CHAPTER 39: FIRST CLASS (5)

Chapter 39: First Class (5)

The words Mana Infusion hung in the air like an incantation.

We stood in a half-circle around the dummy Alastor had just cleaved in two. Its mithril-reinforced frame lay smoldering, smoke curling from the gash in its chest. That was the power of one clean strike infused with mana.

Every cadet’s face carried the same expression: hunger.

The hunger to prove themselves.

---

"Line up," Alastor ordered. "Show me what you’ve got. One by one. Don’t hold back, or I’ll know."

The first noble boy stepped forward nervously, clutching his longsword. He inhaled sharply, focused his mana into the blade, and swung.

CLANG—!

The weapon bounced uselessly off the dummy’s torso, leaving nothing but a scratch.

The boy grimaced, sweat dripping down his face. Alastor snorted.

"You call that infusion? That was more like dribbling water onto a sponge. NEXT!"

The cadet shrank back in shame, cheeks burning red.

One after another, students tried. Some managed faint flickers of light crawling along their blades before sputtering out. Others overloaded their mana and nearly fainted, clutching their temples. A few managed shallow cuts, enough to make sparks fly but nowhere near Alastor’s clean strike.

Eric, when his turn came, thrust his spear with all the bravado in the world.

FWOOM—!

A solid dent appeared in the dummy’s chest, but not a clean slice. He huffed, wiping sweat, muttering, "Hah... not bad."

Ren, forced up after him, trembled so badly his blade slipped out of his sweaty hands mid-swing. He scrambled to pick it up, red as a beet, while laughter rippled through the rows.

"Pathetic," Alastor growled.

Leon, however, stepped forward with a calm, steady aura. He raised his sword, mana flowing like water along its edge, and slashed.

SHHHK!

A crisp line cut through the dummy’s chest. Not a complete sever, but smooth enough to earn a nod from Alastor.

"Better. You’ve got the right rhythm. Keep at it."

Selena followed with her rapier. Mana flickered like blue lightning across its narrow edge as she pierced the dummy’s core with precision. It sizzled and smoked where the tip entered. Her control drew murmurs of approval.

Then Lyra stepped forward, her staff in hand.

---

Before Lyra could channel, Evelyn’s heels clicked softly across the floor. She raised her hand politely, smiling faintly.

"May I?" she asked.

Even Alastor paused, then gave her a sharp nod. "Go ahead. Show the kids how the robed ones fight."

The cadets perked up instantly, whispers flying.

"Teacher Evelyn herself..."

"She’s going to cast?"

Evelyn stepped beside Lyra, her staff glimmering faintly with runes. Her voice carried effortlessly across the hall, clear and melodic.

"Listen well. Mana Infusion is not only a swordsman’s tool. Mages can—and must—apply it as well. But unlike warriors, we don’t pour mana directly into steel. We draw upon the atmosphere itself."

Her free hand lifted, palm open. Mana gathered around her like a gentle breeze, strands of invisible power tugging toward her fingertips.

"By infusing atmospheric mana into your spells, you increase their potency up to threefold."

VWOOOM—!

A sphere of fire bloomed in her palm, crackling with heat, brighter and sharper than any beginner spell should be.

"And when a mage reaches higher ranks..." Her smile curved slightly, eyes glinting. "...we awaken Spiritual Power. This allows us to amplify spells even further while simultaneously reducing mana consumption."

The fireball compressed suddenly into a thin beam before she casually released it.

FWOOSH—!

It pierced through the dummy’s torso like a spear of sunlight, leaving a smoldering hole straight through its mithril chest.

The hall went dead silent.

Even Alastor gave a low chuckle. "Show-off."

Evelyn twirled her staff lightly, her silver hair swaying as she returned to her seat. "Consider it motivation."

Lyra stepped up and copied the infusion method. Her flame burst forth, infused with atmospheric mana, and slammed into the dummy hard enough to make it stagger. Applause rippled through the cadets.

---

Finally, it was my turn.

All eyes turned toward me. Nobles sneering, commoners curious, rivals smirking.

’Great. The Rank 1 spectacle. If I screw up, they’ll laugh. If I do well, they’ll hate me more. No winning here, huh?’

I gripped my plain sword, closed my eyes, and let mana flow down my arm. The system inside me hummed faintly, like a quiet guide.

The blade shimmered faint blue, stable and steady.

SHHHK—!

I slashed. The dummy’s torso split diagonally, clean through. Not as deep as Alastor’s, but clear, controlled.

Gasps spread instantly.

"Perfect infusion..."

"Too smooth—like he’s done it for years."

I stepped back, letting the murmurs swell. My expression remained calm, but inside—

’ If only they knew I had the system babysitting me.’

Alastor’s smirk widened. "Hmph. Not bad, brat. You’ll keep me entertained."

---

When the last cadet finished, Alastor raised his hand.

"Quiet."

The hall silenced instantly.

"You’ve all seen mana infusion. Good. That’s step one. But warriors who stop there are dead men walking."

He unsheathed his sword fully, the steel whispering against the scabbard.

"Infusion channels mana into the blade. But when your understanding of swordsmanship matures... when you reach true mastery... something greater awakens."

His eyes glinted.

"That is Aura."

He raised his blade. And then

VWOOOOOOOOOM—!

A pressure swept the hall like a tidal wave. The air trembled, vibrating as if alive. Blue light burst from Alastor’s blade, not coating it, but radiating outward in sheer killing intent made manifest.

Cadets staggered back, some clutching their chests, others gasping as sweat drenched their foreheads. My legs nearly buckled.

This wasn’t mana. This was... something deeper. Sharper. The distilled will of a man who had lived and bled through endless battles.

Alastor swung.

BOOOOOOOOM—!

The air itself split. A shockwave tore across the hall, slamming into the mana dummy—

And the dummy disintegrated. Shredded into dust by sheer force, not even a fragment remaining.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Alastor rested the blade on his shoulder, grinning like a wolf.

"This... is Aura. The line between children playing with mana and warriors who carve history."

Nobody dared breathe.

"Chase it. Struggle for it. And maybe... just maybe... one of you brats will touch it before you die."

The training hall smelled faintly of scorched wood and iron dust, the air still trembling from Alastor’s Aura demonstration. No one dared speak too loudly, voices dropping to murmurs like churchgoers before a god.

"Alright, brats," Alastor barked, his wolfish grin cutting the silence. "Playtime’s over. One by one, step up. Show me how you fight, not just how you swing."

His eyes gleamed dangerously as he rested his greatsword against his shoulder. "If you bore me, I’ll kick your ass out of the circle myself."

That was all the warning we got.

---

Leon’s Turn

"Lion cub, you first." Alastor’s gaze landed on Leon.

Leon rose from the front row, his steel training sword gleaming under the crystal lights. He stepped forward with a poise that drew whispers immediately.

"Leon Lionheart... illegitimate Son of Lionheart."

"They say he’s not strong has his older brothers but Lionheart Style runs in his blood."

Leon closed his eyes briefly, exhaling. A faint glow of fire mana shimmered around his blade, flickering steadily like a burning torch.

His first strike—

FWOOSH—!

A Flame Slash cleaved forward, cutting through the air with a fiery arc. The dummy hissed as its mithril surface charred, black smoke curling upward.

Without hesitation, he followed with Wind Glade, his sword moving with a slicing gust, sharper than before. Sparks flew as metal groaned under the strike.

Cadets murmured louder, impressed by his seamless flow. But Leon wasn’t done.

"Lionheart Sword Style—Form One."

He shifted his stance, lowering his shoulders. Mana condensed along his blade, the aura of a lion pouncing.

"Rising Fang!"

SHHHHK—!

The upward slash cut through the dummy’s torso, lifting it slightly before dropping with a heavy clang. The sheer momentum was palpable.

Alastor smirked, arms crossed. "Hmph. Controlled, steady. You’ve got your old man’s spine... but you’re still holding back."

Leon’s lips tightened, but he bowed respectfully before returning to his seat.

Michael’s thoughts: Yep. Leon’s still hiding his real cards. Holy Flame, Wind, even Space affinity locked up... the future Protagonist special. Still, seeing it live? Damn, he’s terrifyingly polished already.

---

Edric William’s Turn

"Next—golden boy," Alastor growled.

Edric William rose. His blond hair gleamed faintly, almost radiating under the hall lights, his blessed longsword already humming faintly with mana.

"Edric... House William’s heir."

"He’s got the Light affinity, right? Like a knight out of legend."

Edric didn’t waste time. He raised his blade high, mana glowing pure white.

"Radiant Slash!"

FWOOOOOSH—!

A searing beam of light burst from his blade, cleaving the dummy straight across. The blinding flash left some cadets shielding their eyes.

Before the fragments could fall, his form blurred.

"Gale Strike!"

WHOOSH!

Wind wrapped around his body, propelling him forward as he struck again, his sword biting deep into the dummy’s chest like thunder.

Gasps erupted.

"Two skills in one chain!"

"He’s fast—like he disappeared!"

Edric stepped back, exhaling, his blade still gleaming faintly. His expression was calm, but his pride glimmered in his eyes.

Alastor’s lips curved into something between amusement and disdain. "Strong flash, strong finish. But you’ve got that noble arrogance in your grip. Rely less on your ’gifts,’ boy, or they’ll become chains."

Edric’s jaw tightened, but he nodded silently and returned to his seat.

---

Aiden Stromfang’s Turn

Then came the storm.

Aiden leapt up from his seat with both short swords drawn, sparks already crackling around his arms. His grin was wide, reckless—feral.

"Oh, here we go..." I muttered under my breath.

He crouched low. Lightning danced across his blades, gathering into a violent hum.

"Storm Fang Blitz!"

ZAAAAAP!

He dashed forward, a blur of sparks, his dual swords slashing in rapid succession. Each strike cracked against the dummy like thunder, sparks and fragments flying.

Before the dummy could recover, flames erupted along his left blade.

"Flame Drive!"

BOOOOM!

A fiery charge sent the dummy staggering back, smoke trailing from its torso.

The room buzzed with gasps.

"Explosive—!"

"He’s like a storm incarnate."

But Aiden staggered slightly after, panting hard. His shoulders heaved, sweat dripping freely.

Alastor’s laughter boomed.

"Reckless! Sloppy! Wasteful! ...But good. You’ve got fire in your gut, boy. Don’t lose it, or you’ll never tame the storm."

Aiden blinked, then grinned wider, as if he’d just been praised as king.

---

Selena Veylan’s Turn

The hall dimmed almost naturally when Selena rose. Her scythe manifested in her hands, wrought from shadow itself, curving like the crescent moon.

"Shadow affinity..."

"Veylan bloodline. Dangerous."

Her movements were elegant, like a dancer stepping into her stage.

"Shadow Bind."

Dark tendrils erupted from the floor, snaring the dummy’s legs, locking it in place.

Then she flicked her wrist.

"Reaper’s Step."

FWIP!

She vanished into a blur of shadows—then reappeared behind the dummy, her scythe already mid-swing.

"Night Veil Slash!"

A crescent arc of condensed shadow mana tore through the dummy, ripping it nearly in half.

And yet, just as the darkness threatened to overwhelm the hall—

Her scythe pulsed with pale light.

"Purification."

A burst of holy radiance flared, erasing the lingering shadows and leaving the air clear.

The contrast drew silence, then awe-filled whispers.

"Shadow and Holy? That’s... insane."

"She controls them both—like two sides of a coin."

Even Alastor tilted his head, stroking his chin. "Balance between light and dark, huh? Dangerous... but impressive. Don’t get swallowed by either, girl."

Selena bowed gracefully, returning to her seat with cool composure.