Chapter 45: The Otaku Gets Studied (And Realizes "Gratitude" Can Be a Threat)
The Archmage did not stand up dramatically.
She didn't clap.
She didn't declare him a hero.
She just sat there for a long moment, flexing her fingers like she was testing whether the world still obeyed her.
Then she inhaled.
A slow breath.
A clean one.
And something in her expression—something old and sharp and tired—shifted into something quieter.
Gratitude.
Not the performative kind nobles used to buy loyalty.
The real kind.
The kind that made powerful people careful, because it meant they suddenly owed you something.
Meliodas didn't relax.
He watched her the way you watched a sealed container you weren't sure was empty.
The Archmage finally looked up at him.
Her eyes weren't playful now.
They were steady.
Respectful.
And—beneath that—wary in a way that didn't come from fear of Meliodas himself.
It came from fear of what Meliodas implied.
"You didn't just… loosen it," she said softly.
Her fingers curled once, slow.
"You removed it."
Meliodas kept his voice neutral. "It was removable."
The Archmage's mouth twitched.
"That," she said, "is exactly what makes it terrifying."
Valmor shifted slightly by the door, like he didn't want to interrupt and also couldn't stop himself from listening. Duty had a way of making people eavesdrop politely.
Kaelen stood behind Meliodas, very still, as if movement might attract attention from the wrong kind of being.
Rem leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, but her tail had gone stiff. Her earlier bravado was still there—she couldn't turn it off—but it had been forced into something more restrained.
The mage in the corner looked like he had just witnessed the world's rules being rewritten by someone who hadn't even asked permission.
Bud stayed on Meliodas's shoulder, light faint, eyes half-lidded.
Tired.
But watching.
Always watching.
The Archmage's gaze drifted briefly to Mama Rose's charm in Meliodas's hand.
Her expression softened for a fraction of a heartbeat.
"That charm," she said, almost thoughtfully. "It isn't woven with our thread."
Meliodas slipped it back into his coat without comment.
He wasn't offering explanations today.
The Archmage didn't push.
Instead, she did something that made the room feel heavier than any spell.
She lowered her head.
Just slightly.
Not a bow that surrendered pride.
A bow that acknowledged a debt.
"Thank you," she said.
The word hit the room harder than her title.
Valmor's eyes widened a fraction.
Kaelen's throat worked as he swallowed—relief and confusion tangled together.
Rem blinked like she'd forgotten Archmages could do that.
The mage's face tightened, because gratitude from power was dangerous. It meant the power had decided you mattered.
Meliodas nodded once, accepting it like it was normal.
Then he said, quietly, "You're welcome."
The Archmage leaned back in her chair and studied him again, but differently now.
Not like a collector eyeing a toy.
Like a scholar staring at an impossible theorem.
"You did it," she said, voice calm, "like you've done it before."
Meliodas didn't answer.
Because any answer would either be a lie or an invitation.
The Archmage smiled faintly at his silence, as if she approved.
Then the smile faded.
Her gaze sharpened.
"You're not just strong," she said. "That would be ordinary. Strength is common."
She lifted a hand, palm up, as if weighing invisible scales.
"What you did was… incorrect."
Kaelen flinched at the word.
Meliodas didn't.
He just waited.
The Archmage continued, tone controlled.
"That curse was designed to resist purification, ward-breaking, and brute force dispelling. It was layered. It was anchored into my core pathways."
Her eyes narrowed.
"And you unraveled it without backlash. Without recoil. Without ritual."
Valmor's jaw tightened.
Rem's ears twitched.
The mage's breathing went shallow.
Meliodas said evenly, "I had tools."
The Archmage's eyes flicked to his coat, his weapons, the way he carried himself.
"Tools don't do that," she said softly. "Not unless the hand holding them has the right… authority."
The word landed like a dagger wrapped in silk.
Authority.
Not power.
Not skill.
Authority implied something deeper.
Something older.
Something the world itself recognized.
Meliodas kept his expression calm, but he felt it—the subtle tightening in everyone around him.
Because if an Archmage was using words like authority, then this wasn't just gossip anymore.
This was the kind of conversation that turned into legends.
And legends turned into hunting parties.
The Archmage's gaze drifted up to the ceiling, as if staring through it into a sky that wasn't visible.
Her voice lowered.
"There are only a few explanations," she said. "None of them are comfortable."
Rem snorted softly, trying to reclaim tone. "Comfort is overrated."
The Archmage didn't even glance at her.
She was thinking.
Carefully.
And when she looked back at Meliodas, her eyes held something like reluctant awe.
"High fae," she murmured.
Kaelen's eyes widened.
The mage's face went pale.
Valmor went still.
Even Rem's tail stopped moving.
High fae.
Not a fairy.
Not a contracted elemental.
Not a mischievous winged thing that flicked foreheads and vanished.
High fae was the kind of word that made old men cross themselves and young knights pretend they didn't hear it.
Meliodas didn't react outwardly.
Inside, he filed the term away.
The Archmage continued, almost to herself.
"It would explain the clean severance. The refusal of corruption to cling. The way the curse behaved like it was… ashamed."
She paused.
Then her expression tightened.
"No," she said abruptly, almost irritated.
The room tensed.
Meliodas watched her carefully.
Her instinct—something ancient and educated and sharp—was fighting her own conclusion.
"Outrageous," she muttered. "A blessing that deep would mean—"
Her eyes narrowed further.
"It has been almost a thousand years since a fae lord walked openly in this world."
The mage swallowed audibly.
Kaelen's hands clenched.
Valmor's face went hard with the weight of that timeline.
Rem's ears flicked once, uneasy.
The Archmage's voice went colder.
"And when they appear," she said, "it means something has changed."
She looked at Meliodas again.
"Or something is about to go very wrong."
Silence settled.
Not comfortable.
Not dramatic.
Just… heavy.
Meliodas kept his voice even.
"I don't know anything about fae lords."
The Archmage studied him for a long moment, as if testing whether that sentence was truth or strategy.
Then she nodded once—slow, accepting.
"I believe you," she said.
And that, somehow, was worse than disbelief.
Because it meant she believed he wasn't lying…
and still didn't know what he was.
Her eyes narrowed again.
"Which leaves the other explanation."
Valmor shifted. "Archmage—"
She lifted a hand without looking at him, silencing him effortlessly.
Her gaze stayed on Meliodas.
"Your master," she said.
The word master hung in the air, charged.
Kaelen flinched at it—pride and fear in equal measure. He wore the title like armor and like a collar.
Rem's eyes sharpened with interest.
The mage leaned forward slightly, hungry.
Meliodas didn't move.
The Archmage spoke slowly, as if she didn't like the words she was about to say.
"If someone taught you," she said, "they were not merely an Archmage."
Her mouth tightened.
"Because I am an Archmage."
She lifted her palm, and for a fraction of a second the air bent—subtle, elegant, a casual demonstration of control over mana density that made the warding runes in the room hum in sympathy.
Then she let it fade.
"And I could not do what you did," she said quietly.
Valmor's dread spiked again.
Kaelen's eyes widened.
Rem's tail flicked once, sharp.
The mage's face changed—something like worship and terror had started fighting inside him.
Meliodas said calmly, "Maybe you could. You just didn't have the right approach."
The Archmage laughed—small, genuine, surprised.
"A polite lie," she said fondly. "You really do have manners."
Her eyes narrowed again, returning to the dangerous part.
"And your sun."
Meliodas didn't react.
But everyone else did, subtly—because they'd heard stories now.
The second sun in Southval's tavern.
The way a drake had flinched at distant light, as if prey caught in a gaze.
The way "clean towns" had suddenly felt less clean.
The Archmage's voice went thoughtful.
"Sunlight shaped into will," she murmured. "Not fire. Not holy. Not standard radiance."
She looked at his hands like they were evidence.
"I have read grimoires that speak of solar authorities," she said. "Old texts. Fragmented. Mostly metaphor."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And none of them describe a mortal producing it like breathing."
Rem muttered, half-jealous, half-impressed, "He's annoying like that."
Meliodas glanced at her.
Rem smirked and leaned her head slightly against his upper arm as if claiming him again on principle.
It wasn't playful this time.
It was… grounding.
A quiet statement: I'm here. You're not alone. Also, you're still mine.
Kaelen saw it and looked away like he'd been stabbed by social damage.
Valmor noticed and looked confused in a way that suggested he didn't know whether to report it as a political threat.
The Archmage noticed and looked amused for exactly one heartbeat.
Then her gaze drifted upward to Bud.
And her expression changed.
Not interest.
Not amusement.
Caution.
She didn't speak at first.
She simply… focused.
Not with a visible spell.
Not with a chant.
With that subtle mental shift high-tier mages had—the kind that made the air feel like it was being measured.
Bud didn't move.
His light dimmed slightly.
Not fear.
Defiance.
The Archmage's eyes narrowed.
She leaned forward a fraction.
And then—
She went still.
Her pupils tightened.
A faint, involuntary chill ran through the room.
Valmor's hand moved toward his sword before he realized he was doing it.
The mage sucked in a breath.
Kaelen's posture stiffened protectively—instinctively stepping closer to Meliodas.
Rem's ears flattened and her tail curled tighter.
Meliodas felt it too.
Not through a scan.
Not through a perk.
Through the room.
Through the way the Archmage's body responded.
Dread.
Clean, pure dread.
The Archmage pulled her gaze away from Bud like she had just looked into a deep ocean and realized something was looking back.
She exhaled once.
Slow.
Controlled.
But her voice, when she spoke, had lost all playfulness.
"That," she said quietly, "is not a contract."
Meliodas didn't reply.
Bud's claws flexed into Meliodas's coat, a tiny, offended pressure.
The Archmage's eyes remained on Meliodas now, not Bud.
As if she had decided looking at Bud directly was unwise.
"I don't know what he is," she said softly. "But he carries… an echo."
Rem's eyes narrowed. "An echo of what?"
The Archmage didn't answer immediately.
And when she did, her words were careful.
"Of something I have only ever felt once," she said. "In a ruin that predates this kingdom."
Kaelen swallowed. "What did you feel?"
The Archmage's gaze sharpened with memory.
"…Pressure," she said.
Meliodas's mind clicked.
Pressure.
Direction.
He remembered the forest.
He remembered how the deeper presence didn't hunt—it asserted.
How the air itself had weight.
The Archmage looked toward the window, where Southval's walls and the distant tree line existed as shadows of a larger problem.
Then she looked back at Valmor.
Her respect and gratitude didn't make her soft.
It made her decisive.
"Commander," she said calmly. "Your retrieval is postponed."
Valmor stiffened. "Archmage, my orders—"
"Are human orders," she replied, still calm. "And humans die when they pretend orders matter more than reality."
Valmor's jaw tightened.
But he didn't argue further.
Because even a royal commander knew when the chain of command ended.
The Archmage turned her attention to Kaelen.
Her expression softened slightly—not kindness, exactly.
Something like… assessment.
"You awakened," she said.
Kaelen froze.
Rem's head lifted from Meliodas's arm, ears twitching sharply.
The mage in the corner went very still.
Meliodas didn't move, but his attention sharpened like a blade being drawn halfway.
Kaelen's voice came out thin.
"I—I don't know what you mean."
The Archmage's eyes narrowed.
"You do," she said simply.
Kaelen's hands trembled.
Valmor looked away.
That was answer enough.
Rem's tail flicked once, irritated—at the secrets, at the manipulation, at the way everyone treated Kaelen like a tool.
Meliodas felt something cold settle behind his ribs.
So she knew.
Not just "Kaelen is a prince."
She knew something deeper.
Something the King had kept hidden.
The Archmage looked back at Meliodas.
And for the first time since entering, she looked genuinely cautious.
"Whatever taught you," she said softly, "whatever shaped you… I don't want to become your enemy."
The words were quiet.
But they carried weight.
Because they were honest.
And honesty from an Archmage was rare enough to be a warning.
Meliodas met her gaze evenly.
"I don't want enemies," he said.
He didn't add but I will make them if I have to.
He didn't need to.
The Archmage nodded once, as if she understood what he didn't say.
Then she leaned back, letting the room breathe again.
Her voice returned to something lighter—not playful, but less sharp.
"You've done me a service," she said. "And I will repay it."
Valmor's eyes flicked up, wary.
Rem's gaze sharpened with interest.
Kaelen's breath caught.
The mage leaned forward slightly.
The Archmage continued, tone almost conversational.
"You need stability," she said to Meliodas. "A name that doesn't invite knives. A guild identity that does not collapse when someone sneezes suspicion."
Meliodas didn't react outwardly.
Inside, he admitted she wasn't wrong.
The Archmage's eyes gleamed.
"And you need your prince stronger," she added, glancing at Kaelen. "Because someone is searching for him, and the world is not gentle to boys with rare blood."
Kaelen flinched.
Rem's jaw tightened.
Meliodas's gaze cooled slightly.
The Archmage lifted a finger, as if making a point in a lecture.
"I can't stay long," she said. "But I can leave… guidance."
She paused, studying Meliodas again.
"And perhaps," she added thoughtfully, "I can learn whether your 'master' is truly a person… or a myth."
Meliodas held her gaze, calm.
"Don't dig too deep," he said quietly.
The Archmage's smile returned—small, respectful.
"I won't," she said.
Then, after a beat, she added honestly:
"…Unless the world forces my hand."
Outside the office, Southval continued its careful, controlled routine.
But inside, the shape of the story had shifted.
An Archmage had become an ally.
Or at least, something adjacent to one.
And she was afraid—just a little—of what Meliodas might be tied to.
Which meant the people who came for Kaelen would be afraid too.
And afraid people made stupid, violent decisions.
Rem's head settled back against Meliodas's arm, this time slower—more deliberate.
Her voice dropped, just for him.
"You're collecting dangerous women," she murmured.
Meliodas didn't look at her.
He kept his eyes on the Archmage.
"I'm not," he said.
Rem's tail flicked with amusement.
"Liar."
Bud's claws tightened once, a pulse through the bond.
Not words.
A feeling.
Be careful.
Meliodas exhaled quietly.
Yeah.
He'd noticed.
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[END OF CHAPTER 45]