Unfortunately, there was no way I could carry Joe all the way to the dical wing in the underworld by myself.
The man was absurdly heavy.
Not just "a bit bigger than average" heavy—
but the kind of heavy that made you question your own life choices.
I tried hoisting him up again, grunting as I adjusted his arm over my shoulder.
Nope.
He didn’t even budge properly.
"This won’t do... Verren."
—Grunt?
The massive lion lifted his head from where he’d been lounging, blue eyes blinking lazily at .
"Lend your back."
Verren tilted his head slightly.
Honestly, ever since the ducal family started spoiling him with premium cuts of at, he had grown to a ridiculous size. His shoulders were broad, his body long and powerful—easily comparable to a full-grown adult horse in mass.
Big enough to carry a person.
Or eat one.
"I’ll leave this guy to you."
—Growl!
Before I could react, Verren bared his teeth and opened his mouth wide—
directly over Joe’s unconscious body.
"Heyyyyy!"
Verren froze mid-motion.
Slowly, very slowly, he looked up at .
"You can’t eat him!"
The lion glanced back at Joe.
Then at .
Then back at Joe again.
A thin string of drool slid from his fangs and dripped onto the stone floor.
This damn lion.
I walked over and smacked his massive forehead lightly.
"Look. Just help out and I’ll feed you sothing good later. Real at. Fresh. Juicy. Not unconscious-human at."
At the word at, his ears perked up instantly.
His tail began to sway.
Once.
Twice.
Then it started thumping against the ground like a war drum.
"Right. That’s the spirit," I sighed. "Such a smart one when you want to be."
Verren huffed proudly.
Together, with much effort and far too much dragging, we managed to lift Joe onto Verren’s back. The lion shifted carefully, adjusting his stance so Joe wouldn’t roll off.
For a creature that had just tried to eat him, Verren was surprisingly gentle.
"Good. Keep steady."
—Hrrm.
Gone was the wild, unruly beast that caused chaos during walks. Now he moved slowly and deliberately, each step asured to keep Joe balanced.
Whether he understood that Joe was injured or simply valued the promised at more, I couldn’t tell.
"Always such a clever one," I muttered.
I glanced back to make sure he was following properly before heading toward the underground passage that led to the underworld’s prison wing—where the ergency dical ward was located.
The torches along the stone corridor flickered as we passed.
Joe’s breathing was shallow.
Too shallow.
"...Seriously," I murmured. "Who did this to you?"
When I had first found him, I thought it was a monster attack.
But the closer I looked while wrapping the bandages earlier, the clearer it beca—
These weren’t claw marks.
They weren’t bite wounds.
They weren’t blunt-force injuries from a beast.
Spears.
Swords.
Magic burns.
Precise.
Deliberate.
Even the cuts had clean entry angles—no wild slashing, no desperation. Whoever did this knew exactly how to handle weapons.
"Was there a dispute among rcenaries?"
The question had barely left my mouth when—
—chi.
A familiar, almost nostalgic sound echoed in my head.
A translucent blue panel unfolded before my eyes.
---
[New Objective Detected]
Important Character ’Joe’ is currently being chased by unknown assailants.
Ensure his protection and secure his survival.
Compensation: Increased favorability with Joe, ???
Consequence of Failure: Joe will die.
---
I stared at the final line longer than I should have.
"...You’ve got to be kidding ."
It had been a while since I’d seen a prompt like this. The system had been quiet lately—too quiet.
And as always, my eyes didn’t linger on the reward.
They locked onto the penalty.
Joe will die.
"Death?" I muttered. "Wasn’t Joe perfectly alive in the original storyline?"
In Under the Chandelier, Joe wasn’t so disposable side character. He was a stable mid-ga ally. Solid stats, dependable personality, optional but extrely useful route investnt.
He wasn’t supposed to die here.
Which ant—
"...Is this because of ?"
There was only one explanation.
In the original flow, Joe joined a rcenary band after a minor altercation in town. Nothing life-threatening. Just a stepping stone before his recruitnt event.
But I had interfered with that flow simply by existing differently.
I hadn’t done anything dramatic.
No villain monologue.
No grand sabotage.
But even small changes could ripple outward.
A butterfly effect.
And Joe was apparently standing right in the path of the storm I’d created.
"This is insane," I muttered under my breath. "I got dragged into sothing troubleso."
If this really was the divergence point, then eting now might actually make his survival rate worse.
That thought sent a dull ache behind my eyes.
If he dies because of —
No.
I clicked my tongue softly.
"Tsk. No. Think positively."
Panicking wouldn’t help anyone.
This could also be—
An opportunity.
Joe owing his life wasn’t a small thing.
In Echoes of the Crimson Throne, he might not have been popular in the visual novel community—too practical, not flashy enough, no tragic romance bait.
But I didn’t play it as a romance ga.
I played it as an RPG.
And I dissected it thoroughly.
Joe was incredibly valuable.
Combat-wise?
He was a rcenary through and through. Strong base endurance. High stability. Excellent aggro control if properly geared.
Give him the right equipnt and position him correctly—
He becos one of the most reliable vanguards in the early-to-mid ga.
And as a supporter?
That’s where he truly shines.
Blacksmithing.
Jewelry crafting.
Enhancent bonuses.
Hidden passive synergy with certain rare materials.
If I raise his favorability high enough, equipnt progression becos absurdly smoother.
Which ans—
The difficulty curve bends in my favor.
’Raising his affection makes everything easier.’
The system wasn’t subtle about it either.
Protect him. Increase affinity.
Classic.
I studied Joe’s face as he lay unconscious across Verren’s broad back.
Glossy white hair spilled over his forehead, even in this state sohow neat rather than ssy.
Sharp brows. A straight nose. Clean jawline.
Even pale from blood loss, even breathing shallowly—
he still looked like he belonged on a cathedral mural rather than bleeding out in the snow.
’As expected of a male lead. Ridiculously handso.’
It was almost irritating.
Most people looked worse when they were half-dead. Joe, on the other hand, looked like he’d just finished filming a tragic hero scene.
Better yet, even with that sickly pallor, there was sothing luminous about him. The kind of face that drew attention without trying.
’With those looks... he’d make a perfect counterpart to the saintess.’
A holy maiden shining in light, and a pale, silver-haired knight at her side.
The image practically built itself.
Let’s proceed as originally planned.
The pursuers were still sowhere behind us. That much I could feel.
But once we crossed into the northern underworld district, the situation would shift. The nobles and military technically controlled it—but control and visibility were two very different things.
In the underworld, information flowed faster than law.
"We’re nearing the underworld," I muttered.
Verren let out a low rumble beneath Joe’s weight.
Even in his snow-lion form, he moved silently, paws barely disturbing the frost.
From a distance, the northern underworld looked like any other district of the city—stone buildings, narrow streets, chimneys breathing out thin trails of smoke.
But the atmosphere changed as you approached.
Less laughter.
More watching.
Even as a servant of the Draken family, stepping openly into this place felt... awkward.
’I could throw on a robe.’
That would solve my identity problem.
The issue was the massive, silver-maned predator.
Verren’s coat shimred under the pale northern sky. His mane flowed like polished steel. He didn’t just attract attention—
he demanded it.
Every child would point. Every thug would stare. Every information broker would rember.
That wasn’t ideal.
"...Maybe I’ll use this."
A translucent window flickered faintly at the edge of my vision.
[Ally Camouflage – Rank B]
A skill I’d acquired after defeating the Twilight beast.
Not flashy.
Not destructive.
But incredibly practical.
I placed a hand on Verren’s neck and channeled mana carefully.
"Stay still," I murmured.
Verren huffed in mild offense.
I am always dignified, his expression seed to say.
Black magic seeped from my palm—not sinister, just dense. Controlled. It flowed over his body like ink poured into water.
For a brief second, his silver fur darkened completely.
Then the illusion settled.
I stepped back.
"...Hmm."
The magnificent silver was gone.
In its place—
Brown fur. Slightly coarse.
Black spots scattered across his body.
His mane shortened, losing its regal volu.
Instead of a mythical snow lion that could command a battlefield—
he now looked like a particularly large, slightly intimidating hunting wolf.
Verren blinked.
Then turned his head slowly, trying to catch sight of himself.
He glanced at his reflection in a frozen puddle.
The look he gave was deeply betrayed.
"...It’s temporary," I said quickly.
He let out a low growl.
—Growl!
"I couldn’t very well parade you through the underworld like a royal parade float."
—Growl!
Another growl.
This is not looking good.
Then this all i can do.
"I’ll give you more at."
At the na of at he shut up instantly.
Ugh...this damn lion!
At this rate he’s going to eat away all my salary!
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