In the Department of Metallurgy, Instructor Hans Schmidt.
In the Department of Fine Arts, Lecturer Dorothy.
Cam from the Department of Statistics.
Den from the Department of Architecture.
Professor Alain de Wagner from the Department of History.

These were esteemed faculty members within the Academy, renowned individuals or even those who had reached the level of masters.
Yet, here they were, not just anywhere, but in the extraterritorial area known as the Parasite Abyss.
A place even elite soldiers were hesitant to enter, and yet they strolled in boldly?

And such prominent figures, no less?

This alone was evidence enough that something suspicious was afoot.

However.

"Wa-Wait a moment! There's a misunderstanding here! I think there's been a mix-up, so let’s talk this out…!"
"Yes, that's right, Sir Turtle! Let's resolve this through conversation! This is all a big misunderstanding!"
"Ahem, this fellow has a short temper, you see, we also have our reasons—."

Thunk!

"Ugh…."

With a thud, the architectural giant, Den, fell to his knees.
A poisoned dart—a common weapon among assassins—was lodged in his chest.

The dart had hit him squarely, causing him to collapse and cough up blood.

"I smeared it with a goblin’s miscellaneous poisons. You know how those are, right? It’s a blend of all sorts of toxins, making it tough to detoxify. It’s bound to hurt."
"W-What on earth are you doing?!"

Throwing poisoned darts without a word—what kind of audacious behavior was this?!
They were genuinely furious…

"—Hah, how did you find out?"

A dull hum filled the air as he unleashed his mana, accompanied by a mocking grin.
Unlike Irene Windler’s beautiful, wave-like mana, his was a murky, sewage-like hue.
But it was still mana, after all.

...It was also a hue characteristic of the forbidden mages, those who had forsaken human decency.

Fwoosh!

The dart melted away without a trace.
Den had already burned off the poison with his mana.

"Damn, that's strong!"

But goblin poison was notorious.
Even though he had tried to cleanse it, the mixture of filth left his body barely able to stand.
If it weren’t for his mana, it would’ve been unbearable.

"How dare you, you lowly knight…!"

Gone was the pleasant smile, replaced now by a look of sheer contempt from the five of them.
Despite the seething glares, Ihan remained impassive.
No, rather, his demeanor had grown even colder, to the point of being menacing.

Hans felt a chill, his body twitching with unease, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself not to show it.

"How did you find out?"
"About what?"
"Our identities, how did you know?"
"Is that really what you’re curious about right now?"
"Call it a scholar's thirst for knowledge."
"Scholar's thirst, my ass. You’re nothing but plague-spreading vermin."
"......"

Without a trace of humor, but with a fire in his eyes, Ihan mocked them.

"Brain-dead pests, you thought you could exploit people without getting caught?"

"......"

"So, you had fun making that fool Oddwal dance to your tune? You dumbasses think you’re smart, huh? Oh, is that rude? My bad, I shouldn’t compare you to imbeciles—they’re smarter and kinder than you’ll ever be. Compared to you, even maggots are more useful, and you’re filthier than any rapist. No comparison can do you justice."

"...I’ll never let you live."

"Y’all aren't even kobolds, so why do you keep yapping like mutts?"

"!!"

Huff!

Any further words were useless, and they pulled out their staffs, ready to punish the insolent "creature" that dared insult them!

But.

Slash!

"Who do you think you’re pointing at, you wretched bastard?"

Splurt!

"Argh!"

Lacking even basic manners, Hans’s wrist was sliced clean off by an axe.

 

If one were to ask when he noticed something was off about them, he would say:

"I knew from the start"—they were just that stupid.

"[Blow, O Crimson Wind of the North!]."

Dorothy—no, the woman only wearing Dorothy’s "skin" had no scent of paint or graphite on her fingertips.
A renowned artist should naturally carry the scent of their atelier, but there was only the stench of rot.
Did she seriously expect anyone to believe she was a painter?

Ridiculous.

Whoosh!

The blade-like wind whipped toward Ihan, but he charged forward without a care.
A magic that could cleave through flesh as easily as butter.

Stab!

"Ugh!"
"Brush your teeth, you reek."

Crunch!

No blade could harm his body.
Unscathed, he crushed the mage's jaw in his grip, ensuring she would only be able to consume soup from now on.

If she survived, that is.

"L-Lenny!"
"Was that her name? So where’s the real Dorothy?"
"How dare you lay your filthy hands on her!"
"Fine, have her back."

The mage’s body was hurled towards them.
They attempted to catch her with telekinesis, but, regrettably…

Thunk!

"!!?"
"You insane bastard!"

Ihan’s sword pierced through her belly, then through another mage’s throat.

"Guh—!"

Splatter!

Den of the Architecture Department.
For someone said to be a great master, he lacked any semblance of dignity.
A true master wouldn’t have such soft hands, either.
If you’re going to disguise yourself, at least do it right.

"[Stab! Sharper, more viciously!]."
"[Spread, fire! Burn hot, ignite like molten lava!]."

The incantations were more like screams.

These fools—no one in their right mind uses magic when a knight is this close.

Thud!

Ihan's hand-axe buried itself in the center of Cam’s chest.
Supposedly a prodigy of the Statistics Department, rumored to have caught the royal family’s attention, but he reeked of narcotics.
No brain in that skull of his.

"[Fire—].

One of them tried to finish his incantation, but.

"━Shut up━!"

With a roar louder than a lion’s, the incantation was cut off.

The Lion’s Roar.
Ihan’s booming shout resonated throughout the entire street.
The shockwave was strong enough to crack the old buildings.

The roar was far more powerful than what he had shown to the cadets the previous day.

This roar, filled with killing intent and authority, became an attack all on its own.

"My ears! I can’t hear…!"

"AAAAAH…!"

An instant strike.

The mages’ spells tangled, and they convulsed from the pain.
But it was Ihan’s roar that delivered the most suffering and pain.

Blood trickled from their ears, eyes, and noses, and one of them immediately fainted on the spot.

Alain.
Instead of being the legendary historian, he was more suited to being a "butcher" reeking of perfume and blood.

"They weren’t even trying to hide it, those despicable bastards."

The Parasite Abyss.
They call this place the cancer of the kingdom and a parasite?
Wrong.
The real parasites are those who leech off others' lives, disguising themselves with stolen skins.

This was Ihan’s heartfelt assessment.

"How…?"

Hans, the only surviving mage, trembled.
In mere moments, four of his comrades had either fainted or died in pools of blood.

Overwhelming.
Yes, it was overwhelming.
He crushed the mages like insects, exactly as one would deal with vermin.

"T-Turtle Sir…"
"How convenient. You call me ‘sir’ now, but I was just a nobody a moment ago? Make up your mind."

Step by step, he was approaching.
Hans was nearly driven mad with fear.
How could such a monster exist?

He thought he was just a disgraced knight, but his skills were far beyond that.

"Who the hell are you?! Why did you come to the Academy?!"
"......"
"Did you also want this?! Did you sneak in for the ‘musket’ plans the Grand Alchemist left behind? I-I’ll give them to you! Just spare my life—"
"Disgusting. Shut your mouth."

Crunch!

"Aaaaagh!"

He crushed his ankle.
Merciless hands.

Taking a step closer, he grabbed the man’s jaw.

Crack!

"!!!"

He crushed the jaw with sheer brute force.

Then.

Thunk.

…He drove the poisoned dart into his heart.

"Mages don’t die easily even when you pierce their hearts, do they? Maybe because it’s the core of their mana, they’re sturdier than most. But once the heart is disabled, you can’t use mana either."

"!!"

His jaw shattered, his mana sealed, Hans—no, the pest using Hans’s name—writhed in pain, thrashing about helplessly.
Trying to escape Ihan’s grip was a futile gesture, akin to a monkey imagining it could escape a crocodile’s jaws.

With a sigh, Ihan crushed Hans beneath his boot, then looked up toward the sky.

“Seriously.”

“Why do these damn mosquito-like pests keep showing up, no matter how many I squash?”

He muttered as if annoyed by the persistence of mosquitoes that appeared long after summer’s end.

 

Meanwhile, as if to prove that today was unusually busy in the Parasite Abyss, unseen observers were watching the battle between Ihan and the mages from a hidden spot.

“Amazing. They weren’t just ordinary folks, yet he defeated them so easily.”
“It wasn’t just raw strength; there was skill and experience too. There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

As Jack observed, these weren’t the amateur magicians the cadets had beaten earlier in the day.
They were all Grade 2 Forbidden Mages, each capable of committing murder and other heinous crimes without hesitation.
Usually, it took a senior knight or high-ranking warrior to handle a Grade 2 Forbidden Mage.

From that rank onward, their destructive power was no joke.

Yet, in less than a minute, Ihan had subdued them.
It looked like child’s play, but anyone with a keen eye for combat would recognize that his fighting style was specifically adapted to counter mages and eliminate them effectively.
It was clear that he possessed a high level of tactical awareness and battle experience.

“He’s mastered the art of fighting—no, killing mages. He must have honed those skills through countless battles.”
“Has he spent his life hunting mages?”
“Maybe.”

He really could have spent his life hunting mages.
That kind of expertise wasn’t easily explained otherwise.

Just then.

“How long are you planning to just watch?”

“……”

“Come out, you arrogant brat.”

“……”

The youngest prince of the North, Loen, smiled bitterly.

‘So, he noticed after all.’

He’d suspected Ihan would see through his presence, but he hadn’t expected it to be so effortless.

“My lord…”
“Let’s go.”
“I have a feeling we’re about to get scolded.”
“We probably are.”

Loen accepted this, deciding that even if Ihan beat him up, he would take it for today.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the arrogant little brat.”
“…I apologize.”
“Of course you do. I kept them alive because of you.”

Thump.

“……”

A crumpled piece of paper hit Loen’s chest and fell.
It was the paper Ihan had found inside the scarecrow the previous day.
He hadn’t known who put it there, but now, seeing Loen in front of him, he understood.

“Yes, as you guessed, I didn’t kill them.”

Loen quietly nodded, as if accepting the truth, and looked around.

“Three seem to be dead, though.”
“I only killed two. I pierced the woman’s abdomen, avoiding any vital organs. She’s still breathing, though she could die from blood loss. Not really my concern.”
“…Understood.”

Despite everything, Ihan had ensured that only the most deserving didn’t die easily.
It was as if he had an innate sense of justice, one that allowed him to weigh the severity of each crime.

Or maybe, it was just skill.

“Impressive.”

It was undeniable that the result was satisfying.

As Ihan received this compliment, he said:

“Impressive, huh? Well, then—let’s start by taking a light hit.”

“…Ah.”

Reality dawned on Loen, and he broke into a cold sweat.
He’d prepared himself for this, but now, seeing the blood-splattered streets and Ihan’s brute strength, he doubted whether he’d live to see the next day.

‘Maybe I should have left a polite message.’

A regret surfaced, too late to be of any use, as Loen, the one who had returned, now fully realized.