A Shrewd Political Calculation
The Exchange Event.
The grandest event in the Sword School’s calendar, and for all practical purposes, an outright festival.
“Step right up, take a look! Wondering what your fortune holds today?”
“Ice cream sets for only ten cels! Limited festival discount!”
“Step right up, put your money where your mouth is! Try your hand at knife throwing!”
Festival booths lined every corner of the Sword School campus. More than triple the number seen during the start of the semester had been systematically erected, each beckoning eager students. Thanks to their enticing displays, every stall was swarming with crowds, with the most popular attractions drawing massive lines that snaked along the walkways.
And it wasn’t just the students who were drawn in by the festive fervor.
“Father! I can’t wait for next year!”
“Haha. Are you really that eager to enter the academy?”
“Yes! I’m definitely going to pass the entrance exam!”
Families of the students—parents, brothers, and sisters—had gathered, alongside common citizens from across the capital. For the entire week of the Exchange Event, the academy opened its gates to the outside world, granting families the rare chance to visit those selected to compete.
Meanwhile, another group of outsiders drew just as much attention as the festival booths themselves.
“Look over there. That’s definitely the Kundel Family’s knights! See the black armor?”
“The Rihardts are here too! Goodness, look at that rapier—it’s so incredibly slender!”
The heads of the empire’s greatest noble houses had arrived in person.
Curiously, an unusually large number of family patriarchs had chosen to attend this year’s exchange match. For great territorial lords like Amos Kundel and Darren Rihardt, leaving their vast domains was no trivial matter, yet there they stood.
“Is there something special about this exchange event? Why on earth are all the patriarchs here?”
“Word is that once Kundel and Rihardt announced they were coming, the other lords felt obligated to show up too…”
“Right, but why did those two giants decide to come in the first place? I know their youngest children are both in the first year, but still…”
What the onlookers failed to realize was that the presence of the two great lords was fueled by a petty, decades-old rivalry.
Hah. Look at him dragging ten personal knights along just to put on airs.
Tsk, that bastard brought fifteen just to outshine me…
Amos Kundel and Darren Rihardt glared across the grounds at one another, exchanging glances fraught with childish competition.
Whatever their motives, their presence had inflated the scale of the Exchange Event far beyond anything seen in recent years. For the students, however, this presented an unprecedented opportunity—an incomparable stage to catch the eyes of high nobility and secure prestigious knightly scoutings.
“Hey, did you hear? The family heads came in person!”
“I know! Seriously, what is going on this year? If we just make a good impression, our futures are set!”
Most of the participating students buzzed with excitement. Most, but not all.
“Why on earth did your father come?”
“What about yours?”
“Ugh, who knows? It just makes me nervous. And he had the nerve to tell me not to feel pressured…”
Celia grumbled under her breath, while Deleb let out an exhausted sigh beneath the crushing weight of expectation.
He never once came when my older brothers competed.
Agres Kundel was in the fifth year, and Aken Kundel was in the third. For at least five years, the Exchange Event had taken place without fail, and both brothers had inevitably competed in their respective years. Yet their father had never once set foot on the campus until now.
“Is this really the first time your father has ever come?” Celia asked.
“Yeah. Seriously… he acted like he couldn’t care less. Didn’t he only show up because he heard your father was coming?”
“How should I know? Ugh, forget it.”
The two teenagers remained oblivious to the fact that the person truly responsible for dragging the two grand patriarchs to the academy was someone else entirely.
“That is enough. Training is concluded.”
It was Ziel.
He was the one who had averted a catastrophe during the selection tournament, saving Deleb in the process. He was the one Deleb had praised in his letters, piquing Amos Kundel’s intense curiosity. And he was the humble general education lecturer whose quiet influence had sparked a political chain reaction, drawing Darren Rihardt and the rest of the nobility in their wake.
“That will be all for today’s session. Return to your dormitories, secure adequate rest, and ensure proper hydration and nutrition.”
Ziel formally declared the end of recovery training. While the other grades were taking the final day off to rest, the first-years had maintained their sharp edge right up until the eve of the event.
“Review the theoretical concepts covered yesterday repeatedly until they are second nature.”
With that, all preparations were complete. The hellish training regimen for the Exchange Event was finally over. Now, the real trial was about to begin.
“Execute exactly as you have trained, and victory will be yours.”
Hearing Ziel’s calm declaration sent a thrill through the students’ chests. During the selections, Ziel had made a seemingly absurd prophecy—that ten of the students he taught would qualify. He had been proven right. And now, he was doing it again.
“You will defy everyone’s expectations.”
Their hearts blazed at his words. Outsiders might doubt them, but among the first-year competitors, not a shred of skepticism remained. Master Ziel’s words were always correct; his statements always became reality.
Had this been an individual tournament, Ziel would never have offered such a sweeping guarantee. But the core of the Exchange Event was teamwork.
“From this point forward, the outcome rests in your hands.”
It was a matter of student coordination. Direct intervention from instructors and professors ended here.
“And one final matter.” Ziel brought up a topic the students had momentarily overlooked. “I have been informed that each academic year must appoint an official leader for the event.”
The first-years fell dead silent. A collective swallow echoed through the ranks.
Karen thought: Surely it’s not me.
Yurio thought: No way in hell it’s me.
Deleb and Celia both thought: It has to be me, right?
Quantus, oddly enough, thought: It’s definitely me!
Then, Ziel dropped a bolt out of the blue.
“The leader will be Student Quantus Hophel.”
“I knew it was me!” Quantus roared, leaping to his feet.
The rest of the class stared in sheer, unadulterated horror.
“T-Teacher! Quantus?!”
“What’s wrong with me?!”
“Your brain is made of pure muscle!”
Absolute bedlam erupted. They had trusted Ziel unconditionally on everything else, but this was utterly impossible to swallow.
“Teacher, you misspoke, right? You said the wrong name, didn’t you?”
“I have already submitted the paperwork with Student Quantus Hophel’s name.”
“This is absurd!” Celia shrieked, while Deleb stared at Ziel in dumbfounded disbelief.
Yet Ziel showed no intention of reversing his decision.
“Dismissed. Rest well and review your tactics.”
With that, Ziel turned and walked away before anyone could stop him.
“You all heard him, right? I’m the leader!”
A chorus of heavy sighs swept through the first-years as they watched Quantus flex. Anne buried her face in her hands.
“We’re doomed. We don’t stand a chance.”
“Why are we doomed when you have me?”
“Do you honestly not understand why we’re doomed? Is your head literally stuffed with meat?”
“Hmph. With my strength, I can easily smash through anything!”
“Ugh…”
A throbbing migraine seized the room. None of them could comprehend Ziel’s choice. None, that is, except one.
Yurio narrowed his eyes in thought. Something doesn’t add up.
Up until now, every decision Master Ziel had made appeared irrational on the surface, only to prove brilliantly sound in practice. Why, then, would he appoint Quantus as the leader?
“Ah!” Yurio clapped his hands together.
Celia whirled on him. “What is it?”
“I figured out why Master Ziel made Quantus the leader.”
“You know why?”
“Well, think about Quantus. He’s… how should I put it?”
“An idiot.”
“Right. But if you flatter him, he listens to reason, doesn’t he?”
“And?”
“That’s the entire point!”
“What do you mean…” Celia trailed off, her eyes widening. Wait. Could it be?
In terms of martial skill and social influence, the natural choice for leader was either Deleb or herself. Failing that, Anne Peshua was the next logical candidate. For Ziel to bypass all of them and name Quantus instead could only mean one thing.
A masterstroke of psychological warfare!
A chill ran down Celia’s spine. Goosebumps broke out across her arms. As expected of Master Ziel… So that was his intention all along.
Put simply, Quantus was remarkably easy to manipulate. Lavish him with praise, and he would follow instructions without a fuss—so long as nobody insulted his intelligence. By contrast, forcing him into a subservient role often made him stubborn and prone to reckless, bullheaded charges.
“You make a lot of sense, Yurio.”
“Right?”
“Yes. I see what he’s doing now.”
Listening in from the side, Deleb shuddered as well. Master Ziel truly is terrifying.
According to the political statecraft taught by his father, this was a classic feint. Putting an obvious simpleton at the forefront was an advanced gambit designed to lower the opposition’s guard.
His perspective operates on an entirely different level. Just how many moves ahead is he calculating?
In truth, the real leadership lay with Deleb and Celia. Their influence within the first-year class was paramount, and their capabilities spoke for themselves. By using Quantus as a figurehead, they could steer the class from the shadows while exploiting the distraction to move with far greater tactical freedom.
Deleb smoothly shifted his demeanor, offering an amicable smile. “Congratulations, Quantus.”
“Thanks, Deleb! Follow my lead, and victory is guaranteed!”
“Of course. Naturally. Who could possibly withstand your sheer power?”
“Hahaha! Precisely!”
By now, the other students were beginning to catch on one by one.
He deliberately put that meathead in the front.
If we left him loose, there was no telling where he’d charge off to.
Master Ziel thought of everything.
Anne, being the closest to Quantus, quickly pieced the puzzle together and sidled up to him. “Quantus, you’re the leader now, so you need to set a proper example. You understand, right?”
“Naturally! Just trust in me!”
Overwhelming confidence coupled with a distinct lack of intellect was normally a catastrophic flaw in a team member. But what if he had someone competent managing him from behind the scenes?
It actually becomes a massive asset.
Anne realized this arrangement was vastly superior to picking either Deleb or Celia. Appointing one would have inevitably alienated the other, causing friction between their respective circles. This neutral option neatly sidestepped the problem.
That’s probably the biggest reason of all.
They couldn't very well appoint co-leaders under the rules. Master Ziel must have foreseen the exact political rift that would occur and neutralized it before it could begin.
Filled with renewed awe, Anne felt a wave of reverence. At the same time, she realized that she was the only one capable of keeping Quantus on a tight leash. Though she bickered with him constantly, she had spent the most time with him since the start of term and knew his quirks better than anyone.
I just have to support Deleb and Celia.
Suddenly, their chances of victory felt remarkably high.
“Bwahaha! I am the leader!”
As long as they kept stroking his ego and steering him in the right direction, his formidable resilience would shine. He was an unstoppable battering ram capable of wreaking havoc in both vanguard breakthroughs and chaotic melees.
There was only one minor downside: watching him strut around puffed up with self-importance was deeply irritating.
“A scouting offer from the Imperial Knights isn’t just a dream anymore!” Quantus declared proudly.
An imperial pack mule would suit you far better, Anne thought, though she kept it to herself. If indulging his delusions kept him cooperative, so be it.
“Quantus, we’re counting on you!”
“Lead the way, Quantus!”
United in unspoken agreement, the students showered him with enthusiastic cheers.
Watching the spectacle from the doorway, Tyron tilted his head in mild bewilderment. Why would he go out of his way to pick Quantus…?
A moment later, an epiphany struck, and Tyron nodded slowly in profound realization. A political calculation.
With both Patriarch Kundel and Patriarch Rihardt present in the flesh, designating either of their children as leader risked offending the opposing faction. Ziel had undoubtedly anticipated the tension. Rather than stoking a feud by siding with one house, he had walked the tightrope by choosing a completely neutral third party.
What a terrifyingly astute man.
He was clearly no mere general education instructor. Just how far into the future did his vision extend? Today, Ziel seemed more enigmatic than ever.
“Master Ziel,” Tyron called out respectfully. “We should get moving. The Exchange Event briefing begins in ten minutes.”
Once the announcement was made that Quantus Hophel was the first-year representative, the other faculty members would surely marvel at the sheer political brilliance behind the move.
Of course, the reality was entirely different.
‘Teacher! Could you please make me the leader?’
‘Very well, Student Quantus Hophel.’
‘Thank you, sir!’
Quantus had simply been the first person to ask.
Ziel attached zero significance to the title of leader. To be precise, he hadn't given it a second thought. The academy regulations required a name, so he had simply written down the name of the first student who volunteered.
Right now, Ziel’s mind was entirely consumed by a far more pressing concern.
I wonder what kind of food the stalls are selling today.
Following in the glorious footsteps of chicken skewers and ice cream, what culinary masterpiece would next grace his palate? That single question was the only thing occupying his thoughts.