The atmosphere inside the tent was thick with tension.

Several figures gathered around a round table—five of them seated as clear leaders among the crowd. Three men and two women.

One young man appeared only seventeen or eighteen, standing about five-foot-six. His jet-black hair was tied into a single ponytail. Though youthful, his features were exquisitely carved—sharp yet delicate, undeniably handsome enough to draw quiet gasps. His expression remained stern, but even that severity couldn’t mask his beauty.

Beside him sat an elegant Elf and a burly laborer-type man with coarse dark skin, narrow eyes, and a rugged frame. The Elf, though equally fair, paled beside the youth. It was a matter of presence. The Elf carried the common grace of nobles or mages—refined but fragile. The young man radiated a knight’s steadfast reliability. The difference was stark.

The two women, though attractive, lacked that commanding aura. At a glance, they seemed merely a spellcaster and a swordswoman.

"Who can explain this?"

After a heavy silence, the young man rapped the table. His voice held a neutral lilt. "I clearly ordered maximum alert after yesterday’s griffin attacks. No slackening." He paused, scanning the room with sharp eyes. "So what is this?"

"Our sky knights lose control the moment they ascend—hit by a *Lightness* spell ten times too strong. Fine. No solution yet. But *this*?" His voice rose. "Gunpowder swapped for fireworks that lit up the night! Soldiers’ rations crawling with revolting insects! Human waste raining from the sky! Last night, half the camp ran naked under illusions—and not a single casualty! Do you know what that means?"

No one dared speak.

"Shame!" He slammed the table again, brows furrowed. "The Overlord did this. He could’ve detonated the gunpowder. Poisoned our food. Dropped bombs instead of filth. Made us slaughter each other under those illusions! But he didn’t. He doesn’t even consider us worth killing!"

"... ..."

Silence swallowed the tent.

"Holy Son," the swordswoman sighed, stepping forward. "We all know the Overlord’s power. Expecting regular troops to counter him is unreasonable..."

"Oh? Then why did few in *my* knights fall for his tricks?" Xia Xi’s voice turned icy.

"...If you insist on that, I’ve nothing more to say." She spread her hands. "I’ve tried my hardest as the Champion—thirty-first in line—but caught no trace of him. Tell me, Holy Son, have *you* found any sign of this ‘Daytime Overlord’?"

"...No."

Xia Xi’s reply was clipped.

"Exactly. Calm down. Anger ages you." She waved a hand. "If even *you* can’t track him, how can you blame others? We can only defend for now." She shrugged. "And stop nitpicking. Most soldiers here were rushed in—zero experience against Overlords. Honestly, Holy Son, are you *certain* you can behead the First Overlord? I’m just the thirty-first Champion. I’d flee before facing a Duke of the Demon Race, let alone an Overlord."

Xia Xi fell silent, staring at her.

*Heh. This girl’s refreshingly blunt.*

Watching the Champion spar with the Holy Son from the crowd, I found myself liking her.

Key is—she doesn’t hold back. I like that.