19. The Tide of Corruption (5)

"Uuugh...."

When I opened my eyes, gritting my teeth against the ache in every muscle of my body, I found myself inside a tent.

Haah... if it's a tent, then...

It had to be the medical tent.

Which meant I was already behind the front lines — and that, in turn, meant Alice knew full well that I'd collapsed and lost consciousness.

"Ha... I'm going to get chewed out again..."

The moment that thought crossed my mind, I pushed myself upright — and my throbbing muscles protested loudly, demanding a rest.

At this rate, they were liable to go on strike and refuse to work altogether.

"Alright, let's rest first... that's the smarter move..."

Even I had to admit I'd pushed myself way too hard.

Derived skills were, by nature, powerful but came with an equally brutal backlash, and the strain they put on my body was no joke.

Yesterday, I'd cast one twice in a row despite it being my first time ever using one.

Today, I'd cast it three times in a row.

It would've been strange if my body hadn't broken down.

"Still... if it weren't for that derived skill, I'd be stone dead right now..."

Clarker had been a formidable enemy in the game, and just as formidable in reality.

In the game alone, that bastard had forced me to retry his boss fight who knows how many times.

And in reality, he'd cornered me into a genuine fight to the death.

All things considered, though, the fact that 'Dragon Talon' had evolved into 'Morning Star Cleaver' was a blessing in disguise.

Even seeing it again, the power was staggering.

'Dragon Talon' alone had been potent enough that nothing could match it in raw damage — but 'Morning Star Cleaver' raised that destructive power even higher while extending its reach.

I hadn't measured the exact distance, but by feel, it was around fifty meters.

"So 'Dragon Scale' is still out of reach, huh."

'Dragon Scale' was the ultimate defensive skill, obtainable only when I suffered a critical wound.

Apparently, that critical wound didn't count if it was self-inflicted.

Well, fair enough — if you could earn a defense skill by hurting yourself, every tom, dick, and harry would be walking around with one.

"Hmm? You're looking pretty lively? I was so worried I couldn't sleep a wink?"

A stern voice drifted in from somewhere.

And with a voice I'd heard at least once before walking through the tent flap, I didn't need to look to know who had entered.

"S-Sis?"

"Hmm...?"

Alice strode into the medical tent with a distinctly displeased expression and settled, without a word of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ceremony, into the chair beside my cot.

"What."

She glared at me as she spoke, as if to ask what my problem was.

"Are... are you very angry?"

"....."

I remembered this.

If your lover doesn't answer your question, it means one of two things.

Either they're too ashamed to open their mouth.

Or they're so furious that the words can barely make it out.

...Yeah. One look at her face and it was obviously the latter, wasn't it...?

I tried to shift naturally from lying with my legs stretched out to curling them up — and Alice spoke in a voice cold as ice.

"Lie flat. And don't even think about it."

".....Yes, ma'am."

I was the criminal here.

The icy atmosphere refused to thaw. Whenever I tried to strike up conversation, Alice offered nothing but one-word answers or silent nods. For instance:

"Sis... it's a wartime situation, though... aren't you busy...?"

"Don't worry about that. You're the patient right now. Who should be worrying about whom?"

Or:

"Did you get hurt anywhere, Sis?"

"I'm not the kind of fool who makes a promise and breaks it — like somebody I know."

Answers like those kept coming, one after another.

"I'm sorry... Sis..."

It wasn't as if I wanted to be like this...

The moment the apology left my lips, Alice's head dropped. Her lips were trembling slowly.

"I know. I know this is a private matter. I know I'm not supposed to let it interfere in a situation like this."

"But... what am I supposed to do? I'm worried. I sent my disciple off with a smile... my lover... the most precious person in my life... and he came back carried in someone else's arms, torn to pieces...!"

"Who on earth could just sit still after seeing that?!"

At last, Alice's emotions burst free.

All the feelings she'd been suppressing, swallowing down, suffocating on.

"You're the one who said it! If you're the lord of this land, you'd better take care of yourself! It's because you exist that the land exists!"

"....."

"You're the same... you're a Successor. The Successor of this nation! It's because you exist that the order of this Empire holds!"

"And what am I even supposed to do if you're gone? Am I supposed to lose someone precious to a demon again?"

"Sis... but if I hadn't done it then, we never would have wiped out Clarker."

I could understand her side of it too.

Of course I could. Her father had been murdered by a demon, she herself had nearly been toyed with and turned into a plaything as part of a demon's scheme — and I, too, had died at a demon's hands and only barely clawed my way back.

But my words weren't wrong either.

If I'd failed to eliminate Clarker there and returned to the front, I might have been fine, but the losses among our allies would have been far worse.

After all, he was a being who could crush a small company single-handedly.

In the end, it came down to a difference of perspective.

Alice understood my point as well.

"I know. It's not that I don't understand what you're saying, but...!"

I pulled her into a tight embrace and soothed her.

Right now, she was afraid.

The dark thoughts spiraling out of what if I lose the Successor of the Four Divine Beasts and can't lead this war to victory.

The tension of wondering whether the choice I'd made had really been the right one.

Or the gnawing dread that her lover might come back carried among the dead.

Those were the things feeding her emotions, stoking them higher.

And the solution in a moment like this was simple.

All I had to do was show her that I was here, that I was alive.

People treasure the things they hold dear, and simply looking at them again brings happiness.

It's the same principle as children making a treasure box and opening it over and over, just to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠check that their things are still safe inside.

"It's okay. I'm here. I'm alive."

My guess was dead on.

At the sound of my voice, all the anxiety Alice had been holding back came pouring out at once.

"I was scared! I thought you might not come back! That you might never wake up!"

And so, emotions spilling over, Alice clutched my shirt in both fists and didn't stop crying for a long, long while.

One hour later.

Her complexion looked much better than before.

"Feeling a little better now?"

"Yeah. I'm okay... thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Even after pouring everything out, Alice still wore a somewhat troubled expression.

"Are you still upset?"

"...No, it's not that... I just feel pathetic, somehow."

"Huh? Why? Why would you think that?"

Alice scratched her cheek as she answered.

"Well... a Commander-in-Chief isn't supposed to dump her feelings all over someone like this, right? And I'm not supposed to let private emotions get mixed in, either..."

Only now was she worrying about that.

But my thoughts were different.

"What you're saying is true, of course, Sis."

"A Commander-in-Chief has to stay cold-blooded. Even in a situation where you have to slaughter the herd to save the species, the herd always comes first."

"....."

"But then — is a Commander-in-Chief not a person?"

"...Huh?"

"I'm asking whether a Commander-in-Chief isn't a person, but some emotionless thing."

"A Commander-in-Chief is a person, and a person who commands other people. And because she's human, of course she feels anxiety and tension. There's no one alive who doesn't."

"Anyone who doesn't isn't human. They'd have to be a god — or dead."

"Negative emotions are meant to be released. All the more so for you, Sis — a Commander-in-Chief can't afford to be swallowed up by them even a little."

Veteran soldiers and commanders who retired after a war didn't come down with PTSD for no reason.

A brain unable to escape that much stress and negativity simply couldn't bear it anymore.

If those feelings weren't released right away, they would come back one day as poison.

Alice was no exception.

If she'd just gritted her teeth and endured, she would have fallen into PTSD or depression sooner or later.

PTSD was hard enough to treat even in my old world — in this era, it would have been simply untreatable.

Letting it out like this was the normal, the correct thing to do.

"Haah... after everything I just said... how could I possibly not like you?"

Huh? I didn't say anything, did I?

I just... shared my thoughts, that's all?

"Always telling me my choices and words are right... supporting me, standing up for me, being kind to me, comforting me — what woman in the world could hate a man like that?"

Well... I... suppose...?

But seriously, I didn't say anything.

What kind of man eggs on a girlfriend who's one step away from depression and calls it a good thing?

Alice simply took what any decent person ought to do and received it as an act of affection.

Well... good is good, I guess...

"Sis. You pulled an all-nighter, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Shouldn't you get some sleep?"

"I should... there might be a battle tomorrow."

I had woken up sometime between five and seven.

Comforting Alice had taken more than an hour, so it would be around eight or nine now.

And she'd said she was too worried to sleep at all the previous night — which meant she'd been awake for roughly thirty hours straight.

Looking closely, there were faint dark circles under her eyes, too.

"Go back and get some sleep, Sis. You look exhausted."

"Go back...? No. I'm sleeping here."

"You can't. We're at war, remember?"

"So what? It's just a little sleep... I'm still scared. A little."

Ah. She's pulling the cheat card.

But that statement didn't look like a lie. Some residue of anxiety would surely still be clinging to her.

Haah, fine. I'll concede.

I'm the criminal who broke my promise, after all.

"Okay. Then let's sleep together."

"Yeah. Good... hehe..."

Shooting me a look of pure happiness, she scooted her chair closer to my cot.

"Sis. 'Sleeping together' doesn't mean sleeping in the chair, right?"

"Correct?"

Oh, this woman—

"Then let's just sleep here, together. We're lovers anyway. What's the harm?"

It couldn't be helped. If I didn't do this much, Alice would flat-out fall asleep sitting in that chair.

Shamelessness was the answer in moments like these.

At my words, Alice flushed red, nodded, and lowered herself onto my bed beside me.

Ah... getting her into bed is all well and good... but now I'm the one who won't be able to sleep...!

Contrary to my expectations, however, Alice and I both surrendered ourselves to the embrace of deep slumber before long.

When I opened my eyes, Alice was already fully prepared and shaking me awake.

"Get up. It's morning."

I wanted to sleep more, but my body seemed to be in decent shape again, and a fair amount of stamina had returned — so it was about time to get up.

"Okay."

While Alice finished her preparations, I armed myself in light gear and stepped straight out of the tent.

The reason I hadn't washed was simple: the water supply was running low.

Resupplies were still three days out. With water dwindling, splashing it on my face and hair wasn't exactly an option, was it?

It felt gross, but there was nothing for it.

Alice approached one of the soldiers standing guard and asked whether anything unusual had happened during the night.

At her question, the guard stiffened and began to answer, nervous and rigid.

"During my shift change with the previous watch, I received no reports of anything unusual. Nor did I personally witness any incident worth noting!"

"Good work. Looks like it's almost time for the watch rotation. Get some shut-eye when you're relieved."

"Yes, ma'am! Thank you!"

"Mm."

We asked the other guards the same question about the night, and the answer was the same across the board: it had been suspiciously, unnaturally quiet.

If demons were involved, the normal pattern was for them to prowl boldly through the darkness where they could be spotted.

The evidence was there: on the night after the first day's battle, the demons had assaulted the front lines in small packs.

To be sure, those groups were tiny — five to seven at most — so a handful of guards and a single supporting knight had ended each attack.

For creatures like that to leave us alone for an entire night meant something was brewing.

"Still... launching a preemptive strike is..."

"Right. In a head-on fight, we're no match for them."

We'd cut down a huge number of demons during the first battle and the operation to eliminate Clarker, but their forces were still overwhelming.

Even after losing some three thousand, they had twelve thousand remaining.

The gap hadn't narrowed nearly enough.

If we picked a head-on fight in this state, defeat was guaranteed.

"So all we can do is wait, huh..."

We had exactly one choice left.

It amounted to nothing less than the demons holding out a menu of options and forcing us to pick — a deeply unpleasant feeling.

Whatever scheme those things were hatching, all we could do was stand by.

And even as the afternoon wore on, no battle came.

As if the Tide of Corruption had already ended, not a single demon showed itself.

The soldiers, stretched taut by the knowledge that anything could happen at any moment, grew wearier by the hour.

And then night fell — and the demons attacked the encampment as if they'd been waiting for precisely this moment.

"We're under ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠attack!"

The voices of guards and knights rang out together, and the full-scale defense began.

But even as they cut the demons down, they kept rising again.

No — more than that, they weren't being cut down at all.

Wait... this... don't tell me...!

I realized what was happening instantly and chanted the Release.

The instant my words ended, space warped and shattered around me — and I opened my eyes.

"Figures. It was an illusion."

The encampment had been under attack for a long time already.

!= Kieeeeek! =

Countless demons were already toying with the illusion-bound soldiers like playthings.

And of course, now that they were in my sight, there was only one thing they deserved.

- rustle -

'Wind Walker.'

"Wind, don't follow me. Go protect the soldiers. Please."

It moved grudgingly at first, as if displeased with my request, but after I begged it twice more, it let out a short yip— and bounded off ahead.

"Is Sis safe, I wonder."

First things first — move.

I swept through the encampment, striking first at any demon that blocked my path or threatened the soldiers and knights.

Only a tiny fraction of our forces were currently free of the illusion and able to fight back.

Even they had only managed to hold out thanks to unusually high resistance to illusion magic.

If the illusion magic hit them again and again, they'd fall into it just like everyone else.

= Hm..? =

As I made my rounds through the camp, I ran into one of the most notorious of all high-tier demons.

The demon that turned its gaze on me — a Black Mask.

On Earth, humans would have called it that because it wore a crow-like black mask and a long coat that concealed its entire body.

They coated their masks and thick coats with the poisons they brewed, and cruelly slaughtered anyone infected by their toxins.

= Successor. Do you know? The more a human suffers, the more easily they sink into terror. =

"Sorry, but I'm not buying it."

= Why not? =

"Because killing you fast solves everything."

Before he could activate whatever skill he was preparing, I had to cut him down faster and put him out of commission.

On the verge of death, a Black Mask killed itself and unleashed a virulent toxin that slew the very ground it stood on.

Land thus killed could never be restored.

Not unless one possessed the Azure Dragon's authority of Purification.

Since I didn't have that authority yet, the obvious conclusion was simple: kill it fast, before things got out of hand.

'I still haven't found the main body, though...'

Just then, my eyes caught sight of a black, balloon-shaped demon being escorted by a retinue of other demons.

"Damn it... and here I was hoping to any god that it wouldn't be you..."

Why the hell is that thing here?

A Great Demon. Dreamer.

Dreamer's first trait: it dealt no direct damage to people.

It merely attacked through clones conjured from its illusions.

It sounded like the same thing, but it wasn't.

While the main body was incapable of attacking us directly, it could weave illusions without limit — and those illusions revived even when killed and could attack freely. But if the main body died, every illusion vanished with it.

In other words, an enemy of utterly insane difficulty, one whose victory you could never guarantee in a head-on encounter.

Of course, since they delighted in watching people despair within their dreams, they would cast their illusion the moment the opportunity arose and spirit their victims away into a world of dreams.

The illusion magic that guided people into that dream world could be called flawless.

To begin with, there were precious few ways to escape the dream itself.

Chanting a Release that let you leave the dream world at the moment you spoke it — like I just had.

Or killing yourself.

Or finding the dream's exit and smashing your way through it.

But since most people believed the dream world was the real world, the second and third methods were all but impossible, and hardly anyone even knew the first method existed.

And the easiest method ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of all: kill the main body.

Slay the Dreamer, and everyone was freed from the illusion at once.

I moved swiftly to pin down the main body, activating 'Morning Star Cleaver'.

My target wasn't the Dreamer itself — it was the three demons escorting it.

My attack passed straight through the Dreamer's body — and cut down the three mid-tier demons guarding it where they stood.

= You. Are. The. Succes.sor? =

Then came a voice that couldn't manage anything smooth — words clicking and breaking off one syllable at a time as the Dreamer posed its question to me.

It had realized I'd slipped out of its dream world with ease, and now it had sized up exactly what I was.

Dreamer's second trait: physical attacks didn't work on it.

In other words, the only way to bring it down was with skills.

But I still wasn't at full condition — chaining together combination skills back to back was out of the question.

At last, the worst-case crisis I'd been dreading had arrived.