Demonstration Lesson (2)
There was no one in the training grounds.
Zeke sat down in place, closed his eyes, and began to contemplate his own body.
It had been a month and a half since he'd fallen into this romance fantasy world.
In that time, Zeke hadn't trained at all.
Even after feeling fatigued from slaying mere goblins,
and drawing on just a bit of mana causing his body to strain to the point of passing out,
he hadn't bothered to inspect or examine his physical condition.
Because deciding to train would be no different from saying he intended to wield a sword again.
He had consciously—or perhaps unconsciously—avoided building his strength.
Moreover, he had wondered if such alien power was even necessary in this romance fantasy world.
But now, Zeke was seriously accepting his position as an instructor who had to teach students.
And he'd even found a substitute for a sword.
'Yeah, no more dodging it—that'd just be weird. Teaching the kids weakly doesn't mean I get to stay weak. Who'd learn from an instructor who passes out like an idiot?'
Ahead of the lesson, rather than leaving his body in its trash state like before,
he felt the need to clearly grasp his condition.
One drop at a time, his awareness sank deeper into contemplation.
Sounds entering his ears faded entirely, leaving a state of profound silence.
Gradually, the scenery slipped from his mind.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
With each breath, air passed through his nose and throat into his lungs, then exhaled.
The inhale, the exhale.
His chest rose faintly, then fell, repeating.
Along with it, his heart throbbed,
and he felt the blood circulating through his body,
the major and minor strands of his muscles,
every single fiber writhing to form his living form.
And at last, the Mana Road.
The path through which mana flowed.
A natural feature in a world where mana existed.
Zeke's eyelids twitched.
'Fuck... so that's why... it was like that...'
After the entrance ceremony,
Zeke had once thought he'd need to seek out a mage to learn this world's mana operation methods separately.
Having concluded that the strain on his body came from this world's thin mana.
This body's objective physical specs weren't bad.
Thanks to his past life as a soldier, he hadn't neglected building his physique.
Well, yesterday he got roughed up fighting those thugs,
but even then, imitating Zeke's dark fantasy combat techniques—creaky as they were—might actually deserve high praise.
However, there was one major problem.
This body had premature ejaculation when it came to accepting mana.
'Shit. This bastard's a total lightweight. No wonder he passed out like a bitch.'
A body unable to accept the sparse mana of this world.
Those two factors had miraculously collaborated to overload him.
At this rate, even learning and using this world's mana methods would likely wreck his body.
Veins bulged on Zeke's forehead.
Ten years in the dark fantasy world.
All the mana techniques he'd gained through real combat experience,
hidden pieces only he knew, farming empty houses,
and looting enemies,
now waved goodbye with bright smiles, fading into illusions.
'Ah, no...!!'
If this world had been like Earth, utterly devoid of mana, that might be one thing.
But to have it right there, usable, and not be able to use it?
Zeke couldn't emotionally accept his past decade of suffering vanishing in an instant.
'Calm, calm down.'
He took a deep breath.
Whoosh.
Composing himself with deep breaths, Zeke pondered if there was truly no solution.
'The body can't take raw mana directly. Hell, it's a miracle it only ended in blackouts so far.'
Indeed, no matter where he looked, this body's Mana Road was so narrow it seemed doubtful even a single drop could pass.
'Reconstructing the Mana Road... yeah, that'd need some spirit medicine or something. As if that exists here. And not just any—gotta be high-grade to even try. Shit, otherwise it's half-cripple status for life.'
Urgh. He shook his head inwardly.
Then, a thought suddenly flashed through Zeke's mind.
'...Filter! What if I use a filter?'
A narrow Mana Road meant
that when drawing external mana, it was like forcing a mismatched bulk through a tiny hole.
That might hold up for lightly coating mana or a couple big techniques,
but the Mana Road would shred like a rag in the end.
'Then overload again, blackout city.'
But if he filtered the external mana, removing all impurities
and letting only pure essence through?
Pure mana essence was minuscule to begin with,
so it could slip through the narrow path,
and its purity would mean almost no strain on the Mana Road.
The downside was using techniques with piddly amounts,
but efficiency per unit of mana would differ vastly.
And no more blackouts like before, at least.
'Filter, huh. Basically mana purification. And that needs to be tattooed on the body.'
Zeke rummaged through his mental arsenal for the most stable purification method.
And recalled the blonde who cursed like a sailor at every chance.
'The Saintess—that bitch's method's probably the best.'
Back then, his body handled anything—external mana, demonic energy, holy power, mana stones—storing or blasting it wildly,
recovering with quick meditation, no issues.
So he'd thought, why bother learning that crap?
But now, nothing suited him better.
'+1 point for helping this time. But still -999 to go, you bitch.'
Of course, he couldn't just whip up a mana purification method on the spot without a medium.
'Hmm, monsters here mean mana stones too, right? Grab some of those. Scout spots with pooled mana too.'
Zeke opened his eyes.
'Mana stones... can I buy 'em? If not, plenty of time—hunt 'em myself.'
He dusted himself off and stood.
Body assessment done, solution found.
Nothing more to gain from contemplation.
'Alright, time to train the body. Can't use mana? Then the flesh works harder—no choice.'
*
Zeke had said he'd train alone and told others to stay away,
but Eric couldn't disobey the principal's orders.
He hid at the training grounds entrance, watching Zeke's actions.
'Meditation training...'
An hour had already passed, yet Zeke sat in the corner with eyes closed.
He'd heard master swordsmen often meditated to spar imaginarily or verify insights.
But Eric still couldn't believe it.
When the principal ordered him to monitor Zeke and he first met him, the impression was of an unremarkable 'boy'.
His speech and cold expression were adult-like,
but probably around the students' age at Lamieli Academy.
He'd struggled to hide his surprise.
How much skill could someone that age have amassed to become an instructor here?
Honestly, even without orders, curiosity would've drawn him here.
He'd been a swordsman once too.
Injured his leg fighting monsters,
and at his old master's—the principal's—urging, ended up assisting Zeke,
but his passion for the sword lingered.
'Foolish lingering attachment.'
Suddenly, Zeke sprang up and started running.
One lap, two... over thirty laps, sprinting the vast grounds at full speed.
Sweat trailed down his stern face, breaths coming in rough gasps.
Exhaustion clear, yet he didn't stop.
'...Impressive.'
After fifty laps, Zeke steadied his heaving breaths.
Then turned cold eyes toward Eric.
"Eric."
"...!"
'Damn, was I staring too blankly?'
Zeke had already noticed and called his name first. No dodging a response.
"...Yes."
"Where are the training tools the students use?"
Yet Zeke asked in an even tone, as if he didn't care at all about Eric spying on his training.
"In the training grounds warehouse. Practice wooden swords for students are stored there too."
"I see."
Zeke nodded and headed to the warehouse.
He dragged out various tools.
Inspecting a few, he furrowed his brow.
"The lazy blacksmith at home's got more work now."
With that, he began strapping sandbags to his hands and feet, several each.
Not enough—he tied the rest with rope around his waist.
Then started running again.
* * *
Rosnante Leonine.
Thick brows. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes, slightly wavy locks.
He looked like a young, handsome youth, but he was the empire's Second Prince.
Now, he was sparring swordplay with a count's son.
Clack clack!
Clack clack!
Whoosh! Thwack!
The count's son's sword never reached Rosnante,
while his wooden blade touched the opponent's throat.
The count's son raised both hands.
"I yield."
"Boring."
The emperor hadn't yet named a crown prince among his sons.
Thus, Rosnante was a prime candidate for next emperor.
His eldest brother the First Prince, himself, and his half-brother the Third.
The three brothers vied in various ways, checking each other and vying for achievements.
The First excelled in broad administrative intellect,
the Second in swordsmanship, the Third in rare magic.
Each had specialties, but Rosnante valued his own highest.
True martial might symbolized imperial authority, he believed.
"The Third Prince won't come to the academy after all."
Rosnante said while sheathing his wooden sword.
"Yes, he thinks magic's useless to learn here."
"Idiot. All the empire's connections are here. Magic-mad fool made a bad call."
"Indeed."
That meant one rival out of the race.
Rosnante smirked, lip curling.
Then, as if it just occurred to him:
"Today's swordsmanship class, right?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Everyone's equal here. No titles."
"How could I? Your Highness, it's from respect. Please withdraw the order."
The count's son beamed.
'Fuck, he'll bitch if I don't.'
Of course, inwardly cursing.
"Hm, Dios the instructor's sword—I've seen it invited several times. Textbook stuff. But Zeke... uh, Clitori or whatever?"
"Zeke Clayman, Your Highness."
"Right, him. Didn't even show at the entrance ceremony."
Veins bulged on his forehead.
That day, the two duke's ladies had left early citing illness, before he arrived.
He'd expected all freshmen gathered, receiving welcomes.
It became a humiliating memory.
Not yet officially crown prince,
he couldn't treat duke's daughters lightly.
Earn their hate, and they might side with the First—headache.
Thus, his grudge fully aimed at Zeke.
"Yeah, dying to see how arrogant his skills are to pull that. I'll join that instructor's class first today."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Rosnante turned toward the Second Training Grounds for Zeke's class.