Chapter 194

Killing intent has a physical substance. It's not just a metaphor; in this pre-modern fantasy world, it is an empirically verifiable realm.

Even a civilian or, at the very least, a teenage soldier cannot hide their killing intent when they pull the trigger, just before firing. That minuscule killing intent, if detected by a superhuman's heightened nerve response, leads to a technique known as line of fire detection.

In the case of superhumans, well-trained killing intent can harm civilians. From that point, killing intent clearly begins to exert physical influence, as the mana mixed with it starts to affect the world.

Thus, in this world where all types of attacks contain trace amounts of killing intent...

Enrique, known as the greatest thief and assassin in history, established a special training program for his disciples.

Refining killing intent. Extreme control over all kinds of emotions, to the point of being utterly silent before taking direct action.

During that time, the Cleanup Unit members had to be so trained that even while imbued with a terrible killing intent just before an attack, they would not leak a single trace of it.

Therefore...

If the condensed, intensely trained, and obstinately suppressed killing intent were to lose control and spill out, what would happen then?

- Crackle... Thud.

As the magic lantern burst, the lights in the conference room went out. The elves present, all lords of the long-lived society, quickly began to respond, but...

Even so, their basic instinct as mortals, as living beings, could not help but suppress their actions.

Sunlight still streamed outside the large window of the conference room. The bright sky over the Iberenden inland sea, now welcoming spring, was a hue of green.

And as that light pierced through the bars of the window and washed into the conference room, it lost its color and faded away.

"Gulp."

It just had to be a round table, where one of the councilors sitting close to Ivan gulped down with great difficulty.

He was so stiff and sweating coldly, unable even to think of turning his head, like a frog feigning innocence before a predator. Craving for life in a shallow way.

Killing intent surged. Mana flickered. Everyone in this room was skilled enough to see mana with the naked eye, so they could directly witness that black current.

It seemed as if the darkened smoke filled the conference room. Each flow was dense enough to rupture a civilian's heart.

Meanwhile, a pair of gloomily shining blue eyes were thankfully not directed towards them.

Silently, like a flock of sheep before a lion.

"I have failed to keep most of the promises I made until now."

Ivan's voice was deeply ragged, sounding much like scratching a steel plate.

"Live. Survive. I will definitely protect you... Of those worthless promises, what I have accomplished can be counted on one hand. I am such a powerless human."

The Cleanup Unit that followed him too.

The Great King and the Royal Guard as well.

Tylesse's excellent knights and Jill Ber.

His long-time friends, and even Veolgrin.

Even the disciples of the Swordsmanship Faction.

Survive.

Please, just survive.

All those who asked that have ultimately died and disappeared.

The lives, names, and deaths of those individuals. It all feels like wounds tearing at his soul. Wounds may fade with time, covered in dust, but scars never disappear.

Ivan stands here, a body and soul covered in scars.

He is such a powerless person. All the scars left on his body can be said to be traces of his incompetence.

Yet still.

"But."

Even so, he has at least achieved one thing.

A declaration.

A plea to live. A promise to protect. All of those have failed within his incompetence.

"Among those who vowed to kill, none are alive to this day."

That declaration, at least, is something he has always kept throughout his not-so-short life.

Abiditas, the nobles of Krasilov, and the rebels of Tylesse.

Even the god born in Ydranhill has died.

So.

"Ivan Petrovich, Colonel. My words—."

"Do you remember? Do you recall the last words I spoke to you directly?"

"..."

"I remember."

Never forgotten.

"Do not die. Please live long. You must be alive before I come to find you. I said that."

"In this world, there can be opportunities. Ivan Petrovich. Compared to the countless people, what is the number of those who have died—."

"Now I have come."

The two men's conversation did not align.

Ivan stared directly into Alexander's eyes as he hurriedly opened his mouth, instantly drawing his sword from his waist.

The sound of the sword being drawn was late in comparison to his action. The moment the sound was heard, the blade had already been raised, reflecting the sunlight into the dark room.

As confusion clouded Alexander's eyes, the blade had already escaped Ivan's grasp.

- Swaaaah—!!

"Now I stand before you, and I will fulfill the one thing I have lived for and protected."

The declaration to kill. That is something he has lived by, unwaveringly.

*

- Kwang—!!

The shot blade shattered the bow and disappeared beyond the sea. The seething killing intent rushed through the arena, swept away in between the gaps.

After that, neither Alexander nor Ivan remained in the conference room. The two jumped onto the deck along the broken wall.

"...Huh."

Someone let out a short sigh. It was one of the elves who had barely escaped the vicious killing intent.

At that moment, everyone present realized they could only imagine their own lifeless bodies hanging limply. Even if one could be called a master of magic, one could not possibly defeat a swordsman of that level unprepared within this distance.

As they regained their composure, the elves began to reestablish their dignity.

"What kind of rudeness is this! How dare you act so barbarically in the Privy Council!"

"Those humans...!!"

In order to forget the powerlessness and fear they felt, the elves started to raise their voices. Seeing this, Edel pressed his temples and let out a low sigh.

"Cohenulf! Look at the ruckus that barbarian you brought has caused!"

"Shut up. Do you have no shame?"

"What do you mean?"

"Being swayed by a mere human and talking about colonies and a broader world... how pathetic."

As Edel clicked his tongue, one elf stood up abruptly. He gathered magical energy in both hands and growled.

"Do you really think you can handle everyone here no matter how great you claim to be?"

"Of course, I can't."

The elves of the Privy Council. The lords of the academy were certainly not to be underestimated. They were great wizards who had devoted as much time to magic as Edel had to swordsmanship.

Indeed, each individual represented the essence of their respective academies.

However, this was a closed indoor space, and Edel was currently holding a sword.

This meant that a prepared swordsman was present against unprepared wizards.

"Just five."

"...What?"

"If you all charge at me from now on, I will certainly die. But I can take exactly five with me. From the first who casts a spell, I will take five of you as my companions... come."

- Swish.

Edel drew his blade with the tip of his thumb. The elf who had been glaring at him stood up and looked around with a startled expression.

There were those filled with rage, those observing the situation, and those looking at him with curious eyes.

Indeed, this place was a den of wolves. The death of one councilor meant an expansion of interests for another councilor. No one present was reluctant for their competitors to diminish.

Thus, even if he went first, he knew that no one else would attack Edel in pursuit of him.

He could only bite his lip roughly and sit back down.

Seeing that pathetic sight, Edel let out a deep sigh.

"I'm not feeling very, very, incredibly good right now, my kin. Half of my disciples have died by my hand, and the remaining half have perished under my command. And still, this is what I see right after the victory. So, as the lord of the Swordsmanship Faction with only thirty left, I must say this."

Edel leaned forward and whispered ominously, "If you don't have the courage to fight, please don't act tough. I'm in a state where I want to kill someone desperately."

*

Standing on the deck, Alexander quickly surveyed his surroundings. He saw elves staring at him with bewildered expressions.

He smiled as he approached them and swiftly disarmed them. In the moment of realization, the unarmed elves panicked and distanced themselves from him.

There was no time to explain or use magic.

Like a raging storm, like a tidal wave crashing down. As if magical beasts were surging up from the depths below.

A palpable killing intent swirled around him, settling before him.

"Lieutenant Colonel Petrovich. You'll understand once you hear my explanation."

The last sword had already been thrown, and bullets cannot harm a superhuman.

So that man is unarmed.

Alexander raised his sword and continued quickly.

"Don't think about those who died in the war. We must look at those who survived afterward. Never in the history of this world have individual rights been so high as they are right now—"

"Cleanup Unit. 711."

A low voice growled like a wounded beast amidst the killing intent.

"Royal Guard. 1132."

The killing intent surged. An elf beside him grasped his heart with a pained expression and collapsed.

"Counting the great king, Conqueror Ivan, the soldiers who should have fought in that campaign total 6193."

Humans rushed in, faces pale in horror as they gazed upon the undulating killing intent.

"Due to the internal conflict in Tilese, including Jill Ber, the soldiers and knights dedicated to that campaign number 20,000. And all that remains of the Swordsmanship Faction and the Cleanup Unit from Ydranhill—"

A person who had come with their assistance, a young man without legs, sternly replied in a low voice.

"Regarding the deaths of all those heroes. Death sentence."

Shadows flicker beyond the killing intent. The dead appear as phantoms. Increasingly clearer.

In the halted time, facing the oncoming death alone, Alexander gritted his teeth and raised his sword straight.

"Ivan Petrovich! You can use your strength for something more meaningful! I will change the world—."

"Revenge is meaningless."

Somehow, the killing intent is right in front of me. Amid the dreadful magic that bends even the brilliant midday sunlight, a darkly glowing blue pupil flickers like a flickering candle.

There is no armament. The physical state is not normal, the mana has hit rock bottom, and the soul, once imbued with divinity, is on the brink of shattering.

Since arriving at Ydranhill, I have not taken a moment's rest, only engaged in battle. In the last moments, I have died and been reborn dozens of times.

Ivan is now in a state that could be considered close to a miracle just by walking.

On the other hand, Alexander is different. The education and training received from childhood, the skills honed on the battlefield, his talents shining in both magic and swordsmanship, and the experiences cultivated while lurking in the shadows of the world.

In light of all of this, he felt confident he could escape even if he faced a member of the Hero Party. So he thought.

But at this moment.

-Quack.

A hand approached silently.

A hand covered in scars. An arm, tattered and threadbare, where new flesh and old scars were entangled chaotically. A sinew writhing like a snake within it.

He was unable to resist even as it grasped his head tightly.

"However, it is fitting as a tribute for those who have died meaninglessly."

Therefore.

"I will no longer postpone your death."

Taking a step forward to disrupt the balance, under the hand that crushed Alexander's crumbling head.

Quack. He was slammed onto the deck.

*

Only one person was moving in this place.

A peasant from a barren countryside. He participated in the Great War as a conscript. Dreaming of the Great King, known as the Conqueror, he joined the Royal Guard.

Having lost all his comrades, after a long military service, he finally retired.

Yet he remained wholly devoted. No rewards from the nation, no honor respected in the world.

Stubborn, steadfast, and unyielding.

Not a young man from another world. Only a man from Krasilov.

A man who remembers all the past scars.

-Quack!

Silently, he is moving.