Ten Percent

Whir, whir, hummm...

"Hmm... This structure is more complex than I anticipated."

A half-disassembled magic sword floated in the air. Its blade was suspended between three layers of transparent magic circles, and tiny, delicate glyphs crawled across its surface like a swarm of ants.

The interior of the research division was quiet. But it was not the silence of a dead place. It was the quiet of living machinery holding its breath as it ran. The magic circles rotated with a low, barely audible hum, crystal measuring devices pulsed with light at regular intervals, and the spell circuits carved into the walls flowed slowly like blue blood.

The 5th Research Division.

It was one of the most anomalous places within the entire Sword Order Headquarters.

In the training grounds of the other divisions, the first things to greet the ears were the clashing of wooden swords, the stomping of boots, and the sharp, exhaled shouts of exertion. In the administrative building of the 1st Division, one heard the rustling of paper, the low reports of scribes, and the scratching of Roen's pen against his record board. In the 3rd Division's sector, the metallic clang of shields and armor echoed constantly, while the 2nd Division's training grounds resounded with the rhythmic, disciplined strikes of textbook swordsmanship.

But the 5th Research Division was different.

Here, even the swords breathed. Spell formulas flowed over blades, mana circuits embedded inside hilts pulsed like heartbeats, and unfinished magic swords hummed with their own unique, imperfect frequencies.

Arcel Libern was the man who commanded all of this.

The Captain of the 5th Squad. A magic swordsman with long, light-blue hair. A warrior who wielded both sword and sorcery.

A sword draws a line. Magic gives that line meaning. The path a blade travels is not a mere trajectory; it is a conduit through which power flows. Depending on what kind of spell formula is layered onto that conduit and how it is applied, a sword can become a simple cutting tool, a key to tearing through barriers, or an absorption device that drains mana.

Arcel researched these possibilities. And that research demanded absolute concentration—especially now, as he dismantled a magic sword still clinging to a lingering curse.

The blue thread of mana extending from his fingertips was thinner than a strand of hair. That single thread slipped deep into the blade, seizing the tiny crevice where the residual curse lay hidden.

Pull too hard, and the mana-conductive layer inside the blade would snap. Pull too gently, and the residual curse would seal itself shut again, rotting the entire sword from the inside out.

Yet, he could not hold it for long. The dark stain inside the magic sword was pulsing at a rigid, steady interval.

One. Two. Three.

He had to suppress it before the third beat.

Arcel held his breath, counting the pulsations. A few strands of his long, light-blue hair had slipped loose from their tie and fallen over his shoulder, but he did not bother to brush them away. He could not afford to take his eyes off his fingertips for even a fraction of a second.

A single finger. A single breath. A microscopic tremor in his mana.

These tiny variables decided the life or death of a magic sword. And the life or death of a single magic sword could, at times, decide the fate of an entire battlefield.

That was how Arcel viewed his work. Behind the glamorous title of a magic swordsman lay an absurdly delicate cycle of repetition, calculation, and calibration.

Creak...

"Captain Arcel."

The laboratory door swung open, and a scribe from the 5th Squad stepped inside.

Arcel did not turn his head. Keeping his focus locked entirely on the mana thread at his fingertips, he spoke.

"For you to barge in now, it had better be urgent."

His voice was calm. But the scribe instantly recognized the warning laced within that tranquility. In the 5th Research Division, the most terrifying words were never shouted. They were the questions Arcel Libern asked in an incredibly serene voice in the middle of an experiment.

Is whatever you have to say urgent enough to justify interrupting me?

That question carried two meanings: if it is truly urgent, speak. If it is not, I will ensure you have an urgent matter to attend to immediately.

The scribe swallowed hard.

"A message from the 1st Division."

Arcel's fingertips paused ever so slightly. Inside the magic sword, the residual curse swelled toward its third pulse. Arcel curled his index finger. The blue mana thread dug deeper into the blade, forcibly suppressing the heartbeat.

Sssss.

A thin wisp of black smoke rose from one side of the blade as the surface of the residual curse began to burn. The scribe's eyes widened at the sight, but Arcel did not so much as blink.

"Is it from Adjutant Roen?"

"Yes."

"A document? Or... verbal?"

"A document."

Roen had sent a document. Roen was a man of few words. If he deemed it necessary to put something in writing, it was either a matter that required an official record, or something that could not afford even the slightest misunderstanding during transmission.

Arcel looked down at the magic sword. The dismantling was not yet complete, but it seemed he was in no position to continue. He raised his left hand and dissolved one of the floating magic circles. The circular formula shrank, wrapping tightly around the blade. A second magic circle dissolved right after, and a third, transparent barrier thinly coated the entire weapon. The suppressed curse squirmed once more, but fell still as the sealing formula locked it down.

The magic sword descended slowly, settling onto a black stand. Arcel finally lowered his hand and turned his gaze to the scribe.

"Read it."

The scribe unfolded the document. It bore Roen's handwriting—precise, concise, and entirely devoid of emotion. Just looking at those letters was enough for Arcel to brace himself.

The scribe read the first line.

"The Commander-in-Chief is coming to the 5th Research Division."

Arcel did not react immediately. Inside the laboratory, a mana measuring device blinked once. The spell circuits on the walls hummed softly. Somewhere, the faint clink of metal echoed.

Arcel pondered. The Commander-in-Chief is coming to the 5th Research Division. It was possible. It wasn't entirely unprecedented for the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order to visit the research division.

When special equipment needed to be inspected before a large-scale deployment. When there was a possibility that the Demon King's Army's spells might affect the Sword Order's gear. When items related to the Holy Sword, the Royal Family, the Magic Tower, or the Holy Church required temporary analysis. Or when weapons and curses recovered from the Demon King's Army's executives were brought back to headquarters.

In those moments, Ena would occasionally descend to the research division herself. Of course, it was a rare occurrence. Ena spent far more time on the battlefield and handling administrative duties than she did on research. For her to come down here personally meant this was no minor affair.

Arcel looked at the scribe and asked, "The purpose of her visit?"

The scribe's eyes scanned further down the page.

"She stated it is for a consultation regarding her training."

"..."

This time, even Arcel could not find his words immediately.

The sealing formula wrapping the magic sword let out a low, vibrating whine, as if the entire laboratory had paused to process what it had just heard. A 5th Squad member who had been sorting mana stones at a workbench in the back froze. Another member adjusting the wall's barrier circuits turned around. A craftsman who had been wiping an unstable blade with a cloth stopped his hand in midair, blinking in sheer disbelief.

They were all thinking the exact same thing.

The Commander-in-Chief. Training. Did those two words even belong in the same sentence?

Only after several quiet breaths did Arcel finally speak.

"...The Commander-in-Chief, suddenly?"

The question was entirely genuine. It was neither a joke nor a rhetorical question. The Commander-in-Chief was coming for a training consultation. Within the Sword Order, training was a given. Everyone trained. Every dawn, the 2nd Division's training grounds echoed with rhythmic sword strikes, the 3rd Division's sector resounded with clashing shields, and the recruits of the 10th Division gripped their wooden swords until their palms tore open.

The Captains were no exception. Even at their level, the war was far from over, the Demon King's Army continued to evolve, and demons shattered human common sense in new ways every time. Thus, training was a natural part of life.

But Ena was different. She was the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order. The Owner of the Hundred Days. The one who held the sun within a black scabbard.

And she was training?

Arcel's brow furrowed slightly at the thought.

The scribe added cautiously, "Adjutant Roen requested that we clear the central laboratory if possible, and prepare heat-resistant and shock-absorbing barriers."

Arcel closed his eyes.

Baekil.

The answer came far too easily. In fact, it came so easily that it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Arcel opened his eyes and asked, "Is this regarding Baekil?"

"The word 'Baekil' is not explicitly written in the document," the scribe replied, checking the paper again.

"But it says 'heat-resistant barriers.'"

"Yes."

"And it asks to clear the central laboratory."

"Yes."

"And it's a training consultation for the Commander-in-Chief."

"Yes."

"Then it is Baekil."

The scribe fell silent. There was no refuting that logic.

Arcel stood up, his chair scraping slightly against the floor. He swept his gaze across the entire laboratory.

On the right wall sat the magic sword thermal reaction gauge. It was a piece of equipment they had barely managed to acquire last year after three rounds of negotiations with the Western Magic Tower, securing transport permits from the Royal Family, and obtaining quarantine clearance from the Holy Church. It was expensive. Absurdly expensive.

Next to it was the blade resonance measuring board. Arcel had spent three months calibrating it himself. It was a temperamental device whose readings would fluctuate wildly at the slightest touch, requiring recalibration whenever the surrounding mana density shifted—even humidity affected it. But once finished, it was an invaluable tool that allowed them to visually track the flow of mana inside a sword.

In the center lay the composite barrier plate, a device designed to handle heat, shock, and mana turbulence simultaneously. It was one of Arcel's most cherished possessions in the 5th Research Division.

Along the inner left wall hung experimental magic swords. Though unfinished, each possessed immense research value. One of them didn't even have a proper name yet—not because it was dangerous, but because Arcel had yet to be fully satisfied with it.

Arcel looked at all of these items. Then, with absolute composure, he spoke.

"Everyone."

Every member in the research division turned to look at him at once.

"Clear out the expensive things first."

A brief silence followed, and then the research division erupted into chaos. No one asked why. If they had time to ask why, they had time to move another piece of equipment. This was especially true for the members who had just overheard the contents of the document.

The Commander-in-Chief. Baekil. Central laboratory. Heat-resistant barriers.

What each person prioritized in that combination might differ, but the members of the 5th Research Division were generally of one mind: the research equipment. They had to save whatever could be saved.

A magic sword storage rack was wheeled away, its casters rattling loudly. It was heavy, even with two people pushing it. One member gritted his teeth and shouted, "The right wheel is stuck again!"

"Just lift it!" another yelled back.

"Lift this?!"

"If you drop it, that's a hundred years of your salary!"

At those words, the rack was hoisted into the air. Somehow, they managed. Mana stone crates were slammed shut. Spell boards were wrapped in cloth and rushed to the inner sealing chamber. Someone suggested leaving the high-temperature tolerance crystals behind, but the idea was instantly shot down.

"Shouldn't we leave them if it's a heat-resistance experiment?"

"Our opponent is the Commander-in-Chief! Leave only half!"

"Why only half?!"

"We still need to take measurements!"

"Then leave the cheap ones!"

"The cheap ones already blew up last time!"

Panicked, screaming exchanges echoed through the depths of the research ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠division. Arcel walked briskly toward the central laboratory. Even amidst the chaos, he kept a sharp eye on the evacuation routes, directing which equipment to move and which to leave behind. He couldn't abandon measurements entirely. Today's event was dangerous, but it also held immense research value. How many times in the history of the Sword Order would they get a chance to measure such power?

Arcel was a researcher. He grieved for his equipment, yet he desperately wanted to measure the output even if it meant losing some of it. Those two desires waged war within him. For the most part, his concern for the equipment won out, but not entirely. In the end, he left a few measuring devices behind. Because they were expensive—but more importantly, because they were crucial.

He had no idea just how much agony that decision would cause him later.

Arcel placed his hand on the floor of the central laboratory. Blue mana threads spread out from his fingertips.

Sword Path Tracking Barrier. Under normal circumstances, this would have been more than enough. It could withstand several strikes from high-ranking executives of the Demon King's Army and was frequently used for testing Captain-level sword strikes.

Arcel paused. His opponent today was not a high-ranking demon executive. It was the Commander-in-Chief. He moved his hands again.

Emergency Isolation Barrier.

Layers of blue light stacked atop one another in the center of the research division. The circuits carved into the walls awoke one by one, and thin glyphs rose to the ceiling, rotating slowly. A Black Iron Pillar was anchored in the center—a dense, dark experimental metal. Highly resistant to heat and shock, and indifferent to the flow of mana, it was frequently used in experiments because it left clean, stable cut marks. An ordinary swordsman could hack at it all day without leaving so much as a scratch, and even high-ranking members required sword qi and spell assistance to mar it.

Arcel looked at the pillar and offered a silent, brief apology. Even if you fail to hold out today, it won't be your fault.

Just then, footsteps echoed from outside the research division.

Tap. Tap.

They were not fast, nor did they sound hurried. Yet, the clamor inside the research division gradually died down. One by one, the members turned their heads. Hands moving equipment froze, before resuming their tasks with hushed caution.

The door opened, and Roen stepped inside, ledger in hand. He was as immaculate as ever, his face devoid of any significant emotion. However, Arcel did not miss the faint trace of exhaustion beneath his eyes. He had not rested properly since the Battle of the Waste Sluice.

Roen swept his gaze over the research division—the cleared equipment stands, the multi-layered barriers, the Black Iron Pillar in the center, the members huddled in the distance, and Arcel standing before the central laboratory.

He spoke curtly. "You're quick to prepare."

Arcel got straight to the point. "What exactly is going on?"

Roen flipped a page on his record board.

"The Commander-in-Chief wishes to divide ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the operational stages of Baekil."

Arcel looked down. As expected. He had anticipated this, but hearing it aloud gave the words a different weight. To divide the operational stages of Baekil. It sounded simple enough on paper, but the reality was anything but. It meant she intended to gradually unleash a power capable of erasing entire battlefields, depending on the need. It sounded like adjusting firepower, but in truth, it was an attempt to measure a catastrophe inside its scabbard.

"Is this because of the Battle of the Waste Sluice?" Arcel asked in a low voice.

"Yes," Roen replied, his tone unchanging. "She drove Leo to the brink of death using pure swordsmanship, but there were too many constraints. The terrain, the relays, the rescue targets, the urban structures. Activating Baekil would have resolved it instantly, but the collateral damage would have been too severe."

Arcel spoke quietly. "So she needs a level of force between swordsmanship and Baekil... is that it?"

Roen's pen moved. Scratch, scratch.

"The Commander-in-Chief used those exact words."

Arcel let out a short breath. "All I can do is analyze the structure. The sensation of opening and closing Baekil belongs solely to the Commander-in-Chief."

"She is aware."

"Which is why she is seeking me out."

"Yes."

"In my laboratory."

"Yes."

Arcel looked around his laboratory once more. The members were still frantically moving equipment. A magic sword storage rack bumped into a wall as it rounded a corridor corner, and Arcel's eyes snapped toward it instantly.

"Push it carefully!"

The member bowed his head, his face pale. Roen's pen scratched against the paper again.

Arcel stared at Roen. "Are you recording that too?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It is a major variable in the current situation."

"I am the variable?"

"The laboratory is."

"I hate that even more."

Roen did not reply, wearing the face of a man who had merely recorded the facts. Arcel gave up on arguing further.

At that moment, the air inside the research division shifted. It was a strange way to put it, but there was no other way to describe it. The air simply changed.

First, the noise died down. Without anyone giving an order, the members fell silent. Scribes stepped back, and craftsmen set down their tools. Arcel, too, raised his head.

Footsteps drew near. They were not loud; in fact, they were quite quiet. Yet, those quiet footsteps felt more distinct than any barrier erected in the research division.

The door opened, and Ena stepped inside.

Her silver-white hair hung a bit looser than usual. Her Eastern-style robe was immaculate, carrying neither the scent of stagnant water nor the smell of blood, and the black-scabbarded Ilryun hung at her waist. She looked so composed it was hard to believe she had just fought the Battle of the Waste Sluice.

But Arcel saw it—the low, heavy gaze. The eyes of a person lost in deep thought. Ena, the Commander-in-Chief, stepped into the research division.

The entire room naturally parted to make a path for her. Arcel bowed his head.

"Commander-in-Chief."

Ena gave a brief nod. "Arcel."

She then surveyed the room—the empty equipment stands, the ten layers of barriers in the central laboratory, the Black Iron Pillar, the members huddled in the distance, and Arcel's slightly pale face.

"You've cleared out quite a lot," Ena remarked.

Arcel replied calmly, "I cleared out the things I wanted to keep alive first."

Roen's pen moved. Scratch, scratch. Arcel ignored the sound this time. Now was not the time to worry about Roen's records. He had no idea what would become of his laboratory in the next few minutes.

Ena walked toward the central laboratory. Her steps were light, but that very lightness only fueled his anxiety. It felt as though the barriers, the walls, the ceiling, and the equipment in this room existed solely to withstand her slightest movement.

Ena stopped before the Black Iron Pillar. Her hand had not yet touched Ilryun. Staring at the pillar, she spoke.

"I met Leo at the waste sluice."

The research division fell dead silent. Leo. The Lion of the Zodiacs. The mere mention of that name made the members' faces stiffen. Whether they had read the reports or knew nothing of the details, everyone understood the weight of the word 'Zodiac.'

"I could have killed him," Ena continued. Her tone held no boast, nor any real emotion. It was a simple statement of fact. "But it took too long."

Arcel understood what she meant. Too long by Ena's standards was vastly different from anyone else's. Against an enemy that other Captains would struggle to even survive against with their lives on the line, Ena spoke of being able to kill him—but deemed the process too slow. And in that brief delay, Libra had intervened, allowing Leo to escape. In war, that single beat could alter the entire outcome.

Ena placed her hand on the hilt of Ilryun. "If I had opened Baekil, I could have ended it."

"But the surroundings would not have held," Arcel replied quietly.

"Indeed," Ena admitted readily. "The sluice would have collapsed, the city would have sunk, and the relays would have torn. The sleeping citizens would have been harmed." Her voice dropped lower. "So, I could not open it."

Arcel slowly raised his head. Now, he had to answer as a magic swordsman. He was not here to comfort the Commander-in-Chief; he was here to analyze the problem.

"Commander-in-Chief."

"Speak."

"Your problem is not firepower."

In the back of the room, several members held their breath. It was a bold move to point out a flaw in the Commander-in-Chief. But Ena did not take offense. She was not that kind of person; if the words were necessary, she listened.

"Your firepower is plenty," Arcel continued. "In fact, it is excessive. The problem is that you have no stages."

Ena's eyes narrowed. "Stages."

"Yes."

Arcel conjured a small magic circle at his fingertips, manifesting two circles in the air. One was a dark circle, representing the sealed Baekil. The other was a white circle, representing the unleashed Baekil.

"Until now, Baekil has been binary—either closed or open." Arcel pointed to the white circle. "When erasing an entire battlefield, that method is the most absolute."

He then conjured smaller circles between the two—a tiny white circle, a slightly larger white circle, and one larger still.

"But to face an opponent like Leo in a confined space, you need the space in between."

Ena stared at the circles. The explanation was simple, but that simple diagram perfectly captured the frustration she had felt at the waste sluice. Swordsmanship was on the closed side—precise, but slow. Unleashing Baekil was on the open side—absolute, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but too destructive.

The space in between. A force stronger than swordsmanship, yet narrower than full release.

"We are not reducing Baekil," Arcel explained. "We are dividing its output."

Ena remained quiet for a moment before speaking. "Like ten percent, twenty percent."

Despite expecting those words, Arcel felt a sudden urge to close his eyes. Of course she wants to do it right now. She wasn't talking about experimenting someday, nor preparing for next week. She was here, the barriers were up, the Black Iron Pillar was ready, so she was going to do it now.

Arcel asked, trying his best to remain composed, "...You mean right now?"

"Yes."

"We could do a bit more theoretical review."

"Is it necessary? You've always failed to estimate Baekil's firepower anyway."

Arcel looked around his laboratory—the ten layers of barriers, the Black Iron Pillar, the evacuated equipment, the items they hadn't managed to move, the mana circuits on the walls, the protective arrays on the ceiling, and his own budget. He spoke honestly.

"From the laboratory's perspective, yes, it is necessary."

Ena stared at him. A brief silence passed, and then she nodded. "Then make it quick."

Arcel let out a tiny sigh of relief, though it did not last long. He began to explain rapidly.

"Even ten percent is ten percent by your standards, Commander-in-Chief."

"I know."

"By normal standards, it will still possess massive destructive power."

"I know."

"For the first attempt, strictly limit your strike path." Arcel pointed to the Black Iron Pillar. "Aim only for the center line of the pillar. We will measure how much of Baekil is contained, how much leaks, and the amount of heat the barriers absorb."

Ena listened quietly.

"And do not try to divide it perfectly from the start," Arcel added.

Roen's pen hovered, pausing in midair. The air in the research division seemed to waver. Ena looked at Arcel, but Arcel did not avert his gaze.

"Baekil leaks if you make a mistake," he said clearly. "That is why you couldn't open it at the waste sluice."

Ena did not reply.

"But this is the research division. We have barriers, the Black Iron Pillar, and my spell formulas." Arcel's voice softened slightly as he dissolved the small circles at his fingertips. "Therefore, ten percent is not simply a weak Baekil." He met Ena's eyes. "It must be the threshold of opening it without making a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mistake."

The room fell dead silent. Ena let out a slow breath.

"I see." It was a brief reply. "Prepare yourselves."

The barriers of the central laboratory flared with renewed light. Blue circles stacked atop one another, and measuring arrays materialized around the Black Iron Pillar. The research division members retreated even further. Roen remained as stoic as ever, pen poised.

Arcel performed one final check on the barriers.

...Whew. He exhaled silently. It's fine. She said ten percent. Ten percent. One-tenth. If we take it literally...

He cut his train of thought short. Taking things literally was of no help right now. This was ten percent by Ena's standards. No one knew what that actually meant—even Ena herself was about to define it just now.

Arcel suddenly realized he was standing before a historic moment. The categorization of Baekil. The moment the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order imposed a standard upon her own power. It was something destined for the history books.

And at the same time, it was something that made him deeply, deeply worry for his laboratory.

Ena stepped into the central laboratory. She placed her hand on the hilt of Ilryun.

In that instant, every sound in the research division seemed to fade. The hum of the measuring arrays, the vibration of the barriers, the breathing of the members, the scratch of Roen's pen against his board—all of it felt suddenly distant.

Arcel watched Ena. The Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order. The Owner of the Hundred Days.

Please... Arcel prayed fervently for the safety of his laboratory.

Ena's hand moved.

Ilryun began to slide from its scabbard, agonizingly slow. A thin, white line of light leaked from the black sheath.

Arcel's eyes narrowed.

A faint white glow clung tightly to Ilryun's blade. It was too tranquil to be called a flame, yet too intensely hot to be called mere sword qi. But it did not spread.

Arcel let out a quiet gasp of admiration. She's actually doing it. She is truly dividing Baekil.

He immediately looked at the measuring arrays.

And his admiration froze solid.

The readings were absurd. The heat output was indeed reduced, and the area of effect was strictly contained. It was certainly lower than a full release, fitting the description of 'ten percent.'

But that 'reduced' figure was not low in the slightest for the laboratory's barriers.

Arcel's mouth moved reflexively. "Commander-in-Chief, wait a—"

Ena's voice cut him off.

"Baekil. (One hundred days)"

Ten percent.