A Villainous Appearance
The Disciplinary Committee Office. The members of the committee were terrified to even look in its direction, chilled by the raw aura leaking through the door. It was a clear sign that their president was so enraged she couldn't even control her mana. Inside, just as they feared, Irelia Leonhart was absolutely seething.
“Damn it! I lost him again!”
Unable to contain her fury, she slammed her fist onto her desk. *Crack.* The heavy wood split down the middle. She had lost that wretched club president yet again. The bastard rarely showed his face, so she had been determined to corner him this time of all times! The infuriating memory of him slipping away using illusion magic danced mockingly before her eyes.
But deep down, she had expected this. After repeatedly letting him slip through her fingers despite being absolutely certain of his capture, she had grown somewhat resigned. After all, he was the only person immune to her Lion's Roar.
No... was it two people now?
“That black-masked bastard.”
A gloomy, enigmatic figure who hid his face behind a dark mask. He wielded a sword better than any swordsman she had ever seen in her life. Though she loathed to admit it, even her father—the patriarch of the Lionheart family and the reigning Sword Saint, Wilhelm Leonhart—would have paled in comparison to that man's peerless swordsmanship.
“Where on earth did a monster like that come from? And why doesn't the Lion's Roar work on him either?”
His speed was beyond her comprehension. A single, shimmering afterimage, and then a razor-sharp blade was at her throat in the blink of an eye, poised to claim her life. If she had been even slightly less experienced, or if he had possessed even a modicum of actual combat experience, she wouldn't have stood a chance.
“To think he is so suspiciously lacking in experience, yet his raw skill is at the level of a Superhuman—no, a Calamity.”
'Calamity' was the term used to describe an 8th-stage warrior or an 8th-circle archmage. If a 7th-stage warrior or 7th-circle mage who surpassed human limits was a 'Superhuman,' then those who were like unavoidable disasters beyond human power were called 'Calamities.' They were powerhouses who could single-handedly sway the fate of entire nations, individuals whom even the Emperor of the Empire had to treat with the utmost deference. Her father, Wilhelm Leonhart, was one such Calamity.
Irelia had glimpsed the shadow of such a Calamity in that black-masked man. The way he had treated her like a fragile toy that might break if handled too roughly... The way he had utterly toyed with her.
*Grit!*
“You black-masked bastard... I'll make you regret playing with me.”
With a final, furious vow, Irelia stormed out of the Disciplinary Committee Office and headed straight for the training grounds. She would grow stronger, if only to throw the cockroach-like villains disrupting the academy into prison.
Is someone talking about me?
I scratched my ear, which had suddenly started to itch for some inexplicable reason.
“Do you perhaps dislike flashy things?” asked Checo.
“It's not that. I just don't particularly care for bows.”
I didn't know how effective that bow was, but it certainly wasn't worth giving up my sword for. Besides, I had absolutely no talent for aiming, making it a useless weapon in my hands.
“Do you have any other magic tools?”
“Yes! Of course!”
Disappearing into the back with a bright smile, she returned a moment later carrying five small boxes.
“They aren't weapons, but... they are excellent magic tools for dealing with fire-attribute demons.”
As she opened the boxes, a set of rings caught my eye. Red, blue, yellow, green, and brown—each was set with a different, vibrantly colored gemstone.
“These rings are a complete set. They are known as the Butcher's Fingers.”
They belonged to Karen, the legendary demon slayer. Blinded by rage after losing his family to demons, he had slaughtered every single demon he laid eyes on. With the help of an alchemist, he had sealed his own power into these very rings.
“Even a knight from a minor noble family could use these to drag a mid-tier demon down to hell with them. Of course, they are incredibly expensive. Even wealthy nobles from the central and southern regions have had to walk away empty-handed.”
“Then why are you showing them to me?”
There was no way I could afford something that even the notoriously wealthy central and southern nobles couldn't buy. At my question, Checo smiled, as if she had been waiting for me to ask.
“This is my way of repaying you, Kanteil.”
Repaying me? I tilted my head. A reward from someone I was meeting for the very first time?
“I heard all about how you saved the young lady during the breeding ground incident.”
Her subsequent words helped me piece the situation together. *Seril... no, is she affiliated with the Lever Marquisate?* When Seril first mentioned her, I thought she was just a friendly alchemist. But the term 'young lady' was far too formal to be used for a mere friend.
“What exactly is your relationship with Seril—or rather, the Lever family?”
“Just... friends... I suppose that's how Lady Seril would prefer I put it?”
It seemed she had no intention of giving me a straight answer. Seeing Checo try to brush it off, I didn't press any further. It wasn't particularly important anyway.
“Anyway, thank you for the generous gift.”
I took the five boxes, purchased some consumables that would be useful for the upcoming Antares subjugation, and left the workshop.
“I ended up with a lot more than I expected.”
I looked down at the subjugation supplies packed tightly into my bag. It was so full that it was practically overflowing, preventing me from zipping it shut. Since I had stuffed in all the extra things she had thrown in on top of the Butcher's Fingers, the bag looked like it was suffering from a severe case of overeating.
*By the way, isn't today the day the Amorphous Armor arrives?*
The Amorphous Armor that Rio Lever had promised me two days ago. The precious artifact had traveled all the way from the south and was scheduled to arrive today. It was the perfect solution to my greatest weakness—the fact that I reverted to an ordinary academy student whenever I wasn't holding a sword. With this, I would constantly be protected by a barrier equivalent to a 7th-stage warrior's Body Protecting Aura.
With a flutter of anticipation, I returned home to find a sleek, thin box waiting at my doorstep. It was an antique-looking container, emblazoned with a large eagle crest that undoubtedly represented the Lever Marquisate.
“Is this it?”
I carried the box inside and opened it. Resting within was a garment made of completely transparent fabric. It was a perfect match for the description of the unbound Amorphous Armor from the original novel. My heart began to hammer against my ribs, the excitement palpable.
“So this is the Amorphous Armor...!”
I reached out a trembling hand toward the garment. But cold reason intervened, stopping my hand mid-air. *I haven't drawn my sword yet.* The version of myself I wanted to bind to this armor was the one holding a sword—the Sword Master. Not my current self, who was no different from a mundane academy student.
I drew my sword first, then slipped the Amorphous Armor on.
*It's incredibly light.*
Despite its thickness, the transparent fabric felt weightless. I had expected it to have some heft, but it felt like wearing nothing at all.
“No issues with mobility, either.”
I had heard that lower-grade versions of this armor restricted movement, but this one was seamless. It seemed Rio had sent me an exceptionally high-quality piece. Now that the inspection was over, it was time for the main course.
I took a deep breath and whispered,
“Bind.”
At my command, the Amorphous Armor began to writhe and ripple. Color bled into the transparent fabric, darkening into a rich, deep hue. Thick, black fur materialized around my shoulders, and a long, black-red cape unfurled, cascading all the way down to my ankles. The armor shifted and adjusted to my frame for several seconds before finally settling into its permanent form.
◈ Form Adaptation: Dark fur coat and black-red cape
◈ Defense: Equivalent to a 7th-stage warrior's protective barrier
“Is it done? Wow, that consumed way more mana than I expected.”
The pool of mana that had filled my core felt significantly lighter. Had it drained about a third of my total reserves? Well, whatever. My mana would recover quickly enough anyway. What mattered more was the armor itself.
I stepped in front of the full-length mirror.
Reflected back at me was a handsome young man with pale skin, pitch-black hair, and dark eyes, now draped in a striking black-red cape. The thick fur collar wrapped around his neck exuded an air of aristocratic luxury.
“It definitely looks cool, but...”
For some reason, a frown tugged at my lips.
“Doesn't this make me look like a total villain?”
Instead of looking like an ordinary academy student, I looked like an arrogant, high-and-mighty noble. And a villainous one at that, despite my actual status as a commoner.
*Honestly, I haven't done anything bad.*
If anything, I had been running around saving people left and right under the pretext of 'eliminating variables.' It wasn't something I needed to brag about, but forcing such a sinister, cold outfit on me felt like a bit of a low blow.
“Sigh... Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. It's not like I can change it.”
I let out a heavy sigh. Once bound, the Amorphous Armor's appearance was permanent. It wasn't as if I could casually ask the Lever family for another priceless artifact just because I wanted to try binding it again.
I gently stroked the soft fur collar.
“Let's get along, partner.”
The Amorphous Armor shuddered slightly, as if acknowledging my words. For the record, the Amorphous Armor possessed a faint consciousness of its own.
*But man... I'm going to draw a ridiculous amount of attention like this, aren't I?*
My prediction was spot on.
As I walked through the campus, gazes locked onto me from all directions. The majority of them belonged to female students.
“Whoa... has there always been a guy like that at the academy? His vibe is insane.”
“He has a sword at his waist. Is he from the Swordplay Department?”
“Come to think of it, I heard there was a really handsome black-haired guy in the Swordplay Department. Hmm... was his name Kanteil?”
Occasionally, the sharp, jealous glares of male students pierced my back, but I ignored them as usual.
*But this is getting seriously uncomfortable.*
I tried my best to ignore the stares, but the crowd of onlookers only seemed to swell with every passing minute. I needed to escape to the classroom, and fast.
My standard-issue sword slid smoothly from its scabbard with a soft, metallic ring. The silver gleam of the well-maintained blade flashed in the sunlight, momentarily blinding the surrounding students. A sudden, mysterious gust of wind swept over the crowd. By the time they blinked and opened their eyes again, I had completely vanished from sight.
“So this is the place.”
After successfully shaking off my pursuers, I arrived at a massive training field. The only difference between this and a normal athletic field was the presence of several large, square, transparent glass cases scattered across the grounds. Intricate magic circles were etched onto the surface of each glass case.
Standing right in front of them was Professor Carmel, sporting his signature red baseball cap.
“Kanteil. You're late.”
“My apologies, Professor.”
I bowed my head slightly. Carmel gave a curt nod, signaling that was enough, and gestured for me to fall in line. As I took my place at the very back, Professor Carmel raised his voice to address the class.
“I'm sure your bodies haven't even warmed up yet from hunting those pathetic slimes, have they? Anticipating your boredom, I've prepared something special.”
He gestured toward the five interconnected glass cases behind him. At the sight, a collective wave of dread washed over the Swordplay Department students.
“No way... He's not making us do something meant for third-years, is he?” an anxious student muttered, his voice echoing across the training field.
Professor Carmel's lips curled into a sadistic grin.
“An advanced-difficulty mock dungeon. B-rank. I will help you pulverize—ah, excuse me, *warm up* your bodies.”