Chapter 131
Chapter 131
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 131
Chapter Title: Why Are You Stepping In?
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Krash responded, and Pandra let out a faint smile.
From his perspective, he figured Krash had taken the bait.
"Then around 10 on 10 should do it? The second-years seem to number about that many too."
Pandra said it with an eye smile.
Sure enough, there were roughly nine Staron students behind Krash.
"Krash, put me on your team too."
At that moment, Haring, who had been watching from the side, stepped forward.
The imperial faction's attention instantly swarmed toward her.
And discomfort flickered in their eyes.
After all, Haring was originally one of their own from the imperial side.
"Junior Haring, what are you thinking?"
Pandra stared at her with eyes full of incomprehension.
He simply couldn't understand why an imperial like her would side with Krash from Staron.
"You just said second-years."
Haring replied without a hint of hesitation, standing her ground firmly.
"I'm a second-year too."
Pandra's brows furrowed sharply behind his glasses.
Sure enough, Haring was a second-year.
She fit right into the category Pandra had mentioned.
His offhand reference to second-years in general, rather than singling out Staron, had backfired into this mess.
Honestly, Krash could probably handle it alone.
But having Haring join to screw over Pandra was even better.
"You okay with that?"
Krash glanced at Haring and asked. She nodded.
"Yeah, I'm good. I'm on your side, Krash."
Of course. Haring had been prickly toward strangers from the start.
Familiar faces were just more comfortable, as they say.
"Me too, me too, me too! I'm a second-year too!"
At that, Ballak hopped up from his spot, jumping eagerly to join.
The other side had nothing to say to that.
And rightly so—Ballak was a Staron second-year through and through.
"...I'm a second-year too."
In that moment, Glen, gripping his spear tightly, turned toward Krash and spoke.
This was already a breach of knightly honor.
And now he'd heard such shameful words.
No matter that they were imperial, Glen wouldn't forgive them.
And because of that last remark, Glen was seeing Krash in a new light.
Unbeknownst to him, his heart had etched Mary as the epitome of strength.
Krash's words acknowledging her had only fanned the flames of his knightly pride even higher.
Murmurs rippled through the imperial faction.
Including Krash, that made four from the elite class.
They'd planned to gang up on just Krash alone, but things were going sideways already.
"Junior Glen, what do you think you're doing?"
Pandra sneered at him, hoping to peel even Glen away.
But Glen didn't budge an inch.
"To uphold my knightly honor."
Pandra's brows knitted tightly at his resolute declaration.
It was the exact situation he'd dreaded most, so naturally.
"Alright, so we'll just grab a few more from over there to round out our team."
Krash said that while glancing back at the imperial faction guys.
"Feel free to add more numbers if you want."
As he flashed a provocative grin, Pandra ground his teeth.
Just like him—lightheaded and shortsighted.
He must've figured, like with Charlotte, that Krash was some arrogant loner with no backup.
And conveniently, Aslan, who usually hung with Krash, was off in the magic division.
"Puhahaha! Man, this is getting fun."
It was then.
A bizarre laugh echoed, and the ground thudded heavily beneath them.
Krash recognized that odd cackle instantly.
Where Krash turned, a massive figure loomed large enough to block out the sun.
His shadow alone draped over part of the training grounds.
Deep green eyes.
The distinctive tattoos etched across his body.
The Prea Mountains, the most treacherous range in the empire.
The rare Prea tribe named after those peaks.
Just like the Valheims, born with innate martial prowess—and a future member of the Generation of the Sky.
Fighting Emperor
Arsold Prea
One of the Generation of the Sky whose raw combat power was downright freakish had shown up.
"Mind if I join in?"
He lumbered over and slung his arm heavily onto the shoulder of a nearby imperial faction member.
His arm was so thick that the guy nearly buckled under the weight alone.
"Arsold."
Pandra brightened the moment he saw him.
He knew full well just how skilled the guy was.
'Of all places, he shows up here.'
Krash felt a twinge of annoyance.
For now, he seemed aligned with Sigrin's group.
Undoubtedly because she'd piqued his interest somehow.
And this situation had clearly sparked his curiosity too.
"You're Charlotte's little brother, right?"
He fixed Krash with a face that looked far too weathered for a teenager.
"Don't disappoint. Give us a real show."
Krash nearly planted a fist in that smirking mug but held back.
He could already see how this would play out anyway.
"Fine, whatever."
He figured he'd have to clash with this guy eventually, one way or another.
Arsold loved scrapping with powerhouses like Charlotte, after all.
"Now let's just get this over with."
Waiting around was getting old.
＊ ＊ ＊
The abrupt first-years versus second-years sparring match kicked off.
Naturally, Krash got bumped to the very end of the lineup.
"Krash, sit tight. I'll handle it."
"I wanna go first!"
"This is imperial business. I'll clean it up."
Krash eyed the three who were all itching to charge ahead.
They'd planned to sweep the field clean, so how'd it end up like this?
[Isn't this all your own doing?]
Not this time, it wasn't.
But Krash had his own reservations about leading the charge.
The imperials could've been ten or a hundred strong; it wouldn't matter.
But Arsold was joining in.
'These three can't handle that guy.'
He wasn't called Fighting Emperor, succeeding the future academy head War Emperor, for nothing.
His side had talent aplenty, but in Raheln Academy, a single year's gap was huge.
'Guess I'll have to step up.'
As Krash glanced at Arsold, the guy flashed a knowing grin.
A clear signal he'd jump in the second Krash did.
"Um, we... uh..."
Meanwhile, the Staron second-years hovering awkwardly nearby fidgeted uncertainly.
They'd gotten dragged into their own mess, so they felt bad about it.
Krash stared at them for a moment before speaking.
"Pandra, that guy's been gunning for me from the start. He approached you all to get to me."
Topple this side, and he'd reap all sorts of benefits.
Krash waved them off like it was no big deal.
"So just watch comfortably. I'll show you how second-years keep from getting looked down on."
Krash turned to the three still raring to go first.
"Ballak, you're up first."
"Yes!"
The second the words left Krash's mouth, Ballak bounced around in excitement.
Haring and Glen both shot back dissatisfied looks.
"Krash, why not me first?"
"Why send that Ballak guy ahead?"
As they protested in unison, Krash pointed at Ballak.
"You think that guy's got the patience to wait while you two fight?"
Both went quiet.
They couldn't deny it.
By then, Ballak had strode to the center of the martial training grounds.
With things turning out this way by chance, everyone had cleared the center to spectate.
And right on cue, one from the imperial side stepped forward.
"Who do you think wins?"
"Ballak. He's pretty strong."
Haring asked Krash, but it was Glen who answered.
But Krash offered a different take.
"Won't be that different."
"What?"
Glen turned to him with a "what's that supposed to mean?" look.
And understandably—Ballak was elite-class material.
But Krash knew the gap between first- and second-years all too well.
"You guys seem to be misunderstanding something, so I'll spell it out now."
Krash addressed Ballak, looking all confident, and the imperial guy.
"Raheln Academy has this thing called summer training."
Summer training—or hell training, as it's known.
It's basically nonstop drilling students to the brink of death to force growth.
Of course, it's standard even for the squads; you can't skip it.
Because the former War Emperor Durandal runs it personally.
"Go through that, and even average Joes turn into reliable fighters."
And in that process, students learn one big lesson.
"Weaklings don't drag down the strong."
Facing the weak is easy.
Conversely, the strong are tough, naturally.
You'll encounter stronger foes countless times in life.
And if that strong one's a World Erosion entity? You're dead without a fight.
That's why Raheln teaches it.
How the weak face the strong.
"Weaklings can't beat the strong easily."
"Both ready!"
A student roped into reffing shouted prep on cue.
"So at least fight to pass your efforts on to the next guy."
"Begin!"
With the start signal, Ballak drew his two swords and charged.
The longswords longer than his arms shattered the reach limit of his small frame.
Clang!
The clash of blades kicked off Ballak's ferocious assault.
His innate flexibility and battle sense turned it into an endless flurry.
But before him...
The imperial calmly defended against Ballak's onslaught.
Distributing his strength to conserve stamina as much as possible.
In contrast, Ballak's aggressive moves were wide and taxing.
Mixing in feints meant his stamina drained faster.
The fight dragged on.
The imperial was clearly on the defensive.
But Ballak's face grew increasingly grim.
"Ugh, what a annoying way to fight!"
Ballak swung his sword irritably after a downward strike.
But the imperial silently blocked it.
Focused solely on chipping away at his opponent's stamina.
That alone starts fraying the aggressor's mentality bit by bit.
Even Ballak got antsy when his barrage just kept getting parried.
Ballak's breathing grew ragged.
And sure enough, he slipped up for a split second.
The imperial, waiting for just that gap, unleashed a fist in a flash.
It sank cleanly into Ballak's gut.
"Guh!"
Ballak tumbled across the ground from the impact, biting his lip as he forced himself up.
Straining against the next attack drained a huge chunk of his stamina.
But his opponent didn't press.
He just stood there as before, waiting for Ballak's move.
"Damn, that pisses me off!"
Ballak fumed at the stamina-hoarding bastard.
And his next onslaught was on another level entirely.
He was burning through his reserves like fuel.
The imperial finally hit his defensive limit and had to counter.
Thwack!
Ballak's sword flat smashed hard into the imperial's face.
As the guy staggered, Ballak landed follow-ups, sending him rolling to the dirt.
"Hah... ha."
Ballak heaved for breath.
He'd emptied his tank to take him down.
A win, sure—but just as Krash said, no domination.
Glen and Haring's brows furrowed.
Because the next imperial stepped up looking way too relaxed.
This was a game where the first side to lose all was done.
Krash's elites: Ballak, Haring, Glen, Krash—four total. The rest were non-elite Staron second-years.
Theirs? All elite-level.
Damage piled up on this side, naturally.
"Begin!"
And so the match between Ballak and the next imperial began.
Clang!
"Ngh!"
Ballak reeled from the first clash.
Too much stamina spent upfront; he was at his limit.
Ballak pressed as best he could, but it didn't last.
A incoming sword sliced his chest, sending him tumbling.
The imperial's blade hovered at Ballak's throat.
Victory sealed.
Pandra shot them a sinister grin.
As if he'd already won.
Screw the match—maybe just punch that smug face first.
"I'll go."
That's when Glen rose.
Krash eyed him steadily before speaking.
"Want some advice?"
Glen glanced his way.
"If they refuse to fight till the end, just don't fight from the start either."
Puzzlement flickered in Glen's eyes.
Then realization hit, and he reacted with stunned disbelief.
"This'll drag on."
"They're not the only ones who can stay patient."
Glen gripped his spear, his face alight with fighting spirit.
"I'll exceed expectations."
An eye for an eye.
A tooth for a tooth.