Chapter 56
Chapter 56
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 56
>Chapter Title: Stalker vs. Stalker (11)
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*
“First, let’s stop the bleeding.”
When a person's limbs are severed, they are generally incapacitated. In fact, it's more accurate to call it a fatal injury than mere incapacitation.
Considering that the sophisticated method of suicide in this era is slitting one's wrists in a bathtub filled with scented candles, one can easily gauge how severe an injury it is to have one's forearm hacked by an axe—far beyond a simple slice with a kitchen knife.
It’s why even a great emperor who once ruled the seas on a distant world, upon losing an arm, could do little more than scream like a child and glare at the beast that took it, unable to project any real force.
So, stop the bleeding before he dies.
-Click.
With one hand, Ivan skillfully uncapped the healing potion. A viscous red liquid sloshed ominously inside.
With a delicate touch, he exposed the wound and slowly poured the healing potion onto the stump, which was gushing blood.
Naturally, a scream echoed through the hallway.
“Guaaaaaaaah!!!”
>“Now, now. I told you to conserve your breath.”
Ivan, being a civilized man, admonished him gently. Though not a child, this junior seemed to have a very low tolerance for pain.
“Tell me what you heard from Aleksandr. What did he want?”
>“A man of Droan… does not yield… to torture…!”
>“Torture? This is a remedy.”
Ivan shook his head at the outrageous accusation and capped the healing potion. He raised the axe in his other hand and rested it on the stump.
“Hk…?!”
>“The bleeding has mostly stopped. Good.”
He gave a cold nod and slowly pushed the axe. Thanks to the healing potion's incredible effect, the wound had been seared shut, cauterized. Now, the axe blade bit half an inch back into the stump, drawing fresh drops of blood.
“That was the treatment. This is the torture.”
>“You… bastarrrrd…!!”
>“Let's see.”
Ivan checked the remaining amount in the potion and gave it a short shake. The still-full bottle sloshed heavily.
“I can do this about five more times. So, I'll ask five short questions.”
>“Kill… me…!”
>“That's the plan. Dionar Eriksson. Your fate will be handled according to orders, but the process is at my discretion. Answer me.”
What did Aleksandr hope to gain from this mess?
>Where is Aleksandr now?
>How many of you are there, and where did you begin your infiltration of this country?
Step by step, one at a time, without rushing.
Ivan was a man with modern ethics, so he did not prefer torture. In fact, it would be fair to say he detested it.
But at the same time, he was a man who had lived in this era for thirty years, a soldier who had spent his entire life on the battlefield.
It was unfortunate, but for the sake of efficiency in carrying out his orders, he had no choice but to sacrifice some of his ethical principles.
Even Kim Seon-woo had agreed to this matter, so Ivan raised the axe without hesitation.
He cut.
And reattached it.
Screams echoed through the hallway. A dark corridor on a rainy summer night.
A superhuman's vision is quite sharp, so this level of darkness was hardly dark at all. Therefore, even in his extreme agony, Dionar could see Ivan's face.
If he had laughed, or even shown anger—if he had shown any emotion at all, it would have at least been human.
But the Ivan that Dionar saw was as dispassionate as a woodcutter chopping a tree, a fisherman hauling his nets, a farmer swinging his scythe.
There was a job to be done, and he had the means to do it, so he did it.
A mechanical act, conveying precisely that level of emotion, was being repeated.
By the time Dionar's blood and sweat evaporated, releasing the stench of fear.
That is, from the moment Ivan finished the second ‘treatment.’
He had become an eloquent and articulate speaker, a good (and sincere) member of civilized society, explaining everything he knew to Ivan.
Healing potions only treat external injuries (all who attempted to use them for internal ones died), but a kind medical procedure can, by its very nature, bring about the additional benefits of psychological counseling and psychiatric treatment.
Ivan, satisfied with this long-standing truth that had been proven once again, listened intently to Dionar's logical and coherent testimony.
*
Leaving behind the junior who would have been a difficult opponent had his skills matched his spirit and drive, Ivan walked up the stairs.
He had used up all the healing potions. He wouldn't need them again today, but it was a shame to be without an essential piece of equipment he always carried.
Ivan was a cautious man, so to verify that Dionar's initial statement was true, he had to repeat the same questions several times to increase the resolution of the testimony.
Dionar had breathed his last during the process. Fortunately, his testimony had been proven true from the start, so Ivan could offer his condolences for the man's death.
-Clomp, clomp.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the empty hallway. With no more hostile presences to be felt, Ivan actually walked louder.
Once he rescued the kidnapped kids, the mission would be over. A fortunate turn of events.
Since he had cleared the stage they were supposed to overcome, Ivan felt obligated to personally conduct the training for Esidis, Isabelle, and Oskar.
As always, there was not enough time.
Ivan chuckled and walked to the first office in the hallway, grabbing the doorknob....
“...?”
He let go and stepped back.
There was no presence, but he could feel mana. From over there, in the office at the end of the hall.
It wasn't the mana of an artifact or a magitech device. It was the mana emitted by a living being, specifically the kind a mage would emit while preparing a spell, yet he could feel it without any sign of life.
He took a deep breath and circulated mana through his body. His senses accelerated, and the sound of the raindrops slowed.
Even when he focused his hearing, the only presence he could detect in this hallway was the tense breathing of the students in the office right in front of him.
A mage preparing a spell was simultaneously concealing their presence so well that even he couldn't detect them?
That wasn't just strange; it was impossible. Not even Veolgrin could do that. Magic is not so simple a discipline that it can be performed while controlling one's breath and heartbeat.
A mage of that caliber would have to be on par with the Demon King. And it made no sense for the Demon King, who died four years ago, to suddenly be resurrected and hiding in the Frichenskaya Ministry of Foreign Affairs of all places.
“Ah.”
Ivan chuckled and nodded.
A hidden piece. Right, there had to be something like that.
Whether it was a special item or a story hook. Something hidden, undiscoverable through the normal course of progression—of course a ‘main story stage’ would have one.
Thinking of it that way made it feel quite natural.
One would have to be skilled enough to sense the traces of mana to read this blatant clue and follow it.
Otherwise, the children of the Hero's Party, having succeeded in their escape, would naturally make a mad dash for the first floor.
Let's imagine such a stage.
While evading Dionar's pursuit, they defeat the mercenaries blocking their path and barely reach the first floor.
If the design of this chapter was for them to fight Dionar and then successfully retreat to the safety of the city…
Then there was no reason to search the deepest office on the fifth floor, where they were imprisoned. Hence, a hidden piece. A kind of Easter egg.
With that thought, everything became clear. Ivan strode confidently to the office at the very end of the hall and grabbed the doorknob.
-Office of the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
Crown Prince Aleksandr, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, would never have worked out of here, so he deduced there must be information about Aleksandr inside, or at least something of comparable value.
-Click.
He turned the knob and opened the door.
“...!!!”
The instant he saw the face through the open doorway, Ivan threw his axe.
-Whoooosh!!
The axe passed through the face, flew across the room, and shattered a chair—*Crash!*—before embedding itself in the bookshelf on the opposite wall, tearing it apart.
The man whose face the axe had passed through smiled faintly and spoke to him.
“I don't think I've ever seen that expression on you before.”
>“Aleksandr...!!”
>“It's been almost ten years since we've spoken. Come in, Ivan Petrovich.”
The handsome, silver-haired young man with short-cropped hair gestured to him with a brilliant smile.
Astral projection. And a long-range one at that, impossible to trace.
Ivan gritted his teeth and stood opposite him, glaring askance.
Four years ago, the orders for the Annihilation Squad's final mission bore two official seals.
The Krasilov imperial seal, and…
>The seal of the Commander-in-Chief of the Northwestern Front, who oversaw the military on behalf of the king at the time.
The seal of Aleksandr Kirillovich Krasilov.
“I'm sure you have many questions, but answer me this one thing.”
>“...What is it?”
>“If the Lord loves us, then why, even now that the Demon King is dead, is the world still so rife with evil?”
Ten years since they had met face-to-face.
>This young man, whom he now encountered for the first time in four years since their last correspondence, began to preach his populist enlightenment, wearing the same face as a decade ago.
Ivan clutched the blade of his axe, his grip tight enough to shatter steel, and gritted his teeth.
*