13. Academy Terror WWE
13. Academy Terror WWE
BOOM!! BOOM!!!
Buildings exploded and crumbled. Cultists sprinted through the chaos.
Every operative dispatched from headquarters was at least 4th Rank. A single 4th Rank counted as a substantial combat asset in most places—this was not a force to take lightly.
It also represented the entirety of the declining Wish Order's remaining military strength. The scale of the deployment spoke volumes about how much hope the Order had pinned on this operation.
The cultists had arrived with their own resolve and grim determination, of course.
"Hans, this really is Grandis Academy, right? The one from the rumors."
"It is... probably."
"I mean, it's huge and all, but the whole place being the academy is messing with my head a little."
But everything they'd encountered since reaching the fabled Grandis Academy had been nothing short of absurd.
Grandis Academy was the Kingdom's most prestigious institution. The cultists knew the name, but none of them had actually come from Grandis. More to the point, few among them had attended any academy at all.
That was only natural. People who joined an Order branded heretical by the Holy Kingdom and suppressed by the Empire were, by and large, people who had been denied any normal life. There were a handful of elites among them, but no Grandis Academy graduates.
So everything they knew about Grandis came from decades-old operational plans, Milia's letters, and publicly available information. The Order's headquarters were in the Empire, which meant their grasp of the Kingdom was shaky to begin with.
Even so, the academy had managed to shock them in more ways than one.
"That guy we saw earlier... was that really the Finance Director? He wasn't a tour guide?"
"He acted exactly like the guide who used to lead tourists around my old village. Were we... here for a tour?"
"And what the hell is wrong with those Guard Corps?"
Hans, Delian, and Kaylee—designated as Team One—raced along their assigned route, demolishing buildings as they went.
The method was simple: Hans, the de facto team leader, checked the map while the two mages, Delian and Kaylee, combined their power to bring structures down.
Buildings that should have been solidly built collapsed with almost comical ease against the magic of two 4th Rank mages.
Or rather—
Every single pre-assigned target was either dilapidated or blatantly uninhabited.
"We're here for a terror attack, right? Not a demolition crew?"
"...Even so, the collapsed buildings are definitely slowing the Guard Corps down. They probably just assigned us the buildings that were easiest to knock over."
"Then are those Guard Corps normal?"
Delian, looking genuinely baffled, pointed.
"Grr-aahhh! They're too fast—!"
"Third Guard Corps Field Protocol Number Four! When the enemy's Rank is deemed superior, do not attempt reckless arrest—herd them instead! I have it memorized!"
"Rescue the wounded! Search the collapsed structures!"
There they were—Guard Corps acting with a theatricality so stilted it could only be called a performance.
Even as they chased the cultists, they kept glancing around as if knowing they were being watched, bellowing their manual passages at the top of their lungs. Their responses were delivered with oddly stiff, parade-ground formality.
And why, in the first place, did they feel the need to announce every single action they were about to take?
"...I have no idea."
What made it genuinely unnerving, though, was that the Guard Corps pulling this farce were by no means weak.
Not a single one of the guards who had pursued them so far—who kept halting mid-chase to shout about rescuing nonexistent casualties—had been weaker than any of the cultists.
Far from it. 5th Ranks were scattered among them.
'That's the Third Guard Corps...?'
According to the intelligence they'd received beforehand, the Third Guard Corps primarily handled campus patrols and was therefore the weakest unit in terms of combat strength.
If even that unit was at this level, what did that say about the First Guard Unit and the Second Guard Corps?
Hans couldn't stop the cold sweat.
"While they're busy with that clown act, let's move fast to the secret vault. We're about halfway there. Time's running short!"
"This is pissing me off. Can I just blast those bastards with a spell?"
"Are you insane? Kaylee, shut up and run. Our job is to demolish the assigned buildings and regroup at the secret vault. That's it!"
"Fine. That one goes down!"
BOOM!!!!
He couldn't fathom what the guards were playing at, but the operation was proceeding smoothly—that much was undeniable. Hans, Delian, and Kaylee pressed forward, smashing through one decrepit structure after another.
The Guard Corps chasing them kept up their theatrical dialogue and play-acting. The cultists kept sprinting toward the secret vault's coordinates.
"Here!"
Right in front of the vault, Hans dove into a dark alley. According to the map, the building housing the secret vault was just ahead.
A narrow alley like this meant that being surrounded would be the end. Collapsing a building here would bury the cultists alive along with it, so from this point on they could do nothing but run flat-out.
Whether they'd come to commit a terror attack or to flee wasn't entirely clear anymore, but Hans and Team One tore through the alley regardless.
"Here...?"
"What? Another alley?"
"Hey, Hans! Did you read the map right?!"
"I, I did! Huh?"
Turned a corner. Turned another. And another.
An endless loop of alleys. Hans's face went rigid.
[As of this moment, the terror-response drill is terminated. This is a real situation. Unidentified intruders have infiltrated under cover of the exercise.]
"...Huh?"
[All Third Guard Corps personnel—effective immediately, apprehend the intruders.]
Hans discovered he could not, no matter how he tried, hold back the curses rising in his throat.
*
I'd thought it through.
The cultists had to carry out a terror attack—but they couldn't all be captured. A mass arrest could blow my connection to them wide open.
In other words, the attack had to happen, while the vast majority of the cultists also had to escape unscathed. The problem was trickier than it sounded.
Setting aside every other factor... the sheer power disparity between the Third Guard Corps and the cultists was just too large.
'Decades ago, I heard their minimum was 5th Rank.'
They'd presumably been selected as a compact elite force, yet compared to back then, they were far weaker. I'd agonized over that ever since Milia handed me the roster.
And after all that agonizing, the idea I landed on was—
"A terror... response drill."
"Even if you arrange our entry, with the cultists' current skill level, discovery is guaranteed. I'll stake my word on it: all but a handful will be rounded up in one sweep."
"...I can't refute that."
"Which is precisely why we frame it as a terror-response drill. So that even when the Guard Corps spot the cultists, they won't think they're real terrorists."
The Chairwoman had already departed for the Druid's Flood Passage to oversee the final exams, but what if several officials—myself included—would be monitoring the Third Guard Corps' performance and grading them?
Add the stipulation that, to evaluate a broad range of response capabilities, the "terrorists" were not to be immediately arrested—the focus was on managing the incidents they created. Perfect.
The Guard Corps would likely give us an Oscar-worthy performance.
"That, however."
"Yes?"
"This may not be my place to say, but wouldn't the aftermath be the real problem? Not only the Third Guard Corps for failing to stop the attack—you, as the Finance Director who publicly declared this a drill, would suffer the worst of it. I don't recall that part being in the plan."
"...Hm."
"What is it?"
"No, I'm merely surprised that a spy is prioritizing the academy's interests first."
"............"
Milia was right. Even if everything went smoothly, the real trouble lay in the cleanup.
No matter how minor the damage, a terror attack was a terror attack. The Third Guard Corps would take heat for failing to stop it, and I—the man who'd shielded an actual terror attack by calling it a drill—would be the most fatally exposed of all.
And, as one might expect, I had a solution.
"Then we simply make it not a drill."
"As written in the plan?"
"Mm, the timing should be about right."
In a separate, pre-arranged building, while the cultists scrambled through their desperate WWE match with the Guard Corps and reports flowed in from all across the campus, Adam—who had been resting at his ease—picked up a magic communicator, leaving Milia with her uneasy expression.
It was a communication device linked to speakers across the entire academy.
[As of this moment, the terror-response drill is terminated. This is a real situation. Unidentified intruders have infiltrated under cover of the exercise.]
"...I."
[All Third Guard Corps personnel—effective immediately, apprehend the intruders.]
"I am not certain this is right."
Click.
With two sentences, Adam had upgraded the exercise from WWE to UFC. Milia stared at him.
She knew about all of this, naturally. She'd been the one to approve the plan—there was no way she didn't know.
The only thing she didn't know was how Adam intended to handle the aftermath on his own. And it was precisely on that point—
—that Adam and Milia had struck a deal.
"What do you mean by that? You're the one who asked me for such a trade."
"............"
"Rest easy. I, too, wish to remain on good terms with Student Milia, so the deal will be honored without fail."
Adam's smile as he said it was truly wicked.
Milia, in turn, let the corner of her lips curl ever so slightly upward.
As if all the worry she'd displayed moments ago had been an act. As if her true intentions lay in an entirely different direction.
The operational officers of the academy and the Order had clasped hands.
Right after that—
[Ksssh, kssshck.]
"This is...?"
"It's the Archbishop. Your Excellency? Everything is proceeding according to plan. Have you recovered the Sacred Object?"
[...Sister Milia. It appears we are too late.]
"Pardon?"
[The broadcast rang out when we were right in front of the secret vault. Damn it all.]
Adam's announcement had served as a time limit—the window the Order had to reach the secret vault and extract the Sacred Object.
Give them much more time, and the situation grew ambiguous. Give them less, and reaching the vault at all became difficult. Adam had calculated the physical capabilities of high-Rank individuals and allotted a window that would appear reasonable to any observer.
On that point, neither Milia nor the Archbishop had seen any issue. The challenge was locating the Sacred Object inside the vault—reaching the location itself within the time limit had never been the problem.
Yet they had failed. The Archbishop, of all people.
Because he and the Holy Knight Commander were the Order's only 7th Ranks, they'd been deployed solo, without forming teams—and this was the result.
"...What of the Holy Knight Commander? What of the Holy Knight Commander?"
[────.]
"Knight Commander Malton?"
Milia urgently called into a separate communicator, but no answer came. The Holy Knight Commander, who like the Archbishop was supposed to operate independently, remained silent.
Whatever had happened, one thing was certain.
The recovery of the Sacred Object was a failure.
"Then there is no time to waste. We must extract the cultists immediately."
"...Finance Director."
[Finance Director, give us a little more time.]
"I cannot. Was that not our agreement from the start? If I give you any more time, the Third Guard Corps Commander, plus the First Guard Unit and the Second Guard Corps who are stationed outside, will seal every exit on campus. And above all... the Chairwoman will arrive. You know full well what that means."
[............]
"In any case, I need to recover every last communicator I distributed, so I will rendezvous with you at the location we previously discussed. Any cultist who is late... well, there will be nothing to be done."
[...Understood.]
"Your Excellency."
[Sister Milia, I have no excuse. This operation... is a failure.]
What, after all, had been the entire purpose of the terror attack? To reclaim the Order's Sacred Object from the Chairwoman's possession.
But even with the Finance Director providing ample time, they hadn't managed to even reach the secret vault. Both the Archbishop and Milia were left with nothing to say.
Now that it had come to this, gathering their scattered forces and escaping was the top priority.
Milia, briefly stunned by the failure of the Sacred Object recovery, quickly regained her composure and seized the communicator.
"As of this moment, all cultists are to assemble at the pre-designated rally point! The operation has failed. Extraction is now the priority!"
"Student Milia, depart first. I will tidy up here and follow."
"Understood."
If this location were discovered, the Finance Director's connection to the Order would be exposed. Having failed to reclaim the Sacred Object this time, the Order needed to preserve a close relationship with the Finance Director for any future attempt—avoiding such exposure was imperative.
For a fleeting moment, Milia was seized by the horrifying thought that she might be reduced to an administrative slave again, just like the past two weeks. But she wisely set reality aside for the moment, nodded swiftly, and moved.
Milia left the building to take control of the cultists' withdrawal.
The Finance Director remained alone.
"Hmm, in that case..."
"It's the best possible outcome."
"............"
He froze mid-motion, tidying up, at the voice that had abruptly sounded behind him.
In a place that was supposed to be empty, there stood an uninvited guest.
The Finance Director turned quietly.
"Knight Commander Malton?"
"Foolishly, you're here alone. No Chairwoman's Rigid Energy wrapped around you... you really are an idiot."
"What are you saying? The operation has failed—you must withdraw at once. No matter that you are a 7th Rank, Commander."
"That alley loop. Your handiwork, I take it."
"Excuse me?"
"That infuriatingly diligent Archbishop might have gone along smashing every assigned building, but I am different. I ran straight at the secret vault in a direct line."
"..."
"And right in front of the vault, I did nothing but circle through the same goddamned alleys. Over and over! A truly maddening piece of trickery. You gave each team different routes and buildings, made them lose themselves just slightly in the alleys at the most excruciatingly tight timing, and controlled the clock with exquisite precision. I'd tip my hat to the craftsmanship—if I didn't want to smash your skull in so badly."
Malton advanced on Adam, one step at a time.
7th Rank versus 1st Rank. A gap so overwhelming it verged on the transcendent.
Malton was already certain of his victory.
"The Sacred Object recovery was impossible from the start. I'm not even convinced the damn thing was ever in that so-called secret vault to begin with."
"So what are you thinking, then?"
"What do you think? I'm going to proceed with my own plan now."
Grab.
Malton seized Adam by the collar and smiled.
He ought to have been furious—Adam's scheming had cost him the Sacred Object recovery.
But his smile was the smile of a man who had wanted the operation to fail from the beginning.
"This means that bishop candidate bitch won't be threatening my position any longer."
"I had heard the Order was crumbling, but this is an ugly power struggle."
"It's also reality. And you—you staged a terror attack on your own perfectly healthy academy to pursue some agenda of your own, didn't you? Two sides of the same... coin...?"
Malton paused, sensing something deeply familiar. He glanced around.
Then, as if dismissing it as impossible, he let out a hollow laugh and fixed his glare back on Adam.
"...What do you intend to do with me?"
"A naive question. You're coming with me. If I cover up that bishop candidate's failure, the next Archbishop's seat will be mine...!"
"Do you think I'll go along that easily?"
"The Chairwoman isn't here. I'm not sure what you think you're counting on. I was already a little irritated at being toyed with—watching a 1st Rank's futile struggle might be just the amusement I need."
Malton's smirk and Adam's taut gaze collided. In a world where the power of an individual could overwhelm entire groups, Adam—a 1st Rank—was utterly defenseless.
No matter what social leverage he'd built as Finance Director, no matter what connections he'd cultivated, in moments like this, when raw force was the only currency, he was indistinguishable from any ordinary civilian.
Malton slowly tightened his grip on Adam's collar. A fraction more movement and Adam's cervical vertebrae would snap clean.
In that precarious, static silence.
...A shadow rippled.