Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 86
>Chapter Title: Cut Off My Head?
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After my discussion with Senior Riheim wrapped up, we immediately gathered with the chiefs at the 4th Base Camp for a meeting.
The main points boiled down to this.
Operation name: Turn Undead.
We'd split the personnel into defensive and strike teams, and the key question was how to form the strike team.
Truth be told, it was a meeting with nothing much to debate.
Why?
'We've got plenty of firepower.'
Either way, the undead packed thick inside the barrier would all swarm toward the 4th Base Camp.
The real issue was speed.
'How quickly can we reach the ancient ruins and smash Destrow's sealed form.'
Sure, a necromancer versed in necromancy was guarding it, but taking him down wasn't worth fretting over.
'It'll be a pain, but...'
If we couldn't manage that much, we'd just die.
Of course, the curses unique to necromancers were a problem, but for some reason, the Fire Mark seemed to suppress them.
So, the only things to worry about were the undead he commanded and the Death Knights.
'Death Knights... two left, right?'
According to that cooperative necromancer earlier, he'd made a total of three.
One was Shain, so two remained.
Anyway.
What the strike team really needed wasn't firepower—it was a pathfinder.
Naturally, our capable guide, Reilly, drew that duty.
No other talent for it.
—Even if I can't, you'd need to give me at least three days.
—At full speed, maybe two, but I can't guarantee it.
For a 4th Base Camp, I figured it'd be different somehow, but the number who'd actually gone into the ancient ruins could be counted on one hand.
And among them, only Reilly knew the paths inside like the back of his hand—even if the monsters there had been wiped out.
Of course, it wasn't without complications.
—You demon! Back off! How can a man born as a human go back on his word like that!
Just suggesting he come along to the ancient ruins, and he threw a fit.
—A beast who doesn't keep his promises!
I had no idea what promise I'd broken, but thinking it over, one offhand remark came to mind.
'Once this is over... I'd use you properly, or something.'
Meaning I'd back him up.
I'd said it without much thought, but Reilly seemed to take it pretty seriously.
The problem didn't end there, though.
Our definitions of 'this job' differed.
That's when I reflected.
'I... didn't beat him enough.'
I'd thought I'd given him a solid thrashing that first day, but seeing him bellow like that proved the discipline fell short.
Still, what to do?
'I can't drag him along if he doesn't want to go.'
Of course, I could make him want to.
A good fist always wins hearts, like always.
But no matter how desperate things got, I didn't want to use those tactics for a life-or-death mission. That's why I'd calmly persuaded him instead.
—If you make it out alive, I'll give you the highest position I can promise.
—You trash... what?
—Think of it as empty words if you want. But if you believe me... no one will be above you except me.
—You mean... I'd be your right-hand man...?
—You could see it that way.
Reilly's face lit up in an instant.
I could guess what he was thinking—it was obvious.
That's the mindset of Black-White Slums survivors. We share a certain circuit in our heads.
Probably something like:
'...He's hiding his face, so he must be up to no good.'
Normally, that's where you'd bail.
No point joining some shady operator—too risky, no upside.
But.
'When a strong guy's doing shady shit, it looks cool. Plus, the cash rolls in.'
Think about it.
Same skill level, the shady guy lives way more fun than the honest one.
Fun's not all—wealth, glory, luxury, indulgence, he gets it all in spades.
'The bad end's the problem, sure...'
But Black-White orphans never think about the end.
A bigger crumb in your mouth right now matters more than living a century; burning bright for a decade beats dragging on forever.
—Right-hand Reilly, pledging eternal loyalty.
Reilly's reaction was right on cue.
But one thing he didn't know.
'I'm left-handed.'
Actually, ambidextrous.
And.
'No one's above me, obviously.'
Why would there be? No one's above or below me.
Reilly seemed to picture me as some big cartel boss in the underworld.
Cartel, my ass.
'My name's Aster. Jenion Academy basic class, first-year student.'
The highest position? Sure.
If I sweet-talk the headmaster senior, maybe snag a security gig at the academy?
'They've been beefing up guards since the Trial Spire.'
Yeah, like that.
And so...
Strike team: Mage, Pathfinder.
Two spots filled.
Lean, but solid.
Of course, next to 'Mage' in parentheses: '+1 Death Knight,' but non-humans don't count.
Anyway.
That's where team formation should've ended.
But.
I requested one more addition in the meeting room.
—I'd like to bring the Obern mage along too.
Not because of Overclock.
Honestly, Obern was expendable either way.
No, leaving him in defense would've let him shine more.
'Overclock... cooldown's not up anyway.'
So why?
Sentiment? Nah. Obern was the type you couldn't get attached to even if you tried.
No, it was because of senior's request before the meeting.
—Even if this goes south... I hope at least Obern makes it out safe.
Even a mage of senior's caliber is human after all.
Turns out what he'd sell his principles for was his one and only disciple's safety.
That's why I slotted Obern into the strike team.
'If things go wrong... easier to pull out with strike than defense.'
Whether defense crumbles or Destrow descends.
That's the story behind Obern joining strike.
Anyway, so the next day—today.
"Everyone ready?"
It was a question that didn't need asking, but Obern and Reilly nodded with resolute faces.
"...Yes, senior."
Obern's dark circles were stark, like he'd tossed and turned all night.
Not physical fatigue, though. More like psychological weight bearing down.
In contrast—
"Your loyal right-hand man, reporting preparations complete."
Standing at attention behind me like the most devoted knight in history—Reilly.
Tense, sure, but resolve like iron.
And that iron resolve was awfully...
'Unpleasant.'
Yeah, unpleasant.
What to call it? Better than moping, but seeing such zeal twisted my gut.
Anyway.
'Preparations are done.'
Time to move out.
I glanced at the two, then at the group gathered at the gates.
Pathetic turnout to see off the strike team.
Just Picker, who'd been with us since 1st Base Camp, and Flen, who'd joined midway.
"Can't rest another day? You sure?"
I shrugged at Picker's concern.
"Not like we can rest a thousand years. Sooner the better, right?"
A bit rushed, yeah, but factoring travel time, not really.
Senior could deploy Turn Undead anytime, but strike had to preposition near the barrier.
"Now it's really goodbye. Stay safe."
His unusually somber eyes made me chuckle.
Something about 'stay safe' struck me as funny.
'Nowhere's exactly safe...'
Then a thought flashed.
"Any fiancée back home?"
"...? At my age?"
"Fair. What about a locket with family photos? Or someone on your mind. Some tearjerker backstory?"
"...?"
Picker tilted his head, baffled. I nodded, satisfied.
"At least you won't croak here."
"...No clue what you mean, but I'll take it as a compliment."
It was.
Guys with sob stories are the ones who die in these spots.
A superstition I picked up rolling in the gutters as a Troubleshooter.
The ones spilling their guts right before mission always end up as corpses.
Next up...
"You?"
"Me... you mean?"
"Yeah, got any backstory? Fiancée or whatever?"
Flen tilted his head at my question.
But just for a moment. Then he got it and grinned.
"You're a real sadist."
"Oh, you know?"
"Heard plenty."
Guess this jinx wasn't Troubleshooter-exclusive.
Anyway.
"Command go okay?"
Flen grinned sheepishly.
"Command? Just prepping as best we can."
"Humble."
For reference, Flen was now overall commander of 4th Base Camp.
Word was, before merc life, he'd been an elite from some top officer academy.
'How a guy like that washed up here... who knows.'
Not that curious.
Every merc has a story.
No place to land, drifting like weeds—everyone's hiding something.
Side note: Picker pushed Flen for command because he knew the past.
"But why'd you come?"
"Not backstory... just a small favor."
"...?"
Flen suddenly drew his sword from his belt. He turned the hilt toward me and held it out.
"Cut off my head?"
"...Hardly."
"Then?"
That's when Flen bowed deeply.
"Heard the black sorcerer's in the ancient ruins. If you get a chance, please—with this sword..."
"Cut off my head?"
"..."
He'd been dead serious, but my interruption left him speechless.
Then, realizing fully, he nodded.
"Yes, not mine... the black sorcerer's head. I'd be grateful."
"...Hmm."
His expression was plenty earnest.
His eyes...
'Burning with it.'
Just from that gaze, he looked itching to join strike and lop off the black sorcerer's head himself.
I glanced at the hilt and spoke.
"Parasite."
Pazzzik.
Black lightning from the vassal bracelet. Black armor formed, and Shain materialized.
[Parasite, parasite! ...Damn. Can we cut the entrance line a bit?]
No.
"Look at the mana you've slurped."
A full night.
With the op locked in sooner than expected, I'd dumped all my premium elixirs.
Fire Mark's power turned them straight to mana, but it didn't boost my total pool.
Why?
'That damn parasite bastard...'
The wretched undead hogged it all.
Not content, still sucking over half from the core. What else is a parasite?
Anyway.
"You hear that?"
[Heard it... Fine, lop off that damn black sorcerer's head with this sword?]
"...Yes. Chief Harig's sword."
[...Hmm.]
Srring—
Shain half-drew it to check the blade.
[Yawn-worthy.]
Blunt assessment, but even charitably, it wasn't quality steel.
However.
[...Not bad. Soaked in deep grudge. Perfect weapon for me.]
Just like he said.
Sasasak...
In Shain's grip, the whole blade blackened, transformed.
The new form? A proper famed sword.
One of the abilities Shain unlocked as a Death Knight. Neither of us knows the principle.
Anyway.
[I'll go stockpile power then. This sword... use it well.]
Shain vanished after that.
Of course—
[Parasite, parasite! ...Fuck.]
Didn't forget his exit noise.
—You damn young punk, if you're human...
I ignored the bullshit through the spirit link. Not important now.
"Then... I leave it to you."
"Yeah, results... if I'm alive, I'll let you know."
"Yes."
Flen's farewell done.
"Heading out?"
"Don't know when I'll be back."
"See you again."
I didn't reply.
"Let's go, you baggage."
Just grabbed Luggage 1 and 2 waiting beside me and passed through the gates.
Waved coolly goodbye over my shoulder, but it didn't land cool.
"Ah, gotta go that way. Not there!"
Wrong direction.