In life, nothing is more important than having a sense of ease.
No matter how much treasure you acquire, how many riches fill your hands, none of it means anything if your heart isn't at peace.
I sighed deeply as that truth settled within me.
Before me lay countless treasures—items my students in the swordsmanship class had thrust into my hands as trophies of their recent exploits.
These were the very same students who had, without permission, created their own guild.
They'd appointed Karyn, the Mercenary Queen, as their club advisor and had continued to raid dungeons, all in the name of fulfilling their impossible dream of making me a Sword Master.
"I've never lost my strength in the first place. Stop wasting your time and focus on your studies back at the academy."
I'd told them as much, but it didn't matter.
Each one of them looked like they could bench-press a mountain, yet they broke into tears as though I'd just betrayed their heartfelt hopes.
"Wait… you mean you really haven't lost your strength?"
The only one who took my words at face value was Karin, the Chairwoman of the Academy Board. But even she was quickly silenced by the others.
Loudly chastised for her gullibility, Karin's face turned crimson. Zagan, the administrative director accompanying her, muttered that her embarrassment was giving him second-hand shame.
The poor girl, flustered, insisted it had all been a joke.
"How could you all miss my obvious humor?" Karin huffed, face still flushed.
Her expression was so desperate that everyone reluctantly played along.
Somehow, I'd been roped into Karin's lie, my comment about being "too weak to even wield a toothpick" dismissed as a joke meant to spare her feelings.
With laughter restored to the group, they left for their next dungeon raid, leaving behind their spoils—a heap of treasures scattered across my quarters.
'It's nice they thought of me, but still…'
It felt like putting pearls on a pig. It didn't matter how incredible an artifact was if the user couldn't properly wield it.
For instance, there was a staff that could reduce spellcasting times tenfold.
A groundbreaking artifact, no doubt. But I already cast my magic instantaneously, making it nothing more than a decorative stick to me.
Then there was a cloak that enhanced speed fivefold.
Another absurdly powerful relic, but even if I wore it, I'd never outrun Scott, the Iron Duke, in a footrace.
The potions, on the other hand, might have been slightly more useful…
'Even these are more of a double-edged sword.'
Where my once feeble body could barely climb a flight of stairs, it now felt as though I'd spent three years in a gym.
I'd started dabbling in martial arts and building up my strength, but what difference would becoming a late-blooming swordsman make at this point?
I'd gained a sturdier body, lowered my chances of dropping dead from a minor illness, and improved my quality of life.
Those were my tangible gains so far.
By any measure, those were good things. Yet I couldn't shake the unease.
'Why do I keep getting these half-baked opportunities?'
Even back when Sion, the Great Ancestor Dragon, gave me her mark, it had been the same.
Her blessing was supposedly a mythical treasure: enhanced luck, a massive mana boost, and the potential to evolve into a dragonspawn in ten years if the resonance aligned.
Yet none of it had been practically useful.
Even with doubled mana, my reserves were pitiful.
Enhanced luck? If anything, misfortune seemed to stalk me relentlessly.
As for evolving into a dragonspawn, that wouldn't happen for another decade, assuming it happened at all.
'Although… my forehead has been aching lately.'
It wasn't as though horns were sprouting, right? Surely it was just stress-induced headaches.
Common sense dictated that such fantastical theories were baseless.
'It's not like her mark has magically sped up my evolution… That's ridiculous.'
The thought was so absurd that even entertaining it made my brain short-circuit.
In conclusion, the mark was useless.
'Even more useless is this immortality herb.'
The legendary elixir that halted aging and granted eternal life. It was a treasure that billionaires would kill for, yet for me, it was utterly pointless.
What good was immortality if I was destined to die not from old age but from some untimely accident?
I was effectively living on borrowed time.
If I couldn't escape this place before the final boss appeared, death was inevitable. Heck, I might not even make it to tomorrow.
Even thinking about recent events drove that point home.
'If Zagan had attacked me back then…'
I would have been dead.
The only reason I survived was because he mistakenly believed I was a crazed genius who could level entire cities.
As these thoughts sank in, a profound sense of injustice welled up.
'What did I ever do to deserve this?!'
For once, I hadn't even done anything wrong!
I had poured my soul into preparing my swordsmanship classes, going so far as to humiliate myself by contacting some shady club called Fluffy Fluffy Club.
Even my budget embezzlement scheme had been meticulously thought out.
Yet everything had been derailed by sheer, incomprehensible bad luck.
I had no idea what else I could do to get fired.
The future seemed pitch-black.
For the first time in a long while, I felt the urge to drink.
But I pushed that urge down. Last time I drank, during the Cromwell incident, everything spiraled out of control.
I wasn't about to repeat that mistake.
I wasn't even a good drunk. If I drank again, I might lose control and—
'…Wait a minute.'
Wasn't that exactly what I wanted?
Getting drunk and making a scene, behaving like a disgrace?
That would undeniably be a grossly inappropriate act for a professor. The academy would have no choice but to fire me for lack of professionalism.
With renewed determination, I retrieved the royal wines gifted to me and gulped.
…Perhaps things might finally work out.
A-Class was livelier than ever.
The reason was simple.
It was time for their mandatory lecture, but no matter how much they looked around, Professor Lian was nowhere to be seen.
It had already been ten minutes since class started, and the bell had rung.
Surely, the professor wasn't tardy.
Perhaps he was fighting enemies targeting the academy again.
While speculations buzzed through the classroom, the front door suddenly creaked open.
In walked their familiar white-haired professor.
But something seemed… off.
His steps were uneven, his face oddly flushed.
He swept his gaze across the students before making a startling announcement.
"I don't like any of you."
The words landed like a bolt from the blue.
Everyone froze, dumbstruck by the unexpected declaration.
Was this because of the recent embezzlement scandal? Had the professor lost faith in them after they doubted him?
As students grappled with how to apologize, Lian's voice rose again.
"It's not that I dislike you as individuals. I'm human too; I can't hate people who care about me. I've grown somewhat fond of you all, believe it or not."
His words wavered between contradictory sentiments, leaving everyone reeling.
"But I hate your attitudes!" Lian declared. "You've been blessed with talent, yet you squander it without realizing how fortunate you are. That, I cannot tolerate."
He brushed his hair back dramatically and announced:
"Listen closely! I will engrave the truth of what magic truly is into your minds!"