Chapter 40: The Otaku Makes a Second Sun (And Everyone Immediately Regrets Their Life Choices)
Valmor did not raise his voice.
He didn't have to.
The street did the quieting for him.
Southval's "clean" main road—fresh stone, tidy storefronts, neat signage—slowly shifted into something sharper. Doors didn't slam. Windows didn't shutter. People didn't run.
They drifted.
Like water finding the lowest place.
Merchants "remembered" urgent errands. Families "suddenly" needed to check on children. A pair of off-duty guards repositioned closer to a corner without making it obvious.
Not panic.
A town practicing survival.
Meliodas stood in the open like he belonged there.
Relaxed shoulders.
Even breathing.
Hands empty.
His instincts, meanwhile, were doing the thing they always did when a clean place turned into a stage: measuring angles, exits, lines of sight, the number of bodies he'd have to protect if things went wrong.
Kaelen stood half a step behind him, hood up, trembling in a way that tried very hard to look like cold.
The mage hovered farther back, eyes darting like a trapped animal pretending it wasn't trapped.
Rem stayed close—too close—resting her head against Meliodas's shoulder again. Not playful. Not teasing.
Claiming.
Anchoring.
She was making a point to everyone watching: If you swing at him, you swing at me.
Her ears were slightly flattened, tail swaying slow—controlled irritation held on a leash made of pride.
Bud remained palm-sized on Meliodas's shoulder. His glow was faint in daylight, but his eyes were bright. Not scared.
Offended.
It was impressive how consistent that was.
Valmor stood opposite them, posture gentle, hands visible, smile mild.
Behind him, the eight riders formed a loose crescent. They didn't draw weapons. They didn't need to. Their horses were calm. Their stances were balanced. Their attention was disciplined.
Valmor's sealed carriage waited down the street like a polite threat.
"Thank you," Valmor said softly, as if Meliodas had done him a favor by stepping outside. "This is better."
Meliodas kept his tone level. "Less collateral."
Valmor's eyes flicked to the townsfolk dispersing. "You care about strangers."
"I care about noise," Meliodas replied.
Rem made a small sound into his shoulder that might've been amusement. Might've been approval. Might've been her deciding that his brand of morality was attractive.
Kaelen swallowed. His throat bobbed hard.
Valmor watched Kaelen's hood like it was a locked door he already had the key for.
Then Valmor's gaze returned to Meliodas.
"Before we proceed," Valmor said, "I want to be clear about something."
Meliodas waited.
Valmor's smile remained polite.
"We did not come to harm the town," he said. "We came to retrieve a runaway prince and a runaway… complication."
Rem's tail flicked sharply.
Kaelen's shoulders tightened.
Meliodas's expression didn't change.
Valmor continued, voice calm and measured.
"But the situation has changed since we entered Southval."
A pause.
A deliberate one.
Valmor's eyes softened—too practiced to be sincere.
"Rumors," he said gently. "Drake. Infernal anchor. A C-rank provisional who doesn't behave like a C-rank."
The riders' focus sharpened subtly, like dogs hearing a whistle.
Meliodas kept his posture loose.
Valmor added, "And a companion creature that doesn't behave like any contracted familiar I've ever seen."
Bud's claws flexed.
Not fear.
A warning he didn't vocalize because he didn't need to.
Rem lifted her head slightly, cheek sliding along Meliodas's shoulder, eyes narrowing at Valmor.
"You keep looking at the little one," she said, voice sweet in the way honey could be sweet when poured over a blade. "Try it."
Valmor's smile did not change.
His eyes did.
They cooled a fraction.
"Princess," he said softly.
Rem's ears twitched—annoyed, not surprised.
Meliodas's gaze flicked to Rem for half a heartbeat.
She gave him a look that said: Later.
Kaelen's breath caught like his lungs had forgotten their job.
Valmor looked back to Meliodas.
"It would be… unfortunate," he said, "if we acted too aggressively and discovered afterward that we had offended someone we cannot afford to offend."
Meliodas didn't blink.
"Who," he asked, "are you worried about offending?"
Valmor's smile tightened at the corners.
His eyes slid—briefly—to the mage standing behind Kaelen.
The mage went rigid.
Then Valmor looked at Bud again.
Then back at Meliodas.
"You," Valmor said.
The street went colder.
Not in temperature.
In attention.
Meliodas's {Observation Haki} caught it in real time—the ripple of emotion from the riders. Their discipline held, but the instinct beneath it was very human.
Fear.
Not immediate fear.
Cautious fear.
The kind that only showed up when people started doing math with their own life expectancy.
Valmor's voice stayed gentle.
"The way you contained the infernal presence," he said, "was not the method of a common adventurer."
Meliodas shrugged slightly. "I'm a fast learner."
Valmor nodded like that was a cute lie.
"The way you fought a drake," he continued, "suggests resources. Training. Possibly instruction."
Meliodas didn't correct him.
He didn't confirm.
He let the misunderstanding breathe.
Because misunderstandings were armor.
Valmor's gaze sharpened again.
"In the capital," he said calmly, "there are only a few people who can do what you do."
The mage behind them looked like he wanted to vanish into his own skin.
Kaelen's hands shook harder.
Rem's tail slowed.
Valmor said, almost politely:
"An Archmage's heir would explain a great deal."
Silence landed like a weight.
Meliodas felt Kaelen's breath hitch behind him.
He felt the mage's panic spike so hard it was almost loud.
He felt Rem go still—completely still—like a predator pausing to listen.
And on the edge of his senses, he felt the town's guards tense.
Because the word Archmage wasn't just power.
It was authority.
It was catastrophe with paperwork.
Meliodas's mind ran through it quickly.
So that's what Valmor wants.
Not just Kaelen.
Not just Rem.
He wants confirmation that I'm not someone whose master can erase a kingdom.
Valmor kept his voice gentle.
"You understand," he said, "why I must ask for proof."
Rem's head lifted fully now.
"Proof," she repeated, flat.
Valmor met her gaze without blinking.
"If I bring the prince back empty-handed after pursuing him here," he said, "I will be punished."
A soft pause.
"And if I bring him back after antagonizing an Archmage's heir…"
Valmor smiled faintly.
"…I will be erased."
One rider shifted in his saddle, a tiny movement that still screamed discomfort.
Another rider swallowed and looked briefly toward the town wall as if considering how far walls mattered if an Archmage got angry.
Meliodas watched all of it.
And he understood something unpleasant:
Valmor's calm wasn't confidence.
It was desperation dressed as etiquette.
Because Valmor couldn't leave without Kaelen.
But Valmor also couldn't afford to start a fight he couldn't finish.
So he needed one thing.
A label.
A category.
Something he could take back to his superiors to justify his choices.
Proof.
Meliodas exhaled slowly.
Kaelen whispered behind him, voice thin. "Master…?"
Meliodas didn't look back.
He kept his gaze on Valmor.
"You want proof," Meliodas said.
Valmor inclined his head. "A demonstration. Nothing excessive."
Rem's ears twitched.
"Nothing excessive," she repeated, insulted.
Bud's glow brightened half a shade, irritated.
The mage looked like he was going to faint.
Meliodas thought:
If I refuse, they push.
If I fight, civilians get caught in the radius of consequences.
If I run, I confirm Kaelen.
So I give them something they'll never forget—
without hurting anyone.
He lifted his right hand slowly.
Not sudden.
Not aggressive.
Just… deliberate.
Every eye tracked the motion.
{Smouldering} chose that moment to be the worst possible friend.
A breeze rolled down the street as if the world itself had decided to add dramatic lighting. Dust swirled around his boots in a neat spiral. A hanging sign creaked once like a warning bell.
Somewhere—faintly—his {Theme Song} tried to start.
Meliodas mentally toggled it off with the kind of tired annoyance reserved for powers that had never been punched.
The air still held its breath anyway.
Rem's head tilted slightly, gaze fixed on his hand.
Kaelen stopped breathing.
Valmor's smile remained, but his eyes sharpened into full attention.
Meliodas formed a miniature sun above his palm.
Small.
Dense.
Contained.
Bright enough to cast clean light across Valmor's face and make every rider's horse flick its ears.
A few townsfolk gasped.
The captain of the guard at the corner went pale.
Valmor didn't move.
He just watched.
"That," Valmor said softly, "matches the reports."
Meliodas didn't answer.
He let the sun hover.
Let it exist.
Let it be undeniable without being violent.
Then Valmor spoke again, still polite:
"Again," he said. "Please."
And this—this was the moment the dread became real.
Not because of the demand.
Because of the implication.
He's not asking out of arrogance.
He's asking because he needs to believe his own fear is justified.
Meliodas's eyes narrowed slightly.
He lifted his left hand.
Rem's tail went still.
Kaelen made a strangled sound.
The mage's knees actually bent like he was about to collapse.
Meliodas formed a second miniature sun.
Not larger than the first.
Not a supernova.
Just a second point of controlled daylight, hovering above his other palm.
Two suns.
Two perfect, dense spheres of heat and radiance.
The street brightened.
Not blinding.
But unmistakable.
Like the world had briefly forgotten there was only one sky.
The riders' horses stamped and snorted.
One rider tightened his reins so hard his knuckles went white.
Valmor's smile finally faltered—just a fraction.
Not fear.
Recognition.
The kind that came when you realized you had walked to the edge of a cliff thinking it was a curb.
Kaelen exhaled shakily, like he'd been holding his breath the entire time.
Rem stared at the twin suns with an expression that wasn't joking anymore.
She was trying to decide whether this was romantic.
Or terrifying.
Or both.
Bud's glow pulsed—quiet approval, like: Yes. This is appropriate.
Meliodas kept both suns hovering, perfectly stable.
No tremor.
No strain.
Because {Parallel Calculation} let him hold multiple realities in his mind at once, and {Sun Fruit} made this kind of controlled light feel like breathing.
Valmor swallowed.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He was a man standing in front of a thing he couldn't afford to misname.
The town's guards didn't advance.
They didn't retreat.
They simply froze in the only posture that didn't invite death.
Somewhere behind the rooftops, a bird screamed and fled.
And then—
From the east.
From beyond the fields.
From the ridge line where the forest thickened into something darker—
A presence reacted.
Meliodas felt it through {Observation Haki} first: a ripple of attention, sudden and sharp, like a predator snapping its head up.
Then he saw it.
Far away—barely visible through the haze of distance and trees—
A massive silhouette shifted.
Golden eyes caught the twin-sun light.
And for the briefest moment—
The drake flinched.
Not a full retreat.
Not panic.
A single, instinctive movement of the head.
A predator realizing it had been seen by something bigger.
A prey reflex.
A correction.
Like it had been stalking the edge of town and suddenly realized the town could bite back.
Meliodas kept his face calm.
Inside, his otaku brain screamed:
I JUST MADE A DRAKE FLINCH WITH SUNLIGHT.
But he didn't grin.
He didn't move.
He let the moment land.
Let everyone watching understand what that flinch meant.
Because people didn't need explanations.
They needed shape.
And the shape was clear:
If the forest's apex predator hesitated—
then these riders were not the apex predator here.
Valmor stared toward the ridge for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing as he tracked the drake's reaction.
Then he looked back at Meliodas.
And the dread hit him fully.
Not the dread of dying.
The dread of making the wrong enemy.
The dread of writing his name onto a list that powerful people read before they decided who should stop existing.
Valmor took a slow breath.
His voice, when it came, was still calm—
but softer now.
Careful.
Respectful in a way that wasn't given freely.
"Understood," he said.
Meliodas let the second sun fade first.
Then the first.
Not abruptly.
Not like snapping power off.
Like lowering a weapon you didn't want to raise in the first place.
The street dimmed back to normal daylight.
People remembered how to breathe.
A horse snorted like it had just survived a nightmare.
Kaelen's legs wobbled—he stayed upright only because pride refused to let him collapse in public.
The mage's shoulders sagged as if he'd been carrying a mountain.
Rem's head drifted back to Meliodas's shoulder again, slower now—less theatrical.
More… grounding.
Her voice was quiet.
"Two," she murmured. "You made two."
Meliodas kept his gaze on Valmor.
"Proof enough?"
Valmor held his eyes.
A long pause.
Then Valmor nodded once.
"Yes," he said softly.
And then—without any change in tone—Valmor did something that made every instinct in Meliodas's body sharpen.
He smiled again.
Not warmer.
Not friendlier.
Calculated.
"Now," Valmor said gently, "we can discuss terms."
Kaelen stiffened behind Meliodas.
Rem's tail flicked once, annoyed.
Bud's glow sharpened—impatient.
Meliodas didn't let himself react.
Terms meant negotiations.
Negotiations meant leverage.
Valmor couldn't afford to attack.
But he also couldn't afford to leave empty-handed.
So he would try to bargain.
He would try to trap Meliodas with "reasonable" choices.
Meliodas understood that kind of man.
He'd met versions of Valmor in Marvel.
People who didn't fight with fists.
They fought with paperwork and consequences.
Valmor spoke softly.
"If you truly are under the protection of an Archmage," he said, "then you understand the value of stability."
Meliodas's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Say what you mean."
Valmor's gaze flicked to Kaelen's hood again.
"I will not take him by force," Valmor said. "Not here. Not today."
Kaelen's breath trembled.
Valmor continued.
"But you will not leave Southval with him."
The street tightened again.
Rem's head lifted.
Her eyes went sharp.
The mage went pale.
Kaelen's hands shook.
Meliodas kept his tone level.
"And if I do?"
Valmor's smile stayed polite.
"Then," he said softly, "I will be forced to do something I would regret."
He glanced toward the town walls.
"And I believe you would regret it more."
That was the threat.
Not direct.
Not obvious.
But pointed at civilians.
At consequences.
At escalation.
Meliodas exhaled slowly.
He didn't feel fear.
He felt pattern.
And pattern meant preparation.
He looked at Valmor and spoke calmly.
"Then we'll keep this simple."
Valmor blinked once. "Simple?"
Meliodas nodded.
"Give me one day."
Valmor's eyes narrowed slightly.
Meliodas continued, voice even.
"One day to speak with the guild. One day to secure lodging. One day to ensure Southval doesn't become collateral if you decide to be stupid."
Rem's mouth curved faintly, pleased.
Kaelen looked at Meliodas like he was seeing hope and also terrified of trusting it.
The mage looked like he was calculating ten different betrayals and not liking any of them.
Valmor watched Meliodas for a long beat.
Then he inclined his head slightly.
"One day," Valmor said. "At sundown tomorrow, you will present the prince."
Kaelen flinched.
Meliodas didn't.
He just nodded once.
"Tomorrow," Meliodas agreed, voice calm.
Valmor smiled.
Then he turned and walked back toward his carriage with the same polite pace he'd arrived with.
The riders followed, still disciplined—but now their discipline felt different.
Less confident.
More careful.
Like people walking near a sleeping dragon.
Southval's street slowly resumed movement.
People pretended they hadn't seen anything.
Clean towns did that.
But their eyes stayed on Meliodas longer now.
Not admiration.
Not curiosity.
Dread.
Respect.
The captain of the guard approached cautiously from the side, expression tight.
"What," the captain asked quietly, "in all gods' names… are you?"
Meliodas looked at him.
And because he didn't want to explain.
Because explaining was dangerous.
Because the truth was complicated.
He answered with the simplest thing he could.
"Tired," Meliodas said.
Rem snorted softly, amused.
Kaelen let out a shaky laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob.
Bud pressed closer to Meliodas's neck, claws gentle, glow steady.
The mage stared at Valmor's retreating carriage like he wanted to murder it with his eyes.
Meliodas watched it too.
One day.
Valmor had given him one day.
Which meant the next twenty-four hours were going to decide whether Kaelen remained a person…
or became a resource again.
Meliodas didn't feel fear.
He felt pressure.
And pressure had direction.
He turned away from the street and headed back toward the guild hall.
Because one day wasn't much.
And he would need every advantage he could get—
without letting anyone see how many advantages he actually had.
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[END OF CHAPTER 40]