Chapter 88
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 88
Chapter Title: The General's Grief
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“What’s Bel’s condition?”
The Sword Saint’s voice came unexpectedly from the rear of the formation. He appeared in a gust of light wind.
Carried on the breeze he’d created, the smell of burning flesh brushed past my nose. A shiver ran down my spine.
“…He’s past the worst of it for now. His pulse and breathing are stable.”
“When will he wake up?”
“That, I don’t know. He could wake up tomorrow, or he might never wake up.”
As if to say she’d done all she could, Grisha gently stroked the unconscious Bel’s jet-black hair and spoke softly.
“Spatial magic is so dangerous it can melt a mage’s brain just by maintaining it… He dispelled that dangerous magic in an instant and took the full force of the Overlord’s explosion head-on. Even if he wakes up, he might have brain damage.”
Grisha caressed Bel’s arms and legs, her face a mask of sorrow. Most of the wounds from the explosion had healed, but the arm and leg that had been torn off wouldn’t just grow back.
Even if Bel opened his eyes, his lost limbs would have to be replaced with dwarven prosthetics.
He might have to spend the rest of his life in a chair or a bed, and the chances of him ever returning to the field as a general were slim.
Cases like Rex, who returned to the battlefield with a prosthetic arm, were not unheard of, but they were mostly limited to warriors or archers who had trained their bodies to the absolute limit.
“What kind of miracle is this?”
Grisha spoke through gritted teeth, as if disgusted by her own powerlessness. Her clothes were stained crimson with blood, and her face was dark with the shadow of despair.
The saintess who always wore a benevolent smile was nowhere to be seen; on the hill stood only a woman lost in sorrow, having lost someone more precious than a comrade.
“…Shit.”
The saintess finally let a curse escape from her soft, delicate voice.
The tongue and lips that were meant to recite benevolent prayers were now tainted with worldly profanity, yet no one on this battlefield could bring themselves to stop her.
Grisha bit her lip. Blood trickled down her chin.
Drip.
And again.
Drip.
A few drops of blood fell onto Bel Artois’s cheek.
Despair weighed down her shoulders, and sorrow seemed to drag her ankles into the depths below.
“Bel left instructions. Gather everyone who can still fight. The skilled ones.”
Grisha swallowed all the emotions swirling around her and rose to her feet.
In her eyes, as she stood on trembling legs, was an immense, indescribable fury and obsession.
It was terrifying.
I’m sure it wasn’t just me; everyone on that battlefield felt a sense of fear looking into her eyes.
The person standing on the hill now was not the benevolent Saintess.
She was a general consumed by rage.
“Squad leaders and above, assemble!”
At the saintess’s request, the Sword Saint shouted from the hilltop in a booming voice. The soldiers, who had been staring dumbfounded at this unseen side of Grisha, belatedly began to rush up the hill.
Joining the line of soldiers, I too ascended the hill.
“We will now commence the operation to track and exterminate the Overlords.”
Up close, I could see a resolve bordering on madness in Grisha’s eyes.
“First, Great General, you will pursue Mikael. Bel said you should be able to track his location by scent… You can do that, right?”
“The unique, sickening stench of death from the Overlords is overwhelming. I can pinpoint the general location of both of them.”
Scent?
By scent?
That guy, the Sword Saint, it’s not like he’s a dog, yet he claimed he could pinpoint the location of two monsters that had flown away at hundreds of kilometers per hour just minutes ago by smell alone.
I couldn’t even begin to fathom how developed his senses were.
The absurd thought crossed my mind that if his five senses were that sharp, he could probably hear soldier ants gossiping about their queen.
“While the Great General deals with Mikael, we will form a strike team to pursue Maltiel. Only soldiers who believe they are still fit for battle against an Overlord… please gather around Bin-nim.”
Grisha hesitated for a moment before saying my name, then finished her command decisively.
Following her orders, soldiers who were still able-bodied and skilled began to gather around me.
“Wasn’t Bin-nim just supposed to be the bait?”
My white-bearded master asked Grisha.
“Bin-nim has done more than enough. He’s a genius, but he hasn’t fully matured yet. You must know as well as I do, General Grisha, that it’s too soon for him to face an Overlord.”
Alter seemed uneasy about sending me, with my lack of skill, into a head-on confrontation with an Overlord.
“If Bin-nim dies in this battle, how do you intend to handle the fallout? The war isn’t over yet. It would be better for Bin-nim to stay here and deal with the mutants and Mazoku the two Overlords left behind.”
“Are you suggesting we fight an Overlord without a general? The strike team wouldn't last a minute before being wiped out. Is that what you want?”
Grisha grabbed Alter by the collar with her bleeding arm and shouted.
Her unusually violent and forceful demeanor made the soldiers look on in disbelief, wondering if this was truly Grisha before them.
“I’m not telling you to bring me Maltiel’s head! Just buy time until the Sword Saint reaches his location! It’ll take five minutes at most. You can do that much, can’t you?!”
Grisha screamed, her voice desperate, almost pleading. It looked as though tears were about to fall from her bloodshot eyes, and the arm holding Alter’s collar trembled like a leaf.
“Bel promised his dying men that he would kill all four Overlords. I, I…”
She let her head fall, still clutching Alter’s collar.
“What the hell, let’s do it.”
I said, half-impulsively, to Grisha, who was too choked with emotion to continue.
“…Bin-nim?”
Alter stared at me in disbelief.
“Why are you looking so surprised? I’m a soldier in the Allied Forces, too.”
I knew full well that I was far from ready to face an Overlord.
The correct answer here was to say I would stay behind.
If nothing else, there were plenty of ways to escape the battlefield.
I could have spouted some pathetic nonsense like, ‘My death would be the death of the continent’s future. I will not take such a risk,’ and everyone here would have probably understood.
On top of that, I wasn’t skilled enough to hold off an Overlord on my own like the other generals.
I lacked experience, I lacked training, and I lacked ability.
Everyone knew this.
“Let’s get ready. How are we supposed to track him? You have a method, right?”
And yet, despite it all, I went and chose the wrong answer.
Why?
…I don’t know.
A sense of duty as a soldier? No, that couldn’t be it.
Was I worried about the soldiers who would be killed by Maltiel? Well… I felt a bit sorry for them, but that wasn’t the whole truth either.
I couldn’t quite grasp what emotion had driven me to such an impulse.
*…Do I really need a reason?*
Running away from home to pursue music, fighting the Mazoku in the tutorial city of Stratus, making an absurd declaration in front of the kings of four races to live as a genius.
Most of the important moments in my life happened because I couldn’t resist some ridiculous impulse.
This was one of those times.
I just wanted to do it.
So what? It’s my life. I’ll risk it where I want.
“It’s not like we have zero chance of winning, so don’t worry too much, Alter-nim.”
I knew.
I was just a fledgling who had barely grasped the basics of magic. My artifacts compensated for my shortcomings, but objectively and subjectively, my skills were far from enough to face a behemoth like an Overlord one-on-one.
One-on-one, that is.
But among those who would be with me were Alter, and Rex, who had become incomparably stronger after absorbing an artifact. I didn’t like it, but I could probably borrow a little of the power of the lightning spirit, ‘Dajin,’ as well.
I wouldn’t be fighting alone…
Couldn’t we hold out for five minutes?
“Exactly five minutes. I’ll give you five minutes to take down Mikael and join us quickly.”
“That’s enough.”
The Sword Saint replied while stretching his ankles and calves. It seemed that even he needed to warm up his leg muscles before chasing down an Overlord who had already flown hundreds of kilometers away.
“The Great General is one thing, but how is our strike team supposed to follow Maltiel? We can’t smell anything, and we don’t have the ability to keep up with an Overlord flying at full speed…”
Tap.
Grisha answered by clasping her hands in prayer. With every movement of her trembling lips, a large, spherical barrier began to form around the strike team gathered around me.
“Uh, why the barrier all of a sudden…”
I asked Grisha, not understanding.
I had expected a buff like ‘Grace of Acceleration,’ but instead, a solid, spherical barrier had enveloped us.
“Hooo…! Haaa.”
While I was still puzzled, trying to figure out the situation, I saw the Sword Saint in the corner of my vision, taking a deep breath with his arms and legs spread almost comically wide.
His posture reminded me of the free-kick stance of a certain player who was once called the best in the world.
A certain Portuguese player now spending the twilight of his career in the Middle East…
“Oh shit, wait a minute!”
A bad feeling shot through my mind.
A spherical barrier, two Overlords far in the distance, and the Sword Saint preparing for a free kick.
…Something felt very, very wrong here.
Thud! Thud!
“Whoa, wai—hey!”
The Sword Saint began his run-up with light, long strides.
If a soccer scout had seen his form, they would have made every offer imaginable to sign this madman on the spot.
His left arm began to swing in a large arc, his upper body leaned slightly forward, his steps neither too fast nor too slow.
The Sword Saint’s plant foot rooted itself in the perfect spot, and a moment later, the instep of his right foot connected precisely with the lower part of the ball (which contained nearly thirty soldiers).
Haha, what a perfect impact.
The ball carrying me (with most of the thirty people inside armed with large swords or axes) began to shoot eastward at hundreds of kilometers per hour.
“Aaaaaah!”
“What is this?!”
“Hey, your sword! Your sword’s coming loose! Keep a handle on it, you son of a bitch!”
…Needless to say, the inside of this thing became a scene of complete chaos.
Ah, shit.
I should have just stayed with the wounded.