Because You're Wrong
Tap, tap-tap.
Discharging mana through his fingertips, Xiel struck several points across Langle’s torso in a rapid blur. The sudden assault seized Langle’s breath in his throat.
What in the world…?
A sharp, needle-like pang radiated from the struck points. Yet the moment air flooded back into his lungs, an uncanny lightness washed over his entire body.
“How… how did you do this?”
“It is merely a temporary measure. It should ease your breathing at least until you return to the North.”
Dazed, Langle pressed a hand against his own chest. His pulse had settled into a steady rhythm, and the stagnant mana pathways within him flowed with unprecedented fluidity.
“It differs slightly from the method I used on Student Yulio Harmatan,” Xiel explained evenly. “I merely widened the obstructed channels where your mana was failing to circulate properly.”
It was a courteous explanation, yet an immediate question sprang to Langle’s mind.
Is such a thing even possible?
He had heard rumors of it, of course—that it could be done, but only by supreme masters of mana control or Esoteric Practitioners endowed with extraordinary gifts.
He is far more formidable than I imagined.
Now it made sense why the Great Lords of the West and South had personally sought him out, and why aristocrats were clambering for his favor. Even so, one mystery remained unsolved.
Then why on earth is he working as a mere elective instructor?
“You should see a physician and receive proper treatment as soon as possible,” Xiel said, interrupting his thoughts.
Langle knew that all too well. But he could not afford to. House Harmatan possessed no funds for such luxuries; keeping the impoverished territory from collapsing was already more than they could bear.
“I do not understand family very well,” Xiel said quietly.
Langle looked up.
“However, if your illness worsens, I believe my student will be deeply saddened.”
“……”
Xiel was merely stating a fact. Yulio had spoken of his father on several occasions, and from those words, Xiel had detected what could only be described as “affection”—an emotion carrying the exact dictionary definition he had read in books. He spoke simply what he thought and observed.
Yet those plain words struck with astonishing weight.
“……You are right. Now that my son is thriving, I ought to take better care of myself. Very well.”
Langle Harmattan made up his mind. Rather than passing down the mantle of the family only after becoming a bedridden cripple, he would hand it over while still possessing some semblance of health. That way, he could guide his son and spare him unnecessary trials. Above all, he genuinely wished to live long enough to watch him lead the family with pride.
“Even so, I would be grateful if you would be the one to deliver the sword to him, Instructor.”
“Understood,” Xiel replied with a nod.
“Please keep it safe until then.”
“I will.”
Xiel paused, then asked, “Are you returning to the North immediately?”
“I believe I must.”
“You should stay to watch Match 2. You will see Student Yulio Harmatan in action.”
It was an unexpected suggestion. Langle hesitated for a moment before nodding resolutely.
“I will do that.”
“Very well. Then—”
“Ah, Instructor Xiel.” Langle called out just as Xiel turned to leave. “If only to repay what I owe you, I promise I will seek treatment. I have been terribly shameless.”
Bringing the index and middle fingers of his right hand together, Langle pressed them against his left breast in the formal salute of the North.
“I give you my oath. One day, House Harmatan will stake everything it possesses to aid you. You may refuse if you wish, for by then, I may no longer be a student’s parent to you.”
Xiel regarded him in silence for a beat, then gave an easy nod. “Understood.” Before stepping away, he added one final remark: “Consume Muk Flower once a day. It assists in cardiac recovery.”
“A Muk Flower…?”
“It is a common bloom in the outskirts of the capital.”
Leaving those words behind, Xiel walked away.
Left alone, Langle felt an overwhelming warmth surge through his chest.
He has given me a reason to live.
Still unable to fully believe it, Langle ran a hand over his chest again. “Ha…”
His body truly felt sound. It seemed he ought to go see his son for a brief moment—and while he was at it, search for the flower Instructor Xiel had mentioned.
Match 1 concluded in resounding success. Fortunately, the incident behind the scenes had been successfully kept from the public eye.
“Whew.”
Berhal sank into his chair, finally letting out a long breath of relief. Match 2 was scheduled in three days. Now he could at least prepare for it with a clear head.
My head aches.
Nothing was actually resolved, of course. The only silver lining was that the worst-case scenario had been averted—and entirely thanks to Instructor Xiel!
While Professor Elcanto had neutralized the initial danger, Xiel had apprehended the two assailants who could lead them directly to the mastermind.
“As for a reward… an incentive bonus would be appropriate.”
Whether one was a full professor or a general education instructor, at the end of the day, everyone was working for a paycheck. While pocketing bribes on the side happened from time to time, doing so in this political climate was asking for ruin.
Should I offer Instructor Xiel something personal from my own pocket?
The more Berhal observed him, the more he liked the man. Xiel remained upright even before high nobles, never accepting a single bribe, and met effusive praise with the same unblinking calm. Even tenured professors tended to bow and scrape before aristocrats of high standing, but Xiel possessed none of that servility. He treated them simply as parents of his students.
The “tokens of gratitude” the nobles had attempted to press into Xiel’s hands after Match 1 easily totaled millions of sells.
It wasn't that he lacked desires… he genuinely seemed unbothered by wealth.
What could Berhal give him personally? Since the instructor had preserved the Sword School’s honor, perhaps a fine sword would do. A genuinely exceptional one.
Wait, does he even wield a sword?
From what Berhal recalled, Professor Elcanto had hired him after a brief interview without testing his martial skills, and Berhal had never once seen Xiel draw a blade in person.
I’ll have to ask him.
Naturally, this would be reflected favorably in his personnel evaluation as well. Perhaps, for the first time in the history of the Sword School…
Knock, knock.
Someone tapped on the office door. Ordinarily, Berhal would have called out for them to enter, but sensing the aura lingering behind the wood, he let out a heavy sigh.
Here comes trouble.
Rocus. The man he least wanted to see these days.
“Enter.”
The latch clicked open, and Rocus stepped into the room accompanied by Lena.
“It seems your injuries have healed somewhat, Miss Lena.”
“Thanks to your concern, Dean Berhal.”
Rocus smirked at Berhal greeting Lena before him. “I should have come alone. It would have been quite a sight to see your reaction then.”
“Cut the sarcasm, state your business, and get out, Rocus.”
“Very well.” An unlit cigar dangling from his lips, Rocus continued, “To put it simply, both of them confessed to who was pulling the strings. Siren is behind it.”
They actually got them to talk. Undoubtedly, “special methods” had been employed. It was the Personnel Bureau, after all—an administrative office in name, but effectively an armed intelligence division reporting directly to the Headmaster. Especially with a brute like Rocus at the helm.
“Then that settles it. Are you handing the case over to the Imperial Court?”
“No. Siren will simply deny it.”
A predictable outcome.
“Even if they deny it, what good will it do when there is clear evidence and living accomplices?”
“They can sever the tail with ease,” Rocus countered. “All they have to do is claim someone is framing them.”
Berhal pressed a palm to his temple. “So you’re saying there is no solution?”
Rocus let out a low chuckle. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have bothered coming here, Dean.”
That infuriating sneer. No matter how many times Berhal saw it, it grated on his nerves. Yet he had no choice but to swallow his irritation.
All because of that past sin.
Erasing his sneer, Rocus offered a proposal: “Let us wait for additional evidence, Dean.”
“Additional evidence?”
“Having failed once, Siren will undoubtedly move again.”
“Wouldn’t they be more inclined to keep their heads down?”
“They won’t imagine for a second that their operatives talked.” Rocus smiled—not with mock amusement this time, but with a chilling, predatory curve of his lips. “Those two will now act precisely as we direct them.”
“Don’t tell me…”
“Thanks to the destruction of a certain assassination syndicate, we’ve come across quite a few remarkable curiosities.”
A realization struck Berhal like a lightning bolt. A concoction brewed by an Esoteric Practitioner—the secret elixir used to condition and control assassins! Rumor had it that when the Black Sky syndicate was eradicated, portions of that contraband had leaked onto the black market.
“Is there a problem?”
“Even so, resorting to such methods…”
“Everything I do is for Edelbein Academy, Dean.” Rocus took a step forward. “They dragged the future talents of this empire into danger and threatened their lives. Can we afford to stand idly by and watch?”
“……”
Berhal could not bring himself to argue. The man was not wrong. If House Siren continued this path, they had to be stopped by any means necessary. Yet with the evidence currently in hand, pressuring Siren was virtually impossible. Logically, Rocus was right, but still…
“In any case, those operatives were already brainwashed tools working for Siren.”
Lacking an alternative, Berhal remained silent.
“Furthermore, I have hired a Crow.”
“A Crow?”
“I commissioned a first-rate Crow, so intelligence will be rolling in shortly.”
It appeared Rocus was thoroughly preparing his web. Suddenly, Rocus cocked an eyebrow. “Ah, by the way… do you truly know nothing about that mysterious man?”
The mysterious man—the one who had rescued Lena and subdued the two Siren infiltrators with effortless precision.
“Regrettably, I do not.”
“Hmm. You aren't hiding anything from me, are you?”
“What reason would I have to hide it?”
Staring straight into Berhal’s eyes, Rocus eventually shrugged. “Well, no matter. He appeared to be an extraordinary combatant. According to Lena, an exceptionally, exceptionally monstrous one.”
Berhal had heard the reports as well, enough to make him intensely curious. But he refrained from speaking rashly, as it was still unclear whether the man was backed by the Imperial Palace.
“If you happen to meet him later, pass along my gratitude,” Rocus said casually. “Thanks to him, my subordinate survived.”
Berhal furrowed his brows. “More importantly, Rocus… do you truly intend to use that elixir?”
Berhal glanced toward Lena. She remained perfectly quiet, standing with composed silence as though in total agreement with Rocus’s methods.
“I did not come to ask for your permission, Dean. Did you not hand this matter over to the Personnel Bureau?”
“Rocus, you…”
“I came merely to inform you. Officially, neither the Sword School nor you know anything about this.” Looking at the visibly unsettled Berhal, Rocus’s expression hardened into flint. “Because that is proper ‘decency.’”
Turning on his heel, Rocus tossed one last remark over his shoulder:
“Even if you failed to show yours.”
Click.
The door shut. A weary sigh slipped past Berhal’s lips.
“Haaah…”
Matters concerning children were truly the most agonizing of all.
The day after Match 1 concluded, the first-years gathered in the training hall for recovery drills.
“I thought he’d let us rest today. The other grades got the day off!”
“Only the fifth and fourth-years, you mean. The third and second-year seniors were dragged out to train the moment the match ended yesterday.”
“Because they lost to us?”
“Man, I just hope they don’t round us up to beat our asses later.”
Having achieved a miraculous tie for second place in Match 1, the first-years were buzzing with high spirits, bursting with confidence and giddy excitement. In stark contrast, chaos reigned among the second and third-years, who had finished fifth and fourth respectively.
“I heard the professors were furious, screaming about how on earth they could lose to freshmen.”
“Professor Marchen in charge of the third-years practically blew her top.”
“Is Professor Elcanto all right, though? He’s in charge of the second-years, but he got injured…”
“They say he’s supervising training despite his cast! We didn’t even get a chance to thank him properly for saving us.”
Amidst the clamorous chatter, Xiel finally stepped into the gymnasium.
Today, his sharp features seemed to radiate an even more dazzling presence—not merely because he was undeniably handsome, but because the first-years had tasted the overwhelming fruits of his grueling regimen during Match 1 yesterday!
If it weren’t for the instructor, we would’ve dead-last without question.
That result was completely insane…
Stamina, lightning-fast reflexes, and unyielding tenacity—he was the very man who had hammered all of it into fresh, green first-years!
Standing before them, Xiel Steelheart opened his mouth.
“You all did well yesterday.”
It was a rare compliment coming from his lips. The students leaned in, their eyes shining with anticipation, waiting for the praise that was sure to follow.
“Now, we prepare for Match 2.”
As expected, Xiel mercilessly shattered their expectations.
“Praise us more, Instructor!”
“Is there a need for anything beyond saying you did well?”
“Yes!”
Xiel paused to consider this. Hearts thumped in excitement across the hall as the students waited eagerly to hear what glowing words he would conjure. However—
“……”
Silence reigned. It stretched on and on, lingering for nearly a full minute.
Nothing comes to mind.
After agonizing over it, Xiel neatly changed the subject. “Now, we prepare for Match 2.”
Celia frantically raised her hand. “Instructor! What about our individual accomplishments…?”
“I did not see them.”
“Ah…”
He genuinely hadn’t seen anything. While the match was underway, he had been stationed at the base of the mountain, only ascending once the race was over. He had only heard reports of their deeds secondhand. Praising the final outcome was one thing, but as for the rest:
“I will not praise a process I did not witness.”
Seeing their crestfallen expressions, Xiel added, “However, I will praise you during Match 2 the day after tomorrow, for I will witness that process with my own eyes.”
Color instantly flooded back into the first-years’ faces. Match 2 was held inside the grand arena—the sprawling venue that hosted major events across the entire Edelbein Academy, encompassing not just the Sword School, but the Arcane and Arts Schools as well. There, teams from every academic year would clash simultaneously in a chaotic free-for-all melee.
What kind of training will it be?
Since it’s for a melee… formation drills?
Offensive drills?
Just then, their self-appointed leader, Quantus, raised his hand with supreme confidence.
“Instructor! As the leader, allow me to take a guess!”
“Go ahead.”
“Since we’re preparing for a chaotic melee, it has to be strength conditioning! Hahaha!”
Every other first-year shared the exact same thought: that guy needs brain conditioning.
“Incorrect, Student Quantus Hophel.”
“Wh-Why?!”
“Because you are wrong.”
As if rehearsed, the rest of the first-years nodded in unison.
What an idiot. Obviously it’s formation training.
If he wasn’t our leader, seriously…
Wait, is he going to be our leader in Match 2 as well? Please, no.
Right at that moment, Xiel spoke again.
“This is the training for Match 2.”
Shing.
Xiel retrieved a blunt practice sword from the rack.
“From this moment on, you will dodge my attacks.”
“Pardon?”
Glancing briefly up at the second-floor balcony where several professors were peering down, Xiel delivered an entirely unexpected declaration:
“It is evasion training.”