After the exchange meeting ended, the nobles who were initially brimming with confidence instantly lost their smiles.
What did it mean that the old rules maintained for decades had suddenly changed?
What did it mean that commoners were going to compete on the same stage as them, the nobility?
What did it mean that the Great Emperor of St. Romanvia gave his full support to the new rules?
Inside a pavilion within the manor estate, Roland held a newspaper, chuckling as he read the sensational headline: Shocking! St. Romanvia Imperial Academy Overhauls Admissions Rules—The Day Commoners Rise! Taking a gentle sip of fine hot tea, he noted that, just as he expected, the rules had indeed changed.
The news spread rapidly.
In no time, the entire empire was practically boiling over with excitement.
The academy, which had previously opened its doors primarily to nobles, was now recruiting commoners. Although they had admitted commoners in the past, nobles and candidates with various recommendation slots held far higher priority, making it difficult for many talented commoners to advance further. But this time was completely different; it was a true, equal competition between commoners and nobles on the same stage.
“Hey, son, why don’t you give it a try too?”
“Ah... me?”
The young man chopping firewood froze for a moment.
“Hiss... I guess it’s worth a shot.”
Scenes like this were playing out across the entire St. Romanvia Empire.
Likewise, inside the various noble estates, a scene of a completely different nature was playing out.
The exact opposite scene was unfolding.
“Commoners competing on the same stage as us? On what grounds?!”
“Do those lowborn trash really think they’re worthy of touching the enrollment slots?”
“They’re only accepting five hundred people, and on top of that, there’s that crowd of commoners... Tsk...”
...
For those who were truly talented, this was simple.
Take Roland, for example, or Clyde and Sylvia.
“Young Master, Master Philip is here.”
Butler Doran stepped forward and whispered into Roland’s ear.
“Show him in.”
The moment Philip entered the room, he began wailing as if he had suffered a grave injustice. “Roland, the academy sent out a new notice! Holy crap, I heard over four thousand students have registered already! I had confidence before, but now there are only five hundred spots... Dammit, what should I do?”
“...”
Watching him blubber and weep,
the calm elegance expected of a noble was completely shattered by his behavior.
Roland waved a hand dismissively and said, “This is a good thing. It means extraordinarily talented students will get a greater share of resources.”
“What if I don’t manage to become a student?”
“It’s not like this is the only school.”
Hearing Roland say this, Philip felt even worse. He picked up the tea on the table and downed it in one gulp, even swallowing the tea leaves. After chewing them a bit, he said, “Do you know that these tea leaves don’t taste bitter in my mouth at all? It’s my heart that’s bitter! You’re a First-Rank Mage and a First-Rank Warrior, so one of those five hundred spots is definitely yours. You’re not worried, but I am!”
“Being worried won’t help,” Roland said, looking at him with amusement. In truth, according to the original novel’s plot, Philip passed the test with a rank that wasn’t particularly low—around the lower-middle tier. At this moment, Roland felt a sudden urge to tease him. “Besides, these tea leaves can be eaten raw anyway, and they aren’t bitter.”
“Ah... really?”
Feeling utterly despondent, Philip slumped into a chair.
His lifeless eyes stared up at the sky.
“By the way, it’s only four thousand right now. By nine o’clock tomorrow morning when the exam officially starts, there should be over six thousand—nearly seven thousand students—arriving for it.”
After Roland finished speaking, Philip didn’t react much.
It was just that his whole demeanor turned noticeably gloomy.
“Though you don’t need to worry too much. Just having a rank should eliminate most people, leaving less than two thousand in the end.”
After taking a moment to recover, Philip said helplessly, “That doesn’t sound like good news at all. The number of ranked geniuses alone is more than the total applicants in previous years! Not to mention the spots were slashed drastically down to just five hundred. Just looking at that number makes me insanely desperate, okay?”
“Honestly, I’m still quite optimistic about you.”
“Huh? Really?”
“Really, I’m not tricking you.”
Roland smiled, his expression turning serious.
“Roland, want to spar?” After a long silence, Philip finally grew serious, his gaze resolute as he said, “My father is on the front lines. How should I put it... I don’t want to embarrass him in the rear either. It’s a good chance to see how strong you are, and to see how strong I am. How about it?”
“Sure.”
Philip was currently his only friend.
Thus, the King of Pride begrudgingly accepted this tiny request.
The two came to the practice field. Roland casually picked up a spear, twirling it in his hand; it was reasonably comfortable. He then turned to look at the somewhat nervous youth on the other side. “What are you going to use? Pick one.”
Philip swallowed hard. Last time, he had watched the entire fight between Thomas and Roland. It was a complete beatdown, and that was with Roland only using his strength as a First-Rank Mage. Seeing Roland pick up a spear, he had an ill premonition; Roland’s strength as a Warrior would only be even greater.
Taking his stance in advance, Philip held his sword vertically before him.
“Are you ready?”
Roland whipped the spear backward. In an instant, a deep groove was carved directly into the high-grade granite without any resistance, as if cutting through tofu. Seeing this scene made Philip’s heart leap into his throat.
He had expected Roland’s strength as a Warrior to be greater than his strength as a Mage,
but he hadn’t expected it to be this strong.
“R-Ready!”
Philip snapped back to his senses, staring intently at Roland.
The next instant, right as the words left his mouth, Roland vanished from where he stood, turning into a blur too fast for the naked eye. Relying purely on instinct, Philip raised his sword slightly, just barely blocking Roland’s downward slash. However, the immense force still rattled his hands with pain, causing him to grimace.
The spear was not only fast, but it also carried unprecedented power.
It was hard to imagine such power bursting forth from that relatively slender frame.
Philip struggled to hold off the attacks.
As for Roland, he looked more like he was taking a casual stroll.
He merely swung the spear in his hands with effortless ease.
Blades collided with sharp metallic clashing sounds, followed by a rapid, piercing scrape as Philip’s blade slid down the spear shaft toward Roland. At the same time, a gleam flashed in Philip’s eyes as he mustered all his strength to slash at Roland’s waist. But the next instant, an unbelievable scene unfolded before him.
Roland retracted the spear in an instant,
holding it vertically in front of himself.
Clang—
A strike he had believed was guaranteed to hit
was parried so effortlessly by his opponent.
Immediately after, Roland parried the blade away.
Blade edge and spear shadows intertwined repeatedly.
Slashes, horizontal sweeps, thrusts, upwards strikes, along with close-quarters combat martial techniques—simple and straightforward movements appeared anxious and flustered on Philip, whereas on Roland, they looked elegant and relaxed. It formed a stark contrast, but even so, it was enough for the former to take pride in.
As time passed,
Philip found it increasingly grueling.
Stumbling on the verge of falling, he forced himself to stand firm.
No matter how immense the opponent’s strength was,
if he could block it, he blocked; if he couldn’t, he dodged.
In all his past training, he had never fought this hard.
Movements that would normally drag down the momentum showed no trace of hesitation or clumsiness in Roland’s hands. His expression remained calm without the slightest panting. The spear moved as nimbly as if it were an extra arm, capable of appearing anywhere at any moment, the cold light reflecting off the steel flashing continuously.
Philip lost himself in the moment,
fighting on purely by instinct.
With his eyes and consciousness blurring, he relied on intuition... to fight to the very last moment.
Rate on N.U.
