Chapter 90
Chapter 90
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 90
Chapter Title: Practical Exam Echoing with Screams (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Victory is sweet.
Defeat is bitter, but it offers much to learn.
Rak, you've already learned a great deal in the North. Among children your age there, none can stand against you. You are an excellent warrior.
To have a proper fight with you, to teach you the taste of defeat... inevitably, the warriors under my command would have to step in. But for you to lose to them is only natural. You think so yourself, don't you?
They've lived as warriors for decades.
Losing to them is no disgrace. It's not frustrating. In fact, fighting them is an honor.
That won't do, Rak.
A warrior learns from defeat. Learning from defeat means feeling the frustration of losing.
The frustration of defeat.
The passion to find a way to win.
The confidence that next time, victory will be yours.
That is the true driving force of a warrior.
And the frustration from defeat... can only be felt against someone on your level.
In the North, there's no one who can give you that.
So, go to the capital.
Meet many people, lose, win, and thereby... learn and return.
"......"
Eryah van Grace.
Rak recalled the words of the great warrior, the Northern Duke and his father, as he looked around.
It was an open sparring hall.
There weren't a huge number of students watching the match, but not so few either. They held their breath, staring at Rak.
More precisely, at Rak's nape.
Rak lowered his gaze. A shortsword had stopped right in front of his Adam's apple. It was just a wooden practice sword mimicking the shape, but the fact remained that it hovered before his throat.
In comparison, what about his own axe?
The best he could manage was shoulder height.
Far. Far too far to strike the opponent's neck. If he moved the axe even a little, the shortsword would surely thrust in.
'I see.'
Rak released his grip on the axe.
The wooden axe clattered to the floor. Dropping one's weapon meant surrender.
Humiliating, but what a warrior must do.
Rak raised both hands above his head without the axe. Then, he spoke to the opponent before him.
"...I lost."
Only then did the opponent withdraw the shortsword.
He exhaled shortly and took a step back. His black hair swayed.
"Belnoa's victory."
The professor standing nearby announced the match's result. Belnoa strode away. Rak stayed put, staring at the axe on the floor.
'Dropping your weapon means admitting defeat.'
Northern warriors called it a shameful act.
'And yet, something that must be done.'
A humiliating but necessary act.
Refusing to admit defeat is disgraceful.
'Why is that?'
Yet Rak had never once thought of it as shameful.
'If you've lost, you've lost. What's... humiliating about it?'
That's how he'd always thought.
He'd thought that way.
"......"
Staring at the axe on the floor, an inexplicable itch stirred in his gut. Something felt off. His mind filled with thoughts of what he could have done differently there.
Whether that was humiliation or not, he didn't know.
Rak furrowed his brow at the unfamiliar emotion.
'...I don't quite get it.'
It was still an emotion Rak found hard to understand.
"I'll announce the results."
As Rak returned to his seat, the professor began declaring the outcomes.
"Starting from the bottom ranks."
The professor recited the rankings. From the bottom up, until the final one.
"Rak."
The last name called wasn't Rak's.
There was a name after Rak's.
"Belnoa. That's all."
2.
Rosel set down his coffee cup.
It clinked against the table, making it tremble faintly. The girl's shoulders across from him shuddered in tandem.
"So."
Rosel spoke.
"Did you handle things properly, Raniel?"
"Y-Yes?"
"Do you know this, Raniel? I, and the House of Trias to which I belong, insist on political neutrality. Because we mages know meddling in politics does no good. Thanks to that, rumors from the palace rarely reach my ears."
That was the truth.
The rumors Rosel heard were only the kind any noble would know.
"But, by some coincidence?"
Rosel smiled thinly.
His smile carried an eerie edge somewhere, making Raniel slowly lower her gaze.
"I heard a certain rumor."
"R-Really?"
"Yes, right after your escort duty for the First Princess ended, this rumor started spreading."
"Th-That's quite the coincidence..."
"Isn't it?"
Rosel narrowed his eyes.
"The First Princess is starting to seize control of department heads."
Tap.
"Something apparently intruded into the court mages' lab, but no traces left behind, so they're seeking external consultants..."
Tap.
"A dent like from a punch found in a annex..."
Each time Rosel tapped the table, Raniel's head dipped lower. When it nearly touched the table, Rosel let out a chuckle.
"You really handled it quietly, didn't you, Raniel."
"Ah, ahaha..."
"Don't laugh."
"Yes, sir..."
Rosel removed his glasses and set them down.
He pressed his temple and let out a deep sigh.
"Lately, I've had one suspicion."
"...Suspicion?"
"That my prized disciple, my one and only apprentice, isn't listening to a word I say. Something like that."
"......"
Raniel fell silent.
Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. Watching her, Rosel finally smiled bitterly.
"You're going to be the death of me, you rascal."
It always ended like this.
Watching his disciple's antics just brought sighs. But he couldn't exactly scold her endlessly for it.
'She somehow resolves it every time.'
This time too.
He didn't know what sorcery she'd worked, but the incident seemed settled... and no one mentioned the name 'Lania'.
'Unfathomable.'
All he could do was worry.
Even knowing it was meddling, he couldn't help lecturing.
"Hoo..."
Rosel sighed and, to lighten the mood, offered Raniel the coffee cup. Raniel stared blankly at it before speaking.
"That coffee... a bit later?"
"I know you're ridiculously picky about coffee. It's from that cafe you like, so drink up without complaint."
"Oh..."
Only then did Raniel sip the coffee. Propping his chin, Rosel watched her.
"So, what was the First Princess like?"
"A very unique person."
"Unique?"
"So unique, I feel like I got swept along a bit."
Swept along? By her?
Rosel blinked blankly.
'...I knew she was extraordinary, but apparently beyond my imagination.'
As Rosel mentally upgraded the princess's danger level—
Knock knock.
Someone rapped on the professor's office door.
"Who is it?"
-It's McHart. I have business with Professor Lania, so I came by.
"Wait a moment."
Rosel whipped his head around and glared at Raniel. She instantly grasped the meaning in his eyes.
'What have you done now?'
His gaze seemed to ask.
Raniel shook her head vigorously in denial.
"I haven't done anything...!"
Her voice brimmed with injustice.
3.
The founder of the Battle Mage class.
Lania van Trias gazed at the professor seated across from her. A familiar face sat there.
'Professor McHart.'
The combat magic department head who'd given her great guidance. Looking at him, Raniel recalled old memories anew.
'...Come to think of it, didn't this guy chew me out for lacking basics?'
Now that she understood the true nature of the combat magic department—the Battle Mage class—it stirred many thoughts.
'Damn, rootless class...'
With even the founder lacking fundamentals, no wonder it got called rootless. Swallowing a sigh, Raniel spoke.
"So, what brings you here?"
"Hm, see this?"
McHart pointed to his left arm.
He extended the splinted arm like a badge of honor and smiled bitterly.
"Remember when beasts attacked Aphria alongside that ancient lich?"
"Ah, yes. I do."
"I heard you unfortunately fell ill to magic then. Well, without battlefield experience, resisting magic is tough..."
"Pardon?"
"A shame you couldn't show your splendid combat skills."
McHart nodded as if truly regretful.
"I helped fight with the knights, but... ended up with this arm injury. Still, for the students, it's a proud wound."
"Ah, yes..."
'If you'd told Sara that damn woman, she'd have healed it.'
...The words rose to her throat, but Raniel swallowed them.
"Anyway, with my arm injured... it'll be hard to proceed with the upcoming combat magic practical exam."
"Practical exam?"
"Yes, the practical. Combat magic values real combat, so the practical weighs more than midterms. Quite important..."
McHart glanced at Raniel.
"No suitable assistant professor, so I thought of borrowing some external help?"
"I see."
"And among those I know, no professor matches your skill... Could I ask for your help?"
"Me?"
"You seem knowledgeable in combat magic too. Not asking you to handle everything, of course."
McHart pulled out some documents.
He spread them across the desk.
"The practical's outline is mostly set. Just minor tweaks... and proctoring."
The papers outlined the exam.
"Several pages?"
"Prepared a few options. Pick the one that seems fine."
She hadn't agreed yet, but the mood assumed she had.
'Well, doesn't matter much...'
Propping her chin, Raniel skimmed the papers.
She'd recently learned combat magic was modeled after her. Not full responsibility, but not someone else's problem either.
'Personal interest too.'
She wanted to observe the combat magic students up close again. With that thought, Raniel lifted a few sheets.
"Hm..."
The exam themes varied.
Four or five narrowed down, each with procedures listed.
"What do you think?"
"Varied themes."
"That's why I'm torn. Which best evaluates students and suits the Battle Mage class."
McHart probed gently.
"Professor Lania, what do you think is the root of Battle Mage?"
"Well..."
Whether it even had roots...
Raniel rubbed her chin, eyes on the papers. One theme caught her eye.
"Survival?"
"Survival? Certainly key. Ultimately, for surviving the battlefield..."
"Right. Fingers broken, tongue cut, mouth torn so you can't speak... pre-stocked circuits can still activate."
"Uh, uh-huh?"
"Quick response means useful for survival. If that's the root, it is. You have to live first."
"Y-Yeah, sure?"
Raniel tapped the paper.
"This one."
Then asked.
"Can I tweak it a bit?"
"...T-Tweak it?"
"Feels too bland. What's the point of a practical then?"
"I-Is it?"
Raniel nodded.
"You wrote simulating a beast ambush with illusion magic devices to test urgent responses."
"Hm, yes. To see quick handling..."
"Nah, not enough."
She mimed bending a finger back.
"How about breaking a finger first?"
"Wh-What?"
"Create a situation where they can't draw new circuits, test their coping."
"Uh, um?"
McHart blinked.
Raniel tilted her head at him.
"Isn't that better?"
Her tone dead serious.
A thought flashed through McHart's mind: 'Did I pick the wrong person?'
"You said tweaks are fine?"
But by then, it was far too late. The girl before him gathered the papers and stood.
"Sure, I'll do it."
"No, you don't have to..."
"Hard to find someone? I'll handle it."
Gulp.
McHart swallowed dryly.
An ominous feeling—not quite premonition, more prophecy—washed over him as he nodded slowly.
"Th-Then... I leave it to you."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Author's Note (Afterword)
This episode's subtitle says it all :D
Oh, and I see they've added a "Life Pick" feature!
Can't see how many Life Picks it's gotten since it doesn't display the number... but it seems quite a few people have given them.
Truly grateful.
That my work could be someone's best is incredibly joyful. I see it as a great honor.
Episode 90 already.
Heading toward 100, looking back on the past four months, it's all wondrous. That so many read my writing feels dreamlike.
I always write with gratitude.
All I can think of is the cliché "works exist because of readers," which embarrasses me. But maybe the most important truths hide in the commonplace.
Always thankful.
Will keep writing diligently :D