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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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The academy was relatively lax about attendance.
Midterm exams, designed to assess student progress, were mandatory, but skipping classes wasn’t unusual.
Students who excelled were encouraged to pursue independent study, joining study groups or spending time in the library, as long as they could demonstrate their progress in the exams.
‘They used to require full attendance.’
But with the influx of wealthy Royal Nobles and high-ranking nobles, who valued flexibility and personalized learning, the academy had adopted a more relaxed approach. Those who attended classes were usually students who lacked a strong foundation or those who sought extra help from the teachers.
The absence of disruptive, privileged students actually improved the learning environment for those who remained. And Egenir?
‘Loner mode since my first turn.’
Whether he was training or searching for escape routes, skipping classes had become his routine. Being alone was more efficient for avoiding the crazy yanderes and pursuing his various escape attempts.
Except for his Spenny affinity project, of course.
“Good luck, Hyungnim!”
“Fighting, Hyungnim!”
The first midterm exam. The academy operated on a two-semester system, with four exams per semester.
This first exam, held after a month, was known as…
[The Sieve.]
It weeded out the students who lacked true talent, those who’d gotten lucky with a fortuitous encounter or a sudden burst of inspiration.
Those with the potential of a level 1 mage or a barely competent soldier were usually filtered out.
“Get lost, brats. Don’t you have exams?”
“We already passed, Hyungnim. We took them yesterday.”
The five were camped outside the exam hall, cheering him on.
“Aren’t they second-years?”
“What are they doing?”
The low-ranking commoners and nobles, fueled by their recent training, looked determined.
“Hey, Egenir.”
Shelton.
He’d grown even larger, almost bear-like.
“What have you been eating?”
“Ah, well, I’ve been training hard. And it’s my growth spurt.”
Egenir remembered Shelton’s unfortunate fate. The reason he’d never seen him after their first year as roommates.
‘He failed this exam.’
He hadn’t passed The Sieve and had been expelled.
“Using that wooden sword well?”
Shelton looked at the charred wooden sword.
“We were inspired by you. We trained hard together, promising to pass.”
“Is the emergency shelter…livable?”
It wasn’t designed for long-term stays, lacking basic amenities.
“It’s…not much different from the dormitory.”
That was true.
Except for the dust and the cramped space, it was similar to their regular accommodations.
“Where are you staying? You have nowhere else to go…”
Egenir, unwilling to stay in the shelter, had asked Spenny to register him as a research assistant in the magic studies department.
He could live and eat there, along with the other research assistants who often worked late into the night.
“The magic studies department.”
“Oh, right. You want to be a Magic Swordsman.”
Shelton looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and admiration. If he knew what the future held, he wouldn’t be so optimistic.
“We were inspired by you, a Magic Swordsman hopeful, working so hard. We thought, if he can do it, why can’t we, even if we’re just focusing on swordsmanship?”
He grinned.
“We might be broke, but we have pride. We trained like hell to show those nobles what we’re made of.”
Egenir noticed the calluses on their hands. More students gathered, smiling at Egenir.
“Idiots, do you want to be charged with insulting nobles?”
“We didn’t mention anyone specifically.”
“Look behind you.”
The five subtly glared at a group of second-years from the Central Royal faction, who were scowling at them.
“Who…are they?”
“My trainees.”
Egenir’s short answer made the five’s eyes widen. They were touched by his acknowledgment.
“I haven’t seen them among the first-years…”
“They’re second-years.”
Their seniors.
“How…far are you planning to go?”
“What do you mean?”
He’d surpassed the first-year level long ago. He possessed far more knowledge than any of them, simply retracing his steps.
He found their naiveté…pathetic.
“Good luck, Hyungnim!”
“Good luck!”
They bowed deeply, and Egenir glared at them, dismissing them.
The Sieve had begun.
“Swordsmen this way! Mages to the left!”
The instructors yelled. Most of the low-ranking students followed the swordsmanship instructor. Poor bastards with nothing but their swords. A few headed towards the mage testing area, but magical progress required financial resources.
Without proper funding…
‘They’ll be filtered out…’
The high-ranking nobles and Royal Family members were tested separately, restoring some order to the chaotic scene.
“Your test is simple. Here!”
The instructor struck a large sandbag.
“This is a special magic sandbag designed to measure your strength. Inflict as much damage as possible within the time limit. Pass the threshold, and you pass. Fail, and you’re out.”
“What happens if we fail?”
“You go home.”
The academy’s harsh tradition. First-years had only one chance. Subsequent exams allowed for failures, but this was the biggest hurdle.
“Shelton!”
He was first. Egenir, picturing Shelton’s inevitable failure, shook his head.
Shelton, looking nervous, drew his wooden sword and announced,
“I’m ready! Shelton!”
“Begin!”
The instructor, impatient, started the timer immediately.
Shelton, caught off guard, stumbled, his stance unsteady, as he attacked the sandbag.
‘Oh dear.’
Even with strength, a poor stance reduced the impact.
‘His basics are better than before, but…’
He was going to fail. He might be stronger, but if the passing score was 5, he’d probably reach 4.9 and be eliminated.
‘Idiot…’
Failing without even showing his full potential. The others were cheering him on, but they’d all fail if he didn’t pass. Their morale would plummet.
‘If I leave him like this, he’ll fail…’
He looked at his wooden sword, the one Shelton had given him. It was embarrassing, but it was a gift.
“Is your stance just for show?! Use your core!”
Egenir yelled.
The cheering stopped.
“…”
Shelton froze.
“You’ll break your wrist if you swing like that! Lower your stance, straighten your back! Focus!”
Shelton, trusting Egenir, adjusted his stance, despite the ticking clock.
“One powerful strike! That’s all you need!”
Shelton closed his eyes.
“Channel your energy! Focus on your target!”
His stance solidified, power flowing from his core to his shoulders, his arms, his hands, and finally, into the wooden sword.
“Now!”
‘Boom!’
A loud crack echoed through the hall as Shelton’s sword struck the sandbag. Egenir had seen Shelton’s potential, his almost-there technique, and guided him.
‘I’ve seen this countless times.’
Swordsmanship was about channeling energy through the blade, and the foundation of that was a proper stance. Shelton, calming his mind, had unleashed his full power.
And then…
“M-Mana!”
Shelton realized he’d channeled mana through his sword.
A Sword User, capable of imbuing his blade with mana.
“Congratulations.”
The instructor spoke.
“Shelton, you pass.”
He glanced at Egenir.
“Refrain from interfering with the exam. Silence from now on.”
He’d let it slide this time.
“Yeah!”
Shelton, now a Sword User, roared in triumph.
‘In my 8th turn…’
He’d have to endure Shelton’s presence for a while longer.
“W-What about us?!”
The other students looked at Egenir, seeking his advice.
“If you’ve been training, focus on your stance. But don’t forget about timing. A swordsman needs to know when to strike…Are you kids? Do I have to explain everything?”
“I’ll try!”
“Thanks, Egenir!”
His simple advice, reminding them of the fundamentals, was surprisingly helpful.
‘Thwack! Boom!’
The sounds of their strikes were louder than before.
‘I see.’
No one had witnessed Shelton’s sudden breakthrough, his transformation into a Sword User, but they were all channeling mana through their blades.
“Pass! Next!”
They passed, one after another.
The sandbag was designed to ensure that anyone who trained diligently and had a solid foundation would pass. It was a test of their ability to maintain their composure under pressure.
‘But…’
Shelton.
He understood what Shelton meant by “working together.” They’d practiced their basic swordsmanship tirelessly, until their hands were covered in calluses.
‘Their stances are…acceptable.’
They were still flawed, clumsy, but they maintained their form, their swords striking with newfound power.
One student was about to fail when…
“Ow, my back! My back hurts!”
Egenir yelled. He didn’t care if the instructor glared at him.
“If you’d lowered your stance a little, you’d be fine!”
The student, not an idiot, immediately adjusted his posture.
‘That brat…’
The instructor glared at Egenir, then turned away.
‘Boom!’
The student’s attack filled the gauge just before the time limit expired.
“Pass. And you! Go to the infirmary if you’re hurt!”
“Sorry, I suddenly had a back spasm.”
Everyone knew he was lying. The instructor glared at Egenir, then yelled,
“Next! Egenir!”
It was his turn.
“Let’s see what you can do.”
He’d lectured the others about fundamentals, but he didn’t even bother with a proper stance, standing with one leg slightly bent as he drew his wooden sword. Even the instructor looked puzzled.
“Begin!”
He started the timer later than the others, assuming Egenir, the self-proclaimed expert on fundamentals, would take a proper stance. Egenir, remembering his role, adopted the instructor’s stance and said,
“Watch carefully.”
He was giving them another gift, a demonstration in exchange for the wooden sword. A generous gesture.
He didn’t activate Salamander or connect his mana circuit. He simply…broke the fundamentals.
‘Pacha’ (Breaking the Beginning).
“You low-ranking brats won’t get anywhere with high-level techniques. This is your path.”
Even the instructor was listening intently. His words had meaning, a meaning expressed through his sword. Not Dragon Swordsmanship, but basic swordsmanship, deconstructed and reforged, the same style he’d used to slay demons.
A style that allowed him to unleash his full power in any stance, any situation.
‘Geomno’ (The Sword’s Path).
‘Fwoosh!’
A sound even louder than Shelton’s echoed through the hall, so loud it rang in his ears.
“E-Egenir. Pass.”
The sandbag was torn to shreds.
“…”
Silence.
Then Egenir spoke, his voice calm.
“Hone your fundamentals to the extreme, then break them. That’s the path to becoming a true swordsman, without relying on high-level techniques.”
He was, admittedly, feeling quite smug.
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Egenir is a surprisingly good teacher. He really should consider becoming an instructor.