[113] End-of-Term Report Card (5)
Kaizen Swordsmanship School.
Perched in the capital of the Kingdom of Tormia, Kaizen Swordsmanship School boasted two hundred years of history and had produced many celebrated knights.
There were over ten certified first-rank swordsmen alone, and three among them had even been granted the title of Sword Master.
Iron conviction. A symbol of courage.
Anyone who dreamed of becoming a knight in the Kingdom of Tormia wanted to enter Kaizen.
There was no entrance exam, however. Instead, applicants underwent a month-long apprenticeship during which the school assessed their potential as cadets and made final admission decisions.
Three hundred cadets arrived each semester. Only thirty would be admitted.
Rian, proud to be among those thirty, was currently attending class at Kaizen.
Urban combat training ground.
The training ground, a faithful recreation of city streets, was one of Kaizen's prides.
A teacher with cheekbones jutting like a skull glared at the first-year students seated on the steps and said, "Today's practical is movement. For you first-years, evaluation will focus on center-shifting."
The teacher's name was Parka Kuan.
A certified sixth-rank swordsman, he'd been called the Death Magician before a war injury to his leg—an unrivaled master of the blade.
"Center-shifting is an ability every swordsman must have. Speed, strength, and accuracy—the three beats of the blade—all start from here."
Kuan limped down the steps on his right leg. He pointed at a broad-shouldered boy and asked, "You. Where is a swordsman's center of gravity?"
"Sir! The navel!"
"Wrong. You, answer."
Kuan pointed at a cadet whose eyes were slitted like a shark's. Even if he didn't know the answer, he had to spring up immediately. Hesitate even a little and it would mean disciplinary punishment instead of the test.
"Sir! The soles of the feet!"
"Wrong. You."
"Uh— the sword!"
"Drop and do two hundred push-ups."
"Yes, sir!"
The cadet left his row and began push-ups. It was miserable to waste strength before the test, but the instructors at the sword school didn't care.
Kuan drew the longsword at his waist. The tip flared like a fan, while the blade itself looked relatively thin.
"Where is a swordsman's center of gravity? The correct answer is outside. In schema terms, that's called external gravity. Repeat after me: external gravity."
"External gravity!"
The cadets shouted, but they were furious. To explain a term they'd never heard all semester right before the test—
"I haven't explained it until now because I was too lazy. Of course, you knuckleheads wouldn't have understood anyway. But I'm in a bad mood today, so I'll add evaluation of external gravity. Understood?"
"Yes!"
Their voices boomed. There was killing intent in that shout. Changing evaluation criteria now—what did that make their half-year of crawling and sweating mean?
Many thoughts ran through their heads. "I want to tear him to pieces."
"One demonstration only. Watch closely so you can apply it in your evaluation."
Despite their thoughts, a hush fell over the normally noisy coliseum.
"Cut as you advance, cut as you retreat."
Kuan demonstrated slashes while moving forward and backward. His limp made him ungainly, but the sound of him parting air was terrifying.
"This is ordinary swordsman movement. The body's power shifts the center, and the shift of the center amplifies the blade's destructive force. And if you amplify strength with schema, the blade's destructive force can rise exponentially."
The cadets swallowed. They'd heard this kind of talk until their ears were full, but the tension before the test made every word heavier.
"...You'll be thinking nothing but crude things like that. But if you approach real combat with that mindset, you'll be dead within three seconds."
'What a prick.'
Their eyes sharpened.
"Remember this. No matter how powerful your destructive force is, if you lose the movement, the fight's over. Swordsmen use their center of gravity for movement depending on the situation. For example—"
Kuan stamped the sole of his foot into the ground. Then, raising one leg, he let his body fall toward the floor.
The cadets gaped. Kuan's axis tilted more than seventy degrees.
Was that even possible? A human couldn't hold that pose without a rope at the waist.
"Schema-amplified strength maximizes movement of the center of gravity. Right now my center is outside my body. This is external gravity."
Kuan's body sprang upright like a tumbler toy.
"External gravity makes movement possibilities infinite. For instance, this is also possible."
Kuan struck the ground with his sole again and toppled backward. His body leaned until his back almost touched the ground, then traced a cone as it rotated.
External gravity wasn't an actual gravity. It was simply an extremely strong inertia. If you add rotation to external gravity, the body rotates too.
When Kuan extended his sword outward, the rotation slowed. But as his tilt returned, centripetal force accelerated it.
Sssssss!
Kuan rose to vertical and spun at tremendous speed, then, as if time stopped, finished the rotation in a precise, frozen stance.
The cadets stared in horror. If one of them had been standing there, what would have happened? Their ankles would be sliced first. Then the accelerating blade would tear them into dozens of pieces.
Defense was impossible—like trying to stop a tornado formed by pressure differences in the air.
That explosive external gravity—if likened to a machine—was like a rotating device with blades attached.
'This is the Death Magician.'
A name given because opponents wouldn't even know how they'd died.
"This is today's practical evaluation. First: obstacle clearance. Second: urban movement."
"Instructor, a question."
"Drop and do two hundred push-ups."
The cadet left his row. While doing push-ups he wondered what he'd done wrong.
"Keep this in mind: to get the answer you want, you must overwhelm the other person. An instructor is not your parent. Don't stare at me with eyes begging to be praised. It's disgusting. Understood?"
"Yes! I'll correct myself!"
"Again."
The cadet finished his punishment and shouted, raising his hand. "Instructor! A question!"
"Speak."
"What do you evaluate in urban movement?"
"I'll explain it now."
The cadet looked embarrassed. He'd asked to get on Kuan's good side. But for Kuan, even respect was a form of weakness.
"Urban movement. I'll be brief because I'm lazy."
Kuan stepped into a building. The front opened like a dollhouse, so everyone could hear him.
"External gravity shines in complex terrain. Especially in urban combat, where space is narrow, fights are decided at the level of movement."
Kuan stomped the floor, though he didn't attempt external gravity.
"The reason for the stomp is to generate force to shift the center. That's called the first impact. Of course, you won't have time for such madness in real combat, but you greenhorns should always stamp the ground."
Derision and mockery laced his words, but the students, impressed by Kuan's demonstration, quieted down.
"But I don't stamp the ground for first impact. If I hit the floor with my force, the plank would splinter. In schema, the external-gravity class has various first impacts; I'll use a basic one: muscle vibration."
Kuan contracted his upper-body muscles to generate vibration. He leaped, touched the wall, and by bending his elbows to control inertia, created a long suspension—over three seconds—in the air.
"Wooooaah."
The cadets gasped. Normally this would be the moment to shout "Drop!" but Kuan, apparently too lazy, continued his explanation.
"You make external gravity with a first impact and then leap. In these cases, external gravity acts toward the wall. Applying that, this movement is possible."
Kuan walked along the wall. Cadets who slowly raised their heads looked up in disbelief. Kuan had planted both feet on the ceiling and was standing upside down.
"External gravity is ultimately using inertia to offset true gravity. So my body isn't under normal gravity right now."
Kuan walking on the ceiling was beyond awe; it was grotesque. But it wasn't magic.
Wall-running is something circus performers can do without schema. Kuan simply maximized inertia with stronger, more precise force.
When the external gravity faded, Kuan's body fell with gravity. After finishing the demonstration and stepping back outside, the cadets' expressions had completely changed.
"Everyone drop. Two hundred push-ups."
"Yes, sir!"
They dropped with guilty faces. Since most officially admitted students could handle schema, two hundred push-ups weren't impossible. But first-years' enhancement ranges were limited, so two hundred push-ups were a painfully strenuous punishment.
"Listen while you do them. The first practical is the horizontal obstacle; as the stages progress, the height lowers. The last stage likely cannot be cleared without using external gravity. Time is twenty seconds. The obstacles are made with live blades, so severe injury could be fatal. I trust you won't be stupid enough to try dodging them. If you're injured, you'll be treated by Instructor Kaina."
Kaina was the sword school's top surgeon. If mages had healers, swordsmen had surgeons who performed operations. The problem was how excruciating the surgeries were. Especially amputations—because they extended into the nervous system, patients often fainted mid-treatment.
'Damn! That makes it even scarier!'
"Urban movement is simple. Create external gravity and lean on the wall. The longer you hold, the higher your score. Understood?"
"Yes!"
Kuan scanned their fierce faces, collected the evaluation sheets, and moved to his station.
"We'll start with number one. I won't call names—come out when you're ready. Those waiting, rest."
Rian sat propping his chin on his hand. With at least three minutes per person, there was plenty of time.
"How do you think you'll do?"
A feminine voice, unusual in the sword school, asked. Rian barely turned his head as if it didn't matter. A beauty with golden hair like waves sat nearby. Tall and slender, her long limbs gave an airy impression.
Elajin Tess.
The only daughter of the prestigious Elajin family, she'd entered the sword school to inherit her father's role as a colonial commander.
Her face could be cute or fierce depending on the angle, but her personality was fierce no matter what. Her skill was outstanding; among the first-years there was no one who could match her, and she was naturally unconcerned by the many men around her.
"Hurry and sit. If the instructor catches you, it's death."
"Oh? Even the great Rian fears the instructor, huh? He's busy grading anyway."
"What do you know? He's like he has eyes in the back of his head. By the way, why did you suddenly move seats?"
"What, showing off friendship? Maybe I came to loosen you up if you were nervous."
"When have I ever been nervous?"
"Hoho. Well, there's no lower place to fall now, so what would you have to be nervous about? Lucky dead last, aren't you."
Those words might have offended someone, but Rian merely pursed his lips. Tess smiled. Rian's calm temperament—he didn't get angry over most things—clearly set him apart from the others.
Why would such a man always end up last?
Of all the first-years, Rian trained the hardest by far. No—he endured such harsh training every day that it was almost abuse.