'A curse, then.'
I muttered, looking straight ahead.
Vicious curses came at me like thousands of snakes. It was a fairly fearsome sight, but sadly they couldn't so much as brush my collar. The instant the curses touched the pure white divine power, they scattered like dust.
Just as a knight is weak to curses, a curse is poison to the divine.
'Which one is it?'
Generally, when people think of a black mage, they picture a lunatic, but real black mages were viciously calculating sorts. That was because black magic draws on life force rather than mana. For such a black mage to lay a hand on a military train meant he had a backer solid enough to let him pull a reckless stunt like this.
Loosening my hands, I headed for the source of the curses. When I opened the door to the next car, there were suspicious figures inside.
There were seven of them in all. Their faces were familiar. The soldier who'd inspected the tickets, the soldier who'd saluted Leon at the station, and the fellows who'd been waiting for the train alongside us, too—.
'The whole train was a trap.'
They seemed to be a heftier bunch than I'd thought.
"Hm? So there was a priest."
The black mage who spotted me clicked his tongue. It was a leisurely reaction for a black mage facing a priest. The reason became clear at once.
"Deal with him."
At the black mage's curt order, the fellow behind him drew out a long staff and leveled it at me. A mage.
"O ice, bind the breath of the enemy."
A chilling cold spread down the staff. My legs were engulfed in the cold. The divine power that had melted curses so easily couldn't resist magic.
The rest of them drew their swords. Aura bloomed from their blades all at once.
'Men who've faced a priest before.'
A knight and a mage — with this much, most priests would be unable to bring their power to bear.
But sadly, I was not most priests. I lightly tapped the hilt of my sword. Aura rose along the scabbard and pushed back the cold.
"Aura—!"
The ones who looked like knights were astonished. The black mage, for his part, wore a sneer.
"Ah — so it's a half-baked priest. Don't be afraid. It's nothing but imitation, a half-rate aura and divine power."
"You seem to know Battle Priests well."
"Know them? It was the Theocracy's stupidest undertaking."
The black mage openly wore a sneer.
The Theocracy raised Battle Priests who wielded aura and the divine in order to overcome reverse affinities. If you could use both aura and the divine, you'd hold the advantage in every matchup.
But there was a problem. Aura, which demands that you believe in yourself, and divine power, which grants strength through belief in a god, were difficult to reconcile. In the end, the Battle Priest became a half-baked thing that was neither priest nor knight.
'That's what the Theocracy announced.'
In truth there was a separate, real reason the Theocracy abandoned raising Battle Priests, but I had no intention of explaining it to him.
"He's half-baked. Deal with him."
At the black mage's curt order, the ones who looked like knights rushed at me. The one in the lead swung his sword straight at me. As the black mage had advised, he meant to grind down aura with aura.
I gladly met his blade. When the two auras overlapped, the fellow wore a vile grin.
"You fool—"
Clang! A sharp sound burst out and aura shattered. Not mine, of course.
'One.'
I muttered inwardly, looking at the head floating in the air.
"Condensed aura! He's at least a high-rank knight! Don't take him on alone!"
Another knight gave the hurried order.
A high-rank knight, he says — ridiculous. Muttering the joke to myself, I swung my sword at the next one.
"Eek!"
My opponent twisted his blade in a hurry. A fairly good reaction. I twisted my waist and drew my shoulder back. The abnormal motion tore my muscles, but the divine swiftly healed them. The swinging blade halted dead in the air and changed into a thrust.
"What in the—"
Astonishment filled my opponent's eyes, then faded.
'Two.'
I shoved him with my shoulder. The next fellow flinched, just for an instant, as his comrade's corpse came flying at him. It was no more than a fleeting moment, but on the killing line it was signal enough.
"Three."
I said, looking at the black mage. Terror surfaced in the black mage's eyes. They were good eyes to see. Just then, the black mage suddenly wore a resolute expression.
"Fall back—!"
The black mage shouted shrilly and flung out his hand. Blood sprayed from his hand like a fountain. The blood scattered into the air strangely froze in place.
'Don't tell me?'
My eyes sank deep.
The black mage pointed at me and shouted.
"Gate Opening."
The blood that had hung in the air dropped to the floor. Like rain falling upward, the blood that had surged up bubbled and boiled from the floor. Soon the blood-soaked floor melted, and something black and ominous revealed its presence.
A grotesque arm covered in something like a pig's bristles — a demon's arm.
"Gate Opening?"
"Heh, so you know Gate Opening. You've got a good eye. Count yourself lucky—."
The black mage prattled noisily. His face was full of pride. He had cause for pride, too. Gate Opening, which incarnates a demon directly, was fairly high-level black magic.
The trouble was that his caliber was nowhere near that level.
"Tsk. He hauled out a Gate Opening by force. How foolish."
I clicked my tongue and shook out my hands. The aura and divine power scattered.
"Gwahahaha! You've given up! That's right! Half-baked! Bow your head!"
The black mage laughed noisily. I held up three fingers, looking at him.
"Undo the Gate Opening before I count to three, and I'll kill you painlessly. One."
I folded down one finger.
"......What? You insolent — you've gone good and truly mad!"
The black mage laughed, spraying spittle. I folded the remaining fingers and whispered.
"Three."
Chrrng — a sharp sound like screaming metal burst out from all directions. Soon black chains surged up from the right side of my chest. In an instant the black chains packed the inside of the train.
Concepts like fast or slow didn't apply. As if the outcome had already been decided, they arrived the very moment they extended.
Two knights, the mage, and the demon's arm were pierced by the chains without so much as resisting. The demon's arm thrashed as if trying to flee, but the black chains only burrowed deeper.
It wasn't a battle so much as a one-sided meal.
"Gate Opening?! How can a man who uses divine power use Gate Opening—"
The black mage stammered, his eyes filled with terror.
"Insane! You transplanted a demon's heart! To do something so insane—!!"
The black mage trembled as if he'd seen a ghost. It wasn't transplanted; it had been done to me — but this, too, there was no need to explain.
As I drew closer, the black mage shuddered violently.
"Y-you didn't count two!"
"Two is silent, as a rule."
"S-silent?"
"Let the small things slide. You — how did you open the Gate? With trash-tier caliber like yours it should be impossible."
"T-trash?! You think I'll answer? I am one who follows the Reverse Web Star! Pain is my ecstasy, and a curse is a blessing to me, you fool!"
The black mage prattled confidently.
Black mages were sorts who boasted dreadful endurance. That was why the accepted wisdom was that torture doesn't work on a black mage.
"Everyone says that at first."
I wagged my index finger. Pure white energy blazed along it. At the sight of the divine power, fear surfaced in the black mage's eyes for the first time.
"Threatening me with the divine?! Blasphemy! It must be forbidden under Theocracy law—!!"
It was a bit absurd for a black mage to be invoking Theocracy law, but it was true. The Theocracy strictly forbade using divine power for torture.
"It's fine."
I whispered into his ear.
"I've been excommunicated."
The black mage's face twisted hideously.
***
'The Round Table of Truth, then.'
I brushed the dust off my hands.
The Round Table of Truth was an organization made up of black mages, one of the Empire's Ten Enemies. In reality it was a heretical cult, a cat's-paw of the Outer Gods.
Where other black mages offered up one part of life force to gain three parts of power, the Round Table of Truth offered three parts of their own life force plus ten parts of others' to gain five parts of power. That was how that black mage had been able to use Gate Opening.
At the same time, a question arose.
'Why did the Round Table of Truth target Leon? Were they planning to swap out the faculty?'
In the original story Leon loses an arm but becomes a professor all the same. How had Leon survived a raid that included a black mage capable of Gate Opening?
"Where's the enemy—?!"
Just then, Leon burst onto the scene shouting at the top of his lungs. Seeing blood trickling from his lips, it looked like he'd bitten his tongue. There was no breaking a curse of this magnitude just by biting your tongue.
'Ah, he has a talent for black magic.'
Leon seemed to have a latent gift for black magic. That was why the curse had broken quickly and he'd escaped the trap. Spooked by the unexpected variable, the black mage had likely taken fright and bolted on his own—. Picturing how it had unfolded, it more or less made sense why Leon had survived, one-armed though he was, and gone on to become a professor.
"Where's the enemy?! I, Leon, have arrived!!"
"You're loud."
At my curt words, Leon blinked dumbly.
"Why are you speaking down to me?"
"Captain Leon."
"Why the informal—"
I drew an emblem from my breast. A golden radiance spilled from the emblem and flooded the train. Bathed in the light, Leon blinked dumbly.
"......A star?"
Leon's face went corpse-pale.
***
'Unit 444.'
Leon swallowed dryly at the number inscribed on the emblem the man before him held out.
There's a saying on the front. The mediocre get dragged to the front, the excellent go to headquarters, and the best of them get assigned to the very front lines. And beyond even that frontmost line, there are those who operate in hell — the units that use repeating numbers, formed to hold back the curses of the Greater Demons.
Unit 111, Unit 222, Unit 333. And—
'Unit 444.'
It was the number drawn on the man's emblem.
"Honor to the Empire—!!"
Leon desperately threw up the salute reserved for general-grade officers.
'I'm fucked. I'm fucked.'
Leon wanted to bite his own tongue off right then. The string of rude, discourteous things he'd done to the man just now flashed through his head. Just then, the man received the salute with practiced ease.
"Captain Leon."
"Yes, sir!!!"
"I'm carrying out a classified mission on the Commander's orders. I'll report this as your doing."
Stopping a black mage's raid was an enormous feat. And he was going to hand that feat over to Leon—
'How incredibly generous!'
Well — it was that legendary Unit 444. A man worthy of being called a hero would hardly hold a petty mistake of Leon's against him.
"Yes!! Understood, sir!!"
Leon let out a sigh of relief. Just then, the man called to Leon flatly.
"Captain Leon."
"Captain! Leon!"
"Oh, you're still standing?"
The man asked, as if truly fascinated.
Still standing — what was that supposed to—. Leon belatedly grasped the meaning.
'He's telling me to plant my head on the ground!'
Leon hurriedly drove his head into the ground. He slammed it down so hard there was an audible thud, but given the situation he felt no pain.
"Now we're at eye level."
At the man's flat voice, Leon squeezed his eyes shut.
'He was fucking holding a grudge after all.'
He'd spoken down to a general of Unit 444, free and easy. This was no mistake that would end with merely a snarled-up military career.
'I'll nail myself down at the academy.'
And never go back to the battlefield again. Leon resolved inwardly.
"So. You're headed to the academy."
"Y-yes? Yes!!! That's!!! right, sir!!!"
"I have a favor to ask."
Despite the words, his tone wasn't the least bit like asking a favor, but with his head planted in the ground Leon could only nod.
"Tell me, sir! Anything!! I'll do it!!!"
Leon shouted hard enough to draw blood in his throat.
"Anything?"
The man's voice as he asked sounded just like a demon's whisper. He absolutely did not want to nod. But Leon had no choice.
"Yes!! Anything!!"
The corners of the man's mouth curled up viciously.