Chapter 24
Chapter 24
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: For My Sister (3)
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Kratir grabbed at the empty air. The background space tore away like a curtain.
The barren landscape vanished, replaced by the sight of the grand plaza packed with people. The crowd facing the freshmen erupted in cheers that shook the heavens.
"Nice to meet you! Underclassmen!"
"Anyone interested in sky alchemy...?"
"If you're in Martial Arts, join the mounted combat club!"
They were all wearing uniforms. Phileon Class of 786. They were second-years from Phileon Academy, one year ahead of Ronan's class.
Ronan frowned at the teeming mass of students.
"All those people are our seniors?"
"So... many..."
Asel gaped in awe. He'd heard it was just one class ahead, but there had to be hundreds. As expected, with fewer mages, most wore Martial Arts Department uniforms.
"In case anyone doesn't know, let me explain. The facing ceremony is where you greet and exchange names with the seniors from the class right above yours—the ones you'll see the most during your school life."
Kratir stroked his beard as he continued. It was essentially a networking event between underclassmen and upperclassmen.
After light greetings, there would be awards for top performers, a banquet, and more. Then a booming voice echoed from the second-year side.
"Hahaha! I heard some guy from this class beat the Empire's Rising Star? Let's throw down!"
The second-years parted, and a bearish boy stepped forward. Ranked second overall. Braum Biodan, top of the previous class's Martial Arts Department.
"Braum! Braum! Braum! Braum!"
The Martial Arts students chanted his name. Braum, at the front, flexed his biceps. His tree-trunk muscles looked ready to burst his uniform.
Kratir chuckled, fiddling with his beard.
"Haha, Braum's as spirited as ever. How's the sword weight training going?"
"Yes! Thanks to everyone! Up to 120kg now!"
"Good work. Shall we set up a stage for some light greetings?"
Kratir gestured at the air again. This time, like clutching and pressing down.
-Rumble rumble rumble!
The grand plaza shook like an earthquake, the ground sinking around Kratir. The professors were caught in it too, but their expressions didn't change as they held their positions.
Soon, a massive circular arena about 200 meters across formed. The freshmen gasped at the sudden coliseum.
"Wh-what is this?"
"Incredible..."
The second-years, though, barely reacted. They'd seen it last year, and living in Phileon meant witnessing far wilder sights.
"Heh, we were like that last year."
"Don't freak out too much, underclassmen!"
To them, the wide-eyed freshmen were the real entertainment. Kratir called out.
"Then let's start with Martial Arts greetings. I'll call the top ten—come down to the arena. First, freshman Martial Arts top: Schlieffen Sinivan de Grancia!"
"Woooaaah!"
The freshmen parted, and Schlieffen strode out. Cheers exploded regardless of year. Fitting for the Empire's Rising Star. Ronan's name came right after.
"Next! Freshman Martial Arts runner-up: Ronan!"
"Woooaaah!"
"Damn, what the hell."
The cheers were just as loud. Stunned by the unexpected reaction, Ronan clicked his tongue. He muttered in bewilderment as he stepped into the arena.
"...Fuck, 'light greetings' my ass."
He had no idea, but he was popular among the students—especially the second-years. No one hadn't heard the tale of the comet who rocketed to first in practicals.
"Hey, look at that jawline. Sharp enough to slice apples."
"Wow... handsome. Stands toe-to-toe with Schlieffen."
"Commoner? No family name."
Kratir called the top students from both years' Martial Arts groups. Twenty in total climbed the stage.
Ronan scanned around. He easily spotted Iril in the front row, waving both hands. Then a familiar voice from the side.
"Hey! Long time!"
"Marya."
"You cut your hair, you should've said something. I wasn't sure it was you."
Marya, ranked ninth, was among those called. Seeing her after so long, she sported a lively ponytail. She spun in place and asked.
"How's the uniform? Suits me?"
"Yeah."
Ronan nodded. Her perfect figure made the clothes pop. Marya laughed brightly and patted his arm.
"Your hair looks great too! Should've done it ages ago!"
"Feels weird."
"What've you been up to? What's got you dressing up?"
Marya squinted suspiciously. Ronan recalled the past fortnight.
He'd essentially wiped out a poacher outpost, some incomprehensible freak called Citta hatched from an egg, Schlieffen fell hard for his sister whom he'd brought along, and he learned about the Grancia secret forge.
Ronan shook his head.
"Eh. Nothing much."
"Hmmm? Even more suspicious..."
Marya tilted her head. Ronan said.
"Anyway, what's this? Suddenly dragged out to fight."
"What, it's a facing ceremony staple. You don't know about 'light greetings'?"
"Doesn't feel light."
Marya nodded knowingly. She'd long grown used to Ronan's ignorance. She explained with gestures.
"Basically a hazing ritual."
"Kinda. Freshmen almost never beat second-years."
Light greetings were a key entrance ceremony event. Top freshmen and second-years sparred, showing off skills. Ronan nodded.
"Not bad. Nothing bonds like crossing blades."
"Exactly. But really... you just cut it when it was time?"
"Yeah."
Marya sighed. She returned to her spot without dropping her suspicion.
Ronan shrugged. Couldn't fathom her hair fixation.
First- and second-years faced off. Kratir said.
"Alright, first-years, call your opponents! Schlieffen first!"
Schlieffen silently pointed at the youth before him. Nasdo, current second-year top.
Nasdo nodded calmly, as if expecting it. Ronan's turn. The bear-like guy before him guffawed.
"Hahaha! You're the famous runner-up! Nice to meet ya, Ronan!"
Second-year Martial Arts second: Braum Biodan. Ronan raised a brow curiously. A greatsword nearly his size hung across Braum's back.
"Nice sword."
"Oho! You recognize its awesomeness at a glance! Knew we'd click! Go on, name me!"
Ronan nodded. Braum roared, raising both arms. Cheers erupted again.
'This guy's got high hopes. Too bad.'
Ronan smiled wryly at Braum's excited face. Win or lose, it'd end in seconds. Slash, done. That was Braum's future.
As Ronan turned.
"Th-that size difference... you okay?"
He spotted his fidgeting sister up front. Come to think, he'd never shown Iril his swordplay.
'Yeah, fair worry.'
Iril heads back to Nimbutton today. With her worrier nature, she'd fret endlessly. Pondering, Ronan raised his hand high.
"Principal. Got a suggestion."
"Hm? What is it, Ronan?"
"Mind if I take on all the second-years myself?"
Calm tone, shocking words. Horrified silence blanketed the plaza.
****
Long story short, Ronan's proposal passed.
Kratir conferred briefly with the professors. He and the interviewers from Ronan's practicals concluded, "If the kids are fine with it, why not? Could be fun."
"I wanted to see more of Ronan's skills anyway."
Convincing the nineteen opponents—peers and seniors alike—was easier than expected. They knew he'd beaten Schlieffen for practical first.
"You sure you can handle us all? Speak up if not."
"N-no... It's hazing anyway. If you win, we're thrilled."
"Me too. You good though...?"
Peers were curious what feat earned that result.
"Do what you want."
Even Schlieffen agreed. He saw the whole "light greetings" as a waste. But while peers were amenable, second-years bristled.
"Hey, underclassman. What possessed you?"
"Kuhahaha! Total madman!"
"Think we're pushovers 'cause you're runner-up? Crush him, Braum!"
Ronan's words trampled their pride. United, they burned to humble the cocky freshman.
Braum bellowed, veins bulging.
"Ronan! Mocking my passion like this! You won't get away!"
Such pride meant nothing to Ronan. He aimed to reassure Iril once and for all. Showing beat nagging a hundred times.
"Then, 'simple greetings' begin. Everyone, positions!"
Kratir announced. Ronan faced ten second-years, 50 meters apart. Blue-tied students glared murderously.
"Ro... Ronan! Why'd you do that...!"
Iril stared pale. She'd spotted his talent first, but this felt wrong.
-Bang!
Magic fireworks signaled start. Ten boys and girls charged Ronan. Sturdy Braum thundered ahead, Nasdo close behind.
'Hmm... got any flashy moves?'
Seconds to close, plenty for Ronan's musing. Naviroje's swordplay from his interview flashed back.
'Yeah, that was cool.'
Spinning body and blade. Intrigued by the odd path, he'd mimicked it once. Ronan nodded.
"Alright, decided."
"Take this!!!"
Braum arrived, swinging his greatsword. Golden blade arced horizontally.
Whoosh! Wind pressure tousled Ronan's bangs. Spinning two full turns in place, Ronan parried.
Bam!
"Wha?!"
Braum gripped his hilt white-knuckled. A slack would’ve cost the sword. Unbelievable power from that frame. Recognizing the style, Braum's eyes widened.
"H-how do you know Instructor Naviroje's technique...!"
"Oh, you know it?"
"Where’d you learn it!"
Ronan didn’t answer. He stepped on Braum's blade and leaped, spinning vertically three times midair, slashing.
"Urk!"
Braum hastily raised his greatsword horizontally. Mana-reinforced 120kg was shield-like.
But Ronan aimed off-center. Black iron blade veered slightly.
Shlick! Hilt severed, heavy blade crashed down.
-Thud!
"Gasp!"
Clean cut. Braum stared blankly at his crippled sword. Ronan replied flatly.
"Just saw it once and copied."