The First Test
The night after the first class ended—whether it could be called “safe” or not—Zeron found himself unable to sleep. He wandered the academy grounds without any particular destination in mind.
The academy was vast. In broad terms, it was divided into the educational buildings, student dormitories, faculty housing, and amenities. On a slightly smaller scale there were the Swordsmanship Department building, the Magic Department building, the Academic Department building, each with their own training grounds, the grand training arena… well, there were a lot of them. As he walked endlessly across the sprawling campus, idle thoughts chained together one after another.
The new liquor that just came out is supposed to be insanely good. Come to think of it, hadn’t he heard there were tons of great restaurants near the academy? Once midterms were over, taking the little brat out for a meal didn’t sound half bad. Thoughts like that.
Then one sudden realization made him stop in his tracks.
Instructor. A job he’d once believed would never have anything to do with him. Even now, he still thought it didn’t suit him at all. For starters, it wasn’t his aptitude. Zeron had never been particularly talented at teaching others. His swordsmanship had been built entirely on his own, without anyone’s help, and his personality had never been the nurturing type. If anything, he was better at looking down on people, tearing them down, and ripping them apart.
Ah, maybe he did have a talent for pissing students off enough to ignite their will to learn. Just look at today—he’d certainly lit a fire under that rude noble girl, what was her name again? Jeremiah?
“Though she wasn’t that rude, I guess.”
Yeah, it was just prejudice. Having grown up in the back alleys, Zeron’s impression of nobles had never been particularly favorable. To be blunt, it was straight-up bad. As a kid, they were untouchable beings he couldn’t even look at directly; if you so much as brushed against them, your head would fly off. Once he got a bit older, they were just stiff-necked bastards who’d be a pain in the ass to clean up after if you messed with them.
Wait, was that only nobles? Thinking back, David had once told him something. You need to fix that damn attitude of yours first, and while you’re at it, quit hating every stranger you meet for no reason.
Honestly, if he actually fixed everything that bastard nagged him about, there wouldn’t be a single trace of Zeron left. So he only listened with one ear. At least, that’s what Zeron thought.
“Always running his mouth, that guy.”
Zeron let out a short laugh and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He stuck it between his lips and brought a finger to the tip. Fwoosh—! A small flame rose and the tobacco glowed red.
“Huu…”
In the chilly early-spring air, thick cigarette smoke curled upward. He’d been smoking for what felt like twenty years now; it was impossible to quit even if he wanted to. He couldn’t even remember why he’d started picking up discarded butts from the street as a kid. These days he just lit up out of habit, and the smell had soaked into his body.
Honestly, it was for the best. The smell of tobacco was far better than the smell of blood. Whether it completely covered it… he wasn’t sure.
By the time he finished his nighttime walk, it was nearly dawn. Since he was only in charge of the freshmen, classes were only twice a week. Tomorrow was completely free, so whether he stayed up all night or not didn’t matter.
He strolled back to his quarters at a leisurely pace. When he entered the lobby, he saw the maid waiting for him. He hadn’t expected her to still be awake at this hour.
“Why aren’t you asleep yet?”
“I am your personal maid. I cannot rest while you are still awake.”
“…Saying it like that just makes me feel guilty.”
“There is no need. Being assigned to you is actually quite comfortable and pleasant.”
The maid kept her expression blank as she made a small circle with her thumb and index finger. It seemed she was quite satisfied with the generous tips he gave her every time he asked for cigarettes or alcohol.
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
With a short chuckle, Zeron pulled a silver coin from his pocket and flicked it toward her. The maid caught it deftly, slipped it into her pocket without a word, then bowed stiffly.
“Then please rest well.”
Time passed surprisingly quickly. Before he knew it, a month had gone by and it was the end of March. Aside from the occasional classes, his daily routine hadn’t changed much. Sleep, drink, smoke, eat—repeat. It was a schedule harder than most unemployed slackers could handle.
Of course, that was only true for Zeron. Medeia’s daily life had changed dramatically. For one thing, she now had to attend classes every single day.
“There is a clear hierarchical relationship between mana and physical force. If I were to give an example, we could use the concept of dimensions.”
A point is zero-dimensional. A line is one-dimensional. A plane is two-dimensional. A solid is three-dimensional. A line is a higher concept that includes points, and a plane is higher than a line. Likewise, a solid is higher than a plane.
“Of course, it is not a perfect hierarchy like the example. Sufficiently strong physical force can overpower mana, and if one transcends the very concept of physical force, the distinction between superiority and inferiority loses all meaning.”
It was old Professor Defoid’s lecture, “Understanding Mana.” Medeia busily copied the densely packed notes from the blackboard into her notebook, cramming knowledge into her head. Midterms were next week. Although the Swordsmanship Department graded mostly on practical skills rather than written exams, she could never neglect the theory. All of this knowledge would become her blood and flesh.
Her father had always emphasized the importance of knowledge, and Medeia agreed completely. The only idiot who probably wouldn’t agree was that uncle of hers.
Even as she pouted at the thought that suddenly crossed her mind, Medeia kept her focus on the lecture.
The academy emphasized practical education. It was only natural, given that the Jeferon Kingdom was located in a fantastically precarious position, surrounded by four minor kingdoms. Not to mention the occasional raids by barbarians from the vast grasslands… In a way, the academy could be seen as an officer training school.
That said, they didn’t throw brand-new freshmen straight into real combat. Practical combat-style classes would only begin after the first semester midterms. It was still early, but it was also a form of consideration.
“Whoa, it’s Medeia! How’d the test go?”
“Ah, Flone. Well… it was okay, I guess? Not bad.”
“Ehh? Not bad?! I saw you shooting earlier! You were seriously amazing!”
Flone giggled and latched onto her, but they had to part ways here. Medeia neatly fixed her slightly disheveled hair and waved.
“Good luck on your test.”
“Yeah! Wow~ Finally the last one!”
With a cheerful “Yay!” Flone bounced away. She really was an energetic friend.
“Hmmm…”
Medeia stared grumpily at the training ground attached to the Swordsmanship Department building. In the center of that vast arena, Zeron was sprawled lazily on a folding chair, casually drinking.
Her entrance exam ranking had been 15th. That was only temporary; once midterms were over, there would be countless shifts in the standings. After that came a week of duels. It would be hard to predict ranks until then.
Actually, rankings didn’t really matter to her. It wasn’t like Medeia was planning to enter politics or get a regular job. She intended to inherit her father’s merchant group anyway. She had joined the Swordsmanship Department purely to cultivate the strength to protect herself. The knowledge needed to run a business could be gained through liberal arts classes, and if it wasn’t enough, she could just learn from her father.
Besides, although she was aiming to become a Gunner-Swordsman, she was practically a pure Gunner. In other words, her score on Zeron’s test didn’t matter much. Since there were so few class hours, the weight of the grade was even lower. What mattered most at the academy was networking anyway.
But…
“If I screw it up, that uncle will tease me for the rest of my life…”
Wait, the rest of her life? Just thinking about seeing that smug look on his face after the test made the back of her neck stiffen. Grumbling to herself, Medeia headed toward Zeron.
“Oh, you’re here, kid.”
“Shut up.”
Ignoring the uncle, she began warming up. Students gradually gathered. Among them was Lapien—the one Medeia had personally selected as the student whose mental age most closely matched the uncle’s.
“Again! Again! How can an instructor be chugging alcohol before class—before a test, no less?!”
“Hey, quit yapping. It’s noisy.”
“No, just think about your own behavior for once…!”
As always, the two of them bickered in the background while Medeia swung her sword. Then—
Uwoong—
A small bell rang. Thanks to the mana infused in it, the sound was strange enough to jolt even sleeping students awake.
“Alright, shall we begin?”
At the sound signaling the start of the test, Zeron scratched his itchy ear and slowly rose from the folding chair. He picked up a practice sword and a pistol he had prepared under the chair, then let out a long yawn. Test preparations complete.
“…Like I said before, this test will be in the form of a spar. Me against all of you.”
When Zeron’s sword tip casually pointed at himself and then at Lapien, a faint vein popped on Lapien’s forehead.
“That rudeness of yours really doesn’t seem like it will ever be fixed.”
“Oh, you wanna go first? Fine by me.”
“Those words… haa… Very well. You don’t seem to have any friends, so I suppose I’ll keep you company.”
A murderous atmosphere flowed between Zeron and Lapien. Savage smiles were plastered on both their faces. Medeia let out a deep sigh. They really were just a pair of brats.
“For now, I’ll swing the sword at a level you can barely follow. The speed will gradually increase. As for power… if I don’t control it, it’ll turn you into Jeremiah / de / Lapien, so I’ll adjust accordingly.”
“What? You actually remembered my name? I didn’t expect you to pay atten—”
“Shall we start?”
Zeron cut him off with a grin. Lapien drew his sword, feeling a chill run down his spine. Judging by that bastard’s expression, he was clearly planning to use the test as an excuse to beat the crap out of him.
“This delinquent instructor…!”
He really was a son of a bitch.