"Hmm."
"Don't just 'hmm'... Wait. Essie. Can you see that too? Can you all see it?"
"Yes..."
"Uh..."
"Yeah."
Ivan was examining the injured students one by one, deep in thought.
There's no need to torture the students, so I should find a priest.
They're injured worse than I expected. Still, the injuries aren't severe enough to leave lasting effects. In this amazing pre-modern fantasy world, priests can use real healing.
Besides, iron grows stronger when hammered, and the ground hardens after rain. (Obviously, people don't work that way.)
Everyone has gained neural acceleration, so this training has been remarkably successful. I've managed to develop cadets who couldn't even grasp neural acceleration in just six days.
If I refine this curriculum a bit more and make it part of the regular program, the Counter-Intelligence Command's combat capabilities will become untouchable by ordinary military organizations.
"Sir. Is this real?"
"Hmm?"
"Really, truly. Really truly real. Are you actually okay? No injuries? You can move your body...?"
"What do you mean?"
Is she experiencing hallucinations from pain? Ivan raised his hand to signal. An agent who had received priestly ordination was rushing over.
For now, a quick healing prayer would suffice, and then they could be moved to a nearby estate for follow-up treatment at the cathedral. These were injuries that would heal completely before the end of vacation.
Ivan had plenty of experience in this area. He didn't even need specialized surgical knowledge. He'd experienced most of it firsthand.
Generally speaking, Ivan was someone who had personally experienced every possible type of injury short of complete limb loss. He could assess the students' conditions just by looking at the extent of their injuries.
The injuries weren't as severe as the pain suggested. Probably thanks to these cadets' miraculous physical capabilities.
Actually, it's quite remarkable. In exchange for just a month or two in the infirmary, they've managed to step into the Domain of the Transcendent. Not a bad trade at all. (It is.)
"No, wait! Wait!! Stop!"
"Hmm."
"Stop with the 'hmm' too! What... what... what did you just do? Are you really sane? You were just... just watching us?"
"Ah, that's not true."
I was consistently supervising the situation to assist with the training.
So it was a perfectly controlled, safe training exercise. Right.
He explained dryly, feeling like he might burst.
"Safe!! You call that safe!! Look, look at him. Oskar's arms are broken, and, and, Elfihera was crying tears of blood!"
"Uncle, I was struck by lightning..."
"These were all injuries within anticipated parameters."
"Aaaaargh—!! Since when! Why?!"
"From the beginning."
Ivan felt it was time to provide some comprehensive evaluation feedback. After all, reviewing mistakes immediately after solving problems improves learning efficiency. This was advanced educational methodology from the 21st century being bestowed upon this pre-modern world.
"When did you first think you were 'being attacked by demons'?"
"What...?"
"The gunshot. When one agent was shot and collapsed. At that point, I observed you all panicking and choosing to flee."
"Well of course, when someone right in front of us gets shot full of holes and falls down...?"
At the end of Isabelle's gaze, an agent was enthusiastically waving his hands with a moved expression.
It was the agent who had screamed for them to run away, spitting blood and getting shot on the first day of the attack.
Hnnnggh, Isabelle covered her face and let out a bizarre scream.
"Did any of the orcs you encountered have gunpowder weapons?"
"...?!"
"You should have noticed at that point. The orcs weren't using guns. The only ones possessing and using firearms in this forest were our agents."
"What are you talking about?!"
Ivan stopped speaking here and waved his hand.
Soon, agents emerged from the forest in droves. About 50 large men appeared, forming a circle around them.
They were all looking at the girls with broad smiles.
"What, what is this? What's with this atmosphere?!"
"But congratulations. You've all completed the entire process with excellent grades, learned teamwork and survival skills, and mastered neural acceleration. You've exceeded the performance objectives."
Ivan was someone who firmly believed in rewarding merit and punishing wrongdoing. Naturally, all tasks should be followed by appropriate rewards.
At his gesture, simultaneously and quite solemnly—
Some even sniffling—
This was inevitable. Since the Counter-Intelligence Command was the spiritual successor to the Annihilation Squad, they were exceptionally generous toward the Hero Party.
-Clap.
-Clap. Clap. Clap.
-Clap.clap.clap. Clap.
The agents began applauding in a solemn atmosphere.
Isabelle heard something snap in her mind.
"Nngh..."
She grabbed the back of her neck and fainted.
-Tap, tap, tap.
A gold-nibbed fountain pen rhythmically tapped the table. (One should never do this. Fountain pen nibs are extremely delicate.)
The ink held in the nib splattered across the table. The black spreading stain seemed to perfectly express her mental state.
How artistic. Elizabeta gripped her teacup with trembling hands.
Clatter, clatter. A loud noise was heard. Ah, she had unintentionally developed a tremor. Well, that was understandable.
In fact, tapping the table with the fountain pen wasn't intentional either. Her hand was just shaking. Trembling.
[All training processes were controlled by the reporter, and injuries that occurred during the situation were treated on-site and then referred to follow-up clinics.
Isabelle: Full-body contusions, fractures in 2 locations, medical certificate attached recommending long-term care due to neural overload.
Elfihera: Internal circuit damage due to accumulated magical fatigue, receipts for necessary medicinal ingredients for recovery attached in reference 2.
Oskar: Fractures in both upper arms, left foot fracture, knee sprain, muscle ruptures in at least 15 locations, medical certificate attached recommending intensive treatment for more than a month.
Asidis: Exposure to medium-range attack spell (estimated 6th grade), at least 5 burns, muscle ruptures, moderate ligament sprain in left arm, medical certificate attached recommending intensive treatment for more than 5 weeks due to neural overload.
Remainder blank.
Reporter: Ivan Petrovich Yeremov.
Reviewer: Dmitri Cherkatov.]
"..."
Elizabeta tried to swallow her tea with trembling hands, but after spilling it on her front twice, she gave up.
As always, Ivan's report was remarkably plain. So plain it felt like chewing on dry wood.
Unlike usual, she found herself craving something sweet. If Ivan knew this, he would have diagnosed it as a brain glucose deficiency.
Sadly, as Krasilov was a country boasting a steady cold temperate climate year-round, they had to rely entirely on imports for sugarcane. As a frugal monarch, Elizabeta once again resisted the temptation of sugar.
Instead, she indulged in a different temptation.
"How many have you counted?"
"One thousand five hundred and forty-three, Your Majesty."
"Maintain the position until you reach two thousand."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Only then did she place the report on the table and raise her head.
In one corner of the spacious chancellor's office, two men were doing push-ups while standing on their hands.
Having been sternly ordered to use only their physical abilities without magic, Ivan and Dmitri had created puddles on the floor with the sweat pouring from their bodies.
"Enough. Enough. ENOUGH!! ENOUGH!!!"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Aaaaargh—!! Aah... Aaaack— Why! Why did you do it, why!"
Ivan immediately regulated his somewhat rough breathing and knelt on one knee in a proper posture, waiting for orders.
He was always the model of a plain, loyal subject. So plain she wanted to chew him up. Elizabeta chewed on the end of her fountain pen with trembling hands instead.
"Did I ask too much? Is it my fault? No, it is my fault. Vanka. The fault lies greatly with me for not teaching you manners and common sense. Well, having lived on the battlefield since childhood, your ignorance and rudeness are not entirely your fault. It's my fault. I should kill myself!!"
Ivan quietly bowed his head and let Elizabeta's words wash over him.
Honestly, was a dictatorial monarch of a pre-modern pseudo-Russian empire really in a position to talk about common sense and manners?
Ivan was a four-year university student from the Republic of Korea, a nation that had flourished with strict Confucian culture, morality, and etiquette for over five hundred years—the land of morning calm. (He was even a living moral textbook, boasting a top grade in Ethics in the social studies section.)
However, being a reasonable person, Ivan didn't bother explaining things that couldn't be explained. He simply bowed his head quietly.
Seeing this, Elizabeta clutched at her chest in anguish.
"I... just... I ordered you to come to me and report what you were thinking when you implemented the purge of all the grand nobles and domestic power reform without consultation during the tournament. Isn't that right?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"But you say you took students... without even getting the principal's approval, calling it a special class, and trained them in the wilderness, acting first and reporting later."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Don't just say 'Yes, Your Majesty'!!!"
Elizabeta gasped and covered her face.
"Training... I understand the need for training... I do understand."
Elizabeta looked at Ivan through her fingers. Seeing his stoic face made her feel frustrated and angry, but then suddenly her heart ached.
Yes, that man was still living on the battlefield.
So in this peaceful era, he deliberately took students and subjected them to harsh survival training. Even if the methods were excessively harsh, it was somewhat understandable.
These weren't ordinary students. They were descendants of the Hero Party. That made them prime targets for demons, ambitious individuals, and nobles with treasonous intentions.
So this man was ultimately acting to minimize the impact on Krasilov when they returned.
That's how it had always been. He must have done it for the country.
That may be true.
But still.
"Aaaaargh—!!"
Elizabeta couldn't believe she had to send diplomatic notes to foreign dignitaries saying, "Your precious child has been severely injured but is fortunately receiving treatment without lasting effects. Sadly, they won't be able to return home during this semester's vacation." (Hard as it may be to believe, Krasilov never takes foreign dignitaries' children as hostages.)
She groaned and struggled to speak.
"Miss Isabelle asked me to relay a message to you as soon as she regained consciousness."
"I'm listening, Your Majesty."
A course evaluation, is it?
Ivan raised his head with satisfaction. He was quite confident. His educational process had been carried out in a meticulously controlled environment with all variables accounted for.
"She requested permission for an independent assassination attempt against you. I approved it."
"...Yes, Your Majesty."
Ivan nodded expressionlessly, looking somewhat dejected.
"You are now under house arrest... No, just... just..."
Idiot.
Elizabeta painfully swallowed the last word and waved her hand to dismiss the two fools. (Dmitri felt wronged.)
This was around the end of the first week after summer vacation had begun.
EP15. Academy Summer Vacation Events Are Real Combat by Default