Acrid smoke rushed through the trampled undergrowth.
Kairon hurried through the forest with a hand on his sword hilt. The other professors accompanying him wore equally grim expressions.
A short while earlier, they had sensed a powerful, ominous surge of magic power deep in the forest. It was unmistakably the appearance of a Grade 4 magic beast.
If a higher-grade magic beast had entered the controlled hunting ground for low-grade monsters, it would be a disaster for the first-year students. Fearing that a terrible tragedy might already have occurred, the professors quickened their pace uncontrollably.
"Here!"
At the shout of the professor leading the way through the brush, the forest opened before them.
The professors drew their weapons and rushed into the dusty clearing, only to stop as one.
In the middle of the torn-up clearing lay an Ironclad Wolf the size of a house. The blood soaking the ground dark red stung their noses. It did not move at all; it was undoubtedly dead.
And beyond that enormous corpse—
"......."
Five first-year students stood there, covered in blood and dirt and breathing hard.
Toren held his bandaged left arm close to his body. Celia, her face pale, held her staff aloft. Bran stood on the verge of collapsing, his sword hanging at his side.
Aron stood at their center. Even with his weapon lowered, he continued to watch their surroundings with cold eyes and held their defensive formation firm.
"It is over. You may lower your weapons."
Only when Kairon's deep voice rang through the forest did the tension finally leave the students' shoulders.
Bran sprawled spread-eagled on the dirt, and Toren, unable to hold out any longer, dropped heavily to the ground. Kairon slowly looked back and forth between the corpse and the students.
Not one of them had died. None had suffered an irreversible, serious injury.
As the astonished professors hurried to examine the students' torn wounds and cast healing magic, Kairon quietly looked up into the surrounding trees.
A combat recording magic device installed among the broken branches was blinking red.
He carefully detached it and let out a short breath.
***
A few days later. The faculty meeting room in the academy's main building.
A holographic image projected in the air flashed continuously.
Footage of that day's battle, extracted from the recording magic device, weighed heavily on the room. The silent professors' eyes were fixed on Aron's movements in the recording.
"He ordered them to make smoke there?"
"He must have intended to block its sight and disable the wolf's keen sense of smell at the same time."
Aron's voice rang out loudly from the recording.
Every time he spoke, his teammates moved together like meshing gears. Toren drew the wolf's attention head-on with brute force, while Bran darted in from the side and struck relentlessly at its joint.
The wolf lost its balance and cried out toward the sky when the blow found the precise site of its old injury.
The footage slowed slightly, then showed Aron pushing off the ground and springing forward.
Bran slammed his body into the wolf's enormous flank to create an opening, and Aron's short, clean thrust drove precisely into the gap between the armor plates.
Celia's fireball followed through the wound without missing the opening.
At last, the enormous magic beast fell. Even then, Aron stopped his teammates from relaxing too soon, kept them in formation, and saw to the injured. The finish was flawless.
The footage ended and the lights came on, but the heavy silence did not lift easily.
".......First-year students took down a Grade 4 magic beast on their own."
Professor Erban, who oversaw magic power control, rubbed his face with both hands as he muttered. No one was quick to add a word. Here and there, quiet breaths of amazement escaped.
Kairon, standing at the front of the meeting room, tapped the table lightly with a finger.
"This was no fluke."
His sharp gaze swept across the professors.
"The wolf's armor plates opened for only 1.2 seconds. With his own muscle strength and amount of magic power alone, Student Aron would not have been able to pierce even the Ironclad Wolf's tough hide."
It was a fact no one could deny.
Aron's basic abilities were still near the bottom, below even the first-year average.
"But even in the grip of extreme fear, he read the entire flow of the battlefield. He directed his teammates to fulfill their roles, drew out each of their strengths, and found a point where they could land a blow."
Kairon's voice grew firm.
"It was a perilous gamble. If even one teammate had faltered, all of them would have lost their lives. Yet Student Aron remained steady and saved them all. That is clear skill, not luck."
No one disputed Kairon's assessment.
The composure and cool judgment Aron had shown could never be dismissed with the label of last place.
After a moment, another professor cleared his throat and leafed through a file, shifting the heavy mood.
"The report from the site investigation has just arrived. An illegal lure magic stone was found deep in the forest."
"A lure magic stone?"
"Yes. Someone deliberately drew a Grade 4 magic beast into the controlled zone. The leadership recognizes the gravity of the situation and has decided to refer the case immediately to the Knight Corps and the Investigation Department."
With the controlled zone's safety net breached, the practical training course had to be ended early in its entirety.
They reached the clear conclusion that the students bore no responsibility. If anything, Aron and his team deserved a definite reward for bringing down a magic beast against near-impossible odds on their own.
"Then let us award the five members of Aron's team the special bonus points for their practical evaluation as planned."
"We will also grant each of them a small special scholarship for their role in overcoming an unexpected crisis."
***
That evening, in a first-year dormitory room.
After washing up, Aron set a small leather pouch on his desk.
It held a fairly weighty collection of silver coins and other coins. This was the special scholarship the academy had paid as a form of consolation money.
It was nowhere near enough to clear his family's mountain of debt in one stroke. But it was precious money that would help his mother and younger sister back home endure the approaching cold winter with a little more warmth.
Aron took his training equipment from beneath the bed and examined it.
His old practice sword had chipped when he struck the Ironclad Wolf's hard armor too forcefully. His leather guards had been badly torn as he rolled across the ground.
Neither was fit to be repaired and used again.
"I'll have to buy new ones."
He calculated the minimum cost of replacing them with the cheapest practice sword and basic protective gear, then set that amount aside.
Without hesitation, he stuffed all the money left into an envelope for a postal remittance.
A cool drink after training or a special meal to ease his fatigue never entered his mind.
The next morning, Aron took the envelope straight to the academy post office and sent the money home.
***
A few days later, when Aron returned to his room after training, a small parcel lay on his bed.
It was addressed to Aron and sent from his family home.
He draped the towel he had been using to wipe off his sweat over his shoulder and untied the parcel's string.
Inside were several pairs of thickly knitted wool socks and an old paper envelope.
When he opened the envelope, he saw the familiar rounded handwriting of his mother, Elena.
[Aron. We received the money you sent. Thanks to you, I was able to buy Mia a new, warm coat. Do not worry about us. Make sure you eat properly.]
The letter began in her calm, affectionate way, but the next lines were crowded with her heartfelt pleas.
[I do not know what happened at the academy, but please, do not get hurt. Avoid dangerous fights. Do not forget that having you safe is the greatest scholarship we could receive.]
A small blurred stain showed where a drop of water had fallen on the writing. It seemed her eyes had filled with tears in secret as she wrote.
Aron read the letter in silence. Though he had not told her in detail about the danger he had faced at the academy, his mother had instinctively sensed her son's hardship when she saw the sudden arrival of so much money.
And at the very bottom of the letter, large, crooked letters had been written on a scrap torn from another sheet and attached to it.
[My big brother's the coolest in the world! Big Brother Aron, you're the best!]
It was Mia's handwriting.
She had plainly dipped her pen deep in the ink and pressed hard as she wrote.
Aron stood still, holding the letter.
A faint smile spread across his lips, though he always tried to hide his feelings and remain calm.
One corner of his chest felt heavy, yet at the same time he felt the relief of indigestion finally passing.
He did not bury his nose in the letter or waste time lost in sentiment.
Aron neatly put the wool socks away in a corner of his drawer and carefully stored his mother and sister's letters deep inside his desk drawer.
Then he picked up the new practice sword leaning against the wall.
It was not time to rest yet.
There were mountains of needless movements to correct and limits to his mobility that he had felt keenly in real combat. He had made his value clear to the professors and eased his family's burden a little, but that was only the first step of a journey just begun.
Aron's steps were light as he opened the door and walked into the corridor.
His callused hand gripped the sword hilt more firmly than ever.