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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Orientation (2)
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"Right now, three at the 9 o'clock position."
"..."
Eliya swung her sword with a thoroughly crumpled expression.
The dummy beasts in wolf form, lunging from the darkness for a sneak attack, were swept away by that single strike.
"Two more from the ceiling. Aim for the throat."
"...Um, Instructor."
She sliced through the necks of the two bat-shaped dummies in an instant, then started to say something.
"Oh, and the next tile has a trap on the floor. Just smash the paralysis poison launcher on your right."
"Instructor. I have a request."
"What is it."
"Could you please help me out instead of just giving orders? Anything would do...?"
"No."
"..."
Eliya's face crumpled even more, but I tossed in a remark with a chuckle from my side.
"You tried to beat me up the moment you saw me last time, anyway."
"...Yeah, I did."
"And you're the one who came running up first, saying you wanted to apologize this time and that you'd do anything I asked?"
"...That's true."
"So what's the complaint."
"...Yes, sir. I'm sorry."
She's the one who eagerly jumped at the chance when I suggested we try to get along a bit.
She has to keep her word.
"..."
Besides, even if I wanted to help, I couldn't.
Without Desperate Situation, my stats are just bug-level—nothing more, nothing less.
It's better if I just call the shots and let her handle all the fighting.
'And...'
One thing I've confirmed while clearing this simulated artificial dungeon.
Desperate Situation doesn't activate without genuine 'malice' aimed at harming me.
That's why it doesn't trigger on dummies just repeating pre-programmed actions.
So what does that imply?
Desperate Situation isn't omnipotent. It's a skill with clear weaknesses.
I need to ditch any complacency that it'll save me in every situation.
'I definitely need to raise my stats.'
Stats are like basic stamina that works in all situations, after all. Growth is essential.
Especially since item and skill performance are influenced by stats.
As I was thinking that, Eliya grumbled from beside me again.
"With your skills, Instructor, you could probably do better than me. If we worked together, we could clear it way faster—"
[An astonishing speed!]
[You've broken the record from two years ago!]
"..."
She clamped her mouth shut as the fanfare and announcement rang out, right when she was about to complain.
"No way, how? How is this even possible? What exactly are you doing?"
Judging by her bewildered tone, she couldn't wrap her head around breaking the top record while proceeding like this.
"Is it that surprising?"
"It's not just surprising—it's ridiculous!"
She burst out with it.
"This mock battle stage is designed assuming two people. But you're just making me move around alone and setting a new record... What is this? Are you casting some kind of magic, Instructor? Even the regular knights couldn't do this. Huh? What?"
"..."
I smirked inwardly at how her sense of identity seemed shaken.
'It's a cheat, obviously.'
At the very least, I've got enough experience to call myself a game veteran.
And now I have a top-tier asset who'll move exactly as I say without question?
I could clear this early-game dungeon blindfolded.
'Hm.'
Plus, running a speedrun like this with just 'one person' will definitely draw attention from certain folks.
The mock battle clear reward is nice, but that's almost as important.
I need to make some connections while I'm at it.
So, in the end.
"The next section will be a bit tougher than this one, but let's keep going like this. Fighting."
Hang in there.
You'll be handling everything solo until then.
"..."
Eliya ground her teeth.
Watch out, you'll chip a tooth, girl.
●
Evan Kramer, a second-year student in the Beast Studies Department, sat pale-faced in front of the control panel.
"The mock battle stages are pretty decent these days. Did your department design them?"
"Y-Yes...!"
He barely managed a choked response, and the other man glanced at the screen showing the inside of the stage, chuckling.
"I could push for a decent budget increase next year."
He was clearly someone with more than enough authority to say that.
The speaker was none other than the Knight Faculty Dean.
Konrad Baltador.
As one of only four deans under the president, he wielded near-absolute power within the academy.
It was obvious that just having him nearby made it hard to breathe for a mere student.
'Why is someone like this at a event booth...!'
As he trembled and mulled that over, another voice cut in.
"Oh my, Konrad. What are you doing here?"
Unfortunately for Evan, the owner of that voice was no help in lightening the mood either.
Seeing her enter the booth with a gaggle of haggard Magic Faculty assistants, Evan started struggling to breathe.
"You're one to talk, Persy. You hardly ever go out."
"I'm just out to check on the freshmen for once. Seeing those fresh faces always lifts my spirits."
"..."
Konrad silently eyed the half-dead assistants trailing behind the woman called Persy.
"...Not out hunting for new tools—or grad students?"
"Well, I wouldn't stop them if they came willingly."
Persy Syston Levantyn, the Magic Faculty Dean, replied with a beaming smile.
"But you still haven't answered. What are you doing here?"
"There's a freshman I've had my eye on lately."
Konrad turned back to the screen as he answered.
Persy's gaze naturally followed.
"Oh, I know that kid too. The next Savior candidate, right?"
Her eyes drifted to the panel beside it, logging the stage clear times.
As expected, each section was cleared far faster than a typical student.
A noteworthy pace, befitting a Savior candidate...
"No, not him."
"...?"
Persy tilted her head and looked at the other student.
"Who's this?"
"Dawood Campbell."
"Oh, that con artist?"
Even she, who rarely left her lab and wasn't up on worldly affairs, had heard the rumors about this noisy freshman.
Something about winning against the Savior candidate with a rigged duel.
"...But why's he teamed up with the guy who got conned?"
"Seems he knows it too."
Konrad snorted in response.
"That his talent's the real deal."
"His talent?"
Persy furrowed her brow slightly, glaring at the screen.
Talent...? What talent?
From any angle, he just looked like he was freeloading off the Savior candidate.
"This is why you pen-pushing mages are no good."
"Why the sudden jab?"
"This record couldn't be set by the Savior candidate alone. The real core is over there."
"...Pardon?"
Persy blinked in confusion, but Konrad turned back to the screen instead of explaining.
From this distant vantage, it stood out even more.
Just how absurd the man's actions were.
'...Intriguing.'
Sure, freshmen occasionally posted good records.
But that was just luck layered on inexperience. Hardly a sign of true skill.
In that regard.
How was this man overcoming the challenges?
'Everything's calculated.'
The Savior candidate positioned as if he knew exactly where the beasts would emerge.
Strikes landing on precisely timed commands.
Follow-ups chaining as if he'd memorized every pattern ahead.
Every judgment was near-perfect.
He just stood there talking, but with that alone, he toyed with the complex, intricate artificial dungeon like it was in the palm of his hand.
I'd stake my name on it.
No other reenrolled student in Elpante's history had cleared a dungeon this way—except this one guy.
It was as if...
'He's rolled through battlefields thousands of times.'
That was the only way to explain the seasoned skill.
Having such ability without any real combat experience was absurd in itself.
And surviving in real battles long enough to gain it meant he was hiding something far beyond his unassuming appearance.
"..."
That only made him more intriguing.
If this guy joined the Savior in actually tackling the dungeon, what record would they set?
Even this half-baked record with just one active player—if he stepped in personally.
"No, I still don't see it no matter how I look."
But this dimwit mage next to him kept spouting frustrating nonsense.
"Wanna bet then?"
"A bet?"
"Remember the records we set in our freshman mock battles?"
"Sure, let's do it."
Konrad and Persy. The academy's most legendary freshman duo.
Their mock battle record still held the unbeatable number one spot.
"I bet he breaks it."
Persy's eyes widened.
"...You think that highly of him?"
"Yep."
"Fine. You're putting it like that, so I have to take the bet. I say he doesn't."
"Deal."
With that, he picked up the mic attached to the control panel.
"This is Knight Faculty Dean Konrad Baltador. Can you hear me?"
His voice probably broadcast through the dungeon like an announcement.
Eliya's startled glance at the ceiling was proof enough.
'Fun.'
Konrad smiled at Dawood, who stood unfazed.
"I've been watching your run, and it piqued my interest. Mind if I make a proposal?"
"Go ahead."
His attitude was like he'd been waiting for it.
"Persy from the Magic Faculty and I just made a bet out here."
"A bet?"
"On whether you can break the record we set as freshmen. If you pull it off... well. You get to demand anything from Persy."
Persy frowned across the way like he was overdoing it, but didn't strongly object.
She seemed confident their historic top record wouldn't fall easily.
"No pressure—if it's too much, skip it. Your current record's already impressive, and this is half-joking anyway."
"Nah, that's fine."
So.
"I'll break it for sure."
When Dawood Campbell replied like that.
Persy's expression was a sight to behold.
●
"Whoa..."
The moment Beatrix stepped into the student council's private training room, a wave of stifling heat hit her, drawing an incredulous voice.
Elnor, sprawled sweat-soaked in the center of the floor, probably contributed to it.
"What's all this about?"
She tossed Elnor a water bottle with a wry chuckle and asked.
"Needed to sort my thoughts."
"I know you come sweat it out alone when that happens. But what's the issue this time?"
"Same old. Just worse lately."
Beatrix's expression turned serious at that.
A dark rumor in imperial high society.
The Tristan Ducal House harbors a devil in its blood.
The phrase carried two meanings.
One was praise for the inhuman genius that shone in every field for anyone of that house.
The other was a metaphorical jab at the 'madness' common to them all, perhaps a backlash.
Sudden bursts of extreme violence, regression of reason.
It worsened over time, leaving Tristan figures with pathetic ends despite their achievements.
Elnor wasn't exempt.
No, she suffered it especially severely.
Beatrix had memories of Elnor's unspeakable sides she couldn't share with others.
"...How bad?"
"Not bad enough to worry. And it's not entirely that."
Elnor wiped sweat with a towel, chuckling dryly.
"There was something I wanted to recall."
"Recall?"
"A move my mother taught me as a kid. A trick from when I first learned swordsmanship... Can't quite remember it. So I was reviewing from the basics."
For a woman who never showed even a speck of emotion, her voice carried a hint of wistfulness, but Beatrix smiled instead of pointing it out.
Elnor's feelings toward her father and mother were polar opposites.
The early loss of her mother probably amplified it.
"Well, don't overdo it."
"I'm good. Moving until I'm drained like this numbs me to most things."
"Alright then. Guess I can just say it."
Elnor's gaze shifted sluggishly to Beatrix.
"...What. What're you gonna say."
"You told me to pass on any info about him as it comes. A junior just tipped me off."
"So spit it out. What is it."
"Dawood Campbell's apparently with the next Savior candidate right now. In a mock battle, they say. And not just that—he half-challenged the deans—"
Sparks flew from Elnor's eyes.
"So they're teamed up right now?"
"..."
More important than challenging the deans, apparently.
"Well, mock battles are standard two-man teams, so yeah?"
Elnor shot to her feet. Sweat droplets flew everywhere, but she didn't care.
"Didn't you just say you're too drained for most things?"
"Shut up. Where is it."
This madwoman for real.
Beatrix's temple throbbed again, lately overworked as she was.
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