Chapter 112
Chapter 112
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 112
>Chapter Title: People Who Travel to Conflict Zones for Vacation (4)
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*
On the way to the treasury, Nabelun was flushed with excitement, exclaiming in admiration. Most of it was praise for the Scribe.
“Isn’t he a truly remarkable man? To remain so composed when his treasured son has been abducted by that faction!”
“Indeed.”
“He never once mentioned his son to you. He asked for this land to be returned, clearly defining the ‘operational objective’ you spoke of, did he not? To choose his people over his son. He is truly a model for all… an incarnation of Averagism!”
“…Indeed.”
Ivan nodded without much reaction. At the same time, he thought to himself that from the perspective of a ‘human’ not steeped in Averagism, the Scribe’s words were incredibly subtle.
The Scribe’s request had been simple.
-Return to us the remaining half of this mountain range.
This was a highly political statement. To the dwarves, it could be heard as, ‘Deal with the remnants of Aviditas and end the war.’
Perhaps because they were directly involved, the dwarves placed the ‘remnants of Aviditas’ and the ‘dwarf rebels’ on the same level. But the situation was more complex than that.
While it was true that the dwarf rebels were being manipulated like puppets by the necromancers, eliminating those necromancers wouldn’t make the rebels suddenly vanish.
A chasm had already formed between the two factions, too deep to even consider reconciliation. A surrender document was no different from a waiver of rights, a request to be led to the execution block.
The Scribe knew this. He knew that killing Aviditas would not return half the mountain range, nor could Ivan simply clean up the remaining dwarf rebels.
His role was limited to that of a strike team and a rescue team. All-out war was not his specialty.
‘The Scribe hasn't given up on his son.’
Therefore, the conclusion Ivan reached was this:
To his own people, he acted as if he were giving a solemn command, appearing as a ‘great leader who sacrificed his son for the nation.’
It must have been a painful last resort. With half his people having turned their backs on him, his leadership might have already been called into question. To project powerful charisma, one must have the resolve to sacrifice even a child.
Furthermore, requesting aid from humans was also a political risk. After the civil war ended, it would be difficult to shake the image of a dictator who colluded with an enemy to massacre his own people.
So, he couldn't directly ask for his son to be rescued.
-Return to us the remaining half of this mountain range.
The Scribe was implying that he was the master of this entire mountain range. Beyond the hollow pretense of Averagism, this great dictator was certain of his own dominion, one that far surpassed any feudal authority.
But at the same time,
-Return the remaining half to me.
He was also a father acknowledging that his son was his other half.
If he had intended to order the assassination of Aviditas's remnants while abandoning his son, he would have used more efficient rhetoric.
‘And he even set up a failsafe.’
On the surface, once the political undertones were stripped away, his statement appeared to be an order to ‘assassinate the remnants of Aviditas.’ The official request would surely be worded as such.
Therefore, if Ivan were to rescue the son and forgo striking the enemy's leadership, the Scribe would use it as leverage to gain an upper hand in diplomacy with Krasilov.
The support force’s misjudgment had created a crisis in the war.
Conversely, prioritizing the assassination of the leadership would also cause problems. The original, official request for support made to Krasilov had been for the ‘rescue of the Scribe’s son.’
‘If he wanted to prevent the war in the first place, he would have requested support from the Northern Military Command.’
If Krasilov’s support forces solved everything, the dwarves would be left as nothing more than a vassal state. He must have prepared such measures to ensure his people’s independence.
A very, very difficult and seasoned politician.
“Enrique.”
“Hm?”
“Hiek?!”
Nabelun stared in shock at Enrique, who had suddenly dropped down from the ceiling. In this heavily guarded secret passage leading from the Scribe’s palace to the treasury, Enrique had been secretly lying in wait.
Before Nabelun could even react, Ivan looked at her and spoke.
“How much did you hear?”
“Everything.”
“Do you understand the situation?”
“Yes.”
“I’m counting on you.”
The mature old woman, who had lived for over 200 years, wisely grasped the entire situation from their short exchange.
As partners who had worked together for a long time, Ivan had gained some very reliable assistance.
‘What the Scribe wants is both the assassination of the necromancers and the rescue of his son.’
‘Those two objectives are impossible to achieve simultaneously.’
‘And as long as both are not achieved, the Scribe will attempt to gain an advantage in official diplomacy with Krasilov.’
Ultimately, that man had prepared things so that as long as this civil war didn't end in his defeat, he would profit from any outcome.
In that case, it was time to teach him a lesson.
Being ordered around like a servant by these moles, only to have them try and extort him, was simply not a good deal.
Ivan’s statement that ‘the two objectives cannot be achieved simultaneously’ was not wrong.
If one excluded the pronoun ‘I.’
And he was not alone here. With him was his mentor, who had personally guided all his tactics; his partner, who had roamed the battlefields with him; and a veteran who had served as the scout and tactical support in the rear of the Hero's Party.
Ivan alone could replace an entire strike team from the Annihilation Squad.
And with Enrique at his side, their current strength was in no way inferior to the strike team that had assassinated the Seven Dragon Generals back in the day.
Once the dwarves learned that fact, they would have to learn something more than rhetoric in their diplomatic dealings: ‘courtesy.’
They would have to remember that at the end of the railway line connecting Frichenkaya to Andgrund, the [Poison Spider] and the [Shadow Blade] were always lurking.
“Which way is my disciple going? Rescue?”
“No.”
“Right, figured as much. Alright, I’ll take rescue, you take assassination. Let’s do that.”
“See you at the operations room.”
“Yep. Have fun shopping.”
Enrique cackled and melted back into the darkness.
Ignoring the astonished Nabelun, Ivan walked on, thinking quietly.
The mission to rescue the Scribe’s son would be handled by Enrique, and the task of cleaning up Aviditas’s remnants would be his own.
This division of labor was no different from Enrique yielding her time for revenge.
*I’m coming soon. I’ll be there before long. Please, just wait a little longer.*
Ivan moved forward, whispering softly to the necromancers lurking somewhere at the end of the tunnels.
*
Andgrund, in the ancient dwarven runic language, meant [The World]. While this signified dwarven arrogance, it was also a word that hinted at the richness of this underground realm.
There was no need to venture outside. All minerals, all produce, all foundations were here, beneath the earth.
It was another [World] in itself, spread wide and deep beneath the Sky Mountains, the great wall that stretched across the continent's north.
Here, the dwarves had waged wars as old as their history. Sometimes with the demons of the north, sometimes with native subterranean creatures, and occasionally with outside invaders. And finally, conflicts between the dwarven clans themselves.
This all meant one thing. Just as humanity’s domain is small compared to the world, the dwarf population was clearly insufficient for the breadth of [The World].
In other words, in the vast caverns and the dark world beneath the earth, on the frontiers of dwarven civilization, troop vacuums were bound to occur.
-Ssshk… ksshk…!
“Not again, damn it.”
At the relay station in the 6th tunnel of the 17th outpost, the on-duty soldier responsible for the communication network with three surrounding outposts grumbled and put down the receiver.
Due to the solid bedrock and the mana-rich mineral veins, all forms of communication had to be done by messenger or via mana-conducting wires. (Sadly, due to the dwarves’ height, messengers were not a viable option. Short legs meant slow walking speeds.)
No matter how delicate a product of manufacturing engineering it was, a communication line was prone to breaking. Simply stepping on one with a boot heel was often enough to sever a connection.
Thus, the static from the receiver was just another one of those routine problems.
“Hello, hello, can you hear me? This is the relay station, relay station. 5th tunnel, respond.”
-Ssshk… ksshk.
“The 5th tunnel is dead too?”
Yawning, the dwarf scratched his beard and muttered.
The front lines had been static for some time, devoid of any tension, and those ‘corpse-lovers’ in the rear were holed up somewhere preparing something. As such, in this outpost far from the front, the reality of war felt nonexistent.
It was a routine watch, just like any other. And like all watches, it was mostly spent half-asleep, writing the duty log every hour, and secretly munching on jerky while making the rounds of calls.
But at this time, when reports should have been coming in from each tunnel outpost every ten minutes, there had been no response for the past thirty minutes.
“Hello, 4th tunnel? Do you read me?”
-Ssshk….
“…9th tunnel. Do you read me? Respond. Relay station, this is the relay station.”
-Ssshk. Ksshk….
At this point, a sense of unease began to creep in. This level of radio silence couldn't be caused by just one broken wire.
Only then did the word ‘war’ begin to whisper in the dwarf’s mind. Though it was an outer outpost far from the front, he was still a rebel.
All rebels in this world are prone to paranoia. It was obvious that if captured, they would be dragged to the execution block. The moment the threat of war came to mind, the on-duty soldier began frantically pressing the buttons on the communicator.
“1st tunnel, 2nd tunnel… 11th tunnel!! 16th outpost, respond. 15th outpost! 19th outpost!!”
-Ssshk, ksshk, kshk….
“Northwest Command, this is the 15th outpost, 15th outpost relay station. Respond!”
-Ksshk. Kshk.
This was clearly not a matter of one or two broken wires. It was impossible for all the lines leading from the numerous tunnels to be severed at the same time by chance.
It was someone’s intentional sabotage. But dwarves carrying out such sabotage, this far in the rear? That was impossible even back when they still had the [Earth-Web Excavator].
The soldier on duty nervously scratched his beard, his small eyes darting around.
“…Gulp.”
There were five tunnels radiating from the relay station. One led to the rear command headquarters, so he scanned the four forward tunnels haphazardly, swallowing hard.
How long until the next watch arrived? Damn it, when he got back, he would insist that duty be done in pairs. No matter how far in the rear they were, no matter how short-staffed the front lines were, this was too much.
-Thoom.
Just then, a heavy echo sounded from a distant tunnel. The soldier let out a yelp, “Hiek!” and quickly raised his pistol.
-Thoom!
“Hkkk!!”
A white mana lamp, which had been faintly illuminating the tunnel, went out with a pop. That was in the direction of the 14th outpost…. The soldier licked his dry lips and aimed his pistol with a trembling hand.
Again.
-Thooom—!!
A light went out in the opposite tunnel.
-Thooom—!!
In another tunnel, and then another.
Finally, darkness fell upon all four tunnels leading to the forward outposts.
The panicked soldier hastily picked up the receiver and began frantically pressing buttons.
“Anyone, respond! Emergency! This is an emergency!! Requesting backup!!! I’m requesting backup!!”
The terrified dwarf’s screams echoed loudly inside the relay station. The only response was a static-filled silence.
As the faint mana lamp of the station barely held back the darkness just before him, a *click* was heard from the receiver.
“Can you hear me? Can you hear me?! Oh, ancestors. Damn it. Comrade!! This is the relay station. 17th outpost relay station! Requesting backup!!”
-Location?
“Damn it, location?! Are there two relay stations at the 17th outpost? It’s the one in the 6th tunnel of the 17th outpost!! Hurry! This is an emergency!!”
-Understood.
With a *thud*, the line went dead.
Only then did the soldier feel as if his mind had magically returned. His fear-soaked brain began to actively absorb oxygen, filled with a sense of relief.
He panted for a moment, and then a thought finally managed to form in his newly rational mind.
‘Wait a minute. Who… was that?’
He had been pressing the buttons randomly, so he couldn’t tell which outpost had responded. And even if an outpost had replied, there was no way they would skip communication protocols and get straight to the point.
Even if such a case existed, they would never ask for the relay station’s location.
And even if, by some miracle, they didn’t know the location… they would never end the call like that.
‘Who was it? Who was it…! Who?’
Was it the ‘Averagists’? Or… or maybe demons who broke through the outer gates on this side? Or… or…
-Do not be alone at the end of a dark tunnel.
An old saying flashed through his mind.
-The Poison Spider is coming.
A whisper from years past, now relegated to superstition.
The festivals the dwarves had held after all the involved parties were dead had significantly diluted the fear of that old superstition, and now it was nothing more than a nursery rhyme to scare children.
But it was a saying that all dwarves who remembered that time, all who had combat experience, would occasionally recall with a shudder.
-Thud, thud, thud.
The sound of footsteps came from the end of the tunnel.
The dwarf instinctively raised his gun and fired in the direction of the sound.
*Bang, bang! Tiiing….* The sound of shell casings clattering, of bullets striking something in the tunnel and ricocheting. And through it all.
-Thud, thud, thud.
The footsteps did not stop.
“Identify yourself! I-Identify! Identify yourseeeelf!!”
-Bang!! Bang! *Click, tick. Tick. Tick.*
Even as the firing pin struck the empty chamber in vain, he didn't dare reload, his trembling hands just aiming at the end of the tunnel.
Tears streamed down his face as the dwarf trembled, a rhythmic sound echoing in his ears.
As regular as a beating heart, as slow and quiet as a noose tightening around his neck.
-Thud, thud, thud.
*
“Relay to Enrique. Northern 5th Gate, infiltration successful.”
“Yes, Senior! Northern 5th Gate, infiltration successful!!”
“Quietly.”
“Yes, Senior!!”
“Quiet.”
“Yeees… Senior!!”
Ivan glanced at the playfully grinning Lucia and let out a quiet sigh.
Lucia grinned and then squeezed her eyes shut.
Her mana flickered for a moment, and red veins bulged on her pale skin.
Vampiring, a life signal transmitted through the ancestral bloodline.
It couldn't be used for complex conversations, but short signals could be sent regardless of terrain within a certain distance. *Thump, thump, thump.* A signal like a heartbeat.
As Morse code, invented in the early 19th century, had proven, single-burst signals were an excellent form of communication. It wasn't for nothing that Enrique ran an intelligence organization.
And Enrique’s direct disciple, half-vampire, half-human Lucia, had successfully absorbed almost all of Enrique’s secret arts. Naturally, she could use this skill with overwhelmingly superior proficiency compared to other vampires.
The only problem was her personality, which Ivan thought was like looking at Enrique, but 200 years younger.
Meaning, she was an old soul with the maturity stripped away by time. In other words, she was just like a child.
‘Still, it will be good training.’
Among the descendants of the Hero's Party, she was one of the few who had been directly taught by the original members. This meant she was the most outstanding in the new Hero's Party. The only thing she lacked was practical experience.
A good agent never pursues only one objective in a single operation. The goal is always to exceed expectations. Ivan, too, held that teaching deep in his heart.
So, in this operation, like someone who had successfully completed the mature educational curriculum of the 21st century with excellent grades, he planned to discipline the young student as an educator.
Lucia’s role as a communicator from a distance was sufficient. He could provide the hands-on field training himself.
“The reply?”
“‘Understood. Proceed with the operation.’ Sir!”
“Confirmed. Let’s move.”
“Yes, Senior!!”
“Quietly.”
“Yeees… Senior!!!”
*Is she doing this on purpose?* he wondered, turning to look at her. Her expression confirmed that yes, she was doing it on purpose.
Ivan, having spent his childhood in an era with student rights ordinances, did not resort to physical discipline.
But he really wanted to hit her just once. He instinctively reached for his hip, then quietly took his hand off the axe handle. Instead, he sighed.
Whenever the thought that it was acceptable to use barbaric teaching methods in this barbaric pre-modern society crossed his mind…
He suppressed it with the resolve to maintain his dignity as a representative of the civilized world of Earth.
Andgrund ‘Feint East, Strike West,’ Day 2 of the operation. This was immediately after securing the first target point.
*