Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Their Circumstances: The Agony of a Certain Organization's HR Manager
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# 7
1. I didn't know back then. (6)
“Right, that’s how it should be.”
Aside from a group of just over ten people, the rest began to band together and move.
Centered around the trainee who had first noticed Umbrella’s true nature and calmly taken charge of the situation, they deployed defensive magic.
The others intercepted the falling bombardment while advancing at high speed.
Honestly, those two crazy bastards had me seriously considering whether to end the training right then and there.
No, if it had been just one, I could write it off as a single lunatic charging in. But when another one succeeded right after, doubts creep in—what if it’s real? And that spawns more moths flying into the flame.
Especially guys who’ve never seen real combat, only heard rumors—mostly half-remembered stories from their junior trainee days—wondering if it’s true or just exaggerated.
For these kids who’ve never personally experienced being outnumbered by that bombardment, it’s just numbers on a page.
The gap between hearing “hundreds died” as a rumor and witnessing hundreds die firsthand is enormous.
Those who’ve been in the field would get the scale, but expecting that from these guys is wishful thinking.
That’s the limit of green rookies without real combat experience.
Once you’ve been surrounded by hundreds of enemy troops mid-mission, you grasp how insane that number is. But we can’t run that kind of training here.
Even as an Evil Organization, we don’t just slaughter kids during training.
For junior trainees, we prioritize safety, even if it means retraining them. Even for seniors, outside of actual combat ops, the top brass policy is to minimize casualties.
Sure, the Great War flooded us with orphans these past few years, but as an illegal outfit, we’re always one wrong move from death. That’s the nature of the Evil Organization business.
So we’re perpetually short-staffed.
To fix that, we train kids from the cradle to keep the pipeline flowing, but snatching them up ain’t cheap.
Pre-war, it averaged 20 silver per head. Now it’s down to 15, but hundreds or thousands add up fast.
Factor in food, lodging, and training costs, and you wonder if it’s cheaper to hire adults. But adults often come with rival org spies or state agents, so we stick to orphan kids and slaves.
That’s why I never let a single one die.
Bet I get glowing reviews in personnel evals: “Talented instructor who develops resources with zero losses!”
It’s not my training’s fault—it’s the weaklings who couldn’t hack it!
“Thirty-seven.”
A solid result, if I do say so.
The twelve shivering holdouts go to the cleanup crew I called ahead. They’ll ship them back to junior barracks with the fifty-one who passed out in their bunks. Not my problem anymore.
Dropouts transfer to junior trainee oversight.
“Now head back.”
In front of me, No. 1000 munches her third round of jerky rations, while No. 1 stares at her with burning eyes.
Smitten? Is he in love?
Oh, a rare love story in this bleak Evil Organization!
…Yeah, right.
I gave up on that romantic fantasy crap ages ago.
Best I can hope is No. 1 doesn’t get jealous and backstab her mid-mission.
No. 1 types always flip out if someone outranks them and they can’t do jack about it.
I turn to the underdogs who broke through the Imperial Magic Bombardment, weak as they are.
Exhausted faces, but spirits still high.
Good, that’s what I want.
Kids who lose the will after this much wouldn’t last training anyway.
I want easy, simple training. Easy and simple for me, not them.
“Congrats on surviving that infamous Imperial Bombardment.”
I boost their morale and signal the nearby comms magitech engineer.
“…You’re really doing it?”
“Yes.”
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear I hear a mutter: “Oh god, why…” Probably nothing.
The upcoming training’s easier to dodge than Imperial Magic Bombardment, right?
And it won’t kill you even if you get hit?
A faint magic circle blooms over the trainees’ heads, distracted by me.
I could erase all traces, but save that for the last day.
I’m not that cruel—I give an adjustment period.
Humans adapt to anything, right? They’ll get used to it.
“Surviving that famous bombardment means basic magic barrages will be a breeze, yeah?”
As some gawk upward in horror, a rainbow shower of lights begins to fall—not silver this time.
“Behold, elite trainees who endured the Empire’s magitech barrage! Now feast on our organization’s signature magic bombardment. Oh, it’s dialed back so you won’t die on impact, but don’t get cocky—enough hits and you’re toast!”
They’re too busy fleeing to hear me.
Readghosted? No, hearghosted? Tough break for an instructor.
“Alright then. Shall we play for a week?”
For the kids who might fund my retirement, I’ll serve up experience like a high-end chef plating delicacies.
First course: full battlefield bombardment premium set.
#7 Their Circumstances: The Agony of a Certain Organization's HR Manager.
“Ahh…”
I read the report from the organization’s magitech engineers.
TL;DR: training from hell no human could endure.
They rate it impossible even now, let alone at that age.
Any other department, any other instructor than Naruan, and I’d call bullshit.
But magitech engineers are special, even in the Evil Organization.
Lab-bound theorists or rear-line mages squeezing mana for one-shots? Different story.
These are magitech engineers: all-purpose special forces handling frontline, infiltration, bombardment, assassination—you name it. And the vets say this?
From 100 trainees, only 3 passed!
A week of nonstop magic barrages starting with Imperial Magic Bombardment, no breaks.
Even with Empire-grade defensive staves for anti-magitech and magic defense, enduring constant attacks that long? Those 3 passers look like monsters.
The other participants weren’t weak.
30 lasted a full 5 days!
Down to 37 post-Imperial, and 30 hung on!
Digging trenches, finding cover, building positions or foxholes on the fly—at that age, even desperate thrashing shows top-tier survival skills.
Word’s spread; dropout candidates are getting flooded with special forces requests.
I’d want them too. Especially the last 5 out—they fell to the org’s mid-range stealth strikes, not barrages.
Insanely common field tech: hard to block even knowing it, impossible blind.
The magitech crew rates those 5 as prime “human” stock. The 3 survivors? Not human—monsters. Praise or insult, unclear.
-Comprehensive Evaluation-
No. 1 - Lunatic. Solid sword skills, but seems unhinged. Magic talent, but dangerous if trained.
Keeps giving No. 1000 dangerous looks. Monitor closely.
No. 17 - Exceptional magic talent. Mage or magitech potential.
Treats allies like chess pieces. Great at magic application, better at people. Spotted sending comrades to sniper spots. Prime villain material.
No. 1000 - Crazy bitch. Survival queen.
Won’t die anywhere. Might defect for enemy chef, so ideal for remote ops like deserts.
Summing up the magitech evals gives me a headache.
To a newbie, it looks like they’re screwing around. But I know 2 years back, Naruan’s grads got similar reviews.
Especially that one insane bitch.
“Heh, these my juniors?”
“Y-Yes?”
Her voice nearly stops my heart.
Why’s this psycho here, right now?!
“Why so surprised?”
“N-No reason, Deputy Director.”
Harnel Sia.
Youngest-ever Deputy Director of the Intelligence Bureau, core organ of the org.
The picky Director says she could take over anytime. Ex-pupil of Instructor Naruan.
Back when skeptical me bitched to the examiners about this joke of an eval, they told me to verify myself. Tracked down Naruan, met her—his disciple who made me get it.
The terror’s still vivid.
-Heh, got it. You’re HR, huh.
-Can I join your department to be with Master?
-No? Really? Swear on your neck-breath-life?
A little girl who couldn’t have lived half my life.
Rear-echelon desk job or not, ex-field vet like me felt killing intent beyond any battlefield.
That’s how I understood the eval.
“Don’t be so scared. I owe my Deputy spot to you.”
Rumors say she slept her way up, but her beauty’s legit.
In the Imperial capital’s salons, noble youths would swarm for that subtle smile.
But I know it. When I said Intelligence was best to monitor Naruan, she smiled just like that.
“Heh~ Over half this batch are girls?”
Her soft admiration, and my arm’s already goosebumped.
Ahh… the hell-survivors!
Two devil-talents—or actual demons—about to croak!
“N-No, that’s not—”
The killing intent fades.
Back soaked in cold sweat, but I keep a straight face.
For survival…
“The last 5 dropped from Master’s training—I’ll take them per the Director’s order. Process it.”
I nod at her signed doc. Intelligence wins this power play, huh.
Simple paperwork done, I hand off files, watching her leave with bated breath.
Then my cursed ears catch her murmur.
“Ahh, cute juniors. Shall I drop by?”
Ahh. God.
Save these young demons from the devil’s clutches.