Class
Class
The sparring hall I arrived at, following Professor Rübis, looked like an indoor gymnasium.
There was a space for rest, and seeing people bustling about moving medicine and bandages made it clear that medical personnel were always on standby for emergencies. I was staring blankly at the sight because it was so systematic and novel, when Professor Rübis casually spoke to me.
"A sight you wouldn't see in the Empire. Originally, even I didn't have this, but it came about early in the war."
So it wasn't an established culture from the start. Still, it was a facility that had only added good things, so good was good.
"Seeing you even have potions, it seems you put considerable effort into this."
"I'm told the Holy Light Cross Order leads various temples in providing aid. Thanks to that, I can conduct class without worrying about injuries, which is convenient."
Ultimately, what they learned here were techniques for killing things, whether monsters or people, so reducing the risk of injury was indeed a good thing... but the way this old man said it made it sound like he was only happy he could grind the kids down, which was unsettling.
Over the brief ten-odd minutes it took to get here, I'd been bombarded with questions and grasped his character. Professor Rübis wasn't exactly a sociopath or someone devoid of emotion. He was just a teacher who was a bit clumsy with expression and often showed an extreme efficiency-obsessed side, but wanted his students to learn more and develop into talented individuals.
Why such a person was working as a professor in Itisel, one of the countries with few elves, and what he did before, I couldn't even begin to guess, but his nature itself didn't seem bad.
But the problem was that being an elf trying to understand the human sense of time, he possessed a sensibility that seemed to mesh on the surface but was wildly out of sync. I was curious what reaction Asilie would show if I told her I saw an elf moving as if chased by the minute, by the second.
"The basis of my class is for students to spar using every means at their disposal. So I hope you will face them in the same way."
"Are there many students learning both magic and swordsmanship?"
"Not a few. There are battle mages and aspiring magic knights. They also prepare magic tools and use concealed weapons at non-lethal levels."
Was this a real no-holds-barred battle royal? My expression must have turned odd at Professor Rübis's explanation, because he glanced at my face for a moment and shrugged, adding to his explanation.
"It's the difference between the Empire and the Kingdom. The Empire cultivates talent for the distant future, but the Kingdom wants talent usable immediately upon graduation. It's more effective than solely drilling into one specialty."
Maybe since not only geniuses come to the academy, and the number of talents who can see the end of a single field is limited anyway, there was no reason to teach only that. It might be better than making them cling to something they can't do like rote education.
"It actually produces results. You'll see fresh students as you face them, so look forward to it."
Hearing someone who's vastly my senior say that made me look forward to it for no reason. If someone could make a 200-year-old elf say the word 'fresh,' that in itself was probably a talent.
"How many people are in the class?"
"30 per grade. It's a subject only students who distinguish themselves in practical skills can apply for, so I'd like to say their skill is passable... but for you, that likely won't be satisfying."
"You're evaluating me quite highly."
"Because the reasons to rate you highly outnumber the reasons not to."
Professor Rübis, who had been casually expressing strong confidence in my abilities, continued explaining the class content and facilities until the students gathered. Listening to the elf's kind explanations—who, unlike his outward attitude, really seemed to like talking—I planned my course of action for the day...
And so, the goal for today's class was set as 'Eldmia's 3-Minute Cooking Class.'
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The Practical Combat subject was a class that had become something akin to a medal among students.
The class, which selected and admitted those who distinguished themselves in practical skills even among the upper ranks first, naturally instilled a perception that it was a special class for elites, and became an object of envy for those who admired strength.
"I am Eldmia Ega, disciple and assistant to Professor Regneva, and for a time, part-time instructor for the Practical Combat course."
And in line with that perception, the absolute majority had pride in their own skills. But it was never easy to have pride without arrogance at a young age, and except for a very tiny minority, they felt a strange antipathy toward Eldmia, who had abruptly inserted himself into the class.
"Today's class is a sparring match between you and me."
But regardless, Eldmia simply sat perched on the edge of the sparring hall, casually petting his dog, and swept his gaze over the students with a dry, indifferent attitude.
I understood he had defeated the Hero and had the skill to kill the traitor Envelde. But that didn't magically make the statement that he was going to take on and beat thirty elite students from one academy grade all by himself sound righteous and reasonable. Especially not in a practical combat class where anything goes, not just swordsmanship, but magic, aura, whatever. Eventually, one student, unable to endure the scratch on his pride and the disbelief, raised his hand and objected.
"Is there any meaning to that?"
"Specify what you mean by 'meaning.'"
"If it's about fighting a strong person, isn't Professor Rübis enough? I've heard plenty of rumors about Teaching Assistant Ega, but in a limited two-hour period, and in Practical Combat of all courses, it's hard to expect you can give all thirty of us something worthwhile to learn."
Sheryl, who had expected such a reaction, let out a short sigh. It was a young man whose name I didn't even remember because I wasn't interested. He seemed like a mid-ranked student, but wasn't skilled enough to confidently voice such words. Maybe because he brought up a topic that at least a top-ranked student should cautiously broach with far too much audacity, or perhaps because his words subtly dismissed Eldmia's skill—thinking of him as quite an unpleasant fellow, Sheryl scowled for nothing.
But the majority of the students, even if their attitudes were a little different, showed they somewhat agreed with his opinion. And watching those reactions, Eldmia tilted his head.
"Why?"
"Excuse me?"
"Tell me why you consider there'll be no learning."
"...Isn't it obvious? No matter that you defeated the Hero and the traitor Envelde, Practical Combat isn't a life-or-death duel. You need enough skill to teach while neutralizing your opponent as safely as possible, and then repeat that thirty times. Does Teaching Assistant Ega believe he has that level of skill?"
Even if Envelde established his own family with just a sword, honestly, not a single student at the academy believed they themselves couldn't do that. They didn't underestimate him, but they didn't overestimate him either.
Even if the Hero was strong, if he were truly strong, wouldn't he have been deployed to the battlefield? In the end, they were all in the same learning position. They could acknowledge it as impressive, but if asked whether that meant having the skill to score an overwhelming victory against thirty people, they had no choice but to be skeptical.
No matter how exceptional he was, Eldmia was the same age or close to it. Most of the students shared the belief that he might be stronger than they were, but taking on all thirty was another matter entirely. Even Ogatorf, the sword genius who never relinquished the top rank in their year, was worn out after facing Griwills and Kalits, wasn't she?
"Since your perspective seems narrow, I'll teach you two good things. First. When a personnel assignment you can't understand occurs within a group you belong to, and your superior or commanding officer is a more outstanding figure than you, considering there's a deeper meaning your insufficient perspective fails to grasp is the surest way to produce fewer shameful pasts. The reason I entered as a part-time instructor is because Professor Rübis personally requested me."
Of course, it was a different story if an incompetent was overhead. Setting aside whether that person was truly incompetent, that is. Eldmia said this lightly, shrugging as if joking, but most students couldn't laugh at the joke.
"So you can do it?"
"Second. I do it because it's doable for me. Remember this well. It's the biggest reason I could be released without any sentence, acquitted, even after cutting off a noble's head in the middle of the capital and laying waste to the temporary detention center."
Unlike the answer that continued with a still calm attitude, the content was brutal. In that moment, even the questioning student couldn't help but flinch. But as if the answer truly held no special meaning for him, Eldmia slowly dusted himself off, stood up onto the sparring hall, and continued his explanation.
"It's a practical combat class, so I'm sure no more words are needed. I'll face you in order from 30th rank to 1st. Come up accordingly. Laika. Prepare the sandglass."
Who was Laika? While the students' gazes wandered through the air, Eldmia's dog trotted over, skillfully bit the sandglass that had been placed on a chair at the end of the sparring hall, and looked at him. It was a sufficiently cute sight, but the situation they faced was so shocking that the students didn't have the bandwidth to feel anything from that action.
"It's a 3-minute sandglass. Meaning the time I can give each of you in this class is up to 3 minutes. I'll go easy on you, but I've rarely had that kind of experience in my life, so moderating isn't easy. Don't be discouraged even if you're eliminated quickly."
Because what came out of Eldmia's mouth was a statement that the absolute majority of students felt was no different from a blatant provocation.
"...My name is Babeli."
Even though he had the lowest rank in Practical Combat, it was never a poor grade. As the male student stepped onto the sparring hall grinding his teeth, Eldmia tilted his head slightly to the side and answered.
"Names aren't necessary. I'll remember the names that matter."
Babeli resolved to maintain his composure rather than get angry and drew his sword. And reacting to the 'thud' sound as Laika flipped the sandglass, he applied his aura at his maximum possible speed and dove into Eldmia's guard. But the moment he confirmed his full-force preemptive strike being casually reacted to and tracked by Eldmia's eyes, he simultaneously felt something was wrong.
"You wouldn't be one to get eliminated quickly."
Without even drawing his sword, Eldmia counter-thrusted, his shoulder slamming into Babeli's solar plexus while his hands instantly wrapped around, sealing both of Babeli's arms holding the sword. Babeli, who had believed he could withstand any ordinary shock because he was clad in aura, had his breath knocked out of him, and without even having time to be surprised by the impact, received a strong blow to the face and was sent flying backward.
"See, your level is so low there's no need for me to bother adjusting my strength."
Only after hearing Eldmia's voice in his ear did Babeli realize he hadn't just been disarmed, but had his face struck by both of Eldmia's elbows and was sprawled on the floor. Even though the movements weren't that fast, he was suppressed so one-sidedly? He didn't even feel much aura?
-Clang!
Eldmia stopped all sorts of thoughts from flashing through Babeli's mind. He'd thrown the confiscated sword back in front of Babeli. But Babeli had no time to feel humiliation from being disarmed and having his sword thrown back to him.
"Again."
Swallowing hard, Babeli grabbed his sword, feeling fear at the fact that he didn't know what kind of hell he'd be put through for the remaining 2 minutes and 50-odd seconds.
And as if Eldmia's voice were a command, he charged in once more.