Chapter 88
“Bel’s condition?”
The voice of the Sword Saint suddenly rang out from the rearmost line of the formation. The Sword Saint had arrived at the scene, carrying with him a soft breeze.
The wind created by the Sword Saint carried the smell of scorched flesh, which swept past our noses. Goosebumps instantly rose along my spine.
“…He’s past the critical point. His pulse and breathing are stable.”
“When will he wake up?”
“I don’t know. He might wake up tomorrow, or he might never wake again.”
Gridia brushed away the ink-black hair of Bel Artura, who lay unconscious, and spoke in a soft voice, as if she had already taken all the measures she could.
“Space magic is such a dangerous art—it could fry a mage’s brain simply by sustaining it… And yet, he not only cancelled it in an instant but also withstood the full force of the Grand Marshal’s explosion head-on. Even if he does wake up, there’s no guarantee his brain won’t be impaired.”
Gridia gently stroked Bel’s arms and legs, her face filled with anguish. Most of the wounds caused by the explosion had healed, but the torn-off limbs would not grow back.
Even if Bel woke, his lost arm and leg would need to be replaced with prosthetics crafted by the dwarves, and it was likely that he would spend most of the rest of his life confined to a chair or bed, unable to return to the battlefield as a general.
Cases like Rex, who had returned to the battlefield with artificial limbs, were rare exceptions, mostly limited to warriors or archers who had pushed their bodies to their limits.
“What kind of miracle is this?”
Gridia clenched her teeth in apparent disgust at her own inadequacy. Her clothes were drenched in fresh red blood, and shadows of despair clouded her face.
The compassionate Holy Maiden who always wore a tender smile was nowhere to be seen. Only a woman in deep sorrow over the loss of a dear companion remained on the hill.
“…Shit.”
The Holy Maiden finally uttered a curse in that gentle, soft voice of hers.
Though the tongue and lips that should have recited compassionate prayers were now tainted with vulgar curses, no one on the battlefield dared to stop her.
Gridia bit her lip until blood trickled down her chin.
Drip.
And again.
Drip.
A few drops of blood landed on Bel Artura’s cheek.
Despair weighed heavily on her shoulders, and grief dragged her ankles down into an abyss.
“Bel left some instructions. Gather everyone capable of fighting. The best ones.”
Gridia rose from her seat, suppressing all the emotions swirling around her.
Her trembling legs stood tall, with an indescribable, enormous rage and fixation in her eyes.
She was terrifying.
It wasn’t just me; everyone on this battlefield likely felt fear upon seeing her gaze. The figure standing on the hill wasn’t the compassionate Holy Maiden.
It was a general consumed by fury.
“Squad leaders, assemble!”
In response to the Holy Maiden’s request, the Sword Saint called out with a loud voice from the hilltop. The soldiers who had been frozen in awe at this unfamiliar sight of Gridia finally scrambled to climb up the hill.
I too joined the procession of soldiers marching uphill.
“We will now initiate an operation to track and eliminate the Grand Marshal.”
Looking closely, Gridia’s eyes were filled with resolution akin to madness.
“First, General, please track down Michael. Bel mentioned that the location could be followed through scent… Can you do it?”
“A Grand Marshal’s signature revolting corpse stench vibrates through the air. The approximate positions of both Grand Marshals can already be determined.”
“Scent?”
“Scent?”
The Sword Saint casually mentioned that he could pinpoint the location of two monsters who had just flown away at speeds exceeding several hundred kilometers per hour, simply by scent.
I couldn’t even begin to fathom how developed his senses must be.
A thought crossed my mind absurdly: his senses were so acute that he might even be able to overhear the gossip among worker ants about their queen.
“During the time General is handling Michael, we will form a strike force to track down Maltiel. Currently, only soldiers who believe their conditions are still useful will gather… under Mr. Bin.”
Gridia hesitated briefly before mentioning my name, but finished her command resolutely.
The soldiers who were still intact and skilled began gathering around me in quick succession, following Gridia’s orders.
“Isn’t Mr. Bin supposed to act as bait?”
My master, the bearded old man with white hair, asked her.
“Mr. Bin has done his full part. Though he’s a genius, he’s still not fully mature. General Gridia must know that confronting a Grand Marshal is premature.”
It seemed Alter found it unsettling to put me, still insufficient in skill, in direct combat against a Grand Marshal.
“If Mr. Bin dies in this battle, how do you plan to handle the aftermath? The war is far from over. Mr. Bin would be better remaining behind to deal with the aberrations and marauders abandoned by the two Grand Marshals.”
“Would you have us engage a Grand Marshal without a general? The strike force wouldn’t last a minute before being wiped out. Is that what you wish for?”
Gridia, with her bleeding arm, grabbed Alter by the collar and shouted loudly.
Her violent and oppressive demeanor was a far cry from her usual self, leaving the soldiers doubting if this was really her.
“I’m not necessarily asking you to bring back Maltiel’s head! Just buy time until the Sword Saint arrives at Maltiel’s position! It won’t take more than five minutes. You should be able to handle that, right?”
Gridia practically pleaded in a desperate voice. Her bloodshot eyes seemed ready to spill tears, and her arm, gripping Alter’s collar, trembled like an aspen leaf.
“Bel promised the fallen soldiers that he would kill all of the Grand Marshals. As for me, I….”
She dropped her head, still not releasing Alter’s collar.
“Fine, let’s give it a shot, then.”
I spoke up impulsively to Gridia, who struggled to continue her speech due to overwhelming emotion.
“…Mr. Bin?”
Alter looked at me in disbelief.
“Why are you staring at me like that? I’m a soldier too, part of the coalition army.”
I knew that I was far from ready to face a Grand Marshal.
It would have been the right decision to stay behind. There were countless ways to escape the battlefield.
If I had declared, ‘My death is equivalent to the death of the continent’s future. I will not risk it,’ the people present would probably have understood.
Moreover, I was far from being skilled enough to suppress a Grand Marshal alone like some of the generals.
I lacked experience, training, and strength—facts that everyone, including me, was well aware of.
“So how do we prepare? What’s the method for tracking? Is there a way?”
Nevertheless, I chose the wrong answer.
Why did I do it?
…I don’t know.
A sense of duty as a soldier? No, that didn’t seem right.
Was I worried about the soldiers doomed to die at Maltiel’s hands? It did make me feel a little sorry, but it wasn’t the complete answer.
I couldn’t understand what emotion drove me to such a rash decision.
“…Must we really find a reason?”
Leaving home to pursue music, engaging in battles against marauders in the tutorial city of Strathus, declaring improbable proclamations before the kings of the four races—all these major events in my life stemmed from similar baseless impulses.
It’s the same now.
I simply wanted to.
So what? It’s my life, after all, and I’ll gamble where I choose.
“You don’t need to worry too much, Mr. Alter. It’s not an entirely hopeless situation.”
I know.
I’m barely past the basics of magic. Though the artifact has mitigated my deficiencies, my abilities remain insufficient to face a Grand Marshal one-on-one.
One-on-one, that is.
But among those who will join me, there’s Alter, Rex, now stronger than ever thanks to the absorbed artifact, and despite some hesitations, I can likely harness a bit of the power of ‘Daljin’, the spirit of lightning.
I won’t be fighting alone…
Shouldn’t five minutes be enough?
“Just five minutes. I’ll give you that while you capture Michael, and then quickly join us.”
“Enough.”
The Sword Saint stretched his calf muscles and responded. It seemed he needed to prepare his legs for the pursuit of the Grand Marshal, who was already hundreds of kilometers away.
“So let’s say the General can handle this, but how do we pursue Maltiel? We can’t smell anything, nor do we have the ability to keep up with the speed of a Grand Marshal flying at full throttle….”
Clap.
Gridia offered her response by joining her hands in prayer. Her trembling lips moved, and a large protective barrier in the shape of a sphere began enveloping the strike force gathered around me.
“Uh, why the sudden protective barrier?”
I didn’t understand why she erected the shield instead of enhancing our abilities, like ‘Grace of Acceleration’.
“Shhh… Huuuh.”
When I was still perplexed, I caught sight of the Sword Saint taking deep breaths with his arms and legs spread wide in what seemed like an exaggerated posture.
His stance reminded me of a once world-renowned athlete’s free-kick preparation.
A Portuguese player who’s now winding down his career in the Middle East…
“Hey, hold on a minute!”
A foreboding feeling crossed my mind.
Sphere-shaped barrier, the two Grand Marshals far away, the Sword Saint preparing like a free-kick specialist…
…This feels like something’s about to go horribly wrong.
Clap! Clap!
“Hey, wait! Yo!”
The Sword Saint started sprinting with light steps.
Had football scouts seen his posture, they would have undoubtedly made all sorts of offers to recruit this madman instantly.
The large circular motion of his left arm, the slightly leaned-forward torso, the steady pace of his steps…
With his left foot firmly planted, the Sword Saint’s right foot struck the ball (approximately 30 soldiers gathered inside).
Wow, that’s a perfect impact.
The ball I was inside (most of the nearly thirty soldiers armed with large swords and axes) began hurtling eastward at several hundred kilometers per hour.
“Uaaaaahh!”
“Is this real?!”
“Hey! Watch the swords! They’re coming out! Keep control of them, you guys!”
…There’s no need to explain that chaos erupted inside this orb.
Damn.
I should have just stayed with the wounded.
