This World Needs a Hero

Chapter 38

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The Mercenary King said he was having a private audience with the Imperial Chancellor.

So, in front of the Mercenary King’s tent, Luke met his old men.

They were part of the 11th unit he had commanded in the past.

The boy looked at them with complicated eyes, then spoke.

“How have you been, boys?”

Blood and sweat dried on their faces.

Tousled and dirty.

It was a tough life that couldn’t be described even with empty words.

However, as they faced Luke, their former leader, their faces brightened.

“Oh, the captain is here.”

“Well, it’s always the same. Instead, let’s talk about academy matters.”

“After being with the old folks, it feels refreshing to be with peers, right?”

“Is it because of your personality that you couldn’t make a single friend?”

“Have you met any pretty girls?”

“Hahaha, does our fearless leader even think about such things?”

Even with their light banter, Luke’s stern expression remained unchanged.

After a while of sitting in silence, the boy suddenly spoke.

“Why did it happen?”

The atmosphere instantly grew heavy with those words.

While some subordinates were about to say something, a close aide of the Mercenary King approached, patting the boy’s shoulder.

“Father is looking for you.”

…Father.

Certainly, he wasn’t his biological father with whom he shared blood.

Firstly, the Mercenary King desired his subordinates to address him with such a title, and in the ‘Aureum Mercenary Corps,’ his words were akin to law.

Consequently, all members came to refer to the Mercenary King as their father.

In reality, to Luke, who had been an orphan, the Mercenary King was practically the person who took him in and raised him as a father figure.

“I understand.”

Luke nodded and headed towards the Mercenary King’s tent.

…Until he entered it, the boy didn’t turn his gaze back to his former subordinates behind the bars.

“I’ve come, Father.”

A somewhat chilly atmosphere filled the tent.

Luke met the Mercenary King after several months.

“You’ve come, my son.”

The Mercenary King, ‘Ravias Selsood,’ greeted the boy with a smile.

He was a middle-aged man with an appearance quite different from the rough image people typically associated with the Mercenary King.

He had a somewhat refined physique, and in his white shirt and perfectly fitted suit pants, he exuded a metropolitan charm.

In short, he looked like a scholar rather than the ruler of thousands of mercenaries.

However, those who truly knew Ravias would secretly acknowledge how unfitting this exterior was and would often scoff.

The boy, meeting eyes with Ravias, quickly lowered his head.

“Luke, you must be busy with your studies. I apologize for calling you.”

“Oh, no. If Father calls, I will come anytime.”

“Haha, saying that makes me feel secure. So, how’s life at Rosenstark? Nothing too difficult?”

After that, a brief casual conversation ensued.

They talked about the academy, whether there were any promising classmates, what the young warriors were learning in their classes, and so on.

Of course, Luke’s mind was not fully engaged in the conversation, as he thought about his subordinates outside.

Luke bit his lip, perspiring, and patiently waited for the main topic.

“I suppose, you understand why I summoned you here..”

“…Yes.”

“Well, unfortunately, there are those who have violated the law.”

Mercenaries, by nature, tend to be unruly and rough.

To control them, ‘Mercenary Corps Laws’ were established.

While the specifics may vary among different mercenary groups, they all share one commonality—the consequences for breaking the law are exceedingly harsh.

“Dared to.”

Ravias’s usually soft and languid voice changed.

Simultaneously, the feigned warmth and composure he exuded shattered into pieces.

In its place emerged a sense of cruelty.

“Yes, dared to disobey orders during an operation and leave the designated area.”

Luke met Ravias with trembling eyes.

“Our mercenaries…”

the Mercenary King paused for a moment, reaching under the desk for something.

At the familiar sound of metal, Luke tightly shut his eyes.

“People who place gold coins and their lives on opposite ends of the scale.”

“…”

“Disregarding the obligation even after receiving a cost equivalent to their lives is not the behavior of a mercenary but of trash. Trash that needs to be disposed of.”

Ravias rose from his seat.

He walked towards Luke, step by step.

In his hand, filled with calluses and scars, he held a massive axe.

“Luke, did you say that the academic appointment you missed to come here was a counselling session?”

“…Yes, that’s correct.”

“You’ll be pleased. Your today’s experience will be far more valuable than some mundane academic affairs.”

Ravias handed the axe to Luke, who stood still.

It was the same executioner’s axe that had been in his hands since he was twelve.

“Understand, my son. It won’t be easy, considering the time you’ve spent with them. But hesitating to cut out the rotten ones is not an option. And above all…”

Ravias smiled brightly, revealing his gums.

“How precious of an experience it is. Today is the day you become a man more fitting for this iron-blooded position.”

Luke couldn’t utter a word.

No… more precisely, he knew that any words would be futile.

As always, he quietly accepted the axe.

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He and the Mercenary King exited the tent, followed by members with various expressions.

The path led towards the iron bars.

As the execution approached, the boy suddenly looked up at the sky.

“…”

Everything here was bathed in crimson.

The clear weather, the warm breeze, and the neatly arranged buildings.

Memories of the academy, filled with cheerful students, felt almost like a lie.

Luke closed his eyes and raised the axe.

It was a familiar task.

Even if he didn’t see, there would be no mistake.

“Open your eyes.”

Ravias, erasing his smile, spoke.

* * *

Professor’s Quarter, Creoa Hall.

On the top floor of this splendid leisure space, there was a very ‘private’ meeting room that young professors wouldn’t even get a chance to glance at.

It was the lair of senior professors with a minimum of 10 years of service.

Around the fifth week of the semester, despite the ambitious time, old voices were bustling in this place.

“…Have you all checked the course evaluations?”

“Well, I tried not to, but it seems to keep catching my eye. It dropped by 0.3 points compared to last year.”

“We teach the same way, why does it keep declining… it’s frustrating.”

“Why indeed. We’re constantly compared to that damn ‘Extreme.'”

The senior professors discussed it heatedly.

When the Hero first assumed the role of a professor at Rosenstark, their concern was about the ‘influence as the Hero.’

They worried that if the Hero showed interest in campus politics or social activities, the small castle they had painstakingly built over many years, consisting of customs, rules, honor, and privileges, would immediately crumble.

“Especially with everything already in chaos because of the current Principal.”

However, surprisingly, the Hero didn’t seem interested in exercising such influence.

What had threatened the professors was something they hadn’t considered—the fundamental of their expertise, their teaching ability.

“How can someone who has never stood in front of a classroom be so proficient in teaching?”

“No, not proficient. From the start, with the Principal’s favoritism and the scale of his classes, how can we possibly compete? If we also receive such support, we can create lectures no less than ‘Extreme.'”

…The problem lay in the connectors.

If you have something to boast about, you want to share it.

The psychology of wanting to show off what you have is ingrained in human nature.

The ‘Extreme’ lecture students thrived on an anonymous bulletin board.

After each warrior’s lecture, they shared the content, impressions, and their achievements, consistently.

– Extreme is the future.

– At the beginning of the semester, I think I can take down at least three people.

└ Strange. Don’t geniuses usually teach poorly?

└ Not at all. Every time class ends, each student gets five pages of feedback from the Hero.

└ Five pages per student? Seriously? Doesn’t the Hero sleep?

…Five pages of personal feedback after every lecture.

Professors were trembling.

– I’m just a student from another department who gathers shared materials, but the lecture is truly focused on real-world applications from start to finish. The mana suppression potion was shocking.

└ Isn’t it called ‘real-world running’? If you haven’t tried it, shut up. While running, suddenly there’s a pile of civilians in the middle of the course. You have to carry and run.

└ Projectile targets also come flying. If you hit the pile, you have to start running again from the beginning (laughs).

└Isn’t it hard? Don’t you hate it?

└Is it hard now or will it be hard when you go to war?

The Hero’s shared training methods and lecture materials only heightened the thirst of those who couldn’t attend the classes.

The evaluations of the existing courses naturally dropped.

“At this rate, our reputation will be completely ruined.”

If they finished the semester with a rating of less than 2 points, they would automatically become subjects of investigation.

Substantial disadvantages such as research fund cuts, reduced support, and closure of lectures awaited them.

It was a critical situation.

The reason they gathered today was to take extraordinary measures as a solution.

“Well, shall we start?”

The senior professors glanced at each other and began unpacking the baggage they had brought.

“Haha, I didn’t know I would be sharing these materials with you.”

“In times like these, we must support each other.”

“Exactly.”

Thick bundles of paper took over the table.

Academic exchange.

Under the guise of being rivals, they were sharing ‘advanced know-how’ that they had hesitated to share before.

“Oh, this is…”

“Wow, this is…”

The corners of the professors’ mouths turned upward.

The volume and depth of the materials were substantial.

Even if the fields were different, they could easily apply them to their lectures.

One of them spoke with a confident voice.

“Yes. If we put our heads together, we can certainly catch up to those hastily prepared lectures.”

Bellum, the professor in charge of the “Monsters in the Field” course, confidently spoke up.

“Yes, I agree that demon anatomy is a good course. I’ve read his book, and it seems like he has made quite the preparation. However, no matter how much of an amazing Hero he is, it’s impossible to create such unique lectures every time.”

[TL/N: Changing Monster Anatomy to Demon Anatomy.]

“Of course, not long from now, the foundation will be revealed. Then our evaluations will return to normal.”

The professors laughed amiably.

One of them pulled out a bottle of wine from the conference room.

“All right, our esteemed professors. From today, our ratings are going up!”

“Haha, the warrior probably doesn’t even know, right?”

…

Of course, contrary to their expectations, the Hero had no idea that they were having such discussions.

However, if there was one thing different from their thoughts, it was that if the Hero knew they were planning this, he wouldn’t be upset.

Instead, he might have expressed gratitude for the fact that humanity’s overall strength was increasing.

“Pia, are the preparations for the lecture complete?”

And, there was another fact that the senior professors didn’t anticipate.

“Everything’s ready. After inspecting the ‘items,’ I’ve moved them to the classroom.”

“Good.”

There were plenty of innovative materials in his mind for an exceptional lecture.

“The kids will love it.”

As he pulled out one of them, the warrior’s lips curved into a subtle smile.

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