The instructor, acting purely on instinct, activated every ounce of his strength and speed to launch an attack toward Azrael—one that was impossible to dodge. The movement was a sudden whirlwind, an explosion of raw physical power. Azrael was sent flying several meters back, cutting through the air before crashing down with a dull impact that echoed through the silence of the training hall.
"I'm serious, I'm a magnet for bad luck," Azrael muttered on the verge of passing out, his vision blurred and his body protesting with every new bruise.
"Oof! That was a critical hit," his classmates said, their voices a mix of genuine amazement and a hint of sympathy for poor Azrael, who seemed to attract misfortune like a nail to a magnet.
The instructor, realizing he had reacted purely on instinct, felt a flash of panic in his own eyes as he became aware of the excessive force he had used. He immediately lunged forward, catching Azrael mid-air—this time gently—and quickly carried him to the infirmary so his injuries, both internal and external, could be treated. The walk through the corridors felt endless, the weight of his mistake heavy on his mind.
Deeply apologetic, the instructor asked for forgiveness once the nurse began her work. His words were firm, but filled with sincere regret.
"Don't worry, I'm kind of used to this happening to me," Azrael said, lying motionless on the bed, even forcing a small, clumsy smile to ease the tension.
"Rest, Azrael. I'll go classify your ranks," the instructor replied, turning halfway around, his mind already elsewhere, though not before giving the nurse a brief nod.
'That kid is a walking danger,' the instructor thought as he made his way back. 'He has what very few possess: a killing instinct, a primal and lethal spark that emerges at the exact moment. That alone places him high in terms of raw potential. The problem is that he lacks high-quality sword technique; his movements are rough, predictable if not for that animal reaction. It's a miracle he's come this far compared to his more polished peers. Essentially, he's a chick—vulnerable and uncoordinated—but with proper preparation, with the right training to refine that raw instinct, he could become a formidable wolf. A true force of nature.'
"I've arrived, Director. Good afternoon," the instructor said respectfully as he entered the spacious office, unable to meet his gaze directly, fixing his eyes on a point on the wall instead.
"Hellooo, my boy! So, did you find any new talents in your class?" the director asked with friendly curiosity, setting aside the documents he had been reviewing.
"Yes. I found about two genuine sword monsters. With proper training, they could get close to a hero's level of power. They have that special determination in their eyes," the instructor explained, growing more animated as he recalled them.
"Ooooh, how interesting to hear those words coming from you. You're usually the one lowering expectations, the academy's realist," the director said, his face filled with surprise and delight as he leaned back in his chair.
"Well, Director, I'll assign the students their ranks, and once I'm done, I'll submit the report to you in writing," the instructor said with unmatched, almost childlike happiness at having discovered such potential.
Back in the classroom, facing his expectant students, he announced, "Alright, we're here. Let's begin! These two individuals will be placed in Rank E. The rest will be Rank G, except for one who pleasantly surprised me. A future diamond in the rough, with a shine that needs polishing."
He then left the room, posting the ranking results on the notice board, listening to the murmurs of surprise and debate rising behind him.
'This semester is going to be very interesting,' he reflected internally. 'I'll need to push myself harder than usual—prepare specific sessions, push each student according to their potential.' The thought filled him with renewed energy.
At that moment, someone appeared behind him and slapped him hard enough on the back to make him stumble slightly, saying in a jovial tone, "Dario, the Hero Killer. Already slaughtering the newbies?"
"Hahaha, just call me Dario. Or else I'll start calling you Andre, Dragon Slayer. Don't start with those old nicknames," Dario replied, turning to face his old friend and colleague.
"Hehehe, alright, alright. I won't call you that. But hey, tell me—is it true you have two one-star Rank E talents in your class? Not to brag, but I have a four-star Rank E. A true gem from day one," Andre said boastfully, crossing his arms with an air of superiority.
Dario, Azrael's instructor, smiled broadly, sensing the perfect opportunity. "Hahaha, how about we make a bet on who ends up with the best class by the end of the semester? Progress will be the real test," Dario said playfully, toying with the idea.
"I accept, haha. But the loser has to wear a succubus outfit at Friday's instructors' meeting," Andre said mockingly and confidently, certain of his advantage. "No half measures. The full costume."