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The Academy’s Sashimi Sword Master Chapter 244: Victor Poison, President of the Association (1)

Chapter 244: Victor Poison, President of the Association (1)

The‌⁠ class routine of​‌‍ the Heavenly Class​‍ was simple you⁠⁠ died, died again,‌⁠‍ and kept dying⁠⁠​ in subspace.

“Ugh,‌⁠ seriously…”

Speedweapon​ rubbed his stomach​ to soothe the⁠⁠ burning.

“…Even‍‍ though a month​‍‌ has passed, at⁠‍‌ least in the‍ ‘Living’ classes I don’t gag as‍‌⁠ much anymore.”

‘Living‍​ Classes’ was the​‌⁠ nickname for the‌ “Getting Used to‍​‍ Dying” sessions.

Speedweapon⁠⁠​ gave a bitter​‍‌ smile remembering what⁠ had just happened.⁠

As‍ soon as the⁠ bell rang, everyone‌‍ rushed at Professor⁠ Meain.

The‍‍ cadets attacked with‌ everything they had.‌

Some⁠⁠ lunged straight on,‍ others tried to​ slip in from‌‌ the flanks, and​⁠ some even threw‍‍ weapons from blind​‌​ spots.

They​ used any means​‌ available. Everything was‌‌ fair game.

And‌​⁠ the result was…‌‍

Thud!‍‌

The‌‌‍ crack of breaking‌‍‍ bones was their‍​ lullaby to close⁠⁠‍ their eyes.

“Guhk.”‌

His‍⁠ vision blurred. The‌‌ warm sunlight streaming​​ through the window​ dimmed. A black‌ curtain fell over​​‌ his eyes. The​ last spark of⁠ light vanished.

And‍‌ in the next‌​​ instant, he opened‍‌ his eyes wide.⁠‍‌ Total darkness. He​⁠ couldn’t even tell‍‍ if his eyes‍ were open or‌‌‌ closed. Black ink​​‍ devoured his skin‍⁠ and mind.

Grrrkkk.‍​⁠

Everything‍‍ around him was‍‌​ a sea of‍ shadows. Black bubbles‍ oozed from his​​​ nose and eyes.​ The crushing pressure‌‌‌ from all sides‌​‌ suffocated him. Struggling‍ was useless.

The​‍‍ process of dying​ was silent. The⁠⁠⁠ end, an abyss.⁠

And⁠‍​ now, time to‌⁠ open his eyes‍‌​ in the middle‌ of death.

With‍‌‌ effort, he moved‌‍ only his eyes.⁠ The classmate next‍‍‌ to him, sprawled⁠⁠​ like a corpse,⁠⁠ squirmed like a zombie. A faint​⁠​ light lit up‌ his cloudy gaze.⁠⁠ He tried to‍‌ breathe deeply. Fresh⁠‌‍ oxygen flooded his⁠ brain, confirming he⁠⁠ was still alive.‌ Finally, a relieved‍‌‌ breath.

‘I—I’m​‍ alive…!’

The‍​ joy of being‍⁠‌ alive lasted only‍⁠‍ a moment. There⁠‌‌ was no time‌‍ to reflect on​ the value of​‌ life because Meain‌​‌ was already slamming‍‌ down a punch.‍⁠

Her‌⁠ strikes sliced through​​ the air. The‍ knobby joints of⁠⁠ her fists etched⁠ themselves into his⁠‌ retina.

Thud!​

His⁠‌ jaw dislocated, nose‌‌ and cheekbones collapsed.⁠ The smaller the​ impact point, the‌‍‍ greater the pressure.‌​⁠ Internal pressure forced‍‌ nerves and eyeballs⁠ outward like snails.‍

“Help—”⁠​⁠

Correction.​‌​

Thud!‍

The‌‍​ process of dying⁠‍ was horrific.

“Guhk.”⁠

And‌ its end, miserable.‌​⁠

It​⁠‌ was like a moth flying into‍‌‍ a flame. You⁠ knew you’d die,​ but still charged⁠‌ forward without stopping.‍⁠‍

Twenty⁠​ times a day.‌‌ Five days a week. Not counting‌ weekends.

Speedweapon‌‌‌ curled up. His​ fingers, hugging his‍ knees, trembled uncontrollably.‌⁠

“Uuugh…”‌

That’s⁠ when someone sat‌ next to him.⁠‌

“Is‌‍ this seat taken?”‌‍​

Abel‌ asked after sitting‍‍ down. Then why‍‌‌ ask? Speedweapon was‌ about to respond,⁠‌ but Abel covered⁠⁠ his mouth with‍ one hand.

“I⁠‌⁠ think I’m going⁠ to throw up.”‌‌​

“……”‍

Speedweapon⁠⁠‌ pressed his lips⁠⁠ shut. Nausea was⁠ contagious. If someone‌ nearby vomited, you‌‌‍ inevitably followed.

‘Not‌⁠ today, please.’

He⁠ slid slightly away.‌ Abel glared at⁠⁠ him. Just days‍​⁠ ago, he’d been‍⁠ a living “pizza​‍‍ factory,” and now⁠‌‍ he acted like‍‌⁠ this? Shameless.

Still,​​ Abel had his⁠ reasons for approaching.‍‌

“Hey,‌​‍ so…”

He​‍‌ cleared his throat‍​​ awkwardly.

“Do‍‌ you know why⁠⁠ Kang Geom-Ma isn’t​⁠​ here today?”

“The‌ president’s absence?”

Speedweapon​​​ tilted his head.‌‍⁠

“Yeah,‌​ I kinda do.‍ I called him​⁠⁠ this morning for‌‍‌ something and he‌⁠⁠ said he was‌ off on an‌‍ urgent mission with‌‌ the director. But‌ I don’t know​ the details. I didn’t ask.”

“You‍​ didn’t ask on⁠​‌ purpose? Why?”

“The⁠‍ president doesn’t mingle⁠​‍ much with us.⁠‍ It might’ve been​​‌ confidential, so I figured I shouldn’t⁠ pry.”

“Ah,​​ makes sense…”

Abel‌ hesitated before continuing.‌‍‍ He’d opened the⁠‍​ conversation with a light topic, now⁠ it was time‌ for the real‍​ question. He spoke‍ in a low⁠ voice, like a spy in a dark alley.

“Hey…⁠​‍ do you know‌‌ what Kang Geom-Ma‍‌ is doing on‍‌⁠ December 18?”

Speedweapon​ shrugged.

“He⁠ didn’t say anything.‌‌‌ Honestly, he’s indifferent‌​​ to that kind‍ of event. Even⁠‍ the fan site‍‍ thing—he only found​ out because I told him. He‌ probably forgot that⁠‍‌ the 18th is‍⁠ the ‘Day of‌⁠ the Seven Disciples’.”​

The​⁠‍ Day of the‍​⁠ Seven Disciples. Celebrated‌ in honor of​ Balor Joaquin’s disciples‍​⁠ and their noble⁠​‌ deeds.

At​‍ first, it was⁠‍⁠ a solemn day.‍​‌ People gathered in‌ chapels, fasted, and⁠⁠‌ prayed through tears.‌

‘And‍⁠ to think that‍⁠ was just a century ago.’

But‍ no one can​⁠​ stop time.

The‍‌‍ sanctity of the​⁠​ date turned into‌‌ a product. Some⁠‍‍ adults still protested,⁠‌ but the public‌ had already fallen⁠​ in love with⁠‌ the marketing. After‍ all, it was⁠​‌ better than fasting.‍

Thus,⁠​ the Day of⁠‌⁠ the Seven Disciples​​‍ became the year-end​‍ event. Unused candles‍ turned into shiny‌⁠​ decorations, and prayers​‍ into gift exchanges.‍‍⁠

At​ Joaquin Academy, it⁠‍ was also celebrated.​ And since it‌ was based on⁠⁠‍ the original heroes,‌‌ the scale was⁠ massive.

“I‍ see. I guess⁠ that makes sense…”⁠‌​

Abel⁠⁠​ fiddled with her‌‍‍ fingers. Suddenly, Speedweapon‍ felt irritated. Did⁠​⁠ she think he‌ hadn’t noticed?

“In‍ the end, you‌ just want to⁠‌ know who the⁠​ president’s going to​​ dance with at​‍‌ the Seven Disciples‌‍ Ball, right?”

Abel’s‍⁠ face twisted into‍‌ a strange expression‍⁠ and turned completely​‌‍ red.

***⁠‍‌

Meanwhile.‌

The⁠ Antarctic base, Angel‌‍‍ Factoria, was in⁠⁠ chaos. Only Victor‌​ Poison remained calm,​​⁠ seated with his‍⁠​ legs crossed.

‘My​‌​ God.’

The​‍‌ assistant’s eyes widened⁠⁠‌ in horror. His‍ jaw hung slack,‌ unable to close.‍‌

During⁠ his career as⁠ an assistant, he​​‌ had seen it​⁠‌ all. That’s why,‍ even when reunited‌⁠⁠ with the president​‍ of the Association‌‌‍ after decades, he‍​‌ had managed to‍ stay composed.

But‍‍ now, he couldn’t‍​​ hide what he​ was feeling. His​ face betrayed him⁠⁠‌ completely. The images⁠ appearing on thousands​‌ of monitors were‌⁠‌ simply too shocking.‌

In‌‍ a gray vault,⁠ humanoid figures stood⁠ in rows. Their⁠‍ bodies were covered‌​ in metal plating,‌⁠ but their ivory-colored​ wings made it⁠‌​ clear.

They​⁠ were divine beings.‌ They were angels.‍​

“A-are⁠⁠⁠ those really angels…?”⁠

At⁠⁠ the assistant’s question,‌ the president of​​‍ the Association gave‌​ a smile.

“Of​ course. I have⁠ a reputation to‍‍‍ uphold. Do you⁠‍​ think I’d pass‍ off a fake‌ as the real⁠ thing? I may‍​ not have a certificate of authenticity,⁠‌ but they’re genuine​‌ angels. And on‌ top of that…”‌

Victor‌⁠​ tapped his feet‌‌ on the floor​​⁠ from his chair.⁠⁠

“They’re‍ underground. Right here,​​⁠ in Antarctica.”

The‍ assistant said no⁠ more. He simply‍​ kept shifting his⁠ gaze between the‍ floor and the‌‍​ screens in silence.‍

Victor‍‌​ let out a hoarse chuckle.

“Seems‍ you’re all pretty​ shaken. Well, even⁠‌‍ I wouldn’t believe⁠​ it if I saw something so​​‌ perfectly preserved, like​ they weren’t even‌‍ fossils.”

Then,​​​ the secretary, who​‍​ had been silent,⁠ spoke up.

“B-but,​‍ President… if those⁠⁠ really are angels…”⁠

“What?‌‌​ Are you going⁠ to say this​ is blasphemy? Well,⁠‌​ it is. But​ you two, as⁠‍ my daughter’s secretary‌ and assistant, should‌‌ know this.”

Victor’s‍‍ gaze turned icy.⁠‍ The secretary and​​ assistant held their‌​‌ breath.

“The‌‍ hidden history of​⁠ the Poison family.”⁠‌​

According​ to the recorded⁠ tradition, it was​‌ the angels who​ cursed and slaughtered⁠​ the Ancients. Supposedly‍‌‌ because they had‍‍ committed unforgivable sins.‌‍

That‌ story, though distorted,​ was what the‌‍​ secretary and assistant​ knew. Media, even​⁠ though she was‍ an Ancient, had‌‌ never told them⁠‍‌ the truth. She‌​ herself didn’t know‍ it. So little‌​ was known about‌ the Ancients that‌ their history was‌​​ lost even before​‌ the word “century”‌⁠ existed for mankind.​‌‌

Today,⁠​ most people don’t​ even know how​‌​ the Day of⁠ the Seven Disciples‌ started 700 years​ ago. How would​​‍ they know what⁠ happened millennia ago?‍⁠⁠

But‌ it wasn’t just​‍ human ignorance. False‌​ gods had meddled‍​ in humanity’s history,‍‍‌ distorting it with​⁠ lies.

“Don’t‍ get me wrong.⁠ I found those⁠​⁠ angels purely by​​‌ chance. And living⁠‍​ in Antarctica has‍ nothing to do‌ with the ancient‍‍‍ tragedies of the​⁠ Poison family.”

The‌‍⁠ secretary furrowed her‍ brow and replied.‍

“…Still,⁠⁠ the world won’t‌ accept it. If‌ people find out,​​ not just you,⁠‍ President, but the⁠ entire Poison family‍ will be attacked.⁠‌​ If the one⁠‌‍ who turned angels​​ into cyborgs turns​ out to be​‍‍ an Ancient…”

“I⁠‍‍ know what you’re⁠‍‍ getting at. They’ll‍ say the victims​ became executioners. Or‌ that Ancients and⁠​​ demons were always⁠‍⁠ allied.”

Victor‌‍⁠ stood up and‌‌‍ walked toward the​​‌ screens. He extended‍​​ a hand toward‍ one of them.⁠‍⁠

Tack.‌⁠‌

A spark of static‍‍‌ leapt between his‍ fingers and the‍​‍ monitor. It looked⁠ like a link⁠​ between man and⁠‌‍ machine.

“When⁠ I was born,‌​ these electronic devices‍⁠ didn’t even exist.‌​‍ All we had‌‌​ were steam-powered machines.‌‍ Compared to this‍ age of smartphones,​‌ it was prehistoric.”‌⁠

Victor‍​ looked at the‍​‌ screen as if‌‍ watching an old⁠ TV set.

“You​​ know what’s funniest?‍‌⁠ Since the day‍ I was born,‍ the world hasn’t​‍ stopped changing. One‍​​ day the sound‍ of horse hooves​ disappeared, and things​ with wheels started‍ to roll around.⁠‍‍ Not long after,​​ those metal chunks‌​ started flying through​ the sky.”

He‌ pulled his hand‍‍​ back and gestured​​ broadly at the‍ hundreds of monitors​‍ around him.

“And‍‌ while everything was‍​⁠ changing so fast…‌​‌ I stayed the‍⁠‍ same.”

There‍⁠ was once a friend Victor held‍ dear. They had⁠ grown up together.​​

That‍​‍ friend knew Victor⁠‍⁠ was an Ancient.‌​ Even so, they‌ got along well.⁠

One⁠ day, the friend‍⁠‌ told him.

—Victor,​⁠ I don’t care‌‍ that you’re an​⁠⁠ Ancient. Any hero‍‍ who fights for‌​ humanity deserves respect!‍⁠

But‍‌ the years went⁠‍​ by.

For⁠​ his friend, it​‌ was a long‌⁠ time. For Victor,‌‌⁠ just a fleeting​‌ moment.

Ten‌⁠‌ years. His friend​‌ became an adult,⁠​‌ while Victor still‌‌​ looked like a child.

And⁠‍‌ then, the friend​ realized.

The‌ distance between humans⁠ and Ancients. That‌ even time didn’t​​ belong equally to​‍​ them. And that​‍‌ green-haired youth wasn’t​ happy about it​‌‍ in the least.​

Suddenly.‍​

His‍‌‍ friend threw a stone at him.‌⁠‌

—Damn‌​‍ Ancient! You must‍​ live so long⁠‍​ because you’re stealing‍​ years from people​​​ like me!

Ten‌ seconds. That’s how‌‍‍ long it took‍​ to go from​​‌ friend to enemy.​‍⁠

“When‍‌ humanity launched satellites​‍ into space, that’s​⁠ when the Hero‍‍​ Association was also‌ founded. And I wondered what had‌‌‌ become of that​‌ friend of mine.​ It was simple‍‍ curiosity. I just​ wanted to know⁠ what happened to⁠​‍ him. And I found him. He‍ was in New‌⁠ Zealand.”

“……”⁠

“I⁠⁠ went to see⁠‌‍ him right away.‍⁠‌ And what happened?​⁠ The guy welcomed⁠‌‌ me with a smile, like he‌ knew me! I got so excited‍‍‌ I called out⁠​ his name—and you‌‍ know what he⁠​ said?”

Victor‌ suddenly turned and⁠‍ shouted at us.‌‍

“‘How​ do you know⁠ my grandfather’s name?’​ That’s what he‍‍‍ said! It felt⁠‌‌ like I’d been​‌⁠ hit in the​​ head with a hammer.”

“…Dad.”‍⁠

Media⁠‍ had reached out‌‍​ instinctively, then pulled‌ her hand back.‍​⁠ Victor continued speaking.‌​

“That’s​⁠​ when I decided⁠‌ to isolate myself.​ I searched for‍⁠ a place far⁠⁠ from human contact,‍ a place untouched‌‌ by time. And‍‍‍ I found it,‍⁠⁠ here in Antarctica.”⁠‍‌

Victor’s​‌ dream was simple.⁠⁠ He wanted to⁠‍ clink beer mugs‍‌ with his old​‌ friend and talk⁠ about the good⁠⁠ old days.

He​ just wanted to‍​​ live among others.‍‌

“And​​ then, purely by‌‍‌ chance, I found,‍‌⁠ sleeping beneath the​ ice, the ancestral‌‍ enemy of us​‌ Ancients. Imagine the‍⁠ scare!”

But⁠‍ the world didn’t‌‌⁠ allow it. So​‌ he chose to⁠‌ become a madman.‍‌​ Because this world‌ is too cruel​ to stay sane.​‌‍

“That​‌ day, I made‌‍ my decision. I’d​‌‌ turn those damned​‍⁠ angels into an⁠⁠ army for humanity.‌⁠ I took it‌ as my final​‌ mission and devoted‍‌‍ decades to it.‌‍ And now, today,‌⁠ that cycle is​ complete.”

Victor‍​‌ walked with firm‍​ steps and stopped​‌‍ right in front‍‍‍ of me.

“When‍​​ you face Corps​‌‍ Commander Fermush, that​‌‌ angel army will⁠⁠‍ be a great‌ help to you.‌‌ Even though millennia‌‌ have passed and‌‍ their strength has⁠​ waned, if you‍‌ use them, humanity’s​‍ bloodshed will be‌​‌ less. If you​​ have specific configurations⁠‌ in mind, I can prepare them.​‌ I won’t hold​‌ back on technical⁠‍ support. But in​‌ exchange…”

I stepped back instinctively.​⁠​ Victor’s gaze was⁠‍ too intense.

Suddenly,⁠‌ he grabbed one⁠⁠ of my hands‍‍​ with both of​⁠‌ his.

“Will⁠ you, when all‍​⁠ of this ends,‌​‍ be able to​ kill me with⁠‌ this hand?”

In‌ that grip, I could feel the‌‍ regret of a madman.

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