I Became the Academy’s War Hero

Chapter 9: Physical Strength Is National Power, You Idiots (1)

The news of Eugene Carter’s return was stirring up the entire Karbenna Academy, but the most intense reactions came, of course, from the cadets.

Especially after it was confirmed that both of the subjects he was assigned to teach were second-year recommended courses, every dormitory lobby of the second-year classes was buzzing with noise late into the night.

“Maybe back then, sure, but he’s basically a has-been now. I don’t get why everyone’s making such a big deal about it.”

“…You’d better start studying Karbenna’s history again, you dimwit.”

“At least around here, he’s still a legend. The man was the top cadet of that infamous 16th class.”

“I heard he got into a fight with that Frederick on his very first day back—at the Academic Affairs office.”

“Hey, I saw it myself. That guy’s guts are insane. He went straight up and dropped Dellowell’s name! Basically said he’s got nothing to lose!”

“You’re behind the times. No one’s told you about the welcoming ceremony yet?”

“Welcoming ceremony?”

“Ooh, what’s that about?”

“They say he fought a beast on the spot. Completely crushed it! The Headmaster had to step in to stop the match!”

In the middle of the chatter, a boy with narrow, sharp eyes smirked.

“Still, don’t get your hopes up too much. My older brother’s in the Special Task Force, so I know this for a fact—he was declared permanently unable to recover mana seven years ago.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. He’s fine in theory, but he can’t exactly teach combat anymore.”

“Then what about the earlier story?”

“Who knows? Probably exaggerated. Maybe he barely managed to subdue it, but they’re saying he crushed it.”

“But why lie about that?”

“Why not? Gotta manage his image somehow.”

“It’s gonna fall apart the second someone checks.”

“I’m telling you, this must be part of some royal—”

Clang!

With a loud noise, the door to the Class 3 dormitory swung open, and every cadet in the lounge instantly fell silent.

“……”

Standing in the doorway was a short-haired girl.

Over her white training gi, she wore her cadet uniform jacket like a cape, with a thick belt fastening a wooden sword at her waist.

Karbenna Academy, Year 2, Class 3, Candidate No. 12 — Francia Brida.

Her overall evaluation rank was C, and she had finished 34th in her first-year rankings.

Her burning red eyes swept briefly over the group before she headed toward her room.

A mocking voice stopped her.

“Ah~ the mood was just getting good, and now some random chick had to barge in and ruin it.”

Francia froze.

“…What?”

As she glared with a fierce expression, the boy who’d picked a fight looked around nonchalantly.

“Come on, you know it’s true. Watching a talentless idiot flail around trying to survive—how do you think we feel having to watch that pathetic sight, huh?”

“The talentless idiot you’re talking about… wasn’t she the one who beat you, Halenber?”

The jab, lined with truth, made the boy spring to his feet.

“You’re lucky I went easy on you before, and now you’re getting cocky…”

He stomped up to Francia, glaring down at her.

“Hey, bastard child of a fallen noble—during the sparring match the day after tomorrow, you’d better drop to your knees the second it starts. Unless you’ve got a death wish.”

Francia narrowed her eyes, a faint smile curling her lips.

“That won’t happen. Sorry.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Their confrontation ended there.

The lounge, which had been buzzing moments ago with talk about Eugene Carter, went dead quiet.

The cadets soon split back into their groups, chatting idly until lights-out, when everyone returned to their assigned rooms.

The next morning, 7 a.m.

Chirp, chirp—

The gentle sound of sparrows filled the entire sword training ground.

Human-shaped wooden posts, uneven terrain with steep rises and dips, various obstacles, a circular sparring ring inscribed with magic circles, and large iron barrels filled with worn wooden swords.

In one corner of the training ground, Francia stood alone, swinging her wooden sword over and over again.

Whish! Whish!

Once, twice, again and again.

Every time the arc of her swing shifted even slightly, she recalled her late father’s teachings and adjusted her grip.

— Only when you can swing a thousand times and maintain a single, unbroken arc will you truly touch the basics of Phantom Swordsmanship.

The joints of her fingers were covered in calluses.

Some parts of her skin, unable to endure the pressure, had torn and peeled, blood trickling down.

Each time, Francia steeled her resolve anew.

Pain that doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger.

As always, she finished her personal training precisely before class time and left the training ground.

Then she spotted a familiar face approaching from afar.

A girl in a cadet uniform was running toward her at full speed.

“Francia!”

It was Chloe, the Class 3 representative.

“What’s going on?”

“I came to tell you—the class location’s changed!”

“Where to?”

“The parade ground, Building D.”

At the mention of the parade ground, doubt flickered across Francia’s face.

“…Let’s run. He’s not the kind of man to forgive lateness.”

“Right!”

Fortunately, the two arrived at the parade ground three minutes early.

The cadets who’d already gathered were grumbling about the sudden summons.

“Isn’t the first class supposed to be orientation?”

“Yeah.”

“Never had one on the parade ground before.”

“Maybe he’s trying to act all tough?”

“What, afraid of being ignored as a has-been?”

“Ugh… this is already annoying as hell.”

The murmurs grew louder and louder.

Francia shot them a blank glance, then shifted her eyes toward the platform.

At exactly 8 a.m., a frail-looking man walked up onto the platform with firm steps.

“Hey, quiet. He’s here.”

With a few muttered warnings, the noise quickly died down.

Standing before them, Eugene Carter, the 3rd Combat Tactics Instructor, slammed his cane onto the ground and barked out—

“Everyone down! Face the ground, you worthless trash!”

Thirty minutes after the group had been ordered into push-ups, Eugene Carter finally spoke again.

“I’ve never seen cadet candidates this flippant and oblivious.”

“……”

“If you’re going to gossip, at least have the decency to do it quietly. What, did you think I was deaf?”

“NO, SIR!!”

Eugene stepped down briskly from the platform and began circling around, looking down at the cadets one by one.

“The name of this course is Mock Battle Practicum. The objective is simple and clear — to enhance your command and control ability during wartime situations, your tactical application in all aspects of combat, and your adaptability in unforeseen circumstances.”

Then,

“To expect that kind of tactical capability improvement from those who don’t even have the bare minimum of physical strength… Don’t you think that’s a bit too generous?”

After circling once and returning to his original spot, Eugene continued.

“By now, you should have an idea why I called you all out here to the parade ground.”

A faint smile appeared on Francia’s lips.

‘So, it’s a physical fitness test.’

Just as she expected.

“Everyone, on your feet.”

“On your feet!”

While the cadets straightened their posture, Eugene pointed toward the opposite end of the parade ground.

“Starting now, we’ll begin endurance running drills…”

His sharp gaze swept through the ranks of cadets.

“Some of you look unhappy about that.”

It was both a provocation and a threat.

A provocation to speak up if anyone had complaints—and a threat to stay silent if they lacked the courage to do so.

Most cadets stood rigid under Eugene’s open intimidation.

Except for one — Eric Halenber.

He snorted inwardly, staring at the instructor.

‘Hmph, look at them—completely terrified.’

So he thought he’d assert dominance by running them into the ground? Pathetic.

He’d already mastered basic stamina long ago. He didn’t mind taking part in the exercise—but he couldn’t overlook a shallow, outdated training method from an instructor whose actual ability was doubtful.

‘That’s what a member of the prestigious Halenber family should do.’

Who cared about past achievements?

If you couldn’t prove your strength now, there was no way you’d survive here. He would make sure to show that.

With a confident look, Eric glanced at his sides.

As always, two bulky cadets who followed his lead—Billy and Philip—stood beside him.

A short silence passed.

“If you’ve got something to say, then speak, Cadet.”

“Ah, well.”

At Eugene’s prompting, Eric began,

“Seven years away from duty, and it seems you’ve gotten a little too full of yourself, haven’t you, sir? You should know when to go easy on the kids.”

At that, Eugene’s expression suddenly brightened.

His eyes glimmered with excitement, as if he had just found something truly amusing.

“Name and rank.”

“Second year, Class 3, Candidate No. 17 — Eric Halenber.”

“Halenber, huh… interesting.”

Eugene sneered, half incredulous.

“Everyone else—you’ve got three minutes to run to the shelter entrance over there and back. Go.”

“Go!”

All the cadets, except for the three, bolted into a sprint.

Eugene turned his stern gaze on the remaining trio.

“Why aren’t you running?”

“A physical test isn’t necessary for me.”

“Disobeying orders is a disciplinary offense, Cadet.”

“Wouldn’t you say an unreasonable order doesn’t need to be obeyed?”

“If you think basic physical training is unreasonable, you have no right to remain in Karbenna.”

Now Eugene’s expression was one of open disdain.

“The battlefield doesn’t suit weaklings like you. If it were up to me, I’d recommend you withdraw voluntarily.”

Eric scoffed in defiance.

“Me, weak? Maybe you don’t know my rank.”

“Previous term overall evaluation: B-Rank. First-year overall ranking: 9th place.”

“……”

“What good is a high ranking when your mindset is rotten?”

Twitch.

“What, you think that damned Halenber bloodline will protect you on the battlefield?”

“Now, that’s enough—!”

Unable to take it anymore, Billy shouted and lunged forward.

At that instant, Eric saw it clearly—

Eugene’s right fist pierced through six vital points of Billy’s massive frame in a blur.

“Guh… guhahk…!”

Billy collapsed, clutching his body, while Philip flinched and hurried to catch him.

Eugene let out a quiet sigh as he looked down at them.

“Insulting a superior is grounds for immediate judgment… but since this isn’t a battlefield, I’ll let you off with this.”

By then, Francia and the other cadets had returned to their starting positions, but Eric’s focus was entirely fixed on Eugene Carter.

He couldn’t even think about the stares surrounding him.

His mind was overflowing with countless thoughts—

but above all else, one emotion dominated.

Fear.

“Hey, Candidate No. 17.”

When he heard his number called, Eric snapped his head down in response.

“Y-yes, sir!”

Eugene pressed down hard on his shoulder and spoke firmly, one word at a time.

“Whether you need a test or not—that’s for me to decide, Cadet.”

“Yes, sir!”

“On the battlefield, what saves your life isn’t rank or family name—it’s stamina, Cadet.”

“Yes, sir!”

“And one last thing.”

Eugene grabbed Eric by the collar and yanked him forward until their faces were almost touching.

“If you ever feel like this instructor is a bastard or wonder why you’re being treated this way—

go ahead and tell the Academic Affairs Office.”

“……”

“Karbenna will gladly celebrate your withdrawal.”

“…Understood, sir.”

Eugene smiled in satisfaction at Eric’s humiliated, strained reply.

“From now on, I’ll cut by groups of five based on who finishes first. Run.”

“Run!!”

No one dared to protest further.