Chapter 34. Initiation (3)

Collisions with competitors in the cradle are inevitable.

Frequent clashes with competitors will inevitably lead to rapid wear and tear.

In other words, the more enemies one has, the higher the probability of falling behind.

The best way to reduce competition is to turn competitors into allies.

Moreover, the more capable the competitor turned into an ally, the better.

Thus, those who became targets for recruitment were either descendants of prestigious families or renowned geniuses from a particular region.

Gunter Irons belonged to the latter category.

"Thank you for the offer, but I must decline."

Gunter, who had already said the same thing three times today, spoke with a polite but firm tone, causing the face of the person who made the offer to stiffen.

"I see you've been turning down all the offers you've received so far? It doesn't seem like a particularly... good choice."

"I'll take responsibility for my own choices. It's not your concern."

"Is that so? I apologize for the intrusion."

The boy, who had introduced himself as someone from a certain administrative district and a certain family, did not make another offer after Gunter's stubborn refusal.

Instead, he withdrew the initial goodwill and revealed his hostility.

Gunter sighed wearily as he watched the boy walk away coldly.

'Everyone is so busy.'

If you're not on my side, you're an enemy.

Children in their early to mid-teens were effortlessly engaging in this simple binary thinking.

Children born in the era of swordsmen.

For children exposed to a competitive environment from a young age, this was a matter of course.

Of course, this was no different for Gunter.

However, what set him apart from others was that he viewed everyone as a competitor, without any allies.

Gunter's eyes dimmed.

'Most of them are just scum.'

He had a rough idea from the stories he had heard.

That there were not only dragon token recommendations but also donation recommendations in the cradle.

His father, Ashraf Irons, had given a harsh evaluation of them.

"Gunter, the ones you need to worry about are not those scum who got in through donation recommendations."

And that evaluation proved to be accurate.

A small group of two or three.

A larger group of over ten, gathered in clusters.

Those who had built their own factions had confident faces, but to Gunter, they were nothing more than useless social gatherings.

What could a group of twenty scum accomplish?

If he wanted to, he could dismantle them in ten minutes.

'The ones I need to be wary of are not just those kinds of guys.'

Those who, like himself, stood alone.

Those who, brimming with confidence that they could defeat anyone, found factions cumbersome.

They were the real competitors he needed to be wary of.

Gunter's gaze swept the surroundings.

'Ivan Vaskin, Claris Fan, Nelly Blanc.'

Descendants of families whose names were renowned even in the northern region where the Irons estate was located.

Beyond them, the true scions of prestigious families exuded a haughty air.

And it wasn't just them.

A towering bald youth, easily over two meters tall.

A beautiful girl with blue hair.

There were others who, though unknown, exuded a unique and formidable presence.

'They might be even more difficult to deal with than the scions of famous families.'

A high reputation meant a lot of known information.

Therefore, it was more likely to be difficult to face unknown strong individuals.

'Looking forward to it. I wonder what kind of people they are.'

With a mix of tension and excitement, Gunter clenched and unclenched his fists.

The faint tension in the large cabin.

Sensing the thick aura emanating from various corners, Gunter smiled slightly.

'They must know that the real competition will begin once this voyage ends.'

Not a clash of swords, but a battle of auras.

It was as if a small typhoon was raging inside the cabin.

However...

Rumble, rumble.

The atmosphere in the cabin was not entirely like that.

Faction formation?

Scouting?

A typhoon-like atmosphere?

There was someone who seemed completely detached from all of it.

Snore.

Gunter's head turned naturally at the loud snoring.

A black-haired boy, shivering and mumbling in his sleep, came into view.

"Ear... poet... poetterrr..."

What kind of dream was he having?

After a bout of sleep-talking, the black-haired boy frowned.

Twitching and writhing as if in a nightmare, he seemed about to wake up but soon returned to a peaceful sleep.

Scratch, smack.

Scratching his cheek and smacking his lips.

Holding a sword between his legs and hugging it tightly, he looked incredibly comfortable.

It was a wonder how he could sleep so deeply amidst everyone else's intense auras.

Moreover, what was even more surprising was...

'...How many days has it been now?'

The black-haired boy had been sleeping ever since he boarded the ship.

The only time he was awake was when the black swordsmen distributed lunch boxes.

Except for eating, he slept all day.

Someone who had observed him sneered.

"Well, beggars are good at sleeping anywhere, aren't they?"

The voice was quite loud for a mutter.

Many nodded in agreement at the contemptuous words.

After all, the black-haired boy's appearance had been very striking from the start.

A rag that was hard to distinguish from a piece of cloth.

His long, disheveled hair hid his face, and the exposed parts were swollen, making it hard to guess his original appearance.

The stench was so bad that it seemed he had rolled around in a garbage dump.

If not for the black swordsman who had guided him, he would have been mistaken for a beggar who had sneaked onto the ship.

While there were quite a few unique individuals on the ship, none were as distinctive as the black-haired boy.

It was hard not to be curious after seeing his shocking appearance.

Therefore, the aspiring swordsmen observed the black-haired boy with interest, wondering, "What's with that guy?"

However, that didn't last long.

His shabby appearance and lack of any special qualities made it hard to find anything noteworthy.

His constant, defenseless sleep was the epitome of vulnerability.

Yet, he always woke up precisely for meal times, and he was always the first to run to the black swordsman for his lunch box.

He would eat like a possessed person and then go back to sleep.

The repetitive cycle of eating and sleeping, and his behavior that was more animal-like than human, made everyone frown.

'A piece of trash who will be the first to fall out once the competition starts.'

'A guy not even worth paying attention to.'

'How did someone like that even get into the cradle?'

'He probably never learned manners. So low-class.'

Even those who had observed him, hoping to find something, gave up after five days of no change.

The only lingering curiosity was, "How long can that guy keep sleeping?"

Thus, the black-haired boy was completely excluded from the aspiring swordsmen's awareness.

So thoroughly rejected that no one even approached within two meters of him.

As if avoiding a dirty object.

Gunter looked at the back of the black-haired boy's head, which seemed to have merged with the floor.

'Black hair...'

Seeing the black hair, he naturally thought of that guy.

'Yuri Holland...'

The boy who, despite being the same age, had knocked down the black swordsman who was his examiner.

The prodigy who had been chosen by the reckless Johann Redner and became his disciple.

He, too, had black hair.

'What is Yuri Holland doing now?'

He was probably undergoing hellish training under Johann Redner somewhere on the continent.

He must be getting stronger every day.

Thinking about this, Gunter clenched his fist slightly.

Crack.

He had never thought he was falling behind anyone.

Until he saw the avatar Yuri Holland had summoned.

Yuri's presence that day was so shocking to Gunter that it left an indelible mark.

This stimulated Gunter's competitive spirit, making Yuri a rival he had to defeat.

'If we meet again... I won't lose.'

While Gunter was burning with determination against the Yuri in his memory,

"Ah... smack."

The loud sound of smacking lips snapped him out of his thoughts.

At the same time, he saw the black-haired boy's hand enter his pants.

Scratch, scratch.

Gunter's expression twisted as he watched the boy scratch inside his pants.

He apologized inwardly.

'Sorry, Yuri Holland. I shouldn't have thought of you just because this guy has the same hair color.'

Feeling genuinely sorry, Gunter shook his head and turned away.

As a result, he didn't see the black-haired boy's face, which was gradually losing its swelling and regaining its original shape.

Moreover, what Gunter and most others overlooked was that the center of a typhoon is the quietest place.

Just like how the area around the black-haired boy was calm amidst the typhoon-like atmosphere in the cabin...

Time passed, and on December 1st, five days later.

Swoosh, creak, thud!

The black ship, carrying a small typhoon, arrived at the pier.

* * *

"Yawn!"

Yuri yawned widely and stretched.

Crack, crack.

Slowly raising his upper body and gently stretching his stiff muscles, all his joints creaked.

Crack.

It was a sound that would make anyone shiver, but Yuri's face relaxed like a middle-aged man soaking in a hot bath.

Yuri, now a soft, squishy rice cake.

"Ah... Ah, refreshing. Indeed, one must rest well when resting."

When he first