The moment the name Baltar Grace was mentioned, every cadet’s face lit up with excitement, completely losing any semblance of composure.

The opportunity to receive guidance from the pinnacle of the kingdom's knights.
Even if they didn’t actually get trained by him, merely having a face-to-face encounter would be priceless.

That was the level of Baltar’s reputation.

“…You’re not lying, are you?”

One of the cadets asked, though it was an impertinent question.
Considering the honor of the knight's order that the instructor represented, it was unimaginable that he would make a false claim like that.

“Of course not.”

And the instructor, without a moment's hesitation, nodded firmly.
He wasn’t lying.

With that confirmation, half the swordsmanship cadets swallowed their saliva, suddenly overcome with ambition.

‘Can I really beat an active knight?’
‘It would be impossible to win in a straight fight. But if I could just tire him out a little first, then maybe...!’
‘I need to approach this strategically, very strategically.’

The cadets began formulating plans.
Though to call these ideas “strategies” was generous—they were the kind of thoughts even children might have.
But it wasn’t that the cadets were stupid; they were just inexperienced. How could rookies, with no ability to analyze their opponent’s strategy, come up with a brilliant plan to defeat an active knight?
So, they weren’t really fools—they were simply naive.

And the most naive of them all...

“Kunta, steps forward.”

A man with clumsy speech stepped forward.
A warrior from the jungles, grasslands, and deserts, still unfamiliar with the common language of the continent.
He moved like a sleek black panther, a fierce warrior from the famed and mysterious barbarian race.

“I am Kunta, son of Urba, the great warrior who serves the white-feathered serpent.”

Wuuung.

“I challenge you… to a duel!”

The curved single-edged sword in his hand gleamed coldly as it reflected the sun's light.
It was a kopesh, also known as a sickle-sword—an exceptionally difficult weapon to wield but devastatingly effective once mastered.

As the sword resonated with a faint hum, the cadets realized that this was no ordinary weapon.
It wasn’t a sword spirit, but the trembling resonance just before that, showing how intimately familiar Kunta was with his blade.
It was proof of his considerable skill.

Seeing this, the other cadets realized that this barbarian warrior was far above their level.
No, he was leagues above them.

Realizing this, the cadets couldn’t help but smile, despite their envy.

‘With someone like that, the instructor might actually have a hard time.’
‘Perfect!’

Even though they were jealous of the barbarian, they secretly hoped he would wear the instructor down as much as possible—for their own sake.

BAM!
THUD-!

…In the next moment, Kunta’s body was flipped and slammed into the ground.

“???”

…Kunta blinked in confusion, not even realizing he had lost.

“What just happened!?”
“…I didn’t see anything…”

The events had unfolded so quickly that no one had been able to follow the sequence of moves.
A stir spread through the crowd, and the instructor casually picked Kunta up from the ground.

Swoosh!

…Was it even possible to lift a person that effortlessly? Especially someone as massive as Kunta?

“Your stance was good. So was your swordsmanship. But because you got cocky, you didn’t even have a chance to react. What were you thinking, letting your guard down like that?”
“…Kunta does not let his guard down.”
“Oh, really? You saw that I’m smaller than you and thought you didn’t have to try as hard.”
“…I was told not to bully those smaller and weaker than me.”
“That’s exactly what letting your guard down is, you idiot.”

Thwack!

The instructor lightly flicked Kunta on the forehead, sending his large frame crashing to the ground again.
A simple flick had toppled a man over two meters tall.

“Ugh!”
“Next time, don’t let your guard down. If you keep doing that, one day you’ll die for sure.”
“…I understand, Instructor. But, what was the name of the technique you used on me? I’ve never seen such grappling before.”
“It’s called a shoulder throw.”
“Got it. I’ll remember that.”

Kunta calmly accepted his defeat and trudged back to his place.
It had been a humiliating loss, but he didn’t seem to let it bother him.

And then…

“So, who’s next?”

• ….

 

“Hurry up, before the sun sets.”

…The cadets remained silent.

 

To be honest, what Ihan had done wasn’t all that special.
He had simply closed the distance between them, struck Kunta’s wrist with a palm strike, and then thrown him over his shoulder.
A basic technique, really.
A light wrist snap to disarm the opponent, followed by a quick shoulder throw.

It was a simple principle.

Of course, he had mimicked something similar to the weighted techniques Baltar had shown the previous day, but it was hardly a polished move. In fact, it was so crude that it would have been easy to block if the opponent had seen it coming.

The problem was that this basic move…

“Ugh!?”
“How can you call yourself a swordsman with such weak strength?”

…worked flawlessly.

Sixteen victories.
That was Ihan’s win streak, and now there were more people lying on the ground.

He had won not through strikes but by using only grappling and joint-lock techniques.
As he practiced more, he could feel his skills improving.

‘But honestly, aren’t these guys a bit too weak?’

Ihan looked at them with disdain.
Aside from Kunta, none of the other opponents had been interesting.
They were just slightly better practice dummies than the ragged ones he had been using before.
The cadets’ level was that low, and Ihan was left feeling dissatisfied.

‘Maybe my standards have gotten too high.’

Fighting Lark the other day had reminded him that, apart from Baltar, there were still many skilled knights.
But looking at these academy cadets was disappointing.

It wasn’t because Ihan was freakishly strong.
Rather…

‘These guys are all lacking in fundamentals.’

Out of the sixteen cadets he had faced so far, only two had solid fundamentals.

‘This is worse than I thought.’

He had heard they were supposed to be elites, so why were they all so bad?

While he was deep in thought…

“…Now this is more like it.”

When the next two cadets stepped forward, Ihan’s expression finally relaxed.

“Arno. Arno de Offen.”
“I’m Garand, Instructor.”
“…Two of you, huh?”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, it’s fine. Actually, I’m pleased to see someone using their head for once.”

Ihan had never said this had to be a one-on-one fight.
He had told them all to come at him.

So, these two were smart.
They understood his intent.

Shing.

A boy wielding two swords and a young man holding a spear stepped forward together.

Both of them were quite skilled, on par with Kunta.
But unlike Kunta, they weren’t letting their guard down and seemed ready to go all out from the start.
They wouldn’t make the same mistake of getting careless and being taken down easily.

‘Now that I’ve weeded out the weaker ones, the real contenders are stepping up.’

Ihan knew who they were.
Even though he wasn’t particularly interested in the cadets, they were famous enough that he had heard of them.

Arno de Offen was the eldest son of the renowned sword family, the House of Offen, which had produced countless swordmasters and generals for the kingdom.
Garand was a disciple of the legendary mercenary, the Mercenary King, who led the famed Wolves of the Wilderness.

Honestly, neither of them belonged at the academy.
They should already be taking the knight entrance exams instead.

“So why did you two enroll here? To play pretend or something?”

“I wanted to challenge Prince Roen to a duel. But it turns out I get to fight an instructor like you, so I’m quite satisfied.”
“I wanted to become a knight. Seemed better than being a mercenary. But I figured enjoying my youth at the academy first wouldn’t be so bad.”

“…You’re both oddballs.”

“No stranger than you, Instructor.”
“You’re one to talk.”

Finally, worthy opponents had arrived.
Ihan smiled in satisfaction and, for the first time, picked up a wooden sword.

He had been fighting barehanded against opponents armed with various weapons, but now that these two were wielding real swords and a spear, he acknowledged their skill enough to use a weapon himself.

This also meant that he was taking them seriously.

“Thank you, Instructor.”
“Aren’t you going to use a real sword?”

“I’d like to, but I don’t want to accidentally kill a cadet.”

“…”

“…You’re as scary as the old man.”

Whoosh!

There was no more need for words.
Arno was the first to move.
In his left hand, he held a short but wide military sword, while in his right hand, he wielded a longer blade.
Though dual-wielding was generally considered inefficient, the way he moved made it clear how much practice and blood had gone into mastering this technique.

Whoosh! Whoosh-!

He attacked with one sword while keeping the other poised like a scorpion’s stinger, waiting for an opening.
And alongside him, Garand approached with his spear, which was no ordinary weapon.

Crack!

The spear was massive, with both a spearhead and a blade attached to it.
It was a polearm, similar to the Eastern Chinese halberd, the guan dao, and each of his strikes carried the force to split a person in two.

The clash was intense and immediate.

With every sound of clashing weapons, sparks flew, and the air was filled with a fierce, lethal tension.
As Arno’s two swords sliced through the air, they left behind streaks of light, while Garand’s massive spear strikes were strong enough to shatter rocks.

BOOM!

Even for an active knight, handling both of their attacks simultaneously wouldn’t be easy.

That’s why…

“Huff…!”

It was unbelievable that they were the ones getting exhausted first.
Drenched in sweat, they looked at Ihan like he was some sort of inhuman creature.

What was this pressure?
Was breathing always this painful?

“…Instructor, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but… are you really human?”
“Ha, how ridiculous.”

Arno and Garand asked the absurd question, not out of curiosity, but because they genuinely couldn’t believe what they were experiencing.

And no wonder.

These two had swallowed their pride and worked together, despite being from completely different worlds.
The son of a noble family and a mercenary’s disciple.
Normally, they would be like oil and water, yet here they were, combining their strengths to try and defeat him.

“I’m human, of course. I’m just stronger than you.”

…And yet, Ihan hadn’t retreated a single step.

Every blow they landed was blocked with ease, and whenever they tried to push him back with force, they were the ones who staggered.
He was only using a wooden sword, but somehow, it wasn’t breaking.
Instead, it was their weapons that were crying out under the strain, vibrating in their hands and making their wrists and arms go numb.

The two cadets stared at their instructor in shock.

Ihan said,
“Your spirit is weak. I can tell you're not fully hardened yet. If you fix that, you’ll be much stronger.”

“…Are you saying we’re cowardly?”
“I’m saying your spirit is weak.”
“We don’t think we’re lacking in spirit.”
“No, you are. When I say spirit, I mean—”

This is what I’m talking about.

Whoosh!

Instead of explaining further, he decided to show them.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs as if testing the limits of his capacity.

“Haaap—!”

And then, he let out a powerful shout.
But no one really heard it properly.

Zzzzt!

It was just a shout.
It wasn’t even that loud.
Just a typical, forceful battle cry that anyone could manage.

Yet, those who heard it, especially the more timid cadets, collapsed on the spot.

“Ugh…!?”
“Gah!”

His overwhelming presence had caused their legs to give out.
Some of them nearly soiled themselves.

It was the roar of a predator.

That was the best way to describe the effect of his battle cry.
Arno and Garand’s bodies froze up, their minds going blank.

“…Fear?”

Irene, who dabbled in magic, defined the phenomenon.
Some large monsters could make people faint just by unleashing their aura.
It was the same principle as a rabbit going into shock at the sight of a bear.

What Ihan was doing now was no different.

“It’s called the Lion’s Roar. Literally, it means the roar of a lion.”

“…”

“Now do you get it? This is what I mean by spirit. You need the resolve to completely crush and dominate your opponent. Once you have that, you’ll be able to withstand an aura like this and even push me back. But you two lack that right now. Probably because you’ve been coddled. Once you’ve had more real combat experience, you’ll develop it eventually. In other words, time will take care of it.”

“…Are you really human?”

Even as they listened to his advice, Arno and Garand still couldn’t shake the question.
It didn’t seem like something that could be fixed with mere effort and experience.

Both of them collapsed to the ground.

Thud!

Even trying to stand was too much for them.

As they lay there, Ihan smiled down at them, feeling energized as if his body was finally warming up.

Then he called out,

“Come on.”

“…”

“Everyone else seems to have given up, but I don’t think you have. Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Who was he talking to?

It sounded like a provocation, and fortunately, the person he was provoking responded as if they had been waiting for this moment.

Step.

“I don’t think so. In fact, I’ve been looking forward to this more than anyone else here.”

A nobleman with black hair drew his sword and stepped forward, and Ihan finally smiled as if things were about to get interesting.

Roen.

The suspected regressor, his number one surveillance target, and someone Ihan had secretly been anticipating.

‘Now this is the big event I’ve been waiting for.’