SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 512: Final Trial [IV]

"T-Trafalgar?"

Trafalgar lowered Maledicta slightly, more out of habit than necessity. "Yes, it’s me, Barth. You can relax now. And take your hands off the string. As you know, we’re not allowed to attack each other."

Bartholomew swallowed, clearly embarrassed, and loosened his grip on the bowstring at once. "Y yes... sorry. I was watching you fight, actually." He adjusted his glasses with a shaky hand. "It was surprising."

Trafalgar glanced once at the bodies scattered across the clearing and gave the most minimal answer possible. "Thanks."

He let Maledicta rest over one shoulder and looked past the trees ahead. "I was heading toward the desert. I think I’ll find something better to fight there than in the forest." His gaze shifted back to Bartholomew. "Want to come?"

Bartholomew blinked. "You mean... make a team?"

Trafalgar snorted lightly. "Oh, no. Sorry, Barth, but this time I want first place. I can’t make a team with anyone, even if they’re my friend." He nodded toward the dead monsters in the clearing. "If you want, you can take one of those for your grade. If you bring back the strongest one, it should still be a good score."

For a second, Bartholomew looked tempted.

Then something in his expression changed.

He straightened a little, still nervous, still pale, but there was more backbone in him now than there had been a few months ago. "No, thank you."

Trafalgar raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why not? Are you sure?"

"Y yes." Bartholomew nodded, a little quicker this time, forcing the words out before his courage slipped away. "I want to hunt something on my own. You’ve helped me a lot already, and because of that I’ve improved. I want to test myself and see how far I’ve actually come."

That answer drew a faint smile from Trafalgar.

Barth had grown.

That was good.

His class was too useful to remain weak forever. Archivist was not flashy, and it certainly did not carry the weight a sword talent did, but classes like that were the ones people regretted underestimating. Knowledge, utility, support, control. In the right hands, they could change entire battlefields. Bartholomew was still behind, but he was beginning to understand something important.

He could not rely on other people forever.

’Tell him a few good skills, make him learn them properly, invest a bit more into him and he’ll become even more useful,’ Trafalgar thought. ’Just like with Sleep. I should teach him some genuinely strong ones when this is over.’

He did not mind the idea at all.

If Trafalgar had any intention of keeping Bartholomew close in the future, then helping him grow was not kindness. It was common sense.

"Good," Trafalgar said. "That’s the spirit, Barth."

Bartholomew looked absurdly relieved just hearing that.

Trafalgar tilted his head toward the deeper stretch of forest. "Even so, do you want to walk with me for a bit? You might find something on the way that suits you."

This time Bartholomew nodded without hesitation. "Let’s go."

They left the clearing behind and moved through the forest side by side, though the difference in how they carried themselves was impossible to miss. Trafalgar walked as if the place already belonged to him, stepping over roots and low brush without wasting a motion. Bartholomew stayed more careful, bow in hand, glancing at every shadow long enough to make sure it was only a shadow.

The deeper they went, the more signs of the exam appeared around them.

Groups of students were already fighting through the forest in different directions. Some had found alpha wolves and were surrounding them with what looked like far more effort than Trafalgar had needed. Others were dragging down Thornhide Ursids in teams of four or five, coordinating spells, spears, and shields just to keep one creature contained. Roars and bursts of mana drifted between the trees often enough that the forest no longer felt quiet at all. It felt occupied.

Bartholomew watched one group more carefully as they passed. Five students had cornered an Ursid between broken trunks and were struggling to bring it down without getting crushed. One of them nearly lost an arm for stepping too close. Another had already used enough mana that his face had gone white.

Bartholomew’s attention lingered on that far longer than it should have.

Those were the same kinds of monsters Trafalgar had cut down alone, without even sweating.

’How much has he grown while he was away?’ Bartholomew thought.

The question refused to leave him.

Trafalgar’s growth made no sense. A boy who had awakened late, absurdly late by noble standards, had no right to advance like this. Many heirs from strong houses had trained since they were children, some since the age of three, surrounded by resources, teachers, techniques, and expectations. Trafalgar came from one of the Eight Great Families, yes, but that part alone did not explain anything.

He had not been raised with those advantages.

He had not been protected the way other heirs were.

If anything, the opposite.

That was what made it feel even more absurd.

’It’s incredible,’ Bartholomew thought.

And somehow, he was walking beside someone like that.

Not as a stranger watching from far away, but as a friend.

Bartholomew still struggled to believe it sometimes. Trafalgar du Morgain was the kind of person who would almost certainly leave a mark on the world one day. That much felt obvious now. Even people inside the Academy had started to sense it. The weight around Trafalgar had changed. His presence had changed. Everything about him carried that feeling of someone moving forward too fast for others to keep up.

And yet he still spoke to Bartholomew normally.

Still helped him. Still treated him like always.

For someone who had once been an orphan with nothing, that meant more than Bartholomew could easily put into words.

He appreciated Trafalgar’s kindness more than the other boy probably realized.

Trafalgar stopped.

Bartholomew nearly walked into him before catching himself.

"W-what is it?" he asked quickly.

Trafalgar lifted one hand and pointed ahead. "The desert is in that direction." His tone stayed even. "But there’s also a monster over there that I think might suit you."

Bartholomew followed the line of his finger and narrowed his eyes. At first he saw only earth broken between the trees where the forest was starting to thin. Then he adjusted his glasses and his breath caught.

Something massive moved in the open ground ahead.

It was a serpent, easily eight meters long, thick enough through the middle to crush a man flat. Its scales were a dirty sand-brown, but those were not the part that stood out. Jagged rocks had grown across its body like layered armor, covering parts of its back and neck in rough stone plates. Every time it shifted, fragments grated against one another with a low grinding sound. Its head was broad and ugly, with a wedge of dark mineral fused over one side of the jaw.

Bartholomew’s hands tightened around his bow.

He was trembling.

That was normal.

He had never seen a monster that size up close before, at least not while knowing it might soon be his problem. Even among Academy hunting grounds, a beast like that carried presence. It felt less like an animal and more like a piece of the landscape that had decided to move.

Trafalgar, meanwhile, looked completely unbothered.

That was normal too.

The first time he had entered this world, he had watched Valttair erase a monster many times larger than this without making it look difficult. Compared to that, an eight-meter serpent wrapped in rocks barely qualified as memorable. Compared to the Leviathan, it was even less impressive.

Trafalgar glanced at Bartholomew and saw the fear clearly enough. He did not laugh. He did not soften the situation either.

"Don’t worry," he said. "I know you can handle it."

Bartholomew tore his eyes away from the monster just long enough to stare at him. "You really think so?"

"Yes."

The answer came too fast to doubt.

Trafalgar folded one arm and kept watching the serpent. "You’re scared because it’s big. That’s normal. But it’s not beyond you." He tilted his head slightly. "Its body is slow under all that rock armor. It’s strong, sure, but it’s not clever. If you panic, it kills you. If you think, you kill it."

Bartholomew looked back toward the serpent. The thing dragged part of its body across the ground, its stone plating scraping dirt and loose roots aside like they were nothing.

His fear did not disappear.

But it did change a little.

It became more focused.

Trafalgar noticed that and continued, his voice staying flat in that dry way that somehow made his words land harder. "Besides, if you’re going to test how much you’ve improved, you might as well do it properly. Otherwise this whole speech about wanting to stand on your own was just for decoration."

Bartholomew winced.

"That’s not fair."

Trafalgar shrugged. "Probably not."

For some reason, that helped.

Bartholomew let out a shaky breath and adjusted his grip on the bow. His legs still felt weak, and there was a very real part of him that wanted to turn around and go hunt something smaller, something safer, something that wouldn’t make his heart feel like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest.

But Trafalgar was standing beside him, calm as ever, as though the result had already been decided.

Bartholomew looked at the beast serpent again.

Then at his own hands.

Then back at the serpent.

He swallowed once.

"O-okay," he said quietly.

Trafalgar’s mouth curved very slightly. "Good."

The serpent raised its head higher, sensing movement now. Stone scraped over scale. A low hiss rolled out across the thinning forest edge.

Bartholomew’s fingers reached for an arrow.

Fear was still there.

So was the shaking.

But this time, he did not step back.