I honestly can't remember what catalyzed this desire. All I know is I've
admired shadowbrokers for as long as I can remember.
Was it a certain anime? Or was it a manga—or a movie? Eh, I guess it
doesn't matter. I was all in for anything that featured a mastermind, or an
eminence in shadow as I like to call them. These characters were never the
protagonists or final bosses but were relegated to a role behind the scenes
where they flaunted their powers and meddled in the affairs of others. I've
always looked up to the men in the shadows. I wanted to be one of them.
Think of children who worship their favorite superheroes. That was me
but with master puppeteers.
Well, there was one thing that set us apart: My reverence for them wasn't
short-lived. In fact, it buried itself deeper in my heart, never dying out and
always guiding me through life. To become stronger, I learned everything
from karate to boxing, from swordplay to mixed martial arts. I hammed it up
during all my practices, concealing my true power from the world and
preparing for the fated day.
At school, I played the part of being pleasantly mediocre, an unassuming
face in the crowd. Like an NPC in a game or a part of the mob. I didn't do
any harm. But behind this facade of normalcy, I was training full throttle.
That's how I spent my entire youth.
But as time passed, an uneasy feeling started to haunt me: I was due for a
reality check.
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Yeah, that's right.
This was all for nothing.
I realized I'd never become as powerful as shadow commanders in the
stories. It didn't matter how hard I trained in martial arts. Sure, I could
clobber a few punks…but that was it. It'd be a tough fight if anyone drew a
gun, and if I was surrounded by soldiers in full gear, I'd be toast, donezo, old
news.
The idea of a shadowbroker getting curb stomped by some soldiers… Ha!
Ridiculous! Let's say I trained for ten more years—or that I became the
greatest martial artist in the world. I'd still get rekt by a gang of commandos.
Or maybe I'd manage to escape by the skin of my teeth or train hard
enough to fight back. It's all in the realm of possibility. But even if I
somehow managed to do that, these guys could set off a nuke and vaporize
me in an instant. There is a limit to the human body. That much I know.
That said, my master puppeteers would never be taken down by a nuke.
Which means I needed to be impervious to them, too.
What does one need to survive a nuclear attack?
Is it the ability to pack a punch?
Could it be a body of steel?
How about unlimited stamina?
Wrong, wrong, and wrong again. You need a totally different kind of
power.
Some call it magic. Others, mana. Or chi, or aura, or…you get the point.
Anything will do. I needed to obtain this clandestine ability. I'd managed to
reach this conclusion when I finally confronted reality head-on.
I'll try to explain. Let's say someone is on a quest for magical powers.
Anyone would think they're nuts. Hell, I know I would. I'd think they'd gone
bonkers.
But consider this: No one in the world has proved that magic exists—or
disproved it.
I couldn't find these powers with my sanity intact. I had to dive to the
depths of lunacy.
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I started training in a new way that was damn near impossible.
After all, no one knows how to acquire magic, mana, chi, auras, or what
have you.
I practiced Zen meditation; I braved the purification ceremony of standing
under waterfalls; I focused my entire being inward; I fasted; I mastered the
art of yoga; I converted religions; I searched for holy spirits; I prayed to god;
I strapped myself to a cross. There was no right answer, which meant I
groped my way through the darkness and sprinted down my chosen path.
Which brings us here. I'm just about ready to start my final summer as a
high schooler, and I've yet to discover magic or mana or chi or auras…
It is already dark by the time I finish my daily training session.
I pick up and put on my underwear, which I'd chucked to the side, and
wiggle my arms through the sleeves of my school uniform. I have yet to pick
up these secret magical skills, but I've been starting to feel the effects of my
training, I think, of late.
Like right now.
I can see flashing lights going off in my mind and sense the world is
spinning.
It could be magic…or auras… In either case, I'm feeling its effects—
that's for sure. I'm proud to announce that I've completed another successful
session.
When I'm in the thick of it, I rip off every single article of clothing and
get buck naked in the forest. It makes me one with the universe. I bash my
skull into the trunk of a giant tree to physically force out my worldly
thoughts. Plus, it stimulates my brain and urges my latent powers to awaken.
You know, I'm all about logic when it comes to these things.
Yeah, everything's beginning to get all blurry right about now. It's a
sensation comparable to giving myself a concussion. I make my way out of
the forest with the lightest of footsteps, feeling like I'm treading on clouds.
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Just then, I see light—two beams floating in the air and slicing through
space. How strange. They're beckoning me, guiding me somewhere.
"Ma-magic…?" I whisper, tiptoeing toward the illumination.
It must be… It's gotta be! I finally found the powers of the unknown!
I notice that I've gone from walking to sprinting, tripping over the roots of
trees and continuing to stagger forward—on and on like a beast in the forest.
"Magic! Magic! Magic! MAGIC, MAGIC, MAGIC!!!!!" I chant,
bounding toward the lights and ready to snatch them out of midair…
"Hmm…?"
As a pair of headlights flood my vision with a blinding whiteness, I hear
the shrill whine of a sudden brake ringing and ringing.
And then a collision. Its impact pierces through my body… And my
magic…
In conclusion, I was able to find magical powers.
When I open my eyes, I sense that I'm surrounded by its energy, though I
gotta admit it looks different from the two lights. Eh, no biggie.
Oh, and one other small detail: As a side effect, I manage to reincarnate. I
bet I opened a door to another world when I found magic or something.
Whatever.
As for right now, I'm a baby boy, a few months old. I only recently
started forming thoughts, but it's still hard for me to guess how much time
has elapsed at any given moment. Plus, I don't know any words, but I guess
it's plenty to recognize that this civilization is more or less the same as
Europe in the Middle Ages.
But none of that's important. I've acquired magical powers. That's the
end-all be-all. I couldn't care less about how it happened or any bonus
features.
I notice magic as soon as I start displaying glimmers of consciousness. All
around me, I can see minuscule grains of light floating and shimmering. It
reminds me of those times in my past life when I frolicked through a field of
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flowers stark naked—to train and find spirits, obviously.
As it turns out, my training wasn't a total waste after all. I mean, my
ability to detect this energy is proof enough, and I can control it as easily as
my limbs. It's comparable to when I strapped my naked body to a cross, a
nod to Jesus…or maybe when I flip-flopped religions and danced around in
prayer in my birthday suit… I bet every little thing in my training sessions
helped me in the long run. It's already taught me that I can get stronger.
Plus, time is of no consequence for a baby. I'm ready to use these years to
train and become an eminence in shadow, once and for all… Oops, I think
I've made a doodie.
Which reminds me. I heard somewhere that birds let their droppings
dribble out involuntarily, and I think human babies are the same. I can fight
the good fight with logic and reasoning, but it feels as though my instincts
take over, whispering Just do it in my ear.
That said, this is me we're talking about. I spent my waking hours training
in my past life. Pooling together all the strength in my body, I tighten my
sphincter, buying me some time…
"Wwwaaaahhhhh!"
…to summon people.
I think it's been ten years.
You know, magic is something else. It means I can surpass the bodily
limitations of humans: lift ginormous boulders with a single finger, dash
twice as fast as a horse, leap higher than a house.
That said, I'm no match for nukes. Well, I know my defenses will
increase with my magical capacity, but have you seen the firepower of those
weapons on Earth? There was a time when I contemplated forgetting about
them entirely, 'cause we don't have nukes in this world.
But what good is a master puppeteer who settles for less?
No good. Not at all.
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That means my next mission is to become strong enough to beat weapons
of mass destruction. After extensive research and training, I found one
potential solution, which I've been incorporating into my daily experiments.
Oh yeah. And it seems I've been born into a noble family. For
generations, members of this family have trained to become dark knights,
who use magic to power up and slay enemies in battle. And as my family's
rising star of a son (…NOT), I'm living my days as your average apprentice.
After all, shadowbrokers need to be extremely selective about when, where,
and to whom they reveal their powers. Yeah…I'll lie in wait until then.
I know I'm not exerting my true potential and that I am cutting corners,
but I learned some skills as an apprentice that have come in handy. Like how
magic is used on the battlefield in this world. It's been a good opportunity for
me to reflect on my own techniques.
To be completely honest, it's clear to me the fighting styles from my past
life were a hundred times more logical and refined than the ones here. I mean,
look at any contemporary martial arts battle. These fighters rebuke
unnecessary movements, drawing from various combat schools and whittling
them down to the crème de la crème. This creates the conditions for the
"perfect" fight. It relies on the rules of the game, of course, but this mental
attitude can be used to identify the best of the best in any situation.
And then consider this world. First and foremost, their fighting techniques
stay in their country of origin. Which means different schools of combat
don't cross borders. Plus, there are certain secret skills that countries won't
allow out of their jurisdiction—not that we'd be able to spread them to begin
with, since no forms of media are readily available to us. This means we can't
combine techniques from other forms of fighting, much less reject or improve
our own.
If I had to describe this system in one word, I'd call it unrefined.
But there's one fundamental difference between the two worlds. That's
right: magic. It completely changes the baseline of physical performance.
Take physical strength, for example.
I can lift someone up with one hand, which means any knowledge about
hand-to-hand combat and wrestling, or "ground fighting," goes out the
window. Even if we're in a mounted grappling position, I can soar through
the air by flexing my abs. If I've got my foot hooked on an opponent in an
offensive guard, I can blast them off me by activating my leg muscles. Yeah.
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Ground fighting is out of the question.
It's like how humans have their method of combat and gorillas have a
breed of their own. And I'll just leave it at that.
There are also differences in the distance and speed at which combatants
step into their attacks—meaning it's harder to predict their movements in
battle. This might be the most important thing. I mean, martial arts are all
about reading your opponent at an appropriate range. The angle, position, and
distance of your attacks are everything.
It took me a while to get the hang of the last one, especially because these
fighters attack from afar. Like sixteen feet apart. I mean, I guess I get it.
They're lightning fast and take ginormous steps, and I'd just assumed this
was their way of fighting…until I realized it was to compensate for their poor
defense tactics.
I'm sure this is relatable to all martial artists: Those who can't guard will
stand too far from their opponents.
It's really scary to get hit. I get it. It's tempting to retreat to where your
opponent can't reach you. But this results in a contest where one fighter
attacks and the other retreats, and vice versa, which is a real snore. You call
this outboxing? Try again. This is just an exercise of running back and forth.
It doesn't matter if the fighters are five or a hundred meters apart. They
can't land a decent hit either way. It could be six or seven or ten meters—it's
all the same.
This has been a public service announcement to close the gap and duke it
out.
But once you cross a certain threshold, one millimeter can make a huge
difference. And it stands at the exact point where I can both land a blow and
react to an attack. Throw in other factors like the angle of my hits, and the
slightest turn can mean an advantage—or a disadvantage. The narrowest of
margins is the best range between two fighters.
A battle shouldn't be about one combatant dashing in sixteen feet and the
other leaping back nineteen.
I guess I came into this whole thing with an idea of what to expect from
other worlds, which—compounded with my unfamiliarity with magic—left
me confused about their combat scene. But, eh, I've gotten my bearings
straight as of late. It's all chill now.
I train every day at home, where our dad basically directs us on how to
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throw down, and I grapple with my older sister. I know she's only two years
older than me, but she has natural talent, according to everyone else. If she
keeps it up, she's the one who will take over as head of the family, which
isn't uncommon in this world, since magic can make women powerful
enough to become the heir.
"Geez, you're so strong…," I whimper every day as she kicks my ass.
But I can't win. If I want to become a shadow commander, I've got to
establish myself as the most average of all background characters.
That's how I've been living out my day-to-day. Tack on lessons about how to
act as an aristocrat and hanging out with people to secure my place as a lowprofile extra, and I've barely got any free time during the day.
Which means the only time for me to train is after everyone else has gone
to bed, late into the night. I may be cutting into my beauty sleep, but I've
been using magic to recover super-quick and meditation to catch some z's in
new ways. And now, I've pretty much got short sleeper syndrome. I make it
work.
Okay, time to get down to business. I blast through my usual training
regimen in the forest. I've got something special planned today.
I heard that rogues have taken up residence in the ghost town nearby.
According to my investigation, it's a large gang of thieves—and the perfect
opportunity to test my new weapon.
I take down bandits here and there. But a whole group of criminals?
That's the event of the year. And I'm always short on sparring partners, so I
welcome evildoers with open arms.
Oh, please, please, please infest this place with more crime!
I think it's standard for villages to try to deal with offenders on their own
terms, but they mostly get away scot-free. I mean, our judicial system is in
the city, which is why I've decided to take the law into my own hands.
Today marks the historic day of my first official battle with my newest
weapon. I've been experimenting with it for months and call it the "slime
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bodysuit."
Allow me to explain.
We can use magic in this world to strengthen our bodies and weapons, but
there are energy losses when it's transferred from one form to another. For
example, if I run one hundred currents of magic through an average steel
sword, only 10 percent of them will be of use in combat. A whopping 90
percent is lost. Even a mithril sword, which is known to be compatible with
magic. It's considered high-end if it performs at 50 percent capacity.
That's when slimes caught my eye. A slime is a magical being that uses
energy to change form and wobble from place to place. According to my
research, I've found they have a conductivity of an astonishing 99 percent.
On top of that, they're in a liquid state, which means they can change their
shape at will.
I started testing slime jellies after capturing and crushing their cores—
easily more than a thousand of them. In fact, I pushed them to the brink of
extinction in my area by killing too many and had to go on an expedition to
find more.
The jellies are easy to handle and strong, to boot. I successfully molded
the slime into a wearable bodysuit, which is super-lightweight and silent,
unlike armor. Plus, it almost, like, supports my movements? And I've given it
killer defenses, of course.
As for right now, I'm wrapped in a black slime bodysuit. It's a simple, nofrills getup that fits my body perfectly, except for eyes, nostrils, and mouth.
I'm virtually indistinguishable from the criminal in a certain famous detective
manga.
I might want to think up a more suitable design when I'm intervening in a
scheme as a full-fledged shadowbroker.
I manage to arrive at the ghost town late into the night, but I can see a few
lights in the darkness. The thieves seem to be having a feast to celebrate their
robbing of merchants. Wow, I'm super-lucky.
You see, thieves aren't good at planning, and they immediately squander
what they steal, which means they only have something decent right after a
successful attack. And one man's treasure is another man's treasure. What's
theirs is mine. This is how I'll get the funds to become a puppet master.
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Anyway, I crash their feast, excited as all hell—not with a surprise attack,
because that won't make for a good practice session.
"Yahoo! Hand over the loot, scumbags!" I shriek in the middle of their
banquet.
"Wh-who the hell is this puny dude?!"
I mean, I'm only ten years old. Like, duh. It's only natural that I'm short.
"You heard me! Now fork over the goods!" I shout, punting the rude man
across the room for calling me small.
The other thieves finally draw their weapons.
"Hey, keep it up, and we ain't gonna hold back, you bra—…!"
"Take that!" I exclaim as I slice through his neck, severing his head from
his shoulders midsentence.
That's right. My sword is made of slime, which means I can draw it from
my bodysuit when the situation calls for it. And it has a bunch of nifty
functions.
Number one. It can elongate.
"Take that! And that! And that!" I extend my sword and slay all the dinky
thieves in the vicinity.
I stretch the slime out in the shape of a whip with edges as sharp as a
sword. It's my first time wielding it, so I'm a tad nervous, but I can totally
see how it might come in handy.
"And that! And that! And…huh?"
I notice the room has gone all silent as I get a little too carried away with
slashing and slicing around me.
Wait, is there only one guy left?
"Wh-who are you…?"
"Eh, I guess you'll be my guinea pig for function number two."
"Th-the hell do you mean…?!"
"To break it down, you look stronger than the rest of them. I'm assuming
you're like their boss or something, right? Your chances of winning are
squat, but if you let me practice on you, I bet you'll live for, like, two extra
minutes. Good luck."
"S-stop playing, you brat! In the capital, I'm the—…!"
"Hey, you. Skip the speech and come at me."
"Die, dammit!" booms the Boss (or whatever) as he closes the distance
between us, taking his sweet old time to swing at me, and I obviously…don't
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budge.
His sword plunges straight into my chest, and I'm thrown to the ground
on impact.
"Ha-ha! That's what you get for messin' with me! I've mastered the Royal
Bushin method, and… Wh-what?!"
"Ta-daa! …You couldn't even scratch me."
I rise to my feet as if nothing happened, and wow, I couldn't be happier
with my suit's defenses! I mean, these weak-as-shit attacks can't even touch
me.
"I've heard it seems to be all the rage in the capital. Show me."
"Damn you!" swears the Boss as he strikes me.
Yeah. No sweat. As he swings his sword with all his might, I don't even
ready mine, sidestepping and ducking to dodge him, no problem.
The Royal Bushin method, was it? I could get into their ways of wielding
the sword.
I mean, it's not every day you get to see someone fighting over something
other than spirituality, old-fashioned standards, or personal beliefs in this
world. This was a fight motivated by logic. I can see it from his clumsy set of
attacks.
In the length of a second, a small step forward.
I see him calculate his next strike and take creative approaches. That said,
his attacks leave a lot to be desired, and in the next free moment, I step just
out of his range.
"Wh-why…why can't I hit you?!"
"I mean, you're weaker than my old man. Though I guess you're stronger
than my sister. Not that it means anything. And I bet she'll whup your butt in
another year."
"You little shiiiiiiiiiiit!" he screeches, frantically bashing his sword in my
direction.
I parry his advances before kicking him lightly in the shin—snapping my
leg forward quickly as though on reflex.
"Gwah, ah! Why…?" the Boss whimpers, curling into a fetal position and
clutching his leg.
Blood drips from his shin and pools on the ground.
It's a cheap trick, you know. I have a blade as sharp as an ice pick sticking
out from my toes.
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The second handy-dandy feature of the slime sword is that I can wield my
blade from wherever and whenever I want. I thought this tactic showed the
most potential. All I have to do is get in front of the enemy and slash him
with the sword in my shoe, since lower-body attacks are hard to block. I
parry hits, lock blades, and give my opponent a kick. It's nothing flashy, but
it gets the job done.
"I guess we're through."
"W-wait…!"
"You didn't even last two minutes," I note before kicking the Boss in the
chin with the blade on my foot.
Death by impalement.
He twitches as I roll him to the side and rummage through his loot.
"Artwork? I can't sell that. Hard pass on food. Come on. Where are the
cash, jewels, and precious metals? Gimme, gimme, gimme."
There are several carriages' worth of spoils. And many dead merchants.
I whisper to the corpses, "I've avenged you. Now you can rest, knowing
your treasures will be put to good use. I hope you make it to heaven."
I gather my haul and pray in silence. I'm guessing I found about five
million zeni. One zeni is more or less equal to one Japanese yen. All this will
help fund my activities as a shadowbroker. You know, the world would be a
much better place if it were overrun by criminals. Oh, how I wish life were
like a video game and I could encounter enemies by walking down the street.
"Please wreak more havoc in your next life," I say to the Boss, giving him
a thumbs-up, when I notice…something past my fingertip.
"Is that…a cage?"
It looks sturdy and pretty big.
"Did they have slaves? Eh, hard pass on anything I can't trade for cash."
But what if there's something valuable inside? I lift its cover.
"Well, this is…unexpected."
I'm not sure how to describe it, but this cage holds…a mound of rotting
flesh. I can kinda tell it's human maybe, but no clue as to its age or gender.
But it's alive. Wait, it might even be conscious. I peer into the cage, and
the flesh jolts all of a sudden.
I've heard of the Church executing these creatures. I think they're called
the "possessed." They're born as normal humans until their flesh rots out of
nowhere, fated for death. But the Church goes out of its way to purchase
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them, executing them in the name of purification. They claim they're
exorcising demons, but they're really just murdering the sick. But the
ignorant masses applaud and praise them for keeping peace on earth. It's just
as you'd expect from the Middle Ages. What a friggin' downer.
I bet I'd get more zeni than this entire load of spoils if I were to sell this to
the Church, but that's pointless to say since I can't sell it.
Well, I guess I should put it out of its misery.
I stick my slime sword into the cage…when I notice something else.
Namely, this mound of flesh contains an abundance of magic. I've been
training my magic since childhood, but this surpasses mine—it's honestly
beastly. And this…
"Is this wavelength…the effects of a magical overload?"
I guess a magical overload must be the reason this turned into a pile of
flesh. I've suffered its effects firsthand before. If I hadn't gotten it under
control back then, I might've ended up suffering the same fate.
I know magic has certain effects on the body, which I felt all too well that
fated day. I could sense its potential to raise my tolerance for magic and
allow me to handle more of it, but it would be too dangerous to induce a
magical overload. I'd tossed the idea.
But if I were to hypothetically conduct experiments on a product of this
phenomenon…I can get closer to being a shadow commander without any
risks.
"I can use this…," I say as I reach out to the flesh and infuse it with
magic.
Wow, it's been a whole month, huh…? I think as I recall my first encounter
with the mound and heave a sigh, back in the same abandoned village.
I wonder why things turned out this way.
All my experiments on the flesh were going swimmingly—well, until
recently. I spent my days pumping the flesh with magical energy. I mean, it
wasn't my body, so I could go buck wild on it. I was plugging away at my
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little experiment, testing this and that. In all honesty, it was fun. After all, one
of my greatest joys in life is sensing that I'm getting closer to the essence of
magic and watching my power grow before my eyes. I pushed forward,
inching toward the boundaries of magic with more precision, power, and
detail, until I finally had the magical overload under the tip of my thumb
when…a blond elven girl appeared.
I guess it would be more accurate to say I was too fixated on improving
my command of magic to notice the flesh was a blond elf until that moment.
Huh. To think that stinking pile of flesh would return to its original form. I
tried sending her off with a lighthearted farewell—you know, the typical
You're a free elf and Happy trails and You've got a bright future ahead of
you. But she said she didn't have a home, insisting on repaying me for saving
her life, which, er, I didn't actually do. It was all a coincidence.
I considered ditching her before things got annoying, but I ended up
making her Shadowbroker Subordinate A. I mean, she doesn't strike me as
the type to betray me, and she seems smart… There's something about her
that makes me suspect she has too much talent.
And even though she's also ten years old, she's more than enough proof
that elves develop faster mentally than humans.
"And from this day forward, you will be Alpha."
A or Alpha. Either works.
"Understood," she replies with a nod.
She's your stereotypical elf—a beauty with blond hair, blue eyes, and fair
skin.
"And your job is…" I stop to think for a moment.
This is a big one. Her job is to be the assistant to a shadow commander.
No mistakes there. Which means I gotta set the scene by answering some
basic questions. Like, what exactly is an eminence in shadow? And what
purpose do they serve?
Flushing out the appropriate narrative is key. I mean, if I said I was
fighting to get revenge for losing at pachinko slots, I wouldn't seem too cool,
right?
I have to choose wisely. I mean, all my daydreams are filled with
puppeteers from even before I came into this world and certainly after. I've
mixed and matched thousands—no, tens of thousands—of possible scenarios
in my mind. And I have the perfect one for the occasion.
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"To hide in the shadows and prevent the resurrection of Diablos the
demon."
"Diablos the demon…?" Alpha cocks her head in confusion.
"I'm sure you've heard of him. You know, the stories of long, long ago.
Diablos brought our world to the brink of destruction when three brave
warriors—a human, an elf, and a therianthrope, or a hybrid beast—teamed up
to destroy him and protected the world."
"Oh yeah. But isn't that a fairy tale?"
"Nope, it really happened. But the truth is way more complicated than
that…," I continue, as a small, wry smile appears on my face. I mean, getting
to my level and twisting out a scenario from a legend is a piece of cake.
"Just before the heroes slayed the demon, with his very last breath, he put
a curse on them, which is known as the Curse of Diablos."
"The Curse of Diablos? I've never heard of that before."
"Oh, but it exists. It's the curse of the possessed…and the very disease
that ravished your body."
"What? No way…" Alpha goes bug-eyed in horror.
"The descendants of the heroes have suffered from this illness. Back in
the day, the Curse of Diablos used to be curable. Just like yours."
No one would believe that Alpha was possessed until recently. Her
smooth and unblemished skin is evidence to back up my story.
I mean, even though this is a big fat lie.
"It's proof that one is a descendant of the heroes who saved the world.
You know, the possessed used to be lauded, appreciated, and protected—in
the past."
"But no one appreciates us anymore, let alone…" Alpha trails off,
screwing up her face.
"There's someone out there who twisted history—erasing the truth about
the lineage of the possessed and hiding the cure to the curse. What's worse,
these people became targets of shame."
"Ngh…! Who would do such a thing?!"
"Those who scheme to resurrect Diablos. That's because those with the
curse carry the bloodline of the heroes and high levels of magical energy. In
other words, they serve as a major military force for us. On the flip side,
they're a nuisance to his supporters."
"Which is why we're called the possessed and disposed of…"
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"Exactly. You lost your hometown and family—all because you've been
accused of committing a false sin. Aren't they despicable?"
"Yeah. There's no way I wouldn't find them absolutely detestable."
"The Cult of Diablos. That's our enemy. They only work behind the
scenes, which is why we must conceal ourselves, too. Lurk in the darkness
and hunt down shadows."
"I'm guessing they've gotta be formidable if they have enough say to pull
the strings behind the scenes. Which means that our enemies hold positions
of power…and that hordes of people under their control don't know the
truth…"
I nod seriously. "Our journey may be perilous. But we must go forward.
Are you with me?"
"If that's what you want, then I'll devote my life to it. We'll punish these
sinners with death…" Alpha stares at me with her intense blue eyes and
smiles defiantly. Her face is lovely even in its youth and teems with
determination and resolve.
I fist pump in my mind. Whoo-hoo! This elf girl is super-gullible!
Obviously, the Cult of Diablos doesn't exist, which means we'll never
find them. It also provides grounds for me to accuse and slaughter any thief
syndicate in the area for being in the Cult. And I bet we can stake out battles
between fighters and intervene as shadow commanders. And—and we can
say fake-deep stuff for our parting words! Like The end is near… Or The
resurrection of the demon is nigh… And it would be so cool if we could
arrive with the wind on a battlefield, saying You fools… You're being
controlled…, before completely wiping everyone out…! Wow. I could
honestly go on and on.
Right. I almost forgot. The most important part. This name of this
organization…
"We are the Shadow Garden… We lurk in the darkness and hunt down
shadows…"
"The Shadow Garden. That's a nice name."
I know, right? It's sick.
This is the very moment the Shadow Garden and the World's Greatest
Enemy—the Cult of Diablos—is born. I move one step closer to becoming a
mastermind.
"I guess we can start by wielding our magic and practicing sparring with
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each other. I'll act as the main fighter in battle, but you've got to get stronger
to wrangle in the small fry."
"I know. We've got a tough enemy on our hands. I have to raise the bar
for myself."
"Right. That's the spirit."
"And we have to find other descendants of heroes and protect them."
"Uh, erm, yeah. All in moderation."
It would be fun to play shadowbroker with more people, since that'd make
it feel more like a legit organization. But I don't need that many people. I
honestly wouldn't have a problem if it just stayed the two of us.
"Well, for now, let's just focus on getting stronger," I suggest, readying
my wooden sword.
I block Alpha's attack, which has an unexpected bite to it. To think she
was only a novice until recently. Alpha has a good feel for things and plenty
of magical energy, which means I can make good use of her.
Under the moonlight, I swing my wooden sword as these thoughts run
through my mind.