The Practicum Has Already Begun (3)

Having that man gone felt like finally pulling a rotten tooth.

Berhal smirked at the official announcement confirming the Dean of Academic Affairs had been dismissed. It was hardly a surprise. The Arcane School was always quick to sever loose ends to protect itself.

I imagine their faculty lounge is in absolute shambles right now.

He didn't need to see it in person to know. The mages were undoubtedly scrambling, wracking their brains for any pretext to drag the Sword School into the mud alongside them. That was simply how their kind operated. If only they channeled those brilliant minds into the advancement of magic rather than petty politics, the Empire would have leaped forward by centuries.

Still, for the first time in months, Berhal felt genuinely pleased.

"Hmm."

Yet a shadow of concern lingered. By sheer misfortune, the field practicum was scheduled to begin this very weekend—and the Sword School and Arcane School shared the exact same proving grounds. There was no telling what underhanded tactics the mages might pull, but they certainly wouldn't take their recent humiliation lying down. Especially not with Xiel, the man at the absolute center of the scandal, present on site.

Judging by the territory assignments... the Arcane School's first-years might clash directly with ours.

The Arcane School's first-year camp was situated immediately adjacent to the Sword School's sector. True to form, the young mages would flaunt their flashy spells to erect pristine encampments and clear out nearby beasts with effortless spectacles. In an era where society swooned over a novice mage hurling a single flame orb far more than a master displaying transcendent bladecraft, Berhal feared his students might lose their nerve.

Then again... they have Teacher Xiel.

Berhal placed his full faith in the man. At this point, running the Sword School without factoring in Xiel Steelheart had become an impossibility. He had just been wondering how the first-year preparations were progressing when—

Knock, knock.

Right on cue, the door opened.

It was his teaching assistant.

"Ah, come in. How are things looking?"

"Good afternoon, Department Head. Here are the interim training reports. Five in total, submitted by the supervising professors of each year and Teacher Xiel."

"Good work. You may go."

"Yes, sir."

Berhal leafed through the stack, starting from the fifth-year report and working his way down. Nothing stood out. It was a parade of standard, perfunctory paperwork filled with the usual polite bureaucratic phrasing.

"Hmm."

Professor Elcanto seemed to be attempting something new with the second-years, though Berhal doubted its practical efficacy.

"Why on earth is he making them scale cliffs?"

There were ancient ruins scattered near the campsite, but hardly any sheer precipices. Was the man trying to build grip strength? Shaking his head, Berhal reached for the next file.

"Wait."

He tilted his head in confusion.

What is this? Did someone submit duplicates?

After setting aside Elcanto's submission, the remaining stack was monstrously thick. At a glance, it looked denser than the reports from the second through fifth years combined. But his assumption proved entirely wrong.

"Good grief..."

Every single page beneath Elcanto's belonged to the first-year class. Xiel had submitted an absurd, terrifying volume of documentation.

"Just what did he write in here...?"

Rustle.

As Berhal turned past the cover and began reading, his expression slackened in sheer astonishment. This was no inflated padding meant to fill space. It contained exhaustive training methodologies, individualized progress metrics, meticulous rationales for every exercise, and detailed inventories of required field equipment.

"He went this far...?"

His preparation was thorough to a fault. Looking purely at the gear listed, one would think he was outfitting an elite military detachment embarking on an extended campaign behind enemy lines. There were even contraptions on the list that Berhal, a former Imperial Knight Commander, had never seen before. The training regimen was equally shocking.

"Wilderness survival... fire building...?"

Was the man training seasoned frontline soldiers? While every other professor focused strictly on magical beast suppression drills, Xiel was having the freshmen practice basic survival crafts. Of course, it wasn't invalid. Pitching a secure camp and maintaining operational efficiency contributed to the practical evaluation score. But that was typically assessed on a qualitative curve, whereas the lion's share of concrete marks came from slaying beasts.

"I can't quite grasp his reasoning."

Turning the page, however, the answer presented itself in a single, unvarnished declaration.

A blunt, assertive sentence without a shred of the timid hedges—such as "potential improvements" or "anticipated progress"—customary in academic reports.

"Reinforcing teamwork, is it...?"

Berhal stroked his chin, still somewhat skeptical. Sparking kindling, pitching canvas, cooking field rations, scrubbing pots. How did any of that translate to confronting bloodthirsty beasts?

"Mmh."

A flicker of doubt remained. Whether these exercises would yield actual results would only be proven once they set foot in the field—

"Oh."

There was, after all, a section dedicated to magical beast combat. Yet only a single page remained in the folder. He flipped it over, only to find another brief note.

"An addendum?"

Right on cue—

Knock, knock!

The teaching assistant burst back inside, flushed and breathless.

"Department Head! My deepest apologies, sir! I accidentally left out one volume—"

"..."

Berhal stared blankly as he received the fresh bundle. It was significantly thicker than the report he had just spent twenty minutes combing through.

"Ha..."

The addendum. It was an absolute brick of paper, its heft pressing heavily into his palms.

"You may dismiss yourself..."

Once the assistant closed the door, a sudden realization struck Berhal like cold water.

He's running them through all of this right now?

On top of the survival drills, the first-years were being subjected to every grueling exercise contained within this intimidating compendium?

Are those children even alive?

Berhal sprang to his feet and dashed out of the office.

The first-years who had never taken Xiel's elective courses finally understood.

"So this... this is why they performed like monsters at the Exchange Event..."

"I'm dying... Someone kill me..."

"This is insane... How is anyone surviving this...?"

And the first-years who had taken his classes all semester also reached an enlightenment of their own.

"...Everything we did before was child's play."

"Holy crap... this is way worse than the first day of class..."

Enlightenment bloomed across the hall. The Sword School gymnasium had devolved into a living purgatory soaked in sweat, blood, and bitter tears.

"Break is over," Xiel announced, his voice devoid of any inflection. "Everyone, on your feet."

"T-Teacher... please, have mercy! Save us!"

"You are not dead. Why are you asking to be saved?"

Logic bounced off Xiel Steelheart like water off polished steel. At first, the students had enjoyed themselves. Learning how to pitch sturdy tents and kindle campfires with flint had carried the exciting novelty of an adventure. They had marveled at how their teacher seemed to know every trick under the sun, and crawling into their sleeping bags inside shelters they had built with their own hands had almost felt like an idyllic school excursion.

Cooking their own meals over open flames had filled them with quiet pride. Everything had been fresh, practical, and far more engaging than any stuffy theory lecture.

Yes, it had been wonderful—right up until the beast combat drills began.

"Magical beasts view collapsed, exhausted prey as an easy meal."

Whoosh!

Xiel's strike tore through the air. A dagger, gleaming cold and deadly as the talons of a predator, stopped a hair's breadth from a pale nose.

Lydia Rohas, leader of Squad 4, nearly collapsed to the floorboards right then and there.

"Eep!"

The blade hovered barely a centimeter from her eyes. Lydia's eyelids twitched uncontrollably. Her squadmates were already on the verge of physical collapse from being driven past their absolute limits. Only Yurio and Karen were managing to stay upright, while Lydia clung to consciousness out of stubborn pride. If she hadn't been appointed squad leader, she would have slumped onto the floor half an hour ago.

How can the intensity be this high...?

Professor Elcanto had run strict drills, but Teacher Xiel occupied an entirely different realm. It wasn't merely physically exhausting; the sheer psychological terror of his simulations made it feel as though they were locked in mortal combat with a real killer.

Wait... does this mean the others have been enduring this the entire semester...?

A profound, terrified respect welled in her chest. For the first time, she truly understood how her peers had produced those absurd, miraculous upsets during the Exchange Event.

Still, pushing teenagers to the brink of death inevitably bred friction. While Lydia swallowed her complaints, the newly assigned freshmen who had transferred into the cohort were boiling over with resentment.

"Teacher!"

"Speak, Student Aren Boldrik."

"We're going to learn all of this on-site during the practicum anyway! Is there any reason to push us this hard beforehand?!"

The gymnasium split instantly into two distinct camps. One side smirked in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exasperated pity, while the other nodded vigorously in desperate agreement.

Xiel's response was simple.

Swish.

He vanished from sight in the span of a single blink.

"Gah?!"

Before Aren could finish gasping, Xiel materialized directly in front of him, the tip of his training dagger resting dead center against the boy's sternum.

"The predatory beast 'Licker,' which this scenario simulated, moves at this speed or faster. Would you be able to react?"

"...Th-That's..."

"Learning on-site is too late. Whether it is an academic practicum or actual combat, preparation must be completed before you set foot on the battlefield."

"B-But you told us the academy guarantees no one will die out there!"

"Will you approach every battle in your future assuming someone will ensure you do not die?"

"..."

Of course not. With that single, icy retort, Aren's fragile argument shattered into dust. He could offer no reply.

As expected of Teacher.

Those fools will learn soon enough.

Seeing Aren thoroughly subdued, the other transferred students slowly began to grasp the weight of Xiel's words. The man wasn't being cruel; he was stating immutable facts of survival. And that was precisely why the original first-years had crushed their upperclassmen at the tournament.

Without missing a beat, Xiel resumed the drill.

"Next scenario: an ambush from high ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠canopy foliage by an arboreal predator, the 'Keros.'"

Moving with chilling precision, Xiel became the beast itself, flawlessly executing its lunges, feints, and drops without a second of pause. And this was after he had already put Squads 1 through 3 through the exact same meat grinder. Watching from the sidelines had been terrifying enough; experiencing it firsthand was pure torture.

"H-Hey... how does Teacher even know how these beasts attack in the first place?"

"Don't talk to me... I'm about to pass out..."

"Look at your stamina. I'm not even tired."

"Your hands are shaking like leaves, Celia."

"Quiet!"

Deleb, pondering the question amid his heavy panting, offered an answer.

"Isn't it obvious? He's probably hunted dozens of them."

"How often does anyone run into wild beasts these days?"

In truth, encountering magical beasts near the capital was an extreme rarity. Despite their menacing name, most were little more than oversized, aggressive predators. Their numbers had dwindled drastically over the decades, and reports of citizens being dragged away into the wild were practically ancient history.

"Who knows? If it's Teacher Xiel, he might have spent years fighting them in the frontiers."

"Yeah... If it's him, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I wouldn't doubt it."

The students murmured in consensus. With Teacher Xiel, anything seemed plausible. In the middle of their quiet whispers, Anne chimed in with a sudden thought.

"Still, we should consider ourselves lucky."

"Lucky? What's lucky about this?"

"Well, when he said we were doing beast response training, I honestly thought he was going to drag live beasts into the gymnasium."

"...!"

A collective shudder ran down their spines. Knowing Xiel, that was entirely within the realm of possibility. The man had already spent an entire hour hurling high-speed dummy attacks at them under the guise of 'reflex conditioning.'

"Wait," Celia whispered, her brow furrowing. "If you think about it... isn't having him perfectly mimic a beast's attacks way scarier than facing an actual monster?"

A fresh wave of goosebumps broke out across the squad. Every strike Xiel threw matched the diagrams in the self-defense manuals he had personally illustrated down to the millimeter. But one thing was certain: when they encountered real beasts during the practicum, they wouldn't panic nearly as much. In fact, compared to evading their teacher's terrifying dagger, the actual creatures might feel almost tame.

"Squad 4, drill concluded."

"Auuugh..."

"It's over... It's finally over..."

The combat simulation was finished, but the true torment was only beginning: individualized feedback.

"Your footwork was delayed during the third evasion. Resume your stance."

"Y-Yes, sir!"

"Your left heel is angled too far inward. The gymnasium floor is smooth, but the terrain we are entering is strewn with roots and loose silt. If you plant vertically like that, your ankle will twist. Brace horizontally."

His corrections were frighteningly precise.

"Next. Student Lydia Rohas."

"Y-Yes, Teacher!"

"Your initiative in stepping forward to shield your squadmates was commendable. However, your physical output was deficient."

"My output...?"

"Muscular strength. Had that strike landed with full kinetic force, your guard would have collapsed, sending you crashing into the students behind you."

"...!"

Lydia swallowed hard, feeling the crushing weight of responsibility settle onto her shoulders.

"Build your strength. Condition every muscle fiber in your body whenever time permits."

"Understood...!"

Lydia genuinely wanted to excel. Watching her classmates achieve glory at the tournament had filled her with deep envy and regret for not enrolling in Xiel's elective sooner. Back then, rumors had pegged his class as an easy credit, causing registration to fill up in seconds before she could even try.

I won't fall behind again.

She tightened her small fists, renewing her resolve. But that fiery determination was tested almost immediately.

"Haaah... haah... gasp..."

"H-How long do we have to keep running?!"

"I asked earlier! He said until we drop dead!"

The final phase: long-distance endurance laps. While Xiel's seasoned students paced themselves steadily, the newcomers looked ready to vomit their lungs out. To make matters worse, everyone wore weighted sandbags around their limbs, and mana circulation was strictly prohibited.

When one student attempted to subtly channel mana to ease the strain—

"Cease mana circulation immediately."

"H-How did you...?"

"A violation has occurred. As per the rules, add an additional sandbag to each leg."

"Nooo!"

It was an unadulterated hell. Yet beneath the ruthless discipline, Xiel's oversight was impeccably calculated.

"Halt. Step out of the formation."

"Huh? B-But Teacher, I can still run!"

"Pushing further will cause cellular breakdown. For your current physical threshold, this is the optimal limit."

Right before a student crossed the boundary from productive exhaustion into debilitating injury, Xiel plucked them from the track with unerring accuracy.

In the Organization, no one cared if recruits broke down.

Here, the objective was the systematic enhancement of student capability. What mattered most was sustainable, healthy progression. Running them ragged only to have them suffer torn ligaments before the practicum would defeat the entire purpose.

As the rhythmic thud of running boots echoed through the hall—

"Fascinating."

Berhal, who had slipped quietly into the gymnasium, watched from the shadows near the entrance.

So this is how he trains them. Good heavens... if I didn't know better, I'd think this was a preparatory camp for senior combat veterans, not freshmen who haven't even set foot in the wild.

Admiration and awe washed over him in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠equal measure.

This is the first time in academy history that first-years are joining the practicum... but this might very well become the imperial standard moving forward.

To an untrained civilian, the regimen might look like sadistic hazing. But through the eyes of a former Imperial Knight Commander, it was an exquisitely designed, highly efficient routine. Rest intervals were strictly regulated, and workloads were dynamically calibrated to each student's baseline.

Routines like this cannot be devised without extensive, high-level professional training.

Once again, Berhal marveled at the shadow of the Imperial Palace behind Xiel. What grand strategy could the throne possibly be pursuing to dispatch a talent of this caliber to a mere academy? Whatever the grand scheme was, it was yielding immense dividends for the Sword School. And not just for the school, but for the man standing next to him, utterly mesmerized by the display.

"Professor Elcanto?"

"Gah! H-Head Berhal! When did you arrive?"

"A moment ago. What has you staring so intently?"

Elcanto scratched the back of his neck, flushing with embarrassment.

"Well... I was curious to see how Teacher Xiel conducts his sessions..."

"Seeking knowledge is always commendable."

"Ahem. Quite so, sir."

Xiel's competence had reached a point where even tenured professors came to study his methods.

Are the first-years going to cause another earthquake during this practicum?

Turning back to his subordinate, Berhal asked casually, "Professor Elcanto. Teacher Xiel is truly remarkable, isn't he?"

"He is. Words hardly do him justice."

"Which brings me to a thought."

Berhal paused, dropping a verbal bomb that made Elcanto stiffen in shock.

"Once this academic year concludes, what would you think of promoting Teacher Xiel to regular faculty and placing him on the track for professorship?"

"R-Regular faculty?!"

Elcanto's eyes bulged. Elective lecturers were contract workers; at best, their contracts were renewed with minor pay bumps. They were never elevated straight into tenured regular faculty positions. That was the unyielding precedent upheld for decades. It was the very reason Elcanto had internally sneered when Xiel asked during his initial interview if an elective teacher could become a professor. Back then, it was an impossible joke.

"Is there any reason it shouldn't be done?" Berhal asked mildly.

"B-But the precedent..."

"Then we simply create a new one, Professor Elcanto."

"..."

Elcanto's mouth worked soundlessly, swept by a tempest of complex emotions. Humans were inherently petty creatures, and Elcanto was more susceptible to envy than most. Right now, anyone in his shoes would feel their stomach twist.

Do you know what I had to endure to earn this title...?

Five agonizing years as an overworked teaching assistant. Enduring endless verbal abuse, humiliation, and contempt under the disgraced former Professor Dakeus before finally securing an associate professorship, and eventually his current seat. Of course, Berhal wasn't handing Xiel a full professorship overnight.

But this is absurdly fast!

Attaining regular faculty status meant the road to becoming an associate professor was wide open.

"A man should be compensated according to his merit, wouldn't you agree?" Berhal added softly.

To Elcanto's ears, it sounded uncomfortably close to: And if your merit falls short, you will be cast aside.

"T-That is true... but will the Personnel Bureau truly permit it?"

"By the time we submit the petition, we will ensure the Personnel Bureau has no justifiable grounds to refuse."

"Ah..."

"I understand your reservations, Professor Elcanto," Berhal said, his gaze turning solemn. "However, if we fail to treat Teacher Xiel with the respect he deserves, he will simply walk away."

"..."

It was an undeniable truth. House Kundel. House Rihardt. And even the Imperial Palace itself. After his earth-shattering display at the Exchange Event, lucrative offers had poured in from every corner of the Empire. Yet for reasons known only to him, Xiel had chosen to remain at Edelbein. Berhal didn't know why, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: if the academy took the man for granted, he would vanish without looking back.

I have to step up my game.

Elcanto hadn't won his professorship in a card game; he was a former Great Knight. But if things continued like this, Xiel would eclipse him entirely. This was no time to be resting on his laurels.

"U-Um, Department Head."

"Yes, Professor Elcanto?"

"My second-years need final preparations for the practicum as well, so I should take my leave and drill them."

"Ah. Of course. Go right ahead."

A fierce, competitive fire burned in the rotund professor's eyes. Berhal caught the spark and smiled quietly to himself.

A very healthy development.

The entire Sword School had banded together over Karen's special welfare quota. And now, even the lethargic, sycophantic Elcanto was undergoing a profound change.

Xiel Steelheart. A quiet transformation had swept across the entire martial department—all sparked by the arrival of a single man.