Chapter 95: I’m Sorry, Father (1)
Chapter 95: I’m Sorry, Father (1)
Patrick lightly bounced on the balls of his feet, his steps nimble as he spoke.
“Do you really have the luxury to be daydreaming?”
“Ah… No, that’s…”
“Focus. Otherwise, this will be over in an instant.”
The moment he finished speaking, Patrick’s body blurred and vanished.
And when he reappeared…
“Wh-huh?!”
He was right in front.
He could have circled to the rear or the flank. Instead, Patrick appeared directly in Professor Baroque’s face.
Startled, Professor Baroque instinctively thrust his halberd forward with a sharp cry.
“Haaah!”
Despite the heavy axe blade and the long, cumbersome shaft, his thrust was sharper than that of an ordinary spear.
Utilizing the strengths of one’s cherished weapon while compensating for its weaknesses—it was the most basic of basics.
But how much effort had he poured in to hone that basic skill to this level?
In that moment, Patrick felt a sense of pride in this man, looking at him as a senior who had walked the path of martial arts before him.
And so, with a heart full of that sentiment…
THWACK!
He kicked him.
“Gah…!”
Struck squarely in the solar plexus, Professor Baroque was sent flying backward.
He managed to keep his balance without falling, but Patrick appeared before him once again.
Once more, right in front.
Seeing Patrick manifest right under his nose, Professor Baroque reacted reflexively.
“Uwaaaaah!”
This time, it was a horizontal slash.
He swung the heavy axe blade of the halberd, intending to cleave Patrick in two, but…
CRACK!
Patrick’s fist was faster.
With his sword still in hand, Patrick threw a punch that exploded against Professor Baroque’s face.
As the professor’s vision wobbled and spun, Patrick spoke.
“There is a difference between wielding a weapon well and being swung around by it.”
“What… Guh!”
Next came a knee.
Patrick’s knee slammed into Baroque’s stomach, making the man feel as if bile were about to surge up his throat.
Unable to withstand the agonizing pain, he collapsed to his knees and looked up at Patrick.
With a face etched with clear resentment, he choked out, “What is the meaning of this? Are you saying I’m not even worth using your sword on?”
“That’s not it.”
“……”
“Well, actually, that is partly true, but…”
Apparently, it was true.
Patrick looked down at the teeth-gritting Professor Baroque and continued.
“I simply chose the fastest and most concise means of attack for the distance we were at.”
“What?”
“At a close range like that, no matter how sharply you swing a sword, it can’t be faster than a fist. Don’t you agree?”
“…Uh…”
“If that’s true for me, who uses a light sword, how much more so for someone like you who uses a heavy weapon?”
“…Ah!”
An exclamation escaped Baroque’s lips.
Yes. That was it.
He had been far too obsessed with his weapon.
In his quest to overcome the halberd’s heavy weight, he had focused solely on swinging and thrusting more quickly and perfectly.
As a result, he was able to perform movements with the halberd that were faster, sharper, and more meticulous than anyone else’s.
In fact, even when Patrick closed the distance, he had counterattacked instinctively.
However, no matter how fast or sharp it was, a counterattack with a heavy halberd could never be as concise as a strike with one’s bare body.
The words Patrick had spoken moments ago flashed through his mind.
[There is a difference between wielding a weapon well and being swung around by it.]
His gaze fell upon the halberd gripped in his hands.
Whether the opponent was close, far, or at an awkward middle distance, he had always tried to attack with the halberd.
He had dismissed all other possibilities, focusing only on thrusting and swinging the halberd faster and stronger.
It was an obsession with, and a dependence on, his weapon.
“Haha… Hahahaha…”
Once he realized that, the various possibilities he had been missing began to come into view.
The angles, distances, and situations he had previously thought difficult were now being compensated for, and new possibilities for counterattacks emerged.
“Ah… Ahhh… So that was it. That was it.”
As Professor Baroque closed his eyes, the Aura Hall within his body began to expand.
“Exam halted! Stop the exam!”
Professor Dustin Late, who had realized the situation faster than anyone, shouted at the top of his lungs.
At his voice, the other professors jumped in, horrified.
“Everyone, get back! Do not approach Professor Baroque!”
“The exam is suspended! Everyone, disperse!”
“Back away, all of you!”
Right now, Professor Baroque was about to step into a higher realm as a knight.
For a 5-Star knight to reach a higher state meant entering the 6-Star Realm, which in turn meant the kingdom was about to gain another 6-Star level knight.
This was a matter far more important than a mere midterm evaluation for first-year students.
“Uh… Hey? Wait, then what about my exam? Did I pass or not?”
As Patrick asked in confusion, Dustin Late barked at him.
“Is that what’s important right now?!”
“Yes.”
“……”
Seeing Patrick answer so nonchalantly, Dustin Late wore an expression that said, ‘What is wrong with this guy?’
However, that expression soon shifted to, ‘Right, he was always like this,’ and he bit his lower lip before speaking.
“Patrick Schneider, you pass.”
“For real? I really passed, right?”
“Yes! So hurry up and clear the area!”
“If you try to take it back later, I’ll… you know, right?”
“……”
Now he was even threatening a professor.
The problem was that several professors actually flinched at that threat.
“See you later, then.”
Leaving behind those words, Patrick walked out without a single backward glance.
This was a piece of the legend that would be passed down in the Academy for years to come under the title: “Classic Patrick.”
*
A tavern in White Town, the capital.
As usual, various people gathered here to share various stories.
In a sense, it was a sea of information where countless rumors flowed. Just like now.
“Hey, did you hear the rumor?”
“Rumor? What rumor?”
“It’s about what happened in the Academy’s Knight Department…”
“Oh, that? I heard it. But it sounded so ridiculous. Isn’t it just a baseless rumor?”
“A baseless rumor… I thought so too at first.”
A first-year student provoked the professors during the midterm evaluation, sparred with them, and won eight consecutive matches.
And he did so overwhelmingly.
In the end, he even fought against ‘The Crusher’ Baroque and gave him pointers, resulting in Marox Baroque reaching the 6-Star Realm.
Most people who heard this rumor thought:
‘Yeah, right. No way.’
‘They’ve been dead last in the Arcana every year, so now they’re getting desperate for attention.’
‘Tsk tsk, our kingdom’s Academy is finished.’
It was only natural to think that way.
Common sense dictated that such a thing was impossible.
Even if rumors tended to be exaggerated, there had to be some shred of plausibility for people to believe them. This was just too much of a tall tale.
However, one man in the group smirked and spoke up.
“Surprisingly, it’s not a baseless rumor.”
“What?”
“Is that true?”
“You know my younger brother works in the Academy cafeteria, right? He said he saw it with his own eyes.”
“Ho ho… Then a first-year really beat the professors? And consecutively at that?”
“Is it also true that he fought as if he were giving them lessons?”
“Yes. It’s all true. Though the exam fizzled out because Sir Baroque gained enlightenment at the end, the professors wouldn’t have stood a chance even if it had continued.”
“Ooh…”
“Good heavens, it was actually true?”
The man who brought it up slammed his beer mug down and addressed the marveling crowd.
“Patrick Schneider. That’s the name of the man who achieved that impossible feat.”
“Patrick Schneider… Schneider… I’ve never heard of that family.”
“I heard it’s a Baron’s family from some backwater in the Eastern Region.”
“Is that for real? Isn’t that place the middle of nowhere?”
“I heard it’s hard for people to even live there because there are so many monsters.”
“On the contrary, isn’t the Eastern Region famous for its tough soldiers and knights precisely because the environment is so harsh?”
“Ah… that’s true.”
“Everyone knows people from the East are rugged.”
“It seems a talent has finally emerged from the East. No, ‘talent’ isn’t enough. What should I call him? A genius? A monster?”
“In any case, a great figure has appeared. Maybe… just maybe, we can actually look forward to the Arcana this time.”
“We’ve been failing for over ten years, and now you say…”
“We didn’t have Patrick Schneider back then, did we?”
“But he’s a first-year. Can he even be chosen as a representative for the Arcana?”
“Pah! What does being a first-year matter? He thrashed the professors; what could the upperclassmen possibly do?”
“That’s true.”
“Now that you mention it, you’re right.”
“This time, our country needs to get at least one win in the Arcana. We can’t keep being the bottom of the continent forever without a single victory.”
“Exactly. We have to. We absolutely must.”
“I really hope so.”
Thus, the people grew excited at the appearance of a new legend, hoping that this new genius named Patrick Schneider would wash away their humiliation.
And as for what the genius, who was now the center of the entire nation’s attention, was doing…
“Ooh, so this is your house?”
“Yeah.”
“Kaaaah… It puts high-ranking nobles’ mansions to shame. As expected, money is the best. It’s supreme. It’s the ultimate truth.”
Before Patrick’s eyes stood a mansion so grand and magnificent that it made most noble estates look like doghouses.
Who would look at this and think it was the home of a commoner?
Matthew sighed as he looked at Patrick beside him.
Would people believe it?
That this man, who was currently obsessed with money, was the same genius who had recently set White Town abuzz?
Matthew had kept his promise.
He had arranged for Patrick to meet his father as soon as the midterm evaluation was over.
That day was today.
And so, Patrick had prepared the necessary items and come to visit.
“Ace. You brought the things we prepared, right?”
“Right here, Young Master.”
April, who followed behind Patrick with a blunt expression, was carrying a bag filled with something.
Matthew had asked what was inside on the way over, but Patrick’s only response was:
“That’ll be 5 gold if you’re curious.”
Matthew had decided not to ask, finding it too petty and annoying.
How could a man so obsessed with money reach such a great realm of martial arts?
Could it be that obsession with money and the realm of the sword were somehow connected?
‘No, if that were the case, my father would be the strongest man in the kingdom.’
As Matthew indulged in these silly thoughts, Patrick spoke.
“Come on, let’s go in. Are we just going to stand here?”
“No, let’s go.”
As Matthew opened the door and entered, a man who appeared to be a servant soon came out.
“May I help… Ah! Young Master!”
“It’s been a while, Zeros.”
“Oh, Young Master, you’ve returned! I heard you passed the midterm evaluation with excellent marks. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I got lucky.”
“Hahaha. Everyone knows how hard you’ve worked, Young Master. Now, please come in. And who might this be beside you?”
“He’s my friend. I made an appointment with my father beforehand. Is he home?”
“Ah! Come to think of it, the Master canceled his schedule today and stayed at the mansion. It must have been because of his promise to you, Young Master.”
“He went too far.”
Matthew smiled bitterly.
Time is money. Wasting time is the same as throwing away money.
That was his father’s philosophy.
His father was usually busy to the point of exhaustion, doing his best to expand the business, yet he had cleared an entire day for his son.
Matthew’s father, Aaron.
The greatest merchant in the Atronia Kingdom.
His day was worth at least several thousand—no, depending on the situation, several hundred million gold.
Matthew felt grateful to his father for making such time for him, while at the same time…
“Ooh, this looks expensive. Is it gold? It’s gold, right? Definitely gold?”
He felt a sigh escape him as he watched Patrick marveling at the decorations in his house.
Was it really okay to let this guy meet his father?
This guy? Really? For real?
“Ptu, ptu. It’s not gold? Aw… what a waste of time.”
He felt a surge of embarrassment as he watched his friend literally bite a decoration to check if it was real gold.
‘I’m sorry, Father.’
But what could he do?
A promise was a promise.