Entrance Exam (3): "Wanna Go a Round?"
"Wanna go a round?"
"...What? You telling me..."
"Ah, right. Damn class system. My bad for the slip-up."
Maybe because most of the people around were commoners, casual speech slipped out naturally.
"Fine, you lowly scum. If you bow your head to the ground right now and confess your fraud..."
"Wanna go a round, sir?"
Silence.
The mouths of the hundreds gathered in the Grand Tournament Grounds gaped open all at once.
It was a mad provocation against Kyle von Leonhardt, heir to the empire's top swordsmanship house—like spitting in his face while hiding behind polite speech.
"Y-You filthy bastard! Looks like you really want your tongue ripped out!"
Kyle's face flushed red like an active volcano.
Shring! With a chilling metallic ring, the famed sword of his house slid from its sheath at his waist. A sharp blue Aura Blade flickered, ready to sever my neck at any moment.
"I'll lop off that arrogant head of yours right now!"
"Stand down, Kyle young master!!"
Just as he tensed to launch himself, the chief examiner and high-ranking knights rushed pale-faced to the center of the stage.
"Private duels within the academy are strictly forbidden! Sheathe that sword at once, or even as the ducal heir, you'll be disqualified!"
"This isn't a mere duel! It's righteous noble judgment on a vile fraudster who mocked this sacred practical exam with an illegal artifact!" Kyle bellowed, veins bulging.
The examiners were sweating bullets, racking their brains—right then.
"Judgment, eh? These blood clots sure are hot-tempered. Kukukuk."
A heavy mana wave crushed the entire arena, thick and overwhelming. As everyone held their breath under that menacing aura, someone lightly stepped down from the third-floor VIP seats, treading the air.
Incredibly, the source of that overpowering mana—the one making even the stern high knights bow their heads—was a little girl who looked barely twelve.
Fluffy cotton-candy pink twintails, chubby rice-cake cheeks. Horns poking from both sides of her head, and a tail swishing behind her back.
"H-H-Headmaster!"
Even the wrinkled chief examiner bent at a perfect ninety degrees and shouted.
She was the empire's greatest archmage, head of the Imperial Academy, and secretly idolized by students as the 'mascot'—an ancient dragon over a thousand years old.
The Headmaster clasped her short, plump arms behind her back, floating in the air as she eyed me and my waist-holstered revolver alternately, her eyes sparkling.
"I'm mighty curious myself. Whether that iron lump with no mana showed real destructive power, or if it's just shallow trickery—or a toy to shake the continent into a new era. Good."
The Headmaster flicked her tiny hand into the air.
"Examinee number 99, Flint, who passed the practical in one second. Your interview will be replaced by a one-on-one special bout with that raging Kyle young master."
"Rules are simple. Until one surrenders or is combat-incapable. I specially permit it, hmhm!"
I didn't plan on drawing this much attention.
I sighed inwardly, but the dice were already cast.
Kyle glared like he wanted to devour me raw, while thousands of noble spectators buzzed, fixated on us.
If I had to step in shit anyway, might as well stomp it clean.
In the Imperial Academy's Grand Tournament Grounds, where the empire's top geniuses gathered. Right in the center, with hundreds of young noble masters and ladies watching, I brushed the dirt from my shoe tips against the ground.
Before me stood the red-haired ducal heir, the future of imperial swordsmanship, radiating murderous intent. His famed blade's blue Aura Blade wavered threateningly.
"Surrender, commoner. What do you plan to do with that freaky iron lump that doesn't even have mana? My sword aura slices steel like butter."
His voice dripped arrogance. Echoing it came sneers from the haughty young masters and ladies around.
"Boo! The lowly scum doesn't even know chivalry!"
"Ohoho. Trash bloodline means he doesn't know his place."
"Lord Leonhardt! Judge that fraudster! A mana-less commoner con like him trying to enter the academy deserves severe punishment!"
Kyle puffed up even more at their cheers. In contrast, the commoner examinees hunched their shoulders, heads down. Some shot me gazes full of resentment.
I leisurely drew the heavy silver revolver from my leather holster with smooth motions. Then, slowly aiming the barrel at his forehead, I smirked.
"Chivalry? Aura? Bloodline? ...Bullshit."
This damn romance-fantasy world was always like this. Birth bloodline meant class, mana talent meant power—an utterly repulsive setup. Commoners doomed to till fields forever got no weapon to pierce those smug nobles' magic shields.
But this world's god made one huge mistake.
Dropping me here—a military otaku from my past life, a real engineer who's eaten his share of metal shavings.
I slowly drew the heavy silver revolver from my leather holster.
Wanted to keep this hidden if possible.
I spun the cylinder twice. Click. Click.
These were my special rounds—even Laurie hadn't seen them.
"A knight's drawn his sword—how long you gonna just watch?!"
The Leonhardt heir, lost to rage, kicked off the ground and charged. Dozens of meters closed in an instant, his blue Aura Blade slashing viciously at my throat.
"Kyaaah—!"
Ladies in the second-floor VIP seats shrieked, covering their eyes at the impending gore.
Even the pink-haired dragon Headmaster watching from above narrowed her eyes in interest—right then.
I didn't dodge.
Instead, I calmly pulled back the revolver's hammer with one hand. Click.
A crisp metallic click, and the cylinder spun smoothly.
I squeezed the trigger without hesitation.
Crack!Snap!!
The premium mana stone embedded in the hammer sparked fiercely on impact. That red flame devoured the powder in the cylinder.
BOOM—!!!!!
A thunderous roar shook the entire arena, shredding eardrums. Crimson muzzle flash and brutal gas pressure hurled the lead ball at supersonic speed.
"...Huh?"
KABOOM—!!
Dazed noise from Kyle's mouth—the instant it escaped.
His supposedly unbreakable Aura Shield shattered like glass under a sledgehammer, scattering into the air.
The ball, whistling as it pulverized the shield, showed no mercy. It cleaved the Leonhardt famed sword clean in two, then grazed Kyle's earlobe by a hair before cratering the arena wall behind with a fist-sized hole.
"A-Ah..."
Legs giving out, the empire's top sword genius collapsed butt-first onto the ground, trembling uncontrollably. From his crotch spread a wet, shameful stain he couldn't control.
Power on a whole other level from before. Not the rounds that felled the golem in one second.
These were just gunpowder and lead. The one I just fired had mana stone powder mixed in at the perfect ratio—my special ammo.
"..."
"..."
Dead silence blanketed the packed arena like a tomb.
Sword geniuses, magic prodigies—even the floating little dragon—stared aghast at the silver monstrosity in my hand.
I blew the acrid white smoke from the barrel with a phoo, grinning at the red-haired noble collapsed in his own piss.
"Magic takes long chants, swords need to connect to cut."
Click. I eased back the hammer again, pressing the still-hot muzzle to his forehead.
"But my bullets? Mach speed."
Earth has a great quote: God made man, but Samuel Colt made them equal.
In this shitty romance-fantasy world, I'd inherited his will and invented guns.
The effect? Spectacular, as just witnessed.
I pondered, muzzle jammed against his forehead.
Suddenly, memories of Kyle von Leonhardt's villainy from the original novel flashed by.
A trash male lead who preyed on women, hiding behind his great house and 'heroic lech' excuses. Even tried married women—stopped only by the saintess. Sure, post-saintess he supposedly restrained his lusts, but I trusted zero of that rotten core.
A walking powder keg stirring endless incidents anyway. And with that foundation...
My cold, rational circuits crunched the cost-benefit fast.
Offing this trash lead now, using this 'just duel' excuse? Way more efficient for my peaceful future.
Eliminate him.
As my finger tensed on the trigger with that logical conclusion—
"Stop—!!"
A eardrum-shattering roar warped the space before my eyes grotesquely.
"Put away that iron lump right now, you mad blood clot—!!"
A massive, multilayered pink mana barrier blocked the still-smoking revolver muzzle.
No special round could pierce that overwhelming density.
Beyond it floated the Headmaster, her calm face drained pale.
"S-Surrender! Kyle young master's total combat incapacity! Thus, the winner of this special bout is examinee number 99, Flint!"
The thousand-year ancient dragon, who'd been chuckling leisurely in the air moments ago, had a bead of cold sweat on her brow.
Her gaze wasn't on the collapsed Kyle, but locked on my silver revolver's barrel.
Her transcendent senses had realized: a split-second later, and the empire's top sword house heir would've been brains-plattered instant-death.
I tsked dramatically, carefully resetting the hammer.
"Rules were 'surrender' or 'combat-incapable,' right? He was just rolling eyes and foaming, so I was gonna knock him out clean."
My brazen reply made her fluffy twintails quiver.
She glanced at the convulsing, piss-soaked Kyle, then whipped back to me—or rather, my gun—rushing closer.
The ancient dragon's clear pupils slit vertically, pupils contracting and dilating wildly.
Less a murder-attempt glare, more shock mixed with rabid curiosity.
"What is that thing? How'd it shred Leonhardt's treasured sword and aura in one go?"
The Headmaster jabbed a chubby finger at my revolver, voice urgent. Her cute looks belied the subtle dragon fear rippling out, making examiners and examinees gasp and collapse.
Dragon fear, huh. A bit stifling to breathe, but not dropping-me levels?
I shrugged casually, holstering the revolver.
"Dunno. Is explaining my weapon's principle part of the interview? I'd rather hear pass or fail first."
"...Ahem!"
At my cheeky retort, she cleared her throat, swiftly regaining composure. Wiping sweat with her sleeve, she clasped arms behind back, reverting to her sly old-timer tone.
"Kukuk… Bold blood clot, aren't ya. Fine. You're in. But we'll talk separately about that dangerous, wondrous toy of yours."
She couldn't hide her gleaming curiosity, lips curling.
"Cadet Flint, a pleasure today. Looking forward to next time."
"Uh, we just leaving him like that?"
I pointed at the piss-puddled, unconscious Kyle.
"Eh? Ack! What are you lot doing?! Get Kyle young master to the infirmary now!"
I side-eyed Kyle being carted off, heading back to where the merchant group's carriage waited.