Chapter 21
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Demon Hunt (1)
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The nights in the Empire are bright.
Magical lights sparkle like waves, brilliantly illuminating the streets.
The vast capital is filled with countless buildings, and soft clusters of stars gently descend from the lofty sky.
A breathtaking sight that draws every eye.
At this hour when most people are asleep, I'm walking the streets with Rebecca.
With the slave in tow behind us.
"You're handling this more smoothly than I expected."
"It wouldn't do for things to get noisy. That wouldn't be good for the family."
Duke Phillasia listened to my story and accepted the proposal without even verifying it.
I have no idea what he was thinking, but the important thing is that he paid the elf's price.
Show the crystal orb to the auctioneer, and a single promise that the payment would be sent soon.
That one sentence was enough.
The auctioneer sent us off with a beaming smile.
If I had said something like that, they never would have let me go.
It really drives home just how much influence Duke Phillasia wields within the Empire.
He wouldn't act like that unless he was absolutely certain the duke would send the money.
"So... what are you going to do with this elf now?"
Rebecca avoids using the word "slave."
As if it's forbidden. She shows extreme aversion to it.
"For now, I'll take her with me. If need be, I can enroll her in the academy."
"Is that even possible?"
"Yes. Elves are born with innate talent, after all."
Elves who spend centuries in the forests are born with extraordinary gifts.
Spirits of each element, distinct from magic.
Spirits that only a rare few humans can wield.
Elves possess them naturally from birth.
"The problem is her condition."
I turn my head to glance at the elf's state.
Christina quietly follows me, a leash around her neck.
"Hey, elf."
Calling out to her, her head turns toward me.
Her eyes hold the emptiness of a barren sea.
Her lifeless golden hair stands in stark contrast to Rebecca's.
Though Rebecca healed her wounds with holy power, who knows what horrors she endured after being kidnapped into slavery.
"What's your name?"
"…."
The elf stares up at me blankly but doesn't open her mouth.
As if her lips were sewn shut.
I know the elf's name, but I ask anyway.
Asking her name means I'm treating her not as a slave, but as a living being.
Yet the elf remains silent.
Whether she can't speak, or simply won't.
I can't tell.
One thing is clear: Christina wishes I wouldn't speak to her.
That's the emotion gathered in her eyes.
Honoring her wish, I shut my mouth.
By the time we reach the academy grounds, Rebecca puts her necklace back on.
Her flowing golden hair and shining golden eyes revert to ordinary.
Even her voice changes completely. The perfect image of Adel.
"For now, I'll have her follow me around as a maid."
"I trust you won't do anything strange."
"It's a bit odd that the saintess trusts me."
Rebecca—no, Adel—glares at me.
"It's not you I trust. It's the dignity of that noble house."
"Of course."
She glares at me a bit longer before heading into Trea Dormitory first.
It was late at night, so she's probably sleepy.
"I'm feeling a little sleepy myself."
I look down intently at the elf.
A pattern like shackles is engraved on her wrists.
'Slave Brand.'
A mark always imprinted when breeding other-race slaves.
Especially for other races like elves, its power has been strengthened since their masters were killed.
With that brand, the elf can't do anything special without my command.
The most she could manage is basic physiological functions?
Beyond that, the brand carries coercive force.
For example, if I used it to order her to kiss the ground, she would have to obey.
Because she's a slave.
But I have no intention of doing that.
I have no desire to touch the elf anyway, and I don't want to earn the saintess's dislike.
If she found out I used the slave brand, the saintess wouldn't speak to me anymore.
I'd gone to the trouble of creating a connection through the image and the auction house, and finally got her talking.
If my image tanks further here, it'll be irreversible.
'This is fucking exhausting.'
I let out a deep sigh and looked at the elf.
She's undeniably a peerless beauty. The term "nation-toppling allure" seems made for her.
But she's a flower on an untouchable cliff.
Content with just being able to look at her, I took Christina and entered Trea Dormitory.
"Today's class is sparring."
After the auction house trip, we'd been stuck in theory classes nonstop.
For nearly a month, it felt like I'd gone back to high school.
Ah, was it high school?
Probably something like that.
"With the cooperation of Class B students, you'll spar with your assigned opponents, so remember them well."
Professor Ardin calls out names one by one as he speaks.
I idly twirl my pencil.
Whoever I'm paired with, I can just lose with the invalid passive.
No one can fault my prestige if I lose because I'm not feeling well.
"Deron Phillasia, Luberic Keias."
Hm?
This changes things a bit.
I'd completely forgotten about him since he hadn't made a move in months.
You're still attending the academy?
Well, he's one of the main bosses, after all.
Come to think of it, the festival is coming up soon.
According to the novel's plot, Luberic was supposed to periodically harass the protagonist.
But because of me, he'd been lying low, so I hadn't kept track of the story's progression.
And I'd even snatched Christina, who the protagonist's group was supposed to rescue.
Following Professor Ardin's instructions, we moved to the training grounds.
Class B students were already waiting.
I scanned the crowd for Luberic.
What the hell. Where's Luberic?
Luberic should stand out even among Class B.
His burly build, tall stature, handsome features.
He'd rank high in looks at Iliad Academy too.
But I don't see him anywhere.
Scratching my head, I took a seat in the spectator area.
One student from our class and one from theirs face off on the training ground, with Professor Ardin as referee.
That's how spars usually go.
A referee is mandatory.
As I watch the matches, Agnes approaches me.
"How's your body feeling?"
"So-so. You?"
"Color is starting to mix into my mana."
I let a hint of surprise show.
I knew she'd reach intermediate level eventually, but I didn't expect the color to appear so soon.
Absolute Shadow must really be effective.
With her talent amplified by such a fine weapon, her mana sensitivity has advanced further.
Grow strong.
Grow tall and be my shield, please.
I just want to live quietly.
In the meantime, our protagonist steps onto the training ground.
The man who will later be called a hero.
Lee Han.
He draws his sword and assumes a stance.
His opponent wields a spear.
There's a difference in range.
Lee Han tries to close in quickly, but his opponent is well-prepared for that.
"Class B kids are definitely strong."
I mutter quietly.
This is Iliad Academy's virtuous cycle.
Class B students were probably hailed as geniuses wherever they came from, yet ended up in the "loser" Class B.
That scratches their pride deeply.
In such cases, there are two paths.
Overcome the scratch and strive harder.
Or stagnate without overcoming it.
The one facing the protagonist now is the former.
Calluses are visible on his spear-gripping hands.
He must have put in tremendous effort.
Especially with a spear.
Agnes notices too, her eyes widening as she focuses on the match.
A thrust from the front is a straight thrust.
Turning the spear from outside to inside to block the opponent's weapon is inward sweep.
Turning it from inside to outside to block is outward sweep.
These are the spear's basic stances: outward, inward, straight.
A weapon faithful to the basics never forgets its fundamentals.
Whether sword or spear, it's the same.
A faint smile plays on Professor Ardin's face.
He favors those solid in basics.
And protagonist Lee Han is someone who masters basics better than anyone.
Or more precisely, he ascends to hero solely on basics.
Lee Han grips his sword.
A different aura emanates from him now.
Pure and pristine.
Cleanliness that doesn't feel like it's from someone wielding a sword.
His spear-wielding opponent glares at Lee Han.
Sensing instinctively that something is coming.
"That won't be enough."
I mutter without thinking.
But sensing it alone changes nothing.
The protagonist's technique, which I'd seen described dozens of times in the novel.
Formless Sword Style 1: Swift
A pristine thrust. Faster than anything.
No lightning surges, no flames erupt.
Just a clean thrust.
Yet its speed is unmatched.
Schwick.
The spear shaft severed in one stroke.
The opponent stares dumbly at his spear, unaware when it was cut.
Lee Han sheathes his sword.
Agnes gapes at the scene.
Even she didn't catch that single strike.
But I saw it.
Thanks to the Genius trait.
A single clean line targeting only the shaft.