Chapter 30: The Otaku Crashes a Party (And Discovers "Clean Towns" Lie Better)
Meliodas kept his eyes on the corner table.
The tavern kept laughing.
Dice kept rolling.
Someone kept singing slightly off-key like confidence was a substitute for pitch.
And the thing wearing a man's face kept smiling wider—too wide, too smooth, like it had practiced friendliness using a knife.
Kaelen sat rigid beside him, hood shadowing his face, hands clenched under the table.
The mage—still nameless, still guarded—looked like he was trying to decide whether to bolt or pretend he hadn't seen anything at all.
Bud stayed small on Meliodas's shoulder, claws hooked in, light faint but steady. Not panicking.
Just… offended.
The kind of offended that promised future violence.
Meliodas didn't move fast.
Fast attracted eyes.
Eyes attracted questions.
Questions attracted consequences.
And the system had been very clear about the consequences.
[QUEST UPDATE: SHADOWS IN SOUTHVAL — ACTIVE]
{The first shadow does not hide when it believes itself safe.}
[Primary Objectives:
· Identify the infernal anchor within Southval
· Neutralize without civilian casualties
· Avoid revealing full capabilities
Reward: 6 Hero Shards | 2 Destiny Shards
Warning: This will escalate conflict.]
He didn't like the "escalate" part.
He disliked it even more because it was probably right.
Upstairs, laughter spiked again—louder, brighter.
Rem's voice floated down the stairwell like a thrown ribbon.
"Don't forget! Fiancé gets the best seat!"
A few people in the common room who had heard the engagement announcement earlier snickered and looked at Meliodas like he was tonight's entertainment.
Meliodas kept his face neutral.
Inside, his brain was doing that quiet thing it did before violence.
'Step one. Remove the anchor. Quietly.'
He leaned slightly toward Kaelen, barely moving his lips.
"Stay calm. Don't do anything flashy."
Kaelen swallowed. "…Understood."
The mage's voice was thinner. "If that… thing notices you noticed it—"
"It already did," Meliodas murmured.
The mage went paler.
Meliodas kept his posture relaxed. Like a normal traveler. Like a normal man in a normal tavern with a normal tiny glowing reptile on his shoulder and a normal accidental fiancée upstairs.
He lifted his cup, took a sip, and used the motion as cover to let {Observation Haki} stretch again—thin thread, careful.
The "man" in the corner wasn't alone.
Not in the way a person wasn't alone.
There was a faint web to him—like something had sunk hooks into the building itself.
A drip of wrongness that didn't come from the air, but from the structure.
Wood. Nails. Floorboards.
Anchors liked places.
Anchors liked comfort.
Anchors liked crowds.
Because crowds meant no one wanted to be the first person to scream.
Meliodas exhaled.
Then he did something that looked harmless.
He stood.
He stretched like a tired traveler.
He yawned like he was bored.
And he walked toward the bar.
The "man" in the corner tracked him with eyes that didn't blink enough.
Meliodas didn't look back.
He ordered more water.
He paid.
He smiled politely at the bartender like he wasn't actively measuring the best angle to erase something unnatural.
Then he drifted—slowly—toward the corner, as if he were just finding a quieter place.
Kaelen followed, half a beat behind, trying to look like a normal companion instead of a hunted prince.
The mage lingered near their table, eyes darting, not brave enough to follow and not willing to be left behind.
Bud stayed on Meliodas's shoulder, small and still.
And the closer Meliodas got, the more obvious the wrongness became.
Not a smell.
Not a sound.
A sensation.
Like the room had a cold spot, except the cold spot was inside your thoughts.
Meliodas stopped two tables away.
He didn't sit.
He just turned slightly, putting the corner "man" in his peripheral, and raised his cup again.
He didn't want a fight.
But if the anchor wanted one, it was going to discover something unfortunate.
The corner "man" finally spoke, voice pleasant in the way poison could be pleasant if you put enough honey on it.
"You look lost."
Meliodas let his expression soften into something harmless.
"Just tired."
"Tired men make mistakes," the "man" said warmly.
Meliodas shrugged. "Then it's lucky I'm cautious."
The "man" chuckled.
The sound was wrong.
Too measured.
Too intentional.
Like laughter was a ritual.
"You have a bright little companion," the "man" added, eyes flicking to Bud.
Bud's claws flexed.
Not fear.
Anger.
Meliodas kept his tone neutral. "He's with me."
"Of course he is." The smile widened again. "Things like that seek power."
Meliodas's eyes cooled.
He still didn't speak the word out loud.
But inside, the label was already there.
Infernal.
Anchor.
Vessel.
Consuming.
He didn't need to shout it to make it true.
The "man" leaned forward slightly. "You should come sit. I enjoy meeting travelers."
Meliodas pretended to consider it.
Then he took one more small step closer and let {Knowledge Mage} brush not the vessel—
but the hook.
The place where the wrongness clung.
Blue text unfolded at the edge of his vision again, sharp and clinical.
Not dramatic.
Not merciful.
Just information.
And there it was—
A thin thread of corrupt mana running through the floorboard seam, down into the foundation like a root.
An anchor pattern.
Not a full circle like the village.
Something smaller.
Something meant to hide.
Meliodas's thoughts stayed calm.
'Okay. Found you.'
He set his cup down on a nearby empty table.
Slowly.
Casually.
Like he wasn't about to perform surgery on reality.
Then he shifted his hand under the table edge where nobody could see and formed a thin {Energy Constructs} filament—transparent, nearly invisible.
A thread.
A needle.
He fed it down between the floorboards, following the corrupt line.
The "man" watched him, still smiling.
"You're very composed," it said.
Meliodas's voice stayed mild. "I've had practice."
"Practice with what?"
Meliodas didn't answer.
Because his filament touched the anchor.
And the moment it did—
The candle flames in the room stuttered.
A few patrons frowned, distracted, then went back to their dice.
The "man's" smile twitched.
Not wider this time.
Sharper.
"You're interfering."
Meliodas's fingers tightened.
He didn't use {Sun Fruit} here.
Too bright.
Too noticeable.
Too many witnesses.
He didn't use {Sealing} either—yet.
Sealing could be clean, but it had a presence to it.
Instead, he did something simpler.
He cut the anchor's connection with a silent, concentrated snap of {Energy Constructs}, like a wire being severed.
The "man" jerked.
Not like a person startled.
Like a puppet whose strings had been yanked.
The smile cracked.
The eyes went blank for half a heartbeat—
Then the wrongness surged, trying to compensate.
The vessel stood too fast, chair scraping loudly.
Heads turned.
People looked.
The bartender paused mid-pour.
Kaelen tensed—instinct screaming to {Blink}.
Meliodas didn't let him.
He lifted his hand slightly, palm down, a subtle command without words.
Kaelen held.
The "man" opened its mouth.
And something tried to speak through it.
Not language.
Intent.
A pressure in the air like a hand closing around throats.
A few patrons suddenly stopped laughing, brows furrowing as unease crawled up their spines.
The mage—watching from a distance—went rigid with recognition and fear.
Meliodas's mind stayed quiet.
'No civilians. Quietly.'
He triggered {Indistinct}—not enough to vanish, just enough to blur attention.
Then he stepped in close and pressed two fingers to the vessel's sternum—gentle, almost intimate.
To any observer, it looked like a drunk confrontation that hadn't decided to become violence yet.
To the anchor, it was a problem.
Because his other hand—under the table edge—drove the construct filament into the anchor line like a stitch.
And then he did the thing he'd been trying not to do in public.
He used heat.
Not a miniature sun.
Not a flare.
Just a thin, controlled, surgical warmth from {Sun Fruit}, guided through the construct thread like a cauterizing blade.
The corrupt line hissed.
Not audibly.
In sensation.
Like something inside the wood was screaming without sound.
The vessel's mouth opened wider.
Its eyes rolled—
And then the body convulsed.
The human shell tried to resist.
Tried to keep breathing.
Tried to keep being a person.
But it was ninety-four percent consumed.
It didn't get to vote.
The thing inside it bucked.
It realized it was being removed.
It lunged—not at Meliodas.
At the nearest crowd.
Because fear was fuel.
And crowds were kindling.
Meliodas moved faster than the room could process.
{Rush activated.}
Time thickened.
A mug mid-air froze in a lazy arc.
A laugh hung unfinished.
The vessel's hand stretched toward a nearby table like it wanted to grab a stranger's face and pour wrongness directly into them.
Meliodas caught its wrist.
In slowed time, he leaned in and whispered—soft enough that even Kaelen wouldn't fully hear.
"Not tonight."
Then he slammed the vessel's hand down onto the table—and used {Sealing}.
Not flashy.
Not a massive prison.
A small container.
A simple seal pattern that snapped into place around the corrupt core like a lid.
The air pressure released instantly.
The candle flames steadied.
The patrons blinked, confused, and immediately tried to rationalize what they'd just felt.
Someone laughed nervously.
"Must be the ale," a man muttered, rubbing his neck.
{Rush ended.}
To everyone else, it looked like the corner man had simply… collapsed, face-first onto the table, as if he'd drunk too much.
Meliodas let his expression go mildly annoyed, like he'd just watched someone ruin furniture.
He straightened.
Kaelen's eyes were wide, breathing shallow.
The mage looked like he'd just witnessed a miracle and a threat at the same time.
Bud stayed small, claws tight, light pulsing faintly with approval.
Meliodas lifted the "drunk" man's shoulder slightly, as if checking him.
Under his fingers, he felt the seal holding.
He also felt the human body.
Alive.
Barely.
The shell wasn't dead.
Not yet.
And killing it publicly would attract exactly the attention he didn't want.
So he didn't.
He stood, looked at the bartender, and spoke loudly enough to be heard.
"Your friend passed out. Might want to get him upstairs before he throws up on your floor."
The bartender blinked, then nodded quickly, grateful to have an explanation.
Two men rose to help, grumbling and laughing.
They hauled the "drunk" body away.
The sealed corrupt core stayed contained—because Meliodas ensured the seal traveled with the vessel.
A portable problem.
For now.
As soon as the crowd's attention fractured and returned to dice and drinks, Meliodas turned and walked back to his table like nothing happened.
Kaelen followed, dazed.
The mage followed too, slower, eyes flicking to every face like he expected something to leap out of the lanternlight.
They sat.
Meliodas took his water and drank again, calm and slow.
Kaelen stared at him.
"Master…"
Meliodas didn't look up. "Breathe."
Kaelen obeyed, swallowing hard.
The mage finally spoke, voice tight.
"You… contained it."
"Yes."
"With no circle."
"Yes."
"No priests. No ward stones."
Meliodas glanced at him, expression flat.
"Do you want to talk about it here?"
The mage shut his mouth.
Good.
Meliodas liked silence when it was useful.
Upstairs, the party noise swelled again, like the building had forgotten it almost got contaminated.
And then Rem reappeared at the top of the stairs.
She leaned over the railing, scanning the room like a hunter looking for her prize.
Her eyes locked onto Meliodas immediately.
Of course they did.
She grinned.
"Fiancé! Up! Now!"
Meliodas closed his eyes for a second.
Kaelen looked like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
Bud sent a pulse that felt like: Deserved.
The mage watched Rem with a wary frown.
Rem bounded down the stairs and strode to their table, tail swaying like confidence made her immune to consequence.
She leaned in close enough for Meliodas to smell citrus on her breath.
"You missed the first toast," she accused.
Meliodas looked at her calmly. "I was busy."
Rem's ears flicked. "Busy doing what?"
Meliodas didn't answer.
Rem stared at him for half a heartbeat, then her gaze flicked—briefly—toward the corner where the vessel had been.
Her smile didn't fade, but something in her eyes sharpened.
She'd felt something.
Not details.
Just the shift.
And she didn't like not knowing why.
Then her gaze dropped to Bud again.
Instant softening.
"There you are," she cooed. "My lucky little—"
Bud's claws flexed.
Rem laughed.
"Still mad? I kissed you gently."
Bud didn't move.
Rem pouted and then—because she was either fearless or stupid—reached again toward Bud like she wanted to pet him.
Meliodas caught her wrist easily.
Not hard.
Just… immovable.
Rem blinked, surprised.
Then her tail flicked with interest.
"Ooh," she murmured. "Strong."
Kaelen went stiff at the casual intimacy.
The mage's eyes narrowed.
Jealousy was a loud emotion in a tavern.
Rem leaned closer, voice turning conspiratorial.
"Come upstairs. You want information. I want to see what you do when people stare."
Meliodas exhaled.
He didn't want to go upstairs.
But he also didn't want to ignore the only walking invitation he'd gotten into a room full of people who "knew things."
And the system quest was active.
Which meant Southval wasn't done being a problem.
He stood.
Kaelen stood immediately.
The mage hesitated—then followed, like staying alone felt worse.
Rem's smile widened triumphantly.
"Good. Follow me."
She led them up the stairs.
The upstairs room was bigger than Meliodas expected—private, but not cramped. A long table. Several smaller clusters. A few merchants. A few adventurers. A woman in a simple robe arguing quietly with a man who smelled like ink. A couple of guards off-duty, pretending they weren't guards.
And, immediately was something noticeable: A bulletin board pinned with parchment.
Not official.
Not royal.
But organized.
A list of names and ranks, rough and handwritten, like a local guild recruiter had decided the party needed homework.
Meliodas didn't stare too long.
But his eyes caught the letters.
F. E. D. C. B. A. S. SS. SSS. Myth.
He filed it away.
'Noted.'
Rem guided them to a seat as promised—best view of the room, best view of exits.
She plopped down beside Meliodas like she owned the concept of personal space.
Kaelen sat on Meliodas's other side, tense and protective in a way that was almost funny, because Kaelen was seventeen and still learning what "danger" actually looked like.
The mage took a seat opposite, posture guarded.
Rem leaned closer and whispered, delighted.
"See? You fit."
Meliodas replied flatly, "I'm sitting."
Rem giggled.
Then she did the worst thing possible.
She turned and announced to the room, loud and bright—
"Everyone! This is Meliodas! He's new! And he's—"
She paused dramatically, ears flicking.
"—mine."
The room erupted.
Laughter. Whistles. A few jealous groans.
A muscular man with a scar across his nose muttered, "Not fair," like Meliodas had cheated at life.
Kaelen went rigid, looking one second away from combusting.
The mage's expression went blank with controlled despair.
Bud stayed palm-sized and silent, which somehow felt like judgment.
Rem leaned in, smug.
Meliodas thought, very calmly—
'So this is how I die. Not by demon. By cat politics.'
A man approached—lean, smiling, the kind of smile that belonged to people who sold information and called it "networking."
He bowed slightly.
"Name's Jorren," he said. "People call me a broker when they want to insult me politely."
Rem waved a hand. "He's useful."
Jorren's gaze flicked to Bud, then to Meliodas's weapons, then away like he didn't want to get stabbed for being curious.
"I hear you're looking for… stability," Jorren said carefully. "Southval has options."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. "Options?"
"Adventurer registry," Jorren continued smoothly. "Alchemist circles. Beast-tamer halls. Mercenary charters. Even a scribe office if you want a travel seal. Names and paper keep the wrong kind of attention off you."
Meliodas kept his expression neutral.
'Names and paper keep attention off you.'
That sounded like something a man with a long life expectancy would say.
Rem propped her chin on her palm, watching Meliodas like he was a show.
Jorren's eyes flicked to Rem.
Then back to Meliodas, voice lowering.
"Of course, if you're with her, attention's already on you."
Rem smiled sweetly.
Jorren cleared his throat, choosing survival.
"If you want my advice," he said, "you take a basic adventurer plate. F-rank. Cheap. No questions. Lets you rent rooms easier. Buy supplies. Get access to bulletin boards."
Meliodas nodded once.
He didn't say, "I'll do it."
He didn't say anything that committed him while the mage was listening.
The mage noticed.
His eyes sharpened slightly, as if he recognized the strategy.
Rem leaned closer, whispering with glee.
"Get a plate," she urged. "Then I can tell people my fiancé is officially employed."
Meliodas stared at her.
"Why would that be a goal."
Rem blinked like he'd asked why the sun existed.
"Because it's cute."
Of course.
A tremor ran through the upstairs room then—subtle.
Not fear.
Not excitement.
A shift.
Like a distant drumbeat that only predators heard.
Bud's claws tightened in Meliodas's coat.
Kaelen stiffened.
The mage's gaze snapped toward the door.
Rem's smile faded half a millimeter.
Meliodas felt it too.
Not the same as downstairs.
Different.
More… intentional.
Jorren's grin faltered.
"…That's odd," he murmured.
Meliodas stood.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Rem stared up at him.
"Fiancé?"
Meliodas didn't answer.
Because the upstairs door opened.
And a woman stepped in.
Tall. Strong. Calm.
Travel-worn cloak, boots that had seen long roads, hair tied back like she expected to fight more than she expected to flirt.
Her presence hit the room like gravity deciding to be personal.
Not oppressive.
Just… undeniable.
Conversations died in her wake.
People who hadn't even known they were nervous suddenly remembered they had survival instincts.
She scanned the room once.
Her gaze landed on Rem.
Her expression didn't change.
But Rem's ears flicked—fast—like a child caught with stolen sweets.
The woman's eyes shifted to Meliodas.
Measured.
Sharp.
Then to Bud.
A flicker of caution.
Then back to Rem.
Her voice was controlled, low enough it carried anyway.
"Rem."
Rem's smile returned instantly—too bright, too innocent.
"Hi."
Kaelen leaned slightly toward Meliodas, whispering.
"…That's not a normal adventurer."
Meliodas didn't reply.
Because the air changed again.
Not from the woman.
From below the building.
The sealed vessel downstairs—contained, but not harmless—twitched against the seal like a trapped insect deciding to become a problem.
And something answered it.
A faint, crawling pressure under the floor.
Like a second anchor noticing the first one got cut.
Jorren went pale.
"…No," he whispered.
The mage's face tightened, fear sharpening into recognition.
Rem's smile vanished completely.
The tall woman's eyes narrowed, and her posture shifted—subtle, practiced, ready.
Meliodas's mind clicked.
'Of course. One shadow doesn't sit alone.'
The system had said "first shadow."
That implied a second.
Maybe more.
Meliodas drew Moonsing halfway—just enough for steel to whisper.
The tall woman noticed.
Her eyes flicked to his blade.
Then to his hand.
Then to his face.
"You," she said quietly. "What did you do downstairs."
Meliodas didn't answer her question.
He asked his own.
"Are you here for Rem."
Rem made a strangled sound. "Don't—"
The woman's gaze didn't leave Meliodas.
"Yes."
Rem's ears flattened.
Kaelen blinked, confused, then slowly horrified as the implications assembled themselves in his head.
Rem—who "just Rem"—who didn't give a family name—who moved like a trained killer—who casually claimed people—
"…She's—" Kaelen started.
Rem shot him a look that begged him to shut up.
He shut up.
The floor below them thumped.
Not footsteps.
A pulse.
The candle flames in the upstairs room flickered—harder than they had downstairs.
A few partygoers gasped.
Someone screamed when their drink sloshed by itself.
The tall woman stepped forward, eyes cold now.
"Rem. Behind me."
Rem bristled. "No."
"Rem."
"I said no."
The tall woman's jaw tightened.
Then she looked at Meliodas again.
"I don't know who you are," she said, voice flat. "But if you brought infernal filth into a crowded tavern—"
"I didn't bring it," Meliodas replied evenly.
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't get defensive.
He simply stated it like fact.
The tall woman's eyes narrowed.
The mage—watching this—looked like he was about to faint from layered political disaster.
Jorren whispered, frantic, "Everyone—out—now—"
Too late.
The pressure surged.
The downstairs seal held—
but the second presence rose.
Not through the stairs.
Through the building.
Through the walls.
Like rot deciding to bloom.
A corner of the upstairs room darkened.
Not from lack of light.
From light being rejected.
Someone cried out as a cold wave brushed their skin.
Meliodas's {Observation Haki} snapped outward, reading panic like weather.
Civilians.
Too many.
He couldn't fight loud.
He couldn't fight bright.
He couldn't fight like himself.
He needed control.
He needed containment.
He needed—
Rem moved first.
Not toward the shadow.
Toward the civilians.
Her gauntlets flashed as she shoved a table aside, creating a clear path.
"Out!" she shouted. "Move!"
People listened.
Not because she was polite.
Because she sounded like someone who would carry them out by force if they hesitated.
The tall woman followed, motion sharp and practiced, guiding people away from the dark corner like she'd done it before.
Kaelen started helping too, voice tight, hands shaking but moving.
"This way! Go!"
The mage hesitated—
then followed, because cowardice was useless if you still died.
Meliodas stayed in the center of the room.
Bud pressed closer, light faint but angry.
The shadow in the corner thickened.
A shape started to form.
Not a full body.
A partial manifestation.
An anchor trying to crawl into the world without ceremony.
Meliodas didn't let it.
He activated {Knowledge Mage}.
Blue text bloomed at the edge of his vision—
[ENTITY CLASSIFICATION: INFERNAL ANCHOR — SECONDARY]
[MANIFESTATION STATUS: PARTIAL]
[THREAT RANGE: CIVILIAN-CASUALTY IMMINENT]
Not lore.
Not explanation.
Just stats.
Just abilities.
Just what it could do to people if he let it.
Meliodas's face went cold.
He lifted his hand and formed a thin {Energy Constructs} barrier—clear, dome-shaped—between the growing shadow and the fleeing civilians.
It wasn't flashy.
Just a wall.
A promise.
The shadow slammed into it.
The barrier shuddered but held.
Bud's light pulsed.
Offended.
The tall woman saw the barrier.
Her eyes widened a fraction.
Rem saw it too—and her ears flicked sharply.
Interest.
Greed.
Curiosity.
The kind of curiosity that got people killed.
Meliodas kept his voice calm.
"Everyone out. Now."
They moved faster.
Good.
The tall woman turned back once, eyes sharp.
"Rem," she snapped. "Move."
Rem hesitated—one heartbeat.
Then she backed toward the door, still watching Meliodas like he was a problem she wanted to own.
"Don't die, fiancé," she called.
Meliodas didn't look at her.
He was busy.
The shadow surged again.
This time it tried to slip around the barrier—like smoke finding cracks.
Meliodas adjusted the construct with {Parallel Calculation}, thickening the edges, sealing gaps.
He didn't use {Sun Fruit} yet.
He didn't want the whole tavern lit like daylight.
He needed precision.
He needed the anchor exposed.
The shadow hissed—soundless, but felt.
Then it did the one thing anchors loved.
It reached for the nearest mind.
Not Meliodas.
Not Bud.
It reached for the people halfway out the door.
Because civilians were easy.
Kaelen stumbled, clutching his head, eyes widening in sudden terror.
The mage gasped, knees buckling.
Rem froze mid-step, ears flattening like she'd just heard an ancient predator breathe.
The tall woman snapped her head up—
and her posture shifted like something old woke up in her bones.
Meliodas felt it.
A surge.
Not magic.
Not a spell.
A state.
Her blood and breath and muscle aligning into something sharper.
He didn't name it.
He didn't have a name for it.
So he did what he always did when the world presented a new mechanic—
He scanned.
{Knowledge Mage} snapped onto the tall woman.
Blue text unfolded.
[STATE DETECTED: PARTIAL OVERDRIVE]
[CLASSIFICATION: MAGIC KNIGHT — RANK UNDETERMINED]
[EFFECT: TEMPORARY RANK BOOST + ELEMENTAL AURA INFUSION]
A term appeared.
A label.
Something cultural.
Something real.
Meliodas's eyes narrowed.
'So that's what it's called.'
The tall woman stepped forward, aura flaring—wild, elemental, violent in the clean way a storm was violent.
She didn't shout a technique name.
She didn't grandstand.
She just hit the shadow with a gauntleted fist—
and the impact cracked the air like thunder.
The shadow recoiled.
Not because she was holy.
Because she was strong enough to hurt it.
Rem stared at her, stunned.
"Sis—"
The tall woman didn't look back.
"Move."
Rem moved.
The civilians poured down the stairs.
Kaelen staggered after them, shaking off the mental pressure like a man waking from a nightmare.
The mage stumbled after Kaelen, breathing hard.
Jorren fled last, whispering frantic prayers to any god that liked taverns.
The room emptied.
Only Meliodas remained.
And the tall woman.
And the shadow.
The door slammed shut.
Silence hit.
Not tavern silence.
Combat silence.
The tall woman's breathing was steady, controlled, eyes locked on the infernal presence.
Meliodas's barrier held between them and the shadow like glass.
He finally spoke.
"You're here to drag her home."
The tall woman's eyes flicked to him for half a second.
"Yes."
"And you walked into a tavern with an infernal anchor."
"I didn't know," she said flatly.
Meliodas nodded once.
Fair.
He hadn't known either until he looked.
The shadow surged again, angry now that prey had escaped.
It slammed into the barrier.
Meliodas let the barrier flex—
just enough.
Because he wanted it to expose itself.
He wanted the core.
He wanted the anchor point.
The tall woman shifted her stance, fists raised, aura still flaring in that activated state.
Meliodas's mind noted it again.
Not the name.
Just the fact.
'It boosts her by a whole rank. Temporary. Controlled. Dangerous.'
He didn't say any of it.
He didn't need to.
The shadow finally pushed through the barrier in a thin tendril.
Meliodas let it—
and then snapped {Sealing} onto the tendril like a trap closing.
The tendril froze, caught.
The shadow jerked, furious.
Meliodas used the connection like a handle.
He pulled.
Not physically.
Conceptually.
With the seal, he dragged the anchor core up from the floorboards like yanking rot out by the root.
The shadow screamed—soundless but violent.
The tavern wood groaned.
The floor cracked slightly.
A blackened knot of corruption surfaced—small, dense, pulsing like a diseased heart.
There.
That was what made clean towns lie.
Meliodas raised his hand.
A miniature sun formed—small enough to fit in his palm, contained enough not to flood the building.
The tall woman's eyes widened.
Not fear.
Assessment.
A calculation of threat.
Meliodas kept his voice calm.
"Step back."
She didn't.
So he added, still calm—
"Or you'll get burned."
That did it.
She stepped back half a pace, jaw tight.
Meliodas pressed the miniature sun into the corrupt knot.
Light didn't explode.
It purified.
Heat and radiance ate the corruption from the inside, turning wrongness into ash.
The shadow convulsed.
Then collapsed inward like a tent losing its poles.
For a heartbeat, the room felt cleaner.
The candle flames steadied fully.
The cold pressure vanished.
And Meliodas exhaled.
The tall woman stared at him.
"You're not a normal swordsman."
Meliodas replied evenly, "Neither are you."
Her eyes narrowed.
Then, as if deciding the immediate threat was gone but the bigger threat might be the man in front of her, she asked—
"Who are you."
Meliodas didn't answer directly.
He did what he always did when answering directly was a trap.
"I'm tired," he said flatly. "And your sister is loud."
The tall woman's gaze sharpened at "sister."
Meliodas didn't elaborate.
He didn't need to.
He heard footsteps in the hall.
Then Rem's voice—faint, outside the door, whispering fiercely.
"Are you dead? If you're dead I'm going to be mad."
Meliodas closed his eyes for half a second.
The tall woman's mouth tightened like she wanted to sigh but refused to show weakness.
The door cracked open.
Rem peeked in.
Her ears flicked, tail swaying cautiously.
She saw the clean air, the lack of shadows, the lack of screaming.
Then she saw Meliodas standing calmly amid cracked floorboards like he'd just tidied up.
Her eyes sparkled.
"Fiancé," she breathed, delighted. "You cleaned it."
Meliodas stared at her.
"I didn't clean it. I removed it."
Rem stepped fully into the room, ignoring her sister's glare.
Then she pointed accusingly at the tall woman.
"You almost ruined my engagement."
The tall woman's eye twitched.
"Rem."
Rem smiled sweetly.
"What?"
The tall woman's voice turned colder.
"You're coming back."
Rem crossed her arms.
"No."
The tall woman's aura flared again slightly—controlled, dangerous.
Rem's ears flattened.
But she didn't back down.
Because Rem was either brave, stupid, or used to being protected by being important.
Meliodas watched them for half a second, then looked toward the window.
Outside, the street had gathered people.
Whispers.
Questions.
Curiosity.
Clean towns lied, but rumors told the truth loudly.
And the system had warned him.
Escalation.
He felt blue text flicker at the edge of his vision.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[QUEST PROGRESS: SHADOWS IN SOUTHVAL]
[STATUS: ANCHOR NEUTRALIZED]
[Reward Pending: 6 Hero Shards | 2 Destiny Shards
Warning: This will escalate conflict.]
Meliodas didn't smile.
He didn't feel victorious.
He felt… aware.
Because now the town had a story.
And stories traveled.
Rem stepped closer, tail swaying again.
"So," she said brightly, as if they hadn't just fought infernal rot in a tavern, "party's still on."
Meliodas looked at her.
"…How."
Rem shrugged. "People like surviving. It makes them hungry."
The tall woman pinched the bridge of her nose.
Meliodas glanced at the door.
Kaelen would be out there, shaken.
The mage would be out there, calculating.
Jorren would be out there, already selling a version of the truth that sounded safer than the truth.
And somewhere in Southval, something else would notice its anchor had gone silent.
Meliodas exhaled slowly.
'Clean towns don't have fewer shadows.'
'They just hide them better.'
He looked at Rem.
Then at her sister.
Then at the street full of curious eyes.
And he thought, very calmly—
'…This is going to get worse.'
[END OF CHAPTER 30]