Training Camp's Finale
Tomorrow, the apprentices would duel one another, and the day after that, they'd hunt monsters.
After passing the Lord Qualification Exam, everyone would shed their apprentice lord title and become true lords, each assigned to their own territory.
Then the brutal blood relative wars would begin.
Arthur looked down at his hands.
Blisters had formed, burst, reformed, and burst again, but now calluses had toughened the skin.
No more stinging pain unless he pushed himself too hard.
His current stats had barely caught up to the other apprentices after grueling effort—still only a notch above commoners who loved athletics.
Soldier level, at best.
'Time to cast the bait.'
Iris had plenty of utility.
Iris on the Asgard Continent.
The Important Information View appeared from Arthur's perspective, he figured.
If she were from another continent, would it have triggered?
No chance.
"Instructor, why haven't you asked about my identity lately?"
"Didn't see the point."
By now, he and Orwen had grown close.
The other instructors would gape if they saw.
Chatting casually with that witch Orwen!
She was that cold.
Orwen had recognized Arthur's potential early on.
This kid was destined for greatness.
"Let my name echo around the training camp now and then."
Names that carried that far usually belonged to big shots.
She was telling him to become one.
"You know I'm in Brat Territory on the Asgard Continent, right?"
"Of course. You told me yourself."
She couldn't check his Lord Nurturing Device, so she had only his word—but it rang true.
If it were a lie, how would he know about the Asgard Continent and Brat Territory?
The Brat Territory she knew was a tiny backwater hamlet.
She'd been shocked to hear Asgard Continent, then puzzled at Brat Territory.
Does such a place even exist?
She'd checked immediately upon returning to the continent.
It did exist.
Small as a booger.
"No plans to visit?"
"What?"
Orwen looked puzzled, then furrowed her brow.
Most apprentices saw instructors as NPCs living here—usually true.
But Arthur asked as if he knew she was on the Asgard Continent.
"Well, meeting you in the lower world would be nice, sure."
"Then come visit, Iris."
"Eh, what do you take me f—what?"
Orwen jolted at her other name.
"What did you say?"
"Swordmage Iris, you have to come meet me. Absolutely."
"How do you know my—!"
She shot to her feet.
How could she not be shocked?
A fact unknown even to other instructors.
Only the head instructor knew.
"I have a special ability to glimpse others' misfortunes. Not always, but I saw yours in a dream—the you in the Iphillis Empire on the Asgard Continent."
Arthur added some spit to his story.
Orwen stared, incredulous.
But she couldn't dismiss it.
He knew her identity.
Knew she was in the Iphillis Empire.
Knew her real name: Iris.
But more importantly...
"Wh-what misfortune of mine?"
"You have to come meet me to find out."
"Wh-why go to such lengths?"
"Call it a safety measure? Bring the Promise Parchment when you come."
"You sly little brat!"
Orwen spat a curse.
Her misfortune dangled before her, answer just out of reach.
How frustrating.
She reined in her anger.
"Sorry for the language. I get the safety measure."
She nodded.
Mentioning it meant conditions attached—like bringing the Promise Parchment.
The Promise Parchment was special vellum crafted by mages.
Sign a pact, and magic bound it; break it, become the other's eternal slave.
"You want something from me, huh."
She swept back her hair.
Smart kid, sure—but she hadn't expected to be played like this.
"Fine, I'll do it. I'll come meet you."
Arthur nodded with his usual infuriating smirk.
All the apprentices' training rooms linked up.
The connected rooms formed one vast parade ground.
"You damn noble bastard!"
"Ugh!"
Arthur watched a commoner pummel a noble.
Everyone hustled.
Especially commoners and slaves.
For them, this was a shot at turning their lives around.
Plus, solid rewards usable in the real world from progressing the Monarch Game.
"I win!"
The commoner raised his arms, declaring victory over the downed noble.
"Orwen, what gives? You got saddled with a kid."
"Don't call him a kid unless you want another slap?"
Orwen flashed a sly fox grin at approaching instructor Kaiser, twisting her lips mockingly.
Kaiser had ogled her figure once and gotten slapped.
Enemies ever since.
To him, Orwen with her boy apprentice was prime teasing material.
"Yeah, yeah. Still, our apprentice lord's gotta go easy on yours, right?"
Orwen barely stifled a belly laugh.
Who was going easy on whom?
Then it was Arthur's turn.
"Instructor, that little punk's too pitiful!"
"Kid, you eat yet?"
"Aww, widdle guy's already scared?"
Mocking jeers at Arthur.
Orwen tsked at the laughing instructors behind, pitying their idiocy.
Partly Arthur's youth, but they egged it on.
They despised witch Orwen.
She didn't care.
Her past apprentices had all shone.
But a sixteen-year-old this time? Perfect fodder, they thought.
"Apprentice Arthur and Apprentice Freight, forward!"
Arthur and Freight stepped up at the instructor's call.
Freight was the guy who'd handed Arthur a cloak at first summoning, blathering about grand dukes.
He smirked at Arthur.
"Remember last time, punk?"
Freight always taunted in the mess: "One day I'll stomp that lowly face."
Arthur ignored or ratted him to instructors as harassment.
To Arthur, just a passing mutt.
Freight planned to flatten that arrogant brat's nose.
Toy with him mercilessly, snap an arm.
His instructor Kaiser had slipped cash to the referee to drag it out.
Make it brutal; Kaiser wanted Orwen humiliated.
"I've trained with the sword since childhood. My family's style has rung across the continent for generations. Doubt a runt like you blocks even one move, but try."
Freight grinned smugly.
Arthur stayed silent.
"Begin!"
"You first. I'll give you an opening."
"No regrets?"
"Nah. Think that stick of yours gets past me?"
Freight laughed openly.
Arthur nodded.
"Alright then."
The words barely left his mouth.
Shiiiing!
Freight's eyes bulged.
Incredible speed!
He barely parried with his practice sword.
Riding the force, Arthur spun, smacking Freight's hand with the spear shaft.
Crack!
"Agh!"
Freight screamed.
Arthur thrust hard at his throat.
The tip halted before Freight's Adam's apple.
Freight gulped dryly.
Arthur's cold smile.
"Some majestic swordsmanship."
"......"
Freight was speechless.
He glanced at Kaiser.
Kaiser gaped at his bribed referee.
Undeniable win for Arthur, bribes or not.
No dragging it out.
"A-Arthur wins!"
Orwen tsked loudly for Kaiser's benefit.
"Idiots."
"......"
Not just that.
The apprentices cooing "aww" at Arthur shut up.
Not luck from a free move.
Even without, Arthur would've crushed him.
His motions proved it.
'Pathetic.'
Arthur deemed Freight unworthy.
No matter the family style, they'd rarely gripped bloodied blades in war.
Real combat and training swords differed.
If battle-hardened, maybe he'd have won.
But arrogance and inexperience couldn't match the ghost of the battlefield.
War neck-chops often ended in one strike.
Giving that strike screamed hubris.
'Two left.'
(Win Three Duels)
📍 Current:1/3
🎯 Rank:C
💰 Cash Reward:2,000
🏆 Rewards:Strength +2, Agility +2, Intelligence +4
⚠️ Failure Penalty (after acceptance):Strength -2, Agility -2, Intelligence -4
📖 Description: The duels held every time at Broad Training Camp. Prove your strength by winning against three opponents.
'I'll crush them effortlessly.'
The noses of those who laughed at his looks would flatten.
(Win Three Duels) Complete!
Arthur wore a satisfied smile, thinking ahead to tomorrow.
'Tomorrow, I must get the Probability Ring.'
Probability Ring.
Its presence in the Broad Training Camp's monster hunt was a shocker.
Downside: hunting several times more monsters than others.
Worth the strain.
10% chance for 1.3x critical damage.
Perfect for current Arthur.
"Good job."
Orwen had snuck up, kneading his shoulders.
Arthur gave a wry smile.