Field Training Already Underway (1)
Field training.
It was the Sword School's second major event of the academic year, following the Exchange Match. While it did not draw the same feverish public spectacle from the outside world, its weight on the students' academic standing was immense. What set it apart from the Exchange Match was that it wasn't exclusive to the martial arts department; every single school within Edelbein Academy participated, each tailoring the practical expedition to their own discipline.
The Arts School, for instance, selected cultural landmarks like grand museums in search of aesthetic inspiration, touring galleries and refining their craft through observational studies. The Sword School, on the other hand, carried out their field training deep within untamed forests and ancient ruins.
Their destination lay on the outskirts of the capital: a sprawling subterranean relic discovered roughly two centuries ago, often hailed as one of the Empire's great enigmas. Countless fortunes and legions of researchers had been poured into its excavation, yet to this day, a complete survey remained impossible. To make matters worse, bizarre magical beasts poured relentlessly from the dozens of entrances riddling the complex, leading the imperial authorities to initially classify the entire area as an extreme hazard.
"So at some point," Ziel murmured, his eyes sweeping across the briefing documents, "instead of simply sealing it off, the Empire decided to exploit it."
"Precisely, Instructor Ziel," Tyron replied with a tired nod.
"I have heard reports of these magical beasts. I was unaware the site was utilized for instructional training, however."
"Every knight order of any reputable size in the Empire conducts drills there. Truly, there is no better proving ground for students to taste authentic combat."
Magical beasts, demonic creatures, monsters—whatever names men gave them, they haunted various remote corners of the realm. Yet nowhere else did they manifest with such clockwork regularity as in the Koers Ruins. Neither the root cause of their endless emergence nor the full ecological framework of the subterranean labyrinth had ever been definitively unraveled, but the imperial court had chosen utilization over containment regardless. Academy field training was simply one facet of that pragmatism.
"Section 8 of the Koers Ruins, where our first-years will be stationed, is an area where only relatively docile beasts appear. They are the ideal prey for novices," Tyron explained, sliding a leather-bound folder across the desk. "This document contains the dossier of species with the highest encounter rates."
Ziel accepted the file and scrutinized the parchment. The cataloged beasts did not strike him as particularly formidable. During his years within the Organization, detailed anatomical and behavioral studies of such creatures had been mandatory curriculum; most of the data was already etched into his memory.
"Is there any likelihood of beasts from adjacent sectors crossing the perimeter?"
"Under normal circumstances, none. The Academy Guard is deployed en masse for the duration of the training, and the sponsoring high noble houses dispatch their own house knight detachments. Sector boundaries are maintained with absolute strictness."
"Understood. Regarding the schedule: is there any possibility of divergence from the designated three-day, two-night itinerary?"
"None at all. Barring a catastrophe, it is strictly three days and two nights. We strike the campsite on the final morning and march back to the academy."
A tactical field operation disguised as an academy excursion. For three days, the students would be forced to navigate the realities of wilderness survival and warfare.
"Day one is transit. Day two is allocated for beast subjugation and ruin exploration. The distribution of beasts inhabiting the exterior canopy versus the interior corridors is mapped here."
"Has the interior of the ruin been charted in its entirety?"
"Some sectors have, while others remain completely dark. There are also marked routes where student entry is strictly prohibited."
"Then interior traps are to be anticipated. Understood. What is the structural composition of the subterranean walls?"
"The... composition? Er..." Tyron blinked, thoroughly taken aback. "From what I recall from my own cadet years, it was merely artificial stone masonry."
"Dressed stone. Understood."
Ziel continued to dissect the terrain with unsettling precision, probing into structural load points, primary geological materials, and even average subterranean humidity and ambient temperature. To an infiltrator, such baseline parameters were instinctual prerequisites before setting foot into hostile territory; to Tyron, the interrogation seemed bafflingly eccentric.
"Which sector has been allocated to the Arcane School's first-years?"
"The sector directly adjacent to ours. Since they are first-years as well, they will be engaging the same classification of beasts." Tyron paused, glancing around the administrative office before lowering his voice to an anxious whisper. "It will likely prove quite difficult for us, Instructor. Magical beasts possess an inherent vulnerability to raw spellcraft."
"What will prove difficult?"
"Besting them, of course. Achieving higher evaluation marks than the Arcane School."
Every field training was paired with rigorous performance reviews. To ensure impartiality, neutral imperial adjudicators and external evaluators were assigned to score each school's efficiency.
"Ah. That is your assessment?"
"Well, naturally! To speak frankly... in this modern era, the sword simply cannot compete with magic."
"Then we need only defeat them using something other than the sword."
Tyron stared, his jaw going slack. "Pardon? With what?"
"There are countless methods to dismantle magic in this world."
Tyron shook his head inwardly at the tranquil, matter-of-fact reply. Easy for him to say. It's magic we're talking about!
At some point in imperial history, those who swung blades had begun to harbor an unspoken dread toward the arcane arts. Magic was an incomprehensible phenomenon—at least to those without the gift. With a single flick of a wrist, a sorcerer could conjure roaring torrents of flame or shatter the very bedrock beneath a vanguard's boots. What was worse, enchanted artifacts and lethal talismans could strike from angles no martial stance could parry. And what was the sword in comparison? Stubbornly, tragically honest. Steel did not breathe fire; a pommel could not discharge lightning. With the imperial court shifting royal patronage away from the knighthoods and pouring coffers into the Arcane School, an insidious defeatism had taken root throughout the Sword School.
"I have never once entertained the prospect of losing, Assistant Tyron."
"Ah..."
Ziel closed the leather folder with a soft, decisive snap, his tone flat and unburdened by ego.
"Furthermore... it is not as though steel is incapable of cutting them down." Ziel gave a slight, formal nod. "That concludes my review of the itinerary and regulations. Thank you for your assistance. I shall take my leave."
"Ah, y-yes. Take care, Instructor."
Tyron watched the lean, immaculate silhouette disappear through the doorway, his thoughts spiraling into bewildered reverence. Where in the world does that sheer confidence come from? Is it truly the royal family backing him from the shadows?
Once again, Tyron's overactive imagination strayed catastrophically off the mark.
Originally, Ziel's regular elective roster comprised exactly fifty students. Today, that number had doubled to one hundred.
Following the recent restructuring, Professor Elcanto had been elevated to oversee the second-year curriculum, leaving Ziel with temporary command over the entire first-year cohort for the duration of the field expedition. Consequently, the aristocratic students who had previously sat only through Elcanto's lectures were suddenly thrust under Ziel's supervision. Integrating fifty uninitiated noble scions into his established regimen threatened to be an administrative headache, yet an unexpected individual stepped forward to bridge the cultural divide.
"Hahaha! You all know who I am, right? Quantus Hophel! Captain of the Exchange Match vanguard!"
"Uh... y-yeah."
"This is your first time in Instructor Ziel's class, isn't it? Let me give you one absolute rule of survival! Never, under any circumstances, doubt the instructor's words! Whatever comes out of his mouth always turns out to be entirely, undeniably correct in the end!"
Quantus was a boy who frequently forgot which side of his chest his own heart resided on, but on this particular subject, his proclamation was flawless. Across the hall, Deleb and the other seasoned veterans of the Exchange Match watched the spectacle with amused serenity.
"Ann," Celia murmured, nudging her friend with an elbow. "Is Quantus actually proving useful for once?"
"Why not? He landed that spectacular tackle during the tournament, didn't he?"
"Well, yes, but... mm. I just hope he doesn't lose his mind and go rampaging during the field training."
Celia's apprehension was thoroughly justified, but for the present moment, the boy's loud, shameless bravado was smoothing over the newcomers' anxieties far better than any formal lecture could.
"And listen up! The instructor has a tactical countermeasure for literally every scenario known to man," Quantus bellowed, puffing out his massive chest. "So if catastrophe strikes, run straight to him!"
"Straight to Instructor Ziel?"
"Of course! Ah, but if the instructor isn't around, feel free to run to me instead! I'm the man who took down a fourth-year juggernaut, remember? You saw it with your own eyes, didn't you?"
"Y-Yeah... we saw..."
Though his self-aggrandizement was bordering on unbearable, his swagger was infectious.
"Hey, Deleb."
"What?"
Celia tilted her head toward the far corner of the gymnasium. "Do you have any idea what that is?"
In the shadowy recess of the hall sat a colossal mound, completely concealed beneath thick, heavy gray canvas. It had clearly been hauled inside under Ziel's explicit orders.
"Beats me," Deleb muttered, crossing his arms. "It was already sitting there when I arrived."
"Is it supplies for the expedition?"
They squinted at the shape, but without lifting the tarp, determining its contents was impossible. The only certainty was that the pile was the size of a small hill.
Rations? Emergency supplies? What could it possibly be?
Right on cue, the heavy double doors swung open.
"Cadet Quantus Hophel. Return to your formation."
Ziel's calm, measured voice cut through the clamor instantly.
So that's him... the legendary Instructor Ziel...
Good grief, he's remarkably handsome...
His gaze... it's so chillingly sharp...
The students who had never laid eyes on him before gasped in quiet awe, several noble daughters involuntarily clasping their hands against their collars. Ziel possessed an austere, lethal poise that commanded immediate deference.
"Instructor!" Quantus beamed, practically bouncing on his heels. "Naturally, I'll be serving as the overall commander for this event as well, right?"
"No."
"Ah..."
Crushed with total, ruthless economy! Smothered snickers echoed across the ranks of students. Ziel ignored the boy's deflated posture and addressed the assembly.
"There will be no singular commander for this operation. Because we are required to erect and sustain a large-scale field encampment, the cohort will be divided into tactical squads. Each squad will select its own leader."
"A squad leader! Even better!"
"However, I will not be appointing them. Each unit will conduct an internal deliberation to elect their leader."
"That's practically guaranteed in my favor then! Everyone bore witness to my glorious valor in the arena!"
"Cadet Quantus Hophel. Sit down. You are obstructing the line of sight for the cadets behind you."
"Sir! Yes, sir!"
Whether corrected or praised, Quantus remained radiantly oblivious, thoroughly convinced of his impending coronation. With a crisp motion, Ziel pinned a dense roster sheet to the central tactics board. One hundred first-years. All one hundred deployed to the wilderness.
"The cohort is hereby partitioned into five operational squads."
Twenty cadets per unit. It was an organizational structure Ziel had calculated meticulously after reviewing the detailed dossiers Elcanto had surrendered to him.
"Inspect the roster and assemble with your designated squads immediately."
The rationale behind the division was immediately apparent to the sharper minds in the room: equilibrium of force. The undisputed aces of the first-year class—Deleb, Celia, Yurio—had been deliberately isolated into separate units to ensure no single squad held an unfair monopoly on vanguard combat prowess.
"Oh, we're in the same group!"
"Damn it, I wanted to be in Celia's squad!"
"Deleb is in Squad 1? Man, whoever got placed there has an easy ride."
"Wait, I heard rumors... is that commoner Yurio really that terrifying? Didn't he place dead last during the entrance exams?"
The murmurs surged and ebbed as the students rapidly sorted themselves into five distinct clusters across the polished floorboards.
"You have all assembled," Ziel stated, his dark eyes scanning the five formations. "Commit every face in your respective squads to memory. Once we deploy into the field, you will remain tethered to one another for three unbroken days."
Because half the students had never shared an instructional hall until today, several squads exchanged awkward, hesitant glances.
"Ann! We're together again!" Quantus boomed cheerfully.
"...Right."
"Fear not! As your leader, I shall guide us to glory once more! Wait, squad leader, I mean!"
"...Right."
Ann merely offered a dry, deadpan nod, having long since developed absolute immunity to his antics.
"Instructor! Do we vote on our squad leaders right now?"
"Negative, Cadet Quantus Hophel. Squad leaders will be ratified during our final preparatory session on the eve of departure. Prior to that, there is an essential prerequisite that must be fulfilled."
Ziel had not treated this impending expedition lightly. Rather than trusting the academy's standard logistical depot, he had slipped into the capital's mercantile districts himself to personally negotiate, inspect, and purchase specialized field gear. Dropping coddled aristocrats into a subterranean monster habitat without rigorous conditioning was an invitation to slaughter. His curriculum began today.
"Direct your attention to the corner of the hall."
Ziel strode toward the massive canvas tarp that had piqued Celia's curiosity. With a single, fluid sweep of his arm, he threw the fabric aside.
Underneath lay an immense, meticulously sorted mountain of military-grade expedition gear—one hundred individual kits stacked in towering, disciplined tiers.
"You will now retrieve one standardized set of equipment per person. Every implement before you will be utilized during the field practical."
A collective shudder of bewilderment rippled through the ranks.
All of that? For a two-night trip?
To many of these young nobles, the upcoming training had sounded like little more than a slightly rustic, glamorous camping holiday under imperial supervision. The sight before them shattered that illusion instantly.
"Heavy climbing cord... and what is that iron thing? A grappling hook?"
"Are those hunting bows and field quivers...?"
"What on earth is that metal cylinder? I don't even know what it's supposed to do!"
"Why is that rucksack so gargantuan...?"
"I-Is that... an all-weather tactical shelter tent?"
Most of the assembled youths were high-born aristocrats who had never had to carry their own cloaks, let alone pack an entrenching tool. Even the commoner students looked utterly lost; unless one had served time in a cutthroat mercenary band, such hardware was entirely alien.
"Once you have accounted for every item on your requisition manifest, you will pack them into your field rucksack, secure your loadout, and reform your squads. That is all."
To Ziel, every piece of iron, hemp, and oilcloth in that pile was second nature. He had lived out of such packs for years, often under conditions far more lethal than anything the Koers Ruins could muster.
"Are there any inquiries?"
"..."
Absolute, paralyzed silence answered him. Meticulous preparation was the absolute baseline of survival for an assassin. For pampered academy students, it was an alien shock to the system.
"The first squad to correctly pack their full equipment kits and form ranks," Ziel added calmly, "will be awarded a Praise Card."
A sudden, sharp stir swept the hall.
The eyes of the fifty students from Ziel's original class ignited with predatory, feverish intensity. The fifty newcomers blinked in confusion, bewildered by the sheer manic energy radiating from their peers.
"Trust me, that card is a miracle from the gods," Deleb hissed to the bewildered newcomers in his squad, his posture dropping into a sprinter's stance. "Move your asses! Now!"
"R-Really? Wait, okay—!"
One by one, the squads surged forward. In the blink of an eye, one hundred students stampeded toward the supply mountain in a chaotic, thundering wave.
Standing back with his arms resting lightly behind him, Ziel observed the pandemonium with cold, analytical detachment.
Now, let us evaluate their leadership aptitudes.
How would they identify and secure the necessary implements? How would they distribute weight and pack their rucksacks efficiently? In the midst of this chaotic crush of one hundred competing bodies, who possessed the spatial awareness to establish order? And when an uncoordinated classmate stumbled or fell behind, who possessed the instinct to reach out and pull them up?
Every single gesture, failure, and spark of initiative would be weighed and measured beneath Ziel's merciless scrutiny.
In truth... the field practical had already begun.