Below is your revised Chapter 47, rewritten to:
Flow directly from Chapter 46's ending (Elisha's ideological presence + timeline shift tension)
Smooth awkward phrasing
Remove translator notes
Improve combat clarity
Strengthen character voice
Make it feel natural for a webnovel audience
Keep tone consistent with your series
Maintain strong pacing and tension escalation
Land around ~1500 words (this version is ~1,550+ words)
Chapter 47 – The Difference Between Strength and Trash
The cadets moved from the classroom to the outdoor training grounds in near silence.
The earlier tension hadn't faded.
If anything, it had settled deeper into our bones.
Elisha Baldwin walked at the front without saying a word, heels clicking against stone like a countdown.
No one dared speak.
The Spider with the Scarred Eye didn't need to threaten us.
Her presence did it for her.
Among the sea of stiff backs and uneasy footsteps, one voice trembled louder than the rest.
"Why… why me? Why am I always the one picked?"
Albert.
His face had gone pale enough to compete with the clouds overhead.
He clutched his sword like a man walking to his own execution.
Before anyone could answer him, the sharp sound of heels approached.
Click. Click. Click.
Elisha stopped in front of him.
"Are you Cadet Albert Hoover?"
"A-Ah…! Yes! That's me!"
She raised her Hero Watch. A translucent holographic screen flickered to life.
"Ranked 237th out of 472 third-year cadets. Warrior Division. Primary weapon: sword. Divine Stigma: Earth God. No blessings recorded. Is this accurate?"
"Y-Yes, Professor."
"Hmm."
A cigarette appeared between her fingers.
Vincent, the silver-haired assistant instructor, stepped forward smoothly and lit it for her.
Click.
A thin trail of smoke rose into the morning air.
"Average," she concluded flatly.
Albert twitched.
"P-Professor… wouldn't it be better to test someone higher ranked than someone as ordinary as me…?"
She exhaled smoke slowly.
"No. You're perfect."
She dismissed the hologram.
"I want to measure the current standard of the average third-year cadet."
That single word—average—hit harder than any insult.
Albert swallowed.
"Step into the center."
"…Yes."
He walked forward like a condemned man.
The training grounds were wide, open, mercilessly exposed beneath the sky. No walls to hide behind. No desks. No excuses.
"The spar will use real blades," Elisha continued. "Magic permitted. Combat format."
Albert stiffened. "R-Real combat?"
"Yes."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"Fight with the intent to kill."
A murmur rippled through the cadets.
"But what if—"
"It won't happen."
Her tone left no room for doubt.
Then she turned slightly.
"Vincent."
"Yes, Professor."
Vincent stepped forward.
As he passed her, Elisha spoke quietly.
"Go easy on him."
"…Understood."
Albert's jaw tightened.
Go easy?
So she told him to fight to kill… while telling her assistant not to take him seriously?
Heat crept up Albert's neck.
He stepped into position and drew his sword.
"Huff… Fine."
Mana flared around his body, earth-toned light wrapping around his limbs.
"I may be average…"
His stance lowered.
"But I'm still a hero cadet!"
He moved before any signal was given.
A forward dash.
A surprise opening strike.
Not elegant. Not refined.
But decisive.
Vincent hadn't even drawn his blade yet.
Steel whistled through the air—
Clang!
A flash of silver.
Albert's strike was redirected effortlessly.
The impact shot through his wrist like a shockwave.
"Ugh—!"
He barely maintained his grip.
"A surprise attack," Vincent remarked mildly. "Reasonable."
In true combat, hesitation meant death.
But—
Clang.
Albert's second strike came faster, mana pouring into his blade.
Too much mana.
Too much force.
Too little control.
Clang. Clang!
Vincent deflected twice, minimal movement, precise angles.
"He's overcommitting," Elisha observed coolly. "His mana distribution is uneven."
Albert roared and leaped.
His sword glowed brighter.
Vincent pivoted.
A small sidestep.
A shallow kick.
Albert's knee buckled.
"Huh—?"
His center of gravity collapsed instantly. All his mana had been funneled into attack.
None left to stabilize.
He hit the ground hard.
Thunk.
A blade touched the back of his neck.
"I-I've lost."
Vincent withdrew without ceremony.
Two exchanges.
That was all it took.
Elisha didn't look impressed.
"Next."
Another cadet stepped forward, face stiff.
Clang.
Clang.
Thud.
"Next."
Again.
And again.
Five cadets fell in similar fashion.
None lasted more than half a minute.
Finally, Elisha raised a hand.
"Enough."
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"…Pathetic."
The word sliced cleaner than any blade.
She turned toward Professor Lucas.
"If this is the level of your third-years, then the lack of casualties during the demon incident can only be attributed to luck."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Professor Lucas. Do you believe this reflects their shortcomings… or your own incompetence?"
Silence.
Lucas answered evenly.
"My own."
That surprised me.
He didn't deflect.
He didn't joke.
He accepted it.
"Good," Elisha said. "Then this will be simple."
She flicked ash aside.
"Resign."
The air froze.
"Resign from your position."
Lucas blinked.
"…If I resign, who will teach them?"
"Vincent will assume your duties."
"He's an assistant."
"And?"
She didn't even glance at him.
"While Vincent may not match you in raw power, he surpasses you in training methodology."
Lucas's jaw tightened.
"That's not—"
A voice cut in.
"P-Professor!"
Albert.
Bleeding slightly from the nose. Still trembling.
But standing.
"Even though Professor Lucas is weird, loud, makes disgusting juice, and bullies me when he's bored—"
"Hey."
"—He still teaches us what it means to be a hero!"
The training grounds fell quiet.
Elisha let out a short, humorless laugh.
"A hero?"
Her eyes were colder than steel.
"A hero is defined by how many monsters and demons they kill."
Her voice carried without effort.
"Strength is the only currency that matters."
She looked across all of us.
"A powerless hero cannot protect anything."
Her gaze sharpened further.
"A strong hero is the only true hero. Anything less is worthless."
She didn't raise her voice.
She didn't need to.
"In that sense," she concluded, "you are all trash."
No one spoke.
Even the wind felt reluctant to move.
Then—
"…Are you saying my students are trash?"
Lucas's voice had changed.
Not loud.
Not joking.
Sharp.
"Am I wrong?" Elisha replied calmly.
Lucas closed his eyes.
His fists trembled.
For a moment, I thought he might explode.
Instead—
He grinned.
Oh no.
Why is he smiling?
His head turned slowly.
Toward me.
Absolutely not.
"Hmm," he mused. "Since you're using a teaching assistant… I suppose I can use mine."
I am not your assistant.
He walked over and clapped a hand on my shoulder.
"This candidate will fight."
Elisha checked her watch again.
"Dale Han."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Ranked 472 out of 472. Sword user. Forest God Stigma. No blessings."
She looked up.
"…Are you mocking me?"
Even I would have been offended if I didn't know better.
"Stop joking," she said coldly. "If you insist on a duel, send your strongest."
Lucas shook his head.
"Dale may be ranked last, but his skill is solid."
Elisha scoffed.
"Old friendship is the only reason I'm tolerating this nonsense."
Lucas leaned closer.
"So? Duel?"
Her eyes sharpened.
"…Scared?"
A beat of silence.
She slid another cigarette between her lips, unlit.
"Vincent."
"Yes."
"The hunting hound seems delusional. Correct him."
Vincent stepped forward again.
Lucas leaned toward me.
"Dale."
"…Yes?"
"If you win, I'll make you ten glasses of my special juice."
"I don't need—"
"Albert will drink them."
Albert gasped in betrayal.
I paused.
"…That's tempting."
Also—
If Lucas resigns, I lose access to his office.
Which I use.
Frequently.
"…Fine," I said. "I don't support administrative changes either."
Lucas's grin widened.
"Take it easy on him."
I looked toward Vincent.
Then toward Elisha.
Then back to Lucas.
"…I'll try."
And just like that—
The storm she sensed?
Was about to show its first crack.
I stepped into the center of the training grounds.
Vincent stood across from me.
Calm.
Measured.
Professional.
But—
His eyes were sharper now.
He had noticed something.
Good.
Because this won't be like the others.
Behind us, Elisha watched.
Unblinking.
Evaluating.
Judging.
She wanted proof.
Of strength.
Of worth.
Of truth.
Fine.
I adjusted my grip on my sword.
Mana stirred quietly beneath my skin.
Not overflowing.
Not flashy.
Controlled.
Compressed.
Refined.
Let's see.
Whether strength alone defines a hero.
Or whether—
There's something else.
"Begin," Elisha said.
And Vincent moved.