Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: The Rookies' Nest
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In the eastern reaches of the Bestrika region on the Southern Continent lay the Aslan Kingdom, the sole human realm standing united against the monstrous hordes of the Great Cataclysm.
To the beasts and demonic creatures rampant in the Great Cataclysm's domain, the huddled humans of the Aslan Kingdom were nothing less than a lavish feast laid out on a platter.
Yet despite this, the Cataclysm's monsters dared not lay a hand on the kingdom. The reason was clear.
The Magic Tower, a repository of wisdom and sorcery, and the Lichtenauer Martial Clan, a gathering of superhumans who had mastered the pinnacle of martial arts, stood as unyielding guardians.
Among them, the Lichtenauer Martial Clan lived up to its fame as a family that revered the martial way, boasting numerous elite strike teams.
Born into frail human bodies, these warriors could stand against the Cataclysm's freakish powerhouses—each one a living weapon in their own right.
Such strike teams were the clan's very core. Thus, it was only natural for those brimming with talent and genius to claim leadership roles within them.
The many candidates poised to inherit the Lichtenauer's future were constantly proving their worth, each commanding teams befitting their station.
This included the so-called "thunderbolt rascal" from the branch family.
The heirs of the Pallkion, Kalia, and Clonen houses—foremost among vassal clans—each commanded full detachments in their own right.
And among the clan's shining stars, Alex stood at the pinnacle, leading not just a team but an entire unit.
Flip, flip!
In the Tiger Cloud Unit's office, Alex flipped through documents before him, chin propped on his hand.
Having reviewed the final page, he closed the file and set it down on the desk with a thud.
-Latent Dragon Squad Member Confirmation-
Indeed.
Alex was reviewing the roster for the new unit assigned to Ian.
"The roster's smaller than I expected."
"There aren't that many wild dogs in the clan wild enough to be classed as such... My apologies."
"Ah, no. That's fine. It makes sense. Hmm..."
Alex scratched his chin at the response from the man who had taken over as adjutant after Yohan's disappearance.
"How about slipping in a few normal ones? As it stands, it'll be tough to plant our guy."
Finding a white stone in sand was tricky because it blended in—but picking one out from a pile of black stones was a breeze.
If a normal member was thrown in among uncontrollable wild dogs, their cover as a spy was blown from the start.
But the adjutant, having anticipated Alex's concern, replied without hesitation.
"We've prepared for that. The Shadow Corps has secretly recruited one among the wild dogs. With such a small unit, it'll actually be easier to get close to the Second Young Lord. No need to worry."
Alex nodded in satisfaction at the adjutant's response.
"Hmm, good. Not bad at all."
This adjutant's handling of affairs seemed superior to Yohan's. Alex promptly erased all memory of that fool from his mind.
There were far too many pressing matters for him to dwell on a dimwit who couldn't even fend for himself.
"Moreover, if by some slim chance the Second Young Lord has the talent to hide his claws and win people over... better to minimize the numbers who might fall under his sway."
Wild dogs.
The open slang for the clan's headaches—misfits whose foul tempers and eccentricities had gotten them rejected by every strike team.
In a word, spoiled brats with attitude problems.
In a clan with iron discipline, the reason these flawed individuals could still eat their fill was simple.
They possessed skills to back up their rotten personalities and attitudes.
Had they walked the straight path, they might have chased right on the heels of the clan's brilliant heir stars.
If, by any chance, the Second Young Lord had the vessel to win over such wild dogs...
Then fewer followers were better.
"Good. You handle things cleanly."
Upon closer look, the man had his own clear rationale and convictions in his work.
Subordinates didn't need to think, but his right-hand man couldn't be a mere puppet dancing to orders.
The ability to handle matters proactively in his absence was essential.
Alex gave the adjutant a passing grade and gazed out the window, eyes gleaming.
"I'm looking forward to it. Is my little brother just a fool who'd get torn apart by wild dogs into mincemeat... or a talent who can rein them in?"
Either way, it hardly mattered.
What irked Alex about Ian was the uncertainty of his capabilities, which defied Alex's grasp.
Superior or delusionary, once he judged Ian's true measure, dealing with him would be straightforward.
After all, he himself would be the brightest star illuminating the clan's next generation.
Alex harbored not a shred of doubt about that future.
"Huff... huff..."
Breath escaping his lips turned to white mist, scattering in the air.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling sideways to drip onto the floor.
Since declaring before Paon that he'd take command of the new strike team, Ian had ceased training with the Twin-Headed Blood Serpent and focused solely on basic physical conditioning.
Running laps around the training ground, endlessly lifting and lowering heavy weights to stimulate his pathetic, frail body.
"Hnnngh...!!"
Tremble, tremble!
His arms shook as if they'd snap any second, begging to drop the iron weight—but Ian gritted his teeth, pushing it to the end.
The final moment.
Overcoming that without giving in was the foundation of muscle growth.
Clang!
With a heavy thud as the weight hit the rack, Ian collapsed flat on the floor.
"Haaaah..."
He wiped sweat from his face, steadying his breath.
Mind, technique, body.
True martial prowess couldn't be forged from a lopsided power.
Only when balanced across all three could one's full strength shine.
Having undone two chains of the Solar Meridian Blockage, his Blood Demon Iron Chain Art had reached the 2-star realm.
But what good was mastery of mana or weapons without the stamina to swing a sword? It'd crumble like a sandcastle on the shore.
Alex would never hand me a normal strike team.
Alex's schemes kept reminding him of Siegfried.
As if such a man would give him an easy unit to settle into.
Might as well say the sun rose in the west.
He'd surely gathered every uncontrollable nutjob the clan had.
That way, it'd be easy to brand Ian incompetent and humiliate him.
Such misfits couldn't tolerate anyone they deemed inferior lording over them.
But Alex couldn't imagine.
How, as Lucas in the Northern Continent, he'd merged countless nomadic tribes to found the Alexandros Empire.
How many he'd dealt with who spoke with fists over words.
No one on this continent matched his expertise in that "dialogue."
Alex, I can guess your plan... but it won't go as easily as you think.
Grip!
Steeled, Ian seized the dumbbell beside him.
One month remained until official assignment to the new team.
No time to slack if he wanted to maximize his physical gains.
Step, step!
One month.
A fleeting span, gone like an arrow if deemed short.
Yet for one with resolve, steadily pursuing a goal, it was ample for change.
Far too brief to sculpt a body like Lucas's prime—but plenty to infuse his feeble frame with muscle, stamina, and vitality.
After a month secluded in his quarters, training relentlessly, a decree from the Patriarch arrived for Ian.
He confirmed the order, then headed to the building assigned for his team's use.
It named the team and specified the location.
-Latent Dragon-
A term for a dragon submerged in water, yet to ascend the heavens—signifying talents who hadn't yet seized their chance to shine.
"Latent Dragon Squad, huh? Fancy name."
Ian snorted.
Latent Dragon sounded noble, but it was just sunk failures who never ascended.
Why wouldn't a true dragon-tier talent shine?
Conversely, if they had such ability yet didn't...
They must have flaws outweighing their gifts.
Wonder which my team will be.
As he pondered the members he'd soon meet, he'd arrived at the Latent Dragon building per the decree.
-Rookies' Nest-
"......"
Veins bulged on Ian's forehead at the sight of the building and its label.
"...Hmph. Playing it like this, eh?"
It was a haunted wreck, little better than a stable compared to other units.
"Latent Dragon" my ass—a dump on the verge of demolition.
Even for a direct-line team, this treatment?
He swallowed his rising ire and slowly reached for the door handle.
No need to get mad. Just a temporary slight.
Once he revealed his true colors, they'd be begging to upgrade his quarters.
Creeeak!
As Ian pushed the handle, composing himself, the door groaned open, revealing the interior.
Whoosh!
A gust laden with training ground dust blasted his face.
Clang! Sching! Clash-clash-clang!
The clamor of metal on metal rang out.
A petite girl and a hulking brute swinging a massive halberd were stirring up the dust storm.
The girl's daggers and throwing knives targeted the man's vitals.
His intimidating halberd plummeted toward her slender frame with cleaving force.
"......"
Ian was speechless at the mad scene greeting his arrival.
Sching!
The man batted away her throwing knife, and the spar paused.
The dueling pair and three onlookers watching eagerly turned to Ian at the entrance.
"Who're you? Oh. You one of the poor saps assigned to this worm-infested dump? Wait your turn. Once I sort this bitch out, I'll rank you next."
The man, halberd over his shoulder as he caught his breath, glared at the girl and growled.
"...Hilarious. A big dumb boar like you, talking about sorting me?"
Crack!
The man's face twisted demonically at her sneer.
"I told you not to call me a boar!!"
Whoosh! Boom!
His halberd cleaved the air, kicking up another dust whirlwind.
A chunk of building debris snagged on its blade.
The shoddy structure grew even shoddier from that single blow.
As his hair whipped in the wind, one phrase alone surfaced in Ian's mind.
"...What a mess."
No other words fit the scene.