Lord of Disease (JP-GL) 92

92: A Battlefield Without Pride

The fourth match.

…But before that, I whispered to Liz.

“Liz, that thing…”

I squeezed her hand, our bodies close together, to prevent anyone from hearing or seeing what she was about to give me.

And, of course, to absorb some energy to get through this grueling training exercise.

“Master, are you sure about this?”

Liz pressed ‘that thing’ into my left hand.

“Of course. That’s why we prepared it.” I tilted my head, as if to say, What kind of question is that?

“…Master, and I say this as a friend… rules aren’t just about what’s written. There are unwritten rules, too.”

“—Liz? That’s… a dangerous way of thinking. Rules have no more binding power than what is written. To think otherwise… is a dangerous ideology.”

A world where legal interpretation, the reading between the lines, was paramount. No matter how correct it might seem, that world was flawed.

We had to strive to improve the rules, to make them explicit. Without misunderstanding, without excess or deficiency. We had to work towards creating rules that would allow everyone to live in peace, simply by following them.

Today, I intended to be the perfect counter-example.

“You’re one to talk about dangerous ideologies.”

“Liz, let me tell you something. My actions may be dangerous, but my ideology is sound.”

Liz tilted her head.

“…Isn’t someone who can act dangerously with a sound ideology… the most dangerous kind of person?”

“You’re quite a rational person, for an assassin.”

“A rogue assassin is the last thing anyone needs.”

Liz was right.

But if that were the case, then not only assassins like Liz, but the entire military, would be unfit for service if they weren’t the most dangerous kind of people. Whether that was good or bad was another matter, but that was what I believed.

I squeezed Liz’s hand one last time, drawing strength from her.

“Alright, I’m off!”

“Yes, do your best. …Though I’m not sure ‘doing your best’ is the right way to put it.”

That didn’t feel like a cheer.

I faced the fourth Dark Knight, a lamb to the slaughter, in the training ground. The dog-eared referee gave me a stern warning.

“…Lord of Disease. No traps, alright? The amended rules aren’t bound by oath magic… but as the referee, I’ll be the judge.”

“Of course.” I nodded.

“Then…”

We both raised our wooden swords.

“Let the match begin!”

The moment the words were spoken, I casually closed the distance between us. My opponent flinched, then stood his ground, cautiously assessing me.

When I was about five paces away, I dropped my wooden sword.

The fourth young knight reflexively raised his sword to attack.

I threw ‘that thing’ at his face, switching it from my left hand to my right.

He reflexively cut it with his wooden sword—and inhaled a cloud of green smoke. He began to cough.

“!? Cough… guh…”

He collapsed, a pained cry escaping his lips. I waited for him to go still, then spoke, my voice cold.

“You’re all the same. Insufficient training. Do you have no resistance to poison?”

I conveniently ignored the fact that I had none either.

As expected of Liz. And Rebecca, too. They were both incredibly skilled at pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable to use against their own allies.

“…Didn’t I say… no traps…”

“It wasn’t a trap. It was a smoke bomb laced with a sleeping poison.”

That thing.

A special creation of Liz’s, a sleeping smoke bomb. A special creation of an elite assassin who had risen to the rank of the Royal Guard.

It was a grenade, not a trap.

Even with physical enhancement, my long-range control was unreliable, so it was recommended to be used at close range, where I, too, was at risk of inhaling the poison. A double-edged sword.

My own poison resistance was probably zero. But it wasn’t a lethal poison, and my usual amulet had some poison resistance, so I was safe.

“Just to be clear, you don’t consider this a rule violation, do you?”

I placed a hand on my chest and spoke, my voice and expression solemn.

“I am the kind of supreme commander who listens to the opinions of her subordinates. So, please, if I am wrong, correct me. Tell me, when did I violate the rules? I would be grateful if you could point out the specific rule that was broken.”

The dog-eared referee, who had been searching for words, looked at me with a distant expression and muttered,

“You really… you really… you really have no pride, do you, Lord of Disease?”

Her words, though a mutter, were amplified by the magic, echoing through the now silent training ground.

“That’s my specialty.” I smiled, confirming her assessment.

As I’d declared to Bridget, I was prepared to sacrifice even my pride for the sake of victory. In other words, that was my pride.

Six more matches.

I only had six more opportunities to teach these aspiring heroes a lesson about reality. But that was enough.

I would win six more times, all while following the rules perfectly.