The professor of magic had opened a swordsmanship class.
Not only did it raise suspicions about his expertise, but it was also difficult to understand his intentions.
Yet, the competition for enrollment skyrocketed.
Of course, it was bound to happen, given the stunts I had pulled.
Defeating three demons, saving the academy as easily as breathing, and casting the grand magic of Meteor recklessly—this was the professor in question.
Furthermore, the students who took my previous self-study class all achieved astounding success.
The contents of the course were confidential, but the evaluation was unanimous: it was a life-changing class.
If someone like that suddenly announced a new class, even I would have flipped and joined the competition.
‘Look at them—everyone looks like they’re going to die of happiness.’
One of the academy’s facilities, the large training ground, was already filled with many students, all to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past by choosing a simple venue.
They all wore broad smiles, as if their mouths stretched to their ears.
With a lottery-based selection process, they were obviously thinking they’d struck an incredible stroke of luck.
On the other hand, the onlookers peeking into the training ground wore faces as if they’d lost their entire world, but I hoped they’d rest assured.
Those deceivers would soon be set straight by me.
Their envy would turn into pity in less than ten minutes.
I stepped forward, grinning wickedly in front of everyone.
The tension was at its peak.
The students cheered just by seeing me appear, but I lightly ignored that and began ruining the mood.
No cheerful introductions or greetings.
With a serious, stony face, I declared, “I have no intention of teaching you swordsmanship.”
On the very first day of class, I boldly announced that I wouldn’t be doing my job.
Naturally, the faces of everyone present turned to confusion.
“Actually, it would be more accurate to say that even if I wanted to teach it, I can’t. I don’t have any swordsmanship knowledge worth sharing, and I’ve barely held a sword myself.”
A swordsmanship professor admitting he didn’t know how to wield a sword.
Just seeing the stunned faces of the students brought a smile to my face, but I wasn’t one to settle with just this much.
If I was going to do something, I’d do it right.
“Well, there’s no need to be alarmed. Do you think I would open a swordsmanship class without any plans in mind?”
The hope returned to the students’ faces once more.
But that hope was merely bait, something I’d given to snatch away again.
In front of these students, who had devoted their lives to honing their own swords, I made a bold declaration.
“I know what swordsmanship is. Isn’t it just muscle-headed idiots swinging swords around stupidly with no brains to speak of? Teaching that should be easy.”
To them, who had dedicated their lives to mastering the art, I implied that their field was nothing special.
Such a brute, mindless task—why, even an amateur like me could teach it. From now on, I would be their instructor.
It was obvious how such words would sound to warriors.
As expected, the atmosphere grew tense in an instant.
Unable to bear it any longer, a student stepped forward, denying reality.
“Sir, you’re joking, right? This has to be a joke. There’s no way someone like you would conduct such an absurd class, right?”
The student’s face was pale, beads of sweat forming.
The fact that they believed I was hiding something, even in this situation, showed how high their trust in me was.
Looking sharply at the student who was trying to defend me, I scowled as if offended and asked, “Do I look like someone who would joke during a lecture?”
Just from that line, it might seem like I was professional, but considering the other circumstances, it was the kind of statement only a madman would make.
In front of everyone, all at a loss for words, I drew a sword.
It was a wooden practice sword I had prepared just for this occasion.
Taking a stance, I swung it with all my might.
In that moment, the essence of the sword was distorted by me.
A weapon meant to be held and swung was transformed into a projectile.
In other words, I accidentally let go of the wooden sword mid-swing.
With a whoosh, it flew through the air and landed on the ground with a dull thud.
The sight of it caused the swordsmanship students’ faces to sink into a despair unlike anything they’d shown before.
These were the students of the Imperial Academy.
Geniuses among geniuses, the blessed few who had been granted talent—the threshold of this place was not something ordinary humans could cross.
For those born warriors, it would have been clear.
My pathetic movement just now couldn’t be faked.
I really was a novice in swordsmanship.
“Are your questions answered now? I never lied. Stop the nonsense and focus on the class.”
With that, I propped my chin on my hand and mused to myself.
In deep thought, I appeared to realize something, and I spoke as if struck by inspiration.
“Perhaps the issue is your attitude. You’re all just waiting for me to hand over some profound swordsmanship that would grant you success without effort. How could you expect your skills to improve that way?”
It was only natural for students to expect their professor to provide quality instruction.
But I harshly criticized that as a lazy attitude of young people who lacked discipline.
“You fail because you’re always looking for shortcuts.”
I drew from my experience as much as I could.
The absurdity I felt back when my boss at work had complained about young people only wanting shortcuts, scolding me for using Excel functions that might mess up if the computer failed.
Nothing was more suffocating than someone who didn’t know anything trying to teach you anyway.
“I’ll fix that attitude of yours.”
I grinned wickedly at them all.
This was the beginning of torment disguised as training.
***
A new student at the Imperial Academy.
Cain Desmond felt like he was going to lose his mind.
Just yesterday, he had been so excited about today that he barely got any sleep.
But now, he was wasting his valuable time on this absurd nonsense.
He never thought he’d say this, but Professor Riyan’s class was beyond disappointing—it was downright loathsome.
‘This is just pure torment for us!’
His arms hurt as if they were about to fall off.
His exhausted body screamed that it needed rest immediately.
But Cain continued to swing his sword, not because he was persistent, but because Professor Riyan was glaring at him intently from behind.
“Try swinging your sword ten thousand times.”
An absurd demand that sounded like something out of a novel.
Any achievements to be gained from this repetitive exercise had already been accomplished.
At this point, pushing himself further would only lead to injury.
No matter how he looked at it, this was a meaningless, pointless task.
‘What on earth is he trying to accomplish by making us suffer like this?’
The professor’s skill—stopping demons and saving everyone in the academy—proved that he was a brilliant magician.
But no one could say he was a skilled swordsman.
There were no signs of physical training on his body, and the swordsmanship he had demonstrated was not just crude; it was embarrassingly poor.
The other students gathered here had probably noticed this as well.
The only reason the class managed to continue was out of respect for him, but everyone’s patience was steadily reaching its limit.
“It seems like your enthusiasm is lacking. Put some effort into it.”
As if they weren’t already dying from exhaustion, he kept nagging them from behind.
When they asked for advice on what they were doing wrong, all he offered were strange, nonsensical comments.
“Why are you asking me that? I just told you I’ve never learned swordsmanship. Have you already forgotten?”
Getting scolded just for asking questions about things they didn’t understand.
It was beyond absurd—it was enough to leave them speechless.
‘Not knowing swordsmanship wasn’t a crime, but wasn’t this professor the one who set up this class?’
The man standing in front of them had been the one to decide to teach them swordsmanship.
‘Then why on earth did he start this class?’
Naturally, anger started bubbling up inside.
With his exhausted mind, Cain’s mouth moved on its own.
“What on earth is this, Professor Riyan? At least try to act like you’re conducting this class sincerely!”
Everyone else was swinging their swords until they were about to collapse, while the professor alone was leisurely enjoying a cup of coffee.
Shouldn’t an educator at least set some minimum example? If he couldn’t provide advice or correct their stances, he could at least try swinging a sword alongside them.
Cain shouted and scolded Riyan, but the response he got was nothing short of shameless.
“Aren’t I already practicing along with you? I’ve been swinging the sword earnestly right alongside you.”
“…What are you talking about?”
“Even though my body is drinking coffee, my heart is right beside my precious students, sweating alongside them. I’m a bit disappointed that no one seems to appreciate my sincerity.”
Snap.
His patience had finally broken.
At this point, grades didn’t matter to him anymore.
He’d declare that he rejected this pathetic class and get out of this cursed training ground as fast as possible.
It was at that moment that Cain reached this conclusion in his mind.
“…Swinging the sword with one’s heart instead of hands.”
The top-ranking freshman standing beside him, Ciel from Class A, suddenly muttered something.
Her breathing became steady and controlled.
Her stance naturally settled into a stable position.
Without any hesitation, the girl drew her sword.
With that single strike, the ground trembled.
The trajectory traced by the blade split the world in two.
Naturally, everyone was left speechless.
To not be rendered speechless would have been stranger.
In this moment, right in this place—
The youngest Swordmaster in the Empire was born.