Wrong or Late, the Blow Is the Same

Wrong, and you take the blow. Late, and you take it all the same.

"As I thought. You are a Singularity."

A Singularity. The one of whom the prophecy spoke, set down in the Book of Prophecy, sacred relic of the Holy Kingdom.

"And yet this prophecy is strange."

A prophecy, by its nature, told of what was to come. Neither god nor human had any hand in it. Had there been intervention, it would have been called a revelation, not a prophecy.

"To 'mock' the heavens, and to bring a god 'to its knees.'"

Had it said only that monsters would kneel, she would have taken it for the coming of this generation's hero. But to force a god down, and to make a mockery of the heavens that were a god's own domain—that sounded less like a righteous hero than a heretic. Even so, she could not simply condemn him as a heretic outright. The words monsters as well sat far too strangely in the line, as if the prophecy had named the entire world his enemy.

"For now, I'll have to watch a little longer."

The moment those words were spoken, the timid nobles and the imperial family would move to kill Cheon Hwi at once, and the Holy Kingdom would bring every means it had to bear in order to watch the Singularity. To lay that kind of pressure on the one person with any chance of taking the Demon King would be a loss for the world itself. So the Saintess resolved to keep the prophecy silent. The Book of Prophecy was a sacred relic only the Saintess could read. So long as she herself did not speak, there was no path by which the words could reach anyone else.

Cecilia ought to have been answering the crisis before her eyes, not a prophecy of the distant future. Regrettably, that crisis was not written in the Book of Prophecy at all.

At noon the next day, the whole of the academy was faintly astir.

"You ready?"

"However much I prepare, it's never enough."

"Yeah. That's the truth."

Judging by the unrest, the crisis had been handed not to the Saintess alone, but to everyone. The whole academy was talking about it. Cheon Hwi hadn't the faintest idea.

"Why is it so noisy today of all days?"

He put the question to his two disciples, both of them collapsed even more thoroughly than they had been the day before.

"The exam, probably? There's barely a week left."

Hyeon answered with her arms shaking, palms braced against the ground.

"An exam?"

"They hold one every three months. Each faculty has its own practical, and there's a written exam the whole student body sits."

"So that was all the fuss."

Cheon Hwi answered as if it were nothing and crossed the training ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ground. That was when it came.

"So—are you going to be all right?"

"You have to sit the exam too."

"I do?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"…?"

Why should he have to take an exam—what kind of question was that? While Hyeon was still struck dumb, it was Seol who answered him.

"Of course you take the exam."

"I was taught by a professor, and still I must sit an exam?"

The moment he arrived he had fought a professor for the right to teach his disciples himself, won an exemption from classes, and had not heard a single word about exams or lessons since. In a sense, he had grounds to feel wronged. What he had overlooked was that this was not the Central Plains, and that the written exam and the practical were not the same thing.

"Very well. Then let me hear what sort of questions they ask."

"Hmm… I think the first question on last month's exam was, 'In what year was the Elysia Empire founded?'"

"What?"

He could not deny that a fight required a mind. If anything, the higher the fight, the harder the mind had to work, and no one understood that better than Cheon Hwi himself. But the knowledge required then was knowledge of combat—how to hold a sword, how to circulate internal energy, how one was meant to win. It was not knowledge of history.

Worry over the exam had only just begun to settle when Seol added one more word.

"Fail the exam, you're expelled."

Ah. He was finished.

His greatest worry had been reading his disciples' level and deciding how to raise them, and that worry had been far too fine for the trouble he was actually in. If he himself took a failing mark and was expelled, how was he supposed to raise them at all?

I must not fail. Not under any circumstances!

"What are your ranks on the written exam?"

He asked in the hope of getting some use out of them. No answer came back.

"I asked your ranks."

Thinking they might not have heard, he asked again. The answers that came back startled him.

"…5,647th."

"7,004th."

In the bad sense, of course.

"I was sure I'd heard the whole student body numbered about that many…? No—before that. How low does a failing mark even have to be, if scores like those didn't get you expelled?"

Hyeon, he could understand. Seol, he could not. She was the sort you counted faster from the bottom. Line them up and she would be standing at the very end—and she hadn't been expelled? To the dumbfounded Cheon Hwi, Hyeon, whose grades were at least the better of the two, offered an explanation.

"…The written part is a little lacking, but we did well on the practical."

"Yes. I heard as much before. On the practical, the two of you took first and second entire."

"That's why our overall scores just barely kept us from failing."

That, at least, was a mercy. At his disciples' level the practical would not be especially difficult. They were a sword faculty that could beat even the magic faculty; set against their own faculty, they would naturally sit near the top. What mattered now was the written exam. He could not speak for the others, but if Seol or he himself so much as scraped a failing mark, the whole purpose would be turned on its head.

"I see. So that's how it is."

"How what is?"

Seol tossed the question out. Cheon Hwi ignored her and went on.

"Until the exam, do not even think of sleeping soundly."

"What!?"

The one who shot up and shouted loudest was Hyeon.

We already train on less than four hours of sleep a day, and he wants more than that?

She made no effort to hide her shock. Cheon Hwi continued regardless.

"From today until the exam, we prepare for the written test as well."

"And the option of not doing that would be…?"

They had already sat the written exam five times, and they hadn't failed, so wouldn't it be fine? Within the academy, what was weighed more heavily than the written test was the practical. She made an earnest case that there was no particular need to prepare for the written exam.

"In that case, do you know of anyone who studies well?"

Once again, Cheon Hwi did not hear a word of it.

"If you don't, then I shall teach you myself."

His comprehension was extraordinary. At first he had not even known what magic was; after sitting in on a few proper classes in his spare time, he had turned around and taught his disciples what internal energy and magic even were. Learning from him was brutally hard, but the results were extraordinary beyond telling. And this was something learned with the head, not the body. He could not drill it into them by throwing their bodies around, the way he usually did, so she was beginning to think that studying under him this once might actually be all right—and was on the verge of accepting.

"No answer, so I shall take it that you agree. Wait three days. I will learn the whole of it and bring it back."

"And after you've learned it…?"

"The same as always. I will ask, and you will answer. Wrong, and you take the blow. Late, and you take it all the same."

Hit them? They had learned the martial arts by being struck, and by the time training ended their whole bodies ached—and he meant to bring that into their studies? No. Absolutely not. Better to die and be done with it. No—pile that method of study on top of everything else, and it wouldn't even be strange if they actually died.

"Now that I think of it, the Saintess who came yesterday was ranked third in the whole academy!"

The instant Hyeon sensed a crisis in which she might genuinely die, she blurted out the name of someone who studied well. At her cry, Seol added a word of her own.

"Cecilia is smart."

Desperation gathered in the disciples' eyes—a gaze in which a single feeling had condensed. The wish to live. Cheon Hwi regarded them in silence, then nodded.

"…Very well. Learning from the Saintess would be efficient as well."

They were saved. The disciples let out breaths of relief and sank down where they stood. Seol even muttered to herself that it was a good thing. The relief did not last.

"…But did the Saintess say she would teach you?"

It struck dead center.

"She'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still teach us, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wouldn't she…?"

Third in the academy, bearer of divine power, Saintess of the age—taken word by word, there was no truer person of character anywhere. Ask her to teach, and she would surely help with mercy. Hyeon said it with hope packed into the words.

"And the one who threatened that merciful person—and meant to kill her—was I."

As he always did, Cheon Hwi smashed every pleasant hope to pieces.

"…What?"

"Hm? Did I not tell you?"

Come to think of it, when the Saintess had come yesterday, he had never said why. The disciples had not seen him speaking with her, either.

No wonder they wouldn't know.

"Hm. I shall explain."

There was no need to hide it from his disciples in any case. Cheon Hwi told them everything that had happened the day before, and the faces that heard it were a sight to behold.

"Ha. Haha. Hahahaha. The Saintess. That Saintess."

"It doesn't… matter…"

"You've lost your mind."

"No…"

What is the Saintess even supposed to be, that they're acting like this!

To Cheon Hwi, the Saintess was nothing more and nothing less than a girl who happened to possess a strange power called divine energy. That was true only of him. To the students of the academy, she was an entirely different being: the story of a commoner who had climbed all the way to the office of Saintess; a purity worthy of the name; a warm, compassionate nature that healed everyone with divine power and gathered them in. There was no reason for anyone, man or woman, young or old, to dislike her. Hold a popularity poll in the academy this very moment, and ninety-five out of a hundred would probably cast their vote for the Saintess.

And he had threatened that Saintess—one for whom even "the academy's idol" was too small a word? No, worse than that. What? He had meant to kill her?

"If you want to die, die alone! What did we ever do wrong!?"

"I… am sorry."

"Uh…. From where was I even talking?"

"From 'You threatened the Saintess?'"

So she had said it almost from the very start. Haha. What a life.

"Hahaha…. You know that was a lie, right?"

Hyeon made the excuse, afraid of being hit again. Fortunately, Cheon Hwi did not so much as notice.

"Enough. I shall go to the Saintess myself and ask."

He truly meant to ask. Not one of his disciples believed the word.

The next morning, they prayed more earnestly than anyone that the Saintess's heart would prove generous.

But the eyes with which Cecilia looked at Cheon Hwi were far too cold to belong to anyone called Saintess—far too cold to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be called a generous heart.