DBCR 05

Chapter 05

Everything about him is so pale and translucent—except for his haircut, which is downright wild. It looks like he just hacked it off while it was tied back. The ends stick out unevenly, a total mess.
Why would he cut it like that?
His features are like a flower neatly arranged in a vase, but his hair alone belongs to a savage warrior.

An academy badge is pinned to his jacket collar.
A blue crescent moon.
A senior who entered two years before Irix.

Every academy student receives a badge symbolizing the year they enrolled, so you can tell their entrance year just by looking at it. All students memorize which badge corresponds to which year. Since the time it takes to graduate ranges from a minimum of three years to potentially forever, the year of admission matters more than anything.

The year Irix enrolled, the badge was a swan wearing a crown. It’s pretty, but military-track students don’t like it much.
The ugliest badge is the red rooster head given to seniors three years above. Wearing it was practically a punishment. One unlucky famous person who had to wear that badge was the Crown Prince.

Irix noticed the completely mismatched necklace hanging around the girl’s neck. A thick cord, as thick as a finger, was wrapped tightly around her throat.
It was far too flashy, utterly at odds with her outfit that looked like something a student from a rural school would wear. It looked more like something that would fit right in at the Empress’s ball.

The bell rang to announce five o’clock. Menus for ordering dinner were placed on the table one by one.

As he accepted the menu from the waiter, Irix said,
“Let’s talk over dinner. I’m the one who suggested eating, so I’ll pay. Pick whatever you want.”

Opening the menu, Irix started looking for the dishes with the largest portions.

Tenderloin steak—an awkward amount.
Lamb chops—no good. Small portions, and they take too long.
Crispy fried chicken… kids’ food.
Sirloin steak—not bad, but there’s got to be something better.

This is it. T-bone steak.
950 grams… a perfectly reasonable amount.

Having made his decision, Irix asked the senior,
“What are you having?”

“The same as you.”

Order something else.
This is something even five seniors couldn’t finish together.

“Aren’t you from the northwest? Our tastes should be completely different. Are you sure?”

The senior’s eyes widened.
“How did you know I’m from the northwest?”

“That’s easy.”

Irix lightly kicked the senior’s foot.
“These goatskin shoes.”

He kicked it once more.
“People from there wear shoes like this without fail. Like they were born wearing them.”

“Anyone can wear shoes like these, you know.”

“To get leather with such a distinctive pattern, you’d have to skin a goat born there. And the people from that region are afflicted with a condition where they can only wear shoes made from that goat’s hide, so they all walk around in shoes with this pattern.”

“People from other regions don’t wear them?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, I see. Is that so.”

The senior broke into a wide grin.
And then—

He pressed down hard on the top of Irix’s foot with the sole of his shoe.

“And where did your shoes come from? From which region’s craftsman, using the hide of what kind of beast, to make such an absurdly expensive masterpiece, I wonder.”

“……”

“I’m really curious.”

Even more pressure—harder.

Irix looked at the senior’s face.
Calm.
As if he had nothing to do with the foot currently grinding down on Irix’s.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I haven’t been here long, so I don’t know the etiquette. I figured I’d start learning now, so I’m just copying exactly what you did.”

“……”

“Where I’m from, there’s no such etiquette.”

The waiter came over. Glaring at the senior, Irix handed the menu back.
“Here. Two of the biggest T-bone steaks. Medium rare.”

The moment Irix finished speaking, the waiter simply turned and left. He didn’t write anything down or confirm the order. He just came and went.

“……”

The senior took the menu from Irix’s hand and set it on the table.
“But why did you think I was part of your father’s corps?”

“There’s no one at this school who pretends to be friendly with me.”

“Right. Everyone hates you.”

“……”

“And they’ll probably hate you even more from now on.”

“……”

Everyone—including Irix himself—knew that already, but this was the first time anyone had said it so bluntly.

“Wasn’t there anyone in the corps who wanted to get close to you?”

“Absolutely no one.”

They only tried desperately to drive a wedge between me and my father. They think they succeeded—idiots.
The discord between the Duke of Verkart and his son wasn’t the result of their efforts; it was purely something Irix and the Duke accomplished on their own. Even before they showed up, the Duke and Irix were never close.

“So you want to get close to me?”

“Not right now.”

What does right now mean?

“There’s nothing bad about being friends. The son of the Chancellor would be a pretty good connection.”

“I want to be friends with people I can trust, and only when I genuinely feel like I want to like them. I don’t want to make friends for reasons like that. I don’t plan on living some grand life that needs connections, either. I just came to meet you.”

“Really, that’s all?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to leave.”

“Ah, that would be a problem.”

The senior waved his hand.
“You just ordered me an enormous steak. I need to eat that before I go. I haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

A light gleam filled his pale blue eyes. He really does look hungry.

“And right now, I came just to meet you. I’m not planning to do anything more.”

“Haven’t you heard what’s going to happen here?”

The senior shook his head.
“No. I was just told to meet you.”

Figures. Just like my father.

A scoff slipped out.
“What’s so funny?”

“I thought he might change his way of thinking this time, but even after what happened last time, he’s doing it again.”

“Did something happen that should have given your father an epiphany?”

“It’d be stranger if you didn’t know. The corps my father sent was wiped out. In other words, a corps just like yours.”

The scene replayed vividly before my eyes.
The stench of blood, the sobbing of a boy dying without hope—

“He was only sixteen. Poor thing.”

The Duke did not mourn the boy’s death.
He hadn’t expected much from the child to begin with.
He’d only sent him on that mission out of curiosity, wondering if he might have some hidden talent.

It turned out the boy had neither hidden talent nor the luck to die peacefully.

“Everyone thinks it won’t be them, but they’re all consumables. You too, senior. No—maybe you’re a replacement. A replacement for a corps member whose life is more valuable than yours.”

To my father, everyone is an object.
A corps is an object acquired by paying the price called sponsorship, and Irix is an object acquired by paying the price called marriage.

“Do you hate that kind of thing? I mean, people dying right in front of you.”

“I hate it, obviously. There might be some pervert out there who likes that sort of thing, but it’s not me.”

I was shocked by Irix’s words.
I know how many people he will slaughter in the future.
It’s a scale only possible for someone utterly devoid of conscience, compassion, or sanity.

In other words, that pervert was you.
And yet he talks like this.

Is he hiding his true nature, or is he still moral because he hasn’t fallen yet?

“The Order plans to take control of this train and then arrest the cultists and drag them away. I don’t know when it’ll happen. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after.”

The Order.
I know what that is.

Its official name is “The Grand Order That Serves the Hall of the Great Gods.”
This world is fundamentally polytheistic, and those who serve the higher gods banded together to form the Grand Order.

Centered around the hierarchs of the high gods—that is, powerful gods—this Order uses donations as capital to expand its influence. Through strict hierarchy and management, it ensures that believers live with their gods engraved in their hearts.

In return, the gods they worship choose suitable individuals from among devout executives or believers and bestow blessings and miracles upon them.

These blessings wield tremendous power. They transform insignificant humans into saints capable of wielding divine power in place of the gods.
The more blessings the believers or executives receive, the greater the authority of the Order becomes. The more miracles they display, the deeper the believers’ faith grows.

As faith deepens, the gods themselves rise in rank. That is the operating principle of the Order.

The Order was also the most efficiently run organization in this country. It managed its believers well, managed its executives well, and managed the powerful figures who served as its backing. And on the basis of that management, it raked in an enormous amount of money—almost on the scale of a mid-sized nation’s finances.

That well-cultivated Order eventually falls into Irix’s hands. Using that superb organization, Irix efficiently brings about the destruction of the world. The gods of the Order help him destroy the world as well.