https://www.patreon.com/Sambhar/redeem/2924A
Yo, so my friend is writing original novels, so it is a membership gift for his patreon.
Do read 'I Failed to Get Reincarnated' and 'MRITHVI: Adventurer Academy'.
IGNORE THIS
m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m
I honestly can't remember what catalyzed this desire. All I know is I've
admired shadowbrokers for as long as I can remember.
Was it a certain anime? Or was it a manga—or a movie? Eh, I guess it doesn't
matter. I was all in for anything that featured a mastermind, or an eminence in
shadow as I like to call them. These characters were never the protagonists or
final bosses but were relegated to a role behind the scenes where they flaunted
their powers and meddled in the affairs of others. I've always looked up to the
men in the shadows. I wanted to be one of them.
Think of children who worship their favorite superheroes. That was me but
with master puppeteers.
Well, there was one thing that set us apart: My reverence for them wasn't
short-lived. In fact, it buried itself deeper in my heart, never dying out and
always guiding me through life. To become stronger, I learned everything from
karate to boxing, from swordplay to mixed martial arts. I hammed it up during
all my practices, concealing my true power from the world and preparing for
the fated day.
At school, I played the part of being pleasantly mediocre, an unassuming face
in the crowd. Like an NPC in a game or a part of the mob. I didn't do any harm.
But behind this facade of normalcy, I was training full throttle. That's how I
spent my entire youth.
But as time passed, an uneasy feeling started to haunt me: I was due for a
reality check.
Yeah, that's right.
This was all for nothing.
I realized I'd never become as powerful as shadow commanders in the stories.
It didn't matter how hard I trained in martial arts. Sure, I could clobber a few
punks…but that was it. It'd be a tough fight if anyone drew a gun, and if I was
surrounded by soldiers in full gear, I'd be toast, donezo, old news.
The idea of a shadowbroker getting curb stomped by some soldiers… Ha!
Ridiculous! Let's say I trained for ten more years—or that I became the greatest
martial artist in the world. I'd still get rekt by a gang of commandos.
Or maybe I'd manage to escape by the skin of my teeth or train hard enough
to fight back. It's all in the realm of possibility. But even if I somehow managed
to do that, these guys could set off a nuke and vaporize me in an instant. There
is a limit to the human body. That much I know.
That said, my master puppeteers would never be taken down by a nuke.
Which means I needed to be impervious to them, too.
What does one need to survive a nuclear attack?
Is it the ability to pack a punch?
Could it be a body of steel?
How about unlimited stamina?
Wrong, wrong, and wrong again. You need a totally different kind of power.
Some call it magic. Others, mana. Or chi, or aura, or…you get the point.
Anything will do. I needed to obtain this clandestine ability. I'd managed to
reach this conclusion when I finally confronted reality head-on.
I'll try to explain. Let's say someone is on a quest for magical powers. Anyone
would think they're nuts. Hell, I know I would. I'd think they'd gone bonkers.
But consider this: No one in the world has proved that magic exists—or
disproved it.
I couldn't find these powers with my sanity intact. I had to dive to the depths
of lunacy.
I started training in a new way that was damn near impossible.
After all, no one knows how to acquire magic, mana, chi, auras, or what have you.
I practiced Zen meditation; I braved the purification ceremony of standing
under waterfalls; I focused my entire being inward; I fasted; I mastered the art
of yoga; I converted religions; I searched for holy spirits; I prayed to god; I
strapped myself to a cross. There was no right answer, which meant I groped
my way through the darkness and sprinted down my chosen path.
Which brings us here. I'm just about ready to start my final summer as a high
schooler, and I've yet to discover magic or mana or chi or auras…
It is already dark by the time I finish my daily training session.
I pick up and put on my underwear, which I'd chucked to the side, and wiggle
my arms through the sleeves of my school uniform. I have yet to pick up these
secret magical skills, but I've been starting to feel the effects of my training, I
think, of late.
Like right now.
I can see flashing lights going off in my mind and sense the world is spinning.
It could be magic…or auras… In either case, I'm feeling its effects—that's for
sure. I'm proud to announce that I've completed another successful session.
When I'm in the thick of it, I rip off every single article of clothing and get buck
naked in the forest. It makes me one with the universe. I bash my skull into the
trunk of a giant tree to physically force out my worldly thoughts. Plus, it
stimulates my brain and urges my latent powers to awaken.
You know, I'm all about logic when it comes to these things.
Yeah, everything's beginning to get all blurry right about now. It's a sensation
comparable to giving myself a concussion. I make my way out of the forest with
the lightest of footsteps, feeling like I'm treading on clouds.
Just then, I see light—two beams floating in the air and slicing through space.
How strange. They're beckoning me, guiding me somewhere.
"Ma-magic…?" I whisper, tiptoeing toward the illumination. It must be… It's gotta be! I finally found the powers of the unknown!
I notice that I've gone from walking to sprinting, tripping over the roots of
trees and continuing to stagger forward—on and on like a beast in the forest.
"Magic! Magic! Magic! MAGIC, MAGIC, MAGIC!!!!!" I chant, bounding toward
the lights and ready to snatch them out of midair…
"Hmm…?"
As a pair of headlights flood my vision with a blinding whiteness, I hear the
shrill whine of a sudden brake ringing and ringing.
And then a collision. Its impact pierces through my body… And my magic…
In conclusion, I was able to find magical powers.
When I open my eyes, I sense that I'm surrounded by its energy, though I
gotta admit it looks different from the two lights. Eh, no biggie.
Oh, and one other small detail: As a side effect, I manage to reincarnate. I bet
I opened a door to another world when I found magic or something. Whatever.
As for right now, I'm a baby boy, a few months old. I only recently started
forming thoughts, but it's still hard for me to guess how much time has elapsed
at any given moment. Plus, I don't know any words, but I guess it's plenty to
recognize that this civilization is more or less the same as Europe in the Middle
Ages.
But none of that's important. I've acquired magical powers. That's the end-all
be-all. I couldn't care less about how it happened or any bonus features.
I notice magic as soon as I start displaying glimmers of consciousness. All
around me, I can see minuscule grains of light floating and shimmering. It
reminds me of those times in my past life when I frolicked through a field of
flowers stark naked—to train and find spirits, obviously.
As it turns out, my training wasn't a total waste after all. I mean, my ability to
detect this energy is proof enough, and I can control it as easily as my limbs. It's
comparable to when I strapped my naked body to a cross, a nod to Jesus…or maybe when I flip-flopped religions and danced around in prayer in my birthday
suit… I bet every little thing in my training sessions helped me in the long run.
It's already taught me that I can get stronger.
Plus, time is of no consequence for a baby. I'm ready to use these years to
train and become an eminence in shadow, once and for all… Oops, I think I've
made a doodie.
Which reminds me. I heard somewhere that birds let their droppings dribble
out involuntarily, and I think human babies are the same. I can fight the good
fight with logic and reasoning, but it feels as though my instincts take over,
whispering Just do it in my ear.
That said, this is me we're talking about. I spent my waking hours training in
my past life. Pooling together all the strength in my body, I tighten my
sphincter, buying me some time…
"Wwwaaaahhhhh!"
…to summon people.
I think it's been ten years.
You know, magic is something else. It means I can surpass the bodily
limitations of humans: lift ginormous boulders with a single finger, dash twice
as fast as a horse, leap higher than a house.
That said, I'm no match for nukes. Well, I know my defenses will increase with
my magical capacity, but have you seen the firepower of those weapons on
Earth? There was a time when I contemplated forgetting about them entirely,
'cause we don't have nukes in this world.
But what good is a master puppeteer who settles for less?
No good. Not at all.
That means my next mission is to become strong enough to beat weapons of
mass destruction. After extensive research and training, I found one potential
solution, which I've been incorporating into my daily experiments. Oh yeah. And it seems I've been born into a noble family. For generations,
members of this family have trained to become dark knights, who use magic to
power up and slay enemies in battle. And as my family's rising star of a son
(…NOT), I'm living my days as your average apprentice. After all, shadowbrokers
need to be extremely selective about when, where, and to whom they reveal
their powers. Yeah…I'll lie in wait until then.
I know I'm not exerting my true potential and that I am cutting corners, but I
learned some skills as an apprentice that have come in handy. Like how magic is
used on the battlefield in this world. It's been a good opportunity for me to
reflect on my own techniques.
To be completely honest, it's clear to me the fighting styles from my past life
were a hundred times more logical and refined than the ones here. I mean, look
at any contemporary martial arts battle. These fighters rebuke unnecessary
movements, drawing from various combat schools and whittling them down to
the crème de la crème. This creates the conditions for the "perfect" fight. It
relies on the rules of the game, of course, but this mental attitude can be used
to identify the best of the best in any situation.
And then consider this world. First and foremost, their fighting techniques
stay in their country of origin. Which means different schools of combat don't
cross borders. Plus, there are certain secret skills that countries won't allow out
of their jurisdiction—not that we'd be able to spread them to begin with, since
no forms of media are readily available to us. This means we can't combine
techniques from other forms of fighting, much less reject or improve our own.
If I had to describe this system in one word, I'd call it unrefined.
But there's one fundamental difference between the two worlds. That's right:
magic. It completely changes the baseline of physical performance.
Take physical strength, for example.
I can lift someone up with one hand, which means any knowledge about
hand-to-hand combat and wrestling, or "ground fighting," goes out the window.
Even if we're in a mounted grappling position, I can soar through the air by
flexing my abs. If I've got my foot hooked on an opponent in an offensive guard,
I can blast them off me by activating my leg muscles. Yeah. Ground fighting is out of the question.
It's like how humans have their method of combat and gorillas have a breed
of their own. And I'll just leave it at that.
There are also differences in the distance and speed at which combatants
step into their attacks—meaning it's harder to predict their movements in
battle. This might be the most important thing. I mean, martial arts are all
about reading your opponent at an appropriate range. The angle, position, and
distance of your attacks are everything.
It took me a while to get the hang of the last one, especially because these
fighters attack from afar. Like sixteen feet apart. I mean, I guess I get it. They're
lightning fast and take ginormous steps, and I'd just assumed this was their way
of fighting…until I realized it was to compensate for their poor defense tactics.
I'm sure this is relatable to all martial artists: Those who can't guard will stand
too far from their opponents.
It's really scary to get hit. I get it. It's tempting to retreat to where your
opponent can't reach you. But this results in a contest where one fighter attacks
and the other retreats, and vice versa, which is a real snore. You call this
outboxing? Try again. This is just an exercise of running back and forth.
It doesn't matter if the fighters are five or a hundred meters apart. They can't
land a decent hit either way. It could be six or seven or ten meters—it's all the
same.
This has been a public service announcement to close the gap and duke it out.
But once you cross a certain threshold, one millimeter can make a huge
difference. And it stands at the exact point where I can both land a blow and
react to an attack. Throw in other factors like the angle of my hits, and the
slightest turn can mean an advantage—or a disadvantage. The narrowest of
margins is the best range between two fighters.
A battle shouldn't be about one combatant dashing in sixteen feet and the
other leaping back nineteen.
I guess I came into this whole thing with an idea of what to expect from other
worlds, which—compounded with my unfamiliarity with magic—left me confused about their combat scene. But, eh, I've gotten my bearings straight as
of late. It's all chill now.
I train every day at home, where our dad basically directs us on how to throw
down, and I grapple with my older sister. I know she's only two years older than
me, but she has natural talent, according to everyone else. If she keeps it up,
she's the one who will take over as head of the family, which isn't uncommon in
this world, since magic can make women powerful enough to become the heir.
"Geez, you're so strong…," I whimper every day as she kicks my ass.
But I can't win. If I want to become a shadow commander, I've got to
establish myself as the most average of all background characters.
That's how I've been living out my day-to-day. Tack on lessons about how to
act as an aristocrat and hanging out with people to secure my place as a low-
profile extra, and I've barely got any free time during the day.
Which means the only time for me to train is after everyone else has gone to
bed, late into the night. I may be cutting into my beauty sleep, but I've been
using magic to recover super-quick and meditation to catch some z's in new
ways. And now, I've pretty much got short sleeper syndrome. I make it work.
Okay, time to get down to business. I blast through my usual training regimen
in the forest. I've got something special planned today.
I heard that rogues have taken up residence in the ghost town nearby.
According to my investigation, it's a large gang of thieves—and the perfect
opportunity to test my new weapon.
I take down bandits here and there. But a whole group of criminals? That's
the event of the year. And I'm always short on sparring partners, so I welcome
evildoers with open arms.
Oh, please, please, please infest this place with more crime!
I think it's standard for villages to try to deal with offenders on their own
terms, but they mostly get away scot-free. I mean, our judicial system is in the city, which is why I've decided to take the law into my own hands.
Today marks the historic day of my first official battle with my newest
weapon. I've been experimenting with it for months and call it the "slime
bodysuit."
Allow me to explain.
We can use magic in this world to strengthen our bodies and weapons, but
there are energy losses when it's transferred from one form to another. For
example, if I run one hundred currents of magic through an average steel
sword, only 10 percent of them will be of use in combat. A whopping 90
percent is lost. Even a mithril sword, which is known to be compatible with
magic. It's considered high-end if it performs at 50 percent capacity.
That's when slimes caught my eye. A slime is a magical being that uses energy
to change form and wobble from place to place. According to my research, I've
found they have a conductivity of an astonishing 99 percent. On top of that,
they're in a liquid state, which means they can change their shape at will.
I started testing slime jellies after capturing and crushing their cores—easily
more than a thousand of them. In fact, I pushed them to the brink of extinction
in my area by killing too many and had to go on an expedition to find more.
The jellies are easy to handle and strong, to boot. I successfully molded the
slime into a wearable bodysuit, which is super-lightweight and silent, unlike
armor. Plus, it almost, like, supports my movements? And I've given it killer
defenses, of course.
As for right now, I'm wrapped in a black slime bodysuit. It's a simple, no-frills
getup that fits my body perfectly, except for eyes, nostrils, and mouth. I'm
virtually indistinguishable from the criminal in a certain famous detective
manga.
I might want to think up a more suitable design when I'm intervening in a
scheme as a full-fledged shadowbroker.
I manage to arrive at the ghost town late into the night, but I can see a few
lights in the darkness. The thieves seem to be having a feast to celebrate their
robbing of merchants. Wow, I'm super-lucky. You see, thieves aren't good at planning, and they immediately squander
what they steal, which means they only have something decent right after a
successful attack. And one man's treasure is another man's treasure. What's
theirs is mine. This is how I'll get the funds to become a puppet master.
Anyway, I crash their feast, excited as all hell—not with a surprise attack,
because that won't make for a good practice session.
"Yahoo! Hand over the loot, scumbags!" I shriek in the middle of their
banquet.
"Wh-who the hell is this puny dude?!"
I mean, I'm only ten years old. Like, duh. It's only natural that I'm short.
"You heard me! Now fork over the goods!" I shout, punting t
The other thieves finally draw their weapons.
"Hey, keep it up, and we ain't gonna hold back, you bra—…!"
"Take that!" I exclaim as I slice through his neck, severing his head from his
shoulders midsentence.
That's right. My sword is made of slime, which means I can draw it from my
bodysuit when the situation calls for it. And it has a bunch of nifty functions.
Number one. It can elongate.
"Take that! And that! And that!" I extend my sword and slay all the dinky
thieves in the vicinity.
I stretch the slime out in the shape of a whip with edges as sharp as a sword.
It's my first time wielding it, so I'm a tad nervous, but I can totally see how it
might come in handy.
"And that! And that! And…huh?"
I notice the room has gone all silent as I get a little too carried away with "Eh, I guess you'll be my guinea pig for function number two."
"Th-the hell do you mean…?!"
"To break it down, you look stronger than the rest of them. I'm assuming
you're like their boss or something, right? Your chances of winning are squat,
but if you let me practice on you, I bet you'll live for, like, two extra minutes.
Good luck."
"S-stop playing, you brat! In the capital, I'm the—…!"
"Hey, you. Skip the speech and come at me."
"Die, dammit!" booms the Boss (or whatever) as he closes the distance
between us, taking his sweet old time to swing at me, and I obviously…don't
budge.
His sword plunges straight into my chest, and I'm thrown to the ground on
impact.
"Ha-ha! That's what you get for messin' with me! I've mastered the Royal
Bushin method, and… Wh-what?!"
"Ta-daa! …You couldn't even scratch me."
I rise to my feet as if nothing happened, and wow, I couldn't be happier with
my suit's defenses! I mean, these weak-as-shit attacks can't even touch me.
"I've heard it seems to be all the rage in the capital. Show me."
"Damn you!" swears the Boss as he strikes me.
Yeah. No sweat. As he swings his sword with all his might, I don't even ready
mine, sidestepping and ducking to dodge him, no problem.
The Royal Bushin method, was it? I could get into their ways of wielding the
sword.
I mean, it's not every day you get to see someone fighting over something
other than spirituality, old-fashioned standards, or personal beliefs in this
world. This was a fight motivated by logic. I can see it from his clumsy set of
attacks.
In the length of a second, a small step forward. I see him calculate his next strike and take creative approaches. That said, his
attacks leave a lot to be desired, and in the next free moment, I step just out of
his range.
"Wh-why…why can't I hit you?!"
"I mean, you're weaker than my old man. Though I guess you're stronger than
my sister. Not that it means anything. And I bet she'll whup your butt in another
year."
"You little shiiiiiiiiiiit!" he screeches, frantically bashing his sword in my
direction.
I parry his advances before kicking him lightly in the shin—snapping my leg
forward quickly as though on reflex.
"Gwah, ah! Why…?" the Boss whimpers, curling into a fetal position and
clutching his leg.
Blood drips from his shin and pools on the ground.
It's a cheap trick, you know. I have a blade as sharp as an ice pick sticking out
from my toes.
The second handy-dandy feature of the slime sword is that I can wield my
blade from wherever and whenever I want. I thought this tactic showed the
most potential. All I have to do is get in front of the enemy and slash him with
the sword in my shoe, since lower-body attacks are hard to block. I parry hits,
lock blades, and give my opponent a kick. It's nothing flashy, but it gets the job
done.
"I guess we're through."
"W-wait…!"
"You didn't even last two minutes," I note before kicking the Boss in the chin
with the blade on my foot.
Death by impalement.
He twitches as I roll him to the side and rummage through his loot.
"Artwork? I can't sell that. Hard pass on food. Come on. Where are the cash, jewels, and precious metals? Gimme, gimme, gimme."
There are several carriages' worth of spoils. And many dead merchants.
I whisper to the corpses, "I've avenged you. Now you can rest, knowing your
treasures will be put to good use. I hope you make it to heaven."
I gather my haul and pray in silence. I'm guessing I found about five million
zeni. One zeni is more or less equal to one Japanese yen. All this will help fund
my activities as a shadowbroker. You know, the world would be a much better
place if it were overrun by criminals. Oh, how I wish life were like a video game
and I could encounter enemies by walking down the street.
"Please wreak more havoc in your next life," I say to the Boss, giving him a
thumbs-up, when I notice…something past my fingertip.
"Is that…a cage?"
It looks sturdy and pretty big.
"Did they have slaves? Eh, hard pass on anything I can't trade for cash."
But what if there's something valuable inside? I lift its cover.
"Well, this is…unexpected."
I'm not sure how to describe it, but this cage holds…a mound of rotting flesh. I
can kinda tell it's human maybe, but no clue as to its age or gender.
But it's alive. Wait, it might even be conscious. I peer into the cage, and the
flesh jolts all of a sudden.
I've heard of the Church executing these creatures. I think they're called the
"possessed." They're born as normal humans until their flesh rots out of
nowhere, fated for death. But the Church goes out of its way to purchase them,
executing them in the name of purification. They claim they're exorcising
demons, but they're really just murdering the sick. But the ignorant masses
applaud and praise them for keeping peace on earth. It's just as you'd expect
from the Middle Ages. What a friggin' downer.
I bet I'd get more zeni than this entire load of spoils if I were to sell this to the
Church, but that's pointless to say since I can't sell it. Well, I guess I should put it out of its misery.
I stick my slime sword into the cage…when I notice something else.
Namely, this mound of flesh contains an abundance of magic. I've been
training my magic since childhood, but this surpasses mine—it's honestly
beastly. And this…
"Is this wavelength…the effects of a magical overload?"
I guess a magical overload must be the reason this turned into a pile of flesh.
I've suffered its effects firsthand before. If I hadn't gotten it under control back
then, I might've ended up suffering the same fate.
I know magic has certain effects on the body, which I felt all too well that
fated day. I could sense its potential to raise my tolerance for magic and allow
me to handle more of it, but it would be too dangerous to induce a magical
overload. I'd tossed the idea.
But if I were to hypothetically conduct experiments on a product of this
phenomenon…I can get closer to being a shadow commander without any risks.
"I can use this…," I say as I reach out to the flesh and infuse it with magic.
Wow, it's been a whole month, huh…? I think as I recall my first encounter
with the mound and heave a sigh, back in the same abandoned village.
I wonder why things turned out this way.
All my experiments on the flesh were going swimmingly—well, until recently.
I spent my days pumping the flesh with magical energy. I mean, it wasn't my
body, so I could go buck wild on it. I was plugging away at my little experiment,
testing this and that. In all honesty, it was fun. After all, one of my greatest joys
in life is sensing that I'm getting closer to the essence of magic and watching my
power grow before my eyes. I pushed forward, inching toward the boundaries
of magic with more precision, power, and detail, until I finally had the magical
overload under the tip of my thumb when…a blond elven girl appeared.
I guess it would be more accurate to say I was too fixated on improving my command of magic to notice the flesh was a blond elf until that moment. Huh.
To think that stinking pile of flesh would return to its original form. I tried
sending her off with a lighthearted farewell—you know, the typical You're a free
elf and Happy trails and You've got a bright future ahead of you. But she said
she didn't have a home, insisting on repaying me for saving her life, which, er, I
didn't actually do. It was all a coincidence.
I considered ditching her before things got annoying, but I ended up making
her Shadowbroker Subordinate A. I mean, she doesn't strike me as the type to
betray me, and she seems smart… There's something about her that makes me
suspect she has too much talent.
And even though she's also ten years old, she's more than enough proof that
elves develop faster mentally than humans.
"And from this day forward, you will be Alpha."
A or Alpha. Either works.
"Understood," she replies with a nod.
She's your stereotypical elf—a beauty with blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin.
"And your job is…" I stop to think for a moment.
This is a big one. Her job is to be the assistant to a shadow commander. No
mistakes there. Which means I gotta set the scene by answering some basic
questions. Like, what exactly is an eminence in shadow? And what purpose do
they serve?
Flushing out the appropriate narrative is key. I mean, if I said I was fighting to
get revenge for losing at pachinko slots, I wouldn't seem too cool, right?
I have to choose wisely. I mean, all my daydreams are filled with puppeteers
from even before I came into this world and certainly after. I've mixed and
matched thousands—no, tens of thousands—of possible scenarios in my mind.
And I have the perfect one for the occasion. "To hide in the shadows and prevent the resurrection of Diablos the demon."
"Diablos the demon…?" Alpha cocks her head in confusion.
"I'm sure you've heard of him. You know, the stories of long, long ago. Diablos
brought our world to the brink of destruction when three brave warriors—a
human, an elf, and a therianthrope, or a hybrid beast—teamed up to destroy
him and protected the world."
"Oh yeah. But isn't that a fairy tale?"
"Nope, it really happened. But the truth is way more complicated than
that…," I continue, as a small, wry smile appears on my face. I mean, getting to
my level and twisting out a scenario from a legend is a piece of cake.
"Just before the heroes slayed the demon, with his very last breath, he put a
curse on them, which is known as the Curse of Diablos."
"The Curse of Diablos? I've never heard of that before."
"Oh, but it exists. It's the curse of the possessed…and the very disease that
ravished your body."
"What? No way…" Alpha goes bug-eyed in horror.
"The descendants of the heroes have suffered from this illness. Back in the
day, the Curse of Diablos used to be curable. Just like yours."
No one would believe that Alpha was possessed until recently. Her smooth
and unblemished skin is evidence to back up my story.
I mean, even though this is a big fat lie.
"It's proof that one is a descendant of the heroes who saved the world. You
know, the possessed used to be lauded, appreciated, and protected—in the
past."
"But no one appreciates us anymore, let alone…" Alpha trails off, screwing up
her face.
"There's someone out there who twisted history—erasing the truth about the
lineage of the possessed and hiding the cure to the curse. What's worse, these
people became targets of shame." "Ngh…! Who would do such a thing?!"
"Those who scheme to resurrect Diablos. That's because those with the curse
carry the bloodline of the heroes and high levels of magical energy. In other
words, they serve as a major military force for us. On the flip side, they're a
nuisance to his supporters."
"Which is why we're called the possessed and disposed of…"
"Exactly. You lost your hometown and family—all because you've been
accused of committing a false sin. Aren't they despicable?"
"Yeah. There's no way I wouldn't find them absolutely detestable."
"The Cult of Diablos. That's our enemy. They only work behind the scenes,
which is why we must conceal ourselves, too. Lurk in the darkness and hunt
down shadows."
"I'm guessing they've gotta be formidable if they have enough say to pull the
strings behind the scenes. Which means that our enemies hold positions of
power…and that hordes of people under their control don't know the truth…"
I nod seriously. "Our journey may be perilous. But we must go forward. Are
you with me?"
"If that's what you want, then I'll devote my life to it. We'll punish these
sinners with death…" Alpha stares at me with her intense blue eyes and smiles
defiantly. Her face is lovely even in its youth and teems with determination and
resolve.
I fist pump in my mind. Whoo-hoo! This elf girl is super-gullible!
Obviously, the Cult of Diablos doesn't exist, which means we'll never find
them. It also provides grounds for me to accuse and slaughter any thief
syndicate in the area for being in the Cult. And I bet we can stake out battles
between fighters and intervene as shadow commanders. And—and we can say
fake-deep stuff for our parting words! Like The end is near… Or The resurrection
of the demon is nigh… And it would be so cool if we could arrive with the wind
on a battlefield, saying You fools… You're being controlled…, before completely
wiping everyone out…! Wow. I could honestly go on and on. Right. I almost forgot. The most important part. This name of this
organization…
"We are the Shadow Garden… We lurk in the darkness and hunt down
shadows…"
"The Shadow Garden. That's a nice name."
I know, right? It's sick.
This is the very moment the Shadow Garden and the World's Greatest Enemy
—the Cult of Diablos—is born. I move one step closer to becoming a
mastermind.
"I guess we can start by wielding our magic and practicing sparring with each
other. I'll act as the main fighter in battle, but you've got to get stronger to
wrangle in the small fry."
"I know. We've got a tough enemy on our hands. I have to raise the bar for
myself."
"Right. That's the spirit."
"And we have to find other descendants of heroes and protect them."
"Uh, erm, yeah. All in moderation."
It would be fun to play shadowbroker with more people, since that'd make it
feel more like a legit organization. But I don't need that many people. I honestly
wouldn't have a problem if it just stayed the two of us.
"Well, for now, let's just focus on getting stronger," I suggest, readying my
wooden sword.
I block Alpha's attack, which has an unexpected bite to it. To think she was
only a novice until recently. Alpha has a good feel for things and plenty of
magical energy, which means I can make good use of her.
Under the moonlight, I swing my wooden sword as these thoughts run
through my mind.
It's been three years since the establishment of the Shadow Garden—give or
take. Alpha and I turned thirteen years old, and my older sister Claire, fifteen.
There isn't anything special about turning thirteen, but fifteen is another
story. That's when aristocrats begin their three-year education at a school in
the royal capital. As the bearer of the hopes and dreams of the Kagenou
household, Claire had a crazy farewell party thrown for her, which was
organized by our mother. Like, wow, you can't get more clichéd than that.
And that's fine. Well, it was fine until she vanished the day of her departure.
Read: All hell broke loose in the Kagenou household.
"The room was like this when I came in," explains my dad in a low, suave
voice. His face isn't bad, either. "No signs of a struggle. But it looks like the
window has been pried open. The culprit must have been skilled to do this
without me and Claire noticing."
He touches the windowsill and stares wistfully at the sky. A glass of whiskey
would complete the scene.
Now, if only he had hair…
"And?" replies a chilly voice. "Are you saying we're out of luck since the
kidnapper was skilled?"
That was my mom.
"Th-that's not what I'm saying. I was just stating a fact…," answers my dad as "Eep! I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry!!"
By the way, it's like I'm invisible. They don't expect much from me, and I don't
cause any trouble. I'm trying to keep this up to lie low in the background.
It's really too bad that my sister disappeared, since she was cool and all. But
they nabbed her in the middle of the night when I was out training in the
abandoned town, which meant I couldn't do anything to stop it. After watching
with a concerned expression while my parents bicker, I sneak into my room and
roll into bed.
"You can come out now."
"Okay," replies a voice accompanied by the sound of the curtains swishing
gently.
A girl in a black slime bodysuit steps out from behind them.
"Oh, it's you. Beta."
"Yes," says a girl, an elf like Alpha.
But while Alpha's hair is blond, Beta's is silver, framing her blue feline eyes
and the mole right under one of them. She's the third member of the Shadow
Garden, after me and Alpha. I know I told Alpha to do things in moderation, but
I swear, she keeps taking people in like they're stray cats or something.
"Where's Alpha?"
"She's searching for signs of Miss Claire."
"Dang, she's fast. Is my sister alive?"
"Most likely."
"Can we rescue her?"
"It's possible…but it requires your assistance, Master Shadow."
Oh, I have them call me Shadow. It's fitting for the leader of the Shadow
Garden, right?
"Did Alpha say that?"
"Yes. She said we must take every precaution in a hostage situation." "Huh."
If I'm being honest, Alpha is plenty powerful on her own. If she's asking for
backup, we must be dealing with a big shot.
"It makes my blood boil…," I say, compressing the magic in my hand down
further. In a flash, I release it, causing the air to quiver around us.
There's no particular reason for that. I just love to put on a good show.
Plus, it startles Beta, who even murmurs, "Incredible." Nice.
As of late, I haven't run out of training partners with Alpha, Beta, and Delta
around, but I do like switching things up every once in a while. And I'm
obsessed with playing the part of a mastermind, which makes this a perfect
opportunity.
"It's been a while since I've showed my true strength…," I mumble.
At this point, I'm used to giving off a mysterious vibe. And with Alpha and
Beta creating an optimal environment for pretend play, I've been very hyped up
lately.
"As we'd expected, the perpetrator is a member of the Cult of Diablos—
presumably one of their highest-ranking officers."
"A high rank, huh…? But what do they want with my sister?"
"They must suspect that she's one of the heroes' descendants."
"Well, those bastards guessed right…"
And that's how she thickens the plot.
On top of that, she takes out a pile of documents and starts saying all kinds of
cryptic things.
Like "Your story was true after all…"
And "The Children of Diablos from one thousand years ago have…"
And "This monument may be a sign of the Cult…," but I don't know for sure,
'cause I can't read ancient texts. I have a feeling that Alpha can't even
understand them. Y'know, I bet the two of them scrounged up some paperwork that looked
appropriately suspicious to feel as if we're getting closer to the truth. Yeah, that
sounds about right.
"Take a look at this report. According to our most recent investigation, Miss
Claire seems to have been brought to this hideout…"
Beta begins laying out a huge heap of files. It's complete gibberish to me. The
majority is written in an ancient alphabet, and the others are a series of
nonsensical numbers and symbols. Dang, they really have a knack for creating
fake reports. In this regard, they're way better than me.
I ignore her explanation and chuck a small knife at the map on my wall. I aim
for wherever feels right or something.
Zing. It sinks into the map.
"There."
"There? What are you…?"
"That's where my sister is."
"But there's nothing… Wait. No way…!" She balks, hastily rummaging through
her reports as if she's realized something.
Erm, ah, it's really just a random throw. But Beta is a great actress.
Lemme take a guess. You're gonna say the secret hideout is located right at
the tip of the knife, right?
"After cross-referencing my reports, it appears the hideout is at that
location."
See? What did I say?
"To think you instantly interpreted these documents and uncovered hidden
details… You never cease to amaze me."
"Beta, you gotta train more."
"I'll do my best."
Bravo! I know it's all an act, but whew! It pulls on my heartstrings. Oh, Beta!
You've got me on the edge of my seat. "I'll report to Alpha right away. Will we attempt our rescue tonight?"
"Yeah."
Beta bows to me and leaves the room with eyes all sparkly. Like, I can almost
feel that you totally respect me.
Cheers to her Academy Award–winning performance!
A man walks down a dimly lit underground tunnel. Appearing to be in his late
thirties, he has a piercing gaze and a well-built body, and all his gray hair is
slicked back.
He stops at the end of the tunnel, where there's one door flanked by two
soldiers.
"The daughter of Baron Kagenou," he orders.
"In here, sir," one soldier pipes up, bowing to Grease and unlocking the door.
"We've got her restrained, but she's extremely hostile. Please proceed with
caution."
"Hmph. Who do you think I am?"
"M-my apologies, sir!"
Grease pushes through the door and enters the stone dungeon, where a girl is
shackled to the wall with magic chains.
"You must be Claire Kagenou."
When she's addressed by her name, the girl looks up at Grease in response.
She's stunning, wrapped in the dainty negligee she wore to bed. It lightly veils
her voluptuous breasts and shapely thighs, and her silken black hair is cut
straight across her back.
Claire glares defiantly at him. "I've seen you around the capital. You're
Viscount Grease, aren't you?"
"Oh, well, I used to be a royal guard…or you saw me at the Bushin Festival." "Right, the tournament. Princess Iris really tore you a new one." Claire smirks.
"Hmph. We're bound by tournament rules, which makes that an exception. I
would never lose to her in a real battle."
"You would lose then, too, Viscount Grease…you first-round flunker."
"Shut it. A brat will never know the struggles of getting to the finals." Grease
scowls at Claire.
"I'll make it in a year."
"I hate to break it to you, but you don't have a year left."
The chains that bind her clang loudly as she closes the distance between
them, snapping her teeth a hairbreadth away from the nape of Grease's neck.
Chomp.
If Grease hadn't slightly turned his head, she would have severed his carotid
artery.
"Which of us won't see another year? Want to test it out?"
"You won't be testing anything out, Claire Kagenou."
Claire is howling with laughter when he punches her in the jaw, slamming her
against the stone wall. But her glare remains unchanged and locked on Grease
the entire time.
His next punch doesn't land.
"Jumping backward now, eh?"
Claire smiles fearlessly. "Oh, I assumed you were trying to hit a fly."
"Hmph. I guess you're not letting your strong magical powers overwhelm
you."
"I learned that it's all about how you use magic, not how much."
"Your father taught you well."
"Baldy didn't teach me a thing. I'm talking about my brother."
"Your brother…?" "He's a cheeky one. I win every time we battle, but I'm the one learning from
his techniques, not the other way around. Which is why I make life hard for
him." A playful grin splays across her face.
"My condolences to your brother. I guess this makes me the hero who saves
him from his wicked sister. Enough chitchat…" Grease pauses, observing her
intently.
"Claire Kagenou, has your physical condition…felt off recently? As in, has it
gotten harder to use and handle magic? Have you experienced any pain when
you use it? Is your body starting to turn dark with rot? …Do you have any of
these symptoms?"
"Did you abduct me to play doctor?" The corners of Claire's glossy lips lift to a
smile.
"You know, I used to have a daughter. I don't want to knock you around more
than I already have. Answering honestly would benefit us both."
"Is that a threat? When I feel threatened, I tend to get hostile…even when I
shouldn't."
"Are you saying you won't tell me the truth?"
"We'll see."
Grease and Claire glare at each other for a while.
She's the one to break the silence. "Fine. I'll answer your dumb question,
since it's no big deal. What was it? About my condition and magic, right? Well,
everything's fine now. If I wasn't chained up, I'd be doing pretty darn good."
"What do you mean by 'now'?"
"Well, I first noticed the symptoms a year ago."
"What? Are you saying it got cured—on its own?" Grease has never heard of a
case where it healed on its own.
"Yeah, I didn't do anything to… Oh, right. What was it? A 'stretch'? I don't
know what that means, but my little bro asked me to stretch with him, and I felt
better after that." "Stretch? I've never heard of that before…but if you had symptoms, that
means I wasn't mistaken in thinking you're compatible."
"Compatible…? What does that mean?"
"Nothing that should concern you. Either way, you're going to break soon
enough. Oh, and I'll make sure to look into your brother…"
Before he can finish his sentence, he suffers a blow to the nose.
"Wha—?!" he barks, stumbling back to the door and glowering at Claire. He
holds his bloody nose. "Claire Kagenou, you wretch…!"
All four limbs should have been bound, but she somehow managed to free
her right arm, where blood trickles down her wrist.
"You scraped off your own flesh and dislocated your finger…?!"
These are no ordinary chains. They're sealed with magic. In other words, she
unleashed the full extent of her physical strength to slice the flesh off her hand,
break her own bones, and slide out of the chains to punch Grease. This rattles
him to his core.
"If you do anything to my brother, I'll never forgive you! I'll kill you, your
loved ones, your family, your friends… Ngh…?!"
Grease clobbers Claire in the gut with all his might. There's no way she can
defend herself from his spells, especially when she's strapped down by chains.
"You bitch…!" spits Grease as she crumples to the ground.
On the floor, there's a pool of dark-red blood fed by a trickle from her right
hand.
"Well, then. I'll know when I've used this…," he murmurs, reaching out to
touch her blood when a winded soldier flings the door open.
"Viscount Grease, we're in trouble! Intruders!"
"Intruders?! Who the hell are they?"
"We don't know! There are only a few of them, but we don't stand a chance
without you!"
"Ugh, I'll take care of it! The rest of you, stay on guard!" Grease clicks his tongue in irritation before turning on his heel and making his way from the cell.
By the time Grease arrives on the scene, the area is already smeared with
blood.
The soldiers who protect the major facility aren't weak by any means, and
some even rival the royal guard.
"Why? This can't be…!"
Illuminated by a single light streaming in from the outside, countless dead
bodies litter the ground of the underground hall in the facility.
Each bears a single slash—sliced by an unimaginably destructive force.
"Son of a bitch…!"
Grease glares at a group of figures dressed in black bodysuits. From their
curves, he can guess they're petite girls—seven in total. Under the dim light of
the moon, they're stealthy enough that it's easy to lose sight of them without a
concerted effort. These women are using a rare technique to control their
magical presence, and Grease recognizes this group might just rival him in
strength.
There's one who's drenched in blood, eyeing him under the moonlight.
"Nnr…!"
In this moment, instinct overtakes Grease—not for any explicit reason, but he
can sense danger.
Blood drips down her bodysuit and onto the floor, and she lets her katana
drag behind her apathetically, creating a trail of gore.
"Who the hell are you? What's your purpose?" he asks, attempting to
suppress his unease.
But he's faced with seven rivals as powerful as him. To fight would be asinine.
Grease curses his bad luck as he searches for a way out.
The blood-splattered girl isn't listening to him. She laughs, snickering from behind her bloodied mask.
She's going to hunt me down…! Grease thinks, just as he hears another voice.
"Back off, Delta."
The girl halts in place before retreating without resistance. Grease lets out a
huge sigh of relief.
Another girl walks forward to take her place.
"We are the Shadow Garden."
If they were anywhere else, her angelic voice would have entranced him.
"I'm Alpha."
He realizes she's revealed her face at some point, and her pale skin gleams
under the moonlight. She steps forward.
"Nn…!"
He sees she's an elf with golden hair and beauty that leaves him gasping for
breath.
She takes another step.
"Our purpose…is to eliminate the Cult of Diablos."
He doesn't take notice of her black sword until it slices through the air and
parts the night sky. Or at least, it seems to create that illusion, and Grease is
overcome with intimidation by the force of her swing and the wind that follows
it.
How did she acquire such power at this age? He trembles with jealousy and
fear—but more than anything, he's petrified by her declaration.
"How…how do you know our group?"
The Cult of Diablos. Grease is one of the few people in the facility who knows
the name of this organization.
"We know everything. We know all about Diablos the demon, his curse, and
the heroes' descendants. And…the truth about the possessed."
"H-how did you…?" Grease was only recently informed of this top secret information, which
couldn't— No, shouldn't have been leaked.
"You're not the only ones after the Curse of Diablos."
"Ksh…!"
He knows he can't forgive them for getting access to classified information.
But would slaying them prevent it from spreading?
No, no good.
Which means he needs to live—to survive to inform headquarters about the
girls, which is why Grease moves forward.
"Aaaaaaaaagh!!" he shouts, unsheathing his sword and swiping at Alpha.
"How reckless," she notes, dodging and countering it with ease.
Her blade grazes his cheek, where blood pours from the fresh wound.
And yet, that doesn't stop him. He continues to pursue victory, even as none
of his attacks land. Grease misses by a hairbreadth each time.
On the other side, Alpha is focused on eliminating unnecessary movements
and calculating the trajectory of his sword to sidestep oncoming assaults.
And all the while, Grease's arms are slashed, legs cut, shoulders sliced.
But none of his wounds are fatal.
Grease sneers when he realizes she won't kill him until she gets intel out of
him, and a new path to victory comes into view. After he slices through nothing
again and again, he's finally slashed in the chest, causing him to retreat.
"Let's not waste any more time," says Alpha.
Grease doesn't answer, kneeling and clutching his wounded chest. A smile
then spreads across his face…and he swallows something.
"What…are you doing?!"
His body doubles in size—his complexion darkens, his muscles bulge, his eyes
glow red. And most importantly, his magic capacity increases…dramatically.
"Unnh…!" Grease's steel sword zings through the air without warning, which Alpha
manages to block instantly. But she grimaces on impact, using the momentum
to leap back and create distance between them.
"Interesting trick," she notes, shaking her arm as pins and needles shoot
through it. She cocks her head to the side. "Based on the wave frequency, I'm
guessing it's a magical overload…that's been forcibly induced…"
"Lady Alpha, is everything all right?" asks a voice from behind, surprised to
see Alpha back down during a fight for the first time.
"It's fine, Beta. Just a messy situation… Hmm?"
When Alpha turns her gaze back to Grease, there's no one in sight. Well, more
accurately, there's a rectangular hole in his place, leading to a lower level of the
facility—a trapdoor.
"…He got away."
"Yeah…let's go after him," Beta responds, ready to leap in behind him.
Alpha stops her in the nick of time. "That won't be necessary. He'll take care
of it."
"He…? Now that I think about it, Master Shadow said he'd go ahead of us…
No way."
"Yeah. I have to admit I was worried he'd get lost when he sprinted down a
different route." Alpha giggles.
"He knew this would happen… He's done it again."
Their eyes glow with respect as they peer down the hole together.
"I'm lost," I mumble to myself in an empty underground facility.
It was all fine and well when we infiltrated the hideout, but I got sick of
fighting off small fry. I thought I'd go ahead and kill their boss, which brings us…
here. Bummer. I mean, I even practiced what I'd say when I faced their leader
and everything. Anyway, this place is huge. I get the vibe of a group of bandits living in an
abandoned military facility.
"Hmm?"
I sense someone running toward me from the other side of the tunnel. It
takes a few beats before the figure notices me, too, leaving a wide gap between
us.
"You've been expecting me…," he assumes.
He's super-jacked, and his eyes have a crimson glow for some reason or
another. He looks…really friggin' cool. I can imagine him shooting laser beams
with his eyes.
"But if it's just you, this should be a breeze," he remarks with a twisted smile
on his face.
Then he vanishes—well, more like moves fast enough that an average person
would've thought he disappeared.
But I parry his attack with one hand. As long as I can spot the course of the
attack, I'm not scared by the velocity of the assault. Even power is all about how
you use it.
"Nnr!" he yelps.
I push him away in the shoulder and retreat.
His magic is incredible—much stronger than Alpha, if I'm being honest. But his
command over it is dismal, unfortunately. He's nothing but a dope jacked with
magic.
I'm not a big fan of people who go bananas with their magic, getting yoked
with spells and moving at unimaginable speeds, and I don't like relying on
physical force. Not that I'm trying to reject it. I mean, if I was forced to choose
between strength and technique, I'd take strength in a heartbeat, since
advanced tactics without the power to back them up are useless.
That said, I absolutely despise half-baked strategies that solely depend on
physical abilities—like power alone, or speed alone, or reaction time alone.
They overlook and disregard the subtleties of battle. You see, strength is natural, but mastery requires effort. Shadowbrokers
never lose when it comes to skill and expertise. And I want to be the same. My
techniques will bolster my strength. My ingenuity will dictate speed. My
reaction time will let me scope out potential attacks. Physicality is important,
but I'd never screw up a fight by relying on it. That's all part of my battle
aesthetic.
If I'm being honest, this hulky slugger is starting to piss me off.
Let's teach him a lesson…about the right way to use magic.
"Lesson one."
I wield my slime sword and walk forward—one step, two steps, three.
On that last one, he takes a swing at me, which means I'm in his fighting range
and is my cue to speed up. I take the tiniest quantity of magic possible, focus it
in my feet, compress, and then release it in one shot. That's all there is to it, and
you can create an explosive impact with the smallest magical force.
His sword slices through the air.
And now he's in my range.
I don't need speed or power or magic. I graze his neck with my ebony katana,
slicing through the topmost layer of skin and leaving the veins untouched.
I back up. His blade scathes my cheek at the same time.
"Lesson two."
I make my move as he readies his sword again. I don't use magic, letting his
movements stay quicker than mine. But he can't attack and move at the same
time—no matter his speed.
Which is why I can get closer and take one tiny step.
It's a distance that's too long for me and too short for him.
There's a moment of silence that follows.
I see him looking uncertain of his next move, but he ultimately chooses to
back away.
I knew he was going to do that, based on the shift of magical energy inside him, and I close the distance before he has a chance to back up.
This time, my sword scrapes against his leg, cutting a little deeper than the
last laceration.
"Gah…!" He groans in pain and continues his retreat.
I don't pursue him.
"Lesson three."
I'm just getting started.
Have I ever felt this overpowered before? Grease wonders as the ink-black
sword continues to break skin
Even when he fought Alpha the elf, even when the princess claimed victory at
the Bushin Festival, Grease didn't feel weak. In fact, the last time he'd felt a
power imbalance…was when he was a kid. It was the first time he'd ever held a
sword and squared off with his mentor—an adult versus a child, a champion
versus a novice. It was hardly anything that could be considered a fight.
Grease is experiencing that same feeling right about now.
The boy in front of him doesn't look tough whatsoever. At the very least, he
doesn't emit the same menacing aura as Alpha when Grease fought her. He's a
total natural; his stance, magic, and swordsmanship all seem to come
effortlessly. In fact, his strength and speed are unremarkable, honestly—
nothing special at all. But his strategy perfects his swordplay. And he manages
to stand against Grease's powers of mass destruction using that alone.
Which makes Grease feel an overwhelming sense of defeat.
He knows the only reason he's alive is because the boy allows it. If his
opponent wanted it, Grease would be dead in an instant.
But Grease could regenerate his body as long as he didn't suffer fatal wounds.
Of course, there are limits and nasty side effects. Meanwhile, he's shed pails of
blood and had his bones broken, his flesh shredded, which means he'll need But even in this time of crisis, Grease survives.
No. It's more accurate to say he's been spared.
Grease lets out a single question: "Why…?"
Why are you letting me live?
Why are we enemies?
Why are you so strong?
Why?
The young boy shrouded in black looks down at Grease. "Lurk in the darkness
and hunt down shadows. That's the only reason we exist."
There's a distant sadness to his voice.
And that's all it takes for Grease to understand the situation.
"Are you going up against them…?" he asks.
There are certain people in this world who the law cannot touch. Grease
knew this and considered himself above that threshold—special concessions,
privileges, and those with hidden personas. After all, the light of the law doesn't
shine to the very edge of the world.
While Grease enjoyed certain privileges, he was trampled and crushed by
those at the top, which made him yearn for more power…and led to his
downfall.
"Even if you… Even if your gang of twats becomes stronger, you'll never
defeat them. The darkness of this world…is a deeper abyss than your wildest
dreams," he says—not to warn the boy but to express his diabolical hopes.
Grease wants the boy to get pulverized, lose everything, and become totally
disillusioned with society. But, overcome with petty envy and spite, he frets
that this wish is out of reach.
"Then we dive deeper," offers the boy without a hint of eagerness or
ambitiousness.
But Grease can sense his steadfast resolve and unshakable confidence. "It's not easy."
Unacceptable.
Utterly unacceptable, thinks Grease, who's doomed for attempting to take
them down himself.
This is the moment he decides to cross the final frontier. He removes a pill
from his breast pocket and swallows it whole when he realizes he's not going to
survive. If that's the case, he thinks, I'll use this life to teach him the truth.
The truth about the darkness of this world.
The aura surrounding Grease changes.
Until now, his magical energy had been rampaging around his body, but it
starts to withdraw, replaced by its densely compressed twin. His veins rupture
and burst with blood, his muscles tear, his bones shatter—but his body heals
instantly. He defies the physical limitations of a human form and hosts an
immeasurable amount of magical power.
The Cult calls this the "awakening."
Once one assumes this form, there's no turning back. But in return…one is
bestowed with Herculean strength.
"Aaaaghhh!" Grease roars in a beastly fashion before vanishing into thin air.
The dull sound of impact hangs in the air. In the same moment, the boy in
black is flung off his feet toward a wall, which he kicks to shift his body and land
on the ground.
But Grease continues swinging at him, propelling the boy back again.
"Too slow! Too flimsy! Too frail! This is reality!" Grease aggressively hounds
him.
With another thump, the boy is catapulted backward by more of Grease's
attacks—quick, heavy, and merciless. It's all because he possesses an
overwhelming force.
Grease thinks he has it all figured out: The tiger doesn't have to be cunning to
kill a hare. He just needs strength. By pushing back, it makes it impossible for the boy to fight—and he's destined to fall apart.
But this is all wrong.
"Hgh?!" Grease whines as blood erupts from his chest.
He takes notice of a laceration—one that breaks past the surface of his skin.
Grease halts in place for a split second, but he recovers fast enough to knock his
enemy back in the next instant.
"It's hopeless! You can't get me!!" he shrieks, even as his flesh is shredded
down to his bones.
But his wounds begin to bubble up and heal in the next beat.
"This is true power! This is true strength!!" Grease starts to accelerate,
slashing his weapon through the air, even as blood spouts from his body.
He appears as a flash of scarlet light.
Ebony and crimson—the two colors clash, causing the one in black to get
slung back and the one in red to spew fresh blood.
Their battle is too quick for the human eye to catch, and the afterimage of
crimson and the backward movements of ebony are the only indicators of
something uncanny in the making.
Their skirmish doesn't last long. There's a clear power imbalance, and it's easy
to guess that the figure in black would be the one to break. It's a fight that the
one in red shouldn't have lost—slinging his sword on repeat and pulverizing the
other into submission with his cataclysmic strength.
But why?
Why does he look unfazed…?
"Why…why can't I hit you…?"
The boy in black hasn't changed from the beginning of the fight. He's barely
unleashed any magic or moved on his own accord, instead choosing to go with
the flow and let Grease fling him around. It's as if he's a fallen leaf swept away
in a rapid stream.
Except he's not completely passive. He uses the momentum of these blows to land a direct hit—without seeming showy or expending any unnecessary
energy.
It's natural. As if it's supposed to happen.
"Terrible," states the boy in black, staring down Grease and looking as if he
can read his thoughts.
"You know nothing… Nothing, you bastard!" Grease barks back, pooling every
bit of magic into his body and sword before taking his shot.
He's ready to eliminate this boy, even if it costs him his life, raring for the
biggest assault of his existence.
"No more games."
Grease is sliced in two—by an unconstrained swing of a sword. It's hurled
down on him with the ease of a walk in the park. A singular stroke bisects it all
—his sword, his enhanced magical powers, his muscular physique.
The viscount thought the reason behind the boy's advanced swordplay was
pure skill—not magic, strength, or speed. But he's wrong.
"What is this…?"
It's a single stroke that destroys everything.
Grease watches the blade cut through his sword, his magic, his flesh, and his
bones as he stands on the verge of death. It's a strike fortified with
impenetrable magic, titanic strength, sonic speed, and most importantly…
natural talent.
It's perfect.
The boy in black has everything at his disposal. But he chose not to use all of it
until now.
Nothing could withstand that single stroke containing every ounce of his
power.
"I guess…this is it…," mutters Grease as blood rushes out of him, and his
upper body topples and hits the ground. There's a beat before his other half
crashes to the floor. Grease tries to regenerate the bisection, but nothing is salvageable. His flesh
is putrid and rotten, excreting black fluid that soaks the area around him.
Ebony looks down. Grease glances up.
Having crossed swords with the boy in black, the viscount understands that
one's temperament can be seen through one's swordplay. His opponent
appears as a serious, naive nobody—who trained with blood, sweat, and tears
to reign victorious in battle.
I thought he was just a brat who knew nothing, but I was wrong.
His enemy had known everything and had still chosen to fight.
Powerless, he thinks of himself. He's been powerless for his entire life. He's
tried to succeed but returned empty-handed, while this whelp in black…
"Mi…llia…" Grease groans, reaching for a dagger encrusted with a blue jewel
and closing his eyes.
As consciousness slips away from him, he sees the smiling face of his beloved
daughter who passed long ago.
Anyway, that's how we ended our slaughter of some bandits—I mean, our
little rescue mission.
I found my sister totally unconscious, so I undid her chains and left her there,
which contributed to her crankiness when she returned home the next day. But
she's a real tough cookie—tough enough that the wound on her hand almost
healed overnight.
After a hectic week or so of hospital treatments and follow-up investigations,
my sister finally made her way to the capital—though she pestered me more
than usual during that time for some annoying reason.
The girls in the Shadow Garden were busy, conducting their own research,
taking care of the remaining bandits, and other stuff. Oh, right, we're not calling
them bandits. Whatever. The Cult. I mean, they're all thieves in the end.
But that geezer with red eyes was outstanding. I mean, he inspired me to
come up with "then we dive deeper," which sounds like something a
shadowbroker would say. I owe him my thanks. I would've loved to have him
play a supporting role to my part as an eminence in shadow.
This was a must-see performance. My ability to improvise and portray a
master puppeteer was off the rockers. It's a real shame there wasn't a live
audience. But I only have to wait two more years—which is when I go to the
capital. You know the one. It's a world-famous metropolis and the only city in this country that houses one million people.
I bet protagonists are a dime a dozen, and there might be Final Bosses, too.
There's bound to be conspiracies, rebellions, and incidents—none of which
would ever happen in the boonies. And that's when the mastermind bursts
onto the scene… Huh. Now that I think about it, I guess I'm just a toad who feels
cocky about beating some bandits. At this moment in time, my prologue hasn't
even been written.
And then one day, Alpha and the other girls gather before me, just as I'm
yearning to get stronger for school, which is two years down the line. They want
to share their reports on the Cult and lab findings on the curse and all that jazz.
It's unusual to have all seven of them in a room at once, especially since it
seems they've got their hands full as of late.
Geez, go easy on the research and investigations. I mean, it's all pointless
anyway, I think as I listen to their reports.
Here's a simple summary of their findings.
Their first claim is that the heroes who slayed Diablos the demon were all
women, which is why they're the ones who suffer exclusively from the curse.
How creative. But I hate to break it to you that all the heroes were men in the
most common theory. Oh, wait, I bet they came up with that since the Shadow
Garden is comprised of seven women apart from me.
Their next report was on how the curse was most common among elves,
followed by hybrid beasts and then humans. According to their research, it has
to do with the life spans of the respective species. With humans living short
lives with weak traces of the heroic bloodline, they're least susceptible to the
curse. On the other hand, elves have long life expectancies with potent
concentrations of blood, which makes them the most prone to fall victim to the
curse. The therianthropes, or hybrid beasts, are in the middle.
Now that I think about it, I'm the only human in the Shadow Garden, and I've
never been possessed. Besides me, we have two therianthropes and a posse of
five elves—and all seven have been possessed. You know, they did a stellar job
coming up with this backstory. And then they proceed to report on a bunch of other things, which I pretend
to absorb.
They move on to their reports about the Cult, which is supposedly a massive
organization that operates on a global scale. Fascinating.
In terms of being the possessed or cursed or whatever, they tell me the Cult
calls them "compatibles," and their members are supposedly going the extra
mile to locate, acquire, and wipe them from existence or some crap.
Anyway, they suggest that the Shadow Garden scatter across the world to
prevent this from spreading. Their plan would leave me with one rotating
subordinate, the rest of them scattering to every corner of the world to protect
the possessed, investigate the Cult, and sabotage their activities.
When they suggest this new plan, it hits me all of a sudden: They must have
realized that the Cult doesn't exist.
They're through with this stupid charade and demanding their freedom. What
else could scattering across the world mean? I'm guessing they feel indebted to
me for curing them, which is why they're going to stick with me on a rotating
basis. I just have to deal with it. I know that's what they're trying to tell me.
I'm bummed out. In my past life, the kids idolized the heroes as much as I
adored masterminds—until we grew up, and they didn't even notice that they'd
forgotten all about their precious heroes. I was left alone. I guess the girls have
grown up, too.
I'm feeling all soppy but agree to send them on their way. I never planned on
having seven members to begin with. If they leave me with one subordinate,
that's enough for me. I see them off, and we reluctantly exchange good-byes.
I make a vow to myself: I'll never stop trying to become a mastermind, even if
that means I have to face this world alone.
She no longer fears killing others.
Beta whips her inky katana, splattering congealed blood off her blade and onto the ashen ground in a clean line. She stands cloaked in the darkness of
night and surrounded by a group of soldiers lying facedown.
"End him," orders Beta.
The girls in black bodysuits pierce their blades into the guard. One of their
hands in particular shakes violently, but it doesn't stop the girl from thrusting
her sword into his pressure point.
"Guh… Gaaaah!" shrieks the soldier with his final breath, causing her blade to
freeze in place.
It's the type of cry that'll haunt her in her sleep until she becomes
accustomed to killing.
Beta envelops the girl's hands on the helm with her own before giving the
blade a sharp twist. Together, they feel the soldier's life leaving his body.
"Ah, ahhh…!" gasps a voice.
This time, the cries are the girl's.
Beta wraps her arm around her subordinate's trembling shoulders and issues
her next instructions. "Secure the target."
The group makes its way to the carriage, boarding the loading deck. Following
the shrill sounds of a chain snapping, the girls emerge from the wagon with a
dark mound of rotting flesh.
It's still breathing.
"Return to Lady Alpha—fast."
They haul the mound, carrying it tenderly, and start to pick up speed,
followed by the member of their order previously nestled in Beta's bosom.
Beta squints slightly, watching them go.
She's raising them well.
These girls used to know nothing about combat. They'd never held a sword,
and it goes without saying that they'd never murdered anyone before meeting
her.
Beta is reminded of her own past, and old memories begin to resurface. She still remembers how it felt when she killed for the first time—her sword
piercing their heart, their hand grabbing hers. Beta couldn't believe the
strength of their grip even as they suffered a fatal wound.
"There's a short period of time when people can move after they've been
stabbed through the heart. Don't let your guard down. Hey, Beta, are you
listening?"
Beta was listening to Alpha's calm voice but couldn't understand what she
meant for the life of her.
She was paralyzed with fear—incapable of moving or thinking.
"You're impossible."
The head of her enemy soared through the air.
Alpha had beheaded him.
The corpse dropped to the floor, spurting blood that splatted Beta, and large
teardrops fell from her eyes.
"Find a reason to fight."
Those words sounded so cold.
Beta was a child who had trouble doing things on her own.
After joining the Shadow Garden, she always followed Alpha around. After all,
they were old acquaintances, and she knew she would go down the right path if
she stuck by Alpha's side.
But Beta couldn't find a reason to fight by following Alpha's footsteps—or
understand the importance of finding said motivation. As a result, she couldn't
get used to the idea of murder, vomiting violently after killing someone on a
mission and shaking in fear every night as she tried to fall asleep. It wasn't
unusual for her to wake up screaming in the middle of the night.
On one particular evening, Shadow approached the tormented girl.
"Do you seek wisdom…?"
"Y-yes?" Beta answered all jittery as she cocked her head to the side.
In her eyes, he was enigmatic and extremely powerful. "If you seek wisdom…I shall give it to you."
He might mean the knowledge