Kill or Be Killed (Part 1)
The Academy was not only the world's foremost educational institution, but also its premier tourist destination.
The main academic hall closed its doors every weekend, and crowds invariably flooded the grounds on Saturdays and Sundays to marvel at the sights: towering spires whose summits vanished from sight even if you bent over backward, boundary barriers centuries ahead of their time, brimming with the very quintessence of magic, ancient tomes chronicling the history of dragons, and the bow reputed to have been wielded by the very first elf.
The Academy was a colossal museum, an art gallery, a sacred sanctuary revered by countless races, and the very Idea of magic for wizards everywhere.
Commoners who harbored little interest in such high-minded wonders, however, spent their time leisure-boating along the canal, sharing meals with their families as the gentle current carried the hours away. For a mere ninety coppers, the Four Seasons Canal Club would take visitors on a gondola ride circling the Academy's outer rim. They narrated the institution's grand history and offered pleasant chatter along the way, earning universal acclaim for offering such tremendous value.
Yet every year, the Four Seasons Canal claimed a handful of casualties. These were reckless souls who ignored the posted warnings, or who drank the canal water despite knowing better, swayed by foolish superstitions.
For all its pristine, crystal-clear appearance, the canal water harbored a poison so virulent that within three hours of ingestion, not even holy water consecrated by the Church could cleanse it.
"So please, exercise the utmost caution..." a club member warned today, pulling heartily at the gondola oars. "To be frank, even we find it baffling. The canal purification project began over three hundred years ago, yet its toxicity remains fiercely potent. Scholars still actively debate what manner of lethal poison it contained in ancient times, and how on earth it could ever be neutralized."
"How can I make this poison even stronger?"
"Do you really have to make it any stronger?" Belba asked, her tone heavy with exhaustion.
"Fair point. Come to think of it, if it's too lethal, students might accidentally fall in and drown."
"...It has been so long since you've had a normal thought!"
"That's why I included poison resistance training in the curriculum to prevent that. I tested it on my own body, so there are zero safety concerns."
I chuckled as Belba, utterly dumbfounded, went speechless.
In truth, ordinary venoms barely registered on me anymore. Starting with Plantera's venom, I had steadily built up my tolerance with various toxic herbs and venomous insects harvested from the jungle. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before I could kill a raptor just by spitting on it.
Why hadn't I thought of this sooner? Ice from the glacial zone. Fire from the Volcanic Zone. Each region possessed a starkly defined elemental affinity, which had left the jungle feeling rather underwhelming by comparison. Not anymore. Poison struck me as far more effective than ice or fire.
The methodology was simple.
First, prepare a liquid medium capable of holding the venom. Saliva worked, but quantity was limited, so blood was the standard choice. A light nick across the wrist, smear the blood over a weapon, and stab a raptor.
"Skreeeech! Kaaaargh!"
The raptor collapsed after holding out for exactly three seconds.
Of course, using it on raptors was hardly the ideal application, since it required close-quarters combat. This technique was meant for armored foes immune to ranged strikes. There was a separate method for hunting soft targets while maximizing Stealth.
From my sub-space, I retrieved a crimson needle I had crafted earlier. Frost swirled around it—my own blood, flash-frozen into a slender spine via ice manipulation. Loaded into a straw-like tube and blown with force, it had a range of around a hundred meters. Once embedded, body heat melted the ice, injecting the poison directly. Because it only delivered a minuscule dosage, it wasn't instantly lethal, but causing paralysis, blindness, and tangled mana circuits made combat vastly easier.
"Another gruesome invention..." Belba muttered. "But can such a tiny needle really fly a hundred meters?"
Ah, right. Belba had been busy searching for prospective Academy students lately, so she hadn't seen it in action.
It actually flew surprisingly far.
Loading the crimson thorn into a hollow wooden blowpipe, I drew a deep breath and puffed out. Pfft—!
Propelled by a fierce gale, it shot in a dead-straight line, sinking halfway into a tree trunk before swiftly melting down the bark in a crimson streak.
"...That's just you having absurd lung capacity."
Is that so? Honestly, I could hardly remember how weak I used to be. Sometimes I wondered how well I would fare if the present me were thrown back to the very beginning.
A month and a half after construction on The Academy began.
Inside a shelter woven from logs shaped like a shipping container, I gazed out at the gently rising full moon.
Then, Belba suddenly called out to me.
The urgent tone in her voice made me straighten up immediately.
"I'm so sorry! I... I should have investigated more thoroughly...!"
Seeing Belba in such a panic was a rare sight—well, not the first time, but definitely uncommon. I calmed her down with a measured voice and asked for a clear breakdown of the situation.
"That being has begun to act in earnest. They've dispatched sapient beings to this side..."
"The Voice?"
"Yes. I don't know how they bypassed my surveillance, but they've sent mercenaries this way. Most likely after your Dimensional Power."
When I asked about the mercenaries, Belba explained that their official designation was Dimensional Mercenary—contractors who crossed dimensions to carry out commissions. Hearing that, I had pictured something like sci-fi aliens, but she clarified they weren't. She added that interdimensional transit wasn't their own ability, but their contractor's power.
So their combat prowess was an unknown?
No. If they had the nerve to crawl into an isolated dimension like this, it was safe to assume they possessed considerable skill. No idiot gambled without confidence.
I grasped the situation, yet one lingering doubt remained.
"Belba. If sending mercenaries was an option, why hasn't anyone done it until now? It doesn't seem like dispatching them across dimensions is something only that bastard could pull off."
"Because preventing that is precisely my duty. A Watcher can conceal dimensions that cannot defend themselves."
"And you've been hiding it all this time?"
"Yes. This is a primordial dimension—civilization hasn't even emerged yet."
How strange. I tilted my head. There was a contradiction in her words.
"Then why was the barrier breached now?"
Belba answered without hesitation, as if she had been agonizing over the exact same thought. Her answer was rather absurd.
"I believe... it might be someone I know."
Hmm.
I had suspected something like this might happen ever since I realized Belba wasn't merely a disembodied voice. People turn green with envy when a distant relative strikes it rich; how could another Watcher not covet the primordial dimension assigned to Belba, brimming with untouched resources?
According to Belba, Watchers weren't fundamentally different from humans. They had vivid emotions and selfish desires. This collision was bound to happen eventually—unless Belba was a shut-in recluse with zero social footprint.
"......"
What was anticipated had simply arrived. Nothing to be alarmed about. I had prepared as best I could, and I had no regrets about my efforts.
"You can't stop them yourself, can you?"
"...No. Frustratingly, the legal pretext they used is valid under protocol, so my hands are tied."
Let's do this, then.
If they wanted to fight here, I, knowing the terrain, held every advantage.
I asked Belba for their armament and current coordinates.
Four orcs in full plate armor.
Ten elves bearing bows.
Fifteen humans in light cuirasses.
Fifty goblins in loincloths.
A colorful lineup. Did they take on a joint commission through some kind of guild? Yet racial prejudice seemed alive and well, as each group kept strictly to their own kind. What fantastic news.
The mercenaries had reportedly touched down somewhere between the Volcanic Zone and the jungle, a considerable distance from here. Leaping into the canopy and focusing mana into my eyes, I caught faint glimpses of them. Unbriefed on the specifics, they appeared bewildered by the Volcanic Zone's sweltering heat and the jungle's ferocious ecology.
The elves, however, scaled the trees with practiced agility and began scouting.
Those ones will be trouble.
If I didn't slaughter the pointy-ears first, they would become a major nuisance. They were already identifying toxic plants and venomous insects, slipping around them with ease. They had even shared that intel with the humans. Even if the orcs and goblins hadn't heard the warning, there was no telling when they might coordinate.
Hmm...
Given their reliance on bows, their raw combat power didn't seem overwhelming. In a direct melee, the orcs were the real threat. A single swing of their axes cleaved thick trunks in two; in sheer physical strength, they looked superior to me. Close-quarters combat with them was off the table.
If the mercenaries had brains, they'd steer clear of apex megafauna. And with Plantera dead, no creature in this jungle could wipe them all out. Watching them butcher small dinosaurs left and right, I understood why Belba had said this dimension required protection. This world had zero means to defend itself against an advanced civilization.
"Stay quiet and hide."
I tucked Miho and the young demon children into the hidden shelter I had prepared beforehand, providing them with ample food and water.
In the end, it's just me.
A wry smile touched my lips at the familiar isolation. Drawing a dagger from my sub-space, I returned to the canopy to scout. They had already closed much of the distance, scanning their surroundings as if looking for something.
Probably me.
Better to strike first than wait around.
Leaping through the branches, I surged forward. The gap between us closed in heartbeats.
Just then, the lead elf raised a hand, commanding the unit's attention.
"Hold. There's an unusual presence."
"Is it the target?"
"Most likely."
I didn't slow down. Instead, I channeled mana along the edge of my dagger, bracing for impact.
"It's coming!"
A volley of arrows shot toward me as if they had been waiting for the word. Even when I twisted mid-air to evade, the projectiles curved on uncanny trajectories, homing into my flesh like guided missiles.
Doesn't matter. This isn't enough to stop me.
Lunging for the commander directing the squad, I slashed my dagger. The elf brought up their bow with blinding speed to parry—leaving them blind to the knife-hand thrust rising from below.
My fingers punched straight through the elf's abdomen.
Naturally, that hand was dripping with venomous blood.
"Im... possible..."
I kicked the reeling elf from the branch, letting them plummet, and tore out the embedded arrows. My wounds began knitting closed almost instantly. I had wondered if the arrows were poisoned, but apparently not.
I met the gaze of the remaining elves. Their eyes were wide, drowned in shock and terror.
What are they doing?
A little baffled, I asked, "Aren't you going to fight?"
Only one had died. It might have been unexpected, but this was no time to freeze up. The law of survival had always been the same: kill, or be killed. Nobody wanted to die, after all.
"......"
"That's more like it."
Watching them draw their bowstrings with grim, hardened expressions, I smiled back.