WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 51: 10. Stalker vs Stalker (6)
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* * *
Weapons systems like guns and bombs, collectively called ordnance, were held in great contempt in this premodern fantasy world.
They were so-called weapons of the poor. It was true. In a world with mana and line-of-fire detection, ranged projectile weapons were never made from quality materials or by the hands of master craftsmen.
Even if they were made, people of middling skill would shoot them at others of similar ability. Most shots would miss, and there was no romance, no chivalry, no justice. Just blood splattered everywhere.
That was why one could gauge an opponent's ability just by seeing them carry a gun. If they used explosives, that was practically all there was to say.
The materials needed to make enough high-quality mana bombs to burn down a building were managed as strategic national resources. Preparing that much was nearly impossible.
At most, they would cause minor casualties. There was no need to be afraid.
There might be dozens of casualties, but that also meant the human assets they had planted after going through all that trouble would be spent for such a paltry return.
Still, even a kitchen knife could hurt someone if it pierced their body. Ordnance might not work against superhumans, but to civilians, it was no different from a reaper.
These convenient tools of murder, which planted death with a pull of the trigger, had a way of giving their holders courage and exhilaration from nowhere.
“Hoo... Hoo....”
“Why are you back already? You were supposed to stay at your post!”
“Fuck, how was I supposed to do that when that knight kept walking around? If I'd lingered any longer, I might've gotten stabbed like last time!”
“You cowardly bastard... That knight can't go far while guarding the brat in that house anyway. You just had to run well enough!”
“Then you should've done it. You haven't seen that bastard use a sword right in front of you.”
The man grumbled as he trembled. His assignment was to watch the house where Isabelle, the Hero's daughter, was staying.
No matter how talented she was, she was only a child. There should have been nothing difficult about following or spying on her.
Things changed when there was a guardian, though. It was an even bigger problem if the bodyguard was a well-trained knight.
Bullets were useless against knights. That was common sense.
Trying to crawl into their range with nothing but a gun was no different from sticking one's head into a lion's jaws.
“So the operation date is almost here. Why haven't we heard anything from above? I really can't keep doing this. It's already been a week.”
“Sir Dionar is supposed to arrive in Pritchenkaya today or tomorrow. Then, well, it'll probably start by the day after tomorrow.”
“I've heard that man's name so many times. Is he really coming?”
“They say he's almost here. Border inspections have gotten tight lately, so apparently he walked here.”
“From Droan all the way here?”
The men whispered as they moved through the alley. Whatever happened with Isabelle's whereabouts, it did not matter unless she suddenly moved that very day.
She only needed to be there on the day of the operation.
“I see. Dionar Erikson.”
The two men walking through the deserted alley stopped rigidly.
Their gazes met.
-We've been tailed?!
-No, I've been extremely careful.
-Then what the fuck is that?
The men communicated with their eyes, then broke into a run.
Who their opponent was did not matter. Only two things mattered.
That person knew the name Dionar Erikson, and they had gotten close enough to overhear the men's conversation without being noticed beforehand.
That meant the mysterious man was strong. The tactics of the weak were always the same at times like this.
“Fuck!”
-Boom!!
The man in front took a small bead from his pocket, threw it aside, and ran for the mouth of the alley.
The bead exploded, filling the alley with dense smoke. A cheap smoke bomb with no poison in it.
Ivan smirked and began walking after the fleeing men.
He did not hurry. He knew that a strong person who caught up despite the difference in speed, slowly closing in without even running, inspired greater fear than one who sprinted after their prey.
Interrogation was a delicate art. Shouting, torturing, and threatening someone without thought were bad moves that muddied the intelligence.
Obtaining accurate information had to begin by breaking down the foundations of the other person's mind.
Ivan walked through the smoke and continued in the direction the men had fled.
-Sss....
-Hoo.
He drew in a deep breath and remembered the past.
* * *
Aesidis stared blankly at the night sky from her bedroom terrace.
“But Uncle's dead.”
Even her father had paid his respects when her uncle died. The situation had been suspicious at the time, so her father could not attend the funeral himself, but after returning, he had spent a long time drinking in gloom.
She raised a hand hesitantly, holding it roughly at mouth level.
“But still.”
Without the beard, he did seem somewhat similar. Then again, she had been too scared to look at him properly, so perhaps he was completely different.
Blue eyes that burned like flames. Neatly shaped eyes, sharp eyebrows, and a straight nose.
Yes, perhaps they did look alike.
Or maybe....
“Ah.”
Aesidis shook her head hard. It was a terrible thought.
Uncle Ivan had died as a great warrior. She had heard that he slaughtered the Seven Dragon Generals, perished alongside them, and saved at least a few members of his unit through his sacrifice.
That was an amazing feat. Even the Hero Party had needed to face the Seven Dragon Generals together back then.
Confusing such a noble man with someone else just because they looked alike was no different from insulting him.
Besides, Uncle Ivan would never try to satisfy his sexual preferences by seducing Isabelle, sleeping with Professor Enrika, and stalking university students at the same time. Of course he would not.
Aesidis felt guilty for having compared Uncle Ivan to such a lowly man, so she bowed her head with a solemn expression.
Droan followed the God of Light, the shared religion of the Allied Kingdoms, but its traditional customs had mixed in and warped its view of the afterlife in a strange way.
They believed that great warriors continued their eternal struggle beside the God of Light after death.
The enemy of light was always darkness, so warriors raised their swords against the darkness at night on the god's behalf.
The traces of that struggle were the stars. The countless stars in the sky were warriors who had departed to join the god.
Thinking that Ivan's star must be somewhere among them, Aesidis bowed politely and whispered.
“Uncle, I miss you. More than usual lately. You told me to learn an instrument, so I picked one up. It isn't easy, but I'm working hard. I've made lots of friends too. I'm doing well.”
The stars did not appear during the day, so he would not know what happened then.
“So please watch over me. When I graduate, once I've become good enough, I'll play an epic for you before your gravestone, about how the world remained this beautiful because your sacrifice was not in vain.”
She clutched Kkangkkang and sniffled, her eyes brimming with tears.
She did not dare play at night. She could not let her uncle hear her immature and crude performance.
So Aesidis firmly wiped away her tears and stood.
After the confusing events of the day, she would not be falling asleep early anyway. She had no classes tomorrow, so she decided to take a walk that night.
“Uncle Mord! Let's go out for a bit!”
“Where?”
“Just out!”
“Well, sure.”
Mord, who had been maintaining weapons downstairs, shrugged and stood.
The two headed into Pritchenkaya's summer night streets in light clothes.
* * *
Great King Einar had countless sworn brothers. Huscarls, the king's confidants. They were killing machines who willingly obeyed their king out of loyalty, friendship, love, not in any strange sense, and other bright, happy emotions like hope.
These lively slaughterers usually stayed in the king's palace. They held festivals every night, consumed meat and liquor, and devoted their lives to fighting among themselves.
From Ivan's perspective, they were organized criminals. They were organized and violent, so it was not an inaccurate description.
Even thugs had rules, though. They had only one law: obey the boss.
As long as someone kept them supplied with meat and liquor and maintained martial strength they could respect, there was no more loyal or formidable fighting force on the continent.
That was why Huscarls almost never betrayed their king. The important part was that they almost never did.
The word almost implied that it had happened somewhere in history.
And as history proved, what happened once could happen twice.
Was betrayal by someone you trusted not always the most painful kind?
* * *
“Spring for Citizens?”
“Y-yeah!! Th-that's all! I don't know anything else...! Damn it... S-so stop... Stop that....”
“The healing potion?”
“Don't give me that shit! How is that a healing potion?!”
Ivan looked down at the poor man, delirious with pain, then straightened up.
Even that small movement made the man flinch and curl into himself with a shriek.
“Spring for Citizens. That's quite poetic for the name of a rebel group.”
Ivan gave a bitter smile. Though it did not suit this uncivilized premodern society, the group the man belonged to had the character of a multinational human rights organization.
At least, that was how it appeared on the surface.
‘One military commander and one sword must not rule over the overwhelming majority of the people....’
Was that not the slogan of a democratic revolution?
Ivan knew it was nothing more than sweet propaganda.
Unlike Earth, this world had mana. This all-purpose resource could be shaped into whatever one needed.
It could strengthen an individual's martial power until they could split mountains and cut through the sky, or enhance a person's hearing, smell, and sight to the level of a beast.
It was a special resource that, when woven into magic, could destroy fortresses and massacre legions.
Overwhelming power that one individual could achieve through talent and effort alone made democracy meaningless.
Ivan could be even more certain of that because he had lived in a democratic society.
Contrary to what many people believed, rights did not arise from duties alone. They were built upon a social system that could win those rights and sustain them.
That social system was naturally maintained through force. Overwhelming force. The driving power that allowed a state to impose duties on individuals.
As long as mana existed, people could not be equal. It was sad, but true. Even more so in a world with demonfolk, elves, and dwarves.
So this was vicious propaganda meant to deceive the masses with pleasant words.
And there was one more thing.
‘An international organization in a world where the only means of communication are telegrams and letters.’
Even in a world where telephones and video calls were commonplace, founding an international organization was extremely difficult. An international organization in premodern times was even less plausible.
Naturally, that meant someone powerful enough to maintain an organization on that scale was backing it.
Was that not ironic? An organization created by someone in power, yet democratic in nature. At a glance, it might seem like a beautiful revolution from above, but the world was not a fairy-tale dreamland.
Everyone in power acted rationally for their own ambitions.
“Alexander. I don't know where he is or what he's doing, but he certainly knows how to use his head.”
Ivan chuckled and shook his head.
‘Targeting the Hero Party's children was part of the propaganda too.’
Their slogan was the salvation of the masses ruled by a small number of powerful people.
The Hero Party was, without question, the symbol of old-order power that represented those few strong individuals. Their personal power could surpass that of a nation.
Therefore, if the reason they targeted the Hero Party's children was to terrorize inherited individual power, it made sense. It was an achievement they could show directly to the masses they intended to deceive.
Ivan nodded as the events of the past finally began to make sense.
‘The field exercise attack was not a coincidence either.’
He narrowed his eyes as he remembered the defeated demonfolk remnants, who had understood the location and nature of the field exercise with startling accuracy and tried to assassinate the Hero Party's children.
Someone in the Krasilov royal court, military, or administration had sold the information.
And this was only a preview of the countless attacks to come. An organization of this scale would not be discouraged by only one or two failures.
‘Alexander.’
Ivan smiled bitterly. What was that cheerful young royal thinking now, and what was he trying to set in motion?
What did he want? What benefit could come from dismantling the monarchy, collapsing the Allied Kingdoms, and stripping the nobility of its authority and public support?
And why was Beolgreen pursuing Alexander?
Where had Maximilian disappeared to?
Thoughts piled up layer by layer. Ivan sighed.
The simplest way to untie a complicated knot was to cut the knot itself.
Ivan picked up his axe and rested it on his shoulder.
“Where do I need to go to contact Dionar Erikson?”
* * *
Footnotes:
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