Chapter 27
Chapter 27
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: First Class
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Acalusia Castle held other secrets that were tempting him. Ronan stroked his chin as he roughly outlined his future plans.
'First... I need to pick up that sword from the forge.'
The invitation from Acalusia was truly an unimaginable stroke of luck. Even if he received one, he thought it would be much later.
Ronan recalled his conversation with Adeshan. To pass the Acalusia family trial, all he needed was the invitation and his skills.
He had some confidence in his skills, but there was one problem.
'They really put it through the wringer.'
Ronan drew his black iron sword. Its condition was noticeably worse than when he had faced Schlieffen before.
Consecutive spars in its already damaged state had been fatal. If it could speak, it would probably scream to be thrown into the furnace right away.
No matter how unparticular one was about equipment, he couldn't accomplish great things with this. Ronan thought of the metal tag slumbering in his inner pocket. It was given to him by Schlieffen, who had fallen for Iril amid a bout of temporary dementia.
'Still, if it's the forge that crafts weapons for the Grancia family, I should get something pretty sturdy.'
Ronan remembered the location of the Grancia family's secret forge. And the fact that they had taken a few days off.
'It's Wednesday today... so I'll have to wait until the weekend anyway.'
Phileon Academy rules forbade leaving the grounds on weekdays anyway. Ronan decided to live the academy life until the weekend arrived.
The banquet didn't end until nightfall. The freshmen moved to their dorms under the guidance of their dorm supervisors.
Phileon Academy valued skill above any other educational institution. The scholarships and various privileges given to top performers were proof.
For the top 30%, free transportation was provided anywhere within imperial territory. They could access grade 3 or lower forbidden books for academic research.
After graduation, they could receive formal invitations to the magic towers or knight orders of their choice. Numerous other benefits were provided throughout their studies.
But if the carrot was fresh, the whip was sharp. The dormitory system divided into three tiers was a prime example.
On the first night of enrollment, the dorms for underperformers echoed with the wails of freshman nobles as expected. They were realizing for the first time in their lives that floors and ceilings could creak.
"Y-You expect me to live in a place like this? Me, the second son of Count Valbrus...?"
"If this is my room, then what are these people?"
Krater Hall, provided to the bottom 10% (at his own suggestion), was built modeled after commoners' farmhouses.
Inside the modest wooden building, four noble boys stared at each other as if they were seeing ghosts.
The guide said calmly,
"Krater Hall houses four per room."
"Th-Then where are the servants? The ones to unpack and handle chores...!"
"Krater Hall has no separate maids or managers. Check the posted rules and useful info. Then, I'll be going."
"W-Wait!"
The guide ignored the noble boys and left the room. Such measures disregarded students' statuses.
No matter how wealthy or prestigious their families, low performers had to live like commoners. It was possible only because the imperial family ran Phileon.
In contrast, the top dorms were luxuriously grand, to the point of wondering if it was allowed. Navaroje Hall, for the top 10%, boasted elegance worthy of a palace annex.
"...What are you doing, miss?"
Ronan frowned at the maid standing in front of his door. The ponytail maid politely clasped her hands and bowed.
"Welcome, Master Ronan. Congratulations on your enrollment."
"What is this?"
"I am your exclusive maid assigned for household chores. Please leave cooking, laundry, cleaning, and all such tasks to me."
Dozens of vulgar maid jokes flashed through his mind. Ronan suppressed his urges with effort and spoke.
"Can't you just handle the meals well? My limbs are all attached."
"Regulations do not allow it."
"So even if I shit on the wall, you'll clean it up? Even if I piss in the sink instead of the toilet."
"Yes."
"You're no easy lady. Let's get along."
Ronan shook hands with the maid and opened the door. The room, twice the size of Numberton's house, was filled with luxurious furniture.
The bed was wide enough for three to roll around, and the dinosaur-like bookshelf was packed with expensive tomes. Ronan whistled.
"This is killer."
Asel had probably been assigned a similar room. Ronan could picture him gaping like an idiot. As he slowly looked around, a booklet on the desk caught his eye.
"What's this?"
The first page read 'Course Registration Form'.
Come to think of it, seniors had mentioned it. Phileon students could choose the classes they wanted to take.
Ronan slowly read the text on the paper.
[Current students may freely register for desired lectures. However, freshmen must take mandatory courses for the first semester, so please consider this when registering.]
[Mandatory Courses: Physical Training / Mana Meditation / Basic Combat / Imperial Swordsmanship]
"Finally."
Ronan clenched his fist at the words 'Mana Meditation'. No matter how much self-study, mana sensing and meditation were impossible alone.
Lately, the need to handle mana had become more acute. Around mana-sensitive guys like Asel, he felt like a blind man even with eyes wide open.
'Damn it, I'll learn even if I have to get dirty.'
Imperial Swordsmanship intrigued him too. For Ronan, who had never properly learned swordsmanship, proper techniques were of interest. Just look at the spinning sword—it was useful.
Learning makes you stronger. With that resolve, Ronan turned the page. Courses with interesting names were densely listed.
"Herbology, Mounted Combat, Basic Archery... damn, why does everything look fun."
Maybe because of his lack of learning, everything seemed interesting. Among them, [Basic Spiritology] and [Empathy and Understanding of Phantasmal Beasts] caught his eye most.
Spirits had always piqued his curiosity, and the latter was taught by Professor Baren Phanasir, the were-lion. Ronan remembered Baren's promise to secure seats for him and Asel.
"Meeting Baren will let me know what Citta's up to too."
Citta was absent on guard duty for Iril. He'd return tomorrow morning.
The blood-drinking monster that hatched from an eggshell harder than mithril. Cute and capable, so it didn't matter much, but he was still curious about its true nature.
"This looks fun too."
It was a form to fill desired courses into blank schedules. Ronan added 'Practical - Field Cooking' on Friday afternoon.
He crammed in most martial arts lectures and any that sparked even slight interest.
"Hm, perfect."
Finishing quickly, Ronan headed to the lobby with the form. He ran into Marya, who greeted him.
"Oh, you're here too. Makes sense, same dorm."
"Yeah."
"Course registration? Let me see."
Ronan handed it over. Marya's eyes widened as she read. She shouted as if reading an apocalypse prophecy.
"Hey, are you insane?! You'll die taking this many!"
"...Why die for doing what I want?"
Marya frowned, alternating glances between the form and Ronan. From sunrise to sunset, no gaps except lunch.
"No, is this physically possible? Most are physical courses... and you know how big Phileon grounds are?"
"Shut up and move."
"You'll need wings or to run on all fours to switch classrooms on time? At least now..."
Ronan dropped the sealed form into the box. Seeing it, Marya clutched her head and yelled. Ronan shook his head.
"I don't want to hear 'uneducated' anymore. I'll learn everything I can."
The next morning dawned. The first class at Phileon was Imperial Swordsmanship.
"Welcome, freshmen. I am Instructor Abar, in charge of Combat and Imperial Swordsmanship."
Abar was tall and dark-skinned. He had previously served as an instructor in the Imperial Knights. His aura was exceptional.
Ronan muttered. Unable to sleep from excitement, dark circles shadowed his eyes.
"Imperial Swordsmanship. First time learning properly."
Imperial Swordsmanship consisted of nine forms, the basic sword art taught to all imperial soldiers. Simple motions, but mastering inner power required years of steady practice.
Even as a penal soldier, Ronan had seen it endlessly, but back then, it held less interest than a monkey shelling beans. He hadn't even known it had distinct forms. He always swung wildly.
Abar continued,
"As it's so common, many know it, but basics are paramount. Don't take it lightly; train diligently."
"Yes!"
Most Martial Arts freshmen gathered in the training grounds. Except Schlieffen, who had surpassed the level needing instruction long ago.
Ronan clicked his tongue.
"Tch, that no-talent skipped out saying he knows it all. These need steady practice."
"First, watch the instructor's demonstration."
Abar demonstrated the forms in order. Perfect motions without excess.
Admiration escaped the freshmen. After three repetitions, Abar struck the ground with his wooden sword and shouted,
"Begin! First form! High overhead slash!"
All picked up training wooden swords. Freshmen executed on straw dummies in sequence.
Abar walked among them, correcting poor forms. Surveying them, he smiled meaningfully.
"If anyone perfectly demonstrates all nine forms, I'll issue early completion cert anytime."
"Wooah!"
"Grades will be perfect score, naturally."
"Woooaaah!"
Freshmen cheered. Imperial Swordsmanship took three hours daily. Early completion meant claiming that time fully.
Enthused freshmen swung vigorously. Dummy-thwacking sounds echoed everywhere.
Abar nodded in satisfaction. He knew how to handle people. Of course, no genius like Schlieffen had appeared in years.
Then, Ronan sauntered from a corner.
"Uh, Instructor."
"What is it?"
"I think... I can do it. Up to the ninth form."
Ronan scratched his head sheepishly. Abar's face stiffened. Only five minutes since start.
"...Have you learned Imperial Swordsmanship before?"
"No. Not properly once."
"...Isn't top-seat arrogance too much? I saw your entrance duel, but this is different."
Abar lowered his voice. He had seen Ronan's spinning sword imitation against Naviroje at enrollment.
The path was accurate but lacked speed. Mimicking the path alone proved genius, but ignoring foundational Imperial Swordsmanship, base for countless derivatives, was nonsense.
"Schlieffen gripped a sword at five. Nearly ten years without miss on Imperial Swordsmanship. That's why he skips my class. Disrespecting even the Empire's rising star's basics?"
"No, I know. I know, but... damn. Just watch once."
Ronan shook his head indignantly. He didn't want to seem talentless. Abar sighed and nodded.
"Sigh... can't be helped. Show me. But fail, and prepare. I'll ramp up training intensity manifold."
"Yes."
Ronan took stance. Abar's eyes widened. Mana gathered, enhancing dynamic vision. He'd strike any deviation mercilessly.
"First form. Begin!"
Ronan swung. Perfect path, unwavering. Silence, then Abar spoke.
"...Second form. Begin!"
Ronan swung again. Abar chuckled hollowly.
"Ha, this. Third form. Begin!"
At some point, dummy sounds stopped. All freshmen froze, staring at Ronan.
Finishing the ninth, Ronan lowered his sword. Long silence, then Abar spoke regretfully.
"...Well done."
"Yeah, whatever."
Abar silently pulled a silver paper from his pocket. Early completion cert. Ronan took it like snotty tissue, sourly.
"No need to attend this class for the remaining year. Full marks recorded."
"Uh... thanks."
"Good. Don't get arrogant; use the time meaningfully."
Ronan left with the cert. Watching his back, Abar muttered incredulously.
"Beyond expectations, downright scary."
Ronan's forms were perfect. Comparable to Schlieffen or his own twenty-plus years.
If never learned, it was immeasurable talent. Even if learned, unfathomable. Chuckling lowly, Abar turned to freshmen.
"What, chicks!! Can't you swing quick?!"
"Yes, sir!!"
"That way, moss on elbows! Faster, precise!!"
Abar reverted to demon drill sergeant mode. Terrified freshmen resumed dummy bashing.
Thwack! Thwack! Sounds dragged on unusually.
'Fuck... what now?'
Ronan slumped on a lakeside bench. Sudden free time left him idle.
Staring blankly at the lake, he drew his sword. He demonstrated the just-learned Imperial Swordsmanship in air. All nine forms perfectly reproduced.
"Why so easy...?"
Ronan tilted his head. Unlike Naviroje's spinning sword, no need for repeated swings to decipher.
Slight differences in paths or stances, but mimicking after one view was no different. Of course, not meaningless. Following properly felt more efficient in motion and path.
Confidence he'd never lose to pure Imperial Swordsmanship users. Just... more anticlimactic than expected.
"Hmm... not what I imagined for class."
Rummaging his pocket, Ronan pulled his pipe. Time for sweat was now empty.
Physical training maybe? Arms over bench back, gazing skyward, a voice came from behind.
"What are you doing here?"
"Huh?"
"Should be Abar's Imperial Swordsmanship now. Freshman mandatory, right?"
A dignified yet stern voice, familiar. Ronan leaned back. Dark green instructor uniform entered view.
Ronan's eyes widened.
"Naviroje?"
"Instructor. And no smoking on campus."
Bronze skin, ash-gray hair. Former Sword Saint Naviroje stood there. Ronan knocked out his pipe and stood.