「Creature」
An unidentified extraterrestrial species that suddenly appeared in humanity's history one day and, before anyone realized it, established itself as a major threat.
Humanity's perception of them was remarkably inconsistent.
Those who had experienced them firsthand lived in terror, suffering from PTSD and even taking on debts that would take generations to repay just to relocate to planets deeper behind the Defensive Line.
Meanwhile, those who had never encountered them simply treated them as gossip and continued living their everyday lives.
Of course, after the disastrous news from Mercato spread, most of humanity had developed at least some sense of caution.
The problem, however, was that fear which had never been personally experienced often gave birth to recklessness and complacency.
“Honestly, once you know how to fight them, they're pretty easy.”
“...You want to get shot too?”
“Come on, I'm not wrong.”
“...Still, they're terrifying to ordinary people. If we weren't Special-duty Officers, we'd probably be scared too.”
“Well... that's true.”
Real combat and training were fundamentally different.
No matter how extreme the training became, it always guaranteed at least a minimum chance of survival.
Especially for the cadets of the Central Special-duty Officer Academy, who were elites even among superhumans.
Naturally, they could feel the results of their training far more quickly than most.
Perhaps because of that...
The cadets attending Jin Crow's lectures had all been thinking something similar without realizing it.
‘We can already deal with Knights.’
‘Even if it's a higher Mass-Produced model...’
Knights had been difficult at first.
But even the slowest squad had mastered how to fight them in under two weeks.
If that was the case, wouldn't higher-ranked Mass-Produced models be fundamentally the same?
And perhaps...
‘Even if we encountered Creatures in real combat, wouldn't exterminating them be fairly easy...?’
Who could have known?
No one could have predicted that the Bishop T.D.'s rampage would make them realize those thoughts had been nothing more than foolish delusions.
And the price they paid...
Was unimaginably horrific.
“Cough!”
“Bring another blood pack!”
“...My arm... my arm! Aaaaaaagh!”
The infirmary, which usually dealt with nothing more than minor injuries and the occasional malingering cadet, was now overflowing with casualties until every ward was full.
Of course, such situations, while rare, were not unheard of.
The same thing happened during large-scale martial sparring events.
The real difference this time...
Was that most of those lying in the hospital beds were not superhuman cadets.
They were ordinary soldiers.
“S-Sergeant...”
“...I... I want... to live...”
The once-pristine mattresses and blankets had become soaked through with blood, growing heavy beneath its weight.
Support-type cadets rushed back and forth between the dozens of wounded, desperately treating injuries and stabilizing patients.
“Ghhhhh!”
Among them were second-year cadets who had rushed down after hearing the news.
“Miel!”
“Yes! I'm coming!”
Without even noticing the blood splattered across her cheek, Miel sprinted toward her senior's call and threw her full weight onto the convulsing soldier to help restrain him while treatment continued.
“Haaah! Haaah!”
“Please endure it just a little longer!”
The collapsed soldier no longer had his left foot.
Medical science and biotechnology had advanced enough that artificial limbs and biological implants meant he would not spend the rest of his life crippled.
But no one could shoulder his pain for him.
Painkillers only worked against ordinary pain.
Administering something powerful enough to erase the agony of having an entire leg torn off would be more dangerous than the injury itself for an ordinary person.
The only thing they could do...
Was close the wound as quickly as possible.
“Aaaaaagh! M-My leg!”
Even that proved difficult.
There were dozens of wounded soldiers.
Most of them had suffered catastrophic injuries, with missing arms or legs.
Support-types were not priests or healers from some fantasy game who could simply touch someone and shout, “There!”
Their healing fundamentally relied on applying Psionic Energy through medical techniques.
They could not perform miracles like making the crippled walk or restoring sight to the blind.
‘There are too many wounded.’
Dozens of patients suffering severe injuries unlike anything they had ever treated before.
Even support-type cadets could not help but feel their resolve begin to waver.
But then...
A green-haired man calmly walked among them.
And almost immediately, the chaotic infirmary began to settle down.
“...Looks like a war broke out.”
As though he had only just woken up, the man rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes before slowly surveying the room with an utterly indifferent gaze.
The support-type cadets instinctively became wary the moment they saw him.
His appearance alone felt unsettling.
The messy green hair and lean youthful build were one thing.
But the snake tattoo crawling across the back of his neck, along with the way his unnaturally long tongue lazily traced the ring piercing through his lip...
Nothing about him resembled either a doctor or a soldier.
Because of that, one of the second-year cadets acting as the group's leader frowned at the man emerging from the military physician's office and cautiously asked,
“Who are you?”
“Military physician.
Move.”
Sigmund Nihel, however, paid their reactions no attention whatsoever.
Instead, he immediately began examining the wounded one after another, pushing aside the cadets' clumsy attempts at treatment.
“Penetrating abdominal wound.
His liver's punctured, and you're setting fractures first?
What a mess.”
“This one's the opposite.
A broken rib punctured the lung, so obviously you remove the fragments first.
Tch.”
At first glance, his attitude looked lazy.
Yet every diagnosis came without the slightest hesitation.
Perhaps because of that...
The support-type cadets who had initially been flustered by the arrival of a new military physician gradually followed his instructions.
As the wounded soldiers visibly began improving...
Only then did they finally breathe sighs of relief.
“Thank you, Doc... Huh?”
However...
By the time they turned to thank him, Sigmund had already left the infirmary.
He deliberately avoided the commonly used restroom and instead walked into the one located at the very end of the corridor.
After checking his surroundings, he entered the furthest stall and reached behind the toilet, pulling out something hidden there.
Slide.
It was a crude little receiver that looked almost like an antique.
Connecting it briefly to his watch, he pressed and released the device's button according to a precise rhythm.
Beep.
Beep-beep.
Sometimes short.
Sometimes long.
It was Morse Code.
Some might have called it hopelessly outdated.
Paradoxically...
That was exactly why it was less likely to be intercepted.
—This is V. J.C has encountered a problem.
Several minutes passed after his transmission ended.
Soon afterward, his connected watch flashed, receiving another coded message.
—Report the situation.
Having anticipated the question, he immediately transmitted the prepared response.
The other side answered in turn.
Viper pressed the receiver once more.
—Suspected trap by the factions. Request instructions.
This time...
No reply came immediately.
That made sense.
Any decision involving the Consigliere naturally had to be passed on to the Godmother first.
Several more minutes passed.
Viper had just taken out his electronic cigarette and was filling the restroom stall with smoke while wearing his usual indifferent expression.
Then...
—Stand by for now. However, if his safety becomes compromised.
Finally, the reply arrived.
—Use every available resource to bring J.C to M.
Even Viper found that order rather shocking.
“Every available resource, huh.”
Coming from the Godmother herself, those words carried enormous weight.
It did not merely mean the resources of the Xenorua Family.
It effectively meant they were authorized to sacrifice every tangible and intangible asset the Assassination Company had built throughout the surrounding planetary systems since its founding.
‘Is he really worth that much...?
Actually...
He is.’
His combat ability alone was already extraordinary.
Even so...
It still felt excessive.
Certainly, his position as Consigliere and his personal value were immense.
But the assets accumulated by the Assassination Company throughout the nearby planetary systems were far beyond something measurable in money.
“...Well.
Orders are orders.”
Viper blew out another stream of smoke and discarded all further thoughts.
The Godmother had spoken.
That alone was enough.
After carefully hiding the receiver once more, he deliberately washed his hands before leaving the restroom and heading back toward the infirmary.
Just then—
“...Ah.
Ah...”
Walking down the hallway, an unusually vacant-looking figure entered his field of vision.
A large-built male cadet stood peeking nervously into the infirmary with a face as pale as a ghost.
Suspicious at first glance.
Instinctively, Viper drew a razor-sharp scalpel from his wrist.
Then he remembered they were still inside the academy.
Clicking his tongue, he spoke flatly.
“You there.
What are you doing?”
“Ah! I-I...!”
Ironically, the one startled was the cadet himself.
The moment the cadet turned around, Viper found the face strangely familiar.
Tilting his head briefly, he remembered the name.
As indifferent as ever, he asked,
“Cadet Martin.
I asked what you're doing.”
“I-It's nothing.
I'll be going.”
The instant his name was spoken, Martin flinched violently.
Then he hurriedly ran down the corridor and disappeared.
“What the hell's with that guy?”
Muttering to himself, Viper scratched his messy green hair before continuing toward the infirmary.
‘Things have grown far bigger than expected.’
Senior Instructor Günter thought as he recalled the emergency meeting Ideale had convened moments earlier.
The meeting had accomplished nothing.
The Rosen Faction remained silent.
The pro-Ideale group merely watched the reactions of the other factions.
Meanwhile, both the minor factions and the Kukenhauzen Faction avoided applying direct pressure for the time being, insisting they should first gain a clearer understanding of the situation while slowly tightening the noose around her.
Naturally...
There was genuine surprise mixed into their reactions as well.
‘Ten cadets dead.
Nearly an entire company of soldiers too.’
Close to a hundred casualties altogether.
Of course...
Günter did not care in the slightest about the dead soldiers.
The true issue was the ten cadets.
Not those incompetent and powerless ordinary humans.
‘Pathetic halfwits.
Imagine dying to nothing more than a machine.’
Even his concern over the cadets' deaths had nothing to do with guilt.
He merely worried that their deaths had made the situation too large.
He felt neither responsibility nor remorse.
He sincerely believed that was only natural.
Incompetence was a sin.
In fact...
Part of him even believed they had simply eliminated ten incompetent Special-duty Officers before they could become a problem.
‘This isn't the worst outcome.’
From the beginning, he had intended to silence those foolish cadets during the next vacation anyway.
There was no reason to leave loose ends behind.
Even if they were somehow exposed before that...
The virus had been smuggled in through multiple layers of laundering.
Officially, there was absolutely no connection whatsoever between the Kukenhauzen Faction and this incident.
Thinking that far...
He almost felt everything had gone surprisingly well.
‘This is actually for the best.
Bringing down someone like Ideale requires something on this scale.’
Once she fell...
The academy would inevitably descend into chaos over the appointment of the next Headmaster.
But there was no chance someone from Rosen's side, burdened by Jin Crow's responsibility, could take the position.
Ultimately...
The Ministry of National Defense would have no choice but to appoint one of the Senior Instructors.
“Heh.”
Suppressing the ambition rising to his throat, Günter slowly swirled the whiskey in his glass before quietly murmuring,
“To the glory of the Ironblood lineage.”
Ideale Kukenhauzen would soon realize it as well.
That what truly suited her...
Was not this pathetic imitation of humanity.
But the duty of an Übermensch, heir to the bloodline of the Iron Man.
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