A Midnight Outing
Five days remained until the Exchange Event.
The entire Sword School was in the throes of feverish preparation. Though Professor Dakeus had been stripped of his title and expelled, the competition marched on regardless. And even with Dakeus gone, Elcanto remained the department's youngest, lowest-ranking professor.
"Pant, pant. Busy, so busy..."
It was the sort of season where the pounds practically fell off on their own—a whirlwind of sprinting back and forth across campus, checking on classes, and drowning in paperwork. The only problem was that his snack intake increased in direct proportion to his stress, but a man needed fuel to survive such madness.
"The third- and fourth-year inspections are wrapped up... Which just leaves the second- and first-years, doesn't it?"
All he had to do was assess their training and state of readiness, compile the findings, and deliver the report to the department head.
Maybe I should've pushed hard to get Instructor Xiel promoted to full professor, he mused briefly. But he shook his head almost instantly, discarding the thought. No, that's absurd. Even if the guy accomplished a major feat and there's an open chair, some things simply aren't done. Propriety exists for a reason! Where does a mere elective lecturer get off, trying to skip the line? After everything I went through to claw my way up here!
"Professor Elcanto?"
A voice called out from behind.
Elcanto jumped out of his skin, whirling around to find Department Head Berhal standing right there.
"D-Department Head?"
"Why so startled? How are the inspections coming along?"
"Proceeding vigorously, sir! Were you on your way somewhere?"
"I was just returning from observing the sixth-years' training session."
The sixth-years! As the final-year students of the Sword School, roughly half of them were already on early-graduation tracks, dispatched to high-noble estates for employment or family succession training. Consequently, the graduating class rarely fielded a serious presence in the Exchange Event, but this year seemed to be an exception.
"It warms my heart to see so many motivated students this term," Berhal remarked with a smile. "Ah, and how are our first- and second-years faring?"
"I was just on my way to check on them, sir. The third- and fourth-year reviews are complete, so I'll assemble the final report as soon as I finish observing the lower grades."
"Is that so? Then let us go together."
"You wish to accompany me, sir?"
"Of course. These young minds are the future pillars of our Sword School, after all."
Berhal promptly took the lead. Staring at his superior's retreating back, Elcanto's suspicious mind immediately churned out a rationale.
Is this about Instructor Xiel again?
A prickle of vigilance raised the hairs on his neck. That young man was undeniably dangerous. If Xiel were promoted at breakneck speed, Elcanto's hard-won standing—to say nothing of his hopes of escaping the dreaded 'junior professor' rank—would be thrown into chaos.
Stay sharp, Elcanto.
"A-Allow me to lead the way, Department Head!" he stammered, waddling hastily after him.
Their first stop was the second-years' training ground.
"They certainly look the part of second-years," Berhal noted approvingly. "Their teamwork is coming along nicely."
In an open clearing reserved for their exclusive use, the second-years were running drills for the Breakthrough Match. As lowerclassmen, their best chance of scoring points lay in crossing the finish line rather than brawling, so they had clearly concentrated their efforts on tactical navigation.
"The training appears to be progressing smoothly, Professor Elcanto."
Given that Elcanto was personally responsible for supervising the second-year class, he puffed out his chest.
"Naturally, sir. We are sparing no effort."
"I look forward to good results. Well then, next is..."
The first-years.
Well, they're probably doing the exact same breakthrough drills, Elcanto thought.
It was elementary common sense. At least until the third year, lowerclassmen rarely achieved meaningful results in the Melee Match; only by the fourth year did squads develop the martial weight needed to rack up victory points. Diving headlong into the chaotic brawl usually resulted in getting swept off the field in disgrace, turning the class into the laughingstock of the academy. Focusing purely on breakthrough was the only sensible choice.
Yet the moment they stepped inside the gymnasium, that assumption shattered entirely.
"Deleve, behind you!"
"Got it! Flanking left!"
"Karen! Sweep low, now!"
Melee drills?
The students were split into two groups, trading furious strikes across the floor. Nor was it a mindless, disorganized scuffle.
"Hmm."
Berhal's expression grew steadily more intrigued.
One side takes the vanguard while the other anchors the defense. Their roles are clearly divided, transitions between offense and defense are seamless, and each sub-unit understands its responsibilities perfectly.
The Melee Match pitted ten representatives from each grade against one another in an all-out, free-for-all engagement. Flailing blindly was a recipe for instant annihilation; surviving required meticulous strategy and practiced coordination. Typically, first- and second-years lacked both the maturity and the collective cohesion to execute complex tactics.
And yet...
They move as a single organism.
This batch of freshmen was fundamentally different. Anchored by the formidable dual talents of Deleve Kundel and Celia Rihardt, their melee sparring displayed a level of tactical sophistication far beyond their years.
Wait... what?
Elcanto was shocked for an entirely different reason.
They're preparing for the Melee Match? Not the Breakthrough? Are they completely insane?!
Yet even his anxious eyes could not deny reality. The training was working—alarmingly well. A fresh wave of panic seized his chest.
S-Should my second-years be practicing melee combat too?
Had Instructor Xiel witnessed an Exchange Event before? The coordination on display—pairs and trios chaining techniques together within the larger formation—was textbook perfection. It looked less like an elective class and more like a seasoned squad of upperclassmen who had weathered the tournament multiple times.
"My word, Professor Elcanto," Berhal murmured softly. "I had no idea Instructor Xiel was schooling the freshmen in such advanced group tactics. I take it this is the fruit of your wise counsel?"
"H-Haha... of course, sir..."
Elcanto forced a hollow laugh, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
"Take a brief recess," Xiel's flat voice echoed through the hall, cutting through the clash of practice blades. "Student Deleve Kundel, Student Karen Aswan, and Student Anne Peshua, step forward."
The sparring ceased immediately. Xiel faced the three students with his usual unreadable expression.
"Student Deleve Kundel. As previously noted, your transition from the third to the fourth stance remains sluggish. Under melee conditions, that delay stretches by an additional point-five seconds. Did you perceive it?"
"I did feel a slight hitch in my movement, Instructor."
"It is a flaw in your right footwork. According to my observations, your lead foot falls short whenever allies are in your peripheral vision. You are likely hesitating out of concern for your classmates. In actual combat, hesitation breeds delay, and delay invites the enemy's blade. Bear that in mind."
"Understood, Instructor!"
"Next, Student Karen Aswan."
Watching from the balcony, Berhal's eyes gleamed with undisguised admiration.
"Remarkably precise critique. Monitoring ten combatants simultaneously while identifying micro-flaws in individual footwork is no easy feat... Hm?"
Berhal suddenly caught sight of the identical volumes clutched in every student's hands.
"Turn to page thirty," Xiel instructed Karen. "The motion sequence is illustrated there."
"Ah! Right here! Thank you, Instructor!"
"And Student Anne Peshua. Reviewing page twenty-five will clarify the counter-leverage issue I mentioned."
Seeing energetic young martial artists pore over bound pages, scribbling notes with rapt attention mid-training, was a sight practically unheard of in the Sword School.
What in the world is that book?
His curiosity piqued, Berhal stepped toward the stairs.
"Are you leaving already, Department Head?"
"No. There is something down there I must examine."
Left with no choice, Elcanto scurried after him. When they reached the gym floor, the object of Berhal's fascination became immediately clear.
A book?
The plain cover bore a single, hand-inked title.
1st-Year Exchange Guidebook
It was clearly not an officially published volume.
"Ah. Department Head Berhal, Professor Elcanto Paredes," Xiel greeted them as they approached.
In truth, Xiel had sensed their presence long before they crossed the threshold of the gymnasium. He simply had not paid them any mind, as his duties required supervising the students.
"Honestly, Instructor Xiel," Elcanto muttered, half-annoyed and half-nervous. "How long do you intend to address us with our full names attached?"
Xiel offered a deadpan blink. "Is there a reason to omit your surname?"
"..."
Elcanto choked on his own tongue. Berhal suppressed a quiet chuckle at the exchange and smoothly redirected the conversation.
"Instructor Xiel, what might this volume be?"
"It is a guidebook."
The answer was as plain and dry as ever. Berhal smiled, probing deeper.
"I have never seen such a text published by our academy, nor does it exist in the archives. Did you compile this yourself?"
"I commissioned a print shop near the Central Plaza to bind it."
Flip, flip.
Berhal opened the front cover and began skimming the pages. Gradually, the polite smile faded from his lips.
This is...
"Did you write and illustrate every page of this with your own hands?"
"Yes."
Awe replaced the dean's amusement, deepening into sheer astonishment with every turn of the page.
Incredible observational acuity... and the depth of analysis is staggering.
At a glance, the manual resembled a standard martial treatise, but its core philosophy was radically different. Where conventional academy manuals obsessed over standardized katas and rigid posture, this book contained no static forms. Instead, it was an exhaustive catalog of dynamic engagements: precisely how to parry specific attack vectors, how to exploit momentary balance shifts, and every conceivable counter-measure and tactical variable that could emerge from an exchange.
What was more, the prose was astonishingly clear and accessible.
Did he study anatomical drafting?
Rather than relying on crude stick figures or vague silhouettes, the manual featured intricate anatomical sketches, detailing precisely which muscle groups required tension or relaxation during each motion.
"Did you truly author all of this yourself, Instructor?"
"Yes."
"How long did it take you?"
"Roughly three days."
"...Three days?"
It defied logic. A comprehensive tactical treatise of this volume and caliber, drafted in a mere seventy-two hours?
Is he bluffing to capitalize on an audience with me? Berhal wondered for a fleeting second. Countless junior instructors had attempted to flatter, cajole, and inflate their achievements before the department head. Yet everything he had observed of Xiel Steelheart contradicted that suspicion. The young man simply lacked the social pretense required for vanity.
Even so, believing this was compiled in three days strained credulity.
Still, regardless of how long it had taken, one fact stood absolute.
This guidebook was a masterpiece.
"Isn't that guidebook incredible, Department Head?" Celia piped up cheerfully, seizing the opening with an eager grin. "We've been training with it, and it makes everything so easy to understand! Our Instructor Xiel is an amazing teacher! Incredibly kind... and so very thorough!"
Her voice stumbled slightly over the word kind, but her praise was ringing and sincere.
"Is that so?" Berhal chuckled warmly, turning back to Xiel. "Instructor Xiel, would you mind if I took a copy of this with me?"
"You may keep it."
"Much obliged. This... will prove immensely valuable. Well, I have seen enough of your training for today. I shall be expecting great things from our lovely freshmen at the Exchange Event."
Berhal turned and strode out of the hall, with Elcanto hurrying after him.
"Steelheart... House Steelheart, was it..." Berhal murmured under his breath as soon as they cleared the doorway. He glanced at the stout professor beside him. "What is your assessment, Professor Elcanto?"
"Pardon, sir?"
"The first-years. Do you believe they have a genuine chance?"
"A chance... well..."
Elcanto had already been humbled during the selection trials, when all ten of Xiel's elective students swept the roster. But the Exchange Event was a completely different beast. Competing within one's own year was child's play compared to facing upperclassmen who had spent years honing their mana and refining their bodies.
At least, that was what he had believed before laying eyes on that guidebook.
Swallowing hard, Elcanto gave the only honest answer his instincts allowed.
"...I believe things might be different this time, sir."
Xiel Steelheart had drawn attention from the very day he arrived, continually producing results that bordered on the miraculous. Even Elcanto had to admit that labeling him a mere 'elective instructor' was an exercise in willful blindness.
"Mm. It seems our thoughts align. You are always so candid, Professor Elcanto."
Elcanto blinked. Candid? What does that mean?
"Regarding this manual," Berhal continued, tapping the bound volume under his arm. "I intend to review it thoroughly tonight. What would you say to adopting it as the official curriculum textbook for the entire Sword School?"
"An official textbook?!"
"Once you read it, you will understand. It is exceptional—astonishingly so."
"..."
A familiar knot of complicated, petty emotions tightened in Elcanto's gut.
He's moving way too fast!
"Naturally, we cannot make an immediate decree without discussing it at the faculty council," Berhal said with a broad grin, clapping Elcanto on the shoulder. "Still, I cannot take my eyes off him. And after all, is this not all thanks to you, Professor Elcanto? You were the one who scouted and mentored Instructor Xiel, were you not?"
"H-Haha... well, I wouldn't say I did much..."
"No need for false modesty. In any case, I find myself genuinely looking forward to this tournament."
Berhal strolled off down the corridor, humming an upbeat tune under his breath—a rare sight indeed. Elcanto could only stare at his back in a daze.
Could it really happen this year?
First, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth years.
In every Exchange Event throughout the academy's history, the final standings had mirrored that sequence in reverse without fail: sixth-years in first place, first-years dead last in sixth. It was an immutable law of nature.
And yet...
That unshakeable hierarchy felt as though it was developing its very first hairline fracture.
"That concludes today's session."
Even after the two professors departed, the rigorous drills had stretched on until evening. At long last, Xiel called an end to the day's training.
"Haaah, haaah..."
"I'm... dead... utterly dead..."
The students could barely process his words, their minds consumed entirely by the desperate yearning for a warm bath and a bed.
Will I even be able to stand tomorrow?
Every muscle in my back is screaming...
Neither the fiercely competitive Deleve nor the calculating Celia had the energy left to banter. Sheathing their practice swords, they trudged wearily toward the gymnasium exit. Despite their exhaustion, however, their expressions were remarkably bright. Though their individual training paths differed, the guidebook had allowed them to swiftly iron out bad habits and sharpen their offensive patterns with razor efficiency. Their defensive footwork had improved just as dramatically.
"Hey, Deleve," Celia muttered, nudging him with an elbow. "Isn't that guidebook ridiculously good?"
"You use slang like that, Celia?"
"Only around you. I don't need to waste proper etiquette on a guy like you."
"Seriously, you..."
"Anyway, it's incredible, right? Even the department head looked completely hooked. Which actually kind of sucks... If he gets promoted to full professor, hiring him as my personal knight is going to get way harder..."
"Wait, what? What sucks?"
"Nothing. None of your business. I'm leaving first."
The rest of the squad filed out behind them in similar spirits—all save for one.
"Student Yulio Harmatan. Remain behind."
Hearing his name called in Xiel's flat, unyielding tone, Yulio froze.
"M-Me, Instructor?"
"Yes."
Yulio swallowed a heavy sigh. I knew it. I was the worst one out there again today.
The brief burst of pride he had felt upon passing the selection trials had vanished completely. Today, he had slammed face-first into the wall of natural talent. His congenital heart defect had always starved him of stamina, but back during the trials, his raw swordsmanship had carried him through. Now, even that pride felt hollow.
Deleve Kundel. Celia Rihardt.
Stacked against those two monsters, or even prodigies like Contus and Anne, his martial capability was lacking in every dimension. With every passing hour, the gulf between them became painfully clear.
I'm still so far behind...
Yulio resolved to accept whatever scolding awaited him with humility. Meeting Karen's worried gaze, he managed a faint, reassuring smile.
"I'll head out ahead of you, Yulio?" she offered softly.
"Y-Yeah. Go on."
Thud.
The heavy oak doors swung shut, leaving only Yulio and Xiel in the vast, quiet hall. Steeling himself, Yulio raised his practice blade once more.
"Whenever you are ready, Instructor."
"Return your sword to the rack, Student Yulio Harmatan."
As I thought, Yulio lamented inwardly. My fundamentals are so poor that I don't even qualify for weapon practice. It's back to the basics...
Just as he turned to set the sword down, Xiel spoke again.
"Tonight, we are going to find out what is wrong with your body."