V3 Prologue

PRIMAL DOUBLECROSS

A deafening roar thundered down from the heavens which was utterly merciless… relentlessly one-sided. Of course, noise was a battlefield’s constant—surging shouts and curses, the clash of blades, the blast of explosions, sounds brimming with death’s intimidation were never in short supply. Veteran soldiers, it was said, found exhilaration in the symphony of battle, where all these fused into one.  

“~~~~!?”  

But… even such seasoned soldiers knew sounds that made them tremble. On the battlefield, this was no longer the sound of combat but It was merely the sound of destruction of crushing foes with overwhelming force.  

No rage, no grief, no fear, no hatred—heedless of all, an act of unilateral annihilation could hardly be called battle. No one found honor in dying to an avalanche or flood. To be killed without landing a single blow was no different from livestock.  

“~~! ~~!!”  

Now—the roar raining down on mage Simon Scania’s head was exactly that.  

The location was a dim mountainous region. A literal chasm between mountains, where twilight piled thick, flanked by barren rocky peaks with scant vegetation, nearly devoid of animals, with little wind… it should have been a place filled with silence, as if time stopped at sunset.  

“~~~~~~!!”  

Looking up, one could see clusters of black dots, like holes punched in the sky. Like the sun during an solar eclipse, they shimmered with flames, growing larger—visibly, rapidly—while unleashing a roaring bellow of slaughter.  

Each one was, quite literally, a “strike body” with lethal—no, obliterating—power.  

The large-scale annihilation magic spell for localized warfare, <Thunder Hammer Rain>.  

A grandiose name, but in truth, most of its power came from mere “falling.” Not fire, not lightning. Just objects dropping.  

Objects fall from high to low, even a child knew that. But even that basic phenomenon… with enough distance, mass, and quantity, took on the aspect of a cataclysm. Even a pebble, dropped from the distant sky, gained arrow-like speed, transforming into a deadly weapon. When those objects—each too heavy for a single person to lift—fell in droves like rain, their power was immense, easily obliterating towns or villages, an obvious truth.  

Yes. This magic was meant… to destroy enemy strongholds.  

“~~~~!”  

To begin with, <Thunder Hammer Rain> was a time-consuming military attack spell. For standard execution, it required at least ten mages, plus high-output mana sources or magical devices. Pre-crafted “material substances” were scattered above the target—either launched by magic or dropped from high-altitude airships—then, once sufficiently dispersed, the main spell was activated.  

Far in the sky’s reaches, beyond the clouds, a magical “core” was formed, deploying its effect field and spinning at ultra-high speed, drawing in and compressing surrounding “material substances,” growing exponentially about tens of thousands, billions, trillions of it's original size.  

It was akin to rain forming by gathering atmospheric water vapor.  

But this magic didn’t produce harmless droplets.  

Shaped into teardrop forms by air resistance during descent, these massive “strike bodies” fell in staggering numbers, like pouring rain—blazing red, with the force of a swung hammer, crashing into the ground.  

A simple phenomenon.  

But its simplicity made it unstoppable.  

To disrupt the magic itself, one would need to target the spell’s activation high in the sky—but by the time the attacked noticed the “strike bodies,” the spell’s formula was already complete. Disrupting the magic was impossible.  

The only counter was… to resist with equally large-scale defensive magic.  

As heavy, hard, massive “strike bodies” fell at high speed, burning—no master’s prized sword or spear could avail. They’d be crushed with their weapons or blown away by clashing shockwaves.  

“~~!? ~~~~!”  

Even magic had limits for an individual.  

Before <Thunder Hammer Rain>—a spell wielded by multiple mages with high-output mana sources and large magical devices—an individual’s clever tricks or techniques were largely useless. Half-baked defenses would be shattered, barrier and all.  

Yes, there was no escape from it.

Once exposed to such large-scale annihilation magic, death was inevitable—so it was said. Even battle-hardened soldiers, hearing the sound of <Thunder Hammer Rain> pouring down, wore expressions of despair, standing powerless.  

Yet…  

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”  

Mage Simon Scania roared.  

He… simply couldn’t give up.  

No, he didn’t want to die.  

So many tasks remained undone.  

So many things he wanted to do.  

Above all there was a woman waited for his return.  

(Like the hell I will die in a place like this…!)

Simon raised his beloved gundo high, desperately reining in his fear- and confusion-shaken mind to construct a spell formula.  

“…Baret… Tut… Elm… Nai… Nai…!”  

His chance to survive, if any, lay in the large-scale nature of <Thunder Hammer Rain>.  

Magic, ultimately, required a single mage’s will to “activate.” Large-scale spells involved multiple mages, but one mage controlled and finalized the spell’s direction. Like a large ship moved by many but steered by a captain.  

And…  

“…Ewu… Waoln… Alchi… Maltea… Lulu… Alf… Lai…!”  

Thus, large-scale magic had uneven power.  

A single human’s perception had limits, unable to evenly distribute a spell’s power across its effect range. If Simon deployed a defensive barrier at maximum strength, he alone might survive.  

“Manifest—”  

Simon… alone.  

“<Ultra Shell>…!!”  

Simon succeeded in activating the spell.  

As the incantation completed, a translucent, blue-tinged spherical defensive barrier rapidly unfolded, centered on his gundo.  

<Ultra Shell> was the strongest defensive spell Simon knew. Its effect radius was small, and movement was impossible during deployment, but it was nearly impenetrable to individual attack spells. Against large-scale annihilation magic, if it avoided a direct hit, perhaps—  

“…Kuh!”  

Simon clung to his gundo.  

Though a mage’s will was required to activate magic—like a detonator—maintaining the spell and fine-tuning its details fell to the staff itself. All Simon could do now was entrust his fate to the heavens.

<Ultra Shell> was, for now, protecting him.  

With each impact, rippling distortions spread across its surface, warping the barrier grotesquely—yet the spell remained intact.  

“~~!!”  

“~~!?”  

Nearby, he saw comrades.  

Through the translucent barrier, he could roughly make out the outside.  

His squadmates, from the same unit, seemed to be shouting something. But their voices were drowned by the falling <Thunder Hammer Rain>. Ripples on the barrier’s surface obscured their lip movements.  

“~~!”  

One reached toward Simon, as if pleading for salvation.  

Between the ripples distorting the scene—a miracle let Simon glimpse his lips.  

"—Simon. Help me."

The next… instant.  

“—!”  

That comrade took a direct hit from a “strike body” and vanished.  

A massive teardrop-shaped mass crushed them into the ground before their flesh and blood could even scatter.

Only a severed wrist remained, spinning through the air—before smacking against <Absolute Shield>, leaving a bloody smear as it slid down through it.  

“~~!!”  

“~~!!”  

Other comrades shouted something.  

Their words didn’t reach Simon’s ears.  

But he could guess. Like the first, “Help me.” Or perhaps—“Traitor.”  

“…Kuh.”  

Simon’s magic could protect only one.  

Even then, survival was unlikely. He’d minimized the defensive range, maximizing barrier strength—and still. If he briefly dispelled <Ultra Shell> to widen the radius slightly, he might save one or two comrades, but it’d likely kill him along with them. Activating <Ultra Shell> in this situation was near-miraculous to begin with.  

He had to abandon them.  

To survive—to even slightly raise that chance—he had to let his comrades die.  

“…It can't be helped.”  

Simon growled the words.  

To no one. Probably not his comrades—their voices didn’t reach him, so his likely didn’t reach them. These words were probably for himself.  

“Can’t be helped. Can’t be helped. It can’t be helped! It can’t!”  

If he could, he’d wanted to save them.  

On the battlefield, as a mage weak in close combat, he’d survived thanks to swordsmen and warriors taking on melee. He knew that well. His comrades had saved his life countless times.  

But… he couldn’t possibly dispel <Ultra Shell> now.  

That would likely kill him alongside them.  

Dying together had no meaning.  

If even one could survive, wasn’t that better? Better than total annihilation. Anyone would agree.   

(Can’t be helped. So this… can’t be helped.)

“Hi...ah…”  

Simon curled up inside <Ultra Shell>, clutching his head, closing his eyes, covering his ears.  

The falling hammers of death. His dying comrades.  

He couldn’t bear to keep watching the gruesome scene around him.  

He’d done all he could. Now, he could only pray for his own survival.  

No—  

“…”  

One task remained.  

Killing the traitor.  

As mentioned—<Thunder Hammer Rain> was meant for stronghold attacks. A time-consuming spell, it couldn’t be executed immediately upon decision, nor could the attack point be drastically changed last-minute due to “material substance” dispersal.  

So—why was it used so precisely, targeting Simon’s mobile guerrilla unit at this time and place?  

Coincidence? Impossible.  

There was no reason to target a place without even a single civilian home.  

Meaning that the enemy knew Simon’s unit would pass through this mountainous region at this day and time. Their guerrilla squad specialized in stealth and surprise attacks. Only those directly involved should’ve known their schedule.  

An informant—a traitor—colluded with the enemy.  

A superior? An injured colleague sidelined from operations? Their family, lover, or friend? Someone, abusing their position, sold Simon’s unit out. No doubt.  

“I won’t forgive… I’ll never forgive…!”  

He must kill the traitor.

For the fallen—for those dying now—he’d make them suffer and die.  

Simon, huddled like an infant in his barrier, swore it.  

“I’ll kill them…!”  

Abandoning his comrades—averting his eyes from their silent, resentful screams to protect only himself.  

Simon resolved to survive by vowing to slaughter the traitor.