Chapter 34 - Perseverance Theory, Sweet Cookies, and Horrible Crimes (2):
The professor specializing in magic had just launched a swordsmanship class.
Questionable expertise aside, it was an inexplicable decision. Yet, competition for seats had skyrocketed.
Naturally so, considering the chaos I had stirred up.
A professor who'd killed three demons, saved the academy on numerous occasions, and wielded the grand spell "Meteor" with reckless abandon.
Even the students who attended my last self-study session had achieved remarkable success. Although the content remained confidential, the course was praised as life-changing.
If someone like that suddenly announces a new class, even I would have eagerly joined the competition.
'They all look like they're about to die of happiness.'
In the academy's large training arena, one of its many facilities, a crowd of students had already gathered. I'd picked this venue specifically to avoid any slip-ups like last time.
Each one wore a grin from ear to ear.
Selected by a lottery system, they believed they'd been graced with an incredible stroke of luck.
Meanwhile, the spectators peeking into the arena looked as if they'd lost their homeland, but they needn't worry.
Those smug students were about to be brought down to reality by me. Their envy would turn to pity within ten minutes.
With a wicked grin, I stepped forward.
The crowd's energy was high; the students burst into cheers just at the sight of me. But I promptly ignored it, getting straight to spoiling the mood.
No warm introductions or greetings. Instead, I put on a serious face and declared,
"I have no intention of teaching you swordsmanship."
From day one, I was openly neglecting my duties. The faces of everyone present immediately shifted to one of confusion.
"To be precise, even if I wanted to teach, I couldn't. I lack any swordsmanship knowledge worth imparting and have barely handled a sword myself."
A swordsmanship professor who openly admitted he didn't know how to wield a sword.
The shock on the students' faces was enough to bring a smile to mine, but I wasn't about to stop there. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.
"However, there's no need to panic. Did you really think I'd open a swordsmanship class without a plan?"
The students' faces lit up once again, but only because they hadn't realized yet that this was bait.
I delivered a statement that would crush their hopes.
Standing before those who had dedicated their lives to honing their swords, I brazenly announced,
"I know what swordsmanship is. It's just a bunch of muscleheads waving swords around without thinking. Teaching it will be a piece of cake."
In other words, their lifelong dedication was pointless. Something even a complete novice like me could teach.
Predictably, the atmosphere grew tense, with one student finally stepping forward to deny reality.
"You're joking, right? There's no way a professor like you would hold such a ridiculous class. Isn't that right?"
Despite his pale face and the sweat dripping down, he still clung to the belief that I was hiding something—clear evidence of the strong trust they had in me.
However, instead of accepting his support, I frowned sharply and responded in a tone laced with irritation.
"Do I look like someone who'd make jokes during a lecture?"
On its own, it sounded professional. Given the circumstances, though, it was downright insane.
With the entire class left speechless, I pulled out a practice sword. Gripping it firmly, I readied myself and swung.
The sword's intended form was grotesquely distorted in my hands.
Instead of staying firmly gripped, it turned into a projectile.
In other words, I lost my hold on the practice sword mid-swing, sending it flying across the room.
The look on the faces of the swordsmanship students—prideful students of the Imperial Academy—turned to absolute despair.
As they were geniuses among geniuses, blessed with natural talent, they could easily discern the truth.
My clumsy moves weren't an act; I was genuinely ignorant when it came to swordsmanship.
"Do you understand now? I wasn't lying. Now, enough of the nonsense. Let's focus on class."
After saying that, I leaned my chin on my hand as if lost in thought.
After a brief moment, I opened my mouth with a contemplative tone, as if I'd just realized something.
"Maybe your attitude is the problem. If you're only here to take shortcuts and leech off my miraculous skills, no wonder you're not improving."
Naturally, it's expected for students to look to their professor for guidance. But I criticized their expectations as signs of a lazy and spoiled younger generation.
"Taking shortcuts is why you're failing."
I drew from my own experiences—like the time an office colleague grumbled about how young people these days relied on spreadsheets instead of doing things manually, warning that we wouldn't know what to do if the software made a mistake.
There's nothing quite as stifling as being lectured by someone who knows nothing about the subject.
"I'll whip your attitude into shape."
I grinned wickedly at the group. The so-called training had now turned into outright bullying.
Cain Desmond, a first-year at the Imperial Academy, was on the verge of snapping.
Yesterday, he'd been too excited to sleep, eagerly looking forward to today. But now, he felt like he was wasting his time on utter nonsense.
He never imagined he'd have to say this, but Professor Lian's class was beyond disappointing; it was infuriating.
'This is just him bullying us!'
His arm felt like it was about to fall off. Every part of his body screamed for rest.
But Cain kept swinging his sword—not out of determination, but because Professor Lian was glaring at him from behind with a fierce expression.
"Swing it ten thousand times."
A demand that seemed fit for fiction.
Whatever gains he'd made from repetition had already been achieved. Any more would just damage his body. This was pointless.
'What on earth is he thinking, putting us through this?'
Cain had seen Lian's prowess in magic—the man had defeated demons and saved everyone. But by no stretch of the imagination could he be considered a competent swordsman.
His physique showed no sign of training, and the sword techniques Cain had observed were crude, even embarrassing.
The other students must have noticed this as well.
The class continued only because of the respect everyone held for Professor Lian.
But that respect was being worn thin.
"You seem to lack spirit. Try harder."
As if his exhaustion wasn't enough, Lian kept nagging him. When he asked for proper feedback, all he received were nonsensical answers.
"Why are you asking me? I told you I've never studied swordsmanship. Did you forget that already?"
Cain was left speechless at this exchange.
Sure, it wasn't a crime to be ignorant of swordsmanship, but this man was the one who had chosen to start the class.
Why even hold the class if this was his attitude?
His frustration was building. With his exhaustion making him careless, he spoke his mind.
"What exactly are you doing, Professor Lian? Could you at least pretend to take this class seriously?"
Everyone else was swinging swords with everything they had, while the professor leisurely sipped his coffee.
An educator should set an example, even if they can't offer advice or adjust students' forms. At the very least, he could pick up a sword and practice alongside them.
Cain shouted his frustration, but Lian's response was shamelessly dismissive.
"Practice? I was already practicing alongside you. I've been swinging my sword just as vigorously."
"…What does that even mean?"
"My body may be drinking coffee, but my heart is with you, sweating alongside my dear students. It's disappointing that none of you can see that."
Cain's patience finally snapped.
Grades? He didn't care anymore. He was ready to drop the class and leave this godforsaken training grounds.
Just as he reached that conclusion, something happened.
"…Not with the hands, but with the heart."
Beside him, Ciel, the top student of Class A, murmured something.
His breathing became even, his stance naturally aligning.
Without hesitation, Ciel drew his sword.
With a single swing, the earth seemed to tremble. The arc his blade carved appeared to split the world.
Everyone was left speechless. It would have been stranger if they weren't.
For at this moment, in this very place—
The Empire's youngest Swordmaster was born.