WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 38: 9. Academy Field Trips Always Get Attacked (2)
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* * *
Annihilation Unit-style Ambush Response training had several educational curricula.
For example, reacting to killing intent.
Or identifying a line of fire, then choosing the optimal response.
Assessing the terrain, analyzing the enemy's numbers and armaments. Numerous other field doctrines remained in the records of countless military achievements.
Yet the training Ivan had prepared for Isabelle came down to one thing. The simplest, most fundamental principle.
[Ambush them until they respond.]
So Ivan sat quietly in a tree, raising his gun.
Isabelle came into view beyond the sight. She still stood proudly, without the slightest intention of concealing herself.
Click.
He aligned his sights, then shifted his point of aim just before pulling the trigger.
Bang!
The problem when line-of-fire detection had only just awakened was that the user still could not fully trust their own senses.
Line-of-fire detection was ultimately close to a sixth sense. If she let sight and sound sway her, she could not react properly.
“Aah!”
“...Wrong.”
Ivan sighed as he watched Isabelle scream and duck in a hurry from afar.
Though the line of fire had clearly missed, Isabelle had tried to evade. That threw off her balance and exposed an opening.
Click, bang!
This time, he aimed directly between her eyebrows and fired.
Isabelle barely dodged, then stared at the bullet mark embedded in the tree, trembling.
“You're firing live rounds at my head! Seriously?!”
Her eyes opened wide. The blue flames in them fixed precisely on Ivan's hiding place.
‘She's getting better.’
Like any sensible training instructor, Ivan nodded with satisfaction.
He quickly abandoned his position.
* * *
“Ha... hahaha. I'm really going to kill him.”
Isabelle walked along, trembling as she gripped her sword hilt.
Live rounds at her forehead...?
“I was crazy. I'm an idiot. This was my fault. Yeah, it's all my fault.”
Had she gotten a little excited when he suggested training in the forest where that incident had happened?
Had she been happy when he readily offered to help, setting aside everything else even though she had asked him suddenly?
Yes, it was all her fault.
She had imagined swinging her sword a few times, getting some pleasant feedback while they laughed together...
Chatting about what had happened that day, now that it had become a memory.
She had prepared sandwiches to share at a time like that, even worn her favorite outfit, and tried makeup she did not even wear often at court.
Yes.
She was a complete idiot.
Click.
Tightening her grip on the hilt, she took another step forward.
Shing.
She drew her sword, glanced over its chilling blade, and held it quietly but firmly.
Bang!
Clang!
She cut cleanly through the line of fire and deflected the bullet.
“You're... you're really dead! You!”
The Hero's righteous fury blazed. She deflected every incoming bullet and charged straight toward the direction the firing lines crossed.
A shooter had to be where the bullets came from.
As long as the bullets did not hit her, it was fine. Really, just once.
She would hit him just once. That was what she thought.
* * *
That was probably what she was thinking.
Ivan quietly withdrew, watching Isabelle charge at him.
Finding an agent perfectly concealed in the forest's shadows was a difficult task. Even line-of-fire detection did not change that.
The line of fire ended at the shooter, so one had to assume the shooter knew that fact as well.
“I'll give you a second lesson.”
Ivan was an excellent instructor, so he had finished preparing another thoughtful lesson.
Charging in while wildly swinging her sword in a fit of rage had plenty of spirit, of course, but it was never a good choice.
He intended to teach her that it was the worst possible choice in an ambush situation.
Boom!
Ivan smiled faintly as he watched Isabelle step on a booby trap and get caught in the explosion.
* * *
“Good.”
Isabelle barely avoided the blast, then brushed the pile of dirt that had immediately rained down over her head and smiled.
“Let's really kill him.”
Hit him just once? That half-hearted thought had caused this situation.
She was reminded once again that she had to give it her all when dealing with that madman. Isabelle did not even look at the incoming bullets as she deflected them.
“Do you understand why I said the forest was more difficult?”
A remarkably calm voice sounded beside her ear.
Creak. Her hand tightened around the sword hilt.
“Underground waterways and cave tunnels take the form of linear mazes. Artificial structures have their own patterns. That means there are fixed points where traps can be planted or ambushes carried out.”
The lesson continued. Naturally, it was valuable advice that would help her greatly.
“A forest possesses several characteristics at once. It is easy to conceal yourself and take cover, and there are many places to plant traps, making them extremely difficult to notice beforehand. Since it forms an irregular maze, it is also easy to guide the target's route.”
This was the doctrine for encircling many with few.
Contrary to what many believed, encirclement was, on a tactical level, the act of limiting information. The cordon did not actually need to be dense, nor did the assault need to be fierce.
A few exchanges at the right moment were enough. Forcing the other side into misjudgment while holding the informational advantage was the foundation of encirclement.
- Countless enemies are hiding beyond that forest.
- If we approach that forest, we'll be caught in an assault.
- There are no allies beyond that forest.
Once such misjudgments accumulated and cracks formed in the field commander's ability to lead, the encirclement by a small force was complete.
Ivan continued speaking quietly, then suddenly stopped.
Isabelle stood with her head lowered, her body trembling.
“Mister.”
“Hmm?”
“Phew... Thank you. Thanks to you, my head is clear now.”
“...Hmm?”
Isabelle looked somewhere toward where he should be, wearing a bright smile.
Considering the direction of the voice and the direction where she had sensed the firing lines, it should be this way.
She nodded and raised her sword hilt.
- Take up your sword.
- Take up your sword not for your strength, but for what is right.
- Look upon those like us through the eyes of the weak.
“Yes. I will.”
As if possessed, Isabelle gripped her sword hilt and assumed a stance. Brilliant blue mana swirled around her body, lighting the dark forest.
A refreshing wind raced through the late spring woods.
“Don't move!!”
“Oh.”
Ivan's eyes gleamed as he watched her. The structure and circulation of her mana differed, but her presence somehow reminded him of Maximilian.
Perhaps he had more talent for teaching than he had thought. An educator's caliber was determined by their students' achievements.
Ivan readily nodded and lowered his gun.
Isabelle's senses had already fully blossomed. At this level, double shots meant to deceive line-of-fire detection would no longer work on her.
She had reached the point of setting foot on the threshold of the so-called Battlefield of Superhumans, where mana accelerated the nerves and honed the reaction speed of the entire body to its utmost limit.
Projectile weapons no longer worked against those who reached this point. Their line-of-fire detection developed to a level close to precognition.
Which was why.
Shing...
He raised an axe.
* * *
“I'm really... going to kill... you...”
On the train back to Pritchenkaya, Ivan looked down at the sleeping Isabelle and smiled.
Though she was covered in dirt, small cuts, and tattered clothes, she somehow looked more noble than ever. Her golden hair, spread out like a wheat field, glimmered in the moonlight falling through the train window.
With soft, sleepy breaths, Isabelle had buried her head against his shoulder as she slept, looking like nothing more than a little girl her age.
“Maximilian.”
Whenever the train rattled along the tracks, Ivan gently steadied Isabelle's swaying head and whispered.
“You have an excellent daughter.”
* * *
“You have an excellent daughter.”
Isabelle clenched the hand hidden inside her sleeve, forcing her lips not to curl upward.
Then she carefully pressed her cheek against his broad shoulder, making sure he would not notice.
Clatter, clatter. The train ran along the tracks.
The warm air inside the carriage drifted gently around them. Through her slightly opened eyes, she could faintly see the dark interior.
Moonlight poured in beyond the window. Far away, the forest where they had trained today stretched across the landscape.
He was an idiot who knew nothing of romance or common sense, and a madman who had covered a perfectly decent face with that beard.
Still, still. She could overlook that. After all, he was the benefactor who had saved her life. That was all. It was not some sudden burst of affection or anything. Really, that was all.
She could teach him common sense, and someday she could trim his beard.
Yes. Right.
It was more like making a proper person out of him. If not her, who would take in this poor man? So this was... the spirit of service befitting a Hero. Something like that.
* * *
There was a unit with a long history and proud tradition, one that had once possessed a glorious past. It had been called the 7th Engineer Platoon, 12th Company, 3rd Battalion, under the Fifth Dragon General.
They cracked their whips to urge the slaves onward, then quietly raised their binoculars.
“Why were they even fighting?”
“Wasn't it an argument, Comrade!”
“Do you set off explosives and fire bullets when you argue, Comrade?”
“No, Comrade!”
Because of the target's inexplicable surprise visit and the fierce battle that followed, three ambush positions had collapsed along with their foundations. Ah, there had been no shoddy construction like this when the great Fifth Dragon General was alive! The platoon commander was disappointed.
When commanders of any rank were disappointed, they tended to look for the problem within their own unit.
And in most cases, that approach worked exactly as intended. The fine military tradition of abuse rolling downhill, shared by every army in the world, existed among demonfolk and dwarves alike.
“Shadowblade's little game is one week away, comrades. Rebuild the collapsed positions and make full preparations!”
“Yes, Comrade!!”
A dwarf with an ash-gray beard snapped into a salute, then trudged away.
Dwarves were masters of civil engineering. Civil engineering included digging underground tunnels. Therefore, by syllogism, the following statement was true.
Wherever there was earth, dwarves could burrow in.
That was why Ivan called them rats.
With one week remaining until Enrika's exam, Pritchenkaya remained peaceful.
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Footnotes:
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