Holy Knight Aspirant Ian (4)

In any organization, talent management is crucial. Especially in times like these, with rift disasters popping up all over the continent. In a situation where the demand for martial prowess had skyrocketed, it was even more vital.

Recently, was there even a single knight order bearing that name that wasn't struggling with manpower shortages? Scouting capable talent had become the fervent wish of every knight order.

The phrase "promising young talent" had devolved into a cheap joke.

In that regard, the Life Church's holy knight order was in slightly better shape. It had been several months since they began training the new recruits. The average performance of this batch of trainees was markedly higher than before.

No. There's a slight catch. It's not that the whole group is exceptional. One training camp stands out unusually.

The white-haired old man squeezed his eyes shut. A rare sense of relief was doused with cold water.

"Adjutant. Bring me the reports from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Southern Training Camp. All of them."

"I've compiled them here. The Southern Camp's results are exceptionally solid, but is there a problem?"

"The results are too good. That's the problem. I'm the type who suspects anything that seems too convenient."

By now, the old man's gaze burned with anger.

The world knew this gruff old man by many names. Commander of the Life Church's holy knight order. Werner Eisenfeld. A man who would rather break than bend. One who rejected compromise and despised corruption more than anyone.

He had caught the stench of thick deception.

"The discrepancy is too glaring. Did the goddess suddenly bestow her blessing? And only on the Southern Camp, of all places?"

They were the type that cropped up every so often. The ones who falsified reports to inflate their achievements. He'd thought everyone in the church knew his temperament by now, but apparently, some had guts bulging out past their belts.

Werner quickly pinpointed the cause. It didn't require any extraordinary insight.

- Trainee No. 26, 'Ian'.

- Notes: Enlisted concealing his family name, confirmed as the second son of the Balter Count family.

It reeked. A stench so foul it made his nose tingle.

Werner methodically organized his thoughts. A trainee who aced nearly every category. All the instructors at that camp gave glowing reviews. And coincidentally, he was the scion of a noble house.

Bribery, coercion, threats, flattery... Every sordid possibility sprang to mind.

"Indeed... Now that you mention it, Commander, it does seem suspicious. Shall I assemble an inspection team?"

"Only with trustworthy men. Throw in a few heresy inquisitors for good measure."

"Understood."

Two weeks later, the inspection results from his subordinate holy knights and the heresy inquisitors arrived. Werner couldn't help frowning as he read the report.

His suspicions were off the mark. The Southern Training Camp hadn't falsified results. Quite the opposite—they had applied even stricter standards than other camps.

The reason was obvious. They knew their current achievements were unusually high compared to normal. Falsifying the report downward would have invited needless suspicion.

But field cooking skills? Why would that make it into the inspection team's opinion?

It was a bit odd, but still better than the disaster he'd feared. After all, this new recruit crop was a bumper harvest.

The real problem came next. The heresy inquisitors' opinion made his head throb.

Doctrine nagging was expected. He'd have been disappointed if it wasn't there. But this? Had they been brainwashed?

These fault-finders, who lived to nitpick within the church, used the phrase "extremely well." As far as Werner knew, that wasn't in the heresy inquisitors' vocabulary.

And these bastards. They said not a word about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Trainee No. 26 'Ian,' whom he'd specifically asked them to investigate. Instead, they requested drafting some trainees into their department...

They're coveting him. Went in to find flaws and came back converted.

At this point, even Werner had to admit it. Ian Balter was the real deal. Whether the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠goddess had blessed the Southern Training Camp was debatable, but a relic-grade talent had definitely appeared.

The word "regressor" usually carries a negative connotation. Arrogant, selfish, cold-hearted, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠devoid of blood or tears. In most stories, regressors are flawed in character, strength secondary.

But that's a disaster born of knowing one truth and ignoring the rest. Life is unpredictable, as the saying goes. Why make enemies with venomous behavior?

To become a truly exceptional regressor, first learn to win hearts.

"Ian, got a moment?"

"Of course, Instructor. Do you need me?"

As said many times, knights or holy knights—it's all about swinging the sword. Their worries were predictable. They wanted to swing it better. Build sturdier muscles. In an era where martial power was everything, it was natural.

For you, soon Swordmaster Ian Balter descends.

"Thanks, Ian. I can really feel my strength improving lately."

"No need to thank me. That was latent potential in your body all along, Senior."

"How do you always say exactly what I want to hear?"

Now, no holy knight in this camp followed anyone else's training methods. None had gone without benefiting from mine. Scores? Needless to say.

The Balter Count family's training was child's play to me now. I wouldn't have tried if I couldn't dominate.

The Life Church doesn't entrust the saintess's guard to just anyone.

"How was it? What do you think the issue is, Ian?"

"Footwork's much improved from before. Hmm..."

While winning over the instructors, I didn't neglect my peers. A regressor's true power lies in connections. They might seem insignificant now, but not in the future.

The goodwill I sowed would sprout somewhere.

"Got it. Too much arm strength. Like this—how's that?"

"Do it again! That feeling. Once more!"

"Alright. Try it now."

"Uwooooh!"

In the end, the camp enjoyed unprecedented prosperity. So much so that an inspection team came to verify it personally.

It was rewarding, running around elevating everyone's skills. I hadn't expected an inspection team, but... it was a good sign.

Proof the church's upper echelons were watching me.

Time was short until Liscia fully became the saintess. About two years until she finished church education and the rites.

Even as a holy knight, I'd need to rack up merits quickly to make it just in time.

Everything proceeded according to plan.

The one thing I hadn't anticipated was this.

"Brother Ian is truly unusual."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I don't know much about swords. You've handled one since childhood, so your unparalleled skill makes sense."

"It's not unparalleled. I have many shortcomings."

"So humble. Anyway, I've never seen holy power grow this fast. Even by the priesthood's standards, it's exceptional."

What's the difference between a knight and a holy knight? Obviously, holy power.

But I hadn't become one out of deep faith. The title was just a pretext to guard Liscia.

I'd planned to rely on swordsmanship, not holy power.

Yet here I was, receiving an excessive amount.

"I can't gauge it myself, so specifically, how fast is my growth?"

"It surpasses the Archbishop's childhood a bit."

"I... see."

Why? Infinite regression's influence? Possibilities abounded, but dwelling wouldn't yield answers.

I didn't have the hobby of wasting time on unsolvable issues. Better to focus on myself and those around me.

As I stayed busy, time flew by. Finally, the news I'd awaited arrived.

"Attention, all! In one week, during the final evaluation, Holy Knight Commander Werner Eisenfeld will visit in person!"