The Asura Realm (1)
Shurado, the Asura Realm.
A battlefield of endless schemes and contest, where I had sparred with my fellow cadets countless times in a past life — and where I would once again have to do so now.
For all that the name sounded like an arena about to host a grand tournament, the classroom itself was remarkably ordinary.
It was the typical layout of a standard lecture hall, with long tables arranged in stepped tiers like a university lecture room.
Of course, that room was filled with talent of the very highest caliber the world had to offer.
Several of them were right there in this class alone.
From the third-generation disciple of the Shaolin Temple, to the descendant of the giants, to the assassin the Imperial State had raised with such ambition, to the elf hailing from the Forest of Fresh Greenery.
And, eventually, the future Heavenly Demon herself.
"I called you to wait for me, did I not! Yet you simply walked on!"
Having followed me into the classroom only to be continually ignored, Cheon Yuha puffed out her cheeks in what looked like genuine offense.
As the young Cult Leader of the Heavenly Demon Cult, her dignity was nowhere to be seen — a sorry sight, honestly.
I deliberated for a moment over what to say to her, then simply kept my mouth shut.
"Who's that?"
"Huh, so somebody here is close with the young Cult Leader of the Demonic Cult."
"I'd say 'close' is stretching it…"
"More importantly, what's with the cast? He's already been injured?"
"No, seriously, who is that guy?"
Perhaps it was because she had entered clinging tight to my arm, but a great many students were turning to look at us and murmuring.
Cheon Yuha, for her part, either failed to notice the stir or was too used to such stares to care, keeping her eyes fixed solely on my face.
…Thanks to which, it's my face getting all the attention.
I hadn't planned on drawing any interest yet, but somehow it felt like I was being shortchanged. If word got out that I was close to the young Cult Leader of the Demonic Cult before I'd even properly grown, I could easily end up a target for the ambitious and wary alike.
"Well, at least I've snagged the good stuff, so it doesn't matter."
"Oho! So you finally deign to speak with me! And what did you say?"
"Nothing in particular."
I answered curtly and made for the remotest corner of the classroom, a seat I had often occupied in a former life.
Cheon Yuha blinked at me in puzzlement for a while, then broke into a bright smile and sat down right beside me.
"Very well! We shall simply grow acquainted, little by little! Is that not so?"
"…"
I decided to keep ignoring her.
After a few minutes of one-sidedly enduring Cheon Yuha's chatter, something finally slid open the front door of the classroom and made its entrance.
For a brief moment I brightened, thinking this awkward atmosphere was finally about to be dispelled — then my face went rigid.
Despair would be the more precise word. Because I couldn't help imagining exactly what kind of spectacle was about to unfold.
"Ahem."
What walked in was a knight in jet-black armor.
Homeroom teacher of Class 1-3, the Asura Realm, and professor of the required course Foundations of Combat Instruction — the 'Nightmare of the Freezing Cold,' Magical Banana Death Knight.
The legendary Death Knight who had once yearned for magic and loved tropical fruit abruptly thrust out his thumb at us and declared:
"If a banana peels, does it fall for one?"
A heavy silence settled over the entire classroom.
"I'll spare you my introduction! Surely no one among you has failed to recognize your own homeroom professor after all this time! But when it comes to your classmates, you'd best know exactly who is who!"
Our Death Knight homeroom teacher bellowed at full volume, apparently trying to blow away the awkward mood that had settled over the room.
"And so — introductions!"
With that, he ordered us to relocate for the class's introductory session and the first period of his course.
The time was 8:40 in the morning.
Class was starting a full twenty minutes early — an outright catastrophe — yet everyone seemed relieved simply to escape that painfully unfunny classroom, and astonishingly, not a single complaint was raised.
"Oh, I feel somehow warmer inside."
Even Cheon Yuha agreed with the sentiment.
And so the students of Class 3, the Asura Realm, filed out of the classroom without a word of protest and into the lecture hall directly next door.
Foundations of Combat Instruction — the first class of Mondays and Tuesdays.
Known around campus as 'Foundations' for short, it was a tailored course conducted by the homeroom professor for the students of their own class, and as a rule the nearest lecture hall was assigned for it. Ours happened to be right next door.
"…Whoa."
"…What is this place?"
The moment we stepped inside, exclamations of wonder erupted all around.
The exterior had looked like an ordinary lecture room, yet a space rivaling a full-sized gymnasium unfolded to greet us.
Spatial Distortion and Spatial Expansion magic.
Sorcery and spellcraft had been known to the world for a long, long time, yet these supreme-tier arts remained exceedingly rare sights even now.
And the madmen willing to pour out a fortune and grand-tier magic just to build an auditorium right beside a classroom were rarer still — no wonder the students found it astonishing enough.
Well, outside of Seondo, you'd almost never see the like.
While the others were still gaping at the sheer scale of the hall, I turned my gaze elsewhere.
At one end of the auditorium stood a dueling ground built from massive stone slabs stacked layer upon layer, its appearance befitting a world championship tournament.
Before long, Cheon Yuha followed my line of sight, and one by one the other students began turning their heads as well.
Once everyone's eyes were upon it, the Death Knight spoke, hands clasped behind his back.
"I despise pointless talk."
So saying, our homeroom teacher glared hard at us.
There was genuine killing intent threaded through that gaze, and the faces of several lower-ranked students went pale.
Having witnessed plenty of our teacher's nonsense in a former life, I simply took it in stride.
"…And likewise, I despise empty ceremony even more!"
In any case, the Death Knight clenched his jet-black gauntlet and roared:
"We are the Combat Department! Knight or warrior, whatever you may be, you are all beings who train and live for battle and battle alone! Then surely it is better to speak with your bodies than to introduce yourselves with your tongues!"
By this point, every student had grasped where this was going.
Just as they began sneaking glances at one another in disbelief, the teacher put a decisive end to their half-formed hopes.
"A sacred one-on-one melee! Student number one! I bestow upon you the first right to name your opponent! Ascend the dueling ground and choose who you will fight!"
And with that, he pointed at Cheon Yuha — third in Combat Department entrance scores, and first in the class.
A considerable number of students grimaced or turned trembling eyes toward her, while Cheon Yuha's eyes went wide — and then, almost immediately, swung toward me.
I waved my hand (the cast) in frantic refusal. No, I knew exactly what she was thinking, but that was absolutely not happening, so stop looking at me.
"…If only it weren't for that arm."
Cheon Yuha clicked her tongue in evident disappointment as she eyed my arm, bound up tight in its cast.
For the first time in my life, I felt genuinely grateful that my arm hadn't healed yet.
After regarding me with a wistful look for a while longer, Cheon Yuha reluctantly ascended the dueling ground and selected the student whose entrance scores ranked second-highest in the class after her own.
"Good, good! The rest of you, find your partners quickly! Hurry now, so we can proceed without delay!"
At the teacher's addendum, the students scrambled into motion to secure their opponents.
Approaching the students around them with sensible, friendly greetings — what's your name, what martial art have you studied.
It being the first day, no one seemed to be looking for a partner to truly trade fists with; rather, they were scouting for someone suitably strong to boast about having faced.
Which was why, for the most part, students of similar caliber ended up pairing off together.
"Wow, everyone's lively."
Even though nearly everyone here was a total stranger unless they'd crossed paths at some sect exchange event, pairs were forming left and right in the blink of an eye.
I could never have managed that in my past life. I hadn't had any friends. I'd been an extreme training obsessive.
So why did I flunk out again, then?
What a mystery. I was shaking my head at my own pathetic past self when Cheon Yuha, having drifted back to my side at some point, gave my shoulder a light tap.
"You've injured your arm — can you even manage a bout?"
"No one's taking this seriously, so footwork alone should be fine."
"Oh! Then why not face me! I'll go tell the teacher we're switching, so…"
"No. That's not happening."
I refused her firmly a second time, and Cheon Yuha's cheeks puffed up in a faint sulk. Too bad — no means no. Her cheeks puffed up even further.
"Anyway, who am I going to face?"
I needed to find a partner soon, but how? As I pondered, I spotted a source of light in the distance, parting the crowd as it bore down on me.
"…Hoh."
Looking at that bald head reflecting the gymnasium lights in every direction, I let out a laugh.
It was partly the absurdly dazzling spectacle of it — but mostly because I could guess exactly what was on his mind.
Before I knew it, the gleaming monk stood before me, wearing the friendliest of expressions.
"Little hero. If you have not yet secured an opponent, would you care to match with this humble monk? My body has trained chiefly in spear technique, but I can manage footwork passably as well."
Which was to say: your arms look wrecked, so I'll graciously fight you with my feet alone.
My eyes lit up at that oh-so-welcome offer, and I cried out with theatrical fervor.
"Good heavens! To think you'd show me such consideration! Great hero, I am truly grateful!"
At my effusive welcome, Cheon Yuha looked at me like something didn't add up.
And no wonder — the way I was chumming up to a total stranger aside, this bald monk was no pushover either. He ranked among the stronger students in the year.
"…Ah, great hero, even that is too much."
Wearing an expression of feigned embarrassment, the fellow stroked his polished scalp. This was Il-jin, the third-generation disciple of the Shaolin school, ranked 27th in the Combat Department.
A Shaolin prodigy versed in the Muscle Tendon Transformation and the Vajra Palm, a Peak-realm martial artist, and one of the upper-tier students among the first-years.
Cheon Yuha shot him a sideways glare that plainly asked: if this was happening anyway, why not simply fight me? Why someone else?
"Then shall we match, this humble monk and you? Your arms do appear to be in poor shape, so I shall adjust myself accordingly for your sake."
"Oh, my deepest thanks. Ah — if I may, one small matter."
"Yes? Speak."
Il-jin answered with that same benevolent smile as ever.
Knowing what lay beneath that transparently gleaming scalp — a heart pitch-black as tar — I found the whole performance more than a little laughable.
But I let none of it show. Smiling as innocently as Cheon Yuha would have, I asked:
"By any chance — will you be fighting properly, with your internal energy sealed at First-rate along with mine?"
This bastard was the one who bullied me in my past life.