Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

133 – A Genius is Simply a Monster in Human Form

“You’ve come. Is your training complete, then?”

“….”

“Still silent, I see.

Do you truly despise us that much?”

“..Wouldn’t you, if you were me?”

A face that hinted at regret,

truly an expression

utterly unbecoming for an assassin.

Especially, one who kidnaps orphans and raises them to be assassins.

“..No, you can’t help but hate me, can you.”

“You know it well.”

“Yes, I know it very well.”

Having said that, he

slowly rose from his seat.

Abandoning the book and quill,

that had been scratching away

just moments before.

His eyes, filled

with remorse, fixed upon me.

“Be prepared. I won’t give you time to prepare separately.”

“….”

“Today too, I hope you survive.”

That day, once again,

I was beaten like a dog.

Under the guise of training, of course.

*

“Hack… Hack…!!”

“Fortunate, isn’t it, that you survived today as well.”

“..b*stard. You’re the one who beat the shit out of me.”

A cough erupting from the depths of my throat,

and the blood I vomit,

a testament to my current

physical state.

All of this mingled with my scent, creating a most unpleasant odor,

but whether he found the smell

unobjectionable or not,

he remained in his seat,

and took up his pen once more.

Without a word uttered.

“..Shit, how long do I gotta keep doin’ this garbage?”

It just spilled out of me.

Up until not long ago,

I was a modern man.

Why was I, in this archaic place, undergoing archaic training,

that kind of complaint, that dissatisfaction,

resentment and hatred all rolled into one sentence.

“Until you can survive with pride.”

He responded to my complaints

without so much as a twitch.

Still, the scratching sound of the

quill pen remained.

“Shit, I’m askin’ ya when the hell is that?!”

That lack of reaction drove me even

further out of my mind.

As if no matter what you do,

nothin’ would ever

change.

Each and every time in this fucked-up place,

receivin’ fucked-up trainin’,

shoveling down food that even a dog wouldn’t glance at,

then draggin’ my tired body to

close my eyes and plead for sleep at night,

I was afraid this hellish routine would never change.

Scared, and it all felt like such dogshit.

I screamed out even more fiercely, fueled by spite.

“The day you’re strong enough, I suppose.”

“What the hell is the benchmark for ‘strong enough’?!”

“Stronger than that number 19 kid, at the very least, wouldn’t you say?”

“..The hell with that.”

Number 19.

Despite being the same age as me,

she was a girl who had achieved victory

against the drill instructor.

She hadn’t trained since some point.

The instructors themselves

believed they couldn’t handle her.

Actually, I’d only heard about her, I’d never seen her skills for myself, but

the instructors occasionally…

Speaking of the Story Number 19,

and uttering the name of Heavenly Slaughter Star…

It was clear they weren’t of our age,

at least, not in terms of skill.

“Are you insane? How are we supposed to beat that monster?!”

“A monster…is it?”

“What, should I call her a genius, then?

That monster, should I?”

“A genius… that’s right.”

*Scratch, scratch*─

The quill’s sound echoed, driving me mad.

And for the first time ever,

his lips, never so much as twitching before,

stirred today.

“She is a genius, a genius at killing people.”

“I know, so for fuck’s sake, lower the bar a little!!”

“Then, do you know

how geniuses behave?”

“…?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

It didn’t fit with the conversation we’d been having,

it was a completely irrelevant question.

“What nonsense are you spouting all of a sudden?

Are you, perhaps, ill?”

“Heh heh…you’re probably the only one

who talks back to an instructor like that.”

“Bullshit, if you lot punished kids

every time you heard a few curse words, you’d have

replaced us dozens of times already.”

“…Yes, that’s true.”

“Enough with the drivel… what does that even mean?”

“It means exactly what it says.”

Do you know how geniuses behave?

Of course, I don’t.

Because I’m not a genius.

I’m the type who, because I’m already dim-witted,

gets beaten to a pulp, over and over,

before finally, barely, mastering a technique.

Because that was precisely the kind of whelp

I was.

“As you well know…

For geniuses, there are no obstructions.”

“….”

“The ups and downs, the trials

that others experience in life,

geniuses are congenitally

unable to know them.”

But even for them,

very, very rarely.

A twist in life, bearing the name of ‘trial,’ will arrive.

Should they succeed, it will bring

something immense to themselves,

but should they fail, they might

plummet straight over a cliff.

Such a twist is bound to come at least once.

“…What is it you’re trying to say?”

“How do geniuses deal with that trial?”

“…Hah, what are you─ since earlier, what…

“Shall we start with the dolts?”

The dolts, the moment they

face such a trial, give up immediately.

Consoling their pathetic selves, saying

they could never reach such a place in their lives anyway,

and making pathetic attempts at rationalization.

Then, what about the mediocrities?

Unlike the dolts, they

don’t avoid the challenge.

But they do prepare.

Until they become certain

they can overcome the trial.

No one knows when their

preparations will end.

Because, in any case, they believe that

they only need to surmount

that trial.

Finally, the geniuses.

Their actions…

It was recklessness incarnate, in truth.

They would not, like dullards,

abandon the trial, content

to live the life handed to them.

Nor would they, like the commonplace, undertake diligent

preparations.

I wager, the moment they encounter

the trial, they will charge straight in.

For they hold unwavering faith in their own abilities.

Even if that trial is so

fearsome, hideous, and detestable,

engendering such displeasure,

even if the probability

of surviving that trial is a mere 10%,

or even less,

they will not hesitate.

Within their minds, there exists

only “Survival” and “Death.”

Precisely and evenly balanced,

those are the only two options

that truly exist for them.

And they can always

choose “Survival.”

Through their own strength and no other.

“….”

“Heh heh… your face betrays that you don’t quite grasp what I’m getting at.”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Well, you can always

come to understand it later.”

For the first time, something resembling

a smile graced his lips.

Whether it was an empty laugh, or a sneer,

I couldn’t say.

But what was certain

was that he smiled.

“Be on your way now.”

“..Alright.”

Finally, the words escaping

his lips were the most predictable of farewells.

It’s been ages, and that’s all you have to say?

Truly, a man of few words still.

“Next time, try to be a little more… sparing.”

“..I shall endeavour to.”

In that instant, everything around began to shine.

The damp stone walls, heavy with humidity,

The quill pen scratching, the books lined up,

Even his face, maintaining that pointless neutrality –

All swallowed whole by a blinding aura of light.

*

When my eyes opened again,

I was greeted by

The grainy feel of glass shards

In my mouth, and the coppery taste of blood.

“Hoh…interesting for a lesser breed…!”

“….”

The scene that unfolded before me

Was a fight between

A withered old man, so thin he looked ready to topple, and

A pink-haired man who was somehow intensely familiar.

“….”

I decided there was no time

For leisurely assessment, and

Slowly began to pull my body, now embedded in the earth, free.

My wretched form emerged

From the ground with a tearing scrape.

Each time I straightened,

My joints protested with a series of pops,

But that was the least of my concerns right now.

Turning my head, I slowly approached the figures sprawled around me.

Just in case something had happened to them.

“…Could it be?”

“Hiss… hiss…”

“Thank heavens.”

Their bodies were utterly still, but thankfully, they were breathing. And then, someone appeared beside me.

No, to be precise, *someones*.

“Greetings.”

“Are you acquainted with the young lady?”

“…Who?”

My lips formed the question of their identity,

but truth be told, I had a rough idea.

Just a few days ago, Charlotte

was wearing clothing identical to the ones they sported now, back at the royal palace.

“Ease your wariness. We are

members of the Charlotte family.”

“…Is that so?”

“Yes, for now, we’ll help you escape this—”

“…I implore you, them.”

“…Pardon? W-wait a moment…!”

Swallowing the blood still welling up from the inside of my mouth,

I walked past them.

My destination, the place where those two were

battling with such fervent delight.

‘…Of all people to recall in my daze… that old geezer.’

Someone I used to want to

devour, bone and all.

Seeing him after so long… there was no one I could have been happier to see.

“He was a rather… remarkably decent inferior specimen, though…”

“Haa… haa…”

“But still, inferior, nonetheless.”

Before my very eyes, a monster and

a prodigy locked in mortal combat.

No, perhaps two

prodigies after all.

For a prodigy has always been called a monster.

“My body is but kindling,

My mana, the spark it needs…”

He chants in the tongue of dragons.

To twist the very fabric of

this world’s order, if only for a moment.

With each syllable uttered, the magic I’d scarcely regained thrashes wildly, and

as if in recoil,

a searing sensation washes over me,

as if I am being cooked alive.

A wisp or two of

smoke curls from my lips,

and though my body feels as if it will give way, it mattered not.

For a being such as I cannot

overcome monsters otherwise.

“The flame shall become a conflagration,

The conflagration shall become a storm…”

I can feel the very air around me

rushing towards me.

As if someone were drawing a deep,

immeasurable breath.

“Hm..? That child..?!”

“..Heh, the effects couldn’t possibly

be taking hold this quickly..?!”

As I chanted, and chanted again,

I felt the gaze of those two

monsters turning towards me,

but I did not cease my incantation.

Rather, I intoned the words

with ever greater speed.

“The storm desires to

spread and spread across the world…”

With each word spoken,

the shards of glass that remained in my mouth

continued to…

He jabbed, and jabbed, and jabbed,

but I stood firm,

drawing in a deep breath.

The revulsion and rage I felt toward the old man, I wouldn’t show.

Every single one of those emotions

I would pour into this language.

“The fire fiend rides the oil, Inflame.”

Pwhooo─

A crimson storm hurtled toward a monster.

A monster wearing the face of a genius.