Chapter 36
Chapter 36
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.11 – The Knight Hates Spellcasters (3)
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Whoosh! Hwoong-!
"...".
The cadets from the swordsmanship department were pushing through rope jumping with vigor today as well. Just like always, some collapsed after getting smacked by the rope, while others, exhausted and gasping for breath, stared blankly at their instructor's training.
No, that was less like training and more like torture, wasn't it?
It was an utterly unbelievable, surreal sight.
"...Hey, young master. Is that normal training for knights?"
"Don't be sarcastic—just call me by name, mercenary."
"Hmph, you're the sarcastic one."
"You started it."
The young man and the boy bickered.
They were the same age, but the rough-looking mercenary apprentice, who seemed relatively older due to his rugged upbringing, was Garand. Meanwhile, the noble-born Arno Oppen, raised more delicately, eyed Garand's manly appearance with envy—though he tried not to show it—as he retorted.
"...Don't ask stupid questions. What knight would do that insane training?"
"They're doing it right now?"
"That's why it's been hard to believe the whole time I've been watching."
"...I see."
Swinging around an iron club fitted with an 80kg steel bar without a care.
No one would believe it even if they were told.
It was that hard to accept.
Crunch! Cruuunch!
Every time the instructor swung the steel bar-fitted staff, an ominous groan rose from his body.
It sounded like bones breaking, but upon closer listen, it wasn't.
It was the sound of muscles tearing.
The scream of ripping muscles.
"Ugh!"
The groan didn't come from the instructor's mouth but from theirs.
Having experienced that pain themselves, it came out automatically.
It was one of the phenomena from systematic training endured since childhood to grow stronger.
The agony of muscles tearing.
It wasn't an exaggeration to call it an injury, and it was utterly horrific.
"That hurts. Kunta hates pain."
The boy with awkward speech and an exotic look whined.
He was a head taller than the fairly tall Garand. Kunta's earnest expression stemmed not just from his simplicity, but from a pure innocence untouched by the world.
He knew that tearing sound—the act of muscles ripping—caused unimaginable pain.
'It hurts like crazy... No, pain alone can't even begin to describe it.'
It felt like your insides were burning up, like flesh being shredded by a knife.
The more severe the tear, the worse the intensity, and the pain was utterly unbearable.
...It should be, anyway.
"Instructor, doesn't that hurt?"
"It does. But it's bearable."
"...Instructor weird."
"Not weird. Any knight can do this much."
"...Liar."
"Ho, not even fooled by that."
A blatant lie that even the simple barbarian wouldn't fall for.
He'd meant to trick him into trying it, but regrettably, Kunta backed away.
Of course, that didn't stop him from watching the training to the end.
Boom.
"Hoo!"
As he set down the iron club, the ground vibrated.
He casually hung the club somewhere, lightly wiped his sweat-soaked body with a towel, and immediately picked up his personal jump rope.
A 50kg steel rope—"just a bit" heavier than the cadets' 10kg ones.
The handles were 20kg dumbbells each.
He'd wanted to make the rope heavier, but it would have become too bulky to swing, so 10kg was the limit.
A shame.
But as the saying goes, if you have no teeth, use your gums. Settling for the weight he had, Lee Han jumped rope as is.
Whish whish whish whish!
Slow but steady.
Filling the count one by one, his muscles rippled.
Even when it snapped against his skin with a smack mid-jump due to a slip, Lee Han ignored the pain and kept going.
Thud! Thuuud! Thud-!
The ground shook with every jump, to the point where people could barely stand.
What the heck is that?
They threw astonished glances, standing there dumbfounded.
"Aren't you going to do it? How long are you going to slack off?"
"I-Instructor, you still have the breath to talk in that state?"
"I have to make time to nag the slackers, even if I don't."
"...We're not slacking."
"Anyone can say that."
"Sh...!"
The young master group started rope jumping again like that.
This damn insane rope!
Someday, they'd definitely snap it.
Whish! Whish!
With newfound venom, they swung their ropes at a speed far slower than Lee Han's.
A speed endlessly distant compared to his effortless handling of their vastly heavier rope.
"...How much stronger do you plan to get?"
"At least always stronger than you lot."
"...".
The cadets found it all the more frightening because those words didn't sound like a lie.
Lee Han wasn't embarrassed to train in front of others.
On the contrary, it was far more uncomfortable to just order others around and watch.
At the very least, you should be able to do what you demand of others—and do it harder, more intensely—to inspire those around you.
'Once this is done, I should wrestle with that Kunta guy.'
That guy's something else.
He was the most skilled in bare-handed combat, bar none.
Probably the strongest among the cadets unarmed.
Which made him perfect.
He was just the sparring partner Lee Han needed for hand-to-hand techniques.
Though Lee Han had the higher win rate, it was due to superior strength, not skill—Kunta's technique was actually more refined.
Beyond that, Arno for sword sparring.
Garand for spear work.
He wanted to face Roan too.
'That guy's been subtly avoiding me.'
Probably dodging because sparring would force him to reveal his true self.
Weird guy.
'Well, I get what he's worried about anyway.'
More than anything, he had a hunch, making it hard to push.
The incurable disease unique to war returnees.
He could sense it from that guy.
'...Regressors have their own burdens, I suppose.'
Lee Han had no intention of forcing it out of him.
It wasn't his story—it was the guy's own illness.
Then.
"I-Instructor."
"...Yeah? Something to say, No. 2 chick cadet?"
"It's Irene, Instructor. More importantly, why am I No. 2? Not No. 1!"
She was his neighbor and the first cadet he'd gotten acquainted with, yet she fussed over not being No. 1.
Couldn't exactly say it was because she was Observation Target No. 2, so he used the handy excuse.
"Who was it that kept failing the stamina test? You should be the runt chick, but I'm giving you a pass to No. 2 because we know each other. Be grateful."
He decided to brazen it out.
"...Fact-checking is violence, Instructor."
"The violent and excessive thing is your stamina, Cadet Irene."
"Hing...".
Irene Windler.
The swordsmanship department's sole mage cadet.
When he first saw her, countless male cadets had blushed and averted their eyes.
She had a fairy-like beauty, after all.
Golden hair like spun silk, eyes like embedded sapphires.
Flawless porcelain skin to boot.
Her beauty rivaled that of the mystical fairy race.
And she was a mage with a special mystique.
More than enough to steal the hearts of the male cadets at first glance.
...But now.
'It's not easy to have reflexes that bad.'
Everyone looked at her not with flushed faces, but with worry.
Like watching a pufferfish that might die any moment.
'It was shocking.'
Even the slender noble ladies with twig-like limbs had managed a hundred jumps before panting at first, but Irene was different.
'Collapsing after three? Is that human?'
She did a whopping three jumps, then sweat poured like rain as she gasped.
It wasn't even a heavy rope.
A really light one.
Yet she jumped like a marionette with tangled strings.
How could her arms and legs move so independently?
It made you suspect some physical defect.
So he wondered if she had some hidden illness and took her to the recovery room priest, who said with an incredulous face:
-Th-that's just... severe lack of stamina? What? How did she live her daily life to end up this weak? Even a mage should have basic muscle power, but this...
...Later, he learned Irene used magic for all daily activities.
Her overflowing talent let her use basic magic like [Telekinesis] as hands and feet.
-Since when have you lived like that?
-S-since I could use magic?
-And when was that?
-...Twelve.
-......
Seven years living like a bedridden patient naturally meant stamina weaker than a three-month-old baby's.
What was meant as a joke about her being a chick cadet was literally true—her body was at chick level.
She was No. 1.
...From the back.
"Phew, Cadet Irene, weaker than our chicks. How's the diet improvement going lately?"
"I-I'm eating lots of meat and veggies like you said."
"Good. Cadets shouldn't fuss over health—just eat everything. Fatten up first before you can do anything. Make sure to eat at least five meals a day."
"...Yesss."
"Got it? It's survival territory. Survival! Eat more to live!"
"......Yesss."
An uncertain reply.
Worrying.
And sure enough.
"You're holding back on magic as much as possible, right?"
"W-well...".
"...Please, at least don't use magic coming to class. It's all for your sake."
"......Yesss."
...When would this chick surpass a chicken?
No, before that, would she ever reach human-level stamina?
'No wonder romance-fantasy heroines trip and fall all the time—their bodies are this frail, so they get hurt constantly.'
A romance-fantasy heroine trait.
Trips at the drop of a hat, gets hurt easily, eventually falls ill and coughs delicately.
But frailty always has a reason.
Lee Han gave her a pitying look, and Irene flinched.
Feeling embarrassed for no reason.
'Shut up, you bitch! I know I'm embarrassing!'
She'd only used magic because it was convenient—who knew it'd make her patient-level weak?
In a way, choosing swordsmanship lectures was a godsend.
Otherwise, she'd have become a pufferfish dying from stepping on a pebble someday.
'At least now I can do ten jumps!'
[That's your brag?]
The ghost girl's sharp nagging.
Feeling the shame, Irene blushed, shook her head to clear it, when he asked.
"So, why'd you come talk to me? Something you need?"
"Ah, right!"
Startled that she'd forgotten her original purpose amid the chit-chat, she hurriedly spoke up.
"I-it's not a big deal, Instructor. There's a troublemaker coming to today's class, so I wanted to apologize in advance...".
"Troublemaker, huh. Hmm, you mean 'that one'?"
"...Huh?"
"That one, over there."
"...".
Irene glanced over.
There was the guy Lee Han dismissively called a random crumb, and without thinking, Irene.
"Ah! Yeah, that one."
Referred to the magic department professor, Odwal Bernard, as "that one.".