The Academy’s Weapon Replicator - Chapter 171

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Weapon Replicator of the Academy — Episode 171
Chapter 55: The Plan (2)
At my words, Selena bowed her head deeply. She must have suspected as much.
“Yes, just as I did in Taeibun, I shall stand at your side with the resolve to lay down my life.”
Selena spoke in a voice steeled with determination.
Whether it was the shift in her tone or simply because I’d heard it so many times, I was beginning to grow accustomed to Selena’s formal manner of speech. Had she aimed for that from the start?
But I shook my head. This time, Selena had a different task.
“No. I have a separate request for you.”
“…A separate request, sir?”
Selena lifted her head and looked at me. I raised my hand and gestured toward the space beside her.
The Magic Circle I’d stored in the workshop — the Portal. I drew it on the floor and opened the gateway.
“…!”
Selena stared at it with wide, astonished eyes.
I spoke to her as she watched.
“Through this Portal, you’ll see a cottage. Do you know it? The Roach Family Annex.”
“Yes, I do know it, sir.”
“Cross through this Portal. Go there and bring my mother, Malia, back here.”
Selena seemed somewhat taken aback at my words, but nodded without hesitation. She didn’t ask why. Good discipline for a bodyguard, that.
“And when you return, use a horse.”
“…Not a carriage, sir?”
“That’s right. But it cannot be just any horse.”
I loosened my necktie. Penelope’s Cloth. I handed it to Selena.
“What is this…?”
“Constellation has an equestrian facility. Even during the break, it should be maintained. Go there, show this cloth to the horses, and wave it. One of them will approach you.”
“…Kassian, I presume.”
“Exactly right.”
The noble steed that had been of great service to me in Taeibun — Kassian. Selena, who had ridden with me, would certainly remember him. Of course, she wouldn’t know what connection existed between this cloth and Kassian, but it was part of her nature to gracefully overlook such gaps.
“However, sir. While Kassian is the wisest of horses, he is not the fastest. He moves slower than a carriage, and carrying two people will make it even slower. It will take several days to travel from Constellation to here.”
“That’s fine. The journey is worth those several days.”
Of course, I couldn’t guarantee that the Monsters wouldn’t descend during those days.
But if Kassian and Malia weren’t here, a worst-case scenario could trigger something far worse.
If it’s the first descent, Angen and the Knights will hold the line.
And perhaps that moment would become a precious opportunity for me to slip beyond the Barrier, away from all eyes.

* * *
At the same moment Frontdier was giving orders to Selena.
Angen was receiving a report from Silbain.
“Compared to last year, the descent of the Monsters will begin within a week.”
“Do the unit members know?”
“Yes. I’ve told them all to keep their vigilance sharp.”
“Strengthen the guard posts and expand the Night Watch range. Increase personnel sufficiently so the soldiers don’t accumulate fatigue.”
“Understood.”
Their exchange was no different from last year’s.
They always held similar conversations around this time, then annihilated the approaching Monsters. It was simply a repetition. Uneventful yet grueling, tiresome, and thoroughly meticulous inspections repeated endlessly — it was this very routine that had earned Angen and the Roach Knights the name “Iron Wall.”
Yet this year carried a slight difference in variables.
“…When the Monsters begin their descent, what of the young master…?”
“Of course, he stays. I’ll have him strictly monitored so he never leaves his quarters.”
Angen’s immediate response. Silbain, who had already known the answer, nodded in acknowledgment.
But there was always a reason for asking a question even when one already knew the answer.
“The young master shows the qualities of a warrior. In sparring, he doesn’t panic at his opponent’s attacks, and continues to assess the situation regardless of whether his judgment is correct. The blood of the household head truly runs through his veins.”
“I told you to have Frontdier do anything at all, didn’t I?”
“Since you said so, I had him participate in the Knights’ training. He followed along quite well. Though when it’s over, he seems utterly exhausted.”
There was a hint of playfulness in Silbain’s words. Seeing that, Angen released a deep sigh.
“Stop it. Frontdier is a frail child. He always has been. He can’t compare to Artzie.”
“…Well, if we’re comparing to Artzie, anyone would fall short.”
Silbain found himself wondering if the household head was worrying excessively about Frontdier precisely because of the comparison to Artzie.
“Frontdier has talent. Compared to Artzie, his abilities may seem lacking, but among ordinary children, he is certainly excellent. What is the reason you call him frail? Is it because he lacks Divine Power?”
“Artzie doesn’t have Divine Power either. That’s not Frontdier’s problem. It’s simply……”
There, unusually, Angen fell silent. Not from loss of words, but as if something weighed heavily on his mind.
Slowly, those heavy lips opened.
“Do you believe in Fate, Silbain?”
“I’m not entirely sure what you mean, sir.”
“What if one day you learned in advance exactly when and how you would die? What would you do then—flee, or accept it?”
Silbain couldn’t fathom why Angen had suddenly posed such a question. Yet he answered earnestly.
“I would stand at the very place where death awaits me and fight with all my strength to survive.”
“…Heh, precisely. That is why you are the captain of the Knights, Silbain Serdo.”
Silbain felt embarrassed. He believed Angen’s praise was so rare he could count the instances in a lifetime on one hand.
Having just heard it once, he could resign himself to never hearing Angen’s praise again for the rest of his life.
“Then let me ask differently. Not of you—but what if it were someone precious to you?”
“…Surely not, sir.”
“It’s merely a hypothetical.”
As Silbain had just said, even if his own Fate were thus ordained, he would endeavor to overcome it. Even should he fail to overcome it, he would not flee from that Fate.
But if it were not himself—if someone he held more dear than his own life found themselves caught in such a Destiny. That situation would be entirely different.
“I chose to flee. That is all.”
“…Sir.”
“Yet things do not always bend to one’s will. Is that what Fate truly is.”
Frontdier and Artzie were different from Angen in one crucial regard—Angen possessed Divine Power.
The god who had granted Angen his Divine Power stood very close to Fate itself.
Long ago, Angen had received something akin to a Divine Prophecy from that god. But unlike the hypothetical just now, it was not a prophecy that specified the exact date and hour of Frontdier’s death.
Yet the prophecy unmistakably foretold misfortune for Frontdier. The Divine Prophecy gravely warned that it was best Frontdier remain unnoticed by the eyes of the world.
“Until recently, Frontdier suffered from considerable laziness.”
“Yes, I’ve heard. He was quite famous for it at Constellation Academy—notorious enough to earn a derisive epithet, I gather.”
Silbain knew the very epithet by which Frontdier was called—Human Sloth. Yet he did not speak it aloud. Whatever Frontdier’s conduct at the Academy, Silbain thought such a name was too harsh.
“I believed it was a change taking shape in Frontdier over time. From what I could see with my own eyes, his inferiority and helplessness were considerable. It seemed natural enough that he would abandon all thought of growth and surrender to laziness. I even found a measure of comfort in it—the assurance that he would not fall into danger. Or so I thought.”
“But that was not the case, sir?”
“When I investigated later, I learned that before a certain point in time, Frontdier had slept through every single class, his head upon his desk. Not one lesson did he ever attend.”
“…That is, in truth, severe laziness.”
“Silbain, think on this carefully. Do you truly believe such a thing is possible? There are limits to how long a human can sleep, and the posture of lying across a desk is inherently uncomfortable. Whether or not one attends class, it is natural to wake at some point.”
Silbain felt a disquiet stirring at Angen’s words.
If Frontdier were living a normal life, he would surely sleep soundly at night. And since Angen had left him to his own devices, there was no reason for him to stay awake through the night.
Could a person who slept well through the night truly spend nearly the entire day asleep?
“…Then, sir, you’re suggesting…?”
“Someone—or something—has been interfering with Frontdier. Of that, I have become more certain in recent days.”
Silbain’s eyes widened at those words.
“Surely not a god…?”
“Whether it is a god or a demon, I cannot yet say. But now that I consider it, Frontdier’s laziness was surely not normal. That I failed to recognize it sooner is a failing on my part, but having come to know it now, I cannot simply turn a blind eye.”
Even if Frontdier’s laziness were not the result of external interference, some form of indirect influence was undeniable.
Perhaps Frontdier’s laziness was his own mind applying the brakes.
A signal warning that to go further was perilous. The result of his body catching the scent of death and acting on instinct alone.
Weighing all of it together, in the end.
“Frontdier is a fragile child.”
“…I see what you mean, sir.”
Whichever way one looked at Frontdier’s future, it did not shine with promise. Whether by Fate, or god, or demon.
A child who could die at any moment without cause. There was no other way to describe him than as fragile.
“You do not intend to tell him, sir?”
“Because humans do not know their Fate, they are able to find joy in life, to grow and move forward. Frontdier too, in the end, overcame his laziness and advanced. After all, a child is not theirs to command. Watching Frontdier has taught me that. If one comes to know one’s own Fate, one is only swept along by it.”
Artzie had been an excessively obedient son to Angen. From childhood, he had done everything Angen wished without the slightest show of reluctance.
But Frontdier was not such a child. His talents, his nature, nothing bent to Angen’s will.
At first, this had caused Angen nothing but anxiety. But now, it was different.
“That laziness, whatever its source, Frontdier overcame it. My plan to distance him from the family failed as a result. As I said—things do not bend to one’s will.”
Angen laughed.
“Frontdier will live his own life. If he stands beneath a curse of misfortune, then it is my role to shield him from it.”
Silbain watched Angen for a moment.
This side of Angen was entirely new to him—both his smile as he pondered something, and his willingness to speak so freely.
…And Silbain had not known him to be this sentimental either.
Silbain spoke.
“Then allowing him to participate in the Barrier battle—”
“That is an entirely different matter, Silbain.”
Seeing Angen cut him off without room for further argument, Silbain let out a small laugh.

* * *
And a few days later.
The soldiers standing watch at the Barrier felt the tremor spreading through the ground beneath their feet before their eyes could register what approached.
“They’re coming.”
Unlike Taeibun, Yeranherth did not employ prisoners to hold the line. Only the Roach Knights and the thoroughly trained soldiers beneath them stood between the monsters and the wall.
“Has word reached the commander?”
“We sent word urgently at dawn when the signs first appeared. He should arrive shortly.”
The soldiers gathered here exhaled deeply, inspecting their weapons with the careful precision of habit.
These were veterans who had crossed the threshold between life and death more times than they could count. Knight or common soldier—in that regard, there was no difference.
But it meant, conversely, that any of them could die at any moment.
The Barrier had never fallen, yet the price written in blood and screams rose as high as the wall itself—a monument of sacrifice so towering and so heavy that the soldiers bore its weight when they held back the monsters.
“Listen.”
One of the soldiers, peering through a telescope at the approaching monsters, broke the silence.
“Did you report the monsters’ appearance to the commander?”
“No, just that they’re coming. We couldn’t make them out at dawn. We only sensed them through mana detection.”
“Then I have something to report immediately.”
The man lowered the telescope from his eye, his expression tightening as though he’d glimpsed something grotesque.
From the lips of a soldier who had seen everything, a tremor crept into his voice—a rare and chilling sound.
“There are some pitch-black ones among them.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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