The Price of Peace

My answer was simple. "I'm not really the type who enjoys attention. Besides, if it hadn't been for the demonic energy rampage, you two could have handled it on your own."

In the first place, it was an achievement Idrian and Miruel were meant to claim. My worries, born from typical academy novel clichés, had just happened to align perfectly with reality. Considering the incidents the protagonist would have to resolve as the story progressed, letting them take the credit was far more beneficial for me.

"Still... you're the one who defeated the demon, Senior. I think it's only right that you take the credit." Miruel, who was sipping chocolate milk beside him, hesitantly chimed in.

"We might have been unlucky, but it's not like we actually defeated it. But you, Senior, you took down a demon in a state of demonic energy rampage."

So the 'you would have handled it anyway' excuse won't work on them? Well, I have other ways.

"It's just that it makes me uncomfortable. Idrian, you know too, don't you? How much I held back during our spar."

"..." Idrian nodded silently.

It would have been one thing if I had held back my strength from the very beginning. But the moment I swung my sword along the flow of the strike, it was impossible to hide it from Idrian's eyes—especially since he was the one who had faced me directly.

"I don't really desire anything grand. I just want to graduate from the academy and live a quiet, peaceful life without getting swept up in unnecessary trouble."

Peace—something that had been utterly impossible in my previous world, which had turned into a living hell in the blink of an eye. A world where an unknown plague spread, and people tore each other apart like zombies in a movie. Having survived in that hell for five long years, peace was more important to me than anything else.

A world where I could eat, enjoy myself, and put in just a moderate amount of effort like I did now. In the early days of the outbreak, cultists screamed that humanity could not escape divine judgment. Yet, I had survived for five years.

Whichever entity dragged me out of that hell—be it the author of this world or some god—must have had a reason for summoning me here. I only intended to pay exactly what was due.

By nurturing Idrian to achieve a happy ending even greater than the original story's, I would secure my own quiet, peaceful life afterward.

To do that, I needed to be easily forgotten by the public. I had no use for a flashy achievement like defeating a rampaging demon against miraculous odds. The same went for the attention of Idrian's dazzling heroines.

If I catch the eye of people like that, I won't live to see old age.

"Does that answer your question? I'll pass on the credit. Subjugating a rampaging Replica Demon... I'd rather avoid the excessive attention."

"...Understood. In that case, could you take a look at my swordsmanship sometime? I'm not a fan of flashy things either."

"Hey now. I saved your life, and you're asking for even more rewards? Isn't that a bit shameless?"

"I can be quite shameless, yes." Idrian grinned.

Seriously, this protagonist guy always tries to repay his debts somehow. Maybe it's because he's a former Hero, but he's too nice for his own good.

He's probably using that as an excuse to teach me some of his own swordsmanship.

Still, I wouldn't refuse. Ever since I dropped into this world, I had developed a genuine interest in the sword.

"Alright, fine. But you two are taking the credit for that thing. I don't want any part of that noisy business." I was referring to the rampaging Soward—the fake demon.

"Understood. We'll do that."

I stood up from my seat. As I finished the conversation and prepared to head back to the lecture hall, Miruel stopped me.

"Kanteil, Senior. Could we perhaps have a meal together sometime?"

Looking into Miruel's sparkling, expectant eyes, a flat rejection wouldn't easily come out. But I had to endure. I reminded myself that the girl before me was someone who could potentially ruin my dream for the future—to be a wealthy slacker.

"Ah, sorry. There's someone I like."

"...What are you talking about?"

Miruel stared at me, her face freezing over. She looked utterly baffled, completely unable to comprehend what I had just said. Leaving her behind in her confusion, I quickly beat a retreat back to the lecture hall.

Watching Kanteil's back vanish in an instant, Miruel felt a wave of annoyance. Her stomach churned with irritation.

I feel like I just got dumped without even confessing!

It was Miruel's first experience of a 'zero-confession, one-rejection' scenario. Of course, she didn't let a single drop of the chocolate milk go to waste, sucking it down to the very last drop. She felt as though she had found the drink ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of her life.

A flickering, ominous candlelight. Eight candlesticks stood arranged in a circle. Within them lay a magic circle inscribed with bizarre patterns, and from its center, a creature steeped in pure malice crawled out.

"Kieeeek!"

It was a creature that could by no means be considered human. Its body was so emaciated that its bones were fully visible, and its skin was a raw, bloody red, as if it had been drenched in gore. A small horn protruded from its head, and its legs were fused together as if they had failed to develop properly, resembling the grotesque mermaids of urban legends.

Though it resembled a demon, its appearance was far too hideous to truly be called one. Considering that demons usually took on beautiful, alluring forms to strike contracts with humans, this thing could hardly even qualify.

"Another defective product, I see."

A man, observing the strange creature that had emerged from the magic circle, casually crushed its head with his leather shoe. The convulsing creature's body went completely still. Frowning at the blood splattered everywhere, he used magic to blow the gore away.

The floor became clean in an instant. In stark contrast, however, the walls remained heavily stained with blood.

"The birth rate of combat-viable specimens among the Replica Demons is only twenty percent? Compared to the Mythic Age, this is dreadfully lacking."

Back in the era of Apophis, the primordial evil and the god of demons, records showed that the success rate for producing Replica Demons reached a staggering eighty percent. Yet now, thousands of years later, it was a mere twenty percent. This was the pathetic result of the primordial evil being defeated by the Hero of the Beginning, followed by centuries of continuous decline.

While magic had advanced, black magic had degenerated. Although they had recently contacted the four great weapon demons—who could be considered archdemons—to develop their black magic, it was still not enough.

"Still far from enough."

The man clicked his tongue. They had invested nearly thirty percent of their resources into Teonor Academy to test the Replica Demons this time, yet they hadn't even managed to bypass the Disciplinary Committee, let alone the Student Council. To make matters worse, the high-tier demon summoning operation, which had deployed a 6th-circle mage, had also ended in failure. It was safe to say they had failed spectacularly.

"Still, it wasn't a complete loss."

"Mmph! Mmph!"

Where his gaze landed, three academy students were bound tightly. They were gagged, their bodies covered in wounds. Only one exceptionally well-built male student remained conscious, staring up at the man with a terror-stricken face. His jaw trembled violently. Finding the sight amusing, the man's lips curled into a sinister smirk.

"The talents of the Golden Generation... What excellent samples I've acquired."

The Golden Generation—individuals who could pull their own weight on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the front lines immediately. They ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were young, possessed sturdy bones, and were brimming with talent. They were the perfect raw materials for crafting high-quality undead.

"I was getting tired of making nothing but Replica Demons anyway. To think they would deliver such precious samples right to me."

"Mmmphhhhh!!!"

A foul stench of rotting flesh wafted from the man's hand, and a desperate, muffled scream echoed through the chamber.

Teonor Academy possessed a rather unique training facility: the Monster Training Ground. Instead of using illusion magic to project virtual monsters, they raised actual, living monsters here. Or perhaps 'neglected' would be a more accurate term? Thanks to this, Teonor Academy was called the undisputed best academy in the world. After all, it was an institution that literally bred monsters for its students to hunt.

"Kieeeek!"

A slime lunged at me with its squelching, gelatinous body. The moment my sword pierced its core, it burst apart. Slime splattered in all directions, with a few drops landing on my clothes. I shook off the foul-smelling residue.

"Hmm. Did he say I just needed to hunt a hundred of them?"

This was the monster subjugation assignment given by Professor Carmel. The task was to hunt a hundred slimes before the next class. Although a slime was a mere F-rank monster that even ordinary civilians could handle, one could never let their guard down. They were creatures filled with highly acidic fluid capable of melting through typical skin. Well, even so, they were still just slimes.

"At least I don't have to bring back their heads or anything."

I checked the screen of my Device.

The Device was a state-of-the-art gadget provided to every student at the academy. It looked similar to the Synchronization Bracelet but featured a slightly larger screen. It was a marvel of cutting-edge technology that allowed for calls, text messaging, and even holographic file transfers—something I hadn't even seen in the modern world before it fell.

"Seriously, Teonor Academy feels like an entirely different world."

While the rest of the continent possessed technology that had barely entered the early modern era, Teonor Academy boasted advancements comparable to—or perhaps even exceeding—the modern era before it was devastated by the plague. It was enough to startle me from time to time.

"By the way, has it already been a week since I started attending classes?"

Time had flown by. For a week, I had quietly attended lectures while keeping a distant, watchful eye on the protagonist Idrian's movements. I had successfully established myself as a reasonably good-natured second-year senior in the Swordplay Department. Self-proclaimed, of course.

I pulled my sword from the corpse of a goblin. Unlike when I faced the demon or the black mage, my perception of time remained within normal human limits. As powerful as my cheat ability was, it came with a side effect: a significant drain on my mental strength. The moment I manifested Sword Force to swing my blade, a dull, throbbing headache would wash over me. It wasn't excruciating, but it was highly unpleasant. Because of that, I relied solely on my raw swordsmanship and avoided using physical reinforcement.

"Looks like I've cleared this area. Time to head to the next hunting ground..."

Slimes were fluid-type monsters that reproduced rapidly anyway. If left alone for just an hour, they would undergo self-division and fill the area once more. I wiped the neutralized acidic slime from my blade and sheathed it.

At that moment—

"Help me!" A woman's desperate cry for help echoed from somewhere nearby.