Chapter 62

Bell put the pipe in his mouth and immediately settled at a small desk placed inside the barracks. A staggering amount of paperwork was piled on his desk, and Bell would struggle with it for quite some time.

I carefully unpacked my things so as not to disturb Bell’s work. All I had brought into the barracks was a small notebook, a slightly thicker book, and a few pieces of chocolate, but placing them on the small shelf beside the bed gave me the feeling that this bed was entirely my own.

“…The report on yesterday’s injured and dead hasn’t come in yet.”

I was lying in bed, staring blankly at the barracks, when I heard Bell’s voice. It wasn’t directed at me, of course.

“What, the Captain didn’t file the report? Six dead and eighty-one injured. Two missing.”

Grisha, who was lying in bed with his eyes closed, replied in a dry voice.

“Cause of death?”

“One from excessive bleeding. Two from stab wounds. The other two, their torsos exploded and they died instantly… and one was probably suicide.”

They traded stories of someone’s death without so much as a flicker in their expressions. Grisha finished his tale and closed his eyes once more, while Bel chewed thoughtfully on his pipe stem before resuming his paperwork.

“……”

Though a brutal narrative passed between them, the atmosphere inside the barrack remained unchanged.

That fact, in itself, unsettled me even more.

It seemed that, after so long at war, neither of them could muster much emotion at the injury or death of another.

“Vin, I distinctly remember telling you that I don’t expect much in the way of heroics from you. And yet, you still demanded to know why I wouldn’t send you back to the capital like the others.”

That uneasy, yet placid atmosphere lingered for perhaps thirty minutes, before Bel, gathering the stack of documents in his hands, suddenly addressed me.

“Didn’t you?”

“You possess something the others don’t.”

“……And what is that?”

“Worth.”

Pardon?

Worth?

……What kind of worth?

“Your reputation precedes you across the continent. The genius who will save the world, the Second Sword Saint, or some such nonsense.”

“Well…yes.”

“And that reputation is not limited to the common folk. I daresay those damned Grand Dukes over there classify you as a top priority threat.”

“…….”

I paused a moment, then swallowed dryly. I had a vague sense of what he was about to say.

“What would your life be worth? Enough to tempt four Grand Dukes into exposing themselves on the battlefield?”

This… the conversation’s taking a strange turn, isn’t it?

“When I heard you were being assigned to this front line, I’ll admit, I felt lost. This battlefield is far too much for a greenhorn still wet behind the ears. I even considered sending a letter to His Majesty, asking him to reconsider. But then, a better idea struck me.”

Bell rose from his desk, picked up the chair he’d been sitting on. He carried it and approached my bed.

“Do you know the current state of the Valerland front?”

A peculiar pressure began to tighten around my chest and throat. Within the thicket of his black hair, his eyes burned with a deep fury and a stark desperation that no ordinary person could comprehend.

“The enemy forces are pushing the front line back three paces a day. Slowly eliminating every variable, gnawing away at our supplies and our morale. At this rate, we’ll have to completely concede the Valerland front within a month.”

Those eyes… they were the eyes of a man cornered at the edge of a cliff.

“Our enemies don’t suffer from mental breakdowns, nor do they require sustenance. Their ranks only swell with each of our fallen.”

Bell grasped the pipe in his mouth. A faint, almost chilling smile flickered across his lips.

“Strictly speaking, this isn’t a battlefield. It’s a slaughterhouse. We’re just waiting for our day to die, like dumb cattle.”

‘Brutally bleak, it’s not a criminal interrogation. ‘

I clicked my tongue, indulging in such frivolous thoughts in a corner of my mind.

The effectiveness of [Composure] was such that even Bell, a mage of exceptional skill, couldn’t intimidate me, even when he deliberately tried to create such an atmosphere.

You could search the entire world, and still, there would be few as strong as Bell.

The fact that my head remained so clear even when facing him meant I wouldn’t freeze up in terror, no matter who I met.

…Though, I never expected to be testing the limits of [Composure] in this way.

“Well, this place being treated as a slaughterhouse ends today.”

He lightly prodded my chest with the end of his pipe, continuing his story.

“Vin, what do you think is needed to kill the Demon King and his demons?”

“I don’t know.”

“An overwhelming genius, no… we need something more monstrous than that.”

Bell spoke, the pipe still pressed against my chest.

“In the end, we have to kill the Demon King and the Devils to end this war. No matter how many Grand Dukes we slay, no matter how many High Lords we kill, the Demon King and the Devils can simply recreate them. You agree with that, don’t you?”

“That is true.”

“The Demon King and the Devils. One is a Transcendent, and the other is a killing machine meticulously crafted by the Transcendent himself. Both are monsters beyond measure. To kill them both, we need a monster of comparable caliber on our side.”

He continued calmly.

“We have the Sword Saint, but no matter how talented he is, he cannot face the Demon King and the Devils simultaneously. So, if we are to win this war, we needed another monster of his level.”

*Crack!*

A faint spark burst from the end of the pipe Bell held. Bell put the pipe, now nothing more than ash, in his mouth and inhaled deeply.

Earth-colored, no, smoke so black you could call it completely dark, flowed from Bell’s lips.

“An unexpected variable. A variable we desperately needed, and our enemies cannot tolerate.”

Bell slowly raised his head and looked up at the ceiling of the tent. Soot stains and faint traces of mold were everywhere.

“You are bait.”

Bell introduced me to an identity I didn’t even know I had.

‘I thought my name was just Vin, and my surname is Kyeong.’ I barely managed to suppress the urge to blurt out.

…[Stay Calm], this thing is too good at its job.

“Once you start showing your face on the battlefield, the Grand Dukes will reveal themselves accordingly. For them, killing you will be more important than conquering the land of Valerand.”

Even to my untrained eye, the war situation in Valerand didn’t look good.

The Grand Dukes had hidden themselves somewhere deep, and only the ordinary demons and High Demons under their command were slowly tightening the noose on the front lines.

Though thousands upon thousands of Variants fall to the blades of soldiers each day, plummeting into hell, the number of Variants flooding the battlefield surpasses tens of thousands.

The front line retreated slowly, a mere meter or two each day.

No truly devastating losses had occurred. The generals, Grisha and Bel, remained alive and well, and supply lines continued to function without issue.

But that was all. This battlefield was undeniably slipping into the hands of the demonic hordes.

“We’ll use you as bait, lure the Archdukes to our lines, and then, with a flourish, we’ll devour them.”

“Even if you draw out an Archduke, do you actually have a way to kill them?”

Surprisingly, my immediate response wasn’t, ‘Use me as bait? Are you out of your minds.’

…[Composure] is a god, and I, blessed by that god, am invincible.

“You’re remarkably calm. Were you expecting this?”

Expecting it? Not in the slightest. The truth is, my constitution simply prevents me from succumbing to fear or panic.

“…Of course.”

Well, no use looking a gift horse in the mouth, is there?

“A shrewd one, you are. In any case, you asked about a way to kill an Archduke?”

“Does one actually exist?”

Archdukes aren’t merely demons possessing exceptional leadership abilities. They are commanders and, simultaneously, some of the most formidable combatants amongst the demonic ranks.

While individual capabilities varied, the martial prowess of an Archduke was, on average, considered to be on par with that of a ‘General’ like Bel and Grisha standing before me.

So even if we managed to lure them out, I doubted the current regular army possessed the means to reliably capture them.

“That, I cannot disclose at this time. It’s a matter of security.”

In this situation, most people, upon hearing such a response, would wear an expression of utter disbelief and promptly leave.

You’re using my life as bait, yet you can’t even share the specifics of the operation? Only a madman would entrust his life to such a reckless and arbitrary commander.

“It’s a bit much to say this on the day we meet, but believe me. I’m not some fool throwing my life away on a losing…”

“Sure, why not.”

Despite everything, I gave him a resounding affirmation.

“…Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

There wasn’t any grand reason behind it.

It was simply because I knew what kind of person Bell Artue was.

Bell was undoubtedly cold-blooded and merciless, but all his actions were for the sake of the greater cause: ‘the victory of war’.

And that Bell, had said I was a variable absolutely necessary to win the war.

Whether I was a genuine genius or not didn’t matter. What truly mattered was that Bell evaluated me as such.

As long as this misunderstanding remained, Bell would never let me die, no matter what.

…Even if the situation spiraled into the absolute worst, Bell would try to protect me at the cost of every soldier’s life.

He was a man to whom ‘the victory of war’ was paramount above all else.

Like it or not, Bell Artue was that kind of person.

“You can’t say it now, but it’s clear there’s a method, right? You used the word ‘yet’… Which means you plan to tell me someday. What the heck, I’ll trust you for now.”

Bell should be grateful that I’m a guy who enjoyed this game for thousands of hours.

Otherwise, how could anyone know that the man in front of me was a ‘meticulous and exceptional soldier’, and say they’d easily believe him?

“…Unexpected, that you’d believe so easily. This is a matter of life and death; you could think about it more carefully.”

“It’s unnecessary. My mind is made up.”

Thinking about it calmly, I didn’t really have a choice other than believing Bell anyway.

I had no sharp trick to change the tide of this battlefield, nor the ability to escape it and survive, not right now.

As I said before, isn’t it far more rational to play Russian Roulette with a revolver with at least one empty chamber, rather than with an automatic pistol?

I simply chose the revolver with one empty chamber.

“I will trust you without condition. In exchange, when I later ask for your trust, General, I ask that you trust me once as well. Without condition.”

Furthermore, offering to trust me readily under these absurd circumstances also creates a debt.

Perhaps to some, it would seem meaningless. There’s no signed contract, no formally appointed witness, after all.

Even so, this debt will be useful in the future.

It will be an opportunity for the powerful figure in the army I belong to, to form a positive impression of me.

It doesn’t matter if the abstract promise of ‘trusting me unconditionally when I need it’ is never actually fulfilled.

Simply that this man forms a positive impression of me is a benefit beyond measure.

“…Very well. When you need my help someday, I will trust you without condition. I promise.”

Bell paused briefly, then answered thus.

The desperation that had filled his jet-black eyes had vanished without a trace.