7. John Armstrong
7. John Armstrong
"Allen, would you like some time to think it over?"
"No. I was just a little surprised, that's all."
I hadn't expected him to ask me that question directly.
"Then you can answer?"
"Yes."
I quickly organized my thoughts and set my silver tongue in motion.
First off, the excuse of not having enough time to solve the problems was a weak move.
Whether it was the truth or not, it was the kind of answer that would obviously leave a bad impression on the interviewers.
Nor could I pretend to understand the questions.
I didn't even know what aspect of John Armstrong the problem was about, so any lie I told would be obvious.
A reasonable justification for having seen the problem but choosing not to solve it. Simultaneously, an answer that would block any further questions about the problem itself.
I needed an answer that satisfied all of the above.
"I left them unanswered because I believed questions about John Armstrong were inappropriate for the Hero Department."
"Why is that?"
"Because John-style Combat is an impersonal martial art that Hero candidates like me should not learn."
Right off the bat, I drew the interviewers' attention with a mildly provocative statement.
Instructor Charles's eyebrow twitched.
Could it be that, as the president of the fan club, he was irritated by me bashing John for lacking individuality?
As the saying went, haters made the most devoted fans. Charles had probably become sensitive after confronting countless baseless attacks on John.
But I wasn't a hater. It was a fact that John-style combat really did lack individuality.
In martial arts, individuality is a crucial element.
Especially in fantasy.
Even Price-style practical combat had the distinct individuality of the Price family's unique constitution.
But John-style combat had to be usable by anyone, regardless of their magical power, even if they had no magic or a weak body.
For the audience to identify with him, John had been written as an unremarkable knight who failed to become a Hero, lost his wife, and became an avenger.
For that reason, during filming I restricted myself to standardized close-quarters combat used to train ordinary knights.
I mixed in techniques from countries beyond the Empire, but deliberately removed distinctive movements and pursued only universality that anyone could reproduce.
Ironically, that very universality and lack of individuality was now being touted as a unique trait itself, but the fact remained that it was a martial art created by stripping away individuality.
Just because a pistol was added to the mix, it was nothing compared to the secret techniques that typical heroes used.
Oblivious to the creator's original intent, Charles stared at me with burning eyes.
I wanted to shout that I was the original creator.
Unfortunately, the person standing here was the examinee Allen Price.
And Allen, at the very least, had to pass this academy. If not, John or not, my father might just beat me to death.
Fortunately, Instructor Charles only twitched an eyebrow and made no further comment or move.
Taking that as a positive signal, I continued my explanation.
"John-style Combat is unquestionably excellent. It compensates for the weaknesses of ranged weapons and creates unexpected combat power through the synergy of close combat and weaponry. It is almost too excellent for someone like me to evaluate."
The more I spoke, the more it felt as though I were gilding my own face. Still, the person standing here was Allen Price, not John Armstrong.
I was just one desperate young man trying to get through this academy by any means necessary.
"Furthermore, as if it was designed so anyone could use it, it requires no special magical power or physical traits, making it universal."
"From what you're saying, it sounds like something perfect for students to learn."
"It sounds suitable if that is all you consider. The problem is that it is too perfect and too universal. Its perfection leaves no room for development, while its universality forces users to disregard their own individuality. Heroes must be exceptional individuals who wield that individuality as a weapon. For a Hero, John-style Combat could therefore become poison."
Half of that was bullshit.
It was true that John-style combat was created by ignoring individuality, but it wasn't some demonic art that killed all individuality.
It was only that it could be used regardless of individuality; some individual traits could even synergize with John-style combat.
The prime example of that was sitting right in front of me, Instructor Charles.
But interpretation mattered more than the dream itself, and students were expected to invent readings that the author had never intended.
Even if my words right now were bullshit in the outside world, at least inside this interview room, they were a valid opinion.
And if half of it was bullshit, that meant the other half was valid.
'Allen Price cannot express his individuality while using John-style Combat. Wah.'
Wasn't I a hero candidate too, after all?
"Hero candidates still need to develop and grow. I could not accept them killing their individuality and halting that growth, so I left those questions unanswered."
At my words, a few of the interviewers showed positive reactions.
However, Charles, the one I needed to persuade, had his eyes closed and didn't so much as flinch.
Just as the kind of tense music heard on an audition program began playing in my imagination—
Instructor Charles quietly raised both hands—
Clap.
He applauded.
"You understand John properly. I am sorry I pressed you so hard."
"Not at all. As another fan... I understood your intention."
Acting clueless here with a "What?" was an amateur move.
Instead, I shamelessly played along just as I had intended.
Seeming satisfied with even that answer, Charles repeatedly praised me.
Looking back, the burning gaze he had fixed on me was not anger but passion.
"Interviewer Gerick, could you mark the questions this student skipped as correct? Personal conviction should not become a measure of ability."
"Hmm. I was thinking the same thing. Those questions were yours, were they not, Interviewer Charles? If their author accepts his answer, neither do I object."
Wow. As expected of medieval times.
Technology and living conditions were almost modern, but civic awareness remained thoroughly medieval.
It was only natural, since the culture itself was still stuck in the Middle Ages.
As evidence, they had this conversation right in front of a student and didn't seem to see any issue with it.
I rationalized that a favorable outcome was a favorable outcome and gratefully accepted their special treatment.
.
.
.
A few days later.
A grade report arrived at a hotel located somewhere on Hetairo Island.
"...Hey. I think I have worked too much overtime lately. Why is your name listed as the Hero Department's top student?"
"I know, right? No matter how I look at it, it seems like a computer error. What's it called? Underflower? That thing."
"Underflow, you idiot."
"Whatever, it's all the same. Maybe an underflow error happened."
"I'll check with the administrative office."
With Leon's authority as a prince, the result came back immediately.
Astonishingly, there had been no error. I really was first overall.
I had placed third in theory, first in the practical exam, and second in the interview—first overall.
What's the world coming to.
"How little talent is there for someone like me to rank first?"
"I heard the academy's standards had declined, but perhaps it was true... I should report this to His Majesty immediately."
Why does it hurt when I'm the one who started the self-deprecation?
Leaving Leon to consider the matter with alarming seriousness, I picked up a blank sheet of paper and a pen.
The grade report I received came with an additional letter.
In summary, it congratulated me on placing first and ordered me to write the incoming-student representative's response.
As a kindness, the letter also included the chancellor's speech for reference.
"Son of a..."
I had one day.
That was scarcely enough time to write an incoming-student response.
*
I didn't sleep a wink.
I wrote my response for the entrance ceremony and practiced delivering it until it was time to leave.
Why would I put this much effort into a mere reply?
Because this was the world's greatest academy, and I was a member of noble society.
If I submitted a terrible response at a 'mere' entrance ceremony or stumbled over my words, life in noble society would become troublesome. How could I not be nervous?
I sat crookedly in the jolting carriage and glanced aside.
To my left, Leon, the top of the Political Science Department who was in the same boat as me, was melting down, half-turned into a zombie.
Even I, from a mere count's family, had to save face this much in a place like this. How much worse was it for a prince?
We had stayed awake all night reviewing each other's responses.
Damn it.
If they wanted us to give responses, they should have notified us at least a week in advance. What kind of mess was sending the notice the day before?
Grumbling, I watched the scenery quickly pass by outside the window.
"Ugh."
Whether from exhaustion or nerves, the swaying carriage finally jostled my brain into nausea.
Congratulations. You were the first carriage ever to inflict the motion-sickness status effect on the Hero Department's top student.
I looked toward the carriage's coachman's seat—or should I call it the driver's seat?
The driver there controlled the carriage with a crystal ball resembling a steering wheel, so I asked him to roll down a window.
"The dawn wind is cold."
Carlos, the only clearheaded person in the carriage, refused my request without even looking at me.
His reasoning was that the Imperial Prince absolutely could not be allowed to catch a cold immediately before the entrance ceremony.
"Can you take responsibility for saying that?"
"Pardon?"
"A low chance of the Imperial Prince catching a cold, or a high chance of him being covered in vomit. Which would you choose?"
Only then did he check the mirror.
Once he realized how bad I looked, he readily opened the window.
"Oh... I can live again."
"Don't stick your head out the window. It's dangerous."
"For me, or for whatever's outside?"
"Whatever's outside, obviously."
"That's harsh."
Carlos was Leon's escort.
I was also Leon's escort, but once we reached the academy, I would be in the Hero Department while Leon would be in Political Science.
Carlos had been chosen to guard Leon in the Political Science Department in my place.
Carlos Sandalphon.
Usually called Karl.
His was a distinguished family of wizards, headed by the director of the Imperial Magic Special Operations Department, which answered directly to the Emperor.
Just as my family had traditionally supplied the Knight Commander, the Sandalphon family had traditionally supplied the director of the Magic Special Operations Department.
Leon felt like a younger brother who had grown up with me, while Karl felt more like the friend next door.
There was no question about Karl's ability.
He was much weaker than I was, but only in a fight against me. When it came solely to protecting Leon, he was actually far better, making him an appropriate choice.
Incidentally, the academy did not train wizards.
Magic Towers were supposed to train wizards. Why would an academy do it?
That was why the academy had no Magic Department.
Wizards generally came to the academy for one of two reasons: either they had already completed their Magic Tower training and were looking for work, or they had come to build the credentials needed to enter a Magic Tower.
Karl belonged to the former group.
Despite appearances, he was an elite who had completed direct training under a Tower Master in the Protection School and even attained the rank of elder.
All he had left to do was graduate from Political Science and follow the court-wizard track.
Come to think of it, didn't the Protection School teach healing magic too?
Only then remembering Karl's background, I asked him to treat my motion sickness.
He glanced at my condition and immediately refused.
"Your motion sickness is caused by fatigue and nerves, Allen. Your other physical functions are normal, so even if I cast Cure, it would soon return."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Wouldn't it be better to go faster and arrive sooner?"
"You hear that, Leon? Are you okay with that?"
Nod, nod.
It seemed even speaking was difficult for him.
The moment Leon and I gave our approval, the carriage driven by the Protection School elite began racing like mad.
The carriage successfully delivered two corpses to the entrance ceremony venue.