If the enemy hadn't sent a strike team to attack the Hero's Party—if, from their perspective, they had merely stumbled across the students while on “patrol” and fought them—then the roles of attacker and victim were reversed. Now the prey would hunt the hunter. Isabelle lay in ambush, tense, her sweaty hand gripping her sword hilt tight.

RUSTLE.

A racket came from the undergrowth: someone forcing their way through the densely packed trees. Soon came the clanking of metal, too. Heavy armor, and a pole striking the ground at regular intervals.

Ah, so this was why mister had stressed listening carefully.

Isabelle finally understood. Yes, superhumans held an overwhelming advantage over other “humans” not merely because they were faster and stronger. Hearing, sight, touch, spatial awareness, perception—the moment they reinforced their nerves with mana, every sensory system surpassed human limits.

In the realm of superhumans, no being who was not a superhuman could ever take one by surprise. Pinpointing an opponent through sound and smell was simply “common sense” to them.

TAP.

Isabelle calmly made a hand signal they had agreed on beforehand. Open hand, two waves: [Wait]. Soon, four orcs came into view.

'Four.'

Two more than the first time. Presumably they were reinforcing their “scouts” as more went missing. Predictable enough. They would have been difficult opponents at their first encounter, but not anymore. The students had already had plenty of experience fighting orcs hand to hand.

What had he said again? Ah.

["A sufficiently trained agent never struggles with the same situation twice."]

Recalling Ivan's voice, Isabelle tightened her grip on her sword. A little closer. Just a little more. There was a long “line” invisible from the orcs' angle of view. The instant they crossed it...

'Now!'

Isabelle clenched her open hand into a fist and shook it back and forth three times.

FWEEEET!!

With a thin whistle through the air, a small, invisible dagger flew out and severed the “line.” Elpihera's precision shot.

The orcs reacted the moment they heard it, gripping their spears. Quick. They certainly would have been difficult to face head-on. These were elite soldiers capable of infiltrating deep into Krasilof. Isabelle swallowed and rose.

"Oscar!"

"Yes!!"

Isabelle and Oscar charged simultaneously from opposite directions. The orcs raised their spears, screaming in a bizarre language. And into their midst—

CRAAASH!!

A thick log dropped like a stamping seal. It crushed one orc outright, while the other three leaped in different directions in alarm.

"Eshi!!"

Isabelle shouted as she swung her sword at the orc leaping toward her. Esidisi sprang from her crouch behind a shrub and brought her weapon down on its back.

CLANG!!

"Ghuurk?!"

The orc lurched in midair, thrown off balance. Isabelle thrust her sword into a gap in its armor, then twisted clear.

How was Oscar doing? Isabelle and Esidisi immediately looked toward where he had charged.

WHOOOSH!!

A fist-sized fireball slammed into the head of the orc bringing its halberd down on Oscar's shield.

"The last one?"

"Already taken care of over there!"

"Good."

The fleeing orc had fallen into Esidisi's trap and died. At least the trap used spears its comrades had wielded, so it could hardly complain.

Wiping away her sweat, Isabelle looked over her gathering party members.

"Anyone hurt?"

"If you got hurt after all that preparation, you barely qualify as human anymore."

"Weren't you somewhere safe, Miss Elpihera?"

"In this forest? Safe?"

"Fair point. At any rate, no one seems hurt, Miss Isabelle."

Isabelle surveyed the party with a satisfied smile. They were working better and better together. Everyone knew their role without being told, and their coordination was excellent.

Perhaps this was why their parents had traveled together. It made her feel a little proud, somehow.

She wiped the blood from her blade, smiling brightly.

"A trap right where someone would dodge another trap. An impressive adaptation, Miss Esidisi."

"Hehe, it's 'common sense'! Just call me Eshi, Oscar."

"For the record, I'd rather you didn't use a nickname for me. Preferably none of this familiar 'Miss Elpihera' business, either. Address me properly as Lady Grikencos."

"Anyone willing to smack her for me?"

Despite her words, Elpihera herself was giggling. At the sight, Isabelle and the rest of the party all began chuckling too.

Even in a forest full of traps and enemies, even as they unraveled a demon plot whose nature and purpose remained unknown, there was something a little embarrassing, but rather nice, about standing united: to drive out the demons who had set foot on human soil, and to rescue the mentor to whom they owed so much.

* * *

"An Eye?"

Ivan set down his coping saw as he asked. The orc—or what had been an orc—looked up at him with unfocused eyes, struggling for breath.

A bottle cap popped off with a click. The orc trembled, foaming at the mouth.

"It's true! I'm telling the truth! Put that... put that down!! J-just... just kill me instead!!"

"What a hurtful thing to say. I still have so many questions."

"I've told you everything, everything I know! It's true. Please, spare me. No, no, kill me! I really don't know anything else!"

"I salute your loyalty and endurance."

Ivan spoke as he slowly tipped a healing potion over the orc's wounds.

"Your refusal to talk despite such terrible suffering is proof enough that you're better than countless scum back home."

"What the fuck are you talking about?! I've really told you everything I know!!"

"You expect me to believe that?"

Ivan gestured with his chin at the long rod lying beside the orc. A crystal orb that looked like polished obsidian was set in its tip: an exceedingly suspicious magical implement at a glance.

Naturally, such things were not to be touched or moved by hand. That was thanks to a piece of wicked wisdom the demons had acquired during the long war against them.

Humans had a habit of collecting mysterious or unusual-looking objects. As soon as the demons realized this, they began indiscriminately mass-producing “things that only looked impressive” and planting all manner of curses in them.

With the front already retreating and their nations exhausted, poorly educated, hungry conscripts found the temptation of such “treasures” difficult to resist.

Even Ivan had once lost his sight for three days, immediately after picking up a steel axe honed to an astonishing edge. Fortunately, by then he could substitute hearing for sight and weathered the crisis without incident. (Enrique had lamented that he had gotten himself cursed over picking up such a trifling thing.)

In any case, the most important of the many lessons learned in those days was this: never touch a suspicious artifact dropped by a demon without a thorough appraisal.

"It's true. I'm telling the truth. Just... hold that thing once..."

"Do you think I'd fall for that trick?"

"I'm going to lose my fucking mind. Just kill me."

The orc seemed to have given up. Apparently not even the terror of healing potions could loosen this steadfast warrior's tongue.

Ivan privately saluted him. The quantity of healing potion he had poured over this demihuman's body had already exceeded a lethal dose. (Healing potions are not poison, so there is no such thing as a lethal dose. They are good for you.)

Really, he ought to say something that made sense.

The artifact called the “Eye” on the tip of this staff had abruptly ordered them to bring an army here? And it had periodically shown them the “future,” providing an infiltration route that evaded the Krasilof military's notice?

Did he honestly think anyone in the world would believe that? Even after enduring all that torture... rapport-building? The “rapport-building” practiced by Counterintelligence Command, particularly former Extermination Unit members, was not something anyone could endure with their sanity intact.

"Here is what I think, orc."

"...?"

"Someone in Krasilof's military, or among its high nobility—perhaps several nobles—harbored grievances against the royal household. Most likely resentment over the recent purge, or a desire to curb royal power."

"...?"

Ivan continued, looking slowly down into the orc's eyes.

"In the process, they thought to hire you as mercenaries. Humans would leave a trail back to them, but demons are simply targets for extermination. Even if you were captured and made to testify, a demon's testimony cannot serve as evidence in a human court. How very tidy."

"...???"

"But so few troops couldn't possibly threaten Prizhenkaya, so they thought: we need a larger army. But how to bring one here? The answer is simple. Assassinate the children of the Hero's Party."

"The ch-children of the Hero's Party...? Wh-what... are you...???"

Despicable.

Ivan frowned at the orc attempting the sophisticated act of “acting.” It was even doing a rather good job, making a genuinely aggrieved face and all.

But a trained agent never judged a situation by outward displays of emotion. Everything had to be resolved rationally, through common sense and evidence.

"What you didn't know—or what those who bought you off concealed from you—was that my men and I were here. Now tell me. Who was it?"

At this point, the orc shaman squeezed his eyes shut and gave up answering. Ivan nodded and granted this loyal demon a peaceful end.

CRUNCH!!

Ivan turned, his blood-dripping axe hanging at his side.

Four living orcs still remained here. He had selected and abducted only those who looked far too strong for Isabelle's party to defeat in its current state.

And in demon society, where strength proved authority, a stronger individual meant a higher-ranking individual. In other words, the commanding officers of this “raiding party” were gathered here. Unlike the other warrior ranks, these were likely to know something.

THUD!

The headless shaman toppled into the undergrowth. All the gagged orcs flinched at the sound. Ivan approached them and spoke.

"One."

He placed a hand on the nearest orc's gag.

"Only one needs to live. Just one who can testify."

"Mmph...! Mmmph...!"

"I want you to live. Do you?"

"Mmph! Mmmph!!"

"Let's find out."

Ivan dangled several perfectly harmless tools before its eyes and removed the gag. The trousers of the other orcs awaiting their turn began to darken.

* * *

"The Demon King's Eye... you say...?"

"Y-yes! His Majesty the Demon King's... no, that horned bastard's eyeball! Sir! Honored sir!! Th-that's what the artifact is called! It sh-shows the future...! Yes, yes!!"

"This shows the future."

"Yes! Yes, it does!!"

"And it told you to come here."

"Yes!!"

"Why?"

"Th-th-that... even we don't..."

After clearing away three corpses, Ivan considered the matter.

If all five told the same story, even after the “rapport-building process,” that constituted evidence supporting the information's reliability.

Testimony was like a blurry image: even if torture lowered its resolution, overlaying the same testimony repeatedly improved the overall picture quality. In short, matching testimony from different people brought it closer to “reliable fact.”

"The Demon King's Eye sees the future."

It was possible. He might not understand the mechanism, but that “Demon King” could conceivably have seen something as trifling as the future.

But for the owners of such an incredible artifact as the Demon King's Eye to be this rabble...

'No.'

Individually, they were somewhat challenging but beatable opponents for an ordinary knight. Yet they had successfully infiltrated Krasilof's heartland. That was more important. Mere orcs, these idiots with nothing to do with infiltration operations, had made it in without anyone detecting them.

If they had no collaborator on the inside, that was their own ability. Perhaps they were an elite contingent of an orc infiltration unit. Indeed, if they had encountered Isabelle's party without any intervening trouble, they could have confidently expected an easy victory.

'The stage difficulty is rising far too steeply.'

And Isabelle's party was still far too weak. Without his active “level design,” they would not even have survived this long. Besides...

'The Demon King's Eye. If this artifact really is the Demon King's eye. If the dead Demon King can still project some "will" onto his subordinates.'

What did he hope to achieve with such a convoluted, pointless undertaking? Ivan suddenly flinched as a piece of “common sense” occurred to him.

'He wanted the protagonist's party to grow...?'

The Demon King. Or whichever demon had created that artifact. Wanted the protagonist's party to grow...?

Almost as if telling Ivan: 'I'll supply the ingredients. Prepare them and feed them to the protagonist's party.'

In other words, as though they had anticipated that Ivan would lead the protagonist's party through training. Selecting precisely the troop type that would be difficult to face, but somehow beatable. Providing enough to account for losses along the way, yet few and elite enough to escape the Krasilof military's notice. Striking that delicate balance.

Ivan felt a chill crawl over his skin as he glared at the staff bearing the “Demon King's Eye.” He pressed behind his ear and whispered.

"Headquarters. This is O1."

-"Headquarters receiving."

"I need a mage capable of lifting curses and providing mental protection."

-"Curse removal, mental protection. Situation acknowledged."

"ETA?"

-"Three hours. Can be deployed to headquarters command and control by 2130."

"Acknowledged."

-"Acknowledged."

After issuing his brief orders, Ivan cut through the ropes binding the orc. It flinched in terror as his axe sliced through the air, then forced itself to lift its head.

In the dark forest, with the moonlight behind him, Ivan's expression was hidden. His blue eyes gleamed beneath the shadows.

"From now on, you're this stage's boss."

"...?"