Chapter 42

He despised discrimination.

Was it because he had lived a long history of being on the receiving end of it? For instance, a useless recruit had managed to secure rapid promotions simply because he was the division commander's son. Conversely, Ihan had remained a sergeant for ten years, missing out on promotions for absurd reasons.

Having been deeply scarred by such injustices, he had come to value fairness almost to an absolute degree when dealing with others.

Thus, Ihan had no intention of giving special treatment to Jo Seedling simply because she was of lower birth, nor would he neglect anyone just because they were the child of a noble.

After all, fairness meant treating everyone the same way.

And so…

"Alright, let’s get started with some energy today."

"..."

Ihan was at the academy.

All fifty-four cadets from the swordsmanship department, who had remained at the academy instead of going to Vulcan, looked at their instructor with incredulous expressions.

…Is this a dream?

“...In-instructor.”

“Speak up, Chick Number Three.”

“Uh, well, I heard you’d gone to Vulcan for training.”

“I did, yes.”

“And, as far as I know, the distance between Vulcan and the academy is around 40 kilometers.”

“It’s exactly 37.9 kilometers.”

“Oh, I see…”

But that wasn’t really the issue here!

“Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Vulcan?”

“I’m here to teach you guys.”

“…What about Vulcan?”

“I took care of things there during the day. Now, I’ll train you here and return there for more training at night.”

“...”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well… it’s just that you’re, uh, unique.”

“What’s so unique? I’m just diligent.”

“Haha…”

He’d run a round trip of 75.8 kilometers just to avoid missing a class. How could anyone accuse him of not being diligent? Unable to argue against such a stark reality, the female cadet known as "Chick" let out a hollow laugh.

…Speaking of which, word of Ihan and Odwal’s war game had caused quite a stir.

Throughout the academy’s history, the swordsmanship and magic departments had always had a rocky relationship. However, never before had there been such a direct confrontation.

By the time the administration tried to intervene, the event had already gained too much momentum, with even the nobles looking forward to it. There was no stopping it now; the game’s justification and momentum were unstoppable.

Because of this, Ihan found himself summoned to the headmaster’s office once again.

He got scolded.

The headmaster asked how many incidents he planned to cause in a single semester. Ihan responded confidently, arguing that it was the mages who had provoked him in the first place, picking a fight over nonsense.

Thus, Ihan remained unapologetic, while the headmaster could only rub the back of his stiff neck and shake his head.

…Yet, when it came time to provide funds for the cadets, the headmaster did his duty.

'After dealing with corrupt teachers, it’s refreshing to meet a real educator like this.'

Still, the headmaster didn’t seem all that hopeful, not as if he was giving a lot of money. It was clear that he expected the swordsmanship department to lose. This sentiment wasn’t limited to the headmaster; it was the prevailing opinion throughout the academy.

It was as if the outcome had already been decided.

“Well, I can’t blame them. In a war game, soldiers are pawns on a chessboard. Even the more skilled warriors might be considered bishops, while mages are seen as queens or knights.”

“The way they look down on warriors is quite something. Narrow-minded people.”

“...What can you do? That’s just the record.”

“That’s because the losers are weak.”

“Who could compare to you, Instructor?”

“I’m relatively weak myself.”

“...”

One cadet’s face twisted, as if to say that was the most absurd thing he’d heard all year. But perhaps the real reason was that the ridiculousness of it was painful.

“Ugh…”

“Ugh!”

“Argh! Gah…!”

Cadets were collapsing left and right, groaning in pain. They’d been sparring against the instructor under the guise of unrestricted combat training, and they had all been thoroughly beaten into the ground.

Strangely, though, none of them were seriously injured. Although they’d been thrown around, Ihan had held back in the end.

…Which, in a way, was even more humiliating.

“I wasn’t going easy on you to humiliate you. The priest in the recovery room asked me to stop sending so many people his way.”

“...There are indeed a lot of injuries.”

“In-instructor, did you really run here from Vulcan?”

“Strength… you’re…”

Seeing the instructor, who looked completely unfazed despite beating them all senseless, it was hard to believe he was even slightly winded.

“It’s true that I have less energy than usual. Even for an instructor, running such a distance back and forth is tiring. But I hardly need to exert myself against ‘rookies’ like you.”

“...”

“You seem upset? Then strive to get stronger. Your instructor is committed to teaching you to the best of his ability.”

“...”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“...I was just curious. I mean, with your level of enthusiasm, I was wondering why you didn’t take us to Vulcan with you.”

“Are you talking about special intensive training?”

“...”

“Hmm, I told you the day before. Anyone who wanted to join should meet at the starting point. But none of you showed up.”

“...Well.”

The cadet, who had unconsciously voiced her resentment, clenched her teeth, realizing how childish her outburst sounded, even to herself.

But she couldn’t help it.

They hadn’t avoided the training because they didn’t want to go.

“My family told me not to go. What can I do?”

“Are you grown adults still bound to your homes?”

“...!”

“Haha, just kidding. I know your circumstances.”

Some of them probably wanted to attend Ihan’s intensive training. Those who had felt their bodies toughen through previous sessions would particularly feel this way.

Unbeknownst to them, they were beginning to recognize Ihan as an excellent instructor.

…But they were nobles.

They lived by authority and honor, and in a society where social status, connections, and bloodlines mattered above all else, they could not go against their families’ orders.

“Probably some of you were even told to avoid my class, thinking that attending the class of a commoner knight would tarnish the family name.”

“...”

“I’m not angry. I’m not even offended. I know exactly what it’s like, having come from a knight order.”

He had been the official outcast of the Silver Lion Order. He was all too familiar with nobles’ sense of entitlement.

Not that he hadn’t had his share of beating down those who displayed it.

“I understand you. Nobles can’t bear to have impurities mixed into their history.”

Some of the cadets probably wanted to learn [Art]. It was certainly an impressive technique.

But no noble family would ever allow it.

These are nobles with a pride in their skills that’s built up over centuries.

In that sense, Ihan’s techniques are something sinister.

In terms of the martial arts world, noble families are the orthodox sect, and Ihan’s skills are regarded as akin to demonic arts. At best, it would be a corrupt sect; at worst, he’d be branded a heretic and expelled from the family.

‘But there are exceptions.’

Arnault and Roen, for example. Both are heirs of great noble families, yet they’re relatively free-spirited. One is willing to absorb techniques from other families without hesitation, while the other couldn’t care less about what the family thinks, freely taking lessons from Ihan.

Damian? He’s just there to be rolled around.

In other words, those begging to learn from Ihan are either truly desperate or completely indifferent to others’ opinions.

These ones are different.

So they’re frustrated. They want to learn, and they even have some rebelliousness against their families. But ultimately, they couldn’t go against their orders.

“Some of you probably wanted me to drag you to Vulcan by force.”

“...Ahem.”

“But that’s not possible. The training at Vulcan is for those who are desperate. If I’d forced you to come, I doubt there would’ve been much gain. How can those who are distracted by various concerns be truly desperate?”

“...”

“Even so, if I made you feel like only the others got special treatment, I apologize. That wasn’t my intention.”

“We’re the ones who should apologize…”

Most of them were around nineteen or twenty.

They were adults by age, but that didn’t make them grown-ups.

They were still unripe.

Understanding this immaturity and their tendency to grumble was an adult’s duty.

Ihan’s apology was genuine, and it made them feel a sudden surge of emotion.

“Thank you for understanding.”

There was a strangely heartwarming atmosphere.

But then Ihan said,

“In that case, I’ll personally spar with you again. Come at me.”

“...Excuse me?”

“Since the others got special training, you deserve some too. Opportunities like this don’t come often, so get up quickly.”

“...”

The emotional moment shattered.

As an aside, Ihan’s MBTI type in his previous life was T.

…In the end, it seemed he’d once again made the recovery room priest work overtime.

But Ihan felt fulfilled!

It was a rare feeling of having done something as an educator.

‘All those people who said I wasn’t empathetic in my previous life were wrong. How’s that for empathy?’

He had helped them grow, as he’d always wanted, and done his utmost to teach them. That’s what real empathy looked like.

He felt immense satisfaction, and with it came the responsibility to push those engaged in guerrilla training even harder today.

‘What should I add to the night training?’

Maybe individual combat and cliff climbing.

As he pondered over this, it meant more nightmares were in store for the unfortunate cadets tonight.

His diligence was a curse sometimes.

Pause.

“...?”

As he took a step, Ihan’s keen senses noticed something unusual.

“What’s this…”

What caught his eye was a scarecrow standing alone in the training ground.

It was a scarecrow meant for swordsmanship practice, but Ihan hadn’t used one since he became an instructor. He preferred live combat over striking scarecrows.

So the scarecrow had become a decorative object that the cadets rarely touched.

Yet, Ihan’s sharp senses told him that something about this scarecrow was different than usual.

“Is this a spot-the-difference puzzle?”

He noticed a piece of cloth draped around the scarecrow’s neck. It wasn’t there before, so he assumed someone was playing a prank.

Loosening the cloth and holding it in his hand, he muttered,

“...Oh.”

A sly smile appeared on his face.

Whoever it was…

“A classic one, aren’t they?”

The cloth had a single line of text.

It was an old-fashioned method you might see in a classic play.

But old-fashioned or not…

“Huh, ‘Don’t kill the magician,’ huh. This guy…”

—How did they know?

It was surprising, to say the least, that someone could read his unspoken thoughts so clearly.