Faking One's Demise
When planning something like this, I'd already considered everything—including the need for a corpse to make my death look convincing. But even someone as heartless as me has limits. I couldn't kill an innocent person just to get a body, nor could I desecrate someone's grave.
'That would be trampling on someone's dignity.'
But what about the guilty? My mercy doesn't extend to those who dared imagine taking my life. I didn't enjoy doing this sort of thing, but if it was necessary, I had to use whatever was available.
Roban. Even though I'd mercilessly severed his head, I'd at least preserved his body well. I looked down at the frozen, headless corpse I'd hidden away.
'It's only been two weeks. It shouldn't have rotted.'
But this wasn't a biological issue—it was a magical one. The mana core had long since begun to decay. Once a life was lost, the mana core would gradually rot away…
Identifying a headless body was nearly impossible in this world. That, in itself, was a problem. The lack of a mana signature could lead people to conclude the corpse had been dead for some time. However, a decaying mana circuit wasn't caused solely by the passage of time. Being frozen beyond recognition or burned to ash in a blazing hell would produce the same result.
Even if the frozen body couldn't be identified, if someone claimed it resembled Yohan, a few well-placed excuses could make it pass as truth.
'But I don't have the connections to pull that off.'
So what choice did I have?
I had no choice but to steel myself.
I tied my arm tightly with rope, then lit a cigarette.
"…Shit. I swear I'm never doing this again."
I didn't usually swear, but the thought of what was coming made the words slip out. Still, once I'd made up my mind, there was no room for hesitation. Success was the only option.
With my eyes wide open, I muttered,
"God, help me."
Then I snapped my left arm and severed it.
Thud—
Explosive pain. The sensation of amputation I'd never wanted to experience again.
"…Ah, damn it."
But I endured it all, simply exhaling smoke.
Hoo—
It felt as if every drop of blood in my body was spilling onto the ground. My consciousness began to fade. Yet even in this dizzying state, I clung to the last thread of my will and called out to the goddess.
"Shut… up. Just heal me, you damn…"
A wave of exhaustion and powerlessness washed over me as a new arm began to sprout from the severed stump.
"This is fucking ridiculous…"
It didn't take long for the arm to fully regenerate. I flexed it a few times—movement seemed fine. But now I knew from experience.
'If I do this a few more times, I really might die.'
Ever since I'd recklessly used Lorschach, I'd realized something. Even though I could wield the unique abilities of the swords Burga had devoured, there was a limit to how much my body could handle. Unlimited use was impossible.
Still, as long as I didn't die, it was fine. The aftershock of pain was scrambling my head, but I could still move. I picked up the severed arm, dressed Roban's corpse in my armor, severed its left arm in the same way, and froze it in place—leaving only my own arm sticking out from the ice.
"This should work even if they try to identify it…"
The body itself was frozen beyond recognition, but the arm protruding from the ice would suggest it was me. It was a terrible plan by any standard, but for victory, this much pain was a small price to pay. I never thought I'd do something this insane while fully conscious.
'Even Vankite wouldn't have imagined something like this.'
But to fight demons, one had to become an even greater demon. Just as I'd told Yagnus, I secretly dumped the corpse beside a ditch near the streets around Sigmund. This was how I'd created a body that wasn't mine.
***
The next day, an unprecedented incident shook Sigmund.
Anyone who heard the rumor couldn't help but doubt their ears.
"Yohan… is dead?"
The sinister rumor spread through the Sigmund Academy overnight. A strangely frozen corpse had been found in a back alley. After various examinations, it was identified as the body of Yohan—the top student who had instantly dominated his year and was known among the students as the "Troublemaker."
The first to be devastated by the news was Professor Babalk. As the head of his department, he received information the fastest.
"Fuck, fuck—what the hell is this…?!"
Yohan, whom he'd pinned his greatest hopes on and watched from afar, had been meant to become a "star" capable of even destroying a demonic sword. Now that purpose had been thwarted from the very beginning. The plan to slay the Demon King had once again gone awry.
Could this be the work of demons? If so, causing such a disturbance within Sigmund's territory was no different from a declaration of war. Unable to accept the fact, he smashed every piece of furniture in his office in a fit of rage.
"H-Hiik…"
Professor Sire, standing beside him, turned pale as if he couldn't believe this had happened. In short, he felt guilty. The cause of death was likely suffocation, but identifying the killer was another matter. This was clearly the work of some vicious presence or force within the academy, just as Professor Babalk suspected.
But even Professor Sire knew that Yohan usually kept to himself and stayed close to the young lady. 'Is this… my fault?!'
Professor Sire was convinced that everything had started with him. Out of petty jealousy, he'd put Yohan on stage without warning and haphazardly added the Grand Duke's daughter as well. That had caused chaos, and most students had harbored ill feelings toward them ever since. The fact that the two of them always moved separately was already common knowledge among the faculty.
Every time he heard about it, his conscience had pricked him. And now that guilt had led to this. Because he'd driven Yohan away, the boy had wandered into dangerous places and fallen victim to some blind scheme. There was a leap in logic to that conclusion, but once a student had died, all sorts of thoughts inevitably followed.
Anyone who had never thrown a stone at him would be free of this guilt—but Professor Sire was not such a person. He was certainly no sociopath free of remorse. So he simply squeezed his eyes shut and endured Professor Babalk's wrath.
The students' reactions were no different. Most of those connected to the central faction had disliked the northern pair who had looked down on them and declared competition. They hadn't had good feelings toward them to begin with…
"W-What do you mean, he's dead?"
"They say he was found beheaded in the street…"
"Ugh…"
But that didn't mean Yohan had deserved to die! For students who hadn't often faced death, this was hard to accept. No matter how unpleasant he'd been, he was still a classmate who'd studied under the same roof. And he'd died horribly. Who could possibly say "good riddance" to that?
"I-I should've tried talking to him more…"
"What about the young lady? Weren't they dating?"
"Y-You know… I didn't want to say this before, but honestly, that guy who died—he was pretty capable, right? There were problems I was struggling with, and he helped me without saying anything."
"Honestly, aside from the rumors, I thought he was diligent…"
"Except for being from the North, no one really had anything bad to say about him, right?"
"I couldn't reach a book on the top shelf in the library because I'm short, and he just put it up for me without a word."
"Did someone like that really get murdered…?"
"I-I should've been nicer to him…"
Shock and horror.
On the other hand, the pro-Northern students who had some connection to the North tore at their hair in rage.
"This is a declaration of war. The central faction has declared war on us!"
"They were happy to ostracize him when he was alive, and now they're pretending to feel sorry? Are they insane?!"
"No, Sir Yohan! I thought the North was finally changing…!"
"The young lady is going to break. We can't let that happen…!"
And that wasn't the end of it. What about those who had been directly involved with Yohan while he was alive?
"Jurchen, look at this! It's a scoop, a real scoop!"
"Aang…?"
Jurchen, the troublemaker knight, had been dozing off in a corner of the classroom, skipping class.
"…Fuck off. There's no way that guy died."
Jurchen answered indifferently.
"What! I went out of my way to tell you!"
"You decided we were friends on your own. I've never once thought of you as a friend."
"…What?"
He spoke to the student who had once hidden in the women's changing room and been disqualified from the knight order.
"You don't know this, but he's not the kind of person who dies so easily."
"Y-You know him well, don't you! And what do you mean we're not friends? You're the one who got expelled from your hometown for a sex scandal! We're comrades!"
Crash—
In an instant, he transformed his arm into a dragon's and slammed the student's head against the wall. In the Bruised City, Yohan had done all the fighting, and torture had left him unable to use force—but Jurchen was a half-dragon. Dealing with one bespectacled honor student was nothing.
"Mine wasn't lust, it was pure love, you bastard. And don't casually talk about the whereabouts of someone I liked. He didn't die."
"Ghk, l-let go…"
"I'll be watching you. There won't be a next time."
Even as he said that, Jurchen was inwardly worried. More than anything else, it had been fun, hadn't it? The things they'd done together in the arena. Escaping prison with his help. Meeting Nonedon and having that emotional family reunion. Beating up everyone below deck and lifting the chamber to give the Fist King mental treatment—even then, he'd thought,
'As long as I'm with this guy, I can do all sorts of fun crazy shit without dying.'
He'd never seen anyone handle things so casually. But now they said that guy was dead. Jurchen couldn't believe it. He was someone who trusted his instincts more than reason.
"…Cryan must know something."
With that strong hunch, Jurchen dashed down the hallway. It was a moment when many fates were becoming intricately entangled.