I’m Not Doing This With A Friend Chapter 138

 

After that day, Barmon was alone in the world.

 

The small village was stained with blood, and he was the only survivor.

 

There was nothing a child without a single close relative could do.

 

He was forced to flee the village to survive, unable to give his parents’ bodies a proper burial.

 

The Lagras had taken all the food in the village, so he had to leave immediately or starve to death.

 

When he reached a fairly large village, he rummaged through the trash and ate the scraps of food that someone had left behind.

 

There were many days when he couldn’t eat even that, because there was no garbage because of the war.

 

Fortunately or not for him, the war ended a year after his parents died, when the two empires signed a peace agreement.

 

But Barmon’s life didn’t change.

 

He still lived from street to city and dumpsters to scavenge for food.

 

To make matters worse for Barmon, he was discriminated against by the people of Abascanthus.

 

His appearance and light hair were distinctively Lagrasian. And his short, surname-less given name was unmistakably Lagrasian.

 

Even the parentless children of the alleyways, who were in a similar predicament to Barmon, looked down on him.

 

“Why are you in Abascanthus if you’re a Lagrasian with no last name, can’t you just get lost?”

 

“My parents died because of your people!”

 

Barmon was hit by stones thrown by the children, and on some unlucky days, he was mauled.

 

The trauma of the war left him with a blood phobia, but ironically, his veins never ran dry. The sight of his blood was a constant nightmare.

 

“I wish I had died with my parents that day, so I wouldn’t have to go through this hell.”

 

Barmon hated the Lagras Empire for killing his parents, and he hated Abascanthus for condemning him to death.

 

One day, many years later.

 

Barmon eavesdropped on a conversation and heard about the Arena Academy in Lagras.

 

“You must have smart sons and daughters.”

 

“What’s the point of having smart children? I don’t have the money to send them to school.”

 

“Why don’t you take the Arena Academy entrance exam? I heard they have an excellent scholarship program.”

 

“Is tuition the only problem? What about food and dormitory fees?”

 

“I heard that they provide food and dormitory for free.”

 

“Huh, free of charge? It’s not like the academy isn’t fully supported by Lagras.”

 

“That is, until you can get past the highly competitive entrance exam.”

 

The offer of free food and lodging caught Barmon’s attention. He was desperate to escape this life of hunger and sleeping on the streets.

 

Barmon traveled all the way to the distant imperial land of Lagras.

 

When he arrived, he borrowed a pen from an examiner at the Arena Academy and took the entrance exam.

 

Although he had no books, notebooks, or pens, he did have a discarded newspaper.

 

With the knowledge he gained from the discarded newspaper and the knowledge he had learned in the past while wandering the streets, he miraculously passed the entrance exam.

 

Life at the academy was a dream.

 

It was a place where Lagrasians and others came together and didn’t care which country Barmon was from.

 

He was provided with food and shelter, and was able to continue his studies in alchemy. He met a strange dorm mate named Walter.

 

“I can’t be bothered to make friends, but I can’t eat alone, so come eat with me.”

 

Barmon wondered what this crazy guy was about, but he was the first person to reach out to him since his parents died.

 

So Barmon didn’t want to turn down the offer.

 

“Sure.”

 

Despite their different upbringings, they quickly bonded.

 

Barmon’s naturally diligent nature and Walter’s bundle of nerves were a perfect match.

 

In time, they moved up from junior to senior.

 

When Walter was bitten by a bunch of mosquitoes on a trip to the mountains for regular training with the sword club, he grumbled.

 

“Oh, if only all the mosquitoes in the world were dead.”

 

“I wish the world would end.”

 

Walter chuckled and playfully affirmed.

 

“Yeah, me too. If the world ends, we won’t have to go to training.”

 

Walter, who hadn’t noticed that Barmon’s voice had sunk, suggested as if he’d remembered something.

 

“Hey, Barmon, why don’t we start a mosquito torture club?”

 

“…A mosquito torture club?”

 

“You’re so afraid of blood that you can’t even kill a mosquito. At least we should be able to kill the ones that drain the blood on you.”

 

“What does mosquito torture have to do with not being able to see blood, and how can I get better?”

 

“Why don’t you just try to kill mosquitoes a few times and get creative with the process?”

 

“Oh, that sounds horrible.”

 

“Why, that sounds like fun, let’s do it together.”

 

“If you want to make it, make it on your own.”

 

“I’ll make up the performance points.”

 

Barmon tilted his head in surprise at Walter’s uncharacteristic sacrifice.

 

“What, with you being the torture master?”

 

“Well, part of the Swordsmanship Club’s regular assignment is to collect cores anyway, so I’ll save you the trouble.”

 

“Well, if you’re willing to go that far, I suppose there’s room for consideration…?”

 

Walter had an idea, and MoTo-Club was born.

 

Time passed, and they were finishing their senior year.

 

“Hey, Barmon, why don’t you stay at my house this vacation?”

 

“No, thanks. Why would I want to stay at your place?”

 

Though he didn’t say it, Barmon knew that Walter was a son of nobility.

 

He knew Walter wasn’t offering to show off his status or to show off his big, nice house.

 

He was probably just bothered that he was stuck in the dormitory every vacation with nowhere to go.

 

But he really didn’t mind.

 

If anything, it would be more burdensome and uncomfortable to be a guest at Walter’s house.

 

“I’ll feed you lots of delicious food.”

 

“You think I’m going to fall for just food?”

 

“Yes. You like to eat.”

 

“…”

 

And so it was. Barmon tended to be obsessed with food because of his near-death experience.

 

“It’s a bit much for me to stay, do you mind if I just visit for a day?”

 

Walter decided not to try to persuade Barmon further.

 

“Sure.”

 

And so Barmon went to Walter’s house, where he was forced to keep his gaping mouth shut.

 

The house was spacious and luxurious, and the people bowed down to him like he belonged there.

 

Walter takes him to the dining room to eat, and the table was set with a feast unlike anything he had ever seen.

 

Swallowing his disbelief at being in a world so different from his own, Barmon decided that anything was possible.

 

After all, Walter would be a friend who wouldn’t change after graduation.

 

Then it happened.

 

Walter’s father, Count Reynos, appeared in the dining room.

 

“I see you’ve brought a friend, Walter.”

 

“…Father? I didn’t know you were home.”

 

“I just returned from the imperial court. Work ended early.”

 

Barmon was wondering what to eat first when Walter’s father appeared.

 

He jumped to his feet and bowed.

 

“Hello, I’m Walter’s roommate and friend…”

 

But Barmon couldn’t finish his sentence.

 

It was him. The knight he’d seen at the foot of his bed as a child.

 

It had been a short time, but it had been a terrifying time for young Barmon, and he could remember the face so clearly.

 

That man. Walter’s father, the murderer of his parents.

 

The cause of all his misfortunes.

 

The Count smiled faintly at Barmon, who had stopped talking. Seeing him tense up at the sight of it.

 

“I hope you and Walter have a good time.”

 

He quickly left the dining room out of respect for Barmon.

 

Barmon felt his long-forgotten hatred resurface.

 

Alas, how had he forgotten?

 

A nation of enemies who killed his parents. The country of the murderers who tried to slaughter him.

 

After all, all things Lagras and Abascantus deserved to be destroyed.

 

🍃

 

Afterward, Barmon cut off all ties with Walter and began his research for revenge.

 

After graduating from the Academy, he created a cosmetic product to fund his research and get a little revenge.

 

He named it after himself and his late parents,

 

“Barmon Knirina.”

 

Barmon carried the case of cosmetics with affection.

 

Because it was made with alchemy, the side effects of applying it to the skin could not be cured by magic or holy power.

 

“If only everyone suffered more than I did.”

 

The cosmetics, which were sold through the dark path, sold like hotcakes.

 

Over time, some people developed side effects, but it was not a big deal to those who were blinded by the magical skin changes.

 

But as more and more people experienced adverse reactions, Barmon Knirina eventually ended production.

 

He was worried about getting caught because of its long tail.

 

Even though production was shut down, he was satisfied that he’d had enough research and fun.

 

He was. Until a cure appeared.

 

With enough research funds, Barmon wondered how he could get revenge on the two empires.

 

And so, having been a member of the MoTo-Club during his time at the Academy, he came up with the idea of a mosquito-borne disease.

 

It wasn’t difficult to inject his plague virus into the mosquito’s body.

 

“The problem is that they die so quickly…”

 

When he injected the virus into the mosquitoes, they died in less than 10 seconds.

 

Then a thought occurred to him.

 

What if I turned mosquitoes into demons?

 

Demons are born from the distortion caused by the concentration of mana. But there were ways to create them artificially.

 

And fortunately for him, he had enough mana in his body to create them artificially.

 

Of course, it wasn’t enough to do it once, but over the course of several days.

 

It cost him so much mana that he couldn’t use it for anything else.

 

His hypothesis was correct.

 

The mosquitoes that had been demonized with artificial mana survived longer than those injected with the virus.

 

With a little more work, he thought, he might be able to create a mosquito that wouldn’t die.

 

A few years later.

 

Barmon slowly put down the newspaper he was reading.

 

” A herbalist has found a cure for Barmon Knirina…”

 

He felt quite dirty. If left untreated, these people would live with rotting, blistered skin.

 

‘Why would they interfere with my revenge by creating a cure.’

 

Then he remembered something and smiled eerily.

 

“…It’s not perfect, but it’s close, and it wouldn’t hurt to experiment.”

 

He searched and found the herbalist who had created Barmon Knirina’s cure.

 

“I’ll have to come up with an alias.”

 

A name like Barmon would be a good way to arouse suspicion.

 

Well, it was.

 

“Arcandus would be good.”