Chapter 44 - Academy Field Trips Always Come Under Attack (8)

Dwarves had darkvision. There was nothing strange about that, considering they were a people who lived holed up underground. It did not mean they could see through darkness as though it were broad daylight, but they could still make out objects relatively clearly in the dark.

Thus, Astuk could see the man approaching.

'... A big Dwarf?'

Astuk was confused!

* * *

"Isabelle."

"M-mister?!! How did you get here...?!"

"Are you hurt?"

Ivan strode over and stood beside Isabelle. He clicked his tongue briefly, then placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Yes! Yes, I'm... I'm fine!"

"Good. Then stay right here. Don't move."

VIP protection was part of the Extermination Unit's basic training, but that did not mean he could guarantee perfect safety in the dark. With a fierce fight ahead, it was important to know where his charge was at all times.

Of course, Ivan was an exceedingly efficient man, so he did not consider how those words might sound.

'I've seen this before...! It happens all the time in romance novels!'

Isabelle's eyes spun. Her tension abruptly drained away, and she let out a sigh. Her legs trembled. Fear struck belatedly. Perhaps it was the suspension-bridge effect, but how could she not lean on a man who appeared just as she faced death?

And then there were those words: "Stay right here." Like a knight in a story asking her to wait until he returned from slaying an ancient dragon.

'That's a confession. Ha, honestly. This is awkward... What choice do I have? It wouldn't do to jump straight into accepting, so, yes. I'll start by asking if he's free this weekend. As a reward.'

Isabelle was confused!

* * *

A pistol in his left hand, a longsword in his right. Five daggers at his waist and an axe slung diagonally across his back. Having checked his weapons, Ivan walked slowly forward.

They were afraid. Ivan drew a quiet breath.

Living creatures shared certain telltale signs. Hormonal responses were one of them. Strengthening the body with mana and drastically improving the efficiency of nerve transmission produced various chain reactions. These included amplification of the senses.

Smell, for example. It became possible to pick up even the faintest scent drifting through the air. That included the volatile body odors released as sweat evaporated. Among superhumans, these were vital indicators.

They allowed one to read an opponent's emotions.

This primitive, premodern society did not yet have a word for hormones, but human physiology was the same. Body odor changed subtly with emotion, physically revealing feelings such as killing intent, fear, or affection.

Cortisol, secreted when a creature felt fear. Its distinctive scent was seeping thickly from the Dwarves.

"Afraid?"

"Bullshit!"

Astuk clenched his teeth. The bastard was alone.

War was ultimately a contest of morale. Once the enemy cowed you, you could scarcely put up a fight. Instinctively, he had classified fighting Ivan as a "war." He resolutely ignored that fact and raised his weapon.

"The Extermination Unit. You accursed bastards... I'll kill you and honor the souls of my fallen comrades!"

"They all say that."

Astuk needed a moment to understand those words. They all said that? A sudden chill raised goosebumps on his skin.

That was a matter-of-fact admission that he had heard those words many times—and killed everyone who spoke them.

Astuk raised his axe, his eyes somber. At his movement, everyone in the square formation raised their weapons in unison.

CLANK, CLANK.

The heavy scrape of metal echoed through the tunnel.

Ah, how he missed this. Memories of an old battlefield, of facing a Dwarven square in a tunnel. It had been during the Mine War.

Ivan raised his sword and reflected. Cramped confines with limited visibility. Dwarves filling the entire passage. A dreadful square formation impervious to axes and bullets.

Back then, he had not been alone. Other members of the unit had always been beside him, supporting him. Now they were gone. Amid a lingering sense of loss, he adjusted his grip on his sword.

But these were not the forces he had faced back then. There were only thirty-odd of them, a small infantry force numbering fewer than fifty even by a generous estimate. And he was no longer the Captain Ivan Petrovich of those days.

Ten years had passed since the Mine War. Ivan had gained ten years of experience.

* * *

BANG!!

He opened with a shot, both to intimidate and to gain a view. Ivan sprinted through slowed time as space seemed to lurch and split into segments.

A stationary Dwarven square was like a turtle. Tough, ponderous, and unhurried. Speed, then, had to be the basis of his tactics.

"He's coming!!"

A terrified voice rang through the tunnel. It was familiar. Dwarves usually served in the demon army's rear-infiltration teams, and that sort of operation provided the ideal environment for the Extermination Unit. Thus, the Extermination Unit had always been credited with killing more Dwarves during the war than any other individual unit.

CLANG!

His warm greeting was a sword strike. The direct downward blow was a feint. He struck the foremost Dwarf's pauldron lightly before the enemy could even react.

The Dwarf's weapon thrust straight at him. Guided only by its whistle through the air, Ivan twisted aside.

He closed his eyes and counted the seconds. He was keeping an exact count of his steps.

Eighty-six centimeters per stride. Isabelle was five steps behind him. Seven steps to the formation's commander. Thirteen steps across the formation. Seventeen steps of room to maneuver.

CLANG!!

Dodging the assortment of weapons that rained down on him in an instant, he slipped in for a strike.

CLANG! SCRAAAPE!

The noise of his longsword plunging beneath the foremost Dwarf's elbow.

CLANK, CLANK.

The grinding of heavy armor as their movements meshed.

Behind his closed eyelids, the figures burned onto his retinas by the gunshot shifted. He mapped and analyzed each surrounding sound, updating their positions and postures in real time.

"You monster!!"

The cry came just as he "flayed" one Dwarf's shell and sliced through his forearm. A monster? Laughable. Ivan knew how real "monsters" fought.

CRUNCH!

Ignoring the dreadful scream of the Dwarf whose arm he had severed, he spun two and a half steps to the side. Another Dwarf had just raised his arms to bring his axe down. Ivan drove a dagger beneath the gap at the back of his neck, then moved another step and a half to the right.

SCRAPE!

The next Dwarf was lunging with a warhammer. Letting its heavy rush pass beside his head, Ivan ducked low and drove in his longsword.

CRACK!

The longsword, already dangerously chipped, snapped.

He had expected it. From the moment the fight began, he had felt the sword's edge chipping away through his fingertips. So he did not panic. This degree of durability was familiar to him.

"He's lost his weapon!!"

No. He had let it go.

Ivan ducked his head and moved two steps sideways. An axe lay precisely at his feet: the weapon dropped by the first Dwarf whose arm he had cut off.

As soon as he picked it up, he twisted at the waist to evade the next attack and raised his left hand. Aim. Steady his breathing. Fire.

BANG!!

"Aaaaaargh!!"

The broken longsword had left its fang embedded in a gap in one Dwarf's armor. A precise, pinpoint shot. Like a hammer striking a chisel, it burst the Dwarf's chest open.

Ivan tossed his pistol into the air and ran forward. Snatching the fallen warhammer with his left hand, he twisted. One hand up, the other to the side. Then he brought them crashing down in crossing arcs.

CRASH!!

The descending axe buried itself in a Dwarf's helmet, and the hammer followed with flawless precision, smashing into his head.

As the Dwarf went limp, staggered, and fell, Ivan threw away the hammer and caught his pistol in midair. Without aiming, he pointed straight ahead, toward the commander five steps away. Fired.

BANG!!

This time he opened his eyes. The battle came into view once more. As the muzzle flash faded, he closed his eyes again and pictured the altered formation in his mind.

The sounds of battle. Their body odor. Their positions etched onto his retinas. The feel of air brushing both cheeks. Between one breath and the next lay the battlefield of superhumans.

Ah, how he missed this.

Ivan ran, reminding himself once more. The human body was fragile. Even a dagger less than nine centimeters long could incapacitate it.

Close-quarters combat always meant staking one's life at the boundary between life and death. There, at a clear disadvantage, in the midst of the enemy ranks...

He had forgotten this feeling of charging toward the enemy's heart. In the four years since his last battle, he had never even been in a situation worthy of being called combat. So here, on this familiar battlefield, Ivan felt something like nostalgia.

Ivan was an exceedingly objective man, so he considered himself broken. The feeling was all the more pronounced in everyday life. Among people laughing and chatting normally, he even felt alienated.

And so, here, at least in these moments when lives flickered out, he could be someone who was needed.

He still lived in the war. Even as he loathed the battlefield, longed for an ordinary life. Longed for home.

Sensing the scent of the comrades he missed, Ivan counted his steps. One step now. Eighty-six centimeters ahead stood their "head."

* * *

What was one supposed to feel at the sight of a madman "butchering" one's comrades with a faint smile?

With every breath, another comrade fell.

Stop! Kill! No! Don't! My arm! Aah!

Amid it all, the screams barely lasted a syllable. On that battlefield, where only dying cries rang out, the Extermination Unit's madman silently continued his "work."

Shattered armor flew overhead. Torn limbs and droplets of blood scattered through the air. A storm. A calamity no individual could resist.

He quite literally swept through them, raising weapons, seizing them, sprinting. And even when he finally appeared right before Astuk's eyes, his breathing was unchanged from the start.

"I... I am Senior Captain Astuk... of the Web Makers combat engineers, Third Battalion, directly under the Fifth Dragon General. What is your name...?!"

"Ivan Petrovich."

"... Ha..."

Astuk nodded. He had heard the man was dead. Yes. So that was it. He was alive. That would explain how he had managed to intervene in this particular forest at precisely the right moment.

"That beard. Are you imitating us?"

"...?"

For the first time, Ivan's face twisted. He was an exceedingly coolheaded man, but he would never let an insult to the late king pass. Instead of answering, he swung the axe that had belonged to a nameless soldier.

* * *

"You can move now."

"I think my legs have given out."

Isabelle smiled as she listened to Ivan's footsteps approaching. The sounds alone had made the ferocity of the battle unmistakable. Even simply standing still behind him, she had felt as though its heat reached her.

Honestly, he was overwhelming.

She stretched out both arms.

"Carry me on your back."

If her legs had given out, carrying her was better than waiting for her to walk. Ivan was an efficient man, so he offered his back without a word. Soon, warm hands wrapped around the back of his neck.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"That must have been hard."

"Yes."

"Today's probably not a good time, but could I buy you dinner tomorrow?"

Ivan was currently an undercover agent with Counterintelligence Command. He was a man of modest means and incorruptible principles. He did not improperly accept money or gifts from those he protected.

"No."

"Huh?"