Chapter 91: Training is Only Training if it's Hard (2)
Chapter 91: Training is Only Training if it's Hard (2)
Butler roared.
"Are you... playing with me!?"
In a sudden explosion of rage, Butler pushed away from Matthew. He immediately lunged back in, swinging his sword fiercely as he renewed his assault.
"No. No, no, it’s not that..."
Matthew stammered, flustered by Butler’s aggression. He tried to offer an excuse, but he couldn't—mostly because he didn't understand what was happening to him either.
Truth be told, there was something he wanted to say.
He had the words, but he couldn't bring himself to utter them to his opponent. Because...
‘Why are you so slow?’
Matthew was far too timid to say something like that out loud.
I can see it all.
That was the only way he could describe it.
He could see every movement of his opponent's sword, and his body was responding to the attacks with perfect fluidity.
‘How is this possible?’
Even as he moved his own limbs, Matthew found the reality hard to believe.
To be honest, Matthew hadn't been without his doubts while enduring the training Patrick had assigned him.
It wasn't swordsmanship, nor was it Aura Blessing; it was nothing but pure physical conditioning.
Furthermore, it was a bizarre regimen that focused more than seventy percent of the effort on his lower body.
He had followed every instruction because he trusted Patrick’s skill and felt there was no other path for him, but it was only natural for seeds of doubt and anxiety to sprout in a corner of his mind.
As the exam drew nearer, he had felt that perhaps it was time to start practicing actual swordsmanship, but...
[Swordsmanship? What swordsmanship? A guy who can’t even control his own body should focus on building it first.]
Patrick had dismissed his concerns flatly.
Honestly, he had been anxious. He wondered if this was really okay.
What had kept Matthew grounded during those times was a lesson he had learned from his father.
[Son, if you have decided to believe in something and put it into practice, push through until you see results. Even if it seems like it might lead to a loss, you must not stop halfway.]
[What if I actually do suffer a loss?]
[Then it’s a gain.]
[How so?]
[Because you’ve gained the lesson of ‘doing it this way leads to failure,’ haven't you? The accumulation of such experiences is what leads to great success in the future.]
Though his father had devoted himself to the path of a merchant rather than becoming a knight—the family’s long-held dream—the father Matthew knew was a giant of a man.
Matthew understood well enough how incredible it was to achieve overwhelming results in a single field.
That was why he remained faithful to his father’s teachings and followed Patrick’s orders to the very end.
And now...
"Hyaaaaaah!"
Butler launched a relentless barrage of attacks.
Matthew calmly blocked them.
The wooden swords clashed violently in the air, producing a series of sharp, clear cracks.
Clack, clack-clack-clack.
Butler’s frustration reached its peak at Matthew’s perfect defense.
He had expected to win easily and get it over with, never imagining it would take this long.
His breathing was already ragged, and fatigue had accumulated to the point where his sword-hand felt numb.
Yet, unlike him, his opponent looked incredibly serene.
Matthew’s breathing wasn't even labored, and his expression was calm.
‘I’m weaker than Matthew? Me?’
When a person is faced with a reality they refuse to accept, they tend to lash out desperately.
Just like Butler was doing right now.
"Aaaagh!"
Swinging with all his might, Butler’s wooden sword gained both power and speed. However...
"Tsk, tsk, tsk..."
"This isn't even a proper fight anymore."
"He’s mentally immature."
The professors could clearly see that Butler’s stance had completely crumbled.
Butler was charging forward blindly for the sake of offense, giving no thought to defense. His swordplay was riddled with openings.
And those openings were just as visible to Matthew, who was facing him.
‘Now.’
Butler’s arms were raised high above his head to deliver a downward strike.
Because of that, his torso was completely exposed.
It was a flaw so obvious that anyone who wasn't a fool could see it.
In that moment, Matthew’s feet and sword moved forward for the first time.
Sliding his left foot smoothly forward, he leveled his sword horizontally with both hands, naturally lowering his center of gravity.
An unshakable axis.
A gaze that remained fixed on the target until the very end.
All of it culminated in Matthew’s wooden sword flying forward, perfectly parallel to the ground.
Thwack!
"Gah...!"
Struck squarely in the torso, Butler let out a pained groan and doubled over.
Despite wearing leather armor, he felt a shock as if his waist had been snapped in two.
"Guh... urgh..."
Watching Butler collapse, Matthew stared at his own sword in disbelief.
Did he really just land that hit?
‘Did I... actually win?’
The professor acting as the referee resolved his doubt with a shout.
"Matthew wins!"
"W-Wooooooooh!"
Matthew raised both hands high and let out a great roar.
It was the electrifying sense of achievement that only those who have been rewarded for their hard work can feel.
The thrill surged through his entire body, from head to toe.
As Matthew stood there, swept up in an ecstatic feeling he had never experienced in his life, Patrick smirked and spoke.
"That’s what victory feels like."
Victory.
It was a mysterious magic that could turn a timid boy into a true swordsman.
"Hah!"
With a powerful swing of his wooden sword, Matthew’s opponent was pushed back by sheer force.
The moment he spotted the opening created as the opponent stumbled backward, Matthew’s foot stepped boldly forward.
It was a step that could not be taken without courage and confidence.
The distance closed by that single step allowed him to perfectly penetrate the opponent’s gap.
"Wait—"
Startled by the sharp attack coming from an angle that was difficult to defend, the opponent swung his sword frantically.
There was no weight behind such a swing, and as a result...
Clack!
The wooden sword flew high into the air, leaving the opponent empty-handed.
Matthew leveled his sword at the opponent’s throat and steadied his heavy breathing.
The opponent stared blankly, only snapping back to reality at the referee’s voice.
"Matthew wins."
Seven matches: five wins, two losses.
That was Matthew’s record so far.
Having already secured five wins, Matthew’s passing grade was guaranteed.
Even if he lost all his remaining matches, his success was already decided.
"How did he..."
"No way. This makes no sense."
"Is this rigged? Hey, Butler, you didn't go easy on him, did you?"
"..."
Butler glared at the person who asked if he’d gone easy, looking as if he wanted to kill them.
"What do you take me for...?"
"No, but it doesn't make sense, does it? What did he even do?"
"What else? All he did was physical training."
"Exactly. So how did he get that strong? He was the weakest among us when we entered."
"..."
In truth, those words spoke for all the first-years.
It was hard to believe he had grown so strong in such a short time.
But what was even harder to believe was the way he had grown strong.
While they were busy sparring, swinging their swords, and honing their Aura Blessing, Matthew had spent all day doing nothing but physical conditioning.
Sure, he arrived earlier than anyone and left later than anyone, but so what?
At most, all that changed was the number of sandbags he strapped to his body.
So how could this be the result?
Those who had sparred directly with Matthew and lost looked even more bewildered.
If you asked them why they couldn't understand...
‘There’s no excuse.’
‘I just... I just lost.’
Those who had fought him knew.
Their loss to Matthew wasn't due to carelessness or anything else.
Matthew was simply stronger.
That was all there was to it.
No matter how much they thought about it, it made no sense, but because that was the simple truth, there was nothing they could say.
Of course, Matthew was starting to show signs of exhaustion now. However...
"Hah!"
Even so, the discipline and momentum in his sword swings remained severe.
"Ho ho... impressive."
"His basics are incredibly solid."
"He wasn't originally at that level. To be honest, his admission was... well, you know how it was, don't you?"
The professors were also marveling at Matthew’s progress.
Since he was a student who had entered through a donation, they hadn't expected much.
They figured he’d just endure one semester and drop out, leaving with the credential of having attended the Academy, and that would be that.
But looking at Matthew now, those worries seemed unnecessary.
A solid stance and a disciplined sword strike born from it.
At that level, he was among the top tier of the first-years.
"Excellent. I thought his attitude in class was sincere, but I didn't know it would lead to this."
"He must have had innate talent to begin with."
"Even so, isn't this the result of talent being backed by effort and the right environment?"
"Indeed. I knew he would achieve great things ever since I saw his diligent attitude during the theory lectures."
"He seemed to focus quite earnestly during the Aura Blessing practice sessions as well."
"Come to think of it, he’s the only one who submitted a report for my liberal arts class."
"Hahaha. It seems our hard work in teaching him has paid off."
While the professors were playing the 'We taught him well, how rewarding' game, Professor Late was the only one seeing the reality for what it was.
‘Taught him well, my foot.’
Most of the education in the Academy’s Knight Department was self-directed.
If a student asked a personal question about swordsmanship or Aura Blessing, the professors would answer, but the rest relied on the individual's independent study.
It was only natural for a physical education department where moving the body was more important than theory.
However, among them, Matthew had been taught almost exclusively by Patrick.
‘I wondered what he was thinking, having him do nothing but physical conditioning, but was this it?’
As someone who had reached the 7-Star Realm, Late’s eyes saw things differently.
The amount of Mana Matthew possessed wasn't superior to the other students.
If anything, it was slightly lacking.
However, his solidly trained body more than made up for that deficiency.
By reinforcing his trained physique with Aura, his power, speed, and stamina had all increased exponentially.
In particular, the sturdiness of his lower body was miraculous.
No matter what posture he took to swing his sword, his lower body remained as fixed and solid as a rock, maintaining his balance.
He held the advantage in power during exchanges and was able to make decisions half a beat faster than his opponents.
‘Physical conditioning... I’ll have to ask about it later. It seems there’s a deeper meaning to it.’
Finally, Matthew’s last spar came to an end.
His final score was 7 wins and 3 losses.
In a test where he only needed to win five times, he had triumphed seven times.
Matthew’s breath was ragged from the consecutive matches, but a thick smile was plastered on his face, born from the pride of his achievement.
The professor said to him, "Matthew."
"Yes! Yes, sir!"
"You’ve passed. You may step down."
"Thank you!"
Matthew was so happy he felt like crying.
In fact, tears actually did well up.
He knew he had no talent.
Even knowing that, he had forced his way into the Knight Department with the sole determination to become a knight and resolve the long-standing regrets of his grandfather and father.
There, he had been targeted and cruelly bullied by Royist, yet he had clung on desperately to become a knight.
Then, after being saved by Patrick, came the grueling training.
In the midst of physical conditioning that bordered on torture—training so intense he feared waking up every day—he had finally produced a result.
Matthew knew exactly who he should be most grateful to in this moment.
"Patrick! Patrick!"
Matthew immediately ran toward his benefactor and friend.
Thinking back, how much must Patrick have struggled as well?
To teach someone as talentless as himself, Patrick had stayed late at the training grounds every single day to watch over his practice and had even carried him back to the dormitory when he collapsed.
Half of what he had achieved today—no, more than that—was thanks to Patrick.
So, to share his joy, he spread his arms wide with a bright smile...
"He’s smiling."
Flinch.
Matthew, who had been running like a puppy meeting its owner after a year, suddenly froze.
Only then did he see it.
The expression on Patrick’s face as he looked at him was a messy cocktail of anger and annoyance.
"He’s smiling. Look at him. He’s actually freaking smiling."
"Uh... Patrick?"
"A loser who lost three times has the nerve to smile? Ah! Did you lose your mind? Is that why you’re laughing?"
"Well, I won seven times..."
"So what? It’s only natural for you to beat those greenhorns after I personally sparred with you to train you!"
Stab, stab, stab.
The other first-year classmates felt deeply wounded.
Unaware of this, Matthew said, "If I hadn't been tired, I would’ve beaten the other three too."
Stab, stab, stab.
Once again, someone’s precious feelings were hurt.
"Oh, listen to you brag. Bragging about beating a bunch of novices."
"Hehehe..."
Even though Patrick scolded him, the corners of Matthew’s mouth wouldn't come down.
‘Well, I guess it feels good.’
Victory is sweet.
A sweetness akin to celestial nectar, it possesses an addictive charm so potent that once tasted, no effort seems too great to taste it again.
Moreover, Matthew had never won before.
He had always looked up at those above him from the perspective of the weak, feeling nothing but envy.
But today, for the first time, Matthew had won.
He had seized victory with his own strength and succeeded in rising above others.
It was only natural for him to be happy.
‘Fine, I’ll let it slide just this once.’
Patrick lowered the hand he had raised to flick Matthew’s forehead and spoke.
"Only enjoy it for today."
"..."
"There’s still a long way to go."
"I know."
Seeing him nod seriously in response, Patrick figured no further nagging was necessary.
And besides, he couldn't nag any longer anyway.
"Patrick Schneider!"
Because the professor had called Patrick’s name.