Just how fast had he run? Patrick's hair was soaked with sweat, and his breathing was slightly ragged. Patrick's hand was gripping Jordic's wrist, stopping him.
Thanks to him, Jordic's sword had halted right before Matthew's neck.
"Patrick…."
Matthew was deeply moved by the sight.
"Ugh... Guh... This bastard…"
Jordic was greatly flustered. He used all his strength to pull his captured wrist free.
But…
'It won't even budge.' His wrist was simply being held, yet he couldn't do anything. Forget his arm not moving, his entire body was frozen.
Finally, he ground his teeth and glared at Patrick… "What are you looking at? You want me to pop those eyeballs out?
You better fix that look on your face.
Or else!?"
For a moment, Jordic flinched and averted his gaze. The rage that had soared to the point where he wouldn't have cared about committing murder in the academy quickly subsided when faced with raw, untamed madness. And just like that, Patrick grabbed Jordic's arm and violently pulled it back, sending him flying.
"Uwaaaah!?"
He flew like a doll stuffed with cotton. The flying Jordic let out a scream, and the onlookers were horrified. Even the students of the knights' faculty had never seen a person fly like that.
Kwaang!
The thrown Jordic crashed into a corner of the training grounds. Patrick didn't even glance that way and approached Matthew.
And then…
"Hey, you okay? How did you end up like this?"
"Uh… yeah.
It's just that…." "These damn bastards. How dare you touch my v-e-r-y close friend, Stew?
You all wanna die? You sons of bitches!" As Patrick made his threat, one of the third-years spoke up.
"We're your seniors, you know?"
"So what?
Seniors can't die?" "If you mess with my best friend, whether you're a senior or a professor, you'll all die fairly." At his splendid, no-retreat mindset, the third-years' jaws dropped.
And the first-years secretly watched the third-years and felt a sense of vindication. 'Serves them right.' 'Having a crazy bastard on your side is so reassuring.'
'Nice. So refreshing.'
Well then, at this point…
"My dearest friend Stew, are you okay?"
"My name is Matthew."
"Alright, Matthew."
"Oh, you got some dirt on you. Let me brush it off for you."
"Uh… uh-uh… thanks."
Now, let's find out just why this bastard is acting this way.
Turning back time a little, to Patrick's dormitory. There, Patrick, having heard that the first-years and Matthew had been captured, spoke indifferently.
"Ahem, isn't it said that perseverance sprouts amidst adversity and trials?"
At those words, a flustered Ralph frowned and said, "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. Serious. Totally serious."
"…I must have misjudged you."
"Really? That's too bad."
"I thought that as a knight, you'd at least have a minimal sense of justice and the loyalty to care for a friend."
"First of all, he's not my friend."
"I know. You, a noble from an ancient fief, and Matthew, a commoner, have different statuses, I suppose."
"A noble from an ancient fief…"
Patrick let out a sigh full of regret. Does this bastard even know the circumstances of the Schneider Fief, a land even more barren than the rest of the barren eastern territory? Before Patrick stepped up and changed it into a place where people could live, it was a place where dozens of people were regularly sacrificed to monsters.
'Well, there's no way you'd know.' In the end, don't you live life alone? Getting sympathy from this guy wouldn't bring any money to the eastern territory, so Patrick just let it be.
And Ralph continued speaking.
"Matthew is a good guy. Although his status is low, he's a guy who does his best to become a knight."
"Uh-huh. Yeah. I see."
"Others might know Matthew as just the son of a rich merchant family, but I know. He is more sincere than anyone..."
"Wait, what did you say?"
Patrick changed his indifferent attitude and cut Ralph off. And then he said…
"He's rich?"
"... Very. He's the son of the Elbador Merchant Guild, after all."
"The Elbador Merchant Guild? You mean that Elbador Merchant Guild? The largest merchant guild in the kingdom?"
"The Elbador Merchant Guild that expanded its commercial power beyond the Atronia Kingdom to neighboring countries?"
"The Elbador Merchant Guild that even I, who grew up in the rural backwaters of the eastern territory, have heard the name of?"
"Is there another Elbador Merchant Guild in our country?"
"He's the son of that guild?"
"You didn't know? Matthew's father is the head of the Elbador Merchant Guild. All the first-years know... Ah, you transferred in late."
"Anyway, the important thing is that Matthew is sincerely trying to become a knight. I've heard it before. The reason he wants to become a knight is…."
"Where is he?"
"... Huh?"
"Where is my friend Stew? Spit it out now. You won't? Wanna die? Spit it out, you bastard!?"
"The... the training grounds... Training Grounds Two."
Patrick grabbed Ralph by the collar and shook him violently to find out Matthew's location.
And then...
"I'm coming! Wait for me. My best friend, Stew!"
With madness in his eyes, Patrick ran towards the training grounds at top speed. To Ralph, who was left behind as an empty shell, his soul having been threshed, April approached and said.
"Would you like some tea?"
It was April, trying to be faithful to her duties as a butler. In any case, and so…
"You can rest easy now. Matthew, your best friend, I, will help you."
"Patrick…."
This was the same Patrick who, until recently, wouldn't even call him by his proper name. But to now call him his best friend... a gullible fool who would be deceived by this and feel moved... in this world…
"Thank you. For coming here because of me."
There was one. There really was one.
Unfortunately.
Patrick said with a bright smile, "It's only natural for a friend.
Isn't it?"
"Patrick…."
Justice was dead in this world. The meeting of a rich pushover and a money-grubbing demon trying to fleece him, packaged as a beautiful friendship and trust... how could one possibly resolve this tragic scene? Even if a demon came to this place, they would say, 'Wowww.
So that works,' and sign up for a course to learn a thing or two. But just then…
"You damn son of a bitch!"
Someone interrupted to ruin the scene. Well, it's not like this one was particularly righteous either. Seeing Jordic approaching while emitting killing intent, Patrick stood up, showing his dependable back to Matthew, and spoke.
"You are… uh, what was your name again?"
"Keuk…"
For a moment, Jordic felt something surge up from deep within his body. Seeing that, Matthew, who was behind him, said, "Isn't that Senior Jordic Panola?"
"Ah, right. That was his name. I'm terrible at remembering people's names."
"Yeah. That seems to be the case."
Matthew, who had been called Stew until just a moment ago, had no choice but to agree. Patrick said with an aggrieved expression, "Hey, it's possible not to know. How many times have I even seen him?
His hairstyle even changed."
"Keo-heok…"
Is this what it feels like for your internal organs to hurt? With every word Patrick spoke, Jordic's face looked as if he'd been struck in the solar plexus. And Patrick's mouth ran on without restraint.
"I gave you such a nice haircut, why did you shave it all off? Don't tell me you didn't like it?"
Jordic, whose body was trembling, refused to talk to Patrick any longer.
'The sword…
I have to fight him with the sword. Words won't work.' In truth, fighting with the sword wouldn't work either.
Hadn't he already been beaten twice? Once during the spar in the afternoon, and again when he was thrown just now? So it's not like Jordic didn't know it was impossible.
However, that was when they fought fairly, skill against skill… Jordic drew his sword, aimed it at Patrick, and said, "Patrick Schneider."
"Yes?"
To Jordic, who called his name while grinding his teeth, Patrick replied with an innocent expression. Jordic's breath quickened with anger. Indeed, at this moment, Patrick knew exactly what to do to piss off his opponent the most.
Jordic said with bloodshot eyes, "You will die here."
"Why?"
"Answer my call. Isis!"
Jordic aimed his sword at Patrick and shouted loudly.
And then… Kzzzzzt!
A terrifying cold energy burst from his sword and flew towards Patrick. Patrick was momentarily taken aback by the vicious cold that even froze the moisture in the air into crystals.
"Ice technique?"
No, for that, it's a bit different… More importantly, I have to dodge— no, if I dodge, Matthew behind me will… His thoughts fell into confusion due to the unexpected situation.
Patrick reacted a little later than usual and swung his sword.
Kwaaaang!
Aura and cold energy clashed violently.
"The Ice Sword, Isis?"
"Isn't that the heirloom of the Marquis Panola's family?"
"Good heavens, he's using that?"
The other students who were watching were horrified. The Ice Sword, Isis. It was a famous sword even within the kingdom.
It was an ancient artifact with a sealed ice spirit, an heirloom of the Marquis Panola's family that could overwhelm enemies with its weaponized extreme cold energy.
Marquis Panola was a powerful expert who had reached the six-star level, but it was said that when he wielded the Ice Sword, Isis, even superhumans at the seven-star level could not guarantee victory. And that Isis was now in Jordic's hands. 'Is he dead?'
'Dammit, it finally happened.' 'Now, like it or not, we have to see this to the end…
Huh?'
For a moment, the third-years saw it. The figure that was revealed as the mist of cold energy slowly cleared.
"..."
Crunch. Crack.
Every time Patrick took a step forward, the ice crystals under his feet shattered.
"What a beggar-like trick."
Patrick, now fully visible, was covered in frost here and there, but he basically looked unharmed. Even though he had taken a direct hit from Isis's cold energy.
"This… this bastard?"
To the flustered Jordic, Patrick said with a cold smile.
"From the looks of it, this extreme Yin energy doesn't seem to be your own ability. Is that weapon an artifact?"
Patrick knew what an artifact was, more or less. It referred to weapons or equipment inscribed with magic created by ancient mages. The magic tools created by modern mages are nothing more than inferior versions made by gleaning tricks from what the ancient mages created.
In the case of ancient magic tools classified as artifacts, some were said to be family heirlooms of noble houses, and some were even national treasures strictly managed by the royal family. Perhaps that sword called Isis was one of them.
"They said these things were ridiculously expensive. I can see why."
Knowing by hearing and experiencing it firsthand are quite different. This strike surprised even Patrick quite a bit. The blow from Isis was reminiscent of a strike from a first-rate martial artist who had mastered cold-based martial techniques to their very peak.
No, in terms of the purity of the cold energy, it seemed to have even greater depth.
"Hmm… So things like this existed?"
Patrick thought for a moment. Until now, having been born and raised in this world, he had, to be frank, looked down a bit on the standards of this world.
Just for producing some sword energy, they'd praise you as a three-star or what have you, and for an Aura Blade, that is, drawing out aura, they'd prattle on about the supreme realm, or whatever. The supreme realm?
A superhuman? That?
Among the 3,000 elite masters of the unorthodox alliance who had rushed to kill Radiant Dragon Grandmaster Jin Cheon in his past life, about 500 of them were guys who could draw out aura. If you go to the martial world, guys who can draw out aura and fly around are a dime a dozen. Supreme realm, my ass.
So it wasn't unreasonable for Patrick to look down on the standards of this world.
However…
"An artifact...?"
This was something new. For a snot-nosed brat like that to injure this great Radiant Dragon Grandmaster just by holding a good weapon in his hand? In the martial world, that was an absolutely impossible feat.
The people of the martial world were also a bunch who went crazy for divine weapons and such, but the most important thing was still fundamental skill. Even if you brought a great weapon like a Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron Sword or a saber made of meteoric iron, it ultimately wouldn't stand out much among high-level masters.
Once you reach a level where you can coat your weapon in aura, it doesn't matter if it's a rusty piece of iron or a divine weapon; they're all pretty much the same. What's the difference? Having one was much better than not having one, but true masters simply favored the weapon they were most accustomed to.
'But that thing...' It was a weapon that clearly bridged the gap in skill. A weapon that emits extreme Yin energy just by holding it?
If something like that were released in the martial world, a true storm of blood would have blown. And Patrick's curiosity was piqued as well. Just what are the limits of this weapon called an artifact?
Will it even work on me? With a heart half-filled with curiosity and half with a desire to win, Patrick extended one hand. And looking at the half-frozen Jordic, he said, "What are you doing?"
"... Huh?"
"Bring it on."
The moment he said that, beckoning with his palm, Jordic burst out and shouted.
"Fine. If that's your wish, I'll kill you. Isiiiiiis!"
Jordic shouted loudly and swung his sword. At that, a blade of ice imbued with extreme cold energy flew fiercely towards Patrick.