The Game Difficulty Went Crazy
Isn’t Bataille a genius?
He is. His swordsmanship is amazing, and he formed his Holy Ring months earlier than the others.
He’s only ever lost to Tasha, right?
Praise and admiring looks filled the trainees’ voices.
Standing among them, Bataille felt his chest burn with pride.
He always led in running. He kept winning in sparring. And recently, he had even formed his second Holy Ring.
Among the apprentice knights, Bataille was a genius and an elite.
He had nothing to fear.
But just one minute after the sparring began, all of that was already collapsing.
Clang—!
“Guh—!”
Sword clashed against sword.
With a sharp impact, Bataille’s foot slipped.
Dust rose from the ground and stuck to his sweat-soaked face.
‘What is that strike?!’
Every time their swords met, his arms went numb.
It felt like hitting a rock with his blade. That was how heavy his opponent’s sword was.
“Ghk!”
He glanced at Glen’s sword, wondering if it was different.
But it wasn’t.
‘I’m losing in swordsmanship? To someone who trained for only fifteen days?!’
It had been two years since Bataille came to the Wordsworth territory to become a knight.
He had endured Tris’s hellish training to reach his current level.
And yet—
A delinquent who had never touched a sword until seventeen.
Someone who stole their instructor just fifteen days ago.
That person returned completely changed and was now overwhelming him.
‘This… makes no sense!’
It was Bataille himself who had demanded a fight using only swords.
If he lost here, there would be no excuse.
Grinding his teeth, Bataille charged again.
Clang!
Another calm response from his opponent.
His arms tingled, his posture breaking.
Bataille’s face twisted.
“You’re rushing in suddenly. Did Sister Tris teach you that? No, she didn’t.”
In contrast, Glen looked completely relaxed.
“Uraaaah!”
Bataille shouted and swung his sword wildly.
But the situation did not tilt in his favor even slightly.
Clang! Clang—
“How can this be…?”
Gregory couldn’t close his mouth.
‘Is that boy really the Glen Wordsworth I know?’
The last time Gregory saw Glen was about a month ago.
They had met in a mansion corridor.
At the time, Glen staggered like a paper doll, crazily reciting scripture.
He even tried to grab a passing maid, only to collapse pathetically because he couldn’t support his own body.
That was the Glen Gregory remembered.
‘And now…’
He was completely dominating Bataille, one of the top trainees, with a single sword.
And he even looked relaxed while blocking his attacks.
“Miss Tris. What happened to him?”
Gregory looked at her.
Tris was deep in thought.
‘He’s stronger than when he sparred with me yesterday. What happened overnight?’
Even Tris couldn’t understand Glen’s rapid growth.
Of course, no one there knew about Blessing of Blades.
They could only marvel at his unbelievable growth.
‘He’s already beyond the category of genius.’
Suddenly, a strange thought crossed Tris’s mind.
— God whispered to me. That He would guide everything I do.
Words Glen often said.
Those bizarre words strangely lingered in her head.
‘Could it be… that he’s receiving the “hand of God”?’
His abnormal growth so far—
What if it wasn’t just talent, but truly divine?
“….”
Tris let out a dry laugh and shook her head.
‘That’s impossible. Only two people in the world receive the “hand of God”: the Saintess and His Holiness the Pope.’
She brushed away the thought and focused on the sparring again.
The fight was nearing its end.
Bataille’s breathing was ragged, his posture completely broken.
“Haa… ha… guh…!”
Bataille knelt, catching his breath.
Glen stood there, coldly looking down at him.
“What are you doing? Resting during a spar? You said to fight like it’s real.”
“Resting… who’s resting?!”
Glen sighed.
“You’re hopeless. You need to relearn everything.”
A sharp light flashed in Glen’s eyes.
In the next instant, the distance between them vanished.
“…!”
Bataille hurriedly raised his sword to block.
But Glen had already knocked it aside and drove his knee into Bataille’s stomach.
“Guhhk!”
Then Glen struck his cheek with the back of his hand.
Smack—!
Bataille collapsed helplessly and rolled across the ground.
His sword flew away and clattered beside him.
“There. I fought using only the sword, no sand, just like you wanted. And this is the result.”
“Ugh…!”
Bataille trembled on the dirt-covered ground.
“You know what the real problem is? Not your skill. It’s your careless mindset.”
Glen turned his gaze to the apprentice knights.
The cheering from earlier was gone.
They all stood frozen, mouths shut, as if attending a funeral.
“Here, you bow, greet each other, fight when told, and help each other up afterward.”
Glen raised his voice so everyone could hear.
“But the battlefield isn’t like that. Even while eating, enemies can attack. You grab your sword in a panic and fight. And if you lose, you die. That’s the place you’ll be living in a few months.”
He met their frozen eyes one by one.
“And you talk about fairness? Pride and honor?”
Glen snorted.
“If you came here expecting that, go back to your main house right now. Don’t disappoint Sister Tris any further. She’s not training you to play knight.”
Glen raised his sword and pointed it at them.
“If you have any sense at all, think carefully. How you should fight to survive the battles ahead.”
With that, Glen threw his sword onto the ground.
The next moment, a polite smile bloomed on his face.
“That’s what I read in a knight novel I saw once.”
And with that, Glen left the training ground.
Silence filled the place he left behind.
Everyone wore the same expression.
Back in his room, Glen sank into the sofa.
He exhaled and muttered,
“Nice.”
Things went better than expected.
He had already been thinking about fixing the apprentices’ mindset.
And Bataille appeared as the perfect example.
Thanks to that, Glen cleaned up the hierarchy and shattered their childish fantasies.
Of course, most of them were still young.
Their emotions often came before reason, so his lecture could have sparked rebellion instead.
‘But that doesn’t seem to be a problem.’
When he checked his status window, his Charisma had risen from –18 to –7.
Charisma changed based on others’ reactions.
If someone felt even a bit of charm from his words or actions, it rose.
That meant at least eleven trainees were positively affected by what he said.
‘Looks like most of them understood. They’re not all snot-nosed kids.’
Glen lay back comfortably.
He had gone a bit further than planned, but—
His plan to turn the apprentice knights into usable subordinates had started successfully.
‘The only concern is Sister or Sir Gregory finding my sudden personality change strange.’
But even that wasn’t a big worry.
Tris always interpreted his actions in a good way.
And Gregory cared about nothing except training the apprentices.
So no real downside.
Honestly, no matter how his personality changed, it was better than being a fanatic psycho delinquent.
‘Okay. This part’s fine.’
Glen got up and checked the date.
September was already more than halfway over.
‘Two weeks left until my bet with Brother Edgar.’
About a week ago, Glen had made a bet with his older brother, Edgar.
A sparring match with Edgar’s escort knight, Sir Robert.
If Glen won, he would take Edgar’s artifact, Ensir, which Edgar had received from the family head.
Sir Robert was a 3-ring Holy Knight.
Even a 2-ring knight would struggle, so a 1-ring Glen winning was impossible by common sense.
‘No wonder Sister Tris tried to cancel the spar.’
But as he had said before, as long as he had even one Holy Ring, Glen was confident.
He already knew how to overcome a two-ring difference.
‘And now I even have Blessing of Blades, so I can handle unexpected variables.’
Unless something truly absurd happened, victory was guaranteed.
Glen smiled in satisfaction.
“I’m actually looking forward to this spar.”
“Hm…?”
The next morning, Glen frowned as he arrived at the training ground.
The apprentices’ warm-up looked strange.
Thwack! Thud!
Nearby, trainees ran around the field while holding wooden swords, checking each other’s movements.
Elsewhere, pairs of trainees rolled on the ground, grappling.
Covered in dirt, they stared fiercely at their opponents.
Glen looked confused.
“What are they doing?”
“Oh, Glen.”
Tris approached him.
She looked troubled as she watched the warm-up.
“After you left yesterday, their eyes changed… and when I came this morning, they were already doing this. I think your words really affected them.”
“Really…?”
‘Did what I said really change them this much?’
He had expected some change after seeing his Charisma rise.
But not something this drastic overnight.
“Heh….”
It was hard to understand.
But he didn’t dwell on it.
There was no need to analyze children’s emotions in detail.
‘What matters is that they fixed their mindset.’
With results this good, the process didn’t matter.
He shrugged and walked to the center of the field.
No one approached him first, but the cold hostility from yesterday was gone.
Their eyes met Bataille’s for a moment.
Bataille immediately lowered his gaze and disappeared into the group.
‘He listens well.’
Gregory and Tris stood before the trainees.
Glen smiled faintly and looked ahead.
The spar between Glen and Bataille became a major topic among the Wordsworth household staff.
Especially among the maids, who loved gossip.
“The Second Young Master beat Lord Bataille twice? Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know, but that’s what they say.”
“Oh my goodness…”
Young maids carrying laundry stopped and chattered.
A common sight in any noble house.
“But really… what happened to the Second Young Master? Did he truly change?”
“Who knows. He might suddenly snap again.”
“Still… I saw him once while passing by. His impression was completely different. He seemed calmer, somehow…”
“That’s an interesting story.”
A deep young man’s voice cut through them.
The maids startled and turned around.
And there—
“Why don’t you let me hear it too?”
The eldest son of the Wordsworth family.
Edgar Wordsworth stood there, smiling.
