Chapter 6 - A Terrorist Attack Always Strikes the Train to the Academy (4)

Hugo, the boss, stared at the signaling device that had been flashing for some time now.

“Is this thing broken?”

He had splurged on the expensive magical signaling device so they could flee if trouble arose at Igorevich Station. Now it was flashing at regular intervals, roughly once a minute.

The distress signal was three consecutive presses. That way, an accidental press wouldn't send it. Yet the signal blinked just once each time, without fail. It seemed to be broken.

“Damn it, this thing cost a fortune!”

“Heh heh, don't worry, Boss. We're about to make it all back, aren't we?”

“What about the boys?”

“In position, explosives all planted. Once the train comes, we blow it, rush in, empty the freight cars, and get out! Fifteen minutes, tops!”

“Good. Oh, here comes the train. Everyone, get ready!”

“Yes, Boss!”

In the distance, a train approached, belching steam. They were thirty minutes from Igorevich Station, a little over an hour on foot. That meant even if the train overturned, they would have at least two full hours before reinforcements arrived.

“Blow it!!”

Hugo turned and shouted.

BOOM!

The explosives planted along the tracks detonated all at once, shaking the ground. With a loud screech, the train braked hard, then began slowly toppling onto its side off the tracks.

“Go! Take everything!!”

“Yeaahhh! We're rich!!”

He'd been told the train's freight cars were packed with gold bars. Melt them down just enough to erase the royal stamp, then sell them on the black market—how much would that be worth?

Chuckling, Hugo took one last look at the flashing, broken device and stuffed it into his pocket, thinking of how he would give the bastard mage who'd sold it to him a piece of his mind.

* * *

BOOOOM!!

SCREEEECH—CRRRUNCH!!

The derailed train twisted and fell onto its side.

Ivan watched from a tree some distance away, then turned his gaze elsewhere. One man who looked like the commander, another who looked like his second-in-command. About three others around them.

'So about ten went for the train.'

He'd been told there were around fifteen, so the numbers more or less added up.

Ivan leaped down from the tree and immediately raised his pistol.

BANG!

“!!!”

“!!?”

Amid a distant commotion, the bandits all dropped flat or ducked behind tree trunks. None of the five possessed Line of Fire Detection, including the one whose head the first shot had struck.

Projectile weapons were ineffective against anyone who had reached a certain level of strength. That was why the Hero's Party had no “archer” or the like. The instant a firearm discharged, a powerful fighter sensed the killing intent bound up in the bullet.

Coating a weapon in your hand with magic to erase its killing intent was the most basic of basics. But once something left your hand, like a bullet or an arrow, such manipulation became impossible.

That was why the strong never took cover. They used that time to launch themselves toward the gunshot and take out the shooter. Only the weak flinched at gunfire.

And that was why the Extermination Unit carried pistols. Not only could they gauge an opponent's strength, but few weapons were better for disposing of weaklings in minor skirmishes.

“What bastard's out there?!”

The one bellowing was the commander. He had to be kept alive; he was worth extracting information from. Which meant there was no particular reason to spare the others.

Ivan stepped away from the tree trunk and took a step toward them.

“Shoot! Shoot!!”

BANG-BANG-BANG!!

Lines of fire crisscrossed chaotically. Ivan ambled between them, leisurely loading a round.

The instant he heard the round click into the chamber—

BANG!

“Guuurgh?!!”

One.

Another click. The sound of a round springing up from the magazine and seating itself.

BANG!

One.

Again.

CLICK. BANG! CLICK. BANG!

With each shot, another line of fire disappeared.

Trained agents never exposed themselves to shoot, even if they hadn't mastered Line of Fire Detection. But these men apparently hadn't received even that much training: the moment they realized Ivan was alone, they sprang out and began spraying bullets.

This was the result. A difference in training, in experience, in talent. Four corpses with bullets between their eyes, and one large man trembling.

“Y-you...!!”

The man's face contorted as he threw away his gun and drew his sword. Not a bad choice. A gun was useless if its bullets couldn't hit.

“Who—who sent you? Huh?! Where did a fucking...!”

BANG!

CLANG!

The moment the man drew his sword, Ivan shot the flat of its blade. The impact knocked the hilt out of his hand, and he staggered backward, clutching his wrist. Realizing the overwhelming gulf in their abilities, he went deathly pale and began to shake.

“Are you good at remembering faces?”

“Huh...? Y-yeah! Yours—I've got yours memorized! Just you wait! I'll...”

“Good. You'll need to remember carefully now.”

Ivan wasn't even expecting this man to identify whoever had ordered the attack on the train. An organization capable of arranging something like this wouldn't have left such an obvious trail.

So he would start with a description. Anything that might offer a lead, however trivial. Their gait, their manner, the clothes they'd worn at the time. Any conspicuous tattoos or accessories, if there had been any. Even their speech patterns and accents.

“Tell me anything that comes to mind,” Ivan said quietly, drawing his axe.

He had no intention of killing the man. This was probably the tutorial boss, and that was the protagonist's job. Hurting him, however, should be fine. And Ivan knew countless ways to hurt a person without impairing their “functionality.”

9:35 a.m. Ten minutes since the attack on the train.

Train attack ringleader successfully stopped!

* * *

“Owww...!!”

Esidisi groaned, clutching her forehead. She couldn't get her bearings. Her father's retainers had booked out the entire first-class section, leaving her with no one to ask what had happened.

She shook her head vigorously and staggered to her feet.

“Huh?”

She was standing on a window. The seat where she had been dozing moments before lay sideways beside her.

This was a train. Train seats couldn't lie on their sides. Only then did she finally realize that the train had overturned.

“Ugh, that hurts... Hello? Is anybody there?”

Groaning, she looked around. She could hear pounding footsteps and loud voices, but no screams from people terrified by a train accident.

Then this was... This was—

“Bandits!!”

Esidisi clapped a hand over her mouth in alarm. She'd heard of bandits raiding trains occasionally, but surely it wasn't that common. What was there to steal from a train like this anyway...?!

“Wait! There's me!!”

Startled, Esidisi curled up into a ball. In most situations this would have been sheer self-important nonsense, but astonishingly, in this particular incident, she was right.

“What do I do? What do I do...?”

She had left shouting that no one was to follow her, that she really would cut ties with anyone who did, and now she didn't have a single attendant. Her mind going blank, she hastily hugged her instrument case to her chest.

Fortunately, her violin had survived the train overturning intact.

“Thank goodness! Sniff... I was so worried you'd be broken...”

She gently opened the case and carefully stroked the violin. Then she gripped its neck tight and held it upside down. Like an iron pipe. No, like an “axe.”

They said a musician's instrument was their life. Which told us that Esidisi had now resolved to fight by swinging her very life around.

With her life on the line, the “strongest music student in history” now moves to resolve the terrorist attack on the train!

* * *

Before Great King Einar united the Kingdom of Droan, and before the Demon King's rise threatened all humanity, Droan had endured an age of warring states, with tribal chieftains called Jarls vying for power.

This murderous collective of lunatics, who made mountains of corpses and seas of blood with axes, swords, and tongues (chiefly used to make polite inquiries after their opponents' parents), had an unusual social class.

The Jarls' retainers. Huscarls.

Huscarls were often equated with the knights of other nations, but the details differed. Unlike knights, who established a bilateral contract between lord and vassal, Huscarls required only loyalty and ability.

Knights received pay and land as their reward, but Huscarls received only “loyalty.” Aside from small spoils and meal money, they neither received nor sought compensation.

It meant being accepted as “brothers” despite having no blood ties, living in the same house, eating the same food, and using the same bed. (This did not mean sharing bedroom activities.)

And Great King Einar had many such “younger brothers.”

“Haaah... Hah...!!”

A middle-aged man stood panting at the edge of the woods. Staring at the distant overturned train with his naked eyes, he reeled in horror.

“What rotten bastards dared touch my nieeece?!”

His precious niece!! Was on that train!! Right now!!

With a ferocious roar, he took off running again.

* * *

[“If I catch you following me, I really will cut ties with you!”]

When Esidisi told Einar that, he had found the answer to the riddle, as befitted a great warrior of Droan.

'Aha! So we just have to stay out of sight!'

All the men he could trust cherished Esidisi as their niece, so no amount of ordinary disguise would keep them from being recognized on the same train. But sending someone on the next train wouldn't do, either, when the very idea of her crossing the border alone on a train worried him.

Once again, Great King Einar solved the riddle brilliantly, as befitted a great warrior of Droan.

'Aha! We just need someone who can keep up with the train!'

Thus, Great King Einar gathered his “younger brothers” and solemnly asked:

“Who wants to protect our Eshi? Hands up.”

“Brotherrr!!! Send me!!!”

“Hands up if you're a true warrior who can keep up with a train on your own two feet.”

“Right here, Brother!!!”

The great Huscarls of Droan thrust their hands high and howled in unison. These muscle-bound lumps in their forties opened their mouths and shrieked like baby birds begging for food.

Watching this bizarre sight with satisfaction, Great King Einar solemnly asked:

“Then let's keep those hands up only if you can get into Jansk University.”

“...!!”

Jansk University's entrance exam was difficult. Confident as they might be about passing the practical test or interview, the Huscarls who judged the written exam beyond them promptly lowered their hands. (They weren't ashamed. Knowledge was not among a warrior's virtues.)

One man still had his hand raised.

“From now on, you're a freshman in the PE department.”

“Yes, Brother!! I'll protect Eshi with my life!!”

“Good. Go, my brother.”

“Yes, Brother!!!”

That was two months ago. Having secretly slipped into Krasilof in November for Jansk University's entrance exam, this man had, astonishingly, passed the written test fair and square and gained admission to the PE department. (Meaning he had barely scraped the minimum score, then set a new record in the practical test.)

Sadly, St. Jansk University had no age limit for admission...

And now, on a certain day in January, a man who had spent two days racing after a train without rest or sleep stopped, panting.

Having spotted the overturned train with his naked eyes from two kilometers away, he began charging straight toward it, smashing every tree in his path.

The strongest PE student in history now charges into the scene of a terrorist attack to rescue the strongest music student in history!