I Became the Martial God's Youngest Disciple-Chapter 184

The student who first spotted the armored soldier witnessed what seemed like a miracle. A massive sword tore through the wall, halting just a hand's breadth from his eye.

He gasped.

Was it truly a miracle? Not exactly. The sword did penetrate the thick building, but it did not stop against the wall. Instead, it halted in midair.

N-no... It hadn't truly stopped. Cracks spread through the air like spider webs, revealing a thin, bluish membrane. This translucent barrier was what had blocked the attack.

The student sensed a profound mana within this protective barrier, unlike anything experienced in his life before.

Only one person in this building could control mana of this magnitude.

"Dean Alderson?"

***

Alderson stood on the rooftop of Research Building 12, fully aware of the chaos unfolding inside—the steadily retreating defense line, students driven mad, exhausted hero disciples, and the imperial family's power flaring in a desperate moment.

Glenn's awakening offered a glimmer of hope, but it alone could not resolve the fundamental crisis.

Although Alderson knew every detail of this dire situation, he held back from immediate action. The real threat lingered above: the 250 armored soldiers he had created himself.

Alderson Marbour held a rare admiration for the Platinum King and the White Knights. Such feelings were unusual for a mage, which led the other Seven-Colored Archmages to often label him eccentric.

Among mages, seven out of ten revered the Magic King, while the remaining three favored the Nameless King. Yet Alderson's greatest respect went to the Platinum King for an unexpected reason: he had founded the Cartel Academy, becoming its first dean.

Records showed that after the Platinum King established the academy, more than half of the White Knights took roles there—some as professors, others as instructors or guards, and a rare few admitted as students.

This was an odd fact.

The Platinum King ruled before the Nameless King united the continent, during its most chaotic and dangerous era. Naturally, the White Knights served as the Platinum King's sword, fighting in history's fiercest battles and cutting down countless enemies.

At that time, the kingdom forming the Nameless Empire's foundation was called Atan. The White Knights were nothing less than grim reapers to their foes in those days.

So why, after the war ended, did they not pursue careers that matched their talents?

Scholars attributed it to the White Knights' loyalty. Although the Platinum King had stepped down from the throne, the old adage held true—once a lord, always a lord. Their devotion reflected the true spirit of loyal vassals who vowed to serve until death.

In today's empire, the term White Knights had become synonymous with exemplary knights.

However, Alderson knew the bond between the Platinum King and the White Knights was far less formal. Their relationship was said to be surprisingly close.

The Platinum King possessed a bold, generous nature, and the White Knights who followed him shared that spirit. Few people knew that most of the White Knights did not come from noble families. Their ranks included commoners, nobles, and even death row prisoners. Naturally, their ties to the king defied simple hierarchy.

In fact, the records stored in the imperial palace revealed conversations that resembled those of a mountain bandit leader and his cheerful companions. This explained why many doubted historical accounts about the Platinum King, despite seeing the records themselves.

It was not strange that they were not necessarily nobles, but it was unusual for knights to call their king Brother.

In any case, after his abdication, the Platinum King disbanded the White Knights and granted them freedom. Those who followed him to the academy chose to make it their home by their own will.

Somehow, Alderson felt he understood why. They must've realized the joys of teaching.

He also found it surprising at times that a mage as selfish and flawed as himself had become the dean of an academy.

He thought, A person born virtuous, who has never made a serious mistake or tasted failure, must be a remarkable human being—worthy of admiration and emulation.

However, Alderson did not believe such a person made a true teacher. It was a prejudice, but he understood there was a difference between those who had tasted failure and those who had not.

This difference had nothing to do with talent or passion. It boiled down to sincerity. Those who had endured hardship taught with urgent desperation, hoping their students would avoid the same foolish mistakes. Perhaps this was the very essence of true teaching. Alderson was sure the Platinum King and the White Knights had felt the same.

War and slaughter gnawed at the human heart, even when fought for the sake of the nation. Killing, being wounded, receiving treatment, facing near death, killing again—the White Knights had lived like this on the battlefield for at least twenty years.

It was said they often made self-deprecating jokes like, "Shouldn't we change our name to the Red Knights?"

What transformation took place in their hearts once they retired and became professors at the academy?

Alderson chuckled quietly, imagining those days he had never witnessed firsthand. For former knights accustomed to armor, a suit must have felt awkward and stiff. Their bodies must have resisted ill-fitting clothes, and their students must have often pointed at them as they struggled to relearn skills late in life just to teach.

Over the years, deep wrinkles carved their faces. When neither the students nor the knights found it strange to call them professors, and the knights no longer rejected the title, perhaps then—for the first time in their lives—the White Knights finally found peace.

"Sir Darun," Alderson murmured in a low voice.

Sir Darun Swhite was the armored soldier who had just thrown his sword and the only one that wore a cloak—he was the commander of the White Knights.

Honestly, Alderson still hesitated to harm them.

Was it because he had crafted these armored soldiers himself? Or because he still held respect for them? Neither explanation captured the whole truth.

Alderson knew the names of all 250 White Knights by heart. He had collected every weapon they wielded and personally equipped the soldiers. The effort cost a fortune and demanded immense labor, but he had succeeded.

To Alderson, each armored soldier was a national treasure. Destroying them would feel like desecrating priceless cultural heritage. Most painful of all was knowing this disaster had sprung from his own mistakes and negligence.

The armored troops' eyes flashed simultaneously. Two hundred fifty pairs fixed on Alderson at once.

"The attack has failed."

"Analyzing the cause."

"Analysis complete."

"Grand Magic: Platinum Wall confirmed. Caster: Alderson Marbour."

"From now on, Alderson Marbour is the highest priority target."

With a mechanical voice, all the members of the White Knights soared back into the air and took the same position.

Arin let out a quiet breath.

Just like Darun earlier, the armored soldiers hovered high above, ready to unleash their weapons.

The sight felt unreal. For a moment, Arin forgot they were trying to kill her. The crimson sky behind them cast a sacred aura.

When they hurled their swords, spears, axes, and maces in unison, Arin could not even cry out.

The phrase divine punishment flashed through her mind. If despair took form, devoid of hope or will, it would look like this.

Alderson poured every ounce of mana he could summon into his great spell. The White Knights' weapons pounded the Platinum Wall with relentless force. For a moment, the entire Otherworld trembled.

Alderson let out a roar as he deeply assimilated with his spell to increase his defense even a bit more. At that moment, the Platinum Wall had become his very body. The relentless hail of weapons crashed against him, battering his frame.

He coughed heavily as his aged body protested. Unable to withstand the pressure, he collapsed to his knees beneath the crushing weight.

"Dean Alderson!" Arin rushed forward, but he shook his head calmly to stop her.

His vision blurred, and his eyes burned. The veins on his eyeballs threatened to burst. Blood welled up his throat—an aftereffect of casting magic with a weakened body. He accepted it without complaint.

Alderson swallowed the rising blood again and laughed bitterly. Hundreds of weapons remained blocked by the barrier. The Platinum Wall had held far better than expected, but now it reached its limit.

"Really... I don't know who made them... They are annoyingly powerful..." he joked weakly.

There was no response from their side.

"You must not do this. Do you hear me, White Knights? I wanted you to be the shield that guards the academy. A contradictory wish. I always dreamed of you protecting the students, but never wished for such a situation. A shield is most valuable when it remains unused..."

His wrinkled face twisted in anguish. Suddenly, emotions overwhelmed him. "This... is too much. I can't believe you are attacking those you are supposed to protect... I know. It is all due to my carelessness. You aren't guilty of anything."

The Platinum Wall flickered as if on the verge of vanishing.

How much longer could he hold on? Alderson dared to hope for one more minute. It had only been five minutes since he first faced the White Knights. He focused on the Platinum Wall, unable to even pour mana into their magic stones.

One minute until the Platinum Wall collapses, Alderson thought.

Could he stop all the armored troops' movements in one minute?

No. The Archmage realized it was impossible. It had been impossible from the start. There was never another way.

The armored troops in the sky paused.

Did they realize? It is too late. Suddenly, purple mana stretched from Alderson and wrapped around every armored soldier's body.

"Wow." Arin gasped in awe.

The sight of intangible mana flowing like threads and binding hundreds of armored soldiers was so dreamlike that it made her forget the grim reality.

But what is the dean going to do in this state?

Only an Archmage could attempt such a feat, but this alone would not neutralize the armored soldiers. It was clear he was expending tremendous mana. In his current condition, how long could Alderson maintain this?

In fact, there was no need to maintain it for long. Ten seconds would be enough.

Alderson's eyes gleamed fiercely. Emergency command: White out.

It was the self-destruction command.

Alderson squeezed his eyes shut. "Rest in peace."