Chapter 233
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 233
Chapter Title: Unorthodox Training
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"Next. Cadet Basel."
"Y-Yes... sir!"
Perhaps because of the two precedents before him, the thoroughly tense Basel stepped forward cautiously.
"Take this."
I handed him beads with holes drilled through them, along with thread and a needle.
"Your task is to thread the beads as quickly as possible."
Of course, it wasn't easy with ordinary methods.
Beyond that, I assigned tasks to Garon, Holton, Gallien, Michelle Visillis, Radien Ginebuck, Enmi, and Karilde Burnaine as well.
Each one got their own assignment.
Then I set up the two sunbeds I'd prepared in advance, placed some fruit drinks on the side table, and lounged back leisurely.
Luna sprawled out just as leisurely on the sunbed next to mine.
They weren't talentless. Their methods were just wrong.
The effects would show themselves, even if slowly.
However, unlike our side, which was proceeding slowly and quietly with the lessons, the academy showed signs of a massive bomb going off.
It started on the second day after the new cadets arrived.
And for teenagers at the age where self-esteem runs high, the academy was a place ripe for overconfidence in their own abilities.
It only took a moment for the academy to grow considerably noisier.
There were no more cadets grumbling, "Is this even training?"
"Ughhh!! Grraaah!!!"
Romi, stretching with restraints made of aura stones strapped all over her body.
Lydia, her eyes bloodshot and vacant as she muttered to herself, placing her hand on an upside-down paper and scribbling rapidly.
Basel, twisting his body while threading needle and thread through the beads.
Michelle Visillis off to one side, boosting her vocal volume with aura to practice high notes.
The common thread was that the look on every one of their faces—no trace of doubt that this was proper training—had vanished long ago.
Their deathly expressions proved it.
To outsiders, it looked like anyone would wonder what the hell they were doing.
In the practical department, classes mainly focused on spars or field trips to hone real combat senses, after all.
Honestly, by my standards, I couldn't think of a better way to boost those specific stats, and these were methods I'd used myself.
But the academy seemed oblivious to the hidden benefits within these bizarre antics.
Probably due to the difference in approach.
Testing it on your own body versus having someone else test it on you made the effects hard to grasp clearly.
This spectacle of ten cadets gathered in one spot, all engaging in eccentric behavior, spread rumors through the academy in just two days.
As a result—maybe—by sunset, spectators had started gathering to watch these guys repeat the same training and take breaks over and over.
Of course, the emotions mixed into most of their gazes were the typical failing-class disdain.
What the hell are they doing?
Planning to be clowns after leaving the academy?
Nothing but negative perceptions.
The parties involved probably felt the greatest skepticism and doubt toward that whispering.
They still didn't even know what results they were achieving.
But in Luna's eyes and mine, we could see their deficiencies gradually filling up, their bad habits neutralizing bit by bit.
Faintly, but noticeably enough within a month.
For example, suppose there's gear that boosts strength by 500.
If the usage condition is that the wearer must be at least 180cm tall, these guys were wearing that gear without reaching 180cm, trying to get stronger.
In other words, to fully reward all their past efforts, they needed to grow to 180cm first.
All I'd done over these two days was lounge on the sunbed, leisurely watching their struggles or taking naps.
So perhaps it was inevitable that dissatisfaction would build up.
It happened when the cadets, utterly exhausted from training that started early in the morning, headed to the cadet cafeteria inside the academy for a meal.
Lounging comfortably, I watched and heard their conversations perfectly through the specter-type undeads I'd planted in their shadows.
Just two days, but having suffered together, they gathered silently at one table and started eating.
"My arms have gone numb."
"My back feels like it's gonna snap. Know what's even more infuriating? Even though it hurts like hell, it'll all be fine after some time."
"You guys got off lucky. I got some weird talk about physical therapy from the assistant prof, and she beat me black and blue."
Assistant prof. The one they meant was none other than Luna.
She was a temporary instructor, but the title felt awkward, so they called me "Professor" and the assisting Luna "Assistant Professor."
The one speaking now was a kid whose body condition was pretty bad due to some childhood incident.
Even for a noble house, from a rundown baron's family in a kingdom far smaller than Bata. He'd been assaulted as a child, leaving his body wrecked.
Before treatment, no matter what he did, growth was hard, so I'd activated his meridians under the guise of physical therapy.
And he was one who saw the effects quickest.
Anyway, since they hadn't seen results yet, they couldn't fully trust it.
"Is this really gonna work...?"
"Who knows. But we have no other options now."
"Let's wait a few more days."
Michelle Visillis, from a viscount family, said quietly.
"If it still feels like a waste of time after that, then we complain."
"Yeah, but honestly, I don't trust that professor at all. What kind of training is this? Sure, the rumors are wild, but the age gap with us isn't that big. Real skill aside, teaching people requires experience."
"True, being a good fighter doesn't mean you're a good teacher. Aren't we hyping him up too much?"
The others nodded in agreement.
That was when it happened.
"What? All you rejects huddled together for a loser convention?"
"Didn't you hear? They got dumped in the failing class. Competing with the newbies this time—if they fail again, it's expulsion."
"What? Puhahaha!!"
As bold taunts rang out, everyone's gazes turned that way.
"......"
Undeterred by their icy stares, the provoking cadets kept going, loud enough for all to hear.
"Among the newbies, there are total greenhorns. If even you 'seniors' lose to chicks like that, it'll be a sight."
"Shut it. This is a dining hall—have some manners."
Michelle Visillis's retort, as the only viscount among them, earned shrugs from the group.
"If it were me, I'd be too ashamed to show my face and quit already. They sure strut around."
"You see those training sessions? One guy's threading beads, another's stretching all day, and that girl's flipping cards."
"Pahahaha! Prepping for the circus? Makes sense—mercs won't hire that level, so clowning it is."
Their cackling sparked laughter from the surroundings.
Naturally, the failing-class cadets couldn't hold back their anger, trembling with rage.
"What? Mad? Challenge us to a duel then. Soon as the paperwork's done, we'll throw down."
"......"
"Can't, huh? Figures, at your level."
The mocking atmosphere was growing louder by the second.
That was when it happened.
"That's a remark that's hard to just let slide, seniors."
At the sudden voice, all eyes turned to the group entering the cafeteria.
The boy leading the failing-class taunts started to snap back irritably but froze.
And understandably so—a boy with immense height and build was glaring down at him coldly.
Easily over two meters tall, rippling muscles, a massive spear slung on his back.
The cadets instinctively realized who this new cadet was.
From the mighty nation of Vasilum—called a superpower below the Great Forest at the heart of the central continent—the strongest house there, one of the continent's 13 Great Families: the Spear Saint's lineage.
The warrior who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Sword Saint Osberg Mielephon, grandson of the Spear Saint: Basara Crevad.
Flanking him were several new cadets radiating auras far too potent for freshmen.
"Heavens... that's Basara Crevad, grandson of the Spear Saint..."
"See that? Hontail's youngest—the magic house."
"That rumored genius? No way..."
"This freshman batch is no joke."
The sheer presence emanating from them crushed everyone in the cafeteria effortlessly, overwhelming to the core.
"Isn't it pretty unpleasant for new cadets to be so dismissed by seniors?"
He tapped the senior cadet's shoulder silently and asked. The boy trembled, eyes downcast.
"S-S-Sorry..."
"Please be careful. I'm still new to academy life, so I might unintentionally be rude to you seniors."
Despite the polite words, the murderous aura overwhelmed the seniors in an instant.
Basara's personal presence was that immense.
And with the Hontail scion—the youngest son of one of the 13 Great Families known as the magic house—there, no way would the mood lighten.
"By the way... didn't they say a candidate for World Tree proxy from the Great Forest is coming too?"
"Joining later, probably. Like the Saintess."
"Saintess? She's coming too?"
"Overheard it—the Holy Kingdom's sending someone."
The murmurs grew, some crowding to mingle with the 13 Great Families' heirs.
"Let's go. Time for training."
The failing-class cadets, silently watching, finished their meals, picked up their trays, and stood.
That was when it happened.
"Kyaa!"
Lydia, the mage cadet trudging out with a weary face, bumped into a senior cadet and tumbled.
At the same time, her tray flew straight toward Basara.
"Ahh!?"
She let out a short shriek in surprise.
Crash!!!
But the result the failing-class cadets expected didn't happen.
A burst of aura from around Basara instantly repelled the tray.
"Damn, blocking the way like an eyesore."
The senior who'd shoved Lydia muttered irritably, without so much as an apology.
Her dazed eyes on the floor met Basara's for a moment.
In the ensuing chaos...
"Hey, junior, you okay?"
The senior who'd pushed Lydia asked if she was fine. Basara shrugged.
"Unnecessary concern. But what about her?"
"Ah, don't worry about it. Just a failing-class reject chick. Commoner too."
"......"
"Oh, but she's your competition for the upcoming placement exam."
"Competition..."
"You know her? That Leon Cascadia everyone's buzzing about lately. The one from Bata Kingdom—turns out he's their temporary instructor."
At the snickering senior's words, Basara's gaze turned icy toward her.
It felt like facing a massive tiger as a rabbit.
Lydia shivered faintly.
"Pfft... Guess even Grandfather's wrong sometimes."
With that, Basara walked off as if nothing had happened.