The diplomatic residence wasn't some Dark Lord's castle or a royal palace housing the Seven Dragon Generals, so it had an ordinary layout like most government offices.
In other words, it was exactly what you'd expect: several floors of sterile white corridors lined with offices.
This was somewhat unusual, of course. A residence should be a place for living, not administration.
But what's important to remember is that Krasilov's Foreign Minister is the Crown Prince. A nation's Crown Prince wouldn't actually live in a diplomatic residence.
Therefore, the Foreign Ministry used the diplomatic residence as a multipurpose office space. It was essentially the Crown Prince's office building. (If he needed to sleep, he could do so "comfortably" in his office—a royal privilege.)
"This is..."
Ivan frowned as he made his way through the third floor of the residence. After reaching the middle of the five-story building, he noticed there wasn't a single office worker in sight—only armed soldiers appeared.
The low-quality kind, barely better than mercenaries.
"This feels like a Stage 1 level..."
At this point, Ivan realized his mistake.
If the children of the Hero Party were the protagonists, then naturally there would be enemies, challenges, quests, and other hostile forces appearing as the story progressed.
With that assumption, the subtle "clumsiness" and "incompetence" Ivan had been sensing suddenly made sense.
Q) Why kidnap the Hero Party's children instead of killing them on the spot?
A) Because you need to select your character before clearing the stage.
Q) Why are there only low-level mercenaries roaming the diplomatic residence?
A) Because Stage 1 regular monsters shouldn't be excessively powerful.
Q) What was the counterintelligence command doing while the Hero Party's children were being kidnapped one by one?
A) Because that's the "common sense" of arcade games.
Ah.
Oh no.
Ivan let out a brief realization and a short sigh simultaneously. Does this mean I shouldn't kill them all?
He turned around absently. The sterile white corridor now looked like someone had splattered red paint buckets everywhere.
The once-pristine diplomatic residence had successfully transformed into a busy meat processing plant (though one with no regard for health regulations). Seeing this scene, Ivan let out a deep sigh.
Making a somewhat bold inference, this episode was probably meant to be a "growth" event for the Hero Party's children—the protagonists.
Among them, the storyline that would be considered the "main plot" would likely be Asidis's growth.
The whole process of overcoming the betrayal of her trusted uncle, the Huskarl, and resolving the situation herself was probably the original intended plot.
Ivan stroked his chin, briefly pondering before shaking his head.
There's no way to know for certain at this point. Once things start rolling, they must reach their conclusion. Getting off halfway saying "this doesn't seem right" would accomplish absolutely nothing.
He shook off his thoughts and climbed the stairs, axe in hand.
Fourth floor of the diplomatic residence. The darkened corridor was quiet, without a sign of life.
Except for the sound of rain hitting the windows, there was no noise as Ivan walked steadily down the corridor, slowly tightening his grip on his axe.
His hearing gradually sharpened, accompanied by a familiar ringing sound.
-We've been captured too.
-I see...
The whispering voices belonged to the Hero Party's children. They were coming from an office directly above, one floor up.
As soon as he pinpointed their location, Ivan started moving.
From a practical standpoint, he decided to rescue them first and worry about the details later, regardless of whether this was a stage, episode, or chapter, or whatever purpose this story served.
Considering how the difficulty had jumped dramatically from Asidis's tutorial to Isabelle's tutorial, this event would likely influence the next one.
Events that followed gaming logic but changed organically according to national politics and power dynamics—this subtle difference between game and reality tangled Ivan's thoughts.
-Ping...
Just then, he heard the sound of a thread snapping from far away. The moment he recognized the sound, Ivan ducked down.
Immediately, a fierce line-of-fire detection flashed.
-Whoosh...
-CRASH!!
A greatsword flew through the air and embedded itself where Ivan had been standing. Ivan bounced away to create distance and raised his axe.
An attack that came almost simultaneously with his line-of-fire detection—if he had been an ordinary superhuman who wasn't prepared, he would have died.
This meant it was an attack from another superhuman. Battles between superhumans always worked this way.
The battlefield of superhumans, entered through sensory activation, doesn't slow down time but rather accelerates neural processing to perceive time in sub-second units.
Therefore, if you receive a "superhuman ambush" before neural acceleration occurs, you can't respond. In the world of superhumans, the concept of counterattack is meaningless. The first strike is always advantageous.
To solve this problem, "intuition" was developed—an enhancement of line-of-fire detection, an intuition for ambushes.
If line-of-fire detection separated ordinary people from superhumans, then "intuition" was the measure that distinguished between superhumans.
"You dodged that?"
So, responding to a superhuman attack with intuition immediately revealed the opponent's level.
"Huh, our guys worked so hard trying to scatter someone who could do this."
"Dionarr Eriksson."
"Seems you've met me before. I'm good at remembering faces, but I can't place who you are."
"You don't need to know."
Ivan raised his axe. Drip, drop. The rhythm of raindrops hitting the window had already slowed down.
This didn't mean the summer rain was subsiding. Time was stretching.
The fact that their conversation continued normally meant that the two facing each other were sharing the same timeframe.
"This wasn't what Maximillian intended... or was it? Did that bastard plan this too?"
"..."
"You're quite taciturn. Well, talking isn't what we need right now."
Dionarr smirked and flicked his hand. With a ping, the greatsword embedded in the wall spun and flew back into his grasp.
Gripping the greatsword firmly with one hand and letting the other hang loose, Dionarr raised the blade straight up.
"Come. Let me show you what it means to be part of the 'Reserve Force.'"
"Interesting."
Ivan smiled wryly.
The classification of "Reserve Force"—specifically, the "Hero Reserve Force"—was, strictly speaking, a concept first created by his own existence: Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Petrovich.
Ivan smiled with subtle emotion.
But those classified under the "Reserve Force" were different. If they could have been compared to the Hero Party, they would have ascended to the Demon King's castle as active members, not reserves.
Therefore, among these powerful individuals classified as the Reserve Force—clearly "powerful" and with a distinctive position among "superhumans"—there existed a hierarchy.
Ivan was more than willing to teach what form that hierarchy took.
As a courteous person, he decided to personally correct his junior's arrogance.
As the senior who was the only one among those bearing the name "Reserve Force" to accompany the Hero Party.
Kindly.
-Ping!
With the sound of a thread snapping, whoosh! The greatsword came straight down toward his head.
A powerful strike, with enough force to crush rocks and destroy castle gates.
He deflected the blade infused with densely woven magical power and twisted his body.
-CRASH!!
The blade that he had dodged struck the corridor floor. With a large crack, the floor collapsed. Ivan kicked off the crumbling foothold and jumped up.
"Got you!"
Dionarr smiled viciously and flicked his empty hand. Ping! With a sharp noise, a single thread glinted in the air, in the darkness.
'This guy is a technique fighter.'
Unlike Einarr who overwhelms opponents with sheer power, he's the type who uses techniques to play the long game.
Despite his large build and wild appearance, his fighting style was actually more similar to Beolgreen's.
'He uses magical threads to dominate space like a spider web, with occasional variations using the greatsword.'
Some demons fought this way. In dark, cramped indoor spaces, booby traps themselves were a significant threat.
Line-of-fire detection and intuition respond to attacks with "intent." For stationary traps, one can only rely on prior knowledge and improvisation.
That's why the Hero Party needed a thief—someone well-versed in that kind of knowledge.
Malicious traps lurking in the darkness.
And powerful strikes exploiting the gaps between them.
Of course, this is a pattern that's "generally" difficult to break. It definitely has a high difficulty level. Ivan smiled slightly as he twisted his body to deflect the attack and thought:
This would be tough for kids to challenge.
If this is a stage for the Hero Party's children, and this guy is the boss...
The purpose of the stage is probably to force them to master the "Domain of the Transcendent."
It's the kind of fight where you get hit if you don't know what to do—a rather malicious design.
But that's only from the kids' perspective.
The reason a thief is essential to the Hero Party is, again, to deal with these kinds of traps and enemies.
And that means the Hero Party in its active days faced countless enemies of this type.
And Ivan, as the "scout" for the Hero Party, had experience breaking through enemy territory alongside Enrique.
-Keeeeeng...
The axe glowed blue in the darkness.
-Snap!
The threads caught on the blade broke and fell.
-Whoosh!!
Hearing the terrifying air-splitting sound of the greatsword rushing in during that opening, calculating the distance and speed the moment he heard it, and as soon as the calculation was complete, turning his body forward instead.
One more step forward. Diving into that inner distance.
"Hahaha!! I've already..."
"I know."
The threads infused with magical power function as sensory organs themselves. Literally, they form a spider web-like structure.
A fighting style that restricts movement, twists the direction of attacks, creates openings, and thrusts the greatsword through those gaps.
Ivan already knew this method.
And being an efficient person, he doesn't struggle twice with something he's already experienced.
-CLANG!!
"H-how...!"
"Because I'm Reserve Force."
If you're surprised by this level while bearing the name of Reserve Force, what use are you?
Ivan's axe struck the greatsword and sent it flying, while the broken threads fluttered, revealing their outlines.
Dionarr stumbled backward and hastily reached out his hand. Swish, the magical threads intertwined to bring the deflected greatsword back to his hand—
-Thwack.
It didn't reach. The floating greatsword ended up in Ivan's grasp instead.
"You... bastard!!"
Without answering, Ivan twisted his body and drove the greatsword straight into the man's abdomen, then twisted away to avoid the threads wrapping around him.
-Slash!!
Simultaneously, he twisted and swung his axe. The gleaming blade cut through the air, drawing an elegant circle toward the floor. In the process, it severed everything caught in its path.
Threads, flesh, and bone fragments were all cut in one stroke. Blood splattered across the white wall.
"Ugh... aaaaargh!!"
"Screaming? Save your breath."
Ivan approached Dionarr, who had fallen to his knees clutching his torn forearm, and placed his foot on the man's chest.
With a thud, he forced him down, stood over him, and raised his axe.
"You have much to answer for, so it would be a waste to spend your breath on screaming."
Because you don't have many breaths left.
Take your time and save your breath for answering.
Ivan's eyes burned bright blue under the shadows of the darkened corridor.