Chapter 25

“Reinforcements?”

She craned her neck past my shoulder and swept the street behind me.

Empty.

“Alone? A trainee?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“A trainee, by herself—whatever. Too much bother to ask. Follow me.”

“Where to, ma’am?”

“Down.”

She hooked her index finger toward the ground.

“The civilians evacuated underground, through a tunnel the local thieves dug. Looks like the bandits anticipated today’s air-raid—why, I don’t know—but they cleared out first. Lucky for us, the tunnel’s empty and the citizens are hiding inside.”

“Are you sure you should tell me all that? I only said I was a trainee. If I were a spy—”

“A spy? You?”

“Hypothetically. I’m not saying I am.”

“Then it doesn’t matter. If you smell wrong, I’ll kill you then. For now, listen to the end.”

Marcello cleared her throat.

“The tunnel’s just the thieves’ secret hideout, not a real escape route. Eventually we have to surface and head south. The capital is written off; our orders are to punch through and open a refugee corridor. That’s the Imperial Army’s command.”

“Understood, ma’am. And—”

I pointed the opposite way—up.

At the sky.

“They’re coming again.”

Demon Beasts dangling from talons began to drop.

“Trainee, what was your training-camp record?”

“Top ranker, ma’am.”

“Top ranker? Impressive.”

“You say that like it’s someone else’s story.”

“Planning to apply for the Special Task Force? Actually, I hope you do.”

“Truly, ma’am?”

“Not my wish—Captain Shimena Extein keeps singing the ‘we-need-more-STF-troops’ song.”

“Then I’m in.”

“Whether I want you or not, trainee, you’ll prove it here.”

Marcello drew the sword at her waist.

“Pull the arrows out, trainee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I yanked the two shafts from my left arm.

Flesh tore; blood spurted. I didn’t care.

“No hesitation. You know my relic?”

“Everyone does.”

She stabbed my left arm before I could blink.

Muscle knitted itself the instant steel touched it.

Her trademark weapons—sword and spear—were relics, linked by a thin elastic tube. Inside the tube flowed a green fluid like blood.

The spear that sliced Orcs like potatoes.

The sword that brought the wounded back in seconds.

Spear to kill, sword to heal—life and death at her whim.

That was Marcello Arnes.

“I used to have something like that...”

...until I broke it two years ago.

“What?”

“Nothing, ma’am.”

Demon Beasts closed in from every side, hunting me.

“Good. Trainee, you’re the bait—”

I sprinted.

“You’re fast.”

I circled Marcello, leading the beasts in a dizzy spiral.

“Trainee, when do I get to see the skills of a top ranker?”

My left arm was whole again; fatigue had vanished.

Light waited, familiar and steady; I had a sword at my hip.

Only the lake was spent—its gift turned into raw speed.

“That’s what passes for top ranker...?”

I herded the beasts like a sheepdog.

Or seemed to.

In truth, they herded me.

“Why are you just standing there?”

“I’m a little stunned...”

Marcello squinted.

“Stop playing tag, trainee. Mount up and rendezvous. Head right by your bearings; you’ll spot navy uniforms—soldiers massed at the thieves’ hideout.”

“I know where it is!”

“Perfect. Then quit slowing me down and move!”

“Just give me a moment!”

“Warming up or something?”

“No, ma’am. I’m not the redhead...!”

...until the lake returns.

That didn’t mean he would wait until tomorrow.

He couldn’t forget.

The Second Invasion of the Demon King’s Army was impossible to erase, no matter how hard he tried.

He remembered today—the day the sky had shared his grief and sent down a bitter rain.

Any minute now, it would begin.

He waited for the moment the endless lake would unfurl.

A shadow crept across the ground.

Before it became the shape of the Winged Demon Beasts, it was only storm-cloud.

“Trainee, I said move!”

Tap.

Something brushed the tip of his nose.

Cool, weightless.

To some, a desert sandstorm.

To others, bamboo groves shuddering, the earth trembling.

To him, a ripple.

In the place where the image inside his head became real, you could cast magic without mana.

“Just go! I can handle this my—”

In that place, there was no such thing as a limit.

“Enough.”

He planted his right foot.

The friction burned his sole as he slid across the stone.

He stopped, spun back, and shut his eyes.

An orc that had been chasing his heels loomed right in front of him.

It was about to crash into him as he braked.

He smashed his fist across its face.

The creature flew back and slammed to the ground.

“Trainee...?”

The rain came.

It poured as though someone had upended the sky.

Each drop birthed a fresh storm-cloud on the stones, spreading darkness like a bruise across the earth.

A floor of black cloud.

That black floor became a map of the territory he could see even with his eyes closed.

At the same moment, ripples burst outward.

So fast the world reeled.

Like a drumskin pounded after water’s spilled, the pulses ricocheted in every direction.

His domain filled itself without a single gap.

“Then all that’s left... is to catch the Special Task Force’s eye.”

He drew his sword.

Walking slowly back the way he had come, he cut down the demon beasts that had pursued him.

One step, one slash.

He felt their every breath, every tremor.

The more he knew, the more clearly he saw.

A tilt of the head was enough to dodge.

A flick of the blade was enough to pierce a vital spot.

Minimal motion, maximum result.

He stopped counting after thirty-two.

He simply killed until there were none left to kill.

When the last demon beast fell, he turned to Marcello.

She, too, was catching her breath, her own fight finished.

She had always been monochrome—white skin, black bob, eyes like polished obsidian.

Even after the lake rose, she alone looked unchanged.

“It’ll work.”

“What will?”

“The escape route. I can open it now.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll coordinate.”

“Good. You’d better—it’s a plan that only works if you’re here, trainee.”

* * *

“Too many... they just keep coming!”

“Is this their final push...?!”

Imperial soldiers cursed between clenched teeth.

Rain threaded through their fingers.

They gripped their spears tighter, afraid the downpour would slick their palms.

Cold drops stung the corners of their eyes.

The rain was a nuisance, but there was no time to wipe it away.

They fought without pause against the endless green demon beasts.

Then a shadow slid in beside them.

“Who—?”

A black raincoat, hood pulled low, hid the newcomer’s face.

Mago seized a soldier’s spear as smoothly as plucking a loose thread.

“Uh... uh...”

Mago had a spear in his right hand.

His left pointed at the orc dangling from a Winged Demon Beast’s talon.

As if taking aim.

He lined up the shot with the tip of his left fingers.

Dropped his stance, rolled his shoulder back.

A deep breath.

One step forward.

He advanced.

And hurled the spear with everything he had.

It split the falling rain and flew true.

Exactly where Mago had aimed.

The orc took the spearhead in the skull and folded like wet cloth.

The Winged Demon Beast callously dropped the corpse—

dead weight now, nothing more.

It flung the body aside and wheeled away.

That instant—

another spear whistled in and clipped the beast’s wing.

The creature spiraled down, landing in the same spot its discarded orc had hit.

Mago flexed the fingers of his throwing hand.

“Need another spear.”

Close by, a goblin lay face-up with a spear through its chest.

Mago strode over.

He stamped on the goblin’s abdomen and yanked the weapon free.

Grip, half-turn, throw—all in one fluid spin.

He struck at the rear he’d never once glanced at.

He hadn’t looked, yet every motion said he knew the spear would find flesh, not air.

Only Mago could pull off a blind shot like that.

The shaft shot like an arrow and buried itself in the flying beast’s head.

“Graaah!”

The thing dropped, lifeless.

The orc still in its claws plummeted with it.

Third one.

Third beast dropped with a spear.

No one had ever tried to snipe the winged monsters before.

No one had even thought of it.

They lacked the aim—and the strength to hurl a spear that hard.

Mago drew the sword at his hip.

In a blink he carved through the Green Demon Beasts rushing him.

His body moved like water, seamless, without waste.

As though he and the rain were one continuous flow—

natural, fluid.

Yet every strike was final.

One evasion, one counter.

Two motions, one kill.

“Marcello...?”

“Marcello headed for the city center, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she definitely left...”

Soldiers muttered, staring at Mago’s back.

“Then who in the hells is that?”

Mago pulled back his hood.

Tilted his head to gauge the sky.

Measuring.

How fat the drops were, how much rain still waited above.

“Wait, that’s... not Marcello—that’s Mago!”

He raked a hand through rain-soaked white hair.

* * *

“Long time no see. First Training Center, 66th Class, Trainee #71—Mago.”

He snapped a salute to the soldiers.

“We know, we know! What happened to you?”

“Did I... change that much?”

The capital troops greeted him warmly; a month spent among them had built that goodwill.

“This is the last push. Give it everything.”

“Last push?”

He showed them the insignia:

red field, hexagonal frame, black horse rearing inside.

A white numeral 1 on top.

Special Mission Unit 1—Marcello’s crest.

“C-commander!”

A soldier spotted the 7th Squad Commander approaching.

The man strode over.

I saluted again and announced myself.

The commander’s armband flashed on his forearm.

The number hit me first.

63.

The Empire’s fastest recon platoon.

In my last life, I had led the 63rd.

“What’s a trainee doing here?”

There was no time to explain who I was or why I’d come down to the capital.

I pulled out the insignia and spoke anyway.

“I’ll act as bait for them. I’ll draw every eye, so you can evacuate the civilians—”

“What nonsense is that? Bait? And why should a green recruit’s word mean a damn thing to me?”

He was right.

I was wrong.

I had no authority to move the Imperial Army.

I was, as he’d said, a nobody trainee.

“I’m only the messenger.”

“Then shouldn’t Marcello Arnes come herself instead of you?”

The 63rd’s commander cut me off twice.

In the army, whether your choice is right or wrong,

without rank you get no choice at all.

That was why I clung to insignia.

Why I wanted into the Special Task Force.

“I’ve heard the story, trainee.”

A low voice rolled across the square.

A man on a black horse.

Black hair threaded with gray,

slicked back so his forehead gleamed.

“From this moment, Special Task Force provides support. You’ll move under Marcello’s orders.”

The same crest as hers glinted on his chest.

Captain of Unit 1, commander of the Special Task Force.

The man who would one day lead the entire legion.

He leaned close and whispered,

“If you wanted a ticket to the Task Force, you should’ve started with me.”

Then he smiled, already riding away.