Chapter 12: Sense [1]
The following day, the practical examinations moved on to the second pillar of the Knight Department’s curriculum.
Sword.
Unlike Monday, which had focused entirely on the "Body," Tuesday’s attention was toward combat itself.
"Today’s examinations will consist entirely of combat. Throughout the day, each of you will participate in a series of round-robin duels against opponents wielding different weapons. We are not interested in whether you win every duel. We are interested in whether you can adapt."
Standing before the assembled students once again, the supervising instructor raised his voice so that everyone on the training grounds could hear.
"Halfway through the examinations, your weapons will be confiscated. You will then be issued unfamiliar weapons, whether that be a spear, a halberd, or a mace, and expected to continue fighting. A knight who cannot adapt to the weapon in his hand is a knight who dies the moment circumstances change."
After the announcements concluded and the students began making their way toward the designated arenas, Ilya turned around.
Unlike usual, he had wrapped himself in an extra layer of clothing. To everyone else, the temperature felt ordinary. To Ilya, however, today felt noticeably colder.
"...What’s with all the extra layers?" Helene asked as she naturally fell into step beside him. "Don’t tell me you finally caught a fever."
Ever since the incident with Anastasiya, Helene had been checking in on him more often than usual.
She spoke to him whenever the opportunity presented itself, sometimes out of concern. Although Ilya appreciated the sentiment, he couldn’t help feeling slightly uncomfortable with the attention.
"Uh, no," Ilya replied with a shrug. "If I’m going to lose anyway, I’d at least like to look good while doing it."
"Pfft—What’s that?" she said, shaking her head. "You can be surprisingly narcissistic sometimes, you know? Hmm... although, I guess I can see where it comes from."
She leaned in, openly scrutinizing his face without the slightest hint of embarrassment.
"Yeah," she concluded with a thoughtful nod. "You’d probably be ridiculously popular if you didn’t spend all your time acting like a ruffian."
"...I’ve never committed a crime in my life."
The two stopped by one of the academy’s beverage artifacts, and each grabbed cans of coffee before making their way toward their designated arena.
Since the examinations had yet to begin, students were scattered throughout the academy grounds, passing the time however they pleased while waiting for the instructors to call everyone over.
As expected, the others were already there. Under the staircase, Adrian sat on one of the steps smoking, while the rest idly chatted amongst themselves. It looked no different from any other morning they gathered there before class.
"Whoa... Ilya looks like shit."
Ilya tilted his head, his expression remaining as blank as ever. Surely, he didn’t look that bad.
"Don’t listen to him, Ilya," Angela cut in as she walked over. "Gustav nearly blew himself up yesterday during the Wizard Department practicals. I don’t think he’s in any position to comment on someone else’s appearance."
"H-Hey!" Gustav immediately reacted, his face turning red. "That explosion wasn’t my fault!"
Angela accepted the can of coffee Helene casually handed her before taking a leisurely sip.
"Mhm. Sure, sure."
She nodded unconvincingly before discreetly positioning herself beside Ilya. After giving him a thorough once-over, she shifted her attention toward the rest of the group with an amused smile.
"So then, how did everyone do yesterday? Let’s make this interesting. Whoever got the lowest grade is buying everyone’s lunch later."
"E-Eh..."
Adrian suddenly averted his gaze.
That tiny reaction was all Helene needed as she leaned toward him with a grin that immediately put him on guard.
"Hm? Let’s start with Adrian."
"...Don’t."
"He got a D."
The answer came from somewhere behind them.
Everyone turned toward the voice.
Standing there was Charles, another first-year from the Knight Department who happened to be in Adrian’s class. He calmly adjusted his glasses with one hand, completely ignoring the murderous glare Adrian was now directing at him.
"You traitor..."
"I merely answered the question."
"You answered it way too quickly!"
Charles shrugged. "You should’ve lasted longer."
"...That sounds so much worse out of context."
"It wasn’t much better in context."
A wave of laughter immediately spread through the group as Adrian buried his face in his hands.
"...."
The only person who wasn’t laughing was Ilya. Without saying a word, he pressed the cold can of coffee against Adrian’s cheek.
"Here."
Adrian blinked before accepting it with exaggerated emotion.
"Thanks... You’re the only one here who truly understands me, Ilya!"
Of course he did.
After all, Ilya was the only one who knew Adrian would be leaving the academy before the semester ended. His poor performance was yet another reminder that he had already reached the end of the road.
The questioning continued around the group.
One after another, everyone revealed their results, accompanied by either smug grins or defeated sighs depending on how well they had performed.
As expected, Adrian finished dead last with a D. Their little group wasn’t exactly known for producing top students, but even by their standards, a D was impressive for all the wrong reasons.
"Hehe. Guess what, everyone?" Angela said proudly as she puffed out her chest. "I got a B!"
"...You?"
"Seriously?"
Angela immediately puffed her chest out even further.
"What does that reaction mean?!"
"It means we’re all very surprised."
"I’ll have you know I worked very hard for this!"
Angela smiled to herself before casually stealing another glance toward Ilya.
"What about you, Ilya?"
The question immediately drew everyone’s attention.
"Uh..."
Ilya glanced off to the side, took a slow sip as though buying himself time, then answered in the same indifferent tone he always used.
"...An A."
"What?"
"No way."
"You’re kidding..."
Everyone immediately turned toward Helene, the only other member of the group who had been in the same class and practical examination as Ilya.
Helene raised both hands in surrender.
"It’s ridiculous... but it’s true."
For a brief moment, complete silence settled over the group.
Then everyone looked back at Ilya as though they had just discovered he was an entirely different person.
"The Northern boy finally decided to show his true colors."
"So you’ve been sandbagging this whole time?"
Ilya took another sip of his coffee before casually shrugging.
"You’re all overreacting. This was only the Body segment. You’ll probably outperform me once we get to the other categories."
"That’s exactly the kind of thing someone who got an A would say."
"And it’s annoyingly humble, too..."
That afternoon, what happened was exactly as Ilya had predicted.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
One after another, he faced an axe wielder, a swordsman, a spearman, a dual-blade user, a shield specialist, and finally an unarmed opponent.
One after another, he was knocked to the ground, forced out of bounds, or cleanly disarmed before the allotted time expired.
His losses weren’t humiliatingly one-sided, but they were losses nonetheless, and by the end of the rotation, Ilya had yet to claim a single victory.
The instructors recorded their observations as each duel concluded.
"His fundamentals are good. His stance is stable, and he wastes very little movement."
"His endurance is also exceptional. Even after fighting continuously, his Iron Reinforcement barely falls. Most first-years would’ve shown obvious signs of fatigue by now."
"But that’s where his strengths end."
"Every decision he makes is the safest one available. He never commits, never takes the initiative, and never forces the tempo of the fight. His opponents don’t need to read him because they already know exactly what he’s going to do."
"He’s disciplined, sure. But his swordsmanship lacks creativity. There’s no individuality behind it."
"The only quality consistently standing out is his endurance. Even after being driven into the ground repeatedly, his Iron Reinforcement remains surprisingly stable."
By the time the evaluations concluded, a small crowd of students had gathered nearby to watch the remaining duels.
"He’s tougher than he looks."
"Tough? He’s basically a walking punching bag."
"Nah." Another student chuckled. "He’d make a great meat shield. Just throw him in front and let him soak up all the hits."
Laughter spread through the spectators.
"...."
But Ilya paid none of it any attention.
Calmly brushing the dirt from his uniform, he picked up his sword and made his way toward the center of the training grounds for the final duel of the examination.
Unlike the previous matches against fellow students, this one would be against an instructor and was widely regarded as the most difficult portion of the Sword examination.
The moment he stepped onto the field, however, Ilya stopped.
Standing opposite him with a practice sword loosely at his side was a face he recognized all too well.
"...Sir Fritz."
The instructor’s eyes widened ever so slightly before softening.
It was the very knight who had overseen Ilya’s swordsmanship during his childhood in the Northern Duchy.
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