The teaching assistant trudged toward the lecture hall, muttering under his breath.
“I swear, one of these days I’m really going to quit.”
Three years into this assistantship, he knew the rules of survival. If you wanted that coveted professorship, you obeyed your supervising professor—completely. Only then came the letters of recommendation, the job security, the prestige.
The professor’s word was law. Disgusting and unfair, perhaps, but what could he do? While others landed knightly posts with powerful families or opened their own academies, he had chosen the assistant’s path. Regret or not, he had to endure it.
Still, today’s errand had a simple goal: to check in on that new lecturer, Ziel. The professor had told him to “test the man, see what he’s made of.”
As if the royal family would really be backing him, he thought skeptically. Professor Elcanto had clearly gotten the wrong idea.
It didn’t make sense.
“If someone truly had the Imperial Family behind them, why would they be teaching a basic elective?”
A man with such backing would be a tenured professor—or better yet, running a department by now.
He sighed as the hall came into view.
“Almost there…”
When he opened the doors, his jaw nearly hit the floor.
“What—what in the world?”
The room was chaos.
Screams echoed through the air.
“Ugh!”
“Gah!”
“Argh!”
Students were collapsing left and right—then scrambling back to their feet, only to be knocked down again.
Each time they rose, they glanced about nervously, and—wham—down they went once more.
“What… what are they doing?”
This was supposed to be a self-defense class.
So why were forty students lined up in neat rows, taking turns getting hit—by the instructor himself?
“Is this some new kind of punishment?” he whispered in disbelief.
While he gawked, another student fell with a thud.
It was Dellev Kundel—his face unmistakable.
Oddly enough, despite taking a solid hit, the boy looked almost pleased.
“I nearly saw it that time…” he muttered through gritted teeth, like a man annoyed at losing a bet.
He wasn’t alone.
All around, students were grinning, dusting themselves off, and jumping back into the fray as if determined to do better.
“This isn’t punishment…”
The assistant blinked, struggling to make sense of it. These weren’t average students—they were heirs of noble houses, some from families so influential that even professors tread carefully around them. And yet here they were, following every instruction without complaint.
“What on earth did he do to them…?”
Even as he watched, students continued to fall. And Ziel—calm, composed Ziel—moved through the chaos like a breeze.
“Karen,” he said, tapping a girl lightly on the arm. “Your movement was fast, but prediction requires certainty. Next time, adjust your timing and raise your arm just so.”
“Y-yes, sir!”
“Good. I’ll see that again in a bit.”
Then he vanished from sight, only to reappear in front of another student and tap his chest before the poor boy could react.
“An ambush can come from any direction—front, back, left, or right. Remember that. Keep your senses sharp.”
Ziel moved constantly, offering precise feedback with every strike. And strangest of all—the students were smiling.
Those who nearly blocked his attacks wore the proud grin of someone who had just passed a test.
“I was so close that time!”
“Not bad,” Ziel said with an approving nod. “But you kept your eyes too far to the left. Watch the right flank next time—you’ll manage.”
The assistant could hardly believe it.
Was this what self-defense training looked like now? He thought back to his own student days at Swordschool Academy. Electives were nothing but easy credits—half the class barely showed up, and the instructors didn’t care as long as attendance sheets were filled.
But this—this was different.
He found himself staring at Ziel Steelheart, wondering, Who exactly is this man? Could the rumor be true—was there really royal influence behind him? Otherwise, how could he command this kind of respect?
At Edelvine Academy, elective lecturers were usually treated like nobodies. Students barely bothered to call them “sir,” and the school’s budget ensured the faculty hired for such roles were second-rate at best.
But Ziel was something else entirely.
“Celia,” he called, intercepting a strike midair. “Raise your arm higher. If your opponent had a weapon, you’d have lost it.”
The assistant swallowed hard. Royal backing or not… Ziel was fast. Too fast.
Even with the students’ full focus, they could hardly keep up. After dozens of sudden attacks, no one had managed to block him cleanly.
“Just who are you?” the assistant murmured.
Then—boom!
A smoke bomb went off.
His last bit of composure vanished with the cloud. Students coughed and stumbled through the haze, silhouettes dropping one after another.
“What kind of class is this?!”
By the time the smoke cleared, Ziel’s voice rang out calmly: “Fifty minutes have passed. Take ten to rest before we continue.”
The students collapsed where they stood, gasping and drenched in sweat.
Fifty minutes—spent in total concentration, muscles tense, eyes darting for unseen attacks. It was absurd. And yet, strangely… effective.
The assistant couldn’t deny it. For all its madness, there was something compelling about this training.
When the break ended and the lesson resumed, the change was visible. The students were adapting—slowly, but surely.
“I blocked it!” one cried.
“You grazed it,” Ziel replied, deadpan.
“But that still counts for a merit card, right?”
“No,” he said, with the faintest trace of a smile. “Only a perfect block counts.”
He moved again, swift as a shadow. Whether he had slowed his speed or the students had truly improved, the difference was undeniable.
The assistant stood frozen at the back of the room, completely forgetting why he’d come in the first place—too captivated by the impossible scene unfolding before him.
Among all the students, one stood out unmistakably—Dellev Kundel.
“Dellev Kundel,” Ziel said evenly. “Your right pivot was too slow.”
Dellev straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. “But I almost blocked it this time.”
Ziel’s expression didn’t waver. “No, you didn’t. If that were a real blade, you wouldn’t still be speaking.”
His tone was calm, almost casual—but the lesson landed harder than any blow. And yet, the students weren’t discouraged. In fact, they were beginning to see things—tiny details they hadn’t noticed before.
At first, Ziel’s movements had been impossible to follow, like shadows slipping through moonlight. But when they applied his advice—focusing on balance, prediction, and reaction—they found themselves improving.
When I do it the way he says, it actually works.
I think I’m getting the timing right this time…
Of course, Ziel wasn’t moving at his full speed. He was holding back, letting them learn. But to the students, the difference was thrilling.
By now, none of them treated the class lightly. It wasn’t that they’d ever been openly defiant—they just hadn’t cared. Elective courses were for filling credits, not learning anything meaningful. Everyone knew that. Their upperclassmen had said as much.
But this new lecturer—Ziel Steelheart—had somehow turned that notion upside down.
The first session had been a shock. The next, brutal. But slowly—strangely—it began to feel rewarding. Not just from getting used to the pain, but from realizing they were genuinely improving.
“Dellev Kundel,” Ziel called again, his voice sharp but not unkind. “Raise your guard higher. And listen to the sounds behind you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Karen, your right leg is too stiff. Relax faster or you’ll never move in time.”
Each precise correction led to a visible change. Every student who listened found their reaction sharper, their timing smoother. And with Dellev and Rihardt throwing themselves into the lesson so earnestly, the rest had no excuse not to follow.
Well—almost everyone.
“Damn it! What’s the point of this stupid class?!”
A frustrated voice cut through the rhythm of the room.
Even if everyone was getting knocked down, most accepted it as part of the training. But one student clearly hadn’t made peace with that.
“All we do is get hit! What kind of lesson is this?”
Maris Sopen. The same student Ziel had caught using magic last time.
He wasn’t shouting exactly, but his muttering was loud enough for everyone to hear.
“What’s this supposed to teach us? Bloody useless…”
The Sopen family wasn’t among the Empire’s top five houses, but they were close—close enough for their eldest son to believe he was practically nobility incarnate.
Maris still hadn’t forgiven Ziel for calling him out in front of everyone during the previous class.
He could’ve let the magic thing slide, he grumbled inwardly. Did he have to make a show of it?
Karen, standing nearby, sighed. Of course.
He’d been like this since the entrance exams—acting as if being almost aristocracy made him untouchable. A nouveau riche attitude wrapped in noble robes.
“Hey, don’t you agree?” Maris said suddenly. “What was your name again?”
Karen ignored him.
That didn’t sit well.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!”
Just as he took a step forward, a dry voice snapped from behind him.
“Would you shut up and focus?”
Maris froze. “…What did you just say?”
He turned—and his heart skipped a beat.
Dellev Kundel was staring right at him.
“Is this your private lesson? Stop whining and pay attention. If you’ve got complaints, get out.”
“W-wait, Dellev, I didn’t mean—”
Dellev didn’t flinch.
“You’re distracting everyone. Keep your mouth shut.”
“I—I said I get it…”
“Do you?” His tone dropped like a blade.
Maris swallowed. “Y-yeah. I get it.”
Dellev Kundel. A scion of one of the Empire’s founding families—an ancient name tied to centuries of history and valor.
The Sopens might have been rising stars, but compared to the Kundels, they were still commoners with polish.
At Edelvine Academy, family rank could outweigh even academic standing. And faced with that difference, Maris fell silent, glaring at the floor.
Karen couldn’t help but shake her head.
Pathetic.
And then—
“Ugh!”
Maris yelped as Ziel appeared behind him and delivered a swift tap to the shoulder that sent him sprawling.
“Maris Sopen,” Ziel said coolly. “Speak out one more time and that’ll be a warning.”
“B-but, sir!”
“If you have complaints about my teaching, you bring them to me directly. Understood?”
Maris wilted. “…Yes, sir.”
From the back, the assistant stifled a laugh and shrugged.
Well, that’s academy life for you.
No one mouthed off to an old family—certainly not in front of one.
Still, it was strange to see Dellev take Ziel’s side so firmly.
Does he actually like the man?
After the first self-defense class—where Ziel had completely humiliated them all—he’d expected Dellev to hold a grudge. But instead, the boy had quietly accepted it.
And now… this?
Could it be that Dellev knows something? Maybe he knows who’s backing Ziel…?
The Imperial Family’s support, perhaps.
Could it really be true?
Maybe Professor Elcanto’s “wild hunch” wasn’t so wild after all.
While the assistant’s imagination ran wild—
“Dellev Kundel,” Ziel’s voice cut in. “Your reaction’s slower than before. Focus.”
“Ugh!”
Caught mid-thought, Dellev took a hit square to the chest.
He grimaced. A little unfair, considering he’d just stuck up for the man.
Trying to salvage some dignity, he muttered, “Ah, about that just now, sir—don’t worry about it. I just thought I’d help refocus the class, that’s all—”
“Leaving your position only reduces focus,” Ziel interrupted flatly.
Dellev bit back a groan. So much for helping.
A small pfft of laughter came from his right. Celia, of course.
Oh, come on…
But then—
“Still,” Ziel said, glancing over his shoulder, “thanks to you, Karen seems more focused now. Good work.”
And just like that, he was gone again, already moving on to the next student.
Dellev blinked.
Was that… praise?
He honestly couldn’t tell.
Cliche Novel 