Ch.67EP.18 – Ghoul vs. Ghoul? (5)

Sun Piercing Sect.

A common fixture in martial arts novels, generally considered part of the Nine Major Sects that focus on swift swordsmanship.

And it was a name that stuck in Ihan’s memory from his days of reading martial arts novels non-stop during his guard duty shifts.

Why did it stick in his memory?

“Shooting at the sun, piercing through it… Wow, even as fiction, it’s pretty cool.”

The Shoot-the-Sun Sword Technique, the Drop-the-Sun Sword Method, and the Pierce-the-Sun Spear Technique.

The names of these martial arts techniques were quite memorable.

However, while they remained in his memory, he often found himself disappointed when reading more about the Sun Piercing Sect.

“How does swinging a sword quickly make the sun drop?”

He had been disappointed by the sight of swordsmen who merely swung their swords quickly, obsessed with swift swordsmanship and hellbent on cutting people down.

He thought they might as well rename their technique from “Shooting the Sun” to “Shooting People” if that’s all they were going to do.

“If they’re going to stay true to their identity, they should at least pretend to throw a spear at the sky. Always with the grandiose names.”

But talk is cheap—how could a human body possibly reach the sun?

Even missiles, the clubs of destruction, can’t go beyond the stratosphere.

So perhaps they just ended up cutting people despite their technique’s name.

At the time, Ihan had mocked himself for having such strange thoughts due to drowsiness.

But now.

‘I never thought I’d actually be putting it into practice.’

When you implement what you’ve only imagined, it ceases to be mere imagination.

At this moment, Ihan was attempting to recreate the Pierce-the-Sun technique.

In the only way he knew how—brute force.

“Urrrgh!”

“Put a little more spirit into it, slave.”

“I-I’m not a slave!”

“If you don’t want to be called that, then do better.”

“AAAAARGH!!”

The mage screamed in agony.

Odwal Bernard,

a professor in the magic department, was levitating a tree in the air.

Lifting a 600kg mass into the air—truly an unbelievable and surreal sight.

It was clear why mages were feared on the battlefield even as individuals.

However, even telekinetic power has its limits.

Magical power isn’t infinite, and just holding up such weight required complete concentration.

But Ihan didn’t care how much the man was struggling as he asked:

“You minimized air resistance, right?”

“I-I added the formula! I even put in three enchantments!”

“Only that many?”

“!!?”

“You’re lacking.”

“Hey! How am I supposed to add more than five enchantments when you only gave me 10 days!”

Ihan’s demands had been numerous.

Enhancing the object’s durability, reducing air resistance, increasing penetration power, adding fire magic, and so on.

It was equivalent to asking someone to quickly cobble together a decisive weapon of war.

However, this would be a difficult order for any mage in the kingdom to fulfill.

After all, the number of enchantments that can be placed on an object is limited.

So Odwal’s ability to place three enchantments in just 10 days was certainly extraordinary, and his suffering was beyond words.

As evidence of his struggle, Odwal’s already aged-looking face was now covered with dark spots.

He looked nothing like a man in his twenties.

However.

“Well, if this is your best, I guess it can’t be helped. Useless slave.”

He didn’t care about the spellcaster’s suffering.

“!?!!”

“Shut up, you bastard. If you break my concentration, you’ll be the first one I take down.”

“Eek…!”

Ignoring the useless spellcaster’s protests, he focused entirely on a single target.

‘I’ll work with what I have.’

Ihan wasn’t foolish enough to dwell on things he couldn’t have.

He would simply try to achieve the best results with the materials at hand.

What he had was a projectile.

He focused solely on the ballista loaded with a large amount of gunpowder he had extracted from the princess.

In reality, no one knew if this attempt would succeed, as even the kingdom didn’t have a launcher capable of firing such a massive projectile high into the sky.

But Ihan believed.

In his “sturdy body.”

Ihan now had to become the striker that would hit the massive projectile.

Even for someone as confident as him, he wouldn’t dare to kick something so heavy normally.

He might break it rather than throw it.

But now it was possible.

With telekinetic coating, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

‘I’ll push it!’

A pushing strike.

Not hitting or breaking, but simply pushing an object away.

Usually done with the palm, but Ihan used his foot.

Leg strength, which has more than five times the muscle power and destructive force of arm strength.

And using his full body weight shift, he tested the limits of his technique.

Crack!

There was a sound that made him worry his leg might burst, but he ignored it for now.

Whoosh!

With the concentrated power at his toe, centrifugal force, and the aid of intuition and senses no ordinary human could possess, his kick…

BOOM-!!

Released enough force to push the massive projectile.

Of course.

SPLAT!

He had to accept that his right leg burst open.

But there could be no sacrifice-free way to launch such a projectile.

One of his legs was covered in blood, but Ihan smiled despite the momentary pain.

Not because he was a masochist who enjoyed pain.

Whoosh!

“It’s flying well.”

He smiled because he sensed an extremely satisfactory result.

Whoosh-!

The ballista flew like a javelin.

The magically treated log spear reached the dark clouds intact, and finally.

THWACK!!

CRACK!

[[—-!!]]

His spear pierced right through the center of the giant’s wrist.

“Boom.”

KABOOM!!

As if timed to Ihan’s playful taunt, it exploded.

The spear, imbued with his full strength, contained all his power and was sufficient to become a massive bomb on its own.

Additionally.

FWOOSH!

The enormous amount of gunpowder inside the exploded spear caught fire and began burning the giant’s hand.

Pierce-the-Sun Spear.

Ihan’s uniquely interpreted spear pierced a monster instead of the sun.

“W-what was that…?”

“…My God.”

The people watching this sequence of events from the ground were speechless.

Giants and demons of legend.

There are legends that the Knight King and Lion King who annihilated them split giants and demons in half with a single strike.

But legends are just legends, and few believed them to be true stories.

But now…

‘Were those legends actually true?’

Giant killing.

People were dumbfounded, wondering if those legends weren’t fiction after all, but rather traditions based on real events.

And they focused on.

The figure of a knight demonstrating the legend of giant killing.

The one standing firmly in the center of the colosseum.

The knight…

“Hmm, Gomsoon.”

“Y-yes!?”

“Help evacuate people right away. The instructor should be getting people out by now, but he’s probably not enough on his own. Use all the students from the swordsmanship department to get everyone out, understand?”

“Huh?”

“Tsk, I guess this much isn’t enough after all.”

“??”

…He looked visibly bitter, and Levi Polte blinked in confusion at his words.

Crack.

“Look.”

“…Ah.”

Instead of explaining, he pointed to the sky, suggesting it would be better for her to see for herself, and Levi Polte understood why he had ordered an evacuation.

Squirm…squirm…!

It was hard to believe, but the giant’s arm was regenerating even as it burned.

Moreover.

[GR-RR-!]

It was still in the process of being “summoned.”

…Horrifyingly so.

* * *

“Evacuate, evacuate! Stop standing around and get out of here, you commoners!!”

Despite his noble supremacist ideology, Damian Pollet, harsh in both thought and speech, was working hard to evacuate people to save even a single life.

He was sweating profusely as he evacuated people, personally carrying pregnant women and the elderly who had difficulty moving.

His body screamed in protest, but he gritted his teeth.

Because he knew how many casualties there would be if he left things as they were.

And he thought:

‘That man was right after all!’

The instructor’s words from the previous day, which he had thought were from a mentally ill person, were true.

Damian Pollet recalled what happened 10 days ago.

When the instructor suddenly summoned him and Professor Odwal from the magic department and gave them orders.

“On the last day of the evaluation, a monster will appear from somewhere. So you need to prepare to help me with everything you’ve got.”

“…Are you on drugs?”

“You crazy bastard.”

Honestly, at that time, both Damian and Odwal thought it was crazy nonsense.

Since it wasn’t the first time that man had spouted nonsense, they thought he was just trying to torment them.

So Damian had mockingly said:

“If that’s the case, why don’t you report it to the headmaster or the royal palace? About a monster appearing.”

“I already reported it. But they told me to stop barking nonsense and get lost.”

“…You already did, huh.”

He thought the instructor was even crazier than he’d imagined.

He had already filed a report.

This seemed like the kind of crazy act that would earn someone the title of “truly” insane.

But.

“I requested an Aura user through an acquaintance, but as it happens, all the Aura users are away. Baltar Grace can’t leave the palace because he needs to protect the king.”

“……”

Aura user.

From the moment the name of the superhuman was mentioned, he could no longer dismiss this as madness.

The instructor was completely serious, genuinely convinced that a monster would appear on the last day of the evaluation, his eyes gleaming with certainty.

“So we have to stop it.”

“U-us?”

“Why me…?”

Damian and Odwal asked.

Why us specifically, when there are so many others?

To that question, the instructor:

“Your lives belong to me anyway, don’t they? So I can use them as I please.”

…He made a statement that questioned his character, treating them like criminal slaves, and they nearly became ill with anger.

“N-no! But why us, why are you stepping up, Instructor! Since when have you been so obsessed with heroism?!”

Damian shouted, steeling himself for a beating.

The instructor he knew wasn’t such a heroic person, but simply a terrible human being.

So why was he suddenly taking such a self-sacrificing path?

It didn’t suit him at all!

Damian closed his eyes tightly, preparing to be hit.

“We have to save the kids.”

“…What?”

Contrary to expectations, instead of getting angry, he just grumbled irritably.

“Those bastards up top say they can’t believe me without evidence. And no one is offering help. At this rate, not just our kids, but all the children who come to watch them might die.”

“……”

“Yes, as you say, this might just be a possibility. Maybe I’m just crazy. Maybe I’m worrying for nothing. But what if I’m not? If a monster really appears that day, who will take responsibility, and who will help those kids?”

“……”

“That’s right, no one. No one wants to help if it means taking a loss, damn it! So what can I do? I have to move myself.”

“…W-why?”

Damian’s question contained many layers.

Why, when no one believes you, and in a situation that might be a delusion, don’t you run away but choose to fight?

Damian was curious about the reason, and the instructor answered without hesitation.

“I’m moving because I don’t want to see human lives as mere numbers like those principle-spouting bastards up top, that’s why!”

“……”

…Damian was overwhelmed.

It wasn’t eloquent speech, nor was it based on sound logic or justification—it was just an honest statement, almost to the point of being crude.

But why?

Why was his heart stirring at those absurd words?

And Damian…

“…What should I do?”

Asked that, and for the first time, the instructor:

“Damian Pollet, you have one job. Save as many people as possible. The spell slave and I will fight.”

“B-but why do I have to…”

“Shut up, you spell slave bastard!”

“……”

Called him by his name.

“-Please run away, come on!!”

But when the actual situation unfolded, his lips were nearly frozen with fear.

Still.

‘Tch, just because he called me by name!’

Damian didn’t know why he himself was moving so diligently.

It was just the belief that the instructor had instilled in him, different from chivalry.

Something alien yet simultaneously a righteous conviction that made him move despite the terror of death.

And this belief that Damian felt, different from chivalry, would undoubtedly be an unfamiliar concept to people of this world.

What Ihan had forcibly instilled.

Not relying on someone else, not pursuing reasons or justifications, but simply acting as your heart dictates—without any benefit, but with your heart pounding and able to proudly declare that your life has meaning…!

This is what they called:

“Ah, come on! Run away like your feet are on fire!”

-Chivalrous spirit.