Граф Орлов
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— Enough with this circus. — The new teacher, whom many had already forgotten, reminded herself of her presence by appearing between Fortis and Duncan. — Sir Duncan, I don’t think His Majesty would approve of what is happening now. Fortis Vir, go where you belong; no one will stop you. Vale Foxtail, Barbara Bellring — immediately return to the others; I won’t repeat myself, and the rules of fair combat will be damned! The rest of you — to your rooms. Your Majesty, — she turns to Futabe, — be reasonable and follow me.
Without wasting any more words, the young man leaves the hall, trying his best to walk steadily and not grimace in pain. He didn’t even bother to acknowledge the appearance of another crazy old man — after all, it wasn’t even his king, and there’s no point in waving your fists after a fight. He couldn’t say that Fortis had fully achieved his goal, but he was now content with a draw.
Initially, Fortis was heading for the exit — at least out of the hall, ideally out of the academy, and eventually out of the country, but now he only had to return to his room to lick his wounds. He limped to room 203 and collapsed onto the bed like a dead weight.
“I wonder,” he thought. — “Is this the bed of the prematurely deceased, or the one next to it?”
In reality, he was really interested in what was actually going on in this academy, but for now, his mind was occupied only with the thought of getting to the infirmary as soon as the others finished their clowning around in the hall, and with all sorts of insignificant nonsense. If it were up to Fortis, he would try not to interact with the teaching staff at all, and it would be better to ask one of his own — surely there are at least a couple of Mana adepts among them, but when you’ve been cut with a claymore, you don’t have a choice. Fortis felt his side again — the general may be a clumsy old geezer, but he hit hard.
“He probably broke my ribs. And now I’ll never be able to get the stain out of my shirt... ugh!”