Week Five: Mentoring and PvP (1)

With the metal for my weapon secured, there was no reason to delay.

So my next destination was the Blacksmith Workshop.

Clang! Clang! The rhythmic sound of hammer striking iron rang out steadily, punctuated now and then by a wave of searing heat. The workshop was clearly bustling with students hard at work inside, and yet, strangely, not a single voice could be heard.

Everyone was so absorbed in their craft that even a word of conversation would have felt like a waste of time.

Wandering all over the place as an outsider while they were deep in concentration would have been incredibly rude, so I stood a distance from the door and waited for someone to come out.

I was tapping out the rhythm of the hammering in my head when a man with muscles rippling across his frame came to greet me. His uniform was half undone, no tie pin in sight, but the odds were high that he was an upperclassman.

That face simply did not look like a first-year's. Let's call him a third-year senior, since that's the face value.

The blacksmith senior, for his part, only had to glance once at the tie pin on my chest.

"First-year? What do you need?"

"I'd like to place a crafting commission."

Apparently I wasn't the first person to come looking for this, because the third-year scratched his back with a vaguely annoyed expression as he replied.

"Sorry, but the queue's full for this semester. Put in a request now and you won't see it finished until the start of next term."

"Could I speak with your club president?"

Apparently people made this exact request often enough, because the senior wore the look of a man who could see right through me. He was probably thinking I'd slip the president an item and ask for a private favor.

"No means no. Even if you were the direct heir of some great house, we wouldn't do it. Don't waste your time. Just go."

"I'm not a direct heir of anything, but I do have something like this."

I drew a small ticket from inside my jacket and held it up.

At the sight of it, the third-year's languid eyes flew wide open.

"Wait, where did a first-year even get—"

Where indeed? I tore it off someone else's club, that's where.

It had been the victory reward staked in my duel with the Emerald Magic Tower, and it became mine after I pounded Gwak Ji-cheol into the floor. Then it sat quietly enshrined in my inventory for a few weeks, waiting for its moment to shine.

I smiled pleasantly and asked again.

"Could I speak with your club president?"

"Uh... yeah, sure. One moment."

The third-year scurried inside in a fluster, and a short while later another musclebound man emerged in his place.

The Blacksmith Club President looked even older than the senior who had greeted me. He was definitely a third-year, yet looked nothing like one.

Come to think of it, every blacksmith I'd raised back in the day had been every bit as burly and weathered. Did wielding a hammer age a man?

While I was entertaining that impertinent hypothesis, the club president trudged over to me and flatly spat out a single word.

"Ticket."

"Here."

When I showed him the VIP ticket, he gave it a once-over to confirm it was genuine — but didn't take it from me just yet.

The VIP ticket could push a commission to the very front of the queue, but whether to accept the job at all was the craftsman's call. He meant to hear the whole story before deciding.

"What are you making?"

"It'd probably be faster to show you."

I handed the president the blueprint I'd drawn up in advance.

A rod, slightly longer than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a man's forearm. Designed to be assembled from separate parts.

The Blacksmith Club President studied the blueprint carefully.

"Not an ordinary staff, is it. The shape's unusual, it's built for detachable components, and the work is quite intricate. Magitech equipment?"

"Sharp as ever."

I passed over the E-rank Iron Rod of Levitation I'd made earlier, for reference.

Naturally, I'd kept the core components separate.

The president turned the rod over in his hands, examining it from every angle, then gave a nod.

"Looks interesting. Normally I wouldn't touch magitech, but I'll make an exception this time."

Blacksmiths generally disliked working with magitech parts — for the purely macho reason that wrestling one big, heavy hunk of iron into shape and swinging it around felt far more manly than fiddling with a dozen tiny components.

Even so, the blueprint I'd shown him had apparently been enough to catch the Blacksmith Club President's interest.

He moved on to the next question.

"Materials?"

"Please use this as the primary material."

The moment I produced the Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron Ingot, the president's expression shifted slightly.

Until now he hadn't spared me so much as a glance, as if I were of no interest whatsoever — but now, for the first time, he looked me directly in the face, as though something had just begun to spark.

"You're an interesting first-year. An unusual commission, a VIP ticket, and now Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron on top of it."

"I've been lucky, one way or another."

"Luck alone doesn't get you things like that... Well, I'll take your word for it. If the Cold Iron is the primary material, what are you adding as secondary?"

"These, for the secondary materials."

I took off the Black Mithril Band I'd been wearing, along with the Black Bracelet of the Priest, and handed them both over.

The dominant metal in both was Black Mithril.

Black Mithril's first strength was its exceptionally high mana conductivity; its second was that even the tiny amount used in accessories was enough to produce a real effect.

The president seemed to grasp my intent, his eyes gleaming sharply.

"Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron alloyed with Black Mithril... Done well, you could take only the strengths of both metals."

"Exactly so."

"It's a combination I've never worked before, but I don't see it giving me much trouble. Figure a week, give or take. I'll contact you when it's done."

But I was certain.

Certain that it wouldn't take a week — that the Blacksmith Club President's message would come in only a few days.

No trouble at all, was it?

It won't go as smoothly as you think.

Week five.

Monday.

For some, it was just another ordinary PvP week — but for others, it carried a little more weight than usual.

Because mentoring was beginning this week.

The academic schedule itself remained unchanged; only those who had applied for mentoring would juggle both in parallel.

Lee Sudok passed along the announcement as he wrapped up class.

"Students participating in the first round of mentoring will proceed to the Arena immediately. Confirm your exact location on the back of your student ID."

A little under half the students rose from their seats.

Those who stayed put had surely declined this round of mentoring for their own various reasons — but once the gap between them and the students who had applied began to widen a month from now, their minds would change fast enough.

Participation would leap skyward from the second round of mentoring onward.

Along with Go Hyeon-woo and Seo Ye-in, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠made my leisurely way toward the Arena.

Everyone's destination was 'the Arena.' Since mentoring participants were expected to complete their PvP assessments as well, the academy had simply designated the Arena as the meeting place outright.

But precisely where in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Arena varied from person to person.

Just as Lee Sudok had said, I checked the back of my student ID.

I'd been assigned a seat number in the spectator stands.

Go Hyeon-woo and Seo Ye-in had received different numbers.

At their assigned seats, each of us would meet our respective mentor.

Go Hyeon-woo seemed to have thought of something, and asked me,

"That reminds me — surely your mentor takes on more pupils than just yourself?"

"Of course. Three or four others, give or take."

"Are they also swordsmen, like yourself?"

"Barring truly unusual circumstances. That's the whole point of submitting such a demanding application."

The matching system narrowed applicants so that mentor and students shared a class as closely as possible — which meant, as a natural consequence, that the students within a group would inevitably resemble one another as well.

If Go Hyeon-woo had four fellow mentees, all four of them were highly likely to be swordsmen.

Anticipation swelled further across his face.

"To think I might not only observe a senior master, but witness the skills of my fellow students as well. Joining the mentoring program was truly the right call."

"Keep an eye out and spar with them while you're at it."

"That was my intention, of course."

Whether his group would actually contain a swordsman skilled enough to be worth sparring with, though, remained to be seen.

Matching was based on the mentor, so the composition of each group was entirely random.

They might turn out disappointingly unremarkable.

Just then, a question sailed in over my shoulder.

"Did you two sign up for mentoring too?"

I turned to find Han So-mi walking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠alongside us, matching our pace at some point without my noticing.

Being in the same class, we'd inevitably ended up walking together.

Song Cheon-hye, glued to Han So-mi's side like a shadow, was also present — but from the moment Han So-mi addressed me, she had put a little distance between herself and us, studiously pretending we didn't exist.

I nodded without much thought.

"It's a good opportunity. No reason not to."

"You're a caster type, right?"

"Yep."

"Battle mage? All-rounder?"

"That's right. Why do you ask?"

At my question, Han So-mi thrust a finger toward Song Cheon-hye as she answered — with all the flair of a ta-da! sound effect.

"Cheon-hye applied as an all-rounder too! If you're lucky, you two might end up getting mentored together!"

At those words, Song Cheon-hye — who had been feigning interest in somewhere far away — went white as a sheet.

"Don't say such ridiculous things, seriously!"

"Huh? Why's it ridiculous?"

"That's because..."

When Han So-mi tilted her head with an innocent expression, Song Cheon-hye found herself at a loss for words.

She apparently hadn't laid out all her suspicions about me — the Inferno Fist, the intrusion into the Underground Floors, and the rest.

Nothing had been definitively pinned on me yet, and for all I knew the upper-year Disciplinary Committee members had told her to keep it quiet.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times before apparently deciding to say nothing at all.

"...There are... reasons!"

Half a brush-off, half a jab.

She spun on her heel and strode ahead at a brisk pace —

"Eep!"

— only to catch her foot on nothing at all and stumble. She barely recovered her balance, shot us a filthy glare, and then hurried off at twice the speed.

I asked Han So-mi,

"Does she do that often?"

"Yeah, all the time."

So it happens daily, huh.

I'd noticed before, but she had a surprisingly clumsy streak.

A few more bits of small talk later, the Arena was right in front of us, and we agreed to split up and find our own seats.

"Good luck with the mentoring and your matches. See you around."

"Yeah! Bye-bye!"

"May fortune walk beside you as well, Brother Kim."

"......."

Han So-mi waved cheerfully and headed off, and Go Hyeon-woo gave a slight smile before walking in the same direction she had. Seo Ye-in flapped her hand at me with languid eyes in a lazy goodbye, then set off on her own path.

Scattered throughout the stands, the mentors — third-years and alumni — had taken their positions and were waiting, greeting the hesitant first-years warmly as they shuffled over. Some groups already seemed to have their full complement, four or five students seated in a circle around their mentor, listening to explanations.

I found my own seat and checked the seating chart.

163-H would be around there.

It was one of the higher seats, so I had to crane my neck a fair bit. Judging by the fact that the area around it was completely empty, our mentor hadn't arrived yet.

Meaning to go up and wait first, I started toward the stairs.

Just as I set my first foot on them,

"......."

Song Cheon-hye, who had climbed up ahead of me, sensed my presence and glanced back. The moment our eyes met, her expression soured on the spot.

"Why are you following me?"

"I'm not following you."

"Then go ahead and pass."

"Fine by me."

I brushed past Song Cheon-hye, standing frozen on the stairs, and trudged all the way up to seat 163-H.

Then I settled into it in the most comfortable posture I could manage.

Song Cheon-hye waited until she'd confirmed I'd taken my seat before moving again —

— and the place where that movement stopped was directly in front of me.

Her face brimming with distrust, she checked her student ID against the seat number, back and forth, back and forth.

"You can't be serious..."

"You're 163-H too?"

"How is this possible?!"

"Why are you asking me that?"

All I had to offer in return was a shrug.

It's not like I saw this coming either.

"Haah..."

Song Cheon-hye heaved a deep sigh, then stood a little ways off with her arms crossed and her eyes closed.

Of course, she was only pretending to close them — every so often she'd crack them into slits and sneak glances at me, and it showed.

Suit yourself. I waited leisurely for the next arrivals.

There was no way Song Cheon-hye would be the only one sharing this mentoring group.

Who would climb up next?

I was peering down with keen interest when —

Well, well. Faces I know.