Steampunk Era: Mad Abield

"We were lucky that shorty didn't come yesterday," whispered a fourth-grade student in the classroom. "Yeah, hey, look, that kid is coming down from the roof." The fourth-grade student by the window noticed Malin heading towards the training ground and said enviously, "There really is a difference between people. He's just practicing his dance and yet he has two dance partners. That kid is probably going to get torn apart tomorrow."

"Hahaha, that's the trouble with happiness, something we don't understand," another fourth-grader laughed heartily.

With that, everyone laughed freely.

Someone even shouted at Malin below, "Hey kid, finished dancing?"

Then they saw Malin below look up, give them an innocent smile, and continue towards the training ground.

They then saw the two girls sit down on the spectator seats of a nearby training field, seemingly chatting and laughing.

Turning their heads again, they saw the teacher enter through the door, "We've added a class this afternoon on short notice. Yesterday's training class is being made up today at noon. You can go now, children."

The fourth-grade students fell silent. They looked at their mentor and then quickly turned their heads to see Malin standing amid the autumn breeze and falling leaves, smiling at them from the center of the training field.

.........

Seeing those fourth-grade students look at him again, Malin tried to make his smile look even more innocent.

Only you lot have the nerve to talk and laugh, didn't you see that the fifth-grade students a level higher than you didn't dare to let out a peep? They were just put in their place last week. So it seems you really itch for a beating.

"You've worked hard," the higher-level mentor who was escorting his students downstairs apologized to Malin with a smile.

"No, please, it was my fault for not being able to join everyone in time yesterday to help complete the coursework." Malin was obedient in front of his instructor, just as his good student reputation suggested.

But unseen by the instructor, Malin's left hand was already tightly gripping the hilt of the practice sword, "Now, please instructor, could you confirm the roster?"

"Let's go with yesterday's roster. You truly are a thoughtful child. I've heard you learned a new fencing technique from Monica and the others. So, come on, like last time, show off your talent to your heart's content," the instructor encouraged Malin happily, completely unaware of the dread-filled expressions behind him.

"Alright, call the names."

Malin took two steps back, moved the practice sword from behind to in front of him, and with a smile on his face, spread his arms wide to the fourth-grade students.

Everyone, are you ready to account for your misdeeds?

.........

Lewis Lee Spencer, hailing from a small village south of Carterburg, was chosen as an apprentice because of his talent in spell formation and his family's devout following of the Goddess of Harvest.

His years as an apprentice changed his fate and made him eager to stand out, to alter the fortunes of his family line.

So, he always worked hard and once looked down upon talents with disdain.

So what about a talent? Without effort, even a genius is just a waste.

With this mindset, Lewis consistently ranked high in class until one day, a little child appeared in their training class.

"This is a first-grade student who has just cleared the challenges of the third grade, Malin. He wishes to challenge you in a combat fight."

Looking at the child, Lewis, who desperately aspired to transcendence without shedding any tears, felt what it was to be protective for the first time.

Such a frail child. Even if he had cleared the third grade, the kids in third grade are only about ten at most.

What, he's ten too? But he looks... He doesn't look ten at all.

Lewis's heart was trembling until Michelangelo, who stepped into the ring, was sent flying by the child's punch and turned into a 'framed painting'—just one punch from the boy sent Michelangelo flying across the training field, finally embedding him into the exterior cork wall.

Even a half-human shouldn't be able to fly that far, right? Is that kid a monster?!

That was a nightmare of an afternoon when the whole fourth grade was swept clean by a child who seemed under ten, wielding just a pair of fists and two iron legs.

Seventeen seriously injured, one hundred fifty with minor injuries, everyone was hurt, and not a single one could stand.

"I knew it would end like this. In that case, I'll take Malin to the fifth grade to have a look," the young man by the instructor's side sighed as he led away the little demon.

After that day, the nightmare would repeat every week.

Lewis didn't complain, as every time he fought the child, he was astonished by the kid's skill. While taking a beating, he was able to grasp his own shortcomings. Although he got injured, the Church's instructors would always heal them, and sometimes Lewis even looked forward to the weekly training battles.

But three times a week is too much!

It's lethal! They could be beaten to death! With that monstrous strength, one slip and he wouldn't hold back his power... one would certainly get killed!

Armed with a training sword, Lewis stepped into the training field; his classmate ahead of him had just been dragged away by the medics. He and six other students took their places, fought with all their might, then were effortlessly knocked down.

They were too weak, so feeble that they couldn't even learn from being beaten.

"The match begins," said the instructor.

Lewis raised his training sword the moment he heard it, took a quick step forward, and made the first strike with a lunge.

He had to seize the initiative!

He was short and had short arms, so it was necessary to press him! Do not allow him to fully extend his weapon—once he did, any one strike could be fatal.

The clash of their training swords produced a terrifying sound as they crossed. Faced with an opponent who evaded his thrust by turning sideways, Lewis immediately converted his thrust into a slash. It seems you've moved to my right side, so I'll slash at you sideways. I struck first... I have the advantage!

While swinging his longsword, Lewis saw the kid pivot, making a dance-like move, swiftly evading the blade and circling to his left.

Then a frightening scene occurred, as the opponent, while turning, delivered a straightforward horizontal slash with his longsword.

He swung it around!

Stepping back with his right leg, Lewis grabbed his training sword with both hands, unleashing his potential. His arm muscles explosively swelled in an instant, even tearing through his sleeves.

And then the strike landed. Lewis withstood it for the first second as the training sword began to deform.

Then came the second second, and the training sword started making a fearsome breaking sound.

Before Lewis could react, his opponent's training sword had completed a slice, and under Lewis's gaze, it struck his chestplate.

The chestplate cried out for a moment, and Lewis was sent flying by the blow—in the final moment, the killer in his eyes smilingly turned the sword sideways, slapping it against the breastplate over his chest.

Before passing out, Lewis heard his voice.

"You are worth my being slightly serious, deserving of praise."

Then Lewis hit the safety wall behind him and lost consciousness.

Watching his opponent fly backward, Malin dropped his now unusable training wooden sword and walked over to pull out another one. "Who's next, instructor?"

"Uh... Malin, have you learned the Sword Dance?" Instead of calling out a name, the instructor looked at Malin with a complex expression.

"Hmm... made a bit of progress, I guess. Instructor Monica said I've learned 'a bit of fur,'" Malin stated casually.

"...if she said you learned 'a bit of fur,' you must be doing quite well. Instructor Monica rarely praises anyone, even acknowledgement is scarce. For someone of her long-lived species, it's quite remarkable that you picked up 'a bit of fur' so quickly, child. You are too strong; my students have no hope of defeating you, so I hope you can refrain from using the Sword Dance when training with them."

"Alright," Malin nodded. "Then, who's the first?"

"Next up is Kahn Chandler, please come up quickly."

.........

Old Ferrero emerged from the operating room.

Screams had been occasionally coming from the training ground since earlier, and Old Ferrero checked the time, finding that it was still a while before the afternoon class.

Driven by curiosity, he stepped out to see for himself.

He then saw a fourth-year student chopped down to the ground with a single stroke.

What are these foolish humans doing; did they find being beaten so enjoyable?

Don't they know this child is a Frost Giant half-blood, bestowing himself with a blessing of strength over 10? Forget about fighting the peak of mortals, even some of the lower-powered increments of Tier Eleven would be turned into wall hangings by him.

...wait a minute, even a half-human has joined? Are they crazy? They'll die... ah, it looks like the kid held back.

Watching the half-human taken down by a single strike, bouncing a couple of times on the ground before rolling to a wall corner and getting back up, Old Ferrero nodded—it was more like it. It appeared the boy indeed had a good nature; he proved worthy of the old man's esteem.

The elder stood in the corridor, watching the boy take down one fourth-year after another.

He also saw girls on the stands, talking and laughing.

That's nice, though part of the short-lived species, to have tasted the flavor of love so early. Malin, you are already a winner in life.

"Quite the apprentice I thought highly of," an old voice came from beside Old Ferrero. He turned his head and saw Old Hoffman being pushed in his wheelchair by Colin.

"Hoffman, for a member of the short-lived species, you have lived a very long time," Old Ferrero sighed.

"Yes, I know I have lived a long time, which is why I let Malin learn a bit from you."

"Ha, calling what I teach 'a bit.' If not for my 'bit,' would you monkeys still be living savagely, hoping for that one in a million chance?" After saying that, Old Ferrero fell silent for a moment and then sighed, "What am I doing, spewing harsh words at a dying man."

"That's right, so in the end, you still care about me," the old man said with a smile.

"Such a disgusting way to describe it... but speaking of which, how did things turn out with yesterday's issue?" Old Ferrero asked.

"The surface problems have been dealt with, but the deeper truth has yet to be unearthed," Old Hoffman replied with a helpless shake of his head.

"...you better confirm that matter soon; even Gaiate is no longer young." At this point, Old Ferrero frowned, "Speaking of which, where has that kid gone? Haven't seen him in a long time."

"He's gone to Pittsburgh in the North," snorted Old Hoffman. "Haven't received a letter from that brat in a long time."

"Why should he? You're not a beautiful girl," Old Ferrero rolled his eyes in response.

That old man, taking it for granted as if he was indeed a beloved beautiful girl.