Chapter 283: Encouragement
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 283: Encouragement
Before anyone could utter a word, a pale figure suddenly emerged from the shadowy blind spot in the corner of the room. It was the same ghost that had vanished as quickly as her head had been severed moments ago.
"What..."
A silent wave of shock swept through the gathering. Though every member present was a battle-hardened veteran, they were still human enough to be startled. Moreover, except for three of them, their average age was close to seventy, meaning even minor surprises made their hearts leap. Ah, the cruelty of time.
"...Shouldn't you listen to a person until they finish speaking?"
Herya stepped out from the dark corner. She sounded pouting, as if slightly offended. This, too, was her mimicking human behavior.
"..."
Kang Geomma glared at her without showing the slightest surprise.
'Is she actually a ghost instead of a Majin?'
Cutting her down had felt completely weightless, so he hadn't assumed she was gone for good. He just hadn't expected her to reappear quite so soon.
Of course, something like this wasn't enough to make his heart skip a beat. He was still in his teens—a youth full of vigor.
"That depends on the person."
Flicking his sashimi knife clean, Kang Geomma sheathed it and delivered a sharp retort. He had realized that cutting down an avatar was meaningless.
"You're not even human to begin with. Why do you keep pretending to be one? It's creeping me out."
Flinch.
Standing twenty paces away from the group, Herya froze. Her porcelain doll-like face—and her utterly inhuman eyes—glistened with a clear, vacant sheen.
"What do you mean by 'creeping you out'..."
"It means you're unpleasant. Do I seriously need to explain dictionary definitions to you? Tsk, this is why I hate bastards with no empathy. You complete psychopath."
Flinch.
At the word "psychopath," everyone present shuddered in unison. Then, they quietly began casting wary glances at Kang Geomma. Lacking empathy? Who's the real psychopath here...? They cut that thought short.
"If you're a carrier pigeon, just do your damn job and piss off. I don't want to look at that ugly mug of yours any longer. Pah, you useless cup of ssanghwa tea."
Hearing a heap of insults, a subtle change flickered across Herya's face—one so subtle it would go unnoticed unless one paid close attention. Her eyebrow twitched. The last word hit particularly hard... Ssanghwa tea. She didn't know what it meant, but it had to be an appalling slur.
Whenever Herya had secretly slipped into the Human Realm on undercover missions, countless men had tried to hit on her. The reason was simple: her beauty was exquisite. That was the kind of person she was.
'Does that man have no eyes?'
To think she was being cursed out so vitriolically. This situation and feeling were exceedingly unfamiliar. Something boiled within her chest like frothing bubbles, and a dull ache throbbed from her forehead to the crown of her head. For the first time in her life, she felt a faint ember of an emotion called 'anger.'
"Understood."
However, she didn't let it show on the outside. All she had to do was carry out her assignment and return. Lord Kuarne would punish him eventually anyway.
Suppressing her rage, Herya continued speaking.
"We will not completely eradicate humanity in this war."
It was Kuarne's message—or rather, an ultimatum.
"Humans and Demons share a symbiotic relationship—a balance like two sides of a scale. However, the human population has ballooned far too drastically, despoiling this beautiful blue planet. In contrast, what of our Demon King's Army? For hundreds, thousands of years, we have endured in the Demon Realm, where not a single blade of grass can grow. Thus, I, Kuarne, speak on behalf of all demonkind. We shall swap homelands between demons and humans. Furthermore, we shall reduce your population of six billion down to fifty million—the same as ours. Do not worry about the latter part. I shall personally trim your numbers to spare you the trouble."
Because the meeting hall was so vast and sparse, Herya's voice bounced off the walls, leaving hollow echoes. It sounded as if demanding the listeners ponder it repeatedly and carve it into their minds.
Naturally, the listeners' reaction was far from pleased.
"What nonsensical rubbish is that?!"
The Sword Emperor leaped to his feet and drew his blade. Not to be outdone, the Spear Saint grabbed the spear he had leaned against the wall.
"Slash humanity's population down to a fraction and drive us into the Demon Realm? What absurd drivel!"
The Spear Saint aimed his spearpoint directly at Herya. The sound of him grinding his teeth was harsh and loud.
"Listen well, ghost wench. Go back to Kuarne and convey my words clearly. I, Richard de Myura, swear on my spear that I will slit Kuarne's throat, so tell him to wash his neck and wait. Though I'd rather not dirty my precious spear with filthy demon grime."
They knew physical attacks were useless against that ghost. This was, so to speak, a conditioned reflex. They had lived that way for seventy years.
"With your strength, you don't stand a chance."
Herya smirked. Humans smiled like this when mocking others, didn't they?
"Although I am merely an envoy, allow me to offer a word out of turn. Among those present here, there are only two who could even hope to stand against Lord Kuarne: All-Power in her awakened state, and the Heavenly Sword. Aside from those two, no one here will manage to so much as graze Lord Kuarne's sleeve."
The two men, who had been growling fiercely, let out low groans. It hurt their pride, but her words were the truth. Moreover, now was not the time to stand on pride. It was a moment requiring cold logic and reason rather than childish anger and temper.
The Sword Emperor and the Spear Saint chose silence. They didn't just stay quiet; they glared at Herya with daggers in their eyes.
Yet Herya completely ignored those bloodthirsty glares. Her attention was locked entirely on Kang Geomma.
The expression he had maintained all along—that dry, indifferent gaze that seemed unconcerned with everything, that colorless face that seemed transcended above all creation—poked at Herya's curiosity deep within.
The air grew heavy. Amidst the swirling vortex of negative emotions—anger, humiliation, hatred—
Kang Geomma finally opened his mouth.
"Your face."
Simultaneously, the vortex ground to a halt. Everyone doubted their ears, staring at Kang Geomma in utter shock. Herya was no exception.
Her mouth opened and closed silently. Your face? How am I supposed to react to that? Is that something anyone would say in this atmosphere? She had gained various experiences while encountering humans. She had picked up on human attitudes and reactions suitable for different situations. Thanks to that, she had been chosen as an envoy over other demons.
Herya had been confident. She prided herself on being able to flexibly handle whatever response came back. But that confidence turned to embarrassment, flushing her cheeks bright red. It was the exact moment she truly began to understand what emotions were.
Kang Geomma repeated once more.
"Your face."
Somehow, Herya felt mortified. Before coming here, a remark about her face might have felt close to a compliment, but right now, it felt more insulting than anything else. Normally, she would have returned immediately after fulfilling her duty, but leaving like this felt like her insides would twist in knots.
Herya spun her brain rapidly, found an appropriate response, and immediately retorted:
"Right back at you."
An incomparably childish comeback. Regrettably, she did not yet possess a sense of the concept of 'childishness.'
With those final words, Herya stepped backward into the shadows. Her body began to crumble from the bottom up.
By the time the disintegration reached her chin, Kang Geomma chuckled. Then, he spoke as if offering a friendly blessing.
"What a good little carrier pigeon. Even telling the enemy he's handsome."
Herya's pupils trembled violently. In contrast, Kang Geomma's smile widened.
Only then did Herya realize that Kang Geomma, knowing physical attacks wouldn't work, had intended to thoroughly humiliate her from the start.
A type of person she had never encountered before. Her first meeting with a lunatic left her with an indescribable impression.
Herya tried to retort, but her body collapsed far faster than her mind could process.
Even after Herya completely vanished, her lingering resentment seemed to hover in the air.
*
Just as the gathering fell into a lull, Executive Director Seong arrived right on cue. He had come to inform them of their next schedule.
Upon entering, Executive Director Seong's expression turned odd. In the short time he had been away, a strange atmosphere had settled over the room.
Perplexed, he asked, "Did something happen? Everyone looks rather unwell..."
"It's nothing."
The Archery Saint smoothed over the situation. At least his eyes were calm and settled.
"...If needed, we can postpone the next schedule until tomorrow," Executive Director Seong suggested with concern.
The Spear Saint shook his head firmly in refusal. "It's not good to delay the schedule when things are this grim. It might breed anxiety. Besides, isn't it being filmed by drones and broadcast worldwide? So doing it on schedule is the right call."
Though he spoke like that, the Spear Saint could not hide his sheer exhaustion. It was because the shock from earlier had yet to dissipate.
'Your face, of all things.'
It was a phrase far more offensive to the recipient than any vulgar curse word.
"...However, I'd like to pass on my speech. If I do it now, I feel like 'Your face'—no, some strange words will slip out."
"Me too."
"I'll pass for today as well."
"Me too..."
Hands shot up from all around. In the end, I was the only one standing still with my hand down. When I tried to raise my hand to go with the flow, everyone urgently stopped me.
"You must do it."
"Yes, Geomma, you have to."
"The Heavenly Sword must speak."
What's with those expressions? Showered in all those strange looks, I scratched the back of my head. For some reason, it felt like they were saddling me with the dirty work, but maybe it was just my imagination.
The seven heroes and I—the Sword Emperor, Spear Saint, Sage, Archery Saint, All-Power, Iron Leg, and All Mute—brushed ourselves off and stood up.
*
The training ground was packed to capacity. More than packed—the crowd spilled out and encircled the exterior like a thick border.
And understandable it was. The facility was built for tens of thousands, but hundreds of thousands had gathered. It was a miracle the structure didn't collapse. Shoulder brushed against shoulder, and people jostled and bumped into one another, yet not a single person argued or bickered.
Not only the ground, but the sky also looked bustling. Swarms of drones formed formations like bees, capturing the scene on camera. Since entry was restricted to anyone other than heroes, the media used drones to broadcast the speech live across the globe.
At the epicenter of countless gazes, a young boy stood before the microphone. Amidst a sea of vibrant, colorful hair, his black eyes and black hair stood out all the more.
Ahem.
The boy cleared his throat with a cough. Everyone in every corner of the world focused. Even a flock of migratory birds sensed the atmosphere and fluttered away discreetly.
A blanket of silence fell over the grounds. It was a stillness unbelievable for a gathering of hundreds of thousands.
"'Kang Geomma, you are the pride of our family.' That is what my parents said to me when I entered the academy."
The boy's voice cut through the cold winter wind.
"I am sure it wasn't just me, but something everyone gathered here has heard as well. That is how much Joaquin Academy means to us—it is not merely a school."
At that moment, everyone fell under a strange illusion. As if the world were spotlighting only the boy, his surroundings blurred softly while his figure stood out with absolute clarity. The silence blanketing the training ground carried his voice into every nook and cranny, reaching even the hardest-to-hear places.
"Why did the Hero of the Origin and the Seven Champions found this academy? If it was simply to prepare for war, fortifying the Gates would have been far more efficient than educating future generations."
The legacy the boy's master had left behind for his disciple.
"Because they knew. Simply plugging the holes would never solve the problem. So they chose to believe in the next generation, in the future, in us. At the very least, I do not wish to betray that trust. I want to protect this place, which is no different from home to me."
Standing there, the boy spoke in an unwavering voice.
"Let us stand together."
Everyone raised their armaments high. Instead of thunderous cheers, they voiced their allegiance with the cold, sharply honed sheen of their weapons.
Heavy snowflakes began to fall right at that moment. White flakes settled upon the bristling tips of spears and blades. Given the occasion, it looked as though the heavens themselves were quietly bestowing a blessing upon them.
A sudden thought crossed the boy's mind. Perhaps the words that constantly lingered in his mind were an encouragement his master had left for him.
"May God's blessing..."
And so, he offered them encouragement with that very same sentence:
"...be with us all."
After all, a child is a reflection of their parents.