Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 55
>Chapter Title: Stalker vs. Stalker (10)
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*
The diplomat's residence wasn't some Demon King's castle, nor was it the Monarch's Abode where the Seven Dragon Generals resided. Like most government offices, it had a rather ordinary layout.
In other words, picture a few floors of sterile white hallways lined with offices, and you wouldn't be far off.
Of course, this was somewhat unusual. A 'residence,' after all, should be a place for living, not for administration.
But one had to remember that Foreign Minister Krasilov was also the Crown Prince. The crown prince of a nation wouldn't live in a mere diplomat's residence, would he?
Therefore, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was using the residence as a multipurpose office building. A gift from the Crown Prince, one might say. (A truly royal grace, telling them to sleep 'comfortably' in their offices if they must.)
"This is..."
Ivan scowled as he broke through the third floor of the residence. As he made his way to the middle of the five-story building, he hadn't seen a single office worker. Everyone he encountered was an armed soldier.
The kind that were barely above the level of mercenaries.
"This feels like a Chapter 1 stage..."
It was at this point that Ivan realized his mistake.
Assuming the children of the Hero's Party were the protagonists, it was only common sense for enemies, challenges, quests, and other hostile forces to appear as the story progressed.
With that assumption, the subtle sense of 'clumsiness' and 'incompetence' Ivan felt was explained.
Q) Why were the children of the Hero's Party kidnapped instead of being killed on the spot?
>A) Because you have to clear the stage after character selection.
Q) Why is the diplomat's residence swarming with only low-level mercenaries?
>A) Because the normal monsters in Chapter 1 can't be overly powerful.
Q) What on earth was the Counter-Intelligence Command doing, just standing by while the children of the Hero's Party were kidnapped one by one?
>A) Because that's the 'common sense' of an arcade game.
Aha.
Well, damn.
Ivan let out a short sigh of realization and lamentation at the same time. *Doesn't that mean I shouldn't be killing all of them?*
He stared blankly behind him. The sterile white hallway now looked as if buckets of red paint had been splattered everywhere.
At the sight of the perfectly fine diplomat's residence having successfully transitioned into a thriving meat-processing plant (one that didn't care for health and safety), Ivan sighed deeply.
To make a rather bold inference, this episode was likely a 'growth' event for the children of the Hero's Party. For the protagonists.
And the storyline that would be considered 'canon' was likely Esidis's growth.
The whole process—being kidnapped by her trusted uncle, the Huscarl, then rising above it to resolve the crisis herself—wasn't that the intended plot from the very beginning?
Ivan stroked his chin, pondering for a moment before shaking his head.
There was no way to know for sure at this point. Once things were set in motion, they had to reach their destination to be complete. Getting off midway with a feeling of 'this doesn't seem right' would accomplish literally nothing.
He shook off his thoughts and, axe in hand, climbed the stairs.
*
The fourth floor of the diplomat's residence. The unlit hallway was silent, with no sign of anyone.
Striding down the corridor where the only sound was the rain pattering against the windows, Ivan slowly tightened his grip on his axe.
His hearing grew sharper. Along with the familiar, high-pitched ringing in his ears.
-We were captured too.
>-I see...
The whispering voices belonged to the children of the Hero's Party. They were coming from an office directly ahead, one floor up.
As soon as he pinpointed their location, Ivan started moving.
Whether this was a stage, an episode, or a chapter, whatever this whole setup was for, he would rescue them first and think later. A practical approach.
Considering how Isabelle's tutorial had spiked in difficulty right after Esidis's, this event was also likely to influence the next.
It followed the logic of a game, yet the events shifted organically with the nation's political climate and the balance of power. This subtle difference between a game and reality muddled Ivan's thoughts.
-*Twang...*
Just then, he heard the sound of a thread snapping in the distance. The instant he registered the sound, Ivan ducked.
Immediately, his fierce sense of a death line flared.
-*Whoosh...*
>-*CRASH!!*
A greatsword flew through the air and embedded itself in the spot where Ivan had been standing. He sprang back to create distance and raised his axe.
The attack came almost simultaneously with the perception of the death line. A typical superhuman, if unprepared, would have died.
That meant this was an attack from a superhuman. Fights between superhumans were always like this.
The battlefield of a superhuman, entered through sensory activation, wasn't a technique that slowed time, but one that accelerated the nerves to perceive time in fractions of a second.
Therefore, if caught in a 'superhuman's ambush' before achieving neural acceleration, one couldn't react. In the world of superhumans, principles like striking second to gain the advantage were meaningless. The first strike was always unconditionally superior.
The skill developed to solve such problems was 'intuition.' An enhanced form of death line perception—an intuition for ambushes.
If death line perception divided ordinary people from superhumans, 'intuition' was the measure that distinguished one superhuman from another.
"He dodged this?"
In other words, reacting to a superhuman's attack with intuition was enough to gauge the opponent's level.
"Hah, to think our boys went through all that trouble, sweating blood in all sorts of places just to scatter the ones who could do this."
>"Dionarr Eriksson."
>"It seems we've met before. I'm good with faces, but I can't quite place you."
>"You don't need to know."
Ivan raised his axe. *Drip, drop.* The rhythm of the raindrops hitting the windowpane had already slowed.
It wasn't that the summer rain was letting up. Time itself was stretching.
Yet, the fact that their conversation continued normally meant the two men facing each other were sharing the same flow of time.
"This couldn't have been what Maximilian intended. No, was even this part of that bastard's plan?"
>"..."
>"Not very talkative, are you? Right, conversation isn't what's needed now."
Dionarr smirked and flicked his fingers. *Twang.* With the sound of a snapping thread, the greatsword embedded in the wall spun around and flew into his grasp.
Gripping the greatsword with one hand, the other hanging loosely at his side, Dionarr raised the blade upright.
"Come. Let's see what you've got. I'll show you what it means to be one of the 'Reserves'."
>"Interesting."
Ivan let out a small laugh.
The 'Reserves.' To be precise, the classification known as the 'Hero's Reserves' was a concept first created because of his own existence—Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Petrovich.
A peculiar sense of amusement made Ivan smile.
Back then, there was no hierarchy in the Hero's Party. Regardless of age, race, or rank, they were all individuals who risked their lives to defeat the Demon King.
But the 'Reserves' were different. If those classified under that name had been comparable to the Hero's Party, they would have been on active duty, marching on the Demon King's castle alongside them.
Therefore, among these powerful individuals classified as Reserves—those who undoubtedly held a unique standing among the 'strong' and the 'superhuman'—a hierarchy of class existed.
And Ivan was more than willing to teach him what form that hierarchy took.
Being a very courteous man, he decided to personally correct his junior's arrogance.
As the senior who, among all those bearing the name 'Reserve,' was the only one to accompany the Hero's Party.
Kindly.
*
-*Twang!*
With the sound of a snapping thread, *whoosh!* the greatsword came crashing down straight for his head.
A mighty blow. The force of the vertical drop carried the momentum to shatter boulders and break down castle gates.
He deflected the blade, woven with dense mana, and twisted his body.
-*CRASH!!*
The blade he had parried struck the hallway floor. With a great crack, the floor collapsed. Ivan kicked off the crumbling footing and leaped up.
"Got you!"
Dionarr grinned viciously and flicked his empty hand. *Twang!* With a sharp noise, a single thread glinted in the air, in the darkness.
*This guy, he's a technical fighter.*
Not a warrior who overwhelmed his opponent with brute force like Einar, but one who controlled the flow of battle with skill and finesse.
It was easy to misunderstand due to his large frame and wild appearance, but his fighting style was actually more similar to Veolgrin's.
*A type who dominates the space with mana threads, setting a spiderweb, and then throws in variations with a greatsword.*
There were quite a few demons who fought like this. In dark, narrow indoor spaces, booby traps were a formidable threat in themselves.
Death line perception or intuition, in any case, reacted to attacks with 'intent.' Traps that just sat there had to be dealt with through prior knowledge and improvisation.
That was why the Hero's Party needed a rogue. They had to be well-versed in that kind of knowledge.
Malicious traps lurking in the darkness.
And a powerful strike piercing through the openings between them.
Of course, it was a difficult pattern to break, 'generally speaking.' It certainly had a high degree of difficulty. Ivan smirked slightly as he twisted his body to deflect the attack and thought.
*It would be a tough challenge for the kids.*
Assuming this was a stage for the children of the Hero's Party, and this guy was the boss.
The purpose of the stage was likely a structure designed to force them to learn the 'realm of superhumans.'
It was a 'learn or die' kind of fight. A truly malicious design.
However, that was looking at it from the kids' level.
The reason a rogue was essential to the Hero's Party was, again, to deal with these kinds of traps and enemies.
And that meant the Hero's Party, during their active days, had faced countless enemies of this type.
And Ivan, as the 'scout' of that very Hero's Party, had a history of breaking through enemy territory in step with Enrique.
-*Vweeeen...*
The axe glowed with a blue light in the darkness.
-*Shhlick...!*
The threads caught on the blade snapped and fell away.
-*WHOOSH!!*
Hearing the vicious sound of the greatsword cleaving the air as it rushed into the opening, he instantly calculated the distance and speed, and the moment the calculation was complete, he turned his body—and moved forward instead.
One more step forward. Closing the distance between them.
"Hahaha!! That spot is already my..."
>"I know."
The intertwined mana threads also functioned as a sensory organ. Literally, a structure like a spiderweb.
A fighting style that restricted movement, deflected the direction of attacks, created openings, and then shoved a greatsword through them.
Ivan already knew this method.
And being an efficient man, he didn't struggle twice with something he had already experienced.
-*CLANG!!*
"H-how...!"
>"Because I'm one of the Reserves."
And you call yourself one of the Reserves? You shouldn't be surprised by this.
Ivan's axe struck the greatsword, sending it flying, and in the gap, the severed threads fluttered, revealing their outlines.
Dionarr stumbled back, hastily reaching out his hand. The mana threads slithered and coiled, pulling the deflected greatsword back toward his grasp—
-*Crunch.*
It never reached. The greatsword, suspended in mid-air, was now in Ivan's grip.
"You... bastard...!!"
Without a word, Ivan twisted his body and plunged the greatsword straight into the man's abdomen, then turned to evade the coiling threads.
-*Shhhk!!*
Simultaneously, he swung his axe in a sharp arc. The gleaming blade cut through the air, drawing a graceful circle toward the floor, slicing through everything caught in its path.
Threads, flesh, and bone fragments were sundered in a single move. Blood splattered across the stark white wall.
"Ghh... ughhh... Uwaaaaaaah!!"
>"Screaming? Save your breath."
Ivan approached Dionarr, who was on his knees clutching his shredded arm, and placed a foot on his chest.
*Thud.* He forced the man to the ground, stood over him, and raised his axe.
"You have a lot to answer for, so it would be a waste to spend your breath on screaming."
You don't have many breaths left.
I expect you to answer slowly, conserving each one.
Beneath the shadows of the unlit hallway, Ivan's eyes burned with a cold, blue light.
*