Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

183 – Education (2)

The sparring was, quite simply,

merciless.

Surely, the other guy,

I heard he was something special…?

They wouldn’t have given up on him

if he weren’t, would they?

Well, honestly…

It’s not like his skills surpassed

the professors’…

So, either he just wouldn’t listen,

or he was truly

quite talented,

one of the two, I reckon…

But judging by what I see, that guy

seems to lean towards the former.

Not that he lacks talent entirely.

He was taken down

in the first exchange, yes,

but that single swing of his

“It proved everything, didn’t it.”

The way he held the sword, it wasn’t

exactly to my liking, but

if you only measured his speed and power,

he was more than capable of

vanquishing nearly all others his age.

Far from lacking talent,

he was blessed with it for his years, but

the unfortunate thing was that it

only extended that far,

unable to properly

grasp his opponent’s abilities,

his sword was seized, and he was sent crashing down,

his weapon smoothly, naturally

snatched away, and then

he proceeded to demonstrate a thorough beating,

even demoralizing the

junior students in the process…

For an instructor, who should

always be upright, it was the worst,

the absolute lowest defeat imaginable,

and the results were unspeakably brutal.

“Ugh… ugh…”

“…Ah, are you there?

A student is injured, so

I think we need to get him to the infirmary.”

Injured, huh…

Could that word really describe this?

His face was so swollen that it

was unrecognizable from its original form,

and his hair, which had stood

proudly towards the sky, was now

smashed and matted like a dishrag,

with several teeth broken and

scattered on the ground outside, yet

if all those wounds could be

expressed as ‘injured,’ then

the word might be apt…

‘…A bit much for

just ‘injured,’ wouldn’t you say?’

It wasn’t a jest, truly.

His face seemed to have

doubled in size from its original.

The Professor, too, seemed to recognize

the severity of the injury,

for he immediately pulled from his robes

a communication arcanum, calling the infirmary.

And as expected, the arcanum blared,

screaming repeatedly,

sounding as if reprimands were forthcoming,

but upon hearing that there were injured, they were coming immediately.

…Well, it seemed that the two of them

weren’t on the best of terms,

for a fleeting, very brief moment,

it seemed a sigh escaped the Professor’s

lips, but

I didn’t dare ask, seeing the Professor’s expression,

one that said he’d rather just finish

handling the troublesome matters first.

Returning to his place, the Professor

issued a brief warning to Sylvia.

Even if the opponent was rude,

her hand had been too

heavy for a simple spar, that was his reasoning…

But, truth be told, judging by

the atmosphere, it wasn’t all that serious.

From the start, *he* was the one who

acted impolitely first, and

considering her standing in the earlier situation,

that fellow should be

grateful he got away with just that.

And besides, he was originally

a student with a less-than-stellar reputation, so

it seemed like perhaps he needed

an experience like this at least once.

Still, she was warned,

told that something like this should never

happen again, but even so,

her expression wasn’t anything

less than bright.

Seemed he’d gotten a fair bit off his chest, alright.

Even now, back in his seat

after the sparring match,

the grin wouldn’t budge from his face.

“Uhhh…uhhh…”

“….”

“Y-you alright there?”

Ah, yes. The underclassmen’s mood, a complete funeral procession.

No matter how you sliced it, he was

one of the more promising kids amongst their year,

and now he’d returned not just thoroughly trashed,

but practically at death’s door.

The thought that this might very well be

their own future mirrored back at them

seemed to have cast a permanent pall across their faces.

However, the entire point

of this sparring exercise had been that from the outset,

so just because the mood had dipped a little,

and they seemed a touch deflated,

there was no way the sparring would be called off.

“Hoo… Well then, I trust we can

proceed to the next match?”

The professor’s voice cut through the air, and at that instant

it seemed the underclassmen’s bodies

twitched ever so slightly.

“I’ll go next.”

“..Yes, of course.”

Regrettably, our esteemed maiden wasn’t

the sort to concern herself with such minute details.

She was, after all, the famous

“Frost Flower of the Academy.”

*Shhhwaaa—*

With each step she took

into the training grounds,

fragments of ice began to bloom

right beneath her feet.

A clear sign she was

drawing upon her mana.

“…!”

“Hold on, the match hasn’t started yet.

Keep your mana contained for the moment.”

“Ah, yes, my apologies… Professor.”

Her opponent was the very same boy who,

just moments ago, had so brazenly

unleashed magic upon us all.

Bahr Mon, he was called, and

he, perhaps never imagining his match would be

Isabella, beheld her face, the ice crystals blooming around her, and

his mouth hung agape, lost in

astonishment.

Gone was the impish grin from before,

replaced by a pure smile of wonder,

like a three-year-old

receiving a gift.

It bloomed across his features.

“…Ahem.”

“..Hah, s-sorry!!”

Well, he had good reason to be amazed.

For magic to materialize so distinctly

wasn’t an everyday sight, not at all.

One might have witnessed magic overflowing,

taking on a certain force,

but for it to conjure a phenomenon of its own,

manifest in reality itself,

was beyond the capabilities

of most students.

And that young man, having directly witnessed such an absurd spectacle,

seemed to be feeling more

longing and awe than frustration.

If he was the type to be

utterly disheartened by it,

he wouldn’t have made such a face.

“Wow… ahhh…”

“…Shall we begin the sparring match?”

“Ah… y-yes, sir…!”

“I am ready as well.”

And so, the second duel commenced,

and at that very moment,

a blizzard descended upon the training grounds.

*

Bahk Mon, the eldest son of the Mon Count’s household.

Since he was a child, playing with

spheres crafted from mana, he possessed a mana sensitivity

far exceeding that of others.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say

that his current strength

was solely due to this

single ability.

To describe him in a single phrase,

a celestial idler would fit him perfectly.

Lazy, averse to effort,

truly, his dream was

simply to live a life of leisure within his family estate.

However, the reason why

he stood in this training ground now, surpassing all other juniors,

could also be said to be solely due to his mana sensitivity.

Mana sensitivity,

simply put, it’s the ability to perceive mana just a little better.

There were no other

additional effects,

it was merely the ability to

feel mana better than others,

but the magnitude of his talent

was truly immense.

Just as a renowned sushi chef

could grasp a handful of rice

and discern its exact weight,

he could perceive and manipulate

the mana around him with his entire being.

This ability only

grew stronger with time,

requiring not even

the slightest bit of effort.

Of course, even to his eyes,

mana did not reveal its form,

but he could constantly feel it,

and with each sensation,

a myriad of thoughts would flash through his mind.

Where the mana resided,

How to manipulate mana.

And even how to use it

with superior efficiency.

The mana he envisioned

always took the form of a thread.

When he extended his hand,

before he knew it, his hand held

mana already captured.

Defeating his peers was truly simple.

While the other brats strained,

struggling to control their mana as they cast,

he had no need for such control,

his efficiency was overwhelmingly

superior to theirs.

And so, he continued to

crush, conquer, and insult them.

After all, those fools would never

be able to surpass him.

He believed that for those

lacking such talent,

simply following in his wake would be a struggle,

and he suspected that even his upperclassmen were no different.

Firing his spell precisely

as the upperclassmen entered

was, in truth, no accident.

If he had to spar with them anyway,

he figured it would be easier later

if he broke their spirit a little beforehand.

Of course, he’d adjusted the power

to avoid any fatalities.

…Well, he got an awful

dressing down from the professor in the process,

but he remained brimming with confidence.

The notion that he could lose

to an upperclassman only a year older,

and a *female* upperclassman at that,

was something he couldn’t even

begin to imagine.

“Shall we begin the duel?”

The moment those words reached my ears,

I knew it was my chance, and stepped forward.

To display my own gravitas.

In my own mind, a silent pressure,

A plea for quick surrender, for I couldn’t be bothered to fight.

Crack–

Yet that very pressure,

Was shattered, frozen solid, by her singular stride.

‘M…Mana made manifest?’

The ground beneath her feet

Split and frosted over in a network of cracks,

And at once, around her,

Tiny snowflakes danced and swirled with abandon.

The sight was so beautiful, I was momentarily speechless,

And even after she’d been cautioned by the professor

And reined in her power,

A lingering trace of it remained in the air.

‘…It’s the first time I’ve felt something like that.’

The mana, the air, always so commonplace,

Became, for that fleeting moment, bitterly cold, as if gripped by deepest winter.

And it remained so, even as the sparring match

began anew.

“[Flower Wind of the Northern Sea]”

A voice utterly unlike the cold countenance from moments before echoed out,

and a wind of ice and snow rode in on the petals of flowers.