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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: This Place is Your Grave
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Karahen was at a loss for words for a moment.
"Ha."
A laugh burst out in sheer disbelief.
It had been the first time since earning the moniker Fire Demon of the Decullan Family that he'd been treated like this. It felt like he'd somehow gone back to the anonymous days of his past.
"You're quite the entertaining professor. Well, fine. That stench is repulsive, sure. I don't exactly love their smell either. So, shall we cut to the chase? First off…"
Karahen extended a finger, pointing straight at Pola.
"That one's gonna die."
His finger shifted to the side.
This time, it pointed at Professor Parun, who responded with a wry smile after being singled out.
"As for you, Professor… Think you'll live or die? You're a smart guy who teaches kids, so you must know."
It was blatant mockery.
But Professor Parun, the target, showed no reaction.
He simply stared at Karahen with utter contempt.
"Tch. What a glare. Consider yourself lucky, Professor. The family ordered me to bring you back in one piece. Otherwise, those eyes of yours would never see light again."
Karahen smacked his lips in genuine regret before continuing.
"But first, there's something I need to check. That envelope of documents. It came from the Blandoga trash, right? Hand it over. Be a good boy and comply. I'd appreciate that."
As he spoke, Karahen fixed Professor Parun with a piercing stare.
Despite his words, his eyes gleamed with the hope that the professor would resist.
And indeed, his intentions were plain on his face.
The family's orders were clear: if the envelope contained research on the Heavenly Origin Art, bring Professor Parun back alive.
The intent was obvious—keep him alive to continue the research.
What mattered was whether he could keep working on it.
As long as he had two arms to write with and two eyes to read, what did it matter? Hell, maybe one arm and one eye would suffice.
So…
'Yeah, leave him one arm. One eye.'
Karahen had just reached that thought when Professor Parun spoke up.
"Pola."
"…Yes."
Perhaps grasping the gravity of the situation, Pola didn't deny his presence this time.
"From this moment on, forget you're a student. Think of yourself as a mercenary first. Protect your own life."
"…Understood."
Pola nodded heavily.
It had been a simple delivery job. How had it spiraled into this mess?
If the target hadn't been an academy professor, it wouldn't have weighed on his conscience at all.
Lost in a whirlwind of thoughts amid the chaos, Pola shoved them all aside.
"Hoo."
He exhaled softly.
His hand touched the hilt of his sword.
The weapon, so familiar it felt like an extension of himself, molded perfectly to his grip.
With his senses sharpened and his stance set…
"Hahaha. That's right, yeah. That greenhorn mercenary's gotta fight if he doesn't wanna die. But Professor, you sure you're okay with that? You might end up with just one eye and one arm."
Professor Parun didn't respond this time either.
He simply stowed the envelope in his subspace pocket and fixed his gaze on Karahen.
Then, a low sound echoed through the room.
Crack!
Ice shards materialized in midair.
No, not midair.
Men in masks appeared in what had seemed an empty space, staggering with their bodies frozen solid.
Almost simultaneously, the ice binding the Troubleshooters' bodies sprouted jagged spikes.
Crunch!
Two Troubleshooters gasped their last as the spikes pierced them.
Karahen grinned widely at the sight.
"Heh, not bad. I like it."
Murderous intent flickered in Karahen's eyes.
As those lurking nearby revealed themselves, the spacious office suddenly felt cramped.
Pola took in the scene calmly.
'Men in masks…'
Around fifty, by his count.
Having appeared from thin air, they were clearly stealth operatives of the mana school, not ether.
Of course, that probably wasn't all of them.
He hadn't even sensed their presence moments ago, but now, extending his senses, he picked up on several faint presences.
Their numbers were overwhelming, but oddly, that was a relief.
The Fire Demon's specialty was fire magic, as his moniker suggested.
In a space packed with allies, even he couldn't unleash his full power.
That's what he thought—right then.
"Shall we play, then?"
Karahen's voice slithered into his ear.
Flash—!
In that split second, Pola glimpsed the flames erupting from Karahen's body.
'…Insane!'
Pola realized he'd misjudged badly.
He'd joined a mercenary band as a child, seen every horror imaginable, faced countless madmen—but Karahen was something else entirely.
Two words burned into Pola's mind.
Death.
* * *
"Hahaha!"
Karahen's laughter echoed through Professor Parun's mansion.
Boom! Crash!
Explosions rocked the place, and with each one, chunks of the once-beautiful estate crumbled.
The battle was far more intense than expected.
Professor Parun, whom he'd dismissed as a mere researcher, wielded practical combat spells like a seasoned battle mage. And Pola, the mercenary he'd scoffed at…
"Hoo, haa."
Miraculously alive amid the blasts, Pola kept fighting.
Even with his lungs burning, he didn't let up for a second.
'Damn it.'
That moment when he'd sensed death closing in.
Surviving it had been a stroke of luck.
—Pola, an enrollment gift. Picked it up on the way. Keep it or toss it, your call.
The ragged talisman from the captain— who'd have thought it was such an artifact?
It had crumbled to ash, a one-use protective item, but its defense was top-tier.
If he'd thrown it away, he'd be dead. Typical captain, though.
Of course, the captain must've been sure. He'd keep a gift from him. That blind faith, or whatever it was.
Hell, the captain might've laughed if he'd ditched it and died: "Serves you right."
But that was as far as luck went.
'These bastards…'
A barrage of spells assaulted him from all sides.
None were high-level; all basic common spells anyone could cast without special training.
Yet their timing and combinations were devilishly tricky.
No big hits, just a slow chokehold.
Clang!
"Hahk, heuk!"
Pola deflected an incoming ice arrow, gasping for breath.
His trained body was spent, strength drained.
Even blocking a monster wave on a mission hadn't been this grueling. He felt like he'd collapse any second.
But Pola steeled himself.
'I have to hold.'
His eyes flicked to Professor Parun behind him.
If Karahen was a monster, Parun was no less—and to Pola, even more so.
Sizzle…
Boom! Crash!
Dozens of spells rained down from the air.
He warped their trajectories with barriers in midair.
Transcendent calculations.
Even then, he cast his own spells, thinning enemy ranks. How many elements was he handling?
Starting with ice, then fire, lightning, earth.
Four attributes already, mid-battle.
But Parun could pull this off because Pola held the line.
Just then, Professor Parun's voice reached him.
"Not bad. I can trust you a bit more."
"Hoo, haa."
Pola was at his limit.
But "trust more" meant shifting focus from defense to offense.
"Can you handle it?"
"As much… as needed…!"
Pola squeezed out the words.
No choice now—fail, and die.
* * *
I concealed my presence, watching the battle from a short distance.
'…Impressive.'
A mage and a guarder.
The minimal party of Professor Parun and Pola fought with awe-inspiring tenacity.
Parun's monstrous computational prowess was key, but Pola's protection as a guarder was beyond student level.
Still, the tide wasn't in their favor.
How many Troubleshooters had already fallen here?
'The Decullans mean business.'
Fewer than ten Troubleshooters had been deployed to the academy, but around a hundred swarmed Professor Parun's mansion.
Likely pulling in forces monitoring Hazen outside.
Most were no-names without numbers, but their quantity wasn't trivial.
Especially since…
'They're herding.'
My gaze settled on Karahen, mid-frontline.
"Professor! That all you got?! You should try harder! Hahaha!"
Karahen blabbered recklessly, spamming spells.
For the famed Fire Demon, it looked sloppy. But that was just the surface.
'He's disrupting the rhythm.'
He cut their momentum whenever Parun and Pola gained ground.
Acting the unhinged maniac, but sly as a snake inside.
Parun must sense it, holding back his full power.
One slip in composure or fatigue, and Karahen's fangs would sink in. Ruining their hard-fought balance.
Wise choice.
But…
'You'll just wither slowly.'
I waited silently, biding my time.
'If I were Professor Parun…'
I'd go for broke.
Karahen was a veteran battle mage. Parun knew he'd counter.
When Parun made his move, Karahen would respond—and their fates would hinge on that clash.
And then…
'That's my chance.'
I'd just thought that when—
Whoosh—
An immense surge of mana blanketed the battlefield.
From Professor Parun.
Somehow, he and Pola had exchanged words; Pola's movements turned ferocious.
Deflecting spells without breathing, his blade shimmering faintly with ether.
The ether-infused sword formed a barrier, blocking all incoming magic headed for Parun—like a man preparing for his end.
Karahen moved right after.
"…"
More composed, perhaps.
Unlike Parun, he erected barriers around him and unleashed mana.
Matching Parun's output. No—maybe more.
Grind—
The ambient mana screamed as the two mages prepared their spells.
A control contest.
Limited natural mana, two casters commanding it—inevitable turf war.
'Now.'
I locked in the timing.
Boom!
One step.
The distance to Karahen halved; Troubleshooters in my path crumpled lifelessly.
Collision Formula's destructive wake marked their ends as I took another step.
Half a breath in.
"…!"
"Ambush…!"
The Troubleshooters noticed me.
Too late—my second step was done.
I stood before Karahen's sturdy barrier.
I placed a hand on it and whispered.
"Karahen."
"…"
Trusting his barrier, perhaps.
Eyes still closed, focused on out-controlling Parun.
I could guess his mindset.
A seasoned battle mage's judgment.
Unshaken poise in crisis. Trust the barrier, prioritize the critical fight with Parun.
But—
Sizzle—
Karahen's barrier flickered.
Starting from my palm.
"…!"
Karahen's eyes snapped open.
Shock and utter chaos in his gaze.
Only one thing left to say to him.
"This place is your grave."
Boom!
One strike rocked Karahen's body.
Sparks erupted from him.
His full-body protective artifact shattered.
Grab.
My hand clamped his throat.