Chapter 99
Chapter 99
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 99
Chapter Title: Rak van Grace
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The north always had wind blowing.
The wind, carrying a chill, was fierce. The wind of the north was a symbol of harshness.
A harsh environment shows no mercy to the humans living there. Those who resolve to live in the north must be resilient.
To avoid being torn by the savage winds.
To endure the brutal conditions.
They tempered themselves. To survive in the north, where the human body struggled, they yearned for ways to stay alive.
The history of the north is a history of survival.
The warriors of the north are strong. They aren't strong so they survive. They are strong because they survive.
Rak recalled those words.
"......"
Rak gazed at the forest shrouded in darkness.
Amid the underbrush, beyond the trees, red eyes gleamed. He sensed presences. They hid their bodies but not completely.
They're approaching.
The presences drew closer.
Rak estimated their number at a glance. There were many, but their condition wasn't good.
Rusted weapons.
Shabby gear that could hardly be called armor.
Their bodies were covered in soot and grime.
They looked like soldiers retreating after defeat. Had there been a camp of apprentice knights along their path? It was hard to say for sure.
Soldiers in poor shape.
However.
Even so, they're soldiers.
Battle-hardened soldiers.
Rak read a fierce killing intent in their eyes. They weren't to be taken lightly.
"...Hoo."
Rak steadied his breath and assessed the situation.
Dmak had gone to fetch the instructors. Even if help came quickly, it would take at least ten minutes.
Ten minutes.
That was the time Rak had to hold out.
"I see."
Rak nodded.
"Real combat, then."
There was only one question he needed to ask himself.
Can I do it, or not?
Was it bravado or not?
He answered the question he posed to himself.
"I can."
That was enough.
Should he run?
Hold out until reinforcements arrived?
Hide?
Rak brushed aside such distracting thoughts. They were unnecessary and worthless. Now that he'd made his decision, there was only one thing left to think about.
How to hunt them.
Rak gripped his axe tighter.
His prey was right in front of him. A hunter doesn't flee from prey.
Crunch.
Rak's fingers dug into the circuits engraved on the axe handle with a loud grinding sound. The handle trembled in his grasp.
Accel.
Muscular Enhancement.
He released the spells he had Stocked.
The presences drew even closer. Those that had come right up to his nose emerged from the darkness.
Torches illuminated their faces.
Red eyes filled with murderous intent gleamed menacingly in the night. Their gazes fixed on Rak.
Rak's red eyes darkened.
The key is the flow.
Lose the flow, and you're swept away.
To seize the flow, he had to use Overheat. But he couldn't let instinct dominate him. He needed to awaken that strange sensation he'd briefly felt during the practical exam.
It was difficult.
Difficult, but...
I've done it once before.
Rak raised the arm holding the axe.
As if taking it as a signal, the demon soldiers charged at him. Arrows flew.
Grrrrraaaah!
Their roars echoed in his ears.
And amid it all, the axe handle made a light thunk.
The handle touched Rak's heart.
Overheat.
Thump, his heart pounded heavily.
2.
"Even if that child Rak is exceptional, sending him to experience the battlefield feels a bit excessive, don't you think, Raniel?"
"Pardon?"
At Rosel's question, she slowly lifted herself from the sofa where she'd been lounging, engrossed in a novel.
Her tousled ash-gray hair swayed.
Raniel, in her pajamas, blinked at Rosel. It seemed she'd been reading the novel before bed.
"Isn't that the truth?"
Rosel sighed as he spoke.
"I acknowledge the child's talent. Still, he's young, isn't he? Even if the Combat Magic Department emphasizes practical experience..."
"Eh, I was around that age too."
Raniel shrugged.
"Twenty? Nineteen? That was about when I first went to the battlefield, I think?"
"Your case is a bit different, isn't it..."
Rosel pressed his temple.
This foolish disciple of his often projected his own exceptionalism onto others like this.
Even if Aphria is prestigious and the Combat Magic Department produces capable soldiers...
That's after graduation.
They still had much to learn. At the very least, sending them to the battlefield already seemed unreasonable to Rosel.
"Even so, the battlefield feels a step too far. He could get hit by a stray arrow."
"That's why I took measures to prevent serious injury... Honestly, I don't think he'll even need them."
"I'll let it slide since you've prepared, but don't demand hero-level experiences from students, Raniel."
"Pardon?"
At the question, Raniel tilted her head.
Rosel sighed, about to explain from the beginning. Then Raniel blinked and blurted it out.
"It's not that different."
"What?"
"I know our group is special. I wouldn't have sent other students. Belnoa, maybe? Nah, he's not the type."
Muttering, Raniel raised her arm and tapped the corner of her eye with her finger.
"I can see it."
"...See what?"
"Whether they belong to that side or not."
"That side?"
"Hard to explain, but yeah, I can just tell."
Swordmaster Kuntil.
The last mage of a fallen kingdom, Kelrhalim.
The ghost of the front lines, Sword Demon Draka.
Reciting the names of those who'd etched legends on the battlefield, Raniel said,
"Not heroes, but called superhumans."
Those not chosen by the stars, but who forged superhuman strength through self-discipline.
"Uncle Kuntil said you can spot the signs in those kids..."
Raniel smiled.
"To me, Rak's one of them."
She declared it with conviction.
"Once he gets the knack, he'll catch up before graduation."
Rosel asked who.
Raniel didn't answer. She just gave a faint smile and shrugged.
3.
Thud, thump.
His heart pounded wildly. Blood raced through his body. His exhaled breath steamed like vapor. Veins bulged on his reddened forearms.
His body burned hot.
His vision narrowed.
The landscape Rak saw in Overheat differed from others'. His bloodshot eyes perceived only the essentials.
Enemies.
Things he had to hunt.
With his head overheated, Rak entertained no complex thoughts. A single word circled his mind.
Kill.
Rak's axe moved with murderous intent.
He kicked off the ground and swung. The head of a zombie nocking an arrow flew through the air.
Splat, splat.
The head fell with spurting blood. Rak didn't stop. He spun, cleaving into the back of a hunting hound guarding the zombie.
Crunch!
He felt bones shatter and life end. The demon soldiers faltered at Rak's speed, but only briefly. They rushed him.
Spear tips approached from multiple directions.
Rak swung his axe to deflect them. He couldn't block all. He fell back. Soldiers closed in from behind too.
There were many.
Unlike Rak, who was alone, they were numerous. And they were soldiers. Soldiers knew how to handle foes too strong for one.
Whoosh!
They thrust spears relentlessly, sealing Rak's movements. Restricting him, they loosed arrows from afar.
Rak deflected incoming arrows and lowered his stance. He slithered past spear shafts, burrowing into their midst. His axe targeted what was before him.
Slash.
A soldier with severed ankles toppled. The encirclement broke. Rak buried his axe in the fallen soldier's chest, then pivoted.
Sliding into the turn, Rak charged again. His bloodied axe blade dulled. No time to shake off the flesh.
Crack.
He swung like pounding with the blade.
Using weight to smash down. He pulverized a skull. Crushed an ankle to fell another and finish it.
Crack, crunch!
He jammed the axe handle into a hunting hound's jaws trying to bite the blade, spun it, and snapped its neck. Rak moved on pure instinct.
No deep thoughts.
With narrowed vision, he made optimal judgments.
Yet as the fight dragged on, Rak sensed it. This wouldn't end. He needed another way.
Too many.
Killing one changed nothing.
There were many enemies. Rak was alone. They tightened the noose. At this rate, he'd be cornered. Knowing that, he still couldn't find a solution.
Reason was numb.
A vague sense that this was wrong lingered, but his body obeyed instinct.
Whoosh.
An arrow checked him.
Endless spear thrusts forced him back. Before he knew it, Rak was cornered.
His heel hit something.
A tree. Rak twisted, swinging his axe. Instinct drove him to carve an escape.
But it was a blunder.
The soldiers, anticipating it, sacrificed one to trap him. As he swung, Rak sensed it.
Mistake.
His narrowed vision missed it, but he felt the air shift. A spear tip approached. Aimed at his chest.
Death.
Rak intuited death.
Facing it chilled him. The cold ran up his spine. Time stretched endlessly.
In the elongated perceived time, Rak felt it.
Something flowed up his spine. A chilling sensation. Cold water surged up his back. With each pass, his senses expanded.
All senses sharpened acutely.
His nerves honed like razor edges.
The flow wrapped his skull. Like dumping cold water on his head. Sparks flew before his eyes, followed by a snap of something breaking.
That sensation.
The one from back then.
His vision expanded in an instant. With it, his movement halted. He altered the axe's trajectory mid-swing.
Shiiiing!
His feet moved nimbly. Spinning in place, he hooked a spear shaft with his axe. The bent shaft whirled in the air.
Rak threw the axe with spin.
It embedded in a zombie's head as it thrust another spear. Rak snatched the whirling shaft barehanded and hurled it.
Thud.
"Guhk..."
In the blink of an eye, two fell.
Another blink, and three more soldiers dropped. The encirclement shattered.
The closing soldiers hesitated.
Just one opponent, yet they couldn't close the distance easily.
That sensation.
Rak exhaled shortly.
His body still burned, breath steaming away. But his mind was cool.
Reason nested within instinct.
The irreconcilable two aligned.
Strange unity, possibility from impossibility.
Movements impossible on instinct alone.
Expanded vision and uncanny unity made the impossible possible.
"I see."
Rak muttered, yanking his axe from a sprawled corpse.
"So that's how it's done."
His voice, hot with fervor, was calm in tone.
Rak had gained enlightenment.
The moment he took his first step toward growth.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Dong, dong.
The bells warning of enemy attack rang between the barracks. Awakened apprentice knights and instructors hurriedly grabbed their weapons.
A bit early for real combat.
They needed to send aid quickly.
The instructors dashed out first upon hearing the news. The apprentices prepared under the remaining instructors' orders. Just as the lead instructors reached the forest edge...
-Gr, grrr!
-Kieeeek!
Demon soldiers burst from the woods.
The preparing apprentices panicked at the sudden foes. An instructor kicked over a zombie and blinked.
Something's off.
The fallen zombie trembled in fear.
Not from the instructor. It looked like it was fleeing something. Its eyes quivered.
Fleeing from what?
It didn't take the instructor long to realize.
Whoosh.
An axe flew from somewhere.
The blade smashed into the prone zombie's head. Green blood sprayed.
"Wha, wha...?"
As the stunned instructor blinked, someone leaped forward. He yanked the axe from the zombie's head and plunged back into the forest.
"...Young Master Rak?"
The instructor recognized him late.
He charged the fleeing demon soldiers. His movements were unhesitant.
-Gr, grrruk!
The terrified demon thrust a spear.
Lacking ferocity, the uncertain thrust held no power.
Crack.
Rak stomped the shaft. The wooden spear bent and snapped.
Spin.
Rak grabbed the broken shaft and threw it. The zombie impaled against a tree thrashed. Rak swung his axe at it.
Slash. The zombie slumped, arm and head severed.
It happened in a flash. The zombie dismantled in a blink.
Even the witnessing instructor blinked in bewilderment.
What...?
It felt alien.
What the hell is that...?
An unnatural movement.
At a glance, like a rampaging beast, but not quite. Every motion efficient. Calculated. Instinctual yet rational. Seamless, unending flow.
An unpredictable beast.
The beast wove through the demon soldiers.
"......"
Forgetting to help, the instructor eyed the boy's path. The boy had emerged from deep in the woods. A trail of blood followed.
A long streak of blood.
Demon corpses scattered everywhere.
At its end stood the boy. His white hair matted with blood. Blood dripped from his gripped axe.
Crack!
The last survivor on his path had just met its end. The boy exhaled shortly and lifted his head slightly.
"Hoo..."
Standing over corpses, the boy raised his arm.
He wiped blood from his face with his thumb.
A chilling sight.
The gathered apprentices eyed him. The blood-soaked boy's name etched into their minds.
Rak van Grace.
Warrior of the north.