Chapter 23

The Saintess and the Woodcutter (1)

Saint Yansk University had no garden.

This had been mentioned before, but it was important enough to emphasize twice.

Therefore, even after Ivan was handed a pair of pruning shears prepared by the administrative office, there was nothing for him to do.

However, Ivan had now resolved to live his life—or at least to do his best.

So he had no other choice.

This happened while he was standing beside a roadside tree, snipping away at it with the pruning shears.

"I was wondering what you were staring at. You've turned it into something worse than the bonsai at my house."

"...Mm?"

Enrique sneered from behind him.

Ivan looked up at the sky, then at the tree, before finally turning around to face her.

"Isn't it time for you to sleep?"

"Surprised to see a beautiful woman who isn't a sleepyhead?"

"You certainly seem sleep-deprived."

As a perfectly normal man who had never felt anything other than respect for a woman over seventy years his senior, Ivan shook his head at Enrique's words.

Enrique's brows furrowed sharply.

She struggled to regain her composure before speaking.

"Your position is gardener?"

"For now."

"It certainly sounds like a job that would be good for your mental health. It's not bad, but my prescription is a little different."

Elise had probably planned to improve the mental health of this bearded monster in his thirties by giving him a leisurely pastime while also providing him with some pocket money.

Enrique, however, had a different opinion.

This man needed practice interacting with people.

Not by interacting with them using axes or guns.

Strictly speaking, that was included too.

But she meant ordinary human relationships.

"Follow me. I happened to need an extra pair of hands."

"...Mm?"

"I'll be working as a guest lecturer for the Department of Knighthood starting today. I was already an honorary professor, and I've been terribly bored."

"...Knighthood?"

"Unfortunately, they don't have a Department of Assassination."

Naturally, the world had no need for a university that taught such things.

That was how Ivan ended up standing beside the lectern, glaring at a group of freshmen.

Saint Yansk University was a prestigious international institution equipped with remarkably modern facilities by the standards of the era.

The main building of the Faculty of Theology looked as though an entire cathedral had been relocated there.

The Faculty of Magic replicated the environment of the Calion Archipelago.

And the Department of Knighthood had a building resembling a modern sports academy.

The freshmen wandered around with their mouths open, busy staring at everything.

They look just like chicks. This brings back memories.

Enrique chuckled.

The gymnasium contained a large ring and various training devices, all arranged neatly.

Standing at the podium, Enrique slammed her hand against the lectern.

Bang!

"Nice to meet you, little brats!"

Perhaps it was meant to establish dominance.

The freshmen immediately turned their attention toward the unfamiliar professor standing before them.

Understanding Close-Quarters Combat I.

It was a compulsory major subject for the Department of Knighthood, one every freshman had to complete.

That meant it had to be an important class.

Yet none of them recognized the slender woman.

The students began whispering among themselves as they tried to recall the faculty roster.

Enrique grinned and puffed out her chest.

"My name is Enrique. Enrique Sergeyevna. If you think that name sounds familiar, you're right. I'm exactly the person you're thinking of."

"The Hero's Party!"

"The Horn!"

"The Shadow Blade!"

Enrique grinned broadly at the scattered screams and cheers.

Yes. That's more like it.

This is what you call fame.

The value of her name was such that even royalty could not act against her carelessly.

With a playful smile, Enrique continued.

"There is only one thing I can teach you this semester."

"Defeat!"

"You are all people who have chosen to pick up weapons and fight at the front someday. This class will be your first step in preparing for that!"

A warrior who wielded a sword could never win every battle.

Defeat would inevitably come one day.

And in most cases, defeat arrived together with death.

Therefore, they needed to become accustomed to it.

Accustomed to losing.

Before learning how to fight, they first needed to learn that.

How to lose.

How to survive after losing.

And, if possible, how to judge an opponent's ability before suffering defeat.

"Teaching each of you individually wouldn't be difficult, but our class time is limited. Therefore, I'll divide you into groups according to your abilities."

Even if they were all freshmen, they could not receive the same training.

That was only natural.

A student admitted at the top of the class could not be taught at the same level as someone who had barely made it in from the waiting list.

Those who fought better needed more difficult lessons.

Thus, they needed to be separated into groups.

Teaching more than fifty students in only three hours would have been too difficult anyway.

"Now then, freshmen. If I fought each of you myself, I wouldn't be able to properly assess your skills."

"After all, every fight would end in a single exchange."

Despite her arrogant declaration, no one dared object.

The Hero's Party had slaughtered the Demon King and the Seven Demon Generals.

They were the strongest people across the Allied Kingdoms.

"Therefore, I have arranged an opponent more suited to your level. We have an assistant here for you!"

Following Enrique's gesture, the students turned their gazes.

They soon noticed a strange man standing with his arms folded in the shadows.

His eyes burned an eerie blue.

His features were sharp.

His expression was stern.

Yet a thick beard covered his entire lower face, making it impossible to guess his age.

He was also wearing worn work clothes, with a towel draped around his neck.

It was the emergency gardener's uniform prepared by the administrative office.

As enormous question marks appeared above the students' heads, Enrique grinned.

"Our assistant is the gardener of this university. I invited him in a hurry this morning. Now, allow me to introduce his profile."

He was thirty-four years old.

Most of the students were shocked by that statement.

His occupation was gardener.

Two students were shocked by that statement.

He had no income and was an unfortunate pauper who survived on government welfare.

Lieutenant Colonel Petrovich was officially dead, so there was no way for him to receive a military pension.

He sustained himself and operated the orphanage through donations.

"This assistant will assess your abilities. I'll observe your fights and score you, then finalize the class divisions by the end of today's lesson."

"I have a question!"

One student raised his hand high.

He wore neat, lightweight exercise clothes, and his facial features were refined.

At a glance, he was obviously the son of a noble family.

When Enrique nodded, the young man spoke with a mocking expression.

"What happens if that poor gardener gets seriously injured?"

"What?"

"Ahahahaha!"

Enrique burst out laughing so hard that tears formed in her eyes.

"Then you should be rewarded! I'll give you bonus points depending on how badly you injure the assistant! Ahahaha! Good heavens!"

"...?"

"Don't misunderstand, students. I'm not doing this because I want to watch someone die."

"But at the very least, you should show some respect."

"Whether it's respect for someone older than you, or respect for someone who has experienced more than you."

If you want to live.

Enrique finished with a smile.

Throughout that time, Ivan had been glaring at the students.

The fact that he had been brought in as an assistant for a practical assessment was not particularly surprising.

After all, it was common sense for the first class at an academy to begin with a skill assessment.

He had no idea why a university curriculum would include a practical combat evaluation during the very first lesson.

But that was probably because the educational system of this premodern fantasy world was primitive.

In any case, there were four students worth watching.

Oskar.

Isabel.

Yuri.

And the muscular old monster seated in the very back.

Eshidis's bodyguard.

No, why is that man sitting there?

Is he sitting because he's technically a student?

Does he possess no sense of shame?

A muscular monster in his forties was sitting among students half his age.

The sight was grotesque.

His name had probably been Mord.

Mord Erikson.

Ivan remembered encountering him during his military service.

He was one of High King Einar's closest aides.

He had been one of the more intelligent ones, at least.

At his age, he should have already retired and begun training disciples.

Yet here he was, enrolled as a freshman.

And that little brat.

Yuri.

Yuri Frank.

The top freshman in the Department of Knighthood.

He had earned the highest possible score in the swordsmanship assessment and a perfect score on the written examination.

He was attending on a full scholarship.

That boy's behavior was suspicious as well.

The moment he saw Ivan, he hurriedly looked away.

He broke out in a cold sweat.

He fidgeted nervously and displayed a variety of strange reactions.

He had even been shocked when he heard Ivan was the gardener.

Ivan's eyes gradually sharpened.

"A transmigrator...?"

Otherwise, there was no reason for Yuri to be afraid of someone like him, whose appearance was entirely ordinary and harmless.

Two thick red lines were drawn beneath Yuri's name inside Ivan's mind.

"Now, who would like to go first?"

When Enrique finished her lengthy explanation, the students began exchanging hesitant glances.

It was understandable.

They were all in their early twenties, and revealing themselves in front of unfamiliar classmates could be embarrassing.

It was not because they lacked confidence in their abilities.

Nor were they afraid of humiliating themselves while fighting Ivan.

They were simply shy.

How pathetic.

Ivan silently glared at them.

At that moment, a student seated in the very back raised his hand.

It was Mord, the muscular monster in his forties.

"We meet again. Don't we?"

"...Mm."

"And no matter how many times I look at you, you seem exactly like the man I know."

Mord rolled his shoulders with several loud cracks and laughed heartily.

"Get into the ring. We should settle this properly."

"Oh, and if I win..."

Mord leaped into the ring in a single bound and declared,

"I'll shave that beard off."

"Go, Mr. Erikson!"

Isabel, who had been watching Ivan anxiously, suddenly flinched and shouted without hesitation.

It was a merciless betrayal from a child of the Hero's Party.