Chapter 93…
If there were such a thing as hell, would it look like this?
That’s what the cadets assigned to Dante thought every single day.
It had only been a week since the inauguration ceremony of Rittergut.
In that short time, the cadets had been pushed so hard that their fat melted away and their faces grew gaunt.
“Did I tell you to rest?”
“Aaaaargh!”
At Dante’s words, one of the cadets screamed and swung his sword like a madman.
It wasn’t an ordinary sword.
It was a heavy training greatsword used in Rittergut—three times heavier than a normal iron blade.
Dante had ordered them to swing it for five hours straight.
Of course, that was impossible.
Most of them had only held a sword for five years or so.
Even if they’d trained with their noble families, how effective could that have been?
Unless they were from somewhere like House Aquites, most only learned the bare basics.
But now that they were here, those childish games were over.
They would have to carve into their bodies every skill and discipline required of a noble and a knight.
If they couldn’t do it on their own, Dante planned to force it into them.
And he would do it within a year.
…Maybe this is my own kind of revenge.
In his previous life, Dante had been isolated and mocked relentlessly.
And now, the culprits were right in front of him.
To say he didn’t enjoy watching them scream and suffer would have been a lie.
But it wasn’t just about revenge.
The pain of his childhood, decades past, had long since been diluted by the blood and chaos of the battlefield.
What truly pleased him now was seeing growth—visible, tangible progress.
A week of training might not sound like much, but—
Not bad.
Dante’s gaze shifted toward Elliot.
The other cadets had improved too.
After all, Dante personally instructed them from dawn till dusk—progress was inevitable.
But even accounting for that, Elliot’s growth stood out.
At this rate, he might awaken his Stigmata within a year.
Dante could sense magic stirring faintly in the boy’s sword.
It was still weak, but once Elliot grasped the feeling, it wouldn’t take long before he truly sensed mana.
And when that happened, he’d awaken his Stigmata.
Awakening at sixteen…
Not quite a prodigy, but certainly a gifted talent.
No… that’s not quite right.
Elliot’s family was from a small, quiet noble house in the provinces.
He probably hadn’t received proper training there.
If he’d started structured, serious training earlier—
Maybe at fifteen… or even fourteen—
He could’ve awakened his Stigmata then.
That would’ve made him a bona fide genius.
What a shame.
If only Dante had met him a little sooner, Elliot might have reached far greater heights.
Now, which family was it again…?
He searched his memory.
Elliot Ardein, was it?
Yes, that was right.
He remembered the name clearly—it had stuck even when he’d only half listened.
Ardein… from that small provincial noble family… famous for their wine…
“Ah.”
It finally clicked.
Why hadn’t he realized it sooner?
Dante frowned and stood up.
“Elliot.”
“Y-Yes, sir!”
The boy answered between gasps, still swinging his sword without stopping—his endurance was remarkable.
“I have a question for you.”
“Y-Yes, sir, go ahead!”
His breath came in ragged bursts; the tip of his sword trembled.
“Keep your posture straight.”
“S-Sorry, sir!”
He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip; the shaking subsided.
“Your surname is Ardein, correct?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Your family’s the provincial nobility known for their wine?”
“Yes, sir!”
His answers grew shorter—fatigue made speaking harder—but Dante didn’t care.
“Baron’s family?”
“Yes, sir!”
Dante nodded, then asked cautiously,
“Do you… have an older sister?”
Thunk!
The sword fell to the ground—whether from shock or exhaustion, it was hard to tell.
“S-Sorry, sir!”
Elliot scrambled to pick it up, panicking.
“One more hour.”
“Ugh!”
He grimaced in protest, but it didn’t matter.
“I’ll ask again. Do you have a sister?”
Elliot’s eyes quivered rapidly, unable to grasp the intent behind the question.
But he had no choice but to answer.
“Yes, sir!”
“Eina Ardein.”
“Gasp!”
Elliot’s mouth clamped shut.
“She’s your sister, isn’t she?”
His sword froze mid-swing.
He looked so stunned he seemed to forget he was supposed to keep moving.
This time, Dante said nothing—just waited quietly.
“H-How do you know…?”
So it was true.
This gentle, earnest boy was Eina’s little brother.
So that’s why she was always so kind to me…
Maybe he reminded her of her younger brother.
After all, Dante and Elliot were the same age.
Maybe she’d looked after him the same way she would her own brother.
He chuckled softly.
Who was treating whom like the younger one here?
Still smiling, Dante turned away.
“Instructor, how do you know my sister…?”
It had been years since Eina had gone home.
Since Dante turned ten, she’d never once returned to her hometown.
Elliot probably barely even remembered her face.
Childhood memories fade easily, after all.
“I’ll tell you later.”
Dante couldn’t tell him now.
If he revealed that Eina was his personal maid, it would expose his true identity.
He couldn’t afford that—not until the end of the year.
“Understood…”
Elliot lowered his head, looking dejected.
Dante gazed at him quietly, then spoke.
“Elliot.”
“Yes, sir.”
A weary reply.
Feeling pity for him, Dante issued his order.
“You stopped swinging. Add another hour. Keep swinging without rest. If you drop or stop again, no dinner tonight.”
“Aaaaaaagh!”
With that anguished cry, Elliot’s personal hell began.
Later that night.
As darkness fell, Dante sat by the window in his quarters, gazing outside.
“Elliot, huh…”
He couldn’t stop thinking about what to do with the boy.
The matter of Eina aside, his current concern was training.
The gap is too wide.
They all trained the same way, yet their growth rates differed drastically.
Normally, he’d adjust the intensity to balance things out.
But with Elliot, that wasn’t enough.
It was like comparing a tortoise to an arrow.
Several times faster. Maybe dozens of times.
This couldn’t go on.
At this rate, they’d only hold each other back.
If he adjusted for Elliot, the others couldn’t keep up.
If he adjusted for the others, it would be meaningless for Elliot.
So, he needed another approach.
After a long sigh, Dante shut the window.
There’s only one option left.
A simple yet effective solution.
“I’ll just push Elliot harder.”
He could train with the others during the day.
Then, after sunset, he’d receive separate, individual training.
That way, everyone could progress.
Well—everyone except one.
“Why… why is this happening…”
Elliot could barely move—his body screamed in agony.
His muscles twitched violently, and his joints creaked with every motion.
“This isn’t human training anymore…”
He had tried to protest, of course.
That it was too harsh.
That it wasn’t training—it was torture.
It happened around the third day.
Seven cadets confronted the instructor together.
But they quickly fell silent.
Because the instructor had completed their entire training routine—without using a single ounce of mana.
With pure physical strength alone, he’d done several times their workload.
After seeing that, none of them dared to complain again.
No—none of them could.
“Ugh…”
Still, at this rate, he’d collapse completely.
Elliot honestly thought he might die.
To repeat this insane training for years, until he awakened his Stigmata…
“…Sis.”
Collapsed on his bed, Elliot murmured the name of the sister whose face he could barely remember anymore.
“Eina…”
She’d entered the service of a great noble house in the capital, he’d heard.
Their family had even thrown a celebration back then.
It was an honor—to serve such a powerful family.
As a child, he hadn’t understood the circumstances; he’d just been proud.
Ah, I miss her.
He longed for the sister who had always been kind to him.
Someday, when he awakened his Stigmata and left Rittergut—
Before returning home, he wanted to visit her.
Her lord’s estate wasn’t far from the capital, he’d heard.
It wouldn’t take long to get there.
By then, bandits and thieves wouldn’t scare him.
“I hope that day comes soon…”
Only a week had passed.
Elliot still had a long, long road ahead.
“Haa…”
He sighed deeply and closed his eyes.
I should wash up…
But once he lay down, he couldn’t move.
It felt as though his body had fused with the bed.
Whatever.
He’d be drenched in sweat and dirt again tomorrow anyway.
Skipping one wash wouldn’t kill him.
As he drifted into sleep, a thought flickered faintly through his mind.
But why did the instructor ask about my sister?
Before he could think of an answer, he was out cold.
And the next day—
True hell began.
