Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: I Didn't Know Back Then. (4)
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# 5
1. I Didn't Know Back Then. (4)
The bombardment net was gradually tightening, drawing the trainees toward the center.
If this were a real battlefield, I'd just drop one massive strike right there and call it a day. But since it's just training for kids, I let them tremble at the sight of the ground cratering right in front of them before calling it quits.
How many instructors out there are this nice?
Back in my day, we'd lose one or two kids a month as a baseline, and on unlucky days, ten at once would head to the afterlife. Those were risky times.
We went out for live combat training to hunt goblins, and an orc popped out instead. But the others were the real problem.
I was nineteen then—old enough for an ID even by past standards—so I figured I could handle a couple of orcs no sweat.
Even if our training focused on anti-personnel combat, orcs are just humanoid pigs. Panicking and getting taken down by them?
Thanks to that, I had to smash ten of them solo and nearly died from exhaustion.
Compared to that, an instructor who doesn't kill anyone and even gives them a shot at success? That's a true instructor. But kids never appreciate it.
"I'm gonna die!"
"This demonic instructor!"
"I'll curse you if I die!"
Spouting nonsense just because they can't see ahead... That's No. 960. That one's No. 42. Hey now, No. 25 and No. 40 are cursing me too. Grading time. Grading.
Personnel evaluation: rock bottom. If they make it through, I'll show them a real demon's lair.
Even if they don't pass, when I send them back to the lower training camp, I'll tell them in advance to ship the canaries to the deadliest spot.
But time dragged on like that, and even as the numbers dwindled to a precarious few, there was still no reaction.
"Shouldn't one or two have passed by now..."
All fails would be a problem.
The final eval pits trainees from other instructors against mine—the winners take it. Even one survivor is enough.
Worst case, if other instructors send 100, I just need to turn mine into a hundredfold payback.
But zero survivors means no eval at all. No incentives, and my pay gets docked.
Might even get a line in my personnel file like [No results from overly harsh training.]
That could land me back on the front lines after quitting instructor duty, or worse, some risky spot where my head rolls overnight like my old job.
Back when I was young, the pay made it worth it, but now I want less pay and a comfy rear post.
"Should we dial back the attacks a bit?"
The comms magic engineer next to me asks worriedly.
Even looking like this, magic users in the Evil Organization are elite.
Especially combat engineers who handle front and rear ops—they're short everywhere.
I borrowed this one from a former student for a week, but it goes on their record too. Zero success on a first instructor-related mission would make retiring to rear duties tough later.
But.
"Anyone who's gonna dodge will dodge anyway."
Pointless. They've already seen rocks shatter and earth explode, imagining it's their heads. They've pictured it at least once.
Guys gripped by fear won't cross just because the rain lightens up.
"If one makes it, the rest will follow."
Sometimes at a crosswalk, when someone's jaywalking next to you, folks waiting think the light changed and tag along.
I've even seen one guy go on red, and the whole group follows like idiots.
Slightly different, sure, but when it's do-or-die either way, one breakthrough sparks "maybe me too?" thoughts.
I just need that one.
And then she appeared.
"Crazy?"
Even I think she's nuts.
#4 Their Circumstances: Mira's Circumstances
Mira. The only thing left from the people called my parents—my name.
From birth, my country was at war. A big one, they called it the Great War.
I still don't fully get what that means.
Just that people dying was daily life, and food shortages were the biggest crisis.
So by age six, I was alone.
Dad was gone by my fuzzy three-year-old memories. On my sixth birthday, Mom went foraging near the army camp and got caught in an enemy raid—never came back alive.
Thinking now, she might've run, but I want to believe otherwise.
After she vanished, I wandered, scavenging everywhere.
Security was a mess. Few merchants meant no stealing, and the nearby mountains—stripped of green—had no animals, not even grass blades.
I'd fight cats over trash cans, scrounge army scraps near camps, and scrape by.
Once, I dozed against a camp wall during a night raid—still weird I survived.
One day while foraging like that, I met an angel.
"I'll give you food. Will you come?"
"Yes!"
Mom worried about my flat emotions, but I was so excited even I was shocked.
Following the black-clad angel for days, I reached heaven.
"Haa..."
And for the first time, I ate meat.
I'd crammed the brownish chunks from army slop into my mouth before anyone snatched them, thinking they were meat.
Ahh, this big, glossy beauty—time to reflect on my past ignorance. But reflection later.
Into the mouth. Melts smooth.
"I could die happy..."
Then I went to people who love black clothes, donned theirs.
Got named No. 875, gripped their sword, learned to swing it.
Stab dummies, slice them. Eat. Stab and slice again. Eat.
Hated the runs that made me hungry fast, but they fed me after, so I endured.
Instructor said no talent, no progress—but food came, so whatever.
When they said I'd leave as No. 1000, bummed about losing the grub, but the rice with 99 others was tastier, so fine.
"Beautiful."
Sirens and blasts waking me like old camp days soured my mood, but this moment? Fine.
Clear night sky.
Moonlit ice shards gleaming silver, like shooting stars.
Why'd I never notice this beauty before?
Saw it often during camp raids, but then it was just terror of missing breakfast.
Leisurely now, truly gorgeous.
"I'm gonna die!"
"Demonic instructor!"
"I'll curse you if I die!"
Shouts and curses around me. Curses are familiar. Target's weird, though.
Gives tasty food. Shows sights like this. Why curse the instructor?
Compared to lower camp's yelling and hunger runs, he's great.
"Ah..."
Gazing at the unfairly maligned instructor, a big mushroom caught my eye.
Don't know the name, but tasty. Found it wandering war-torn cities—first bite nearly knocked me out.
Weirdly, others ignored it while taking other plants. Perfect.
At lower camp, I'd snag some during mountain drills, secretly roast 'em.
Learned fire magic first time thanks to that.
'Can take some, right?'
Kids clustering oddly, but common at lower camp.
They bunch around strong or popular ones. Same now.
I wandered solo daily, so going alone's fine.
Long time no mushroom—mood lifts.
Steps light. Silver ice falls nearby, but can't stop me.
Hit one, dead for sure. Instinct knows danger.
Not instinct—even as kid, saw folks turn to red mush from them.
Familiar. Just go "this way" and done. Nothing odd.
Light steps forward, shards falling behind now.
"So many!"
Mood skyrockets. Excited.
Enough for tonight and breakfast.
Ahh. Happy day.
***
Past and present lives—seventy years total.
Seen every nutjob in schools, army, offices, organizations.
Thought that covered it.
But I learned my ignorance. It's magic bombardment, even non-lethal.
The tech that showed empires' dominance in the last Great War.
No, non-lethal before? Hit it, you're done.
She dodges. Dancing naturally.
If that were possible, no elite strategists in war rooms worldwide racking brains for counters.
But okay up to there. Amid that mad barrage, dancing beautifully to harvest mushrooms.
Ignores gawking idiots behind, pulls dagger, slices diligently, pockets them, hums.
Wait, electric shock mushrooms?
Proper name exists, but aka shock shrooms. Eat 'em, body paralyzes like shocked, high chance heart attack—death.
Even four-year-olds know this killer shroom, yet she smiles, packs 'em?
Poisoning my food? No mushrooms for a while.
Rumor says heavenly taste, but higher odds of heavenly residence. No takers.
Check roster quick.
Huh, No. 1000.
Least talented trainee.
Details: no sword aptitude. Lazy. Mostly spaced out.
No positives. My turn.
-Crazy bitch. Handle with care.
Last year's token girl matches. Now intel deputy director—genius, but objectively, subjectively, total psycho bitch.
Her stare like a viper eyeing prey forced daily ambush prep.
Actual midnight bedroom intrusions: twice.
"Call that kid over?"
"Got it."
Rate danger high.
But check close-up, so tell nearby comms engineer—she looks my way instantly.
Magic rocks! No need for phones! Can't use it though!
Swallow envy/self-pity, eye approaching figure.
Short. Hair cropped, but girl.
Unlike others, two daggers at waist plus usual. Bread pouch? Stuffed with fresh shock shrooms.
"You called?"
Dazed voice. Danger +1.
"Why pocket those mushrooms."
"Ah..."
Hesitates, wary glance. Danger +1.
"W-want some?"
Trembling hand pulls one out, offers.
Yeah. No. Am I nuts?
Not dying yet.
"It's fine."
"T-tasty though."
Relieved face repockets it.
Really picked to eat...
Yeah. Danger -20.
But enemy—no, in this world, good-hearted hero type enemy? Bribe with food, might betray. Danger up. High rating final.
"Eat this and wait."
"Thanks!"
Whoa, kid.
Few jerky strips, voice pitches up.
For perfect eval, add line.
-Don't feed, might stab back. Secure food at least.
"No!"
Logging evals diligently, comms engineer gasps beside me. What? Kids hit by stray? Turn—
"Crazy."
Crazy bitch—no, another crazy guy joins.