Chapter 78
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 78
Chapter Title: Prove Your Qualifications
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Abel turned his head this way and that, trying to find the source of the voice.
But in the impenetrable darkness where he couldn’t see an inch in front of him, finding anything was impossible.
—Prove it. Your qualifications.
The voice kept on.
—And beware. The power flowing through your bloodline.
Abel wanted to shout what that meant, but even as he opened his mouth, no sound came out.
—Overcome all hardships, and you shall seize it. Everything you desire.
Unaware or uncaring of Abel’s frustration, the voice finished its piece and vanished completely.
Abel wandered in the darkness, searching for its origin, for a long time.
For a long time...
“Hah!”
Then, in that moment, Abel’s eyes snapped open amid ragged breaths.
A familiar sight filled his vision.
A room neither spacious nor cramped. A desk and a low bed. Colorless walls to boot.
None other than his own dormitory room.
“Hahk, heuk.”
Abel wheezed heavily as he wiped his face. His entire body was drenched in cold sweat.
Only after catching his breath for a good while did Abel belatedly reflect on the dream he’d just had.
‘What in the world...’
It was no ordinary dream. No concrete proof, but he was certain.
Someone—or something—had sent him a message.
He just couldn’t tell who or what it was.
Though it did carry an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
“Fuu.”
For now, Abel slid out of bed.
He wasn’t in the mood to go back to sleep anyway, and with his body soaked in sweat, a shower seemed like the first order of business.
He threw on a simple overcoat and stepped out into the dark hallway.
Hours still remained until sunrise, leaving the place steeped in silence.
It had an eerie chill to it, but it didn’t feel unpleasant.
If anything, it felt liberating.
Like pulling free from deep immersion in a sticky mire.
Abel headed straight for the showers, letting warm water cascade over him as he pondered.
‘Prove my qualifications. The power in my bloodline. And hardships.’
Heavy words, every one.
He felt like he was on the verge of grasping something, but nothing clicked into place.
The riddle, thrust upon him out of nowhere, left him mulling it over at length.
Having finished his predawn bath, Abel emerged—not to return to his room, but straight to the training hall.
‘Condition’s about half of normal.’
The strain from yesterday’s training still lingered plainly in his body.
Even with top-notch recovery options, some things couldn’t be helped.
Growth demanded a measure of pain, though.
Swish—.
Inside the training hall, Abel drew a standard practice sword.
Lately he’d even used a custom-made oversized wooden blade for training, but for now, he wanted to loosen up lightly.
Overdoing it at this hour would only slow his recovery further.
‘Quiet’s nice.’
There were usually one or two early birds no matter how soon he arrived, but today’s hour was extreme—even for him. He had the place to himself.
With his mind in a tangle, the unusual stillness didn’t feel half bad.
‘Let’s start with some light downward cuts.’
Abel gripped the practice sword and assumed his stance.
Fwoooong—!
The blade whistled crisply as it arced down from overhead.
‘Light.’
It couldn’t be helped.
His usual wooden sword was a monster of weight by comparison.
This one felt like a feather in his hands.
Every swing demanded extra focus as a result—far more than usual.
In movies or books, you’d see fighters shedding sandbags for real combat and dominating, but reality wasn’t so forgiving.
‘Balance goes off easy.’
Your body adapts to the heavy load, then suddenly it’s gone—your form crumbles fast.
The same swing might veer off-line or load up with wasted power.
Balance was everything.
That said, the method wasn’t worthless.
‘Swinging definitely feels smoother.’
Adapting to heavy weights built muscle steadily.
A lighter blade naturally meant less strain.
And the focus needed to keep form perfect? That alone was great practice.
Not just muscle memory swings, but each one with a mental check: *Is this right?*
‘Maybe Carlton figured that much into it...’
Or maybe not at all.
Abel swung away, mind cleared of stray thoughts.
His focus shattered only much later, by a familiar voice nearby.
“Abel.”
He froze at the call and glanced back.
There stood a face as familiar as the voice.
“Iolin.”
Her silver hair bound tightly back, Iolin gave a slight nod before speaking again.
“Training early today, huh.”
“Ah. Woke up early.”
“Something on your mind?”
The question struck home. Abel fell silent a beat, then admitted,
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I see.”
Rather than press for details, Iolin hefted her own practice sword and proposed,
“How about a quick spar, then?”
“Sparring? Sure.”
The prolonged swings had his body plenty loose already.
Abel accepted with pleasure and stepped back to give her space.
The hall was still empty—no need to relocate.
“Usual rules?”
“Yeah.”
They’d sparred countless times by now; no lengthy setup required.
Single bout.
First to drop their sword, take a vital hit, or face clear peril lost.
Abel eyed Iolin, sword at ready.
Unlike him, she’d just stepped in—cold body, no warm-up.
Yet she showed not a single opening.
‘Like an iron bastion.’
Oppressive certainty that any approach would be effortlessly rebuffed.
A single misstep, and his neck would be gone.
Mere stance, yet she’d become a battlefield swordmaster.
Abel held his form steady rather than charge in.
The tense standoff dragged on until Iolin broke it first.
Swish—.
She glided forward, then exploded off the floor in a sudden burst, closing the gap.
Fwoooooong—!
Her blade sang through the air, grazing past Abel’s head.
He dodged by a hair and countered with an upward slice.
Swish!
It carved only empty space.
Iolin’s sword came down diagonally without pause.
Abel clenched his jaw and angled his blade to meet it.
Clang!
He deflected the heavy blow—just barely—but she wasn’t done.
Thwack! Thwack!
She hounded him without mercy, offering not a moment’s respite.
Her usual style was heavy greatsword work, probing for gaps with precision.
Today? A relentless, suffocating barrage of swift cuts.
Abel could only scramble to defend, no chance for reprisal.
Sensing inevitable defeat, he gritted his teeth.
Thud!
Resolve hardened, he stomped sideways into a full roll.
Iolin pursued instantly, blade flashing—but he’d anticipated it.
Swish!
Mid-tumble, he whipped into an irregular arc aimed at her neck.
A sharp gambit.
Thwack!
She parried it without flinching, then rested her sword against his throat.
“...I lost.”
A loss so clean he had no grounds to argue.
Iolin gazed down at him, face impassive, and said,
“Your sword’s still got distractions clinging to it.”
“Huh?”
“You’re not even at half your usual level.”
The critique stung. Abel had no retort.
He’d given his all, but this was far worse than his norm—indisputable.
Iolin pressed on.
“Again.”
“Again?”
“Best way to clear a cluttered head is to move the body.”
With that, she turned and reset the distance.
Watching her, Abel rose and asked,
“You worried about me?”
“......”
Answering with action, she raised her sword and built her presence.
Abel scrambled to match her.
They sparred on.
Once, twice, thrice...
The endless chain finally broke only after considerable time had passed.
“Fuu. Time’s gotten away from us.”
“Huk, huk. Tell me about it.”
Abel nodded, drenched like he’d showered in sweat.
Total defeat.
Yet his mood wasn’t sour.
Body weary, yes—but his mind grew lighter with every exchange, leaving him invigorated.
Iolin wiped her sweat with a cloth and said,
“See you this evening, then.”
“Yeah. Evening it is.”
Abel replied breezily and started walking.
Stomach rumbling, but shower first—before the heat faded.
As they moved, the cadets who’d gathered to spectate their bout parted before them.
Their eyes brimmed with genuine awe.
No surprise there.
No one would believe those were first-year cadets; the level was absurd.
“Abel! Straight to the cafeteria after you wash up, right?”
En route to the showers, a familiar voice called out. Daniel.
He’d arrived early, caught the tail end of the spar, and was only now piping up.
“Yeah.”
“See you there.”
“Got it.”
Abel made quick work of his shower and headed to the cafeteria.
Plenty of cadets already, but seating wasn’t an issue.
“Over here!”
Daniel had snagged a spot and was waiting.
Abel grabbed his tray and joined him.
“Man, you two were brutal from the jump. Must’ve gone an hour-plus.”
“It just happened.”
“Just happened, huh. Y’know, it’s still wild you’re tight with Iolin.”
“We’re not tight.”
“Compared to the others? Super tight. You meet almost every day.”
Abel scowled at Daniel’s loaded phrasing.
“It’s just sparring.”
“That’s my point. You don’t spar with anyone else.”
Daniel unusually persistent today. Abel sighed.
“Sigh. No real friendship there. We barely talk off the mat. Don’t meet anywhere but the training hall.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah...”
He started to reply—
“Abel.”
—when a familiar voice cut in from the side.
He turned to find the same face he’d seen all morning.
Iolin.
“Yeah?”
“Got time off on your holiday? There’s a place I want to check out together.”
That single line drew every gaze in an instant.
Abel’s head already throbbed from the heat of Daniel’s stare.