It Was the First Day of Field Training (Part 2)

The Koers Ruins.

A full day's march from the imperial capital of Valhafen, the ancient site shared its name with the sprawling, state-managed Koers Forest that enveloped it.

"This forest is ridiculously dense."

"I wouldn't even be surprised if a tiger or a leopard jumped out right now."

"Idiot. Normal beasts and magic beasts never share territory. That's basic common sense."

The canopy was so thick that sunlight struggled to pierce the gloom even at high noon, and within this shadowed realm dwelled only magic beasts, having driven out all ordinary wildlife. The reason ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was simple enough.

"Magic beasts are born of corrupt, sinister mana," one student explained. "And the ones crawling out of the Koers Ruins are particularly vile."

Magic beasts were not creatures native to this world. They were aberrations born from ruins, spatial anomalies, or fissures torn open by distortions in mana. Where they ultimately originated remained an unsolved mystery. Fortunately, they could only survive within the domain of the power that had deposited them here. The Koers Forest was their territory, but by the same token, they could not venture beyond its borders.

"How do you know so much about this, Celia?" a teammate asked. Having grown comfortable through their shared assignment, Celia shrugged, seizing the moment with pride.

"Well, unlike the leader of Team One over there, I actually use my head. All he knows how to do is steal swordsmanship."

"Hey! I told you, I didn't steal anything!"

"Oh, really? Is that so?"

"If it bothers you so much, why don't you steal it too? What, can't manage it?"

Celia's fists trembled with rage. One of these days, she swore she would drive a Swift Sword thrust straight into that smug face.

"Those two are at each other's throats every single day."

"Seriously. Why can't they just get along like us?"

"Haha! Our team has me, so there's never any reason to fight!"

Team Three under Anne. Team Four led by Lydia. And finally, Team Five under Maris. The first-year students of the Sword School marched deeper into the forest toward Sector 8.

Exhaustion was clearly written across their faces, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠none were at the point of collapse. More importantly, they were managing their stamina with remarkable efficiency—stronger students shared the luggage of their weaker peers, and teams took turns taking brief, structured rests along the way.

"Rub your calf and ankle," Xiel instructed, approaching a struggling student. "Can you walk any farther?"

"N-No, sir. There's this sharp, stabbing pain that won't—huh? Wait..."

Xiel's bizarre first-aid treatments were an added bonus, never failing to baffle those who witnessed them.

"H-How did you do that?" the student stammered, scrambling to his feet as if the crippling ache had vanished entirely.

"I prefer not to say."

"I knew it! It really is a secret technique!"

It was a method entirely incomprehensible to a layman: a makeshift remedy known only to an assassin who possessed a flawless understanding of human anatomy. Beyond mere structural knowledge, Xiel understood precisely which nerve or pressure point to stimulate to produce an exact physical reaction.

"It is merely a temporary measure," Xiel said flatly. "Once we reach the campsite, apply a splint and get sufficient rest."

"Thank you, Instructor! Wow, my leg feels so light!"

Channeling a pinprick of mana through the fingertip into specific acupoints could temporarily reactivate fatigued muscle fibers and numb the sensation of pain. But because it was an emergency countermeasure rather than true healing, resting afterward was critical, just as Xiel had warned. To the students' eyes, however, it seemed nothing short of miraculous.

"Instructor Xiel is truly incredible," murmured a student who had transferred from another class. "You guys have been learning from him since the start of the semester?"

"You think that's impressive? That's nothing compared to what he usually does."

"Like what?"

"Just... everything. Everything about him is incredible."

"Huh?"

The divide between the students who had experienced Xiel's guidance and those who had not was stark. What he had just displayed was only the barest fraction of his competence. And if they had to name his most impressive quality...

"Whenever Instructor Xiel says something, you just trust it," one of them said. "It feels like whatever he predicts is guaranteed to happen."

"Does that mean we're actually going to get top marks on this field trip?"

"It's an absolute grading scale, not curved, so why not?"

Meanwhile, not far away in Sector 9, a completely different scene was unfolding.

"What's wrong with this puppet? It's completely broken!"

"Didn't something snap while it was hauling the supply cart earlier?"

"Ugh, there's way too much luggage! Does anyone know how to cast levitation magic?"

"Are you kidding? They don't teach that until third year!"

The Arcane School's first-year class, assigned to the neighboring Sector 9, had run into a wall the moment they entered the tree line. Several of their magic puppets had broken down. Because large wagons could not navigate the dense forest undergrowth, the golems had been tasked with carrying individual packs instead, and the heavy loads had overloaded their mana cores.

"From here on out, carry your own gear!" Emeric Kent, the supervising professor for the Arcane School freshmen, shouted in exasperation. "The sun is setting! Once darkness falls, moving will become nearly impossible!"

Having strolled comfortably without carrying a single bag the entire way, the young mages immediately erupted in outrage.

"All of this? We have to carry all of it ourselves?"

"Professor! We're already completely exhausted..."

"Can't you just cast levitation for us?"

Groans and whines echoed from every direction. The students were, in fact, genuinely spent. Unlike the Sword School, they had marched at an easy pace with frequent rests and unburdened shoulders, yet their utter lack of physical conditioning had pushed them to the brink of collapse.

"I cannot levitate this much mass at once. We are inside a dense forest, for heaven's sake."

"Then what about fixing the puppets?"

"Repairing them all will take days. We have no choice but to carry the essentials ourselves."

"Ugh! This is the worst!"

Emeric's stomach churned with frustration. First-year mages were notorious for being the most difficult cohort in the entire academy. Most of them were coddled prodigies from noble households, pampered and showered with praise since childhood while doing nothing but studying theory in comfortable parlors.

"Damn it, how are we supposed to lift this?"

"There's no way I can carry all this. Why do we even have so much stuff?"

"Who knows? Ugh, why did these stupid golems have to break right now?!"

Entering the prestigious Arcane School alongside the realm's brightest minds had only inflated their egos further. To put it mildly, their sense of self-importance bordered on intolerable.

I'm going to lose my mind.

With the different years separated into their designated sectors, calling on upperclassmen for assistance was out of the question. In the end, Emeric decided that getting the students to the campsite took precedence. Arriving on schedule was the very first criterion on the evaluation rubric, and forcing them to haul everything right now would only trigger an open mutiny.

"How long will the repairs take?" Emeric asked the golem technician.

"Not until tomorrow, Professor," the technician replied with an apologetic wince.

Emeric massaged his temples and raised his voice again. "Take only your lightest essentials! We'll move the heavy supplies once the puppets are back in working order!"

Grudgingly, the young mages hoisted their personal daypacks. Even with almost nothing inside, they dragged their feet as if carrying boulders.

The real nightmare begins once we arrive.

Emeric's grim prediction proved entirely accurate. The moment they stepped into the Sector 9 clearing, the students collapsed across the grass like scattered corpses.

"Does anyone have spare mana? My skin is cracking from the dry air, I need to cast a moisture charm!"

"Is there any water left? Damn it, I drank all of mine on the road."

"My legs are swollen like sausages!"

Whining and complaints filled the air. But the actual work had barely begun. A handful of functioning golems had brought in several tents, but the supply fell drastically short of what was needed.

"Everyone, we need to pitch the tents first..."

Naturally, not a single student moved. Left with no choice, the professor had to roll up his own sleeves. It was an uphill battle. The automated puppets were useless for delicate manual labor unless pre-programmed with specific camp-building routines. Sweating profusely, Emeric wrestled with canvas and poles. A few guilty students eventually stepped forward to help, managing to erect a single tent, but a mountain of work remained.

"Let's at least get a fire going."

"I'm out of mana!"

"Then use flint and steel."

"That hurts my hands! You know how crucial delicate hands are for spellcasting, Professor!"

Controlling them was like herding cats.

"I told you, the temperature plummets at night! Even with the defensive wards keeping the beasts out, they won't stop the cold!"

The designated campsites within the Koers Forest were shielded by ancient barrier magic, rendering the risk of a beast ambush negligible. But as Emeric emphasized, the barrier offered zero protection against freezing mountain winds.

"Shouldn't we dig a pit and light a bonfire?" someone asked.

"We don't have firewood, Professor. You told us to bring only our light personal gear!"

"Good grief..."

Academic authority meant nothing out here. As the newest and most junior professor in the Arcane School, Emeric held little sway over rebellious aristocrats.

Wait... isn't the Sword School being supervised by a mere elective instructor? That Xiel Steelheart fellow?

Curiosity gnawing at him, Emeric pricked up his ears toward the sounds drifting from the neighboring clearing. After a moment of hesitation, he slipped toward the perimeter. What met his eyes struck him dumb.

"How on earth...?"

Just across the boundary line in Sector 8, the Sword School's camp was already a picture of flawless order. Tents stood in crisp, uniform rows. Multiple campfires crackled merrily throughout the clearing. To top it all off, a mouthwatering, savory aroma drifted on the evening breeze.

"Should I add more salt?"

"No, it'll get too salty!"

"Taste it and see. How is it?"

"Blech! What did you even put in here?"

Gathered in small groups, the martial students chatted and laughed as they prepared dinner. The contrast between this lively scene and his own miserable disaster zone was staggering. And right at the center of it all stood one man.

"Finish eating within the hour," Xiel's calm, flat voice carried across the camp. "Night watch will patrol according to the assigned schedule. The official itinerary begins tomorrow, so manage your stamina accordingly."

The students moved with machine-like precision beneath his direction.

That man...

He was the very instructor who had humiliated the Arcane School during the curriculum dispute. Emeric had fully intended to repay the slight during this joint training, exactly as Professor Titus had urged. But seeing this... seeing their immaculate camp, roaring fires, and bubbling stew, spite was completely swallowed by raw, burning envy.

While his own students lay sprawled like useless baggage after over-relying on magic puppets, the swordsmen were thriving.

"Drive that stake back in," Xiel instructed a nearby student. "It is loose. The soil here is soft, so find a rock to anchor it."

"Yes, Instructor!"

"Do not discard the damp wood. Set it near the fire to dry so it can be burned tomorrow. Firewood will be scarce by morning."

"Huh? Why's that, sir?"

"The regulations strictly prohibit damaging the forest. We must make do entirely with what we brought."

"Understood, sir!"

Emeric watched in sheer disbelief. How can they possibly be so obedient?

To a contract lecturer? An elective instructor who wasn't even a full professor? His own students barely gave a damn about what he said, and he held a professorship! Granted, he had only recently attained the title and lacked political weight, but he was still a faculty member. Jealousy, dark and bitter, clawed at his chest.

Damn it all.

Should he swallow his pride and ask to borrow some firewood? The chill was already creeping into the air. With only a couple of tents pitched, even if the golems spent all night trudging back to the forest entrance, they would be lucky to retrieve half of the remaining supplies before dawn. But his dignity refused to yield.

"Um, Professor?"

Emeric jumped, turning to find his teaching assistant hovering behind him with an anxious grimace.

"Ahem! Cough! I was, ah, searching the perimeter for dry wood," Emeric blurted out before the assistant could even ask.

The assistant gave him a puzzled look before speaking in a low, panicked whisper. "The students are making a scene about the cold. Did you manage to find anything burnable?"

"You fool, can't you manage a handful of freshmen without running to me?"

"I-I'm sorry, sir... but if this continues, some of them might actually try to abandon camp and hike back. The few with mana left are conjuring flames, but..."

Creating raw fire with magic without fuel to sustain it was an exercise in futility. As soon as their depleted mana ran dry, the flames would vanish. Emeric let out a long, haggard sigh.

The puppets won't be operational until tomorrow. The ruins exploration starts in the morning, which should be fine, but tonight is the real crisis.

His mind raced furiously. If I cast a localized atmospheric spell to lower the humidity, it might feel slightly warmer... No, that's not enough. Without a heat source, it's useless. Should we burn dry leaves? No, the proctors hidden in the woods will dock points immediately for damaging the foliage.

Regulations strictly forbade gathering combustible materials from the forest outside designated clearing bounds. Magic had never felt so utterly powerless.

Curse it. Do we literally have to burn a tent for warmth?

At that exact moment, Emeric blinked.

Wait. Where did he go?

The instructor who had been pacing between the Sword School students was gone. Then, without warning—

"Are you with the Arcane School?"

A cool, level voice spoke right beside his ear. Emeric nearly leaped out of his skin, whirling around with a choked gasp. But shock quickly gave way to sheer visual bewilderment.

How are someone's facial features this absurdly sharp?

Even draped in deep shadows under the faint starlight, the man's striking, sculpted profile seemed almost unreal.

"Ahem. Cough! You... you are Instructor Xiel, correct?"

"You know my name before I have introduced myself."

Emeric flinched, feeling caught out. "Cough! I am Professor Emeric Kent, supervising the Arcane School's first-year class. And this is my teaching assistant."

"I see. What brings you here?"

Emeric's thoughts spun. How ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had this man detected them? I made sure to conceal our presence behind the brush.

To an ordinary mage, the superhuman hearing of a master assassin—and the subtle perimeter trip-wires Xiel had strung through the underbrush—were entirely beyond comprehension. In any case, admitting he had been spying was out of the question.

"I was merely taking a stroll," Emeric stammered, offering a weak smile. "Just thought I would offer a neighborly greeting..."

His eyes darted casually toward the massive stack of neatly bundled firewood stacked near the edge of the Sword School's camp. "Ahem. Your provisions appear remarkably abundant. The Sword School came exceptionally well prepared."

"Yes. We prepared thoroughly," Xiel replied evenly. "We must stay here for three full days, after all."

"Mm, quite... Though, it looks like rather a lot, doesn't it? Having too much leftover can be terribly wasteful."

"It will not be wasted. Even if there is excess, it will be used to craft torches."

"......"

The hint missed the mark completely. Emeric had hoped the man would catch his subtle drift, but aristocratic pride forbade him from begging outright for a few logs. Of course, someone as hyper-literal and emotionally detached as Xiel would never decode polite beating around the bush—a reality Emeric could not possibly have anticipated.

"Do you have any further questions?" Xiel asked.

"Uh... no. None."

"Understood. Ah, one more thing."

Emeric's heart gave a hopeful leap. Did he finally realize?

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with desperate expectation. Xiel met his gaze with flat sincerity.

"Starting tomorrow morning, we will be installing traps around this perimeter to ward off magic beasts. Please exercise caution when approaching, as you may be severely injured."

Having delivered his polite, neighborly warning, Xiel turned and walked away into the warm glow of his campsite.

"......"

"......Um, Professor? What about the firewood...?"

"...Let's go back."

That night, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first-year students of the Arcane School huddled together, shivering violently beneath the bitter, merciless frost.

It was the first day of field training.