Ch.25EP.8 – The Knight Has Acquired an Assistant (1)

Crack! Crack!

Conventionally, climbing a cliff meant finding footholds and using hands and feet to ascend—this was common sense.

Using just hands and feet to climb through crevices was already challenging enough, making it less common sense and more a necessity.

But his method of climbing cliffs differed from others.

No, it defied common sense entirely.

Thud!

“Huff! Huuuff!”

He forcibly embedded his hands and feet into the rock.

Though the cliff was hardly a sand mountain, with each climb he would kick the cliff face without hesitation to create footholds, and drive the edge of his hand into the rock to make handholds.

All with bare feet and bare hands.

Without any equipment, he advanced in what seemed like a brutish manner, yet watching him brought to mind the word “steadfast” rather than “brutish.”

He simply looked upward with unwavering determination, and when he finally reached the top of the cliff.

“Haah…! Haaah!”

He sprawled out, breathing heavily.

His body was drenched in sweat, with abrasions visible on his feet, hands, and skin.

This was evidence of how many times he had nearly slipped while climbing, and how perilous his ascent had been.

Yet people would never know that he had climbed this cliff more than five times, and had even fallen once.

It was miraculous that he was still alive, but the man’s mysterious recovery ability and his body—hardened through relentless daily training—had protected him.

The man, Ihan, had completely exhausted his stamina and had no desire to move.

He was freshly reminded that cliff climbing was an even more arduous training than he had imagined.

With each climb, not only were all his muscles engaged, but his stamina and mental fortitude were also severely tested.

A moment’s carelessness could lead to disaster, and injuries were all too possible.

There was a reason why numerous pieces of equipment were necessary for cliff climbing.

So what Ihan was doing was reckless.

To an observer, it would look no different from someone trying to kill themselves.

But Ihan believed that when he pushed past his limits like this, his body would grow stronger.

Well, the effects weren’t particularly visible yet. But if he continued this practice, results would eventually come.

That’s what effort was all about.

“…Let’s do the next one.”

Though he could have used some sleep, Ihan chose to keep moving instead of resting.

After consuming some nutrients, he immediately began.

Thwack! Thwaaack!

He started practicing “techniques.”

Simple techniques he had picked up by watching others in the Order.

Mostly submission holds and joint locks.

Though he hadn’t practiced them much before, at this moment Ihan was immersed in joint lock training.

His practice dummy was a human-shaped figure filled with sand.

Training with an actual person would be ideal, but in their absence, this would have to do.

He practiced joint locks, tackles, and even tied a rope to an old tree to practice throws as in judo.

Judo—something he had learned during his time as a non-commissioned officer in his previous life.

He hadn’t used it much until now, but with practice, it might prove useful.

Besides these, he also needed to practice sword and spear techniques, axe wielding, and dagger throwing.

Unlike other knights who could freely handle more than ten weapons, he needed to practice everything he could.

‘Twenty-four hours in a day really isn’t enough.’

Ihan grumbled that the day was too short, but he methodically continued with everything he could do.

It wasn’t exactly an awakening, but last night’s events had been enough to ignite a fire in the man’s chest. Ihan harbored a fierce determination.

Beyond Baltar, the number of people he needed to defeat had multiplied.

Whoosh!

A resolute fighting spirit grew ever stronger within him.

*

…And Ihan was late.

It was the first day of class.

*

“Did you hear? That person was late on the first day and got called to the Dean’s office again.”

“Just like during the entrance ceremony—he’s really something else in many ways.”

“He seemed quite skilled though.”

“Even if he’s skilled, his behavior is poor, and he shows no signs of having learned proper etiquette. Isn’t he just a mercenary rather than a knight?”

“…That might be why he was demoted. I can see why the higher-ups wouldn’t be pleased with him.”

“Indeed.”

The academy was vast.

But at the same time, it was small.

This was likely because the students, still lively in many ways, tended to move in groups.

And this meant rumors spread easily, with few secrets remaining hidden.

Even events from this morning could spread in ten minutes or less.

“…Is that instructor really going to be alright?”

“Who knows.”

The students from the Swordsmanship Department sighed with evident concern.

They were uneasy about the instructor who would be teaching them this year.

An atmosphere of anxious chatter pervaded the training ground where about 80 students had gathered.

There were some second and third-year students present, but most of them didn’t attend classes.

From the second year onward, most preferred private training within their families rather than attending the Swordsmanship Department.

They would only show up when sword tournaments were scheduled.

This meant that among the roughly 80 students gathered, most were first-years.

Among them were some at the level of trainee knights who had mastered combat techniques, while others could barely call themselves swordsmen.

This was especially true for those of common birth, who had only learned the basics at local sword academies.

Actually, it was questionable whether what they had learned could even be called basics.

But these students were better than those who put knighthood and swordsmanship aside, and came simply to build connections with potential future knights—of which there were quite a few.

“I didn’t expect that person to attend class.”

“I know. It would be better for someone like them to focus on private training.”

However, this year was relatively bountiful.

Despite the large number of students, unlike usual where most were chaff, this year included several prominent figures.

First, the standout among this year’s freshmen:

Young Lord Roen.

Someone who reportedly could hold his own against formal knights, and one of the strong candidates for the next Grand Duke.

But there were many other formidable individuals as well.

The disciple of the great mercenary known as the head of the Mercenary Union or the Mercenary King, or the eldest son of the Ophen family, renowned for swordsmanship.

Then there was a descendant of the mysterious race or barbarian warriors said to live in deserts, steppes, and jungles.

And finally, one who could use the mysterious power of mana by establishing a spell world…

…a magician.

“…Why is she here?”

“Most Magic Department classes are self-directed, so maybe she came here to earn credits? Or like others, to make connections.”

“I-is that so?”

“That’s quite unusual for a magician.”

“I agree.”

People cast curious glances at Irene Windler, the fairy-like beautiful genius female magician.

It was rare to see a magician in a Swordsmanship Department class.

“…Ugh.”

And she, Irene Windler, was fidgeting awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

She too seemed to find this situation rather awkward.

‘D-did I make a mistake in signing up?’

Irene Windler wondered if she had done the right thing, even after registering.

But this was unavoidable.

It wasn’t because of the ghost chattering in her mind, but entirely due to her mistake during the course registration period.

‘I didn’t know there would be so few classes left….’

[Arin is stupid. I told you to do it early.]

‘Shut up! If anything, I was busy finding housing!’

[You’re just narrow-minded, stupid Arin.]

‘Words can hurt, you know!’

Though she argued with the ghost several times a day, including today, she secretly felt relieved.

At least she would be taking a class with an instructor she was acquainted with.

‘H-he might even pay special attention to me.’

They were neighbors and had even shared meals together.

Irene harbored hope that things would work out well.

Just then.

“Ah, everyone’s here.”

He finally appeared at the training ground, and Irene, hearing his voice, turned with a welcoming expression…

“…Huh?”

—or tried to, but Irene and the rest of the students blinked in confusion.

And for good reason.

“Chair.”

“Yes sir!”

“Lower your volume. It’s too loud.”

“Ah, understood.”

“Don’t tremble when you speak. Someone might think I’m going to eat you.”

“…Yes sir.”

“That’s better. Huh? Why is this chair so low?!”

“Eek! I-I’m sorry!”

“Does apologizing end your academy life?”

“……”

“I’m joking.”

“……”

…When had the young lord of a count’s family become a servant?

Damian Pollet.

The immature young master who had initiated the incident at yesterday’s entrance ceremony was now attending to him.

…His face was swollen like an overinflated ravioli, looking quite unsightly.

The students blinked in confusion.

*

*

*

Ihan had once again been scolded by the Dean, though unintentionally.

He was late for the morning meeting, so it was no surprise he was reprimanded.

‘…How many times is this now?’

In his previous life, he had never even been to the principal’s office, but strangely, in this life he found himself frequenting the Dean’s office.

Well, since he brought it upon himself, he couldn’t feel wronged,

but he did feel something like guilt, wondering if he had always been this unreliable.

Now he felt apologetic just seeing the Dean’s face.

However,

“Ah, good morning, Sir…”

“……”

Not feeling apologetic at all.

The swollen dumpling—no, ravioli—guy trying to act familiar with him soured Ihan’s mood from the morning.

You dare appear before me!

“Do you want another slap with my glove?”

Ihan half-opened his eyes and fondled his hand, which had no glove.

He was considering throwing a copper coin at him this time.

But then.

Thud!

“P-please take me as your attendant! I’ll be your squire!”

“…What?”

Out of nowhere, the guy knelt down and started spouting nonsense about becoming his squire.

‘Squire, from what I know, that’s just a name for…’

…wasn’t that essentially declaring oneself a slave?

Slowly.

Ihan cautiously backed away from the guy.

With contempt for someone with such deplorable tastes.