Quit Your Nonsense (1)
Klana Whitepeltz.
She was the top-ranked student of the first-year Swordsmanship Department.
True, she'd had to settle for department valedictorian because an overwhelming overall number one named Bellatrix existed, but she was without question a gifted daughter of the Whitefeltz noble family.
And lately, there was one thing that kept drawing her eye.
Klana, whose own match had ended long ago, turned her gaze aside and took in the sight of the other two.
From the dueling ring came the repeated clang of blades striking.
Caang— kang—
A man and a woman crossed swords.
There was a considerable gap in their skill. Where the girl's expression remained relaxed, the boy's face was tight with urgency.
Caang—
Klana watched the scene in silence. After the blades had collided again and again, her eyes followed the training sword that went flying off into one corner of the ring.
It belonged to a fellow department student — the boy she'd been watching, to be exact.
Lutz.
In the early days he had sat near the bottom of the rankings, but he was a student growing at a remarkable pace.
His talent was exceptional. On the surface, so was his passion.
Time, however, flowed fairly for everyone. Others had talent to match his, and others worked as hard as he did — which was doubtless why, no matter how he flailed, he couldn't close the gap, and why he would lose his match yet again today.
She looked out over the finished match. Lutz's sword lay sprawled gracelessly at the far edge of the ring, and the girl who'd been his opponent smiled awkwardly and held out a hand to him.
And Lutz —
Head bowed, he was scowling. He looked thoroughly furious. He stood there a moment with that frozen expression, then swiftly buried the frustration behind a smile, clasped her hand, and rose to his feet.
Wearing a pleasant smile, he said, "Irina, aren't you being a little too strong?"
"Ahaha... but Lutz, you've gotten way stronger too."
"Haha. I appreciate it, even if it's just to be nice — but losing every single time does sting."
Scratching his head as if he found it a shame, he fell into easy conversation with the girl.
From everything Klana had observed, that student called Lutz seemed to have a rather fierce competitive streak. Rumor had it that, being an orphan with no backing, he was desperate to make his success through the Academy.
Probably because he had nothing, he wanted it that much more. It was an uncharitable thought, but objectively speaking, it wasn't far off the mark.
She was still mulling it over when a warm voice rang out.
"Students whose matches are finished, please clear the dueling ring!"
Professor Elia's voice echoed through the hall — and the boy's eyes, Lutz's eyes, glittered at the sound of it. The faint scowl that had creased his face vanished without a trace.
[Someone needs to die.]
Ah, this relentless little murderer.
"Just give it a little more time..."
[I have been remarkably patient. If not for you, brother, quite a few would already be dead by now.]
"Yes, yes, I know. So please, be quiet."
I know perfectly well you'd have gone on a rampage ages ago without me, so do us both a favor and hush.
Looking back over the past days, it had honestly been a busy stretch. The murder of an Academy professor shortly after I took over this body, the terror attack at the Academy Open Event, the midterm held in the Forest of Hallucinations, me and Niger collapsing after two straight months of overwork and our convalescence diary, and then that unexpected birthday party (for Niger, not me).
And all of that had happened in less than half a year. It really did make a person's heart heavy.
Yes, honestly — I wanted to rest. Those fond memories of lazing around at the temple came flooding back, one after another. The happiness of those days, spent being bounced up and down like a baby, resting as if I'd become little Aira again.
It was sweet, truly.
These days, though — whether out of some awareness of those days, or simply because he didn't want to collapse again — Niger had stopped waking up at night. Which meant I spent a lot of time chatting with him during the day instead. Not always, but as a rule, both personalities slept through the night.
[Allow me to imitate your way of speaking, brother: I'm starting to itch to kill someone.]
Ah, come on.
Picking up my speech patterns is just the worst.
"...Don't imitate that."
[If you object, then hurry and select our next target.]
I'll find one and get back to you soon. Please be patient a little longer.
"Fine, I hear you. Now shut it."
[...Brother, have you truly lost your mind?]
Ah.
I said it backwards.
Hmm.
What if I wrote a whole list of villain names and spun a wheel? Whoever the dart landed on would have their lifespan shortened by about fifty years in a death match. After all, it wouldn't be me dying, and it wouldn't be me doing the killing either.
Or maybe I should just start with the back alleys. The Empire was hardly some spotless, incorruptible nation — the back alleys of the capital and the provincial cities alike lay in shadow, and the nobility and the bureaucracy had their share of rot and graft.
So as long as I picked carefully, whoever I chose would be a bad man. That much seemed safe to assume.
I was still chewing it over when a gentle voice sounded beside me. We were in the library, so it came as a whisper right at my ear — but it was a very familiar one.
"Professor Niger, what's troubling you?"
There it was, that smile. Elia, with a tender expression, her eyes fixed on me and nothing else.
It never failed to amaze me how she could tell I was brooding from my face alone. Then again, Niger's expressions didn't change much by default.
I looked back at her.
Uh. I was thinking about who to kill, actually.
But I couldn't exactly tell her that, so I offered a convenient excuse. "Ah, mm. I was thinking about my lecture content."
"Eh? Could it be the birthday celebration didn't cheer you up after all...?"
"No, no. It's nothing like that."
Even I wouldn't be that much of a garbage human being. Granted, I had a track record of cursing out critical commenters on my serialized novel, and as the body of a serial killer, I was certainly complicit in standing by while murders happened. Still, I was not garbage.
Probably.
...Please say I'm not.
Whether she sensed what was going on inside me or not, Elia beamed and pressed on. "Heehee, then let's clock out early, shall we? Whatever it is, you can worry about it on the way home!"
"...Yes. Understood."
And so I was hauled off work by the hand of a grinning Elia.
Once I got home, I thought it over carefully.
Right. First things first — let's pick someone reasonably killable. If I didn't choose, Niger would surely choose and kill on his own. I didn't think he'd slaughter indiscriminately, but I understood the weight of having a choice versus not having one. The authority over murder needed to remain mine, always. Even if the killer wasn't me.
"Niger."
[Yes. Speak.]
I said it while turning the thought over in my mind, and the answer came back as it always did — calm, and quietly cold. It felt marginally softer ever since the birthday celebration, but that was probably my imagination. A murderer turning warm because someone wished him happy birthday? A little strange, that.
"When should we go kill someone?"
[Have you settled on a target?]
"I have."
I had decided.
"Crescent Street No. 10 — the Street of Liberty."
We'd start close to home.
"Let's go with the crime syndicate in the back alley there. The boss's name was... Klein, I believe."
If I had to be precise, they were kidnappers, going by my memory. Slime who prowled the back alleys of No. 10, lurking underground and snatching people up every so often to sell them off. Not big enough to pull off anything major, yet committing their crimes without a shred of guilt.
In a word: ideal targets for killing.
[...And your reason for choosing them?]
"Mm, they just looked evil, so I picked them."
I didn't say this part to Niger, but if I left them alone, they would eventually lay hands on an Academy student too. They weren't strong, but abducting a single defenseless Academy student walking alone wouldn't be hard for them.
That was exactly how it happened in the original story — so if I did nothing, it would surely come to pass.
[How you learned this will remain a secret this time as well, I take it.]
"Mm... for now."
Explaining how I knew things meant deciding how much I could tell him, and I still had no feel for where that line was. Should I start with the fact that I'd possessed this body? Or with the fact that this world came from my novel?
It was a whole basket of stories that even a madness-soaked murderer would be forgiven for not believing.
[Understood. We will kill them before long.]
"Yes."
Niger's tone carried the faint thrill of anticipation, exactly as I'd predicted. What a maniac — giddy the moment killing crossed his mind.
Then he went on.
[However, I think it best that you come along as well, brother.]
"Come along? There's no 'along' to speak of — we share a body."
My mind might be asleep, but my body would be cracking open criminals' skulls, wouldn't it?
[I mean awake. It is time you grew accustomed, little by little, to the sight of a person dying.]
No.
Where did that come from, all of a sudden, sir?
"Quit your nonsense."
[...It seems your words came out inverted from your heart again, as before.]
"Oh no, this time I said exactly what I meant. Should I repeat it?"
[...]
Niger fell silent, but his emotions came through with surprising weight. The sheer exasperation was so vast that the anger and irritation beneath it were barely perceptible.
Still. Some things had to be said.
Listen here, you murderer.
Really and truly — quit your nonsense.