A Lecture That Ruins the Appetite

Aspiring young adventurers were never particularly bright.

The Department of Adventuring had long been mocked as a daycare for academic underachievers, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so it was only natural that the students' approach to problem-solving was hopelessly mundane. Because of that, Destroyer had zero interest in delivering mundane lectures. That was the exact reason he had slapped absurdly harsh prerequisites on his Upper Class course in the first place—to deliberately deter enrollments and dodge teaching altogether. After all, this was a class taught by a legendary former Hero. If just any mediocre scrub could stumble into such a fateful opportunity, where was the prestige?

The Headmaster was right when he said at least one amusing student would show up, Destroyer mused, feeling a rare thrill of novelty. Orknodi... this kid is fascinating.

For a mere freshman to deliver a flawless, hundred-percent answer to the riddle of the Undying Sheep was beyond expectation. Had this child been an active Hero in the field, she might have cracked the truth and rooted out the problem far faster than his own party had fifteen years ago.

"Do you want to hear the full truth?"

"Of course!"

"Then listen closely."

Recalling the grim truth he had unearthed five years ago, Destroyer began to recount the trail of slaughter concealed beneath the pastoral veneer of everyday life.

Fifteen years ago, the one who first filed a commission with the Adventurers Guild was a simple shepherd who had lost his sheep.

The culprits were his fellow herdsmen. In a desolate backcountry where food was desperately scarce, they butchered and devoured the livestock in secret, staging the remains as if a wild beast had attacked. Exhausted adventurers tracking the meager trail either hunted down some trivial monster in the woods or returned empty-handed.

Emboldened by impunity, the thief grew ever more brazen. Eventually, he murdered the shepherd who owned the stolen flock and stuffed his corpse inside a hollowed-out sheepskin fleece.

Wild animals were the first to catch on. The stench of rotting human flesh tucked among the grazing flock terrified them; to predatory instincts, the scent of death hinted at an apex carnivore concealed within the herd. Even ravenous wolves whose ribs poked through their skin dared not raid that bizarre pasture.

Seasons turned and years drifted by. The murderer laid hands on yet another shepherd's flock and dispatched the owner as well, filling the vacancies left behind with displaced refugees fleeing tyrannical feudal lords. No matter how hard a shepherd worked, raising sheep yielded paltry coin, and finding an honest merchant willing to pay fair prices in the middle of nowhere was nearly impossible. Whenever someone vanished, it was easy enough to convince outsiders that they had simply sold off their sheep for a lump sum and moved away.

Uneasy herdsmen repeatedly posted requests for adventurers, but every party merely roamed the desolate wilds beyond the village, chasing a monster that didn't exist. One by one, every original shepherd was eliminated, and the grotesque cohabitation of sheep and corpses continued unchecked.

The 'sheep' never bleated, never grazed, and could not walk in a straight line. Starving villagers, wracked by poverty and hunger, actively cooperated with the murderer-turned-village chief, receiving food rations in exchange for their complicity and silence. Thus the chief tended his 'flock,' and any captive survivor who managed to slip out of their fleece in an escape attempt was butchered into a communal meal.

Then, commissions were posted anew, begging someone to uncover why the sheep kept vanishing.

And so, fresh 'sheep' walked right into the village.

Such was the dark secret behind the Undying Sheep that persisted for a decade.

"What a foul, sickening commission," Destroyer murmured.

It also explained why the bounty fluctuated every single time: the reward simply matched whatever coin was stripped from the pockets of the latest sacrificial 'sheep.' The Adventurers Guild had been completely played. Over the span of ten years, the Guild had grown accustomed to validating the payouts whenever someone brought back a stray minor monster, cementing the quest's reputation as easy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠money for a bit of footwork. How could anyone have seen through it?

Countless rookie parties had passed through that village of sheep. Some left with easy pocket money, while others vanished into thin air, sewn into fleece as brand-new sheep.

That grim, decades-long chapter was finally brought to a violent end when Destroyer personally exposed the truth.

"Aren't you scared? It's an adventure tale woven from human malice far viler than any monster."

"It's definitely creepy! But it was super fun!"

"...Fun? A story where droves of people were butchered?"

"People usually assume adventuring is just about slaying monsters or mapping out unexplored dungeons, don't they?" Orknodi replied cheerfully. "I was thrilled to get a rare, secondhand taste of something so different in the Adventuring Department."

"And why does that thrill you?"

"Because it feels like unmasking and executing a monster disguised in human society, or exploring an unknown danger lurking in daily life! It made me realize that a Hero really is an adventurer at heart, and an adventurer can embark on adventures just like a Hero!"

Seeing Orknodi's eyes sparkle with genuine excitement, Destroyer let out a dry smirk.

"Cheeky brat. I don't know about being a Hero, but you certainly have what it takes to be a great adventurer."

"What's that?"

"Not being afraid."

"Booo. What kind of answer is that? That doesn't sound impressive at all!"

"People succumb to fear easily," Destroyer said quietly. "When they lack the skill to resolve a crisis on their own, when they are crushed under the weight of an unspeakable truth, or when they dread stepping into the unknown."

Destroyer reached toward the fearless girl. When she eagerly thrust her little hand out thinking he wanted a handshake, he smacked it aside, flicked his telekinesis, and snapped the test paper back into his grip. As Orknodi sheepishly pulled her hand back, he offered a low warning.

"Still, it looks to me like you need to learn a healthy dose of fear. If a mere freshman prances around without caution, there's no telling where you'll end up as someone's sacrificial lamb."

With that grim parting thought, he waved his hand dismissively.

"Class is dismissed. You got the answer right, so that's the end of the walkthrough. I tossed you some Points to reward my star pupil, so go hit the cafeteria instead of starving."

"Thank you very much!"

"Oh, by the way. I hear they're serving grilled lamb skewers for lunch today."

"......"

"Heheheh. Eat your fill. That is, if you still have the stomach for it."

The lecture was fun, but the professor has an awful personality, Orknodi thought. With a sullen pout that wore her grievances plainly on her face, she turned on her heel and trudged out of the classroom.

"Wearing her heart on her sleeve like that... she's as good as dead out there," Destroyer muttered to himself.

There was an epilogue to the former Hero's tale that he hadn't shared with the freshman. The village chief whose facade he shattered hadn't merely been a common cannibal obsessed with survival. Perhaps that had been the case in the beginning, but over time, the chief had struck a deal with a wandering dark mage coveting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the corpses, trading fresh bodies for dark sorcery.

Preservation from rot.

The shambling gait of the deceased.

A silence curse preventing speech.

Through all manner of spells, managing the 'sheep' had become frighteningly convenient. Once exposed, the battle had been even more grotesque.

Awakening of the Sheep.

Breath of Putrefaction.

Corpse Explosion.

Spells capable of dissolving ordinary adventurers into puddles of gore erupted in a ceaseless barrage. In the ten years since his greenhorn days, the Hero hadn't been the only one growing stronger.

"It would be a tragedy if a rare talent charged ahead on overconfidence and wound up dead," Destroyer grumbled.

To prevent such ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠disasters, even the Headmaster forbade freshmen from taking off-campus practical training as a rule. Still, gaining secondhand combat experience by getting ambushed inside a dream doesn't count as off-campus fieldwork, does it?

With that thought in mind, Destroyer made his way directly to the laboratory of the Alchemy Professor.

"You want a freshman to gain indirect experience through a dream?" the Alchemy Professor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"You? The guy who throws a tantrum whenever he has to teach?"

"That's right."

"Well, isn't that bizarre? For you to take such an interest in someone." The Alchemy Professor licked her lips thoughtfully. "If she's that bright, maybe I should coax her into enrolling in my class too?"

"Don't you dare. She's only a freshman."

"She can always skip a grade."

"Shut it. Keep your paws off someone I called dibs on. Show some professional courtesy, you witch."

"Stingy. It's not like she'll wear out if we share. So when are you putting her under? Next class?"

"Class time is for my lectures. Why would I waste it on a dream?"

"...Wait, you don't mean..."

"Tonight."

Ever since he witnessed the ten-year tragedy of that village, Destroyer had made a personal vow: whenever an idea struck, handle it immediately without hesitation.

Hidden courses offered handsome rewards. The mental toll they took, however, was equally steep.