A Round Table of Villains
Elysium Academy, in the game, had been attacked by villains every time the story needed something to fill the gaps between arcs.
And the lineup was never the same twice. The Republic, black mages, barbarians, heretics, and so on. A true full-course dinner of calamities.
I'd always wondered how, with all that security, the place got breached every single time—.
'Turns out the Elite Guard itself was the villain nest all along.'
Glancing around at my new squadmates seated around the round table, I clicked my tongue inwardly.
The Saintess of the Outer God, the Spear Ghost, a barbarian, and even the Principal's trigger button. Villains I'd never been able to find no matter how hard I searched in-game were all sitting right there, cozy as could be.
'Lucky me.'
The corner of my mouth curled up on its own.
Yeonjol was no easy game. In fact, the run I'd transmigrated into was hard mode.
There was no clearing it by walking the peaceful path. You had to shoulder every risk, every danger, head-on.
And in that kind of situation, having danger come knocking on its own—how could I not welcome it?
"Sit."
Hanswel gestured to an empty chair. The moment I took it, he pointed at me and spoke.
"This is a new recruit, the first we've had in a long while. You all know better than anyone how short-staffed we are. Nobody give him any grief."
"The entrance ceremony is the day after tomorrow, and only now they bother filling the Elite Guard. What a shit-show."
Scarlet cut into Hanswel's words with a laugh threaded through her voice. Hanswel's brow stiffened.
"We're a hand short as it is. They rushed a man in because they had no choice."
"Every other squad got their replacements ages ago. Training takes time, after all."
The jab landed square. Hanswel bit down on his lip.
"Well. A shit-show's still got to be run, somehow."
Scarlet rose to her feet, eyes curved in a sly crescent. In her hand was a crude, rough-hewn bottle of liquor.
"Scarlet. Sit down."
"Why? It's our squad's tradition."
"Have you forgotten what happened last time already?"
"Who knew that last recruit was such a lightweight? Right, everyone?"
With a foxlike smile, Scarlet swept her gaze around the table, fishing for agreement. Ludrik gave a lazy, disinterested tilt of his head, and Milo made a great show of looking anywhere else.
"Traditions are important things. They deserve to be honored."
Volkan said it in a solemn, earnest voice—strangely un-barbarian of him.
"You heard the man?"
Scarlet smiled at Hanswel. Hanswel chewed his lip.
"Now then, bottoms up. All in one go—that's the tradition."
Scarlet held out a freshly poured glass to me.
I gave it a light swirl. The sharp reek of hard liquor stung my nose. And threading through it, faint as a whisper, something sweet.
'Poison.'
Not a fast-acting toxin. This was a insidious one—the kind that stacked layer upon layer before revealing its teeth on a delayed fuse.
The moment I lifted the glass, murderous stares locked onto me from every direction.
I downed the whole thing, using those stares as my drinking snack.
And then—.
"Delicious."
I swirled the empty glass at Scarlet.
"Fun."
Scarlet's red lips curved deep and wide.
It was the smile that would belong to the arch-villainess of the age, the Saintess of the Outer God who had offered a thousand students as sacrifice.
'No danger of being bored here.'
I smiled right back.
"Scarlet is a dangerous woman. You don't want to make an enemy of her."
Hanswel pulled me aside outside and delivered the warning with utter seriousness.
That Scarlet was dangerous, I knew better than Hanswel did.
After all, the Saintess of the Outer God was the symbolic villain who threw open the curtain on the entire late-game story.
But if anything, Hanswel was the more dangerous of the two.
Because if the Saintess of the Outer God marked the beginning of the late game, the Principal was its headline villain.
Touch Hanswel the wrong way, and the Principal comes out of his den.
Even now, the odds were high that the Principal already had Unit 42 under surveillance.
'I'll need to be careful.'
When your opponent was that Principal, tension wasn't optional.
"Hoo. They'll haze you something fierce, but they're not bad people at heart."
Every single one of them a heavyweight villain, and they're "not bad people"—. I let out a hollow laugh.
"You must be tired, so rest first. Rooms are two to a unit—you'll be sharing with Milo. It's over there."
Hanswel showed me to the room.
It was bare-bones. Two beds and two wardrobes, and that was everything. And somehow it was still a complete disaster, strewn with clutter. Less a room than a dog kennel.
I sat on the marginally less wrecked bed and replayed the situation in my head.
'Villains, clustered together.'
Killing them now, though, was a bad move. They hadn't actually done anything yet. Dispatch them preemptively, and I'd draw suspicion for no reason—possibly even provoke the Principal.
And besides—.
Objective: Ensure Evangeline's Graduation
Reward: Wish Coupon
On Failure: Death
The goal wasn't killing villains. The goal was Evangeline's graduation.
The villains of Unit 42 were heavyweights, true—but killing them didn't get Evangeline her diploma.
Above all, killing Scarlet ahead of schedule would just mean some other poor soul became the Saintess of the Outer God in her place.
'Rehabilitation, then.'
Consider it a side quest.
"Milo. Care to explain what exactly happened here?"
At that syrup-soft voice—soft enough to melt your ears—Milo flinched hard.
Milo loved beautiful women. No, he was obsessed with them. There was once a time he'd wagered his life in a fight over a pretty face he'd never even met before.
Under normal circumstances, Scarlet was gorgeous enough that he'd have thrown up both hands in welcome. Instead, Milo was terrified of her.
Because he knew what venom lay coiled behind that sunny smile.
"Hm? Milo. Answer me."
Milo desperately wanted to answer. He just couldn't.
How was he supposed to say he'd gotten his teeth kicked in by the brand-new recruit? There wasn't a shred of evidence, for one thing.
"Getting a bit comfortable lately, aren't we?"
Scarlet's icy words skated down his spine. Milo gulped down a dry swallow and shook his head.
"It's not like that."
"No? Feels like it to me. And here I thought you'd forgotten about Charlotte."
At the name Charlotte, Milo's face went rigid.
"Charlotte's coming back. And when she does, and finds her spot's been taken—imagine how heartbroken she'll be. Hm? If it were me, my heart would just drop, straight down to the floor."
Milo clenched his jaw until it ached. Ludrik dragged deep on his cigarette, and Volkan murmured a quiet prayer.
Scarlet looked around at her squadmates and whispered.
"Remember it. The only reason any of you are still standing whole today is Charlotte's sacrifice."
Then she reached out and gently ruffled Milo's hair.
'Goddamn it.'
Milo scratched furiously at his scalp and trudged toward his room.
He'd planned to beat the living daylights out of the new kid and run him out too.
The problem was that the new kid could fight. And not just well—he was a genuinely, royally screwed-up level of good. Milo hadn't even grazed him.
But explaining the truth out loud was a wound to his pride.
'Son of a bitch.'
Muttering curses, Milo pushed open the door.
And there it was: a slab of a back, brutally exposed. A lean frame packed with dense, corded muscle.
That muscle was carpeted in rough, jagged scars. They were grotesque enough that the man looked like something out of a monster tale.
And above all—.
"Hm?"
As the man turned at the sound of someone entering, Milo caught sight of a strange scar on his right chest. A mark like the bite of a thousand teeth, gnawed into the flesh.
Just looking at it turned his blood to ice.
What kind of life did a man have to live to end up carved like that? It was beyond imagining.
Then his eyes met the owner of that back.
"Ah, my mistake. I'll have to teach you how knocking works."
Grave said it mildly, absently clenching a fist.
"No, this is MY room—."
Milo was genuinely, deeply wronged.
A rustling sound opened my eyes.
'Ah, an unfamiliar ceiling.'
I exhaled, muttering the old joke, and felt the backlog inside me drain away, soft and smooth. The stench of rot and old blood flooded the room.
I rose slowly and worked my body loose. Crrrick. Barely a short nap, and my body had gone stiff as a corpse. An unavoidable side effect.
Then someone approached.
Milo.
He threw a punch at me without a word of warning.
Trying to rush me after just one day of training. Admirable nerve, if nothing else.
I shifted my foot, light and easy. Milo, mid-swing, went sprawling straight into the floor.
Thud! Even with that heavy crash, he was back on his feet in an instant, charging at me again.
"Ninggiri! Die, you bastard!"
"Your stance is too high."
I clicked my tongue and kicked him away again. My heel landed square in his solar plexus, and Milo choked and wheezed.
"What the hell? You were clearly asleep!"
Milo slurred, drool trailing from his mouth.
"I don't sleep."
"What kind of horseshit is tha—."
Milo charged, swearing viciously. I didn't bother explaining; I just moved my fist. It landed flush against his face.
Keck—. Milo crumpled on the spot. I pressed in and threw another. Milo scrambled his guard up in a panic.
"You block what you see coming. Raise your guard that carelessly, and this is what happens."
"Hold on—urk!"
"Now, again. This time, block properly."
I helpfully corrected Milo's posture. He yammered something or other, but I didn't bother listening.
Milo was closer to beast than man. Words were a waste of breath.
I lost count of how many times I kicked him around. At some point, Milo threw both hands straight up and started barking.
"Woof! Woof! Woof!"
I lowered my hands, satisfied.
"Good morning exercise. Same again tomorrow."
"Morning... exercise?"
Milo muttered it with the face of a man chewing shit. I stretched out, loose and refreshed.
Milo scowled all over again, as if the beating had never happened.
"Task assignment time. Normally the rookie does the rounds and wakes everyone—."
"And?"
"Never mind. Just saying."
Milo grumbled quietly. Even after taking that beating, his attitude was impressively stubborn.
"How does the task assignment work?"
"At morning assembly, requests come in from each squad, and the vice-squad leader hands them out. Except tomorrow's the entrance ceremony, so everything's going to the ceremony support detail. Ah—freshmen start moving in today, so there'll be freshman escort duty too."
"Freshman escort?"
"You cart the new students in and drop them off at the dorms."
Milo grumbled his way through the explanation.
'Ah. The intro.'
Yeonjol's opening had the protagonist riding a carriage into the Academy grounds. And that carriage, as it turned out, was operated by the guard force.
Music to my ears.
"I'll take the freshman escort."
"And? So what?"
Milo stared at me with a face that said, what do you want me to do about it.
Truly dim. I repeated myself kindly, enunciating every word.
"I want the freshman escort duty."
"Escort's usually Ludrik's job. First impression of the Academy and all. They say he only picks the handsome ones and the pretty ones."
"Lucky me, then. I'm handsome."
"Where's that confidence com—no, it's not a matter of what you want. The vice-leader does the assigning."
"Ah, my mistake. I misspoke."
I gave a light nod of understanding, and Milo's face relaxed with relief.
Looking at that relieved face, I said, flat and final:
"I'm taking the freshman escort."
Milo blinked at me, vacant. Then, a beat too late, understanding dawned—and his face crumpled into something chewed and bitter. Soon enough, he gave a grudging nod.
"Good."
I tidied my tangled hair.
"That's not how it wor—."
Milo muttered quietly to no one.
Just then, a broadcast crackled out of the magical device mounted on the ceiling.
[This morning's assembly will be held outdoors.]
A voice that felt somehow familiar.