Detestable, Truly Detestable
Elcanto was once a Great Knight.
Short of an Imperial Knight, it was the highest rank a swordsman could attain—proof that one had established a martial discipline of their own.
No matter how much his body had swollen with fat or how long he had stayed away from real combat, instincts did not simply vanish into thin air.
I didn't see a single thing.
He had witnessed the result of the magic puppet's defeat—its chest pierced, its core destroyed, its frame crashing down. But the process itself? The moves that led to that outcome? He had completely failed to track them.
My skills really have gone to the dogs.
Elcanto chose to leave it at that. There was simply no other way to explain it. More accurately, he refused to admit the alternative.
"Professor. I will take care of this and return shortly. Your ankle appears to be hairline-fractured, so do not move."
Leaving behind those brisk words, Xiel turned to face the remaining two magic puppets.
How did he even know my ankle was cracked?
To call what followed "facing them" was entirely inaccurate.
Crash!
Xiel closed the distance in an eye-blink, slipped past a lethal slash, slammed the first puppet violently into the dirt, tore the blade from its grip, and drove it straight down through its chest.
This time, Elcanto actually saw it.
Which only deepened his horror.
What in the world was that sequence?!
Tripping the construct, wrenching away its weapon, and skewering its heart—the entire chain of motions flowed with terrifying perfection. It was an attack stripped of all excess, executed with cold restraint and the absolute minimum exertion required.
The second puppet met an identical fate.
Clang!
Xiel vaulted ahead of the construct as it sprinted toward the students, touched down lightly on the earth, and deflected the incoming sword strike with nothing more than the bare flat of his hand.
Is he performing a circus trick?!
Striking the side of the blade with pinpoint precision was nothing short of miraculous. Reaching out with a bare hand toward a swinging sword was sheer madness, yet he pulled it off as casually as brushing away a speck of dust.
The finale was delivered with the stolen blade.
Crunch!
Its core shattered, the magic puppet went instantly limp.
Without the slightest hitch in his breathing, Xiel cast a brief glance upward.
They should be ascending smoothly by now.
With this, all the magic puppets that had pursued the first-years were neutralized. Xiel walked over to Elcanto.
"It is a hairline fracture. You must not walk on it."
"Ugh... H-How did you know?"
"I can tell by looking."
"..."
Xiel unfastened his medical kit and treated the injury in the blink of an eye. His hands moved with unnatural practiced efficiency, and his field dressing was impeccable. Then he went a step further, prodding the cracked ankle with the tips of his fingers.
"Stand and try putting weight on it."
"Urgh. Wait... huh? It doesn't hurt nearly as much as I expected..."
"It is a temporary measure."
A few tight wraps of bandages could never produce such relief on their own.
"It will hold for a short while, but you must avoid reckless movements."
"I understand. Thank you."
I knew it. He's on an entirely different level.
Only then did Elcanto's gaze drift back toward the fallen magic puppets. They lay scattered across the slope, dead and motionless.
There really is a reason he has the Imperial Palace backing him...
The way Xiel had dismantled those machines left no room for doubt. He was an absurdly capable combatant—precisely the sort of hidden monster the royal family would plant. While not a shred of physical evidence supported the theory, Elcanto was already completely convinced that Xiel served as the Emperor's secret agent.
"Ah, and... thanks to you, I survived."
"I know."
"..."
He's so detestable when he talks like that.
Yet Xiel's next words melted Elcanto's irritation in an instant.
"And I am aware that the students are safe because of you, Professor."
"Ah... well, th-that..."
"Thank you."
Xiel meant every word. Had Elcanto hesitated for even a second, the freshmen would have sustained severe injuries.
They might very well have died.
Even by Xiel's exacting standards, the combat capabilities of those modified magic puppets were formidable. While their lack of higher cognition left plenty of weaknesses to exploit, such counters were available only to combatants of a certain caliber.
"Ahem! It was nothing. Simply doing my duty."
Elcanto meant that from the bottom of his heart as well. Putting his very life on the line for his students, leaping down with all his might even while knowing his ankle would shatter—in that single moment, he had genuinely wanted nothing more than to save those children. A warm swell of pride washed over him, reassuring him that a teacher's heart still beat within his chest...
"In the event that an incident like this occurs again... you must reduce your body weight."
"...Excuse me?"
"When your mass is excessive, substantially greater kinetic impact is transferred to your ankles."
It was delivered with dry, clinical detachment, devoid of any ill intent whatsoever.
Detestable! Truly detestable!
Why did this man's words make his blood boil so easily?
"Ahem! Hrmph! I will take care of my own weight, thank you very much! Regardless... phew. What on earth is happening here? I could have sworn I saw the first-years taking down magic puppets earlier."
"Did they?"
"Yes. Operating in two-man cells, handling them with clean efficiency. Just how did you drill them?"
"I trained them well."
"..."
He really is insufferable.
"Ahem. At any rate, once subdued like that, magic puppets aren't supposed to get back up... It seems the Department Head was right. They've slipped out of operational control."
Xiel turned his gaze back toward the three shattered puppets.
"What typically happens when a magic puppet slips out of control?"
"I don't know the intricate details, but they are supposed to shut down immediately. Multiple fail-safes are built into them."
"Then that implies an outside control has intervened."
"...That would be the logical conclusion, yes."
The Exchange Event was the grandest festival on the Sword School's calendar, and this year's edition was of unparalleled importance. Family heads from across the empire had converged in person, headlined by the great margraves of Kundel and Rihardt alongside all their vassal houses.
And an incident like this had occurred right under their noses?
We're completely doomed.
The potential fallout was so catastrophic that Elcanto felt sick just imagining it. Thankfully, the students were unharmed, but the mere fact that arcane constructs had gone rogue during an official competition was a massive crisis. It had grown far too grave to simply pin the blame on the Arcane School and sweep it under the rug.
Meanwhile, whether he grasped the gravity of the situation or not, Xiel crouched beside one of the puppets, closely inspecting its chassis.
"Instructor Xiel, for now, we should make our way up the mountain and assess the situation—"
"There is an odor and physical residue left on the puppet."
"An odor... and residue?"
What did a smell or a trace have to do with anything?
"The trail leads in that direction."
Ah! He must be using detection tools.
Elcanto nodded in understanding when he saw Xiel pull an implement from his coat. But what Xiel held was nothing more than an ordinary dagger.
Scrape. Scrape.
Xiel scraped a fine sample of residue from the hardened surface of the puppet's artificial skin, collecting evidence like a forensic investigator.
"Professor, please proceed to the summit first. I will verify the safety of the remaining students."
In truth, Xiel intended to track the culprit down. But tracking human targets was a tradecraft practiced by assassins, not academy lecturers. He saw no reason to broadcast his real objective.
Even so, the severity of the incident was undeniable.
Who would dare strike during the Exchange Event...?
With all the grand noble house heads gathered in one place, no less! If an outside faction had deliberately meddled with the puppets, it was an act of high treason. The danger might not be confined to students running an obstacle course.
Could they be targeting the lords themselves...?
Thinking about it, there was no better opportunity. The most powerful nobles in the empire were congregated together atop an isolated mountain peak, where swift evacuation was practically impossible. It was the ideal staging ground for terror.
Rebels plotting to overthrow the Empire!
Elcanto's thoughts spiraled wildly out of control, though given the circumstances, his paranoia was hardly unwarranted.
Amidst his colleague's mounting panic, Xiel detected another faint trace.
It was not mana.
A short distance away from the trail of mana, nestled deep within the tall grass, lay an entirely different signature.
A human presence.
No footprints were left in the brush, nor had any dropped personal belongings marked the spot. Even so, Xiel knew with absolute certainty due to the lingering scent.
I have smelled this before.
It was not an identical match. Rather, it felt as though a familiar scent had been layered beneath another, distinct odor.
Rocus.
The man he had observed during the joint faculty meeting—the Director of Edelbein Academy's Personnel Bureau. His distinct scent was interwoven with a foreign trace.
Taking the same path.
The trace of scent tracked closely alongside the residual mana line. The list of targets to track had just grown.
"Professor, take this."
Xiel handed over the sample he had collected.
"Please deliver this to the Department Head. It contains the external mana that interfered with this magic puppet."
Inside the small glass vial was a cloudy blue liquid along with scraped fragments of the construct's outer casing.
"When did you even manage to..."
At this point, questioning Xiel's methods felt pointless. The man had just dismantled three Great Knight-level combat machines as casually as taking an afternoon stroll.
"I will take my leave."
With a curt nod, Xiel vanished into the forest. He moved so swiftly that Elcanto was left standing alone, blinking in dazed bewilderment.
"Ow..."
A sudden, sharp throb in his ankle snapped Elcanto back to reality. Thanks to Xiel's treatment, it didn't hurt nearly as much as a fractured bone should have, but it was bound to ache fiercely once the adrenaline wore off.
"I have to keep moving. Phew... Dammit all."
Elcanto began his slow, agonizing ascent up the slope. As his breath grew short and ragged with every heavy step, he made a silent, desperate vow.
I am going to lose weight. I swear on my life, I will diet.
"Oh! They're coming up!"
"Who is it? Who reached the summit first?!"
Match 1 was drawing to its conclusion.
The gallery gathered at the summit erupted into cheers as the first competitors broke through the treeline. The group of students strode into view looking composed and relatively unbothered by the climb. Judging by their squad pennant...
"As expected, it's the fifth-years!"
Their official time was one hour and thirty-five minutes. Even taking into account that the final obstacle had failed to trigger due to unforeseen circumstances, it was an astonishing record.
"The fifth-years are taking the Exchange Event again this year..."
"Indeed. No one can match the accumulated experience of fifth-years."
It was an unwritten rule in the Sword School that any student selected consistently for the Exchange Event would claim overall victory at least once—specifically, during their fifth year. The gap between academic grades was considered insurmountable. While upsets occasionally occurred, they were usually limited to extraordinarily gifted fourth-year cohorts trading a victory or two with the seniors.
Everyone naturally assumed the hierarchy would hold true today. The next cohort to arrive would inevitably be the fourth-years...
"Look, over there!"
Right on cue, the fourth-years emerged, looking far more strained and battered than the fifth-years who had preceded them.
It was the natural order of things. Next would come the third-years, followed by the second-years, and trailing far behind at the very bottom would be the freshmen—
"Wait, look! Over by the alternate trail!"
Emerging at the finish line of the alternate route was a completely different squad.
"It's the first-years!"
"Good heavens! Look, the young lady of House Rihardt is with them...!"
"My Lord! It's Young Master Deleve Kundel!"
It was indeed the first-years.
An unbelievable result. Despite drawing Course D—the most grueling and perilous path of all—they had crossed the finish line within mere moments of the fourth-years.
Which meant...
"With the difficulty bonus applied, the first-years are tied with the fourth-years?!"
Factoring in the extra points awarded for navigating Course D, the freshmen had pulled off a historic tie for second place!
The noble parents of the first-year students erupted in deafening cheers. For that singular moment, high aristocratic titles and ancient rivalries were forgotten as parents embraced each other and jumped for joy. Bound together by pride in their children, they presented a heartwarming sight—one that the parents of the fourth-years watched with bitter, stony silence.
Among those caught in an awkward predicament was Amos Kundel, who had children representing the first, third, and fifth years simultaneously.
Does this mean Aken was outdone by Deleve?
Deleve's second elder brother, Aken Kundel, was a third-year.
Good grief...
He had primarily come to support his youngest son, so he naturally wanted to celebrate the boy's achievement. Yet with his other sons looking his way, he couldn't openly cheer without slighting the rest of his family.
"My Lord! Young Master Deleve's talent is truly staggering! He must have taken charge of the squad to author such an absurd triumph!"
Amos fought fiercely to maintain an air of stern patriarch dignity against his vassal's breathless praise.
"Ahem. What does placement matter? A healthy spirit of competition is far more vital."
"Ah, forgive my shallow perspective, My Lord!"
"Hmph. Think nothing of it."
Meanwhile, across the spectator pavilion...
"BWAHAHAHA! That's my daughter for you! Second place! Can you believe it?! HAHAHAHAHA!"
"My Lord! As expected of the jewel of House Rihardt! Staggering genius! She must have spearheaded the first-years to shatter all expectations like this!"
"Of course she did! Who else's daughter could she be?! BWAHAHAHA!"
"Boss, you're truly incredible!"
"Keep your voice down, you fool! All the lords of the realm are watching!"
"Ah, my apologies, Boss!"
Darren Rihardt laughed without a single shred of shame or restraint.
Look at that loud, uncouth brute, Amos thought, glaring from across the terrace.
Hmph. Stiff-necked fool putting on airs as usual, Darren sneered back in his head.
Even as their respective vassals cheered in wild excitement, the two great lords locked eyes and cursed each other silently. Yet amid the roar of victory washing over the summit, the students at the center of the commotion were completely sober.
The first-years were not celebrating at all.
"Squad Leader, I'll go make the report," Quantus offered, stepping forward.
"Wait, I should—"
"No, check on our team's injuries and condition first," Deleve interjected, stopping him. "Isn't that what a squad leader is supposed to do?"
"What a leader is supposed to do... Right, got it!"
Before Quantus could disperse the team, Department Head Berhal strode briskly toward them.
"Is everyone all right? Any injuries?"
While the fifth- and fourth-years looked relatively composed, the first-years appeared thoroughly rattled and utterly drained despite reaching the finish line.
"W-We're unhurt, sir. But Professor Elcanto..."
Berhal's expression turned instantly to stone.
The magic puppets targeted the first-years after all...
The memory of the earlier qualifying match flashed through his mind. On that occasion, Professor Dakeus had orchestrated an attempt on Deleve's life. Could this be history repeating itself?
"Where is Professor Elcanto?"
"He told us to run ahead while he held them off to protect us..."
If the magic puppets had slipped their operational constraints and reset their output thresholds, each unit would possess combat power capable of trading blows with a Great Knight. But Elcanto's skills had atrophied considerably over years of administrative comfort.
He could be in grave danger.
Though academy security detachments had descended the slopes, they had dispersed widely across the trails to conduct search sweeps. If Elcanto had engaged them alone, the worst-case scenario was...
"Department Head, over there...!"
Yurio suddenly pointed down toward the mountain trail.
Emerging from the path where the freshmen had just arrived was Elcanto, limping heavily as he dragged himself up the slope.
"...!"
Berhal rushed forward to meet him. To his relief, the professor showed no catastrophic outward wounds.
"Professor Elcanto."
"D-Department Head... *Gasp*... *Wheeze*..."
He looked on the verge of collapsing from respiratory failure. It wasn't from blood loss—it was sheer, unadulterated physical exhaustion brought on by carrying excessive body weight up a mountain.
"You made it back safely. Thank the heavens."
"*Pant*... *Wheeze*..."
"You suffered greatly. I heard you held the line to protect the students. You did exceptionally well."
For a fleeting second, Elcanto felt a powerful surge of temptation. Should he claim the glorious achievement all for himself?
Yet his conscience quickly won out.
No. That's not right.
He had indeed jumped down to save the students. But the one who had truly saved their lives—and his own—was someone else.
"It is thanks to Instructor Xiel."
"Instructor Xiel...?"
"I intercepted the constructs initially, but if not for Instructor Xiel, I would likely have..."
For a former Great Knight and a full professor of the Sword School to openly credit a part-time elective lecturer was a humiliating concession. But the reality was simple: If not for Instructor Xiel, I would be a dead man right now. His dulled, heavy body was simply no longer built to face three elite combat constructs at once.
Speaking the truth stung his pride, but admitting it brought an unexpected sense of relief.
Then Berhal spoke words Elcanto never anticipated.
"I heard the account from the students. The fact that you threw yourself into danger to save them remains indisputable, Professor Elcanto. You did well. Truly, well done."
"...Thank you, sir."
Berhal looked at his colleague with newfound respect. I thought he cared for nothing beyond self-preservation and political maneuvering... Yet a true educator's heart clearly remained within him. His evaluation of the man would have to be revised.
"Where is Instructor Xiel now?"
"He destroyed the three magic puppets and departed, stating he would verify the safety of the other students."
Elcanto reached inside his robes and retrieved the glass vial.
"He instructed me to deliver this to you. He claims it contains the residue of external mana that interfered with the puppets."
"..."
Taking the vial, Berhal cast a subtle glance over his shoulder toward the Arcane School faculty, who were still frantically trying to diagnose the malfunction.
"Understood. I will take charge of this evidence. In return, ensure not a single word of this reaches the Arcane School."
"Ah, understood, sir."
Elcanto had no idea what broader game was being played, but he nodded obediently.
To think he destroyed three magic puppets single-handedly... Berhal mused darkly.
And worse, the fact that three rogue constructs had specifically ambushed the first-year squad was now confirmed beyond doubt. It signaled that an outside faction with insidious intent had infiltrated the Exchange Event.
Could the target have been Deleve again?
Three rogue magic puppets.
Their precise convergence on the first-year squad.
The lingering trace of foreign mana clinging to the metal.
And the man who had effortlessly crushed that conspiracy's opening salvo...
Was none other than the Sword School's humble elective instructor, Xiel Steelheart.