Chapter 43

<43 - Today is the Day of the Power Outage> <Training Facility> <Sparring Hall No. 3> In the sparring hall, a throng of A Group apprentice knightesses dressed in dolphin shorts and B Group apprentice knightesses with panthose-covered skin had gathered. An unspoken boundary had always existed between the two groups, both wary of overstepping the line—an unwritten rule poised to be tested in their inaugural clash. “Oknodie told you not to call for me?” “That’s correct. She explicitly said so.” “That little mouse bell…” Son Ocheon glowered fiercely at the sparring hall. “Perhaps she didn’t want to see a noble from the Empire get thrashed before us?” “...Or is it the opposite? Our opponent is a noble well-versed in mana cultivation and mana blade techniques, also receiving combat tutoring from a martial artist, gaining a reputation as a Warrior Maiden of note—none other than Rotto.” Isabel couldn’t hide her bemusement, but Giselle supported Son Ocheon’s notion with a nod. “Miss Isabel may not be aware, but Miss Oknodie is stronger than we imagine. After all, she won a platinum ticket by competing in swordsmanship against a senior examiner.” “A platinum ticket?” “It's a ticket that guarantees the holder one automatic advancement through the next gateway even after a failure in the upper-class entrance examination. She managed to secure a double-digit ticket at that.” “But the entrance period is already over, so what does the number matter? It was never mentioned during the examinations.” Giselle had acquired a triple-digit platinum ticket from the senior examiner Michael. Having a vested interest in the ticket numbers himself, and persistently seeking information from the instructors, he eventually found his answer. “9999 platinum tickets exist, numbered from 1 to 9999.” “With only two thousand new entrants, isn’t that an excess of tickets? Doesn't that lack scarcity?” “A ticket, once issued, is never reissued until the death of the entrant with that number. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call this ticket a promissory note of talent.” “!!” “Do you comprehend now? The significance of a double-digit platinum ticket. Miss Oknodie has been recognized as possessing a level of talent worthy of a double-digit rank amongst all the enrollees.” Even Michael’s own ticket numbers were exceptional—15 and 143—indicating talent approximating the historical 15th rank, even among double digits. The reputation held by Rotto as a Warrior Maiden was nothing compared to the dazzling guarantee of the platinum ticket. “Reflect once more on what Mr. Son Ocheon mentioned about not wanting to display the thrashing of an imperial noble. Then you will understand.” Only after hearing Giselle's explanation did Isabel, like a warrior in sudden realization, fathom the hidden meaning. “They were afraid. Fearing that if we saw an unnaturally strong child, we would no longer remain at their side.” “For a child raised as an assassin of the noble house, the fear in the eyes of adults is not such an unfamiliar experience. Perhaps they even have ‘practical experience’ in this department.” The fear of being hated for unnatural strength. Not wanting peers to witness the sparring. Both options cut deep. Oknodie’s potentially horrific past. Even her thought processes, likely shaped by distrust in adults, stemmed from there. “...Look here, Giselle. It’s possible that the noble houses tolerate our presence by Oknodie’s side for a reason.” “Let that one remain a thought. It is not something to recklessly voice. The Academy may have eyes and ears everywhere.” The darkness surrounding Oknodie was more profound than one might imagine. Isabel felt anger before fear. Trust nobody but us. The weak are quickly slain. Show a little force, and they’ll fear her. Feel alienation from such unwarranted childlike behavior. And betray one's heart. Experience shatters the expectation of relationships. That darkness governs Oknodie's body and spirit. The nobility's darkness was terrifying. The chills at the thought of the manipulation behind the scenes. Which is why a defiance arose within her. ‘They've underestimated us.’ Even an atypical child, can they consider her a comrade, stick with her? Until when can they stay by this child’s side without inflicting wounds? Rage surged against the nameless, faceless schemers behind the scenes. ‘We are together to repay a kindness, yet to turn one’s back... such an act is untenable.’ Isabel reflected. Do not underestimate people. Adventurers of Esonia's Adventuring Party, once determined, invariably accomplish what they set out to do. And now, she had resolved. To repay the kindness shown by Oknodie with another goal in mind. ‘Someday, when I face you puppeteers, I’ll make sure a fist meets your faces.’ With her vow, the noise from the stands subsided. Oknodie and Rotto. The battle between two upper-class entrants began. * * The instructor, acting as referee, manipulated the mana board and announced, “Should the safety guard activate, the bout will immediately halt. We shall declare a victor by judgment.” “Yes.” “You’re in luck. You won’t break any bones. But prepare to be tormented just enough to feel agony.” Across from me, Rotto stood with eyes filled with sadistic pleasure, a jeering challenge in their depths. The signal for the commencement of the duel sounded. Contrary to my expectation that Rotto would charge, he beckoned with a flick of his finger, as if indulging me with the first move. ‘How utterly amateurish.’ One look into his eyes told me everything. It was not calm confidence I saw, but a concern for the audience. To engage with a child in a dishonorable match—one must at least give the appearance of concession to save some face. Losing would be a complete disgrace; winning would still attract scorn—an attempt to salvage some dignity from either outcome. "Mr. Rotto. Are you aware?" "Of what? Getting cold feet now that we’re about to clash? What, are you going to beg for mercy?" “On the sixth day of residence in the dormitory, there will be a power outage in the training building. And when that happens, the safety guard will cease to function.” Rotto frowned. “You rely on petty tricks. Did Group A succumb to such cheap talk and surrender the top rank to a mere child?” You’d think it unbelievable. Predicting an accident yet to happen. I wouldn’t believe it either if I weren’t privy to the knowledge. But doesn’t it unsettle you? Whatever happens, the safety guard ensures only minor injuries at worst. To hear safety guarantees might vanish... no room left for honor or prestige in that scenario. Rotto charged forward, stepping swiftly. Swoosh! His body was light and agile. His kicks were weighted and powerful. It seemed the tutoring had paid off—Rotto's skills were exceptional. But my weapon was a 'sword.' A sword’s reach is greater than that of bare fists. The upper hand in offense, the advantage, rested with me. Clang! A blade striking flesh should never make such a sharp sound, yet it rang out when sword met leg. The spectators murmured at Rotto's strength, but his expression was far from pleased. “It hurts more than you expected, doesn’t it?” “You... that strength can’t possibly be...” Yes, have you figured it out now? “A half-orc, as your name suggests...?” “I've mastered the mana blade techniques!!” Oops. In my heated moment, Rotto’s leg viciously swiped past my face. I might not know about footwork, but his taunting skills are not to be underestimated. “I had a feeling. Despite your strength, you don’t look big and burly like Hestia, that mercenary.” Rotto probed, as if searching for something. “You've also practiced mana cultivation techniques, haven't you?” “What do you think?” These techniques—mana blade, enhancing muscle definition yet preserving a beautiful physique, and mana cultivation, greatly increasing mana accumulation speed—are not solely the domain of the nobility. Nobles with battlefield experience and some senior mercenaries, Martial families passing down secret martial arts, Mysterious figures who inherit unique arts through one-on-one transmission. The world is filled with various mana cultivation and blade techniques. The academy collects these methods and teaches them to the students. As a player, I've attended the academy a thousand times over. Naturally, I'm well-versed in these techniques. Some of those skills I've acquired so often that I can self-educate by mere intuition. There are techniques that are too advanced for a freshman. That's why it’s beneficial if noble daddy gets involved. If the academy asks where I learned it, I just say it was from my noble father. And if father asks? Simply saying it's academy stuff suffices. Still, it’s best to avoid being caught. Up until now, I’ve refrained from using it, conscious of the butler's watchful eye. Sneaking in its use briefly when nobody notices. Rotto might realize, but if no one else catches on, isn't that all that matters? “Doesn't your leg feel numb by now?” “There's plenty of fight left in me!” “Then you’re lucky. If you suddenly lose strength in your leg and a power outage coincides, disabling the safety guard... Thud. Your leg would be severed, wouldn’t it?” At such a vivid description, was it imagination that drained Rotto's face of color? “You... Even if you do such a thing, you think the academy will just let you be?” “There’d be disciplinary action, sure. But what of it? A mere preparatory student who hasn’t yet fully grasped the academy's official rules. Moreover, a ‘mistake’ that occurred during a power outage and in the middle of a duel.” Rotto's legs filled with excessive tension. Exploiting his stiffened movements, I pressed the offensive and Rapidly cornered him. “Don't worry too much. Even if severed, it could be reattached, right? The academy's medical facilities are excellent, and the resident healers are highly skilled.” Trauma would linger, no doubt. A moment’s hesitation to strike could spell the end for a martial artist's life. But that’s merely reaping what one sows. If one were kind-hearted to begin with, there would be no dispute with Hestia, no duel between me stepping in to protect her. Flash! Right then, the eagerly anticipated power outage plunged us into darkness. In the gripping shadows, Rotto gasped in fear. How cute, for one who hangs out with an arrogant bunch to let out such a startled sound. But I’m not in the mood to show mercy. Hasn't he promised to give me a taste of pain? Swoosh. I swing my sword, aiming to cleave off a leg. The blade slicing through the darkness is unexpectedly repelled with a forceful resistance. Clang! How did he block that? Was he hiding his true skills? Shocked, I switch to the sword dance, lashing out three more times, all parried. My relentless blade, burdened by a terrible force, is kicked away with a heavy thud. Whack, flick! Spinning 720 degrees mid-air, the shock still not fully absorbed, I barely manage to ground myself in a low, wide stance, dissipating the energy into the floor. A tingling aftershock lingers in my arms. Suddenly, I sense a looming pressure. In this stance, at this opening, if the next strike flies towards me... Can I fend it off? As I tense up, imagining an attack in the darkness, magic lights flicker back on in the hall. ‘Huh?’ To my surprise, the person before me wasn’t who I had been thrashing in the darkness. The skilled opponent forcing me on the defensive was not Rotto. It was Hestia who’d stormed into the sparring hall. “That’s enough. I can’t let a child who tried to help make such a grave mistake.” “Sigh. How deflating. I would have pretended not to see.” Perhaps sensing how close he came to losing a leg, Rotto slumped, his energy drained. “The match is halted! Given the disfunction of the safety guard due to the power outage, we will cease this duel!” At the instructor's declaration, the bout fizzily concluded. Author's Note (Afterword) Thank you for the 5-coin donation, Samgyeopsal-nim. To the others, this child who can even orchestrate a power outage seems quite suspicious, huh?