The True Prize Was Skipping Class
The day after the Edgar Fix delegation selection meeting, Count Sigmund came to bow his head under the princess’s supervision. He launched into a long, solemn speech, layering on every flowery phrase imaginable to express his infinite gratitude and sense of responsibility for the incident.
Hurry up and hand over the Obsidian! None of that nonsense reached my ears. It was nothing but the usual noble posturing—stiff, outdated, and utterly pointless. What actually mattered to me was the compensation package he’d offer and the Obsidian itself. They say one word can erase a thousand debts, but turn that around and even a thousand curses can be forgiven if the money’s good enough.
“I understand your intentions. The Sigmund family seeks Edgar Fix’s forgiveness. Will you accept?”
With that, the count’s tedious speech finally ended. The next stage had arrived—the moment of asking for and granting forgiveness. The answer was obviously yes.
“Yes. But I have conditions.”
I wasn’t the kind of pushover who would let an opportunity like this slip away. Thanks to the groundwork I’d laid with the princess through Elena the night before, Count Sigmund would have no choice but to accept whatever I demanded.
“State your conditions.”
“...I wish to reform the properties of the Obsidian so that an incident like this can never happen again.”
Reforming the Obsidian’s properties. In other words, I intended to turn it into an entirely different sword. Count Sigmund’s brow furrowed the moment he caught my meaning.
“Hmm. I agree as well. Wasn’t this tragedy caused precisely by the Obsidian’s nature that devours hatred and life force?”
Before the count could object, the princess cut in first, sealing his mouth. The justification was airtight; he had nothing to say.
“Then is that your only condition?”
“One more. I want ownership of the Obsidian to belong to the Academy for three years so it can be put on public display. It will serve as a message to ensure the students are not tempted by such underhanded methods.”
In short, I was demanding that the Sigmund family’s little stunt be preserved in a glass case for three years. The count’s face twisted visibly, but he couldn’t utter a word. The princess had blocked him again.
At the princess’s firm declaration, the count opened and closed his mouth several times before finally abandoning any protest. Given the gravity of what Max had done, he had no choice but to swallow the humiliation of three years of public shaming.
“You may withdraw. We shall consider this matter closed.”
And just like that, Max—the greatest villain of the game’s early stages—made his exit. As for me, I gained the authority to freely tinker with the Obsidian for three full years under the protection of the Imperial family.
It was finally time to take a proper look at the blade.
In the head professor’s private office, I was beginning to get used to the sight of the princess glued to Elena’s side. Ever since her relationship with Elena had been exposed to me, the princess no longer bothered hiding her true self even when I was present.
“Ed, the Imperial family has officially approved the Iron Hammer award ceremony.”
Elena, for her part, seemed to treat the princess like a particularly clingy cat. She stroked the girl’s fluffy, cloud-like hair while passing along various pieces of news—mostly warnings about dwarf culture and traditions, listing all the things I must absolutely never create.
“And this part pains me because it feels like I’m burdening you…”
But the news wasn’t all ordinary. There were demands from the Empire that I might find unpleasant.
“The Imperial family hopes to achieve diplomatic success through this incident. They wish to restore friendly relations with the Dwarf Allied Kingdom. Therefore, they ask that you keep that goal in mind while producing the equipment.”
The Empire’s desire for friendly ties with the Dwarf Allied Kingdom was understandable. They didn’t want other kingdoms checking them while they focused on the Demon Extermination Campaign.
The Empire is preparing a one-shot rush.
A one-shot rush. To prepare for the Demon Extermination Campaign, the Empire had wrung money from the nobles to establish the largest academy in history. They were now gathering talent and funds to build a massive army. But while they assembled that decisive strike force, the neighboring kingdoms were hovering like vultures, waiting for a chance to raid an empty house. There was no way they could launch a proper one-shot rush under those conditions.
In StarCraft terms, you’d need to build bunkers, spam turrets, and station defensive troops first. That was why the Empire was currently pursuing appeasement policies. The past was the past; the present was the present. They were coaxing and soothing their neighbors with exactly that kind of rhetoric.
“I’m sorry for placing this kind of burden on you.”
After explaining the Empire’s position—which I had already guessed—Elena apologized. She added that although she and the princess had tried to resist, all five of the Emperor’s highest administrators had united behind the demand that “achieving diplomatic success must be the top priority,” leaving them no room to maneuver.
“It’s fine. For the Empire, this is an opportunity they can’t afford to miss.”
I truly meant it. To prepare for the coming catastrophe, I needed to pull every possible ally to my side. The Empire’s request aligned perfectly with my own goals.
“Thank you for understanding. In that case…”
Elena then showed me the proposal she had drawn up together with the five chief administrators. They had prepared a list of items designed to win the dwarves’ favor, taking their history and traditions into account.
“Hmm… Not bad.”
The ideas they had come up with were decent, but only decent. To someone like me who had lived through this world’s long history, they felt lacking. So I told Elena and the princess about the item I was already planning to make.
After listening to my full explanation, the two stared at me with dazed expressions and offered their impressions one after another.
“Certainly… if it’s that…”
“Agreed. You’re pretty good.”
Elena gazed at me with a strange look while the princess gave me an expressionless thumbs-up. With the equipment decided according to my suggestion, we moved on to organizing the delegation—specifically, choosing the seven members who would accompany me.
“We’ll need a leader. I’ll participate.”
Elena volunteered first, citing her many connections in the Dwarf Allied Kingdom. Before becoming the Grand Mage, the genius of incantations had grown close to the dwarves by consulting on countless spells and grimoires for their artifact production. I gladly accepted her offer.
“Me too! I want to go too!”
The moment Elena’s participation was confirmed, the princess looked up at her and declared her own intention to join. Elena refused flatly.
“That won’t do. It would be far too obvious that you’re participating for diplomatic reasons. Besides, this isn’t a matter for a princess to involve herself in.”
“Hwaaaaaaaaang~~ I want to go toooooo~~~”
“Tsk! Listen to your sister.”
The princess threw a tantrum while Elena cut her off without mercy. When the princess began fake-sobbing with a pouty face, Elena still refused to budge.
“Tch.”
The princess eventually gave up with appropriate reluctance. With the situation settled, I brought up the person I had in mind as my first pick.
“I’ll be bringing James along as well. He’s a blacksmith to the bone. I’d like to show him around.”
James had always admired dwarf craftsmanship. He would probably be overjoyed to join the delegation.
“Very well. Selecting the members is entirely your authority. Do you have anyone else in mind?”
“Hmm… No. I don’t have any particular candidates.”
I did need Fix, but since I could just store him in my inventory, he was an exception. Isabella and Enya had no connection to the dwarves, and there wasn’t any clear opportunity for growth, so there was no need to drag them along.
“Then, since there is a diplomatic aspect, how about bringing officials from the diplomatic strategy office?”
“Uh… that might be a bit burdensome for me.”
“Ah, I suppose that makes sense. Then… what about your academy classmates? You’ll need people to talk to occasionally. Going with friends would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
People to talk to occasionally… I did have Enya. But the Sword Saint had told her to keep an appropriate distance, and after she slept over at my dorm last time the atmosphere between us had grown strangely awkward. It felt difficult to bring it up first.
“Or how about holding auditions?”
“...Pardon?”
Elena then said something completely unexpected. Auditions? As in, open applications for the delegation spots?
“We’ll open applications for the members who want to go with you. If you can’t decide, let the ones who want to join persuade you themselves.”
...Oh. Not a bad idea at all.
I didn’t have anyone specific in mind, and this seemed like an excellent solution.
“I think that’s a good plan. Let’s go with that.”
“Hehe. Good. Then I’ll speak with the dorm supervisor. If we spread the notice through the dorms, everyone will see it. We’ll put up posters as well.”
It really was the cleaner method. Rather than half-heartedly sticking posters in classrooms or hallways, routing everything through the supervisor would ensure far better reach.
When I nodded, Elena laid out the details she had planned.
“We’ll accept applications for only one day tomorrow and set the screening period according to the number of applicants. Still, let’s finish everything within this week.”
“Yes. Sounds good.”
“Then I’ll go deliver the notice to the supervisor while making the poster.”
“I’ll come with you~”
As Elena stood, the princess immediately clung to her. Elena stroked the girl’s hair and added, as if remembering something:
“...Ah! Before that, we should establish the general screening criteria. The students need to know what to prepare.”
Screening criteria… I didn’t have anything particular in mind. Self-introduction, reason for applying, and why I absolutely had to choose them—the three classics that always appeared in personal statements. Wouldn’t that be enough?
When I mentioned those three staples, Elena nodded and agreed they were solid criteria.
“Then I’ll go start on the poster. You should head back and rest as well.”
With those words, Elena and the princess vanished in a puff of blue smoke. Left alone, I roughly estimated how many applicants we might get. Since I was the only one with a blacksmith background, there probably wouldn’t be that many. Forty at most? We could finish in half a day.
The next afternoon, the ‘Edgar Fix Delegation Selection’ officially began.
However, contrary to my expectations, an absolutely enormous crowd—reminiscent of Super Student K—had formed a line stretching outside the screening room. Among them were several students steeling their desperate resolve to be chosen no matter what. Enya was one of the most obvious examples.
“Azril Baz Karas, Pizak Reed Uldarin…”
She was furiously practicing dwarf phrases she couldn’t even pronounce properly. Since she had little else to showcase besides the sword, she was doing her best to memorize even basic dwarf common sense.
“I’ll obviously be chosen.”
Isabella, on the other hand, wasn’t doing anything at all. She was confident her value surpassed every student present.
“This time, I will definitely go with Lord Ed…!”
Charlotte, who had been pushed aside by Enya and Isabella and hadn’t been able to sit beside me lately, was also shining her round glasses with desperate determination.
“No way…”
I stared at the scene in genuine bewilderment. Why were so many students applying to an event that was supposed to be a blacksmiths-only league like the Iron Hammer exhibition?
“One hundred and ninety-seven, apparently.”
Elena approached my side and gave me the exact number. It was an insane figure—nearly the entire student body.
“We miscalculated. We should have realized there would be this many applicants…”
Elena muttered something meaningful. When I gave her a look that demanded explanation, she continued.
“...If you’re selected for the delegation, you can skip classes. For a legitimate reason.”
“Ah.”
The true source of all this heat finally made sense. Being chosen for the delegation meant you could skip classes—for an entire week, no less!
“We’ll have to set the screening period to three days. There’s no way we can finish in one.”
“I agree.”
“Then let’s head inside. The screening is about to begin.”
“...Yes.”
And so I ended up screening the majority of the academy’s students. I had suddenly become a judge facing a competition ratio of 39.4 to 1.