Chapter 134
Chapter 134
Academy’s Gumiho is a Magic Genius – Chapter 134
Seventy years had already passed since the war against the monsters began.
Thanks to their invasion, culture hadn't advanced easily.
But they had succeeded in maintaining it.
Honestly, that alone was commendable.
It was a desperate situation ripe for regression.
Yet they had preserved civilization.
The generations that followed.
My father's generation left the preserved civilization behind and focused on technological advancement, especially in fields centered on war and victory.
Electronic devices advanced for more flexible communication and tactics.
Having lost key resource zones like coal and iron to the monsters, they named their stone-like corpses "magic stones" and developed technology to replace them as new resources.
Instead of expendable firearms that were hard to infuse with mana, the era of swords and bows returned. Men resilient to heat and fire hammered iron to revive ancient blacksmithing.
Facilities for training soldiers sprang up everywhere, and nations resolved to eke out their wretched lives under one lofty regime.
Thus were born the Federal Citizen State and the militaristic nation wielding absolute power to protect them.
"...This can't be real."
Boom!!!
The massive monster collapsed.
As it fell, the earth trembled, the shock ripping through the air with a deafening roar.
"Is this a lie? That was a 2nd Hierarchy monster?"
Though stronger than a 3rd Hierarchy and lacking the typical number of abilities for a standard 2nd Hierarchy, its sheer mass was an overwhelming power in itself.
One step made the ground quake.
Ten steps cracked the earth.
A hundred steps turned cities into plowed fieldsa monster among monsters.
And he'd cut it down with that single small sword?
"Can... a human even slice something like that?"
In the militaristic nation's history, records of slaying a 2nd Hierarchy numbered on one hand.
Total of five times.
Over 70 years, humanity had succeeded only five times, each requiring billions in bombs and artillery.
And that was just the start.
Not enough even with every top player of the era joining inalways one or two died, and the rest suffered injuries taking months to heal.
Each time, gaps formed in the front lines, leading to massive civilian casualties beyond.
So when that colossal beast appeared, he thought soldiers and civilians alike would die en masse again.
In the eyes of a 20-something soldier unable to hide his shock.
Thud!
A man descended from the sky to the ground.
Just moments ago, he'd ridden a helicopter to the highest point and cleaved the 2nd Hierarchy monster in half with a single sword.
"This one's hide is tougher than I thought. It'd be perfect for patching the torn tents down there."
Did he know he'd just accomplished the impossible alone?
The Sword Saint casually shook the blood from his blade and sheathed it naturally, an utterly incongruous sight.
Despite an achievement worthy of etching into human history, he showed no emotion.
At that, the mere private realized.
That was the Sword Saint.
"Humanity's hope and beacon... I thought the war correspondents were just faking reports to boost morale, like always."
The Sword Saint was the star of every article and special report.
His skills were one thing, but his handsome face drew attention easily.
A beauty that could've made a fortune as a celebrity instead of a player.
So the private had quietly dismissed him, but reality was the opposite.
Even all the specials and praise fell short of capturing the Sword Saint.
Still, after today, people's views of him would improve.
Thinking that even one more person like himself would come to admire the Sword Saint, the private felt inexplicably pleased.
Like a fan watching their idol grow up close.
Thus, unbeknownst to anyone, the Sword Saint gained one more devotee.
But no one understands a hero's anguish.
A year had passed since the rank of Eight Saints was created.
The 19-year-old Sword Saint had grown dramatically.
His body was long complete, but his mental growth had regressed instead. His advancement was limited to power and status.
One of the top ten powerhouses in the nation.
Some radical citizens even worshipped him as a savior and god, with followers to match.
At first, people scoffed at the rumors, but as his feats mounted, their cult grew. Now, even among the barracks soldiers, no small number were devotees.
But what did worship matter?
The Sword Saint was still just a kid not yet of age, pretending to be more mature than adults.
"Aigoo~ Your Excellency's sword aura was splendid today as well! So sharp and fierce, I thought I'd be split in two just watching!"
"...Ah, Colonel Gorbo, was it? No need to fear being cleaved. I'm controlling my strength accordingly."
"Ahaha! Of course, of course. I misspoke."
"Be more careful next time."
The rising ruler of the nation.
Many sought to latch onto the Sword Saint.
Among them, the portly Colonel Gorbo left a strong impression. But with no interest in forming factions, the Sword Saint silently headed to the next battlefield.
The colonel trailed behind, and as they walked, he suddenly noticed a woman collapsed in his path.
"What is it? A casualty?"
"N-no, sir. I'll handle it myself!"
"No, I'll go. And Colonel Gorbo."
"Yes, sir!"
Called by name, the pot-bellied middle-aged man straightened and saluted. The Sword Saint glared at him.
"Don't use the word 'handle' for your subordinates. I deeply despise such phrasing."
"Yes, sir!"
"Note that this isn't a mere warning."
Cheers and the heat of the crowd.
The battlefield reeked of guts and blood everywhere.
Yet a chill wind brushed the colonel's neck.
Like a sword, it drew thin lines of blood.
A light wound.
For now.
"S-sir..."
"No need to panic. I'll overlook your thoughtless words. I'm not punishing you."
"S-sir... what happens if one disobeys orders?"
The Sword Saint smiled faintly.
His handsome face should've made it charming, but it felt like a forced puzzle.
"Do you... really want to know?"
Some things are better left unknown.
His emotionless eyes and upturned lips formed an eerie, unpleasant valley.
The original was so fine it held a sculptural beauty, but Gorbo trembled witnessing it.
Incomprehensible.
A feeling of facing something utterly beyond understanding.
Like characters from that weird squid myth his daughter loved back home, Cthulhu or whatever.
As that atmosphere overwhelmed Colonel Gorbo.
His attention shifted away.
No interest in someone who couldn't endure this much.
"Treating the wounded now?"
"Y-yes?! L-loyalty! I see one of the nation's Eight Saints!!"
"Good, you're working hard."
A soldier suturing the wounds of the fallen woman.
Her uniform suggested not medical corps.
Wondering if they were close, he spoke up.
"Are you two married?"
"S-Sword Saint, sir...? Sisno, Sergeant has a husband alrea!"
"Not anymore."
The woman spoke while collapsed.
Body down, but spirit unbroken.
Tough one.
But that was the Sword Saint's misconception.
"Sir! Sword Saint, sir, let me explain that part...!!"
"I didn't ask you, did I?"
"B-but she's in grief right now...!!!"
"Enough. I'll speak."
The soldier tried to explain, but curiosity was satisfied by the woman herself.
Even from this, he could guess.
She'd likely lost her lover just now
"My husband died trying to guard your back."
"......"
"Ah, damn it."
Her story wasn't long.
Not some dramatic tragedy or futile endjust the death of a hardworking side character.
But the intriguing part was.
"Do you know the 127th Airborne secured the monster's rear just now?"
"Yes, I know."
"My husband stepped up to support you in that moment but couldn't hold out long and died. Here I am, collapsed from exhaustion, hoping only that his body wasn't crushed under that massive bulk."
Her husband's death was because of him.
127th Airborne.
The unit just annihilated.
There'd been a slight delay responding to the 2nd Hierarchy's attack, so their soldiers sacrificed to buy time.
All perished.
Thanks to them, subjugating the monster was smooth.
Their sacrifice would be recorded with medals.
But few, including him who'd benefited, would remember their faces. That's the nature of sacrifice.
"......Puha."
And the woman before him was one who'd remember forever.
"Hahaha!"
"S-sir?"
The colonel trembled at the sudden mood shift.
Something felt off.
"Puahaha!! Hahahahaha!!!"
The Sword Saint burst into loud laughter.
The widow, thinking he mocked her, glared with bloodshot eyes, but his face looked like a awkward child's who'd lost even the ability to smile properly.
His eyes crinkled.
Was he laughing or crying?
His lips twisted.
Sneer or spasm? Impossible to tell.
"Why... why are you laughing like that?"
"You! How dare a mere sergeant be rude to a Saint! Woman or not, think I'll let it slide?!"
"Colonel."
Shut up.
I'd warned him enough earlier.
He had no use for dullards who couldn't grasp that.
At the low voice from behind, the colonel shuddered and turned.
Terror twisted his face, like he might scream.
What a coward for a field officer.
Shh.
Finger to lips, silencing him, the colonel froze solid.
The new power in the nation.
Dig when told, die when toldthe prime candidate for absolute authority's successor. Even top brass like the commander were slowly bending to him.
Crossing him gained nothing.
He'd just felt the earthquake from that 2nd Hierarchy's fall firsthand.
The colonel sealed his chatty mouth with mana.
"Hey, sergeant. If I may ask... do you resent me?"
"......Pardon?"
"My mistake killed your husband. Effectively, I killed him. So, do you resent me? Want revenge?"
"......No."
"It's fine, don't lie to yourself. No punishment or hard feelings here. Be honest."
He pressed relentlessly.
If she admitted it, he'd give her a shot at revenge.
Couldn't die with duties pending, but he'd take a stab to the gut.
"......No, it's fine. I understand everything."
"No need to pretend."
"My husband took pride in aiding you, contributing to humanity's survival. How could I resent you?"
"......"
"I'm grateful instead. You gave his death a righteous cause. Thank you."
"......Hey."
"Yes...?"
"Don't accept it. Don't try to understand!"
Ah... really.
Her utterly sincere words, without a hint of falsehood, hurt deeply.
The widow missed her husband but accepted his death as tied to the greater good. She had no choice.
Was accepting loss of a loved one truly best?
She could've resented him instead.
Why choose the harder path of understanding?
He didn't want that.
"You lost your husband because of me. Hate me then! Glare like you want to kill me!! Don't look at me with those pitiful eyes!!!"
"Sword Saint..."
"Kill me if you want! The nation and world won't forgive it, but I'll pardon you over and over!"
Crack!
Something snapped in his bare hand, and his shoulder slumped.
"!!!!"
"Your Excellency! You dislocated your shoulder! I'll fetch a healer with treatment abilities right away!"
"Colonel! If you run, what about us watching from the side...? Already gone."
"That piglet sure's fast when it suits him."
"Come on, ram that prized three-foot sword into my shoulder and twist! It'll cripple it for good. Satisfied with that revenge?!"
The Sword Saint twisted his left shoulder with his right hand.
Beyond human limits, ready to shatter any moment.
Why? Not enough?
Fine, good.
Want more? Legs too.
Heart, headtake them.
If this wretched sword could ease her grief even slightly, he'd give anything.
Just as his arm seemed about to rip free.
"Stop it!"
"......"
The fallen woman glared ferociously.
For losing her husband, her eyes burned with life.
Finally resolved?
Forcing herself through rotten feelings of revenge against her husband's killer.
Revenge is like a campfire.
Without constant fuel, it dies outdoomed for her. As he began losing interest.
"Don't run away."
"!!!"
"You... still have much to do. My husband knew that, so he offered his neck gladly. He didn't sacrifice for your arm to fall pointlessly here."
"......"
Never expected that.
Then that resilient gaze, like a fighting cock, wasn't petty revenge but resolve to give meaning to her husband's death.
Damn... she's better than me.
The inferior Sword Saint couldn't think of a retort.
Even if he did, he buried it in his chest.
Not worth saying, erased from his mind.
Instead, he suddenly wanted to test something.
I'm a sword. The nation's sword, they say.
Can't even protect one person properly.
Too sharp, wounding everyone.
What's the point of power?
Just good at slaying monsters, worthless if it can't guard someone's loved one.
So this was.
Screeech!
Utterly natural.
Sword to his throat.
Usually the executioner's blade punishing monsters now turned on its master.
It moved to leave a red line.
The colonel racing back with the medic was too flustered, movements sluggish from indecision.
As the propaganda tool faced a blemish.
"What are you doing?"
One person stopped the Sword Saint.
The woman who'd just lost her husband and collapsed as a widow.
Ah... really.
What an unlikable woman.