You Can't Save the World While Sane
The next day.
I strolled through the Military Academy grounds, watching the cadets as they ran their morning drills.
Along the way, I came face-to-face with a statue.
It was a man pointing forward, a massive sword held still in its scabbard.
I stared at the blade in the statue's grip.
An oval gap had been cut clean through the center of the scabbard, so the edge of the sword was visible without ever drawing it. Even on a weathered statue, the steel still gleamed like a real blade.
"Pretty spry for a man a hundred years dead."
A woman's voice came from behind me.
I turned to find a middle-aged woman in uniform stepping up beside me without warning.
"Well, they did cast him exactly as he looked a century ago. Hardly surprising."
"Haha. True enough. Still, sometimes I half expect him to start moving."
"Who knows. Maybe he will."
Among the Death God Cult's lanterns, there was at least one that turned people to stone.
"What brings you to the Military Academy?"
I was about to mention that I was a sponsor of the Academy when she cut in, as if she already knew.
"Aren't you rather busy with the matter of succession? Should the princess's knight really be lingering somewhere like this?"
What she meant, of course, was Kairon—not me. Still, the sudden remark made me furrow my brow, and she stuck out her right hand without missing a beat.
"Simena. Headmistress."
Only then did I notice the rank insignia on the shoulders of her uniform.
"Daywin Hasgard."
I took her hand and gave it a light squeeze.
I still didn't even know the name of the Academy's board chairman, yet here I was learning the name of a Military Academy headmistress five hours away by train. I'd never heard of her in my previous life.
"How did you recognize me?"
"There was a gathering not long ago. I met the Academy's chairman, and he mentioned you. The papers have been full of the succession story as well."
"Even so, you wouldn't know my face."
"The chairman described you."
My face? What exactly had he said?
"A young, handsome man with blond hair. No need to worry."
Simena smiled faintly, and the lines at the corners of her eyes deepened.
"I wasn't exactly… worried."
While I was still speaking, she lifted her gaze back to the statue.
"That sword. I intend to offer it as the prize for this year's Dowon Festival."
Huh?
Just like that?
"You mean… the statue?"
"Of course not. The real thing."
"…Is that really all right?"
"It has to be."
Simena's tone turned abruptly firm.
And just like that, without even trying, I had accomplished the entire reason I'd come to the Military Academy.
"Whether we end up fighting the undead again or not, that blade is a symbol. Passing the sword of a hero from a hundred years ago to the genius of the current generation—the royal family believes that alone will ease the public's anxiety."
"In that case, wouldn't it be better to give it to a swordsman in his prime? No matter how gifted they are, these are still students."
"He was their age at the time as well."
"Hmm… I can't say I follow the royal family's thinking."
"Not the sort of thing the princess's knight ought to be saying, I would think."
"More importantly—"
The moment I started, Simena turned from the statue and looked at me.
"What if another school takes it?"
"Another school…?"
"It almost sounds as if you already have someone in mind. This 'genius of the current generation'—the Military Academy already has a student picked out, doesn't it?"
"Yes."
Simena admitted the existence of a predetermined winner without the slightest hesitation.
"We do. Handing it over outright lacks justification. Awarding it to the champion of the Dowon Festival gives us a proper pretext."
"You speak as if the Military Academy has already won."
"Yes."
Same thing again. The admission came far too quickly.
"There's a student at the Theological School worth watching, but this year, we will win."
"The Academy has no shortage of talented students either."
"Is that so. But the Military Academy has taken three consecutive titles through last year, and last year's champion is competing again. The Theological School is one thing—but the Academy, which hasn't won in thirty-three years, suddenly taking it this year? I rather doubt it."
"This year will be different."
The words left my mouth, and even I was surprised.
I never thought I'd say something like that. For the first time, I thought I understood how baseball fans felt…
"I've heard about the new students as well. That there's an extraordinary first-year. But a first-year is still a first-year."
Hmm…
That was starting to get under my skin…
For the first time, I actually wanted to take Laward's side.
"Why is the headmistress so invested in a student event to begin with…?"
"I already told you. This year's Dowon Festival is not the same festival that has played out the same way every year."
That much was true.
In the game's scenario, the second semester of the first year used the Academy's founder—resurrected as an undead—to manufacture a sense of crisis, and only much later did the story of the true mastermind begin. But by now, far too much had already changed.
Even if the pace had slowed recently, the undead were already appearing, one by one, across the country. The Death God Cult knew I was digging into them. They had realized they no longer had the luxury of preparing from the shadows.
The apocalypse was advancing faster than before.
The only comfort I could take was that the faster it moved, the weaker its foundations would be. They were clearly acting in haste while still underprepared—a tree forced to shoot up its trunk before its roots had dug deep enough. A tree like that snapped the moment a typhoon hit.
I wanted Laward to be that typhoon.
"They need to be armed."
Simena's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Not people like me, who will be retiring soon—the young blood needs to be armed. That is why, this year of all years, I am paying attention to the Dowon Festival."
"And the finest student among them is at this school, I take it?"
"Yes. At the very least, not at the Academy. Hahah."
Simena delivered the blatant jab with a deliberately comic face. Thanks to that, I didn't get angry this time—but I couldn't say I found it amusing either.
"Come to think of it, the Military Academy does have one advantage."
I pointed at the statue.
"At least that man isn't coming back. You won't suffer the same tragedy that struck the Academy's memorial hall. I heard he was cremated rather than buried."
"Yes. His will instructed that the body be burned."
"Did he know the Necromancer would return?"
If he did, he could have done a more thorough job of killing him.
"Who can say. I don't know."
"…Right. There's no way for us to know."
I stood with my arms folded, locked in a staring contest with the statue, until Simena said she would take her leave.
"Yes, Headmistress. I'll see you again at the Dowon Festival."
"I'll be looking forward to the Academy's best effort as well. Until then."
Even after she left, I kept looking up at the statue—at the sword in his hands once more.
…Is that really all right?
I hadn't asked Simena that for any ordinary reason.
Somehow…
No one seemed to realize that thing was a cursed blade.
It might not have been one a hundred years ago, but in my previous life, it had been unmistakably ominous. Even the Sword Saint—who could handle any weapon—had started acting strangely the moment he took hold of it. He changed. And then, out of nowhere, he died.
"What are we supposed to do about this, Hero? At the very least… it seems the Necromancer knew he would come back."
I gave the statue's toe a light kick.
"…Judging by the curse he poured into your sword."
Where the Academy had its memorial hall, the Military Academy had a memorial garden—and there I found the real cursed blade on display.
Whether the Military Academy simply had better resources or not, they had secured it with magic rather than the night watch the Academy's memorial hall had relied on to prevent theft. Thanks to that, the item description window was dead silent. Or maybe it only appeared once I actually took something into my hands.
The sword was red through and through.
Aside from the blue-white flash of the blade visible through the gap in the scabbard, everything—the sheath, the hilt—was a vivid crimson. On top of that, the crossguard sat far higher than on any ordinary sword. The grip was long enough that four hands could rest on it, not two, and the guard itself was enormous. It almost looked as if the sword had three blades—one rising upward, and one to either side.
Even to an amateur like me, the balance was a disaster. I had no idea how anyone had ever swung the thing.
According to the plaque on the glass case, the blade and scabbard had even been welded together so the sword could never be drawn. The blade existed—but it was never used. Not a sword. A blunt weapon.
Looks like you really can't save the world while sane.
Anyway.
In my previous life, this had been a cursed blade.
"Can't tell just by looking."
I checked my surroundings, then summoned a single spirit. After loading it with every detection buff I could manage, I examined the sword again.
There's black magic on it. Not the kind I can purify.
The spirit circled the sword as it spoke.
"No talking."
…Yes.
Starting a conversation with a spirit was dangerous. Talk long enough and you got attached; get attached and it became hard to detonate them. They came back once the cooldown ended, sure—but still.
So what was I supposed to do with this sword?
If it couldn't be purified, the only option was to destroy it. The problem was how symbolic it was. The moment I smashed it, I'd be branded a traitor. And if I tried to warn people, I doubted anyone would believe me. Someone would have to bleed before the truth sank in.
But just leaving it alone…
What a waste.
The Sword Saint had died because of this blade—that much was true. But there had never been a sword as powerful as this one either. Better to get my hands on it first and find a solution afterward.
In the end, it came down to Laward winning the matches.
I would have to make sure he won.
I dismissed the spirit and stepped away from the sword.
Ah.
By now, Veronica's so-called business should have been finished. I'd look around a little first, and if she wasn't here, head for the train.
With that thought, I was walking along the path when—
"Ah! Are you not Daywin Hasgard!"
Some bizarre noise made me stop in my tracks.
I didn't recognize the voice. More than that, I had never in my life met a human being who called me "thou."
"Do not pretend not to know me! It is I—Hakan!"
So who the hell was that supposed to be.
I turned and found a handsome young man with wavy blond hair standing there. Tall and lean, dressed in a Military Academy cadet's uniform. Once again: I did not know this greasy-looking bastard.
"W-wait, please! We met at the royal palace, did we not!"
I had been about to walk off pretending I didn't know him, but the words "royal palace" stopped me again.
Ah. So that was it.
This cadet named Hakan had met Kairon—not me.
"Fufu. At last, you have halted your steps. It has been far too long. I have wished to meet you all this while."
Just what kind of social circle did Kairon keep, exactly.
I should have told him in advance not to make friends with weirdos.
"Still as silent as ever, I see. Sir Daywin."
"I think you've got the wrong person."
"Impossible! Others, perhaps—but these eyes of Hakan cannot be deceived!"
I felt a sudden urge to dig those eyes of Hakan's right out of his skull.
"While we were at the palace, I proposed a match, did I not? Leaving without fulfilling that promise has weighed on me ever since—and now, to meet you here! What brings you to the Military Academy?"
"You left the palace?"
"Indeed! Have you not heard? The prince is dead, and this Hakan is a free man!"
Ah. So it was you.
The knight who failed to protect the First Prince.
"You're lucky to be alive. A knight who fails his lord is usually executed."
"Hahaha! Hah! Let us simply say I know certain secrets of the First Prince that cannot be spoken aloud! Holding that leverage is the only reason I escaped with my life!"
Hakan planted his hands on his hips and laughed from the diaphragm. Even his laugh was irritating.
"You didn't run, then?"
"…What do you mean by that?"
My words snuffed out Hakan's laughter in an instant.
"If you were good enough to serve as the First Prince's knight, you must be a fairly strong swordsman. Especially at your age."
The genius Headmistress Simena had mentioned was probably this guy.
"Who did you meet there?"
"Meet? This Hakan has no idea what you are talking about…"
"A snake, was it?"
"A snake…?"
"No. If it had been a snake, you wouldn't have managed to run alone."
"Hahaha—ha—Sir Daywin, you are rather talkative today…"
"Or was it a fox?"
His face crumpled all at once.
A moment later, his perfectly straight philtrum began to tremble, just slightly.
"A fox, then."
"Sir Daywin—how could you possibly…"
"Who knows. But there is one thing I can say for certain."
This person, that person—while my previous self had been shut away at home, everyone on this side of the world had been elevating this man as the genius of the age.
Fine. I could accept that he was strong enough to become the First Prince's knight. In my previous life, in the game—either way, I understood that he was the genius of this era.
But.
I really hated saying this, but—
"If it had been Laward, he at least wouldn't have run."
Even if he had met the Necromancer himself.
He would have died there before he fled.
"He wouldn't have run."