A Knight Teaches (1)
In any organization, incidents great and small were inevitable year after year. However thoroughly one managed things, the work was still done by people, and people were never without flaws. An accident, then, was nothing so strange—and it was no exaggeration to say that how well the aftermath was handled was the true measure of an organization's worth.
What mattered was the cleanup. Clinging to the incident in front of you was not.
…This time, however, was different.
"I hear the royal house means to send auditors."
"The ones who never showed their faces, too busy watching the chancellor—no, the dean—are raising hell now that they've sniffed an opening."
The royal house was tearing the Academy apart. Even now soldiers roamed the faculties, rifling through every document and obstructing the work, and it was only natural that the faculty's discontent kept rising. They were not cursing the crown without cause. They knew how grave the matter was, and they were willing to cooperate.
And yet—
"Word is, the royal house already knew there were signs this terror attack was coming?"
"Ha. This is a witch hunt, plain and simple. What did the dean even do wrong—!"
"Who said he did?"
The royal house and the Academy were cut from the same cloth. Why, then, was the Academy alone being flogged like this? Resentment of that sort seeped through the instructors and fed their anger.
"A dung-caked dog, scolding one dusted with chaff."
A sigh that caught the situation with perfect accuracy.
In truth, it was a fairly well-known rumor that not only the royal house, but everyone, had received warning of the signs of terror. Some knight had poured his heart out making the case. It was only that no one had listened. Seen one way, it was a repentance come too late, and a situation in which no one could pretend to be innocent. Seen the other, neither could any single person be made to shoulder the blame. Pin the responsibility here, and someone would have to mount the guillotine without fail—and once one man went to the block, every soul of his household would fall as dew upon the execution ground.
So the auditors coming from the crown, and even the unquiet rumors turning inside the Academy, were things one must not believe. The mud fight had already begun. For a while yet, the air would stay ugly.
"…So who is this 'first reporter,' exactly?"
"No idea. Nobody has any information."
"The rumor says some hulking knight…."
"A hulking knight… hmm. S-surely not…?"
"Let's not let idle guesses out of our mouths. It would be rude to him."
"R-right."
The first reporter. The rumor that someone had been the first to declare—to the dean, the princess, and the rest—that terror was coming. At some point the story had reached every ear, and it was only human to seek that first reporter out and suspect him. Digging into the source of information was simple common sense.
…And yet, strangely, nothing about the man who had filed the report was circulating. Not even though an investigation could have found him. Even the soldiers moving through the grounds in real time had heard the rumor, and still they hushed one another. In more senses than one, it was an unusual current. It could not be helped.
"God, this is driving me mad. Chase the informant and the whole thing solves itself—so why are the higher-ups telling us not to?"
"Tsk. It's already come to this. Why not dig a little? Who knows, you might earn yourself some credit."
"Hey. If you want to die, die alone. Don't drag the rest of us in."
From the royal house down through the Academy's upper ranks, an order had come down: no one was to pursue the source of the information. The reason was unknown, but the order had also declared that he was not the culprit, and a stern warning had fallen with it—do not dig, and do not so much as think of doing him harm. So the investigators did nothing but kill time, forced to abandon the easy path to a decisive clue, having agreed among themselves not to kick a hornet's nest for nothing.
And now the first reporter—the man presumed to know the entire truth, the knight who had through this very incident earned the title of Hero of the Academy—
"—This is Timid, who will be transferring into the swordsmanship faculty. All of you, treat him well."
"I-It's not Timid. It's Derek…."
"At your time in service, you want to be called by your name?"
"…Was this the army?"
He was in the middle of introducing a brand-new face.
In the end, all eighty of the swordsmanship faculty seized high marks on the term evaluation. They had shown themselves well enough in the bout against the rock trolls. More than that, the spirit and courage with which they had stood against hundreds of gnolls had been rated highly, and their potential acknowledged. It would be no exaggeration to say the grades this year's first-year sword class had received were the highest of any cohort on record.
A few of them would even be granted scholarships on the strength of those marks—scholarships in name only, for in practice the whole of their living expenses was guaranteed. To the bears, forever gasping after coin, it was rain in a drought. They would no longer have to walk the Academy worrying about money. Nor was it only the bears. The other young lords and ladies were to receive decorations worth more than gold, a chance to lift their houses' names. All of them, without exception, were seeing the return on a battle they had fought with their lives in their hands, and feeling rose until it nearly overflowed.
But not one among them was arrogant enough to believe they had survived because they themselves were exceptional.
"—First, this instructor is grateful that not one of you died, and that all of you have gathered here safe. You did well."
They had to understand that they had lived by that alone.
Lee Han.
The knight judged to have stepped forward before anyone else when the terror struck, annihilating the monsters and saving every spectator and every student. A hero, furthermore, credited with saving the Royal Capital itself. The students looked at him as if they had always known it would come to this.
Knew it. Knew he'd make a name for himself.
An incredible man. Truly.
…Saw it yesterday. Love letters the noble young ladies must have left were piled into a mountain on the instructor's desk. …I'm jealous.
The ill fame that had spread through the Academy around him, in the open and in whispers, had long since been scrubbed clean. Where once there had been fear and uneasy glances, envy and goodwill now poured down without end. Those who had fought beside him would have been lying if they claimed no envy of the man who had gained still greater notice and honor than they. Even so, looking at their teacher set a heat in their chests they could not quite explain.
And no wonder.
He held off a monster like that alone. It'd be absurd not to respect him.
What he had accomplished was extraordinary to that degree. An ancient monster that might have stepped out of myth. Everyone at the Academy had watched him fight to the last against a troll whose bulk rivaled a giant's. Had he failed to hold that creature to the end, not only the Academy but the whole of the Royal Capital would have been in peril. So he was a hero. He had saved numberless lives by himself, and shown a noble spirit in holding the monster until the reinforcements arrived.
…Except.
"I-Instructor, there's a noble outside who wishes to see you. What should we do?"
"Tell them not to interrupt class, and to piss off."
"…He's a count."
"Then shall I go myself?"
"…If you go yourself, you'll snap his neck, won't you? I'll just go and refuse him politely."
The instructor himself seemed to feel nothing in particular about what he had done. If anything, he only looked thoroughly irritated that so much troublesome attention was pouring in.
Thank goodness we have the assistant instructor.
He's in a hell of a mood.
Had Damian not been deftly receiving the nobles and merchants who came calling, disaster would likely have broken out long ago.
"Nothing but people with time to waste."
"…Even so, they can't all be coming for no reason. Some of those who come must have had their lives saved thanks to you, Instructor."
"And even if it wasn't them, their blood kin may have been helped."
The students offered sound reasons in his place, hoping to ease his temper, but Lee Han only snorted.
"Grateful people barge in during class, or break into my house uninvited? That's how you say thank you these days, is it? Hilarious."
"……."
"Or am I the one who's fallen behind the times?"
"Ahem."
On that point, there was nothing to say. It really was nothing short of brainless.
"…Just asking, for reference. What did you do with the ones who broke in?"
"Rather than asking what I did, you might want to ask how I handled them."
"……."
…Best to stop asking.
"—May I ask something for a moment?"
It was their first class in four days since the attack, and they were full of things they wanted to know. Questions came flying in earnest. Young as they were, they simply could not keep their curiosity down. And amid all of that, the one who had stayed quiet from start to finish spoke.
"The student who newly transferred—is he, by any chance, the one who scattered those unusual hidden weapons from the sky the other day?"
"…Hmm."
He had been wondering why no one was curious, and at last someone took an interest in the new transfer. A troublesome fellow, granted. The regressor from the North turned a fierce gaze on Taechang, the one who used skills, as if to say he still remembered—the Falling Flowers of Ten Thousand that had embroidered the sky.
"I, um, I…."
Overwhelmed by that intense stare, he broke into a heavy cold sweat. This was the fellow who answered that getting along with other people was the hardest thing there was, and now the most burdensome of them all was paying him attention. He could not even get a proper word out. Lee Han decided to help the transfer student, whose face was crumpling toward tears. He had gone to the trouble of scouting the boy. It would not do to wreck his image on the first day.
Lee Han warned him, gently.
"Geomdung. The rest is all well and good, but put those oppressive eyes away, hm? Keep it up and I may just wring the ink out of those black pupils."
"……."
"If the assistant-instructor candidate I finally brought in runs off, then what I just said won't be a joke anymore. Haha."
"…I fail to see why you must phrase a threat to kill me so tenderly."
"Kill you? When did I say any such thing?"
"That is how it reached my ears."
Only then did Geomdung—no, Roen—draw his gaze back. He had no thought of talking back to a knight who had fought the Ghost King as an equal.
And more than that—
"If there is anything to correct, I asked only to express my thanks. Because of the hidden weapons that poured from the sky, there was not a single casualty."
Needles like flower petals, spilled out of the heavens. When those needles fell, stitching the sky, a mass of monsters was slaughtered outright, and a wonder followed: the injured, and those whose stamina had given out, recovered their strength instead.
"That day, I was the one holding command in the instructor's stead. As the person responsible, I have a duty to convey my thanks, and I hoped only for an answer. …So I will say this in advance. If you are the one who scattered those hidden weapons, I offer you my respect. On the name of Lionel, this debt will be repaid."
The gaze was still burdensome, but the air was not what it had been a moment ago. Respect toward Timid had entered it, and with that respect came sincere gratitude and acknowledgment. A man could not help the heat in his chest, receiving recognition so full of esteem. Timid flushed and ducked his head.
In truth his identity was as good as revealed, but Lee Han was not so poor an adult as to scold a disciple over a thing like this.
Geomdung, that brat. For a noble, he sure knows how to lay on the cringe.
Cringe or not, a voice carrying sincerity toward its listener had force. In that one's case, the force was stronger still.
Anyway.
Now and then, he showed a side that was anything but ordinary. And so Lee Han felt a certain satisfaction, watching an atmosphere take shape in which Timid might actually settle in among them.
But then—
"And, Instructor. What I ask now may well be presumptuous. The art of bringing flowers into bloom with sword ki… could I—no. Could we learn it as well?"
Heat flared.
"…Huh?"
The instant Geomdung's second remark landed, burning interest converged on him. As if Timid had been the appetizer, and he himself the main course.
"…These brats."
Lee Han was dumbfounded. He had gone to all the trouble of raising them as Arhats, and now—
Trying to convert into Plum Blossom Sword Hands, are they?
His brow creased.
They say the pinnacle of the murim is Shaolin. And these ones want the Mount Hua Sect….
Honestly.
Rootless, the lot of them.
The little murim novel inside Lee Han's heart itched to loose a reprimanding kat.