Chapter 98
Chapter 98
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: There Is No Teacher for Destiny (9)
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Moonlight shattered against the streetlamps in the moonlit night of the Academy.
No. 3 Shepherd—or 10-11-16, as she was numbered—raced through the darkness, her thoughts drifting to a certain young man.
‘…Cheon Yeomyeong.’
Savior of Manchuria, Dragon Rider, the first and last transfer student at Lord Howe Academy…
To the Korean government, he was an utterly inscrutable existence.
Like he’d dropped straight from the sky—a sudden genius.
Not from any renowned noble house or prestigious academy, nor part of the state-run Superhuman Project.
Just a bottom-rung orphan who’d bounced between orphanages and barely graduated high school via equivalency exam. The epitome of your average nobody.
Even the government agents tracking him could scarcely believe his past was so utterly ordinary.
But no matter how many times they double-checked, there was nothing special about Cheon Yeomyeong’s life.
They’d traced his unusual eye color for bloodline clues… but all they uncovered was descent from a farmer who’d illegally crossed through a dimensional gate decades ago.
In the end, the government’s conclusion about Cheon Yeomyeong was singular.
‘A monster born by sheer coincidence with talent…’
It was an unbelievable reality, but reality it was.
Other factions, excluding the Academy, still doubted his talent. But not the Korean government.
How could they not know? They knew exactly how many Pig Heads and Cow Heads he’d slain in Manchuria.
‘Fellow Koreans… what a tragedy.’
No. 3 Shepherd sighed, thinking of her fallen comrades.
Did Cheon Yeomyeong even know?
That the Pig Heads he’d killed weren’t monsters—they were patriots who’d laid down their lives for the nation.
Probably not. Just like he didn’t know what the Korean public called him.
‘…Tch.’
No. 3 Shepherd clicked her tongue, recalling the recent situation in Korea.
As she dashed through the Academy in search of traces of the Black Sheep, events from just days ago flashed through her mind one after another.
***
…Lately, Cheon Yeomyeong had become a household name in Korea—nobody who didn’t know him.
It was only natural. A Superhuman who’d saved Manchuria alongside the Saintess, and a Korean at that.
Even the tabloids hawking “national pride porn,” and major outlets spouting ethnic righteousness, peddled stories about him.
The public eagerly lapped it up.
They preferred blatant hero tales over the grim reports trickling out of Manchuria.
Of course, news about Cheon Yeomyeong didn’t last even a few days.
It was covered endlessly, and there was no way to extract fresh updates from a student already at the Academy.
But… everything changed when the military got involved.
The brass, red-faced over the dragon’s bones, sought to diminish his achievements any way they could.
Slaying the dragon was all down to the Seonjuk Mercenary Corps and the Saintess—Cheon Yeomyeong was just a pretty face, they claimed.
It was meaningless noise by the time the Academy had scooped him up with their transfer loophole, but the military wouldn’t back down.
They even spat out radical demands to outright conscript him—what more was there to say?
They figured it’d salvage their pride and sway opinion, but the public raged at the military instead.
Is the military trying to create a second Jeon Yongseop?
Why conscript a student who’s studying well at the Academy?
What if he naturalizes in America or France like the others?
Politicians and Korea’s Superhuman community lit up at the backlash.
It was a golden chance to pummel the military, which still clung to power even after the junta fell.
They seized it, yapping away.
Korea must embrace Cheon Yeomyeong no matter what—the military was crushing a future Superhuman over budgets…
The usual empty politician demagoguery, but the public and media ate it up with fervor.
Trauma from traitor Jeon Yongseop and his son Jeon Yunseong ran deep.
It’d only been a decade or so since Jeon Yongseop naturalized in America amid cries of “Korea’s a hellhole.”
Just a few years since Jeon Yunseong mowed down Korea’s next-gen hopefuls.
To the masses, Cheon Yeomyeong was heaven-sent—a hero for Korean Superhumans.
He’d stick it to those smug Americans and traitors, restoring Korea’s honor.
Politicians, never missing a trend, issued endless blank checks.
On their silver tongues, Cheon Yeomyeong was already Korea’s star Superhuman—an patriot headed to the Academy to find a way to crush Jeon Yunseong.
…Of course, public expectations and politicians’ promises never turned into real policy.
The surface excuse was “Cheon Yeomyeong’s at the Academy,” but the real reason was elsewhere.
Korea lacked the resources or means to win him over.
Bribing with martial arts or elixirs like with other Superhumans? Impossible from the start.
Rumors swirled that the Dwarf Chaebols across the sea in Chicago were showering him with dragon bones, treasures, and every elixir imaginable.
Whatever their game, the government couldn’t match it without breaching fairness.
If material incentives wouldn’t work, offer power and fame? Even there, foreigners outshone Korea.
Nations like France and America—Superhuman magnets—could lavish freedoms and honors Korea couldn’t dream of.
In sum, Korea’s only play was banking on Cheon Yeomyeong’s patriotism.
But the government and politicians never voiced it.
What if they preached patriotism to an orphan with no family ties in Korea, only for him to publicly reject it?
Politicians were nothing if not pragmatic.
Instead of impossible quests, they proposed feasible plans.
Milk him for public opinion until Academy graduation, then naturalize him in France, not America.
Better to split Korean geniuses between France and the odious U.S. for balance than hand two to them.
Not ideal, but zero risk.
Thus, the “Patriots” under government auspices raised no objections.
They couldn’t devise anything better either.
But… now at the Academy, wasn’t there bait to keep Cheon Yeomyeong hooked?
Honey trap.
So simple, no one had thought of it.
Especially with him always beside the beautiful Saintess—they’d assumed it wouldn’t work…
‘…In the end, genius or not, he’s just a male at heart.’
No. 3 Shepherd smiled for the first time in ages.
She’d halted her Flying Leg Art, and at the end of her gaze lay the desperately sought items.
Signs of fierce resistance and shredded cloth scraps.
Up close, it was a torn hem from a school uniform skirt. Undoubtedly the Black Sheep’s clothing.
‘…Good, the Red Sheep’s report was legit.’
Feeling the plan proceeding as intended, the Shepherd moved to find the next trace.
The first was hardest; the rest were easy.
Beyond the Academy path unlit by streetlamps, torn clothes stretched in a trail.
Shed socks, a single surviving shoe, a skirt ripped in half, a snapped bra, and…
‘…Paper?’
No. 3 Shepherd frowned and picked up the paper. Tiny letters, visible only with mana, were scrawled on it.
[Retard]
The instant she narrowed her eyes to read it—
Whoosh!
A wind-cutting roar, and a massive hammer plummeted toward her head.
***
“Cheon Yeomyeong.”
As dawn stirred, a hulking man in a balaclava spoke up.
“…You know who we are, and that’s why you set this trap?”
Yeomyeong stared at him a moment, then drew his blunt student training sword and replied.
“Shepherds, right?”
“…”
“I wondered what’d come after Horse Head… turns out you’ve got actual human heads?”
The intel spilling from his mouth went beyond mere sheep whispers.
So the Shepherds he’d killed in Manchuria… weren’t accidents…
“…No. 9, stall him. I’ll use my head.”
The hulking man murmured to his balaclava-clad comrade.
“…The plan?”
“Failed. Eliminate the target and escape as fast as possible.”
At his words’ end, the masked woman drew a pistol from her waist and fired at Yeomyeong.
Bang!
The unhesitating gunshot filled the night sky as Yeomyeong kicked off the ground.
“Flying Leg Art?!”
The woman kept firing in shock. Gunshots rang out in succession; one lucky bullet grazed Yeomyeong’s cheek.
A long gash opened on his cheek as light burst from his hand.
Flash!
The masked woman survived thanks to superhuman senses and rough knowledge of Yeomyeong’s techniques.
She ditched the gun the instant she saw the light and leaped aside. Her left arm severed instead of her neck.
“Gaaah!”
Black blood—unlike human—gushed from the stump.
Yeomyeong gave no quarter. Sword in hand, he charged the masked man preparing something behind.
“Stand down, you traitor!”
The masked woman blocked his path.
“Move.”
His indifferent voice dripped killing intent. His free left hand formed a blade, which he swung.
More punch than swordplay—and the result matched. Sword aura from his hand swept through her body.
Boom!
She flew back, blood spraying. Yeomyeong ignored her, bringing his right-hand sword down on the man.
Aiming for the head, a one-strike kill.
Just before the sword cleaved his skull, something enveloped the man’s head and clashed.
…!
Not blade-on-flesh—mana clashing mana in a thunderous roar.
Like thunderclaps, Yeomyeong stepped back. Narrowing his eyes, he said.
“…That’s detachable?”
“GRR—AAAH!”
The man roared instead, his face already Horse Head.
The transformation didn’t stop. Red glows poured from his eyes, drool slobbered from his maw, and his lower body ballooned.
Soon his shoulder blades shuddered; two hands ripped through his shoulders.
Clawed hands ill-suited to a Horse Head.
“Cheon Yeomyeong! You cursed traitor!”
Fully transformed, it spoke in a hellish rasp.
“Today! Pay for the patriots you k—”
Before Horse Head finished, Yeomyeong’s sword thrust for its throat.
It flailed hands to block, bellowing.
“Y-You bastard!”
He’d even waited for the transformation. No need for speeches.
Yeomyeong slashed with mana-clad sword and hand-blade, burrowing into Horse Head’s guard.
Wary of spell barrages like the Manchurian Horse Head, but it cast none.
Instead, it swung its new shoulder arms for his head and lashed its bloated legs.
‘…Pure melee type.’
Yeomyeong parried arms with sword, knee with hand-blade.
Mana blades gouged flesh in long wounds, but it pressed on heedless.
Brute force banking on regen. Yeomyeong turned it against it—angling his sword where its hands swung.
Splurt!
Horse Head’s arm severed, black blood raining over Yeomyeong’s head. No screams, no gasps. They traded blows, breaths rationed.
Horizontal sword sweep—three hands counter instantly.
Hand-blade riposte—another arm falls.
Knee rises. Pommel smash. Knee shatters; pommel dents.
Next instant, the sword wavers.
Two arms and one leg lost—Horse Head’s eyes blaze fiercer.
“Die!”
It lunged its neck last-breath desperate. Protruding fangs sought Yeomyeong’s throat.
Yeomyeong advanced instead of retreating.
Discarding the ruined sword, he gathered mana in both hands and stabbed for its throat.
Horse Head’s fangs clamped Yeomyeong’s neck as his hand-blades buried in its throat—near simultaneous.
Gurgle—blood gushed from both. But only black blood spilled.
“H-How….”
Horse Head choked blood, mouth opening. Fangs that failed to pierce flesh belatedly crumbled.
“Magic….”
Before its final words, Yeomyeong’s hand pierced under its jaw. The red-veined eyes lost their spark.
Last reflected in them: Yeomyeong’s heat-haze form.
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