Chapter 52 – Frail Knight Cadets #1

Blood trickled down in rivulets. A sharp edge gleamed from the tip of steel. Peter, teetering on the brink of death, could only gulp dryly.

"What, scared now?"

"You crazy bastard…."

"We were gonna fight with swords, right? This is the sword I've got, and you show up with wooden ones?"

"……."

The training ground fell silent in an instant. The knights thought to themselves: That guy's completely nuts.

Even among knight cadets, there were occasionally those who seemed a bit off their rocker. But perhaps because they were drilled in the basics of chivalry, that wild madness was kept somewhat in check. Sure, he'd heard there were plenty of lunatics among mages, but he hadn't expected this.

"Th-that…!"

"Shall we go again? This time, I'll let you use real swords. What do you say—wanna try?"

"Peter! Show 'em what you've got!"

"Yeah! You got careless! You'll win a rematch!"

Peter slowly backed away, catching his breath. With a crack, the steel magic scattered into the air. He quietly recalled the spell his opponent had used. It shattered every preconception he had about mages. At the same time, no matter how he ran simulations in his head, he couldn't find an angle to win. It was physically impossible to counter.

"……I lost."

"Huh!?"

"Hey, you coward! You can't just admit defeat like that! You @$(*!"

"Huh, turns out he's got a good sense of his limits after all."

Lawrence turned with a smile. The other knight cadets exploded in fury, while the mages erupted in cheers. Our little guy's putting on a hell of a show!

"See that? Told you he's a monster."

"Man, even the hotshot knight cadets can't handle him."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Hahaha! What'd they say? No need for me to step in, right?"

The musclebound uncles' booming voices rang out, thoroughly crushing the knights' pride. Iron Hanma's lips curled up, while Argon Bredley's face twisted in a scowl.

The rumors weren't exaggerated after all.

A kid acknowledged by the Northern Duke. If he'd shone like that in the subjugation battle, it made sense. There had to be more to him, but for now, Argon had to admit the skill.

"But I can't just accept it. We agreed on a swordsmanship duel as the principle, didn't we?"

"Chivalry-armored folks with no conscience, huh? Fine. Then fight me with aura and real swords."

"You mean that?"

"Won't that be dangerous?"

Iron Hanma fretted, while Argon Bredley's eyes gleamed. Aura users were on a whole different level from regular swordsmen. Lawrence, meanwhile, figured it was doable.

I need to get used to aura anyway.

Plus, winning here meant he could squeeze out another concession.

"In exchange, if I win, support me with whatever items I request. Nothing outrageous, I promise."

"Deal. You won't win anyway."

Argon was about to send out his top cadet when Peter shot his hand up again.

"If aura's allowed, I'd like another shot."

"You?"

"Weren't you shaking in your boots?"

"With aura, I think I've got a chance."

"What about you, Beatrix?"

"I'm fine with it. Giving Peter a shot isn't a bad idea. And no matter who leads, we're all working toward the same goal, right?"

Arrogant yet polite, piercing straight to the core—that was Beatrix. The moment Lawrence heard the name, he knew who it was.

Silver Golem, Beatrix. He was a cadet officer at this time.

Anyway, with Peter stepping up again, things got easier. Fighting an aura knight was valuable experience for Lawrence too. And he planned to wring materials from them as well. This duel had a lot riding on it—exactly what he needed.

"This time'll be different."

"No real swords?"

"Can't exactly kill someone."

"Heh, interesting."

Even aspiring knights had chivalry drilled into them, it seemed. Fine, he'd have to calibrate his power carefully.

"Put on some armor too. Let's go at it for real."

"……Alright."

He'd been in casual clothes, but with his peers' help, he donned full armor. Assuming glancing blows, it should block a 1st Circle spell like Iron Sword just fine.

"Begin!"

A commoner, yet it looked convincing enough. If he kept growing into a knight, he'd hit Advanced Knight no problem—Aura Expert, as they called it.

Still, I can see it.

Nothing escaped the Dragon Eye. Using mana actually made ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it easier to track. Forewarned was forearmed.

Boom!—Just kicking off the ground kicked up dust and sounded like gunfire. Peter was certain: No matter how fast a mage chanted, in close quarters, they couldn't beat a knight.

Especially once aura kicks in—the game's over!

"Hup—slash."

"Guh!?"

Lawrence vanished from his sight. Instead, a massive hunk of meat filled Peter's vision. He'd sidestepped the straight charge and swung some mystery meat slab.

"I won't use magic either."

Open wide. Here it comes.

[Strength] [Haste]

Crunch!—A massive impact that shattered a sturdy troll's bone. Plus the recoil from his straight-line sprint. If Peter were a baseball, it'd be a grand slam out of the park.

Crash! Bang!—He tumbled back, skull smacking the ground first. One hit, and he was foaming at the mouth, out cold.

"Dodged that and countered…?"

"I-Instructor, maybe recruit Lawrence young master instead of Peter?"

"……."

How was that a mage? Argon could only tremble. Meanwhile, Beatrix's expression shifted slightly.

"Interesting guy."

For some reason, he felt like making friends. The other cadets were just boring.

#2

"So, you're taking all this?"

"Yes. Not allowed?"

"Nah, works for us. It was just scrap anyway."

Lawrence's request was for leftover training swords and busted armor—odds and ends. Knights really wore their gear hard. Argon kept his word despite the disassembly.

Iron Hanma was naturally pleased.

How could we entrust command to honor-obsessed fools? Well done.

That was the tower master's verdict. Clearing his emotions, Argon saw things more clearly.

"Lawrence Montemer, you're eleven this year, right?"

"Yes."

"Heh…. Born to be a knight. How about ditching magic and trying knighthood?"

"You know what kind of family Montemer is. No need to make more rivals anyway."

"Mages are smart, huh? Your moves scream knight, though."

Regrettable. Loss was loss, mage or not—but that sturdy build and insane dynamic vision? He'd make a hell of a knight….

Lawrence recalled his Northern exploits and politely shook his head.

"Then I'll take these."

"Go ahead."

"We bickered a bit, but let's give it our all in the operation."

"……Yeah, sure."

They were allies for a common goal, after all. Once hierarchy was settled, acknowledge it cleanly. That's what the Imperial Central Academy taught for frontline talents.

Thus, the cadets weren't sore losers. They even warmed up. Like high school jocks.

"What're you gonna do with that stuff?"

"Got a use for it."

"Mages are weird. See you at the op."

"Rematch next time. I'll be stronger."

Lawrence nodded at Peter's words, sanity restored by healing magic. They weren't bad guys—might as well get along.

Whistling, he headed to his dorm. Plenty of materials secured—no worries for a while.

Paladin gear, knight training props, dolls, scrap, a full armor set, two swords.

Overflowing bounty. In a blind spot, he shoved it all into sub-space. Then eyed the snapped troll tomahawk and smacked his lips.

"Rachel'd have to grill this for me…."

Swung too hard? Tough troll bone had shattered. Aura was no joke. Without Dragon Eyes, he wouldn't have reacted.

Even with fast chants, if you can't land it clean, it's useless.

"Oh ho?"

Guardian slot was handy. Plus 4th Circle engravings and an extra slot. Sparring aura cadets paid off big. Perfect timing with the new slot—he could accelerate plans.

Nothing beats good intel.

With Ades Benoman in, he could counter Media Montemer's schemes head-on. To swallow the family and build his own faction, he'd erode it bit by bit.

Sketching future moves, Lawrence headed to his room.

"Alright, time to get to work."

He picked usable scraps—not top-tier, just middling junk.

"This'll do. And…."

Time to use those orc materials from the prelims. He'd snagged a solid neutral magic one.

"Perfect."

A passive skill—and a cheat-level one at that. How could he resist? Lawrence grabbed his pen.