Chapter 67

The Sword Spear Sect.

A common fixture in martial arts novels, often as one of the Nine Great Sects that specialize in swift sword techniques.

For Ihan, who once spent countless shifts indulging in martial arts stories, the name had its share of memories.

The reason it stuck in his mind?

“Shooting, piercing the sun… Cool, even if it’s fictional.”

Techniques that claimed to hit, drop, or even pierce the sun: the Sun-Shot Sword Technique, Sun-Fall Blade Technique, and Sun-Piercing Spear Technique.

The names alone were unforgettable. But the more he read about the Sword Spear Sect, the more often he found himself disappointed.

“Just swinging fast… how exactly do they expect to bring down the sun?”

Merely speeding up their swings, with no real substance, just to cut down an enemy—it was underwhelming, to say the least. He’d wondered if they should rename the technique from Shooting the Sun to Shooting People.

“If they’re so bent on their identity, they could at least make an attempt to throw a spear toward the sky. These fancy names…”

But that was easier said than done. How could a human even think of touching the sun?

At the time, he had laughed it off as the kind of strange thought that only came to him when he was sleepy.

But now—

I didn’t think I’d actually attempt it.

When an idea goes from mere imagination to reality, it ceases to be imaginary.

Right now, Ihan was set on recreating the Sun Piercing.

In the most direct way possible, primitive as it was.

“Ughhh!”

“Put a bit more effort into it, slave.”

“I told you, I’m not a slave!”

“Then do a better job.”

“Argh!!”

A mage cried out as if screaming in agony.

Oddwal Bernard,

A professor in the Department of Magic, was the one levitating the wooden spear in the air.

Suspending a 600-kilogram mass in midair was indeed an absurd and unreal sight. It explained why mages alone could be called the terrors of the battlefield.

But, no matter how powerful one’s telekinesis, limits still existed.

Mana wasn’t infinite, and just holding that weight in place required every ounce of concentration. Ihan, however, paid no mind to Oddwal’s struggle and asked calmly:

“You’ve minimized air resistance, right?”

“I-I’ve inscribed the formula! And I added three enchantments!”

“Only three?”

“!!?”

“Pathetic.”

“H-how could you expect more than five enchantments in just ten days?!”

Ihan’s demands had been steep.

He’d asked for reinforced durability, minimized air resistance, increased piercing power, added fire magic—the works.

He was essentially asking for a full-fledged siege weapon, just like that.

Even the best of the kingdom’s mages would likely shake their heads at such a command.

After all, there was a limit to the number of enchantments that could be placed on an object. To enchant three spells in ten days was a feat that reflected Oddwal’s extraordinary skill and the sheer difficulty of the task.

Proof of his toil was etched on his already weathered face; wrinkles and liver spots had bloomed on the young professor, leaving him looking closer to fifty than his actual twenty.

And yet—

“Well, if this is the best you can do, I suppose I have no choice. Useless slave.”

“!?!!”

“Quiet down, if you break my concentration, you’re next.”

“You…!”

Ignoring the mage’s complaints, Ihan focused all his attention on a single target.

Using what I have.

Ihan wasn’t the kind to cling foolishly to what he couldn’t obtain. So, he just worked to get the best possible results with what he had.

What he had was a projectile.

He’d stuffed it with large quantities of gunpowder extracted from the princess herself and loaded it into a ballista.

Of course, even the kingdom lacked a launch platform capable of propelling such a massive projectile skyward, so whether this would succeed was anyone’s guess.

But Ihan believed.

In his “strong body.”

Ihan would now become the hammer that launched this colossal projectile.

Although he was confident in most tasks, he wouldn’t dare kick something as heavy as this. It would break more than it would launch, but now it was feasible.

With the telekinetic coating applied, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

I’ll push it!

This wasn’t a strike to break or destroy; it was a strike to push—a technique using pushing force.

While typically performed with the palm, Ihan used his foot.

With five times the strength of his arms and far more destructive force, he tested the limits of his strength.

Crack!

The sound was enough to make one think his leg had shattered, but he ignored it.

Thump!

Combining the concentrated power in his foot with centrifugal force, along with a humanly impossible intuition, his kick—

Thoom-!!

—launched the massive projectile.

Of course—

Splat!

—he paid the price, with his right leg bursting open.

But sacrifices were inevitable in sending off such a large projectile.

As his leg became soaked in blood, Ihan smiled, not out of some twisted enjoyment of pain.

Whooosh!

“It’s flying well.”

He smiled because he was more than satisfied with the result.

Thoom-!

The ballista projectile shot upward like a spear, soaring intact toward the dark clouds and finally—

Splat!

Crack!

[[----!!]]

Piercing directly through the giant’s wrist, his spear—

Boom.

—exploded on cue, perfectly timed with Ihan’s playful taunt.

Filled with every ounce of his strength, the spear alone had been powerful enough to act as a massive bomb.

Additionally—

Fwoosh!

The vast amount of gunpowder within the spear ignited, setting the giant’s hand ablaze.

Sun-Piercing Spear.

With Ihan’s unique interpretation, his spear had struck down a monster in place of the sun.

“What…the…?”

“Oh, my god.”

Those watching from the ground were at a loss for words.

Legends spoke of giants and demons, claiming that the Knight-King and the Lion-King had cleaved such monsters in half in a single strike. But legend was just that, and few believed it to be more than myth.

But now—

Were those legends real?

Giant Killing.

People were dumbfounded, as if the legendary tales weren’t fictional but historical records.

And they fixed their gaze on the figure before them.

The knight standing firm in the center of the coliseum.

The knight—

“Hey, Bear Girl.”

“Y-yes, sir?!”

“Help evacuate everyone right now. The assistant instructor’s probably working on it already, but he can’t manage it alone. Mobilize the Swordsmanship Department cadets if you have to. Got it?”

“Huh? Y-yes?”

“Tch, so even this wasn’t enough.”

“??”

He looked exasperated, and Levy blinked in confusion, not quite understanding his words.

Snap.

“Look.”

“…Oh.”

Instead of explaining, he pointed up, and Levy understood why he’d given the evacuation order.

Squirm…

Though hard to believe, the giant’s arm was regenerating, burning as it was.

And—

GR-RR-!

—it was still being summoned.

…Horribly so.

“Evacuate! Get out! Don’t just stand there—move, you peasants!”

Despite his noble superiority complex, Damian Pollet was thoroughly committed to saving as many lives as possible, directing the evacuation with urgency.

Sweating profusely, he helped people to safety, lifting pregnant women and elderly individuals too frail to walk on their own.

His body screamed in pain, but he gritted his teeth.

Leaving things as they were would only lead to countless casualties.

That crazy instructor was right!

The instructor’s seemingly insane words from the day before had been proven correct.

Damian Pollet recalled ten days ago when he and Professor Oddwal had been abruptly summoned by Ihan.

—On the last day of evaluation, a monster is going to appear somewhere. So, I expect you to give it your all and be ready to help.

—Have you gone mad?

—Crazy, indeed.

Back then, both Damian and Oddwal had thought it utter nonsense.

The instructor had spouted wild things before, so they assumed he was just pulling their leg again. Damian had even teased him.

—Why don’t you report it to the headmaster or the royal castle then? Tell them a monster will appear.

—I already did. They told me to shut up and get lost.

—…Wait, you actually did that?

He’d thought the instructor was more deranged than he’d realized.

He’d actually submitted a report. It seemed that only a true madman would go that far.

But—

—I even requested an aura user through my contacts, but all the aura users are currently out. Baltar Grace, for instance, must stay to protect the king and cannot leave the castle.

—……

The moment “aura user” came up, it stopped seeming like insanity.

The instructor had been nothing but serious, fully convinced a monster would appear on the final evaluation day, his gaze intense.

—So we have to stop it.

—U-us?

—Why us…?

Damian and Oddwal had questioned, wondering why it had to be them, out of all people.

And in response, the instructor had said—

—Your lives are mine, right? So I can use them as I please.

With a disturbingly possessive tone, practically treating them like criminals, he had nearly driven them to an apoplectic fit.

—But…why us? When did you become such a hero, anyway? Since when have you cared about self-sacrifice?!

In a rare moment of frustration, Damian yelled, bracing himself for a beating.

The instructor he knew was no hero; he was, simply put, a man with little empathy.

So why was he now acting with such self-sacrifice?

But instead of the expected anger—

—We have to save the kids, don’t we?

—What…?

The instructor had grumbled in irritation instead.

—The higher-ups say they don’t believe me because there’s no evidence. And nobody’s offering any help. Our students might not be the only ones in danger—some of the children here to watch might be in mortal peril, too….

—……

—Sure, like you said, it’s only a possibility. Maybe I’m just paranoid. Maybe it’s pointless worry. But what if it’s not? If a monster really does show up, who’s going to take responsibility, and who’s going to save those kids?

—……

—Exactly. No one. No one wants to help if there’s nothing to gain. So, what else can I do but act?

—W-why, though?

There had been layers to Damian’s question.

Why not seek safety, why not leave if there was no certainty? Why fight against all odds?

And Ihan had answered without a trace of hesitation.

—Because, unlike those bastards at the top who only see lives as numbers, I don’t want to sit back and do nothing, damn it!

—……

Damian had been struck speechless.

It wasn’t eloquence, reason, or even any sort of noble logic. Just raw, unfiltered honesty.

And yet, why did that honesty ignite something in him?

In the end, Damian had asked—

—…What do you need me to do?

The instructor, for the first time, had called him by name.

—Damian Pollet, you have one job. Save as many people as you can. The spell-caster and I will handle the fighting.

—W-wait, why me…?

—Shut up, you spellcasting slave!

—……

He’d called him by his name.

“—Run! For the love of god, run!”

And yet, now that it was actually happening, Damian’s lips trembled as he shouted.

Even so—

Why is having my name called out affecting me like this?

He didn’t understand why he felt so compelled.

The belief that the instructor had instilled in him was something different from the code of chivalry.

It was alien, unfamiliar to this world.

The conviction Ihan had forced upon him wasn’t based on relying on someone, or searching for reasons or justifications, but on following one’s own heart.

Though it brought him no gain, his heart raced as never before, his life feeling more worthwhile than ever.

This was called—

“Would you hurry up and evacuate already?!”

—Honor.