The One Behind the Paralysis Poison (2)
“Instructor Xiel, Instructor Xiel!”
The moment Xiel returned, Tyron rushed over, breathless and frantic.
“Where on earth did you go? The Head of Department has been looking all over for you!”
“The Head of Department?”
“Yes! Department Head Berhal Abue!”
The Head of Department. The highest authority within the Sword School. Normally, a mere elective lecturer would have no reason to cross paths with him.
“Why was he looking for me?”
“Why else? Because you pulled off something incredible!”
“I did?”
“Yes! Earlier! Jumping right into the middle of that duel to stop it!”
Was that really considered an incredible feat? Xiel tilted his head slightly in confusion, then gave a brief nod. “Understood. Before that, there is one thing I would like to ask.”
“Huh? What is it?”
“Who made the final decision regarding the sparring matchups?”
“Uh… well, among the professors scoring this year’s first-year selections, Professor Dakeus has the most seniority, so it was probably him…”
“I see.”
Tyron had no idea why he was asking, but he brushed it aside. The Head of Department had been waiting, and that took precedence over everything else.
“Instructor, let’s go see him first.”
“Very well.”
A few moments later, Xiel stood before the head of the school.
“Hmm. Instructor Xiel. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Berhal Abue, Head of Department for the Sword School.”
“I am Xiel Steelheart.”
At that flat, curt greeting, the faces of the surrounding faculty soured instantly.
You’re supposed to say it’s an honor!
Doesn’t this lecturer have any idea what kind of great man the Department Head is…?
Is he just frozen stiff from nerves?
Berhal Abue, however, paid no mind to the lack of deference. A warm smile touched his lips. “Thank you, Instructor Xiel. Thanks to you, we averted what could have been a grave disaster.”
“Are you referring to Student Deleve Kundel?”
“Indeed. The outcome of the match could have been overturned without anyone ever realizing why. And via poison, no less.”
For a fleeting second, the Department Head’s gaze turned razor-sharp. “Tell me, though… how did you notice it?”
None of the other professors caught the sudden change in atmosphere, but Xiel detected it instantly.
His gaze shifted. Does he suspect an ulterior motive?
Xiel was still unaccustomed to reading human expressions and emotions. Even so, his honed instincts picked up on a subtle truth.
“I simply saw it.”
“You simply saw it… That is quite remarkable.”
Just then, unexpected support chimed in.
“Ha, haha! Well, Instructor Xiel was standing closest to the ring, so I imagine he simply had a stroke of good luck and spotted it.”
It was Professor Elcanto. Berhal glanced toward the rotund professor briefly, then turned back to Xiel, smiling faintly once more.
“Then it was very good luck indeed. Thanks to that fortune, it appears the selection matches will conclude without further incident, Instructor Xiel.”
Behind that polite smile lay lingering questions. Xiel could sense them clearly. Yet it did not feel entirely unpleasant; the sentiment seemed closer to curiosity than genuine suspicion. Of course, Xiel could not fully categorize the sensation. The realm of human emotion remained uncharted territory to him.
“Well, look at the time. I shall take my leave. We must investigate this incident thoroughly. Student Yon Riversong was sent back to his dormitory, correct?”
“Yes, he should have arrived at his quarters by now.”
“We will convene a faculty meeting shortly to discuss disciplinary action. Until then.”
As the Department Head turned to leave, he paused and cast a knowing grin back toward Xiel. “Instructor Xiel. I look forward to seeing you again.”
The assembled professors bowed in rigid, almost fearful unison as Berhal departed. Beneath their lowered heads, their minds churned wildly.
He said he looks forward to seeing him again.
Does the Department Head favor Instructor Xiel?
Is he planning to back him?
Every Sword School professor present had weathered countless political skirmishes and shadow struggles to reach their positions. That single passing remark from Berhal sent tremendous ripples through their ranks.
Xiel, however, could not have cared less about academic politics.
Professor Dakeus Altman.
His eyes were fixed entirely on Dakeus, the man who had finalized the selection rosters.
Whoever set this up seemed to know in advance that Deleve Kundel would be paired against Yon Riversong.
Sparring matchups were supposed to be determined strictly by the accumulated scores from earlier evaluations. Unless someone possessed the gift of prophecy, there was no way to foresee the exact placements beforehand. That meant someone had intervened midway through the process to manipulate the bracket.
Did a professor pull the strings?
Xiel’s deduction went far deeper than standard protocol for one simple reason: someone had dared to target his student. And they had done so using delayed paralysis poison, a substance manufactured exclusively within an assassination syndicate.
I must wait for nightfall.
The brief flash of irritation subsided, replaced by eyes as cold and still as frozen water. In an instant, his mindset reverted to that of his days as an operative.
Meticulous patience. Unflinching, cold judgment. Those two disciplines determined whether an assignment succeeded or failed.
Student Yon Riversong mentioned he might meet the person who gave him the poison tonight.
He would begin there. But first, he had to see the selection matches through to the end. Right now, he was not an operative known as Phantom; he was an elective instructor at the Sword School. He could not allow nascent emotions to distract him from his professional duties.
“We will now proceed with the next duel.”
The next match belonged to Celia Rihardt, widely regarded alongside Deleve as the foremost talent among the first years. Her opponent was another female student.
Thank goodness it isn’t me, Karen muttered inwardly, breathing a quiet sigh of relief.
“Begin the match!”
True to expectations, it was over in a flash. Three seconds was all it took. Head, solar plexus, and shoulder. Rihardt duel swordsmanship was singularly optimized for lightning-fast thrusts.
“S-Student Celia Rihardt… wins!”
Even the teaching assistant was bewildered by the sheer speed of the victory.
“House Rihardt really is terrifying…”
“Did you see that? How is that even possible?”
The observing professors murmured in equal admiration.
“As expected of a Rihardt. It seems the family head personally oversaw her training.”
“Indeed. If formal dueling were ever legalized again, House Rihardt would undoubtedly reign supreme.”
House Rihardt stood alongside House Kundel as the twin pillars among the Five Great Families, and its rise had begun entirely through dueling. The prestige of their name was forged in single combat, refining a combat style engineered specifically for mortal duels. The weapon Celia carried was proof enough: a blade slightly shorter and narrower than a standard longsword, tailored to pierce vital points with unmatched velocity. Though formal dueling had long since been outlawed under imperial law, the lethality of their technique remained unchanged.
Did Instructor Xiel get a good look?
Celia brushed off the anticlimactic victory without a second thought, turning her gaze directly toward Xiel.
Yes. Today is the day.
Striding forward with unmistakable confidence, Celia tucked a strand of glossy crimson hair behind her ear and offered a soft, charming smile. “Instructor, how did I look?”
Her plan was simple. First, wait for the compliment to roll in, and then—
“Your second strike toward the chest was slightly delayed.”
“Pardon?”
Wait, no, the compliment comes first…
“Had your opponent possessed greater skill, you would have been countered on the third strike.”
The compliment…
“Work on executing your thrusts with greater velocity.”
Where is the praise…?!
“During a duel, opening with a strike to the chest is far more efficient than aiming for the head.”
She was supposed to graciously accept his praise, credit his wonderful teaching, and smoothly transition into offering him a position as her personal escort knight. Instead, pelted by an unrelenting stream of critique, Celia finally snapped.
“Aargh, come on! Would it kill you to just say something nice for once?!”
“You asked how you performed, so I answered, Student Celia Rihardt.”
“Then what, do I have to explicitly beg for a compliment to get one?”
“Even if you did, I would only offer praise when there is something worthy of it.”
“……”
Celia felt as though she had slammed into a colossal wall. An insurmountable, towering barrier that required scraping and clawing just to get a single toehold.
“Ugh… You had no trouble showering Yurio with praise…”
To think the day would come when she felt jealous of someone like Yurio. To make matters worse, Xiel was not finished.
“From what I observed, you were capable of moving faster, yet you deliberately held back.”
“Well… it was just a practice duel…”
“Even in a duel, you must give your all. You should always subdue your opponent with maximum force.”
In real combat, no one could predict whether an opening shown in mercy would result in a fatal counterattack.
“Instructor, you clearly don’t understand high noble society. If you fight like that, people talk behind your back. Showing restraint is considered a virtue.”
“Does virtue protect your life?” Xiel tilted his head, genuinely perplexed. “If you make a habit of always holding back, what will you do the day you finally encounter a wall you cannot overcome?”
While a flicker of realization struck Celia, she could not help thinking to herself: That wall is literally standing right in front of me.
“I have high expectations for the Exchange Event, Student Celia Rihardt.”
Leaving those words behind, Xiel turned and walked away. Celia stared after his retreating back, a faint smirk playing across her lips.
“No matter how many times I look at him, I really want him on my side.”
That utter composure, completely unshakeable in any situation, made him look like someone who could protect her through hell itself. She wanted him. She would make him her escort knight, no matter what it took.
“Moving on to the final match: Student Karen Aswan.”
Called for the last bout of the day, Karen pushed herself up from the bench.
“Go get ’em, Karen!”
“Y-Yeah… Yurio, wish me luck.”
“Don’t let your nerves get to you!”
Her opponent was a scion of the Belhart family. While not on the level of the Five Great Families, House Belhart was nonetheless a household of considerable renown. To make matters worse, he was a boy, and the smug expression on his face made it clear he already considered the victory his.
“Instructor.”
As Karen stepped toward the center of the grounds, she crossed paths with Xiel.
“Student Karen Aswan.”
“Yes, Instructor?”
“You will win.”
With only that curt statement, Xiel strode past her. Karen stood frozen for a second.
I’m going to win?
She had never expected him to drop such an absolute declaration without a single word of tactical advice. Yet oddly enough, a strange swell of confidence surged through her chest. This was not just anyone speaking; it was Instructor Xiel. To Karen, he commanded just as much reverence and respect as he did from Yurio. For reasons she could not explain, she genuinely felt like she could pull it off.
“Hey, I’ll go easy on you, so just surrender if it starts hurting, all right?”
Owen Belhart, the second son of the prestigious Belhart family, possessed considerable innate talent. But rather than being intimidated, Karen calmly steadied her breathing, letting Xiel’s words echo through her mind.
You will win.
“Begin the match!”
Claaang!
The moment the bout started, Karen’s eyes widened in surprise. Owen’s surging blade had been parried far more effortlessly than she had anticipated.
“…What the?” Owen’s expression shifted, caught off guard by the ease with which his rush was deflected.
Clang! Claaang!
When she cleanly intercepted his rapid two-hit follow-up, pure bewilderment washed over him.
“You deflected the First Form of my family’s style…?”
It seemed he had intended to end the match right out of the gate with his opening technique. Karen was just as shocked as he was.
I can actually block this?
This was her very first real duel since enduring Xiel’s hellish elective course. Until this very moment, she had possessed no metric for how much her abilities had developed. She had harbored doubts, convinced that merely building stamina and sharpening reflexes through absurd drills could never translate into true swordsmanship proficiency.
The instructor was right all along.
The proof was unfolding right before her eyes. Fundamentals mattered—far more than flashy techniques.
Clang!
Karen transitioned smoothly into her counterattack. Deflecting Owen’s blade just as he attempted to initiate his Second Form, she unleashed the traditional swordsmanship of House Aswan. She knew full well that her family’s style was nothing spectacular, yet—
Clang, claaang!
“Whoa.”
“Wait, Karen is dominating him?”
“That’s insane!”
Even an unremarkable sword style could become lethal depending on the hands wielding it. Having shed the heavy sandbags she had worn day in and day out, Karen’s movements were blindingly swift, and the honed reflexes forged from absorbing countless strikes from Xiel fired with instinctual precision.
“Kuh!” Owen attempted to seize an opening to counter, but the sheer speed of her reactions forced him to step back in retreat.
What on earth is this?! Owen gritted his teeth, desperately trying to regain his composure. House Aswan? He had never heard of them outside of vague rumors placing them in some dirt-poor rural corner of the east. There is no way in hell I am losing to her!
Clang!
As Owen calmed his breathing and regained his footing, the exchange leveled out into a fierce contest of attrition.
“She is quite impressive. They are back on even terms now, but to press him that hard at the start…”
“In a life-or-death battle, Student Owen might have been in serious trouble.”
“Mmm. Still, in the end, Student Owen should take it…”
Slowly but surely, momentum began tilting back toward Owen.
This ends now!
Flowing into his Third Form, Owen raised his blade high into the air. A sweeping downward cleave following a low feint—it was the pinnacle of what he could currently manifest. But Karen had already anticipated it.
Here it comes.
She dodged the initial low strike. However, the descending cleave was coming down too fast to evade. In that split second, she remembered what Instructor Xiel had taught them.
In a counterattack, the most important element is not evading the opponent's strike—it is landing yours before theirs can connect.
Granted, she had never once succeeded in pulling that off against Xiel himself, but…
Whoosh!
Her arm was already extending purely on instinct.
Thwack!
The blunt tip of her training sword slammed squarely into Owen’s exposed abdomen just as his blade reached the apex of its descent.
“Guh…!”
Clatter!
Owen’s sword slipped from his paralyzed fingers, clattering uselessly against the stone floor. Trembling violently from the agonizing shock to his gut, he crumpled forward, clutching his stomach.
“……Dear gods.”
“Karen…”
“She actually won?!”
Looking down at the groaning, collapsed noble, Tyron cleared his dry throat and made the official call.
“V-Victor: Karen Aswan!”
An utterly unbelievable upset. The observing professors stood frozen, momentarily robbed of speech.
“A-An unprecedented upset…”
“Haha… unbelievable…”
Among them, a single professor stared in pure, unadulterated denial of reality.
Again… We lost again…!
Professor Elcanto wanted nothing more than to find a hole in the ground and crawl right into it.