A Blind Spot in the Slaughter
The greatsword whirled.
Steel traced arcs through the air like a windmill, layering trajectory upon trajectory, and every time it touched, the ghouls were hacked apart without even a heartbeat's chance to scream. My raw strength, plus the centrifugal force of the spin — in that moment, my blade was, quite literally, closer to a cutting machine than a mere attack.
Of course, even as it carved through them, the ghouls couldn't have cared less, and they kept closing the distance into the greatsword's reach.
There are limits to what kicking and pummeling can accomplish. More than that — I didn't even want to pummel them. Because of that fundamental problem, every time the greatsword came around, they kept trying to sink their claws into my body.
Their heads went flying — still they sank their claws in. Their arms burst apart — still they swung. Their legs were crushed to paste — still they spread their claws wide.
Needless to say, even I am not invincible. This industry is precisely the kind where a physical-enhancer who lets his guard down can hand his throat to an E-Rank monster. Even so, the only reason I'd held out this long was entirely thanks to my armor.
Less impressive than my coat, perhaps, but the suit I wore every day was a masterpiece in its own right. It even absorbed the surrounding mana to repair itself automatically — a useless trick normally, beyond sparing me a trip to the dry cleaner's. But if I forced enough mana into it, the suit could restore any damaged section in the blink of an eye. Call it a shape-memory material woven from mana.
On top of that, it had durability of its own. Unless I was completely out of it, it could shrug off attacks from B+ Rank monsters. And with my senses layered on top, I could respond to every strike the instant it came.
The problem was—
Dammit!
A curse tore out of me as I broke away, and the ghoul horde came charging all the same. Before I knew it, disgust had crawled up my throat.
...Right. Obviously, even my sensory nerves had limits. My senses were never some well-behaved support magic to begin with — all I'd done was warp a condition that made me convulse at the sight of monsters into something I could apply in combat. Stand against an endless tide of them, and of course the limit arrives. Not that it was anything grand. Just a headache.
Just die already, you bastards!
That was why I was losing my temper. The sensation had already blown past a simple headache and started racing through my skull like it was splitting it open. It felt like someone had seized my nerves and was grinding them against a saw blade, and my voice climbed without my meaning it to.
Deflecting attacks with delicate control. Metering out mana for defense at just the right moments. I can manage that once or twice, maybe!
Worse, every single one of these things was B+ Rank. In a word: awkward. If they'd all been E-Rank, I'd never have had to tax my nerves in the first place. And conversely, if they'd been S-Rank monsters I could finish off in a single strike, that would honestly have been a relief.
But no. Undead-types, awkwardly middling, and numerous — with poison riding their claws, no less. There was no way that felt good.
...Not that I thought wiping out every last one was impossible. No — if I pulled out my signature this very second, I could settle this. The problem lay precisely there: the fact that I had a means of resolving the situation at all. No matter how I tried to quiet the urge, the thought of just using the damn signature kept swelling — and that with no clue what the bastards had planned besides.
The ghouls' change of tactics had a hand in it, too. A beast is, in the end, a beast — or so I'd assumed. Apparently it meant they could manage wolf-pack maneuvers, even if nothing so refined as true tactics.
They surrendered an arm. They surrendered a leg. Of course, I had my own means of piercing the One-Hit Faith protection. But in that sliver of an instant, they sank their claws in and tried to seize my leg. Unless they were deluded enough to believe a single rake of their claws could kill me...
They mean to pin my ankle.
Inject their poison and force me to spend myself neutralizing it. Latch onto my body and grind my pace to a crawl. And through it all, my senses refused to settle no matter how many of them died. Watching the monsters pour in without end, a sigh slipped out of me before I knew it.
Whoever had cooked it up, as a method for handling me, it was a remarkably efficient tactic. Corner me where I couldn't spam my signature, then shackle my feet with sheer numbers. I make a point of fighting like a hunter, which means that outside my signature, handling a crowd is a struggle. To put it more precisely — that's exactly why I'd honed the signature to deal with multiple enemies in the first place.
It was a mouse caught by a man backing into it, but if they'd aimed for that opening, they'd earned some credit. In a defensive battle, I could have prepared traps. In an assault, I could at least have analyzed the target. But this was nothing but raw numbers — a tedious exercise in repetition.
I was starting to lose patience. That it was a nuisance, at least, was beyond dispute. And so—
If they changed their tactics, then I would change mine.
Kieeehk?
One of the ghouls lunging at me again let out a bewildered screech. Unlike a moment ago, the edge of my blade had closed softly around its throat. And instead of cleaving the head off, I swung the ghoul itself, as though flinging it away.
WHUMMM!!
The flung ghoul sailed through the air and crashed into the ones standing rooted in place, toppling the whole lot. It looked less like baseball than bowling. One wave through their formation was enough. I bored into the gap the wave left and forcibly split their line open, gripping the greatsword's secondary handle and holding it out front like a shield as I shoved my way through. The ones still reeling from the flying ghoul, naturally, couldn't hold against it and went down.
Of course, that had its limits too. The moment a wall of pressure built from ghoul flesh rose up beyond my blade, bearing down like a press—
I planted my foot on the greatsword and leapt.
Die!!
In the same breath, I hauled in the chain I'd let run slack at the jump, reclaiming the greatsword, and scattered the oil can from my storage across the floor once more. Medium: oil. Paying elements and mana as the reagents! On top of that, I tossed in a cheap mana crystal. Instant Alchemy, invoked a second time, shaped the result.
Namely — a recreation of Greek Fire, the flame said to reduce even a colossal beast to ash in moments.
KABOOOOM!!
Perhaps thanks to the extra compounds modern alchemists had blended in, the medieval flamethrower once famed for spewing fire had become an explosive packing firepower beyond anything I'd imagined.
Son of a—!
This was exactly why I'd avoided using it. Fine for wiping out a crowd packed into a tight space — except we were underground. The last place on earth for explosives.
WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP!!
Even with my body flung skyward, the detonation caught me all the same. I went tumbling across the floor, robbed of even a single proper landing — then, riding the residual force of the blast still thrumming through me, I was back on my feet in an instant, brushing the dust from my tattered suit as I rose. Maybe it was the blast's afterwash; I could see the last embers clinging to the fabric guttering out.
Of course, afterwash was all it was. Compared to the ghouls burning alive right in front of me, I had it easy.
...Hah!
I forced strength into my trembling legs and straightened up. The suit hung in ribbons where their claws had caught me. I'd dodged every direct hit, so no poison was circulating, but I hadn't managed to kill the impacts outright. Add the explosion from moments ago, the mana burned regenerating the suit, the mana squandered on alchemy this whole time—
Body still moves, reactions are dull, and mana's under thirty percent at best, huh.
A truly shitty situation. This was no time for a potion, either. The dragon vein was more than likely in their possession right now — if I burned one healing these wounds, my mana might well run dry.
In exchange, the results were certain. An explosion detonated in a packed space, plus flames that magic itself refused to let die. Counting the ones I'd cut down moments before, the remaining high-rank ghouls were down to roughly ten percent. Toss in the common ghouls and it came to about forty. And the survivors were holding their posts, sealing off any interference from outside. In other words — clear out the ones in front of me, and I could finally see the end of this.
This kind of work just isn't my fit. An ordinary hunt. Or a territory battle where my side holds the building. Or an assault on one powerful single target. That was where my specialty lay.
Fuck, at this point I'd honestly rather take a dungeon raid. The confirmed count alone was five hundred. Factoring in their specs, that was nearly a thousand I'd cut down one by one. Leave this sort of thing to the superheroes...
Damn. Apparently I really was struggling. All the more evident from how I kept muttering to myself. Along with that self-diagnosis, a hollow snort of laughter broke out of me. Well, of course I was worn out — how could I not be? Back during the defense of the boarding house, injuries aside, I'd still had to cast magic any number of times. And while now was now, I hadn't slept a wink today to begin with.
And Tiamat, that bitch, really is a piece of work, I swear. Grumbling inwardly, I started toward the ghouls that had, by sheer luck, escaped the flames.
Perhaps because they'd realized there were no more kin left to stand with them, they turned and bolted. It was far too wretched to call a decisive retreat. Well, underground was where they were headed anyway. I put power into my feet and surged forward.
Now — kill those bastards, and the ritual site was next—
...Huh?
Was it because I'd thought that? All at once, the whole world before my eyes seemed to slow. Me, bellowing as I charged them down. The ghouls tumbling through the shattered door into the underground. Me, seizing the space at their backs the instant they broke through. The greatsword swinging. Ghoul necks flying skyward with a clang—
And beyond that.
Before the gate.
A magic circle ringed the Academy Underground Gate — the one that, until only days ago, had been sealed behind no-entry tape. And at the very center of that circle, inscribed with script I couldn't begin to decipher, my gaze snagged on something.
Familiar blonde hair. And a familiar uniform.
Huh? Wait — why is Yeeun here?
For one instant, a blank opened in my consciousness before I could stop it. And then— whether you'd say they drove into that gap deliberately, or simply caught their mouse by backing into it—
The ghouls that had lain hidden beyond the underground until that very moment lunged for the back of my neck.