Establishing Relationships (5)

There was an old saying: when struck by severe physical or psychological shock, an ordinary person naturally panics—but when the shock is truly overwhelming, it leaves you unnervingly calm. That was precisely my situation right now.

"...How on earth did I do that?"

An apartment complex sliced clean in two, the earth parted down the middle, and the sky cleaved wide open. Except for the apartment ruins, it was an utterly surreal sight, yet none of that felt particularly important at this moment. Denying reality now was an exercise in pure idiocy. Whether I slapped my cheeks or squeezed my eyes shut and opened them a dozen times, the severed world stretching before me was undeniable fact—and indisputably the fruit of my own actions.

At first, surely—

I slowly began retracing the sequence of events from moments ago. Raising the metal rod overhead, bringing my body and the weapon into one continuous, straight line, and from that stance...

"Wait."

A startled murmur slipped past my lips. Digging back through my recollection, I had run headfirst into a bizarre snag.

Why can't I remember?

I had no memory whatsoever of the actual slashing motion. To be precise, the intermediate process had simply vanished. I remembered the beginning—lifting the rod overhead—with crystal clarity. I remembered the conclusion—the exact fraction of a second the tip met the earth—just as vividly. Yet, in the most uncanny way imaginable, the precise interval in which the rod actually cut through the air was an absolute blank. What mindset had I been in? What posture had my body adopted? Nothing came to mind.

...Is there something wrong with my brain?

Blanking on Leon's request was bad enough, but completely losing my memory of something that had happened literal seconds ago was horrifying. Terrified that something had broken inside my physiology, I channeled my senses inward and inspected every corner of my physical vessel, but found not a single anomaly. Only then could I finally dismiss doubts about my own health.

Having ruled out the neurological damage hypothesis, I was in the middle of sorting through other explanations when a chime rang out.

Leon's private message arrived with impeccable timing.

"Guess asking him directly is the right move."

When it came to proper swordsmanship, I was practically illiterate. Rather than grasping at straws on my own, consulting the resident expert was the obvious choice. Of course, I had zero intention of settling for a vague back-and-forth in text.

"...Was this the replay feature?"

Fiddling with the Demon Lord Gallery's real-time recording and replay tools—functions I had barely touched before—I managed to render a clean video clip capturing the exact moment I bisected the apartment blocks and the heavens. Because the gallery's recording function used my field of vision as its camera lens, the footage didn't show what my limbs were doing, but one thing was certain: a visual recording would be dozens of times faster and clearer than stumbling through a verbal description.

I quickly submitted the private post and went through the interface to invite Leon into the thread. Barely a minute passed before he began firing off replies. His immediate reaction, however, left me staring at the screen in pure disbelief.

"...Wait, you're the creator! You can't be asking me that!"

The man who had designed and sent the technique hadn't anticipated this outcome in the slightest.

The bitter reminder that one should never place blind trust in a Demon Lord bubbled up from the depths of my stomach. Or was Leon simply so thoughtless that things like safety parameters and stabilization tests never crossed his mind before tossing it over?

Thankfully, the explanation that followed was relatively coherent. Leon had never attempted to package swordsmanship into data packets and deliver them via Old Man Noah's Ark before, so he hadn't known the transfer would be this potent. And the reason my memory had cut out was that I had fallen into the State of Selflessness.

That second part answered my most pressing question.

The State of Selflessness.

According to Leon, entering an egoless trance was classified as a transcendent feat, achieved only by high-tier martial artists or grandmasters who had climbed to extraordinary realms. Naturally, far from mastering swordsmanship, I was an absolute novice who had just had the knowledge forced into my mind. The trance I had experienced wasn't an intentional application of supreme technique, but pure, unadulterated beginner's luck.

In other words, splitting the sky again would be completely out of reach unless another miracle of chance favored me, or until I devoted myself to insane, grueling training to genuinely reach that realm.

Stung by Leon's mocking jab, I reset my stance and swung the metal rod with full focus. Far from slicing an apartment building in two, it produced nothing more than a dull *whoosh* as it parted the stale air.

"Figures."

Of course it wouldn't be that easy. I wasn't the protagonist of some web novel; cheat codes and serendipitous enlightenment wouldn't just rain down on my head on command. Exhaling a small breath, I swept the foolish delusion from my mind and continued typing.

By the time our conversation wound down, I had walked away with three critical takeaways.

First: to properly execute the swordsmanship Leon had transmitted, I had to close the disparity between my physical body and the injected knowledge. To put it simply, my muscles had to be conditioned to keep pace with the conceptual sword style stamped into my brain. In short: training was the only answer.

Second: I could only teach Astrea the absolute fundamentals. The technique I had absorbed was heavily customized to fit my specific physical frame; if anyone else tried to practice it, their body would break down, Leon explained. He told me to teach her basic sword handling, record her form, and send him the footage so he could custom-tailor a style suited specifically for her. Of course, to teach the basics, I had to master them first. In short: training was the answer here too.

Third: this one was rather unusual... it seemed I was about to embark on intense, old-fashioned strength training for the first time in years. The culprit was the specific lineage of the swordsmanship I had received.

The origin traced straight back to the dimensional-cleaving swordsmanship of Old Man Moses, which I had witnessed firsthand in the arena. It was not a "heavy sword" in the sense of slow, lumbering strikes, but quite literally the insane art of drawing and swinging an excessively heavy blade at blinding, instantaneous velocity. Executing it required several to dozens of times more muscular torque than conventional swordsmanship.

Looking at this, it seemed he had passed on a style without giving a single thought to safety or practicality. Miraculously, however, it suited me surprisingly well. After all, the solid metal rod in my grip was anything but ordinary in weight despite its simple silhouette.

Did he know that before sending it?

For a brief second, I wondered if Leon had calculated my preferred weapon and my fighting habits before crafting the technique—but the thought lasted only a fleeting moment.

There's no way he thinks that deeply.

A troll who acts as a double agent for fun couldn't possibly be that thoughtful. Definitely not.

Five days passed after that conversation with Leon.

During that time, I began instructing Astrea in foundational swordsmanship alongside standard esper physical conditioning. In turn, I formally accepted Leon's tutelage, establishing a master-disciple bond.

Though, naturally...

It was a master-disciple relationship in name and mockery only.

While the sky above Earth remained scarred, and a Hero received instruction from a Demon Lord—roughly six hundred million kilometers across the void, a man moved about in frantic haste.

"What? It wasn't an observation error?! Are you insane...?"

What news could have shaken him so thoroughly? Clutching the worn-out smartphone against his ear, the man couldn't conceal his sheer panic. He quickly shed his customary researcher's coat and grabbed an overcoat, but before he could leave, a firm knock sounded at the laboratory door.

"...Who is it?"

"Dr. Barev? I am Jerome, Chief Secretary to the Council. I have come to escort you."

Why would the Supreme Council summon him on a day like this? Dr. Anton Barev didn't need to ponder the question for long. Without question, it was because of the anomaly recorded in Sector E_09_71. Swallowing a bitter grimace, Dr. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Barev called out toward the door.

"I was just preparing to step out. Give me a moment."

Buttoning his coat, Dr. Barev opened the lab door and stepped into the corridor. Escorted by Jerome, they boarded an underground transit tram and traveled for quite some time. At a predetermined junction, a thick blindfold was placed over Dr. Barev's eyes. An ordinary citizen might have felt paralyzed by dread, but to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Dr. Barev, this protocol was utterly routine. It was far from his first or second time taking this exact route.

"We have arrived."

The blindfold was removed, revealing a colossal corridor of brushed steel. A heavy passageway he had walked dozens of times. To Anton, the sight was beyond familiar—it bordered on nostalgic. After following the path to its end, Dr. Barev stopped before a modest, unmarked door.

Knock, knock.

"It is Dr. Anton Barev, Mr. Chairman."

"Enter."

The door slid open, revealing an enormous private library packed with towering bookshelves whose sheer scale exerted a suffocating gravity over the room. Seated dead center was a middle-aged statesman, puffing on a luxury cigar, just as he always did.

"You know why you were summoned."

"Yes."

There was no need for elaborate preambles. Both the Council Chairman and Dr. Barev understood precisely what matter had brought them together.

"An anomaly was detected in Sector E_09_71—specifically over the North American continent of Earth. At first, we suspected a sensory glitch in the Argos network... but unfortunately, the reading proved real."

"I have just examined the telemetry myself. A preposterous event. What conclusion has your research institute reached?"

"Cleaving the clouds and atmosphere is an unprecedented phenomenon... We are still compiling estimates, but it is unequivocally not a natural event. With high probability, an esper ability intervened."

"I imagined as much."

Did the word 'esper' strike an unhealed nerve? The smoke trailing from the Chairman's mouth seemed to turn thicker, releasing a foul, acrid stench into the library.

"We require further investigation for conclusive data, but it appears the cloud cover was sheared apart by an electrical or concentrated energy-type esper ability..."

Cautiously offering his preliminary assessment, Dr. Barev suddenly choked on his own words. His gaze had landed on the Chairman's hand, slowly grinding the glowing tip of the cigar into an ashtray, barely containing his venomous rage.

"...What do you think, Doctor?"

"Pardon?"

"That goddamned traitor bastard. He's been holed up on Earth, monopolizing the Gates and gorging himself on monster kills to swell his esper power—don't you agree?"

"Well, as to that..."

Dr. Barev knew exactly what conclusion the Chairman wanted to hear, but he could not bring himself to confirm it easily. The scientific correlation between esper aptitude and monster eradication was entirely unproven, and he found it difficult to believe that an esper could amplify their output simply by culling monsters. Yet, though he held those reservations, Dr. Barev dared not voice them aloud. He understood the bottomless depth of the Chairman's hatred all too well.

"After playing dead for two decades, he suddenly starts throwing fits. I don't need a crystal ball to see how this plays out. Before long, he will ascend to orbit and slaughter every remnant of humanity left."

"Sir..."

"Naturally, you might call my view radical, or dismiss it as paranoid delusion. But what about twenty years ago? Did it make any sense back then that the traitor bastard, celebrated as humanity's greatest hero, would butcher half our population?"

"..."

Anton had no words to offer. He, too, was a scarred survivor who had endured the nightmare of that day two decades ago.

"I won't waste words. Accelerate Project Inhuman."

"....."

"Do not give me excuses about the successful subject escaping. Didn't we manufacture an insurance policy precisely for such a contingency?"

"My silence was not an excuse, Mr. Chairman. I was merely preparing to inform you that we are already moving forward using the reserve test subjects."

"What?"

The Chairman's stony mask cracked. He stared intensely at Dr. Barev, as if doubting his own ears.

"That is not all. Starting a few days ago, the maturation rate and psychic stabilization speed of the two remaining subjects began to surge exponentially. We have achieved an unprecedented breakthrough. At this rate—"

Listening intently to Dr. Barev's measured briefing, the Chairman waited until the scientist had finished speaking before uttering a single, chilling sentence:

"It seems the time has come to return home."