30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

23 – 7. The Saint and the Woodsman (1)

*

There’s no garden at St. Jansker University. It’s been mentioned before, but it’s vital enough to emphasize twice.

Hence, even after wielding the prepared scissors from the administration, Ivan had nothing to do.

But now committed to “living” life, resolved to at least give it his best shot, Ivan had no other choice.

This is when he was wielding the scissors and felling a tree.

“What were you staring at? You’ve made a mess worse than our house’s trees.”

“…Huh?”

Enrique muttered from behind him. Ivan glanced briefly at the sky, then at the tree, before turning back to Enrique.

“Not the right time?”

“Surprised to see someone other than a sleepyhead?”

“Seems like a lack of sleep, indeed.”

Ivan, a reasonably normal person who had never garnered unexpected affection from anyone above 70, tilted his head at Enrique’s words.

Enrique’s eyebrows furrowed. She composed herself and spoke.

“So, your position is the garden keeper?”

“For now.”

“Indeed, it seems like something that would be good for mental health. It’s not a bad idea, but my prescription is a bit different.”

Elise probably thought of this bearded creature (in his 30s) as a leisurely activity to take care of both mental health and pocket money.

But Enrique had a different idea. This guy needed practice in socializing with people.

Not with an axe or a gun, strictly speaking, though that was included. Anyway, it was about ordinary human relationships.

“Come with me. I needed some help today.”

“…Huh?”

“I decided to become a guest lecturer for the Knight Studies department starting today. I was already an honorary professor, but I was so bored.”

“…A knight?”

“Unfortunately, there wasn’t an Assassin Studies department.”

Of course, a university teaching such things is unnecessary in the world.

This is why Enrique found himself standing in front of the lectern, eyeing the new students.

Ep7. The Saint and the Lumberjack.

Saint Jansk University is a highly modern and prestigious international university by today’s standards.

Whether it was the Theology Department, which seemed to have transported the entire cathedral, the Magic Studies Department, mimicking the environment of the Kallion military, or the Knight Studies Department building resembling a sports complex, the new students were busy exploring everywhere. “They look like little chicks,” thought Enrique with a smirk.

In the neatly arranged gym with large rings and various training equipment, Enrique stood on the platform, slamming the lectern.

“Hello, little ones!”

A kind of preemptive strike, perhaps. The new students began to gaze at the unfamiliar professor before them.

Mandatory for all Knight Studies majors, “Understanding the Basics of Battlefield Medicine.”

As an essential course for all new Knight Studies students, this class must be important, but the professor, with her strange appearance, was quite unfamiliar.

The students murmured as they recalled the list of professors.

Enrique chuckled and puffed out his chest.

“I’m Enrique. Enrique Serregueyevich. If my name sounds familiar, yes, it’s that guy.”

“Heroic Party!!”

“Eek!!”

“Shadowblade!!”

Enrique chuckled amidst sporadic screams and cheers. Yes, this is it. This is what they call ‘reputation.’ A name that even royalty dares not underestimate.

With a playful smile, Enrique spoke.

“There’s only one thing I can teach you this semester. Defeat! You’re the ones who chose to pick up weapons and fight someday, and this class is the first gateway to prepare for that!”

A warrior wielding a sword cannot always win every battle. Defeat inevitably comes at some point. And in most cases, that defeat comes with death.

Therefore, you must become accustomed to it. To defeat. Rather than mastering the techniques of combat, one must first learn how to be defeated.

The method of defeat. The method of surviving even after defeat.

And, if possible, the method of assessing the opponent’s skills before being defeated.

“It’s not difficult to teach each of you individually, but the class schedule is too tight. So, I will divide you according to your abilities.”

Even if everyone is a freshman, they cannot attend the same class.

It’s natural. You can’t teach a guy who entered with chin-ups after passing the top entrance exam and getting the provisional number at the same level.

The one who fights better has to take a more rigorous class.

Therefore, we need divisions. Teaching over 50 people in 3 hours is too challenging from the beginning.

“Now, freshmen. It won’t be a fair assessment if I fight each of you. It will all be over in one go anyway.”

Even with her arrogant words, no one dared to refute.

The Hero Party, those who slaughtered the Demon King and the Seven Dragon Generals. In other words, the strongest individuals in the entire Allied Kingdom.

“So, I will conduct specialized training for you. Here is our assistant!”

Following Enrique’s gesture, students shifted their gaze to see a giant standing behind the shadow, with clenched fists.

Blazing blue eyes, sharp features, a rugged expression.

But covered in a dense beard that concealed his age.

In addition, worn-out work clothes and a towel hanging around his neck. (It was a hastily prepared gardener set from the administration.)

When a large question mark appeared over the students’ heads, Enrique chuckled and said,

“The assistant is the university’s gardener. I invited him hastily this morning. Now, let me introduce you to this assistant.”

Age is thirty-four. (Most students were shocked to hear this.)

Occupation is a gardener. (Two students were shocked to hear this.)

No income, a pitiful beggar living on the country’s welfare pension. (Since Colonel Petrovich was officially declared dead, there was no way to receive military pension. He was running an orphanage with sponsorship to make a living.)

“This assistant will assess your skills. I will grade you by watching how you fight, and when this class ends, we will conclude the divisions.”

“I have a question!”

A student raised his hand. Dressed neatly in light sportswear with tidy features, he clearly looked like a noble’s son.

As Enrique nodded, the young man opened his mouth with a face full of derision.

“What if this poor gardener gets hurt too badly?”

“What? Ahahahahaha!”

Enrique burst into laughter, tears streaming down his face.

“Well then, we should give him an award! Depending on the extent to which the assistant is injured, I’ll give bonus points! Ahahahaha! Unbelievable!”

“…??”

“Ah, don’t misunderstand, students. I’m not doing this to watch someone die. But at least observe some courtesy. Whether it’s respect for seniors or those who have experienced more than you.”

“If you want to live,” Enrique finished with a smile.

*

During that time, Ivan was eyeing the students.

Him becoming a teaching assistant for the practical assessment wasn’t all that surprising.

After all, in this academy, the first class was an evaluation of skill, which is ‘common sense.’

I don’t understand why a skill assessment is the first class in a university course, but that’s probably due to the backwardness of education in this pre-modern fantasy world.

Anyway, there were four notable ones to watch.

Oscar, Isabelle, Yuri, and that muscle brute sitting at the back. Esidisi’s guard.

Why is he sitting? Is it because he’s a student? Or does he have no shame?

It’s eerie having a 40-year-old muscle monster sitting among students half his age.

That guy, his name was probably Morde. Morde Erickson. I remember encountering him during my service. He was one of King Einarr’s closest aides.

He might have had some sense back then. Now, retired and lacking enough disciples, he’s entering as a ‘freshman.’

“And that kid.”

Yuri. Yuri Frank. Top freshman in the Knight Studies Department. Top scorer in swordsmanship evaluation and full scholarship recipient.

His behavior is suspicious too.

Whenever he looks at him, the kid hurriedly averts his gaze or starts sweating, displaying all sorts of awkward behavior (he even seemed shocked at the mention of a gardener).

His eyes became sharper.

“A possessed…?”

Otherwise, why would he, who appears entirely ordinary and harmless, be afraid of himself?

Two red underlines were drawn in Ivan’s mind next to the name.

“Alright, who wants to go first?”

As Enrique finished his verbose explanation, numerous students began glancing at each other.

Understandable. Among students in their early twenties meeting for the first time, revealing oneself is quite awkward.

It’s not about lacking skill or fearing to embarrass oneself facing Ivan. It’s just shyness.

Ironically.

Ivan silently scrutinized the students.

Then, a student sitting at the back raised his hand.

The 40-year-old muscle giant, Morde.

“We meet again, don’t we?”

“…Hmm.”

“And no matter how I look at it, you seem like the guy I know.”

Mord grinned, shrugging his shoulders and bursting into hearty laughter.

“Come on up. Let’s see the end. Oh, and if I win…”

With a single leap, Mord jumped onto the ring and said, “Shave my beard for me.”

“Ericson, fighting!”

Isabel, watching Ivan nervously, suddenly exclaimed in surprise.

It was the resounding betrayal of the children of the hero party.

*