Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Chapter 135

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

Chapter 135: Skill Test (3)

Eyes wide open. Mouth half-open.

“…….”

Professor Morg Banshee made a face he hadn’t seen in years.

If you didn’t know him, you might think he was surprised, but if you did, you’d think differently.

Professor Banshee, who was so expressionless that he was often referred to as “the wax figure,” was stunned to be wearing this expression.

Everyone in the room was speechless and stunned.

Professor Banshee was the first to speak up.

“…Hmm. Correct.”

However, he later added

“However, your answer seems to contain a number of controversial and unreported points that have not yet been vetted by the academic community.”

To be sure, Vikir’s response contained some information that even Professor Banshee had not previously heard.

Professor Banshee, on the other hand, didn’t think he could dismiss Vikir’s answers because they were eerily accurate.

How does he know about the 14th and 27th battles, which no graduate student, let alone a professor, should ever have to learn and study?

The Battle of the 306th Plateau is a historical fact that academics have only recently discovered and are only now beginning to study.

‘…Isn’t this the kind of information that only senior officers in the active Imperial Army or members of the House of Baskerville would be privy to?’

Professor Banshee wiped his brow with his hand, unable to control his expression.

In reality, the question was far beyond the freshmen’s ability to answer.

If Tudor and Bianca of the Cold Department only knew the first, seventh, eighth, seventy-fifth, and twenty-seventh battles, they would be considered outstanding freshmen.

Here, Sinclaire of the Hot Department had memorized the battles of the 4th, 5th, and 30th Plateae, which was beyond the level of an undergraduate student.

However, how was he supposed to explain this freshman in front of him?

That’s where Professor Banshee’s confusion comes in.

“How do you know something that hasn’t been reported in the literature and why are you answering as if it’s true?”

Professor Banshee asked Vikir.

Meanwhile, Vikir remained nonchalant.

‘I can’t say I’ve lived it. It’s too much trouble.’

Vikir is the most knowledgeable about enemies and the Ballak tribe. Perhaps no one in the Empire is more knowledgeable about the Ballak than Vikir.

Vikir sidestepped Professor Banshee’s question with a good reason.

“Trade between barbarians on the Western Front and the Empire has recently begun.” Many merchants are competing for business. Meanwhile, it’s just another stock market slob. Sorry if I came across as arrogant.”

Vikir stepped back, and even as Professor Banshee, it was difficult to push him any further.

After all, he’d gotten more responses than he’d asked.

But Professor Banshee’s gaze on Vikir was a little more intense.

“…….”

The difference was that his gaze had shifted from disdain to curiosity.

“You’re quite interested in economics, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, I’m just a little guy with a sensitive side.”

“How modest.”

Professor Banshee narrowed his eyes and studied Vikir’s face.

He opened the attendance book and flipped through the pages, taking in the student’s personal details.

After a moment, Professor Banshee salivated.

“…I see. Perfect score in Theory Written exam.”

Professor Banshee muttered under her breath, and the entire classroom fell silent.

“Oh, so that’s the one with the perfect score?”

“But he got a perfect score in theory, is that possible?”

“The Written exam difficulty in the academy is really high.”

“It’s crazy, I was fourth overall in the entrance written test, and I still think I flunked this class.”

Everyone looked at Vikir like they were looking at a monster.

But there was one person who was most surprised.

“…A perfect score?”

A girl stared at Vikir with her cute rabbit eyes.

She was Sinclaire, the runner-up of the Theory Written test.

An honors student with a score of 931 out of 990.

It was a long way from the 700s in third place and the 500s in fourth.

But just when she thought it was weird to be in second place, Sinclair got a little dazed when she heard the difference between her score and the first-place score.

His opponent’s perfect score meant that he could have scored much more.

He only scored 990 because the limit was 990, but no one knows where his skill lies.

That’s what a perfect score is.

Meanwhile. Professor Banshee looked away from Vikir.

“Vikir. I’m going to give you 10 points for your excellent answer, but I can’t condone the fact that you had your eyes closed in my class, so I’m going to deduct 10 points from your attitude again, But, I’m going to add one point to the attitude score of the entire Cold Department.”

Professor Banshee then went back to teaching as usual.

Vikir was able to move on quietly, with neither extra credit nor a penalty.

The faces of the Cold Department students brightened.

But that didn’t mean that their reaction to Vikir was particularly favorable.

“What an arrogant bastard. You’re sleeping in class just because you aced the written exam?”

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

“You could’ve flunked the whole class.”

“I was afraid I was going to get a failing grade for attitude. I’m glad I got extra credit in the end.”

“When I see nerds like that studying, I want to punch them.”

All the students, from both hot and cold departments, gossiped.

Many students didn’t recognize Vikir, as the academy emphasizes practical skills over written work.

This was especially true for the Cold-Department students.

This is because students in the Hot Department, represented by “mages” tend to put a lot of emphasis on written work/Theory, while students in the Cold Department, represented by “warriors” put less emphasis on it.

Next. Several of the Cold Department students began to discuss their devious plans amongst themselves.

“He seems like a study bug, so let’s see if he can be as cocky in the afternoon class.”

“Maybe there’s a physical education lab in the afternoon liberal arts requirement?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, There’s ‘Rugby’, a real physical education class, In the afternoon. It’s even an anti-war concept.”

“It’s a great way to break the nose of this arrogant asshole.”

“Everybody hold still, I got him.”

And so began a fierce battle of nerves between the freshmen.

* * *

Tudor Donquixote.

The head of the Cold Department’s Class A.

“…It’s my time to shine!”

This afternoon’s lesson was practical ‘Rugby’.

Rugby is a type of sport that is categorized as a ball game.

A total of forty people, divided into two sides, try to score points by throwing the ball into the opponent’s goal.

There are goals at each end of a large field, 50 meters long and 100 meters wide, and players from both teams have to carry the ball in any way they can to get it into the other team’s goal.

It can be kicked, thrown, or picked up and thrown.

In the middle of the game, you can try to body slam your opponent or attack them with your fists and feet.

Either way.

Whether you dodge, fight, or pass the ball into the other team’s goal is entirely up to you.

Only two things are prohibited: using mana and using weapons.

“Hahaha, Rugby is where I excel, Let’s go!”

Tudor stepped forward to represent Class A. Despite the restrictions of no mana and no weapons, he was confident.

And there were three members of Class B standing in his way.

“What are you talking about, I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Kill him.”

They were the Baskerville triplets.

And so began the back-and-forth between the A and B teams.

“Pass! My ball!”

Tudor waved enthusiastically at his classmates from the start of the game.

Soon, a leather oval-shaped ball flew out and landed in Tudor’s hands.

Tudor picked it up and started sprinting forward.

‘That’s it. This is the real deal!’

What’s the point of memorizing theories for a written exam?

A true dragon, a true knight, must be able to run like the wind to blow past his enemies and reach his target.

Tudor was in the Runner position, and he was running fast.

And then.

There were three linesmen in his way.

“Cocky bastard. How dare you try to break through.”

“How dare you.”

“Dare.”

Highbro, Middlebro, and Lowbro stood in Tudor’s way.

No mana, no weapons, just pure physical combat.

The iron-blooded Baskerville and the spear-wielding Donquixote were about to go head-to-head.

…But.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I have no intention of going toe-to-toe with the monsters from the Baskerville Clan.”

Tudor whirled in place.

In the blink of an eye, he sliced through Middlebro and Lowbro and slipped through the gap between them.

It was a ghostly dodge and an all-out charge.

The rest of the class cheered at Tudor’s super play.

“Wow, that’s Tudor? That’s amazing!”

“I can’t believe he’s moving this way without any mana or weapons.”

“I heard Donquixote Clan had a genius protege.”

“That’s our Class head!”

The cheers didn’t last long, though.

“I’m going somewhere.”

A shadowy figure followed Tudor as he ran.

Highbro Le Baskerville.

The strongest of Baskerville’s Triplets blocked Tudor again.

“The ball. Give it to me.”

And with that, Highbro’s hand and Tudor’s hand met, and the result was…

Poof!

Surprisingly, Highbro lost.

Tudor dodged Highbro’s hand and left a deep palm print on his chest.

“Boom!”

Highbro stumbled back half a step, and Tudor spun him around at the same speed he’d been running.

“Hahaha, block him if you can!”

Once Tudor had outrun Baskerville’s triplets, the B-class aces, there was no stopping him.

Pow! Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom!

Nobody stands taller, no one weighs more, and no one is bigger than Tudor.

Tudor ran fast and stomped on everyone in his path, with the waist of a leopard and the back of a bear.

Strength to strength, speed to speed.

Tudor Donquixote is the world’s most powerful runner and lineman.

Tudor found himself in front of the B Class goal after smashing through or past every obstacle in his path.

The goal is a large Y-shaped iron hoop, and throwing the ball through it earns you a point.

Tudor pulled his arm back, ready to score when something caught his eye.

“…!”

It was Vikir, standing off to the side near the goal.

Apparently, he hadn’t been assigned to a particularly important position and was merely filling in as a backup defender.

Tudor’s grim smile widened for a split second.

‘Isn’t that the boy from Professor Banshee’s morning lecture?’

He remembered Vikir droning on about the theory.

It made his initial response sound stupid.

‘Allow me to poke you a little.’

Tudor paused in his throwing motion and lunged forward a little more.

He was going to collide with Vikir’s shoulder and knock him to the ground.

‘Hey, buddy, I hope this motivates you to do more than just study!’

Then there’s that.

…puck!

That was Tudor’s final thought.

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

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