Rest Time Before the Break (1)
"Teach me how to get stronger?"
Why on earth would he ask me of all people?
I couldn't for the life of me figure out why Arthur would bring up something like this.
He was the Third Prince of the Soladin Kingdom, a name that echoed across the continent.
Even if his blood ran through a relatively humble baronial line, royal blood was royal blood — he held the power to obtain just about anything he set his mind to.
Training under an exceptional knight. Instruction from a scholar of great renown. If he wished for it, he could have nearly anything else besides.
If he pushed hard enough, couldn't he probably have any professor at the Academy serving as his personal tutor?
So there was really no reason for Arthur — a prince — to come begging help from a lowly student like me.
I thought it might have been a joke, but Arthur's expression was dead serious.
Why, though?
"What's the matter, Pitiful Prince? Weren't you the one saying you wanted to beat me? And now you're asking me for lessons? That's pathetic. Aren't you embarrassed?"
"Ahem. It was no jest. Why would I have stood before you at all, knowing full well what would come out of your mouth?"
Well, fair point. When he first asked for instruction, was there any doubt about what kind of abuse would fly out of me?
He had steeled himself for the insults before he even took his place here. And that resolve couldn't have been a light one — not for a man with his towering pride.
"You two. A moment."
Midway through our exchange, Joy cut in.
"This doesn't look like it'll be a short conversation, so let's move somewhere else."
Only then did I notice all the stares gathering on us.
Wow. Everyone's looking this way.
We were already an eye-catching bunch, and now we were blocking the bulletin board with the exam results posted on it — of course people were staring.
No matter how I looked at it, hogging this spot was inconsiderate, so we pushed our way out of the crowd.
The place we headed afterward was one of the Academy's private study rooms.
During exam season, every room was packed to bursting, but now — finals over, everyone waiting for break — the place was deserted.
Deserted enough that the attendant guarding the entrance was dozing off.
So finding a room large enough for the four of us was no trouble at all.
"The reason I seek your instruction is that the people around you are growing at an alarming rate."
The moment the door closed, Arthur got straight to it.
"Take Joy first. This scatterbrained—"
"Your Highness?"
"Ah. Yes. My apologies. In any case — this mistake-prone, careless, foolish—"
"Just say scatterbrained and move on..."
"—this Airhead Lady's talent is something even she acknowledges. But lately, Airhead Joy's growth has gone beyond all reasonable bounds. Her mana manipulation professor has gone so far as to call her the best student he's ever taught."
Well, of course. What I drilled into Joy was the distilled sum of tens of thousands of hours I'd sunk into Soul Academy.
Joy was already a character who could chase down veteran players through pure talent and effort alone. Layer optimal mage-build optimization on top of that, and her meteoric rise was only natural.
"Frey Kent is the same."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Frey Kent's talent was worthy of being called the best of her generation, but it was never overwhelming. That is no longer true. Frey Kent, who has grown steeply at your side, has become an absolute monster."
Um. I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding here?
I never taught Frey anything directly. We just did conditioning together, sparred, and ground out dungeon runs side by side.
If you asked who actually influenced her growth, the honest answer would be Carl.
"Yeah. That's right. Lucy's amazing."
I opened my mouth to correct the false information — but Frey nodded along before I could get a word out, and my throat locked up.
Hey. Are you actually processing what Arthur said before answering?
You're just nodding because it sounded like a compliment, aren't you?
"And above all — Lucy Aln. Your growth is abnormal. I understand that you carry the blood of House Aln and exceptional talent with it. But there are limits even to that. A girl who once struggled to climb a flight of stairs has, in barely over a year, risen to the very peak!"
Uh. Yeah. I've got nothing to say to that one.
When I first possessed Lucy's body, she really could barely manage a staircase. And now look.
Looking back, it had been an unbroken chain of absurdities.
If I hadn't coaxed Benedict into giving me those elixirs?
If I hadn't embedded passive skills into Lucy's body beforehand?
If House Aln hadn't put her through training so brutal it bordered on abuse?
If I hadn't cleared the Trial of Ruel and met Grandpa?
Countless what-ifs lined the road I'd walked. If even one of them had gone the other way, I wouldn't be standing here now.
But you want to know what really burns me up? I'm still a first-year at Soul Academy!
In game terms, I haven't even entered Chapter One yet!
How many times was I supposed to stare down death during content that should've taken two, maybe three hours to clear?!
"On these grounds, I have concluded that there is something you know that I do not."
Whether I was sulking over all the suffering still ahead of me or not, Arthur pressed on with what he wanted to say.
"So here is my request. Teach me how to grow stronger. For that cause, there is nothing I would not do."
Arthur bowed his head before me.
Even if he was far from the line of succession, a prince folding his pride before a count's daughter was no small thing.
Even I, still unaccustomed to noble society, could see it wasn't a gesture to be taken lightly.
Joy, standing beside Arthur, was visibly flustered — that alone said enough.
If I asked Grandpa, who was humming in astonishment beside me, he'd probably launch into a lecture about political implications and whatnot.
Hmm. So he wants help getting stronger.
There was nothing bad about helping Arthur.
Think about it. I've already racked up karma with the First Prince, who's fated to play the final boss. I can't say for certain, but he must hate me by now.
Same goes for the Second Prince. He looks on me favorably now, but the moment I ever call him the Idiot Prince to his face — and that moment is coming — he'll flip on me for sure.
With both other contenders for the throne out to get me, the only way to survive was to cling to Arthur, wasn't it?
And if I stacked a debt of gratitude on him now, then even when the mesugaki skill drove me to do something absolutely deranged, Arthur would be there to clean up after me!
Right. Let's approach this from the angle of helping Arthur.
A way for Arthur to get stronger, hm.
Setting aside every other consideration, Arthur's build was the magic swordsman.
Characters of this type are, in theory, the strongest. Strong in magic, strong in melee — the versatile all-rounder! That's the fantasy.
But "strongest in theory" usually means strongest only in theory. The moment theory meets reality, it tends to end in carnage.
It was the same in Soul Academy.
With so many stats to raise and only limited growth time granted by the game, magic swordsmen almost invariably ended up trash-tier builds.
But you know what?
This isn't a game. It's reality. And Arthur is a genius with nearly the best talent in all of Soul Academy.
Done right, couldn't he actually turn theory into reality?
"Lucy Aln?"
Quiet for a second, please.
"Pitiful Prince, you're being loud. Shut your stinky mouth."
"...Er. Right. Understood."
Once upon a time, I too had dreamed of the theoretically supreme magic swordsman.
Did you really think a veteran of every conceivable concept build wouldn't have dreamed of a character supreme in both magic and melee? Of course I tried raising one.
But no matter which way I built it, the character always came out middling.
Naturally so — growth resources in a game are finite. Without compromising somewhere, a magic swordsman simply can't be made.
After endless trial and error, I did manage a hybrid built around a physical core with magic slotted in as utility — but that wasn't a magic swordsman.
Just a swordsman who happened to know a few spells.
I had an existential crisis over it and gave up on magic swordsmen altogether, but now, after all this time — right here in front of me — a character capable of fulfilling my old dream had appeared.
My romantic ideal was finally within reach!
First problem: stamina. Arthur's current conditioning couldn't keep up with a brutal schedule.
At minimum, he'd need to be able to sprint with me from Floor 1 of the Academy Dungeon all the way to Floor 100.
Start with punishing physical conditioning, then grind his swordsmanship to a razor's edge, then layer magic on top of that foundation...
Hm. It'd be tight, but I think it's doable?
Grandpa. Grandpa.
<What is it, child.>
Here's the plan I just came up with.
With that, I laid out the schedule I'd drafted for Grandpa. He was the one person alive — or, well, once alive — who could judge whether it was realistically possible.
Hearing me out, Grandpa let out a hollow laugh, as if the sheer audacity had winded him, and said this:
<Child... not everyone trains themselves to the bone with the demonic drive you do.>
So it really is too hard?
<Not impossible, no. But difficult, certainly.>
Where should I compromise, then?
<First of all...>
Under Grandpa's guidance, I revised the plan. When I finally lifted my head, Arthur was watching me with tense eyes.
"Have you finished deliberating?"
I'll grant your request. But...
"Sure. Since it's the request of a pitiful, hopeless little prince, I'll accept. Though there are a few conditions."
"Name them."
I laid out exactly two conditions for Arthur.
Follow every order I give without question. And no quitting partway through because it gets hard.
Hearing this, Arthur nodded as if it were nothing at all.
"Ha. And here I wondered what you'd demand. I am a man who does not know the word 'surrender.' On that point, you need have no worry whatsoever."
You're sure about that?
"Pitiful Prince. Are you confident? Because from where I'm standing, you look like a spineless little loser to me?"
"Nonsense. I give you my word: I will not quit. And should I do so, I grant Joy leave to mock me for the rest of my days."
"Why am I suddenly being dragged into this?!"
Well then. Got his sworn promise. Which means from here on out, he does things my way, doesn't he?
Arthur had looked supremely confident at first, but at the naked greed blooming in my eyes, his gaze started to waver.
Too late, though.
This wasn't some private one-on-one promise — Joy and Frey were sitting right here as witnesses.
There was no taking it back now.
First of all. Yes, let's see...
Arthur...
"Pitiful Prince. First up: running."
"Running? Ah, conditioning. Very good."
Let's say...
"About half a day's worth should do it."
"...Er. I believe you misheard something."
Half a day.
"Half a day. Pace yourself at whatever limit the Pitiful Prince can manage."
Was I worried whether he could actually run for half a day straight?
Don't worry. I'll make him able to. The moment I start taunting him from beside him, he'll grit his teeth and keep going whether he likes it or not.
Lack of stamina? That's covered too.
Because I'm dragging Phoebe into these training sessions.
With Phoebe casting recovery on him from the sidelines, no amount of exhaustion would stop him from running.
By the same logic, injuries and side effects were a non-issue.
What could possibly go wrong when a Saintess is the one healing you?
No time to chat. Let's move.
"Come on, Pitiful Prince. Let's get moving, shall we? My time is precious — unlike a hopeless little Pitiful Prince's."
You chose this tutelage yourself.
Endure it by hook or by crook. Arthur Soladin!