The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 130: Freshman Talent Show (1)

Vikir walked into the Cold Department’s B-classroom. A large crowd had gathered inside, and freshmen were taking turns coming forward to participate in a talent show in the center.

As Vikir entered the classroom, he heard a voice right next to the door, calling out excitedly, “Vikir! You made it! Why are you so late?”

It was his roommate, Figgy. Figgy seemed thrilled as he rummaged through a box on the table and handed Vikir a name tag that read ‘Vikir, Class of ’20’.

“I’m helping distribute name tags for everyone who’s coming. Here’s yours!”

“Why are you doing this job?” Vikir asked, puzzled. It was usually the duty of the second-year seniors to distribute name tags to the freshmen. So, why was Figgy, also a freshman, doing this?

Figgy chuckled. “Well, the seniors said checking all the name tags one by one is too troublesome, so they asked for a little help.”

Vikir looked around and saw some second-year students from his class mingling with the crowd, clearly enjoying the freshmen’s talent show. It seemed like these second-year students were quick thinkers, delegating tasks to Figgy, who appeared inexperienced and lacking connections among the promising freshmen.

Meanwhile, after the talent show on the central stage concluded, the freshmen took their seats on one side of a long table. On the opposite side, there were several professors, teaching assistants, and senior students. Fourth-year students were scarce as they were busy preparing for their future careers, and even among the third-year students, not many were present.

Dolores, the president of the student council, moved from class to class, looking after the remaining third-year students. She was extremely popular with everyone, making her a true insider among the elite.

After a while, a second-year student, holding a microphone with mana-enhanced sound, stepped onto the stage and began his announcement.

“Alright! It’s time for the next freshmen to participate in the talent show! Everyone, get ready for the highly anticipated super rookie from the Class of ’20, Bianca Usher!”

Thunderous applause erupted. Bianca, appearing calm and composed, stepped forward. Her expression was serene as if she had expected this moment since the rooftop confession. However, there was a hint of unease in her breathing, as if she had hurriedly descended from the rooftop.

Bianca lowered her head in front of the senior students.

“As a junior who still has a lot to learn, I dare to offer a toast to you, senior students.”

Bianca casually picked up a bottle of liquor, removed the cap, and with a swift motion, sliced the bottle’s neck cleanly.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

She then shook the bottle briefly, causing the liquor to spray out in fine streams through the narrow neck, flying over the heads of the people in front of her and landing precisely in the glasses on the table behind them.

Chak- Chwak- Chwak- Splash!

From a distance of several meters, Bianca tossed the liquor into the air, filling the glasses in a peculiar and amazing feat. The senior students were all amazed.

Bianca created a brief but strong atmosphere and then lowered her head modestly. She knew that the next participant would have a tough act to follow.

While Bianca’s performance was entertaining, it wasn’t really deserving of such enthusiastic praise. It was likely due to her background, abilities, and appearance that she received such fervent support. Unless a freshman with qualities that matched or exceeded hers came forward to perform something extraordinary, it would be challenging to maintain this atmosphere.

“Well, that’s not my concern,” Bianca thought, as she returned to her seat.

And then, according to the ruthless laws of nature, the host announced the next participant, oblivious to the fact that the upcoming freshman would face tremendous pressure.

“Our rising star, Super Rookie Bianca’s talent was fantastic! How can we cool down this heated atmosphere? Let’s bring out the next participant quickly!”

The host immediately called out the next name, “Next! Freshman from the Class of ’20! The adorable Figgy!”

Figgy’s name was called, and suddenly, in the distance, where he had been distributing name tags, Figgy froze in shock.

“W-what? I was told that I wouldn’t have to participate in the talent show if I volunteered to distribute name tags!”

Figgy turned his head in confusion, and the second-year seniors who had tricked him into the role of distributing name tags burst into laughter, turning away from him.

Ignoring Figgy’s dismay, the host continued to beckon him. “Oh, what are we going to do about this atmosphere? We can’t let it cool down like this! Hurry, hurry!”

Figgy felt his mind go blank. His vision turned white, and his hands and legs trembled. All eyes were now on him, and as the pressure intensified, he felt cold sweat pouring down his forehead.

“Figgy? Figgy, where are you? Come out quickly!”

The host kept calling for Figgy, and the seniors who had applauded earlier now wore expressions devoid of amusement.

“Oh no…”

Figgy despaired. His timid and introverted nature made it challenging to make eye contact or converse with others, especially in front of such a large audience. His hobbies included reading, listening to music, drawing, and taking care of pets. He wasn’t the type to entertain a crowd like this.

If he had been prepared from the beginning or if he had any idea of what to do, it might have been different. But he had been promised that he wouldn’t have to participate, so he had let his guard down, making this confusion even more overwhelming.

“What should I do? How can I…?”

Sweat poured down his face, and his legs felt like jelly. He wanted to run away immediately, but his legs wouldn’t budge.

“…”

The surroundings grew quieter and quieter. Even the host, who was supposed to give commentary, wore an awkward and uncertain expression.

The surrounding senior students who had been watching were also taken aback.

And then, just at that moment…

Tock!

A hand touched Figgy’s shoulder.

“I’ll do the talent show with you. We’re roommates, after all.”

A low, calm voice came from behind. A boy with disheveled hair and thick-framed glasses covering his face stepped forward. It was Vikir.

“Oh! Who’s this? Vikir from the Class of ’20, right? You were late for roll call earlier!”

The host, feeling a bit awkward in the changing atmosphere, greeted Vikir with a forced smile.

“Right, right! Normally, it’s not allowed, but I’ll make an exception this time! Since you’re roommates! You’ll be living together for a year, so why not show us your talents!”

Countless eyes were now fixed on Figgy and Vikir.

“Vikir…”

Figgy looked at Vikir with pleading eyes.

Vikir responded with a nonchalant tone, “I’ll sing, and you do the rhythm.”

“Huh?”

“You can handle this rhythm; it’s simple.”

Vikir demonstrated by shaking his fist up and down and rolling his right foot each time his fist came down. It was a straightforward rhythm.

“Uh… will I be able to do this rhythm?”

“It’s enough. Give it a bit of strength, and do it gracefully.”

Vikir grabbed Figgy’s shoulder and turned toward the center of the crowd.

Finally, with everyone’s eyes on them, Vikir began to sing, and Figgy started the rhythm.

But something was amiss. The host and the senior students had subtly perplexed expressions. It wasn’t amazement or admiration they were expressing; it was more like…

“What’s going on?”

They couldn’t quite grasp the situation. The reason was simple: Vikir’s song was entirely different from the songs the freshmen had been singing so far.

“It’s a high mountain, a deep valley, silence beneath the mountains. In the frontlines where snow falls, we march.”

It was a military song. The kind they used to sing on the frontlines. Vikir didn’t have a special performance to captivate the audience, not after a lifetime spent wandering battlefields.

However, there was one thing he did know.

During those times, everyone could sing a song that could move anyone, a song that could make anyone shiver, a song that anyone could relate to. That song was a military anthem.

“Young spirits have faded away, in that very place. Wounded old pine trees have forgotten how to speak.”

A simple and rhythmic thrill with fist-shaking and foot-rolling. But when thousands, millions, even billions sang and shouted together, it was a thrill and a soul-stirring experience. It was the requiem of those times, the era of destruction.

Vikir glanced at the faces of the seniors and fellow students gathered at the academy.

Vikir gazed at them, and as he sang, he poured out the feelings of loss and longing that had built up over time.

“Comrades, can you hear it? That furious voice.”

A warhound from the era of destruction, a voice that no one truly understood.

“Comrades, can you see it? Those eyes filled with sorrow.”

Vikir concluded the last stanza of the military anthem in this way.

Then, after finishing the song, Vikir offered a respectful salute, turned around, bowed deeply, and disappeared into the crowd.

…

A strange atmosphere lingered in the room. The excitement had dissipated, but surprisingly, it didn’t leave behind negative emotions.

Vikir’s song had left a mark on everyone’s hearts, no matter the manner in which it was delivered.

“What’s with this heavy atmosphere?”

“Is he an old man? Why did he suddenly sing a military song?”

“What’s going on with this mood?”

The grumbling voices mostly came from younger students who didn’t quite understand.

However, the atmosphere in the room slowly began to change.

“…Oh…”

The senior professors sitting in the front row suddenly burst into tears.

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