The village bustled with desperate resolve. Where there had once been firewood-chopping and laundry, there were now trenches being dug and barriers raised. Farmers, housewives, and hunters—all worked as one to defend their home.
Yet within me, Kyle's voice whispered its unease.
Reconsider. This is too reckless.
Everyone's doing their best, I shot back.
And this is reality. Maiael alone can't distract that thing. A few traps won't stop the giant.
I clenched my fist. The memory of the headless giant's overwhelming presence made my forehead throb. Even the demon sword had done nothing to it.
There had to be a way—anything.
…What about the mask?
The Mask of the Demon—Type 1—is simply future swordsmanship. Skill can't cut stone walls.
"…It's not skill I'm relying on. It's power."
I pulled out the Dwarven Blade. I didn't bother hiding it today; the professor's reaction earlier had been priceless.
Can this break it?
Impossible. Not even the demon sword could mark it.
The hopeless answer made my thoughts circle back and forth. Mask. Demon Mask. Type 1…
…Type 1?
Kyle.
What?
If there's a Type 1, then there's a Type 2.
…You finally noticed.
So he was hiding something.
Tell me.
What will you do if you learn it?
Use it to fight that giant, obviously.
And if I don't tell you?
Fight the giant until you do.
…You're impossible.
Kyle sighed inside my head.
I'll tell you when the time comes.
Not a full answer, but enough to spark hope. There was something.
Just then, the professor approached in full gear.
"Connor McCloud. Remember the youth who first discovered the Meteor?"
"The shut-in wild-greens collector? What about him?"
"He wants to speak with us. Only the two of us."
I swallowed hard.
The young man's home was dim, and he himself looked worse—skeletal, trembling, eyes dulled as if eaten by shadows. Two weeks ago he'd been lively. Now he could barely sit up.
"H-hello… Th-thank you for… protecting… the village…"
His voice shook like crawling insects. Something was very wrong.
"I—I want to help somehow… I thought what I saw… could be useful…"
His fingers twitched violently. My forehead pricked with that same ominous itch.
He explained how he had gone up the mountain for wild greens, then heard "a strange noise," and how a Meteor had attacked.
"I blocked it with a basket… and ran…"
"…With a basket?"
The professor met my eyes. Strange, indeed.
"We found the basket," the professor said quietly. "Not a scratch on it."
The young man panicked, muttering to himself. Something snapped.
"What type of Meteor was it?" the professor asked.
"W-wolf…? Or an eagle…? Rabbits eat fish… no, rabbits… no… I dig greens…"
His eyes emptied. He clawed at his own head.
"Namulnamulnamul—go, go, go!"
"Hey! Are you—"
"GET OUT! GET OUT OF ME! GET OUT!"
Objects flew. The professor gently stopped me.
"Sometimes… wounds of the spirit must be healed by the self," he murmured.
We backed out as the boy screamed, slamming something against the door.
What had he seen that day?
Two days later, at 10:40 AM—twelve days into the dispatch program—Lanius returned from his long reconnaissance.
"Enemy approaching. Contact in thirty minutes."
It had begun.
My team stood in the empty square. They didn't have to fight. But every one of them chose to stand here anyway.
"You guys are the best idiots in the world."
"What's that idiot leading the idiots saying?" Lug snorted and punched my shoulder.
I grinned.
We were idiots… but fools who survive long.
We gathered around the map.
"The enemy is coming in two groups. South group: many, but weak—mostly Rank 10 Meteors with magic crystals on their foreheads."
Lanius confirmed with a nod.
"North group: fewer, but stronger. And—most importantly—the headless giant is with them."
Maiael's expression tightened. Understandably so.
"So we split. Whipney—protect the villagers.
Lug, Anastasia, Maiael—hold the south.
Lanius, the professor, and I will stop the north."
Everyone accepted their roles without protest.
"To finish this study program," I said, hand tightening on the Dwarven Blade.
At the northern entrance, the professor and I stood ready. Above us, Lanius carved wide circles through the air.
"Connor McCloud," the professor said quietly. "Where did that sword come from?"
"A gift."
"From whom?"
"That stays secret."
Before more could be said, the ground shuddered. Screams and roars bled through the forest.
My forehead stung sharply. The Dwarven Blade felt slick with sweat.
Then the horde burst forth.
Wolves, bears, foxes—twisted into Meteors. Goblins, lizardmen, orcs—monsters all howling in fevered madness. A tide of chaos.
They slammed into the villagers' defenses.
The first rank impaled themselves on the barricade stakes with their own momentum.
Those behind slowed, climbed over corpses, and leaped—
Only to fall into the deep pits waiting beneath.
And when the survivors tried to sprint free—
BOOM!
Lanius's buried mines erupted, tearing through their ranks.
Three layers of traps shattered their morale. The swarm wavered.
This was the moment.
"For all the trouble you caused us—pay it back a thousandfold!"
I drew my blade and charged.