ODOC 05

Chapter 05

He Used Magic

Delevo Kundel spent two days holed up in the dormitory after being utterly defeated by the liberal arts instructor he had dismissed.

A luxurious single room.

He skipped other class orientations, endlessly replaying the humiliation of that day in his mind.

But the more he thought about it, the more his confusion replaced the humiliation.

“How on earth did I lose?”

It was the first time he had experienced such a defeat.

And that made him even more curious.

The movement he could barely see.

The speed with which the instructor kept moving behind him, knocking him over and subduing him without pause!

Even Delevo, who had never lost in sparring with the trainee knights of his house, had discovered a new world.

It was the world of defeat.

Dozens of defeats experienced in a single day.

“I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Kundel’s philosophy of swordsmanship was simple:
You grow stronger through defeat.

That had been true for every loss he had ever experienced. He would exchange blades, fall, then rise again from sharp, constructive critiques and swing his sword with renewed strength. He had thought that was what defeat was.

But the defeat at the hands of Master Giel Steelheart was of a completely different kind.

“I was thoroughly beaten, over and over.”

The only feedback he received was a brief note when he fell. After that, he kept falling again and again, tumbling dozens of times.

It was humiliation.

Yet somehow…

During dozens of repetitions, Delevo gritted his teeth. He struggled not to fall and reviewed his own movements. And in the end…

“I felt something.”

He could sense it, though he didn’t yet understand what it was.

Delevo wanted to cultivate his talent—already considered superior to his older siblings—as quickly as possible, to fully blossom and gain recognition.

So on the morning of the third day of seclusion, he checked the timetable pinned to the wall, confirmed that the liberal arts instructor had class that day, and left the dormitory.

“I’ll figure it out in today’s class.”

He had never intended to follow him from the start. It was purely by chance that he had discovered Giel near the Elbart Hall and decided to follow…

“Why… why is it blocked?”

He arrived at a dead end.

Elbart Hall was a place he was visiting for the first time. He didn’t know it well, but at least structurally, there shouldn’t have been a dead end…

And the instructor wasn’t there either.

“Is there another way?”

Giel observed Delevo from the other side as he tilted his head in confusion.

“This is different from usual tailing.”

Until now, those who tried to follow him would panic but then turn back, find another path, or take some other action.

“Does this student have another objective?”

Why had Delevo Kundel followed him?

“Like Celia Reinhardt, perhaps he has a purpose.”

That seemed the most likely. Maybe it was a trend among students.

“Tailing the teacher… unique. Well, I didn’t learn about trends in pre-mission intel.”

The world was vast, and cultures varied. To stay at Edelvine Academy long enough to become a professor, Giel needed to quickly adapt.

“Delevo Kundel.”

Startled by the voice behind him, Delevo spun around. He nearly fainted. The teacher who had just disappeared was now standing right behind him.

“Te-teacher? When…?”
“You followed me.”
“……”

Caught.

“Was I too obvious?”

He should have just gone quietly into the classroom.

“Is this a trend?”
“Huh?”
“I asked if it’s a trend among students.”
“A trend…?”

What was he talking about?

“Following the teacher.”
“I-I don’t really know.”
“If it’s a trend, do it naturally. Hiding behind trees or peeking with just your head looks too suspicious. Blend into the crowd, follow someone from a distance, or climb where the target’s vision can’t reach. That’s better.”

Delevo was dumbfounded by the sudden lecture on tailing.

“Why would that be a trend…? And why so detailed…?”

“Next time, try it more skillfully.”
“Ah… uh…”

Giel checked his pocket watch, then moved on.

“Five minutes before class. Be mindful, or you’ll get penalized for being late.”
“Y-yes, yes.”
“Good.”

He disappeared around the corner. Delevo stared blankly after him, forgetting the original purpose of following.

Then, without realizing it, he looked back and sank to the floor in shock.

“What… what?”

The corridor he thought was blocked was wide open. In the distance, he could see students just leaving the classroom.

“Crazy…”

Clatter.

Recovering from the shock, Delevo entered the classroom a minute late.

“You’re late, Delevo Kundel. That’s one tardy.”

Whispers spread among the students.

“Why does his expression look like that?”
“Didn’t you hear? The teacher shredded him in the first liberal arts class.”
“Oh, the self-defense one?”

Delevo flinched. He turned to look back, and then—

“I already mentioned before class. You two, what are your names?”
“Teacher, we didn’t talk—”
“I heard clearly. Say your names.”

“…Karen Aswan.”
“Luke Miol.”

The students reluctantly obeyed Giel’s firm tone.

“Karen Aswan, Luke Miol. Both are warned for chatting. This will affect your grades.”
“Ah, teacher!”
“This class will proceed according to the rules.”

Scratch, scratch.

The sound of Giel writing something down silenced the room. The students’ murmurs faded, and the classroom grew quiet. Delevo watched, perplexed.

“Was he paying attention to me?”

“And Delevo Kundel, since you’re late, this will also affect your grades.”

Impossible.

“What on earth… why is he so strict?”

Celia observed the scene, still intrigued. Clearly, she had faith in something. Otherwise, the liberal arts instructor wouldn’t dare act this way toward heirs of prominent families.

“There’s definitely something here.”

With names of influential families flashing through Celia’s mind, Giel began the class.

“Today’s lesson is on ‘Healthy Body and Physical Fitness.’”

A liberal arts class focused on physical theory and training, true to Sword School’s practical approach.

“I brought my sword… who should I spar with?”
“I’ll just practice alone.”

In theory, according to the syllabus. But in practice, the class had never been conducted that way. Students either sparred with each other, practiced independently, or slacked off. Even assistants left the class unsupervised.

But Giel’s class was different.

“Before the main physical training, we’ll measure each student’s fitness level.”

The classroom went silent. Fitness measurement!

“Um… teacher?”

A student raised her hand.

“Karen Aswan. Do you have a question?”
“What do you mean by measuring fitness?”
“As stated in the syllabus. We’ll assess the fitness levels of first-year Sword School students and provide personalized training based on the results.”
“So… how will we be measured?”

Until this point, students like Karen still clung to hope.

“Are they just observing us to assess our fitness?”
“Exactly.”

The liberal arts class, which seniors claimed was all play, was now something entirely different. They thought they’d have it easy—but instead, they were being put through hell.

“We were supposed to be picked as the 40 out of 100 elite students… but we’re just unlucky ones.”

“Long-distance running.”

Some students scoffed internally. Sword School students had trained rigorously at home; they had no problem with fitness, they thought.

“How many laps?”
“As many as possible.”
“Not a big deal.”

A few chuckled, but when Giel lifted the sandbags, all hope vanished.

“Sandbags. You will run with these.”

Sandbags.

Too classical. No one expected this.

“Easy… with magic, it would be simple.”

Then came the real blow:

“Magic use is prohibited.”
“Huh?”
“Of course. Magic doesn’t drastically improve stamina.”

The students were speechless.

“As written in the syllabus, long-distance running is the most appropriate way to measure fitness.”

They knew, but now they had to run with sandbags and no magic.

Giel pointed to the end of the hall.

“Make yourself as light as possible and stand at the far end. When I signal, start running around the classroom.”
“Until when?”
“Run until exhausted.”
“Until exhausted means…”
“Continue until all muscle fibers no longer respond.”
“What if we don’t have the will?”
“Will isn’t the measure. The physical exhaustion is the measure. Move to your positions.”

Giel strapped sandbags to his own ankles. The students were shocked, but for him, it was natural.

“The first two years, I just ran.”

During assassin training, he had run with even heavier weights.

“Are we really going?”
“They said to…”
“The problem isn’t that…”

One student silently removed their sword and belt, placed them on the floor, and strapped sandbags to their ankles from the box next to Giel.

Thunk. Thunk.

Then they joined the line at the end of the hall.

It was Delevo Kundel.

Others flinched at the sight.

And another—

“Even Celia…?”

Celia Reinhardt followed. Delevo and Celia, heirs of two powerful families, moved first, prompting the others to follow.

“Start running.”

On Giel’s signal, the students began to run.

“Run until we drop? I have my major class later…”

But no one could protest. Next to them, Giel ran calmly, speaking advice.

“Keep your breathing regular. Don’t be too short or long. Control it rhythmically.”

“Step lightly. Otherwise, knees will be strained.”
“Understood.”
“Karen, don’t push yourself. Run at your own pace.”

Advice continued as students grew tired after about ten laps. Sandbags. No magic. Even the weight alone exhausted them.

“Don’t look at the ground, look forward to avoid tripping.”

Giel remained calm. First students dropped out, and Giel ran to them to record their names and laps without breaking stride.

“How does he remember everyone?”

40 students in this class, each tracked individually, yet Giel did it effortlessly, without a drop of sweat, even with sandbags.

“A monster. Is he really a liberal arts teacher?”

Students gradually felt fear.

“Why does this happen during our freshman year? Seniors said it was easy!”

About thirty minutes in, half the class had dropped. Magic users could have run several laps more, but without using magic, they fell quickly.

Tap. Tap.

Giel caught up with the leading student. The student decided to use magic slightly, thinking Giel wouldn’t notice.

“You used magic.”
“Huh!”

The student panicked.

Giel had been an assassin, known as “The Revenant” for fearsome skill. The reason other assassins couldn’t follow him was his unmatched “intuition,” which let him complete impossible missions.

“What’s your name, student?”
“U-uh…”
“You used magic just now.”

The student stammered. Others watched, some lying on the floor.

“What’s your name?” Giel asked calmly, terrifying the student.

“M-Marice Sopen.”
“Marice Sopen, step out immediately. Stand aside until class ends.”

“Evidence that I used magic?”
“Really? 85 laps. But magic usage nullifies it.”

Marice trembled with humiliation.

“All because I used a little magic?”

The eldest son of the Sopen family, just below the top five families. He had attracted faculty attention, though not as much as Delevo or Celia.

“How dare this liberal arts teacher…”

Meanwhile, students thought the same:

“How did he know?”

One must reach a certain level to detect magic use visually, yet Marice’s failed attempt made it obvious.

Thirty more minutes passed. The hall was filled with labored breaths and footsteps. Only two remained: Delevo and Celia. Sandbags on. No magic. Yet unstoppable.

“Who will win?”
“Probably them.”

Delevo Kundel. Celia Reinhardt. Two heirs from families that weren’t on good terms. Giel continued running effortlessly.

“Even with magic, it’d be hard not to tire like that…”

Ten minutes later, their rivalry was unstoppable. Who would fall first?

Thunk!

Five more minutes passed. One faltered—no, about to fall—

“Delevo Kundel.”

Giel reached him instantly and supported his body.

“225 laps.”