Chapter 8
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Martial Arts College Dean
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The Dean of the Martial Arts College.
As the dean representing various departments and divisions, he wielded considerable real power—and had to display just as much.
And right now, that dean was sitting on a bed of nails.
The chancellor’s office was thick with silence.
It would have been nice if someone said something, but the chancellor focused solely on his paperwork, uttering not a word.
Perhaps it was a deliberate protest, as if to say, *Look what kind of workload you’ve dumped on me.*
Several hours passed like that, until the tea the chancellor had offered grew ice-cold, and still the dean remained silent.
He knew that saying anything more here would only make him more of an eyesore.
But it was hard to accept that it had been a mistake.
The dean closed his eyes and recalled yesterday.
“Toskantana Aiden Pisvolt. …Not officially bestowed a title by the imperial family, but unofficially ranked third among the empire’s Three Swords, the third Master.”
Unlike other professors who started their lectures with a bang for impact, it began plainly. But no one in the room dared dismiss Aiden.
A Master—one of the top ten if you scoured every race.
The mere claim carried an immense weight.
Other Masters included the witch who had guarded the Great Plains for centuries, the paladin who called himself the Sword of the Saint.
Then there was the great hero who unified the beastman tribes, and the legendary Middle Eastern warrior who ended the Ten-Year War.
They had all reached that realm in midlife or later. No one had ever claimed it at just 27.
With such vast territory to stabilize, the empire owed its status to the existence of Masters, so their treatment was no less than in other nations.
Beyond being the heir to a dukedom, it meant he could wield absolute power with a single word.
Yet the reason Aiden had come as a professor was…
*Politics is a hassle.*
Whether marrying into the imperial family or becoming captain of the court knights, they’d try to bind him with favors. He wanted none of it.
He refused to be mobilized when trouble arose or to stand at the forefront.
Teaching students gave him a pretext, and he could leave on time.
That was the sweet spot…
“Forgive me, but may I ask one question first? Aiden… Professor?”
At the nod to go ahead, the old professor cleared his throat.
“I heard your lecture is on Aura Cultivation Method. Does that mean you’ll help them understand aura?”
“Understand aura…?”
He pondered, then countered as if asking why state the obvious.
“Can a swordsman who can’t even draw aura call themselves a swordsman?”
“Urgh… But Professor, aura isn’t something you can just…”
“I will.”
His half-assed nature kicked in, unconsciously cutting the man off.
The sharp retort, as if sternly rebuking, silenced the professors.
“My students, wallowing below even that level? If word got out, it’d be so shameful I’d have to quit teaching. I won’t tolerate that.”
Only after blurting it out did he realize.
*Oh no…*
This body’s personality just wouldn’t quit.
His plan to be serious and polite was ruined from the start.
What he’d meant to say was that he’d draw out remarkable results from the students.
That was it.
He marveled at how that intent twisted into such convoluted words.
But marveling aside, his personality held firm.
He growled low as a warning, chilling the atmosphere further.
He felt it himself… but no one contradicted him.
Perhaps they took even his arrogance as confidence.
As if interpreting his bold claim as, *You think I can’t handle that much?*
*Ah, I see.*
Most here were retired soldiers who’d become professors after youthful achievements.
But compared to Aiden, their feats were meager.
Impossible to refute easily.
Aiden’s name carried far more intimidation than expected.
“Though I may seem a bit heated, my stance remains. If my students can’t even reach that, they don’t deserve my lecture.”
And so, the reason he’d started this lecture was…
He lowered his tone again, shifting to lecture mode.
“I saw a second-year Knight Department student named Isel recently. Her level was quite low. Even for vice-top of her class. At her age, I’d already crossed the Master threshold.”
Silence thickened.
With it, unease began to ignite.
Unprecedented.
In past history, or likely the future.
Some exaggerated that no genius like Aiden would ever exist again in human history.
Naturally, holding his standards to students would crush them all.
Even these professors, geniuses dubbed the empire’s elite, might despair seeing the real thing.
He knew that.
So he added, half as an aside.
“Of course, I don’t intend to apply my standards to students. No one shows that kind of talent anyway.”
Even professors, irked by the remark, didn’t argue.
His “talent” meant a fourth Master.
The benchmark was too high for rebuttal.
“But I can’t stand watching half-assed swordsmen—or worse—call themselves knights without aura. I’ll get them to a state where they can wield it.”
Someone swallowed hard.
This being, too formidable even to approach, would teach directly.
Pushing them to the aura realm himself.
Another professor raised a hand.
“How do you plan to teach it?”
“Experience.”
His answer was curt.
Nothing as uncertain—or certain—as experience.
*Truth is, I lack knowledge to teach anything else…*
Director-era knowledge aside.
“There’s a saying: past examples aren’t rude. Bluntly, though last in rank, I’m one of the Masters dominating my field. From the pinnacle, you see much below.”
He began unpacking the brief “experience.”
“I’ll impart my failure stories to students as flesh and blood. My immediate goal: awaken aura in as many as possible this semester.”
“Immediate goal?”
“Naturally, once awakened, there’s more. No plans to neglect them.”
Once initiated, they should master it till it’s like their body and legs.
Mastery.
Uttering the word, he scanned the professors—any more questions?—then closed his eyes.
“Then let’s begin the rehearsal.”
He snapped his fingers, and pure white spread.
Disconnected from the world, defying light and shadow, jade-like feathers emerged one by one in its pristine form.
They poured forth, as if liberated from compression.
Shwaaa—
Like stars sculpting the night sky, the twinkling, space-piercing—not—feathers blended softly, natural yet striking.
Beautiful.
More fitting to call it nature’s elegance than contrived beauty.
Some feathers were damaged, others incomplete.
But that’s precisely why…
“It’s natural.”
The professors gasped at his harmony.
*I can’t wield the rapier like my own body yet…*
But mana, he could manage somehow.
*This is no different from my body.*
Too profound for “mysterious,” too tangible for “illusion.”
Like feathers spilling from a burst pillow, windless lecture hall stirring as if breezy.
In an instant, they filled the room undulatingly, then slowly revealed their hue.
Pure white.
One professor reached for a feather drifting near.
It fluttered, caught on the wind, just beyond grasp—then settled in his hand, leaving faint blue mana residue as it dissolved.
Only then did they realize.
Utterly real, yet all illusion.
Void of substance, unbound by gravity, lingering above.
“Huh…!”
The professors noted more.
The blue residue from the vanished feather.
Mana.
This was sword aura of pure mana.
*Finally caught on?* He clapped once, drawing eyes again.
“This is my aura.”
A Master’s aura.
At its entry, mere attributes—its pinnacle appeared thus.
What to call it? After deliberation, only Illusion Sword.
“Aura reflects the caster’s mentality. It embodies what the user holds in mind, their intent in wielding it.”
So he began, citing examples as if merging concepts.
“As you saw, my mentality is purity, innocence, pristine. Untainted raw essence—that’s it.”
He tapped the decorative rapier he’d brought, continuing.
Truth: he’d rarely drawn it.
“I use rapier, so I prioritize lightness. Light body for faster thrusts. Also, for evasion and instant counters, that elusive feel.”
“That’s the feathers?”
“Exactly. White feather flock. That’s my aura’s essence.”
But professors still seemed unsatisfied.
Aiden nodded, grasping their doubt.
“Knights use aura more for destructive power than proof of realm. You’re wondering, ‘What destruction can these feathers unleash?’”
*As expected.* He set up the wooden board he’d brought.
Still unsheathed, he flicked a finger naturally, emitting a single feather aura.
Just one.
A small feather fluttered faintly toward it.
Result: sawdust scattered from the shredded wood.
The young professor who’d reached earlier paled.
He offered a faint smile.
Meant to say it packed plenty of punch, but they looked ashen, guts chilled.
“All those ‘natural’ feathers you saw? My killing moves. Broadcasting lethal intent is too naive.”
Truth: lose yourself in this beauty mid-battle, and you’re sliced like that board’s sawdust.
Throats bobbed thickly through the room.
“Thus aura reflects mentality. Hide destructive power, or amplify visually. When mentality fully forms…”
It becomes realm, birthing aura.
“Mentality requires deep self-understanding. Grasp it quickly to conceive attributes.”
Satisfied, he placed a hand on the desk.
“So, my lecture: guide students to form mentality before I became Master.”
First assignment: self-report on themselves, perhaps.
Aiden’s follow-up fell on deaf ears.
But all knew: this lecture would pierce the entire Martial Arts College.
Back to now.
Recalling it, the dean felt youthful hot blood surge.
Retirement after hitting a wall.
Maybe Aiden’s lecture could challenge it again—sentimental as that was.
Thus, the dean forgot one crucial mistake.
Aiden’s lecture was elective.
Not a large hall like Pure Magic Theory, nor open to all Martial Arts College—limited to some Knight Department.
Capacity: mere 40.
That day, professors raved to students after rehearsal: *Saw Aiden’s rehearsal today. Skip it, your loss.*
Sparking interest, but…
Capacity 40.
Knight Department only.
Other Martial Arts majors ineligible.
Parents’ protests rained down…