Discharge
Discharge is every soldier's dream.
Even in the faded memories of my previous life, I had once waited desperately for that day to come.
"Discharge... is that what this is?"
And yet, even staring at discharge papers issued by the World Government itself, I couldn't bring myself to feel glad.
The World Government—the same one that clawed for every last conscript it could get? The World Military Affairs Office, mocked for a draft rate higher than Nazi Germany's? And they were just... letting go of an Awakened who belonged on the front lines?
"Hmm. Not sure this is actually a good thing."
By the World Government's own iron law, an Awakened's mandatory service was five years. I had already filled that quota during the Siberia War. Under ordinary circumstances I should have been discharged long ago—or at least drawing a guild salary while I fought.
But...
"I'm not an ordinary Awakened, am I."
There are three paths to Awakening.
Innate Awakening. Most children born to Awakened parents are Awakened themselves.
Acquired Awakening. The most common kind—ordinary people who suddenly develop superpowers. It showed up a lot in the early days of the dimensional invasions.
And last of all, artificial Awakening.
The method of cramming the genetic material and factors of elite ability-users into a child's body and forcing their powers open by force.
Unfortunately, I was an Awakened of the third kind.
"I'm a test subject, after all."
Of course I was. Eyes that could read the flow of the world and understand everything—those don't come out of ordinary people.
I muttered it with a self-mocking smile.
"When I'm not even the master of my own body, how happy am I supposed to be hearing that?"
The words came out sharper than I meant them to.
Ah, damn it, I shouldn't talk like this. Mikhail is a good man. Someone who looked after me more times than I can count.
The medicine must be kicking in. I can feel my temper twisting.
"Pfft. Hearing myself say it out loud is almost funny. 'I'm not the master of my own body.' Isn't that just delightful?"
"..."
"They took a kid with no parents and did whatever they wanted with her. Forced her into an experiment where everyone else died. And when she somehow survived, they threw her onto the front lines. I thought slavery was abolished in the nineteenth century. Guess I slept through that history lesson."
"...I'm sorry."
"It's fine. I don't blame you, Mikhail."
Even a Far East Commander isn't completely free of pressure from above. There was only so much he could do with me—not when I was bound to the title of Sword Saint, a position worth more than nuclear weapons.
"And besides, the World Government probably means it when they say rest."
The Siberia campaign—the largest war in human history—had ended in victory. Unless a new S-rank Gate opened, a war of that scale would not happen again.
"They know it too. That my body is reaching its limit. That I'm no longer the all-purpose card they can throw into every hot zone the way they used to."
It was time to step back from the battlefield.
A world turning toward peace was saying so. So were a body and a mind that had hit their walls.
With a body wrecked beyond repair by the Siberia War, keeping pace with the age of heroes was already too much.
It was time to pass the title of Sword Saint to the next generation. Hand it over, step out of the age of heroes, and live an ordinary life.
My sister who went first would have wanted me to enjoy something ordinary, too.
"So maybe that's why they're telling me to rest. You don't throw a joker card around carelessly."
I muttered it under my breath and pushed myself up.
In the mirror hanging in the corner of the room, a hollow-eyed girl stared back.
Long silver hair, clean as a Siberian snowfield. Blue eyes that looked as if they held the sea. Cold-looking features, and a figure that curved exactly where it should.
I could see a little light returning to eyes that had always been empty and dead.
"Still... honestly, I'm looking forward to it a little. Discharge."
Lee Haneul, age twenty.
Height 156 cm / weight 42 kg.
Born in Seoul, Republic of Korea.
Parents killed in a Gate incident. No living relatives.
Siberia War veteran. Current residence: ordinary residential neighborhood. Virtually no personal connections.
"...So that's the cover story?"
On the road from Incheon International Airport into central Seoul, I finished reading the file handed over from the front seat of the military vehicle and turned the contents over in my mind.
Why South Korea of all places? A moment's thought made it simple enough.
Everything north of here was the front line holding back monster hordes pouring down from Siberia, the Tibetan Plateau, and the deserts. Japan was the maritime defense line against creatures crawling out of undersea Gates in the Pacific.
In all of Asia, this was about the only place you could still call "peaceful."
There was nothing to adjust in the personal details about parents and relatives. None of them existed in this world.
I had been born an orphan, and I had lost my sister in the war. There was no one left I could call family.
"Still, I like the name."
Lee Haneul.
It seemed to come from Sky Sword, the sword style I used, and I was rather fond of it.
Uncle Mikhail had put this identity together himself, from what I heard... He must have gone through a lot. A faint smile touched my lips with the gratitude.
"It's a World Government-backed identity. On paper, there won't be any problems at all."
"Thank you, Maria."
I smiled softly and passed the file forward to the blonde woman in the front seat.
Maria Gorshkov—two years older than me, like an older sister. As the Far East Army's tactical advisor and Mikhail's daughter, she delivered a few briefing points in a firm voice.
"I've already spoken to the Unified Korea regional government about the medication you take. But it's classified Level Two, so street-level police might not know about it. If anything comes up, contact me."
"I'll keep that in mind."
I said it and leaned against the door. Beyond the streetlamps whipping past, a quiet residential neighborhood on the outskirts of the city came into view.
A half-aged building with no real guard post in sight. Fine enough in lively daylight—but the kind of neighborhood that looked a little shaky on security after dark.
The reason I, in a woman's body, had deliberately chosen a place like this... was the memories of my previous life.
An outer neighborhood that had never been redeveloped still looked something like the world in those memories. I preferred that familiar texture over anything glamorous or high-end.
"But... are you sure you'll be all right without a bodyguard?"
"Haha. You do realize how funny that question is, right?"
Even in my current condition, I was still the Sword Saint in name. Not a seat some local thugs could even dream of touching.
I hated admitting it, but... the research results from the old Northern Russian Superpower Institute had been a complete success. These "eyes," which could see the flow of the world, were sensitive enough to pick up even the faintest hostility directed at me.
"Even without a sword and without my abilities... I'm not so weak I'd die tangled up in some villain's terrorist attack. You don't need to worry."
"Even so, an Awakened of your level could get a much nicer place."
She wasn't wrong. The annual salaries of S-rank Awakened who stood on the front lines put most corporate CEOs to shame.
But... that didn't mean I could spend that money however I pleased.
"That's true, but I can't just throw this money around. It's the legacy the people I cared about left behind."
It was the inheritance of the sister who had given her life for me. The blood-price of comrades who had died because of me. I couldn't spend it on my own comfort. I had no right to that.
The car began to slow. Familiar neighborhood scenery filled the windows, and a line of old houses welcomed us in.
Watching the residential buildings draw closer, I checked my luggage one last time.
Not that there was much to check.
"I've got the carrier with clothes and daily necessities. The guitar case with my sword can wait until a bit later. Oh—am I even allowed to have a sword in Korea?"
"Doesn't matter. Awakened just need a blade possession permit."
"Then... I guess I'm ready."
"Hang in there. Once the Siberia War is fully wrapped up, I'll drop by now and then. Don't be startled."
"Heh. Thank you."
I murmured it quietly and climbed down from the jeep. Drawing a deep breath, I let the cool, clear air of early dawn fill my lungs.
Hoping life after discharge would feel this new, I slowly opened the door of the house.
"So you're stepping back from the battlefield?"
And then a familiar voice reached me.
"Yeah."
I answered the question thrown from behind me without much feeling and opened the guitar case. The familiar grip of the hilt settled snugly into my hand.
"I'm tired of it now. The heavy titles—Sword Saint, savior of humanity. The battlefields where people never stop dying. This damned mind that catches every expression and every emotion of the ones dying out there with perfect clarity. And this useless body that falls apart the moment I swing a sword."
"...Is that so. It must have been very hard for you."
"It was."
I muttered it low and drew the blade a little from its sheath. The empty room reflected along the keen edge of the steel.
"So why do the bastards who know that keep crawling out of the woodwork?"
I asked it in a thin voice and slowly turned my head.
A boy in a familiar uniform was standing there with a bitter smile. On the shoulder of that lifeless, pale smile hung a familiar insignia.
The insignia of the Blue Knights—the Awakened unit my sister and I had belonged to.
A face I could never forget, no matter how hard I tried.
The Blue Knights had been the ones who gave lifelong orphan me the warmth of family—and the benefactors who had willingly thrown their lives away so that I could live.
I gritted my teeth and flicked the sword. The illusion split cleanly in two. Even as it lost its shape and faded, it still managed to ask a question.
"Running away again, Captain?"
"I'll see just how far I can run."
"With the life you bought by abandoning us and running... I wonder how happily you'll manage to live."
"...Shit."
Yeah.
Wanting an ordinary life had been stupid of me from the start.
Half a year passed.
The hopeful resolutions I'd made on the first day of discharge... honestly, I couldn't even remember them anymore.
A shut-in hikikomori life has a way of making you forget a lot of things.
"Pfft. Idiots. You should have known better than to click."
I hit refresh, and the desperate cries of people hit with unexpected fetish content began to pile up one by one.
Watching it was pretty entertaining, but I had no intention of leaving it alone. After all this time hunting down a kill angle, it'd be a waste to use it once and quit, right?
And so the brave citizens' appeals crumbled before power, and the only things left standing were the posts of sycophants who, as if refusing to be the only ones hit, had joined in on the bait.
"Heh."
A satisfying result. Leaning back in the only normal piece of furniture in my garbage-heap of a room—the chair—I clicked the mouse. Time to start the daily routine.
It was three in the morning. Morning for shut-in hikikomori, in other words.
"What kind of bait is floating around today?"
I muttered it quietly and opened the recommended posts—and then—
"Haaah?"
I had just laid eyes on a piece of bait I could not possibly scroll past.