A Class Even Hardcore Veterans Avoid

Following the fourth-period Ranged Weapon Mastery class, which ran from 16:00 to 18:00, Arcadia and I walked hand in hand toward the cafeteria on friendly terms.

"The sound your bow made when you loosed that arrow was simply magnificent, Di. Fufu. Watching those arrogant Imperial nobles turn pale with terror was such a delightful spectacle."

"You looked really cool shooting that gun, too, Arcadia-unnie."

"Fufu. I shoot far better aboard a vessel, you know. Sometime soon, I must show you the refined handiwork that once turned insolent pirates preying on merchant ships into fish feed."

I had assumed she was a jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none, but unexpectedly, Arcadia possessed quite the knack for marksmanship. As we traded reciprocal flatteries, we arrived at the cafeteria—only to find a sea of freshmen clustered outside, sighing and clutching their heads in utter despair. Among the despondent crowd were Isabelle, Giselle, and Son Ocheon, whom we had arranged to meet beforehand.

"Why does everyone look so miserable?"

"How peculiar," Giselle remarked, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Given your habits, Lady Orknodi, I presumed you would have visited the dining hall during lunchtime and learned of this already."

"They were serving the exact same dishes as before, so I skipped lunch!"

"Ah, I see."

"Bwahaha!" Son Ocheon roared, slapping his muscular knee. "If anyone ever needs to put this little squirt on a diet, all they gotta do is feed her the same slop every single day!"

Rather than letting the useless men prattle on, Isabelle stepped in to explain why the students looked as though they had just witnessed their homeland burn to the ground.

"Starting today, the cafeteria requires Points. The kids running low on points are having an absolute panic attack."

"Aha."

I silently nodded, thinking that what was bound to happen had finally arrived. It was an inevitable calamity. Hadn't the Dragon Principal made it abundantly clear during his orientation speech? In this academy, Points were absolute. The complimentary meals and free rations provided to wide-eyed freshmen had merely been a courtesy for the one-week orientation period. From here on out, one had to either earn Points by performing diligently in class or forage for raw ingredients and cook their own meals.

"Let's head in," I said cheerfully.

"Are you sure about that?" Isabelle asked, brows furrowed. "A single meal costs ten points."

Ten points per meal meant thirty points every day. Eating for just one month would vaporize a staggering nine hundred points into thin air.

"Tonight's menu has sweet and spicy fried chicken."

"...Chicken is always the right choice."

"Indeed," Giselle chimed in smoothly. "Dakgangjeong is more than worthy of ten points."

Isabelle and Giselle nodded in solemn agreement, falling into step as we strode through the entrance. A luxury permitted only to honor students with overflowing pockets was far too enticing to pass up!

"There's a massive forest over by the Knight Department. Have you checked it out? Word is there's wild fruit growing all over the place."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just raid the Production Department's orchard?"

"Are you insane? That orchard is managed by senior upperclassmen. You touch one apple and you're as good as dead."

Drain their precious points for a cafeteria meal, or pinch every penny until a more vital necessity arose while scrounging for food elsewhere? The students stood at a painful crossroads, and the vast majority resolved to preserve their points and hunt for alternatives.

"Tch. Times like this make you sick with envy over those filthy rich bastards from the central Empire."

"Tell me about it."

Unlike the prominent Imperial aristocrats who could simply purchase surplus points through hefty family donations, the frontier nobility enjoyed no such financial cushion. For commoners and lower-tier scions like Mob and Zaku—who had barely scraped into the Lower Class and hailed from impoverished, nameless rural houses—sheer self-reliance was the only path to survival.

As the pair wandered the campus pathways like famished hyenas, a sharp, intensely savory aroma assaulted their nostrils.

"...Is that meat?"

"Holy crap, that smells unbelievable."

Drawn by the scent as if under a spell, they hurried forward until a colossal cloth banner stretched across two trees caught their eyes.

A crackling bonfire blazed in the clearing. Mounted upon an iron spit was a whole suckling pig, rotating slowly over the embers as its crisp, golden skin dripped aromatic juices. Right before the flames stood an upperclassman, vigorously fanning the smoke with an enormous palm leaf to ensure the savory scent billowed across the entire quad.

These freshmen had been starving since midday. Not a single person among them possessed the iron will required to endure the aroma of roasting pork, nor did they have any desire to resist it.

"Oh, freshmen, are you?"

"C-Can we have some of that?"

"Senior! Please, we just want meat!"

Beside the roasting pig, another senior seated behind a portable folding table and camp chairs flashed a warm, inviting grin and waved them over.

"Come on over and sign your names! If you join our club, we'll let you eat all the meat your bellies can hold!"

Mob and Zaku collapsed onto the folding chairs as though enchanted, instantly grabbing quills to fill in their names and credentials on the parchment before them.

"Um, Senior? There's a clause here stating that an unexcused absence from club activities incurs a mandatory penalty fine of one thousand Points per occurrence..."

"Do you want the meat or not?"

"W-We definitely want it, but—"

"Then what about this liability waiver stating that severe injury may occur during club activities and the club holds no legal responsibility?"

"Just sign it!"

"Understood!"

Blindly driven by empty stomachs, the students signed away their lives! Following the Hunting Club's predatory contract trap disguised as roast pork, students combing the training grounds and campus alleys were bombarded by temptation at every turn. The Hunting Club was far from the only predatory organization capitalizing on the starving freshmen's desperation.

"Orknodi, which club are you planning to join?"

"I'll worry about that tomorrow."

Monday was dedicated to an all-out academic grind. I had no spare bandwidth to waste on extracurricular club activities.

"Good heavens," Isabelle gasped, looking horrified. "Orknodi, don't tell me you signed up for a fifth-period lecture tonight, too?"

"I'm going to finish everything off on Mondays!"

Dinner was slotted between 18:00 and 19:00, followed immediately by fifth period—a grueling two-hour night lecture running from 19:00 to 21:00. To ordinary students who treated evenings as sacred time for personal training, rest, and equipment maintenance, such a schedule was not merely hardcore; it was bordering on insanity.

However, they're missing a critical piece of the puzzle. Specifically, the fact that I'm a veteran gamer.

If you already possess comprehensive meta-knowledge of every concept taught in class, there is zero necessity to waste after-hours studying or slaving over assignments. I possessed plenty of Points to dine comfortably in the cafeteria, and if push came to shove, I had Chef Isabelle right beside me. Time was the one resource I had in staggering excess. Loading my schedule with back-to-back lectures was nothing short of the ultimate min-max play!

The only real dilemma left is picking my department.

Monday, 1st Period: Homeroom. Not an official academic credit.

Monday, 2nd Period: Cultivating Discernment. A general elective under the Adventure Department.

Monday, 3rd Period: Basics and Understanding of Mana Usage. A general elective under the Magic Department.

Monday, 4th Period: Ranged Weapon Mastery. A general elective under the Knight Department.

Up until this very moment, every single class I attended had been an elective. I had strategically cleared the universal prerequisites first—courses that retained their full credit value regardless of which department I ultimately declared!

Out of the mandatory curriculum—consisting of two common core courses, three department major courses, and two electives—I had already knocked out both general electives. Whichever department I picked now between Knight, Adventure, and Magic, this next class would automatically count as a primary departmental major course.

I had reached the decisive fork in the road.

The Knight Department. The Magic Department. The Administration Department. The Adventure Department. The Production Department.

Depending on which department I chose, the primary cast of main and supporting characters I would take classes with and bump into would diverge dramatically.

The Knight Department featured notable figures such as Hestia, Sing, Jenya, and Rockfell, alongside the wild newcomer Son Ocheon.

The Magic Department housed heavy hitters like Irene, Andersen, The Hero, The Saintess, and the 2nd Imperial Princess—with new additions remaining an utter mystery.

The Adventure Department was anchored by Zhuang and Jigoku, joined by new associates like Isabelle, Giselle, and Dorothy.

Among the three departments I had narrowed my options down to, the ones boasting the highest concentration of major story figures were undeniably the Knight and Magic Departments. Naturally, one of those two had been my original target from the very beginning.

Though I had never breathed a word of it to anyone, the specific build I was angling toward was none other than the legendary... Magic Swordsman!

Swords for close-quarters combat, bows for mid-range skirmishes, and spells for long-range bombardment. Flawless coverage for elemental weaknesses and self-sufficient healing to boot. An utterly busted, god-tier class!

If cultivated properly, no build in the game could hold a candle to its sheer brokenness. It was a class designed to overcome any ridiculous, unfair trial entirely solo, completely independent of teammate RNG. The all-around, omnipotent Magic Swordsman was the most reliable, fail-safe powerhouse that an old-hand gamer like me had ever uncovered.

The problem, however, was that my roster of companions in this playthrough had warped drastically compared to the canonical game.

The difference between my current group and the allies I normally bonded with during the entrance exam is way too massive.

Usually, a player would single out one prominent supporting character during the entrance trials and aggressively farm their affection points to cement an unbreakable bond. The only canonical major figure I had actually built substantial rapport with so far was Arcadia. Yet in this run, Arcadia was an unpredictable, incomprehensible wild card; trying to guess which department she intended to enter was an exercise in futility.

On the other hand, almost all my close buddies have clustered straight into the Adventure Department.

Should I enroll in the Knight or Magic Department to reinforce my swordsmanship or spellcasting fundamentals? Or should I pick the Adventure Department, where all my familiar companions were gathered?

After an intense internal struggle, the scales finally tipped in one direction.

Why should a veteran player obsess over raw departmental efficiency? As long as I do what I enjoy, that's all that matters!

If I wanted to learn advanced swordsmanship and high-tier sorcery, I could easily advance my combat prowess through self-study, building upon my vast reservoir of meta-knowledge. But spending quality time with the friends I had actually grown fond of? That would become nearly impossible if I didn't enroll in the Adventure Department. As freshmen, our paths might cross in common areas, but as the school years advanced, our points of intersection would steadily diminish until they vanished altogether.

Therefore, fifth period would be an Adventure Department lecture. I would claim today's departmental credit right here.

During the day, the Adventure Department's roster had offered a sensible curriculum:

Basic Physical Fitness Training for Adventurers.

Basic Weaponry Training for Adventurers.

Adventurer Supply Logistics.

Adventurer Trap Lore.

Adventurer Wilderness Cuisine.

Cultivating Discernment.

However, the night schedule displayed on the notice board looked entirely different.

First off, the daytime outdoor physical drills like basic fitness and weaponry had vanished, as had indoor theory classes like logistics, trap lore, wilderness cuisine, and discernment. In their place were new entries covering nocturnal tactics, sleep techniques, and nocturnal beast countermeasures.

That notorious landmine class is still on the roster this time around, too.

Apparently, I wasn't the only student aiming for a Monday speedrun. Several freshmen hovering around the departmental bulletin board were chattering in breathless excitement.

"'Sleeping Well Anywhere'? Does that mean all we have to do is sleep to pass?"

"Whoa. That's an absolute freebie."

"Earning college credits just by taking a nap? Who in their right mind could turn that down?"

Naturally, I didn't spare that title a second glance, immediately turning my heels toward the hall where Adventurer Night Operations was being held.

In that course, the phrase "anywhere" meant precisely that—literally anywhere.

Setting up a portable bivy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sack over a pit writhing with venomous vipers and sleeping soundly without falling in. Pitching a portaledge cliff tent onto a sheer, vertical precipice in the dead of winter and sleeping suspended over an abyss.

No matter how much of a hardcore veteran you are, that's just crossing the line.

Watching those naive freshmen eagerly march straight toward a landmine class that even the sweatiest veteran gamers skipped, I felt a faint pang of genuine respect. Though, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to be fair, not a single one of them was walking to their doom willingly.