Chapter 53 : The mind of a snake

The appearance of the training ground was just like that of a colosseum.

The field was covered in soft dirt, surrounded by marble-made, stair-shaped bleachers. Much like a baseball dome,

the arena was filled with people.

Since it’s the only academy on the continent, I guess everything here is top-notch.

We were watching the match from the very top, in the last row with no one else around. It felt like being a returning student among

freshmen. This is discrimination!

Fortunately, neither of us had poor eyesight, so we let it slide without complaint.

“Ooh, yes!”

The matches started with the lower class students and gradually increased in level.

To think the students with the lowest grades go first—what a cruel system.

Still, their duels made for some pretty entertaining spectacle in my eyes.

It was normal for them to shout with every swing of their sword, and some students even closed their eyes at incoming attacks.

At first, it was fun like watching toddlers perform, but gradually it just became pitiful.

Well, it’s not their fault.

Lower class students, who make up about half of the academy, lived lives unrelated to combat.

Most of them enrolled half-forcibly after accidentally acquiring some mystical power,

and the rest were talentless nobles or researcher types.

Expecting them to provide heart-throbbing entertainment was just unrealistic.

Rarely did any of them even use magic.

Of course, anyone who could cast magic usually ended up in the intermediate class.

Take the basic magic spell “Magic Missile” for example. It’s just condensed mana fired forward,

but even that is more than enough to kill someone.

It sounds dangerous, but honestly, you could die from a fork.

It all comes down to how it’s used.

So the lower class students mostly used bladed weapons like swords.

And the skilled ones had already been promoted to higher classes.

Sword fights are only exciting when there’s intensity and blood.

But these kids just sliced at the air while being overly cautious—no thrill at all.

Now I see why the gladiator arenas are still popular.

They’re the perfect places to feel living, breathing violence.

Speaking of which, I need to go back to Reens.

Because of the guy sitting next to me.

Amitere seemed bored by the match and was dozing off with her eyes closed.

Ignoring her, I turned my attention back to the training ground.

—“Hyaaah!”

A lower class student shouted energetically and charged at his opponent.

Sadly, his attack missed, he lost his balance, and fell. Frankly, it was a pathetic sight.

Of course, I’m not one to judge others for physical skill.

Would I even do better in his place?

Absorbing the horn may have improved my senses, but not my athleticism.

I can barely run 100 meters in under 20 seconds without magic.

‘What kind of body is this, seriously.’

I despaired once again at my physical state.

The reason I chose magic over martial arts was cognitive acceleration.

If it weren’t for that, I’d probably be rolling in the dirt too.

A noble lady flailing around in the dirt—

well, that’d be entertaining in its own right.

Before I knew it, Amitere had woken up with messy hair and grumbled about the match still going on.

“Pathetic.”

“I agree, but it’s almost over.”

Lower class duels were short, fitting their skill level.

Neither the students nor the professors seemed to expect much,

so they even grouped them up for team duels.

Welcome to the academy that claims to pursue equality.

The intermediate students, at least, were worth watching.

They knew how to fight to some extent,

so their duels were clearly on another level compared to the lower class.

This was the realm beyond ordinary people.

Honestly, this was more the atmosphere I was hoping for.

What I wanted to see were thrilling, intense duels—

not kids throwing half-hearted punches hoping to land one.

This time, it was a match between a first-year boy and a second-year girl.

They both used swords, but the girl’s weapon was a thin, rapier-like blade.

The exchange was swift—on a whole different level than the lower class.

There were no major attacks,

but the boy’s sword was entirely neutralized by the rapier’s nimble moves.

The front rows of the audience erupted into applause at her speed.

Perhaps taking a gamble, the boy tilted his sword and charged head-on.

It was a reckless charge,

but if a rapier and a longsword clashed directly, her defense would surely break.

Cling!

But his sword never touched her. Her defense never broke.

She lightly twisted her body to deflect the blow,

then pointed her blade at the boy’s now-exposed neck.

The boy dropped his sword and admitted defeat. The match ended.

I clapped quietly in approval.

“So that’s intermediate level? Pretty impressive.”

Honestly, she looked ready for the advanced class.

She rolled her shoulder and returned to her spot.

Amitere chimed in, hearing my admiration.

“…That’s nothing. Her opponent was just an idiot, and…”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

True, her movements were impressive—but only just that.

There was nothing particularly exceptional.

I was ready to move on,

but then Amitere suddenly started nitpicking everything about the match.

“She’s slow. Painfully slow.

Probably slower than you, not to mention me.”

“Forget her stance—she’s all bark, no bite.

One sweep of the leg and she’d collapse.”

“What’s with that outfit?

Trying to seduce her opponent or something?”

What’s up with her?

She was dozing off earlier, and now she’s full of commentary.

She’s usually quiet.

Now she’s criticizing everything I admire, especially the guys.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Just that compared to me, they’re all hopeless.”

Is she looking for compliments?

She kept glancing at me every time I reacted with admiration.

If that’s the case, geez.

I ruffled her hair lightly as a joke, and she finally went quiet.

“The magic users… they’re no good.”

I crossed my arms and watched the magic duels for a moment,

then turned away.

Just being able to cast basic spells usually qualifies you for the intermediate class.

So it’s no surprise none of them stood out.

Maybe I’m just picky,

but their skills were sigh-inducing.

‘Using ritual casting in a duel?’

Sure, ritual magic produces powerful results,

but that’s only in theory.

In real combat, it’s suicidal.

Who just sits around chanting for dozens of seconds in the middle of a fight?

There’s a reason people call magicians “preparers.”

Ritual spells require space and cover.

Naturally, the best counter is to attack the caster before they finish.

Now that I think about it, Orquiel really was weird.

He actually gave his enemy time to prepare a spell.

Was it arrogance as a dragon?

If he had launched a nonstop assault from the beginning,

they wouldn’t have had time to chant anything.

That’s why people fight in parties.

“Ugh… this is just disappointing.”

I couldn’t watch any longer.

What mattered was the advanced class anyway.

After all, most of the important characters in this novel belong to the advanced class.

Unlike regular students, their numbers were small.

So their names came up often.

The protagonist Teferi,

half-elf Bandahr,

the knight-princess Lulue—they were all in that class.

“Pontego. There he is.”

And Pontego was there too, in the arena.

He was stretching with his sword planted in the ground,

emitting the aura of a formidable warrior.

The mana of a certain level of expert simply felt different.

“Hmm…”

Honestly, I’ve never talked to him.

I’ve heard he’s prickly but kind deep down—but that’s not firsthand.

Still, I believe in his swordsmanship.

He drew the golden dagger during the entrance ceremony.

Blue energy flowed from the runes engraved in his sword.

Honestly, how can you not admire that?

“That’s amazing.”

Who could ignore a sword like that?

Even someone who knows nothing about swords would think it’s cool.

When I admired Pontego from afar,

a grumbling voice came from beside me again.

“That guy’s nothing.

He looks cool, sure, but I bet he’s useless in a real fight…”

“No, I was talking about his sword.”

“…Tch.”

Ami’s acting strange today.

Maybe being around the serpent Aram is rubbing off on her.

That snake’s attitude must’ve transferred to her. Oh dear.