Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Mad Dog Aron (1)

“Hah, honestly......”

Thinking back on the outrageous things I had done in my cadet days, when I had not known any better, I found myself rubbing the back of my neck.

Back then, I had been so obsessed with black magic that I judged everyone around me solely by their skill with it.

That was why the cadets had given me the nickname Mad Dog.

Now that I thought about it, it had been behavior so childish and pathetic it was almost embarrassing.

Tch, though what was the point of lamenting it in my head now?

It was my own rotten personality that had caused it in the first place.

As I stood there mulling over that and slowly looking around at the cadets, Lloyd stepped in front of me.

“Are you planning to take your frustrations out on the other cadets again this time?”

“Hm?”

The gazes of the cadets nearby naturally gathered on Lloyd and me.

“Even if you defeated me in the graduation spar, that does not erase the disgraceful behavior you inflicted upon the other cadets.”

“I was only looking at them. What is the problem?”

“How many times have you hurled abuse at the cadets?”

Well...... I could not exactly argue with that.

I remembered that whenever I lost my temper at other cadets back at Necropia, it was usually Lloyd who stepped in to stop me.

No, but I regressed, remember?

I grew older. 

I reformed. 

I actually changed.

I do feel sorry for all the sharp things I said.

Tch, then again... no matter what I said now, the cadets and instructors at this point had long since hit rock bottom in their evaluation of my character.

Even if I pleaded that I would not do it again, it would probably sound like empty hypocrisy.

“To think you had been hiding such talent, and yet possess a character like this. As a fellow scion of one of the four great families, I can only find it deeply regrettable.”

But you really do have a terrible way of talking, don’t you, Lloyd, you bastard?

It is not as though you were blameless either.

“Says the one who summoned an Undead Orc just to beat me somehow.”

“Th-that was......”

“If I had failed to react properly, forget broken bones. My organs would have been damaged too, and I would have ended up bedridden in a hospital for over a month. Think about what you did wrong as well. Or are you just trying to vent your frustration at losing the spar on me?”

“...I do regret the fact that I was the one who first made the match turn violent.”

Lloyd’s expression twisted, but perhaps because he knew he was not free of blame either, he soon averted his eyes.

“I have no intention of belittling your talent. You are stronger than I am now. It frustrates me... but I must acknowledge it. I hope this graduation spar leads you to a worthy mentor.”

Leaving me behind with narrowed eyes, Lloyd turned and walked away again.

Before long, Lloyd and the other cadets grew distant, heading toward the main gate while engaging in heated discussion about how they would spend the time that remained.

“Wow... so this is what they mean by reaping what you sow, huh?”

The admiration escaped me on its own.

Even if I had only used basic spells, I had still used three branches of black magic. 

And yet they hated me this much. 

Just how awful must my personality have been for things to turn out like this?

At the moment, though, it actually worked in my favor.

‘If people swarm me with attention, I won’t be able to check the Sacred Mark.’

I turned on my heel and headed toward the Necropia dormitory.

***

Inside my private room in Necropia’s dormitory.

I knelt on the floor with both knees and struck a pose of prayer.

I stretched both arms toward the sky and pretended to sink into holy ecstasy.

Glance.

After performing every absurd ritual and ridiculous stunt I could think of, I checked the back of my hand, but nothing changed.

“Hoo....... Let’s stop this.”

Reality hit me like a slap, and I threw myself onto the bed.

“This is driving me insane.”

I brought the back of my right hand up so close to my face it was almost excessive.

“What in the world is the activation condition?”

Right now, I was testing one thing after another in an effort to make the Sacred Mark shine again.

Immediately after the graduation spar ended, the Sacred Mark had flashed briefly.

Which meant the Sword Radiance’s Sacred Mark had indeed taken root on the back of my hand.

That much was certain.

It was certain, and yet......

“Why won’t any divine power come out?”

I thought back over the casting principles of divine magic.

I had never properly studied divine magic, but I remembered how the Sword Radiance had used the Sacred Mark.

“As far as I remember, she drew out the divine power created by the Sacred Mark and used it......”

The source required to cast divine magic was divine power.

And divine power was produced by the Sacred Mark.

So, did that mean I needed to be a devout believer—devout enough to be chosen by a god—in order to use the Sacred Mark?

‘Chosen? Please. As if a black mage would ever serve a god.’

Just in case, I had even offered fervent prayers to some nameless god from who knew where, but of course that accomplished absolutely nothing.

The Sacred Mark had definitely flashed.

That phenomenon itself was proof that the Sacred Mark had activated.

And yet I still did not know why.

“I didn’t do anything, so why did the Sacred Mark activate?”

The moment that lament slipped from my mouth, I sat upright on the bed.

That was true.

Why had the Sacred Mark activated?

What exactly had I done right before it activated?

That question rose in my mind.

And as something suddenly occurred to me, I rubbed my aching right arm.

The same right arm I had transformed earlier using Demonic Armament Type black magic.

“Because of black magic......?”

Divine magic was fundamentally opposed to black magic.

The clearest example was what happened when healing magic was cast on undead with divine magic—the healing spell turned into a lethal attack against undead alone.

‘When black magic and divine power came into contact... divine power reacted quite violently.’

The source of divine magic was divine power.

And divine power was produced by this Sacred Mark.

Which meant black magic served as the catalyst that stimulated the Sacred Mark.

‘Let’s confirm it.’

I straightened my right arm and poured mana into it.

Crack-crack......

From my fingertips to my wrist.

The capillaries of my right hand, the very one bearing the Sacred Mark, turned a dark crimson.

‘An instant is enough.’

Only that one instant in which the Sacred Mark was stimulated and divine power was produced.

I placed a curse across my entire palm and fixed my gaze on the back of my hand.

Flash!

A dazzling light burst from the back of my hand.

“...This is it.”

If black magic was infused into the part of the body marked by the Sacred Mark, divine power was produced.

Even if it lasted only for an instant, divine power was still divine power.

My lips curved upward as I clenched my right fist tight.

Sword Radiance.

It seemed your gamble had not been in vain after all.

‘Now then......’

I could produce divine power through the Sacred Mark, but I did not know how to control it.

In the end, that meant if I wanted to use divine magic, then just as the Sword Radiance had said before I regressed, I needed someone to teach me about the Sacred Mark and divine power.

This was the Dark Empire.

A place with no ties whatsoever to divine magic.

But I already had a plan.

Rather than saying I had made a plan, it would be more accurate to say the method had already been laid out for me.

‘...Let’s see.’

I picked up the letter lying on my desk.

The sender’s name was Rondo Bayonel.

A letter my father had sent to the dormitory earlier that day.

I opened the envelope and checked the contents.

<Aron Bayonel, I can no longer pretend not to know about the conduct you have displayed at Necropia, and so, with your graduation approaching, I am writing you this letter.

Though your grades are second only to Lloyd among the children of the four great families, your disgraceful habit of slandering instructors and the crude language you hurl at other cadets are... so unbecoming that it is difficult to believe you are of one of the noble four great families at all.

I have made inquiries in all directions, but there is not a single black mage willing to take you on as a disciple once you graduate from Necropia. 

As your father, I find you deeply shameful.

Therefore, the moment you graduate from Necropia, I intend to enroll you in Saengterminum Academy.>

It went on for quite a while, but if I had to summarize it, it said this:

Since not a single black mage is willing to take on a disciple with a dogshit personality like yours even after you graduate, go there and fix your temperament.

‘When I received this letter back then, it really did shock me.’

Now, having already lived through it once, it did little more than leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

Before I regressed, I had practically been dragged into Saengterminum Academy against my will, but now I was the one who wanted to enter that place of my own accord. 

The irony was almost amusing.

‘Saengterminum Academy....... That brings back memories.’

If I entered that place, I would be able to learn divine magic.

A combat training institution founded by a Blue Dragon Hatchling for the sole purpose of fighting demons and monsters, regardless of background, status, or nationality.

That was Saengterminum Academy.

And it was also the academy both the Sword Radiance and I had attended.

‘If the Sacred Mark remains engraved on you even after you return... then come find me. I will teach you how to handle it.’

Of course, if it had been founded purely for the noble purpose of eradicating demons and monsters, my father would never have tried to send me there.

Saengterminum Academy, established by a Blue Dragon Hatchling with the purpose of eradicating demons and monsters, maintained strict neutrality.

Which meant it was free from interference by any nation.

And because it was free from national interference, it also became a place where individuals with political problems or serious personality issues often came knocking.

From a national perspective, it was far more convenient to send troublesome people to a neutral territory like Saengterminum Academy than to keep them at home where they might become a liability.

In short, it was a den of problem children.

Since I had already enrolled there once before, entering Saengterminum again did not burden me much.

What burdened me was the situation I found myself in right now.

‘Tch, if only I had gotten through the graduation spar without incident, this would not feel so unsettling.’

I recalled what the instructor had said in the arena.

‘Judging from the results of this graduation spar, every black mage across the Luknica Continent will look at you in a different light now.’

That had not been an exaggeration in the slightest.

It was thanks to regression, of course, but there was no other black mage cadet my age with this kind of skill.

However— ‘Still... do not let your expectations grow too large. One never knows how the world will turn.’

If some other cadet had reached Triple Class, the instructor would never have added such a vague remark.

He had said that because I was Mad Dog Aron Bayonel.

As my father’s letter also made perfectly clear, even my father did not look upon me favorably at this point, which said everything that needed saying.

If I was right, then once again there would be no black mage willing to step forward and take me as a disciple.

...With the exception of exactly one person.

I thought about the rough-looking instructor.

Come to think of it, I was fairly sure that instructor had some connection with the old hag.

‘He’s not actually going to recommend me as a disciple, is he?’

***

At that very same time.

In the faculty office, after reading through every last result and evaluation sheet from Aron’s graduation spar, the rough-looking instructor... Dave Boris, let out a low groan.

The cadets’ and instructors’ opinions of Aron could be summarized in one sentence.

His skills were exceptional, but he was just as insufferable.

From the day he enrolled up until now, with graduation close at hand, Aron had treated every cadet other than Lloyd Desmond—another child of one of the four great families—with something bordering on contempt.

He showed the instructors a certain degree of respect, but only those instructors who were actually competent.

If there was even the slightest part of an instructor’s lesson that fell short of his own understanding, Aron would relentlessly dig at it and tear into them.

If anyone lacked something, even a little, he was merciless in cutting them down for it.

Still, perhaps the one redeeming quality was that he was just as strict with himself and never hid behind hypocrisy.

That was how he came to be nicknamed Mad Dog Aron among the cadets.

It had happened so frequently that even he, an instructor, had heard the nickname.

As a result, not a single black mage wanted to take Aron on as a disciple.

“What a waste.”

A waste indeed.

To possess such talent, and yet have not one black mage willing to become his master.

“Hmm......”

After sinking into thought for several seconds, the instructor pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen from his desk, then wrote down the name of the recipient.

The name of his former superior, a war hero— And the name acknowledged by all across the continent as the strongest black mage alive.