Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 2
>Chapter Title: A Retired Soldier Wants to Rest
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Ivan, who had been peacefully awaiting the ending, thinking only of escaping this godforsaken other world to crush some dried pollack with a cold can of beer,
At this point, finally realized that all his experiences had been nothing more than ‘background setting.’
And that the genre of this game was
not a strategy simulation where he had to fend off a fierce war with the Demon King's army.
Nor was it a traditional RPG of a hero who forms a party to topple the Demon King's tyranny.
It was, of all things, an ‘Academy Genre’ story.
This marked Ivan's 30th year of transmigration.
The Saint Vasilisa Orphanage was one of the wealthiest orphanages in the kingdom.
For an orphanage to be wealthy, several conditions were usually necessary.
It had to be well-located, within the administrative reach of the capital.
Or perhaps it held political symbolism as the ‘first orphanage for war orphans’ when the war-torn kingdom began its reconstruction.
If a few other miscellaneous conditions were met, such as the orphanage director having connections among society's influential figures and high-ranking nobles, it was surprisingly possible to create the oxymoronic organization of a ‘wealthy’ orphanage.
For the record, Saint Vasilisa Orphanage met all those conditions.
“Hmm.”
Ivan rubbed the goosebumps that rose on his forearm, his brow furrowed.
If there was one thing he’d learned through his long years of military service, it was that a premonition that something bad was about to happen should never be ignored.
“Kids, sprinkle the salt.”
>“Okay—!”
Watching the children run out with giggles, he let out a deep sigh.
It’s been four years since the Demon King died, yet the game hasn’t ended. Isn’t it a problem for an epilogue to be this long?
Is there another condition? Surely the ending condition isn't something like 'the hero dies of old age,' right? I'd rather go back sooner than that.
By now, Ivan was diligently rummaging through his fading memories, meticulously writing down a list of ‘things to eat upon returning to Earth.’
With the desperate heart of a sergeant waiting for his discharge day.
Canned beer, dried pollack, honey butter chips, nachos with cheese sauce, tuna mayonnaise, kimchi jjigae.
Ah, dammit, kimchi jjigae needs about three more underlines. It’s been 30 years since he last had kimchi. Kimchi-jjim and stir-fried kimchi were also indispensable.
And every kind of alcohol except vodka and wine. He particularly wanted to drink spirits from Northeast Asia.
Living among monsters who ate pickled cucumbers or marinated mushrooms as drinking snacks, one would eventually start to miss even puffed rice crackers.
“Hoo…”
Ivan, walking listlessly, suddenly stopped.
He heard a presence in his office, where no one should be. An adult's, and a well-trained soldier's at that.
His eyes, which had been slack until a moment ago, sharpened. Then he took a careful step forward. This time, he didn't silence his steps, moving as naturally as possible.
*Thud, thud.*
As if he hadn't noticed a thing, emphasizing his defenseless state, he walked in a straight line to the wooden door with the 'Director's Office' nameplate.
‘One person.’
His senses were already in the realm of an animal. Anyone who’d rolled with the Annihilation Squad for a few years could perform such acrobatics.
The presence beyond the wooden door flinched to a halt. Gauging his position, the person slowly reached for their waist and bent slightly.
A long-standing habit, to ensure their head would be out of the way even if a crossbow was fired the moment the door opened.
“It's been a while, Senior!”
The unexpected guest shouted brightly the moment he turned the doorknob. A sign of no hostile intent. Ivan recognized the voice and immediately relaxed his shoulders.
As he opened the door fully, a soldier in a neat uniform was waving at him.
“You’ve been well? Jeez, I really should’ve visited more often!”
>“You should have come through the front gate.”
>“Aw, come on. When have we ever done things by the book?”
The soldier chuckled briefly and stepped back. His gaze flickered over Ivan’s waist and sleeves.
“Your business.”
>“So impatient! We should have some tea first, catch up on old times, that sort of thing should come first!”
Despite his words, he took out a small letter from his coat.
>With a white-gloved hand, he slowly, very carefully, placed the letter on the table.
High-quality paper and a fine wax seal.
>Pressed firmly upon it was a seal in the shape of a chrysanthemum.
The moment he saw it, Ivan instinctively recoiled from the table.
“Whoa, is that considered treason?”
>“Why is Colonel Kirillovna looking for me…?”
>“She’s the Lord Chamberlain now. Besides, she was a Brigadier General by the time you retired, wasn't she?”
>“So why is she looking for me? If I remember correctly, when I retired, she definitely…”
>“Yes. She told you to live quietly and not draw attention. It’s amazing you took her at her word and left, Senior. Her Highness the Princess couldn't even eat for three days, you know.”
He chuckled, pushing the letter that had been shoved to the edge of the table back toward Ivan.
“Just read it. A personal letter from Her Highness the Princess would fetch any price you name at an auction for cherished items.”
>“…”
With the feeling of dismantling a magical device on the verge of exploding, he carefully reached out, cautiously breaking the wax seal, careful not to smudge it.
With a light *pop*, the envelope opened smoothly. As the letter paper, interwoven with gold thread, appeared, his hand froze.
“What’s wrong? Maybe Her Highness is just asking how you are?”
>“…As if.”
Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilov. A more familiar nickname from her time on the front lines was Liza of the Iron Blood. There was no way this woman would send an envoy just to ask after his ‘well-being.’
She’d sooner coat the letter in poison.
Surely this isn’t coated in poi—
“Ah, just read it already.”
Ivan hesitated once more before he could muster the courage to open the letter.
>A letter written in an elegant, beautiful script, as neat as if it were typewritten, appeared.
[Vanka, have you been well.]
He already didn't want to read it. Ivan swallowed dryly.
[I have heard news of you from time to time. It seems you are doing well.
>For the first few months, I thought it was a relief, but since then, I have not.
>Regrettably, I am not doing well at the moment.]
Whoever had made this woman ‘not do well’ was surely paying the price.
[Do you remember the time we painstakingly tended the garden?
>I had hoped we could all have a tea party together, but you left without so much as a backward glance.]
The time we burned down the demon residential zones and established a military government to exploit the ‘pacified’ demons?
>Of course, I remember.
[After that, I thought for a while.
>Fine. Vanka, even without you, there's no way this meticulously cultivated garden could fall into ruin.
>Winter has passed, so when the snow melts, the season of flowers will come.
>Then perhaps you too, might one day come to see the garden you created.]
Ivan muttered to himself without realizing.
>Me? To the palace? Why…?
[But the seasons have turned, and winter is coming again, Vanka.
>The servants, grown fat and lazy, no longer care for the garden.
>And among the weeds and wild beasts that thrive, wildflowers no longer grow.
A colder, quieter winter than the last is coming.
>The other day, I saw mistletoe covering the dying shrubs.]
He now understood the purpose of this letter.
>Before reading the last paragraph, Ivan reflexively let out a long sigh.
[Vanka, my most trusted woodsman.
>Whatever you desire, I will repay you threefold.
>If the price is not enough, I will pay with our friendship.
>And if that still does not settle the account, I will pay with our memories.
>The kingdom still needs your devotion.
>As it always has, and as it always will.
Affectionately, Kirillovna.]
Only after carefully reading the short letter several more times did he turn his head, pressing his tired eyes.
-Tap, tap, tap.
He tapped the table with his fingertips, lost in thought for a moment.
“Your answer?”
>“First, the situation.”
>“It’s very difficult. The military administration whines daily, begging to withdraw, and His Highness, Crown Prince Aleksandr, is poised to carve up the nation into five pieces and sell it off. And His Majesty, our ‘Great King,’ still just sits there without a word.”
The man continued with a smirk.
“But then, ta-da! Remember Saint Yansk University? The international one founded during the war.”
>“What about it?”
>“I got an advance list of this year's new students and faculty. Would you like to see?”
The man took out a notebook and handed it to Ivan.
“The Saintess has taken a faculty position. A full-time professor of theology. And skipping past this… the students. See? A whole list of familiar names, right?”
-Daughter of the Hero, Maximilian. Isabelle.
>-Son of the Knight, Gilles Vert. Oskar.
>-Daughter of the Mage, Veolgrin. Elfihera.
>-Daughter of the Berserker, Einar. Esidis.
>-Disciple of the Thief, Enrique. Lucia.
And on top of that, the newly appointed professor, Saintess Patricia.
It was a picture-perfect ‘Hero's Party.’
“And wouldn’t you know it, our great former king just had to abolish the age restriction for admission to Yansk University? He said they'd accept anyone regardless of age, young or old, as long as they passed the entrance exam. And now look at this mess!”
Saint Yansk University was one of the most prestigious institutions in the entire United Kingdom,
>and this goddamn other-worldly ‘prestigious university’ didn't care about the age of its applicants.
Whether very young, or very old.
It opened its doors to anyone, regardless of age, as long as they passed the ridiculously difficult entrance exams, interviews, and had letters of recommendation.
Herein lay the problem.
After killing the Demon King, the Hero's Party had all departed for their respective homelands.
Some became nobles, others went into seclusion. But they had one thing in common.
Every member of that party was considered a legendary hero in their homeland.
This meant their every action could trigger an international conflict. Especially when it involved their children studying abroad.
“Our dear prince is trying to sell off the country, and oh my, what a coincidence. Something like this happens right in the middle of the capital? What do you think will happen?”
If any one of them were to be killed or even injured, this nation would be finished.
“What do you need me to do?”
>“We’ve made a spot for you on the faculty. Not as a professor or an assistant. You’ll be a gardener. I mean, universities have trees, don't they?”
>“…”
The man pointed to the list in his notebook as he continued.
“Until these kids return to their own countries without a single scratch on them. Just protect them for three years. Could be shorter if they drop out.”
Ivan had finished his calculations by this point.
Colonel Kirillovna… Her Highness the Princess, needed an agent who was no longer on the military register, and she needed one urgently.
Using an active-duty agent would leave a trail that the prince's faction might uncover, and using just any retired agent was risky, as there was no telling who might have sided with the prince.
But then, ta-da, there was a perfectly suitable individual holed up near the capital.
An individual whose loyalty was beyond question, whose abilities were already proven, and who, despite having retired quietly without any political involvement, was in a clearly known location, allowing for immediate contact.
That miraculous individual was Ivan.
Ivan, who had been quietly waiting for the ending, ready to cross over to Earth to chew, tear, taste, and enjoy the beautiful cuisine of modern civilization, had a startling realization at that moment.
The Demon King was dead, but instead of the Hero's Party getting a ‘happily ever after’ ending…
Against a backdrop of chaotic international relations and a grim domestic political scene, an ‘international university’ suddenly pops up, with world-renowned figures scrambling to enroll their children…
After a long 30 years, a genre that any citizen of the Republic of Korea would recognize came to mind….
“Fuck.”
>“…Excuse me?”
Kim Seon-woo, who had been dormant for so long, suddenly awoke.
“Fuck. This was an Academy Genre story all along?”
>“Senior…?”
The man watched Ivan, breaking out in a cold sweat.
This was a side of him rarely seen even during his active service. This explosive display of rage.
And, naturally.
For the man who knew him from his active days, the thick killing intent that flowed from him was enough to freeze his body stiff.
As he sweated, trying to figure out what on earth Ivan meant.
Ivan squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to suppress and control the boiling rage of Kim Seon-woo, and said.
“Ivan Petrovich… accepts Her Highness's command.”
‘Let’s just go home already.’
Three years.
He’d waited 30 years; what were another three?
>If he just waited three more years, he’d see the ending.
And that was how the academy came to have a gardener.
*