“Isn't that one a little too big...?”

“That must be their leader.”

Isabelle and Oscar narrowed their eyes at the approaching band of orcs. The orcs eyed the surrounding brush warily, swatting it aside with swords and spears.

They approached with a tremendous racket, apparently unconcerned with concealing their movements and intentions. Isabelle furrowed her brow at the sight.

“Isn't this strange?”

“Pardon?”

“Until just recently, those groups were creeping around, scared out of their wits. Remember?”

“That's true.”

“So what makes them so confident now?”

“Perhaps being with their leader has bolstered their courage?”

“Something feels off.”

Isabelle settled into position in the brush, glaring at the approaching orcs.

Five of them. Aside from the disproportionately large one, that was a number they could beat. And the big one was leaning on a long staff. Was it a mage? That would actually be a relief.

How good at magic could an orc possibly be? They had Elpihera, an undergraduate considered the greatest prodigy in the entire history of St. Jansk University. With proper support from her, defending against magic would be easy enough. Fighting something that size in close quarters would be far more unpleas—

“Huh?!”

The huge orc was looking straight at her. It immediately pointed at the brush where she hid and roared. The surrounding orcs leveled their spears and swords and charged straight for her hiding place!

“They've spotted us! Oscar!”

“I'll take the leader! I'll try to buy us time!”

Every plan they had made was scrapped. Isabelle and Oscar were to draw attention while Elpihera sowed confusion with sniping spells, allowing Esidisi to gain the advantage through traps and surprise attacks. None of that mattered now.

They hadn't even managed to lure the orcs into the first trap. Though approaching the campfire, the creatures had veered aside just before entering the trapped area.

As though they could see the traps!

“Elpiheraaa!!”

Isabelle charged out with a shriek. With their plan ruined, victory now depended on a surprise attack from the two in the rear. Even she and Oscar couldn't confidently take on five orcs in a head-on contest of strength.

CLAAANG!!

Isabelle's first strike smashed an orc's pauldron but went no farther. Though the powerful blow had cleaved halfway through its shoulder, the orc swung its spear as if unhurt.

CLANG!

She barely twisted clear of the spear before the follow-up attacks came pouring in. Four orcs were charging her, while she had only two hands and a single sword.

“Ngh!!”

CLANG! SKRRRANG!!

A spearhead thrust at her head. Dodge.

An axe slashed toward her chest. Deflect.

Two spearheads came for her thighs, staggered one after the other.

With movements bordering on acrobatics, her joints cracking in protest, Isabelle barely managed to get clear. That was just one exchange.

'I should have taken its head with the first strike!'

Her opponent had reacted too quickly. But there was no time to think. The four orcs pursued her with precisely coordinated attacks.

“Elpi!! Eshi!!”

Isabelle shouted as she swiftly pulled away. Should she enter the “realm of superhumans”? Not yet. Overloading her nerves with mana lasted only briefly and had severe aftereffects. She simply lacked the necessary proficiency.

Given the exhaustion that followed neural acceleration, it was unusable in battle unless she could kill every orc within that brief window. For now, at least.

Then she had to save it for a more decisive moment. For now, she had to hold it in reserve.

“Graaaargh!!”

The orc directly in front of her went rigid and screamed. Its enormous body blocked her view, but she knew Esidisi had arrived.

“Elpi!!”

Esidisi had driven Bang-Bang (steel conductor's baton: hurts) into the orc's back, gripping it upside down like an awl. With a gauntlet she had taken from an orc, she hammered the baton deeper into its back.

Two pounding blows drove roughly half the long baton into the orc. Anyone who could nail a blunt steel rod through armor was undeniably Einar's daughter.

And then.

“Get back!!”

There was no need to ask who that was meant for. This was the decisive moment.

Isabelle struggled to parry the three startled orcs' attacks and quickly leaped back.

'This wasn't in the plan. What attack have they prepared? A trap?'

Her hair, the fine hairs on her skin, and her clothes answered her question. Her swaying hair stood on end. Fine hairs bristled, and goosebumps raced over her skin.

Static crackled wildly all around her.

It was coming.

Enormous mana surged like a tidal wave.

Isabelle instinctively threw herself flat, out of the mana's flow. Abandoning all defense, but desperate.

An instant later, a flash flooded her vision.

* * *

Far away, in a corner of the forest, seated on the branch of a towering tree.

Left eye squeezed shut to focus.

Right hand curled before the right eye, bearing the dual spells [Darkvision] and [Farsight].

Using them as a scope, she magnified her target. Through the dark forest, through the tangled obstructions hidden amid the undergrowth, toward the little “steel conductor's baton” beyond.

She raised her left hand and loaded a spell.

The mana streaming from her heart meshed like gears, clicking into place once. The loaded spell: [Call Lightning].

A potent attack spell, but she went one step further. Another click. The same gears meshed again, layering the spell. [Call Lightning].

Then another clack. Once more. Pouring mana into it, she interlocked the gears to layer the spell again.

[Call Lightning], stacked three times in all. And so:

“Grikencos Style: Lightning Flow.”

KRRRRAAACK!!

* * *

Not a current, but a flash of light struck, using the metal baton Esidisi had driven in as a lightning rod.

The countless electrical charges discharged into the air made Isabelle's hair stand on end. Static crackled, and the fine hairs grazed by a strand of that light crumbled to dust.

Even getting up was difficult. In the wake of the powerful lightning, her muscles contracted and relaxed erratically. The tremors made even gripping her sword difficult.

“Only an elf would fire something like that right in her allies' faces!”

Isabelle shouted with a hollow laugh at the outrageous strike called down on their own position. The four orcs that had stood before her lay collapsed in gruesome heaps.

The one hit directly had been blown to pieces; those caught in the blast had been roasted until their skin burst. It was a rather horrific sight for teenagers, but fortunately, the past few days of “training camp” had left everyone here running on nothing but spite.

“Wait, four...?”

Isabelle whipped her head around. Oscar! Where was Oscar?

“Ghh...”

Some distance from the strike zone, the massive leader looked down at her, its hand clamped around Oscar's head.

“Oscar!!”

“Cough...!”

Oscar was laboriously coughing up blood.

* * *

“Shall I fire?”

“No.”

Ivan briefly shook his head at his adjutant, who held a scope.

“Commander. But right now...”

“Mikhail. Do you know why that thing isn't killing Oscar?”

“Sir...?”

“One twitch of a finger, and Oscar would already be dead. Orcs aren't a particularly patient lot. And that one is especially enraged.”

Ivan raised his pistol and extended his arm straight. He let out half a breath, tilting only his head slightly to align the sights. His index finger slid along the trigger guard and inside.

The trigger clicked faintly as he eased it back. He held it there and waited without firing.

At that instant, the orc in his sights visibly flinched.

“Because it can see the future.”

“The future... sir?”

“Mm.”

Whenever it showed an intent to kill Oscar, Ivan raised his muzzle and aimed. Each time, the orc had to shrink back and withdraw its hand.

It had seen a future in which it would inevitably be killed, thanks to the power of the artifact, the “Demon King's Eye.”

But Ivan would offer no further assistance. Experiencing the moment of death without any risk of dying. How often did one get the chance to fight at one hundred percent, pushing one's abilities to the absolute limit?

This training method was even more effective than expected. Ivan resolved to incorporate it into Counterintelligence Command's regular training regimen.

“It can't use either Line of Fire Detection or neural acceleration.”

Ivan lowered his muzzle and continued.

“But with the artifact's power, it can do something similar.”

Ultimately, neural acceleration was the power to move the body faster, more strongly, and more nimbly. It was the minimum requirement for anticipating an opponent's movements and trajectory, then landing a counterattack even a fraction sooner.

But if one could see the future—if one could “foresee” an opponent's attack just five seconds, no, even one second ahead—then the result in battle would be no different from neural acceleration.

And only another superhuman could face someone who had reached the level of using neural acceleration. In close combat, at least, that rule was almost absolute. Below a certain threshold, numbers meant nothing against a superhuman.

Therefore.

“To have any chance against that thing, they must learn to use neural acceleration, even at a basic level.”

Ivan raised his muzzle again.

As if to say: I'll give you all the opportunities you need. Fight for your lives and seize it.

This was the fastest way to learn neural acceleration. It was a sense that awakened alongside the survival instinct, in the struggle between life and death, in battle against an overwhelmingly stronger foe.

The youngsters were already sufficiently trained. They had ample talent and mana.

All they lacked, then, was experience.

Providing it was his job as an excellent educator. Ivan humbly acknowledged his role.

* * *

Tumor of the Great Mountain. Wrath incarnate, King of Giants. One of the Seven Dragon Generals, killed by Maximilien.

The forces he led had destroyed two kingdoms, thirty-seven cities, and one hundred twenty-nine villages. He had been the vanguard of the Demon King’s army, the first of the Seven Dragon Generals humanity encountered.

The forces under the one known as the Second Dragon General had possessed no special abilities compared to the other legions. They had no “distinguishing feature”: no bizarre magic or sorcery, specialized troops or strategies, or grotesquely strange tactics.

There was just one reason their battlefield achievements had so overwhelmingly surpassed those of the other legions.

Nothing but battle.

The legion led by wrath incarnate had consisted of orcs, giants, and tauruses. Nothing but pitched battle, nothing but advance, nothing but annihilation. For that alone they charged, shattered, killed, and marched.

His victories were so conspicuous that the Hero had aimed his sword at Tumor the moment he took the field. On the eastern front, fighting alongside the knights of Thilles, he destroyed Tumor and his legion.

Thus, every orc was a survivor of those days. A warrior once led by wrath incarnate. Though they had lost their fighting spirit and fallen low after Tumor's death, their instincts and souls still held the memory of those glorious days over ten years ago.

And so, now.

An orc warrior, terrified by isolation and torture, slowly closed his eyes as he watched the “future” the artifact whispered to him.

Realizing that no choice would allow him to survive.

Understanding that he had been nothing more than a puppet for training.

Tormented by guilt for having driven his brothers into a trap with his own hands and gotten them all killed.

GRAAAAAARGH!!

Then the ferocity of old awoke.