There was something many people—truly, truly many people—misunderstood.

Ivan was by no means a racist. The accusation was rather unfair. After all, he had come from a world where discriminating against people for their skin color or individual traits was illegal.

The people of this uncivilized world could not even imagine such laws existing, but that was civilization for you.

Thus, Ivan did not hate other races for their distinctive traits, their peculiarities, or their differences from humanity. Was that not behavior far too base for a civilized man?

As Earth's representative, he had to behave rationally at all times. He therefore assessed other races on rational grounds.

Take a few examples.

Demons such as orcs, giants, and tauruses were closer to magical beasts than people. Did the ability to speak and having cultures of their own make them people? No. Parrots could speak, and sperm whales enjoyed cultural lives.

People needed morals. That was one conviction Ivan held fast to even in this horrifically barbaric world. So let us leave demons out of the discussion.

Another prominent nonhuman race was, of course, the elves.

Ivan was confident he would not waste so much as a second classifying elves. There was nothing to consider. These things were not people. They had no morals.

Elves and morality were fundamentally incompatible words. At least oil and water mixed when shaken. Ivan had never seen even a momentary trace of morality mix into an elf when he shook one.

Still, the elves had made efforts of their own to atone for their unfortunate nature. They had joined the alliance in the war. Having risked their lives in battle, they deserved some consideration. (Sadly, no prospect of improvement had yet been observed.)

And finally.

Dwarves.

These half-sized moles (short, burrowing, whiskered, and squeaky) actually had something in common with Ivan: they held no prejudices in their dealings with other races. (The beards were not a point of similarity.)

Between the minor problem of their being so unprejudiced that they had sided with the demons, their zealous espionage to spread their peculiar egalitarian ideology, and the geographical issue of their operating near the northern front, Ivan had made a great many memories with them during the war.

Thus, he had never entertained the idea of doing anything together with Dwarves for as long as he lived. Anything other than killing one another, at least. There was far too much bad blood between them for that.

How many Dwarves had died at his hands? And how many humans had the Dwarves killed? Even counting the grudges was absurd. Arguing over who had started it was equally ridiculous. That was simply the nature of war.

And so.

"Comrade Secretary has spoken! Egalitarianism does not mean some future state we must achieve! We call the real movement that overcomes the present state of things—all of it—egalitarianism!"

"Waaaaaah!!"

The moles gathered in the banquet hall were roaring, each raising a drinking horn as large as their own head.

Ivan felt like sighing.

An enormous bowl was set before him, filled to the brim with sloshing, frothing beer. Astonishingly, Dwarves called this a drinking cup.

"Drink up, comrade!!"

The runt grinned, his tiny eyes sparkling with goodwill. The notions of a Dwarf's smile and goodwill were so alien to Ivan that he felt a momentary shiver.

It would not be poisoned. Anything else, perhaps, but these creatures could not even conceive of putting poison in beer.

Ivan felt lonely among the runts, who chattered noisily, occasionally shouted quotations from "Comrade Secretary" without warning, and intermittently broke into a bizarre song called "Long Live Comrade Secretary."

Such was the long and arduous road to civilization and reason.

To understand this situation, we must return to the period immediately after the "training camp."

Back when the word "peace" was not yet a joke. Ivan was already missing the Prizhenkaya of just a few days ago.

* * *

"Good."

Ivan sat at ease in his newly refurbished director's office, grooming his beard.

The orphanage that Droan's siege tank had terrorized had been rebuilt larger and grander under the patronage of the Saint and Elizaveta.

It even had a chapel now. There was no resident priest, so services were held only on Sundays, but it was a considerable achievement. The children were forever getting minor injuries.

Being able to receive a priest's sacrament of healing free of charge meant an enormous contribution to the orphanage's finances.

SLURP.

Sipping a fragrant, nutty tea brewed long and strong from roasted barley, Ivan enjoyed the first peace he had known in some time.

He could hardly carry this perfect beard comb around and risk compromising its function, so he had been unable to enjoy this precious time for a while.

A small but fulfilling moment. Largely because he had no immediate assignment.

The academy was on break, the potential spies from their various allied nations had all returned home, and his principal charges, the children of the Hero's Party, were all hospitalized at Prizhenkaya's cathedral.

With the Saint nursing them herself, there would be no complications. They were tucked away somewhere safe, quietly receiving treatment, so there was no need to guard them.

In other words, Ivan was on vacation too. He had not intended it at all, but he owed it to the students, who would sadly be spending their entire break in hospital beds. (He had heard that Isabelle had ground her teeth so much that the Saint had warned her to stop.)

BANG!!

"Hm."

Thus, even when the door burst open with almost explosive force, Ivan was able to set his beard comb down carefully instead of throwing an axe. This was why people needed some leisure in their lives.

"Enrique. You don't knock with your feet."

"Yes, Mr. Director. Have a moment?"

"No."

"What are you doing right now?"

"Vacation. I'm off duty."

Enrique laughed, plopped onto the office sofa, and whistled.

"Wow, this place has changed! You've even got a bed now! Good. People ought to sleep in beds."

"Don't you sleep in a coffin?"

"Huh?"

"Hm?"

Weren't vampires supposed to sleep in coffins?

Come to think of it, he did not recall her carrying one around during the war.

Ivan was witnessing the destruction of his common sense.

"I really want to hit you, my pupil. Stop talking nonsense and pack your things."

"My things."

"Yes. Let's get to work."

"I cannot do that."

This country had no concept of vacation. Guaranteed leisure time for workers to make labor sustainable was a level of welfare that not even the Church would contemplate.

Thus, like every exploited worker, Ivan had to win his rights with his own two hands.

"I believe I said I was off duty today."

"This is honestly ridiculous. Since when do we have on-duty and off-duty hours...? Aren't you the commander of Counterintelligence Command now?"

"Subordinates can only rest when their superior does."

"Oh."

Enrique nodded, looking impressed, then quickly came to her senses.

"You almost convinced me!! This is urgent! My pupil, do you even remember how long it's been since you last saw me?"

"Eighty-seven days."

"... You actually remember that... Aren't you curious where I've been?"

"Hm."

That was outside Ivan's remit. He was a civil servant now, a profession indifferent to everything beyond its own jurisdiction. (Some Krasilof civil servants were indifferent even to their own duties.)

Enrique clutched her forehead and slumped into the sofa. Paying no attention to Ivan's expression, she propped her legs on the table and crossed them.

"Things are in absolute chaos up north."

"I see."

"I mean the runts are in chaos."

"Hm."

Ivan continued combing without so much as looking at Enrique. One must not force one's way through a tangled beard. He had to ease it between the teeth of the comb, using a flick of the wrist to smooth the strands. Otherwise, the hairs might snap while still tangled.

Enrique shouted.

"Oh, come on! Listen!"

"I am listening."

"You really aren't curious what suddenly happened to the runts, how I know about it, or where I've been all this time?"

"I can surmise."

Ivan continued without turning his gaze.

"The underground terrorist attack in Prizhenkaya. That disturbance was caused by the Dwarves' Earthweb Excavator. I know you left to intercept the invasion through the underground passages yourself."

"Uh... yes. That's right."

"If Dwarves tunneled into those passages, you and I both know the route needs to be traced back. We have to identify and block their invasion route."

"... Yes."

"In the process, you encountered Dwarves, fought them, and presumably learned why they had suddenly come all the way to Prizhenkaya."

"... That's right."

Ivan set down his beard comb and looked at Enrique.

"Then that is the military's business."

"..."

"Enrique. We cannot mediate every conflict."

That was especially true for the Hero's Party. They had to distinguish military affairs from their own missions.

The Hero did not take part in war. War was the army's role. No matter how great his strength, he could not be deployed to every front.

The Hero's true worth lay in not showing himself. The very fact that a force capable of killing one of the Seven Dragon Generals lurked somewhere along the front was a powerful deterrent.

Even if the front collapsed, even if countless people were being slaughtered, the Hero would never appear to save them. Instead, the Hero's Party penetrated enemy territory to assassinate the Seven Dragon Generals and the Demon King.

Strictly speaking, then, the Hero was not humanity's guardian. If one had to classify his role, he was closer to humanity's avenger, an agent of its vengeance.

The same held true now that the war was over. The Hero's Party's retirement contributed enormously to peace in the United Kingdoms. The mere knowledge that people capable of assassinating even the Demon King were scattered across the nations, living in seclusion, was enough to terrify the ambitious.

"I know. I know that. But, my pupil, this is more serious than you think."

Enrique looked at Ivan with a bitter smile.

"They're preparing for war, not terrorism. The Dwarves, I mean. Munitions factories were running throughout the entire mountain range."

Meeting Ivan's gaze squarely, she spoke slowly.

"Not against us. Not against humanity. They're preparing for civil war. You remember Aviditas, don't you?"

"..."

Ivan's gaze darkened. Aviditas, Lord of Death Dragons. Why bring up that long-dead specter here, now...?

"That mad lich was annihilated for good... but his apostles are still alive. They have been ever since Aviditas's floating island fell. They've split the Dwarves in two and kidnapped the general secretary's son."

"..."

"If they win the civil war, the flames of war will spread to the northern front. They'll be determined to destroy this country."

What Aviditas's apostles wanted was probably revenge. Punishment for the blasphemers who had killed their god.

Their holy war would inevitably turn toward Krasilof. The Dwarven civil war was only its prelude.

Enrique had been forced to spend all that time contacting Dwarves opposed to the war and assessing the military situation.

"Krasilof no longer has the strength as a state to wage another war. 'Little' Ivan. Please."

Looking at the most dependable, most capable expert when it came to fighting Dwarves—and necromancers—Enrique straightened, her eyes earnest.

"Let's save this country. Let's finish what we couldn't in the last war."

Ivan gazed quietly into her eyes, then sighed. He carefully placed the beard comb in his desk drawer and engaged its intricate locking mechanism.

CLICK. CLICK.

"My vacation will be getting longer."