Broken Promise

“Goodbye…… Goodbye, Oppa…….”

That was how I parted ways with Lim Yena. As always, we handed over a hefty sum and stepped into a hotel room. The moment we entered, Cheon Mari pulled a scanning device from her bag and began checking for hidden bugs or cameras.

“Looks like we’re clear here.”

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Relieved, she pulled out her laptop and a stack of documents. All of them contained valuable information related to money. She plugged in the charger, set up tethering, and prepared some food. Normally, this would be the part where I casually clicked through stock charts, but my hand reached for the internet news instead.

“Looks like another mess broke out somewhere.”

“What does?”

“Ah, there’s news saying hunters are losing to knights.”

Knights. In German, Ritter. A term that crossed over from Shareltea to Earth with the appearance of the gates. Though it shared the same word as the knights who roamed the medieval era, its meaning was both similar and different. A knight’s primary duty was to eliminate threats to their affiliated group. Naturally, those threats could be gates, monsters, or even people. In some ways, they resembled soldiers, but there were too many differences to call them exactly the same. If I had to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠put it simply, they were closer to elite soldiers specialized in monster extermination, enhanced through magical means.

Here, a group of knights was called an “Orden.” Though all knight orders were elite, not all were state-affiliated—many were privately run. These private knight orders were, in name only; in reality, they were little more than mercenary bands. Their skills were inconsistent, their discipline nonexistent, and they pursued profit above all else. Gather a bunch of rowdy street thugs, teach them magic, and you could form a private knight order. Because of this, they were sometimes referred to by a slightly downgraded term instead of “knight order.” The word “clan” was a prime example.

And if there were private knight orders, there were also private knights. They were often called “adventurers” instead of knights. Adventurers who hunted monsters in gates. Knights who hunted monsters in gates. Hunters who hunted monsters in gates. That’s right—knights and hunters were the same thing. Originally, the term “hunter” didn’t exist. “Knight” was the standard term from the very beginning, dating back to when Nazi Germany first made contact with another world through the gates. It remained so even when the Galacotede Empire, followers of the World Tree, passed on magic and magical engineering to the fascist nations. It stayed the same when the Axis powers used ancient scrolls that parted the sea like Moses’ miracle to invade Britain. Even after they pushed as far as Manchester only to be crushed by a nuclear counterattack, ending World War II in an inconclusive mess. Even after the knowledge of World Gate construction and magic passed to America through defeated Japan. It remained unchanged until the cold war began, splitting the world into the anti-World Tree faction—the First World—and the World Tree faction—the Second World.

Not only the word “knight,” but also the knight ranks—Meister, Experte, and Knappe—were translated as Master, Expert, and Squire and carried over as-is. Of course, that didn’t mean “hunter” was some made-up term I’d imagined. These terms, which seemed too broken to fix, underwent a complete overhaul one day.

It seemed like a pointless effort, but it wasn’t entirely bad. It made it easy to explain the superiority of hunters over knights.

“That’s all just PR to secure funding. It’s the 21st century—who’s still saying hunters are losing to knights? That’s ridiculous.”

Hunter = Hunter. Knight = Idiot. A linguistic pollution that would go down in history. It didn’t even take a hundred years for the word “knight” to come to mean a bunch of worthless scum. Thanks to that, medieval movies featuring knights became extremely rare. They said not to use overly strong words before a fight, but if you started by calling someone a knight, all the tension would vanish. Even if it felt like an unfair downgrade, the reality was that a Low Sword Expert knight could be torn apart by a passing middle-school hunter girl (hungry). If it were a high-school hunter girl instead, it would be fortunate if the knight only ended up torn apart.

So how did the World Tree faction endure this miserable reality? They couldn’t, which only repeated the vicious cycle of declining knight quality. In a world overflowing with kind-hearted hunters who wanted to set the World Tree ablaze to make the world a warmer place, the World Tree faction now had only one place left to rely on.

“Ah, but aside from knights, we should be careful with the hero candidates.”

Hero candidates. Those who aspired to become heroes. I didn’t know exactly what a hero was, but they were people who hoped to become the strongest. And as if to prove that hope, they could stand toe-to-toe with hunters without backing down. In the game, hero candidates were on par with most bosses. Moreover, the Hero Academy where they were trained was growing in scale by the day—an undeniable threat.

Incidentally, the group of hero candidates was called the Hero Death Squad. We jokingly referred to them as “hero parties.” The idea of a hero party whose goal was to slaughter anyone who opposed a single tree was an absurd reality.

“I don’t get why kids whose goal is to kill people are called hero candidates.”

“Isn’t that just World Tree sensibility? It’s obviously a mud-slinging fight, but they slap a sacred word on it anyway.”

“They’re really insane.”

“No wonder there are books on how to hunt hero candidates.”

Because of this, some of the requests hunters received involved eliminating hero candidates. The goal was to crush them before they could grow, and there were even hunters who specialized in handling such requests. Of course, there were also occasional elimination requests for knights, adventurers, saints, and priests. If I became a hunter, I’d likely have to accept and carry out these kinds of requests. No—not “likely,” but “definitely.” Only by killing every hero candidate that appeared in the game could I avoid destruction and secure my future. It was essentially my long-term goal. The academy and revenge were nothing more than temporary stops along the way.

“Ah, but if you hold too much aversion to killing people, you won’t survive as a hunter. Be careful.”

“Why would I feel any aversion to killing those bastards?”

In the first place, who was it that antagonized the deranged fascist nations by supporting them during World War II? Who was it that ruined everything with environmental terrorism that stretched Earth’s rotation to thirty hours just when détente seemed to be continuing? Who were the people who contributed greatly to this country’s remilitarization? Though I didn’t get to see it for long, who was it that killed my parents in this new life? And ultimately, when they treated us like demonkin, demon king’s army, and demon-democracy worshippers and tried to kill us at every turn, what choice did we have? There was no need to overcomplicate things when we had a just cause.

“I’m going to the academy with a hardened heart from the start. Don’t worry too much.”

There, I would grow and lay the foundation for a happy life. Of course, that was a matter for the future, and today there were more than a few problems preventing happiness. I closed the laptop with a click. Then I looked at Cheon Mari, who was rolling around on the bed, too bothered to deal with stocks or anything else.

“Mari, what happened earlier that made you late?”

She had mentioned something going on at home. Given that she’d even thrown in the word “fuck,” it clearly wasn’t anything good.

“Ah…… that? My grandfather suddenly threw a tantrum out of nowhere.”

A tantrum. That only confirmed it was something bad.

“Feels like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this story’s going to be long. Can you summarize it first?”

“I have to prepare for the academy too, just like you.”

“……?”

What kind of peaceful world was this, where marines suddenly appeared? I stared at Cheon Mari with wide eyes.

“Wait, hold on. Weren’t you originally not going to Palaestra Academy—”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning to go. That way, I could take over the company like I did every regression.”

Originally, Cheon Mari hadn’t planned to attend Palaestra Academy. No—she hadn’t even intended to set foot in anything resembling a university curriculum. It might seem strange that my friend wouldn’t go when I was attending the academy, but for a regressor, attending “university” itself was odd. Since she already knew so much and had so much to do, it was far more efficient for her to spend that time doing other things. That was why we had promised to pursue our respective goals to the fullest. I would become a professional hunter through Palaestra Academy. Cheon Mari would become the greatest Nartica executive, one who also doubled as a hunter. Of course, revenge was supposed to come at the end of that process. Cheon Mari would help me with my revenge while managing the guilds.

“Mari, wait. Have you ever been to Palaestra Academy before?”

“Not even once. Not even a short visit. I never felt the need.”

But now, this situation meant that promise itself was breaking. Both of us going to the academy? A regressor who had never set foot in an academy in her entire life, and me who had to go to one?