashed across Miyuki’s mind.

"I protested!" Miyuki burst out, her voice cracking slightly with genuine remorse. "John, I really did! When they dragged you to the pit, I raised my protest to the Goddess! I told them it wasn’t fair, that you were human just like the rest of us! But... but the temple paladins held me back, and the priests said questioning the Goddess’s judgment was heresy. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop them."

John looked at her, his smirk softening just a fraction into something more genuine. He gave a small, understanding nod.

"I see, so not all in your class are total douchebags huh? Thank you for that if it’s true as I can’t ascertain if it happened."

His gaze shifted slightly, landing squarely on Ayanokoji, who had remained standing in place with his hands resting easily at his sides.

"And you, Ayanokoji," John said, a dry, knowing glint returning to his eyes. "You didn’t say a single word. You just watched them drag me away like you were watching paint dry."

"I did," Ayanokoji answered without hesitation, his English clean and unbothered. "At that moment, protesting would have yielded a net-negative outcome."

Miyuki glanced at Ayanokoji, slightly taken aback by his bluntness, but Ayanokoji continued with the same flat, objective tone.

"We were disoriented, completely ignorant of the local power dynamics, and surrounded by hundreds of armed zealots who possessed supernatural abilities," Ayanokoji explained, his eyes meeting John’s. "Miyuki’s intervention only risked getting herself labeled an accomplice. If I had stepped in as well, it wouldn’t have saved you. It would have simply compromised my own position before I even understood the rules of the environment. Sacrificing myself for a foreigner I barely knew carried zero strategic benefit."

A tense beat hung in the air.

Beside the desk, the elven woman’s brow twitched slightly, her sharp amethyst eyes narrowing at Ayanokoji’s cold pragmatism.

Then, John threw his head back and laughed. It wasn’t an angry laugh; it was a loud, amused bark that echoed off the reinforced glass windows.

"You have your way of speaking huh?"

"I prefer to call it objective realism," Ayanokoji replied without missing a beat, not a single muscle on his face twitching. "Emotional displays rarely alter unfavorable odds."

"Can’t argue with that logic," John said, leaning forward once more and planting his elbows on the polished wood. "Out here, cold pragmatism keeps people breathing. Sentimentality gets them buried."

Miyuki took a tentative half-step forward. Her hands fidgeted against the fabric of her skirt, her gaze shifting between the modern consoles, the silent elven woman, and John. There was an ache of dread in her chest—a lingering question she had held onto ever since Admiral Donovan had coldly laid out the destruction of the Solarian vanguard.

"John..." Miyuki started, her voice dropping to a fragile hush. "When Admiral Donovan showed us the photographs of the vanguard fleet... he mentioned that they captured Valerius and Corvin. But he didn’t say anything about Sato. Where is Sato?"

At the mention of the name, the casual humor evaporated from John’s expression.

His eyes hardened, cooling into a sharp, unreadable stare. Beside him, the silver-haired elf shifted her stance slightly, her amethyst eyes narrowing with quiet vigilance as her hand subtly brushed against the edge of her tailored blazer.

"Sato," John repeated slowly, testing the syllables on his tongue like bitter medicine.

A memory flashed behind John’s eyes, on how he was brought down by an AC-130 and then he claimed the coup de grace.

"He was part of that expedition," John said, his voice dropping into a low, detached baritone that sent a shiver down Miyuki’s spine. "When the fleet hit the beachhead, Sato wasn’t interested in a peaceful survey. He was leading strike squads into the Ironclaw villages, massacring villages. Truly, how could a Japanese high-schooler make such an action? Is that what the Goddess is teaching you? Isn’t the goal to defeat the demon lord?"

Miyuki flinched, the accusation stinging more than any physical blow. She lowered her head, gripping her hands until her knuckles turned white. "No... but the High Council convinced him that the beastkin were demon worshippers. Sato let his shadow affinity consume him. He wanted to prove his worth to the nobles..."

"Well, he proved how fragile he really was," John interrupted. "He was really weak against modern warfare."

Miyuki gasped, her eyes wide with mounting dread. "Did you... take him prisoner?"

"No," John said, leaning forward until his shadow draped across the desk. "He crawled out of the crater. I was shocked he made it out but I killed him later on."

"No way..."