29: The Rabbit on the Ramparts
An explosion echoed through the air.
The transparent wall before me absorbed the fireball, withstanding the blast. While the sound was muffled, the energy of the explosion wasn’t completely blocked.
Lightning and blizzards were similarly repelled by the transparent wall.
[Fireball].
[Lightning].
[Blizzard].
There were countless offensive spells in this world, but knowing these three was sufficient.
Even high-level mages usually opted to increase the power of these spells by channeling more mana, or simply casting them again.
Being able to use them appropriately in different situations was the mark of a competent mage. Even without that level of skill, being able to cast even one of these spells was like having a cannon.
In a world embroiled in a war of extinction, such individuals were highly sought after, practically guaranteed a comfortable life. A true example of having a valuable skill. Though that life was often short-lived.
[Fireball] and [Lightning] were favored for their stability. [Fireball], in particular, was renowned for its wide area of effect due to the explosion, making it the quintessential offensive spell.
And countering these spells was defensive magic.
Defenders deployed transparent barriers.
[Shield].
There were countless defensive spells in this world, but knowing this one was sufficient.
There were many variations, such as elemental resistance or reflective shields. But ultimately, this simple spell, whose creator was unknown, remained the pinnacle of reliable defensive magic.
Mages who could cast this spell were also incredibly valuable.
In a world embroiled in a war of extinction (etc.). Their lives were often short-lived (etc.).
Large-scale wars in this world were determined by the number of mages each side could muster.
The basic strategy was to weaken the enemy forces with offensive magic while simultaneously blocking their attacks with defensive magic. Then, warriors enhanced with physical augmentation magic would engage in close combat.
Of course, other units, like spearmen and archers, who could contribute through sheer numbers, were also important. But without defensive magic, tightly packed formations of spearmen or archers were simply targets for offensive spells.
So, they dispersed, charged, and engaged in melee combat. The outcome then depended on individual skill.
Even a horde of low-level soldiers with basic physical augmentation magic was no match for a hero-class warrior.
Therefore, offensive magic that could eliminate them before they got close was valuable, and defensive magic that could protect against it was equally valuable.
And even heroes got tired. Their skin wasn’t steel. Surrounded by enough low-level soldiers, even a hero could fall.
The fundamentals were the same, even in another world. Deploy more soldiers than the enemy. That was war.
Training personnel was expensive. This was true in any field, but few activities were as wasteful of human life as war. While they would surely prefer to keep their soldiers alive, the harsh realities of the battlefield often made that impossible.
That was why the humans did the right thing.
They used people like me, humans from another world who had no stake in this conflict, as fuel tanks, to conserve the precious mana of their mages.
Even I, now known as the Virus King, found the idea chilling.
That was why I was supposed to die on those ramparts.
No one to help me.
No cheat abilities.
No combat skills.
Not even free will.
“Rookie, get a grip!”
“Y-yes, Captain!”
Before me, a young ‘rookie’ was being encouraged by a middle-aged ‘captain.’ They wore grey hooded robes, so their voices were my only clues, but I didn’t care.
“Don’t worry about your mana this time. We still have replacements.”
Another person before me was used up, their mana drained to its limit, coughing up blood, then ‘disposed of’ efficiently. Thrown into the moat beyond the ramparts.
“Listen, I’ve told you this many times. Focus your mind. Everyone has mana. In the end, it’s all about willpower.”
It was a tired, outdated pep talk, but on the battlefield, it wasn’t a laughing matter.
Soldiers without willpower died.
Soldiers with willpower but no skill were even worse, but only mages were allowed to wear hooded robes here. They were the elite, promised a comfortable life if they survived.
Unlike me, who was about to be discarded.
“Here they come!”
“Yes!”
The two seemed to be in charge of defensive magic. Magic was still subject to the laws of physics. Offensive spells cast from a distance were slow enough to follow with the eye.
Offensive spells flew towards us, and the [Shield] intercepted them. The faintly glowing wall shimmered with rainbow hues upon impact, groaning under the strain. Occasionally, a fireball or lightning bolt would slip through a gap in the barrier, burning or freezing someone to pieces. Sometimes, the spells struck the ramparts, sending unsettling tremors through the ground.
But overall, the humans had the advantage. They were defending a fortress, and they had ‘mana batteries.’ The barriers were strong, and they had the resources to recast them. Their offensive magic didn’t falter from fatigue.
The person in front of me was used up, about to be discarded.
“Give me a hand.”
“…Yes.”
It was a young man, about my age. Unlike the one before him, who’d been thrown over quickly, this one had collapsed, making it more difficult to ‘dispose of’ him.
Two mages in hooded robes crouched down, grabbed his arms and legs, and, with a slight swing, tossed him over the ramparts like a sack of potatoes.
Seeing that, anger surged within me.
Is that how you do it?
Don’t do that.
Is that how you treat human beings?
—No.
Is that how you treat us, because you don’t see us as human?
Then I would do the same. Everyone had mana.
Focus your mind.
In the end, it’s all about willpower.
I repeated those words, the kind words meant for the ‘rookie,’ for the ‘human,’ not for me.
My vision cleared.
My dulled senses returned, and I felt the biting cold. Hunger. Fatigue. All of it was consumed by a boiling rage.
I shoved the two who’d thrown the man over the ramparts, sending them tumbling after him.
Amidst the explosions of offensive magic, their screams echoed clearly, unpleasantly, in my ears. The sickening thud of their bodies hitting the ground, their final cries.
I’m a murderer now.
Because I was different from them.
Because I saw those I’d pushed as human beings.
Because I knew that what I’d done was kill human beings.
And yet, I couldn’t forgive them.
Because I wanted to live. Because if I were to die, I wanted to die as a human.
A strange urge to laugh welled up within me. Standing on the ramparts of that fortress in the wilderness, breathing in the stench of blood and smoke, I looked up at the overcast sky, ignoring the black-armored knights swarming around me.
I am here.
I am free.
A world where no one knew me.
Where I was alone, not even knowing my own name.
Where I didn’t know who I was.
But the one who resisted the mind magic.
The one who chose to fight against this injustice, even if it meant killing.
That, I felt, was me.
I pushed two more mages off the ramparts, seizing the opportunity as they were about to throw another ‘human’ over like a sack of grain.
Then I was restrained. Or rather, beaten and dragged to the ground. Someone shouted,
“What the hell are you doing?!”
Why?
Why are you saying that?
Why are you saying that?!
Along with the rage, a cold, unyielding certainty formed within me.
Yes, those people were human. And to them, I was not.
Our logic was different.
My words wouldn’t reach them.
It was an insurmountable divide.
“Fufu… haha… fufufu…”
I laughed, a sound that seemed to come from deep within my throat.
It was so absurd, this world where words held no power. So tragic, this world where everything I’d been taught to value was useless.
But my actions had a small impact.
Two pairs of defensive mages were gone.
And another pair was busy restraining me.
The barrier protecting against the incoming offensive magic, weakened by the gaps in the defense, was fragile.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the air.
The shimmering wall that had withstood fire, lightning, and blizzards cracked, the fragments dissolving into shimmering dust as they fell.
It’s like the fireworks I saw with my family.
We’d arrived early to get a good spot—a little too close, perhaps. The fireworks were beautiful, but the sound was loud, and the smell of gunpowder was strong. My younger sister, still a child, had started to cry. I’d picked her up, patted her back, and stroked her dark hair, the same color as mine… my hands still remembered the feeling.
A ball of fire flew towards us, as if to brush away the shimmering dust.
“Beautiful…”
It slammed into the ramparts, incinerating everything in its path. The barrier shattered, and the ramparts were engulfed in flames.
I, too, was caught in the blast, observing the scene with detached amusement, lost in a whirlwind of memories, like a life flashing before my eyes. Then, darkness.
But I had been on the ground, pinned down.
That was why I was still alive.
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