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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Vine
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River, despite taking the long way back, reached the dormitory quickly. Her face was flushed, either from the run or something else entirely.
“Disciple, my foot…!”
Her sweat-soaked clothes felt uncomfortable. She shed them, revealing her undergarments. Her damp skin brought back memories of the training grounds.
That nice scent…
Atlas’s eyes, a clear, sky-blue even in the setting sun, had met hers. He hadn’t broken a sweat, his ivory skin, untouched by exertion, resembling a statue.
“Crazy, crazy! And why did he sniff me?!”
She ripped off her remaining clothes, seeking refuge in the shower’s spray.
-Whoosh.
The water washed away the lingering scent and the unsettling memory. The cool water calmed her racing heart. She replayed the events of the day.
The Seymours believed that strength brought choice, that control over one’s life began with power. Atlas was strong. It had been a long time since she felt so challenged by pure skill. Combat, at its core, was about inflicting damage while ensuring one’s own safety. And the easiest way to achieve this was through superior reach.
Atlas, despite his short stature, had compensated for his limited range by mastering the art of counterattacking. Could she have won if he had initiated the attacks? Perhaps they wouldn’t have even exchanged blows. And it wasn’t just his technique. The raw power and agility emanating from his small frame surpassed any Knight she’d ever seen.
Could he be… stronger than Father?
According to their agreement, she should become his disciple. She had no complaints about his skill. He was at least S-rank, despite his lack of reputation. High-Expert level… perhaps that was his true strength. She would undoubtedly learn much from him. Reaching high-Expert level within a year, as he suggested, would be an incredible feat…
But the thought of becoming his disciple… something felt off. An unfamiliar feeling, a strange fluttering in her chest.
I’ll see him again tomorrow morning… right?
She didn’t understand this feeling, but perhaps she would, in time.
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The sight of Atlas covered in blood triggered Andy’s trauma. Memories of his trainee days resurfaced. Atlas hadn’t always resorted to severing limbs. At first, he merely used his fists against those who mocked him. Then, one day, with an almost enlightened expression, he began removing ankles. The image of his fellow trainees, once eager to teach Atlas a lesson, now writhing on the ground, screaming, their ankles gone, remained a vivid nightmare.
“Y-y-you… what happened to you?!”
“Senior, calm down and listen. I…”
“Killed them?! Did you kill them???”
“Let me finish! I didn’t kill them. Just… removed their ankles.”
“Oh, thank goodness… I thought you killed them.”
“Do you think I’m a murderous psychopath? I don’t just go around killing people.”
“Then why did you remove their ankles?!”
He couldn’t just stand there trembling. He was an instructor now.
“…Where are they?”
“Follow me.”
Andy, changed into work clothes, followed Atlas. He grabbed a shovel from the shed, but Atlas stopped him.
“I’m not burying bodies. You don’t need that.”
They ascended the hill in silence, Atlas covered in blood, Andy in his sturdy work clothes. It wasn’t a steep climb, the halfway point easily reachable. The sun had set, and the dim moonlight barely illuminated the path, yet both, former Royal Knights, navigated the darkness with ease. Reaching a certain point, Andy’s face contorted in disgust.
“Ugh…”
“S-sorry… sorry…”
“My… leg… leg…”
“I want to go home…”
“…I… want to go home too…”
Six pale-faced students lay lined up in a row, their severed ankles neatly placed before them. The varying lengths of the ankles indicated their respective heights. The gruesome sight was shocking, but even more so was the fact that they were all alive, with no signs of excessive bleeding or infection. What kind of sorcery was this? Atlas’s skill in inflicting non-fatal injuries was… artistic.
“You… you!! You promised to keep a low profile! Why did you do this on the first day?!”
“Senior, do you really think this is my fault? Those insects were begging to be crushed!”
Atlas’s face was devoid of remorse, still tinged with anger. Andy felt a throbbing headache. He had left the Royal Knights, a place of constant danger but high reward and prestige, seeking a quiet life, far from death. But since encountering Atlas, everything had gone haywire.
“A Knight shouldn’t cripple someone just because they made a few provocative remarks!”
“Those animals who ganged up on a single girl deserve no mercy.”
So that was the reason… Andy couldn’t argue with that. They deserved it.
“That’s… true… But how are you going to clean this up…?”
“Don’t worry. I took care of it before you arrived.”
As if on cue, the students on the ground spoke in monotone.
“I… won’t say anything… I want to go home…”
“W-we… deserved it…”
Their voices were raspy, their eyes wide with terror, their spirits broken. With their cooperation secured, the aftermath seemed manageable.
“Then why did you call me?”
“Just in case. If there’s any trouble, you’ll handle it.”
“I’m just a new instructor…!”
What could he possibly do? He wanted to argue, but Atlas, ignoring him, picked up one of the severed ankles.
“I really don’t want to do this, but… reattaching them would be easier, right?”
“What are you talking about?!”
“Attaching them to the wrong legs might be more effective…”
“Please, just reattach their ankles…!!”
They couldn’t even begin to address the situation until the students’ legs were intact. Atlas grumbled, pulling out herbs and potions from who-knows-where, and began reattaching the ankles.
-Sizzle.
“Ugh…”
Despite using only herbs and potions, the process sounded like cauterizing flesh. Judging by their screams, it was just as painful. But it worked. The severed ankles reattached seamlessly, leaving only faint scars.
“It actually worked… You should be a doctor, not this…”
“I didn’t choose to be here.”
Reattaching severed limbs under the moonlight felt like disposing of bodies.
.
.
.
.
Sometime later, the Academy was in an uproar. Six freshmen had simultaneously submitted their withdrawal applications.
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A stern-looking, middle-aged man barged into the Headmaster’s office. It was Professor Buckingham, a veteran instructor whose tenure rivaled even Headmaster Morgan’s. He was the advisor for the class of the six freshmen who had just withdrawn.
“Headmaster! Six students submitted their withdrawal applications! Six freshmen!”
“I’m aware.”
Morgan sipped his tea, ignoring Buckingham’s outburst. His calmness only fueled Buckingham’s frustration.
“Are you just going to ignore this?!”
“The Academy holds no responsibility for individual duels. It’s a fundamental principle.”
The reason for their withdrawal was simple: Humiliated after losing both a one-on-one and a six-on-one duel, they couldn’t bear to remain at the Academy. Their hands trembled as they submitted their applications, but their reasoning was valid. The Academy wasn’t responsible for the consequences of student duels, even if it resulted in withdrawals or deaths.
“This wasn’t a normal duel! I doubt it was even a proper duel! We need a thorough investigation!”
Buckingham refused to accept the outcome.
“You sly old fox. I know you’re close to Count Fraser, but this is going too far. You did the same thing two years ago, covering up for students who withdrew after losing duels!”
“That was… a legitimate duel!”
“This one was too. Six against one. They admitted defeat themselves. What more do you want?”
“But…!”
“Nothing is more unsightly than a third party interfering in the outcome of a duel. If you’re dissatisfied, let the parties involved resolve it themselves!”
Morgan, with a flick of his wrist, magically ejected Buckingham from his office. Buckingham, unfazed, as if accustomed to such treatment, stood up and pondered.
“Let the parties involved… resolve it themselves?”
An idea sparked in his mind.
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