If You Can't Handle It, You're Weak
The Academy was not populated solely by the sons and daughters of noble houses.
Within its grounds stood a chapel, and in that chapel resided one of the two living symbols of the Holy Order—the Saintess.
Had an explosion gone off inside the Academy, that chapel would have been caught in the blast as well. In the larger scheme of things, then, Kyle had protected not only the students but the Saintess herself. In one stroke he had placed both the Imperial Family and the Holy Order in his debt.
“I heard what happened, Brother Kyle. You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”
The moment she saw him, the Saintess hurriedly began examining his body. Word had already reached her that the intruders had grown unnaturally strong by some strange method. On the very day of the incident she herself had healed the critically wounded knights. Their injuries had been severe enough that she could easily imagine how ferocious the battle must have been.
“You’re not hurt, right? Surely not. Brother Kyle?”
While tending the wounded knights she had kept her eyes wide open, scanning every arrival for any sign of him. Knowing Kyle’s nature—knowing that kind-hearted man—she was certain he would have gone to the knights’ aid. She knew he was strong, yet a surprise attack from men who had resorted to foul means was still extremely dangerous. The thought that he might arrive here badly injured had kept her on edge the entire time.
“Don’t worry. Not so much as a scratch. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Is that so? What a relief. Truly, what a relief…”
She pressed a hand to her chest and exhaled in genuine relief.
I was so afraid Brother Kyle might have been caught up in the middle of it…
Those words never left her lips. As the Saintess she was meant to love every being equally; she believed she must not show greater concern for any one person. She also carefully avoided saying anything that others might misinterpret and use to trouble Kyle. Of course, she could only maintain that composure because he was unharmed. Had he actually been carried in before her eyes covered in wounds… even the Saintess did not want to imagine what she would have done.
“I heard about your exploits from the knights. They said you were truly magnificent.”
“I merely added a spoonful of effort after the knights bought us time.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. The real heroes are the knights who were wounded defending the Academy. I’m only disappointed that other people keep saying I simply did my part after those knights had already suffered so much.”
From Kyle’s perspective it was the most natural humility. To the Saintess, however, it was the bearing of a truly splendid man who knew how to lower himself.
I’ve already heard everything from the knights, Brother Kyle.
They had been completely overpowered and defeated, able to do nothing—until a young man appeared from nowhere, dropped the intruders in an instant, and vanished again. The whole thing had happened so quickly that only later did they learn the youth was Kyle of the John Nassen barony. Every knight who recovered under divine healing had told the same story: in the worst crisis a figure like the wind had appeared, cleaned everything up in a single breath, and disappeared. To the Saintess it was the exact image of the heroes she had only ever read about in scripture.
She had already watched Kyle’s battle against Priscilla with her own eyes and felt her heart race. Hearing of yet another incredible feat made her clench both hands without realizing it.
If only he were a holy knight of the Order—really, truly, how wonderful that would be!
She could see that powerful figure every day, pray together with him…!
N-no, I mustn’t think like that! Calm down. Calm down.
She scolded herself and forced her heart to settle. When she spoke again her voice was a little more composed.
“The Holy Order also wishes to express its gratitude.”
“The Holy Order? Why would they…?”
“If those terrifying people had reached all the way inside the Academy, I would have been in quite a predicament myself.”
“Ah…”
Come to think of it, the Academy housed not only students but the Saintess as well. She had knights for protection, yet holding off doped invaders would have been difficult. Those invaders even possessed self-destruct functions; disaster had nearly struck. Yet Kyle had completely forgotten about the main-character party—and even about the Saintess. He had simply been furious that men who had never trained properly had grown strong through unclean means. Seeing them mock honest effort had made his blood boil, and that alone had driven him to act.
“I want to convey my thanks for what you did this time, Brother Kyle.”
“There’s no need. I truly—”
“This is not an official expression from the Holy Order. It is simply the gratitude of one person—me.”
Kyle hesitated a moment, then finally nodded. A personal expression of thanks from the Saintess… he had never seen anything like it even in novels. He was just a little curious how she intended to show it.
“Would you sit for a moment?”
Once Kyle was seated, the Saintess carefully cupped his face, lightly pressed her lips to his forehead, and recited several lines of prayer.
A soft golden radiance lingered over Kyle’s body for a brief instant before fading away. While he blinked in confusion she took two steps back.
“It isn’t healing—just a light form of blessing.”
“A blessing…?”
“You seemed tired, so I applied it first. Do you feel any lighter?”
“Ah—yes. Somehow… um. Extremely refreshed.”
What was this? His body felt as light as if he had just woken from a perfect night’s sleep. At this level he could immediately train at maximum intensity.
Kyle had always associated priests of the Holy Order solely with healing. Since the Saintess was essentially a priest as well, he had assumed she was no different. Yet she could bestow blessings like this—ones that erased fatigue entirely!
Doesn’t this mean I can train even more? And leave the progressive-overload state untouched?
Healing was troublesome: the very micro-tears he had carefully created in his muscle fibers would be restored to their original condition. Those damaged fibers were supposed to regenerate into thicker, stronger ones; divine power wiped the slate clean and left no room or time for growth. But a light blessing that simply removed fatigue… he could start at peak numbers and overload his entire body from the first set. Train hard, receive a blessing, train again—what would happen then?
In his excitement Kyle completely forgot that the Saintess’s lips had just touched his forehead.
W-was the kiss on the forehead a mistake…? He looks a little uncomfortable.
The Saintess, of course, had no idea what was going through his mind. She was berating herself for the impulsive act and fretting that she might have made him feel awkward or burdened. Strictly speaking there had been no need to use her lips at all; a simple touch of the hand would have been enough to bestow the blessing. Why she had insisted on pressing her lips to his forehead was something even she herself could not explain, and the uncertainty left her flustered.
This is a revolutionary discovery. Right now might be a bit much… but I’ll definitely ask her for another one later.
Augh! Why on earth did I do that?! Why all of a sudden!!
They stood face-to-face in the same space, yet the thoughts racing through their heads could not have been more different.
“Hoo… hoo!”
Scorching breath, rising body heat, muscles drawn taut to the limit. Everything was perfect. Today he would be able to take on even greater progressive overload. He might even climb a little higher than usual. His condition was always excellent, yet today his body felt especially light.
“Hup!”
Dagon John Nassen, lord of the John Nassen barony, pressed the barbell upward. The bar was already packed with plates until no more space remained. The shaft bowed as though it might snap at any second, yet it was a John Nassen bar; it refused to break, as if declaring it could handle this much weight.
A thunderous crash rang out as Dagon John Nassen once again shattered his previous limit and smiled. To any member of the John Nassen family that smile would have drawn applause and congratulations. To any other imperial citizen it would have made them smash their heads against the floor and beg for mercy.
Knock-knock.
A knock sounded, followed by the voice of his eldest son, Lear John Nassen.
“Father. It’s Lear.”
“Come in.”
The door opened. Both the man who entered and the man already standing inside wore nearly identical clothing—outfits optimized for movement, free of anything that might catch or hinder a body in motion.
“Forgive the sudden intrusion. The youngest sent a letter.”
“Kyle sent a letter?”
Dagon tilted his head even as he held out a hand to receive it. In Lear’s grasp it had looked like an ordinary letter; once it settled into the baron’s massive palm it shrank to the size of a note. Why would the youngest suddenly write? With that thought Dagon began reading rapidly.
Dear Mother and Father, Elder Brother, and Elder Sister,
I hope you have all been well. An urgent matter has forced me to send this letter. Not long ago I experienced a truly appalling and tragic incident—a heinous atrocity in which people sought only results without any effort or training whatsoever…
“Father.”
When the baron looked up from the letter, Lear continued.
“I believe I should go check on him myself.”
“….”
“This is something no John Nassen can simply overlook.”
Lear’s firm tone finally drew a nod from the head of the house. Having received permission, Lear was about to bow and leave the room when a voice called from beyond the still-open door.
“I’m going too.”
A woman who looked both different from and yet strikingly similar to Lear stepped inside—Leah John Nassen, eldest daughter of the barony and the infamous protagonist of the Academy Half-Destruction Incident.
“Leah, you as well?”
Dagon’s expression made it clear that while he could accept Lear, Leah was another matter entirely. It was not worry for his daughter; the Empire had nearly fainted from shock during the Academy Half-Destruction Incident. If its central figure headed back toward the capital, half the realm might suffer a collective seizure.
“I miss Kyle.”
“The youngest, you mean.”
“Yes. I want to see his face, and I want to see whether he’s training properly.”
“Then go.”
She claimed she wanted to see her little brother, yet the greater significance lay in a senior athlete checking on a junior’s condition. That, after all, was the John Nassen way.