Chapter 62: The Tin Knight and The City of Clockwork — Act 3 (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 62: The Tin Knight and The City of Clockwork — Act 3 (4)
“What? You want a potion that makes you perfectly fine after being worked to the bone all day, just by taking one sip? Hey, what am I, a chef? You think I can just whip up anything you order?”
[The ‘Tin Knight’ says he believes in Dorothea’s abilities!]
[The ‘Tin Knight’ encourages her to put in some effort for Adelaide’s sake!]
[The ‘Tin Knight’ asks if she can’t just increase the portion size, since she’s already making food for the construction workers anyway!]
“Easy for you to say, when the only thing you can ‘cook’ is something a passing dog would spit out after one bite.”
[The ‘Tin Knight’ insists that everyone has their own aptitude!]
[The ‘Tin Knight’ asserts that besides stamina recovery, they also need potions for physical enhancement, wound healing, and something to make them go wild!]
“No, listen. I’m busy handling things on my end, you know? And what’s this nonsense about making them go wild?”
[The ‘Tin Knight’ cheers her on!]
[The ‘Tin Knight’ cheers that she can do it!]
[The ‘Tin Knight’ chants Dorothea’s name!]
Clang! Clang! Clang!
*
Ssk, ssk.
The Tin Knight smoothed out his dented helmet, which had been bashed in by Dorothea.
He could feel the power of her staff growing stronger by the day.
He was certain he had a talent for making the people around him grow, the Tin Knight praised himself.
It was the kind of bullshit that, had the witch heard it, would have made her lament not beating him up even more.
Having secured the aid of the witch, who was as convenient as a certain blue robot from the future, the Tin Knight had nothing left to hold him back.
To put it simply, the gates of hell had opened for his disciples.
The training grounds, in the dead of night.
Swish.
The Tin Knight pointed his sword to the right. Seeing this, one of the students tensed his stomach and yelled.
“Roll right!”
Scramble!
All but the student who had shouted the command—the remaining six—quickly rolled to the right.
Swish.
This time, the Tin Knight pointed his sword to the left.
“Roll left!”
Swish, swish.
“Stand up! Sit down!”
Swish, swish, swish!
“Get down, stand up, get down!”
The six students swiftly rolled on the ground, while the one who had only been moving his mouth rolled his eyes, gauging the Tin Knight’s reaction.
The Tin Knight nodded, and the student’s face lit up.
“Everyone, on your feet!”
“On our feet!!”
Day three of training.
The students’ movements were perfectly synchronized.
The idea that you couldn’t communicate without a common language was nothing but a prejudice.
The sword itself was an excellent means of communication, and they were passionate, outstanding students.
Ever since it became known that the student who performed best against Adelaide in the morning training would become the Tin Knight’s adjutant—the one making them roll, not the one being rolled—their training performance had improved daily.
But the Tin Knight knew.
Even if they replenished their stamina and energy with the potions Dorothea had given them, there was a clear limit.
Unless he planned to use them up and toss them aside by the time of the test, he needed to guarantee them a certain amount of rest and sleep so their bodies wouldn't break down.
In other words, the actual time gained was only about 1.5 times the norm.
If this competition had been a month-long project, it would have been significant, but unfortunately, the deadline was only a week away.
It might be a different story for a genius like Adel, but an ordinary person’s skills wouldn’t improve so drastically just because a week was stretched into ten days.
It wasn’t that there was no benefit, but it wasn’t enough to guarantee victory.
More importantly, there was a clear limit to how far you could push people with violence and fear, as he was doing now.
To boost the students’ motivation, a more special catalyst was needed.
The Tin Knight’s eyes, like blue will-o’-the-wisps, flickered brightly.
*
The next day.
The students awoke in a gloomy mood.
“Dammit. To think we have to do this for four more days.”
“Why the hell are these awful potions so effective? If I just got sick somewhere, I could at least use it as an excuse to rest!”
“Knock it off. We’re halfway there, at least.”
Even if the potions could mend the body’s aches and fatigue, they couldn’t erase the mental exhaustion and suffering.
Adelaide’s morning class was far more relaxed than the Tin Knight’s night class, but it was the evaluation from that very morning class that determined whether you’d be rolling on the ground as a common soldier or wielding some petty authority as an adjutant. Slacking off was not an option.
Besides, Adel wasn’t a pushover you could afford to slack off against in the first place.
The disciples trudged toward the training grounds with heavy steps.
But what awaited them was unexpected news.
“What? So there are no mock battles today?”
“That’s right. Instead, we’ll be observing another team’s class. I’ve already received permission from the Lord and the other instructors.”
The students’ faces brightened.
They called it an observation, but it was basically the same as goofing off while watching others train.
“Wow, our teacher really is nice. To even prepare an event like this for us.”
“I know, right? She’s nothing like that demon at night.”
“Hey, hey, keep it down. He might be listening in from somewhere.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Where would he be listening from?”
Despite his words, the student glanced around nervously, and the others burst into laughter.
It was truly a pleasant time.
The first place they arrived at was the dojo run by René von Lennart.
Watching a young man land a magnificent blow against a magic doll and René’s team cheering for him, the students wore complicated expressions.
“I’d love to beat up our demon instructor just like that.”
“Don’t even compare. If that tin can was that slow and weak, I would’ve taken him down on the first day.”
“They picked a good team, so they get to train in comfort. Sigh.”
During the observation, they chattered nonstop.
The content was the usual mix of self-pity and claims of ‘I could do better than that,’ but the problem was that they were in the middle of enemy territory.
The students of René’s team, who overheard the words of Adel’s team, didn’t hesitate to retort with blatant sarcasm.
“Listen to them talk. They don’t even have the ability to hold a proper class, so they have to resort to peeping on someone else’s training.”
“Wow, I’m so jealous. Getting to go on a tour with a pretty teacher. You’re basically just playing around for a week, aren’t you?”
“Hey, hey, leave them be. They’ll find out on the day of the match anyway. We should let them dream while they can.”
As the saying goes, you reap what you sow.
Having made unpleasant remarks at a place where others were training, it was only natural for the reaction to be harsh, but people are inherently self-centered creatures.
Adel’s students were enraged.
“The fuck did you say? Do you have any idea how hard we’re being drilled?”
“Pfft. Drilled? Are you holding hands and dancing or something? I bet that’s tough.”
The argument between the two teams was defused before it could escalate into a full-blown fistfight, as Adelaide, who had been held up by the Tin Knight, belatedly grasped the situation and intervened. However, the mood of Adel’s team did not improve in the slightest.
If anything, it worsened, as they had to watch their own teacher bow her head repeatedly to the other side, apologizing for their behavior as they left the dojo.
The observation of Gerhardt’s team was even worse.
Perhaps due to Gerhardt’s strict teaching methods, no one approached them to sneer or pick a fight, but hot-blooded youths can tell what the other is thinking just by the look in their eyes.
The arrogantly raised chins, the subtle smirks, the condescending gazes—every little detail seemed to say, ‘Hah, look at these morons. This is a real man’s training. Having fun playing house with a little girl? You even got anything between your legs?’ Adel’s students were not so dense as to miss it.
“You know what those bastards said? They called us beggars who have to leech off the lord’s castle because we don’t even have our own training ground!”
“Those guys from René’s team. It’s obvious the dolls are going easy on them for show, but they act like they’re so great. Fucking pricks.”
“What’s so special about ten hours of stamina training? We train all day except for the four hours we sleep!”
“Those guys who don’t suffer half as much as we do are dissing us? Huh? This is pissing me off.”
Joy, when shared, multiplies. Sorrow, when shared, diminishes. But anger, when shared, is squared.
Even the students who had tried to remain calm at first couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to their heads and their vision go red as they listened to the ‘testimonies’ of the others.
Confirming that the delicious stew had come to a rolling boil, the Tin Knight tossed in a spoonful of magic ramen soup powder.
“Sir Knight, what is it? What? You want me to write something down?”
—If our team wins, we will implement an assistant instructor system to mediate between the instructor and the students. Naturally, the ‘outstanding students’ who performed well in the match will become the assistants.
“This means… they’re officially creating a position similar to the one that mediates between the demon—I mean, the Tin Knight—and us, right?”
“So, if we just win the match, we can legally drill those bastards?”
“There’s more at the end.”
—Even if another team wins, there is a possibility that a similar system will be implemented.
In truth, the Tin Knight hadn’t said a word about this to René or Gerhardt, but he wasn’t exactly lying. He had only said there was a ‘possibility,’ after all.
And the students interpreted the message exactly as the Tin Knight intended.
—If you win, you become assistants and get to drill them. But if you lose, you’ll be the ones getting drilled by them. That’s the gist of it.
“We have to win! Whatever it takes!”
“Those arrogant bastards! I’ll shove a wooden sword down their throats!”
“You saw them smirking when our teacher was bowing, right?! We have to gouge out all their eyes!”
“No! That’s not enough!!”
“Right! Our goal isn’t victory!! It’s murder!!”
“Kill! Kill! Kill! Bash their heads in!”
“……”
Watching the students, their eyes and necks veined with rage, spittle flying from their mouths as they went berserk, Ernest, a vassal of the Tik-Tok family, quietly wrote a report.
—The students’ mental state is extremely unstable, and they have fallen into a state of collective madness. I recommend that appropriate restrictions be put in place for a safe match.
—I also request a component analysis of the stew brought by the Tin Knight.
The Count replied.
—Looks fun, so leave them be.
—That’s just how kids grow up.
—And that soup smelled so good, I snuck some for myself. It was delicious.
“My Looooord!!”
A few days after Ernest’s scream echoed through the halls…
The curtain finally rose on the Guillotine Match (of which one side was completely unaware).