Chapter 31
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 31
Spring had passed, and summer was drawing near. When the seasons changed, the wind was always the first to shift, and that same wind of change now blew through the Academy.
For safety, wooden handrails had been installed along the stairs that ran down the cliffside. The students were now housed in the inner keep, with twenty sharing each room.
Seventy years after the founding of the Beringen Adventurers' Guild Academy, the students were finally liberated from the "chicken coop."
And it was all thanks to a single student.
Not only that, but the masons' guild sent by Hellauman—the Count Palatine of Kelbron and the Emperor's Champion—had repaired the buildings, installed a pulley system for the well, and even discovered an ancient underground cistern, going so far as to lay down water pipes.
With just a single glance at the Academy's exterior, the masons had immediately recognized the architectural style and layout, even if they couldn't pinpoint the exact year of construction. They had confidently predicted the existence of an underground cistern for storing rainwater, and then they had simply gone and found it.
Something no one had known about for seventy years was finally being put to use.
In truth, water pipes were a luxury found only in select districts of the most famous cities. Perhaps because they were a masons' guild employed by a man of the Count Palatine's stature, they had even used expensive copper for the installation.
A project of this scale would have been financially crippling for the Guild. Rickert and the other students, for their part, had no concept of how much such an undertaking would cost. Even so, they could feel it in their bones—the sheer power wielded by the Count Palatine, and the truly immense authority of the Emperor who stood behind him.
A great leap in development had come to the Beringen Academy, a change so profound it made the turning of the seasons feel insignificant by comparison.
For a while, the students found it hard to adjust. They simply didn't know if it was truly okay for them to enjoy such luxury.
And, just as Hellauman had promised, a professor arrived at the Academy to teach the ancient script.
"It is thanks to mages that the lineage of the ancient script has been preserved. They say that the ancient script is, in itself, a language of magic. Mages use it when writing magical descriptions or drawing certain diagrams."
The speaker was a man who looked as if he had never been in a fight in his life. He appeared to be in his late twenties, a nobleman named Erich who had studied at the famous Hantz University.
Yet, only two students were attending his class: Rickert and Boribori.
And in this class of two, one was already asleep, his arms crossed and his head tilted back as he snored away. That was Rickert—the very same boy who had practically begged to take classes on the ancient script.
"Then, if we learn the ancient script, can we use magic?" Boribori asked.
"Hahaha, no, that is not the case. Do I look like a mage to you?"
"Not really."
"Indeed. Letters are just letters. I suspect that because magic has such a long history, its practitioners simply continue to use the old characters out of tradition."
Professor Erich pulled a thin booklet from his bag.
"This is a textbook I compiled myself. If we study with this, you will be able to learn a great deal in a short amount of time."
"A book? But I don't know how to read."
"...Oh dear."
Erich couldn't understand how someone who didn't even know how to read expected to learn an ancient script, but the newly arrived professor was a deeply understanding man.
"In that case, it would be best to learn how to read slowly while studying the ancient script at the same time."
Carrying the booklet, some blank paper, a pen, and ink, Erich stepped down from the podium and approached Boribori. Rickert was still sleeping soundly right beside him, but Erich paid him no mind and spread the book open.
"The ancient script consists of ideograms, meaning each character carries its own meaning. The script we use today is phonetic. This here is the ancient character, and what is written below it is our modern script."
The booklet featured large ancient characters with their meanings written in small modern script underneath.
"Is there anything you like, Young Boribori?"
"Flowers and grass."
"Excellent. Then let us find the character for 'flower.'"
Erich flipped through the pages. As luck would have it, he found the ancient character for "violet." For now, he ignored the ancient character itself and focused only on the small letters written beneath it.
"This is the word for 'violet.' Shall we start by learning the spelling?"
At the word "violet," Boribori's interest was instantly piqued. His eyes grew wide and round as he closely examined the squiggly black lines. The professor explained each letter one by one, teaching him the modern script first.
"Vi... o... let..."
"Now, would you like to try writing our modern letters alongside the ancient character?" Erich asked, handing him the blank paper, pen, and ink.
It was the first time in Boribori's life he had ever held a pen, so his writing was naturally awkward. But because he was so good at drawing, the letters took shape reasonably well.
"You write much better than I expected."
"Yes, I like drawing."
After Boribori painstakingly traced the squiggly ancient character and the modern letters, the professor spoke.
"Shall we find the next flower?"
"Yes!"
Erich turned the page again, and the lesson proceeded in that manner. It could have been an incredibly slow and frustrating process, but neither of them felt that way. The professor possessed great consideration and patience, and the student was brimming with curiosity.
In a way, Erich might have been the first proper professor since the Academy's founding. The previous "professors" were just adventurers commissioned by the Guild. They didn't care whether the students learned, failed, or even died. That was how they themselves had been taught, and they simply passed down the same brutal cycle from one generation to the next.
The Guild saw no need to manage the students, nor did they have the capacity to do so. They simply sifted through them like a sieve, raising only those who seemed useful into adventurers. Strictly speaking, it was neglect bordering on abuse, but the sad reality of the era was that no one found it strange. After all, weren't these children already abandoned by their own families?
At any rate, Professor Erich's teaching progressed slowly but steadily. Time passed, and the class came to an end.
"I shall give this textbook to you, Young Boribori. I hope you study it well. I will see you next class."
Despite being a nobleman, he was a gentle and polite man—almost too much so for this bleak and brutal world.
"Thank you, Professor. This is the third gift I've ever received in my life. I will treasure it."
"Hearing you say that makes me even more grateful. Well, I must be going. I believe you may wake Young Master Rickert now."
"...Huh? Rick... what? Young Master?"
"Ah, no. It was just a joke. Haha." Since he was sent by the Count Palatine, he clearly knew a thing or two about Rickert.
"Ah... Ricky does look a bit like a noble," Boribori said with a giggle. "To me, he's the greatest hero in the Empire."
Erich offered an awkward smile and left the lecture hall. Only then did Boribori wake Rickert.
"Ricky. Ricky."
"...Huh, what? Oh, is class over? You should've woken me. What's this?"
"It's the textbook. The professor gave it to me as a gift."
Rickert took the textbook, skimmed through it, and spoke. Blessed with sharp observation and a brilliant mind, he memorized several characters in an instant.
"Lend it to me later."
"Okay."
"Ah! That was a good nap. My neck is a bit stiff, though."
"You should have slept face down."
"I should have. Let's go."
Rickert stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. His hair, which once looked like a golden broccoli, had been shaved clean but had now grown back to a respectable length.
He and Boribori descended the narrow spiral staircase of the defensive tower attached to the inner keep. The first floor served as the students' dormitory. Built in ancient times as barracks for soldiers, it was perfectly suited for habitation. Students were running around the hallway, playing with cleaning tools. When Rickert appeared, they paused for a moment but soon ignored him and resumed their chase.
Rickert glanced into the rooms as he walked past. Everyone seemed to be doing well.
Then, his eyes fell upon the students who used to torment Boribori. Since Boribori had never spoken of it, Rickert didn't even know who they were. However, the moment those kids saw Boribori, they grew terrified and scurried out of sight like mice.
Boribori paid the rats no mind. They weren't even worth his attention.
As they stepped out of the inner keep, warm sunlight greeted the two boys. It felt as if a gentle giant were softly cradling their bodies. Castles were naturally shaded and chilly, making the air inside quite different from the outdoors. Staying inside for too long was bad for one's health, which was why nobles frequently went for walks and sunbathed.
Rickert and Boribori headed toward an area next to the female students' dormitory, opposite the old chicken coop. A portion of the forest had been cut back to create a new training ground. Gathered there were the eight who had gone on the commission together, along with a few other students.
Volka, Molty, and Palen were sitting shirtless, sweating as they rested. Ice, Jerome, and Melson stood nearby, talking amongst themselves. Perhaps because they had all experienced real combat on the brink of death, everyone was training with a new intensity. Lara and Delphi were teaching the other girls, telling them they couldn't do it like that and to get their heads in the game.
They spotted Rickert and Boribori and raised their hands in greeting.
"How's the training going?" Rickert asked.
"It feels like I'm right on the verge of getting it. I think I've improved a bit," Volka said. Despite his humble words, his skills were on a completely different level now that he had faced real combat. Volka might have seemed simple-minded, but he was a quick study—something he'd learned firsthand after being beaten up by Rickert in the past.
Boribori hesitated, trying to hide behind Rickert's back, even though he was far too large to be concealed.
Seeing him, Ice spoke up. "Did you practice?"
"Huh? Y-yes..."
"Show me."
Whether he was reluctant, unwilling, or simply shy, Boribori awkwardly gripped a wooden practice sword. Naturally, the eyes of all the students focused on him. He gripped the sword and concentrated, his entire body trembling.
One might have wondered what he was doing, but none of the students present laughed. Along the clumsy trajectory of his swinging sword, a trail of ink-black mana lingered in the air. His swordsmanship was completely awkward and his body wobbled, unable to properly control his own strength, but a flower of mana had undeniably bloomed.
Exhausted after just a single swing, Boribori panted heavily, drenched in sweat. He tentatively looked at Ice, trying to gauge his reaction.
"Good job," Ice said. "Keep practicing. Otherwise, you'll end up hurting yourself."
If mishandled, mana could rupture muscles and blood vessels, burst eyeballs, or, in severe cases, damage internal organs. If vital organs like the brain or heart were injured, it meant instant death. Every student here knew that Boribori possessed an immense talent for mana; after all, he had beaten another student to death with his bare hands. Failing to control that power could be extremely dangerous.
And the one teaching him how to control it—the Mana Drive—was Ice, the very person Boribori had once disliked and called a heretic. Perhaps because he felt deeply apologetic about that, Boribori just stood there, fidgeting restlessly.
"Normally, people accumulate mana slowly, in small amounts, so it's fine for them to channel it into their bodies," Ice explained. "But for you, doing the opposite will be safer."
Boribori was a highly unusual case. His innate quantity of mana was vast and his vessel for it was large, so he was already training in the so-called Blooming Sword, despite his swordsmanship and fighting skills being utterly terrible.
"Yeah... thank you..." Boribori said, his voice so quiet an ant would have struggled to hear it.
Ice, as if he hadn't taught him just to receive thanks, maintained his usual indifferent expression. Then, he turned his gaze to Rickert.
"Please guide me."
Rickert stood blankly for a moment before taking the practice sword from Boribori. He walked to the center of the empty lot. Ice also picked up a practice sword and slowly followed. At that, the look in the eyes of the watching students completely changed. A spar between experts was an opportunity more precious than gold—something they could only witness here at the Academy.
Rickert flipped the sword in his hand back and forth, as if casually inspecting it. Then he raised his head and looked at Ice, his eyes entirely calm.
The moment Ice met that calm gaze, he felt as if his entire body were bound by something inexplicable. Goosebumps broke out across his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. It wasn't the first time; he felt this every single time he sparred with Rickert. Facing those eyes head-on made his skin crawl and his body stiffen.
Those eyes. Those eyes were the biggest problem. Rickert's eyes didn't just look at his opponent; they seemed to see right through them, piercing their thoughts and even their very heart.
Ice had to force himself to roll his neck and move his arms and legs, just to confirm his body was still functioning. Even so, staring into those eyes made his chest feel tight. Taking a deep breath to ease his tension, he barely managed to assume his stance.
"You go first."
Ice always asked him to strike first. Whenever he initiated the attack himself, he had never managed to last even a single exchange.
Without hesitation, Rickert feinted left before sharply cutting right, his sword swinging toward Ice's waist. The form was clean, but there was nothing special about the movement. It was merely the maximum speed a trained boy of his age could muster—not particularly fast to a true expert. It was entirely reactable.
Ice dodged toward the direction of the attack, securing a blind spot. So far, no issue.
Rickert spun to face him again, instantly raising his sword high overhead. At that same moment, Ice's sword lunged for Rickert's flank. But the blade Rickert held aloft was already plunging downward.
Clang!
The first clash. Ice knew he needed to disengage. In an instant, countless follow-up scenarios flashed through his mind.
Yet, Rickert made a move that existed in none of them, as if he had read Ice's mind beforehand and reacted accordingly.
Panicking, Ice met Rickert's eyes once more. Those eyes... what on earth are they looking at? What do they see in me?
With a series of quick steps, Rickert pursued Ice as he retreated. Gritting his teeth, Ice swung his sword in a counterattack. He couldn't just lose by defending. He had to do something.
Whoosh! Thwack!
"Ugh!"
The two swords crossed. One sliced through empty air; the other struck the opponent's neck with pinpoint accuracy.
Hit by the blunt blade, Ice faltered for a split second. He reflexively tried to resume the fight but stopped himself, knowing that if it had been a real sword, the match would have been over.
Rickert had already stepped back and was observing him quietly from a distance.
"You still think too much," Rickert said. "How many times do I have to tell you? Don't let your thoughts swing your sword. Swing as you see. Constantly trying to play mind games is a bad habit."
To be frank, in Rickert's eyes, Ice showed absolutely no progress. In that regard, he was no different from Boribori. It was only natural; when someone from a higher realm looked down, everyone below seemed more or less the same.
In reality, battles between experts who had reached a certain level almost always devolved into tactical mind games. But Rickert was speaking of something beyond that—the state of no-mind, of empty thought.
Here, Ice had hit a wall. How could a person fight without thinking?
Ice was undoubtedly a genius. It was hard to find anyone his age who could match him. He had the ability to instantly conceive every optimal attack and defense, select the absolute best option, and execute it flawlessly.
Yet, to abandon thought entirely... How on earth was he supposed to do that?
"...Thank you," Ice said, rubbing his stinging neck with a grimace of frustration.
Molty, who had been watching, remarked dryly, "And that makes exactly ten losses in ten matches."
"I can never make heads or tails of their spars, no matter how many times I watch," Volka replied. On the surface, the match looked entirely unremarkable. Their duels were always like that. To Volka and the other students, Ice was the very definition of a genius. Anyone who sparred with him would be utterly toyed with before losing. Yet, whenever that same Ice sparred with Rickert, he lost so effortlessly that it was impossible to comprehend, even watching it happen right before their eyes.
"It's like building a tower," Rickert said to Ice, playfully spinning his practice sword. "You build it up with all your effort, and then you knock it all down in an instant. When you do, a new world opens up. Once you realize that the tower you cherished and labored over was actually nothing, you no longer need to think. I suppose you aren't ready to tear down your tower just yet."
It was a difficult concept to grasp. But giving Ice advice on how wide to spread his feet or how to adjust his stance was meaningless, so this was the only explanation Rickert could offer. And he himself believed he was explaining it quite accurately. There was simply no other way to put it.
In his past life, Ricky's primary goal had been survival, forcing him into environments where he had to constantly tear down his carefully built towers, whether he wanted to or not. If an opponent read his patterns, it meant instant death. Creative offense and defense, transcending that to reach seemingly ordinary offense and defense, the application of force, paths, lines, points, no-mind, the heart, the life one had lived—the higher the realm one surpassed, the harder it became to express in words.
"U-um..."
As Ice and Rickert walked back to the group, Boribori unexpectedly approached Ice. Wondering what was happening, Ice looked down to see Boribori holding out a small, folded piece of paper.
"Put this on your neck... I chewed it up really well to make it..."
Without a word, Ice accepted the paper bundle. Opening it, he found a poultice of mashed-up herbs.
"It'll heal quickly, and it won't leave a scar..." Boribori murmured, refusing to meet Ice's gaze the entire time.
Seeing this, Volka burst out laughing.
"Hey, you'd never make something like that for me, even if I were dying."
"V-V-Volka, you're sturdy!"
"What are you talking about? Ice is sturdy, too."
"But still... Ice is handsome. It would be a waste for his face to get scarred."
"What?! Ha! Haha! Ha!"
Volka let out a series of dumbfounded chuckles, completely flabbergasted. The other students, however, erupted into roaring laughter.
And so, the students of Beringen Academy grew—supporting, encouraging, and competing with one another in good faith.
Yet, they had no idea. They never could have dreamed that the casual guidance they received came from the very person who had first broken through the limits of humanity and opened a new horizon for the art of swordsmanship.
Nor did they realize just how vast their own potential truly was.