My Disciples Became Scoundrels - Chapter 110

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The night I returned from the Guild Tournament reception. Sleep still would not come.
A brilliant moon hung high overhead, luminous and full. It was past dawn.
I stood in the Training Ground behind the building, face to the night wind. By now, this chill had become familiar. Through the dark air, Cesare’s voice reached me.
“Master, your body really is something strange. How do you manage without sleep?”
Cesare, leaning against the doorframe, blinked heavily. Sleep clung to his eyes.
“If you’re tired, you can go rest. You look ready to fall over.”
“When you’re young, you can get by without much sleep.”
Since learning that I could not sleep, my disciples had taken turns staying awake through the nights.
They would come to me with blank faces, offering company, or quietly pass the hours in the corner of the living room.
I felt both apologetic and grateful. I wished, at least, that my disciples could sleep well.
“So Master, you really are going to practice continuously for ten days without rest?”
“Yes. With five of you, it’s more than enough to keep me engaged all day. Attack me while channeling your magical power.”
Opening the Magic Eyes was similar to training dynamic visual acuity. In the end, there was no choice but to see more.
Furthermore, the Magic Eyes awakened quickly under extreme conditions. Of course, they might not awaken at all, but in that case, I could use Magic Eye Liquid.
Cesare scratched the back of his neck. He clearly didn’t want to do this.
“Does it have to be you? Why not let Arkel go instead? He’s a mage—wouldn’t that be better than you suffering like this?”
“Only the guild leader can participate. If you want to stage a coup, I’ll allow it.”
“I plan to be your disciple for life.”
At his grumbling complaint, I let out a short laugh. I walked toward the center of the Training Ground.
“While we’re training, Cesare, I’ll work on fixing one of your habits too.”
“I already quit drinking.”
“I mean your habit of not using magical power.”
Cesare only uses magical power for Teleportation. In hand-to-hand combat, he relies purely on raw strength.
That’s impressive in its own way, but it’s not a good habit. I removed my outer cloak and hung it on a tree branch.
“You don’t use it because it’s tedious to manage your magical power, isn’t it? This time, you’ll channel it continuously into your attacks.”
“Ugh…”
“We’ll fight bare-handed. If you use weapons, the others will get damaged.”
Cesare hesitated for a moment, then took his fighting stance. Right foot forward a half-step, both fists raised and held tight against his face.
“I hope you won’t complain if it hurts?”
A sharp whoosh cut through the air.
A deep, wide footprint gouged the ground. Cesare’s fist passed just before my face.
Even the wind alone stung. A glancing blow, and it was this intense. A direct hit would mean at least a fracture.
It was good conditions for opening the Magic Eyes.
Punches came streaking in one after another, aiming for my face. For his size, Cesare was certainly fast.
Relatively speaking, that is.
A sharp crack echoed as I pivoted and drove my back-fist into him. In pure speed, I had the advantage. With magical power reinforcing my strike, it would hurt considerably.
I saw Cesare stagger for a moment. Our eyes met. It was the moment when a counterattack would normally come.
I drove my fist into his abdomen instead. A sharp grunt escaped him.
“Do it properly. I can tell when you’re holding back.”
Cesare was softhearted. Even when he tried to strike me, his power wavered.
People with tender hearts end up wounding themselves. I didn’t want to see him like that. I had to say something harsh.
“If you can’t do it, call Jenia.”
I felt magical power surge and coalesce around Cesare’s fists. Defiance flashed across his eyes.
“I don’t need to call Jenia. I’m on night watch duty today.”
That was how I spent ten days rolling through the grind. My disciples rolled with me, of course.
I taught Cesare and the others various things. How to manage magical power, self-defense techniques, combat instincts, and more.
I drank recovery potions and sparred with my disciples through the nights. As a result, my Magic Eyes opened.
Still, my disciples worried. Jenia especially.
“Master, you can’t fight alone. You can only kill up to two at once. I’m worried about you going to the Spirit Dungeon by yourself.”
“The Spirit Dungeon is good precisely because of that. I can swing my sword freely.”
A whisper of sound as the fourth ghost dissipated. I danced with the spirits. My sword’s edge met them instead of my hand.
Each time a Spirit Core shattered, the ghost crumbled to dust and fell. With every step I took, all around me glittered with their remains.
It had been a long time. A long time since I could kill without counting.
These beings had no flesh. The shackle that bound me to kill no more than three per day was lifted, at least for today.
Because of that restriction, I always had to pull back. But now, there was no need.
A cry of exultation tore from my throat.

The ghost’s claws raked across my cheek. Blood welled up as the skin stiffened, growing rigid in an instant.
A characteristic of spirit being attacks. No matter. My disciples aren’t here to see it, so there’s no reason to smile through the pain. My face can stiffen all it wants.
I’d rather spend time fighting than worrying about such things.
Clang-clang-clang!
I drove the ghosts toward the end of the corridor and cut them down without hesitation. It felt as though the breath I’d been holding back all this time came pouring out.
Yes—the blade is what lets me breathe.
I roared with my whole body, with my sword. At my onslaught, the spirit cores shattered and broke and were severed clean away.
Seven, eight. The ghosts fell. There was no need to stop.
It was like a gag that had been choking my mouth had come loose. I could cry out. I could breathe.
Twelve, thirteen—no, today I don’t need to count.
Cutting, breathing out again, cutting once more. I danced among the dissolving ghosts. I wanted to dance with enemies through the night.
But my dance partners fell one by one. They fell far too quickly. Would no one remain to stay with me?
Slash!
The last ghost was severed. The end came too soon, but there was nothing for it. My true goal lay ahead.
I rushed past the fallen spirits. The moment I rounded the corner—
Whoosh!
Something sharp bored toward my face. I stumbled back desperately, and I saw the gleam of a blade.
A sword. Or perhaps “whip” was the more accurate name.
Segmented blades were linked together, whipping and curving like a flexible whip. Beyond the corner stood Greta, Master of the Tearing Lion Guild.
Merlin does it too, and Greta does the same—they both bend the rules a bit. It might look like cheating, but the Guild Tournament actually favors such tactics.
Do beasts fight by rules and chivalry? They simply bite with all their might.
Then Greta spoke.
“You seem to be in quite a good mood, Dein Balanus.”
My heart was still thundering. The breath I hadn’t yet expelled caught in my throat.
She held a sword ready. I wanted to collide with her again. I wanted to speak in the language of steel.
“Master Greta, instead of wasting time with words, shall we converse properly?”
“With what, if not words?”
“With steel.”
Clang!
Sword met sword in a burst of sparks. Beautiful embers.
Greta’s unconventional attacks came at me. I parried each one, as though answering a call.
Each time the small blade and my sword struck true, the metallic cry rang out.
She was a fairly engaging conversation partner. But couldn’t she move just a little faster?
Clang, clang-clang!
As I pressed forward, Greta stumbled back. Her momentum was weaker than expected.
Our eyes met. Hers held a look of confusion, as if seeing something strange.
Why waste time staring? I should swing my sword again. I’d finally been allowed to voice myself freely.
That was when something erupted from beneath my feet.
Boom-crash!
Thorned vines. Stems shot out from the ornamental plants and floral arrangements that decorated the castle halls.
I saw the Master of the Mage Guild casting. Her tall staff was abloom with flowers.
“Master Greta, I will provide support. Let us keep our promise.”
An alliance. Hardly surprising.
I’d have to stop chatting. Letting blood energy run wild was the indulgence of youth.
I calmed my mind and set my stance. The mage had erected a barrier of vines around us. I’d have to cut through that first, but approaching wouldn’t be easy.
Whoosh!
Evade the thorned vines, and the whip-sword closes in. Deflect the whip-sword, and the thorns push forward.
I had to neutralize Greta first. I wanted to break her purely with the blade, but there was no helping it.
The moment the whip-sword tore through the air toward me, I twisted my body and ripped my cloak free.
Slash!
The whip-sword caught the cloak at its tip. Just before it was severed, I yanked the fabric hard.
The cloth jammed between the joints where the blade-segments connected. The whip-sword tangled with the spinning cloak.
A sharp intake of breath.
The whip-sword, with cloth now caught between its teeth, sagged under the weight. Yet Greta showed no sign of disturbance.
She’d faced this sort of thing before. She would attack again soon—I had to end this in this narrow window.
Roar!
Then I felt heat from behind. The sky above me blazed bright. A fireball flared.
I rolled to the side, evading the cascading flames. When I looked back, Merlin stood there.
As he caught his breath, his gaze found Greta.
“Master Greta, have you joined hands with those people?”
“As you can see.”
Three pairs of eyes darted back and forth. The attack ceased for a moment. After a brief silence, Greta spoke.
“Merlin, if you cooperate as well, I’ll share one-third of the sponsorship with you.”
“……Is that all you’re offering?”
To form an alliance, interests must align. And aligning those interests would take considerable time. I had no intention of waiting for that.
—Whoosh!
I charged straight at Merlin. He began chanting incantations in desperation. Flames followed in rapid succession with his casting.
Exactly as intended. Fire ignited a beat too late along the path I’d taken.
—Boom!
Explosions erupted with every step. Simultaneously, the surrounding vegetation was engulfed.
What happens when you set fire to a forest is self-evident. The smell of burning green wood permeated the air.
I altered my course. I guided the flames. They spread toward the mage, toward the thorn barrier.
The mage panicked and dropped the barrier.
—Crack!
The moment I swung my blade, the Staff snapped in two. The mage’s head jerked back. I struck him across the face without hesitation.
With a brief cry, the mage was thrown backward. Merlin and Greta stopped their attack momentarily.
Now it was two against one. I was breathing a bit heavily, but it wasn’t a serious problem. I wouldn’t lose to them.
The real issue was that only three guild masters were here. I raised my voice.
“If the rest arrive at the Audience Hall first, then all this fighting will be for nothing, won’t it?”
They said nothing. Their eyes gleamed as if trying to read my intention.
“Whoever kills the Boss receives the sponsorship. And you’ve heard what happens if I win, surely.”
The guild masters’ eyes shifted.
“The guild I designate will be demoted.”
If I eliminate just one guild, it’s over. There was no reason to bring down all six.
Their goal isn’t to defeat me either. Beating me means nothing if someone else wins the championship.
“I won’t name the one person who helps me for five minutes.”
The guild masters were calculating. Then the mage stirred. The moment his fingers formed the hand seal.
—Crack!
The thorny vines trying to bind my ankles were sliced away. But it wasn’t by me. It was Greta. The mage cried out in anguish.
“Guild Master Greta! We agreed to form a coalition……!”
“Circumstances have changed. Once we get the sponsorship, I’ll split my share.”
Her guild was every bit as ruthless as its reputation suggested. As I bolted toward the Audience Hall, an explosion echoed behind me.
I had to make good use of these five minutes. I ran, cutting down spirits as I went. I kept recalling the path Bella had shown me.
I stepped onto the red carpet leading to the Audience Hall. The massive doors were slightly ajar.
The moment I crossed the threshold, I saw the people inside. They were guild masters.
The one standing on the second-floor terrace spotted me first. He shouted urgently.
“The crazy squirrel is here!”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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