Chapter 9
Chapter 9
The Empire's Supreme Commander Has Returned - Episode 9
Training Camp Director's Office
"......."
"......."
The three men gathered in the meeting room remained silent.
And it wasn't strange that they were silent.
Anyone who had ever picked up a blade—be it a sword, spear, or any other weapon—and swung it with the ambition of becoming a knight would have reacted the same way.
The sight before them was simply too absurd.
A mere thirteen-year-old brat had taken down seventeen grown men.
"If... if he had mana, wouldn't that make it possible?"
The senior instructor asked with difficulty.
Though he had been the one to praise Delam as a prodigy, this level of strength was far beyond what should have been possible. It was hard to believe reality.
Still, the senior instructor's question was valid.
If Delam had gathered even a low-ranking knight's worth of mana, then it would have been possible.
But the training camp director and Obern shook their heads.
"If he had used mana, I—a knight—would have sensed it. Unless his mastery surpasses mine, that is. What about you, Sir Obern?"
"I didn't sense anything either. More importantly, the trainee's skill wasn't due to mana. His spear technique and close-quarters combat... as unbelievable as it is to say, both were at a master's level."
"Hoh."
The senior instructor pressed further.
"Then perhaps he's the descendant of some renowned family...? Even if his noble lineage has fallen and the family's Mana Ceremony was lost, their spear techniques might have survived."
"The techniques he used were strictly limited to the Empire Spear 12 Forms. There was no trace of any other spear style."
"What about his hand-to-hand combat?"
"His strikes... could hardly be called a technique."
"Sir Obern is right. He just moved fast and punched them in the jaw. While maintaining perfect distance..."
The senior instructor continued to ask many more questions.
But the director and Obern denied them all.
In the end, there was only one conclusion:
Trainee Delam was the real deal!
"This is incredible. It's like witnessing the childhood of a hero from myth, isn't it?"
"Which makes it all the more tragic. He's thirteen, yet he hasn't even begun the Mana Ceremony."
"The Mana Ceremony must be trained from a young age to be effective. No matter how skilled he is, if his mana is lacking..."
"What a waste. Had he been born into a renowned knight family, his name might already be famous across the continent by now."
"But it's not too late yet."
The last words came from Obern, who had been silent until now.
At Obern's solemn tone, the director looked at him in surprise.
Every knight had certain rights.
The right to pledge loyalty to their lord.
The right to restore their tarnished honor.
And finally—the right to take on a squire!
A squire was a knight's apprentice.
But it was by no means an easy position to obtain.
A squire spent every waking moment with their master, absorbing everything from swordsmanship to the Mana Ceremony.
It was also a matter of honor.
A squire's mistakes were their master's mistakes.
At the same time, a squire's achievements were their master's achievements.
Naturally, knights were extremely careful when choosing a squire.
The consequences of betrayal were devastating.
Or worse—what if they just took the teachings and ran?
That was why squires were usually chosen from noble families.
"Are you seriously considering taking him as your squire?"
"Unfortunately, I've already passed down my swordsmanship to my son. I have no intention of taking on another apprentice."
"Then...?"
"The Knight Academy. I plan to send him there to be molded into a fine knight who will serve His Majesty. I happen to have a recommendation available."
"Ah! That's a brilliant idea."
The training camp director nodded in agreement.
A commoner entering the Knight Academy?!
The senior instructor, who had once dreamed of such a position in his youth, felt a strange mix of emotions—yet he was happy as if it were his own achievement.
"Then I'll go fetch the trainee right away."
"Yes, we should deliver this fortunate news as soon as possible."
The director urged him to hurry.
If Delam became a renowned knight?
Then the credit for recognizing his talent would also be his.
"A Knight? ...No, thanks."
"......."
Delam scratched his head as he spoke.
The faces of the three men sitting across from him froze.
They exchanged glances.
Did I hear that correctly?
Especially the training camp director—his face turned beet red.
How dare a mere commoner refuse such an offer!
"Why would you refuse?! Do you not understand what a knight is? You could command the battlefield like your ancestors!"
"Of course I know. My father drilled it into my ears enough times. But you see..."
Delam met Obern's gaze and asked:
"Then who will protect my comrades?"
"Huh?"
"In the East, they say those who share meals together are family. Then the comrades I've eaten and slept alongside for over a week are my family. And so are the people from my hometown."
"They will protect themselves—and each other. Isn't that why they're training so hard?"
"It won't be enough. If I hear news of their deaths while I'm attending the Knight Academy... I don't think I'll ever be able to stand before my sword with pride again."
"Grrrgh!"
This time, Obern's face turned red.
But unlike the director, it wasn't out of anger.
It was because he was looking at a true knight!
The position of a knight guaranteed wealth and honor.
Of course, the path wouldn't be easy—but Delam had the talent.
Yet he was willing to give it up for his comrades!
Obern had once been expelled for exposing his knight captain's embezzlement.
His entire life as a knight had been denied.
But now, in this moment, it was being affirmed—by a mere trainee!
Still, this could all be an act.
Obern asked one final question:
"There's something you should know. I'll hear your answer again after you've heard everything."
"I'm listening."
"Originally, training lasts six weeks. But the northern front isn't doing well—you'll be deployed in two days."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It is! The odds of survival are slim. No matter how skilled you are, on the battlefield, you're just another soldier. But if you enroll in the academy, the training will be harsh—but you won't die. Even so, do you still choose to go to the battlefield with your comrades?"
"Of course."
Obern trembled as if struck by awe.
So moved was he that he grabbed Delam's hand and exclaimed:
"Magnificent! Volunteering for conscription, choosing to stand with your comrades—you are truly worthy of wearing this!"
With that, Obern removed his cloak.
Beneath the chainmail lay a Heart-Protecting Armor.
Delam nearly gasped aloud.
'Holy—that's made of mithril alloy!'
That distinctive swirling pattern—
It was unmistakably high-purity steel infused with mithril.
A single piece like that could buy an entire estate.
And it was worth every penny.
It could block even a knight's aura.
Effectively, it was like gaining an extra life.
And he was giving it to a mere trainee?!
'Wait, I just gave a cool-sounding answer because he seemed like the stubborn, honorable type...'
Obern unfastened the armor and handed it to Delam.
"This will protect you. Become a fine asset to the kingdom, and let us meet again. Can you promise me that?"
"Of course!"
Overwhelmed, Delam put on the armor right then and there.
A legendary treasure—like something out of a goblin's tale!
'Phew... That was close.'
The atmosphere in the barracks hadn't been great lately.
Because Delam had been wandering off alone instead of training with the others.
Truthfully, he had been training separately to regain his former instincts—but to the other trainees, it must have looked like he was slacking off late into the night.
All under the senior instructor's protection, no less.
As a result, whether awake or asleep—
Delam could feel hostile gazes from all directions.
Of course, they were just lowly trainees.
Nothing to fear—but it still made his blood boil.
Not because he lacked discipline, but because of occupational trauma.
Do you know what the most terrifying thing on the battlefield is?
It's not a high-ranking knight.
Nor a mage capable of mass destruction.
It's the blade of a traitor stabbing you in the back.
That was why Delam loathed betrayers.
He despised those who sharpened their knives in secret.
Just like these bastards.
'I was just about to teach them a lesson...'
But then, out of nowhere—
The training camp director had kindly set the stage for him.
And the ones who stepped forward were the very ones he'd been keeping an eye on.
Delam had seized the opportunity and wiped the floor with them.
Well, fine—he'd admit it.
Emotions played a part, but there was another reason.
His body had moved too freely.
'It was like riding the wind.'
On the second day of training—
Delam had felt the Wind in his thrusts.
And he had succeeded in replicating it.
Even hearing a strange voice.
From that moment, his body's senses began to change.
Strangely, he felt freer. Smoother.
At times, even savagely unrestrained.
Like the wind itself—
A gentle breeze, a chilling gale, a raging typhoon.
The sensation translated perfectly to his physical movements.
His body moved as he willed it—and stopped just as easily.
With that foundation, he wielded his spear and moved.
By the time he came to his senses—
All seventeen men were sprawled on the ground.
If he hadn't had this power?
It would have been a much tougher fight.
Even for Delam, a thirteen-year-old body had clear limits.
'Maybe I should've held back a little.'
Delam clicked his tongue.
He had expected them to promote him early or something.
But recommending him for the Knight Academy? That was unexpected.
'I'm grateful, but...'
On this continent, knights weren't just strong warriors.
They were synonymous with nobility.
Becoming a knight meant becoming a noble.
But the world's resources were finite. If every Tom, Dick, and Harry became a noble, the existing aristocracy's share would inevitably shrink.
That was why the paths to becoming a knight or mage—
The Mana Ceremony.
The Circle Magic.
—were strictly controlled by the nobility.
The Knight Academy was one of the few places in this controlled society where commoners could learn the Mana Ceremony.
'But the ceiling is too low.'
As mentioned, knights were nobles.
Which also meant they were a political group.
Thus, skill alone wasn't enough.
Climbing beyond a certain point without backing was extremely difficult.
And if Delam attended the academy?
His backer would naturally be that knight.
But judging by the fact that he'd been demoted to conscription officer—
His political influence was clearly lacking.
Besides, Delam had spent his entire life on the battlefield.
What he excelled at was war.
Any effort spent elsewhere would be wasted.
'And nothing beats war for rapid advancement.'
Historically, all founding heroes were born in war.
Meaning it was the place overflowing with opportunities.
A place where bloodlines meant nothing—only skill and achievements mattered.
If you could survive, it was the fastest path to success.
'Surviving is the hardest part, though...'
Still, Delam was confident.
How many years had he spent rolling in the mud of war?!
Of course, nothing in life was 100% certain.
He could still die from sheer bad luck—like a stray arrow.
But even so, he intended to struggle with everything he had.
Because it was his atonement—
For inadvertently contributing to humanity's downfall in his past life.
'If it doesn't work out, then so be it.'
Then he'd just curse whoever sent him back.
It wasn't like he asked for this regression, anyway.
Having brushed it all off, Delam returned to the barracks—
Only to find the atmosphere strangely tense.
His hometown friend urgently pulled him aside.
"Delam, the instructor's coming soon! Straighten your clothes and boots."
"Indoctrination's over—why would he... Oh."
"You know something?"
"Hmm... I'll tell you straight—you'll understand when you hear it."
Delam glanced toward the barracks entrance as he spoke.
Right on cue, the instructor walked in.
'They said training would end early today...'
The unusually grim expression on his face confirmed it.
The time to return to the battlefield had come.
To the place where humanity's fate would be decided—
To that blood-soaked land that felt like home.