Creating Ripples (1)
It was the day of preparation for the chaotic melee.
While the first-years tumbled across the training hall, drenched in sweat, Xiel quietly counted the heads gathered above.
Twenty in total.
There were an unusual number of spectators today. They were not faculty members like Professor Marchen of the third-years or Professor Elkanto of the second-years, but parents—specifically, the guardians of the first-year students competing in the upcoming Exchange Event. Curiously, they stood divided into two distinct camps as they watched the drills.
"My Lord, no matter how many times I look, the young lady's skills have improved by leaps and bounds! It cannot even be compared to the sword dance she displayed at last year's ball!"
"Mm-hmm. My little girl has indeed come a long way recently. Haha!"
That was the faction of House Rihardt.
On the opposite side, the retainers of House Kundel were singing their own praises.
"As expected, Young Master Deleve commands the eye. He truly takes after the Kundel bloodline with the greatest concentration of talent!"
"Hmph. Is that so? He still has a long way to go before catching up to his elder brothers... but yes, that much is passable."
That was Amos Kundel and his entourage.
Naturally, Xiel paid them no heed whatsoever.
"Cadet Deleve Kundel. In a melee, the attack coming from the front is the easiest to miss."
"Pardon? Isn't it the flanks and the rear, Instructor?"
"Preoccupying yourself with those sides is precisely why you overlook what comes straight at you. Did you not just do that a moment ago?"
Whether the parents were watching or not, Xiel critiqued him as ruthlessly as ever. And then—
"Gah!"
"Wh-what does that instructor think he's doing?!"
In the middle of demonstrating the point, Xiel swept Deleve's legs out from under him, sending the boy crashing flat onto the stone floor.
"Quiet. Wait," Amos barked, raising a hand.
"B-but, My Lord! That man just struck the young master—"
"He is conducting instruction. Do you intend to interrupt? Look. Deleve is already getting back on his feet."
Just as Amos said, Deleve sprang up immediately, adjusting his stance without a whisper of complaint.
He isn't doing that just because I'm watching, Amos noted inwardly. The natural fluidity with which the boy reset himself showed this was far from the first time. It meant Deleve was already adhering completely to Xiel's methods. A man like that is truly tempting.
He was unmistakably different from the other professors. Even the department head walked on eggshells in Amos's presence. While deference was natural before the head of a Great House like Kundel, some of the academy's instructors were servile to the point of disgust. But Xiel was different. He was poised and utterly devoid of pretense, lacking even the customary flattering platitudes. Most decisive of all was the way he handled his son.
"Get up, Cadet Deleve Kundel. We have one day left."
Relentless. Even the private tutors brought to the estate before the boys enrolled had never dared to be so unyielding. Yet he was not merely strict; his instruction was concise, rational, and extraordinarily clear.
"Thrusting is about efficiency," Xiel continued flatly. "When human muscles extend rather than swing, they require far more time to reset to their original position. Bear that in mind. Your thrusts must be precise. That last attempt was far too easy to parry."
Amos smacked his lips with unconcealed appetite. One could never amass too much talent. A man like this was a hundred times more valuable than the sycophants flattering him at his side. Perhaps speaking to His Majesty to grant him a fief might be an effective angle.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the balcony, Darren Rihardt was watching with equal intensity as Xiel shifted his attention to Celia.
So that is why my daughter is so fixated on him.
"Cadet Celia Rihardt."
"Instructor, how many times must I tell you to drop the family name and just call me Celia?"
"I refuse."
"Ugh!"
Watching the exchange unfold, Darren could certainly understand her obsession. She had been that way since childhood. She only ever fixates on what she cannot control. Celia was the kind of child who was satisfied only when having her way. When faced with someone who refused to bend, she would obsess over them until she broke them to her will—and the moment they became compliant, she would instantly lose interest.
She may be my daughter, but her temperament is truly peculiar, Darren mused with a wry smile. In that regard, this instructor named Xiel was someone Celia could never hope to control. The man had looked the head of House Rihardt in the eye and spoken his mind without batting an eyelash. Give it up, daughter. He is not a talent meant to linger as your personal escort knight.
If anything, Darren coveted him far more. Rather than wasting him as a bodyguard, he wanted to bring the man into the family to oversee vital affairs. Even placing him in the knight order would be infinitely more useful than having him trail after Celia.
Unbeknownst to him, a simple elective instructor was being actively courted by the patriarchs of two Great Houses.
"In a melee, you must complement each other's blind spots. From this moment, divide into two groups."
Regardless of who was coveting him, Xiel had only one thought in his head: Match 2 of the Exchange Event. Following their success in Match 1, achieving a strong result in the second match was well within reach. And with that came a tangible incentive. If I secure additional points on the personnel evaluation... I can become a full professor much sooner.
The personnel evaluation scores awarded based on the Exchange Event results were substantial. Accumulating those points would not only guarantee contract renewal but also expedite an official faculty appointment. His cover identity, Xiel Steelheart—turning that cover into an unshakeable, legitimate standing and settling peacefully into this new life was his ultimate objective.
Exploiting the dynamic between the two alliances will be essential, he calculated. To that end, Xiel had already finalized his tactical approach. Having previously infiltrated the upper-year facilities, he had already 'collected' the operational plans of every grade.
Only after confirming that the parents had departed from the upper balcony did Xiel address the students.
"Listen closely. The moment the match begins, we move directly toward the second- and third-years."
Question marks blossomed across the exhausted faces of the cadets. Only Quantus nodded vigorously.
"As expected of you, Instructor!"
Xiel tilted his head slightly. "I have not yet explained the plan."
"Well, it's obviously a strategy worthy of Instructor Xiel! We're charging in to smash them head-on, aren't we?"
"No, Cadet Quantus Hophel."
"Ah."
"That is a strategy worthy of you, Cadet Quantus Hophel."
Snickers and muffled laughter erupted around the hall.
"It does not mean we will avoid combat entirely," Xiel continued, "but we will not engage at the outset."
Yulio raised his hand tentatively. "Instructor, do you mean we should dive between the second- and third-years to instigate an infight between them?"
"That is half correct, Cadet Yulio Harmatan. We are instigating a battle, but not between the second- and third-years."
"Then...?"
"We will induce a clash between the two grand alliances."
The fifth-fourth alliance, and the third-second alliance. Those were the two primary factions.
Reviewing the intelligence he had gathered, along with past tournament records and match logs, Xiel came to a straightforward conclusion.
"Until now, the first-years have been 'prey.'" He used the phrasing he had encountered in a textbook. "And exceptionally easy prey, at that."
Scoring was determined by overall ranking, the number of surviving members, and the count of opponents eliminated. Naturally, the first-years were the most appetizing target on the field. "The second- and third-years will attempt to eliminate us first, and the fourth- and fifth-years will charge in to intercept them."
Provoking an immediate, chaotic clash between the opposing fronts was precisely Xiel's aim. The third-years in particular would be the most aggressive. They have the most ground to make up in terms of points. After their unexpected fall to fourth place in Match 1, their eyes would be burning with desperation. By Xiel's calculations, the first-years were more than capable of evading an offensive from the third-years. Standing their ground to trade blows was an issue for later; in the meantime, they would drag the fourth- and fifth-years into the fray, triggering a total melee between the upper classes.
"While they tear into each other, we will preserve our combat power as much as possible and eliminate isolated targets one by one. Keep this in mind: the drills we practiced today exist entirely for that moment."
The core focus of today's training had been asymmetric group warfare. Almost the entire class had swarmed Xiel in coordinated attempts to subdue him. Naturally, they had failed to take him down. But the fourth- and fifth-years were an entirely different matter—they were far weaker than Xiel.
Steadily, one by one. That was the first-years' path forward. While taking on an upperclassman in a two-on-one or three-on-one skirmish might be reckless, swarming them five-to-one or ten-to-one could bring down even the most formidable fourth- and fifth-year elites.
His tactical sense really is on another level.
As expected of Instructor Xiel!
Doubt no longer crossed the students' minds; they threw their full conviction behind his strategy. The advice past seniors had handed down to first-years always boiled down to huddling together to endure, or attaching themselves to an upperclassman faction to scrounge minimum survival points. That was simply the accepted limit of a first-year. Yet Xiel offered unconventional tactics, backed by unprecedented results.
The greatest first-year class in history—without even realizing it, they were steadily transforming into precisely that.
"That is all. Today's training concludes."
Only one day remained until the match. Preparations were complete. The hour of battle was at hand.
Before leaving, Xiel did not forget a word of encouragement.
"Ah. Cadet Quantus Hophel."
"Yes, Instructor!"
"Lead them well as their squad leader."
"Understood, sir!"
The mere mention of his leadership revived Quantus instantly, his chest swelling with pride.
He really is a simple one.
He isn't going to stay our leader forever, is he...?
Naturally, Xiel had praised him without any such secondary intentions.
The day of Match 2 arrived.
Spectators packed Rickbein Ground, the largest athletic arena within Edelbein Academy. The grand venue was one reason today's match held such weight; seated in the stands were not only students and parents, but independent nobles, prominent public figures, and scouts from every prominent knight order across the empire. It was no exaggeration to say the eyes of the entire realm were focused on these rising prodigies.
Even the fifth-year veterans were visibly taut with tension.
Moreover—
"The perimeter is secured. You may take your seat, Your Highness."
"Very good. Thank you, Sir Lelio."
Today, the VIP box hosted not only the Imperial Knights, but a direct heir of the imperial bloodline. Dietrich Valdrain—the Second Prince of the Empire, who had recently secured great merit and earned the Emperor's deep favor. By obtaining Velberg's Wing, he had provided the key ingredient to stabilize the critically ill Empress. With the Empress surviving the crisis, the Emperor's delight had known no bounds, allowing Dietrich to rapidly close the gap with the First Prince in the race for succession.
His presence here today was a direct consequence of that newfound standing. Appearing before the public at an official gathering was a privilege granted only to those who held absolute imperial trust.
Strictly speaking, an academy sports match hardly warranted a royal visit. However, word had reached him that an unprecedented number of house patriarchs would be in attendance. Thus, he had arrived representing the imperial family as a prince of the realm.
"Your Highness, many eyes are turned in this direction. Would you care to wave to the crowd?"
Following Lelio's suggestion, Prince Dietrich raised a hand with a practiced, radiant smile. While the expression was cultivated, his mood was genuinely elevated. It was an opportunity he had seized with his own hands. For a second son who had been ruthlessly sidelined by his elder brother, the throne was finally within reach.
I owe a debt of gratitude to that man, Dietrich reflected.
He had lost the initial bidding for Velberg's Wing to a bizarre individual in the black market. Yet thanks to the lead that very man had provided, he had been able to track down the underworld merchant Derza and acquire the wing after all. Though it had cost an exorbitant sum, the returns had vastly outweighed the gold.
It would be splendid if our paths crossed again.
Refusing to hand over the wing on the spot had been audacious, but Dietrich had still reaped immense benefits from the encounter. He understood the bitter grievances of a second prince all too well, which made him keep a meticulous ledger of favors and grudges—and favors, in particular, he never forgot. Just as he cherished men like Sir Lelio, who had followed him faithfully from the very beginning.
"How is your injury?" Dietrich inquired softly.
"It has healed considerably. Though with all due respect, Your Highness, I feel ashamed every time you bring it up."
"Consider it a wound of honor. It was thanks to that night that Mother survived her crisis. Ah, that reminds me... did you not say the companion with that man was a 'Crow'?"
"Indeed, Your Highness. Give the command, and I shall apprehend them immediately."
"Sir Lelio, you are far too belligerent," Dietrich chided gently. "Hear me out. When time permits, I wish to arrange a meeting with that man."
Lelio scratched his cheek, looking somewhat abashed. "Ah... is that so? For what purpose, if I may ask...?"
"To express my gratitude properly."
And beyond that, Dietrich intended to recruit him if possible. I have earned merit this time, but it is not yet enough. He remained behind his elder brother in overall influence; talent was something he could never have in excess. The overwhelming martial prowess that had effortlessly dispatched Lelio—his most trusted blade—was an asset Dietrich coveted dearly.
"Understood. I shall have Sir Eton investigate the matter discreetly."
"Good."
Down below, the participating students marched into the arena, drawing a thunderous roar of cheers from the stands.
"This should be entertaining," Dietrich remarked.
In this Exchange Event, Xiel was a figure sought after by an extraordinary number of powerful patrons. And the climax of the festival, Match 2, was finally about to begin.
"Sir Lelio."
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"I hear the outcome is always the same: the fifth-years take victory, and the first-years finish in last place." As the royal presenter scheduled to take the podium for the awards ceremony, Dietrich offered his prediction. "At their age, experience dictates nearly everything. I doubt the outcome will differ drastically today."
"You are correct, Your Highness. I am of the same mind."
"Indeed."
Even so, Dietrich could not help but linger his gaze on the first-years, who were roughly his own age. There was a faint tinge of envy in his chest. Surrounded day in and day out by escort knights and political schemes, he had never known the camaraderie of school life. Yet he knew full well that such a path was entirely alien to his destiny. No imperial prince had ever matriculated into an academy, nor would one ever do so.
I suppose I should root for them in earnest.
Though an official duty, attending the games felt like a brief respite. The first-years would likely be knocked out early... but he resolved to cheer for them silently from the royal box.
Or so he thought, until the match began, and an astonishing spectacle unfolded before his very eyes.