Rise of the F-Rank Hero-Chapter 146: Ill intent

Inside the room, the silence had returned, broken only by heavy breathing.

Oliver had collapsed onto the sofa, completely spent, his arm thrown over his eyes. He was out cold, drifting into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Isolde lay on the table for a moment longer, basking in the afterglow. Then, her crimson eyes snapped open. She sat up, her body sticky and satisfied, and looked toward the door.

She had heard the thump. And the frantic footsteps.

She slid off the table, her bare feet making no sound on the rug. She grabbed her silk robe, wrapped it loosely around her curvaceous frame, and walked to the door.

She opened it.

The hallway was empty. But Isolde looked down.

There, right at the threshold, was a large, glistening puddle. The air smelled faintly of sweet musk—distinctly feminine, and distinctly not hers.

Isolde touched the wet spot with her toe, a slow, wicked grin spreading across her face.

"My, my," she chuckled darkly, looking down the empty hall where the redhead had fled. "It seems the Saintess has committed a sin."

Laughing softly to herself, she stepped back inside and locked the door. She walked over to the couch where Oliver lay sprawled, kissed his forehead, and curled up beside him.

"Sweet dreams, Master. You were quite popular tonight."

****

The next morning, the atmosphere in the dining hall was... weird.

Oliver sat at the table, nursing a cup of strong coffee. He felt surprisingly energized, despite the marathon session the night before. But he was confused.

Sitting at the far end of the table—as far away from him as physically possible—was Amy.

She was hiding behind Lisa, her head bowed so low her nose was practically touching her plate. Her face was a bright, burning red. Every time Oliver shifted in his chair, she flinched.

"Good morning, Amy," Oliver called out, trying to be normal.

Amy squeaked. She didn’t look up. She just shoveled a spoon of dry oatmeal into her mouth and chewed aggressively.

"Is... she okay?" Oliver whispered to Elisha.

Elisha looked baffled. "I’m not sure. She was perfectly fine yesterday. In fact, she was clinging to your arm all day. Now she acts like you’re a ghost."

"Maybe she’s sick?" Lisa suggested, feeling Amy’s forehead. "You’re burning up, Amy."

"I’m fine!" Amy yelped, pulling away. She finally glanced at Oliver, but her eyes immediately darted to his lap, then to his hands, and she turned an even deeper shade of crimson. "I’m just... thinking about the expedition!"

Oliver scratched his head. "Okay... well, we need to go over the formation—"

"I agree with Lisa!" Amy shouted, standing up abruptly. "I need to go prepare! Bye!"

She practically ran out of the room, knocking her chair over in the process.

The table fell silent.

"What is going on?" Oliver muttered, watching her retreat. "Just yesterday she was fighting Isolde for my attention, and today she can’t even look at me."

Beside him, Isolde sipped her tea, looking radiant and smug. She bit into a strawberry, chewing it slowly.

"Who knows?" Isolde purred, her crimson eyes glinting with a secret. "Maybe she saw something she shouldn’t have."

Oliver looked at her. "Like what?"

Isolde just smirked and placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently.

"Like a monster, Master. A very big, scary monster."

****

Three days passed in a blur of preparation, strategy meetings, and—thanks to Isolde—very little sleep.

The morning of the expedition arrived with a heavy gray sky, the clouds hanging low over the capital like a shroud.

Oliver stood near the designated meeting point at the edge of the merchant district, checking his gear. He wore his usual dark combat coat, his mask firmly in place. Beside him stood Isolde, dressed in sleek, enchanted leather armor that hugged her curves dangerously well, a rapier at her hip.

On Oliver’s shoulder sat a sleek, metallic hawk with glowing silver eyes.

"Analysis," the hawk squawked in a low, monotone voice. "Aerodynamic form is acceptable. However, the lack of opposable thumbs is a tactical disadvantage."

"Quiet, Sera," Oliver whispered. "You’re a companion beast. Beasts don’t talk about tactical disadvantages. Just look menacing."

"Acknowledged. Initiating ’Menacing Glare’ protocol." The bird puffed up its feathers and stared unblinkingly at a nearby stray cat, which promptly hissed and ran away.

"Where is Ariana?" Isolde asked, adjusting her gloves.

"Safe at the Guest Palace," Oliver replied. "She’s running comms. If we need an emergency extraction, she’s the one who’ll signal the guild."

They walked toward the gathering spot near the city gates.

The elite team was already there.

The Seven Heroes stood at the front. Daniel was polishing his holy sword, looking every bit the shining leader. Ren, the Rogue, was leaning against a wall sharpening a dagger. Sophia was reading a book, and Lisa was checking her staff.

Behind them stood a group of grim-faced Royal Knights and Court Mages—veterans who looked far more competent than the nobles from the first failed raid.

As Oliver and Isolde approached, heads turned.

"About time you arrived," a snarky voice cut through the morning air.

Jason, the Warrior, stepped forward, crossing his massive arms. He looked down at Oliver with a sneer.

"Did the Princess’s favor get to your head? Making everyone wait like you’re royalty?"

Oliver checked the clock tower in the distance. "I think I’m on time. In fact, we’re five minutes early. It’s just that you guys are here ahead of schedule."

"What?" William stepped out from behind Jason, his face twisting into a scowl. "You dare talk back to us, mercenary? It seems like I will have to beat some sense into you."

He cracked his knuckles, stepping into Oliver’s personal space.

"Oh~"

A chilly, amused voice drifted from beside Oliver.

Isolde stepped forward, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her rapier. But the air around her grew heavy, vibrating with suppressed mana.

"I want to see how you beat some sense into us," she purred, her crimson eyes locking onto William with predatory focus.

She knew. Oliver had told her exactly who had kicked him into the circle. She had been itching to flay William alive since she heard the story. This was her chance.

"Come on," she taunted, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Draw your weapon, little boy. Let’s see if your sword is as big as your mouth."

William flinched, sensing the genuine bloodlust radiating from her.

"Hey, guys, calm down!" Daniel stepped between them, raising his hands. "We are not fighting among ourselves. Not today."

"Yeah," Lisa sighed, rubbing her temples. "And it’s not like they are late. We still have some time before departure, so stop picking on others, William. It’s getting old."

William clicked his tongue, glaring at Oliver but backing down.

Just then, the sound of running footsteps echoed on the cobblestones.

"Sorry guys! I was a little late! I was held up in... something."

Amy came jogging up to the group, breathless, her cheeks flushed. She was dressed in her white and gold Saintess robes, holding her staff.

She stopped, sensing the tension in the air. "Did... did I miss something?"

Isolde let out a soft, cryptic laugh.

"Oh, sorry won’t do, Saintess. You better be careful. Some guys here are into ’beating sense’ into people for being late."

Amy blinked. She looked at Lisa questioningly.

Lisa just rolled her eyes and pointed a thumb at William and Jason. "The usual."

Amy’s expression shifted instantly.

Normally, she would have laughed it off or tried to mediate. But not today. Not after what she knew.

She turned her gaze toward William. It wasn’t the warm look of a teammate. It was cold. Venomous.

"Oh, is that it?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She walked past William, not even looking him in the eye.

"I never knew you were so strong, William, that you go around beating people up for being five minutes late. It seems you don’t need my help then."

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her green eyes icy.

"If you’re that tough, I guess I no longer have to apply buffs or heal you anymore. You can handle the monsters yourself, right?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

William stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape. "Amy...?"

"Save it," she snapped, walking over to stand next to Lisa—and noticeably closer to Oliver.

****

William stared at Amy’s back, his mind reeling.

What... what was that?

He had known Amy since middle school. She was always the nice one. The pushover. She never got angry, and she certainly never looked at him with... hatred.

Why is she looking at me like I’m trash?

His eyes darted to the masked adventurer standing nearby. He saw the way Amy subtly shifted her stance to be near him. He saw the way she glanced at the masked man with concern, checking if he was okay.

A dark, twisting knot of jealousy tightened in William’s gut.

It’s him. It’s that bastard.

William ground his teeth.

Actually, William had liked Amy for years. Back on Earth, he had always tried to get her attention. He was the star athlete. He was popular. He was strong.

But Amy never looked at him.

Her eyes were always on that loser. Oliver Shaw.

The quiet kid in the back. The F-rank trash.

William hated Oliver. He hated him with a burning passion because he couldn’t understand why Amy—the perfect, beautiful Amy—wasted her time on a nobody like that.

That was why he did it.

That was why, in the dungeon, when the escape circle activated, he had seen his chance.

’If he’s gone,’ William had thought, ’she’ll finally look at me. She’ll need comfort. She’ll need a strong shoulder.’

So he kicked him. He watched Oliver fall into the darkness, and he smiled.

And it had worked... for a while. Amy had been sad, but she had relied on the party. She had relied on him for protection.

But now?

Now, this new guy—this mercenary—shows up out of nowhere and suddenly Amy is looking at him with those same eyes. The eyes she used to give Oliver.

It’s happening again, William thought, his grip on his sword tightening until the leather creaked. Another nobody is taking her away from me.

He glared at Oliver’s back, his eyes burning with malice.

I got rid of one pest, William thought, a cruel smirk twisting his face. I can get rid of another.