Chapter 322
Chapter 322
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP. 69 – The Knight Cheers for the Youths (1)
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Winter had passed before anyone knew it, the time when green leaves gently tapped the soil as they revealed themselves.
The warm sunlight thick with the scent of spring and the refreshing breeze acted like a key, swinging open the thick gates of the Royal Academy.
Spring. The season heralding the start of a new semester.
Just like last year, a flood of freshmen who had passed the grueling entrance exam—brimming with dreams and hopes—stepped into the Royal Academy. Trailing behind them came the sophomores and juniors who had advanced.
The freshmen stood there in shock.
"Only two hundred juniors?!"
"Five hundred sophomores, tops..."
"They said dropout and withdrawal rates were insane... It's true."
Each year, around a thousand freshmen crossed the academy's threshold, but only 10% made it to graduation. It seemed that was no exaggeration.
Wasn't the pitifully small number of upperclassmen proof enough?
The freshmen wore a mix of expressions—fear, anticipation, confidence—but their goal was the same.
Graduation!
They were resolved to survive at any cost to achieve it.
Pendragon Royal Academy.
A place where graduation guaranteed success, a hall of learning where not just commoners but nobles alike strained every muscle to gain entry.
And moreover...
"...I wonder if that person's here?"
"They said someone eye-catching? Oh, there they are!"
...a prime spot for forging connections.
The cadets' eyes—especially those of the noble heirs and ladies—were locked on a select few.
Wasn't it said that this year's applicant surge, the biggest in nearly a decade, and the five hundred extra admits over last year, were all to rub shoulders with them?
And as if to prove it wasn't idle talk, the freshmen's eyes gleamed with burdensome intensity.
'Black hair! That's gotta be them—no one else could have that presence unless they're Lionel's heir!'
'...Lady Windler.'
'Is that Lady Joan of Arc? The one the marquis adopted in awe of her talent—the star of those rumors...'
'That's the Sword Sage's grandson... Wait, barbarian! The mysterious races are real!'
'Hmm, wonder where the Mercenary King's disciple is.'
Blood ties first, then regional bonds, then school connections.
This was a proverb that held true across the South—no, the entire continent. Among the freshmen, plenty yearned to leverage academy ties to get in with those elites.
Some had entered solely for that purpose, including children of the upper crust whose futures were already secured.
It might smack of worldliness, but they'd all conquered that brutal exam. A little opportunism was forgivable—admirable, even.
In that vein...
'Swordsmanship department—maybe I can make some introductions?'
'Sigh, personally gracing the sword department... But why do they bother attending so diligently? My brother said by second year, you just do liberal arts and train swordplay with the family knights...'
'Unusual bunch. Well, lucky break for me.'
The very fact that these heavyweights attended the academy so faithfully was fortune and blessing incarnate for the freshmen.
They'd assumed some upperclassmen would skip entirely by now, yet here they all were!
The first-years in the Swordsmanship Department thus dreamed of a radiant future.
A future of mingling with them.
...
Of course.
"-From today, I'm Damian, the teaching assistant assigned to manage the first-years in the Swordsmanship Department."
"......?"
The problem was that the world rarely went according to plan.
"I hate starting the first day like this too, but it's the instructor's orders, so I'll carry them out. Blame him, not me."
"??"
"Now, exactly one hundred laps. First to 30th place: pass. 31st to 50th: pending. Everyone else: penalty points. Go."
"W-wait, what on earth..."
"Hey?"
"......Yes?"
"'Hey' to a senior? Your TA, no less? You think this is your bedroom? Use proper address! You're out."
"......"
The first-year who dared ask quailed in horror.
The second-year TA's aura was so fierce and murderous it made his legs shake on the spot.
The other first-years fared no better—even those from knightly houses were overwhelmed.
'D-Damian? Damian Pollet? Second son of the famed knight house Pollet?'
'Since when was that Damian this intense? What the...'
They were just a year or two older, yet the pressure was crushing.
But whether they gawked or not, Damian Pollet paid no mind.
On the contrary.
"You've got ten seconds. Anyone not running after that gets hit with insubordination penalties. For reference, three points means expulsion review."
"......"
"Start—1, 2... 8!"
"What!!"
They wanted to protest jumping from 2 to 8, but the overwhelmed freshmen lacked even the courage for that. They bolted.
One hundred thirty Swordsmanship freshmen.
The highest number since the department's founding—a terrifying horde. Damian burned with the desire to cull it.
'Too many, and my workload explodes—damn it all!'
The instructor had nothing to do anyway, but as the one saddled with all the grunt work, one-thirty was way too much for Damian.
And besides.
'Half—no, over seventy percent are trash. Trash!'
His year away had sharpened his eye. He spotted the weirdos mixed in thick.
Spies or faction plants, plain as day.
They'd only muddy the waters, and Damian had zero interest in watching that play out.
Already swamped, wasting time on them was infuriating.
'Down to half—sixty-five. No, make it a clean sixty. Please.'
Even fewer would be ideal.
Damian. Two years left until he escaped TA (slave) duty.
For those two peaceful years...
'Don't get in my way, you trash!'
He'd gladly turn demon!
Hammer Knight Damian fiddled with the spare wakizashi tucked in his bosom, glaring at them mercilessly.
"Ho.... That TA kid's found his true calling, huh?"
Meanwhile, atop a high hill overlooking the scene, Lee Han couldn't hold back his admiration.
He was thrashing them properly.
Overwhelming with presence and words to seize control, eyes calculating maximum misery.
Innate talent, no doubt. Even Lee Han, honed over eight army years, saw him handle it effortlessly.
"Talent. Massive talent. He's a natural."
"Y-you mean even that's innate?"
"Yep. Not just anyone can wrangle people. If he starts out this good, dump all first-year classes and exams on him."
"......"
"Why the look?"
"...Nothing. Just figured out who awakened his talent."
"?"
"Maybe he learned it best by experiencing the grind himself..."
"Grind? I rolled humanely."
"......"
The gray-haired boy, Derek, was too shocked for words.
If that was humane...
'How brutal does inhumane get?'
Derek swallowed the rest, lacking the guts to peer into the abyss.
Some truths were best left unknown.
To be clear, Lee Han hadn't dumped the freshmen on the TA out of laziness.
Simply...
"Why are there so many weirdos this year?"
Most of the first-years reeked of trouble, that's all.
Lee Han spotted it instantly.
The TA figured seventy percent suspicious...
'Only about twenty normals. Rest are shady.'
Eighty percent plus weirdos.
Too busy lately to track academy affairs, this was his first glimpse of the freshmen.
Never imagined they'd let in this many suspects...
'...They reek.'
Some even carried the stench of blood.
Not outright criminals, but types better suited to mercenary bands or intel outfits than a hall of learning.
Unpleasant presences dotted everywhere, furrowing his brow.
'Who the hell picked these?'
No clue on the criteria for Swordsmanship passes, but zero interest in accepting water-muddlers.
Even less desire to teach them.
'Maybe flip the whole batch.'
No sooner had Lee Han's face turned icy...
"Instructor, hold it. This is fallout from your fame."
"What fame?"
"The Mordred battle footage spread, right? Not public knowledge yet, but no name nobles or merchants don't know yours. Those suspects are probably here to watch or recruit you. So don't get mad. It's the burden of celebrity."
"...You mocking me?"
Lee Han clenched his fist slightly, eyeing the dark-skinned kid. Roan threw up both hands in surrender.
"Mercy. Even a joke hit would pop my head now."
"Drama queen."
"......Not drama."
Roan retorted in dead earnest.
No jest—just truth.
As the new term dawned with spring's scent, the Swordsmanship training grounds rang with freshmen groans like an orchestra.
...For quite some time.