Study 5

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Dellev Kundel secluded himself in his dormitory for two days after being utterly defeated by the liberal arts instructor he had looked down on.

A luxurious single room.

He skipped other class orientations as well, endlessly replaying the humiliation of that day.

However, the more he replayed it, the more the humiliation was replaced by a question.

How in the world did I lose?

He had never experienced such disgrace before.

Yet that only made him more curious.

Movements that were barely visible.

The speed at which he was constantly tripped and subdued whenever he tried to turn around!

For Dellev, who had never been pushed back even in sparring matches against his family’s apprentice knights, a new world had been opened.

It was the world of defeat.

Dozens of defeats in a single day.

That has never happened before.

The Kundel family’s swordsmanship philosophy was simple.

One grows stronger through defeat.

That had always been true for the defeats he had experienced up until now.

He would exchange blows a few times, fall, and then rise again with renewed resolve after receiving sharp yet constructive feedback, swinging his sword with greater determination.

He believed that was what “defeat” was supposed to be.

However, the defeat he suffered at the hands of Instructor Ziel Steelheart was not that kind of defeat.

He crushed me thoroughly, again and again.

The only feedback he received was a brief comment the moment he fell.

After that, he was mercilessly thrown down again and again, rolling across the floor dozens of times.

It was humiliating.

And yet, strangely enough…

After dozens of repetitions, Dellev found himself gritting his teeth.

He tried his hardest not to fall, and he reviewed his movements in his head.

And in the end…

I felt something.

He could clearly sense something.

He didn’t yet know what it was.

Dellev wanted to grow his talent—said to surpass even his brothers’—as quickly as possible, to blossom fully and be acknowledged.

So, on the morning of the third day of his seclusion, Dellev saw the timetable on the wall, confirmed that the instructor’s class was being held today, and left the dormitory.

I need to confirm it again during today’s class.

He had not planned to follow him from the start.

He had simply happened to spot Ziel near the Elbat Hall and followed him out of curiosity…

“Wh-why is it blocked?”

He reached a dead end.

It was his first time coming to the Elbat Hall.

He didn’t know the layout well, but at the very least, this part of the building shouldn’t have led to a dead end…

And the instructor was nowhere to be seen.

“Is there another path?”

From the opposite end, Ziel watched Dellev, who was tilting his head in confusion.

This is not a normal tail.

Those who had tailed him before, even when flustered, would turn back and take another route or take some other action.

Does he have a different purpose?

This student.

Why had Dellev Kundel followed him?

Does he have some business with me, like Celia Rihardt did?

That seemed the most likely reason.

Perhaps it was some kind of trend spreading among the students.

Tailing the instructor. How unique. Then again, that sort of trend might not have been included in the mission intel I received beforehand.

The world was vast, and culture came in many forms.

If he wished to stay long at Edelvine Academy and rise to the position of professor, he would need to adapt quickly.

“Student Dellev Kundel.”

Dellev flinched and spun around at the voice behind him.

He nearly fainted.

The instructor who had just vanished was suddenly standing behind him.

“Te-te-teacher? When…?”

“You were tailing me.”

He was caught.

Was I too obvious?

If he had known this would happen, he would’ve just gone quietly to the classroom.

“Is it a trend?”

“…Excuse me?”

“I asked if it is a trend among the students.”

“A trend…?”

What was he talking about?

“Tailing the instructor.”

“…I-I’m not sure.”

“If it is a trend, you should at least do it more naturally. Hiding your body behind a tree and peeking your head out is far too suspicious. It’s better to blend into a crowd or follow from rooftops outside your target’s line of sight.”

Dellev was speechless at the sudden lecture on how to tail someone.

Why… why is he explaining it in such detail…

“Next time, try to tail more skillfully.”

“Ah… um…”

Ziel took out his pocket watch, checked the time, and began to walk.

“Five minutes until class. Tardiness will result in demerits, so take care.”

“Ah, yes. Yes, sir.”

“Then.”

Ziel disappeared around the corner he had originally turned from.

Dellev stared blankly in that direction.

He completely forgot why he had followed him in the first place.

Then, when he instinctively turned around—

He collapsed to the floor.

“W-what?!”

The hallway that had been blocked off was now wide open.

In fact, he could see students exiting classrooms in the distance.

“This is insane…”

Clatter.

***

Still recovering from the shock, Dellev entered the classroom one minute late.

“You’re late, Student Dellev Kundel. This is your first tardy.”

Students whispered at the sight.

“What’s with his face?”

“Didn’t you hear? He got completely crushed by that instructor during the first liberal arts class.”

“Oh, that self-defense class?”

Dellev’s shoulders twitched.

Just as he was about to turn around—

“I believe I said before class began. You two students, what are your names?”

“Teacher, we weren’t talking…”

“I heard you clearly. Both of you—state your names.”

“…Karen Aswan.”

“Luke Miol…”

With no room to argue against his firm tone, the two students reluctantly gave their names.

“Students Karen Aswan and Luke Miol. Both of you receive a warning for chatting. It will affect your grades, so keep that in mind.”

“T-teacher!”

“This class will be conducted according to proper standards.”

Scratch, scratch.

The sound of Ziel’s pen writing something, likely grading notes.

The protest died down, and the classroom fell silent.

Dellev watched with a strange expression.

Was he… looking out for me?

“And Student Dellev Kundel. Since you were tardy, it will likewise be reflected in your grade.”

Of course not.

What on earth is this? How can he be this strict? What gives him the confidence to act this way toward the children of powerful noble houses recognized by the Empire?

Celia, watching all of this, continued to observe with deep interest.

No matter how she looked at it, he must have some backing.

Otherwise, a mere liberal arts instructor would never act this way toward such students.

There’s definitely something. Absolutely.

As names of numerous powerful noble families raced through Celia’s mind, Ziel began the lecture.

“Today’s class topic is ‘A Healthy Body and Physical Fitness.’”

A healthy body and physical fitness!

As the name suggested, this was a liberal arts class focused on bodily theory and training strength.

Alongside self-defense, it was a physical training–oriented course befitting the Sword School.

I brought my sword. Who am I supposed to spar with?

I’ll just practice alone.

Of course, that was only how it was described in the syllabus.

Until now, the class had never actually been conducted that way.

Students would spar with one another, swing their swords freely, or simply relax and do as they pleased.

The assistants, who took over the class in the absence of the liberal arts instructor, had naturally let things be.

They were already busy enough—it was convenient for them.

But Ziel was different.

“Before we begin full-scale physical training, we will first measure each of your physical fitness levels.”

The classroom fell silent at once.

Physical fitness assessment!

“Um… Teacher.”

A student raised her hand.

“Student Karen Aswan. Do you have a question?”

“What exactly do you mean by measuring fitness?”

“It is exactly as written in the syllabus. We will evaluate the physical fitness levels of all first-year Sword School students here and provide individualized training plans tailored to each level.”

“So then… what kind of measurement is it?”

Up to this point, Karen and the other students still hadn’t let go of their sliver of hope.

“Is he going to watch what we do and measure our fitness that way?”

“That must be it.”

A liberal arts class the upperclassmen said they spent goofing off in the whole time.

They thought they’d get to do the same.

And lately, they were even getting mocked for it.

They said you go there to slack off and end up suffering like dogs.

They’d thought being 40 out of a total class of 100 meant they were the chosen elite.

Turned out they were the elite who stepped in something nasty.

“So I hear you went to slack off and got saddled with a truly amazing liberal arts instructor?”

“Have fun with that. I’m off to Professor Elcanto’s lecture.”

“Honestly, Professor Elcanto’s liberal arts class would be better, wouldn’t it?”

“Long-distance running.”

So maybe it would turn out that way after all.

Long-distance running?

Some students even snorted to themselves.

Sword School students had entered to learn swordsmanship and martial arts.

Naturally, they had received ample training from their families before admission and survived fierce competition to get here.

Stamina wouldn’t be a problem at all.

So they thought.

“How many laps?”

“As many as you can.”

“That’s nothing.”

When one student snickered, a few others tittered in agreement.

But the moment they saw what Ziel lifted up, their expressions froze.

“Sandbags. You’ll run wearing these.”

Sandbags.

It was such an old-fashioned method that no one expected it to come up here and now.

Most had seen them tossed in some storage room—or occasionally used by soldiers training the old-school way.

“That much is nothing.”

“Pfft, if we use mana, it’s easy.”

But at the next instruction, everyone fell into despair.

“Use of mana is prohibited.”

“Huh?”

“It’s only natural. Even if you bolster yourself with mana, your endurance won’t improve that dramatically.”

The students were so shocked they fell silent.

“The syllabus said we would use ‘the most appropriate method.’ Long-distance running is the most appropriate exercise for measuring individual fitness.”

They knew that.

They knew, but now they were told to wear sandbags and not use mana!

Ziel pointed to the far end of the hall—no, the gymnasium—with his finger.

“Make yourselves as light as possible, go to the end, and line up. On my signal, you’ll run laps around this hall.”

“U-until when?”

“Until you’re exhausted.”

“If it’s ‘until we’re exhausted’…”

“You will continue running until all physical energy is depleted and your muscle fibers no longer respond.”

“What if we lose the will to keep going?”

“The standard for continuing is not your will, but the standard I just stated. That’s all. Everyone to your positions.”

As he finished speaking, Ziel strapped sandbags to his own ankles.

The students were flustered by both the unexpected class and the sight of him doing it himself.

But to Ziel, this was an utterly natural lesson.

For the first two years, I did nothing but run.

That’s how it had been during assassin training.

He even ran with sandbags heavier than these.

“Hey, h-hey. Are we really doing this?”

“H-he said go, so…”

“That’s not the point—”

Just then, one student silently unbuckled the sword and belt from his body and set them on the floor.

He then took sandbags from the box beside Ziel and strapped them to both ankles.

Thump. Thump.

He stepped out of the line and went to stand at the far end of the gym.

It was Dellev Kundel.

Other students flinched at the sight.

And then another.

“C-Celia too…?”

Celia Rihardt followed right after him.

Kundel and Rihardt.

Once the heirs of two great houses moved first, the other students, flustered, began to follow one by one.

“We start running now.”

At Ziel’s signal, the students began to run in ones and twos.

“Run until we drop from exhaustion?”

“I have my major class later… this is insane.”

But none of the students could complain.

Right beside them—

“Keep your breathing regular. Don’t breathe too short or too long. Control it as steadily as possible.”

Ziel began running alongside them, speaking in an utterly calm tone.

“Student, land lightly when you run. Keep doing it like that and your knees will give out soon.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Student Karen Aswan. Don’t force yourself to keep up. What matters is running at the level you can sustain.”

He even offered advice to students here and there.

At first, they just accepted it.

But after about ten laps, students began to fall behind one by one, and even those in front started to breathe heavily.

Sandbags.

And the restriction on using mana.

The sandbags were actually pretty heavy on top of that.

So this is what it feels like when someone’s grabbing your legs.

“Don’t look at the floor—look straight ahead. You’ll trip if you keep staring down.”

Ziel’s voice remained perfectly composed.

When the first student finally fell behind, Ziel kept pace, ran over, and asked his name.

“Student, your name?”

“Huff, huff. Yurio… huff… Harmattan.”

“Yurio Harmattan. Twenty laps.”

Yurio, a small, timid student, answered meekly.

Each time another student collapsed from exhaustion, Ziel went over without fail, asked their name, and stated their record.

“How does he remember all that?”

There were 100 first-years in total.

Among them, 40 were taking this class.

Since students registered for both Liberal Arts I and II, the headcount stayed the same…

He remembered every single person’s record and reported it like that?

Then he would casually return to running, not even panting—without a single bead of sweat.

Even though he was wearing sandbags.

“Is he a monster?”

“Is he really a liberal arts instructor?”

The students slowly moved past suspicion and began to feel fear.

They’d drawn the short straw.

That thought hit them hard.

“Why did this have to happen during our freshman year…?”

“The upperclassmen said they took liberal arts easy!”

About thirty minutes passed.

Despite the name “Sword School,” half had already dropped out.

If they’d been allowed to use mana, everyone could have run several more laps easily, but without circulating mana through their bodies, they fell out one after another.

Sword School entrants had, at minimum, all awakened to the use of mana.

Beginner or adept, at least they knew how to channel mana through their entire body to enhance strength and endurance.

But once they were forbidden to use it, they dropped out in a short span like this.

Of course, not everyone ran straightforwardly by the book.

Tap.

Ziel slightly quickened his pace and drew alongside the student in the lead.

The student, unaware Ziel had caught up, looked around and made up his mind.

“Just a tiny bit. Just a little. He’ll never notice. It’s not like he’s a mage or anything.”

“You used mana.”

“H-huh?!”

Startled by the voice at his side, the student yelped.

Ziel had been an assassin.

Until just a few days ago.

He had been the best of the assassin order—called “the Wraith” by anyone with a dirty past who feared him.

Why other assassins couldn’t keep up with Ziel.

Why he could return after completing even impossible missions.

Because his “sense”—his aura perception—was perfect even among assassins.

“Your name, student?”

“I, uh…”

“You just used mana.”

“Uh… th-that… that is…”

The student was so flustered he stammered.

The remaining students, either running past or sprawled on the floor, watched.

“I asked what your name is.”

Ziel asked in a flat tone, showing not a hint of fatigue.

That calmness only made it more frightening.

“M-Maris Sopen.”

“Student Maris Sopen. Step out of the line immediately. You will stand over there until the class ends.”

“…”

“Did you not hear me?”

“Wh-what proof do you have that I used mana?”

Ziel tilted his head.

“Are you sure you didn’t?”

“Eighty-five laps. But since you used mana, it’s void.”

He spoke casually, but to Maris it felt scarier than if he’d shouted.

“Void?!”

“If you truly didn’t use mana, come to this exact spot at this exact time tomorrow and run the same way. If, without any issue, you record the same number of laps in the same condition, I’ll accept it.”

Maris couldn’t bring himself to answer.

But inside, he was grinding his teeth.

“How dare a mere liberal arts instructor…”

“You’re disrupting the class. Step aside.”

In the end, Maris moved off to the side.

But even as he did, he trembled with humiliation.

“So I used a little mana—does that justify publicly humiliating me in front of everyone?”

Maris Sopen.

Eldest son of House Sopen, ranked just below the Five Great Houses.

He hadn’t drawn as much attention as Dellev Kundel or Celia Rihardt, but at the time of admission, quite a few professors had taken interest in him.

“A damned liberal arts instructor, and he dares…”

Meanwhile.

Watching Maris step out, every other student had the same thought.

“How did he notice?”

There is a technique that only manifests at a certain level.

It’s called “mana manifestation.”

A technique that expels mana outward, imbuing it into a weapon or a fist.

Only at that level can the eye see mana.

Simply activating mana within the body is not something others can easily detect.

“That idiot Maris let himself get caught like that.”

“Making it obvious all by himself. You think no one else is using it, idiot?”

Of course, that’s all they believed.

They had no idea Ziel had sensed the mana with an assassin’s perception.

Another thirty minutes passed.

“Huff, huff.”

“Whoo, whoo.”

The gym was filled only with the sounds of heavy breathing and pounding footsteps.

Only two remained.

Sandbags on.

Mana use restricted.

And yet the way they kept running made them look like monsters.

“Hey, hey. Who do you think will win?”

“It’s gotta be that one, right?”

Dellev Kundel.

Celia Rihardt.

Of all people, the only two left were the heirs of two houses that had not been on good terms recently.

Of course, Ziel was still running.

Still without a single bead of sweat.

“Even if you used mana, it’d be hard not to get tired like that…”

Karen Aswan muttered.

Another ten minutes passed.

Their duel had reached the point where no one could hope to interfere.

In that stretch of time where you couldn’t tell who would collapse first—

Thud!

Five minutes later, at last, one of them fell.

No—

Just as he was about to fall—

“Student Dellev Kundel.”

Ziel rushed in and supported his body.

“Two hundred twenty-five laps.”

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