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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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Egenir, burdened with the title of “top instructor,” decided to start with the basics.
Basics? Simple.
A good instructor needed to understand the exam thoroughly.
‘They all know they have to hit a sandbag.’
But after eight regressions, Egenir knew more about The Sieve than anyone.
‘Proper form and technique are crucial for maximizing damage.’
That was the hidden secret of the sandbag test.
‘A lack of fundamentals does reduce power, but Shelton, even with his sloppy form, hits harder than most students.’
So what was the key? The sandbag itself held the answer.
‘Fundamentals, proper movements, and a certain level of damage output.’
The sandbag measured all three. The sandbag was a fake. It was a magical tool designed to assess their mastery of basic swordsmanship.
‘Focusing on damage output is a trap.’
He’d realized this because…
In his first turn, he’d been a novice swordsman. His swordsmanship level had been a mere 3.
‘Level 3, not even a Sword User.’
How had he passed?
‘I adhered to the fundamentals.’
He’d been weaker, less skilled, but he’d focused on perfecting his basic techniques. Unless they possessed the strength of a troll, mastering the basic forms was essential for passing The Sieve, a relic of the academy’s past.
‘Barely competent enough to hold a sword.’
Their forms were atrocious, their fundamentals lacking.
The low-ranking boys’ high pass rate was due to…
‘Shelton’s leadership and their collective training.’
He remembered the group training sessions from his first turn. They’d all practiced together, encouraging each other, and many had passed.
“Here’s your task. Basic swordsmanship, remember?”
“Why?”
“Demonstrate it. Twenty forms, perfectly executed. Only those who master them can leave. A death game, if you will.”
“D-Death game?”
“Why so dramatic?”
“That’s scary, Egenir.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
He glared at them.
“You have no talent, you haven’t put in any effort, but you want to succeed. You came to the academy to have fun, find boyfriends, enjoy the spring weather. Am I right?”
He gritted his teeth.
“The academy created The Sieve to weed out people like you, and now you’re facing the consequences of your actions. And you’re calling it scary?”
He looked at them. They wanted to argue, but his intensity silenced them.
The Salamander trait flared, his body flickering with flames.
“Listen up. You have no money, no connections, you love to party, and now you’re facing expulsion. What then? You’ll be lucky to find a job, let alone a suitable marriage proposal, after failing the academy’s entrance exam.”
“What?”
“That’s harsh!”
They were angered by his brutal honesty.
“Then get out. I’m here to train swordsmen, not babysit you. Leave and stop wasting everyone’s time.”
“…”
They looked at each other, ashamed.
“I thought you were here because you were desperate. Did you think you could just coast through, hoping to pass the make-up exams later? This isn’t a game…Well, some of you might be serious.”
He noticed a few determined faces.
“Those who are genuinely scared, those who’ve been swinging their swords blindly without understanding the basics…I just need those students. They’re easier to teach. It doesn’t matter if the rest of you aren’t serious. You said you’d stay, despite the hardship.”
‘Thwack!’
He struck the ground with his wooden sword.
“If you’re staying, I’ll make you all suffer. If you’re here to complain after enjoying your carefree academy life, just leave. Don’t be a burden. I don’t want to do this either, so just get lost!”
“…”
“Think about it. You’ve been having fun, right? Dating, partying, drinking…But this is a survival game, and later, a battlefield.”
It was a battlefield, but they were probably thinking about the consequences of failing the exam.
“You’re holding swords. How many of you will survive? You’re classmates now, but the disparity will become clear soon enough. Some of you will fail and fall behind, while others will succeed. You’ll have to smile and pretend everything’s fine while your heart burns with envy.”
“…”
“Fine. You lazy bastards. I’ll teach you how to swing a sword. I’ll train you. I’ll give it my all!”
The Salamander trait flared.
“No more complaints. I’ll give you one minute to leave. Get out and never show your faces again.”
No one left. The minute passed quickly.
“Take your stances.”
“…”
“Respond with ‘Ugh!’ Everyone, Ugh!”
“Ugh!”
The girls roared in unison. Harfon’s training method. The magical power of “Ugh,” transforming them into relentless warriors.
Egenir, having experienced its effectiveness, decided to share it with them.
“Have you all learned the twenty basic forms?!”
“Ugh!”
“It’s okay if you haven’t! It’s okay if you forget! Just copy your neighbor!”
“Ugh!”
“Get beaten up, get back up, and try again! Understand?!”
“Ugh!”
“Synchronize with your partner and begin!”
‘Whoosh!’
A hundred swords moved in unison, performing the first form. Egenir activated his magic.
‘Mana circuit sequence activation. Magic 1st Circle: Scan.’
He scanned their movements, comparing them to the twenty basic forms he’d mastered through countless repetitions. Those with incorrect stances or insufficient power were highlighted in red.
‘Thwack!’
“Use your arm, not your shoulder!”
He struck a girl’s shoulder with his wooden sword. Legalized assault.
“Lower your stance!”
‘Thwack!’
He’d perfected the art of inflicting pain without leaving bruises, using controlled bursts of heated air amplified by Dragon Swordsmanship and Salamander. He forced her into a lower stance, practically realigning her bones.
‘Think of it as…reconstructive surgery!’
Many had been filtered out. Over forty girls were lying on the ground after the first form. He’d spent roughly three seconds on each girl, a two-minute beatdown.
“If your stance is wrong, you get hit again. If anyone gets hit, we start from the beginning. Understand?!”
“Ugh!”
They scrambled to their feet.
“First form again!”
‘Whoosh!’
The beatdown resumed. His ultimate teaching technique, beat them until they obey.
“I told you to lower your stance, you idiot!”
“Kyaa!”
“Who said ‘Kyaa’?! The only answer is ‘Ugh!’ Got it?!”
“Ugh!”
The girl corrected her stance.
“First form again!”
‘Whoosh!’
Two hours passed.
They were bruised, battered, but he kept them going. Finally, a unified whoosh echoed through the training grounds. They’d all mastered the first form. Even the last girl, who’d stubbornly refused to lower her stance, had succumbed to his relentless assault.
Even those with anger management issues and the most stubborn personalities learned to obey through pain.
“I’m going to make sure you all pass. I’ll drag you kicking and screaming to the finish line. Understand?!”
“Ugh!”
“If you’re struggling, speak up! Curse, yell, do whatever you need! If you’re planning to abandon your comrades after two days of pretending to be supportive, then live and die by your choices! Got it?!”
“Ugh!”
“First form again!”
‘Whoosh!’
Their movements were perfect, their stances flawless.
“Second form!”
A few were still struggling. The beatings resumed, and those who weren’t being punished offered advice to their comrades.
“Lower your stance like this.”
“Oh…”
It started that way. But Egenir wasn’t going to be lenient.
“Your comrade is the person to your right. Understand?”
“Ugh!”
“From now on, if you mess up, both of you get hit. Got it?”
“Ugh!”
The beatings doubled, but their determination intensified.
“Switch positions.”
He rearranged them, placing those who struggled with the first and second forms on the left, then ranked them according to their skill level, from left to right.
The worst on the left, the best on the right. Even the most skilled girl on the far right would be punished if her neighbor messed up.
“Second form again!”
‘Whoosh!’
The collective punishment resumed, the anticipation of the impending beatdown adding to the terror.
Finally…
“Use your grip! Your grip! Squeeze!”
“Ugh!”
A girl, after being hit, corrected her neighbor. If both made a mistake, the next girl would be punished doubly, until they learned.
A simple system.
Even those who’d mastered the technique would be punished if their neighbors failed.
“Swords up! It’s not over until it’s over! If you want to go home and be treated like a burden, scrounging for scraps at the mercenary guild, then fine!”
“Ugh!”
“Second form again!”
He gave them a short break, letting them yell and curse at each other, then resumed the training. Their stances were improving, but he demanded perfection.
‘Thwack! Thwack!’
He didn’t even need to yell.
They were correcting each other, shouting insults and advice. Even those who weren’t being punished glared at their struggling comrades, offering encouragement…or threats.
“Relax your shoulders! Angle your sword! You’re using too much shoulder strength!”
“Ugh!”
They didn’t question the need for basic training. His burning gaze, the intensity of his instruction…They believed in him, their top instructor, the one who’d guaranteed a 97% pass rate.
‘If I can just survive this…’
His anger, his relentless beatings…they fueled their determination. They were beaten, bruised, but they persevered.
“Third form!”
The sun began to set. But Egenir showed no signs of stopping. Even as darkness fell and the air grew cold…
“Eleventh form!”
His voice was hoarse, but he pushed on.
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[No marriage for me, not like this.]
A girl, her arm gone, stared at the empty space with a hollow laugh.
Was she lucky? Or were the others, the ones who’d died, the lucky ones? Their future was a living hell.
[…]
Egenir looked at the remaining girls, their bodies broken, and couldn’t speak. One had lost an eye, her face scarred. Another screamed in phantom pain, despite her healed wounds.
[My poison-making days are over.]
Seria, her leg gone, addressed Egenir.
[…If I’d failed the exam…this wouldn’t have happened.]
[…]
[Don’t look at me with those pitying eyes.]
He couldn’t answer.
He watched as they boarded the carriage, wounded and defeated, heading towards an uncertain future.
War was a reality, and he’d seen them off, the last of the poison makers, sent away as casualties.
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TFTC! Was this ending about a past life or the future? I hope it’s the first