Chapter 65
Chapter 65
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Shadow Over Ark #1
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The first weekend after the semester started had vanished in the blink of an eye.
That was because I'd spent the entire Sunday sleeping after returning from the haunted mansion.
I'd dealt with that ghost fiasco in the middle of the night and then played chess with Narmi until sunrise, so my body must have been soaked in fatigue without me realizing it.
━See you later, Theo! Keep it a secret from Sis that we met!
━Goodbye, then.
My body felt like a drenched rag, so the moment I got back to the dorm, I collapsed into bed and passed out.
When I finally woke up, it was Monday morning.
I opened my eyes to find someone peering down at me from beside the bed.
Intense blue eyes.
Not many people I knew had eyes that blue.
“It's morning. Morning. Get up.”
It was Elga.
Elga had come to wake me up.
By principle, women weren't allowed in the men's dorms, but Elga didn't care about rules like that and just barged right in. No one would dare stop her anyway—she was rank 5.
“I said get up.”
Rubbing my sleepy eyes at her urging, I dragged myself out of bed.
A glance at the clock showed it was already 8 a.m. My first class was at 9, so if I hurried with prep, I'd make it just in time.
“Why'd you sleep in so late? Should I come fetch you every time?”
Fetch me?
I tried to recall what class I had with Elga today, only to remember that Mondays were just Introduction to Combat Studies for me.
But that wasn't a class I shared with Elga, was it?
Before I could voice my confusion, Elga grabbed the collar of my pajamas and hoisted me into the air—like picking up a stray kitten by the scruff.
“Hurry up and wash and get ready!”
As her shout chased away the last of my sleep, Benjamin and Hans stirred in their beds nearby, mumbling, “What the heck is going on...?” while rubbing their eyes.
Talk about a nuisance.
Worried she'd cause even more trouble for everyone, I rushed through washing up and showering to get ready for class.
Today's lecture: Introduction to Combat Studies.
It was a practical class taught by a famous retired mercenary, if I remembered right.
Even if it was practical, the “introduction” in the name meant it should be accessible even for total beginners.
“Didn't expect you'd be taking Introduction to Combat Studies too, Lady Elga.”
Elga didn't need lessons in combat. She was already a fully forged warrior, battle-hardened in real fights, not drills.
But she seemed to have her reasons.
“There might be a hint on how to wield my axe even better.”
“I see.”
“Now let's go. You know you're supposed to be seated ten minutes before class starts, right?”
Was Elga a model student after all?
I'd pegged her for the type to stroll in last, flop down in the back row, and scroll her smartphone the whole time.
* * *
Introduction to Combat Studies was held outdoors.
A vast training ground.
Old straw dummies everywhere, the air thick with the faint smell of oil.
The sand-strewn floor was littered with bits of shattered armor, wooden dummy scraps, nails, teeth—clear signs of what this place was used for.
“Hmph. Bunch of weaklings.”
Elga snorted, already bored as students began gathering in small clusters around us.
Most taking this class were Silver or Bronze tier, so they weren't likely to hold her interest.
Still, I found them intriguing.
Heroes decked out in all sorts of weapons—made me wonder how far my magic would work on them.
Sure, I'd taken down Conde, Silver tier rank 321, with a surprise attack. And zombies in that graveyard too.
Could I handle more than half of these guys solo?
Vaguely, I set a goal: use this class to gauge the output and power of my new spells.
Once you get a power, it's only natural to test its limits and performance.
━Look at that guy. Single digits. Rank 5. The blonde.
━No way. Thought I saw wrong. Why's a single number slumming it in intro class?
━Beats me. Who knows what Numbers think. Student council rep maybe?
My sharp ears caught the whispers about Elga as people stared. She really did draw eyes wherever she went.
“Alright, class starts now. Quiet down.”
Someone clapped sharply and strode into the open training ground.
Brown hair, short beard, eyepatch over one eye. Mid-thirties, maybe?
Prosthetic on his left leg, hook in place of his right hand.
His thick forearms, visible under short sleeves, were scarred to hell. Leather belts and holsters around his waist and shoulders bristled with tools.
First impression: guy's been through it.
Most Ark instructors gave off that vibe, though.
They hired heroes who'd aged out or gotten too banged up for active duty as faculty and staff.
He stepped into the circle of gathered students and introduced himself to the crowd.
“Name's Mikhail Hydenner. Gold-tier merc out of the Ankar Duchy. Just call me Mikhail. Bro or big sis works too.”
Elga let out a small “Hooh...” at his casual vibe.
“That guy's the real deal.”
Meaning legit badass, I figured.
Even without her say-so, I could tell he was seriously strong.
One arm and leg replaced with prosthetics, sure—but he'd snap my neck with his good hand, no sweat. The vibe hit hard.
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Name: Mikhail Hydenner lv. 45
Jobs: Wanderer lv. 9
Striker lv. 8
Adventurer lv. 8
Survivor lv. 5
Mercenary lv. 15
Talents: 《Deception Tactics》 《Narrow Escape》
Alignment: Neutral.
Ankar Duchy's widow-maker.
A life forged in battle and wandering—like a living weapon.
Wounds that don't kill only make him stronger.
==============================
Sneaking a peek at the instructor's status made my eyes widen.
Level 45?
Average levels around here hovered in the low-to-mid 20s from what I'd gathered. Impressive.
Mercenary job pushed past level 10 all the way to 15?
I'd thought 10 was the cap. Maybe it varies by job.
Either way, he was plenty tough to teach at a hero-packed school like this.
No-name from the original story, so low expectations—but color me corrected.
Instructor Mikhail spoke up.
“Alright, let's kick off. Theory's not my thing, so I'll cut to the chase. You cadets aren't here for lectures anyway, right?”
I wanted theory first, though.
Was I the only total combat newbie here?
Looking around, the other students had scars like battle vets.
Sun-baked skin on guys and girls alike aged them prematurely.
Mikhail nodded, like he'd confirmed something in their hard expressions and eyes, then bellowed.
“Yo, assistant. Bring out the prep stuff.”
━Coming right up...!
Someone shuffled over, heaving what looked like a heavy sack on their shoulder.
The waddling gait was turtle or snail-like—but the real shock was their appearance.
The assistant wore a nun's habit.
What else is there to say? It was Marmar.
“Here it is...!”
Rrrrip.
For some reason, Marmar—Mikhail's assistant—unfurled the sack, spilling an array of weapons onto the ground: sickles, spears, swords, bows—damn near every type.
“All set...!”
“Good work, assistant. Go rest in the shade.”
“Got it...!”
Marmar plopped down in the shade. I eyed them lazily, and when our gazes met, Marmar waved enthusiastically from afar.
No words, but the greeting was clear: good to see ya.
As Marmar and I exchanged hellos like that, Instructor Mikhail said,
“You all know this, but gear matters in combat. What fits you. What doesn't. Weapons you handle well. Ones you're clumsy with. Huge difference.”
Shing.
He hefted a crudely made sword, swung it through the air a few times, then added,
“Sure, elite warriors make do with anything. But most die before that. Heroes got enemies everywhere. So this class? We'll ID your best tools and how to use 'em—to boost survival.”
Someone raised a hand.
A woman with twin hammers at her sides.
“I've got my holy relic already. These twin hammers. You saying swap weapons and style now?”
“Nah. No need. If you've got relics and a style you're comfy with, we'll hone that.”
Nods rippled through the crowd.
Makes sense. I knew zilch about this stuff and lacked confidence, so I nodded along.
Mikhail continued.
“Alright, you've got time. Pick a weapon from the lineup that catches your eye. Got relics already? Stick with 'em.”
It turned into a sudden lucky dip for favorite gear. As things got chaotic, Elga poked my back.
“What're you doing, loser? Go pick.”
“I've already got a weapon.”
I showed her the imp tail bracelet on my left arm.
Elga just snorted.
“Weapons mean metal chunks, blades, bone-crushers. Not magic wands.”
Fair enough.
She balled her fist like she might knuckle-rabbit me, so I had no choice but to approach the pile.
Nothing jumped out, though.
I'm a mage to begin with.
Mages with swords or knives? Weird, right? Unless you're Gandalf-tier.
As I hesitated, Instructor Mikhail—guiding other cadets—approached me.
“Stumped, huh?”
“Yeah. Never held a weapon before. No clue what suits me.”
“Theo Gospel. Heard the rumors. Took down Silver Conde with some weird spell. That real?”
Even the instructor knew.
“Rumors check out. No way a 321 brooch guy like you bounces back otherwise. Hmm. Let's see.”
He scanned me top to bottom quick.
“Classic mage build. Scrawny. So Theo—you need defense against all weapons, not weapon skills.”
Gotcha.
Ways to handle any weapon.
Yeah, that'd be useful.
“Instructor Mikhail!”
Someone dashed up from afar, a plain-robed guy. He whispered to Mikhail, who raised an eyebrow.
“That for real? Undead?”
“Real deal.”
“Hmm.”
Mikhail sighed lightly.
“Class dismissed early. Assistant, clean up.”
“On it...!”
As Marmar gathered weapons, Mikhail vanished in a flash. The abrupt end had everyone buzzing.
━What's up?
━He said undead or something?
I'd caught that too—undead something. Then sharper info hit my ears.
━Necromancer, maybe.
━Necro?
━Dangerous one's prowling near the city. Controls high liches. Scary stuff. Casualties piling up.
━High lich necro... that the Draco girl?
Heard that?
Elga, who'd been arms-crossed and yawning through class, furrowed her brow.
She marched over, grabbed the twin-hammer adventurer girl who'd been gossiping by the collar, and yanked her up.
“Spill more. What's this lich necro doing?”
“I-I—it's just rumors! Necro attacking folks left and right, raiding graves! Tied to Draco house...”
Thud.
Her grip loosened.
“Scram. No next class? That bored? Want me to play?”
Rank 5 single number Elga's threat sent students fleeing the training ground in droves.