The Instructors' Wager
"A bet?"
Rimer looked Metoon up and down, eyes narrowing.
"What kind of bet are you proposing all of a sudden?"
"A bet to prove whether the Fifth Training Ground really has the strongest trainees in Zieghart."
"Ahh, so you wanna throw down?"
"As an instructor of Zieghart, do not use such vulgar language."
"Fighting, throwing down—it's all the same thing. Let's just say it straight."
Rimer smirked and tipped back his empty beer mug. Metoon's mouth set like stone. The two men held the same rank as head instructors, but their personalities could not have been more different.
"Oh, is Rimer going up against Metoon?"
"They're not fighting each other—they're putting their students against each other!"
"So the Fifth Training Ground versus the Sixth? That's huge!"
Everyone in the tavern was on their feet, crowding in around Rimer and Metoon.
"I'm putting my entire fortune on Metoon's side!"
"Come on, this one's Rimer's! They've got Marta, Burren, Runaan, and even Raon, who beat all three of them!"
"Right. The Sixth has plenty of collaterals, but not a single direct descendant. The Fifth's going to win, no contest."
"You lot are the ones with outdated intel. Don't you know Lord Kane joined the Sixth not long ago?"
At the mention of a direct descendant, every gaze in the tavern snapped to one spot.
"Huh? Didn't he get injured on a mission?"
"That was a year and a half ago, you idiot."
"Oh, then it might actually be a fight. Lord Kane was famous for overflowing talent—especially his senses and the purity of his aura."
"A fight? The Sixth has the advantage. Lord Kane and the collaterals who follow him are already sixteen."
"This is gonna be fun!"
"Let's go! Open the books right now!"
The tavern crowd was already shouting the names of the Fifth and Sixth Training Grounds and digging out their money, as if the wager had been struck.
"Wow. If we don't do this, they're going to beat us to death, huh?"
Rimer gave a dry little laugh. For all his words, he looked thoroughly entertained. Metoon stood there with a heavy expression, as if he had known it would come to this.
"So what wind blew you into wanting a brawl all of a sudden?"
"It is not a brawl, it is—"
"Skip the nitpicking."
"Do you truly not know?"
"The Owen Kingdom?"
Rimer scratched his chin and lifted his mug.
"That's right. The Owen Kingdom looked at the Sixth Training Ground and still only requested a spar with the Fifth. It crushed the children's pride."
"That's because those kids were slacking on their training."
"You're not wrong. I didn't give it my all either, and neither did the trainees. But things are different now."
Metoon went on, watching Rimer's half-lidded eyes.
"The Sixth Training Ground changed after Kane Zieghart transferred in five months ago. Everyone has been training from dawn until night, and they recently even passed Hell Week."
"Eh? Hell Week?"
Rimer's mouth fell open.
"That's right. Not a single one dropped out."
"That's impressive."
Hell Week was infamous as one of the most brutal regimens in all of Zieghart. Even Regular Swordsmen washed out of it. The fact that every last trainee had endured it was genuinely astonishing.
"I decided it was time to let those children feel a sense of accomplishment."
"And you've chosen our Fifth Training Ground as the sacrificial lamb?"
"……"
Metoon's silence was answer enough.
"I like it."
Rimer grinned and tapped the table.
"How do we do it? One-on-one spars?"
"No. We still cannot defeat the Fifth Training Ground in one-on-one matches."
Metoon shook his head.
"Hmm? Then how do you want to fight?"
"Single combat is not the only form a duel can take."
"Ah!"
Rimer's grin widened as he rapped the table.
"A team battle?"
"Yes. The Fifth Training Ground has forty-three people. We will prepare forty-three as well, and have them clash at a location chosen at random."
"Calling it an all-out war feels a bit much. A localized battle, then?"
Muttering that it sounded fine, he set his hand back on the gold coin Metoon had laid down.
"I've got a proposal of my own, though."
"A proposal?"
"The Sixth Training Ground has more than twice our numbers, doesn't it?"
"It does."
"Then we ought to give you a better shot. You prepare sixty."
"What?"
"We stay at forty-three. You come with sixty."
"Are you looking down on us?"
Metoon's presence flared like dry straw catching fire. The table shuddered.
"It's not contempt. It's a fact. You admit yourselves that you fall short in force and experience, don't you?"
"Hmph."
"On top of that, we have more direct descendants, vassal-house children, and high-ranking collaterals. Even if you fight with sixty, no one will have grounds to complain."
Metoon considered it for a moment, then nodded.
"Very well. We will do it that way."
"You pick the date and the location, too."
"Me? And if I deceive you, what then…"
Metoon's heavy gaze wavered for the first time.
"You're not the sort of man who'd cheat over something like this."
The strength went out of Metoon's hand on the gold coin, and Rimer snatched it up in that instant.
"There is one thing you are mistaken about, however."
Metoon took his hand off the coin and turned his head.
"Mistaken?"
"For the year and a half Kane Zieghart could not move his body from his injuries, he spent every day cultivating his aura and honing his senses."
"Huh?"
"His senses and his aura capacity would not fall short even against a full-fledged swordsman."
He looked down at Rimer with eyes full of confidence.
"You would do well to prepare thoroughly. You might get swept aside by Kane alone. This is the contract deposit for the wager."
Metoon drew a pouch of gold coins from his coat, pushed it in front of Rimer, and walked out of the tavern.
"Whoooooa!"
"Can we come watch too?"
"Open the books right now! I'm putting my entire fortune on the Sixth Training Ground!"
"I'm on the Fifth!"
"Entire fortune—as if you lot have anything to bet. I'll put my house on it!"
The moment the wager was struck, the tavern erupted into such an uproar the ceiling seemed to shake.
"Hmm."
Rimer patted the pouch of gold and smiled.
"Nothing beats free money."
He was as composed as if he had known everything all along.
"Well then. Maybe I'll drop by the gamblinggambling house."
It was a dim hour of dawn, the sun not yet risen. In the open yard of the Annex, as if a black curtain had settled over the world, Raon sat with his eyes closed. A red heat-haze finer than blades of grass rose from his shoulders.
In contrast to the heat-flushed sun climbing the sky, the crimson energy unfurling from Raon's body dwindled bit by bit, until at last it vanished completely.
In that instant, Raon opened his eyes.
Like the sun surging into the heavens, his crimson pupils blazed with dense heat.
"Hooooo…"
As he expelled the remaining impurities from his body with his breath, those smoldering eyes returned to their usual calm.
Time really does fly.
He rose, watching the sun crawl upward. Three days had passed since he returned from his first mission. Three days of training, and the movements of his body and his aura had begun, however slightly, to fall into step.
Raon rolled his wrists and ankles, then drew his sword with a clear ring of steel. Circulating the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, he performed the Yeonseong Sword Art from the first form to the last.
The aura followed right on the body's heels—movement like a shadow. It was not perfect, but it was unmistakably different from three days ago.
I should get it to at least this level for now.
This was training he would have to do for the rest of his life. Perfectly matching the flow of aura and body was not something a few days could accomplish. In the end he would have to achieve the unity of sword and mind, where blade and spirit became one—so he would have to keep at it, steadily, from here on.
Raon performed the Zieghart Basic Swordsmanship from beginning to end, then sheathed his blade. When he looked up, the sun had climbed rather high.
A little late.
Dawn personal training was nearly over. He would need to reach the training ground before morning regular practice began.
He changed out of his sweat-soaked clothes and ran for the Fifth Training Ground. He was about to open the gate when the voices of trainees carried out from inside.
"What's with that guy not being here?"
"He finished the mission by himself. You think he'd feel like showing up for dawn training?"
"Tsk. Anyone could've done what he did if they'd been there."
"Exactly. Aura users or not, they were bandits. How strong could they have been? He just got lucky."
He knew those voices without looking. Collateral trainees—the ones who had failed to adapt to the changed Burren and fallen away from him.
Pathetic bastards.
Raon clicked his tongue. There was no need to pay any mind to the words of losers like that. The moment he walked in, they would avert their eyes and run.
The training ground feels a bit cold, though.
He had just registered that the temperature was different from usual and was about to step inside when a familiar voice came from within.
"Pathetic."
It was Burren. Elegant footsteps came to a halt in front of the trainees.
"Anyone could have done it? Then did you find the bandits' trail at the time? Did you rescue the children from them? Or perhaps you even took a bandit's head?"
"Th-that's…"
"Lord Burren, we were just, j-just joking…"
The trainees fumbled and stammered, unable to find anything to say.
"Jealousy is an emotion anyone can feel. But the moment you give it voice, human ugliness hits rock bottom. I can say this because I've been there myself. Get your heads on straight."
The instant Burren's words ended, someone dropped from a tree with a sharp thud.
"Hah. If that bastard hadn't been here, I was about to smash your skulls in."
Marta. Her voice, as if she were grinding her teeth, came from right beside the trainees.
"Know your place. If you'd run into that bandit chief, you'd have either gotten yourselves killed showing off, or gotten dragged off like dogs by the instructors watching from the sidelines."
"L-Lord Marta…"
"What did you do when you got leave after the mission? Figured you'd earned a rest and slacked off on training, right? Or skipped it entirely."
"That's…"
"Nngh."
The trainees could only make uncomfortable noises as Marta's words struck home.
"That guy who finished the mission by himself was still out at the training ground while you lot were home sleeping with your legs stretched out. Even on the day he got back."
"I-is that true?"
"If you don't believe me, go ask him yourself."
Marta let out a cold laugh and sneered at them.
"You sure know a lot about Raon's whereabouts. Have you been stalking him?"
"What? Where the hell do you get off running your mouth, you bastard!"
At Burren's half-joking remark, Marta slammed the wall.
"I'm right, though. You didn't even see him. How else would you know?"
"Want me to sew that trap of yours shut so you find out?"
Burren and Marta began pouring out killing intent, as if they were about to come to blows.
Raon felt some unidentifiable emotion, as if a finger were tapping against his chest, and opened the training ground door.
The noisy, bustling yard went quiet. Burren and Marta, who had looked ready to grab each other by the collar, whipped their heads around.
"Raon."
As he looked at the two of them, Runaan approached, her eyes glittering silver. Pure white frost was blooming over her shoulders.
So it was her.
He had wondered why the temperature had dropped. Runaan had been pouring out a vicious amount of cold.
"Think you're hot stuff just because you finished a mission by yourself? Late to dawn training, too."
A moment ago she had been taking his side, and now Marta was already sniping at him.
"I trained at home, so don't worry about it."
Raon answered lightly and took his place at the center of the training ground.
"Regular training starts soon. Everyone fall in."
The trainees began gathering behind him with faintly awkward expressions.
"Loosen up until training starts."
As he said it and rolled his neck, a smile so small no one could have noticed it touched the corner of Raon's mouth.
Two months had passed since he completed his first mission.
The way people looked at Raon had shifted a little, but he paid it no mind at all, pouring himself entirely into the harmony of the Yeonseong Sword Art and the Garam Footwork.
How tedious. Repeating sword arts and footwork you've already mastered—does a feeling as mundane as boredom not exist in you, brat?
Hardly.
Raon gave a faint smile.
It's important training. I'm enduring it.
No one was unaware that the fundamentals mattered. And yet most people, knowing that, still made the mistake of abandoning basic drills to throw themselves at advanced martial studies.
The reason was simple. Competitiveness.
Because it feels like you're falling behind.
When you were repeating ordinary swordsmanship and footwork, and the other side was using sword ki and launching sword wind, you could not help but shrink inwardly, could not help but grow anxious.
And it's unbearably boring, besides.
Basic swordsmanship and footwork were simple and plain. Even a trainee of ordinary talent could learn the forms in a week. Repeating them for months—or years—was something no one enjoyed.
Raon was no exception. Continuing to repeat the fundamental sword forms and footwork was painfully hard even for him.
But it's something that has to be done.
Training the fundamentals diligently was like building a ladder against a cliff. Those scrambling up with hands and feet would get ahead at first, but in time, the one who had raised the ladder would climb that cliff higher and faster.
If there was one thing he trusted more than anyone else in the world, it was his own patience. So no matter what anyone said, during his personal hours Raon always practiced basic swordsmanship, footwork, and the Ring of Fire.
"Wow, does he seriously never get bored?"
"How does he just keep repeating the Yeonseong Sword Art?"
"He's insane. Completely insane…"
"I couldn't live like that. I really couldn't."
The trainees stuck out their tongues watching Raon repeat the basic sword forms. It was not mockery or teasing—it was pure admiration.
"Right? How does he just repeat that? Maybe he's gone half-mad?"
At the cheerful voice, the trainees turned around.
"H-huh!"
"I-Instructor!"
"What brings you here so early?"
"Morning."
Head Instructor Rimer grinned and waved.
"The basics are boring, that's a fact—but that kid's going to climb high. I've never seen a swordsman who constantly polished the fundamentals fail to stand at the top."
With that, he stepped up onto the platform.
"Alright, everyone listen up!"
Rimer clapped his hands and gathered every gaze. The trainees stopped their personal practice and ran to stand before him.
"What's going on?"
Burren raised a hand. He was tilting his head, apparently finding it strange that Rimer had shown up during dawn personal training.
"Ah, there was something I should've told you a while ago. Completely slipped my mind."
"Sorry? Slipped your mind?"
"What did you forget this time?"
The trainees asked lightly, assuming it was nothing serious. The words that came out of his mouth, however, went far beyond anything they had imagined.
"I agreed to throw down with the Sixth Training Ground."
"Throw down? With the Sixth? D-don't tell us you mean a spar?"
"Less a spar and more like an all-out brawl. Your forty-three against their sixty, all at once."
"When?"
Burren's face hardened like tree bark, and the other trainees swallowed dryly.
Rimer grinned as if savoring those expressions.