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Chapter 14
Shall We Go Eat?
The students still found it hard to believe.
“Us? Beating the second-years…?”
“Yes. You’ll win.”
Not you can win, but you will win.
A flat, definitive statement.
“How? The upperclassmen take advanced major classes and even participate in real combat…”
Advanced classes.
Actual combat.
All important, of course.
But Ziel had seen it with his own eyes.
“They’re not at a level you can’t beat.”
He wasn’t talking about the three idiots who bullied Karen and Yurio and then got caught drinking and suspended.
A little while ago,
Ziel had observed the second-year major classes through a teaching assistant.
From what he saw of the second-years—and what he knew of the forty first-years he was currently training—he had drawn a conclusion.
“Us…?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Beating the second-years?”
“Yes.”
“But how—”
“Celia Rihardt. Ask questions efficiently. ‘Can we really beat the second-years?’ is the efficient question.”
“Ah… okay. Then how do we beat them?”
Delrev and Celia—both considered the top talents of the first-year class—knew that the second-years must also have students of similar caliber.
If someone possessed overwhelming talent, perhaps such a feat was possible… but even with two such students, guaranteeing victory felt unrealistic.
That was what Celia thought.
Ziel seemed to disagree.
“Just do it.”
“…What?”
“Do what you’ve been taught. Your stamina has improved plenty, and your reaction time has increased significantly. Once you face real combat, you’ll notice you’re different from before.”
Celia felt as though he were calmly explaining something he had already seen unfold in the near future.
She couldn’t even immediately respond.
“But it hasn’t even been two months yet…”
“Have you fought a second-year before?”
“No… we don’t even spar among ourselves…”
Swordschool actually had strict regulations.
Sword usage only in designated places.
Personal sparring only with the professor’s explicit approval.
All other combat only during class.
The problem: the first-year major curriculum included no sparring classes.
Everything was theory, posture drills, and—at best—fighting a wooden dummy.
Naturally, they had no real combat sense, nor any way to truly feel how much they’d grown.
Well—except in Ziel’s class.
Self-defense response speed and method.
Long-distance running records.
Everything was measured, quantified, tracked.
Thanks to that, they could clearly feel themselves improving.
But that level of growth wasn’t enough to be certain that ten students from this exact class would be selected—and even win against the second-years.
“Once your fundamentals are solid, everything else grows with them. Believe it.”
Ziel looked straight into Celia with those mysterious amber eyes.
Trust me.
Celia jolted before she realized she was nodding.
“…Okay.”
Even after lowering her hand, questions rose again.
But she didn’t ask.
Strangely… her heart felt calmer.
“Can this class alone… really make ten of us get selected? And let us beat the second-years…?”
The doubts remained, but they no longer exploded like before.
Ziel’s words carried a peculiar weight.
Rigid, inflexible, completely lacking in softness… yet somehow strangely convincing.
Really? If we all win…
We’ll get scouted by knight orders…
Just getting selected would be huge, but if we even beat the second-years…
Delrev, Celia—
Even Maris, if you widened the circle—
And of course, not only the students from the five great noble houses.
The hearts of students from mid- and small-tier families were pounding wildly.
A chance to stand out.
A chance to secure their future.
“Karen, let’s actually prepare super hard.”
“Wanna spar secretly?”
“If we’re caught, that’s demerits.”
“Why? The seniors all do it.”
“They have access to club rooms. We don’t…”
Everyone felt excitement.
Except for one.
‘I still haven’t landed a proper counterattack even once.’
Delrev Kundel.
A student with the strongest desire for recognition.
He couldn’t believe it.
Beating second-years at their current level?
Delrev didn’t believe anything easily.
If he didn’t see it with his own eyes, he doubted it first.
Not because of some traumatic past—no family assassinations, no internal strife.
It was simply because his two older brothers teased and tricked him constantly.
He had once been confident in his skills… until Ziel crushed that confidence during the first class.
His chronic suspicion flared up once more—and now it was at its peak.
“Professor.”
“Speak, Delrev Kundel.”
“When swordsmanship clashes with swordsmanship, fundamentals and stamina can only take us so far. Swordsmanship isn’t something explained solely by basics.”
At least he wasn’t acting arrogant and unpleasant like during the first class.
And he wasn’t wrong.
Many students nodded.
Even Celia agreed a little.
“You’re not wrong, Delrev Kundel.”
Ziel agreed surprisingly easily.
“Swordsmanship cannot be explained by fundamentals alone.”
Come to think of it… had Ziel ever even shown them swordsmanship?
“Naturally, swordsmanship itself must be considered.”
“…Then how can you be so sure?”
Delrev simply couldn’t understand.
But Ziel operated far beyond the realm Delrev thought of as “understanding.”
“It just looks that way.”
“…What?”
“Your level simply looks that high, Delrev Kundel.”
Our level?
“And…”
Ziel looked at Delrev with those amber eyes.
“I expect the most from you, Delrev Kundel.”
The unexpected praise made Delrev’s mouth slowly fall open.
* * *
There was a section in the book Beloved Teacher, Hated Teacher about how to deal with students.
“Praise works wonders.”
If used correctly, praise could draw out a student’s full potential.
Ziel thought the previous class had shown that exactly.
After he praised them, the students had thrown themselves into the lesson with frightening focus, producing much better results.
Delrev had even almost succeeded in counterattacking him.
Technically he didn’t succeed, so it was marked as a failure—but Delrev and the others were burning with determination.
Seeing them grow by the day gave Ziel a feeling called pride.
He didn’t fully understand what the emotion meant yet, but he knew it felt good.
And now, something else was making him feel good.
Right this moment.
“My salary…”
As an undead wraith, Ziel had never really used “money.”
Not in the normal, consumer sense.
To Ziel, money was simply equipment given for missions—
bribes for brokers or informants,
or funds used when a mission dragged on.
He had never received money as a reward.
The assassins of the Black Sky Organization were all brainwashed—they always returned to the main unit after missions, never needing compensation.
“This is the Imperial Bank.”
The Imperial Bank.
The only official bank in the empire, with a branch inside the academy.
Ziel was visiting a bank for the first time in his life—to collect his salary.
Most people would be overwhelmed the moment they walked inside.
The massive chandelier.
The gold-shining ceiling.
The soaring height of the lobby, decorated with items of immeasurable value.
“Everything is so large.”
Ziel gave his brief impression and walked in.
“Welcome, customer.”
A uniformed employee greeted him warmly as cool air brushed past.
Within two seconds, Ziel had instinctively analyzed everything.
‘Extensive security.’
Thirty guards.
Sixteen traps disguised as decorations.
Twenty-three fully concealed traps.
A magic-operated security door.
‘All manageable.’
About twelve windows.
Six potential escape routes.
Four positions suitable for hiding.
Within five seconds, he had calculated that assassinating a target and escaping—or hiding—was entirely possible here.
Not that he was here to assassinate anyone.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m here to withdraw my salary.”
Ziel spoke with a strangely proud expression—though he didn’t know he was making such a face.
“Ah, I see. Are you academy staff?”
“Yes. Swordschool.”
“This way, please.”
Soon, Ziel stood before another clerk with a kindly face.
“Hello, customer Ziel Steelheart. I’ll be assisting you today. You’re here to withdraw your salary?”
“Yes.”
“Please provide your signature and magic imprint here.”
He wrote the signature he had prepared as part of this “mission.”
“Please place your finger for magic verification.”
Tap.
“Verification complete.”
He peeled off a thin layer of artificial skin from his fingertip—one he had infused with prepared magical energy—and hid it smoothly.
“Your account balance is 2,500 sel. How much would you like to withdraw?”
“All of it.”
Clatter.
The clerk skillfully sorted the coins.
“One 1,000-sel gold coin, and fifteen 100-sel silver coins. Would you like a different mix?”
‘If he learned dagger skills, he’d learn fast,’ Ziel thought, briefly admiring the clerk’s hand speed before pocketing the coins.
“I see this is your first paycheck in your first account. Congratulations.”
Ziel paused, confused.
Was this something to congratulate?
He was being given compensation, that was all.
Clearly Ziel’s understanding of economic concepts still had a long way to go.
“Since this is your first paycheck, do you have any plans for it?”
This he could answer.
“I will eat.”
“Ah, food is good! A fine gentleman like you surely plans to eat somewhere nice with his partner—”
“I will eat alone.”
“…Ah.”
“And I will eat a lot.”
Ziel meant it.
He had realized the existence of the paycheck a bit late.
It annoyed him.
If he had known sooner, he would have eaten delicious food earlier.
“I’m going to eat right now.”
“Ah… I see… Yes. Ah—also, customer Ziel Steelheart, a secure parcel arrived for you.”
“Ah. Yes. Give it to me.”
He accepted the small, magically sealed package.
“Is that everything?”
“Yes, everything is complete.”
“Then I will go eat.”
“Ah… yes. Please enjoy your meal!”
The clerk maintained a professional smile until the end.
And after Ziel left the bank…
“Who was that? Who’s that insanely handsome guy?”
“Swordschool staff.”
“Ah! The general ed instructor? The one rumored to be super hot?”
“And where did you hear that?”
“My boyfriend works in the Swordschool admin office. So? So? What did he do?”
“What do you think—he withdrew money and left.”
“Aw come on, Ella, I thought he’d at least say something dramatic.”
“Nothing dramatic. Quiet down.”
Ella grumbled, then suddenly brightened as if she remembered something.
“Oh—right.”
“What?”
“He said he’s going to eat now.”
“Who?”
“The guy who just left.”
“With who?”
“Alone.”
“…Huh? Why? He’s handsome.”
“I know, right? But he said he was going to eat a lot.”
“…Weird guy?”
Ella murmured.
“Still… he looked really happy just because he was going to go eat.”
