30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue - Chapter 8

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

Chapter 8: These Orphans Need a Director (1)

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* * *

This was a story from Ivan’s days serving in the Annihilation Unit.

There had been generals known as the Seven Dragon Generals of the Demon King’s army. Each had gathered their people under the fate of an entire race, so calling them the “Hero” of their respective race would not have been wrong.

Before the Hero Party appeared, the Allied Kingdoms had been swept aside with embarrassing ease.

The demonfolk were physically superior to humans from the start, and they had gathered as entire races with the intention of conquering the world. There had been no way to withstand them.

In other words, the war against the Demon King’s army could be described as a war between humanity and every other race.

The strategists of the Allied Kingdoms, driven onto the defensive, came up with an ingenious plan to overcome the crisis.

-To break the demonfolk’s unity, we must use decapitation strikes rather than fight them head-on.

They would keep the front line from collapsing, throwing Allied Kingdoms soldiers into the fray however they could.

Then, in the meantime, they would send “assassins” to kill the Seven Dragon Generals and dismantle the enemy’s cohesion.

The demonfolk were little more than a patchwork of tribal states ruled by strength. If they took out the Seven Dragon Generals, the commanders beneath them would each covet the vacant position and begin fighting among themselves.

It was true.

From a broader perspective, the Hero Party was no more than an assassination squad.

One thrown into certain death, yet always returning alive. The kind that even the rulers of countless kingdoms could not easily touch.

That was why Ivan disliked the Hero Party.

It was far too similar to why the Krasilov Royal Family had decided to disband the Annihilation Unit.

Even in peaceful times, we were a blade too sharp to keep in hand.

Ep. 4. These Orphans Need a Director.

After receiving intelligence on the Hero Party’s children and their expected academy enrollment schedules, Ivan was enjoying some pleasant leisure time.

The timeline he had planned was perfect.

First, Aesidis, whom he had rescued a few days ago.

Next was Isabelle, daughter of the Hero Maximilian. She belonged to the Thilles Kingdom and would depart in the first week of February.

A few days after that came Oscar, son of the knight Gilles Ver. He would also depart from the Thilles Kingdom.

There was no need to worry about those two. Thilles and Krasilov had maintained decent diplomatic relations even before the war, and the distance between them was short enough to leave plenty of time to respond to a train attack.

Then there was Elphihara, daughter of the mage Beolgreen, who would not even be taking a train in the first place.

Beolgreen’s homeland was an island floating beyond the Black Sea, the Kalion Archipelago. She would cross over on a warship, making her safer than any of the others.

Krasilov had no ice-free port, so she would likely pass through Thilles, but someone arriving on a warship would hardly come without attendants.

Lastly, there was Lucia, Enrika’s disciple.

Lucia belonged to the Krasilov Kingdom. That meant they had already arrived somewhere in the capital.

Not only could Ivan check on them later without any problem, he did not particularly want to see them soon.

In other words, if he got through the February train attacks involving those two incoming students, the rest would be issues that resolved themselves without his direct intervention.

The train attack itself was part of the Tutorial, after all.

His experience with Aesidis had now made him completely certain. There was no reason for him to act personally before enrollment.

Therefore.

“I want kimchi stew.”

He was once again passing the time by scribbling down a list titled Things I’ll Eat When I Return to Earth.

Sitting in the director’s office with a cup of coffee, warming himself by the cozy fire, was leisure time too precious to trade for anything.

Tteokbokki. Not rosé tteokbokki. Nor the delivery franchise kind, all broth and excessive portions.

The tteokbokki he wanted was the thick, street-style hipster tteokbokki sold at the school snack shop. He remembered the place that sprinkled curry powder on it being the most popular.

“I want to go home...”

“Are you going to abandon us again?”

“...”

Ivan’s unfocused eyes sharpened. Kim Seonwoo within him was crushed beneath Ivan’s sense of self and disappeared, leaving Ivan alone as he turned around.

A child was clinging to the window.

“Since when have you been there...?”

“Since you started muttering about what you wanted to eat, Director!”

“This is the third floor.”

“You know I’m famous for paying attention in class!”

“...Do we have wall climbing in the orphanage curriculum?”

Ivan walked straight to the window and threw it wide open. He lifted the child, who was grinning mischievously, and carefully set them down inside.

“I won! You know that, right?”

“Don’t make a competition out of that. Use the hallway next time. It’s dangerous.”

“Aww, I can only win if I go this far!”

Saint Basilisha Orphanage had a time-honored game. Sneaking up on the director without him noticing.

It was wildly popular among the children. Ivan was a mysterious man who could catch a ball flying at his back with one hand without even turning around.

No matter how quietly they moved, they could never hide around Ivan either.

Though he was blunt and sharp-looking, he was remarkably harmless. To children who judged people by their actions rather than appearances, he was one of the best playmates they could have.

“I’ll make you a cup of cocoa, then you can drink it and go.”

“Yes!!”

Ivan did not stop them, either. The orphanage residents needed a way to make a living after graduating, after all.

If they could deceive his senses, they would not starve no matter where they ended up.

After sending off the brightly smiling child, Ivan reclaimed his peaceful leisure time.

A little over two weeks remained until Isabelle boarded the train.

Until then, he was free.

Or so he had thought, before one of the orphanage residents was suddenly kidnapped.

* * *

“Hey, where are you from?”

“No, I don’t think you gentlemen understand. If our director finds out about this, you’re really going to be in trouble!”

“Look at this kid! Anyone would think we were the ones kidnapped!”

Pritchenkaya, the capital of Krasilov, was one of the continent’s greatest cities. Naturally, every city had shadowy spaces broadly called back alleys, and Pritchenkaya had several slum districts of its own.

Even among the gangs and outlaws of the back alleys, there were those who stood apart. They were the groups of hopeless lives classified as assassination organizations.

If someone stabbed another person with a knife, they would naturally face the law. The higher that person’s status, the more severe the law tended to be, but the payment also rose accordingly.

Assassination organizations were made up of people who believed that as long as they got paid, it did not matter if they wagered their lives on one swing of a blade and vanished as dew on the execution ground.

There were no real assassins like Léon, who appeared stylishly from the darkness, neatly took out their target, and disappeared.

“So who the hell is your director?!”

“H-He’s Ivan Petrovich! You’ve heard that name, right? Right?”

“What? Ahahahaha!!”

Of course these people had heard the name Ivan.

They had heard the surname Petrovich too.

Ivan was the most common given name in Krasilov, and Petrovich was the most common surname.

Even the late king, famed as a wise ruler, had been named Ivan.

It was like asking, “Hey, do you know a guy named John Smith?” The low-ranking members of the Pritchenkaya back-alley assassination organization snickered.

Then a low voice echoed from the darkness of the alley.

“Wait.”

The members flinched, lowered their weapons, and backed away. Along the path they cleared, someone walked forward with steady steps.

“Who did you say?”

“I-Ivan Petro, Petrovich... Director...!”

The person briefly looked the captive up and down, then smiled slowly.

“That brazen bastard said he was retiring, then built an assassination squad behind the scenes?”

At Saint Basilisha Orphanage, sneaking up on Ivan to startle him was treated as something close to a traditional game. To someone else, the orphanage residents might appear differently.

Especially to an expert among experts, someone more versed in this field than anyone alive. To Shadowblade Enrika, they could not look like anything else.

He had spread the false rumor that he was dead, retired cleanly, and intended to live a new life.

Ha. Right. As if a dog could change its habits. How could the Annihilation Unit change theirs?

Enrika grinned and nodded.

Ivan Petrovich, identified as the leader of an evil organization that collected orphans and trained them as assassins!

* * *

“You think one of the orphanage residents was kidnapped?”

“Yes, Director! Um... Do you remember Priscilla?”

“Of course.”

Ivan had memorized every personal detail of his more than three hundred orphanage residents, including graduates.

Priscilla. No surname. Seventeen years old. A war orphan.

Priscilla’s parents were unknown. Ivan remembered taking the child in after Priscilla had been abandoned during the war and found begging near a military camp.

Priscilla had been a little too playful, but was fundamentally bold and talented, so Ivan had not been especially worried even with graduation approaching.

Lately, Priscilla seemed to have been going around looking for work...

“Who, where, and when?”

“We don’t know exactly, but only the coat Priscilla was wearing came back... This is a threat, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

Ivan took the coat the teacher handed him and examined it carefully.

A frayed sleeve. A heavily worn collar. One button dangling loosely, just before falling off.

He ran his gaze over it without finding anything useful, then suddenly stopped.

There was an ordinary handprint. It was covered in dirt, subtle enough that no one would notice without looking closely.

A faint scar was imprinted at the base of the palm, barely visible beneath the dirt.

A cross-shaped scar carved into the palm.

“Enrika.”

It was the mark used by that foul-tempered woman’s organization.