In Just Three Days
"In just three days?"
Deleve. Celia. Yurio and Karen. As if on cue, every single one of the ten students harbored the exact same thought: Is that even possible?
What came out of his mouth next was even more absurd.
"I will spar with you without a weapon."
"Instructor, with all due respect, there are ten of us and only one of you..." Deleve ventured. "Isn't that a bit excessive?"
"Do you truly believe so?"
Deleve nodded without hesitation. "I hold you in the highest regard, sir, but wrong is wrong."
Whether that came from genuine respect or a total failure to grasp reality remained to be seen. Celia chimed in agreement.
"He's right, Instructor. Putting aside the fact that we don't even know what these 'individual lessons' are supposed to mean, how could you possibly dodge when all ten of us attack at once?"
Ziel maintained his usual flat, placid expression. He neither mocked their skepticism nor raised his voice in objection. He merely gave a small nod.
"Understood. Then we shall let the results speak for themselves. Draw your weapons."
Dumbfounded looks spread through the group. Ziel was an extraordinary teacher, without question. But even so, to face them completely unarmed...?
Could there be a catch?
Like their very first self-defense class, where he had cut the lights and ambushed them in pitch darkness?
"Are you going to turn off the lights in the training hall, Instructor?"
"No. We will proceed under normal conditions."
Something is definitely off, Celia thought, furrowing her brow. Swept up in the pair's uncertainty, the rest of the students tilted their heads in confusion.
"Is he seriously taking on all of us by himself? All at once?"
"Looks that way..."
Self-defense class. Long-distance endurance drills. In both cases, they had received one-sided instruction bare-handed. But this time was different. They held steel in their grips, ready to unleash the swordsmanship they had honed their entire lives. What was more, every student here had fought their way through the grueling selection trials to earn this spot.
Confidence brimmed within them. Deleve—who had actually managed to deflect one of Ziel's strikes during their recent self-defense class—was particularly overflowing with zeal.
Just you watch, Instructor. I'm going to shock you today.
Deleve tightened his grip on his hilt. House Kundel's Heavy Swordsmanship—specifically, the Seventh Form, which he had finally unlocked thanks to Ziel. He intended to unleash it right here.
I think Instructor Ziel underestimates my family's swordsmanship a bit too much, Celia thought with equal self-assurance. Rihart Duel Swordsmanship was the undisputed pinnacle of single combat. That very art had elevated House Rihart to rulers of the Western territory.
Can he really handle us all alone?
He's blisteringly fast, but if we surround him simultaneously...
Though not as overtly brazen as Deleve and Celia, the other students harbored similar doubts.
"Is everyone ready?" Ziel asked.
"Yes, sir. We're ready."
Ziel stood before them with his hands completely empty.
"Aren't you going to draw a sword, Instructor?"
"I have no need for one."
At that blunt reply, Deleve's and Celia's eyebrows twitched in unison.
No need for one against people of our caliber?
You really don't know who you're dealing with, sir.
"Before we begin, one announcement," Ziel said. "Any student who lands a successful attack on me will receive one Praise Card."
A Praise Card! Ten pairs of eyes flashed in unison. That slip of paper was physical proof of acknowledgment from the great Instructor Ziel himself.
"And I will buy you ice cream."
It was a somewhat baffling piece of bait.
"I found it quite delicious," Ziel added, revealing his staunch personal taste. "Particularly the apple flavor. If any of you wish to eat mint chocolate, buy it with your own money. I will not pay for that."
Celia's face fell in immediate disappointment. A few other students looked equally crestfallen.
Mint chocolate is amazing, though...
"Now. Begin."
The moment Ziel gave the signal, the students spread out, naturally forming a coordinated perimeter. Deleve and Celia led the vanguard. A deep hush settled over the training hall, where even the faintest whisper would normally echo off the stone walls. Absolute, pin-drop silence—a testament to their fierce concentration, without a single misplaced footstep.
Deleve made the first move.
Tap!
Kicking off the polished floorboards, he unleashed the First Form of Kundel Heavy Swordsmanship. Yet—
Whoosh!
Ziel casually slipped past the point of the blade. Without moving his feet an inch, he simply leaned his upper body to the side.
How?!
"Out of the way!"
Celia's thrust followed in the next heartbeat. Rihart Duel Swordsmanship was built around razor-sharp, lethal thrusts. A pinnacle piercing strike designed to decisively neutralize its target whipped past Deleve, lunging straight for Ziel's throat.
The outcome was identical.
Ziel tilted his torso just enough to let the thrust graze empty air, then slid a single half-step backward to slip clear of her follow-up low sweep.
How on earth is he doing that?!
Thrown off by the miss, Celia ended up tangling with Deleve.
"Hey! Watch where you're swinging!"
"I was trying to hit him from your blind spot!"
While the two bickered, Karen charged bravely into the fray. Compared to the scions of the great houses, her technique was straightforward and unadorned, but her blade held the fierce pride of someone who had earned her place through sheer grit.
If high and low don't work, aim straight for the center!
Cleverly, Karen coordinated her strike with Yurio, staggering their timing by a fraction of a second. They had whispered a quick plan before the match began. The moment Karen lunged, Ziel clocked Yurio poised right behind her.
Good.
Nevertheless, both attacks sliced through empty air. Ziel twisted his waist to slip Karen's mid-level lunge, then dipped his head slightly to let Yurio's overhead slash whistle harmlessly over his hair.
"What in the world...?"
The remaining six students fared no better. Each launched their finest, most confident techniques, only for Ziel to evade every single blow. His movements were swift and economical to an almost incomprehensible degree.
Their pride vanished without a trace, and their confidence swiftly followed. Deleve and Celia looked ready to die of sheer humiliation.
"Again!"
Deleve reset his stance and rushed forward, his movements tinged with desperate emotion.
Thwack!
This time, the attack wasn't merely dodged—it was intercepted. Ziel hadn't grabbed the blade; he had caught Deleve's descending wrist straight out of the air. Then, extending his free hand, Ziel gave the inside of Deleve's wrist a light tap.
Clatter!
The training sword tumbled to the floor. Deleve froze, utterly incapable of processing what had just occurred. Ziel hadn't struck him with great force; he had merely applied light pressure to a single point, yet all the strength had instantly vanished from Deleve's hand.
"..."
Silence swallowed the gymnasium once more. Deleve couldn't even bring himself to pick up his fallen weapon. The other students didn't dare mount another assault.
It was an insurmountable gulf in ability.
Looking at the frozen students, Ziel asked in a dry, even tone, "What do you think now?"
No one dared to answer.
Assassins operated alone. Almost without exception, that was the rule. On the rare occasions they were assigned joint missions, operatives carried out their respective objectives in separate sectors. Consequently, Ziel possessed very little concept of teamwork. He moved alone, eliminated targets alone, and from a certain point onward, trained entirely alone.
However, Ziel was now an academy instructor. Because of that, he had spent the last several days haunting the academy library. The conclusion he reached was simple:
Fostering individual competence comes first.
Cooperation was undeniably important; a team required synchronization to function. But before any of that mattered, the baseline competence of each individual had to be raised. Two weaklings combining forces were entirely different from two masters coordinating their strikes. He had read a high-minded quote in a book claiming that "one plus one does not equal two," but Ziel found it completely unconvincing.
True efficiency was born from the fundamentals.
Running while bound in sandbags with restricted mana, practicing self-defense in total darkness with suppressed senses—every drill had been designed to solidify their foundation.
Therefore, we build the fundamentals this time as well.
Raise their individual abilities to their peak. Teamwork would naturally fall into place along the way. The key to cooperation was leading them to realize its necessity on their own—specifically, by making them crave the support of their peers as they pushed past their personal limits.
"Before you can learn cooperation, you require individual growth," Ziel said, his voice level and dispassionate. "I am told that the first-year class has taken dead last in the Exchange Event without fail for the past twenty years."
It was a natural outcome. First-years were physically underdeveloped and lacked battlefield experience. Under such conditions, no amount of superficial teamwork would ever overcome the physical gap against upperclassmen.
"Therefore, we will sharpen your personal capabilities first."
"But Instructor, there are only ten days left until the event..." Celia protested. "Wouldn't it be far better to drill our formations so we can secure a high score in the first match?"
From a first-year's perspective, it was a perfectly rational argument. Since the Melee match was practically a guaranteed loss, focusing entirely on maximizing their points in the class-by-class Breakthrough trial seemed like the smart play.
Ziel did not agree.
"Why should we settle for that, Student Celia Rihardt?"
"Well... because that's the most efficient route?"
"Efficiency is born from fundamentals, Student Celia Rihardt. If your personal abilities do not grow, no amount of coordination will produce a result."
"...!"
She had no rebuttal. Ten grains of sand and ten solid boulders carried vastly different weights.
"I have heard that the first-year class has taken last place every single year," Ziel continued. Then, just as he had done before the selection trials, he delivered a flat, unshakable declaration. "This year will be different. We will produce an unprecedented result."
He was promising them victory.
Thump!
Ten hearts skipped a beat in unison. It was a simple statement delivered without a shred of dramatic flair, yet something deep in their chests began to churn with heat. Chills ran down the spines of several students.
Us... really?
Not last place?
Is that actually possible...?
Ziel drew their attention back to the training floor. "Resume your stances. Land a strike on me."
He sweetened the pot.
"I will also amend the reward. If any single student lands a successful blow, every member of this team will receive a Praise Card, and I will buy ice cream for the entire group."
Escalate incentives step by step. Ziel was applying the pedagogical principles he had studied in the texts. It was a reward structure that drew out peak individual effort while organically fostering group cooperation. It did not matter how they did it, nor what methods they used; all they needed was a single hit.
"Excluding mint chocolate, of course."
His culinary principles remained ironclad.
Regardless, the hook set deeply. The moment Ziel spoke, the students snapped into ready stances as though bewitched.
"Deleve, what's the plan?" Celia hissed.
"I'll flank him from the blind side. Hit him from the front! Yurio! Over here, quick strategy talk!"
The other students rallied just as fiercely.
"Contus, you're the fastest among us. Can you cut off Instructor Ziel when he dodges?"
"Consider it done. Anne, bait him with a low sweep, and I'll dive in right on his heel!"
It was a degree of coordination completely unimaginable just five minutes earlier. The corners of Ziel's mouth curled up by a fraction of a millimeter. The sensation of watching his students evolve was unmistakably satisfying.
Choosing this as my cover identity was indeed the right decision.
A menial servant in a noble manor. A wandering laborer from the provinces. A war merchant scraping a living along the borderlines. He had evaluated countless identities, but this profession had proven to be the most rewarding.
"Instructor, here we come!" Deleve bellowed, pouring every ounce of resolve into his voice.
"Begin."
Tap!
"Gah!"
"Ugh!"
"Ack!"
Naturally, their execution did not transform overnight. Even so, the fire in their eyes burned far brighter than before.
"That was so close just now!"
"Don't let up! Keep pressing him!"
Though still rough around the edges, they had completely abandoned their naive, predictable one-at-a-time attacks.
Whoosh!
They coordinated simultaneous pinches, created feints to draw his guard, and set up blind-spot strikes for one another. Teamwork was indispensable for the Exchange Event, but by prioritizing personal mastery first, Ziel had chosen the most efficient route: drawing out true synergy by forcing them to confront their personal limitations.
A dependable methodology.
It mirrored the brutal crucible he had survived during his days in the Organization. A monstrous instructor whose face and name remained unknown; an entire cohort of trainees throwing themselves at him en masse. In the beginning, their efforts had ended just as pitifully as these students'. But as time passed, they naturally learned to leverage one another's movements and cover their comrades' openings.
Ziel had been one of those trainees—and the only one who had ever successfully landed a strike on that instructor.
The only difference now was—
"Student Deleve Kundel, thrust with greater core engagement. That strike lacked penetration."
"Student Karen Aswan. When attacking from the rear flank, a horizontal sweep offers far better coverage than a vertical chop."
Unlike the murderous instructor of his past, Ziel offered polite, constructive feedback. The only absurdity was that he delivered this calm, pedagogical advice while effortlessly dodging ten blades at once.
"You are slow, Student Celia Rihardt."
"Can't you just call me Celia? Or Student Celia?"
"No."
"Ugh."
"More importantly, do not lead with your left foot; step in with your right. You are being far too predictable."
Clang! Clatter!
His evasions were so effortless they bordered on acrobatic illusions, casually causing the students' blades to clash against one another.
"Whoa, watch it! You almost skewered me!"
"Don't hesitate, keep swinging! The blades are blunted anyway!"
Ten students unleashed everything they had. While true battlefield synergy remained a distant goal, today's primary objective—individual refinement—was proceeding smoothly.
Student Deleve Kundel's heavy style is swift and distinct, but his sword paths are excessively erratic.
Observations accumulated systematically in Ziel's mind.
It will be finished soon.
Ziel had planned far more than mere physical drills. If all he intended was to exhaust them with day-long spars, he would never have made such bold promises in the first place.
And so, three days slipped by.
"Haaah... haah..."
"Whew... huff..."
Their mana completely drained, the students collapsed across the training hall in utter exhaustion. For three solid days, the grueling regimen had continued unabated. They had lunged at Ziel, failed, and lunged again.
Today had been extraordinarily brutal. Why? Because it was the weekend—a merciless march from ten in the morning until ten at night.
I can't... I can't move another finger...
I'm actually going to die...
Only Deleve and Celia barely remained on their feet, yet continuing to spar was out of the question. Even if they had an ounce of strength to spare, their pride had been thoroughly ground into dust.
"This is just absurd... seriously..." Deleve wheezed.
Holding off ten determined opponents simultaneously was monstrous enough. But by any law of nature, shouldn't a human being show at least a hint of fatigue? Over three days of relentless combat, Ziel had not slowed down in the slightest.
Or at least let one of our attacks land!
Far from sporting a single bruise, Ziel didn't have so much as a speck of dust on his uniform. Not a single drop of sweat beaded on his brow. His expression remained as impassive as stone, exactly as it had been on the first morning.
Yet, much like their long-distance runs and self-defense drills, the students simply had not realized how much they had grown. They had absorbed Ziel's corrections, unconsciously adjusting their footwork and refining their blade trajectories with every failed strike.
They have all made remarkable progress.
Ziel noted their growth with quiet satisfaction. And the project he had been drafting late into the night was finally complete. His three days of observation were finished.
"We will conclude today's session here," Ziel announced. "Starting tomorrow, we will begin individualized lessons tailored to the specific strengths and flaws I observed in your swordsmanship."
Deleve blinked through the sweat stinging his eyes. "You're going to review our swordsmanship individually?"
"Yes. That is the plan."
Ziel walked over to the bench and picked up his leather satchel. It was the same bag he carried everywhere, only this evening, it looked noticeably heavy.
"Take one each."
Curious, the students reached in. What emerged in their hands were bound books.
Books?
Out of nowhere?
Was he going to make them study theory with ten days left on the clock?
"Has everyone received a copy?" Ziel asked. "Moving forward, we will elevate your individual capabilities based on the contents compiled in those manuals."
"Wait, Instructor, are we suddenly switching to theory classes?" Celia asked, bewildered.
"It is practical application rooted in theory."
Frowning at the cryptic answer, Deleve cracked open the cover. The moment his eyes scanned the first page, his breath hitched.
"Th-This is..."
Words failed him entirely. Moments later, Celia, Yurio, Karen, Anne, Quantus, and the rest of the class turned their pages—and froze in sheer disbelief.
"Instructor... how did you...?" Celia whispered, her voice trembling.
Ziel answered in his customary flat, matter-of-fact tone:
"I had them bound at the print shop in the Central Plaza."
"..."
That was not remotely what she was asking.
"This... this is completely insane, Instructor," Celia stammered, staring wide-eyed at the parchment. "Did you write this yourself?"
"Yes. I drafted them personally."
Celia was struck speechless.
This manual was a masterwork. She would stake her family's name that even grandmasters who had founded their own martial houses would look upon this text with reverence. It contained an excruciatingly detailed breakdown of each student's personal habits, subtle balance flaws, and innate strengths. Step-by-step physical corrections. Exquisitely drafted anatomical diagrams illustrating muscular engagement and stance adjustments, accompanied by precise roadmaps guiding them toward their next breakthrough.
And yet...
You analyzed all ten of us and compiled these manuals in just three days?!