Beneath the Surface
Idrian and Miruel, who had been lying unconscious, were carried away to the infirmary on stretchers.
The replica demons that had raided the academy were wiped out by the Disciplinary Committee, and peace returned to the campus. With that, the raid event was over. Yes, on the surface, at least.
"The aftermath is a bit of a sensitive topic, you see."
A sewer where filth and blood ran together. A foul stench of demonic energy—incomparably stronger than the malice emitted by the replica sword—assailed my nose.
To the public, the mastermind behind this raid would be labeled as the mid-tier demon that Irelia had defeated. Not the monster lurking down here.
"Ugh..."
"Save me... I don't want to die..."
Faint, dying whimpers echoed through the dark.
The metallic stench of blood grew thicker with every step. At the end of the passage lay a bizarre altar, surrounded by students drenched in blood, hovering on the brink of death.
Sacrifices for an archdemon. The opening ceremony raid had been nothing but a distraction.
"Who goes there?!"
An old warlock, his face mottled with age spots, pointed his staff at me. He was a member of the Warlock Coalition who had infiltrated the academy. A piece of trash destined to be discovered and killed by Professor Carmel. The only problem was that, in the original timeline, Carmel arrived too late.
By the time the professor found them, all the kidnapped students had already bled to death. They were destined to be mere plot devices to reveal the existence of a mastermind. Yes, destiny. That goddamned destiny.
It's not like the archdemon is actually going to be summoned anyway. I can just kill him, right?
The warlock was going to die by Professor Carmel's hand soon anyway. If that was the case, wasn't it better to kill him now and save these lives?
Ignoring the warlock's shouts, I drew my sword. Aura flared from my fingertips, wrapping around the blade before condensing into a solid, indestructible force. The warlock's eyes trembled violently at the sight, and he muttered in disbelief.
"A... Sword Master?"
"Yeah, that's what they call me."
Faced with the surging Sword Force, the warlock gave up on life. To a mere 6th-circle warlock, a Sword Master was an existence on an entirely different plane of power.
My sword rose as if to pierce the heavens, then swept down, cleaving the earth. As his world split in two, the warlock's heart was severed.
Drip... drip... Blood trickled down the edge of my blade.
With the death of the warlock priest, the human sacrifice magic circle flared with a dying spark and ceased its function. As the array that had been greedily drinking the students' blood ground to a halt, the shallow breathing of the unconscious students stabilized. A moment later, and it would have been too late.
I moved the students collapsed on the altar down to the floor. A few who were still somewhat conscious tried to move on their own, but having lost so much blood, they stumbled and collapsed. Fortunately, I caught them before they could crack their heads on the stone floor.
"Rest and recover before you try to move. You won't get far in that state."
"Thank you... I heard rumors that there was a second-year who had reached the realm of mastery. So it was you, Kanteil."
Kanteil. I nodded at the name that now belonged to me.
"Just rest for now. I'll call the Disciplinary Committee shortly."
That was a lie, of course. Someone was already on their way, even if I didn't call them.
Step. Step.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the passage. The sound drew closer until a man with a familiar face emerged from the darkness.
A professor of the Swordplay Department and the advisor of the Sword Club. A man obsessed with swords. Carmel. Proving the rumors of his past as a special-grade mercenary true, he had sensed something amiss and tracked it down to this hidden altar.
"Who goes there?"
Spotting me, Professor Carmel halted and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. If I made even the slightest suspicious movement, he would draw and cut me down in an instant. Having no intention of fighting, I raised both hands.
"I'm Kanteil, a second-year. Professor Carmel."
"Ah. Student Kanteil? What are you doing in a sewer like this?"
Having spent the past month practicing my skills in the training grounds, Professor Carmel and I were already acquainted. Yet, even after I identified myself, his guard remained up. I shrugged and gestured behind me with my chin.
"The demons from the gate were strangely dragging people into the sewers, so I followed them in a hurry. And I found this."
"Demons? You mean the replica demons that attacked just now?"
"Yes. A warlock was trying to summon something using a strange altar, so I killed the caster to stop the ritual."
At those words, Professor Carmel's face froze. Forgetting his suspicion of me, he rushed past to check on the students collapsed behind me.
Though they had lost a significant amount of blood, these were all exceptionally talented students. None of their injuries were immediately life-threatening. Finding no casualties, Professor Carmel let out a long sigh of relief.
"Did you save them?"
"I couldn't just look the other way. The situation was too urgent to contact the Disciplinary Committee."
"No, I'm not blaming you. The details don't matter when you've saved so many lives. If anything, I should be thanking you."
Having confirmed the victims' safety, he stood up and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Thank you for saving your fellow students."
"Don't mention it. I only did it because I had the leeway."
It was exactly as I said—I only did it because I could afford to. If things had gone south on Idrian's side, I would have abandoned these students without hesitation to save him. Receiving praise from a professor for something like this felt a bit embarrassing.
“Regardless, you did well. You prevented a massive tragedy. Leave the rest to me.”
“.... Thank you, Professor.”
Professor Carmel requested backup from the rescue team, and soon, white-robed healers from the infirmary flooded into the filthy sewer. Under their skilled care, the unconscious students slowly began to regain consciousness. With this, the opening ceremony raid finally came to a close.
Inside a warm log cabin. A young Miruel was cleaning up in place of her busy woodcutter father. To ease the burden on her father, who always returned exhausted with logs piled high on his back, she used her tiny, delicate hands to beat the dust out of the blankets. But perhaps she lacked the strength; the blanket slipped from her grasp and fell with a thud. Her attempt to clean had only made a bigger mess.
“Oh, no... Ugh. I have to do it again...”
Though her knuckles ached, she endured the pain and beat the blanket once more. Dust settled on the floor, and she finally laid the clean blanket back onto the bed.
Thud, thud! Someone was approaching. Miruel perked up her ears at the heavy footsteps. It had to be her father!
“Dad! You're back! Oh...?”
With a bright smile, she strained to pull the heavy door open. But standing on the threshold was not her beloved father. It was the gentle-faced blacksmith uncle from next door. He was looking down at her with a stiff, sorrowful expression. A cold dread washed over her.
“What's wrong, Uncle Harrison...?”
“.... Miruel, I'm so sorry to have to tell you this. Your father went up the mountain to chop wood, and he ran into a monster...”
Uncle Harrison trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. His eyes held a painful conflict—the duty to tell her the truth, and the crushing guilt of delivering such a harsh reality to a young child.
“.....”
Even without the words, she knew. Her father had departed for a place from which he could never return. The tears she had tried so hard to hold back finally burst forth in a sorrowful wail. She cried until she lost consciousness, collapsing into the dark.
And then, a pure white ceiling unfolded before her eyes.
“Ah. It was a dream.”
It had been a terrible nightmare. The very event that had inspired her to become a knight who protects the weak, the past she wished more than anything to change, had visited her in her sleep.
“Ugh... Where am I? I've never seen this ceiling before...”
“Oh, you're awake? You could have rested a bit longer.”
An unfamiliar woman's voice. Turning her head, Miruel saw an intellectual-looking woman in a white lab coat and round, horn-rimmed glasses smiling gently at her.
“Who are you...?”
“No need to be on guard. I'm the school nurse.”
“The nurse? Are you the one who treated me?”
“That's right! But really, you should rest more. You've been through a lot. Even heroes need their rest, after all.”
“A hero?”
The nurse seemed to be referring to her, but Miruel knew she was no hero. She was merely a student aspiring to be a knight... a knight who wanted to protect the weak.
The nurse smiled warmly.
“A freshman holding off and subjugating a minor demon? Of course you're a hero. You didn't back down even against a powerful foe; you fought bravely.”
Ah, she remembered now. She had stood against a red-skinned demon alongside a rather plump boy.
I somehow survived... Hehe.
But they hadn't been the ones to defeat the demon, had they? She distinctly remembered collapsing under a purple haze emitted by the creature. She had felt someone carrying her on their back, but she certainly hadn't slain the demon.
“But I didn't defeat the demon... Oh, my tongue feels so heavy...”
“That's just the lingering effects of demonic energy poisoning. It can cause temporary short-term memory loss or slurred speech. You're actually doing quite well compared to most.”
“Is that so...? That's a relief.”
She had been worried, but it seemed she was going to be fine. She let out a soft sigh of relief. As she conversed with the nurse, she felt as though she was forgetting someone.
Ah! That plump boy!
Though "chubby" might have been a more accurate description, the kind-hearted Miruel softened the term even in her own thoughts.
“Um, is the boy who fought alongside me okay?”
“Ah, you mean young Idrian? He inhaled quite a bit of demonic energy, so he hasn't woken up yet. Would you like to see him?”
“May I?”
“Of course. It's only natural to worry about a comrade you fought beside.”
Comrade... It was an unfamiliar word, yet it filled her with a strange warmth.
“I want to see him!”
“Alright, follow me. Don't worry, your body is perfectly fine.”
Come to think of it, her body felt lighter than usual. Had the nurse cast some kind of healing magic on her? Stepping out of bed, she followed the nurse to the adjacent ward. There, a boy with a belly like a small mountain lay unconscious. It was indeed her comrade who had fought the demon with her.
“Is his condition serious?”
“No, he's fine. He's just a bit slow to wake up, but there's nothing wrong with his body. He'll be up in no time, so don't worry.”
Miruel pulled up a nearby chair and sat down. As she stared intently at Idrian, his broad shoulders caught her eye. When someone had slung her over their shoulder, she had felt incredibly safe... Was it those shoulders?
As she sat there lost in thought, a strange echo began to play in her mind.
She heard the demon's voice, but most of the memory was dominated by a voice she had never heard before. It was a beautiful, melodious voice—the kind that made you certain the speaker was incredibly handsome just by listening to it. Miruel was absolutely sure. This voice belonged to the person who had slain the demon in her stead.
Miruel clenched her fists tightly.
I must repay this debt, no matter what!
As a professional "replayer of favors" who had never once failed to return a kindness, Miruel made a solemn vow. She would track down her savior—her "target"—and force them to accept her gratitude, whether they liked it or not.