The Morning Star (6) “Do you really think sparing my life will make me betray them?!” That was what Ivan heard as he pinned one of Eiphellos’s shoulders down with his knee and exposed the wound.
“Ha!
You’re going to torture me?
Fine!
Go ahead!
I am Eiphellos, Centurion of His Excellency the Sixth Dragon General’s Imperial Guard Infantry Division!” That was what he shouted while Ivan pressed around the injury, opening the wound and pulling apart the torn flesh of his chest.
From the moment Ivan began pouring the Healing Potion, the once-defiant voice started to tremble.
“Hydrochloric acid…!
This damned…
ughhh…!
You cursed…
humans…!” Ivan did not bother correcting his misunderstanding.
Instead, he found himself impressed.
One of the man’s lungs had been completely torn apart.
Just imagining what it would feel like to have Healing Potion poured directly over a wound like that made Ivan’s own chest feel heavy.
Fortunately, he had never experienced healing an injury that severe while conscious.
The worst wounds he had suffered had knocked him unconscious first.
He had heard people say they practically bathed him in Healing Potion afterward.
Even if he had remained awake, he doubted he could have stayed conscious through it.
“Ghh…
ngh…
It’s…
useless…” At that point, Ivan could only admire the man’s endurance.
His shattered lung was knitting itself back together, undoubtedly leaving Healing Potion pooled inside the organ, yet he was somehow enduring it.
Then Ivan let out a quiet chuckle.
“Remember me…
I won’t forget you either.
Even in the afterlife!” Crunch!
With grim determination shining in his eyes, the man bit down on his own tongue.
Crunch.
Crunch.
The sickening sounds echoed.
Ivan stopped pouring the potion and sighed.
“Maybe because you fought on the battlefield.
You’re still clinging to that superstition.” “Mmph…?” “Biting off your tongue doesn’t kill you.
Human beings aren’t that fragile.
If someone can’t move, the only way they can end their own life is cardiac arrest.” For some reason, the superstition that biting off one’s tongue resulted in a noble suicide was widespread throughout the world.
It was astonishing.
Had people seen someone accidentally commit suicide while eating?
Professional operatives like Ivan had always wondered that.
Ironically, the so-called brave warriors, knights, and generals who rampaged across battlefields were the ones most vulnerable to that superstition.
Perhaps because tragic, glorious deaths were the very definition of romance to them.
Ivan stared down at Eiphellos with pity for a long moment before checking what remained of the Healing Potion.
This was his last bottle.
Less than a third remained.
“At this rate, you’ll only prolong your suffering.
I’m not trying to torment you, Centurion.
This is treatment, and this liquid is Healing Potion.” “Mmph…
ngh…!” “Enough.
You’ll tear the wound open again.” He forced the remaining potion into Eiphellos’s mouth and clamped it shut.
The man desperately tried to spit it out, but before long his eyes glazed over.
His half-severed tongue soaked in Healing Potion.
The liquid slid down his throat in gulps, spreading through his body.
Healing Potion healed only external injuries.
Drinking it provided little benefit unless one’s stomach or esophagus had been perforated.
Of course, if someone happened to suffer from esophagitis, it would feel as though their entire esophagus were burning before being completely healed.
But that was beside the point.
“Mmph…” “Can you speak now?” “Poison Spider…
Petrovich…” “Hmm…?” Eiphellos stared blankly as he murmured.
His eyes drifted to the thick beard covering everything below Ivan’s nose.
Then they slowly moved upward, examining his eyes and forehead.
“I heard…
you died…
That method…
ngh…
ah…
the Extermination Unit…
so it was you…” So he had actually fought on the front lines during the war.
Ivan narrowed his eyes.
“Why did you come personally?
Your side can’t be in such good shape that it can afford to throw away someone like you.” A Centurion was only the lowest rank of officer.
During the war, that meant nothing.
They had been common as dirt.
Hardly anyone important.
But that had been back when the Demon King’s forces were still at full strength.
After the Demon King and most of the Seven Dragon Generals had died…
After the survivors had scattered across the world, each pursuing their own ambitions according to the law of strength…
Years had passed.
A Centurion from those days was now a priceless active officer.
Someone whose strength and command ability had already been proven.
“Not…
anymore…
cough!
Not anymore.” “What?” “Did you think…
we’d keep insisting…
on operations…
destined to fail…?
The Alliance…
your complacency…
ngh…
makes me sick…” When they had attacked Esidisi, the demons had hired mercenaries while concealing their identities.
Followers still hidden inside the Alliance had probably helped them.
That operation had failed spectacularly.
Only afterward did they realize the mission had already been compromised before it even began.
Someone had been following their trail from the start.
We can’t rely only on our followers anymore.
There’s a spy among us.
Having lost the intelligence war, they now needed to send someone they could truly trust.
This operation had to succeed.
If no one else…
The Hero’s daughter absolutely had to die.
At the same time, they also had to prepare for failure.
Sending someone too valuable and losing them would be catastrophic.
So Eiphellos had become the perfect test case.
A commander capable enough to succeed in most operations…
but expendable enough that losing him wouldn’t be devastating.
Ivan looked down at him with bitter eyes.
Eiphellos had volunteered despite knowing exactly how he was valued.
Even if he succeeded…
He was never meant to return alive.
The evidence had to disappear with him.
Even in this peaceful era long after the war, there was simply no way to carry out a terrorist attack near Prizhenkaya and escape without leaving a trace.
From the beginning, he had entered certain death fully expecting to die.
That alone made Ivan feel a profound sense of kinship with him.
He let out a deep sigh.
“There won’t be another attack now.
You failed.” “…” “Just thinking aloud.
You don’t have to answer.” Ivan sat beside him and looked up at the sky.
Beside him came Eiphellos’s ragged breathing.
“Once you’ve failed and been abandoned, they’ll simply claim it was the work of ‘a handful of extremists.’ That’s what your superiors will tell the Alliance.” “…” “Because of you, the Alliance’s vigilance has already risen to an extreme level.
They won’t be foolish enough to plan another attack immediately.” “…” “Do you have any final wish?” “What…
are you going…
to do with me?” “You have three choices.” The first…
Remain a prisoner and be taken back to Prizhenkaya.
There, he would receive the warm hospitality of the Krasilof Counterintelligence Command.
He had attempted to assassinate an important national figure.
Afterward, Counterintelligence would fabricate a story claiming his superiors belonged to the Crown Prince’s faction before launching political attacks.
Naturally, brutal torture and magical restraints awaited him.
The second…
Release him and let him return home.
Counterintelligence would simply attach a tail to him.
No matter how quickly he fled, there was no realistic way for him to return to his encampment near Prizhenkaya without being tracked.
And even if he somehow made it back alive…
He would immediately fall under suspicion.
A traitor who sided with the enemy to save himself.
The demons would either shun him…
Or interrogate and execute him.
Then…
“Do you understand your situation?” “Kill me.” “Your own people have abandoned you.
You can neither return nor move forward.
The only place left for you is the afterlife.” Ivan gripped his axe and slowly raised it.
One hand seized Eiphellos’s horn tightly.
Closing his eyes, Eiphellos quietly whispered, “Though you walk through the Valley of Death…” “Fear not.
For I shall keep you safe.” It was the Demon King’s prayer.
Ivan had heard it countless times.
When the Demon King still lived, nearly every demon’s final words were the same.
They died longing for him.
Fanatically.
So Ivan knew the next verses as well.
“I am the Cross-Star of the darkest night.” “I am the lighthouse upon the storming sea.” “I am your cradle, and I am your fortress.” Fear not.
For I shall keep you safe.
Still gripping the horn, Ivan spoke softly.
“Are your parents still alive?” “…What?” “If not…
I run an orphanage.” “What…
are you talking about…?” “I take in war orphans with nowhere else to go.
Regardless of nation or race.” Four years ago…
When the Demon King died…
When Ivan decided to retire…
The order from headquarters had been simple.
Kill the Seven Dragon Generals.
It was a death sentence.
The same order had been given to every member of the Extermination Unit.
The Unit had once consisted of eight strike teams.
After that mission…
Only a single strike team survived.
When Ivan returned alive after succeeding, Elizaveta had stamped his retirement papers through tears.
“Disappear.” “Live as though you were dead.” “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop the order.” “Thank you for coming back alive.” “Even after everyone’s names are forgotten…
their honor will remain forever.” So…
“If all you want is to survive, you can abandon your old self and live forgotten, as though dead.” “I don’t deserve that.” “Everyone deserves that.
Loyalty and faith do not define your life.” “If you wish, I’ll break your horns.
That will be the final chain binding you.
But if you’d rather…I’ll lower the axe a little further.
Those are your final choices.
One lets you live as a person.
The other lets you die as one.” At Ivan’s words, Eiphellos slowly closed his eyes.
He let out a long breath.
Then another.
Finally…
“I…
want…
to live.” “A wise choice.” Crunch!
Another name was added to the register of St.
Vasilisa Orphanage.
Orphan.
In his fifties.
Race: Demon.
*** After the failed assassination attempt on Esidisi, the threat posed by the demons increased dramatically.
The fact that Isabelle’s tutorial had been designed to be so difficult meant, in other words, that it was the direct result of Ivan’s own actions.
Which also meant…
The tutorials don’t all happen simultaneously.
This wasn’t a game where every starting character experienced events at the exact same point after character creation.
Each starting character’s opening events occurred at different points in time.
Ivan stroked his chin thoughtfully.
The demons weren’t simply AI following predetermined scripts.
Just like everyone else in this world…
No one was merely an NPC.
Even events that followed familiar clichés could still reach entirely different conclusions depending on changing circumstances.
If that was true…
What should he expect?
What should he do?
Ivan turned toward Isabelle.
She was looking at the survivors with sorrowful eyes.
Get these kids through graduation alive.
Because this world was an academy story.
Because it had to be.
Whether there were players, characters, or NPCs didn’t matter.
That one truth couldn’t change.
He could think about everything else later.
“Sir.” “Hm?” “If…
I hadn’t boarded this train today…
those people’s families…
everyone who was on this train…
would they still be alive?” The people who had died weren’t NPCs sacrificed for a cutscene, either.
Most likely…
Yes.
Looking up at the sky, now beginning to brighten before dawn, Ivan answered, “Do you know how many people the Hero killed?” “…What?” “Including indirect casualties, it’s estimated at no fewer than thirty thousand a year.
People who were sent to battlefields they were certain to lose, simply to support the Hero’s operations and divert the Demon King’s Army’s attention.” The Hero’s Party was, fundamentally, an assassination squad.
Its purpose was to kill the Seven Dragon Generals and the Demon King.
To lower their guard, victories had to be handed to them elsewhere.
There had been a time when, as part of a grand strategy of diversion, defeats were deliberately forced upon other fronts so that the Hero’s Party could infiltrate successfully.
“Everyone there knew it.
The Hero.
Me.
Even the soldiers on the front lines.” “…” “And yet…
the Hero smiled.” Because if he imagined his own failure…
If he lamented his own shortcomings…
If he allowed himself to be crushed beneath the weight on his shoulders…
Then the lives of everyone who had died for him would truly have been wasted.
So instead…
The Hero smiled.
Even in an age when hope was so scarce that one had to search the heavens for the Morning Star.
Because he himself had to be hope.
The moment he broke…
The Allied Kingdoms would have fallen.
“Look.” Ivan raised his hand and pointed toward the sky.
The eastern horizon was breaking into dawn, painting the heavens blue.
The moon had already disappeared beneath the western horizon.
Yet even there…
Far beyond…
The Morning Star still shone.
Just as it had during the darkest nights.
“Ah…” “That is the star your father once carried.
And now…
it has become yours.
A Hero is not simply the strongest person.” “The…
bravest…” “That’s right.
A Hero is someone who kneels before no burden and never loses their smile, no matter the circumstances.
So now…
you must become their Hero.” Looking at the survivors gathered together in grief, Ivan gently pressed down on her head.
“Isabelle, daughter of Maximilian.
Lift your head.
Straighten your back.
The sorrowful earn sympathy, but those who always smile inspire admiration.
Stand with hope in your heart.
Rather than drowning in guilt over those who sacrificed themselves, be grateful for them first.
Live in a way that proves their sacrifices were never in vain.” Like the Morning Star.
Never losing its own light beside the brightest moon.
Still shining clearly beside the rising sun.
A symbol of hope.
Just like that.
Isabelle stared blankly at Ivan for a while.
Then she suddenly came to herself.
“By any chance…
have you ever thought about shaving that beard?” “No.” Ivan answered with utter disgust.