Call Me Leader
Quantus Hopel.
As the eldest son of the Hopel family, he was widely regarded as a prodigy who had inherited the very essence of the Hopel clan's swordsmanship. His strength and skill with a blade were undisputed—more than enough to earn him a spot in the Exchange Event. However, he had one slight flaw.
"Quantus! Don't just charge in blindly!"
"Follow my lead! Hahaha!"
To put it bluntly, the boy was shockingly simple-minded.
"I think he's getting way too excited."
"This is bad."
The moment his spirits rose, he tended to barrel forward without looking left or right. Controlling him was no easy feat. Still, that didn't mean they were out of options.
"Anne. You're up."
"Leave it to me."
Having somehow become the closest to Quantus among their peers, Anne let out a resigned sigh and yelled at the top of her lungs.
"Leader!"
Quantus skidded to a dead halt, blinking in confusion. "D-Did someone call me?"
It worked. The title Instructor Ziel had used for him earlier had taken root with miraculous precision.
"Yes, Leader. I mean you."
"What's up?"
"Leader, you're doing an amazing job spearheading the group, but maybe we could slow the pace just a little?"
"B-But if we want to reach the summit as fast as possible—"
"I love how brave and enthusiastic you are. Truly. But wouldn't it be even better if you surveyed our surroundings first? You're the leader, after all. A leader has to guide everyone safely."
"Leader... Right. You're absolutely right!"
He really was easy to handle. Of course, it helped tremendously that it was Anne doing the talking; Quantus had a habit of conceding to almost anything she said.
That takes care of that, the others thought in unison.
Meanwhile, Deleb and Celia were hard at work. While Quantus held the vanguard, Deleb and Celia possessed the highest actual combat capability among the first-years, and they kept their senses dialed to their surroundings.
"Celia. Over there."
"Where?"
"Right there. See that patch of thicket just ahead? Right in front of it."
Deleb was uncovering traps one after another with sharp, discerning eyes. For all the teasing she loved to heap on him, Celia couldn't help acknowledging his knack.
I suppose talent is talent, she admitted grudgingly.
Click!
Deleb deftly disarmed the contraption before turning back. "Leader! Disarmed one here!"
"Oh! Nicely done!"
"Only because our leader took the lead and paved the way."
"Haha! Why, thank you for the compliment!"
It seemed Deleb had quickly figured out how to handle Quantus as well. Not to be outdone, Celia spotted another hazard in the brush.
"Here's another one, Leader!"
"Oho, disarm it!"
Click, clack.
Disarming them proved surprisingly simple—entirely thanks to Ziel's theoretical lectures.
"It's just like the instructor said."
"Did he know in advance what kind of traps would be here?"
"The mechanisms are slightly different, but the core principles match..."
Even in the heat of the match, Ziel's brilliance made itself felt. If not for his lessons, most of these hidden snares would have caught them completely off guard. He hadn't simply taught them how to neutralize mechanisms; he had thoroughly drilled them on the subtle environmental cues that revealed where traps lay disguised.
Snap!
"Gah!"
"Leader!"
"I-I'm fine! My muscles held it off!"
Naturally, there were still individuals like Quantus who managed to step on them anyway, despite every warning. Fortunately, his absurdly dense musculature was sturdy enough to take the blow without a scratch.
"How does someone step on a bear trap and walk away unscathed...?"
Whether it was the mystery of anatomy or just the enigma of Quantus, no one could say. Regardless, the first-years' opening pace was remarkably solid. They steadily dismantled every hazard in their path, advancing without delay, and not a single student had fallen behind.
In past Exchange Events, the freshman cohort almost always suffered early dropouts within the opening minutes. This year was turning out entirely different.
At this rate, our placement might actually turn out decent!
The instructor was right all along!
Furthermore, there was another advantage the students hadn't consciously realized: their sheer stamina. Every first-year here had attended Ziel's elective course. After spending months sprinting up hills strapped with sandbags while having their mana reserves suppressed, their physical conditioning had reached freakish levels. Even as they ascended the rugged mountain slope while keeping their nerves taut, hardly anyone was gasping for air.
"Let's keep this momentum going!"
Of course, Match 1 demanded far more than just trap clearance and physical endurance.
"Leader! Straight ahead!"
"Urgh!"
A sudden impact knocked Quantus back. There they were—the magic puppets engineered through arcane craft, autonomous raiders calibrated to execute pre-programmed ambush commands. If Match 1 had been a simple mountain hike, the first-years wouldn't have consistently landed in dead last every year.
"Are you all right, Quantus?" Anne rushed over, alarmed. Was he seriously hurt?
"Quantus, can you hear me—"
"C-Call me... Leader..."
"..."
Five specially crafted constructs deployed by the Arcane School stood blocking their route. Each possessed formidable physical strength and lightning-quick agility—the pinnacle of magical engineering. However, lacking true sapience, they were incapable of higher-level tactical adaptation. They were also obscenely expensive.
"I heard those cost at least three million cel each..." Karen murmured under her breath. If she could somehow smuggle one out during the chaos and sell it, she could wipe out her family's debts and never worry about tuition again...
"Karen, snap out of it."
"Uh, right. Yeah."
Five constructs in total. Normally, this was the chokepoint where first-years suffered heavy casualties, and in some years, entire classes were eliminated right here. That was precisely why the leader's judgment was paramount. The condition for clearing the match was for more than half the team to reach the summit, meaning a pragmatic squad could strategically sacrifice three or four members as decoys while the rest slipped past.
"Leader, what's the plan?"
"We all go together, of course!"
Quantus's reasoning was characteristically straightforward. "We all worked hard to get here! It's only right that we all reach the top together!"
Under ordinary circumstances, his classmates might have scolded him for such reckless idealism. Had they not trained under Instructor Ziel, they almost certainly would have left bait behind to secure an escape. But right now, the first-years brimmed with fierce confidence. Facing the very constructs that had broken so many freshmen before them, none of them wavered.
Clang!
In near unison, ten swords cleared their scabbards.
"Quantus—no, Leader. Give the order."
As if he had been waiting for Anne's prompt, Quantus roared at the top of his lungs, "Break through them, and we all climb together!"
Recalling the grueling drills Ziel had put them through, Celia and Deleb called out to the rest of the squad. "Remember our two-person sparring drills?"
Five magical puppets. Ten students. Two to a target. They had logged more than enough hours and sparring repetitions. Now was the time to put the results on display.
At the summit of Black Peak, the heads of various noble houses and spectating dignitaries sat comfortably, watching large magical projection screens floating in midair.
"Oho, look at the fifth-years. Unstoppable as ever."
"Haha! The boy leading the charge right at the front—that's my son."
"I envy you, Patriarch. To raise such an exceptional heir."
Like the combat puppets, these projection screens were wonders of arcane engineering—luxuries far too costly for common use, found only in elite academies flush with donations, the Imperial Palace, or top-tier ducal estates. While the image quality wasn't flawless, it provided a clear view of each cohort's progress along the mountain.
Overwhelming, as expected, Berhal thought, nodding as he observed the fifth-year feed.
Their momentum was devastating. Experience, raw martial skill, tactical execution—everything operated like clockwork. Three students tied down the five puppets while the remaining seven sprinted ahead to scale the peak. The fourth- and third-year squads had adopted similar tactics, though neither moved with the fifth-years' crisp speed. The fifth-years were already past the mountain's midpoint. Of course, the constructs weren't the only hazards waiting for them.
On the other hand...
The second-years are in terrible shape.
The screen monitoring the second-years displayed near-complete disarray. Confused and hesitant, the students scrambled chaotically against the constructs, and two had already been disqualified. If they had made a swift tactical decision to sacrifice a few decoys, the bulk of the team could have kept moving, but indecision had paralyzed them. Whether the blame lay with an incompetent squad leader or internal factional strife, their prospects looked grim.
Professor Elcanto must be sweating bullets right about now.
Elcanto had his back turned, but Berhal didn't need to see his face to guess his miserable expression. Yet amidst the predictable hierarchy, one particular display drew gasps from the audience: the first-year screen.
"Wait, aren't the first-years performing remarkably well this year?"
"Ho-ho! Look at the girl in the front. Isn't that the young lady of House Rihardt?"
"Oho, that's proper heavy swordsmanship! House Kundel's patriarch must be bursting with pride."
Murmurs of genuine admiration rippled through the gallery. Instead of the clumsy panic typical of freshmen in previous Exchange Events, these newcomers demonstrated textbook coordination.
"Did they scout the traps beforehand? How are they clearing them so fast...?"
"Hmph. That boy disarming the tripwire is my son. Yurio Harmatan."
"Oh my! I had no idea the Harmatan patriarch was sitting right beside us!"
Their eye for spotting and neutralizing traps was astonishing.
"Wait, they aren't leaving anyone behind? All ten are engaging the puppets?"
"It appears their strategy is to dismantle them entirely before moving on."
"Hmm. I don't know who he is, but that massive fellow at the front has incredible strength."
"Gwahahaha! That's my boy! The pride of the Hopel family!"
Operating in pairs, the first-years executed fluid pincer maneuvers against each automaton, their relentless strikes supported by boundless stamina.
"How on earth did they train them? For first-years, their stamina is off the charts."
"Word is the instructor overseeing the freshmen is quite the capable figure."
"You mean Instructor Xiel Steelheart?"
Whispers spread as the crowd marveled at the children's endurance.
"Speaking of which, where is that instructor?"
"Who knows? He wasn't formally introduced at the pavilion. Perhaps he'll arrive later?"
Curiosity regarding Ziel surged through the stands. In particular, Amos Kundel and Darren Rihardt had been scanning the grounds for him ever since they arrived at the summit.
Before the chatter could deepen, a thunderous cheer erupted from the gallery. Celia and Yurio had just brought down their assigned puppet in a flurry of coordinated strikes.
"Splendid! As expected of House Rihardt's jewel!"
"Her blade was practically invisible!"
Flattery rained down, and Darren puffed his chest out with a broad, beaming grin. That's my girl! Just a little further!
Moments later, another roar went up as Deleb and Anne crushed their construct into scrap metal.
"House Kundel truly stands at the empire's pinnacle!"
"Aha! Heavy swordsmanship reigns supreme after all! Who needs flashy speed when you have crushing power!"
A subtle undercurrent of rivalry crackled between the noble houses. Yet through it all, the man responsible for laying the foundation of this spectacle was nowhere to be found.
"Where did Instructor Ziel go?" Berhal murmured to an aide.
"Ah. Instructor Ziel and the graduate assistants departed from the base of the peak earlier to monitor the course."
Berhal winced inwardly, realizing his oversight. Ziel and the assistants had been deployed along the mountain trail to confirm dropouts and handle emergencies on-site.
"We should have invited Instructor Ziel up here instead."
"Shall I send a runner to fetch him now?"
"No. If we pull him away, the others will be stretched thin. Let him remain."
Still, Berhal couldn't help wishing Ziel were present to hear the high nobility singing his praises. He truly trained them into fine shape.
Perhaps Berhal ought to observe one of his classes in person sometime. In fact, pride be damned, he felt like ordering the other professors to sit in and take notes. Even factoring in the scions of Kundel and Rihardt, transforming a squad of raw, inexperienced freshmen into such a cohesive unit was nothing short of miraculous.
Their tactical choice was sound, too. Magic puppets possessed tracking algorithms that relentlessly pursued targets until completely destroyed. Leaving half-baked decoys behind often resulted in the bait being crushed, only for the constructs to hunt down the rest from behind. By taking them down as a unit, they avoided being pursued entirely.
Was that hulking boy at the front their leader? Berhal thought, tilting his head as he studied Quantus on the projection. He had heard the Hopel heir was painfully blunt and reckless.
Could that have been an act? Perhaps there was a reason they had chosen him to lead after all.
"With performance like this..." Berhal trailed off, simply offering a quiet shrug.
Match 1 was far from over. Mechanical traps, treacherous terrain, and combat puppets—these three trials were fixed staples of the competition. But every year, the final hazard was changed. That unpredictability was what kept Match 1 truly ruthless.
"Captain of the Guard."
"Yes, Department Head."
"Go ahead and release them."
"Understood, sir."
Indigenous predators found exclusively in the Blade Mountain Range where Black Peak stood. Vicious beasts that struck from the dark shadows, moving with the blinding speed of arrows loosed from a bow.
Even the upperclassmen will break a sweat dealing with those, Berhal mused.
The current standings placed the fifth-years first, followed by the fourth-years, third-years, and then a tight race between the first- and second-years. Would this hierarchy hold, or would an upset shake the mountain?
Yet there was one variable Berhal hadn't anticipated.
"Department Head!"
A figure hurried past the guard captain, breathless with panic. It was one of the mages dispatched by the Arcane School to oversee the Exchange Event—specifically, one of the handlers responsible for monitoring the magic puppets.
"What is the matter?"
"Um, sir..." The mage shot an anxious glance at the surrounding spectators before lowering his voice to an urgent whisper. "There is something you need to see. Immediately."