Chapter 1: The Protagonist Is About to Die?

The light settled low, draping the plain in a wash of honey and amber, and the shadows of the oak trees spread slowly outward like ink bleeding into paper, drawn long and thin.

Starlings swept across the sky and into the woods, their soft calls drifting down on the beat of their wings, grazing the edges of a few windows laced with cracks.

“…Be kind, and be calm. Do not let the force of envy rule you, and do not give way to anger. Know that anger is the root of all evil; let it master you, and you will walk toward darkness.”

The teacher in the long black robe stood at the lectern and recited, again and again, the precepts his students had long since memorized by heart, his chalk-dusted fingers tapping ceaselessly against the blackboard.

He seemed to sense that he had said all of this too many times, yet when he looked out at the rows of wide, uncomprehending eyes below, he could not help but say it once more.

“Do not harbor resentment. Resentment is a serpent that will crawl into your body and coil around your heart. Learn the power of forgiveness; learn to pardon.

“If someone resents you and wishes you harm, what should you do?”

He put the question to the class.

“Comfort him, pity him,” the students answered in unison, “and in the end, forgive him, pardon him.”

This was the standard answer printed in the textbook, and across its many layered pages there were countless variations of the same; every one of them emphasizing mercy and forgiveness.

Satisfied to hear the students recite the answer so faithfully, whether or not they truly believed it, the teacher nodded and turned toward the door just as the bell outside the window was rung, its jingle spilling into the classroom.

The mood in the room loosened. The teacher clapped his hands to signal the end of class and left.

He had barely stepped out the door half a second before the classroom erupted into chaos.

A cluster of boys had gathered by the window. The one in the middle held a picture book worn nearly to rags, its pages filled with illustrations of the career paths the Holy Court held in especially high regard.

“I want to be an enforcement officer,” a freckled boy declared, getting in first, his fingers drumming the windowsill as his eyes burned on the first page of the book.

“Lock up all the villains.”

“Enforcement officers are nothing compared to holy knights,” said a stockier boy, swinging his fist.

“Holy knights have swords; they fight the darkness.”

As if to prove his point, he snatched the book and flipped quickly back a couple of pages, brandishing the armored figure depicted there and jabbing triumphantly at the longsword in its hand.

And so the argument went on.

The light outside the window faded slowly to a deep gold, and the outline of the oak grove blurred at the edges.

The debate over armor and magic and heroes rang out with particular clarity in the thickening dusk, rolling across the old floorboards like glass marbles, simple and bright and certain.

……

The teacher walked out of the classroom with his textbook tucked under his arm, faint white traces of chalk dust left along his cuff.

The wooden floor creaked softly underfoot, and a colleague happened to emerge from the room next door at the same moment. [Read on RanaTranslations🌸] The two fell into step together toward the staff room.

From inside the windows, the children’s argument drifted out in fragments, the line “holy knights have swords, they fight the darkness” ringing out louder than the rest.

The two teachers exchanged a smile. The older of the two shook his head, his voice carrying the particular ease of someone nearly off the clock.

“Holy knights… that’s not an easy thing to be.”

He paused, as though something had come to mind, and lowered his voice, but kept going out of the momentum of idle conversation.

“Didn’t we hear something happened not long ago? Somewhere up north, I think…”

Before he could finish, his companion gave him a gentle nudge in the arm. The words died in his throat.

At the far end of the corridor, a figure stood quietly, facing in their direction, with no telling how long he had been there.

The one who had been speaking felt his chest seize suddenly, his heartbeat skipping a beat before slamming back down.

Though the distance was considerable, he could see clearly; pinned to the man’s chest was a badge, a ring encircling a diagonal cross, and at the center of the cross, an intricate cluster of lilies in full bloom.

The mark of an enforcement officer.

And beside this man, the principal, who normally walked around with his belly thrust out, was standing with a slight bow, in a posture of deference unlike anything seen before, speaking to him in a low voice.

The evening light slanted in through the tall window at the end of the corridor, framing the badge and the principal’s attentive profile together in a dim and heavy wash of shadow.

Both teachers understood at once that something out of the ordinary was happening. They hurried to lower their heads, quickened their pace, and slipped past the two men with nothing more than a mumbled greeting as they went by.

The principal glanced over at them, paid them no mind, turned back, and continued in that deliberately quieted tone:

“…If you have need of it, the records room, or any classroom at all, you are welcome to inspect at your leisure.”

The light in the corridor had grown darker.

In truth, the principal was not ordinarily the sort to grovel before inspectors. Most of the time he preferred not to make an appearance at all, and considered himself, as a member of the faculty, far above those pointless figures who populated the Holy Court.

But today’s visitor was different.

The Chief Enforcement Officer. A figure who appeared only within the Holy Court and at moments of great crisis.

If the principal had no hope of advancement left in this life, then today’s encounter would be the one and only time he ever bore witness to the highest seat of power in the Holy Court.

He could not afford to be anything less than careful.

At these words, Shan Yiqiu withdrew his gaze from the two teachers hurrying away, and the light falling across his profile softened the curve at the corner of his eyes.

“Just having a look around,” he said with a smile.

“I won’t disrupt the normal routine.”

His gaze drifted to the distant classroom windows where the faint silhouettes of noise and movement still lingered, and he asked, “Do many children still want to become holy knights?”

The principal immediately arranged his face into a smile pitched precisely right, blended with understanding and a touch of world-weary resignation.

“Of course they want to. The textbooks and picture books always paint them in the most glorious light.”

He chose his words with care, dropping his voice a little further.

“But as you know, it takes more than desire. A will of sufficient firmness, a foundation of faith without the slightest flaw, and… a certain price. To speak plainly, children who meet all the conditions are exceedingly rare.”

The principal was telling the truth. Shan Yiqiu nodded, and walked one more circuit of the school grounds with him.

Once he was satisfied that nothing was amiss, he waved the principal off to attend to his duties and turned to walk toward the school gate on his own.

Outside the gate, a contingent of men waited in formation, their horses’ hooves tapping occasionally against the paving stones.

The man at the front had a broad, square face, was somewhere around thirty, with short thick brows and a healthy flush to his complexion. [Read on RanaTranslations🌸] He wore the lined coat of silver-white armor and a short cape embroidered with a golden cross over it.

Shan Yiqiu’s step slowed slightly. He recognized this as the recently promoted deputy commander of the Holy Knights. Flushed with success, no wonder he looked well.

The deputy commander caught sight of him emerging and immediately plastered on a smile of excessive eagerness, stepped forward without so much as asking, and took Shan Yiqiu’s hand directly in both of his.

“Your Excellency, you should not have gone in alone,” he said in a resonant voice, with studied concern.

“This place may only be an elementary school, but the situation remains unclear. It’s far too dangerous.”

He rambled on through a string of pleasantries, nothing but worry, duty, and the Holy Court’s deep regard, enough to make a person’s ears grow calluses.

Shan Yiqiu let him hold his hand, his smile composed and unhurried, not a trace of impatience, his attention steady.

He waited quietly through the whole speech about responsibility and concern, acknowledged the deputy commander’s thoughtfulness, then drew his hand back at a measured, leisurely pace.

“Investigation is my responsibility,” he said evenly.

“I have no need of additional escort from the Holy Knights.”

The deputy commander’s smile faltered for just a moment in midair, then bloomed back with greater warmth, and more flattery found its way into his words.

“Quite right, Your Excellency. Only, the situation at present is a delicate one, and even in the light, caution is warranted. Even within the order…” he lowered his voice, the implication pointed, “there will always be weeds that need pulling. The light will be rekindled, but until then, we must do all we can to preserve what we have.”

“The deputy commander thinks carefully.”

Shan Yiqiu inclined his head, his tone as mild as ever.

“Precisely for that reason, the pruning must be done with even greater care, to tell apart the true weeds from the seedlings that have simply grown in the wrong place for now.”

He finished speaking without making any particular effort to watch the other man’s expression, gave a slight nod in parting, and stepped into the carriage with ease.

The subtle riposte had not been caught by anyone else. The carriage door shut, muffling the vague murmurs of “such good temper” from outside.

Inside the carriage, Shan Yiqiu settled back into the seat and let the lingering sounds outside fade without interest.

The interior of the carriage carried the Holy Court’s characteristic austerity, the wooden surfaces left without so much as an even coat of lacquer. Yet every visible edge was engraved with elaborate protective runes, which now glowed faintly with the movement of the carriage, exuding a silent and precise severity.

Shan Yiqiu hooked the heavy curtain with a fingertip, and from the corner of his eye caught a ring of pale yellow light flickering soundlessly to life and hovering at his side.

“System,” he asked inwardly, “how is the protagonist doing?”

[I’m not called System,] the yellow light pulsed faintly, and a voice came through carrying a slight electronic edge, making an attempt at sternness.

[I have a name. My name is 9653.]

“Answering a question by talking around it is a sign of a guilty conscience,” Shan Yiqiu observed.

“So how is the protagonist doing?”

Caught out, the yellow light flickered in an unsteady rhythm for a moment.

After quite a long pause, it finally spoke, slowly.

[Not very well.]

“Let’s define ‘not very well,'” Shan Yiqiu said, playing the patient, guiding type of host.

“Is it the kind of not very well where he’s come down with something and keeps sneezing, or the kind where he’s about to die?”

9653 went quiet again.

[…The second kind.]

Shan Yiqiu looked at the yellow light in silence for a second.

“I’m not trying to place any blame,” he said, “but are you certain? I read the basic mission report when I came on board. The process by which the protagonist conquers the world is not supposed to go like this.”

Shan Yiqiu was a new host, and this world before him was genuinely the first mission he had undertaken, but that did not mean Shan Yiqiu could not see that something was wrong. Everything he had learned told him the situation in front of him was deeply off.

[The protagonist is not supposed to be like this!!!]

Hearing him say so, 9653 grew agitated and tore at its voice like a broken gong in full wail.

[He should have left the prison long ago! He should have left half a month ago, so why is he still inside!!!]

The way things were supposed to develop in the mission world was recorded clearly in the report; the protagonist was meant to undergo a change after absorbing the dark energy, be subjected to torment, begin to doubt his faith, and then in fury, destroy the prison and begin to brew destruction for the world.

So what was happening now?

9653 pulled up the vital signs chart.

A translucent panel of light unfurled before Shan Yiqiu’s eyes, its stark red glow lighting up his expressionless profile.

On the panel, the curve representing vital signs was continuing to drop, its tail end hovering near the thirty percent threshold as though it had already bottomed out, the glaring red flashing its warning without pause.

[This shouldn’t be happening,] 9653 stared at it and found it more and more incomprehensible, on the verge of falling apart.

[Should we wait a bit longer?]

This time it was Shan Yiqiu who had nothing to say.

The vital signs display cast the interior of the carriage in a bleak wash of red. Shan Yiqiu weighed it for two seconds, then told the plain truth.

“I think if we wait any longer he’s actually going to die.”

A rookie system getting the protagonist killed and destroying the world on its very first mission meant 9653 would have no future to speak of in the system space.

Realizing how precarious its prospects had become, the yellow light flared and dimmed several times in rapid succession, and the data stream lurched into disarray.

[Then… then what do we do now?]

Shan Yiqiu drew his gaze back from the carriage window and let it rest on the expanse of red light before him that spelled out the crisis.

“Turn around,” he said.

“Let’s go and see for ourselves.”