Master.

Please arrange a rescue at Rendezvous Three in five hours.

Lucia opened her eyes after transmitting the brief message. Concealed in the darkness, she was watching the battle from far away.

Ivan had been right to say there was nothing to learn. That battle was not something she could learn from. It lay outside the realm of what she could learn, outside that very category. Even her master could not fight like that.

BOOOOM!!

The explosion reached even her position. She shuddered, struggling to steady her trembling body.

The combat Enrique taught was closer to “seizing victory.” Any means were acceptable, but defeat was not.

Ivan's combat was different. His doctrine was simple: give up everything he could afford to give, and even if defeat awaited at the end, land that final blow.

She knew the sort of people who fought that way. This was not the fighting style of the handful of mighty individuals classified as “heroes” or “superhumans.” It was a soldier's way. Even if his own part ended, he would sacrifice anything for the campaign's overarching victory.

So he was not wrong to say she could not learn from it. She knew what both her master and Ivan expected of her. She also knew she must not learn to fight like that.

But...

“I can still save you.”

She lacked the ability to leap into that battlefield and fight beside him. She humbly acknowledged that. But a rescue did not require so much ability. At the decisive moment, when Ivan's body finally gave out, even that single instant would be enough.

Lurking in the darkness, Lucia watched Ivan advance. Swaying, staggering, sometimes losing his balance. Suffering injury after injury from countless curses, toxins, evil energy, and the blades and spears of the dead.

And yet he never stopped. Another step. Slowly forward, smashing the dwarven remains that rose again no matter how many times he killed them.

Was this what the allied forces had looked like when they fought the demons? Was this how those who had to keep moving forward looked, even when the pain felt enough to kill them?

She could not know. She had never experienced the war herself. But if there was one thing she could say for certain, it was this: that was not one individual's advance. It was, in itself, the march of a legion.

The soldiers of old, whose very names were forgotten, who had left not a single line in history, who had fallen somewhere on those distant campaigns, were bound up in Ivan's battle—in every extension of his arm, every step of his feet—marching onward as a legion.

So long as even one person remained, the Extermination Unit would not perish. Only then did she recall what Enrique had said when she stole the “Statue of the Nameless Soldier” and kept it underground.

That one person she had spoken of was here. The Extermination Unit had not perished. It was still fighting.

* * *

“Die! Die, damn you!! Why won't you die?!”

The necromancers' screams rang out. Ivan's arms were trembling violently. He had fought beyond his body's limits.

Through the shrill ringing in his ears, Ivan sorted the countless noises and revised his engagement plan.

Some of his mana still had to be spent supporting his heartbeat. The damage throughout his limbs was worse than anticipated. Multiple organ failure from accumulated toxins threatened his life with every passing moment.

Fortunately, though, what a marvel mana was. If there was one resource Ivan favored in this uncivilized, premodern fantasy world, this was it. This all-purpose resource could be anything you wanted it to be. Though he could not use magic, his manipulation and fine control of mana had already surpassed Enrique's.

So just as he could support his heart muscle, he could force damaged muscle fibers to move. How fortunate.

BOOOM!!

An enormous skeleton suddenly rose and struck him with a shield. Neural acceleration had continued for so long that pain seemed to claw at his brain, but he managed to react.

Ivan steadied his stance and smashed the remains once more. A curse spewed from the shattering bones. He took it in numbly. Pain spread again.

But pain was merely an electrical signal in the body, triggered by the species' instinct to survive.

Naturally, he could ignore it. Unfortunately, the sensory organs that registered pain were too widely distributed, and blocking every pain nerve would inevitably dull his movements, so cutting pain off at the source was impossible.

But pain was, in the end, an illusion born of the desire to live. Thinking of it that way made it bearable.

“Kill him! Rise!! Ivan Petrovich! Come no—thou shalt come no closer!!”

CRUNCH!

Five chains shot out, wrapped around his body, and began to constrict. Ivan's advance halted for an instant. A necromancer's laughter rang out.

“Yes, stop. I sentence thee to death! In the name of Aviditas—”

“Not enough.”

CRACK!

Ivan had no expertise in magic. Apparently it involved twisting mana into just the right shape to do something, but he could not even understand whether that made any academic sense in the first place. Nor how a mysterious source of power that ignored the laws of thermodynamics could constitute an “academic discipline.”

But he knew countless ways to counter magic. He had been on its receiving end. Magic was ultimately a technique that used mana to produce some kind of physical effect.

To bind a tangible being with intangible mana, one ultimately had to conjure tangible chains. And if something could exert physical force, that meant it could also be destroyed.

So the instant he was bound, he analyzed the structure. He had suffered this trick before. Smash it, then. And forward again.

“Die!! Kill him!! Die!!”

Was that all they could say now? Perhaps because they were terrified, the necromancers' speech was growing increasingly witless. Their attacks grew simpler and simpler.

He could see their faces. Their pale, ashen faces. Their pitch-black eyes without irises. Their quivering bodies. He could see their fear.

“Too many have already died.”

Ivan slowly raised his axe. His opponents had already lost the will to fight, so what he needed now was accuracy, not speed.

He was reflected in the terrified necromancers' mirrorlike eyes. A limping man drenched in blood, filth, curses, and corrupted mana.

“Too many died for me to reach this place.”

[“Please don't die here.”]

All his comrades had died saying that to those standing beside them.

Those words had passed from one to the next like a round, until they finally reached Ivan. But he could find no other comrade to pass those last words on to.

[“I'll go ahead and let Sasha punch me, then. At least I won't be lonely. We've built up plenty of connections in both heaven and hell.”]

[“Live a long life, Lieutenant Colonel. Take as long as you can getting here.”]

[“Come too soon and you'll have insubordination on your hands.”]

“Cherenovika.”

“What—?”

“One person died here.”

The necromancers faltered back. Ivan took one more step, matching that distance exactly. He and the retreating necromancers moved with identical strides, as though reflected in a mirror.

When one of the necromancers finally stumbled and fell, the tendons in his axe hand writhed like snakes.

“Now, here today, no more of the Extermination Unit will die.”

CRUNCH.

* * *

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, specks to specks.

The dead who had wielded death crumbled. The corpses that had risen and moved became remains once more, and only the clatter of broken weapons and armor falling echoed through the air.

A stillness in which not even breathing could be heard. Amid it, Ivan stood straight, his head bowed in silence.

TAP.

Lucia landed beside him. At that very instant, Ivan lifted his head. With an effortless motion, he reached out and seized her neck like lightning.

Beneath his blood-soaked, flattened hair, blue eyes gleamed dully. His tendons writhed as his grip tightened with enough force to crush steel.

Lucia choked and clutched his forearm.

“Se...nior...!”

“Today... here.”

“Senior! Wait...!”

Ivan's eyes opened hazily. No use. Could this man even hear her? Right now, he was moving on instinct alone.

A tear slipped from Lucia's eye. From the pain, and from pity for this man.

How many had he buried? How many had he held close to his heart? How many did he spend his life longing for?

Struggling for words, Lucia recalled what her master had said.

“Mourn not... those who have gone before...!”

“For I, too, stand in their ranks.”

The refrain came from Ivan's lips reflexively. Lucia reached out, slowly wiped the dried blood from his cheek, and smiled gently.

“For ‘we,’ too, stand in their ranks. Ivan Petrovich. I'm still here. Not everyone in the world is your enemy. There are still others left to remember them with you.”

“... Lucia.”

“Yes. Are you coming around?”

The strength left Ivan's grip. Coughing, Lucia sank to the ground.

Ivan looked at her for a moment, then stared at his trembling hand for a long while before raising his head again.

“You still haven't had enough training to count yourself among ‘us.’”

“Your standards are seriously way too strict...”

“And why are you here? My last order was clearly...”

“Field agents may prioritize orders at their own discretion! Right? We withdraw after the mission is complete! This mission ends when I get home alive with you!”

“... I see.”

Ivan gave a brief nod.

In combat, every agent had the authority to refuse a superior's orders. The Extermination Unit never taught absolute obedience. Their obedience belonged solely to the Crown.

Depending on priorities, a superior's orders could readily be disregarded. Ivan decided to accept this valid and reasonable counterargument.

“You're up to the standard of a new recruit.”

“Did this man just... compli...ment me...?!”

“Help me up. There's something I need to check.”

“... Huh?”

Slumping onto Lucia's shoulder, Ivan whispered in a low voice.

“Eek!! W-wait, Senior!”

“Signal Enrique. Has the target been rescued?”

“Ah, w-w-wait! Back off a little! Your v-voice is the only good thing about you!!”

Lucia struggled to push his forehead away, muttering for a moment. Unfortunately, Ivan lacked the strength to move right now. Perhaps it would be fair to say the tension had left him.

Seeing his condition, Lucia grumbled and supported him with all her strength. His firm muscles were still burning hot from the battle.

“... Master's reply. Failure. Target absent from all designated locations.”

“As I thought. Open the second pouch on the left of my kit.”

“Huh? Oh, yes, yes. This...”

With a clink, she drew out a clear bottle filled with red liquid.

Lucia stared blankly at the bottle, then glanced at Ivan. With a solemn expression, he was staring intently at it.

“What is this?”

“... A healing potion.”

“If you had something like this, you should have used it ages ago! How do you use it? I've never seen this kind before.”

“Remove the cap and pour it over the wounds.”

“Shall I do it now? Move away a little. I'll do it right now.”

“Wait.”

Ivan raised an arm to stop her. He drew one deep breath, then resolutely closed his eyes.

“I'm ready. Do it.”

“Why do you sound like you're about to disembowel yourself? You're hilarious.”

Chuckling, Lucia gently wiped his gaping wounds clean, then poured the healing potion over them.

HISSS.

Pink foam bubbled from the wounds. Soon, they healed cleanly shut.

“Wow, this stuff really... What is it? Are you sure it's a military-issue potion?”

GRIND.

“Senior? Senior?”

“A moment. Bit through my tongue a little. I'm fine.”

“Want to gargle with this?”

“I said I'm fine.”

Ivan curtly rejected her violent fantasy and rose. Unfortunately, this world had no Geneva Convention, so Lucia's torture-loving madness was not, strictly speaking, illegal.

What an uncivilized world. Ivan sighed as he reconnected the senses he had briefly severed.

“Let's finish this.”

“Where are we going?”

“To rescue the Secretary's son.”

“Huh? You know where he is?”

“It's obvious now. Excluding the places Enrique searched, there's only one location where Aviditas's underlings would hide an important captive.”

Their stronghold. The place where the [Fortress of Desire] had crashed. Fortunately, it was not far.

Ivan shook his head slowly and spoke to Lucia.

“How is ‘Hammer and Anvil’ progressing?”

“She says, ‘Northern Second Corps advancing. Estimated arrival in two hours’!”

“Help me walk. I'll have to lean on you for a while. Negotiations will be easier if we recover the captive before the northern corps enters Andgrund.”