Chapter 44
Chapter 44
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 44
Chapter Title: Class Observation (3)
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The king's hunting dogs, the Hounds.
They were different from ordinary knights.
Ordinary knights wielded spears and swords to fight the Demon King's army. Those weapons were honed to slay beasts. Knights were trained to confront the kingdom's enemies at all times.
Since the kingdom's enemies were the Demon King's forces, their spears and swords were naturally aimed at them.
But the Hounds were different.
The Hounds' spears and swords were turned toward humans.
The king's hunting dogs hunted down traitors who had sold their souls to demons. Even if they hadn't sold their souls, they targeted anyone who defied the royal will with the tips of their blades.
The hunting dogs' blades knew no mercy.
No matter how renowned the noble, they were mere prey before the Hounds.
Their weapons existed solely to fight other humans. Only those skilled in close combat could become Hounds.
"Hunting dogs..."
Mackhart, the Combat Magic professor.
He recalled the epithet attached to the Hounds.
'Masters of close combat.'
Whether one-on-one or against multiple foes, as long as their opponents were human, they never sheathed their weapons.
'Tenacious hunting dogs that never let go.'
Once they set their sights on prey, they never released it.
They even dragged out nobles who had fled abroad.
And.
"...The natural predators of mages."
The final epithet.
Mackhart uttered it aloud.
The natural predators of mages.
There was a reason the hunting dogs were called that.
Nine out of ten traitors were mages. And hunting traitors was the Hounds' duty. The Hounds performed their duties admirably.
'No matter their class, the moment they stand before a Hound, mages lose all value.'
Wizards, Summoners, even Battle Mages.
None could escape the Hounds' fangs.
No matter how skilled Battle Mages were in close quarters, they couldn't compare to Hounds who had devoted themselves solely to swordsmanship and melee combat.
Surely, that was the case.
Clang!
"......"
Mackhart stared blankly ahead.
The Hound was swinging his sword. Even tracking the blade's tip with his eyes was difficult. It was a swift strike impossible to gauge.
But that sword sliced through nothing.
It cut empty air. It was deflected by something.
The clang echoed belatedly.
The Hound retreated.
He lowered his sword tip. He raised his head, glaring at his prey. Mackhart looked at the same spot as the Hound.
"......"
A girl was silently removing her gloves.
She reached back, tying her hair. She exposed an opening before the hunting dog.
The hunting dog wouldn't miss such a gap.
The man charged. He swung his sword. But the result was the same as before.
Clang!
The girl extended her foot. Her shoe sole clashed with the blade. The Hound's sword was the one deflected.
It had been like this for a while now.
'What in the world.'
The girl's gloves were ordinary.
They looked like nothing more than leather gloves. Yet the girl wearing them boldly reached for the sword. She deflected it, trying to seize it.
'Am I.'
The Hound's blade was razor-sharp.
Blink, and another thrust layered atop the last. Mackhart was certain: if he faced that sword, he couldn't withstand even a single exchange.
'What am I watching?'
But the girl was different.
She parried the blade. With a flick of her wrist, a spell flashed, pushing the sword back.
Mackhart's eyes widened.
He took in their battle.
Clang!
Yet he still couldn't see it.
A fight at such an exalted level wasn't permitted to ordinary eyes.
Clang!
Light flashed the instant the blade met her glove. Mackhart couldn't tell what spell it was or how it manifested. He couldn't even guess.
It was fast.
Simply fast.
He'd zone out for a moment, regain focus, and several exchanges would have already passed.
"This is ridiculous..."
Mackhart muttered weakly.
It was unbelievable. There was no other way to put it.
Mackhart looked at the girl.
Her skin was smooth. No calluses. No trace of muscle.
Then he looked at the Hound.
The Hound's arms were covered in scars. Developed fine muscles showed. He exuded the aura of a battle-hardened veteran.
A girl who seemed far removed from combat.
And a Hound called a master of close combat.
The outcome of their fight was easy to imagine. The girl would fall in one exchange. Be subdued. Mackhart could clearly picture it.
But what was reality?
Clang!
It was an even match.
No, the girl was overwhelming him. The Hound was slowly being pushed back. He retreated into the forest. The girl pursued.
The tide of battle had turned before he knew it.
The one fleeing was the Hound.
The one chasing was the girl.
"Heh..."
Mackhart let out a hollow laugh.
He recalled the girl's name.
Lania van Trias.
A new professor, a novice mage who had never seen a battlefield. And from a wizard class, far from practical combat.
Mackhart erased that thought.
In its place settled entirely different words.
Battle Mage.
That single term was enough.
"Haha."
The hollow laugh escaping his lips grew louder.
Mackhart recalled what he had said to Professor Lania.
"Ha."
Mackhart rubbed his face.
"I look like a fool dancing before a tiger's maw."
2.
A member of the Hounds.
Kalt suddenly felt a sense of unease. The more he swung his sword, the greater the unease grew.
What was he facing?
A girl who looked barely twenty.
A girl with striking ash-gray hair. Kalt knew her identity well.
'Disciple of Elder Rosel, professor at Aphria.'
Lania van Trias.
A fellow student of the man to whom Kalt owed a debt, and if anything, like a little sister to him.
'I planned to knock her out with the flat of my blade.'
So he had intended to subdue her without injury, as gentlemanly as possible during interrogation. But Kalt realized how naive that notion was.
'M being pushed back.'
This was no time for holding back.
Even at full strength, he was being pushed.
Since retreating from the front lines, times he had fought at full power could be counted on one hand. Kalt was an exceptional swordsman, seasoned in real combat.
A mage or two like this.
He could subdue them without blinking.
'Keep... being pushed.'
He couldn't seize the momentum.
His swung sword was deflected. The thrust aimed at a gap had its trajectory bent.
'On the contrary, she's the one holding back.'
With that level of skill, she could shatter his sword.
Smashing his skull or embedding a spell in his gut would be even easier.
Yet she didn't.
It was almost as if she were waiting for Kalt to lower his own sword.
In that demeanor, Kalt felt a familiarity.
'This is.'
Kalt narrowed his eyes.
His tracker instincts flared.
'...Isn't it similar to that person's fighting style?'
Unlike the mages who called themselves Battle Mages but merely imitated him, whose movements felt like spells dragging their bodies along.
But the girl before him was different.
The spell came first. The body followed. But the gap between them was negligible. Everything happened simultaneously.
She extended her arm. The spell in her forearm was released.
Mana naturally imbued her arm.
She swung her fist. Spells in each finger joint released, accelerating the punch. A simultaneous flash of light obscured what spell was activating.
'Perfect.'
Her movements were concise.
No waste.
Efficient motion honed to the limit.
'Ah.'
Kalt had encountered countless Battle Mages.
As allies or enemies.
But he had never sensed any similarity to that person in them.
However.
He felt it in the girl before him.
'This is.'
Only this girl had the right to call herself a Battle Mage. And as far as Kalt knew, that right belonged to only one person.
Clang.
Kalt abruptly dropped his sword.
He raised both hands. The girl halted her movements as well.
"...?"
She tilted her head slightly, looking at Kalt.
"Haha..."
Kalt let out a hollow laugh as he watched her.
'Hard to believe, but...'
As a tracker, Kalt accepted all information. The person he had seen on the battlefield and the girl before him even shared the tiniest habits.
"I wondered where you'd gone."
Kalt said with a bitter smile.
"Hiding in such a form, Commander?"
Commander.
At that word, the girl flinched.
Then she slowly opened her mouth.
"...I'm not Raniel."
"Hm, I never mentioned the name Raniel, Commander?"
"Ah, fuck, this guy's doing leading questions again, ah..."
Thwack. The girl smacked her forehead.
"Still the same as ever, Lady Raniel."
His benefactor, whom he hadn't seen in ages.
Kalt gave a wry smile at his completely changed superior's appearance.
3.
Kalt, who had ventured deep into the forest, felled two trees. He and Raniel each sat on the resulting stumps.
The conversation began naturally, without need for prompting.
Raniel insisted to the end that she wasn't Raniel, but Kalt just snorted.
Only after Kalt swore on his mana did the talk flow smoothly.
"So, this underground waterway thing... this is what was found during the Aphria terror incident?"
"That's right."
Kalt examined what Raniel had handed him.
A sealed altar. The demonic energy he had sensed from her was all accounted for here.
"Phew..."
Kalt exhaled deeply, as if relieved.
"Whew, what a relief."
"What is?"
"If you had become a traitor, Commander... isn't it terrifying just to imagine?"
The Ashen Mage, becoming an enemy of the capital. Kalt shuddered at the thought.
'Who could stop that monster?'
Even if the entire Hound unit ambushed, he doubted they could inflict a single wound. For such a person to side with demons...
'No, at that level, they'd contract directly with the Demon King?'
Assume they contracted with the Demon King, or at least a Four Heavenly King-level demon, becoming a traitor.
'Terrifying just to think about.'
His teeth chattered at the mere image.
As Kalt shook his head, Raniel suddenly spoke up.
"You're really not gonna tell anyone, right?"
"I told you I won't. I even swore on my mana, why do you keep asking?"
"Hey, with this appearance, how the hell am I supposed to tell people without dying of shame..."
Kalt shot Raniel a glance.
Her long ash-gray hair, blue eyes hidden beneath slender lashes.
'Definitely hard to get used to.'
It differed greatly from the superior he remembered. Regardless of gender, the impression itself.
"...I owe you so much, Commander, so I won't report this. Seems like you have complicated circumstances anyway."
"I'm not your superior anymore."
"...Anyway, I won't say a word."
Kalt scratched the back of his head.
"With all I owe Lady Raniel, how could I go around blabbing?"
"Owe me?"
"When I retired, you wrote a recommendation letter with Knight Commander Siegfried, didn't you?"
Kalt recalled old memories.
The raid by Ganikalt, Sword of Death, one of the Four Heavenly Kings. Back then, Kalt's shoulder had been slashed by Ganikalt's blade, poisoning him with demonic energy.
He survived thanks to the Saintess's treatment, but...
The demonic poisoning left him with severe aftereffects.
'No issue swinging a sword, and I can handle some demonic energy, but...'
He could no longer endure the demon realm saturated with it. When he decided to retire, it was Raniel—his superior at the time—who wrote the recommendation.
-You've got a good nose, dog.
The words tossed at him as he packed. Kalt smiled wryly recalling them.
-Why talk like that?
-Ah, fuck. Is it just a day or two? Anyway, you've got a nose for it. You sniff out traitors like ghosts.
-...I'm a Tracker.
-Then you can work here.
The recommendation letter tossed casually.
-Good work so far. You've helped a lot.
The favor from then was one he could never repay in a lifetime.
As a commoner, his post-retirement options were limited.
"...Thanks to you, I'm living comfortably."
"How's that my doing? It was your talent. Even without me, units would've fought over you after discharge."
Better than joining some idiot assassin guild. Working in the capital was preferable.
Raniel muttered as she rubbed her chin.
"Besides, you only struggled against beasts. No one matched you hunting demonkin or humanoid beasts."
"Haha, thank you for saying so."
She was always consistent.
Her appearance had changed, but that subtly caring tone remained.
'Her speech is rough, but she's subtly kind.'
Kalt smiled faintly and stood.
"Leaving?"
"Gotta report before it escalates."
"What about Mackhart?"
"Pondering that. Suspected traitor?"
"No, definitely not a traitor."
"Then what to do?"
Raniel didn't answer.
Instead, she stood before Kalt. They had been the same height before, but not now.
Raniel looked up at him.
She tilted her head slightly and extended her hand.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"Hold still."
She placed her hand on Kalt's chest.
Slim fingers tickled his pectoral muscles.
"...Why?"
"Hey, Kalt."
"Yes?"
"How many fucking times did I warn you not to swing at me out of nowhere?"
Eh?
"Right here."
The fingers on his chest flashed.
Smite.
Boom!
"Urk!"
Kalt crumpled to his knees.
Watching him clutch his chest and scream, Raniel smiled.
"Toned it down to ten percent, fucker. Don't overreact."
"Why blast Smite into someone's chest! What if it hit my solar plexus...!"
"Shut up, you who swung at your superior."
"You said I'm not your superior anymore!"
Tears welled up.
Kalt coughed raggedly, looking up at Raniel. She still smiled, extending her hand again.
Tap. A slim finger touched his forehead.
"Want it on your head instead of chest?"
Gulp.
Kalt swallowed dryly and shook his head. Better chest than head by a factor of ten.
'She was always like this.'
Recalling the momentarily forgotten fact, a tear trickled down Kalt's cheek.
"Kalt."
"Yes, Lady Raniel."
"Feel that impact just now?"
"...Yes."
"Deliver exactly that to Mackhart during his interrogation. That fucker... no, the professor."
Kalt tilted his head.
"...Didn't you just say he's not a traitor?"
"That attitude screams traitor. Nasty one too. In my view, he needs some interrogation."
"Ah, yes..."
4.
"Mackhart Krepelt."
The Hound who returned from the forest, Kalt, stood before Mackhart. He looked somewhat fatigued.
"As announced, you'll have to come with me. Prepare for a light interrogation."
"W-wait! Just now you were calling Professor Lania a traitor or whatever...!"
"My mistake."
He shook his head curtly.
Mackhart was handcuffed without knowing why and dragged off by Kalt.
"What... Professor Mackhart..."
"Traitor? Just like that..."
Passing through the murmuring students, Mackhart was loaded into a carriage. At the front, a girl was receiving deferential treatment from the knights.
"...Professor Lania?"
"Ah, Professor Mackhart."
She smiled amiably as they met.
The meeting was brief. As Mackhart boarded the carriage, Professor Lania waved.
"Sorry about this, Professor!"
...Sorry for what?
Mackhart tilted his head, then realized something.
'Maybe she's apologizing for not understanding today's lesson?'
He had only tried to demonstrate.
Compared to the girl's movements, his were truly insignificant; it was natural not to comprehend.
'Yet she's sorry for not learning.'
The warm heart of a virtuous person could enlighten even the most petty soul.
"...I'm the one who should apologize."
Mackhart muttered as he boarded the carriage.
The carriage soon departed.
Thus, Mackhart missed Lania's final words.
"But don't you owe me an apology too, Professor?"
The words dissipated into the air unheard.
Author's Note
8k words today as well.
Yahoo!