Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 70
>Chapter Title: Different Perspectives on the Goal
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*
There is a famous paradox from China.
Those worthy of ruling the world do not desire it,
and those who desire it are not worthy of ruling it.
Though, regrettably, in this barbaric age, no records from the era when China was still ‘China’ have survived, a good maxim, as they often are, holds true everywhere, regardless of time or place.
Such was the case for these three students, who knew nothing of ancient sage-kings, of China, or of Earth.
Having coincidentally resolved to pursue the same goal, the three students were plunged into despair upon realizing, tragically, that they lacked the ability to achieve it.
From their respective positions, they contemplated their own capabilities and established their strategic objectives.
Side Ep. Different Perspectives on the Goal
“No matter what it takes, I will get that uncle’s beard…!”
Esidis, a Droan national to the bone who always chose a head-on approach to solve problems, made this vow.
Sadly, while she possessed the will for shaving, she lacked the ability to carry it out. Her attempts were frustrated at every turn.
However, the word ‘give up’ does not exist in the Droan dictionary. (This is true.)
She clenched her fists tightly, prepared to devote her life—and perhaps more—to the cause. Kkangkangyi IV let out a bizarre shriek.
“I will… save you, Uncle!”
With the heart of a hero from a tale of rescuing a princess from the clutches of a wicked, hirsute monster!
The vanguard of the Hero’s Party, the one who fully inherited the talents of Einar the Slaughterer, the strongest music student in history, set down her instrument and picked up a dagger.
Along with shaving cream.
*
Even in this barbaric age, there are fragrant wisps of civilization that shine brightly. This was especially true of the cultural powerhouse, Tilles. And the essence of culture, of course, lies in politics.
“I think your beard is quite magnificent, Uncle!”
“…?”
Isabelle, who had to live as the Hero’s hostage in the Tilles court, was employing surprisingly mature political skills.
She had chosen to take a completely different position from her one and only, and most powerful, competitor, opting for a slow and steady conquest of Ivan’s heart.
Tragically, it had yet to show much effect, but she was at least a little ahead of Esidis on this matter.
For the hero of a hero's party ought to be able to view the situation from a macroscopic perspective rather than act as a berserker, and so the future of this particular hero's party looked quite bright indeed.
*
“I am… a mage, am I not…?”
Meanwhile, the elf from the Kaleon Archipelago had this thought.
Mages were those who incarnated illusion into reality.
If there was something she didn't want to see, and it couldn't be physically eliminated… then it could be removed from ‘concept’ and ‘perception’!
This realization was a valuable experience gained from the ‘Trap of Happiness’ in the ruins of the Krasilov sewers.
As Elfihera was a master of all magic accessible at a student’s level, she was able to instantly create the most appropriate spell.
“All hair existing below the nose… I shall ‘hide’ it from my eyes…!”
She formed a hand seal in the air, instantly weaving the spell as she stared straight ahead.
The target was herself, and the confirmation of the result would be that foolish human walking in the distance…!
By casting a mind sorcery on her own head and twisting her perception, she would cast an illusion spell so that the beard and other facial hair would not be ‘recognized’ by her eyes!
“It’s… complete…!!”
Never before had she felt joy at the success of a spell.
Due to her overwhelming talent and affinity for mana, commanding magic was as natural to her as breathing.
But now, she was trembling at her own genius.
*Kdeuk*, clenching the hand that had just completed the final seal, she muttered in a chilling voice.
“Grikenkos Style: Illusory Shave…!!”
With the completion of the spell, a brilliant blue light shimmered in her eyes. Casting time: under two seconds. Mana consumption: less than three percent. Spell duration: one and a half hours…!!
“By my calculations, I can use it continuously for 50.3 hours… two days and two hours and fifteen minutes…!”
If she used it until her mana was completely depleted, she could remove all beards from her sight for two days.
The key now was….
“Maintaining it even when my concentration is broken by an external shock….”
In other words, she had to command the magic from the realm of the unconscious. There was no way she could do such a thing with a spell she had just created.
Therefore, Elfihera quietly closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
*Huuu*, with a resolute exhale, her eyes opened, strong and firm. Burning with will!
“Until this spell doesn't break under any circumstances.”
Until her concentration on the spell remained unbroken even in extremely harsh and embarrassing situations.
With the resolve to never stop….
*
Ivan, whose appearance was entirely harmless, common enough to be seen anywhere, and incapable of intimidating anyone on first impression—much like a herbivore—was enjoying his leisure time.
“Peaceful.”
The birds outside the window chirped beautifully, and the summer sun brightly illuminated the surroundings. Listening to the cheerful laughter of the orphanage students running around in small groups, Ivan sipped his tea.
He paused to catch his breath and focused all his senses on his hearing. It was a necessary precaution, as some of the children had recently become extremely adept at moving stealthily.
Good, no one’s here.
It was hard to understand why the children would want to visit the director’s office. His own memories were faint now, but he didn't think he had ever visited the principal’s office during his elementary school days. He'd never even thought of it.
The tea he was drinking was barley tea, brewed from roasted cheap barley, an item provided limitlessly to all the children.
As for snacks like candy or chocolate, there were more in the staff room than in the director's office. It would be easier and faster to sneak in there if one had to.
“Hmm.”
Then again, how could he know what was on a child’s mind? Children were, after all, easily swept up in bizarre fads. He gave a short nod and relaxed.
On this quiet weekend afternoon, when no one came to visit.
With a careful hand, he opened the double-locked confidential cabinet in the drawer under his desk.
It was a high-security device that could only be opened by inserting a double-lock key and then turning a 360-degree dial with a 5*2 combination. To extend its lifespan, he had forgone a sealing spell, sacrificing a bit of security.
Ivan pushed aside some useless confidential documents and picked up the sturdy box his fingertips brushed against.
- *Click.*
With the delicacy of handling a grade-13 mana bomb on the verge of detonation, Ivan put on gloves, dusted around the box with a feather duster, and carefully opened it.
The contents of the box glittered in the light streaming through the window, momentarily dazzling him.
Or perhaps it was the ‘precious object’ itself that was dazzling.
He swallowed dryly and slowly lifted the ‘treasure’.
“Perfect.”
Made of metal, its functional beauty was enhanced by restrained ornamentation. Manufactured to precise specifications, it was easy to carry, and its internal spring mechanism was so cleverly hidden as to be invisible from the outside.
It was solid, heavy, and sturdy. It felt like holding a custom-made pistol fresh from the hands of a master gunsmith.
*Sniff*, the faint scent of metal in the air, mixed with a hint of oil.
There was no room for criticism. This was a perfect object.
“I haven't lost my touch yet.”
There was a blacksmith he visited whenever he needed his axe repaired or to place a new order. An old forge on the western edge of Frichenkaya.
The blacksmith, whom he had known since the war, now only made farming tools like hoes and plows. He was completely retired from the weapons market.
Of course, an axe is not a weapon. It is merely a piece of logging equipment. Thus, Ivan's sound and reasonable persuasion succeeded in reigniting the passion of the shouting, retired blacksmith.
And with a ‘persuasion’ that was impossible to refuse, the blacksmith had once again created this masterpiece according to Ivan’s design.
“Hah….”
A sudden pang of guilt pierced his heart. It had been something of an impulse buy.
With the money it took to make this one item, he could have served meat with every dinner for the children for a week.
Perhaps it was the influence of the ‘ruins’ trap’. No, it probably was. He hadn't been swayed by such meaningless desires for a very long time.
- *Click.*
As he fiddled with the object's mechanism, it changed shape with a sharp metallic sound. What had looked like a small, rectangular metal plate now began to take on a distinctive form.
With a careful hand, Ivan picked up the object and slowly brought it to his beard.
*Swish, swish.*
The sound of it gliding through his beard without friction, a sensation as smooth as applying camellia oil.
Living in this damn pre-modern otherworld was by no means a pleasant affair,
*‘But this… this makes me smile.’*
This was happiness.
He had obtained the ‘perfect beard comb’.
Its blueprint was perhaps the greatest spoil he had acquired from the ruins.
While the three students agonized over how to erase his beard—physically, politically, or conceptually—Ivan leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, enjoying his rest.
*
“This letter… were there any signs of forgery?”
“No, Brother. The handwriting is a 100% match with Esidis's.”
“And Mord, that bastard, has there been any other contact from him?”
“No, Brother.”
- *Crack.*
Under the giant’s grip, the thick wooden table crumbled into dust.
In the dark room, the man, draped in a fur cloak reeking of a beast’s foul scent, roughly tied back his spiky hair and rose from his seat.
“Brother, Brother! W-wait, Esidis isn't a child, she wouldn't have made a mistake! Please, just calm down a bit….”
- *Crash!*
The warrior who had hastily blocked the man’s path was sent flying in a crumpled heap. The man continued his steady walk without stopping and threw open the doors to the great hall.
The bright summer sun illuminated his court. He scanned the court with sharp eyes and growled like a wounded beast.
“Any other opinions?”
“How about burning at the stake?”
“That ends too quickly.”
Droan’s strongest, the Warrior King, the Slaughterer, the One-Man Army, a walking weapon of mass destruction.
Einar.
He crumpled Esidis’s letter, threw it away, and began to walk.
- *I’m thinking of getting married.*
The single remaining line on the torn letter fluttered sadly in the air before being carried away by the wind, disappearing somewhere.
“Let’s go, brothers. Let’s go see the face of whatever bastard this is.”
“”Yes, Brother!!!””
*