The sound of rain.
A dark room devoid of light.
In the middle of it, an old man sat before a massive, round table.
"..."
The old man's hair was as white as snow, and his posture was hunched.
A pair of thick-lensed glasses rested on his face as if his eyesight was poor.
At a glance, he seemed quite senile, but the aura he exuded was nothing short of ominous.
Just his presence alone seemed to distort the air around him with a thick, oppressive miasma.
The energy that surrounded the old man was enough to remind anyone of the Demon King who had met his demise a thousand years ago.
The Deceiver of Death. One of the Four Heavenly Kings, Pyren.
That was the old man's true identity.
"Hmm...?"
Pyren, who had been sitting still with his eyes closed, suddenly let out a questioning sound.
With an intrigued expression, he muttered to himself,
"Oh? The undead's signals have already been cut off."
Seeing this, the man standing next to Pyren frowned.
"What is it, old man? Talking to yourself all of a sudden… Have you finally gone senile?"
"Craxious."
The Black Sun. One of the Four Heavenly Kings, Craxious.
Pyren chuckled at his bold remark and lightly flicked his forehead.
"Heh heh… Senile, you say? Such impertinence from a young one."
-Crack!
As the old man's wrinkled fist connected with his skull, Craxious's head exploded.
Brain matter and bits of flesh splattered onto Pyren's clothes with a sickening sound.
"Oh dear… I seem to have misjudged my strength. My apologies."
Pyren apologized, wiping the blood off his hand.
The old man's nonchalant smile, even with a headless corpse in front of him, was somewhat chilling.
As Pyren leisurely flicked his hand once more.
The scattered flesh and blood began to writhe and move.
They gathered towards Craxious and started to meld together.
-Squish, squelch! Squelch!
With a grotesque sound, a face began to form from the gore.
Before long, Craxious, fully restored to his original form, stood up from the floor, brushing off the blood from his sleeve.
"Misjudged your strength, my ass. You did that on purpose."
"Well, you could have phrased your question a little more politely."
"Damn you."
Craxious glared at Pyren, who was smiling mischievously, and let out a sigh.
"Anyway… What were you saying earlier? About the undead's connection being cut off?"
"Ah, yes. It seems some remarkable fellow has wiped out my creations."
"Hmm?"
Craxious's eyes flickered with interest.
He crossed his arms and tilted his head.
"Whoever they are, they're quite skilled. Didn't you make them extra strong this time?"
"Well… they were reasonably competent."
"The professors must have intervened quickly. The students couldn't have handled them alone."
"Who knows? I wasn't observing the entire situation..."
Pyren tapped his fingers on the table, lost in thought.
"Perhaps… the Academy is more powerful than we anticipated."
"So what if they are?"
"Crax, arrogance only leads to defeat… I've seen it firsthand this time. I encountered one of their professors, and they actually forced me to use my arm."
"Oh? They must have been quite the opponent."
Craxious clicked his tongue.
Even with his restrictions, Pyren was one of the Four Heavenly Kings.
To think that someone from the Academy could force him, who sat at the pinnacle of demonic strength, to use his arm in battle…
They must have been a real piece of work.
"Don't forget, Crax. The Hero isn't the only one we need to be wary of."
"Hmph, we'll find out when we cross paths… More importantly, is that Hero fellow actually at the Academy?"
"The stars don't lie. It's almost certain."
Pyren removed his glasses, revealing his pale, glowing eyes.
He stroked his beard with his characteristic subtle smile.
"Don't worry too much."
As long as the Demon King's revival was successful.
The Hero would be nothing but a pile of ash...
***
The disastrous field trip came to an end, and the students returned to the Academy.
Perhaps due to the heavy blow dealt by the professor's death, a somber atmosphere hung over the Academy.
I was no exception.
The only saving grace was that the series of events had kept me so busy that I barely had time to think.
For about half a month.
I had a lot to deal with.
As both a key victim and the one who ultimately resolved the attack during the field trip, I was subjected to numerous investigations.
I had to soothe both Rachel and Ariel, who were shocked to hear about my injuries, all the while breaking out in a cold sweat.
And lastly, I was summoned to the Headmistress's office, where Korn personally thanked me.
"Thanks to you, the damage was minimized."
"To think I had to rely on a student twice… As the Headmistress, I am ashamed."
Korn bowed her head to me respectfully, but her actions only served to complicate my feelings.
Seeing her only brought to mind the face of a certain someone.
Unable to bear it any longer, I excused myself and practically fled the Headmistress's office.
"It's not much of a reward, but…"
"If you ever need anything, or if there's anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask."
"I'll do everything in my power to help."
Korn had said, stopping me before I could leave.
I tried to refuse, but seeing her desperation, I couldn't help but nod in agreement.
Korn Ronezia is one of the strongest individuals in this world.
I now had a chance to call upon her strength, should the need arise.
It didn't bring me any joy.
I just wanted to get away from Korn's face, her eyes dim as she forced a smile.
"Please, come see me anytime."
Those two weeks had been hectic, to say the least.
As things began to settle down.
A new notice appeared on the bulletin board in the Academy's main building.
[Funeral Arrangements]
A funeral will be held in memory of Professor Lucas, Head Professor, who departed to be with the stars during the recent attack.
All students are requested to attend.
.
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Thanks for the chapter
ReplyDeleteThanks for the chapter
ReplyDeleteI bet a rain is in order in next chsp
ReplyDeleteLeaves from the vine, falling so slow Like fragile, tiny shells drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, come marching home
DeleteThose leaves have grown, from branches over grown. Drifting slowly down, resting in the loam. Little soldier boy, taken from home. Forced to find a war that's not his own.
Leaves from the vine, falling so slow. Like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy is carried home. Sleeping soldier boy is carried home.
-Leaves From The Vine, ATLA, In Honor of Mako.
Leaves from the vine, falling so slow Like fragile, tiny shells drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, come marching home
ReplyDeleteThose leaves have grown, from branches over grown. Drifting slowly down, resting in the loam. Little soldier boy, taken from home. Forced to find a war that's not his own.
Leaves from the vine, falling so slow. Like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy is carried home. Sleeping soldier boy is carried home.
-Leaves From The Vine, ATLA, In Honor of Mako.