Chapter 80
Chapter 80
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 80
Chapter Title: The Overwhelming Instructor
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Finally, she brushed past Piot and Miska to join the other elves.
But not only Piot and Miska—all the men's gazes remained fixed on her.
"Young master."
"Yeah? What?"
"For the first time today, I think I'm glad I was born."
Piot stared at Miska with an incredulous look.
A dazed, soul-left expression.
But glancing around, he saw plenty of other men wearing similar faces and gazes.
*'Well, she is a beauty I've never seen before.'*
Her personality seemed a bit unusual, but it would be weirder if a female warrior who fought with weapons just like a man had a normal one.
Elves as a race had slightly different ways of thinking from humans anyway.
"Everyone assembled?"
At that moment, two men pushed aside the tent flap and stepped out.
Swordmaster Blaho looked lean but had a lanky height and broad shoulders that made him seem solidly built overall, while beside him stood Zanstrick Mercenary Captain Stelmann, shorter but with a hulking frame like a grizzly bear and bulging, rugged muscles.
"Line up."
Blaho spat out the single word with arms crossed, and the Black Eagle Legion soldiers—grouped in threes and fours—swiftly formed ranks like lightning.
The Zanstrick mercenaries, at Stelmann's nod, fell into line too, though their movements were a bit sloppy.
The elf warriors had been standing in perfect order from the start.
Blaho scanned the three groups of recruits with an expressionless face, then turned his head toward the tent.
"Preparations are complete."
The tent flap parted again, and a man emerged slowly—taller than Blaho, with a build right in between Blaho and Stelmann.
"......!"
Whether they knew Sion's true identity, had seen him often without knowing who he was, or were seeing him for the first time today, everyone wore a slightly surprised expression.
Sion had removed the beard-like mask that always covered from his nose down to his chin—except in special moments when he had to reveal his true self.
Those unaware it was a thin artificial mask specially crafted from his real skin and beard simply thought he had shaved clean.
Those who hadn't seen Sion in a while or were seeing him today—especially the Black Eagle Legion troops—harbored some doubt at how young he looked.
But they weren't foolish enough to disrespect or ignore the man whom their legion commander, a Swordmaster, treated with utmost respect.
Moreover, Sion was royalty bearing the surname 'Sailun'—deeply tied to the ducal house—and the key figure in resolving this rebellion.
The Black Eagle Legion soldiers might have their doubts, but they never let their discipline or tension slack.
"Still, you all have the basics down."
Sion grinned. He had experienced atmospheres like this countless times since his great-great-grandfather's generation in the legion.
"Doesn't it feel off that the commander of a new unit formed in the Dukedom with grand ambitions looks like this?"
No, sir!!!
The legion soldiers' voices boomed.
"No, it does. Even I'd wonder if the commander looks like some green kid. But there are two mistakes here."
Sion held up his index finger.
"First, appearances aside, I'm actually quite old."
A few who knew his true identity flinched at the words, but most just accepted it with a nod.
"Second, I'm not the commander of the Monster Hunting Corps. Swordmaster Blaho will take that role."
As Blaho stepped forward, Sion shifted his gaze to Stelmann.
"Stelmann Zanstrick will be the vice-commander and senior First Company Captain. The hunting legion will consist of two companies of around thirty men each, with three platoons and platoon leaders per company. Aside from First Company Captain Stelmann Zanstrick, Swordmaster Blaho will select the other company captains and platoon leaders. Now then."
Sion swept his gaze over everyone and continued.
"By now, you're probably wondering what I'm doing here. What business does he have yapping away like this in a hunting unit?"
"......"
Sion's lips curved into a thicker smile, sensing more than half were thinking exactly that.
A tiny few who grasped the meaning behind that smile.
Piot, Miska, and the Zanstrick mercenaries shuddered involuntarily.
They were among those who "knew" what that smile meant.
*'N-no way?'*
As those in the know shared the same thought—
"I'm the interviewer and instructor. I judge you fledglings' potential, select or disqualify you, and train you. That's my role in the Monster Hunting Corps.
Oh, now you'll wonder if this self-proclaimed instructor can really judge and teach us. Does he even have the chops?"
"......"
"......"
The silence persisted, but the crowd had split into two camps.
One camp wore despair plain on their faces.
*'Ah, fuck, we're dead.'*
The other showed expressions of:
*'How did he know?'*
Sion fixed his gaze mostly on the latter group—the Black Eagle Legion soldiers and elf warriors.
"So your chief instructor has decided to give clueless fledglings a chance. Anyone I suspect can take me on directly."
"......!!!"
"Come one at a time or all at once. When? Right now."
Ignoring the stunned reactions, Sion gave a slight nod.
Stelmann pulled back the large leather cover beside the tent, revealing dozens of wooden swords and clubs stacked in layers.
Sion took a ninety-centimeter ebony wooden sword from Stelmann, slung it over his shoulder, and spoke.
"Finally, your chief instructor is extremely generous. Not only will I personally teach you fledglings your place, I've prepared another gift. Anyone who lands even one hit on me gets appointed platoon leader on the spot. Whoever beats me gets company captain."
Some took offense to their pride, others burned with challenge, still others sneered dismissively.
Sion flashed a provocative smile at them all and crooked his left finger.
"Ten seconds. Attack me with your weapon of choice. Oh, real swords are fine too. They won't even graze me anyway."
That last remark was the final blow.
Over a hundred pride-wounded veteran warriors charged the arrogant instructor like a herd of bison.
* * *
Stella Gosan was one of those who knew Sion's true identity.
Sion had said it was fine to tell the High Mountain and South Mountain elf elders and their successors.
As the High Mountain elf elder's only daughter and their top ranger—practically designated as the next elder—she had rushed here without a second thought upon hearing that the legendary hero Duke Jang Sion was still alive and had returned to the Dukedom.
Her mother, the High Mountain elf elder, hadn't stopped her.
She had welcomed her daughter's decision.
Because her mother had been as close as sisters to Sion's wife.
Close enough to name her only daughter 'Stella.'
Of course, Stella Gosan had never met Sion or Princess Stella.
But she prided herself on knowing everything about Sion (at least until he faked his death and left the Dukedom entirely).
She had heard plenty about Princess Stella growing up—the woman her mother had been like sisters with, whose name she now bore—but she admired Duke Jang Sion far more.
For slaying the Demon Dragon with his fellow heroes?
For gathering his near-extinct kin in the Dukedom and giving them hope?
No.
She simply respected Sion as an incredibly strong man.
Perhaps the strongest in the world—an overwhelming existence.
*- But is it all really true?*
Having only heard tales without witnessing it herself, she harbored a tiny sliver of doubt.
That's why she had come running.
The Monster Hunting Corps?
Not her concern.
Stella Gosan's goals were two.
To see with her own eyes if the hero she had idolized as a child—who now sparked a faint doubt as she matured—was truly that strong.
And, if the chance arose, to break that legend herself.
Stella was confident.
Right up until about a minute ago, when she had charged first at the legend she admired.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Argh! Gah! Keuong! Guh!
She came to her senses amid a bizarre harmony she'd never heard before: rhythmic drumbeats mixed with grotesque screams.
Guek! Cuh! Kah! Urk!
Her head already throbbed, and the relentless screams stabbing her ears made her grimace as she tried to sit up.
"Ugh!"
A sharp headache hit, twisting her face as her hand instinctively went to her forehead.
"Huh?"
Her normally smooth forehead was bulging out.
At the unfamiliar sensation, Stella finally recalled what had happened to her.
"One hit...?"
The ebony wooden sword had blurred in an instant, and her head had felt like it split open in agony.
With no memory after that, she must have gone down in one blow.
"I-I need to get up. Ngh...."
She tried pushing up with her limbs, but a spinning dizziness made her abandon the effort.
"Hoo, hoooo...."
After squeezing her eyes shut and taking deep breaths to regain her senses, Stella looked around.
Some lay curled up, foaming at the mouth.
Others grinned dreamily in unconsciousness, double nosebleeds pouring out.
Some knelt on the ground, trembling all over as they vomited nonstop.
And so on...
Too many to count, all passed out or worshiping the dirt in filthy, pathetic states.
Stella realized these were her new comrades starting today.
Fledgling comrades clueless about their place.
And over there, the comrades kept growing in number.
Pow-pow-pow-pow!
She couldn't even see it.
Well, she could.
Whenever something like a black snake hissed through straight and curving blurs, people dropped.
Defense?
He blocks an overhead strike, then suddenly folds at the waist and drops to his knees. Probably took one to the gut.
Dodge?
With fist, foot, knee, or shoulder—anything but the hand holding the wooden sword—he sends them flying.
Counterattack?
As if you could counter when you can't even track where it's coming from?
And so, all hundred-odd veterans lay defeated.
"......"
Stella, the first to get hit and knocked out, stared blankly at the scene from the moment she woke.
When it ended, she uttered a line worthy of the High Mountain's top ranger.
"One minute."
From when she regained consciousness to when he felled the rest—it had taken exactly one minute.
Her dazed eyes gradually regained their sharp, spirited gleam.
Thump-thump.
She felt her chest (which she proudly insisted was not small) pounding hard.
Not just from the lingering headache or the terror right before that blow.
It was awe at witnessing overwhelming prowess firsthand—and the deep admiration it sparked.
Stella Gosan had met her idol for life today.
(To be continued)